education

Snowpocalypse

Posted on by Erin

A couple of years ago we had a bit of weather I like to remember as “the Snowpocalypse.”  The news has been referring to it as “Snowmaggedon.”  For reals.  (And I’m gonna take that as confirmation that I’m awesome.)  It snowed for days around here.  My car had varied strata of snow deposits on top.  You could excavate the lower layers and make little snow caves while an icy sheet would support a roof bearing more snow. You could carve little penguin and yeti houses inside.  (Hey, you know what? We were stuck in our apartment for days.  DAYS.  I needed something to do.)  

But anyway, it snowed today.  I think it’s still snowing, actually. I am not hoping for a Snowpocalypse II, but I am hoping and praying with all my might for a snow day tomorrow.  That would make for THE most excellent Thanksgiving week ever.  One and a half days of school (or less, if it decides to keep snowing through Monday)…I’m just sayin’, is all.  We prayed for it at Bible study today.

Snow days to most teachers (except those silly ones that don’t like to have to make up days later, weirdos) are like little unexpected gifts from God to let you know He loves you and cares about your mental health.  They are little rays of hope–cold, icy hope. 

FYI, as I’m typing this, my roommate says, “I don’t even want to think about how broken-hearted I’ll be if we don’t have a snow day tomorrow.”  She’s trying to figure out how we could gather up all the snow in our yard and dump it in the superintendent’s driveway. Aside from those drastic measures (which could possibly be construed as some sort of harassment), we’ve got a few more “practical” things we do here. Because they go so far in helping me keep on keepin’ on, I take several steps that I hope will push the likelihood of a snow day from “possible” to “probable.”  I’m sharing with you these secrets in the hopes that you’ll support my campaign for a snow day tomorrow.  They are complex.  If you miss a step, you risk ruining the whole thing.  I’m not playing around here, people.

Step 1: Sleep with a spoon under your pillow. (Easy enough.)

Step 2: Place a marker on your windowsill pointing east. (Slightly more complicated…find a window, figure out which way is east, point your marker tip thattaway.)

Step 3: Sleep with your jammies on inside out and backwards. 

Did you get that? Inside out AND backwards. You should be able to look straight down and see all your tags waving up at you. 

That last step is the one that’s always the most complicated for me.  I have to actually hunt around for different jammies.  Usually I wear a hooded sweatshirt to bed and one of those guys inside out and backwards easily becomes a near-death experience.  I’m willing to risk a spoon possibly digging into the side of my head, but I’m not risking my life for a snow day.

Wait, did you not believe I actually did this?  I totally do.  And my teacher roommate does, too.  This will make year three, and let me just tell you that this method brings results.  (Well, except for that one time that our other roommate, a non-teacher, put her marker in the windowsill facing west.  It was a dark day. Actually, I think it ended up being a sunny day, and therein lies the problem.)

And not only do we put the snow day plan into action in our own home, but I try to spread the scheme around to anyone who seems willing to engage in the silliness with me.  I tell all my kids at school. 

“But what if I can’t do that part? What if my mom won’t let me wear my jammies backwards?”  Well, child, then you need to decide how important this snow day is to you. Do or do not, there is no try.

So, now you’re in on the plan.  Some words of caution: use the technique wisely.  You’ve got to wait for snow to be forecasted. If you start to abuse it by whipping it out in May or whatever, you can expect it to lose its power and you’ll have ruined it for all of us.  I’ll personally make sure you don’t sleep easy. Um–I mean–you’ll  have to live with the guilt that comes with depriving children of the joy that comes with an unexpected day off to play in the snow.  And you’ll have deprived me of free day off in the dark days of winter, right when I need it most.  Think about your choices, is all I’m sayin’.   Think about your choices, and then go grab a spoon, marker, and non-hooded set of jammies right now.  Think of the children.

I’m going to go hose down the streets around the bus barn now, see if I can’t push “probable” into “certain” without getting arrested.

Transformer v. transformer

Posted on by Erin
A 'transformer bank' on a utility pole. It con...
Image via Wikipedia

  

trans·form·er — /trænsˈfɔr mər/  [trans-fawr-mer] –noun

1. Electricity . an electric device consisting essentially of two or more windings wound on the same core, which by electromagnetic induction transforms electric energy from one set of one or more circuits to another set of one or more circuits such that the frequency of the energy remains unchanged while the voltage and current usually change.

 2. a person or thing that transforms, ex: autobots and decepticons.

We had a fairly major windstorm ‘round these parts Monday night. Gusts were above 50 miles per hour. Trees, branches, rooftops, etc., all seemed to lose their bearings and relocate in violent ways. I have yet to talk to a kid or adult who did not spend at least part of their evening without power.  Schools in my district started two hours late on Tuesday and as the kids came pouring in at 11 AM, every single one was amped up and spewed stories of wind-borne chaos.  It was impossible to contain them, I didn’t even try. 

Instead of being like, “Shut up, we’re done with all this storm nonsense, please go back to writing about Thanksgiving,” I said, “HOLY CRAP! Wasn’t that storm the craziest?!”  And then I let them talk.  (That’s pretty much the truth, except I never, ever, ever tell my kids to shut up and I never, ever, ever, say “crap” in the classroom.  Schools come with little potty-mouth alarm systems.  Sirens wail.  The sprinklers go off.)  Over the course of the conversation, it became clear that one of my darlings had confused “transformers,” the big canister/box things that serve some kind of important purpose on power poles, with “Transformers,” of the Autobot and Decepticon varieties.

 The kid said he saw pink and blue lightning.  “Like this! Pew-pew-pew-zzzzzzzap!” He said.

“Oh, that was a transformer,” said a girl who lives in his same neighborhood.

The kid crinkled his nose and looked at her like she’d said, “Oh, yeah, I shot that lightning out of my own fingers.”

“A TRANSFORMER?  No…it was lightning.”

“No, a transformer blew up…they make pink and blue explosions when they blow.” 

“WHAT? Wait….what? How could it be a Transformer? They don’t explode.” 

“Yes,” she said, “they do.  Sometimes when there’s a storm and it’s really windy they explode.  And when they explode they put out pink and blue sparks.”

“But a Transformer?! What are they even doing here?!”

His expression at this point was so confused and so pained.  This girl doesn’t ever joke around and he honestly could not figure out what she was talking about.  Here he thought he’d just seen a windstorm and now she’s telling him it could have been a robot alien war the entire time.

She said, “My uncle told me it must have exploded near their substation.”

I thought his head would pop.  “Their SUBSTATION?!”  She was totally rocking his world.  Now, on top of one exploding Transformer there’s an entire substation full of them in his very own hometown.  He couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, sister, will you please go to the window and show him what you’re talking about,” I directed.  It was hard to watch his little emotional roller-coaster.  The little (tiny) pockets of logical reasoning he encounters in his day were nowhere too be found and he was losing his grip on reality.

She went to the window, directed his eyes towards the power pole, and showed him the boring, grey transformer perched below where the wires connect. 

He sighed a deep sigh of relief. “Okay,” he said, “So it was just lightning after all.” 

“No, it was a transformer.” 

No, guys, we’re done now. There must be some paragraphs I need you to edit somewhere or a concept map that needs drawing.  I’m sure if I dig there are flash cards around here…

Also, for some perspective, the kid that mistook the electrical device for the robot alien is the same kid who ate is own hair.  He also told me once he fought off a six-foot praying mantis with his bare hands. This is why most days I don’t even try to reason with them, I just try to keep the crazy to one subject area at a time.