Liar-Liar, Pants on Fire!

If that were true, half the children in an elementary school would be running around in flames.  But that’s a phrase we all know so well because we’ve heard it and even said it countless times.  It all starts in elementary school.  Do you know why?  Because those kids are constant little liars.

That, at first, sounds horrible.  Truly we aren’t raising a generation of psychopaths.  At this young age there is a blurry line between truth and fiction.  They’ve been raised with lies (tooth fairy, Easter bunny, leprechauns to name a few) and play with lies every day through their pretend play.

Of course, most untruths told by children are the little white lies that even adults spout once in a while.  Yes, you.  When was the last time you withheld the truth in order to save someone’s feelings?  Or told someone you were too busy to meet for coffee when you really didn’t want to listen to so-and-so rant for an hour about his co-workers?  Possibly daily.

Once you take out the white lies, there is a huge range of untruths told by the youth.  Most of it is harmless.  When a kid says they have to go to the bathroom when they really just need a break from math, I’m not going to call them out…unless it’s the fifth time in an hour.  “’Johnny, should I call your mom to tell her you need your plumbing checked?” I might ask overly sweetly.  That usually takes care of it.  And the truth is often stretched like a big ol’ piece of salt-water taffy in order to impress classmates, “Oh yeah?  Well last year I got ten pounds of Halloween candy and I ate it all in one night and I didn’t even throw up!”

I find that the most entertaining of the lies are what I call The Occasional Doozy.  These come from an otherwise reliable source and they are so far out that it’s hard not to laugh out loud when the child tells the story.  Usually the student was just caught doing something against the rules and has to cover their tracks.  Unplanned, unbelievable and usually hilarious. 

My favorite Doozy was when the bus arrived one morning and all the kids were excited about the fact that ‘Jenny’ had a dead mouse in her pocket.  It wasn’t long before the word reached the office and ‘Jenny’ was summoned by the principal.  Mrs. T gently asked the young girl if she had a dead mouse in her pocket and could she see it.  Sure enough, ‘Jenny’ pulled out a limp and furry lump that had four feet and a tail.

“Oh honey.  We don’t bring dead things to school,” Principal T said as she put her arm around the shoulder of the pink-clad child.  (Possibly my favorite school quote, ever.)  Only a skilled professional can say something like that with a straight face.

‘Jenny’ explained that she found it on the way to the bus stop.  Sounds honest, right?  And then she proceeded to explain that she absolutely needed to keep the mouse. Why?  Because she and her mom collect dead animals, skin them and send their skins to Canada.  Yep.  This mouse skin was too valuable to give up.

“And where do you get these dead animals?” Mrs. T inquired.

“Oh, from around our house and yard,” she answered.

The amazing Mrs. T was able to talk some sense into ‘Jenny’ and the the two of them buried the small creature in the school garden and bid it goodbye with a small ceremony.

I suppose that there is a teensy chance that there was some truth hidden somewhere in this Doozy, but if that’s the case, it’s a truth I don’t really want to know!

I’ll admit that I’m overstating the prevalence of fibs from our children.  Our elementary schools are not filled with pathological liars.  Many of the untruths we hear are based on misunderstandings and the sweet, innocent misperceptions of underdeveloped minds.  Just keep your ears open next time you spend time with little people and you just might hear a Doozy.  No matter how tall the tales are, they’re always entertaining.

My Dog is Smarter than Your Dog

We all think our own dog is smart.  They know certain words and respond appropriately.  We expect them to drool at the word “dinner” and do the happy dance and the word “walk”.  The obedient and well-trained pups come when called.  The less obedient still understand the command, but would rather chase the squirrel so they stay just out of reach.

Yes, I know my dog, Riley, is smart.  I just didn’t realize how smart until recently!  I hadn’t given her enough credit or asked her to do tricks beyond the “sit” and “stay” realm of doggie training.  Well, after this particular walk I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more she can do.

So Riley and I, we're taking our wet morning dog walk in the woods, like usual.  I'm just strolling along, daydreaming, while Riley lags behind.  Suddenly she comes flying past me in that post-poop gallop, with the extra bounce in her step and twinkle in her eye.  So I turn around, pull out a poop bag, and start talking, more to myself than to her,  "Okay, where'd you poop?" and I backtrack 20 or so yards, scanning the edge of the trail.  "Where's the poop, pup?" I keep mumbling but see nothing in the piles of leaves.  She follows along, but stops in one spot and waits, looking happy and proud.  I walk back to her and look where she is pointing, and doggone it - there was the POOP!  Still steamin' and warm.  She's SO smart!!

Now, I’d never even thought to ask her to find her own mess before.  You bet I’ll be asking her again.  And there’s no telling what else she can do, if we would just make the right request!  (With, of course, the obvious limitations of possessing no opposing thumbs or the ability to form words…)

Yep.  My Riley is truly brilliant, if you ask me.  Or her.

Questions...

Does this goldfish look like a serial killer to you?  Is it possible that my family watches too many crime shows?  Perhaps, but we have learned quite a bit about profiling sociopaths and are growing suspicious of this innocent looking carp.  Fish just don’t up and die in my house.  We take their care seriously.  With not one, but two filters going 24/7 and the regular weekly siphoning of the gravel, the fish in our house grow to a healthy old age.  We’ve had basic goldfish thrive more than a decade in our 29 gallon tank.  Something fishy is definitely going on around here.

The Facts:

1.      Several months ago we ventured to the pet store and chose Gary and his speckled friend, Miss Piggy. We brought them home and introduced them to our established aquarium.  They both thrived…for a while.  After a few weeks Miss Piggy began hiding in the ceramic cave in the corner.  Before long she was belly up with Xs on her giant eyeballs (not really, but I like the visual).  Sometimes these things happen.

2.      After double checking the chemistry and researching the best diet for these goggled-eyed fan-tails, we went back to the Feed and Seed to find Gary a newfriend.  (Note:  At this point my daughter informed me that we may need to change his name to Gary-etta, as we had likely misjudged his gender when originally naming him.  She usually knows of what she speaks when it comes to animals.)  We named the new bright orange fish Chubs.  In the beginning these two were great friends.  They played chase games and competed for food like normal fish do.  After two to three weeks my daughter reported to me that Chubs was slowing down.  This newest carp was spending most of its time hiding behind the mermaid statue and seeking shelter in the cave.  A day or two later we had another floater.  Coincidence?

3.      We mourned her loss for a few days and then returned to the store to find Gary-etta a hardy friend.  It was that day that we realized how huge she had become!  She had grown to twice the size of any of these fish in the store.  How was Gary-etta thriving in our aquarium when nobody else could?  Aiming for a relatively big mate, we chose a lively speckled moor with black eyes that looked like oversized sunglasses.  We named this one Chicken Little for reasons you will see.  From the moment we put her in the tank we could see that something was strange.  This new fish seemed desperate to keep distance between herself and the larger and overbearing Gary-etta.  We watched closely for days and never once saw the two of them interacting.  Day after day the scene was almost always the same, Chicken Little hiding in a corner or behind an ornament and Gary swimming around gaily.  You could almost hear a sinister gurgle coming from the larger fish.  Then one morning it happened.  We awoke to find Chicken Little not only dead, but sucked up against the filter.

At this point we are too stunned to go back to the fish store.  Three fatalities, and Gary-etta’s behavior seems to get more bold with every death.  She struts around the tank, flipping her fins as if nothing is wrong.  She is thriving and growing so fast, as if she is getting some kind of lift from the demise of her co-habitants.

On the one hand, how do we bring another innocent fish into the clutches of a suspected serial killer?  But then, what if are suspicions are wrong?  What if Gary-etta is sweet and friendly with her tank-mates and these deaths are merely a coincidence?  Do we condemn her to solitary confinement without any proof?

So many questions….

Billy and Taxes

I had just barely finished my happy dance.  That dance that hopefully comes once a year around April 15th when you see the number on your tax refund.  Our number wasn’t huge, but high enough in the three-digit range to celebrate a little.  Enough to provoke daydreams of a special treat…a night away perhaps, or a new gadget.  Even if it goes straight into the kids’ college fund, it still has that exciting feel of free money.

Within hours of hitting the “file” button on the TurboTax program, I still have a levitating bounce in my step when I feel that tap on the shoulder. I turn around and hand it over, the near equivalent of my tax refund, to the veterinary hospital.  How did they know exactly how much to charge for saving the life of our sweet old kitty, Billy?

We love our pets and believe that they are a huge part of what makes our house a home.  When it comes to life or death of these loyal friends, how far will we go to keep them around?  We could have let old sick Billy wander off to die instead of sending our daughter to squeeze under the porch and drag him out of his hiding place.  We could have let him starve himself to death with nausea rather than force-feeding him with a syringe multiple times a day.

Right now Billy sits by my side, licking his chops and purring, while I type.  And when I subtract the vet bill from our tax refund there is still a low two-digit number.  Maybe I’ll go buy myself a cup of coffee…and a bag of prescription cat food.

I guess I should thank Uncle Sam for putting some of our hard earned money aside in a Feline Medical Account for times like this.  The “free money” went to good use.

Deer Mating

I’m ready to enjoy a Friday morning in my favorite fourth grade.  The bell has just signaled the start to the day and students are filing in from the hall, putting materials away and getting settled for a math quiz.  Silently, a pair of deer stroll by the window.  Deer are a common sight in this quiet corner of Washington State so that’s no big deal, barely worthy of some pointing and smiling from the sleepy children. These deer were exceptionally close to us, but that is still not too unusual around here.  But on this day, it is mating season and these particular creatures are feeling a bit frisky.

Within moments the larger of the two, the buck, decides to jump on the doe.  Immediately I hear squeals of excitement as all 27 students run to the window to watch the show.  Innocent questions arise, “What are they doing?” and “Are they fighting?”

‘Johnny’, the most…um…sophisticated of this group, the boy who decorated his writing notebook with a magazine collage of babes and hot-rods, wants to clarify exactly what’s going on.  In a loud and authoritative voice he leaves no doubt in anyone’s mind the details of what is going on just outside our classroom window.

The gasps and shrieks from the students temporarily distract the large mammals from their amorous interaction and they separate.  But only for a moment.  The doe takes a few steps away, looks over her shoulder at her mate and is quickly caught in another embrace.  Another squeal erupts from our classroom.  How do I gain control of this situation?

Later that day I spoke with the kindergarten teacher next door who was able to pass the event off to her students as two animals sharing a 'hug'.  The children enjoyed the moment and quietly returned to building block towers and coloring with fat crayons.  That was not an option in fourth grade.

Beat ‘em or join ‘em?  That is often the question of the substitute teacher.  I could try to beat ‘em; demand that they ignore the beasts - sit down and be quiet, or else!  Yeah...right.  I decided a better tactic would be to appeal to their love of anything dangerous, threatening or gory.

“Be careful around bucks this time of year,” I boomed my voice over the commotion.  “They can be dangerous during mating season.”

“What?”  It worked.  I had their attention.  They turned from the window to listen.

I told them how my family had learned this the hard way.  How two years before my dog had charged at a buck in rut (basically looking for love) and ended up a bloody mess at the vet.  Although it was a true story, I will admit I embellished…a lot.  Before long I had all the kids in their seats and riveted on my every word. 

VICTORY!

And time for a math quiz.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!

Who Am I? (let's get this out of the way...)

Who am I?  I am an elementary school substitute teacher.  By choice.  If that first sentence gave you the shivers, you are not alone.  Most people would rather stick needles in their eyes than spend a day wrangling a classroom full of unfamiliar 7 year-olds.

I’ve had it both ways.  For years I had my very own classroom of third graders.  I loved it.  However it took most of my time and all of my patience to do my best.  I have endless admiration for teachers who can do it all – manage the students, the parents, the standardized testing, AND manage to have a healthy home life and raise their own kids at the same time.  I couldn’t do it!  If it takes a Type A personality to accomplish that and do it well, you’ll find me somewhere further down the alphabet.

Here’s a secret:  Substitute teaching is a great gig, if you do it right.  Working exclusively at my neighborhood school, I am well-known and reasonably well-loved..  On the best days it feels like being a Grandma to a whole school.  I get to come in to a teacher’s organized classroom, teach from their well-written plans, play with their kids for a whole day…and then (here’s the kicker) I get to go home!  No report cards to fuss over.  No long term projects to plan.  I head off to my daughter’s softball game without a worry.

I like to think of my real title as Entertainer of Children.  With my magic bag of tricks in hand, crammed full of the best stories (some of my own and some classic folktales) and fun filler lessons, I get to use my best material almost daily.  Once you get the kids on your side with flattery and laughter the rest is easy.   I’d much rather spend my nights dreaming of fun ways to engage kids for a day than to lose sleep worrying about the student who isn’t reaching standard or belly-aching about how to respond to an angry parent.

I will admit that it took some time and thinking to take pride in this career choice.  Saying, “I’m a sub,” doesn’t make for interesting cocktail party small talk.  However, the feeling of walking into a classroom and being greeted with a quiet cheer, as well as getting at least 25 hugs a day take the sting out of any pangs of regret for not having a high-paying, prestigious career.

I could go on, but I won’t.  Simply put, kids are honest, straightforward, hilarious and not afraid to laugh.  How can that not be a good way to spend the day?