Happy Halloween

Most of you are, at this point, making plans or getting ready to follow through on made plans for the wonderful holiday of Halloween. I, at this current moment, am doing neither of those things as I've spent the past 18 hours of recovering from an evening of poor choices. That's about all I'll say about that. Being stuck inside does have a few upsides, such as : Being forced to look at your dirty laundry for so long that you actually get some of it washed. Another good one is memorizing the sparse contents of your fridge to such an extent you become aware of how truly little there is to eat. Or my personal favourite, sitting on the floor of the shower and realizing that there isn't anything to grab onto when your feet go out from under you as you're trying to stand up. I'll have to remember that one for next time. Since I no longer have a functioning camera or phone, I'm going to have to dip into the rich history of photos that illustrates all the wonderful things this holiday has to offer, including these two pictures Mom graciously provided of our cat, dressed up as a 'sourpuss' and 'tabby cat'. I won't argue with it. 

Since I'm trying to eat healthier and take in more reasonable portions, I'm not having any candy tonight. I've even been so lucky that the traditional tide of cupcakes, chocolates and other treats has been relatively low this year (I guess our school's emphasis on healthy eating for the kiddos is working). My costume this year took the form of wearing my other glasses to school for the first time (my kids hadn't seen these ones yet), shaving, and calling myself 'Mr. Brant', feigning as Mr. Stuart's twin who was only teaching in Macau as a supply teacher for the day. The experience was complete with asking the kids for help with directions around the school, what the procedures were, and purposely messing up their names to everyone's enjoyment. It might not have been much, but it was fun. And what's life if it's not fun to have fun anymore?

I see a lot of you folks dressing up and doing Halloween to the fullest, and I think that's really cool of you. Well done. I wish I had access to more thrift stores and venues that celebrate Halloween (there isn't much here unless you want to hit up the club), although the past has not proven me to be a big dresser-upper. Take last year for example. This was my attempt at Bill Nye (the science guy). You can see that the only reason people would have a marginally close idea as to who I was is the name tag I had to sport. Still, it was nice to do the Halloween thing. Fun Fact: I got a parking ticket from McMaster University while I was purchasing the lab coat for my costume. It resulted in the most expensive Halloween to date.  

To you folks back home doing the Halloween thing, I hope you're well and having a relatively good time. I found this treasure in the archives of facebook from a good two years ago, I don't even remember what I was (wow Stuart...), only that we started the night with SmashBros & MarioKart, all streetcar'd to an awesome bar and had an awesome time in downtown Toronto. A proper hang. I suppose that's what I miss most about the past, but that becomes harder now that we've reached our mid-twenties and adult goals have taken control of our decision making processes. While I could still try to dress up as a race car driver complete with a cardboard car strapped on my shoulders with bungee cords, asking for candy and zooming around the neighborhood, I might get some funny looks and risk being spotted by my students (Macau is a small place). Maybe I do need some chocolate...

So whether you are in Toronto, elsewhere in Canada or in another country entirely; from my home to yours, I'd like to wish you a very Happy Halloween. 

Disaster at Sea

The first thing you might think is "Stuart, last weeks' post was about your foolishness. That story's been told. You've milked that cow, it's dry. Do you think Harry Potter sold millions of copies by going back to the Chamber of Secrets every single book?!". You're right about that. I was hoping this week's post would be about 'New Things Tried', of which I have a few, but things went in such a.... destructive direction, that I've no choice but to share my day with you.Join me for dinner and story time as I recreate the unfortunate events that unfolded in Hong Kong just the other day (and when I say dinner, I mean knocking a jar of spagetti sauce onto the floor so it shatters into a goopy-yet-sharp mess. Then you give up on dinner and get old sushi and tubed wasabi from the supermarket). Just read it, because if nothing good comes of these misfortunes, then it will all be for nothing.

I have a friend in Hong Kong that I know through my younger days playing video games with people. We were part of a 'community', and although it might sound silly to you, we spent a decent amount of time together and got to know one another over the years (I've known Nathan for 8 years now). This is the same community that led me to Katrineholm in Sweden to have the most intense Swedish hangs that may have resulted in a masterpiece of a what'sapp video. But I digress... He's been my go-to-hang-out-with-and-learn-about-the-city person when it comes to Hong Kong, and it's been through him that I've met some pretty interesting people. I've included a few maps of Hong Kong because of reasons. 


The Plan: Nathan (and another one of his friends, Dickson) and I were to traverse Shelter Bay on Hong Kong's western coastline to a nearby inlet with a shoreline cafe with maximum photographic and letter-writing potentials. We were to go by kayak because they rent them and there are few other ways for physically limited out-of-shape individuals such as ourselves (other options would include windsurfing and standing-up-paddling-on-a-big-surfboard-thing). I agreed because it was an opportunity to be active and take pictures of things. I also know a thing or two about kayaking because I did a camp thing for a while (which brings up the memory of my first days at camp when I claimed to know how to stern a canoe because I had used a kayak once. This was for a 3 day canoe trip, mind you, so you can imagine how awfully that went), I was excited to get back into that. The map you see above is of Hong Kong, the other part of 'China-not-China'. The box in blue outlines Shelter Bay, the area we attempted to cross for a bit of exercise and good eating. All in all, it sounded like a good day, so you can imagine my disappointment when things went awry.


The Execution:

We wound up at the establishment with cash in head, ready to hit the high seas with a casual level of enthusiasm that attempted to mask our apparent ineptitude at the task at hand.We were renting hollow kayaks that you sit on top of rather than inside. This doesn't make them any less stable, but it allows waves and other Chinese schmutz from the sea to splash into your lap and collect around your feet and under your bum (and soak into your pants). The same can be said of the luggage compartment, which while having straps to hold down your belongings, has no drainage from said Chinese schmutzy seawater. 
This is the other two-thirds of the crew. They took a double because they were even less confident in their seamanship than me (my attitude is usually 'Welp, others have done it. I can do it too. How hard can it be?). If you take a look at this picture, you can see my bag strapped into the kayak on the left, with their bags in the larger one in the center. Because we are not smart men, we decided that "No, we don't need to rent a locker. We can bring our things with us. In small boats. On the open water. On a windy day with choppy seas. This is a good idea and we think we are smart". I gave my things to Nathan, who had a 'waterproof bag', because I am smart. So very smart....

Our route. Starting location in yellow,
the cafe-that-never-was in green, and
the location of the sinking in red

The Catastrophic Failure: 
Things started to go poorly when the two I was with started to lag behind. It turns out their boat was not sealed properly at some joint, and they had been slowly taking on water the entire time. On top of that, the conditions for boating were windy, meaning waves were landing in my lap and on my backpack. We paddle labourously for about 20 minutes, taking a short break from the waves & wind on a nearby island. Thinking that the other two were falling behind because of goofing around/being lazy I set off ahead of them because I'm hungry and want some lunch, thinking "I can't wait to take some pictures of this cafe". The picture below may be last image my camera will ever take. 

This is not a picture of a smart man

After more 10 minutes on the water, I hear a call from behind me, and see the other boat low in the water, with the guys struggling to keep it upright. I only have time to turn my kayak around when I see it go over, and with it my hopes that this would be a relaxing Sunday afternoon. I knew that was it. No lunch. No dry belongings. No pretending to be a famous world-explorer on the high seas. Fun's over, time to salvage what's left of the day. It was the kind of failure that is so incredibly defeating; A long, drawn out struggle, one that drains all hope and erodes your spirits like a slow fall that you attempt to stop with desperate failing & feeble footwork only to ultimately succumb to the the force of the ground rushing up to meet your face with pain and bitter shame. It was a 45 minute process of attempting to help the others mount the larger boat, salvage the floating flip-flops & paddles, argue amongst ourselves, tow the half-sunken boat to a nearby pile of barnacle-covered rocks surrounded by sea urchins, roll the boat over, wait for it to drain while being nibbled by all manners of sea creatures, and then get clumsily get back on and limp back to shore with ruined electronics, bloody hands & feet. I stayed in my boat, but I knew my belongings were toast, and by this point, the heavy cloud of failure casts such a burdening shame on everyone that the day becomes a write off entirely. By the time I returned home in wet clothes, finally ending the symphony of relentless squelches that only come from soaked shoes, I was ready for bed. 

List of Casualties from the Action on Shelter Bay: October 25th 2015 

 --- Fatalities ---
 - 1 Motorolla MotoG cell phone
 - 1 Sony RX100 digital camera (gift from a family friend)
 - 1 pair of Seinheiser earbuds
 - 2 songs to the school musical I wrote this weekend 
 - 2 fully written and enveloped letters ready for posting (Sorry Matt & Murray)
 - Friend's phones & belongings
 - Any remaining hope that I had in myself

 --- Wounded In Action ---
- 3 pairs of feet (courtesy of sea urchins, barnacles & rocks made of f!cking KNIVES)
- Handy Dandy Backpack (which is now very schmutzy indeed)
- 1 pair of running shoes
- 1 Canadian passport (including my photo ID on the main page)
- 1 leather wallet & paper contents (bills, cards, etc)
- 3 grown men's pride

 --- Survivors ---
- One Athletic shirt
- Camera SD card

I suppose, walking away from it, it wasn't such a bad day. My hands still hurt from clutching the barnacle-crusted rocks for a good half hour while the other two salvaged their kayak, but I got to experience something new. I also felt the gripping pain of loss as the realization sunk in that electronics are expensive and I have other things that need to be paid for (my phone and camera are sitting in a cleaning solution the internet recommended to me. They are my last hope). Maybe, walking away from it, I feel a little defeated. Defeat, in many ways, has become an old companion. It is a part of my life, and no matter how I attempt to learn from it, it returns to me as regularly as the sun's rise in the morning. Perhaps I should just stay inside, board up the windows, and pretend it's nighttime for the rest of my waking life. 

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Preceded by a weekend where I was unable to travel to Hong Kong due to my own forgetfulness and obtuse-icity, I endured one of the most defeating days I've encountered in my working life. This day is entirely odd because my feeling of complete defeat did not come from loud noises, surprise work obligations or the gremlins that take control of the 'lil stinkers that make up my class. It was a Monday, which is a shame because I like my Mondays so much.

Thing started on the wrong foot when I found my clean underwear had not dried overnight on the line. After a hasty (and I do mean hasty) attempt to dry them with an iron, I was forced to don my moist clothes and embark on a new week. I had taken my saxophone to school, as I usually do on Mondays, and things began to unravel from that point onwards.

Arriving at the school, I usually go to the 3rd floor office (I have an office desk in addition to using a classroom that I share with a Chinese teacher) to grab my plans and any things a secretary/admin will leave me from time to time. The doors to said office are tall and heavy glass doors that swing easily the first 75% of the way, and then prove to be quite stubborn. I reach the office with saxophone in hand, and apply the sufficient amount of force that allows me to slip through before it quickly closes behind me. Only today, I don't slip through quite so easily. My sax catches on the long door handle while I'm halfway through and jerks me to a sudden halt (a distressed 'UMPH' may have come out). Now, I'm mentally committed on getting through this doorway because there is no way that I'm going go out and 'try again'. That would admit defeat, and that cannot be permitted.  I am also physically committed because my entire left side is in the office and I am kind of unable squeeze back through the now much smaller opening. My response to this situation is to power through and force open the door, which at this point is at that 75% marker where it refuses to go any further without warranting a sufficient shove that may endanger coworkers or office materials. As a result, I am now pinned between my saxophone, and the doorway, my arms either committed to holding an instrument or lodged themselves. I can't go back, I can't go forward. I simply can't even.

Grunts and curses are uttered, coworkers turn to look, I'm becoming increasingly disruptive and noisy as I helplessly shake my saxophone to try and dislodge it while trying to push the door open with no free hands. More coworkers are now watching, some distressed, as I twist and shove more vigorously. Teachers are now behind me waiting to enter the office, watching the back side of someone shaking in the doorway with no visual explanation as to why. At this point, I've become aware of the fiasco that is unfolding and decide avert eye contact with anyone and give 'er the full brunt of my feeble morning strength. I finally manage to push (now using my face fore extra force) the door open just enough for the rest of me to stumble through, my freed saxophone case banging on the doorway with a thud as the final, previously oblivious coworkers turn to witness my seemingly endless struggle. 

This was before the kids even arrived...

Period two was computer class. I usually dread computer class because there is always some new surprise lurking in the lesson that will rear its head and derail the entire class. Some days it's that one of the computers won't turn on. Other times it might be that one of the students can't remember their login and needs to get to their files but can't because they forgot like the little turkeys they are. This past Monday, however, was going suspiciously smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that I let my guard down. FIRST MISTAKE OF LIFE STUART.

I go to help one of my students at the computers, and to do this I get down to their level because nobody likes someone three times your size towering over you trying to tell you to learn things the right way. So I'm crouched beside Kiddo #1 who needs help navigating microsoft paint (No, I'm not training a small team of MS Paint animators so my 'FantasticFeenstra Promotions' side business can be outsourced to China-Not-China upon my departure, but that's a very interesting idea...). I send him in the right direction with a polite version of "literally look at the board and read the instructions" and an encouraging pat on the shoulder (see picture below), only to hear another high-pitched "MISTER STEWWURT" coming from across the room. I respond by springing up to try and find the source of the cry for help, only my phone, which is sitting in my breast pocket of my favourite purple shirt (that happens to match my favourite purple tie) catches on the lip of the table I was previously crouched against. 

With a sudden "rrrRRRTTZZ" my chest becomes a little cooler and my spirits sink a little lower when I look down to find a gaping hole. It's 10 am. I now have to continue at school for another 6 hours wearing the evidence that many have suspected from my earlier ordeal in the doorway; I am a dingus.  


The onslaught perpetrated towards my clothing didn't stop there. I even got pen on my tie, luckily it wasn't my favourite purple tie that I had forgot to iron (that is an entirely other planet of 'things I should take care of but simply cannot'), but now I don't know what to do with this tie I paid real money for but only used for a grand total of THREE times (yes I try to keep track of how many times I wear my ties because I like a good variety of ties because it's FUN OKAY).

I was even invited out to dinner with a pair of friends, only to embarrass myself and others with a relentless tide of rude table manners in the form of spilling beer, spitting food and being a butt in a public space. I will save you (and myself) from that story.

Now it's mid-October and I'm running out of money and my OSAP loans are almost due.
Did I mention that I've had a fish bone stuck in my throat for a week and a half now? It doesn't bother me as much as it used to but it's still chilling out, jabbed into my neck-tube esophagus and waiting to be dealt with. "But Stuart you should really have th-" SHHHH. I'll take care of it when I can be bothered, and I am also hoping I can just have a big bite of something and hope it goes away. Perhaps I'll visit the hospital this coming Wednesday when I've got the day off. Thank all things good in the world for days off during the working week. 
Watching the office off-and-on since September, I am slowly coming to the realization that I am very much like Michael Scott. A man who's life is both propelled and hampered by a relentless stream of barely-manageable crises. Much like Michael Scott, a bit of luck, a handy favour, and the rare grain of clever thinking lets me continue to the next day relatively intact. Perhaps if you send a letter my way (or at least your address) I can share some of the other many stories that come along with being the kind of hopeless person that I am. The next batch of letters will be sent in only a short time. 

Pour Mangia - A Vencadora

Today is Saturday, a day used for shopping. I can use this blog as a self-assuring explanation for not yet leaving the house. If I put on Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf, eat some dark chocolate, and open the window to let the fresh Chinese-not-Chinese air in, I can even convince myself that I am enjoying an accomplished day of much productivity. I've decided to start the sub-blog dedicated to some of the tasty restaurants to be found in town, entitled 'Pour Mangia'. 

So it turns out that eating out is a popular thing here and there are plenty of restaurants to choose from. Kitchens are typically small, food in restaurants is relatively cheap, fresh and tasty. As long as you're able bodied and not burdened by dozens of squirming, crying babies, you're likely going out for dinner (although some people might still try). On a given night, you'll find plenty of young couples, families, middle-aged workers, and grey-haired retirees dining (I suppose this is also the case back at home, but considering that people tend to congregate amongst people more like themselves, it was remarkable to see such a diverse crowd in just about every local restaurant). The local joints are about 80% Asian (Cantonese, Korean, Thai, Vietnamese, Indian, Japanese, etc), 15% Portuguese (Which may be the next setting of 'Pour Mangia'), and 5% other things. You can hunt down something else if you're really looking for it. Eating out is a great. I don't know if it's good FOR me, but here's the first installment of 'Pour Mangia'

Yesterday, prior to a night of birthday celebrations for one of our art teachers, a few friends and I went over to Macau side for a bite to eat at a proper Macanese restaurant, 'A Vencadora', apparently opened in 1918. (I borrowed this and the next picture from another blog because I had forgotten to take a good shot of the front and inside).

To my knowledge, when defining 'Macanese food', I believe it's the mixture of Cantonese/Chinese food and Portuguese/European food. There are plenty of restaurants that serve traditional food from both of those previously-mentioned cuisines, but Macanese restaurants are a little different from them both.  

This is what your typical local place will look like. Simple furniture, fluorescent lighting, draped in a soundtrack of clinking, laughing and Cantonese chatter. 

This is what you'll find at your table. White pepper, salt, vinegar, and toothpicks (at some places they'll even have chili oil and some kind of tasty sauce). Pretty common stuff in these types of restaurants. 

While we take our time ordering, a beer is in order! Tsingtao beer, probably the most popular brand in China, as well as China-not-China. You can get them as cheap as $1 CDN for a can in your (well, my) local supermarket. Not entirely bad stuff, or maybe I'm just used to it. You can trick your inexperienced friends into ordering the big ones (500 ml) instead of the small ones (333ml) for a fun evening in the name of not-wasting-any-beer. 
Menus will usually have pictures, or have English names. Ours had both, but they were separate, so we used the old 'point and grunt' tactics that seem to help me along so well. See that chicken in the middle below the tomato-y thing and above that long fish-with-a-face? Well, prepare to get a better look shortly. 

Something distinctly European about this restaurant (or perhaps, Macanese) was the pre-meal serving of buns, butter and peppers. This is what you'll usually get to start a meal at a Portuguese restaurant, so it gives a bit of a clue towards what you're in for (sort of). 

Oh baby. Here it is. This chicken was one of the best kinds of chicken there is. A simple, slow-cooked masterpiece with all the tasty juices for dipping your potatoes and bread. Our other dish (aside from the rice below) was a curried beef brisket that was eaten so quickly I only had a chance to snap a pic of the almost-empty plate (it's the first picture of this post, at the top of the page).  

This is an example of Macanese fried rice. You've got ham, you've got eggs, and you've got your rice. Sometimes you'll find some chorizo sausage or vegetables in there too, depending on the restaurant's take on the dish. As you can see, everything is served tapas style, and dishes are shared throughout the table. While I'm used to doing this after being here a while, I really think it's the better way to do things. 

All in all, the four of us had a full meal & drinks for about 100MOP each ($16 Canadian), a pretty good price considering we live in a packed city with a uncomfortably-close-to-Toronto property & rental rates. At those prices, there will be plenty more meals out, and with that, more blog posts to come all about the delicious hidden treasures scattered around the country/city. Until then, I will leave you with that tingling desire to visit, eat and lay on the beach (but not go in the water) in Macau. 

How about a Video blog? A Vlawg?

Here. I did this. Watch this. Watch it so I don't have to type things. Also thank you for your input with the videos. I'm sifting through them to see what I can use and what the kids will understand (words can be hard for some of the kiddos).

Edit: "GOOD GRIEF STUART HOLD THE CAMERA STEADY. Those effects make me feel like I have vertigo"

TL;DR: This week
I did a lot of marking, TOO MUCH MARKING. I have to hand out fewer things or get the students to mark for their elbow partners to mark. Or just... Make a super computer..... I also had a three day work week which left me extra time for activities, like forgetting to pick up the first of many books in a book club I've joined, and neglecting to practice my running (practice running? Like, getting in shape. I know how to run. It's like walking but with like an anxious hastiness to it, like when you see the bus you need coming to the stop but you're too far away so you set aside your pride to make a sprint for the stop and hope you don't fall or get your picture taken as you make faces and sweat profusely for the sake of saving 10 minutes). Yup. I'm going to be running a 1.7 K (LOOK AT ALL THE KILOMETERS) during a teacher marathon thing. I said yes because I thought it would be a good idea. Now I'm not so sure. I also had duck for the first time in a long time, maybe in my life, because I can't remember if or when I've had duck. DUCK. Like a cross between lamb and chiggin. Ho baby, I'll have to go back there. 

I'm thinking I'll do a food post next week because food is interesting and tasty and something I do a lot. Miss you folks. Unless I get to see you every day, then you're doing pretty well.

Trying to do what Joan McDuff said

Today marks no significant anniversary whatsoever. At this point last year I was about a month into teacher's college. My calendar says I had to 'find a group for my Gym presentation', 'do an information book talk' and 'go to a job market lecture' (hah, I ended up getting a job. Good work, past Stuart). But today I have come home from a pretty good day of work to ponder a ponderously-worthy situation.

The world of 'work stuff', I am finding, is a bigger and bigger intertwined thing with every week of work. I now split my spare time doing things here and there (mind you, I still owe 'work stuff' a bit more time per day, since the classroom isn't quite set up the way I'd like it, and I can still put more effort into just about everything I do). At the end of a work day, I have the time to do the following things:
- The Blog
- Writing Letters
- Cooking + Re-watching a TV series (right now it's The Office. Next is Peep Show)
- Doing household stuff reluctantly (although my roomie takes care of that preeeetty well)
- Throwing cat treats into the empty lot across from my place to try and befriend the local strays

But at the same time, I am finding each passing week is getting less and less cumbersome, draining and disorganized, and is slowly morphing into a manageable and really satisfying job that I feel like I can handle in good conditions. However, there are still plenty of challenges that come from being less disciplined than I'd like to be. People told me that my first year of teaching would be hard. I forgot. I forget most things people tell me, and so I've had to learn for myself what kind of difference it makes to put the extra time into my planning, organization and sleep. Mind you, that extra time takes away from other places, and I often can't remember to get back to people on what'sapp or facebook half the time (Murray, I have become you). Which leads me to my next question, am I boring now? (I put myself on my own wall of awesome to drown any sense of such a notion encourage my students to do the same)

 One of the most diligent, determined and dedicated people I've met in my moral life, Joan McDuff, said to our class, "Make friends who aren't teachers". This in no way is intended to support any notion that I am in any way dissatisfied in any way with my current teacher friends. In any way. Any way. Anyway, I mean that it's very easy to be sucked into the teacher world and talk about teacher things and think about teacher stuff. Which is good if you're a teacher and you want to become a better teacher and teacher teacher teacher. TEACHER. TEETCH-'ER. But I'd like to keep up with my hip jazz friends and lovely camp friends and the other friends who do things other than plan, and photocopy and make sure Jamber isn't trying to sneak away to use her locker for the 9th time today.

I suppose I still do a few things: I go out for dinner a couple times a week ("Fish with a face" pictured below), we've been doing a Sunday dinner routine with food and hangs and perhaps the odd board game. I also stumble down to Coloane and do neat things (oh that's right, you don't know about Coloane yet. That'll be a future story for sure), but it's by no means life-changing. Other recent and meaningful accomplishments include:
- Going to trivia night at a pub and coming in second last
- Packing my things to play volleyball at school and then doing plans instead
- Cancelling my ambitions to go to Vietnam this weekend because I can't even

Am I upset about this? Not really. I know there are things to be done, and I kind of enjoy doing these things. Well, as much as one can enjoy marking, reviewing and doing the more trivial things that will take up your time. But I like the feeling (and the gradual progressive actions) that you're helping these kiddos get better at doing life things. Maybe they'll learn to PLEASE STOP TALKING WHEN I'M TALKING so I don't have to get upset and we can slowly build a community in the classroom. I miss that about the end of last year (although my predecessor was kind of a champ who set those kids up to be champs so I had it pretty easy). That's the hope for the future anyways. I suppose I've just got to find the balance between "Do the best job you can possibly do" and "Be as interesting and NEAT as you can possibly be", but in the meantime I suppose I'll just keep eating tasty Chinese/Macanese/Portuguese food and skyping with home friends after marking.

Right now I just have to deal with the prospect that I must behave myself in public and not be a general nuisance to others. All the more reason to be extra rammy when I return to Canada. 

Tales of Treachery: Inside a Grade 4 Classroom

Now that I've spent three weeks together with my kids (I will continue to say my kids as I am responsible for them), I have enough ammunition of stories to share with you to get a load of my chest while keeping you entertained.

And with that: I'm going to say right off the bat that... well I suppose this isn't a warning to you as much as it is a rule for myself that you'll get to hear. I like my kids. I like my job. I like my coworkers. I would like them to keep being my kids, job & coworkers. If you (any many friends, not just the teacher-y ones) ever think "Stuart you should calm your body and use your brain before you post something like that", please feel free to use CTRL+C > CTRL+V and send that statement my way. Mind you, in Canada the social tone is QUITE a bit more strict about this sort of thing (whether it is good or bad I leave to you. I have my opinion but I'll leave it to conversations I have with you in person). You're my friends, but I still want to respect everyone at the school. Just sayin' 

First off, Grade Four is a big step up because it's the boundary between lower primary and upper primary. A cynical Sally may think to themselves "What the heck kind of difference does that even make? It's probably some arbitrary thing where the kids get a sticker that says 'I'm growing up and now a part of the global community' and then they give the kids passages from meaningless poems and do a reading on circle of life" Well Brant Cynical Sally, that's not the case at all. There's tons of new things for a kid in upper primary to wrap their heads around:
- Grades (that's right! First year you get you-must-do-well-in-school-or-you-don't-pass evals!)
- Exams & Tests (which go hand-in-hand with grades)
- Studying & Homework (Like these kids do more work than I did in grade 4. Perhaps the homework & practice thing actually helps kids learn things...)
- Lockers (wooden cupboards with keys that lock. Much quieter and more civilized than the scrap metal we seem to use back in Canada. No slamming, no bent doors, etc)
- Desks that don't have a flat bottom (they have to organize their things or the junk just falls out. Very clever move School...)
So it's quite the step up from rinky-dinky grade 3. And with that, it's time to put the brakes on the 'Teacher Talk' (actual job parameter things that can easily degrade to hours of debate over testing, grading, meetings, the annoying wifi logins for the staff, the time the coffee is made in the staff room in the morning, the quality of the rice offered in the school lunch,  etc). Now I'm even over my limit so I absolutely have to stop. 

And this week, there was this. On Tuesday I gave my kids something they've been waiting for since the start of the year. They asked me every day since September 1st, they've asked their friends in the other grade 4 class if there is any word of their arrival, and every morning with envious eyes they see the grade 5s use them with pride and responsibility. I'm talking about lockers. I can honestly say they were happier in the moment I was handing out keys than any other moment I've seen in my teaching career (spanning 3 months). I gave them their lockers, and they repaid me with CHAOS. I'm talking about loosing keys, leaving keys at home/in gym class/in the art room/in their BUTTS FOR ALL I KNOW BECAUSE THEY CAN'T FIND IT AND IT'S BEEN TWO DAYS, waving their key chains around like medieval weapons, taking 15 minutes to put a backpack away because "I want to make everything fit nicely" constantly forgetting things they need for EVERY CLASS SO WHY WOULD YOU PUT IT IN YOUR LOCKER, and the INCESSANT requests to use their newly-gained storage boxes at every turn. 
>"Can I get my pencil case from my locker?"
>"Can I get my library book from my locker?"
>"Can I go and.... open my locker?"
And then comes the tide of complaints that you only from locker newbies
>"Jamber opened my locker because I couldn't lock it in time for my class"
>"Billy was trying to make his key work with mine"
>"Chippy said she would put our group work in her locker because she likes hers better"
>"My tape on my locker key is coming off, can I have more so I can make my own label for it?"
>"Can I go to... the bathroom?" Proceeds to make sure Jamber didn't, in fact, re-open the locker to see if it was different

How EVEN do teachers do it. HOW. I didn't know what I should have done, but then my grade four compadre swooped in and called both classes into her room for a lil meeting on "HOW NOT TO BE A BUTT WHEN USING A LOCKER". She laid out the rules, told them what and what not to do, how to be able to function in life, you know, all the things. She's got her poop in a group, and I am really pleased to have her around to help me continue to have my job (I live in a constant fear of "What have I forgotten/neglected today?"). So I'm pleased with that.

So that's the first installment of "the things that will make my hair fall out faster", and I expect there will PLENTY more on the horizon. I'll leave you with that, because I need some Porch-uh-geeze food and cheap drinks to wash off a week of teaching.