Grace the motivational speaker

One of the reasons I love working with elementary-school students is because I can, within the limits of professionalism and human kindness, mess with their minds to coax out the desired results.

While I certainly have a very dry sense of humor, it doesn't really make an appearance most of the time. I think slowly in situations that require a lot of verbal interactions, which is why I generally suck at life and socializing. I'm often jealous of Dan and his perfectly-timed zingers. He's drummed up quite a reputation at work for being, well, hilarious. I normally can't pull this off unless my meds are somehow working in high gear and everything is going in high gear. Most of the time somebody will make a comment or ask me a question and I'll start stuttering, make some kind of feeble non-remark ("Wow!" "That's cool!" "Really?"), randomly insert the wrong sounds into common words ("I love to raid! No, wait, I love to road! No, I mean I love to read!"), or, my favorite no-no, I'll stumble over my own monosyllabic utterances to such an extent that I accidentally spit at the other person, mercifully ending just another awkward episode of Grace making friends. Thankfully, I have strong writing skillz which allow me to be as dry and sarcastic as humanly possible on paper. I have heard that the writing process is channeled through a different segment of the brain than the verbal awesomeness part, which is good for you, as otherwise you'd be reading an awful lot of yeahs and uh-huhs on this blog.

But when it comes to kids... I'm much better with the verbal sarcasm. A very good part of this, I'm sure, is that I'm a lot more comfortable with those of us ages thirteen and younger. Kids don't have fully-developed social acuity yet and usually chalk up my failed stuttered sarcastic jabth to my advanced age of grandmotherhood (I know I'm not fat because no child has ever told me I'm fat. I'm not sure, however, how old I am because one child asked me how many grandchildren I had.). Also, thinking quickly in kid time is like thinking slowly in adult time, so I can really hold my own with the second-graders.

So I eventually learned to use my sarcastic weirdness for good in the school setting. Depending on the student population of the day, I'd set the limits, turn on the charm, and then just go nuts. My formula was generally this.

1. Tell kids what to do.
2. Veer into insanity.

This formula worked especially well with those kids who were a little harder to crack than the others. For some kids, you could ask them nicely to do their math problems, and they'd do it. No need to go to step two. For some kids, you could tell them to answer question three on their paper, and they'd tell you to go jump off a cliff, or at least out a second-story window.

One second-grade student, who we'll call Jaden because just about every other second-grader in that particular school was named Jaden, became my poster child for my formula. I was subbing for the learning support teacher and was trying to complete a reading lesson with Jaden. Jaden had other ideas.

It's not like I missed a step. I did tell Jaden what to do. Questions one through five in lesson five. It'd only take him five minutes to do, if he actually sat down and did it.

Jaden gave me a withering look. I was a sub. He was eight. It was clear who was winning out in this game.

"Miss, I ain't doing reading today."

"Oh?" I said.

"Yeah. I did my reading yesterday. You're not the teacher, so you can't tell me what to do."

I couldn't really argue with that logic, but I was the adult here. It was time to implement step two of The Plan.

"Jaden," I said, trying to be all secretive and confiding but probably just coming off as really creepy, "Trust me, you want to do your work."

"No."

"Well, you want to know why you should do your reading?"

"No."

"I'll tell you anyway. If you don't finish your reading, then I'm going to eat your lunch tomorrow."

Jaden looked a little shocked.

"You ain't gonna eat my lunch. You ain't gonna even be here tomorrow. Miss Smith will be here tomorrow."

"Exactly! Miss Smith will be busy in here. You'll be doing the reading you missed with her, so I'll be able to go on down to the cafeteria and get your lunch and eat it."

Jaden was wavering. I could see the terror rising. The threat of chocolate milk deprivation could do that to you.

"Miss, I know you ain't gonna eat my lunch. You don't even know what we having."

"Pizza, pineapple, and corn. Chocolate milk." Thank you, Miss Smith, for having a very messy desk topped by the lunch menu. But seriously, sub plans go at the top of the pile, not the bottom.

"Chocolate milk?"

"Chocolate milk!" I said, enthusiastically. Time to come back from the edge a bit and get some work out of Jaden. "Although, I don't really like chocolate milk too much. I might let you have the chocolate milk."

"Miss," chided Jaden, "You should like chocolate milk. Everybody likes chocolate milk."

"Well, I'll try it. I used to drink it when I was a kid, but it really tastes too sweet for me now. In fact, maybe I won't eat your lunch tomorrow if I can have a taste of your chocolate milk when I come back some day."

"Sure," said Jaden, now totally thinking about chocolate milk and not about work refusal, "I'll give you some, Miss! It's really great. I love it. Sometimes my mom, she buys it for me, but I always drink it for lunch. I wish I could only drink chocolate milk for the rest of my life."

"I'm looking forward to having some! Look, though, we've only got fifteen minutes before you have to get packed up. Let's see if we can quick get through your reading before it's time to go."

Would he bite?

Jaden sat up straight and picked up a pencil.

"OK, miss. Which questions again?"

"One, two, three, four, and five."

"Oh!" he squealed. "I did five questions yesterday, too! That was easy. This will be so easy."

Thus did the power of humor triumph over the power of eight. The battle was won. Jaden did his work. I never did, unfortunately, have the chance to pretend that I actually was going to drink chocolate milk, because I never subbed in that classroom again. Which is part of the sadness of subbing, but that's for a future post. This post is all about the funny.

Seven

My student, like many autistic kids, repeats a variety of words and phrases throughout the day. It's some kind of self-stimulation, which is great for the kid, but not so great for those of us who don't like to hear AND THEN, THOMAS THUNDERED BY for the 832nd time that day. It can get pretty annoying after a while. Occasionally, at least, you'll get the kids who repeat such random stuff that I can't help but laugh. Like the kid who would make his voice the deepest, growliest voice you ever did hear, cover his mouth with his hand, and then start belting out Frosty the Snowman. Or the kid who would repeat the Microsoft Windows voice-assisted start-up menu. Or the kid who would repeat the DVD menu options... but only in Japanese. They're hilarious. Except when their stim is leaning over really close next to your ear and giving out ear-curdling screams (like my little guy used to do.).

Anyway, my current student doesn't have much language, and what he has is usually unintelligible to those of us who don't watch the television shows he must be watching on a daily basis. Some of what he says I can make out, like I'M JESSICA. No, you're not Jessica, I'll remind him. He usually stares at me, shrieks in annoyance, and tells me I'M JESSICA once again, just louder and that much closer to the don't-tell-me-no-or-I'll-attack-you mood. Ear-curdling screams were so much more my thing.

But more than anything, I really can't stand when my kid repeats one word in particular. He'll say "seven" throughout the day, but he accents the second syllable and drags it out, so it comes out as SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN. It just lacks the entertainment value of demonic Frosty, frankly. It's also killing my summer.

I like Sudoku. In my ever more fervent quest to find relaxing activities that do not involve food and/or vassalizing virtual civilizations and taking their dyes, all the dyes, I try to do Sudoku, but there are numbers in Sudoku.

So, I've put all nine sixes on the grid. I have a four here, and an eight here, so this box must be a SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN.

No, Grace, concentrate. It's summer. Everyone retains at least one item of clothing on their bodies at all times. Your biweekly trips to get your glasses fixed are no longer necessary. You can let your work go and just relax.

So here's the eight, and this much be a sev- SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN.

Seriously, kid? December through June, and you only missed school one day. Let me have my summer.

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN!

At which point I let loose several words that are not appropriate for a classroom environment, throw down my Sudoku puzzle, and go do something else. Like play Civilization.

Oh look, I just met the seventh civilization on the map!

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN!

Shut up, you. I'm playing Civilization right now and it is 770 BC and I'm having fun.

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN!

You're enjoying this, Grace. Just focus on making a trade with Shaka for his dye. It's a good one, he's offering you 7 gold per turn!

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN!

At which point I throw the computer, cry, and go hide under the covers and try to sleep.

But sometimes, when I can't get to sleep, I count from one to one hundred in my head.

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN! SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN! SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN! SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN! 

No! Go away! No! No!

SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN! SEVEEEEEEEEEEEN!

And slowly, ever so slowly, I slip further into oblivious insanity.

Grace accidentally overdoses on....

So, here's a picture of me in a hospital bed looking disturbingly chipper. If I recall, I was happy and smiling because Dan had arrived to cheer me up. The medical staff had also just decided to kick me out of the hospital, which was also quite cheering. I had gone by ambulance to the hospital and had survived, which was probably the best thing that had happened to me in the past 24 hours.

The story begins way, way back when I was very young and my mom was trendy before her time. My mom was all-natural, raw, and organic before 95% of the civilized population would even touch plain yogurt with cream on the top. I have terrified memories of mom's special smoothie that I nicknamed Hair for its hair-like, mangled threads of an unknown green vegetable. A few of my siblings were even subjected to cloth diapers. They functioned like regular diapers, except with pins and periodic visits from the diaper truck (I'd love to know if they still exist) to remove the stinky diapers and provide mom's victims with clean diapers. Long after my mom realized that American mothers overwhelmingly swore by Pampers for a reason, the clean diaper extras hung around our house as cleaning rags. Yes, our dining room table was wiped down for years with diapers. Ponder that statement for a moment. There were other awful things, too, like cod liver oil at breakfast. I'm surprised I lived past the age of twelve.

At any rate, for many years, unfortunately coinciding with most of my childhood, my mom was so hardcore healthy that she didn't do other important things like Tylenol. Actually, I'll qualify that. She did do Tylenol, but only when we were sick, like fever and chills sick. We didn't do Tylenol for, you know, pain. Headache? Pain. Twisted ankle? Pain. Muscle aches? Pain. She told me one time that Advil was bad because it altered your DNA, or something wonky like that. (For the record, my mom saw the errors of her ways after she took Advil once for a migraine and it did things like take away pain. She no longer engages in most of the questionable practices detailed above.) MomLogic was such that meds were bad and would kill you. Pineapple juice infused with two cups of kale was magical.

Understandably, when I was 18, the first thing I did was buy some Tylenol. Then I registered to vote, and because I'm boring, that's all I did with my legality. I'd pop those pills whenever I hurt for more than two or three hours at a time, which was actually pretty rare (no, it wasn't the power of cod liver oil). But I must have popped the pills often enough, because....

In my senior year of college, I had cramps. I took Tylenol. Tylenol did zilch. I took two Tylenol. Two Tylenol did zilch. I was in the library at the time, and I sat down on a chair and just started crying because it hurt so much. I was in quite a bit of pain, but I managed to get myself up to the campus health center. The nurse gave me some kind of pills for the pain. I don't remember what they were, but they worked very well! No pain! The nurse told me to take them every few hours as needed. And so I did, remaining pain-free for the rest of the day. I went to sleep as happy as a clam.

I woke up at 3 AM with my heart beating very rapidly. I was sweating and shaking. I am generally healthy (as in I don't usually get sick, but I do have a lot of fatigue/physical issues) and I didn't know what the heck was happening. I called the ambulance on myself and got a free ride over to the hospital (thanks, insurance that lapsed soon afterwards!).

Once I was admitted, I started to get very anxious. I usually experience anxiety physically before I become anxious mentally. But once I start getting physical symptoms, my mental anxiety goes through the roof. I was so nervous at the thought of kicking the bucket right there and then that I felt like I was crawling out of my skin.

I've found that there are two ways to calm myself down a bit if I am anxious. I can try to out-logicize myself and determine the actual versus the perceived dangers of the situation. Since I was currently possibly near death, I couldn't use that technique. I can also try to distract myself by talking. Sometimes it makes me feel better to just talk about the situation; sometimes it helps to talk about something totally random. And that's how the hospital intern got a quick overview of the development of feudalism. I hope he enjoyed it. Serfs up!

So while I was precariously balancing on a tiny footpath spanning the Great Chasm of Life and Death, they ran a few tests and took an x-ray. After what seemed like an eternity, wait, no, I wasn't there yet because I wasn't dead yet, so after what seemed like very close to an eternity, the intern came back to deliver the death sentence.

Long and short of it, I had accidentally overdosed on the generic pain meds from the health center. At the same time, I hadn't actually taken more than the prescribed dose. I was kind of mystified. How had I overdosed? Well, explained the intern, the pills contained caffeine. I had way too much caffeine, and it had made my heart race.

Let me reiterate. 

I had overdosed. On caffeine. Because I had apparently put the equivalent of a Red Bull into my system.

Caffeine.

Caffeine!

On the plus side, I'm sure I couldn't have been the only person out there who mistook the symptoms of too much caffeine for the symptoms of a heart attack. And I was already the weirdo who coped by spouting random information about feudalism, so the intern probably thought I was just a little kooky, not a hypochondriac.

I blame this little episode on my mother. Caffeine was not good for children. Soda with caffeine was particularly evil. Up until that point, my caffeine intake was probably the equivalent of two cups of coffee per year. I just had no idea what too much caffeine felt like.

I was discharged shortly thereafter, but not before Dan snapped my picture as a commemoration of my discovery of the highly popular stimulant of caffeine. The intern told me that next time I should just take an Advil or two because it worked differently than Tylenol.

I went home and I bought some Advil. While it's probably not news to the rest of the world, I'd just like to say that I do take Advil for most aches and pains, and it works quite well. I do ration the stuff like crazy, though. I have no wish to built up a tolerance.

I also started drinking coffee from that point forward. I discovered I liked coffee. I drank decaf and regular mixed together for a while, but I'll now drink a fully-caffeinated cup as a coping mechanism for my energy-draining job. Hopefully I won't die, and I hope that if I ever get carted off again, I'll have overdosed on something a little less wimpy than caffeine.

Summer vacation begins!

So this is it, guys! I'm finally on summer vacation!

It took sooooo long to get to this point. I know I've probably run this subject into the ground by now, but it's worth repeating, one more time. I had a very long, tough year, where I was put into the (not very fun) position of having to advocate for the kids within the classroom. It really tore me up inside, which is why I keep blabbing about the topic. And I still really, really miss my Little Guy. I hope he's doing okay (I've heard some conflicting reports.... and many non-committal reports... I get the distinct feeling nobody quite knows how he is because nobody's quite thought to look into it). I hope he's retained some of his communication skills (again, I've heard conflicting reports). I think way too much about what I could have done better for him. I think I did all I could, but when you get attached to one of these kids, it never seems like it's enough. I'm not sure where I'll be next year, but I do know that I'll be a very different person from last year, in many ways.

On the plus side, I did get the Little Guy to the point where he had a "vocabulary" of about 20 words (using PECS), which was up from the two words he had when I met him (using signs and PECS). When I left, he could say puzzle, marshmallow, bathroom, fork, spoon, napkin, TV, pillow, blanket, locker, lunchbox, bagel, gym, playground, Potato Head, playdoh, drink, bus, book, and shoes. When I got him he could say marshmallow and bathroom. I really wanted to teach him yes and no, but it was way too abstract for him at that point. But there was definitely progress, at least...

But back to summer vacation....

We just came back from a really wonderful trip to Los Angeles. Well, technically it was a wonderful trip to San Gabriel, which is a suburb of LA with much more affordable hotel rates. And technically it was a Chinese ethnoburb of LA, which was AWESOME. There were dozens of Chinese restaurants within a five minute walk of the hotel, all very good and all very cheap. We spent a huge amount of our time eating everything in sight. I came back much more lumpy than usual, but that's okay, because at least there was jook and scallion pancakes. We went to a few wineries, drove to the beach, went to the California Citrus State Park, went to a few aircraft museums (Dan went and took all these pictures of random airplanes; since I don't know or care I nodded and smiled and said "That's nice, honey," when necessary), went to museum with a replica of a Roman villa and tons of Roman art, met up with relatives, and drove way too much. It was really, really great. Oh, and we had cable television!

Now it's on to the rest of summer vacation, where Grace is ecstatic for about two weeks then dies of boredom until the middle of August. I do teach summer school during July, so I will have some of the structure required for being Grace. I have big plans for this summer, including decorating the house and going to the library regularly, but since I'm Grace, most of my plans will probably not happen due to attention span difficulties. I think I'll be pretty happy if I do get some house stuff done. Our walls are still blank and we've been here a year. I'll also be trying to, well, relax. I know I've mentioned in previous posts that I have huge difficulties trying to relax (and I am very aware of the paradox - if you have to try to relax you're already pushing the issue, which kind of doesn't make it relaxing), and it's really the area of my life where I need to focus, strangely enough. I tend to swing towards extremes - either I'm lying on the couch in a catatonic state for six hours watching football games from 2012 or I'm doing stuff for every minute of my waking hours. Neither of which is good for me. Since my attention span is so short, I start feeling anxious after I've been doing one thing for more than about an hour at a time, but because my attention span is short, I have trouble organizing my time. Yes, relaxing is tough.

The child beatdown

In today's entry, I'm going to give the lowdown on the child beatdown.

I'm not a parent. I wish I were a parent, because then I would finally understand what everyone is talking about when they tell me "Well, when you become a mom, you'll understand". I don't like being clueless and in the dark about something, because then I feel stupid. I'm also convinced that being a mom will make me a better manager of life in general, because I've heard it to be so. I've also heard that the daily expulsion of the bodily emissions of most young children rivals the daily volume of water spilling over Niagara Falls. Having been one of the three lucky people elected to do diaper damage control with a non-verbal, very low-functioning, very large girl whose mother had laced her milk with laxatives, I think I might be ready for that part.

But I think, hopefully, crossing my fingers so I don't look stupid in five years, that I will be a good mom, because I have been well-schooled in the child beatdown.

I've been privileged (?) to experience the gamut of classrooms in the past five-plus years. All kinds of kids, with all kinds of needs, personalities, and attitudes. And unless the child has really severe issues, they all are able to follow directions, shut up, listen, and otherwise avoid being a huge pain in the rear.

And I've been in a lot of classrooms where the kids are all huge pains in the rear. They don't listen to the teacher, or the aide, or whoever has authority in the classroom. They do what they want, and little more. This can happen for one of several different reasons, but one is incredibly common, and it has a quick solution.

Problem: Children do not stop when they are told to stop.
Solution: Child beatdown.

Problem: Children do what they are told, but not before the fifth time they are told.
Solution: Child beatdown.

Problem: Children do whatever the heck they want.
Solution: Child beatdown.

The child beatdown is an ancient method of child control. Not only is it ancient, it's rapidly becoming a lost art. Many people believe they are using the child beatdown and it doesn't work, when instead they are using the child tenderlovingpatontheheaddown, which doesn't work. It's not rocket science, especially to you parents (I'm assuming, since I'm not a parent), but I'm shocked at how many teachers don't use the child beatdown. Heck, I didn't really know that I was supposed to use the child beatdown until about two years ago.

The child beatdown is the fool-proof method of getting kids to listen to you (disclaimer: "kids" meaning small people twelve and under, because after they turn thirteen, they're not kids anymore, they're just surly people who sleep and eat at your house). The beatdown is based on the premise that kids don't give a hoot about what you say, but they do care about what you do. Here's the method.

Scenario: You are working with a child at a table. You are sitting in a chair. The kid is supposed to be sitting in the chair, but instead he's fooling around and is only half sitting on the chair. You want him to sit correctly.

You: Sit nicely. Bottom on the chair, feet on the floor.

The kid keeps wriggling around.

You: Sit nicely, or you will lose your chair and you will have to stand.

The kid keeps wriggling around.

You: You are not sitting nicely. Now you will stand.

The kid stops wriggling around, because he is now standing.

Congratulations! You have just applied the child beatdown! You have told the child you will do something, and you have done something. Depending on the kid, it might take a few more times, but for many kids, they will never again wriggle around on the chair in your presence. And if they do, no sweat, because then they lose the chair and can't wriggle.

This is the step-by-step method of the child beatdown as illustrated above. It can be applied to many common situations where the kid is being a pain in the rear.

Step One. Tell the kid what you want him to do. Tell him exactly what he should do. Niceties are not necessary, and may actually hurt your case (so please, please don't say "Sit, please"). You also have to use the I Mean Business Voice, as described below.
Step Two. Repeat what you want the kid to do. Tell him that if he does not do what you ask, pain, suffering, and beatings (hence the child beatdown) will follow. Be specific about the beatings, too. Things like "If you do that one more time, you'll be in a lot of trouble!" is not specific enough.
Step Three. Tell the kid that he did not do what you asked, and you will now administer the beatings, or whatever it was that you specifically mentioned in Step Two.
Step Four. Relish the look of dawning realization on the kid's face. The child now understands that you are not to be trifled with. He will think twice before crossing you again. Muahahaha.

I could say a lot more about the child beatdown, but I won't. I will simply encourage you to find out for yourself, by administering many beatings. Detailed to the kid before the actual beatings, of course.

And, of course, there's the I Mean Business Voice, which is a wonderful tool to use in conjunction with the child beatdown. I literally practiced talking in this voice in my kitchen, and it works so well it's scary. I work with kids with very limited cognition and receptive language, and they still respond to the I Mean Business Voice. There are only two parts to the Voice.

Tone. Since I taught kids with emotional problems, who comprise one of the few groups of kids with whom you do not want to use the I Mean Business Voice, I kept my voice very light, even, and friendly when trying to use the Voice for quite a while. See, with the behavior kids, they say "F--- you!" and you ignore it until they're calmer, or say something noncommittal, because if you sound threatening in any way shape or form, they will say "F--- you!" about fifty more times in the next five minutes and also possibly try to run out of the building into traffic. True story. Anyway, I digress. When you use the Voice, you do not talk in your normal everyday tone. You shouldn't sound like you're talking to your sister about the movie you saw last night. When using the Voice, use the tone of your everyday voice as a reference, then go about an octave lower. When you speak, enunciate your words clearly, and with oomph. Try to push the child beatdown out of your soul into your words. Speak like this is serious business.
Words. Just... tell the kid what to do. Again, don't add niceties. If you go down an octave and say in your deepest, strongest, most impressive tone "Sit in the chair... thank you", it really loses something. And don't thank the kid for complying. They didn't just do something nice for you that you need to thank them for. They're doing what you asked them to do, which is what you expect anyway. (But if they're sitting nicely in the chair and you didn't have to tell them to sit nicely, by all means, tell the child he's sitting very nicely). AND... just in case you do feel the need to thank the kid for complying, don't thank them for sitting nicely.... while they're not sitting nicely.

So that's what you gotta do if you teach kids. It's probably good for parenting, too, although I wouldn't know. But it really does work. It was always interesting doing this when I was subbing because I only saw the kids periodically. I remember the one kid I had in a group at the beginning of the year. He refused to do his work and fake cried for the half an hour I had him, thus, I did not give him his smiley face for the period. I worked with him about two dozen more times through the rest of the year and never had any kind of problem again. Child beatdown works.