Dueling Banjos

I have come up with a nickname for New Boy C all by myself.  (Yay me.)

Y'see, there's this guy at Disneyland that comes on the loudspeaker for announcements:  "Ladies and gentlemen, in just 15 minutes the skies above Sleeping Beauty Castle...."  I call him Mr. Voice.

Mr. Voice has that kind of deep announcer voice that just...well, grabs your attention.

New Boy C is now Mr. Voice.

Mr. Voice -- the school one, not the Disney one -- likes to be loud.  In fact, the more he doesn't want to do something, the louder he gets.

Mr. Voice also has a great sense of humor.  He was fiddling with the volume on our teaching game the other day, and would chuckle every time I asked him to turn it back down.  I don't much care what psych and IQ testing and even his school performance says (psych testing is skewed against folks with autism anyway): this is one bright cookie.

Anyway, he figured out that M copies everybody.  So today, he made a noise, kind of a loud grunt.  M copied him.  His eyes lit up and he grinned.

He made another noise, a bit louder.  M, now beaming herself, copied him.

Sometimes it was vocalizations (noises, grunts, squeals), sometimes it was scripting, but back and forth it went, louder and louder and louder.

It was Dueling Banjos: The Screaming Version.

If it hadn't made the rest of the kids (and me) crazy, it'd have been funny.  As it was, apparently my behavior management mojo deserted me today, and I had a hard time redirecting either of them.

By the time I went to the office to sign my 2-week attendance paper, I was twitching and losing words...our poor office clerk had to decipher,  "I have to...sign the...the...the thing."

But, at least my day wasn't as dramatic as Cat's.  (Sorry, Cat.)

Another Boring Day

In history, not at school. Those are not boring. Though I'd take one day of borning. Just for fun.

Also? The clouds are making me miss the eclipse. Boo.

Perspective

Like most people, I occasionally use my blog as a place to vent and whine, especially when I don't have time to write creatively.  And I probably will again.

But for my 400th post tonight, I figured I'd go a different route.

I was working on next week's homework on Sparky Jr., my aging PC.  It gave me the predictable "OMG YOU'RE OUT OF RAM" error, followed by the "I WILL NOW USE YOUR HARD DRIVE (a.k.a. "page file") AS FAKE RAM; AS A RESULT, YOUR COMPUTER WILL SLOW TO A CRAWL," followed by the "OMG, I USED ALL YOUR DISK SPACE FOR THE PAGE FILE; PLEASE DELETE FILES SO I CAN USE MORE."

In other words, Sparky Junior is sick.

(Sounds like whining, I know -- just go with me here.)

Instead of getting annoyed, I thought about how my shower doesn't shock me, there are no alligators outside my door, and I can count on electricity any time of the day.

(Huh???? You are now asking.  I know.)

A while back, I mentioned, I think, my surprise at discovering that the girl on Signing Time was none other than the little girl I met when I first started working as an aide, who realized -- at the age of maybe 5 -- that although I sign some, I had no idea what the other kids were saying, and slowly told me her name was L - E - A - H.

Well, I discovered that Leah's mom Rachel has a blog, right around the time she was preparing a trip to Ghana (either with the help of, or in association with, Signs of Hope International -- I forget which).

Yep, Ghana.

Now that they're back, Rachel has been posting a trip report of their trip to Ghana.  It's fascinating, and more than a little sobering.

And then I read Day 8, which contained an account of their tour of a castle built during the slave trade.  They toured places where slaves had been kept, and where difficult slaves were kept.  I don't want to "spoil" it, but suffice it to say, Leah's reaction to the whole thing -- especially her matter-of-fact declaration (reported by her mom, but still) of what she would have done in the same circumstances -- was...well, thought-provoking is putting it mildly.

But it makes you think.  Yeah, Sparky Jr. is about to self-destruct, and, yeah, I've been trying really hard to come down with the flu for the last two weeks...but I'm not going to be shoved into a dark cell and holed up until I die.  I don't have to worry about being eaten by an alligator while I go to get my tooth brush.

I don't even have to worry about my shower shocking me.

We take a lot -- a lot -- for granted, and I think it's good once in a while to think about that.

Memo to Self

If toner dust explodes all over you when you open the box, it's a
pretty clear sign that the toner cartridge is defective.

1. Sigh.

2. Ewwww.

And Then There Were 134

Best Disney World Pictures

Between Patrick and myself, we took 3,454 pictures at Disney World in the summer.  iPhoto lets you rate pictures with 1 to 5 stars.  I first culled them down to four star images (389) and then pared those down to the really good ones.  As I said before, the main culprit in keeping an image a 4 star or less, as opposed to the 5 star images, were the darned skies.

You will also notice lots of nature photography herein.  Someday, when I'm rich, I really should buy a real macro lens.  And, of course, there's quite a bit of my favorite subject: water.

For the record: Patrick and I come by it honestly.  Our dad was a big photography buff, to the point that he developed his own photos (only in black and white; he was allergic to something you use to develop in color) and has a rather extensive collections of lenses that likely won't fit my aging first-generation Rebel.

I Hate Skies

So I'm trying to stay awake after my power nap turned into 2 hours earlier today by finally starting to cull out the really good Disney World pictures from this summer (yeah, I know)...and I've discovered something:  probably 1 in 10 pictures that would otherwise be awesome if I hadn't overexposed the darn sky.  This is more common in the morning pictures when it was gray and overcast, but it pops up just about everywhere.  Grrr.

By the way -- I have a million dollar idea I'm giving away for free: photography classes for people with intellectual disabilities...Patrick takes some very nice photos -- even the ones with weird subjects, as Aide T pointed out, show a good eye for lines and textures.  Plus, it's neat to see what he thinks is interesting and how he views the world.

(Once I pick out the 5 star photos, I'll upload them to Picasa so y'all can see them.  But I have 1000 more to go through.)

Costco, Here I Come

I have found my new Seldane.

Let me 'splain.

When I was 12, 13, and just starting to have really bad allergies, my friend's mom -- a nurse -- totally didn't give me and my mom free samples of a nifty allergy medicine called Seldane.

It was awesome.  It worked beautifully.  Stopped my itchy throat (the one allergy symptom I just can't tolerate) in its tracks.

There was only one problem.

Some people didn't read the drug interaction warnings, took Seldane and...something, and died.

No more Seldane.

I have been making do with 4 hour Chlor-Trimeton (only 4 hour; the other dosages just don't work for me), which is difficult to find and only sporadically available, since.

Then, last time I was at Costco (to buy this; yum) I saw that Zyrtec is now available over the counter.  After some investigating, it seems that the double pack at Costco is more or less what Walmart charges for one pack.

But $25 is a lot to spend on something that might make me loopy like Claritin or not work at all like the Allegra I totally didn't borrow from Patrick once.

Well, Ralphs had a packet of five.

Oh.  My.  God.

Unless I wake up with a green forehead or some other ridiculous side effect...I finally have my Seldane back!

(Those of you who don't have allergies will not understand my elation.  Those that do...will.)

Psychology

You know how you see something every day until you need it? After re-reading the info in their catalog, I've decided to give the Test Me part of Switching on American History a try. It seemed too simple last time, but I've realized that I probably just wasn't setting it up right.

Except that, of course, it's nowhere to be found. Grr. I know I've seen it multiple times just in the last month, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out where it might be.

Meanwhile, New Boy C started today. Either whoever wrote his IEP neglected to mention that everything they said he could do was done with full hand-over-hand prompting, or he was way more traumatized than he appeared. Yikes!

It's not that I mind having to go back and teach more basic skills...that's no big. It's just that it bothers me that they skipped matching pictures, letters, and words and identifying pictures, etc., and went straight into the stuff they said he could do.

We shall see.

Also? Walmart had fake fur in the art department. I am going to see if it would be an acceptable "hair" substitute for M.

Also:  Ha!

Edited to add the d'oh moment of the day:

Me:  (after watching New Boy C be prompted to look inside his snack)  Wooow, we've got some prompt dependence going on.

Aide J:  That's bad?

Me:  ** brain broken **     ** brain broken **   *** abort / retry / fail ***

Aide T:  Uh...yes.

And Another One

"The twenty-first century: mankind has colonized the last unexplored region on Earth -- the ocean."

Roy Scheider has joined Jonathan Brandis in the great ocean in the sky.  Boo.  :-(

Edited to add:  Yeah, yeah, Jaws.  I was a SeaQuest girl.

The Illusion of Security

Note to DHS computer crawlers: Any circumstances described herein are purely hypothetical.

A while back, I promised a post on security at the Happiest Place on Earth, and then promptly got distracted by the usual stuff.  Having been there today, I decided to revisit the topic.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For the descendants of hardy, self-sufficient pioneers who braved treacherous seas and crossed continents on foot, we've become a bunch of chickens.  I mean, read Little House on the Prairie -- any of you crossed a raging river in a covered wagon lately?

I thought so.

Interestingly enough, I think you can still see some of these character traits in the adrenaline junkies of our time -- the ones who climb mountains because they're there...because they want the challenge, the thrill.

And yet.

And yet, when we feel threatened, we're a knee-jerk-reaction society.  It doesn't help that we're litigious as well.

Case in point: we put ridiculous warnings on things that shouldn't require warnings.  Like taking the baby out of the stroller before you fold it.  But someone, somewhere, was dumb enough to do that, so the company went (knee-jerk) ohmigod we'd better tell people not to do that before they sue us (litigious).

So, after the September 11th attacks, people were trying to figure out other places terrorists might target and assumed (rightly; who knows?) that striking Disneyland or Disney World -- places of perceived innocence and channeling your inner child -- would psychologically hurt.

Okay, fair enough.  Reasonable assumption there.

So what do they do?

Set up security stations where they check your bags.

(Except at Disney World, where they -- intelligently -- have a separate "guests without bags" entrance where you walk in as a security guard looks at you.)

But here's the thing.

Actually, here's Thing Number 1:  What's to say someone didn't dig out the innards of that digital camera and replace it with some plastic explosive, anthrax, or other terrorist-like material?  If you just do a visual inspection, what's the point?

And Thing Number 2:  On many occasions, I have walked right into Disneyland wearing a windbreaker with a large pouch in the front, and have not been stopped by security.  That pouch has contained, variously, iPods, digital cameras, iPhones, cell phones, wallets, and various and sundry other things.

Because that pouch was part of my clothing, and not a separate "bag," it was not inspected.

At this point, I say simply:  See Thing Number 1.

And, finally, Thing Number 3:  On other occasions, I have walked right into both Disneyland and Disney World with pockets full of various electronics, medicines, and a variety of other substances that, while perfectly benign while I carried them, could certainly have been something else.

So, I must ask:  What on Earth is the point of all this?  You stand in long lines to have your bags looked through to absolutely no useful security effect.

Why?

Because it makes people -- or, at least, people who don't stop and think about things like this -- feel better.

Just like making people use plastic forks on airplanes makes people feel better, when I could snap off an arm of my glasses and make a perfectly serviceable poking device, useful for inflicting bodily injury on myself or others.

Just like installing security doors in cockpits that only the pilots can open and INCLUDING A FRELLING KEY-LOCK that (I must assume) is pick-able.

Because the illusion -- the appearance -- of safety is all we care about.  We don't think about the uselessness or pointlessness of it all.  We don't think about the fact that terrorism has existed for years and -- while, yeah, it was awful for it to hit us in such a visceral way -- will continue to exist.  We don't think about the fact that flagging one-way tickets is ridiculous, as terrorists would just buy round trip tickets without planning on using the second half.

WE.  DON'T.  THINK.

Instead, we react.  We get knee-jerk-y and emotional.  And we comfort ourselves by making things look safer -- imagine the outcry if Disney hadn't started checking bags (for bombs and poisons and whatnot that STILL BE THERE) after September 11th?

Imagine the outcry if they took the ridiculous security station out now?

And, just imagine what will happen when the next attack comes, and it's a train.  Or a boat.  Or a suicide bomber running into an airport or other crowded place, knowing police are following him and shooting at him and not caring 'cause...well, 'cause he's gonna explode in 30 seconds anyway?

I don't know that there's a good answer, but I do know this: those green-covered tents do absolutely nothing other than placate the masses, and that's sad.  We need to start thinking with our heads again.  We're the country that decided it could go to the moon in a decade and DID, forty years ago.  We're smart.

This isn't smart.  It's an illusion, and if we spend too much time immersing ourselves in the feel-good illusion, we'll be that much more shocked when something else bad happens...assuming we know how to deal with it at all, and I'm not at all sure that we do.

"You either live life -- bruises, skinned knees, and all -- or you turn your back on it and start dying."  -- Captain Christopher Pike, "The Cage."

Fog and Parents

The tetanus-booster-induced fog continues.  Added to that, I think my immune system -- which was already fighting the plague going through our school (one aide works in a 2nd grade class of 18 in the mornings; on Monday no less than 10 kids, the teacher, and Aide B were all out sick) -- has given up.  It probably was the tetanus booster and hep-B booster that was too much for it.

 Now, about parents.

My allergies were also nuts today, plus the cold and brain fog.  Aide S was feeling sick.  Then I, like a dork, had the kids run on the track this morning, which sent Superhero's allergies into overdrive -- and this is when we get behavioral squalls, so to speak.

So he had a rough day.

Fortunately, he has an awesome mom.  How awesome?  I can say to Superhero, "If you don't stop, I will have to tell mom you lost your privilege (DVDs) tonight," and she'll do it!

Every year, I have a range of parents; this year is no different.

Angel has a foster family.  Sleeping Beauty's parents are both doctors; they are actively involved in the school, but can't always come to school if, for instance, she's sick, and since their entire extended family is in another country, that has made for a few naps on the beanbag.  The Boss's mom struggles but she's also been good backup in the past; once, when The Boss got in trouble, she made sure to pick her up at school the next day and read her the riot act in front of me.

Superhero's mom, as I said above, is made of awesome.  M's parents both have cognitive disabilities themselves, and while I've known parents with cognitive disabilities who were wonderful parents -- and who had very good support themselves -- they struggle.  Bulldozer's parents talk a good game, but also hand feed him and do some other ridiculous things.  I think they mean well -- his dad in particular understands he needs discipline -- but don't really get it.

Elastigirl's father is on dialysis and her mom really struggles but genuinely, truly, tries her best.

And of course there's PH's mom, who is from the far side of the moon.

And by "moon," I mean Pluto's moon Charon.

Or maybe something further out into outer space.

The moral of this story is: I don't care if you're an expert (Elastigirl's mom) or if you're genuinely unavailable (Sleeping Beauty's family) or if your job makes you 10 minutes late to pick up your daughter (Space Cadet J -- now a 7th grader).  If you genuinely care and genuinely try, you are awesome.

To any parents reading this: I'd be willing to bet your kids' teachers feel the same way.

The Baseball Cometh

The last time I had a tetanus booster, my arm swelled up like there was a tennis ball under my skin.

But I was a little girl then, and although that was enormous at the time, it doesn't do justice to the Moya-shaped growth that is appearing on my right arm.  It's at least baseball sized -- although oddly it's not swelling out (vertically) as much as the tenderness, slight swelling, and...hardness (?) of the skin (touch your arm relaxed and then with flexed muscles...my arm feels flexed) is swelling horizontally.

On the plus side, the brain fog that enveloped me after the doctor's appointment -- a mix of reaction to the blood draw, the tension about that, the two vaccines, and such -- is slowly abating.

Just don't ask me what the Simpsons I just watched was about.

Also: Memo to Vampire

Yes,  you.  The one who first tried to take my blood.

I sympathize with you.  I really do.  I know my veins are deep, and thus, hard to find.  Really.

But knowing that failed blood draws can leave painful bruising should have at least led you to NOT put a very adhesive, cheapie band-aid (that meant it was virtually impossible to bend my arm, thus making me want to take it off and replace at the first opportunity) with Super Glue adhesive.

Cotton ball and tape.  Good things.

Things that don't hurt like a mother-you-know-what-er to pull off.

Our Office Managers Think My Priorities are Skewed

Why, do you ask?

Well, I was bitten on the arm today, hard enough to break the skin -- which, per district policy, meant I had to go to the worker's comp place and get a blood test.

Being very much not a fan of needles, I was very freaked out about this.

The bite?  Meh, not so much.  Yeah, it hurt, but here's the thing.

It's not pleasant, but one of the realities of dealing with kids with special needs in general and kids with more severe disabilities in particular is that often they have moments with undesirable behaviors.  Most often, those behaviors are an attempt to communicate something, to fill some need, and it's my job as a teacher to teach alternatives.

But you know going into it that there's risk.  I've been scratched, had my hair pulled, had my...er...chestal area pinched, been pinched, been head-butted.  A friend's foot was broken when one of her kids stomped on it.  It truly doesn't bother me -- I'd rather deal with a kid that scratches than a kid that whines all day.

Oddly enough, even though this is my fifth year of teaching, and even though I had a child for two years that bit everybody and everything, including himself, and even though I had a different child for a year and a half who was famous for biting a tree one day, I had never been bitten before.

It hurts, but not for a while.  My arm went numb for about twenty minutes, then started to ache.  It's swollen now and is going to bruise, but what hurts worse is the spot on my arm where they tried to draw blood and failed (ouch).

So, in my left arm, I have a poke from the Hepatitis B booster they made me take, as well as the poke on the inside of my elbow from where the good technician at the lab took blood.  In my right arm, I have my rapidly-swelling tetanus booster (I got it about 4.5 hours ago now and it's already visibly swollen), the very painful poke where the guy at the worker's comp place tried and failed to get my blood, and the bite itself.

Aide J was still out today, which was definitely a blessing.  The official Room Mine policy is "don't lie but don't volunteer" because Aide J knowing Bulldozer bit my arm will result in two things: (1) she will freak out and be all falsely mothery over a very-unperturbed me and (2) she will take every opportunity she has to "remind" Bulldozer to be nice and will probably work him back up into meltdown mode.

Meanwhile, my student teacher started today.  She hadn't been there 20 minutes when Bulldozer bit me...but she didn't run away, so that's a plus.

And I'm still more concerned over the "four blood tests over six months" policy than I am over the bite itself...that's just a scrape that happened to be caused by teeth.

The office managers think I'm nuts.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Elastigirl is still out sick. As near as I could get from my conversation with her mother, she has something "contagious" and has been on medicine for it but needs different medicine.

Thus, Aide J has been available to...err...help...the other kids.

Bulldozer has done pretty well this week, but Superhero's had it rough. He was better today but spent nearly all day yesterday with me (Aide S was out getting her knee MRIs redone; he may have to have more surgery). Aide S can keep him simmered, but even when I told Aide J to do certain things, she (as usual) kept harping on him.

I use "harping" deliberatly -- just like PH, she picks and picks and picks and picks. Her praise is...unenthusiastic and clearly not heartfelt. (Or, so it sounds, which is all that matters.) Her redirections are wordy and judgmental. Turns out even our psychologist had tried to explain to her to back off from certain kids, but no dice.

Anyhow, poor The Boss and PH somehow always end up on the receiving ends of her attitude. (Granted, The Boss was pushing it today -- with lots of flouncy teenager attitude and such.)

Anyway, it's time for journals. Sleeping Beauty (formerly known as Princess) is not at school, nor is Elastigirl. New Boy C has not started yet. So it's 6 kids and four adults. The zipper on M's jacket broke this morning, thus messing with her perception of the entire freaking universe, and she was an absolute wreck. I was with Superhero. Aide T was with Bulldozer and PH. The Boss moved over there.

Aide J approaches while I'm up getting something. "Bulldozer, can I help you with your work?"

(My martyr complex, let me show you it.)

"No. Aide T."

(Hmmm.)

So, she goes and sits next to M and Aide S, to help calm M down.

A while later, it was time for science. Superhero was iffy, but I felt like he was more or less under control.

Except that Aide J asked him, "Superhero, may I go with you to science?"

"No."

She eventually talks him into going, and I predict that they will be back nearly immediately. (They weren't, but I attribute that to the peer pressure factor; after a rocky first couple of weeks, he's generally an angel in his general ed classes.)

Things rock and roll for a while. I am planning on using these for New Boy C and for a second communication option for Elastigirl. Because Superhero is that kinda kid, I gave him one for his desk too (he'd have been all over the other kids' and getting into trouble) that has his own voice recorded saying "help please."

Right now, we're in the "oooh, cool!" stage, wherein he pushes the button repeatedly. Aide J threatened to take it away. I said, "No, we have to respond to this like we'd respond to another kid talking."

She tried to take it away again this afternoon, but caught my dark look. Meanwhile, I said, "R, I will help you when it's your turn," and didn't respond anymore.

But that was a tangent.

It's after News-2-You time, and we're splitting up into working groups. I have Bulldozer and Superhero because Aide S and Aide J are working together, and while I trust Aide S with either of them, she also had M.

Aide J went over to The Boss (girl J) and said, "The Boss, can I help you with your work?"

"No."

(Yeah....)

Then, after lunch, Superhero was doing his usual hyper-giggling thing. Aide S was redirecting him beautifully -- no words, just moving closer or farther away as the situation warranted. Aide J stepped in several times, escalating Superhero to the point that Aide S had to hold his desk so he wouldn't push it over.

Then, when the sixth graders had to leave for their Family Life presentation, she says (are you ready for it?), "Superhero, are you ready to go with me?"

He spit on her.

I think that's a "no."

At that point, Superhero wasn't ready to go anyway, so she left with Angel, while S waited calmly and patiently until he was able to put his shoes and glasses back on. She even (go Aide S!) asked if he wanted to walk there on his own.

He said he did, but I caught her eye and mouthed "Follow him, please."

"Ooooh, yeah," she mouthed back.

Go Aide S!

Meanwhile, I'm pondering whether or not Aide J will notice that on four separate occassions today, kids told her they did not want to be around her.

I mean...that kinda suggests it's time to reflect. Particularly since Aides S, Mrs. B, and T, and I are the ones making them do the hard stuff most times...if anybody, they should dislike us.

In other news, our program specialist recommended me to be a master teacher for a student teacher from CLU. I am (1) appreciative (I mean, nice compliment, yeah?), (2) happy (another body! woo-hoo!), (3) slightly annoyed (like I don't have enough to worry about in the Grown Ups department...Aide S needing more surgery now shooting right up to the top of that list), (4) resigned (when the program specialist recommends you for a job, you do it), (5) happy (master teacher = stipend), and (6) dreading having one more person to worry about.

On the other hand, maybe Aide J will listen to her.

And then I'll ride my flying pig home.

Zero Means None

While I realize that overwhelming majorities in one small area do tend to accurately predict election outcomes, it puzzles me as to how you can declare a winner (with percentages, no less) if none of the precincts have reported in.

Just sayin'.

Maybe THEY Should Play Free Rice

Ahem.

Ladies and gentlemen of the writing community,

Palatable = nice.  Yummy.  Good for your palate.  You like it.

Palpable = you can feel it.  Touchable.

I highly doubt that the electricity between two people was "palatable."

Unless you...like...eating...elec--

Nah.

Darth Mufasa

I will never, ever be able to watch The Lion King in the same way again.

That broke my brain in a way that The Simpsons tried for but never achieved.

Lisa: That was for you, Bleeding Gums.

Bleeding Gums Murphy: (appearing in the clouds) You've made an old jazzman happy, Lisa.

Mufasa: (appearing in the clouds) You must avenge my death, Kimba -- I mean, Simba.

Darth Vader: (appearing in the clouds) Luke, I am your father.

James Earl Jones: (appearing in the clouds) This is CNN.

Bleeding Gums Murphy: Will you guys pipe down? I'm saying goodbye to Lisa!

Also? I got to level 45 on Free Rice for the first time. Unfortunately, it now goes to level 55 instead of 50.

This is Awesome

This is awesome and hysterically funny.

Even if my "Minesweeper method" is more the "click random boxes and see what happens" variety.  Odd, I know, since it should be right up my alley, but there you have it.

Civics Lesson

Back in 2000, when Patrick was 13, he was becoming much more sophisticated in his interests. Sure, he had moments where he watched Power Rangers, but he was also watching ER and the news.

So, just before the election, the usual OMG IGNORANT VOTERS hysteria was going on (which, yeah, is a big deal, but of course the media was very sensationalistic about it.

One of the things they did was take random people and show them pictures of then-President Clinton, Al Gore, and George W. Bush. Naturally, it was edited to show people in the worst possible light, but even so, the amount of ignorance -- some people not only couldn't name Gore or Bush, many couldn't point out our current, sitting president, who had been in the news quite a bit for the type of senationalistic things that even non-political people are interested in.

In other words, I thought sex was supposed to sell?

Anyway, Patrick happened to be watching the news when they were doing that, and he named everybody. He could even say who was president and who wanted to be president.

So I've been watching the current elections, trying to figure out a way to involve my kiddos. I think I've mentioned before that we often find places on our classroom map, with the ultimate goal of everyone but Elastigirl being able to find America on a map, and with Elastigirl being able to find the map.

Then, tonight, when I'm supposed to be making homework, it hits me -- I have a bare cabinet just waiting for a long, narrow chart. The kind of chart that would involve three columns: state, Democratic winner, and Republican winner.

Like this:



Then, I made a book that the kids will put together containing the same information. We'll add to it as the primaries progress.



My ultimate goal for this is to expose the kids to the concept of "voting," to get them to at least recognize a couple of the candidates, and, in Elastigirl's case, to at least identify the "girl" and the "boy."