Pony School is three weeks in June and three in July. All names are fictional of course.
JUNE
The schedule is the same both sessions: Monday/Weds 8-11, Tues/Thurs 8-11 and 12.00-3.00. M/W and T/Th kids are different kids, so I have three different groups. Same will happen in July ( I assume).
I assume many things about the schedule because in my four hours of training on site, nothing about the schedule, the iPad, Brightwheel, snacks, location of snacks or extra towels or how the schedule will be different when there's an in house field trip was covered. I found out the first day that I actually only have kids am M/W, she didn't have enough enrollment for two sessions M/W, but never told me. My contract says M-Th 7.30-3.30 but cool, I'll leave early M/W. That's just information that I may have needed to plan my life, but no worries.
We are The Mustangs. We pony wrangle. Which is great on a regular day, but we have two water days and one in house field trip from the aquarium each session. We also had a surprise fire department visit the last day that nobody knew anything about. I will not go into details about lack of communication regarding the schedule changes because it's summer, and I just wanna pet ponies.
The ponies are Taz the "pinto" with appaloosa spots, Orbit the pinto without spots, Trixie who is brown with a lighter mane, Rocket who is Trixie brown but has spots on his back "like racing stripes", and Sky who is grey and has one blue eye. His rhyme is "Sky Sky with one blue eye". I think Oribit is everyone's mom except for Taz. They bully Taz. Taz is my favorite. This will not do.
There is a fat black pig "Edgar Alan Pig" that everyone calls Poe, and the new live goats, who are not christened yet but likely will be S'more ( black, brown and white) and Butterscotch (mostly white, light brown splotches). The dead goats are not buried on the property, no matter what the children tell you.
I work there because my sister works there. Well, first, I work there because I'm a teacher and need a summer job. Secondly, my sister works there. She's a teacher, and they needed subs last year so I stepped up. As we age, my sis Karie-her real name-and I look alarmingly similar and our gestures, sense of humor, cache of movie quotes and vocal timbers are almost exact. Back In The Day, Karie worked at the Ricks Center at DU as the art teacher, and the kids who would graduate from there and enroll at Littleton would spend the first month of theatre class gaping at me, eyes squinched, heads tilted, trying to work out that I was not, in fact, Miss Karie. This summer she's having surgery on her knee, so I said I'd help while she was out and ended up being Pony Queen. My crown is made of poo.
My classes are the smallest, mostly kids who've aged out of the preschool but love the ponies, or have younger siblings in camp. MW am has seven, T/Th am has five and I have three kids in T/Th pm. This lessens my anxiety regarding the iPad check in and checking ID's at pick up. Also, these kids get to use the adult bathroom which is A Very Big Deal.
Week One-Intro and postcards
Schedule debacles and lack of full training regarding "What in the heck it is you need me to do" notwithstanding, we managed to get the kids brushing, bridling, hooking out hooves, leading and saddling three of the five ponies. We have five, but two are not being ridden. I think due to health issues--again, communication. So they are bridled and lead and clipped into the circle for exercise, but nobody rides them. Taz is underweight due to the asshole other ponies not letting him near the trough. I witnessed this when Trixie literally backed into his head with her butt to push him away. In my head I heard Gretchen Wieners scream "You can't sit with us!"
Our first moments in the pony school, at 7.30 am when we walked in the door, we were greeted by the school Director who stopped us in our tracks. Technically, I only had one foot over the thresh hold. We did not get a "Good morning" or "Welcome to summer session one". We got "I sent out a thread to the teachers and parents, but you aren't on it (summer teachers, I assume, as she looked at me) but the goats died. One died last week and the other was showing all the signs so we put her down on Saturday.
So don't tell the kids. The parents know, but if we tell the kids we'll get parents upset because they haven't had a conversation about death yet, so when they ask just say the goats are gone, unless it's a student whose been here a few years then they might want a rock to paint to commemorate the goats."
Well, there you go. Welcome to pony school, day one kryssi.
I blinked and immediately could not make Brightwheel (Just Another Evil Platform Nobody Really Needs) work to sign myself in or get my class list. So two decisions were made:
I will be checking everything on paper since nobody actually trained me on the iPad and Brightwheel, and I care not a lick about keeping the goat info from anyone.
It turned out the kids knew about the goats. Within thirty seconds of 40-ish children entering the school, the calls of "The goats are dead!" went up like a salute to the mocking jay. If the school director wanted to keep it a secret, maybe she should not have sent a text to the parents. Just a thought, but what do I know? Not my circus, not my monkeys and it's a summer gig.
As The Mustangs were building kites, Tony was drawing a rocket on his bag. So flying was the topic at hand, and Tony decided to blurt out "Santa doesn't fly because he doesn't exist." Little Rosie, who is six, stopped mid fold to stare wide eyed at Tony. Panicked, I blurted out "The goats are dead!" which effectively ended the Santa conversation and brought forth the idea that kryssi might be off center.
My teenage helper Steve was duly horrified that a child would tell another child that Santa is not real. He whispered "dang" quietly under his breath, then told me that's how he found out. Not today, but when he was a kid. That'd be a much better story, wouldn't it?
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Even though it 's camp, they have science, craft, indoor play time and outdoor play time. My first week I was given four different schedules for The Mustangs to follow each day, due to an in house field trip and water day and what appears to be poor planning.
During inside play time, I was hanging with Rosie when she looked up at me, squinching her eyes and tilting her head. I know that look. I smiled and waited for it.
"Are you Miss Karie?"
Now, I had many choices in this moment. As it happens, at six she's the youngest Mustang and had just found out there is not a Santa Claus from a loud mouth eight year old. So messing with her was not a kind choice. I said "Nope. Remember my name? I'm kryssi?"
Tilt. Squinch.
"I'm her sister," I continued. "She's getting her knee fixed. Remember how she walked last year?"
Like the image had flipped a switch in her, she leapt up, stiffened both of her legs like a zombie, and took a few steps. It was an impressive impression of Miss Karie's lock step.
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As the girls were crafting, Kim kept pounding her stickers into the paper. Kylie, who is a self proclaimed writer at age seven, quietly stated "You have severe emotional problems". She didn't even look up. It was hilarious. As we progressed I learned that Kylie does this a lot, under her breath, not looking up. Nobody gets her. But I do.
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Our craft was building a kite with a paper sandwich bag and yarn. Ted put the bag in front of his chest and said "It's a bra." Everyone laughed and Kevin stated matter of factly "Boys can wear bras, they're very comfortable. Like bathing suit tops." Kylie chimed in--again, without looking up, "My brother wears bras. He likes skirts too." I held my breath...and nothing more emerged. Poking holes, stringing yarn and cutting Gigi off from the glitter glue were more important. They just moved right along to the next topic, which was what kind of a pig is Poe? I didn't think about it again until just now, and I am delighted. Nobody was bullied. Nobody said "Boys don't...blah blah blah" or called names. It was a clear and simple exchange of information only, and happily less stressful than the Santa reveal.
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Water day is the worst.
It sounds fun, but it's when everybody's neuroses emerge. Forgot swim suit, forgot second set of clothes/towel/sunscreen/hat, too big to climb the slide, doesn't like to be splashed, wants to play in the water table alone, needs everyone to do what they want to do, foam footballs on the awning, we just got to the water and they have to go to the bathroom, the water bouncey slide attracts pincher bugs (we're on a farm, remember?). I just sit at the table and kick them back into play.
I watched one of the new teachers feed Poe two popsicles. Unclear if those are on his diet. Not my problem. Not my pig. Not my circus.
Summer job. Pony school.
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Tie Dye day.
Every year they tie dye on the first day. It's their science class project.
Not everybody knew it was going to be tie dye day. Including me. I refer you to my vague reference in the beginning to lack of communication. It must have been on the phantom "text thread" that I am not on.
So some kids didn't have a second shirt to wear to splash residual tie dye on whilst tie dying the primary target shirt with the school name emblazoned on the front.
Shannon came unglued when she realized her shirt had been stained with tie dye. She literally stood at the classroom sink sobbing---I do mean sobbing--hitching, screaming, heaving only seven words "I just need it to come out." She was unglued. Unhinged. The word "conniption" comes to mind. The director had to intervene, and mom was called. I did nothing because it's summer camp, this is my summer job and Shannon had already shown me her anxiety tags and I knew this was coming. Not the tie dye meltdown exactly, but the anxiety spiral spike over something so small. Spoiler alert: she is also one who must have everyone play the same game she does, and takes the longest to finish any task, get in line or stay focused on her pony task. She'd rather chase the bunnies around the barn than anything and moves at the speed of global warming. Or to put it another way, she moves like she knows everyone is going to wait for her. Because clearly, at home, they are doing just that.
I can see people very clearly and very quickly. This is why I have few friends, and why I struggle in education. I know who you are and how you're going to behave, and I've also already decided whether or not it's my problem.
Summer camp. Summer job. Not My Problem.
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Tony has stopped saying "We didn't get recess." He said it every day.
You got recess. It's 90 degrees. You forgot.
Also, you're in pony camp. Your whole day is recess, kid, be grateful your parents can afford to have you come do this.
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Tony called Kylie color blind, and I pointed out that is impossible, as the color blind trait is male only. My teenage helper Steve had no idea. I taught him something.
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Last year there were two goats and a glorious black pig named "Edgar Alan Pig" that everyone calls "Poe". Poe is free range, and the kids "discover" him grazing in the grass or the tall weeds daily and are delighted. Calls of "Poe!!!!!" ring out, much like "The Goats Are Dead!" This is their primary communication- screaming the names and state of the animals across the grass to one another. Shannon squeals "Bunny!" approximately 157 times a day.
Paul, who has an Au Pair from Argentina that we all know about--he references her daily and gets upset if you refer to her as his "nanny", and also held a globe demanding that everyone state The Greatest Country only to be told they were wrong, it's Argentina--- she is maybe 20 and a I have other opinions about her, but Paul needs everyone to do what he wants All Of The Time. He says "OK, vote" but ignores the majority, constantly takes over on the playground and refuses to do any real work with the ponies. I honestly have no idea why here's there. But, he has written a song hailing Poe that everyone sings as they run through the grass every morning to greet the animals in the barn.
Paul was standing in the stable not helping as we all brushed the ponies, and started "judging" who was getting more of their winter coat off of them. I said "So you're the boss?" and he said "Yes." I said "Great," as I hooked poop and dirt out of Trixie's hoof "I'm the leader. Know the difference?" He shook his head and the school director, who happened to be in the stable with us, perked and said "Good comparison" and looked over at me. I appreciated her support, in any other situation I'd probably get fussed at for talking to a kid like an adult. I looked at Paul "Ask your dad about the difference, friend."
Not my circus, not my problem.
Summer job. Pony school.
. Week Two
It was a short week, only three days due to Juneteenth on Thursday the 19th, and the T/Th kids got jacked out of truly having pony school due to rain and threat of lightning on Tuesday and no school on Thursday. So M/Weds and Tues am got to work the pony routine, and Tuesday pm had to stay in due to a nasty rain storm.
But I was able to assign kids to rotating teams: We chose "Poop Patrol", "Bridle/Lead" and "Saddle"
The bridle lead kids get to put those on and walk the ponies to their circle and clip them in. The saddle kids also brush and clean hooves.
Tony loves poop patrol. He asked to be assigned permanently. When we take apart the ponies after the rides, he gleefully runs down to the circle exclaiming "Did they leave me any treats?" He waves his "pitch fork" (it's a lightweight leaf rake) over his head like Thor and stomps to the farthest reaches of the stable to start scooping. Pure joy. Good for him. Kid has an early metaphorical understanding of life. If you're going to shovel shit, keep your head down and enjoy it. Though I find it unlikely, based on the neighborhood and cost of camp, that he will struggle in life. So the metaphor is for me.
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Science was home made ice cream: vanilla and half and half and sugar in a baggie, put into a larger baggie with ice and salt. Shake shake shake shake...keep shaking...and kids slammed the baggies on the table, which caused a hole in the smaller baggie and salt water to leak into their ice cream. I only had two kids get sick and Kevin declared that he's pretty sure he's allergic to food coloring and there was food coloring in the sparkles and he had a rash...He Was Fine. He is not allergic to food coloring. He's seven. I'll bet he couldn't even find his way home if left on the side of the road, why would he know what he's allergic to?
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Kylie, who told me on the first day that she wants to be a writer, keeps saying magnificent, clever, beyond-her -years things that I can't write down because I can't use my cell phone (I use notes) and I can't physically scribe in a notebook without looking like a creeper. And I can't remember because my brain is oatmeal. Did I mention it's summer, 90 degrees and I've been teaching for 21 years. No. Capacity. To. Remember. Small .Things.
Also summer job. Pony. Camp.
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Two new goats emerged on Monday. Ted took charge to write down a list of name suggestions from our class. One goat is black with white and brown spots, the other is white with light brown spots. "Butterscotch" was the #1 choice for the white and brown one, but a lot of debate went into the black one. "Storm", "Cloud" and "Lightning" (his white spot looks like a "Z") were highly debated as The Best Name. I think he should be "Satan", and the white one should be "Spawn Of". I did not have Ted write those down for me.
The new pygmy goats---who sparked the shouted and unanswered question "Where are the other goats' bodies?"--are like dogs. They jump on the fence for pets, and crane their necks all the way back to their spines--which proves to me they are satanic--and stick out their tongues and bleat and are essentially puppies. Puppies from hell, but puppies. Super cute. When the kids entered the pen to play with them, Kevin sat down and learned why one does not sit down in a goat pen--he was overrun in seconds, his hair and ears and fingers all chewed upon, his high pitched giggle piercing the farm school.
My teenage helper, Steve, had no idea goats had rectangular pupils. He looked right at them. They had to be pointed out. I taught him something.
They were preliminarily named S'more and Butterscotch. They were not christened by the end of week three.
Week Three
Monday
Craft was a launch for harmless pom poms. Best Craft Yet. Cut up sections of pool noodle, tie off a balloon and cover one end, then tape it down. Pull the tied off end and POOF, pom pom battle. 10/10 recommend. Reminded me of making blood packs with condoms. I am who I am.
Teams went well, Shannon chased bunnies, Ted knows how to get the bridles and leads and loves doing so. Tony declared that he's never pet a pig but would not reach in to pet Poe. He'd hold his hand just inches away, completely capable of reaching Poe, and say "I've never pet a pig."
"So pet him."
"Maybe next time. I'm scared."
Gigi was stepped on by Trixie. She said she was kicked, but when pressed for details she said "She picked up her foot and then kicked the top of my foot." Ok Gigi, let me call the director, get you an ice pack, have the director call your mom, fill out the paperwork and judge you because she didn't even step on you, really. She likely brushed your foot.
And also-you were wearing crocs girl.
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Waiting for parent pick up, Kevin looks at me and says "I forgot my water bottle."
"Sucks to suck. How many times did I announce the list "Water bottles, hats, backpacks, sunscreen, craft, towel? Did you check your backpack?" Also, I watched him put it into his backpack. I'm the one who handed it to him and said "Put it in your backpack and don't forget."
As the director moved to go look for his bottle back in the building- as it was clear kryssi was not going to do it-he dug into his backpack. "Oh, here it is!"
Yep.
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Last water day -we also had an in house "field trip" from the Arvada fire department.
We only have two classes in the afternoon, so we combined with Miss L's preschoolers for water, in house fire department visit and science . So I had experience with the Littles on the last class of the last day. Miss L's second teacher is a sweet 19 year old kid Miss R. Here are their postcards:
Fire Department--They did their presentation both Wednesday and Thursday, and both days we combined with the littles. I watched three grown men and one woman, genuinely attempting to communicate an important thesis -" If There Is A Fire Do Not Hide From Us We Are Not Scary"- over the litany of:
"My dad has tools"
"My mom uses tools."
*General screams as the fan is turned on.
"My dad has a ladder."
"Why would you need to cut someone out of a car?" ---that would be Tony.
"I'm allowed to have scissors."
"I'm not allowed to have scissors."
"Ummm...um, um, um, um, um, um, um, um...I have a hat."
"Take down the ladder!"
"What are those hoses?"
And Miss L and Miss R's constant "Shhh, friends, bubbles in your mouth."
I did appreciate making the kids count to 90 as the firefighter pulled on his rig. Jose did it in 70 seconds. Lyle got held up due to the kids not counting at the appropriate pace---they were screaming through it, I kept saying "elephant" between each number but the littles had a mob mentality---so his count was 101. Still quite impressive.
Also our friend Malcolm, who is a spectrum kid that I know from last year, was allowed to hold the hose and spray his classmates. It was a great moment. He does not generally engage with others, he just likes his Mr. Potato Head and has a third teacher follow him around at camp. I was that third teacher last summer, so I have All The Feels for the kid.
At Water Day:
Malcolm was actually playing in the water and on the slide! He's changed a lot since last year, it was a joy to see him engage. He delighted in a lady bug who landed on him. He ran to Miss L to get his photo taken with the insect. I watched him then throw the lady bug into the water jug and said "Hey, Mal, lady bugs can't swim..."
Miss L yelled over to me "It's fine, he killed it already." Turns out he smashed it immediately after the photo was taken. Sigh. Two steps forward, one step back.
Erin stood at the edge of the playground, big blue eyes wide. She had one finger on her right nostril, and was trying to blow out of her left. Miss R looked at me, hopelessly. "She stuck a rock up her nose?"
"Are you asking me?" I squinted at her.
"I think she stuck a rock up her nose."
"Of course she did. Erin, is there a rock up your nose?
"No."
"So what were you trying to blow out of your nose?"
Blue eyes blink, she shakes her head "no".
"Erin, you're not in trouble, but if there's a rock up your nose girl, we gotta get it out."
Blue eyes blink. Head shakes "no" but she said "yes".
So I escorted her in to have the director help her blow the pebble out of her snout.
Because...not my circus, not my monkeys.
Summer Job. Pony camp.
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All in all, to sum up, in conclusion, as I was leaving I said "See you after the fourth", and the director leapt up in front of me. All smiles and positive energy she says-
"kryssi, you are lovely! I know I keep telling you, but truly. You're delightful."
I stared at her. "Those are not adjectives that have ever been used to describe me. Ever. I'm mean."
"You're lovely, very direct. It's good, you're great! Not mean---I know mean and you are not mean. You're just direct-it's great."
Summer job. Pony camp.
June installment---complete.
