Deck the Halls with Munky Balz

(This story was originally posted last Christmas, but it is slowly becoming a classic, so I thought I should submit Munky Balz one more time for all to enjoy.)

 Upon first glance at the title of this entry, one might think that this story focused around Curious George learning how to spell because of some amazing cross-curricular spelling lesson taught by his P.E. teacher right before the holiday break. And based upon the number of children's books I've read and PBS cartoons I've watched in the last year, that assumption is well grounded.

But sadly, this post has nothing to do with a curious little monkey or gym class. Instead, we will set our scene at Roosevelt High School, Room A209, AP Biology. In an effort to incorporate more formative assessment into our daily lessons, I was quizzing my kids on the parts of enzymes and the beauty of water's polar nature. The kids would hear my question, write their answers on small, rectangular white boards, and then when I would give them the signal, everyone would flip the white boards around and reveal their answers. (Let it be known on the record, as well, that I am all for teachers adjusting their plans based on what students are or are not truly comprehending, but please, any person with half a brain can usually tell by looking at the degree of glossiness in the eyes, how much or little a student is retaining.) After asking the question, I, too, would write the answer on my own white board and then sit and wait, with the white board's backside facing the students until we were all ready to reveal.

Now, in all fairness, I know that throughout the many years of white board use, students have written some very raunchy text and drawn some very raunchy pictures on the backside of these formative assessment tools. I guess, on this day, I just forgot about all of that.

This was the format for the majority of the lesson in all three of my AP Biology classes that day. Me...sitting up front in my director's chair...asking questions...holding the backside of the white board on my lap...for all my students to see.

It wasn't until the very last period of the day, about 2:30pm, when one student said softly to me, "Hey, you should look at the back of that thing." I turned the white board around and read aloud the message that I had been broadcasting to my students all day: Suck my munky balz. And in case anyone was wondering what munky balz looked like, there was a picture, too.

Yes. Suck my munky balz. Shown proudly for all to see. This infamous formative assessment tool now resides in the third drawer of my lab desk, a constant reminder never to take myself or my job too seriously.

So this holiday season, if you ever find yourself with lists too long and time too short, just remember, "Deck the halls with munky balz! Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night."

Comb jellies

Have you ever had a perfectly sensible thought floating around in your head, but when that thought transformed into a sound wave and made its way out your mouth, you realize that the intended meaning is far different than the actual meaning? I offer you a now-classic science department story to let you know that you're not the only one.

As a 22 year-old biology education major who once thought herself to be calm, cool, collected, and smart, I find myself somehow standing in front of a classroom full of hormonal adolescents talking about the characteristics of the animal kingdom. Just so you can get a feel for how innocent and naive the particular verbal slip on which this story hinders really was, let's reenact the scene.

Me: Alright, kids. Today we're going to learn a little bit about the study of taxonomy. No, we're not stuffing dead animals; instead, we'll be categorizing organisms based on certain characteristics. To start, I'm going to time us for two minutes, and I'd like you to write down any animal that comes to mind. Ready...set...go. (You should do this, too.)

(Two minutes later) Me: OK. Time's up. Check with your neighbors to see if they came up with some ideas that you didn't and add those to your list. Now I'd like you to cross off any animal with fur, legs, or wings. What's left?

We then make a list of the few leftovers on the board. How did you do? What's left on your list of non-furry, leg-less, wing-less animals?

At this point I begin to open the idea of what an animal really is. Can we boil the entire animal kindgom down to things you see in a zoo? Is that how small our view of life really is? I hold up a sponge and ask the kids to describe it. Is this sponge an animal? Yes!

Me: In fact, my favorite animal is something commonly called a comb jelly, and it doesn't look anything like what you'd see at the zoo.

I need to take a Saved by the Bell timeout right here. Please scroll back up to the beginning of this story and look at the picture I've uploaded. How would you describe this cute, little creature to a class full of uninterested teenagers? (Is that a redundant statement?)

Back to the action.

Me: In fact, my favorite animal is something commonly called a comb jelly, and it doesn't look anything like what you'd see at the zoo. They're these cute little sea creatures that have rows of cilia to aid in locomotion. (Blank stares all around.) Well, they kind of remind me of those ping pong balls with velcro on them that you throw at a dart board. (More blank stares.) Oh, yeah. You guys didn't experience the 80's. (So finally, in an exasperated tone, I say...) They look like hairy balls!

The last word actually came out more like "baaaaaaalls", as I was trying my best to somehow put the vibrating air particles back into my mouth before they reached my students’ ears and completed the sound circuit.

How do you recover from telling my pubescent posse that something looked like hairy balls? Needless to say, I have grabbed everyone’s attention, so I just stand there.

“I just said ‘hairy balls’, didn’t I?” I ask.

“Yep,” they say.

“Hum.” I say. And we just sort of look at each other for a moment. I feebly attempt to recover the rest of the class period by asking the kids to write down the characteristics for other kingdoms using their books while I secretly wish invisibility cloaks really did exist.

Something so innocent coming out so horribly. For me, it’s all in a day’s work.

Shut up, Mommy

Yes, you read the title correctly.  A few days ago when I asked Harmony to pick up her crayons, she looked up at me and said, "Shut up, Mommy." 

Let me set the scene a bit.  We had just finished coloring three beautiful circle pictures for Daddy and a few extended family members.  I thought we were bonding, having a moment, connecting at a level that could ward off teen pregnancy, lip piercing, truancy, and other potential high school traumas. 

 So when I asked my little darling to pick up her crayons, the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth was the "sh" word. 

"Shut up, Mommy." 

She just kept looking up at me, saying shut up over and over again.  I froze and thought, "What would Super Nanny do?"  (Like A Big Kid will be coming out with some WWSND bracelets soon.)

I took a deep breath, sat down with her on the couch, and said something truly brilliant like, "We don't talk like that.  That word hurts people's feelings.  Look at Mommy's sad face.  Even if other kids say that word, we don't.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah." 

She looked back at me and repeated her mantra a few more times.  I said, "Go away from me," which started her crying, and that was it.  Now the most pressing issue were the tears and not the words.

I don't feel like I did a good job at this one.  Since the "sh" word incident, she's also come out with "stupid" and a few other words that I prefer we leave out of our familial vocabulary. 

How do you deal with stuff like this? 

MessVal

I never thought I would turn into that parent, but I often find myself limiting the foods that I place in front of the two and a half year old, not based on their nutritional value, but rather based on their messiness value. 

Our local grocer has started a new labeling program called NuVal.  The label rates a food from 1-100 based on its combination of carbs, proteins, and fats.  Most fruits and veggies are 99; Poptarts are in the teens. 

I'm going to start my own labeling program called MessVal.  The messier the food, the higher its score.  So far, I'm giving oatmeal and chocolate cake with frosting a 99.

What else should we add to our list?

Law of Diminishing Returns

I challenge anyone to think of something that fits this criteria:  as you do this activity and the activity produces results, your ability to engage in the original activity greatly diminshes because of the products of the activity. 

Yes, I'm talking about children and the activity of producing them.

Next week is our fourth anniversary, and as I think back to the beginning of our life together, I'm baffled at how much the act of producing children is so greatly inhibitted by the very children that were produced. 

So, I repeat my earlier challenge.  Does any other activity fit this strange description?

Nursing Diapers

So, can someone out there please confirm my insanity? I am convinced that the Old Home Bread Company store on 10th and Cleveland that I drive by almost daily smells exactly like Baby Karis's breastfeeding diapers. Or maybe her diapers smell like that store. Either way, it's freaky.