Math

Two thirds of my class are boys, and those boys are busy and active and sort of wild.  As in, if I turn my back, they all start wrestling.  It's crazy and takes all of my energy to bridle theirs.

I've started doing a few minutes of mindfulness several times during the day.  Activity brain breaks amp them up and we don't need that.  I turn off the lights and tell them to put their heads on their desks and close their eyes.  They mostly do, but they pop up every few seconds.  I play meditation music.  I created a whole playlist.

Friday morning, first thing, I had them calm.  I talked to them gently over the music and told them to think about how they wanted to feel at the end of the day.  I told them to think about whether they wanted to know they were kind and had done their best.  Did they let their bodies be in charge, or their brains be in charge?

Everyone was serene.  All was quiet on the western front.  I turned on the lights and we started in on math.  I felt really good about the climate in the room.

It was going to be a good day!

Suddenly, the quietest shy little girl in the front, positioned strategically between two boys, threw up in her hands.  She looked at me, frozen in panic.  I grabbed the garbage can and brought it to her.  I asked, "Do you need to throw up more?"

She just stared at me, motionless, paralyzed with the trauma of it all I guess.

The rest of the class was not motionless.  The boy next to her, who she'd thrown up on, went over to the sink and started cleaning his leg, which in retrospect seems really mature of him.  Kids started yelling that now they were going to throw up.  The boy on the other side of her slid his desk across the room.

Picture bedlam and then add chaos.  That was the scene.  I sent the poor little girl to the bathroom and told her to wash her hands and face.

I tried to settle things down.  I opened my outside door and my hall door.  We needed airflow.

I pushed the button to call for help from the office.  I sent my sturdiest girl to the bathroom to check on the sick student.

She came back and said, "She's in the stall but she wouldn't answer me."

So I left the mayhem in no one's hands and went to the bathroom.  I coaxed her out of the stall and asked her if she needed to throw up more.  She shook her head, so I guided her out into the hall.  I was met with Julie, an administrator, who had a little throw up bag like you find in the seat pockets of planes.  I said, "Can you take her?"

She said yes and I squared my shoulders and went back into my classroom.

I gave the boy whose leg was thrown up on (luckily he was wearing shorts) an alcohol wipe.

I put wet paper towels on the carpet.

I regained control and told them that if they ever needed to throw up, they didn't need to ask permission, just go to the bathroom or the garbage.

I reassured the ones that still thought they may throw up, that we had fresh air in the classroom and we were all going to be just fine.

A few minutes later, Riley, the head custodian, came in with a guy from the district.  He said, "Are you too warm in here?"

He was puzzled by the open doors.

I told him someone had thrown up.  I said, "Isn't that why you're here?"

He said, "Oh, I heard that had happened, but then I was told it was fine."

It wasn't fine.

He went and got another custodian who came in with a big carpet cleaner and then he and the guy from the district started measuring my cabinets because I am getting new ones (hurray!) because the ones I have are bowed so badly with water damage that the doors don't stay closed.

I doggedly kept trying to do math.

What else was I going to do?

If you ever want an exciting life, teach elementary school.  That is my takeaway.