Fall in Love With Places.

I've just returned from a week-long trip to Barcelona, Spain. I'm sure I'll write about it too, but for the moment I want to dwell in the now. I'm scared the summer holiday will go by too quickly if I don't stop to soak it in every now and then, so that is what I am currently doing.

There is a time for stress and there is a time to take a deep breath in and out, a time to rest your brain and your soul. Last week I let myself slowly grow golden in the sun, washed down crumbly pastries with espresso and explored narrow, inviting alleyways until my feet grew sore. Last week was the inhalation -- breathing in as much of a new city as I could. This week is the steady, restful exhale. Home again, nowhere to be and nothing of importance to do.

There is something to be said for loving the place you live in. There are a lot of things to be said, really. But sometimes it's not quite something that you can explain. Sometimes you arrive somewhere and you just know. Know what, exactly, I'm not sure. But I've felt this way about a few places that I can remember. My university, small, quirky and weird as it may have been. Tzfat. Edinburgh. Bristol. My house here in Bristol. It's hard to believe that I've lived in this city for almost a year now.

When I was flat-hunting, I looked at a place before this one that didn't feel this way. There was nothing objectively wrong with it. It just wasn't quite right. Something was off. You should always trust your gut when something feels "off". I learned this the hard way from the first flat we rented here. A tiny sense of "off-ness" can slowly grow into a vague, constant unease and then quickly turn to anger, resentment and a need to get out fast. Home shouldn't feel like this.

But now I'm here. I'm sitting outside in my small, overgrown garden. A vine has made itself quite comfortable wrapped around the tiny wooden dining set. A fat, pollen-drunk bumblebee tumbles out of a flower, and bumbles off on its way. The neighbour cat is stretching up on its hind legs to lazily swat at a butterfly. I can hear distant wind chimes and see laundry flapping in the breeze.

Down the street is a local Indian grocery packed so tightly with spices and samosas, fruits, and veggies and rice, that only one customer can squeeze through the narrow aisles at a time .There are people sitting and chatting outside of a cafe and some tucked cozily inside. The air carries the warm, tempting smell from five different restaurants, serving food from from five different cultures. There's a local pub and its garden lit by fairy lights, where we sat with our new housemates to toast our new home. I can walk to a big, green park where there's a hidden lake and other little secrets.

There's a cycle path down the street. I can hop on my bike and get into town or even to the next town without worrying about cars. I don't worry about not having a car. I can get into town in fifteen minutes. There's always something going on. There's art around every corner. The weather changes about ten times a day but the colourful, pastel rainbow of houses stay consistently cheery.

Next week, I will be home too. This time, it's the one that I am talking about when I start a story with "back home...".  Back to the airport, back through security, back through Iceland, back home to Canada. To my childhood home. This is one of those places too, but in a different way. I didn't choose this place, but I grew up with it, and that's just as important. My boring, beautiful middle-sized suburban town. Sometimes, a place doesn't become a 'Place' until you leave it. The only way you'll know is by how you feel when you leave, and even more importantly -- how you feel when you finally return. I love where I live, but I am still cursed with a dual sense of home. I think it's a good thing, though. I think you should try to collect as many 'homes' and Capital-P 'Places' as you can.

But once again, today is for being here. Once you've found your place, you must do everything you can to not take it for granted. When you leave, if you leave, I guarantee you won't be thinking about the stress, or the confusion or anger or whatever it was that troubled you at the time. You'll think about the good things, and the people you shared them with. The first warm days of summer. You'll remember drinking coffee in an overgrown garden, the bumblebees, and the sun on your face.

C.

Teaching is a Rollercoaster.

Sometimes, supply teaching can be a real rollercoaster. I know, it's a pretty cliched saying, and part of me doesn't really think it makes sense in the context that most people use it. I mean, sure, I get the whole "ups and downs" bit, but I mean... isn't the "down" part of the rollercoaster the best? Isn't going up the hill still pretty thrilling? Maybe I'm overthinking it, but it just doesn't quite match up.

What I guess I'm trying to say is: teaching is a rollercoaster in that there will probably be a lot of screaming for some reason. Someone might throw up. And no matter how much you have to pee, you can't until the ride is over (or until the bell rings for break). At the end of it all, you're frazzled, your hair is a mess, your voice may be sore...and yet, you get right back on and do it all over again.

Last week started with a much less thrilling kind of ride: an hour long commute on the good old Bristol bus. I don't have too much to say about that which hasn't already been expressed in a very sassy email to the bus company, so let's just go with "it sucked". I was placed for the whole week in Year Six at a school on the outskirts of town, so getting there was more of a chore than normal.

When I showed up, I was greeted with the bane of every supply teacher's existence: no plans. On top of that, the TA (teaching assistant) was off on Monday. The deputy head hurriedly helped me to photocopy some worksheets for the morning and I scrambled to remember the difference between an adverb and a preposition and to mentally sort out the various methods of division. Put simply: last minute prepping for Year 6 is much more difficult than say, Reception. I mean, I generally don't have to remind myself what sound "ch" makes. Anyway, the morning was somehow sorted just in time, and I was able to slog my way through.

For the afternoon though, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I was given a very brief "week at a glance" type schedule that essentially listed subjects and times but nothing else. I was told "They have RE (religion) and then Music... usually the TA helps with those but she's not here obviously. I wouldn't do music with them as a supply. You don't have to stick with this though, you can do whatever you'd like."

Great. 20 minutes left of lunch to figure out an entire afternoon, and all I've got is "do whatever" basically?

Naturally, I chose art. By some miracle, I was able to find an art lesson online that used a concept from their maths (rotational symmetry) and that didn't require many materials. It went okay... but I still left that day feeling like I had just come off of the metaphorical rollercoaster after eating too much funnel cake. It's not that the kids were bad. They were your standard Year 6 class -- noisy, obsessed with internet humor, a bit "too cool for school"... but nothing that I haven't handled before. It was just the uncertainty and stress of coming into a day with minimal planning, combined with a stressful commute that really threw me. And it was my birthday.

Luckily, the week did get easier. The TA showed up and was an absolute lifesaver. I saw the kids all dress up as book characters on World Book Day. I got to do another really fun art lesson with the students. The commute was still killer though -- I was often so tired in the evenings that I would be falling asleep before 10 PM. And the kids weren't always perfectly behaved. They seemed to have no concept of a noise level between "absolute silence" and "absolute chaos". But when Friday rolled around, it all became worth it.

One of the quirks of Year 6 is that it's hard to tell whether the kids actually like you or if they think you're the worst teacher that has ever walked the planet. Kids in Reception or Year One will give you hugs or outright declare their love for you, whereas Year 6 is a little more subtle. On Friday, I'd had to give a few talks -- about working quietly, about not passing notes in class, about not standing up and bugging someone else when they're trying to do their maths. That kind of stuff. But at least the afternoon was more relaxed -- I gave them time to finish their art and even put on some (school appropriate) song requests on the Smartboard.

At the end of the day, as everyone packed up, three of the boys came up to me a bit bashfully. "We actually had something to tell you" one of them said. "When you told us to stop passing notes around class, well, we were actually passing this around:" They handed me something from behind their backs.

I couldn't believe it. They had somehow managed to make and pass around this card, unnoticed by me, and get everyone in the class to sign it. Shows how observant I am. "We thought you were really good" one of the boys said. "We don't always like supply teachers. Mr. Jones (name changed) treated us like dogs, he had this little clicker that he would click at us when we were being bad." Note to self, do not use a clicker on the children. The impact of their little gift was not lost on me. "You guys, thank you so much, this is amazingly sweet" I told them, and I meant it. "I'm going to keep this and look at it whenever I have a bad day". And yes, bad days will happen again, but this was not one of them. I felt appreciated and proud. This was one of the days that makes it all worth it.

Let's return to our cliched carnival ride metaphor one more time: Sometimes, rollercoasters have those little cameras that snap a photo of you at the very top of the very highest hill, so that you can laugh at it afterwards. Well, if this week were a rollercoaster, I think that photo would be of me with a ridiculously goofy smile on my face.

Until next time,


C.

Kids Are Weird and it's Hilarious and Awesome.

Hey all,

It's been a while since my last post and that can be chalked up, in all honesty, to my serious fear of inadequacy. My last post was re-published as an article on The Plaid Zebra, which was really cool, but then I began to feel like every post from then on needed to be profound and article-worthy. So I put off writing another post for a while, because let's face it -- you don't come across profound and article-worthy situations every day. But then I remembered why I am keeping this blog -- to document my time as a new teacher living in a new place, and to share it with the people that care enough to read (hi Mom, hi Dad). Not to write a masterpiece every week.

Perfectionism and self-doubt can be paralyzing. I remember crying in Kindergarten because I couldn't remember how to spell the word "lighter" (darn those silent letters) and making many trips to the recycling bin throughout elementary school with crumpled up pieces of artwork that were "so terrible" that I had to start over. Now here I am, telling kids that it's okay to spell a word wrong as long as we give it our best try, and that their artwork looks beautiful and unique, not terrible. Guess I've gotta pay my dues for being an annoying kid somehow.

All that aside, I have decided to make a small compilation of some of the funny and adorable things that I have seen students say or do over the past couple weeks of supplying -- because when they are not crying over misspelled words or crumpling up their art, kids are actually hilarious. I suspect that this is part of the reason that I decided to work with them. Here are some moments that demonstrate what I mean:

• (Nursery)
  Girl: "Sam, why do you have tissues?"
  Boy: (Thoughtfully) "I have a cold...I have had a cold for 80 years."
  Me: "80 years? That's a very long time! You would be very old by then."
  Boy: (Pondering this deeply) "When I am 96 years old... I will have a beard, probably."


• (Nursery)
  Boy: (In tough, growling voice)"GRRRR. I'm the Hulk!!!"
  Me: "Oh no! Are you a nice Hulk, or a mean Hulk?"
  Boy: (Still in tough voice): "NICE HULK."



• Two girls in Reception (Kindergarten) came up to me and said "Miss! Want to watch our song?" "Sure!" I say, prepared for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or Baa Baa Black Sheep. Nope. It was "Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)" complete with attempted actions. I watched them. They whipped. They Nae-Naed. I died laughing.


• A class of Year Four students had to write newspaper reports on Howard Carter's discovery of King Tut's tomb. One kid decided to describe how Carter "Peered through a hole in the wall". Only, she forgot the "R" in "peered". Guess there were no toilets in King Tut's tomb.

• Same assignment -- kids had to finish a sentence for their news article, beginning with "Howard Carter...". Expected answers were probably along the lines of "Is an archaeologist, is a passionate adventurer" etc.  Instead, a good third of the answers were just about his mustache. One read: "Howard Carter has a long mustache and seems posh". Come on, guys. I need hard hitting journalism here. You're all fired.

While I was taking the register in a Reception class, a little girl begins rubbing my boot. I look down to see what she's doing. "I'm keeping your feet warm for you!" she tells me. Heart = melted.

A little boy in Nursery came up to me at outdoor time and put a construction hat on my head. "You're Bob the Builder". he instructed me. When a 4-year-old tells you you're Bob the Builder, you are now Bob the Builder. It doesn't matter who you were in your former life. You put that hat on, start hammering at random things on the playground, and accept your new identity. There is no questioning it.

While taking the register in a Year One class I had been in a few times, I call a boy's name and ask what he's having for his lunch today. His answer was "Packed lunch, also, I love you." Woah, kid. That escalated quickly.

I told a group of Year One students the really corny knock-knock joke that ends with "Orange you glad I didn't say banana?". Then a little boy wanted to tell me his own joke that goes as follows:
Knock knock? (Who's there?) Banana. (Banana who?) BANANA DOCTOR!! (Cue him laughing hysterically at his own joke). This further confirmed my belief that little kids not understanding the concept of punchlines but trying to tell jokes anyway is the greatest thing ever.

A nursery school girl promptly walked up to me during outdoor play and demanded to know, with a pointed finger, why I wasn't wearing earrings... I have no idea why... but I felt ashamed of my obvious transgression.

I had to do a "long observation" on some Reception kids, meaning I basically follow a kid around for 10-15 minutes, write down the things they do and say, match it to age-level expectations and write their "next steps". The LSA told me to observe one girl, and I was ready to document some wonderful snapshots of learning and development...Except this girl decided she wanted to run around on all fours barking like a dog. For 15 minutes. She only broke character when she noticed someone else doing something they weren't supposed to do, for which she would promptly scold them -- and then right back to being a dog. Next Steps: Stay in character. Become the dog. Research dog's motivations -- Why does it bark? What are it's hopes and dreams? Who is it really?

Sometimes, these tiny humans and their are reminders to smile and to not take life so seriously -- a very important quality to have during the dark, damp Bristol winter. There is a time and a place to be serious -- but sometimes, ya just gotta put on a Bob the Builder hat and run around barking like a dog. (It's an analogy. Please don't actually do that). That's all for now, but stay tuned for more adorably silly tiny-human-moments in the future!


C.

Supply Teacher Problems: All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

I've got my teacher clothes on: A smart pair of black dress pants (trousers for any Brits reading), a nice blouse, and a comfy cardigan. My purse is packed with lunch, my day planner, an umbrella, my police check, a water bottle, and some animal stickers. Yes, I am totally prepared. Prepared to sit on my bed, on my laptop, sadly eating dark chocolate soy pudding. As one might guess, my morning didn't go exactly as planned.

Supply teaching is great for many reasons: The spontaneity. The flexibility. A new challenge every day. It can also be quite frustrating for a few reasons: The instability. The unpredictability. A new, potential Google Maps disaster every day. I try to focus on the positives, and enjoy the amazing opportunity that I have been given. But it wouldn't be a blog without a little venting, right?
This morning, I got a call around 7:35 to get to a school that I've taught at a few times, and really like. This school is a bit far on the bus -- almost an hour, and that's if I leave at the right time to catch the most direct bus. However, you don't always have the chance to leave at the right time when you're on-call. I did a quick Google Maps check. It said that if I leave at 7:45 I could catch a 7:57 bus that would take me almost straight to the school. I still wouldn't arrive until quarter to nine -- a bit later than I am technically supposed to show up, but on short notice it's sometimes difficult to be extremely punctual. I let my agency know that I would be a bit later, but still arrive before school started at 9:00. They said they would let the school know. All is going okay so far.

But then 7:57 rolls around, and the bus is nowhere to be seen. Whatever, sometimes they're a minute or two late... So I wait until 8:00. Nothing. 8:05. Still nothing. 8:10. Starting to seriously wonder why these buses even have timetables. I call my agency again, who are beginning to sound quite flustered, and they suggest I call a cab, as the schools don't like when teachers are late and will be less likely to request you again. Okay, mildly freaking out now. I call the first cab company, but they won't have anything until 9:00. I call the second, they don't have anything either. I call the third, and they won't have anything for another 25 minutes at least. The bus drives by as I'm on the phone. Okay, definitely freaking out now. I call my agency again, apologizing profusely. They tell me that it's okay, but they will need to find someone else to send that can get there sooner.

Great. I've let them down, let the school down, and now I won't have work today. I should have just hopped on my bike. Why didn't I just bike? I mean, no, I wasn't super confident on my cycling directions to get there and would have likely shown up moderately sweaty... But I probably could have at least made it on time. The walk back to my house felt a bit like a walk of shame.

A First Bus getting ready to make some people late -- An artistic rendering.

Surely this wouldn't have happened if I were a better teacher, more responsible, better at decision making under pressure. Right? Well, Yes and no. There is a well-known proverb that states "Shit Happens" and I choose to stand by those words. Sometimes, for whatever reason -- be it dumb luck or bad karma or what have you -- things just don't fall together in the way you would have hoped.

There is no way to account for all of the thousands of factors involved in a simple decision like 'how will I get to work today?'. It's easy to start playing mind games with yourself, such as "If I Had Only...", "Why Didn't I..." or the classic "Why am I Such an Idiot?". Especially if you're a chronic over-thinker like me. Would I have liked to work today? Yes. Am I disappointed? Yup. But I am going to suck it up, eat my chocolate pudding, and move on. Tomorrow, I will be ready again at seven AM. My bag will be packed, I'll be wearing my teacher clothes, and it will be a new day.


C.

Homesick? Nah... Just a Bit Under the Weather.

I wouldn't say I'm feeling homesick.

To me, that word conjures up the image of a 6-year-old, crying on her bunk bed on the first week of overnight camp. Admittedly, I was that girl once, but now I am a fully grown adult. I am not at summer camp, nor am I crying. I am not homesick.  But sometimes an expat Canadian gets a bit under the weather, and feels like the only cure is a watery coffee and soggy bagel from Tim Hortons.

This past week was a big one for Canada; a casual scroll through my Facebook news feed makes that strikingly clear. We have a new Liberal Prime Minister with great hair! Stephen Harper's reign is over! The Blue Jays are doing really well! A cat cafe is opening in Guelph! (Okay, that last one is maybe just exciting to me). Yes, it does seem like a really good time to live in the great white north, but I can still follow the news from abroad and share in my Canadian friends' excitement.

And the memes. So many memes.

The real reason I feel under the weather? It's the little things. The things that don't seem like a big deal at the time, but they creep up on you slowly and silently. You could be having a shower, or putting a pot on the stove, or plugging in your phone at night, when you hear it: That little voice in your head that says "you're not quite at home here". Suddenly, all the other little reasons come crashing into your mind, uninvited guests that somehow make you feel like the unwelcome one.

There's a point when "new and novel" becomes "unfamiliar and frustrating", and for me, that moment happened in the kitchen. We had just moved into a new place, and were starting to get settled. I had just gotten home from a tough day at work that involved dodging a pencil being lobbed at my head by a 5 year old, and writing on the whiteboard in permanent marker. I just wanted to make a veggie patty in the oven for dinner. I pulled out the patties, lettuce, pita bread, hummus, all the fixings needed to construct a delicious veggie burger. Then I went to turn on the oven, and the confusion began. First of all, instead of a dial with temperatures on it, there was one with single numbers: 3,5,8, and dots in between. Okay, not sure what those mean but I can deal with this. I turned the knob. Nothing happened. I lift up the cover over the burners, confirming my suspicion that this was a gas stove. But could the oven be gas too? I have never dealt with that in my life. Maybe Beth has, she's been camping a million times and knows her way around fire better than I do. I knock on her door and drag her downstairs to investigate. She's got nothing. We spend a few minutes searching "How to light a gas oven" on Youtube to underwhelming results. We could try doing it...but what if we accidentally blow up the oven/kitchen/entire house? With the landlady out of the house and my veggie burgers melting on the counter, I felt helpless and hungry.

In that moment, I started thinking about other unfamiliar encounters: First of all, why does nobody here have a clothes dryer here? Do they enjoy using crunchy towels? Why is the shower so confusing? And the washing machines are so tiny. And the fridges. And the roads. And who came up with the idea of outlets that you have to switch on and off? I had my phone plugged in all night and woke up to 20 percent battery. It's easy to let the negative thoughts overwhelm you, and everyone deals with this differently. Beth and I dealt with it by packing the veggie burgers and toppings back into the fridge, putting on our coats, and going for Indian food. It was delicious. There were no leftovers.

It's easy to feel homesick on your bad days. It's easy to start thinking that all of your problems are a direct result of not being at home. But what's tougher, is to accept that there were good and bad days back home too. You can't escape from all of your problems by moving. What you can do is think of all the positive experiences you've had, wherever you are. Yesterday, I went for a beautiful, scenic walk across the Clifton Suspension bridge, watched deer grazing amidst the fall colours, and met a herd of curious cows while waiting for the bus. I have had some amazing experiences here, and I will not let any landlord problems, crunchy towels, or gas stoves ruin that for me.
                                   

The view from Clifton Suspension Bridge

More bridge times.

Cow photobombs other cow.

Magical woodland moments.

I think that if I were to give up and come home so soon, I would feel homesick in a different way. There's a lot that I would really miss about Bristol. When we travel, we are essentially building a collection of places and times to be nostalgic for. Keeping that in mind seems to put things in perspective a little bit. To anyone reading this who is far from home and going through similar feelings, you're not alone. Just try to keep yourself busy and think about all the awesome things you've seen and done so far. There will be more awesome things ahead, I promise. But if all else fails, I find that a big plate of Indian takeout also does the trick.


C.

Chips, Crisps and Lucky Dip: A Muggle's Guide to British English.

When I first decided that I wanted to teach abroad after graduating, I remember telling people "I'm going to go teach English in Korea!". I had Korean English academies bookmarked on my laptop and dreams of Kimchi and K-Pop in my heart. However, as graduation crept closer and closer, something changed.

 I can't explain what it was that flipped that switch in my head, but all of a sudden, Korea seemed really far away, and the prospect of committing to a full year in a country where I don't speak the language seemed terrifying. Where England had seemed like a boring option in the past, it now seemed like a much more reasonable choice for my first teaching and "big" travel experience.

I figured that at least speaking the same language as everyone around me would be a comfort in an unfamiliar place. As it turns out, I was right...and wrong.

The first thing you need to understand is that British English is not just Canadian English with an adorable accent. I thought I had prepared myself by watching Skins and The Inbetweeners, not to mention having a whole childhood's worth of Harry Potter etched into my subconscious. But the sad truth is, I have often found myself feeling like a muggle amongst a whole country full of English wizards. So I have compiled a small Muggle's Guide to some of the most common confusing words and phrases that I've encountered in England:

You Alright/Okay?: This is an important one, because it is so commonly used. At first, it seems like British people are just really concerned about your well-being. Then, you start to wonder -- 'Do I look like I'm not alright? Do I look sick? Or worried? I just have a naturally worried face! That's just how my face looks!' However, when British people ask "You alright?", it is a casual greeting along the lines of "How's it going?". But it gets more confusing, because apparently a proper way to answer this is to just say "Alright?". Quite honestly, I still feel weird answering a question with the same question, so I usually mumble something like "Yeah I'm good, how're you?" and immediately sound a hundred times more Canadian.

Toilets: In Canada, a toilet is a toilet -- the thing you flush. In England, it is the room where the toilet is located. This does not work the same way for other rooms/appliances. Just go with it.

Nick(ed): This refers to stealing something.  I've heard this one before, but it's much more common here and sometimes catches me off guard. For example: A little girl in reception (kindergarten) came up to me and said: "Miss H... Katie nicked my Barbie doll!" "She...licked...your doll??" I replied, only slightly bewildered because they are in kindergarten and it would have also been plausible if she had licked it.

Bin: Refers to the rubbish bin/garbage can. It is a really bad idea to tell your students to put their work in their bins.

Hob:  Burner, like the ones on your stove. No relation to hobbits.

Cheers: This is just much more widely used as a way to casually say "thanks" or "goodbye". I honestly have only been able to slip in a "cheers" a few times without feeling like an impostor Canadian.

Quid: I had finally started using 'pounds' and 'pence' regularly instead of 'dollars' and 'cents', when someone threw in a 'quid' and I was all like "Woah there pal. Now you're just making up words to confuse me". But it means 'pounds' in the same way that we would say 'five bucks'.

Potatoes: *A separate illustrated section is required on potatoes, both because of their personal importance to me, and also the sheer number of potato-related words that are different here.

• Jacket Potato:

No.

Yes. Delicious.

• Chips: Fries, but more specifically, thick cut fries.

True, natural beauty.

• Fries: Not as commonly used but can refer to thin, long cut potatoes such as good old Micky D's. 

  

  I am salivating.

• Crisps: Chips. Like the kind you get in a bag, or the kind that people put out in a bowl at university residence parties, and then accuse you of eating all of them and knock on your door demanding a dollar. Purely hypothetical example.

                                        Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections.                                           

Lucky Dip: A kind of raffle-like draw where you can win prizes. I am including this in here for Beth's sake. At her work, she was told that there would be a lucky dip later. Naturally, she anticipated some sort of magical guacamole. There was no guacamole, but she did win a men's shower gel so there's that.

Although there are many more small differences between Canadian and British English, I will leave it at that for now. Those photos of potatoes are making me really hungry, so I think I'll go grab some fries. I mean chips. I mean crisps. ...Can someone pass the lucky dip??

-- C.

Why is Nobody Clapping?? -- My First Week as a Supply Teacher.

Imagine: You are a newly qualified Elementary school teacher. You have folders on your laptop overflowing with successful lesson plans from your student teaching placements. You know your way around a rubric and have learned to harness the power of "If you can hear me, clap once". You know so many teaching acronyms that you feel you've achieved second-language fluency. You feel armed with knowledge, ready to teach engaging lessons and make a difference in students' lives. You feel totally prepared to walk into your first day of teaching with a smile on your face and the best intentions in your heart.

But it is on that first day, that you will realize that you are completely and utterly wrong.

You are standing at the front of the class, register in hand, trying to accomplish the seemingly simple task of getting 25 small humans to sit down on the carpet quietly. There are children running around the classroom. Children yelling across the room to their friends. One is tugging on your sleeve asking to use the toilet. Another stands in front of you complaining: "Miss! He's calling me names!". "I AM NOT!", the culprit protests from across the room, adding to the growing noise level. You've tried clapping once, twice, three times. They can hear you. Why aren't they clapping back?? "Miss, do you want me to write the names of everyone being silly on the board?" asks a well-intentioned girl, but you don't even know where to start -- it would be much easier at this point to write a list of who's not being silly. You don't want to yell. You told yourself you wouldn't be the kind of teacher who yells, but what choice do you have? "EVERYONE, PLEASE SIT DOWN OR WE ARE ALL STAYING IN FOR BREAK!" you shout, vocal chords straining to be heard amidst the chaos. A few children yell out in protest, but the noise continues, and you wonder to yourself -- out of all of the professions in the world, why did I choose to become a teacher??

On Monday, I began my first full week of supply teaching in Bristol, UK. The scenario described above was my first day in a nutshell. I didn't imagine that I would need to call the Head Teacher in to discipline the class on my very first day of teaching, but I did. I felt disheartened and inadequate, and I questioned whether I was really cut out for this whole teaching thing. But I thought to myself, it's just one day. Maybe it's just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better.

And by some miracle, it was.

That's not to say that there haven't been ups and downs since then, but I'm learning. I'm learning that not every classroom is as chaotic as the first, but some are. I'm figuring out strategies to deal with behaviour, to motivate students...and to hold myself together when these things occasionally, but inevitably fail.

Supply teaching is not an easy job: You are a stranger with no authority coming into a classroom and trying to tell students what to do. But it can be a rewarding job too, as I've found out over the past week.

Never underestimate the power of the
 "mystery prize box".

I've been drawn pictures, given lots of hugs, and greeted by name in the hallways. I've learned that five year olds don't quite get the concept of knock-knock jokes, but their attempts are more hilarious and adorable than the actual punchline would have been anyway. I've gotten to witness Year One boys performing an impromptu song and dance routine to "Uptown Funk" without fully knowing the words, but they tried really hard and that's what counts. I've answered many a curious question about Canada, and discovered that reward stickers are truly magical in their power to silence a noisy classroom. I've taught Spanish with no knowledge of Spanish whatsoever. I've tied shoes, sang songs, and comforted a little girl who was crying because her pet cat was "in the sky" now.

In summary, I've survived. And for a new supply teacher, I think that's an accomplishment in itself. And for now? It's enough.


-- C.

London Lessons

Hey world! So we have been in London for about three days now, and I feel I have already learned so much about being a clueless Canadian newbie here.

Our Flight:

• We flew to London Gatwick via Iceland. One perk of flying Iceland Air is that they give you free Iceland water upon boarding the plane. It tasted more glacial than normal water, as far as I could tell, and almost made up for the whole "no free meals on the plane unless you're a kid" thing.

• My "in flight entertainment" consisted of a frozen screen. Luckily, Beth somehow found headphone splitters so we could both fall asleep to Mockingjay Part One.
• Descending down to London meant flying through about four layers of thick clouds, and I asked myself why I even bothered to bring my sunglasses.

Notes on Hostel Life

• Beth's program booked her a hostel for the first two nights, so we both stayed in different ones at the beginning. Hers was in a nice part of town, over a fun, lively pub. My area could essentially be described as very "Brantford". My hostel pub plays depressing classic rock ballads, and is usually populated by a mix of young people, and greying men watching football and singing along to said depressing ballads.

• When I arrived, all I wanted to do was nap and shower. The nap went great, but apparently I signed up for the ice bucket challenge as there was no hot water at all. It was... invigorating.

Some notes on London life:

• Walk as far from the road as you can when it rains. I got splashed by a double decker bus, and although I felt like it was a sort of initiation into London life, I would not recommend it.
• Blow drying your boots with a hostel hair dryer is not an effective way to dry them. Sure, it makes them warm and wet as opposed to cold, but then it just kind of feels like something peed in them. 
• Cars on the wrong side of the road = weird. Drivers on the wrong side of their cars = weird. Beth and I keep having minor freakouts when we see a "ghost car" with "nobody driving it".
• The tube/public transportation in general is so straightforward and convenient. Avoid rush hour though, unless you want to wait for four trains to pass before you can squeeze into one.
• Beer pong tables and beer pong being played at bars = normal? Also, as I type this, a bulldog is casually chilling on the floor of my hostel pub. London bars are weird.

Cool Places:

• Okay, so I am generally apprehensive about super "touristy" attractions. Maybe it's just because it's off peak tourist season, but the crowds at Big Ben/Buckingham Palace were not awful at all, and seeing the sights was totally worth it. It's not like other tourist attractions I've been to where it's a kind of crappy area surrounding the attraction, which you can barely see due to the crowds. The whole area surrounding these tourist spots is beautiful and definitely worth a look.

• Camden Town/Markets: I could write paragraphs on how cool this area is, but I will spare you the novel. Basically, it's like Queen Street West in Toronto times 10. Hipster/artsy/gothic/raver type shops, an entire outdoor street food market, and our FIRST CAT SIGHTING, YESSS.

Pretty banners at the market.

This cat sat in the doorway of the shop and silently tolerated people petting him and 'aww'ing at him.

A maze of shops.

Coolest food stand by far: "Cereal Killer", a custom cereal bar.

Crazy glow in the dark two-level raver shop with life-size robot people on the walls.

Your average Wonderland picnic.

All of this happened to be beside the river.

Well, that's it for now. Upcoming adventures include a Rugby World Cup party, and heading off to Bristol. But now, we are off to find some snacks.

Until next time,
C.

Hello World.

Hello world,

I am currently laying in bed, making a blog. Is it cliché to make a travel blog? Probably. But tomorrow I am uprooting my life to England for potentially a long time. I am coping with this by blogging instead of getting a good night's sleep. Whatever. We all have our coping mechanisms.

First up I will answer some frequently asked questions. Nobody has actually asked me any of these questions, but I imagine they will once I am a famous blogger, and it will probably be annoying with them being asked so frequently and all. So let's get them out of the way now, shall we?

1. Who are you?: I'm a 23 year old girl with a boy's name. I like cats, coffee, photography, and trying to be an un-pretentious vegan. I am a recent graduate of Laurier Brantford's teaching program, specializing in Primary Junior education, and you are probably falling asleep already so let's move on.

2. What does your blog name mean?: About 4 years ago, I went to Israel for the first time. Upon returning, my friend (and current travel buddy) Beth commented: "You went all the way to Israel...and half of your photos are just of Israeli street cats...Why am I not surprised?". So the blog name implies that while some English cats may be photographed at various points in time, I will also attempt to capture other important aspects of English life.

3. Why are you going to England?: So basically in Ontario, everyone's like "what teaching jobs??" so a ton of young teachers are going abroad because of jobs actually existing there. I'm one of them. I also really want to gain some travel experience and teach children with adorable British accents, so there's that.

4. What grade are you teaching?: I am starting on a supply contract, which means I don't have my own class, but I am guaranteed a certain number of teaching days per week. I will be living in Bristol, so I could be at any number of Bristol elementary schools on a given day. It just depends where the need is. I expect lots of frantic Google Maps-ing ahead.Okay, MTV,  you've seen my blog, now it's time for you to get out. For real though, time for bed. Lots of travel ahead, so strap yourselves in for some sarcasm, mishaps, shenanigans, and possibly even some high-jinks!

Goodnight (Canadian) world.
-- C.