Let us play a game! (ESP LESSON 1- BE CLEAN)

Characters: Tom and Mia Setting: Playground and nearby fields Tom: Hey Mia! Look at that flag on the pole! It’s huge! Mia: Wow! I almost can’t see the top. Hey, the map shows all the points in the playground. Let’s explore! Tom: Cool! I want to find the highest point and pretend I’m a mountain explorer. Mia: Haha! The clouds seem really close today. I think I can lie on the grass and touch them! Tom: Good idea! But careful… you might crash into a bug! Mia: Haha! Don’t worry, I brought my sack for collecting leaves and rocks. Tom: Nice! By the way, did you see that aircraft yesterday? Its flight was so long. It looked like a tiny toy in the sky! Mia: The sky looks endless today. I can’t see where it ends! Tom: Yeah! And the plains near the playground are huge. We could run forever. Mia: Tom, you look really serious. Are you thinking of a new game? Tom: Maybe… let’s clear this area and play “Treasure Explorer.” Mia: Perfect! I’ll hide the treasure in my sack first. Tom: Ready! Let’s go find it before the “aircraft” spies us from the sky!

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

Alexa and Brittany were best friends. They’d known each other since Brittany moved next door in 2nd grade. They hung out almost every day after school… when they were getting along, that is. They were very different people. Alexa did great with her school work, read a lot of books, and took ballet classes. Brittany, on the other hand, would rather play soccer, chat with other kids at school, and rarely sat still for long enough to finish reading a chapter of a book. Often, Alexa and Brittany would play together at the park across the street. They’d play on the equipment, play tag with a group of neighborhood kids, or play soccer. If it was raining outside, they’d go in one of their houses to make crafts, play video games, or do their nails. Some days they could spend hours together without a single problem, but other days they just could not agree on what to do. “Come on, let’s play on the equipment. We’ve played soccer for the last three days!” Alexa said. “They just cut the grass, I love playing soccer when the grass is nice and short. I don’t want to play on the equipment,” Brittany replied. “We always do what you want to do Brittany, it’s my turn to choose.” Alexa was getting frustrated. “Fine, go play on the equipment by yourself, I’m playing soccer, ” Brittany shouted. Grade 5 Reading Comprehension Worksheet Reading and Math for K-5 © www.k5learning.com Alexa left. She was fuming. When she got home, she realized she still had Brittany’s notebook. Well, I’m not giving it back today. I’m too mad at her. Alexa thought. The next day at school, their teacher asked for their notebooks. Brittany didn’t have hers, and asked Mrs. Stone if she could bring it in tomorrow instead. Mrs. Stone let us have one late assignment a month, but Brittany had already used hers. Brittany looked upset, and walked quietly back to her desk. Alexa was having an internal conflict. She knew she should tell Mrs. Stone that she had the notebook, but she was still mad at Brittany for not compromising with her at the park yesterday. When it was time for lunch, Alexa hung back to talk with Mrs. Stone. “Mrs. Stone, I have Brittany’s notebook. I should have said something earlier, but Alexa and I had a problem yesterday, and I’m still mad at her. Would you be able to help us solve our problem?” Alexa asked. “Thank you for being honest, Alexa. I’m sure Brittany will appreciate that you gave me her notebook when you could have made her get another late mark instead. I’m glad you asked for help solving the problem. It’s really hard to solve a problem by yourself when you’re still feeling upset, so this is a good solution.” At recess, Mrs. Stone sat and talked with the girls. They each revealed that they get frustrated with the other person a lot because they don’t always want to do the same things, but they real ized that they never really solved their problem. One of them just always went home. Mrs. Stone helped them realize that maybe they didn’t have to play together every day to be best friends. They decided to just play together a couple times a week, and take turns picking the activity. Alexa and Brittany were hopeful that this would solve a lot of the arguments they’d been having lately!

Lesson 2: USES OF SOIL PRETEST Color the pictures that show how we can use soil. SOMETHING TO READ Soil is very useful to us. We can use it in many ways. Let us find out the different uses of soil one by one. Uses of soil a. Sand is used in making our houses. It is also used in making hollow blocks. OBJECTIVES: - Enumerates things that we can with soil - Demonstrates ways for making play things out of soil SCIENCE 2 – MODULE 7 SEIBO COLLEGE 9 b. Soil is made up of minerals, nutrients, water and air that support growing plants. It also keeps the plant’s roots on the ground. c. Animals like earthworm and ants lives in the soil. They create tunnels in it to allow air and water to pass through it. d. Clay soil is used in making pots and vases. We can play with it. We can make different objects that we can use to play with. e. When we are at the shore of the beach, we can play with sand and build sand castles. SOMETHING TO DO ACTIVITY 1 Creating Things I Like Objective: In this activity, children will learn that they can create things out of clay. What you need: SCIENCE 2 – MODULE 7 SEIBO COLLEGE 10 2 bars of clay (any color) 1 pc. 1/8 illustration board or any hard board What to do: 1. Using the bars of clay, create things that you like then place them on the illustration board. 2. Show your work to your facilitator. Observation: 1. Is it easy for you to create things that you like out of clay? __________________________________________________ 2. What is the texture of the clay? ________________________ 3. Did you have fun dong this activity? _____________________ Conclusion: I therefore conclude that _

Brainstorm Bear Sam was setting up tables in the driveway. He noticed a brown bear up a tree nearby. "Mom, there's a bear over there!" Sam called. "What if it comes down and attacks us?" asked Sam's little sister Sarah. Mrs. Miller took Sarah's hand. "We'll keep a safe distance away" she replied. "We need to get the bear down before our yard sale starts" Sam said. "We could always cancel the yard sale," Mrs. Miller said. "I put up so many signs," Sam groaned. I know we can get the bear to come down if we just brainstorm the right idea." "Like the idea you had for the squirrels?" his mom asked. Two weeks before, Sam tried to stop the squirrels from eating all the birdseed. He dug a pit around the bird feeder and ruined his mother's tulips. "This is different," Sam said. "I promised you I'd draw all my ideas first before I actually do anything." "We could move our trampoline under the tree so the bear could jump onto it," Sarah suggested. Sam drew the idea on his notepad. He pictured the bear bouncing high into the air. "I think the trampoline's too bouncy, Sarah," he said. "Mom, what would you do to get the bear out of the tree?" Sarah asked. "I'd play a really bad song from the radio," Mrs. Miller laughed. Sam drew the idea on his notepad. He imagined the bear climbing even higher in the tree to get away from the noise. "If you play a bad song the bear will never come down," Sam sighed. "Look, the bear's eating something up there," Sarah said. "He's probably found some nuts that were stashed away by squirrels," Mrs. Miller said. "I've got it!" Sam shouted. He scribbled his plan in the notepad and showed Sarah and his mom. "We can make a trail of nuts leading back to the forest," Sam said. "Let's get nuts!" Sarah yelled. "All right, let's try it," Mrs. Miller said. Everyone raced to the chestnut tree in the backyard. "We're going to get that bear out of the tree!" Sam shouted. While they were gathering the chestnuts, the bear climbed down from the tree. Sam returned just in time to see the bear disappear into the woods behind the neighbors' house. "Aw, the bear is gone!" he said. "Look on the bright side," Mrs. Miller said. "At least you can have the yard sale now," she smiled.

Jackie Robinson Introduction. African Americans play a big part in professional sports today. For many years, however, black athletes weren't allowed to play with white athletes. Jackie Robinson helped change all that. The Early Years. Jack Roosevelt Robinson was born into a poor Georgia family in 1919. In college, he was a star on his school's football, track, basketball, and baseball teams. His family had little money, however. He left college in 1941 to help support his family and did not finish. Taking a Stand. In December 1941, the United States entered a war. Like many young men, Robinson had to serve in the war. One day, he and a group of soldiers got on an army bus. Robinson poses in his U.S. Army uniform. The bus was segregated. White soldiers sat in the front and black soldiers in the back. Yet Robinson knew he was as good a soldier as the white men. He would not move to the back when he was told to. Robinson was arrested, but he had only stood up for what was right. He was let go. You're Hired! After his time in the army, Robinson played baseball. In 1945, however, baseball was segregated, too. White and black athletes played in separate leagues. Robinson felt that there should not be separate baseball leagues based on skin color. So did Branch Rickey, the man who ran the Brooklyn Dodgers. Rickey wanted the Dodgers to be the first white team to include a black player. Rickey knew that this player would not only have to be a great athlete. He would also have to face prejudice because he was African American. Rickey hired Robinson. He had one condition, though. Robinson could only fight prejudice one way-by playing great baseball. Number 42 Takes the Field Wearing number 42, Robinson took the field on April 15, 1947. A crowd of twenty-six thousand people watched as he walked to the plate. Insults rang out from the other team's dugout, but Robinson just played ball. Equal rights won that day. So did the Dodgers. As for Robinson, he went on to have a great career. In 1962, he became the first African American to get into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Beyond Baseball. After Robinson stopped playing baseball in 1957, he went into business. He also continued to work for equal rights for all people. He died in 1972. Today in the United States, more people of color play in the world of sports than ever before. We all have Number 42 to thank for that.

Lesson 2 come let us play std 1

Let us Revise

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