Do NOT eat the salt!

This week’s art lesson consisted of watercolor paintings and using salt for a cool textural effect. I poured the salt into nasty containers from the art room that have had all manner of disgusting things in them. As I passed out the containers I said “DO NOT eat the salt! These containers have had very yucky things in them that DO NOT go in your bodies.” I look over to see a child is already licking the salt. I said again “I DO NOT want anyone eating the salt from the containers. The salt is to sprinkle in your paint.” Again, I see another child licking his lips. Are ya’ kidding me?

I said “If you heard what I said about the salt, raise your hand.” Doooode. Only half the fricken’ attention deficit first graders raised their hands. So I started calling on each child without a hand raised, one by one, saying “What did I say about the salt?” And after every single one of them finally had their hands raised I said “I’m gonna be pretty upset if I see anyone else eating salt now that I know every single one of you heard me.” I saw a kid eyeing the salt. I caught him with the death glare. “DO NOT eat the salt.”

So today? In fifth grade? Same thing except a Ralph Wiggum-like voice pipes up and says “But I like salt!” Sigh.

 

My name is MWAAAAAAAAA

 Today’s art lesson was Kandinsky’s untitled #629. I even managed to get through today’s lesson without screwing up too bad. I only called the color red, PURPLE once! As soon as the kids came in from recess, one of the girls ran up to me.

Girl: Mrs. Teixeira! Mrs. Teixeira! I’ve named myself something else. I want you to call me by my new name.
Me: Ok. What is it?
Girl: My name is…..(pause for dramatic effect) Mwaaaaaa.
Me: (With the straightest face I could muster) Mwaaaaa, huh?
Girl: (proudly) Yes. Mwaaaaaa.
Me: Ok Mwaaaaaa. Sit down so we can get started.
I had to refer to Mwaaaaa during the course of teaching and I’m praying that all the other children in the class have been notified that Mwaaaa has a new name. Not a single kid asked who Mwaaaa was or missed a beat. (Doooode. Is it really that easy? Cuz I wanna change my name to Mrs. Princess.)

When Mwaaaa finished her project she walked over and handed me her painting. I asked her if she put her name on it. She asked if she could put Mwaaaa on it and I agreed. “But Mrs. Teixeira? I don’t know how to spell Mwaaaa.” I told her MWA would suffice.

When class was over she ran up to me and said “Mrs. Teixeira? The next time I see you I still want to be Mwaaaa.” (that last a is VERY drawn out.) Another girl walked up beside her and said “Yeah and next class I want to be Eeee- Mwaaaaaaa. You have to remember that ok?”

I’ll be needing a new roll sheet, please.

 

How to teach an art lesson on Van Gogh’s Starry Night….

First, talk about Van Gogh’s STARRY NIGHT, movement, color, strokes, etc. Then talk about the SUN. When done, open the floor to questions:

First Grade Student: “Uh, Mrs. Teixeira? Isn’t that the moon?”
Have Mrs. Teixeira turn and look at painting with surprise. Turn back to the student and say:
Me: “Why yes. That is a moon. That would be why the painting is called Starry NIGHT. Mrs. Teixeira needs A LOT MORE COFFEE.”

Sigh. It really happened.

 

The worst advice my parents ever gave me…

Steve and I were talking about the kids the other day and we were talking about colleges and how we didn’t have anything vested in where they went to college. We’ve also repeatedly told the kids that when they grow up, they should do whatever makes them happy. They should pick a major and career that they love. Because we both believe that the key to happiness in life is doing what you love. I’ve mentioned before that I’m back in school on Fridays taking art classes. My parents never felt “Art” was a worthy major and repeatedly told me that I would never make any money doing it. Because to my parents, being happy in life is equivalent to making lots of money. And unfortunately, I listened to this advice and changed my major. This is probably my greatest regret in life. I love art. There’s something magic that happens inside me when I put a brush to canvas or sink my hands into clay on a pottery wheel. It’s soul satisfying. So every Friday, I’m back at the pottery wheel and every Friday I am reminded how much I truly love art. I’m considering going back for my master’s degree in art, although I think I need to wait until the kids are a little older and self sufficient.

Terrible piece of advice #2: There’s nothing wrong with the kids, they’ll be fine/outgrow it/ you’re making him have something wrong. My oldest child has severe sensory integration. He has an ADHD diagnosis, hypotonia (low muscle tone throughout his body) and dysgraphia. On some level, I’ve known since he was an infant that “something was wrong” but every time I voiced my fears, my parents said he’ll be fine/ you’re going to make something wrong etc, etc. He wasn’t diagnosed until he was five. And for those first two to three years after diagnosis my parents fought me tooth and nail about getting him therapy and help. They insisted nothing was wrong with him. They insisted therapy was a waste of time. At 10, he has come a long way, but is still receiving special education assistance. I can not fathom what his life would be like had I listened to that terrible piece of advice. Son #2 would even be worse off. He had significant developmental delays in speech and social areas. I didn’t wait or listen with him. He started various therapies at 16 months old. At seven, he is still receiving private therapy, but he no longer needs special education assistance in school. I am grateful every single day that I didn’t listen to their advice to ignore what I knew was something wrong.

Perhaps the absolutely BEST piece of advice my parents gave me was to dump Steve. When we met, Steve had a major heart condition, called Wofle Parkinson White Syndrome. He nearly died from it one night early in our relationship. His heart went into atrial fibrillation. After hours, I finally convinced him to go to the hospital by telling him I was calling 911 AND the police if he didn’t go. Two minutes after we walked in the door of the hospital, Steve had a blood pressure of 86/84 (no blood pressure) and a heartbeat of 320 beats per minute. Every available nurse, doctor and paramedic was in the room trying to save him. At one point, I heard two nurses saying he wasn’t going to make it. Steve was finally properly diagnosed a few weeks later. He had surgery later that year to correct it and now has normal heart function. My mother constantly told me “You should NOT be involved with anyone with a medical condition.” What was truly behind my parents motivation was that Steve did not come from a wealthy family. And the real reason was that he wasn’t rich. He was from “the other side of the tracks.” I am so grateful Every. Single. Day. that I ignored this advice.

I hope that I never give my children advice based on my own baggage or motivations. That my judgement is not clouded by my own aspirations for them, but by what is truly best for them. So how about you? What was the worst piece/pieces of advice your parents ever gave you?

 

I think I’ll come back later….

I scare the principal. I know fear. I can see it in his eyes. He sees me and wonders what classroom of the school have I destroyed today? Halloween last year was the last time I was pretty sure I was going to be banned from entering classrooms anymore. Until today.

It all started in Spain. Seeing a whole bunch of work by Antonio Gaudi, I was inspired. I thought Gaudi was more artist than architect. I decided to take on a huge mosiac project with the kids. I bought real tile at Home Depot, smashed it up with a hammer and brought it in. The kids were fascinated and thrilled to be doing real mosiac (not those crappy paper mosiacs or plastic jewel mosiac.) I tell you, they were just as passionate about it as I was because they willingly gave up their recess the day we laid the tile. One child gave an oral report on Gaudi the next day.

We were supposed to grout it today and the kids have eagerly waited an entire week to grout. However, you know the craft mosiac grout you buy at Michael’s? NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. I tried 5 craft and hobby stores. An hour before I was supposed to teach I realized I had run out of time to find it. So I went to Home Depot and bought the real grout. The kind that’s in your bathroom. I was scared. Grout is already hard enough to work with. But the real stuff in the hands of 24 ten year olds? It strikes fear in my heart just typing that.

As it turns out, my fear was more than warranted. An hour into the project, the desks were flooded and the entire room was grouted except the celing. Although I suspect if I checked, someone probably got grout there too. Did I mention this was REAL grout? So the desks, chairs, floors, door handles, sinks, countertops and the children were grouted. They had grout in their hair, on their clothes and in their shoes. The teacher had to call the janitor in because the grout stopped up the sink. But did that slow the kids down? Oh no it did not.

And in the middle of 24 grouted kids, desks, chairs, floors, door handles, sinks, and countertops, in walks the principal. It’s like the dude has some sort of destruction radar. He opens the door, takes two steps in, sees the mess and sees me, raises his arms in the air, like something might get on him and says “Uhhhh, I think I’ll come back later.”

 

Drawing outside the lines

I like to think outside the box. Give me a box and I’m going to try and figure out how to do something different than everyone else. I’m like that.

Curriculum dictates that tomorrow I am supposed to teach a first grade art lesson on the Mona Lisa. Dude. Have you ever seen a first grader try to draw a portrait? It ain’t pretty. Stick figures abound. In first grade it’s hard to even get them to draw all the components of a face: eyes, nose, mouth, so you can forget about some artful portrait. So me? Being the rebel that I am, I have decided that fine, we will do portraits tomorrow. We will even draw faces. BUT. We are doing snowman portraits. Because I like to draw outside the lines. I mock the Mona. The director of this program is going to hate me…. 

 

I am not old yet…

Yesterday I was teaching fifth grade art. I try to look hip when I go into the fifth grade. I do cover up the cleavage, but go for the conservative hip look.  It starts to become important to the kids that their mom is not the dork in the high water granny pants. I also put my hair in a ponytail, because I’ve discovered that if I don’t, the kids will paint, glue and/or cut my hair. I need to protect the merchandise.

So I’m teaching the lesson and I said “Turn your projects over and write your names on the back so I can read it. That means write it in a color I can see and write clearly and legibly. My eyes are old.” And three kids yelled out “You’re not old!” (Not one of those three were my son, thankyouverymuch.)

God, I love those kids. Cuz you know, at that age, they don’t say stuff to be nice. They call ‘em as they see ‘em. Which means, I. am. not. old. yet.

 

And they said I’d never use an art degree…

I can’t decide whether or not you’ll be surprised that I was originally an art major in college. I really don’t play the part of a brooding artist. I’ve never dyed my hair and I’ve never worn all black. The only thing that’s pierced on me are my ears. So it’s probably fairly obvious to you that I didn’t fit in so well with the art crowd. I was far too normal….. I heard that! Shut up. I can be normal. But with every class I took, I felt more and more out of sync with the other students. My minor was in Spanish, and I definitely fit in with those guys better.

During my junior year, I had to take an elective so I took an advertising class and I fell in love. These were my people and advertising combined art and business! And hey, I could probably make some money doing this, because “starving artist” didn’t quite appeal to me. So I filled out my paperwork, marched over to the Journalism and Mass Communications  department and changed my major. I had already accumulated enough credits to have a minor in art, so that’s what I ended up with. I have a BS in Advertising and minors in Spanish and Art.

I had been brainwashed into believing I’d never use an art degree. This is truly the greatest regret of my life and I tend to live regret-free. I love art. I love all things art. Only a person who truly loves art could spend an entire semester on color and absolutely love it. And the actual field of advertising I ended up hating. It turned out that the only thing I loved about it had been the art part. I would have been better off with a degree in Journalism. Or so said one of my professors who had been a reporter for CNN for 20 years. I was grilling him over a project we had to do and exasperated he said “You should really think about changing your major to journalism! You’d make one hell of a reporter.” Lol. But alas, it wasn’t in the cards.

I guess you can say that the hobbies I pick up are creative/ art type hobbies. And I do teach art (volunteer) at my children’s school, but it still doesn’t quite satisfy the itch. I’m toying with the idea of going back to school and getting a master’s degree in art. Both kids will finally be in school all day in the fall and I’ll have so much time to myself I won’t know what to do with myself! I guess I’ll see how it all plays out. My plan right now is to just start taking some classes and see where it leads me. Unfortunately, I’m not 20 miles from one of the West Coast’s top art colleges anymore.

I have to say though that I’m 15 or so years out of college and I never use anything I learned in advertising anymore. However, the art stuff really comes in handy sometimes. Like when we were moving and wanted to touch up the paint in our house and found out they didn’t make the paint color we needed anymore? I told Steve I would mix some paint by hand and touch up. He was frustrated and irritated and snapped “We don’t have time for you to spend three days and countless hours trying to match the paint! It will look like hell!” I got it right on the second try. And it was flawless. You couldn’t even tell. Hey, I didn’t spend a semester on color for nothin’!

So remember that 6 week long project son #1 has been working on? Well last night he was in a rush to finish it and he blew it. Totally screwed up hours and hours of work. He cried and cried and I was finally able to help him salvage it. He just had a few things left to do tonight and he tried to rush through it again and it went FUBAR. I mean, I had tears in my eyes because I thought there was no way we’d be able to recover this. And it’s due tomorrow so there wasn’t time to redo it. And I was ticked at him. I had repeatedly warned him to slow down, use pencil and be careful, and he just completely ignored me. So while he threw himself on his bed and cried his eyes out, I wore a hole in the carpet walking circles around the project and thinking about how this could be fixed. I finally decided I was going to have to mix up some paint to match the color of the poster board and carefully paint over the lines he had drawn in sharpie marker. About 20 minutes later he came downstairs and saw what I was doing. “Oh thank GOD!” He sagged with relief. “Oh thank God, thank God, thank GOD you have an art degree. NO ONE but you could have ever figured out how to fix this, Mom. Oh thank God, thank God.” He did a lot of God thanking. lol. And in the end, you can’t tell his project was a total wreck. It even looks like he decorated it on purpose that way. And they said I’d never use an art degree……