She: “Wednesday night: dinner out.”
He: “Uh-huh.”
She: “Thursday night: pizza delivery.”
He: “Uh-huh.”
She: “Friday night: dinner out.”
He: “Uh-huh.”
She: “Now it is Saturday night and I have forgotten how to cook.”
He: “No. You may have lost the incentive, but I am sure it will come back to you soon.”
She: “How soon?”
He: “Seven o’clock sounds good.”
She: “But what if I don’t remember?”
He: “Okay, seven-thirty.”
Once again I have been given licence (and a license) to educate children.  I love to make kids think. Sometimes my methods are a little unorthodox, but they are usually fun.
Today I was in a special needs classroom with 3 hearing impaired kids and their aid, Ms. Ash.  Cognitively there is nothing wrong with these kids, they’re just a little behind because they are having to relearn life with cochlear implants.  It takes them a little longer to process verbal input because their brain isn’t accustomed to hearing, but they are plenty bright.
So, Jay was out of the room for a while for speech.  When he returned, I was sitting in his desk beside two other students and we were working on a science project.  Jay walked up to me. “Uhm — uh –” he pointed at his desk.
“Yes?” I answered. Â He needs to verbalize his thoughts, not just make sounds.
“Uhm.” he said, and pointed again.
“Oh!” Â I smiled brightly and said, “Hi! Â My name is Jay. Â This is my desk and here is my name tag.” Â I ran my hands over the desk top and pointed at the name tag.
Jay glanced over at Ms. Ash. Â She shrugged. He turned back to me and said, “What?”
I repeated, “My name is Jay. Â This is my desk and here is my name tag.” I tapped on the name tag then asked, “Who are you?”
Jay looked over at Ms. Ash again.  Again she just shrugged. Jay turned back to me, put his hands on his hips, and said, “Your name is not Jay.”
“Really?!”  I tried to sound very surprised. I leaned forward and studied the name tag. Feigning confusion, I looked at him.  “Are you sure that’s not my name?”
Jay frowned again, and then answered, “Noooo.” He looked uncertain for a moment, then took a deep breath and said. “But I am sure that my name is Jay; this is my desk; and that is my name tag.”
“Really?” I exclaimed.
Jay nodded emphatically. Â I grinned at him, we all shared a laugh, and I got up and moved.
Fast forward to the end of the day (about six hours later):
As we were cleaning up to leave Ms. Ash announced, “Ms. Teacher will be out sick tomorrow, too, so Ms. A. will be coming back.”
Jay looked up from putting the blocks away, “Who is Ms. A.?”
Ms. Ash pointed at me.
Jay looked at me, raised his eyebrows and smirked, “Oh, you mean Ms. Jay?”
* Â * Â *
Yep. Â I am going back tomorrow. Â They pay me for this.
Today I gave one of my students, Em, the first black olive she had ever eaten. She looked at it skeptically, poked it with her finger, and queried, “What is this?” She noticed her friends eating them off the tips of their fingers. She tried hers on for size and beamed delightedly when it fit. One of her friends urged, “Taste it!” Em’s frown returned. “Just a little taste,” she said, then delicately nipped the tiniest bite off the olive.
Immediately her tongue popped back out of her mouth with the smudge of olive on it. The sight was met by a chorus of “Ewww!” from the other girls at the table. The tongue and the olive disappeared back inside Em’s mouth. Her face made the most marvelous contortions as she choked down that speck of olive.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at the olive still on the end of her finger. Slowly, she raised it to her lips. I said, “Em, did you like that olive?” She replied, very politely, “I found it a bit unusual.” Again she moved the olive toward her mouth. I said, “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”
Em said, “That wouldn’t be polite. I have to eat it.” I responded, “No, Em, you don’t. I gave it to you and I say if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. My feelings won’t be hurt.”
Em stared at me wide-eyed. She looked at the olive. She looked at me. “Really?” She asked. I pointed at the garbage can. “Throw the olive away,” I ordered.
Em effusively exclaimed, “Oh thank you! That really is nasty, you know!” She tossed the olive and scrubbed her tongue with the cuff of her shirt. “How can you people eat those things?” she demanded. We just wiggled our olive covered fingers and giggled.
According to the dictionary consistency is:
Running dialogue below one of my status updates:
Status: At dinner tonight Amoeba pea-ed on the floor!
Comments:
  ‎*snort*
 Corny.
  How many peas did he lose on the floor?  Not telling. That would be disturbing the peas.  And I can’t pick ’em up either, ’cause then I’d be accused of lifting my legume.
  Charley and Charlene two peas in a pod??? yep I think so  Jeff says oh peas get over it
  Charlie probably couldn’t carrot less about peas.  But I *do*, Nathalie. *Everybody* should be able to visualize whirled peas.
  I suppose I should have beet him for it.  Good thing you didn’t. I don’t think I could have survived the borscht belt.  LOL. I give up. I’m not radish enough to continue.  I’m running out of thyme to play anyway.  Figures that you’d walk off when it was your turnip.  
  Don’t let him squash you.
  Oh, my. If you can’t get along, I guess you cantaloupe.  I guess this strings bean going on long enough.  Lettuce all turnip together to plant again, soon, peas! Tomato is soon enough for me.  Okay, already. You guys are driving me out of my gourd!  It did get corny, didn’t it?
