Ten Words or Less

Last night, I was asked to describe my summer in 10 words. I condensed it to 9.

Fired
Volunteered
Bridesmaid-ed
Hired
Hired
Hired
Moved
Left
Hired


Explicated, this would be:


Fired from Web Works. Something to do with my not wanting to manage (read: lie about) the reputation of our big clients, who wanted me to make them appear honest and reliable. (My favorite part of that was when they asked me to bury the scandal that had aired the night before on Frontline. Seriously? You want to pretend a PBS documentary never happened?) I questioned the ethics of this, and I learned not to ask a marketing company about ethics.

Volunteered at my church's office, which is a great way to get to know people at church and add structure to a month of unemployment.

Bridesmaid-ed at my little brother's wedding, which was decked out in Alice in Wonderland-style black and white, red and turquoise. Blade and I and a few other friends helped decorate and run errands. I saw people at that wedding that I hadn't really planned on seeing again after middle school. It was surreal. Thomas and Amanda are now married and living in Arizona. We like her. He's ok, too.

Hired at the local zoo for a few hours a week. There was no convincing my mom that this was not a lion tamer job. This zoo doesn't have lions. It has deer and rabbits. It's mostly a farmyard. My job was supposed to be to tell people that their beloved zoo, which was free, is no longer free, would you like a receipt? But before I started work, I got ...

Hired at an Honey, an organic restaurant down the road from my apartment. It was friendlier and offered better hours than the zoo, so I took it instead. I waited tables and learned to make espresso drinks. It was a lot of hours at first, sometimes breakfast, sometimes supper, but then I got ...

Hired as an administrative assistant at Russian Ministries. Ah, a real job. Yes, it's a lot of filing and data entry, but there's a point to even the most tedious parts. Lately, I'm processing donations, some of which will be directed to help families in the Ukraine adopt local orphans, and others will go to training programs to equip pastors and lay leaders in the former Soviet Union. You don't get much pointier than that.

Moved into a new apartment. My lovely roommate's company transferred her, so I needed to find a single bedroom place for myself. Now I'm in a surprisingly cheerful basement apartment directly underneath my fellow Russian Ministries administrative assistant's house. My parents came up for a few days to help me settle in and make the place feel homey.

Left Honey. Once I started at Russian Ministries, I couldn't wait tables during breakfast or lunch anymore, but the restaurant's owner didn't have many evening hours to give me. When she said those hours wouldn't pick up, I left to find something more stable. Within two hours of my leaving Honey, I got ...


Hired by a local family whose three children need to be driven around after school before their parents get off work. I'm getting a tiny taste of what it must be like to be a soccer mom. More specifically, a soccer-lacrosse-5K mom. (Seriously, have you ever heard of a 9 year old training for a 5K?)



I've got one word left to use, so, um:

BakedCrochetedWatchedmoviesReadbooksSpenttimewithfriendsHadabirthday


---

Let this be a warning, said the magpie to the morning
Don't let this fading summer pass you by

We create the magic of learning.

These are magic stones. They are plastic and shiny and cheap, and kids covet them. We use them at work to buy students' cooperation.

I'm working for the summer at a tutoring center. I work with eight students a day for one hour each. My youngest kid has been 8; my oldest thus far has been 17.

Most of the students are used to failure and have self-esteem problems. Part of my job is to keep that frustration away by using "positive error handling technique," which is a cross between improv's "Yes, And" principle and the Socratic method. Basically, when a kid gives a wrong answer, I'm supposed to affirm something about her response. Then, instead of telling her the answer, I'm supposed to help her figure it out for herself, then shower her with praise (in the form of stones) when she gets the answer right.

That works 80%, and it keeps morale up. But a few times a day, this error handling technique leads to one of the following sorts of conversations.


"George" is 14 years old. He has Autism, which means that he can read and remember words but can't necessarily picture what they mean.

Me: "The girl ran through the tall grass." What do those words make you picture?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Great! Those were the words. Now tell me what that made you picture in your head.

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Yes, she did. What do you picture for the girl?

George: Ran through the tall grass.

Me: Yes, that's what she's doing. What does she look like?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

Me: Is the girl tall or short?

George: Tall grass.

Me: The grass is tall. You're right. What about the girl?

George: The girl ran through the tall grass.

More often, though, George just doesn't answer me, and I find myself wondering if I've turned mute or invisible, or maybe have just asked such an idiotic question that I'm not worth answering. After all, I'm repeating myself over and over, too, and we could be stuck in this perfect echolalial circle forever.


"John" is 12, athletic, and goofy. He spent pre-school through first grade in and out of the hospital for multiple heart surgeries, so he never caught on to phonics, much less reading.

<I hold up an "oi" flashcard.>

Me: What do these letters say?

John: "Aw."

Me: Oh, good, I did see vowels. When you say "aw," what's the first letter you picture?

John: W.

Me: Great! I did see a W in "aw." Did you see anything before the W?

John: O.

Me: You're right that there was another vowel before the W. What would O-W say?

John: "oi."

Me: Yeah, I definitely pictured an O in "oi." What's the second letter you picture in "oi"?

John: H.

Me: H is a letter, you're right. Let's look at the card again.

John: Ee.

Me: I would hear a little "ee" sound in there at the end. How would you say the whole thing?

John: I!

Me: Oh! I did see an I in there. Did you see it coming first or last?

John: In the middle.

Me: Um, ok. This actually says oi.

John: That's what I said!

Me: You did say parts of it, you're right. Touch the card and say it again.

John: Oi.

Me: GREAT! Give me a high five! You got it! Let's see how fast we can do the next ones, ok?

<I hold up F, Qu, Ee, Ll, and Oi, to see if he can remember Oi when he's not thinking so hard.>

John: Fff! Qua! Ee! Lll! Ooo!

Me: You got those first several perfectly! Let's look at this last one. What's that second letter?

John: I.

Me: Awesome! So what do O and I say when they're together?

John: Aw.

He is so insistent that I wonder if I need my glasses prescription updated, or if I actually remember what O and I say together. That particular curriculum is called Seeing Stars, which is what I do after an hour of desperately blurting out anything positive I can say.

Those are my two most severe kids so far. The others correct themselves pretty easily, they respond to questions, they read Frog and Toad Are Friends with me, and, best of all, they are easily bribed with magic stones. As a temporary job, it definitely beats data entry. At the end of the summer, though, the kids will head back to regular school, and I could be unemployed again.

I may attach baggies of magic stones to my application cover letters from now on.