100th Day!

Happy 100th Day of school from First Grade! This was my first time on the teacher side of the 100th Day celebrations and it was a fantastic day for teachers and students alike. I remember my elementary years and how I eagerly anticipated the 100th Day because the number 100 was infinitely large in my young brain. Every morning we count the number of days we have been in school so the excitement has been building since Day 1.

In preparation for the big day, I've been scouring the web for ideas and it seems that almost every school in the US has a school wide celebration. Here, unfortunately, the day usually passes without mention. But not this year. With the help of our larger than life sign, the whole school asked about the significance of the "100" and we gleefully shouted, "Happy 100th Day of School!"

The teacher in my classroom had a marvelous day planned for our little ones. The students wore crowns celebrating that they are now 100 days smarter. We counted 100 things for snack and then grouped them by tens to make a mix of all the snacks. The students refashioned their number "100" (poster board cut outs) into imaginative butterflies, scooters, dumbbells, balloons and rings of fire. The most entertaining part of the day was when the children had to write what they will be like when they are 100. Most assumed that they will have white hair, children and a chauffeur, but one particular child is hoping to have a very special career in 93 years...

Today was the perfect way to celebrate all of our chicos being 100 days smarter & brighter. I loved seeing them so excited about learning and about reaching such a terrific milestone. We ended the day with each child receiving a small diploma noting their accomplishment. There were ecstatic, their enthusiasm and pride radiated throughout the classroom. 100 days smarter and 100 days cuter. 

The Blues & Roses

I've been pretty down lately. Mostly I blame my emotional state on the sinus infection I have been fighting for the past six days. What started out as a small cold with the change in season, turned into a full blown sinus headache that left me home in bed for four days. My doctor enforced quarantine coincided with the Fourth of July, which left me to sit at home and wallow in my homesickness while watching an obscene amount of Friday Night Lights. I haven't eaten a real meal in days and I am tired of my constant state of nausea.

Too much time alone at home resulted in lots of research about my inevitable move back to the States. I began looking up courses to take in my first semester of grad school, I googled apartments that I will never be able to afford and started dreaming what the next- next step will be.

I've been dreaming about theological conversations over coffee and internships in museums. I've been thinking about thesis topics and whether or not I want to get a degree in art history. I've been dreaming about moving to Europe after grad school and getting my PhD.

Then on Thursday, it was back to reality and back to teaching six year olds about fact families. Maybe it was the hunger speaking, but I was in a foul mood yesterday. I nearly broke into tears when thinking about how I just don't want to do this anymore. I didn't feel passionate about any of the work that I was doing and became jealous of all those who calling teaching their vocation.

This morning, as all of Peru erupted into happiness to celebrate Teacher's Day (because everyone has a day), I was resentful. I couldn't understand why there was all this commotion. I wanted to scream out, "And what about theologian's day? Art historian's day? Don't you know, I'm a fake! I'm not a real teacher!"


But then, this afternoon we had a small party to celebrate "our day". Before the party started, one our our sweet boys ran up to me and gave me a dozen roses. He wrapped his arms around my neck and proclaimed, "Happy Day, Miss!", then bounced back to his table. My heart melted. How can I be resentful about a job that allows me to accept flowers from a six year old whose hoodie zips up into a Spiderman mask? How can I possibly be upset about spending my day getting hugs, tying shoes and helping with spelling?

I might not have studied elementary education and at times I might feel lost, but at the end of the day it's just about loving those kids. About teaching them and helping them and showing them how to be decent human beings. I have the rest of my life to get lost in theological discussions and art history theory, but I only have a few more months with these kids. Next year, when my brain feels like it is going to explode from a theology reading, I will miss the days of kids making predications that water is going to explode in the freezer. Or coming out of the bathroom with their jacket on upside down. I will miss their innocence.

So to all you real and maybe not so real teachers out there, Happy Teacher's Day from Peru!

Miss Meghan, Spanish Teacher

Today the Spanish teacher in my classroom was at an off-campus workshop so Miss Meghan filled in for español. Usually, when I lead Spanish class, I do it in English and only say Spanish words when absolutely necessary. This is mostly because I know that I make mistakes in Spanish and I know that I have an accent, which somehow makes me feel like less of an authority figure. And when I am standing in front of 23 kids, I need to emit authority.

I have no idea what happened today, but when it was time for Spanish class, Spanish came rolling off my tongue. So I went with it. I even scolded the children for their notoriously bad behavior in Spanish class compared to their English class. Which is unacceptable, I told them, because it's your native language.

The most difficult part of the class was when I had to give a Spanish spelling test. This test isn't just words, but complete sentences. To top it off, my students are learning the letter j, which is a tricky sound for an English speaker. And of course, nearly half of the words had a j. For example:

Julieta tiene un conejo. (Julia has a rabbit.)

La abeja me pico el ojo. (The bee stung my eye.)

This morning, I practiced with a Peruvian friend so she could correct my pronunciation. At the end of our practice session,  she said it sounded great (major confidence boost!).

I glanced at the tests and they all seemed to do fairly well, thankfully the mistakes they made didn't appear to come from my accent.

Hopefully, this Spanish roll will continue at my hair appointment this evening. I want to change my cut so I can no longer walk in a say, "The same!" I've been brushing up on my haircut vocabulary and I trust my stylist enough to know that we will somehow meet in the middle.

Missing Consonant

As part of our unit on water, yesterday we visited a 1950s submarine that is docked at Lima's main port in Callao. All of our children were brave and climbed down the scary looking ladder. The oohed and awwed over the bunk beds, tiny shower and mannequins stuffed into the kitchen. They courageously made it through the fake explosion, complete with loud sirens, red lights and a fire made of fabric.

As were standing on top of the submarine getting ready to leave, one cute boy showed off his English language skills:

Juan Diego: "Miss Meghan, I know how to say rascacielos in English."
Me: "You do? What is it?"
Juan Diego: (enthusiastically) "Skycrapper!"
Me: "No, Juan Diego, it's skyscraper!"


I adore my inquisitive, energetic, curious and fearless first graders. What an adorable age!

A lesson in function

I started crying on the way to school this morning. It wasn't really triggered by anything but what started as a few small tears soon escalated into a full on emotional breakdown. It took ten minutes of consolation for me to even walk into school and the first thing my students asked me was, "Miss, why are your eyes wet?"

During my kids' music class, I called my parents to hear  some reassuring advice. I questioned: Why am I doing this? Why not go back to the States? Am I passionate about this? I'm 23! At this point I won't be in grad school until my (gasp!) mid-late 20s.

My kids came back from music class and the Spanish teacher came into the classroom. She took one look at me and asked, "Are you ok?" I was able to say, "Yeah, I'm fffiiii..." and then the tears came again. I was so surprised at the onslaught of tears that at this point I was half crying, half laughing at my pathetic self. She took me to the bathroom, calmed me down and offered some very motherly advice.

After pulling myself together, we started to leave for the field trip nightmare. Any field trip induces way too much excitement in six year olds, but especially ones where they get to go shopping to learn about purchasing food. To make matters worse, we were walking on this field trip. The supermarket is close to the school so walking is logical, except when you think about walking with 23 overly excited, unaware six year olds.

We split the class into two groups. I took my group towards the main doors and waited there for the other teacher and her group to come. We were waiting and waiting, the children were chatting and suddenly I hear: "MISS!!!!!" and see six children point to the ground. I look and see what appears to be a splatter of liquid right next to me. I begin to think "What could they have carried that would make this mess? Water? Some kind of fruit? What could they have thrown with that much force...." And then I see it. I look up and see a sweet, six year old face covered in liquid and mysterious chunks.

The liquid was vomit. He had vomited. Without warning. Right. Next. To. Me. 


Immediately my teacher instincts kicked in and I worried about the kid, but he seemed unfazed. Laughing it off as a normal bodily function. This is the same kid who weeks prior, peed on himself then took the plastic bag of urine laced khakis and threw it up and down in the classroom, as if playing a game. Someone needs to tell him that bodily functions are gross.

Of course, at this exact moment, the other group shows up. So now there are 23 children screaming about vomit in an echo inducing overhang. Oh yes, and simultaneously the other teacher realizes she left the money in the classroom and leaves me alone with 23 children screaming about vomit. I am yelling, my voice amplified by the overhang, and trying to get the children away from the vomit. A fifth grade teacher comes out of her classroom and gives me the death stare as she closes her classroom door as if to ask, "Can't you control your students?" Hey, Miss, it's vomit. You come and try to fix it.

From that moment on there were no more tears. A kid had just puked right next to me without warning. No sign of illness or complaints of a stomach. Just a good old fashioned upchuck and then he was fine. The whole situation was too hilarious for more tears. It was all I needed to turn my whole day around.

Soccer helps

I have been struggling to find some sort of connection with boys in my class. The girls are easy- braid their hair, draw pictures with them or show an interest in their baby dolls and you are friends for life. About half of the boys in my class are the in still-so-young-and-sweet phase, which makes it easy to relate to them. Then there´s the other half of the boys, the boys that draw star troopers and robots and pictures of me as a troll. How do I gain respect with them? Finally, I have found the answer.

These boys are obsessed with soccer. La Copa America is currently taking place in Argentina and even morning before class, the boys trade their player stickers like baseball cards. They constantly draw pictures of soccer players. When learning the letter "B" the examples they gave in class were "Barcelona" and "Boca Juniors". In art class, they draw reenactments of games, usually between the US and Peru. Then they entusiastically come up to me screaming, "Miss! Miss! Your country won, your country beat Peru!"

Last Friday, I had to supervise playground time for my class. The transformer drawing, soccer loving group of boys skipped the playground and decided to play a pick up game instead. I was standing around supervising when one of them asked, "Miss, would you like to play?" I haven´t kicked a soccer ball since my days on the high school field, but I gave it a shot. The only rule was, "Miss, don´t kick it too high, it´s not fair if you do."

I kicked and passed and even scored a goal. My team actually passed me the ball instead of sticking to their mantra "Miss, girls can´t play soccer." I rocked the playground soccer field. I have been struggling for weeks to try to get these boys to understand that though my Spanish isn´t perfect and though I´m young, I am still in charge. Well, today I learned that showing off my soccer knowledge is a great way to be in with the boys.

After recess they ran to another teacher, "Miss! The Miss played soccer with us today and she´s really good!" I felt sweet victory when one of the boys ran up to me and asked, "Miss, will you play with us next Friday, too?"

There´s the answer: play some soccer and ask about Peru´s performance in La Copa America, you get them talking and instantly you have rock star status. At last, the ten years of soccer practice in my youth have come in handy.