Christmas Research

On the way to Black Friday crowds, my dad and I were trying to find ways to justify the wheelchair in the back of the car. We had planned this day for weeks, maybe months and we were not about to give up the plan of a fabulous shopping day just because my knee happened to heal faster than expected.

{Originally, I expected to need the wheelchair due to knee surgery, however, I had been walking - with a limp - for several days.}

My dad and I have started shopping the Black Friday sales in the last couple years, mostly for the laughs. People are crazy and we like to witness the craziness. So this year, due to my situation, we borrowed a wheelchair from my parents church, and decided to answer the research question: Are people generally nicer to the wheelchair bound?

I did put the huge leg immobilizer on to make it look a little more legitimate. I did have trouble not laughing multiple times, though, because Dad decided it would be wise to run with me in tow through the parking lot. Also, I felt like a fraud, but...

Anyway, the results: People definitely stare, then quickly avert their eyes, then decide to smile at the wheelchair bound. But the crowds parted like the Red Sea! It was incredible how many "excuse me's" we got. We also got lots of offers for help at Best Buy and even a concerned Best Buy worker asked me what happened. When we went to Lowe's without the wheelchair, no such luck. Busy workers who walked right by us trying to ask for help.

Thus, I highly recommend wheelchair use during holiday shopping.

feet

You know when Cara is at her lowest: when she lets someone touch her feet!

If you are somehow unaware of my foot phobia, well let me tell you --- they gross me out more than almost anything else in the world. I've never had a pedicure, because I can't stand the thought of someone else touching my feel. And people in sandals better just keep their distance or I start flailing.

Today, however, in an attempt to complete my post-op therapy exercises I let my mom help me by supporting my foot! Fortunately/unfortunately the pain was enough to excuse my rule of no feet touching. Who knows maybe I'll be able to stomach a pedicure now....

Oh where, oh where...

has our little remote gone? Oh where, oh where can he be?

So this one time... I had some friends of the male gender who were searching for their tv remote in a hotel room. Unfortunately they decided it would be a good idea to call their sleeping friend, in another state to ask for help (Pretty sure there were a few beers involved).

In a parallel story, my roommate and I have lost our remote. I realize that this isn't a highly tragic event, but when one has searched under all couch cushions, in all drawers, in laundry baskets, under furniture, and even in the freezer (twice) it becomes rather frustrating. 2 days down, who knows how many more we will go....

Roommate quote: "It would make a much better story, if we had both been drunk when the remote was lost."

Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally

I taught Order of Operations on Wednesday of last week. Actually, I should say my great aunt Sally taught order of operations. I realize it has been awhile since most of you worked sixth grade math problems, so here's your refresher course: parentheses, exponents, multiply/divide, add/subtract. Thus, Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally.

Ms. Dean happened to have a "emergency math meeting" that morning, because we ALL know how often those happen.

Here's a picture of my Aunt Sally as well as the Aunt Sally for both the Explorer's and the Pro's teams. What a coincidence!
Now, I must emphasis that I had several students who genuinely didn't realize that it was me behind the pillow butt and grey/blue hair. When I walked into school on the following Thursday one of my students says, and I quote,

Andrew -- "Ms. Dean! Your grandma was here yesterday!"
Me -- "Nope, it was my Aunt."
Andrew -- "Oh yeah, Aunt Sally!"

And he was NOT joking. Oh kids...

Ms., Miss, and Mrs.

If you're ever feeling confident about your single lifestyle, just mention it to a group of sixth graders. I dare you! You will never quite look at the situation the same way.

I was teaching letter writing in my reading class a couple weeks ago, and in an attempt to teach correct Openers, I made the distinction among Ms., Miss and Mrs. Oops. Since then, I've received several interesting and humorous suggestions:

• I'm not going to call you Miss Dean anymore, I'm gonna call you Single Dean!
  
• Miss Dean, I need a picture of you, so I can set up your E-Harmony Page!
• Yeah, if you don't find a match in the first 6 months, the 2nd 6 months are FREE!
  
• You should get married this year, so you can have the wedding here [in my classroom] and we can all come!

They crack me up, and I just needed to share.
Signing out,
- Single Dean

Love My Job!

Last year on Tuesday September 25, I blogged about the fabulous-ness of parent/teacher conferences. And OMG, I just got home from the first night of conferences (yes, it was a 12 hour day) and I'm giddy. I absolutely love meeting the parents and families of my kiddos.

And oh, the glimpses into culture... There really are different concerns of parents depending on their cultural backgrounds. My white parents demand good grades, my Hispanic parents want respectful behavior, and my Marshallese parents just want everyone to be happy. Beyond that, the language barriers actually excite me, as they force me into small usages of my Spanish.

This is what we've been doing recently in math. Graphs, graphs, graphs.....

Survivor starts this week too, like it did last year. What a fabulous week!

I am just THAT cool.

Well, apparently I've got some hidden pop singer genes in me. I really think I would be a hit with the Hispanic middle school girl population. Why the absurdity, you ask? Well Dulce told me this week that my new do makes me look like Rhianna!

So rather than bother with an accurate picture of my new hair style, I thought this would work.


And yes, Brian, Dulce means "sweets" en espanol. I think.