Run More Than You Eat!

Image: www.peanuts.com

By Sarah Garb

If you’re looking for some solid words to the wise, forget newspaper columnists and horoscopes. The real source of airtight advice is children.

In their short lifetimes, elementary school students have somehow managed to assemble a significant body of supposed expertise on a wide variety of topics and will dispense recommendations gladly.

One such area of expertise is healthy living. During a nutrition unit, my fourth grade students offered advice that, with the addition of a few exclamation points, could be the title of the next fad diet book or a Better Homes and Gardens article:

Cut Off Sugar for a Week!
Eat some Soft Food or Hard Food!
Eat Lots of Bread!
Drop the Junk Food!
Stop Eating Sweets All the Time!
Eat Fruit All the Time!
Run More Than You Eat!

I don’t think I could agree to stop eating sweets all the time, but the simple fitness formula to, “Run more than you eat,” struck me as quite brilliant.

The year my husband, Nate, and I got married, I asked my third graders how to know if someone is right for you to marry. Their thoughts on the topic appeared to be cobbled together from Kanye West songs, TV commercials, and church sermons:

If they do stuff for you.
If he’s cute and doesn’t argue.
Only if he never cheated you before.
If he comes home right after work that means it.
Think about the good times and bad times. If you had a lot of bad times, he is not your man.
If he loves you for your money, no. But if he doesn’t, yes.

Fortunately, Nate is cute and also doesn’t argue, so he passed that test with flying colors. Next I asked what Mr. Nate and I should do to have a happy marriage. Much of it is actually valuable advice. A strong relationship definitely requires honesty and asking personal questions. However, some of their responses suggest that the third graders were envisioning Mr. Nate’s role in our marriage as a weekend childcare provider or gold digger:

When you are on your honeymoon, ask some personal questions.
You should try not to fight and be happy.
Don’t lie to Mr. Nate.
Ask how your day was.
Don’t look at other men.
Be kind, but honest when your husband asks your opinion of something.
If you have a bad day, tell Mr. Nate.
Buy him something. At the reception party give the present to him.
Get a prenup so if you have a divorce, you stick with your money.
If you have a baby, Mr. Nate can always keep the baby on the weekend.

Whether or not the claims are valid that bread is the key to good health, or that a successful marriage depends on gift-giving, if you find yourself in need of advice, find an eight-year-old. She will set you straight. Or at least make something up that sounds good.


Subsisting exclusively on soft food or hard food, Sarah tries not to fight and tells Mr. Nate when she has a bad day. When she has an entertaining day, as gauged by how many quotes or how much advice from third graders she’s able to collect, she blogs at Dead Class Pets. If it is not the running-to-eating ratio advice you need, Sarah’s students have plenty more where that came from. Their advice on relationships can be found in the new humor anthology, My Funny Valentine: America’s Most Hilarious Writers take on Love, Romance, and Other Complications.

Welcome to the Building

by Sarah Garb

Living in our Washington, DC apartment building for the past six years, my husband and I have discovered that it is extremely easy to evade the Office of Tax and Revenue.  Simply move away and let the Office of Tax and Revenue continue to send their bi-weekly notices, probably notices of Very Bad Things or Big Bucks Owed, to your old apartment for the new tenants to find.  Every other week or so, we (the lucky new tenants) receive a letter for Marissa Martinez, diligently write in “Not at this address,” and pop it in the outgoing mail slot.  After six years of this game, it is clear that the Office of Very Bad Things / Big Bucks Owed is either extremely patient or willfully ignorant.

Today I found one such piece of mail addressed to Not Us, and was about to grab a pen when I realized that it wasn’t addressed to our friend Ms. Martinez, but to someone I know from work.  Whaaa?

I could not get my head around it for a few minutes.  “But that’s our address.  But her name.  But that’s our address.”  The most logical explanation I could come up with at first was that this had to have been a work-related mail error.  This would mean that my employer, for some reason, had begun issuing bills on behalf of the electric company, but it seemed temporarily plausible.  I tracked down my co-worker and found out that she had, in fact, moved into our building, onto our very floor.  With an apartment number only one digit different from ours.  

“Oh cool!” she said.  “You can introduce me to some people in the building--I haven’t met anyone yet.” 

Oh sure…except that a) we know hardly anyone in the building, b) we don’t know the actual names of the people we do “know,” and c) the names we have given them are Crazy Lady and Drunk Guy.  So not likely we’re going to set her up with any fast friends.

While this connection doesn’t mean my co-worker gets an entree into a new set of fifth floor best buddies, it does mean that I have to rethink my concept of what is acceptable to wear when leaving the apartment. Gone are the days of taking out the trash or fetching Marissa Martinez’s mail in my pajamas.  I mean, if I step out in some terrible Polarfleece ensemble, without having showered yet, to dash down the hall, it’s OK if strangers catch a glimpse.  But to potentially run into someone I know is a whole different story.

And I’m not talking about some kind of normal pajamas that I’m claiming are ‘terrible.’  I mean that I once had a lady on the elevator down to the laundry room say to me, “Girl—you got on the outfit from hell!”  And she was right.  There was extreme rainbow plaid paired with traffic-cone orange, accented with blue and purple striped fuzzy socks crammed into the too-small black dress shoes that were closest to the door.

But on the plus side, that’s a third building resident I know.  For those of you keeping track, that brings the neighbor gang to: Crazy Lady, Drunk Guy, and also Outfit from Hell Lady.  It’s a very unimaginative, observational naming system, but I can totally fill this co-worker in on all the key players at 1480 Yarmouth Street NW.  And I’ll also tell her to start expecting letters from the Office of Tax and Revenue any day now.

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And Around We Go

by Sarah Garb

There presumably was supposed to be some kind of physical activity involved, but I can’t imagine what.  The rope climb--sure.  The exercise benefits are obvious.  Strengthen those arm muscles!  Work those legs!  Cultivate calluses!  Shuttle Run?  Definitely.  Build coordination!  Run as fast as you can!  Well, run as fast as you can for eight steps before slowing down as fast as you can!  Those all seem like legitimate physical education endeavors.

 

One activity in my elementary school’s gym class rotation, though, was of rather dubious exercise or fitness value.  It was probably called something like the Roll In a Tube station and it went roughly as follows.

Step 1: Get best friend to agree to roll in Giant Tube with you.

Step 2: Climb into Giant Tube.

Step 3: Wedge yourselves in place, your hands bracing against one surface of the cylinder, your feet bracing against another.

Step 4: Have other kids roll The Tube across the gym.

Step 5: Roll head over feet over head in Tube until step 6.

Step 6: Collide with wall.

Step 7: Stumble out of Tube.

The stomach-churning roll was thrilling and I delighted in the woozy feeling upon exiting The Tube.  Thinking back on it, steps 4-7 seem to be quite the opposite of physical well-being, but darn it all if we didn’t have some good times in that Tube.

Though I wasn’t a particularly adventurous or risk-taking child, there were several other things  I can remember doing that caused a strong sensation of wooziness.  We did them for the thrill of feeling, well, of feeling mildly sick, actually.  Diving into a sleeping bag headfirst and rolling around attacking my similarly bagged brother until we didn’t know which end was up was one pastime.  An amusement park ride called The Rotor was another.  Inside of a large, spinning centrifuge, you’d get stuck to the wall, unable to peel your head or arms or legs away from the black rubber surface.  The nausea was 80% of the fun. 

And who hasn’t twirled around on your belly on a swing, twisting the chains until the force of the untwisting spun you in dizzying circles?  Add to this list the popular Sit and Spin toy, a handful of cartwheels, and one good roll down a steep hill, and it’s clear that a large portion of childhood is devoted to literally just turning yourself in circles for amusement.

The appeal was to feel discombobulated or bizarre or just different, and to marvel at that sensation.  As an adult, “I’m about to fall over!”  “Everything’s spinning!” or “I am going to puke!” might be symptoms of a worrying illness.  Coming from a child, though, they’re most likely the exclamations of delight following a wall-crashingly spectacular roll in the world’s most questionable piece of P.E. equipment.

While all of the childhood spinning has managed to erase many of Sarah's memories of her own early years, she catalogs the entertaining antics of her elementary school students at her blog, Dead Class Pets.

More Effective than eHarmony!

by Sarah Garb

Are you single this Valentine’s Day?  Well have no fear—take some love advice from third graders and you’ll be dating in no time!  They have vast experience, what with the steady stream of love notes, the budding playground relationships, and the partner dancing in P.E.  As Lucas once put it, “Third grade has turned into LOVE grade!”  The actual quotes and notes below will guide you through every relationship stage from pick-up lines to break-ups.

The Pick-Up

If you’re just starting out in your relationship quest and are looking for that all-important pick-up line, consider taking a cue from Tyson’s note to me one day in my teacher mailbox.  “How come you are not married?  You are beautiful and stuff.”  That is practically guaranteed to work at a bar or your next singles kickball game.  What woman doesn’t want to be called beautiful?  And stuff?

Compliments are another surefire way to get the conversation rolling.  Take this one from a confiscated love note: “My sister thinks your dad is hot!!”  Total turn-on, right ladies?

Another note-writer hit upon what I think is a pretty fail-safe conversation starter with the object of your affection.  “How are you doing?  Fine?  Sexy?  How?” 

Definitely be direct.  Whoever said that revealing your true feelings has to be any more complicated than a few well-placed hearts?  Simply replace any vowels in the name of the person you’re after, and it’s practically a done deal.  To guarantee, though, that this sentiment is made crystal clear, you would do well to model your email headings after Jalil’s note to Savannah.

To:  S-v-nn-h

From: Jalil

Date: March 6^th

Time: 10:12 am

Reason:  I want to let you know I like you!

When you’re really putting yourself out there, you’ll want some confirmation that the feelings are mutual.  The best way to achieve this is undoubtedly the “circle yes or no” option.  Followed by a threat.

I really like you because you are the most prettiest girl I ever seen. 

Would you like to be my girlfriend yes or no. 

P.S. give back on the way back from recess.

Don’t let nobody see this or you are dead.

If Rebuffed

Dear Daniel,

  I broke up with Steven.  Do you like me?

  yes or no

     from Becky

Much though we’d like to think that the “circle yes or no” will result in a yes, there is the potential for a circled no.  If this happens to you in your quest for love, as it did to Becky, do not be dissuaded!  The appropriate response in this situation is to insult the other woman and question your crush’s taste.  Anyone out looking for love but finding “no” can certainly take a lesson from Becky’s last-ditch effort to change Daniel’s mind. 

“Emma has freckles and she is so ugly.  How can you like someone so ugly?”

Breaking Up

Let’s face it--breaking up is a fact of the dating world.  It’s difficult to know just what to say, but these elementary suggestions can help you find an effective approach.  Why make breaking up any more difficult than three simple sentences?

“I don’t love you.  I love Trevor and Marcus.  But I kinda like you.”

And if it has to be done, Michael has the perfect way to let someone down easy.

“I’m not really into girls.  I’m more into Godzilla.”

If you are successful in the pursuit of a relationship and find yourself heading to that next level, some rock solid third grade marriage advice can be found at Sarah’s blog, Dead Class Pets.

The Most Interesting Third Graders in the World

By Sarah Garb

My third graders have recently had all kinds of amazing adventures and experiences.  Sky diving!  Meeting President Obama!  In fact, I've even heard that sharks have a week dedicated to them. Yes, just like those Dos Equis commercials, my kids have lately been the most interesting third graders in the world.

If you believe them.

The week started out with Demarcus’ share.  I had tuned out for a minute to mark someone tardy and to make myself a note about some teacher-y thing I had to remember to do.  When I tuned back in, Demarcus was describing in great detail the skydiving adventure he had with his mom the previous weekend.  “Hmmm.  Does anyone else think this sounds ridiculously implausible?” I thought, scanning the crowd of third graders.  But no, they were impressed and completely believing.  Demarcus went on to describe the oxygen masks you need to wear when you jump out of the plane, how his mom dove first and then he followed, and how the whole skydiving experience was--in a word--amazing.  Just before he opened up the floor for comments and questions, Demarcus and I had the following telepathic exchange, accompanied by my most skeptical facial expression:

Me, telepathically: “Demarcus, you know you did NOT go sky diving last weekend or any other weekend.”

Demarcus, telepathically: “Let’s just keep this between you and me.  The other kids don’t suspect a thing.  I will now take questions and continue to blatantly make things up, but with specific details for maximum believability.”

One student asked how old one has to be to go skydiving, likely already planning a similar weekend adventure of her own.  “You have to be seven years old to go” answered Demarcus.  Coincidentally, that is the exact age that Demarcus is.  “Six and lower—they can’t do it.”  

Later in the week, I was eating lunch with Max and the other kids at his table.  “Guess what!” Max said.  “I got to shake the president’s hand!”  “What?” I asked.  “Really?”  Max went on to tell how the president had attended a play at the theater where his mom worked.  “And you were there?” I asked.  Max nodded.  “And you got to shake his hand?”  Max nodded.  And then embellished.  “Yeah.  I asked him some stuff, too.”  Up until this point, I was willing to believe Max’s story.  His mom does, in fact, work at a theater.  We live in Washington, DC, after all, so it’s possible that the president had attended an event at the theater.  And it’s true that presidents do a lot of hand-shaking, so it could happen.  Chatting up the prez, however, not so sure about that.  True.  True.  True.   LIE

When I saw Max’s mom later that day, the presidential handshake (and extended conversation) was news to her.  It became clear that Max’s bits of true events had blended together into an infinitely better story whose only flaw was that it never even came close to happening.

As far as ripe conditions for successful fibs, third grade is the perfect storm.  The kids are becoming more skilled at making things up so that they sound at least moderately believable, but they also haven’t yet become so discerning that they will bother to evaluate the likelihood of someone else’s claims.  If you can deliver the story with a straight face and can include enough realistic-sounding details, you’re golden.  To take another tip from some of my most effective third grade fabricators, it helps to purposely plant some blemishes in the story so that it doesn’t sound too good to be true.

During a whole-class share on, “Can you speak any other languages?” Immanuel informed us that he knows  “all of them except Chinese.”  A solid strategy, really.  If he had told us he knows all the languages in the world, we would clearly never have believed him.

Another morning, a student shared a cooking magazine article about his chef father and backed up this legitimate claim by bringing in the actual magazine.  We were all duly impressed.  During the Q&A portion, Alyssa tried to ride the wave of my-relative-is-famous with a connection to her uncle.  “I think he’s been on TV for plumbing.”

Really, Alyssa? Was that the coolest made-up accomplishment you could think of?  I mean--if you’re going to take the time and energy to fake a share, at least go all out.  Jump out of a plane!  Why not meet the president?  Be a linguistic prodigy!  You’d better make it quick, though—this bubble of gullibility won’t last forever.  While it does, though, I’m sure we’ll continue to be regaled with even more amazing tales from the lives of the most interesting third graders in the world.


Sarah lives and teaches in Washington, DC, home of our theater-going and hand-shaking president, where she humors her incredibly adventurous third graders.  More about their real and imagined escapades can be found at her blog, Dead Class Pets.

24 Is More Than Enough

by Sarah Garb

I was not at all jealous of the frazzled-looking dad next to me at the airport as he tried to control and entertain three children while at the same time prevent a fourth from eating something sticky found on the floor.  “Ahhh.  Life without children” I thought, turning up the volume on my iPod to drown out the harried sounds of parenting.  At least temporarily.

I don’t have any children of my own—I’m just entrusted with a set for seven hours a day to teach them how to read.  You might think that being an elementary school teacher would be a super-sized version of the “Don’t Eat That and Get Down Before You Break Your Arm” airport scene.  Sure, I do a bit of reminding kids to wash hands, tie shoes before they trip, and eat the school lunch green beans, but the majority of my day is spent looking out for their academic well-being--editing writing, facilitating experiments, building division concepts. 

No--what Frazzled Airport Dad with his hands full, making repeated bathroom and water fountain stops really foreshadows is our first class field trip. 

The act of leaving the protective cocoon of the school building immediately transforms me from teacher into the full-on parent of 24 children, making sure they are all clean, fed, safe, and not consuming items from the ground.  Venturing out into the wide and scary world brings my focus first and foremost to survival and safety.  It’s basically Maslow’s Hierarchy of Field Trip Needs—first make sure everybody arrives in one piece and with adequate access to clean-ish bathroom facilities, and we’ll worry about their mathematical reasoning, creativity, and overall self-actualization later.

On any given field trip, a team of chaperones and I endeavor to keep everyone out of the path of raindrops and oncoming subway cars, and to ensure that everyone sits in a seat on any and all moving vehicles.  I physically throw myself in front of the students at intersections, holler to them to not get run over, and attempt to stave off hypothermia through extensive coat-zipping.

Seeing that everyone remains within acceptable levels of health is another joy of field trip responsibility. “We are in nature, children.  It is unpredictable and possibly disease-carrying.  Is anyone currently being stung by a bee?”  Once we’ve all had a chance to touch the nature center’s snake, I toss miniature bottles of hand sanitizer to the chaperones and we de-germ the “family” in under a minute.  I need to keep track of Jasmine’s bus-sickness pills, and need to be ready at a moment’s notice to whip out Marlon’s inhaler.  We’re out of our normal environment, where the tissues are readily accessible, so I stuff my bag with Kleenex just in case.

In stark contrast to our ultra-structured school day and its exceedingly consistent lunch schedule, a large portion of a field trip is spent wondering when our next meal will come.  “We’ve been waiting in this line for hours!  Quick, chaperones—shove a granola bar in everyone’s mouth before the play starts so nobody starves to death during act II!” “This could be the last chance to moisten your mouth for a long time, children, so drink up!”  Which brings me to the inevitably far-away and hard-to-find museum bathrooms and the occasional life-or-death sprint that every parent knows all too well.

Assuming that the chaperones and I have managed to ensure for the children freedom from hunger and freedom from gross spills on subway seats, I can then turn my attention towards a very important, adult-centered Field Trip Need—freedom from being embarrassed by your kids.  I’m usually wearing a uniform shirt that matches those of the kids and holding someone’s hand.  We’re clearly together.  I can’t pretend to simply not know those children and therefore must make sure that nothing catastrophically humiliating comes to pass.  “Don’t get us kicked out of the US Capitol!”  “Do not climb on the sculptures--other museum-goers are glaring at me!”

Inevitably, though, no matter how stuffed my field trip bag is with “just-in-case” tissues, hand-sanitizer, and spare mittens, no matter how frequently we stop for bathroom breaks, something always conspires to prevent one of the Field Trip Needs from being met.

One year my class toured the D.C. mayor’s office.  The mayor’s director of legislative affairs came to speak with us and took some of the kids’ questions while I mentally took stock of how the trip was going.  “Everyone has recently eaten,” I thought.  “There is no imminent threat of germs.  Please nobody say anything to embarrass me!”  Just then, Shawn raised his hand and asked this member of the mayor’s cabinet (whom we were surely keeping from important business in the nation’s capitol), “You got a tissue?”

I pulled a box of tissues from my brimming bag of emergency supplies and hurriedly passed it over to Shawn, then shrank down in my seat, hoping that the mayor’s staff would overlook the fact of my matching shirt and not mistake me for this child’s parent.

No matter how draining it might be to parent a class full of students out in the world, though, I can always return them at the end of the day to their actual parents.  Tag—you’re it.  You make sure they don’t break an arm or go malnourished until we next venture beyond the school’s walls.  And that might just be a while.

To read more about Sarah’s students and their nose picking, love notes, and adventures in nature, visit her blog, Dead Class Pets.