Gifs describing my week.

When reading – “Intersubjectivity is also necessary for sociodramatic play to be sustained and for it to serve as a zone of proximal development in which children advance their skills and understanding.”

Accepting the fact that I will be unemployed for a while after getting my degree.

When I realized the guy I was interested in was no longer interested.

When I babysat my nieces and nephew.

How I felt when my older cousins paid for my dinner.

After watching “Star Trek – Into Darkness” last week. I ended up watching it 3 times.

When my best friend told me her ex got a girl pregnant.

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What is the question, again?

I recently read a post by Michael, a math teacher, who brought up the topic of teaching “smarter” kids. ( After realizing that there was whole spectrum of different opinions on the topic, he had this to say:

Can anyone explain how there’s a disagreement this wide across the profession? Why does it seem straightforward to me that teaching students of low ability is harder, more challenging than teaching students of high ability? Why does it seem straightforward to others that this is a pernicious belief that ought to be challenged?

Is it harder? Is it straightforward? Do the majority of teachers feel this way? On his blog, he print screened a number of tweets responding to a teacher’s post. Who are these people responding? Are they even teachers? Is it a biased opinion? How many teachers are on twitter? Maybe some people are better at handling kids with low ability and thus, find them easier? What is going on!??! I’m scared! What if I’m not able to handle kids with low abilities! Gah!

Soooo, these were the thoughts that were running through my mind as I read his post. Mainly fear and the feeling of overwhelm. Once I got over this inconvenient phase, I re-read his post and really thought about it. If someone were to ask me which student would be harder to teach: a high-academic student or a low-academic student, I would have said the low-academic student in a heart beat. I wouldn’t have hesitated and this is why I instantly agreed with Michael. Of course it’s harder! There are so many issues that influence why a student is not performing well, that, as a teacher, can be difficult to handle. But the more I pondered that question, I reminded myself of my own experience in my short practicum.

As an upcoming teacher, I was terrified of my short practicum. I was worried about my ability to connect with the low-academic students. However, what I found was that the high-academic students were the hardest to deal with. They were the ones who resisted me, challenged me, questioned me, and quite frankly pissed me off. At one point, my mentor even had to step in because he could see I was having a tough time with them. Granted, it probably was my lack of class management, lack of confidence, and lack of structure. I can willingly say that my practicum went wonky due to the fact that I was thrown in without a life jacket, without swimming skills right into the deep end. And, in my experience so far, I saw how teaching high-academic students was hard.

BUT, I also have limited experience; don’t really know what I’m talking about; still don’t really know what I’m doing in class. Soooo, what is my opinion on this matter. Do I disagree or agree? What is the question, again? I guess, Michael, the question isn’t so straightforward as you might think.

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The Stand Up.


Recently I was asked out on a date in which I accepted. My immediate reaction when asked was to say, “No.” Instead, I texted my girlfriend, A, and asked what she could remember about him. Frankly, the only time I had ever met him was when I was plastered. So, my immediate reaction wasn’t out of instant repulsion, rather, it was because I was incredibly embarrassed and couldn’t remember him that well. What I found out from my girls was that he was incredibly funny and at one point held my hand while I threw up. I was a bit sceptical as my girls were both under the influence as well, granted less so, but still influenced. I just wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to base my decision on what maybe, could have, occurred on that night. Having thought about it though, I decided to give it a shot. We made plans to have breakfast at 9 in the morning. He was supposed to come and pick me up with the condition that he also text me as he was leaving his place.

By 8:30, I was pretty much ready. I was nervous, excited, and giddy. From his place, I figured that he should have texted me by 8:30 letting me know he left. No text. No matter, I chalked it up to forgetting. Maybe he was in a rush and just completely forgot and it would have been too late to text as he was already driving by now. 8:50 came around and A checked up on me. I told her the situation and we both agreed that he was on his way. 9:00 rolled around and I didn’t see any one pull up. Didn’t receive a text. I waited till 9:05 before I texted, “We’re still on for today, yeah?”. I waited. No response. I waited and then texted again, “What’s going on? You stuck in traffic?” In retrospect, I suppose I could have called but I figured He was the one that asked me out, He was the one that made the plans, He was the one that wanted to pick me up at 9. Around 9:15, I knew he wasn’t going to come so A called to tell me she was going to take me out to breakfast (God, I love my girls!). She ended up picking me up at around 9:40. Right when I got into the seat, his text comes in. “I’m really sorry! I just woke up! I don’t know what happened to my alarm. We still on?”

You only had one job, brah. You don’t leave a girl hanging for 40 minutes and not call to apologize. So, no, I don’t think so. -_-

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Blogger space: Replicating.

As part of an ongoing assignment, I have to visit an assigned blogger’s website and search through his/her archives until I find something that calls to me organically. For this week, it was this website:

The post that instantly called to me was titled: “How many tens?”

Here is one from the archives.

Nearly a year ago, Griffin was seven years old and I was doing some thinking about the number course I teach for future elementary teachers. I decided to see how Griffin was thinking about place value.

Me: How many tens are in 32?

Griffin (seven years old at the time): Three, and then two leftover.

Me: How do you know that?

G: Thirty—that’s three tens, and then the zero means no ones.

Me: How many tens in 268?

G: [long thoughtful pause] Twenty-six, and then there would be 8 left over.

Me: What would you say to someone who thought there were six tens in 268?

G: I’d say there are 20 more than that.

That’s my boy.

When I finished reading this post, for some reason I couldn’t move past it. I lingered on the last sentence and then ended up re-reading the whole thing again. And then re-reading it again. I couldn’t articulate what exactly I liked or disliked about it, only that it made me feel curious, puzzled even. I needed to leave the assignment for now because I wasn’t getting anywhere with it and go for dinner with my family. At dinner, I decided to ask the same questions to my niece. H is eight years old, hates homework but LOVES math. Granted, she hates actually doing math homework but loves to problem solve and verbally solve questions throughout the day. She enjoys asking me multiplication questions and is always willing to help solve math questions for me.

Me: How many tens are in 32?

H: Three tens.

Me: How do you know that?

H: Thirty—that’s three tens.

Me: How many tens in 268?

H: 6.

Me: You sure?

H: There’s only 6 in the tens’ place so only 6 tens.

Me: What does the 2 in 268 represent?

H: 2 hundred.

Me: What would you say to someone who thought there were six tens in 268?

H: I’d say they are right.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I was down right concern. I then explained to her why the answer wasn’t 6. I actually had to take out a paper and pen and draw it for her so she could understand. In the end she did but it made me wonder if any of her other classmates would have correctly answered. After looking at her math homework that were assigned, it truly made me aware of how anal teachers have become in regards to getting the correct answer. Her classmates and her have not been taught what it means to have the 6 in the ten’ place only that it is. How many tens are there? In her eyes, I can see that there is no other answer other than 6 because with the way she’s been taught, how can there be another answer?

I suppose what the post brought to light for me is how neglecting the little details just because I may want a specific answer or because it appears clear to me can end up completely misleading the teaching. In this case, the need for the students to understand place value ended up becoming more important than them understanding the concept of the number being in the tens’ place.

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Love letter to L.


“That was the thing about best friends. Like sisters and mothers, they could piss you off and make you cry and break your heart, but in the end, when the chips were down, they were there, making you laugh even in your darkest hours.”    -Kristin Hannah

The longest relationship I’ve ever had with anyone was/is with L. We met when we were nine years old. I can’t remember exactly where, how, or what situation threw us together but I can say that we’ve been together ever since. I don’t say it or even show it very often but I love her. God, I really do. She is my soulmate, my better half, with her, I’m the best me that I can be. She’s been the gentle voice in my head when things were noisy making it difficult to decide who to listen to, and the loudest voice I hear when life was so quiet, it’s easy to lose myself.

Like any relationship, it’s been turbulent. There have been laughter, encouragement, hugs. I remember the time we went to Disneyland; we put our purses on the conveyer belt to get scanned. I completely forgot that I didn’t zip up my purse and I prayed that nothing would spill out but as I waited on the other side for my bag, when I finally saw it, to my horror, my panty liners and pad were peeking out. I remember looking at L and we burst out laughing. With lack of sleep and food going for us, anything could have made us laugh. Another pantyliner story. I remember we were at a club once and we were dancing and I dropped my pantyliner and as I was about to pick it up, she held me upright, laughed, and then told me, “What are you doing?! Just walk it off!” Her face was priceless and we then spent the next 10 minutes laughing our heads off. I miss her laugh. God, I miss her.

It seems nowadays, though, more often, there have been fights, misunderstandings, and frustrations. For a really really long time, it was me and L against the world. Just the two of us. Me and her. But as we got older and reconnected with our other two childhood friends, it hasn’t been just the two of us in a while. Even when it is just the two of us, we’ve been apart for so long that we don’t even know how to be just the two of us anymore. I feel it. She feels it. But no one says anything. And the tension grows, grows, and grows until someone says something that sets it off and we yell. We argue, we misunderstand, we justify, we defend, we take it personally, we get mad. We don’t get closure. We don’t know what the problem is. It sort of creeped up on us and now we’re in a situation where we don’t know what to do, where to begin, how to fix it. As I’m typing this, I can’t help but cry because I really really miss those days when we laughed soooo hard until our bellies hurt. Nowadays, we never laugh with each other anymore. We don’t know how. We just get annoyed and we see it on each other’s faces. Sometimes when I look at her, I see her looking at me with annoyance and I don’t know how we got here. I don’t even know how to make her laugh anymore and I use to do it so well.

How do I fix something that I hold most dear? If I could go back and change whatever I did wrong, I would in a fucking heartbeat. I just want us back. Back to where we were. Back to how it use to be. But now, I don’t know. I don’t know how and it kills me.

L, I miss you. God, I love you. And let’s work it out. We have to.

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Best Friend.


My best friend rolled out onto a plane yesterday morning. The plane will take her on her long awaited European adventure where she will immerse herself in Paris, fall in love in Rome, get fat in London, meet new friends in Amsterdam, and laugh her heart out in Budapest. I am truly, truly excited for her. I know that she will have an amazing, freaking awesome time, but as I sit here typing this, I selfishly want her back. I want my best friend to come home. I don’t want her to have fun with out me! I’m a bitch right? Part of me wants her to wait until I, too, can go on this adventure with her. So that we can experience new places, perspectives, and cultures together. So we can try new foods together, take pictures together, dance together.

I received a text from her two hours ago saying, “Gaaaahhh. I’m in Paris!” I smiled to myself. Because as much as I want her back, or wish I could go with her, I have to swallow all my selfish emotions. I miss my best friend but I also know it’s not about me. It’s never been about me. My best friend. It’s her time to shine. Her time.

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