What Type of 7th Grade Girl Are You?

Have you ever wondered what type of seventh grader girl you would be, if you were a seventh grade girl? Well, take this quiz to find out!

1. Your teacher assigns you a chapter to read for homework. You:
A) Don't do it, tell your teacher you didn't know there was any homework even though you totally did.
B) Wait until the next day and then guilt your friend into letting you copy theirs before class.
C) Skim it.
D) Read it and email your teacher six questions about it.


2. Your best friend tells you about their secret crush. You:
A) Keep it under your hat indefinitely.
B) Find the secret crush, tell them about your friend, and laugh laugh laugh.
C) Decide you like that same person now and your friend needs to back off.
D) Trade the information with a few friends for even juicier dirt.


3. Someone takes your seat at the regular lunch table. You:
A) Steal their Izze and call them the B-word.
B) Respectfully take your seat with the weirdos.
C) Burst into tears and hideout in the bathroom.
D) Find a teacher and share this tragic tale.


4. After you bomb your math test, you:
A) Hit the books hard and hire a tutor.
B) Tell your mom that the teacher is bad and you can't concentrate in class because the others kids are so ill-behaved.
C) Laugh and show all of your friends. Being dumb is hilarious!
D) Don't even realize it because you don't know what 15/40 makes.


5. Someone at the lunch table brings egg salad. You:
A) Say EWWWWWWW THAT IS SO GROSS YOU ARE SO WEIRD!
B) Ask for a bite.
C) Ask how many calories are in egg salad.
D) Politely ask this person to relocate.


6. You are called out in class for inappropriate behavior. You:
A) Give the teacher the dirtiest look you can muster; that'll teach her for calling you out.
B) Apologize quietly and refocus.
C) Ask to use the restroom, then go text your mom that your teacher is harassing you AGAIN.
D) Cry.


Scoring:
Q1: A-3, B-4, C-2, D-1; Q2: A-1, B-4, C-3, D-2; Q3: A-4, B-1, C-3, D-2; Q4: A-1, B-4, C-3, D-2; Q5: A-4, B-1, C-2, A-3; Q6: A-3, B-1, C-4, D-2


Results:
19-24 points: You are a JENNIFER. When things don't go your way, you tell your mom and she makes it right. No one can stop you from getting what's yours. Also, you think boys are cute.

13-18 points: You are a KENDRA. You are in it to win it. And no one can stop you -- except probably Jennifer because she is kind of scary. I mean, you're totally going to invite her to your sleepover this weekend, because she is so funny, but you probably will hide some of the personal stuff in your room before she gets there. Just in case.

10-12 points: You are a DEENA. You just want to blend in to the menagerie of junior high. You don't totally get what's going on all of the time, and sometimes people yell at you, but overall you're satisfied to lay low and watch anime videos on YouTube. You are also on a diet.

6-9 points: You are an ELLIE. You know that life doesn't end in middle school, and you've got your eyes on the prize: adulthood! All you need to get there are straight A's and constant affirmation from your teachers. If an adult says you're smart, then it must be true, for the next ten minutes. After those ten minutes are up, you'll need to check back in with them to make sure you are still smart.

Teacher of the Year

(My eyes and lips are not nearly this full and beautiful in real life.)

I have spent the last week and a half reading short stories written by twelve and thirteen-year-olds. I have been bombarded with insane tales of superheroes, and magic horses, and middle school basketball teams who are inexplicably playing at the national level. I have even read a story about a beloved pet falcon that is stricken with Ebola.

No matter what the students write about, it is my job to give thoughtful, constructive feedback. Feedback that inspires them to do better. Feedback that motivates them to keep improving. Because that's what I do; I change lives.

But I gotta say . . . sometimes such feedback is difficult. I'm sorry, but it's true. I love my students and I appreciate their insane, hormone-ridden brains, but sometimes I wish I could just let loose and tell it like it is. Just to make myself feel better.

Of course, this is not an option. I understand that. But just for fun, I am going to write some feedback here that is not supportive or encouraging. It's not even realistic. I just want to write it because I really, really want to. None of the following messages are based on any particular student. It's just the kind of thing that I sometimes want to say to some students some of the time.


Ahem.




Billy,
Wow! This is a real piece of garbage! Let me guess, you wrote it on the bus on the way to school. I can tell because you misspelled 65 words including "corn." Maybe next time read what's on the screen as you're typing -- it helps:)


That felt amazing. I am going to do it again:



Sharon,
When you came up with the idea for this story, were you tripping on mushrooms? I have to say, it seemed like you were tripping on mushrooms. Anyway, you must have access to some sort of hallucinogenics because I cannot follow this story. The unicorn had to fall through the jungle floom to save the kid's pet hamster? What hamster? You never mentioned a hamster!




It's like the stress of the last week is melting off with each cruel critique. I am going to keep going if you guys don't mind.




Ally,
I don't usually say this, but your story is easily the worst story I've ever read -- and I've read Chace's story. Chace doesn't even put spaces between his words, but at least he didn't bore me to death.



Last one.



Devon,
You know what I love about this story? I love that it's all written in one, long paragraph. I like that because when I open the document, my eyes are like "Whoa that is a dense piece of writing!" and then I get to sit there and try to make sense of your run-on sentences for 30 minutes. I love that. Thank you.


So anyway, if you guys want to send me anything to read or edit, feel free. I am a really kindhearted and gentle soul.



  

Teacher Diaries: Is This Thing On?

                          

There is a student in one of my classes who is hard of hearing. He wears special hearing aids at school that interact with a small microphone we, his teachers, wear during class. It's pretty high-tech and sweet.

I guess I always knew that, one day, I would do something to embarrass myself involving this microphone system. I wasn't sure what, but definitely something. 

That day has arrived.

Allow me to set the scene: After a long morning of changing lives through the power of education, I visit the restroom. As I am urinating, I look down and notice the microphone clipped to my shirt.

The microphone is on.

My student is hearing the sounds of my urination.

I am mortified.

I quickly turned off the device, before the dead-giveaway sound of the flush. I quickly washed my hands, walked to his next class, and left the microphone on the desk of his next teacher.

He has said nothing about it; I will say nothing about it, and it will be like this never, ever happened. 

Except for the fact that I just told you all about it. 

Teacher Diaries: A Series

In case you forgot, when I am not writing blog posts, I am often doing the most hilarious job that exists: teaching 7th grade.

Teaching 7th grade is the most hilarious job that exists because 7th graders are, on the whole, ridiculous human beings who don't have full-access to their brains because of some serious puberty-related renovations going on in there.

So I thought, with respect to my beloved students, I might occasionally share a little tidbit from the world of middle school. Here is one such tidbit.

The other day, one of my students was standing at my desk asking some clarifying questions about her homework assignment. She was chewing gum (which I hate incidentally, as proven here) and at one point that wad of gum she was chewing flew from her mouth and into my lap. She just fully spit her gum out and onto my person.

I was horrified. She was horrified. Who do you think was more horrified? Fill in your responses below.

Also, I am still waiting for this post to go viral. Pass it on, guys!

10:56 on a Thursday Night . . .

I have about 85 research papers to grade, and I just can't seem to force myself to do it. I am sitting here doing pretty much everything else a person can do on a Thursday night just so later I can tell myself I was too busy to correct these papers. I mean really, I had to bake that breakfast cookie recipe tonight. It couldn't wait.

I think my avoidance is due to the fact that reading about the causes and effects of major historical events, as written by a seventh graders, is one of the most painful activities a person can endure. Did you know that one of the main causes of JFK's Assassination was that JFK was shot? Did you? I can't believe no one made a movie about this groundbreaking theory.

And one important effect of the Civil War was that the US was broke after spending all of its money on tanks.

Also commas are totally unnecessary in sentences even if your sentence is composed of many parts that could be considered separate thoughts no one cares about commas only my stupid English teacher uses commas she thinks she is better than everyone else!

Sorry I lost myself for a second there. I'm back now.


Anyway, it's pretty clear that I am using this blog entry as yet another form of procrastination. Do you feel used
? I apologize.

Have a happy Valentine's Day.

I'm back!

I snap a quick pic when a child falls to his knees in desperation. 

Well everyone, I survived my week in the North Woods, helping children tie their snow boots and put on mittens. It was a success. I was not able to tweet as much as I would've liked -- as it turns out, there is not much cell coverage in the middle of nowhere -- but I did manage a couple that you can see here. 

Updates on my hopes for the trip:

1) I heard someone barfed in a funny way, but I was not there to witness it. I also did not have to clean it up as it happened on a frozen lake. I think nature had to clean that one up. 

2) I saw two kids sit next to each other during snack and was informed that they "like-like" each other. I could tell by the way they didn't look or talk to one another. 

3) The students did love the Frozen soundtrack as much as I do! On the last night one of them sang "Let It Go" for a talent show. However she prefaced the performance with "to everyone who loves Frozen as much as I do, please don't sing along."  Ouch.

4) No one made me climb the rock wall. I was needed on the ground to prevent children from letting each other fall to their deaths. 

5) There were many cookies and delicious food items to share. Each night after the students went to bed, an elaborate buffet was brought out for all of the adults. It was a little sad. But I did not let my sadness deter me from eating Swedish meatballs at 10:30 PM. 

Overall I enjoyed my week as a pseudo camp counselor, but now I am back and ready to talk about something else!  So stay tuned in! 

Aaaaand, unfreeze!

Hi. The world kind of froze for four days and I've been busy spending all of my money on heating and staying indoors with my small, not-annoying children.

While I was gone, however, I did win an important contest (thank you, thank you) and I made a homemade pizza. So it was pretty productive.

This week I was supposed on an environmental learning trip in the North Woods with a bunch of twelve years olds, but then someone was like "oh wait, you could die" so now we are going next week when it will be only twenty below zero, as opposed to thirty below zero.

I'm thinking of live-tweeting the experience, using the neglected @thelazystandup handle on Twitter. What do you think? Posting will be impossible without a computer, plus I'll be busy dissecting owl pellets and supervising the ropes course -- but tweets? Tweets could work.

Think about it. Follow @thelazystandup on Twitter just in case.




P.S. Speaking of cold things, did anyone see Frozen? So good.

Still here . . .

Ugh. You guys are so mad at me right now. I wake up, and I can feel your angry disappointment nagging at me for a lack of posts. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.

Last week was full of great stuff: random barfing, late work nights, a three-day weekend excursion with friends -- it was pretty sweet actually, minus the barfing. However, it did not leave much time for narcissistic rambling.

Another development from last week is that a student teacher began working in my classroom. For those of you who don't know, a student teacher is a college student who wants to become a teacher, and this one will allegedly learn to do this by watching me make an idiot out of myself every day for a couple months.

If this woman wants to be a weirdo teacher who kids do impressions of in the hall, I'm guessing she has already learned a lot.

Like, a lot.

I don't know if there is an equivalent for those of you in more typical office jobs, but imagine someone just sitting next to you watching everything you did on your computer and listening to your phone calls all day long.

Image from Businessweek.com HERE.

Would that make you uncomfortable? Might you second-guess some decisions? I bet you wouldn't be reading "The Lazy Stand-up" all day long, like you usually do.

Anyway, my point is that it's hard to quietly open a text document and draft a blog entry during my students' silent-reading period these days. I have to look professional all the time. During my prep, I have to walk down to the cafeteria and get a spoon to eat my yogurt instead of secretly using the lid like a shovel. It's ridiculous.

But we will get through this, guys. The blog will go on, just like Celine Dion's heart. And just to keep us on track, here's a preview of what's to come:

THIS WEEK:

1) Funny games for funny people

2) My son is Tiny Tim except without the health concerns

3) Thanksgiving Prep

What the kids are into

I'm sure you're already all over this, but this is what all the kids are singing/talking about these days. It's a big deal for middle-schoolers.

I don't want you to feel left out.

Mobile users click here.

Dinah Blow Your Nose

Illness has fallen upon my home in classic back-to-school style. Each night I wake up to my son coughing and sleep-crying because he can’t breathe through his nose, which so sad and deeply, deeply irritating.

When do kids learn to properly blow their noses? WHEN?!! It is so frustrating to hear the snot just sloshing around up there and not be able to get it out. I try to help him, but it's not clicking, and I don't think it helps a child's development to hear his mom yelling "You're doing it wrong!" at one in the morning. Do you?

I don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or what, but I’ve decided to dedicate this entire post to the fine art of blowing one’s nose. It’s going to be gross. If you were eating a sandwich while reading this, you should probably stop. (Eating. Not reading.)

 Ahem.

Nose-blowing is the best and the worst. It’s the best when you are blowing your own nose, obviously, and you feel like “Ha-ha! Get out of my life, disgusting mucous!” And it’s the worst when anyone else is blowing their nose anywhere near you ever.

As a teacher, I see a lot of up-close nose-blowing. During cold and flu season, there is a long line of congested pre-teens at my desk, just waiting to get their germy hands on the box of tissues and go to snot-town.

In fact, I have heard so much nose-blowing in my career that I’ve decided to sort them into different categories.

I am a very busy person.

TYPES OF NOSE BLOWS 

 

1. The gushing faucet: 

This is the most productive kind of nose-blow because it is the grossest. Kids go through multiple tissues during a thick-faucet blow. I often think that perhaps they should’ve kept that mess home.

2. The drippy faucet: 

A frustrating experience, this is when the nose is running and yet blowing it proves little to no help. No matter how much the person blows, the nose continues to drip. The only solution is to shove tissue up there and be done with it, but who has the guts to go through with that?

3. The “I just have one booger I want to get out but I am too polite/embarrassed to pick my nose.”:

This one is typically a long process. There's a lot of blowing and blowing and blowing until you just want to say: “Let it go, man! You’re either going to have to go in their yourself, or let nature take its course!”

4. The Pointless “What are you doing, go back to your seat”: 

This is when kids blow pure, uninterrupted air into the tissue and then throw it away. They are either confused or needed a reason to get up so they can pass a note to their friend.

5. The Trumpet: 

Usually reserved for old men, this is the noisiest blow. It always startles the class, but never the blower, who seems oblivious to the fact that it’s totally hilarious.

6. The Red Monster: 

The surprise bloody nose. Always exciting.


Feel free to bookmark this page for your reference! I am going to go take a nap.

Blondes: What's up with them?

Hello, hi, sorry, hi.

I bet when I wrote “Catch you guys after the bell rings!” you thought I meant that day. Well I thought I meant that, too, but I was wrong, because the last few days have been crazy. Starting a new school year is a lot of work, it turns out. Kids are super needy at the beginning of the year. “Where’s my class? What notebook do I need? Is there homework? Am I adopted? Where do babies come from?” Etc. etc. etc.

You get the idea.

I’ve taught many students over the year, and after meeting this year’s crop, I’ve developed a little theory. It’s kind of strange, but here is the essential question behind it:

Why are all blonde girls tiny?

Each year I have a handful of blonde female students, and I swear, 90% of the time they are also petite in stature. Why?

Even when I think of my friends from growing up who were blonde, most of them were also small. In fact they were small, blonde, and cute: the ultimate trifecta.

Is there something about the blonde-hair genes that also causes overall cute petite-ness?

Because if there is a connection, that’s kind of stacking the deck.  I mean, come on. Leave some for the rest of us, right?

Has this been your experience?

Back to school

 

That's basically what it's going to be like today.

Catch you guys after the bell rings! 

June!

I'm sure everyone is deeply concerned that I have not posted yet this week. Don't worry, I am okay. I am great. Tomorrow is the last day of school (for students) and that is a happy thing. Summer vacation, baby!

Never mind that it's 60 degrees and raining. Never you mind that at all.

What I am most looking forward to is not having to choose work-appropriate attire from my closet every morning. I'm pretty sure at least eight students are keeping track of my monotonous wardrobe, writing things like "She's wearing the brown pants AGAIN" in their assignment notebooks.


Wardrobe-tracking is not the only thing of which you need to be conscious when you're a teacher. You also need to check your fly a lot. There is an old educator's proverb that goes "Any time children are laughing and you are not sure why, check your fly." You should also check that you don't have food in your teeth, or that your shirt isn't see-through, or that a child hasn't snuck in and started doing a dance behind your back.

To be honest, if you are deranged enough to teach middle school you should get used to being laughed at for unknown reasons. It's going to happen. Just smile and nod like you get it, and take solace in the fact that soon you won't have to see them anymore.

Summer is going to be so great. 

Final Countdown

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I wish I could write more about my job. I really wish I could. But in this world, writing about other people’s children without their knowledge in a public forum seems unadvisable. I bet in Europe I could get away with it.

Generally speaking, it’s the end of the year and that means that my days are filled with insanity and nonsense. It’s quite invigorating. Teaching the last weeks of May is like following a tornado down a narrow hallway of Grecian urns without letting any of them fall. And the tornado is wearing short-shorts.

Here is what I say all day long:

“Please don’t do that.”

“Please put that down.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“That’s not appropriate.”

“Who let you wear that to school?”

“Sir Mixalot is a lyrical genius, but please stop singing ‘I Like Big Butts.’”

Then I get home and I say these things:

“Do you have to go potty?”

“Please stop screaming, my love.”

“Will you take him?”

“Please take him, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No really, I have to go. I’m not just going to hide in there and look at my phone.”

“I know I just went ten minutes ago.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t hear the toilet flush. I flushed it.”

“Fine just give me the baby.”

Here's a question: what do you find yourself saying all day long?

Pop Quiz

Put everything away except for a pencil; it’s time for a quiz. I’m going to need complete silence until everyone is finished. Please be respectful of your classmates. Here we go:

WHERE DO I WORK?

1) Yesterday everyone lost bathroom privileges after someone dumped the contents of a garbage can in the toilet.

A) Prison

B) Middle School

2) 20 minutes of work time were lost when someone farted [twice].  

A) Pre-School

B) Middle School

3) A mysterious person has been popping jelly packets on the floor every day for a week.

A) Mental Hospital

B) Middle School

How did you do? Check back later for answers.

 

Suspicious Eyes

This is a little “FYI” for all the naughty people in the world – if you are up to no good, it is not advisable to look directly at the person from whom you are hiding it.

When my child or my students are being sneaky and trying to get away with something, they always stare at me. They think if they keep an eye on me, then they won’t get caught. But in reality, they wouldn’t even be on my radar if they weren’t burning holes through me with their eyes.

Is there anything more suspicious than someone staring at you for no apparent reason? 

Exhibit A: In the hallways at school

 

Exhibit B: Reading Time

 Exhibit C: Play time

 

I shouldn't even be telling you this. I don't want the naughty to succeed in their efforts, but I am sick of having to step in all the time. So just get a way with a few things, now and then, and lighten my work load. Please. 

Like an STD, but on your face.

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Since before I can remember, I have been afflicted with cold sores. Cold sores are open wounds that appear on your face, typically around the mouth and nose. They like to come out when you are stressed, or tired, or if you get sunburned, or if your lip suffers some sort of injury, or if you are planning a big event for which you'd like to look nice. And here is the kicker: once you get a cold sore, you will continue getting them for the rest of your life. It’s the gift that keeps on giving – just like herpes. Oh wait, that’s because it IS herpes!

Cold sores are herpes. Technically speaking, they are herpes simplex 1 (HSV-1) and not exactly the same thing as herpes simplex 2 (HSV-2) which is what people get from “doing it.” Unfortunately it’s a fine line.

But before you make any inappropriate jokes about my promiscuity, let me make it clear that my cold sores were not sexually-transmitted. They were passed on from my mother, who got them from her mother, who got them from her mother, who was a whore.

So every time I get a cold sore, I not only have to deal with the self-consciousness that comes with having an open, weeping wound on my mouth, but I also have to deal with people wondering if I am a hussy. Thank goodness I already got a man, because I’m pretty sure “facial VD” is a turn-off for most guys on match.com.

But just because I’m married doesn’t mean cold sores don’t affect my game. My husband tries to be nice, but every time I have a sore he becomes extremely paranoid. Hugs are too risky. A kiss on the cheek is out of the question. Even looking directly at me for too long makes him uncomfortable. If it were socially acceptable, he would gladly have me wear a paper bag on my head for the duration of the virus. And then he would put a surgical mask over the mouth area. And then he would spray the mask with Lysol. And then he would look me deep in the brown paper-bag eyeholes and tell me I’m beautiful. Because he cares.

In addition to throwing off my home life, cold sores affect my performance at work. Engaging of a room of middle-school students for six hours is not easy when you look good, but when you have an open sore on your face, it’s nearly impossible. One time my fly was down, and now those children will never understand semicolons.

During my first year of teaching, I got the most absurd and awful cold sore. I don't want to go into too much detail, but let me just say that when I smiled, it bled. Okay that might have been too much detail, but I want you to understand the severity of the situation.

All day, my students would do double-takes, eyes widening when they saw me. I couldn't take it. I mean, I'm not a terribly vain person; I go in public in clothes that could earn me a spot on "What Not to Wear" regularly, but this was another level of self-consciousness. I quickly made up a group activity that did not involve me talking to them, then I cowered at my desk, hoping they would behave and not need me for anything. That group activity lasted for two weeks. It was a Rube-Goldberg machine that told the story of Crime and Punishment.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Isn't there anything you can do for these awful sores, Molly?" and "Will you please stop describing what the sores look like?" and "Is your mom going to be mad about that great-grandmother joke you dropped several paragraphs back?" The answers to these questions are 1) sort of, 2) fine, and 3) we'll see. 

Unfortunately the best treatment for cold sores involves walking into a pharmacy and speaking the words "I'm here to pick up my Valtrex prescription." Because the same medicine they advertise for genital herpes will also treat cold sores. And that makes you feel really proud. 

Even more unfortunately, most treatments don’t work unless you catch the sore before it happens, which is difficult. However if you do have cold-sore ESP, and you are constantly carrying meds with you, then you're set. Just try not to let your herpes cream slip out of your pocket when you’re on a date or a job interview. People will talk. 

Highway to the Danger Zone

Would it gross you out to know that, as I am writing this, my body is attached to a machine that is rhythmically pumping milk out of it? It would? Oh, then never mind. That is not happening.

The funny (not funny) thing about being a parent is that you lose sight of what is socially-appropriate for conversation. The filter goes and suddenly you find yourself talking about poop at a cocktail party.

“Tyler had the worst diarrhea diaper the other day. Pass the olives.”

[Obviously I don’t get invited to many cocktail parties.]

My mother had the opposite problem. She refused to discuss anything between the shoulders and the knees, or as she would call it, the Danger Zone.

(I'm a pretty talented artist.)

Any question remotely crotch-related was immediately tabled for later [never] discussion. Therefore, many details of the human body were left a mystery to me until I was way too old to ask for clarification. My teen years were awkward.

Ironically, despite having no real sexual education myself, I was hired to teach sex ed my second year of teaching. It was for one semester, to fill a scheduling gap, and sexuality was just one unit in a broader health course -- but it was intense. When it comes to sex education, they do it a little differently in the public schools than in the Catholic schools. The diagram of the female anatomy had, like, eight more parts than the one I'd seen in school. Ours was basically just a nondescript shape with two little circles attached to it and a picture of the Baby Jesus floating ominously in the middle.

Two children later, I’ve figured out the basics. (Wink-wink nudge-nudge. I’m a cool kid now.) One day I will have to decide where I stand on the "Danger Zone" issue when it comes to my own kids. While my mom’s approach seems a little hyper-conservative, she did successfully raised a virgin college graduate -- yeah, I said it -- and there is some appeal in that. But does ignorance always result in abstinence? Take one visit to the Jersey Shore, and you will find it most certainly does not.