Tuesday, December 1, 2009

~ Things Teacher Ed. Programs Fail To Mention ~

...alternate title...These Things Only Happen To Me.

Thing One: How to continue teaching while in the middle of a massive nosebleed.

Shockingly, this topic is not covered in Introduction to Teaching Elementary, nor in any other college course. Fifth graders tend to understand that they need to chill and let you take care of things, so when you tell them to just work at their desks, they do it. Third graders, on the other hand, continue to bring you their worksheets to tell you they're finished, or that they don't get what to do. Luckily, Ms. L. rescued me and played Addition/Subtraction Bingo for fifteen minutes while my blood clotted.

Thing Two: How to get candle wax out of berber carpet so the principal and/or head of maintenance won't find out you spilled wax on the carpet and ban candles from your room, thus forcing you to endure the smell of ripe children.

While carpet cleaning is not on the list of topics, learning to teach cause and effect is. Observe: Because of the massive nosebleed, Ms. L played Bingo with my kids. Because Ms. L. was playing Bingo, she needed suckers for prizes. Because she needed suckers for prizes, she used the sucker jar on my desk. Because she used the sucker jar, the recently lit candle sitting next to it was accidentally knocked on the floor. Because it was knocked on the floor, candle wax splattered all over the carpet. Because of that, I learned something new today. Thanks to google, I now know that the best method for removing wax from carpet is to place an absorbant paper towel over the wax, and then iron the paper towel, causing the wax to melt and be absorbed into the towel.

So even though my carpet will probably have a slightly pinkish spot until they shampoo it next summer, and my room will likely smell like Cinnamon Apples for several weeks, I don't think anyone will notice....

unless you tell them, that is.....shhhh!

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

~ Define "bad" ~

Sitting at the computer today while Ms. L was having the kids pack up their stuff, I was startled by A. "T said a bad word," he blurted before running back to his desk. Without any other context, and fifteen minutes before Thanksgiving break, I decided to keep an eye out, but not pursue.

My mind was changed by B, who almost never says a word, when he came back in the room from getting his things from his locker and told me, "T said a bad word." I asked a few more questions this time, and found out it was the A word, said to another student. I asked the other student, and he told me the same thing.

I pulled T aside to investigate. He first tried to deny he said anything bad. When I pointed out the unlikeliness that three other people in class were lying to me about it, he tried a new one. "Well, sometimes at my house I hear voices when no one's there." Stifling laughter, I responded, "Really? So you think three different people in our class are hearing voices in their heads, and they all three think the voice is coming from you?" "I guess so," he says.

Since I was getting nowhere fast, I told T I was pretty sure he wasn't telling me the truth, and asked him to have a seat and think hard about what he might have said in the hallway. The tears came then, "Well, I guess maybe I said the d word to A." This was not what I'd heard, but at least he was admitting to something. I had him start on a letter to his mother, telling her what he'd done in school that day.

He worked away for a while, then announced he was done. "Ok, read it to me," I said. Here's how it went:

Dear Mom,
Today in school I called A a dummie.
From, T

"Oh, honey," I said, "you think dummie is the bad word you said? That's not a nice word, but that's not the bad word they told me you said. Three people, T, three people told me you said the A word." He didn't even deny it at that point. Just told me he wasn't sure how to spell that word. "Did you say it?" I asked. "Well, yeah, but I can't spell it."

What followed was a conversation in which he first pretended not to know any word that meant "not telling the truth," wondered why he had to add the fact that he lied to Mrs. N to his letter, then argued about having to have his mom sign the letter and return it to school.

Just in case I thought the half day before Thanksgiving was going to be an easy day. Guess I'll enjoy my break that much more now!

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Pie, pie, and more pie

One of the things that didn't change when I came to third grade was the approach to writing. I've used Writer's Workshop and individual conferences with students for years, and while the lessons are a little different for younger writers, the basic structure is the same, and leads to moments with kids where they really get writing, and get excited about it.

D. came to tell me she was done with her story. "I read it, it makes sense." Her story went like this:

I love pie. I cud eat
pie all day
if I kud.
Reglar (regular)
charey
pie.
I love pie.
D. has a hard time writing. She doesn't read very well, which makes writing even harder. I started asking her questions. Why do you like pie so much? What's your favorite kind of pie? Why is that your favorite?
She started talking about making pie with her Grandma, and how her Grandma sometimes puts frosting on the bottom of a cherry pie, which makes it extra good. Just talking to me about it made her smile.
I knew we'd found it. "There's your story," I said, "Your first story basically says you like pie. I don't know anyone who doesn't like pie, but I've never heard of putting frosting in it."
D. went back and completely rewrote her story to tell about making pie with her Grandma and how that makes her feel. She ended up with something she was really proud of.
This is why I love Writer's Workshop, for kids like D. who absolutely hate writing when they come to me, and realize by the end that they do have a story to tell.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

~ Something bad will happen ~

Third graders, in some respects, are easier than fifth graders. An obvious statement, perhaps, but I'm continually finding new ways that this is true.

For several years, I have done away with an established system of consequences. There's no checkmark, no first getting five minutes of recess taken, then ten, etc. I find it's much more effective to ask the child what they think should happen to them, or just tell them if they don't stop,

something bad will happen.

I've used that vaguely threatening phrase for several years, but I'm finding it to be much more effective with third graders because of conversations like this one, with J. On our way back from the Kindergarten bake sale, I asked students to walk quietly, single file, no voices. As usual. And then, I used my vaguely threatening phrase, "If you decide to talk, you can be sure something bad will happen." Which was when J piped up, "Like getting our snack taken away, Mrs. N?"

I almost thanked him for giving me his consequence, and had to keep myself from laughing out loud. "That would be really bad, wouldn't it J?"

Fifth graders usually know when to shut up, so you don't get these kinds of insights into exactly what they don't want to have happen.

I think they might be growing on me...

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

~Perspective~

While out of my room so the student teacher could teach without students interrupting to ask me a question, I escaped to the computer lab. As I sat there, typing out a Social Studies outline for the year, a parapro from the autistic room came in with a student.

I think they were learning verbs, because she had a set of cards that she showed him and he'd have to say, "The boy is running" or swimming or jumping.

From the get-go, this student was agitated. "No school!" he kept blurting. She'd patiently reply, "Yes, school."

After nearly every card he completed, his first request was, "New cards, please!" with increasing urgency. She continued to patiently ignore him and give him the next card.

In my most frustrating day, I have less repetition and agitation to deal with than she did in the fifteen minutes she worked with him. Yet I still find myself losing my patience with kids when I've had to remind them again how to add, or subtract with borrowing.

What a reminder to take a deep breath and remember the patience God has with me.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

~ Too Much Information ~

Our little class has been working hard all month to collect personal connections to the books we're reading. Last week, each student had to have their own connection to the book they're reading written in their reading journal. Most of them did a nice job. So did A., although his was possibly a little too enlightening:

"I'm reading Captain Underpants. He wanders around in his underwear a lot. And so do I."

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

~Why's that again?~

We're finishing the state testing this week. MEAP. My favorite thing ever. Fifth graders are so over MEAP testing, but for third graders? Well, it's their first time, and they have lots of questions.

The biggest question? "Why do we have to use Number 2 pencils?" We gave them a couple of Number 2 pencils at the beginning of the week. When we got to the second day of testing, we asked them to get their number two pencils out. Pens, odd pencils, and crayons came out, along with the question. WHY the number 2 pencil?

"Because," we told them, "number 2 pencils make the computers that grade your test happy. We have to make the computer happy."

But still, each testing session brought about more questions. T actually got a little teary eyed when I took his camoflauge pencil away and handed him a good old number 2. "But WHY?" he whined.

And just now, as Ms L read a funny story about standardized testing, another question. "Why do you have to use a number two pencil?"

"TO MAKE THE COMPUTER HAPPY!" the rest of the class informed him.

Who would have thought this was what they'd have trouble with?

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

~ Oh, the things I thought I'd be missing~

A new realization has come to me since teaching third grade. The drama queens we get in the fifth grade have their roots in the third grade.

Mean girls. Drama Queens. Queen Bees & Wannabes.

Call them what you will, I've got at least three of them, ripping a path of destruction through my classroom.

We typically aren't aware of the problem until someone blurts out, "I HATE YOU!" They're good at keeping things under the surface. Then the detective work begins.

Last week, we worked hard on personal connections to stories. For example, the person in the story we were reading had a little brother who drove her nuts, and those of us who had younger siblings understood the story much better because we knew what that was like. We had a personal connection. They all went off to read their own books, and at the end everyone got a chance to share a connection they found to their own story. All fine and good.

The next thing we knew, M was shouting her hatred at a couple other girls at break time. After some calm down/thinking time next door, I went in to talk to her. Her side of the story? "I only said that because K said that my connection in reading wasn't right when Ms. L said it was fine. And then K went and told B my connection was bad and B said to A and K that they weren't going to play with me anymore."

Wow. So, I poked my head in and interuptted break time for B and K and A. I sent them all to different rooms and then pulled them one at a time to verify M's story. Which they did, K saying that she thought M's connection was a bunch of baloney and didn't like it when M argued with her about it, which is why she told B. B saying that she didn't like M arguing with K and that's why she decided that M couldn't play with them. A saying she just wanted to play with K and B and didn't like M all that much, only she didn't know why. Except that B and K didn't like her either.

Following all of this? It was enough to make my head spin as well. A round of consequences was had by all, and I was left shaking my head.

They act like fifth grade girls. With a couple of key differences. One, when I talked to them, they all cried. Fifth grade girls sigh and roll their eyes over stuff like this. They rarely cry. Two, with fifth grade girls, I would never have even known about this whole thing. The whole scene in the classroom would have been communicated in a series of facial expressions, gestures, and quiet whispers, and it would have become truly nasty out on the playground, away from the prying eyes of any teacher. Third grade girls just haven't figured that out yet.

I thought I would have less of this to deal with, not more. Third graders continue to surprise me...and not always in good ways.

Monday, October 19, 2009

~Oh, the things I'm missing!~

There are several things I miss about teaching fifth graders.
Sense of humor.
Independence.
The ability to remember more than two consecutive directions.

But then there are the things I'm really glad to be missing.
The Period Club.

Yes, the period...the dreaded monthly visit. Er, dreaded unless you're a fifth grade girl, that is. Across the hall (which is fifth grade land) M. has started her period. Soon, a bevy of girls from across the hall head to the bathroom several times a day, because they're sure they've started. They have conferences in the bathroom to discuss whether they've started, and how they can tell for sure.

And so my former partner teacher finally took away their bathroom passes. The girls have designated times to use the restroom. And they have to be supervised.

The thing is...the girl who started her period was supposed to be in my room this year. So it seems I've missed out on the Period Club.

There are still things to do a happy dance about.

Friday, October 16, 2009

~ My new job description ~

Apparently, my job as an educator of today's youth includes dentistry.

Little M. came up to the student teacher yesterday to inform her that her tooth was hurting.

Ms. L gave the same response I would have given: "I'm so sorry. I know that's not fun. Since I can't really do anything about it, make sure you tell your mom tonight."

Today, M. told us her mom had a question for us. "She said to ask you if you're going to pay to get my tooth fixed since you didn't do anything about it."

Hmm. Like maybe pull out the novocain I keep stashed in the desk? Or maybe perform dental surgery right here and now? Because apparently it's now our job to educate, instill character, and keep track of every student's dental needs.

Because I need something else to do...

Monday, October 5, 2009

~ Use # 241 for Scotch Tape ~

My student teacher was observed today, which meant I was kicked out of my room for a bit. As I sat in the hallway, hole punching and filing paperwork, Mr. X across the hall stepped out on the phone. When the vice principal got on the phone, the following story unfolded...

K., a student in Mr. X's room, was having a rough morning. He'd been sent to the hall multiple times, where he disrupted other students and molded modeling clay around his nose. K. decided he was ready to come back in, and so Mr. X let him in.

Within 10 minutes of being invited back in, K. managed to get some Scotch tape. He decided to tape the inside of his throat. Yup, that's right, the inside. This had the unfortunate consequence of making him gag. And we all know where gagging can lead. Mr. X was calling to request clean up of his floor. Delightful.

My first thought was that apparently crazy had moved across the hall this year. My second thought...who would have thought Scotch tape could be used for such a purpose. I guess it's true...you learn something new every day.

Monday, September 21, 2009

~ Unexpected ~

Someone said the word "cock" during a spelling lesson in my classroom this week, and nobody even noticed. Well, except me, ready to give out the evil eye/teacher look to the first person who let out the tiniest little guffaw or poked the kid sitting next to them to giggle about the other meaning of that word. Except these weren't fifth graders, they were third graders, and not one of them even moved an eyelash.

How refreshing.

There've been some big changes to my little life recently. To recap:
* Last week of school in May, superintendant decides that one section of 5th grade will be cut. That means me. I think to myself, "Low seniority stinks!"
* In June, the school board asks the superintendant to find other places to cut besides fifth grade. He agrees and in July the board passes a budget which includes me keeping my place in fifth grade. I think to myself, "Yay!"
* In August, the secretaries come back to work and fifth graders begin withdrawing from the district in alarming numbers. My class list drops to 17. In the meantime, second and third graders begin enrolling in large numbers. I start thinking about what to do with all that extra room in my classroom.
* Six days before school starts, I get the call. I can keep my room, but I'm going to be teaching third grade.

I have mixed emotions about this move. I really love fifth graders, their independence and sense of humor.

But for now I'm enjoying the chance to play the game "Heads Up, Seven Up" without anyone rolling their eyes, that a couple of them sneak up to ambush me with hugs when I'm not expecting it, and not having to give a death glare to the kid who suggests another word for rooster during the spelling lesson.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

~Mushrooms, revisited~

So my classes seem to have a theme of obsession with mushrooms. Field trip, shmield trip. We're looking at mushrooms!

Today was no exception. It was our annual trip to White Pine Village. It's a really cool restored historical village, with lots of activites for kids to do, and also a candy shop and an ice cream store, which, if you asked a fifth grader, are the most important stops in the village.

Except for this year.

I had my little group of seven. They stopped to see the old sawmill, which was operating today. The two boys were absolutely fascinated with the little hole in the wall where the sawdust was disappearing up a ramp. They politely asked the men running the sawmill if they could go behind the building to see the sawdust pile. Really valuable historical stuff, I'm tellin' ya! When the man said, "Sure," they turned around with the best can-we-can-we-oh-please look I've ever seen. Before my head had completed one entire nod, they were off.

We waited. And we waited. The girls, who were most definitely not interested in the sawdust pile, were about ready to mutiny and leave the boys behind because they were Hungry when the boys came roaring back, two huge white morels in their hands.

They showed their mushrooms off to everyone they could think of, ate their lunch in about twelve seconds, and then began begging to go mushroom hunting.

So we spent our last twenty minutes at the historic village mushroom hunting. Successfully. They found fifteen or twenty huge morels. They were so excited they even forgot to fight over who would take them home.

So chalk up yet another field trip in which my lovely children, when asked, would only be able to tell you about fungus. Yep...educationally valuable stuff!

Friday, May 22, 2009

~ To the Rescue! ~

Yesterday, it was Bitsy Bender. Today it's a bunch of lilacs. Saving my day, that is.

Yesterday was the first annual "NutriWalk" at our school. Kids walk about a mile, and then get healthy snacks and water as a gym activity. This involves a)riding a bus to the park, b)walking a mile and c)walking back to school, all of which are things that send my autistic one into fits of panic. Especially the bus. All I heard, all morning long, was that busses are bad, they can tip over, they're loud, they're too bouncy. And, oh, by the way, he hates busses.


We put his earplugs in, and since he's destroyed all his other little fidgety items, I frantically searched my desk for something he could fiddle with on the bus ride. And I found this:

Bitsy Bender. Given to me ages ago by a good friend. Bitsy was contorted, rocketed, magneted, and flipped all the way to the park. And not even one small, "Busses are evil," comment was heard. He was so calm when he got off the bus, he even completed the mile walk and the walk back to school without complaining. Truly, miracles do still happen.
Bitsy Bender saves the day.
And today, her superhuman counterpoint is.....a vase of lilacs. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.
It starts with what felt like a Monday morning. I didn't sleep well, I made the coffee too weak, I had to change my white shirt after a muddy dog decided to show love by jumping on me, I couldn't find my favorite jacket even after checking all the normal places, and I finally straggled into school thirty minutes later than I wanted to be.
Which is when A. showed up with a vase full of lilacs and this heart-warming statement, "Mrs. N, my mom wants me to give you these 'cause she doesn't like this vase anymore."
Ah, fifth graders. They still know how to make my day.

Monday, May 18, 2009

~Pass It Around~

I love this book.
It's a tale that starts out sounding like it's a simple childrens' story.
And then it starts hitting you right in the heart. "This is the danger of loving: No matter how powerful you are, no matter how many kingdoms you rule, you cannot stop those you love from dying."
Powerful stuff that most authors aren't brave enough to put in a childrens' novel.
Because I adore this book, I always read it aloud for my kids, and they always love it, too. We've used the book this year for lessons on quotation marks, paragraphs, plot structure, text-to-text connections, character development, and poetry writing.
Somewhere along the way it becomes clear that I've infected my kids. They start checking the book our of the school library. There's a bit of a waiting list for the copy I have in my room. They talk their parents into buying it from book orders.
This morning I had to ducktape the hardcover back on our classroom copy. The dust jacket has long since vanished. The pages are dog-eared and filled with old sticky notes marking someone's favorite passage.
Love of literature and stories is infectious.
Who have you passed the bug along to?

Monday, May 11, 2009

~Not Me! Monday~

I most certainly do not ever, under any circumstances, bribe children with suckers. And if I did, I certainly would never bribe them to run all the way down to the teacher's lounge to buy me a diet cherry pepsi because I need the caffeine. Nope, that would never happen in my classroom...

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Triple Meltdown Thursday

It was one meltdown after another today with my little autistic one.

It all began with seeing a high school band concert on the schedule and vowing that he would not sit on the floor in the gym because it makes his knees and feet hurt and it's dirty and it has germs.

The meltdown fun continued with indoor recess. I returned a couple minutes before the end of recess after lunch to find it absolutely silent, and they were all reading.
"Did you guys get in trouble at recess?" I asked.
And before the first two words were out of anyone's mouth, he was screaming, "It wasn't my fault," throwing books, lifting his desk off the floor and dropping it.

So naturally, when he made it back from the office mid-concert, and I said, "Please sit down." He sat. On the floor. With no drama. After I'd heard all day how floors are dirty, bad places where children should never be required to sit. Ever.

By the days end, he walked into the Special Ed teacher's room, plopped himself on the floor, rubbed his palms on the floor and then licked them. Licked them.

Because, as he explained to her, floors have all kinds of germs on them, which would make him sick so he wouldn't have to come to school and sit on the floor.

So maybe the next time we have an assembly, I can remind him that by sitting on the floor, he actually increases the chances of getting to stay home.

It might work. It just might work.

Monday, April 27, 2009

~"Not Me!" Monday~

I most definitely did not send a student into the hall today.
And this sentence very definitely did not come out of my mouth,

"I'd love to have you back in my classroom as soon as you can use words to ask questions instead of throwing glue sticks."

Nope, not me....

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

~ All in the Family ~

Two years ago, K. was in my classroom. I loved K. and her spunky little ways, and one of the things I remember about her is the way she turned in assignments. Never just folded in half, or even in fourths, not this girl. She'd start by folding them in half, then continue the fun by accordian folding the assignment, or maybe creating a little fan out of the paper. It was a little mini-adventure just to get her paper unfolded and laid flat to read it.

This year, her little brother R. is in my room. R just folded his math paper in thirds, folded all the edges back a couple of times, and then proceeded to staple the life out of it. When I told him I didn't really want to have to use a staple remover just to grade his assignment, he solemnly held it up, showing me that all the answers were on the front of his little art project.

Is the desire to fold paper genetic, or what?

Friday, March 27, 2009

~ Top Five ~

Top Five signs that Spring Break is only days away:

5. When asked to get his reading book out of his desk, D. begins growling at me.

4. During math time, the boys manage to make a fraction game into a full contact sport.

3. Every set of directions is followed by someone asking, "Do we have to?"

2. Whispered arguments erupt during reading time over whether Spring Break is this coming week, or if we have one week of school left. A. finally settles it by interrupting me mid-sentence to ask if we have school on Monday or not.

.......and the number one sign that Spring Break is only days away......
Teachers with small, thin smiles passing each other in the hallway, reminding each other that we will make it to break with most of our sanity intact. Maybe.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Creative Geography

In education, we deal with a lot of what is sometimes called "creative spelling," where a child who has no idea how to spell a word will pretty much make up a spelling. Take, for example, the word "aghsome."

But I think we need a new term in education, so I'm introducing, "Creative Geography," where a child who has no idea where countries or major landforms are located makes it up.

My partner teacher's kids have social studies with me every other week, and they are enormous creative geographers. For example, if you didn't already know, my partner teacher's students tell me that Canada comes in two parts, one part north of the U.S., and one part south. They also think Chicago is a country and Mackinac Island is it's own state. Truly.

Today, as I was grading their final projects for our Colonial Times unit, I came across quite the interesting picture. One student chose to make a poster for his project. He drew a picture of a cabin with some farm fields and a garden patch with a slave working, and in the background, a volcano, spewing lava over the entire scene. You didn't know that there were active volcanoes in the thirteen original colonies, did you?

Neither did I.

Friday, March 13, 2009

Note To Self

Dear Self,
For future reference, field trips on Thursdays are a BAD thing. It tricks the mind into believing that Thursday was actually Friday, which leads to Friday feeling like Saturday, which leads to the minds of children believing that they shouldn't actually have to do any work. 'Cause it's Saturday.

So save yourself a headache, and from now on, only take field trips on Fridays.

Sincerely,
Mrs. N.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Time Has Come

It came early this year.

It's usually April before I have to give the Dreaded Talk. But it's only the beginning of March, and judging by the smell I'm gonna have to give it early.

The your-bodies-are-changing-and-you-must-start-showering-every-day-and-also-wearing-deoderant talk.

Cause they just came back from gym, and oh my glory are they ripe!

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

An Exercise in Pointlessness

I like extra paperwork about as much as the next person, which is to say not at all. So I was less than happy when our grade level was told we'd be giving a writing test to our kids which would need to be scored by us using a rubric. We'd need to score the essays blind, with students using numbers instead of their names , and we couldn't score our own students because of the potential for bias.

Sounds fun, right? Oh, but wait, there's more!

Then, because I have the extra special job of being the grade level chairperson, all the scores came to me, I had to type in all 115 names of students in our grade level, get a class list (with their numbers) from each teacher, and enter the scores on a spreadsheet to be sent to our principal.

Lots of extra work for me, but I do get paid for this position, so I don't mind it so much.

Usually.

According to plan, I should have had a set of scored papers from everyone by February 27th. A week and a half ago.

According to plan, I also should have had a list of student names with numbers from each teacher by February 27th. A week and a half ago.

But of course, what ever goes according to plan when education is involved?

First, I had Ms. Procrastination next door. After being told she'd have them on three separate dates, I had to threaten her with having to enter her own scores on my spreadsheet and figure out how to attach the file and send it to the principal. She hates technology. I got the scored papers within forty-five minutes.

My next hurdle was getting a class list from Mr. Unorganized. I personally don't understand how a teacher can survive without a printed class list. I make dozens of copies of mine and use them for everything from lunch choices to setting up reading groups to grading. But he doesn't. And there's nothing really wrong with that. Which I had to repeat to myself like a chanting monk as he was telling me he didn't have a class list and wasn't going to spend that time typing just to give me one. His idea? I'll just pass them back out and have the kids write their names on them. All fine and good. Except he forgets to give them back to me and has to unearth them from his desk when I go over to beg for them yet again.

Finally, I think I have the final piece, the missing names for these assignments, and I can finish this project at long last.

Except then I look at the names. The first names. Followed by no last names.

I march back across the hall. I believe his exact words to me were, "What now?" Yep, professional to the core. He tells me he'll have them do it at recess and then give them right back to me.

Indoor recess. Again. I wait. And wait. And finally decide he probably forgot and go across the hall, again, to find him. He isn't there, but the papers are, sitting on top of a pile on one of his desks. I grab them, start hollering at children to come put their last names on and make sure they print. It's mass chaos, half of them want to tell me how to pronounce their last names, and the other half want to ask me if they have to put their real name or their nickname. Yeesh. This is also when I realize that Mr. Unorganized has not assigned his children numbers based on alphabetical order, or any particular order at all.

*sigh*

When the commotion subsides, I'm left with two papers with no names, and Mr. Unorganized has returned. Shockingly, no one claimed the paper with a large zero at the top, and the one child who hasn't put his name on a paper claims that C. took his paper and put his name on it.

It's at this point that I decide I'm beyond caring. It is Not. My. Job. to figure out what on earth he's done with these kids and these papers. Not. Not, not, not. I take what I have, enter the scores on the spreadsheet, toss the ones with no names, and send the whole thing on its merry little way.

But here's the real kicker. I have absolutely no idea what these scores are actually being used for. We're not using them to decide what to teach. The sixth grade teachers aren't using them to get an idea where the kids are at before they start sixth grade. They're going in some dusty file that no one ever looks at. And we get to test them twice a year. Which means I get to do this all over again before the end of school.

Argh.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Run, don't walk!

I walk in the room during lunch recess to see K banging the tape dispenser on the table.

"What is it that you're doing?"

"N broke the whole bottom off it," he says, sand pouring from a large gap, "I'm just trying to fix it."

I shake my head and run, run as far away as possible. Which unfortunately is only as far as the teacher's lounge.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Expanding the Union

Word of the Day: contiguous. As in, "How many contiguous states are there?"

I think my explanation of "contiguous" was pretty good. Contiguous states are the states that are touching at least one other state. They understood that.

Nope, the problem seemed to lie in the fact that they weren't entirely sure what qualified as a state.

"Oh!! So Cuba is not a contiguous state!" No, sweetie, Cuba is a different country.

"Well, how about Mackinac Island? That's a state, right?" Ah, no. It's part of our state.

"What about Greenland? Antarctica? Those aren't touching anything else." Honey, those aren't actually part of the U.S.

"This part right here..." (pointing to Vancouver Island) "it's not contiguous...which state is that?" Well, my dear, it's not a state, it's part of Canada.

They didn't stop at adding land to the United States, either. As I circled the room, B. piped up. "Hey, is Canada split in half?"
"Um, no," I reply confusedly.
"Well then, what's that?" she says, pointing to Mexico.
"Mexico," I sigh, praying the middle school Social Studies teacher will refrain from murdering me in my sleep.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Thankful Thursday

Thursday, oh Thursday, you've been so much kinder to me than Wednesday was.

* This Thursday I found my new favorite spelling mistake: AGHSOME. Allow me to translate for those of you who don't deal with creative spelling every day. aghsome = awesome. As in, "I'm having an aghsome morning!" I'm trying to think of anyplace, ever, where 'gh' makes a 'w' sound. So far, I'm drawing a blank. Any ideas?

* This Thursday I found the newest slogan I'd like tattooed to my forehead for later use. "Where is your MUTE button?" As seen on one of those T-shirts I can't believe parents actually spend money on and allow their children to wear. I don't think any child should be wearing a T-shirt which says that, but I can see where I could definitely use the slogan.

* This Thursday morning, since my kids are in the middle/end of roughly 40,000 projects and assignments, I declared this to be a work session morning. We made a list, I told them they were in charge of keeping track of where they were and how much time they had left, and we went to work. And amazingly enough, they're actually doing it! Aghsome!

* This Thursday morning, my autistic child came in, followed directions, and got all his work done without a single temper tantrum. Double aghsome!
Hope your day is as AGHSOME as mine - what do you have to be thankful for this Thursday?

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Not quite what I had in mind

Today's spelling assignment: search and find words that end in Y and add a suffix to them.

First word they found: loganberry. Which they changed into loganberries.

I was thinking about more useful words...words that they may actually USE in their writing.

*sigh* I guess this works, too...

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

It is well

As much as I disagree with some of the things my administrator does in the building, I'm always thankful that she is a woman with strong faith, and that we have that in common.

So this morning I'm walking through the building to my classroom anticipating
~what kind of mood my autistic child will be in
~filling out a lengthy narrative report on another student who should qualify for special ed, but probably won't
~having another meeting with another specialist dealing with my autistic student
~having to redo fully half of the writing notebooks I graded yesterday because our computerized grading system booted me off without saving what I'd already done
~on top of the large basket of papers I've not had time to grade yet.

As I'm walking, the music my principal plays in the hallways in the morning starts to seep in through the rest of the stuff of life and teaching...
"It is well with my soul."
Amen

Monday, February 23, 2009

Objection

Random comment of the day, in the middle of a social studies work session.

R: "This music is veeeeerrrrry relaxing."

Mrs. N: "I'm glad you approve, R. It's called Music for Reading."

R: "But we're not reading, we're working....I guess it'll still work."

Friday, February 20, 2009

*Reflections on Teaching* Year 7

“Giving Up”
Reflections on Year 7

“Write it down,” the assistant principal told me. “Write down every single thing you’ve tried with her, then give me a copy." So, I sat down to type.
I let my mind wander back to that honeymoon period, the first two weeks of the school year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thump, thump, thump, thump. It seemed innocent at first, like it was a nervous habit and she couldn’t help it. It drilled itself into our subconscious, hammering at our sanity.
Thump, thump, thump. “So our next step is to bring down….” Thump, thump, thump. “…to bring down….” Thump, thump, thump. “…what was I saying?” Glassy eyes stared back at me. Miserable. This was miserable. I walked back to her desk. “Please stop stomping. No one can think or concentrate. Please stop.” Thump, thump, thump. It was unbelievable that I would be begging a student to stop a behavior. She’d already been kept in from recess, sent to the office, and removed to the hallway. I’d put pillows and exercise mats under her desk, only to have them viciously kicked across the room. And still, every single day, every single hour, every single minute: thump, thump, thump.

While sharing my frustration in the staff lounge one day, a voice piped up from a nearby table.
“I know exactly who you’re talking about.”
“Really?”
“Yup. The boy I shadow was in her home room last year. The stomping made everyone crazy. I finally took her shoes.”
“Off her feet?”
“Yup. I only had to do it once, and she never stomped for me again.”

Well, now, there was an idea! Take the shoes once and be done with it. This was new territory for me, though. I’d never forcibly removed clothing from a student, or from anyone, for that matter. I waited until the next day, after a quick phone call to keep the parents informed.
It started soon after the first bell. Thump, thump, thump. I gave her one last chance. “Please stop stomping,” I murmured with my hand on her chair, knowing she wouldn’t but hoping she would. Sixty seconds of thump, thump, thumping later I took a deep breath. I was so nervous my hands were trembling. I moved her chair away from her desk, knelt beside her, and began unlacing shoes from her uncooperative feet which lashed out soundlessly. I wrestled the shoes off and returned, shaking, to my own desk.

Unfortunately, this first time wasn’t the last time. I learned to wedge both her legs between my own legs and the desk and use one elbow to keep the knees down while I unlaced and pulled. After a seemingly endless couple of weeks, the thumps ceased.

For about a day, lovely silence reigned in our classroom. And then, “Shhhhhhhh. Shh. Shh. Shhhhhh.” At first, we were so relieved to have the stomping over with that the shushing was a welcome replacement. Yet as the weeks wore on, so did our patience. After the second month of shushing, I looked at the eyes of my twenty-five other children and knew, I had to do something else for the rest of my kids.

So she began her days living in the office. Given a fresh chance each morning, the choice was always hers. Our days fell into a pattern.
“Shhhhhh. Shh, shh, shhhhhhh.”
“Please stop shushing.”
“SH! Shhhhhhhhh. Sh. Shhhhhhh,” she’d continue.
I’d ask her to join me in the hallway, where she’d be given the choice to stop or go to the office. Her response? “Shhhhhhhhhh.” Lucky for me when it came to physically moving, I knew her kryptonite: she hated to be touched. “Well,” I’d sigh, “if you need some help moving, I can help you.” Her response? “Shhhhhhh.” So I’d tell my partner teacher where I was going, place my hand on one of the shushing girl’s shoulders, and begin to move her toward the office.

At times like these, she’d suddenly find words. “Stupid, get your hands off me!” or “What’s wrong with you, I said don’t touch me!” or "Pervert!" Words all the way down the hallway; words combined with pushing, shoving, scratching, and twisting. I’d leave her there, again, feeling like a failure, again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat staring at the computer screen, remembering. After typing two pages of all I’d tried with her, I realized I hadn’t really given up on her at all. One failed attempt after another, I had fought for this child. The fact that this school wasn’t the best place for her didn’t mean I’d given up, just that my efforts were directed at getting her the help she needed, help I couldn’t give her.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Another Note to Self

Dear Self,
In the future, please try to keep better track of your students. When one of them goes home sick, try to notice this fact on your own, without assistance from other students. And definitely don't say to the rest of your class, "Where on earth is R?" because then you'll feel really, really stupid when they tell you he went home sick two hours ago because he threw up in the bathroom.

Perhaps, self, you're attempting to ensure that you win the "Least Attentive Teacher" award. Be assured that this award, in fact, does not exist, and is not an honor you really want on your record.

Seriously, self, get it together and start being a better teacher!

Sincerely,
Mrs. N.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Huh??

Explain directions (for those auditory learners).....

List directions on whiteboard (for those visual learners).....

Make students repeat directions....out loud.....twice (to check that they understand)....

Begin activity.....

"Mrs. N, what does it mean 'trace?'"

"Mrs. N, what questions am I supposed to answer?"

"Mrs. N, when am I supposed to read the book?"

"Mrs. N, you didn't tell me I was supposed to read the book before I answered the questions!"

"Mrs. N, where am I supposed to put this?"

"Mrs. N, are we supposed to, like, use this hole punch to do this?"

"Mrs. N...."

"Mrs. N...."

Strong support for my belief that drinks, ice cream, and chocolate should be available at all times in the teacher's lounge.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Dusting off

When everything you do goes wrong, somehow....
When everything the experts tell you to do still doesn't work....
When you wonder if you're here to teach, or just to make sure children behave....

After you've gone home, dug a deep hole in the Psalms and curled up in there for awhile....
After you've decompressed in the bathtub (with ice cream)....
....and had a good cry....

You get up and ask for the strength to do this just one more day, knowing that it's in your own weakness that your Father makes you strong.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Candle, anyone?

Mini Corndogs for lunch + Fifth-grade bodies = one enormously odorific classroom!

Belief and Practice

Today I pulled out my writing conference notebook. This is where I take little notes on each of my students as a writer, what I've noticed they do well, and what writing skills and styles they still need my help with.

I believe that conferencing with each child is key to improving them as writers. I believe that writing can not be taught using whole group instruction alone, and I believe that in order to know which skills my students need, I, as a teacher, need to be very connected to what they're doing as writers. I need to know what they're writing about, how they're writing, and what they struggle with. And I can't do that without actually sitting down with them and chatting about their writing.

That's what I believe.

Then there's my actual practice: a semi-dusty conference notebook, where the last time I had a writing conference with a kid was October 9th. Yeesh. There's no excuse for that. None at all.

Monday, February 2, 2009

The End Result

You just don't know what the end result will be when you're eight and the doctor standing above you says, "I'm going to give you a shot, it's really going to hurt, but then nothing else I do will hurt," and then proceeds to give you an excruciatingly painful local anaesthetic in the head. You just can't see the end result of that action: a q-tip shoved up your nose and writing four days of sub plans.

I started feeling tired and achy last weekend. I've had fatigue before though, and gone to the doctor for nothing, so I got my tired body out of bed and shuffled to work on Monday morning. By noon I knew I was running a fever, so when Mr. N urged me again to go to the doctor, I agreed. Which is when they shoved the q-tip up my nose. Not pleasant. Not AT ALL pleasant. Ten minutes after the q-tip incident, the P.A. walked back in the room and cheerfully announced,
"Influenza! Looks like you won't be going anywhere for the rest of this week." Then she takes another look at my file. "But didn't you get a flu shot?" she asks.

No, no I did not get a flu shot, which is the end result of my experience as an eight year old. Since then, needles have been among my least favorite things on earth. Since then, I will avoid any needle that is not strictly required, including flu shots.

Which is why I was sitting in the doctor's office a week ago, recovering from a q-tip probe, mind spinning with, "WHY didn't I finish those emergency sub plans the first week of school? WHAT on earth will I have a sub do for four days? Can I leave an introduction to decimals with a sub? No, not a good idea. How many movies can I show in the next four days?"

In the end, of course, this was really a minor disaster...my kids are mostly unscathed and my health is improving. But I've learned my lesson. Next year, I brave the needle!

Monday, January 19, 2009

Ick.

This lovely thought from one of my social studies students:

"Mrs. N! Can you just imagine if a horse had to use a litter box?!?!?"

Woohoo!!!

18 degrees, baby!

They're goin' out!

Here's hoping

I found little tiny tire tracks on my whiteboard this morning.

Indoor recess strikes again.

We're starting at -4 degrees today. Hoping, hoping, hoping it gets above 10 before noon.


Thursday, January 15, 2009

Day 3 - Please God, Make It Stop

Floating Golf Ball experiment knocked over by children throwing tennis ball. Water everywhere.
Autistic Child with hands in ears screaming, "I'M NOT LISTENING! SEE I'M BEING BAD!"
One of them has bad bad gas. Too afraid to light a candle and have open flame around spastic children.
Breathing through mouth.
E. wants help finding a hiding place for hide and seek.

I tell her I'm a little swamped.

Snow Day needed. Badly.

Day 3

Indoor recess makes us think that Mrs. N's scotch tape not only can, but should be used to tape our noses and mouths shut.

It's days like these that make me think I should have become an accountant.

Day 3

Indoor Recess: Day three and counting: -19 degrees

There is gasping with joy when a jar of suckers is held up. Only the gasping doesn't end, because they're entertained by trying to outdo each other. They may pass out before they actually stop.

We're so watching a movie until I can ship them off to Art.

Monday, January 12, 2009

...and so it begins...

I'm really not sure I like winter anymore. It started snowing way early this year, and just hasn't stopped. And now...the cold begins.
We're looking at indoor recess all week long, folks.

And that's never pretty.

***update***
It's noon and I'm listening to the fourth graders storm outside for recess.
Yahooo!!

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Broken again

Sometimes I wonder...how do the teachers who have been doing this job for 20 or 30 years have any heart left? Every year seems to bring another student who takes a slice of that heart.

Yesterday it was D. I've been fighting all year to have him tested for special education services. The child can tell you the prime factorization of 84, but can hardly read or write, which is an enormous red flag for possible learning problems.

But...there are issues. Mom and Dad are divorced and NOT amicably. Older sister isn't even allowed to see Dad because he molested her, but the judge let the boys stay, saying they'd survive.

D was called down to the office yesterday. I didn't know why. He came back during recess. "Doooo you wanna know why I had to go down to the office?

"If you'd like to tell me."

"It was social services people. But for Mom's house this time."

"...oh..."

"It's all cause Doug was hitting my sister, like really hitting her, like he wouldn't stop."

"Who's Doug?"

"Doug is um...he's the...well...the one my mom likes."

He left then, in true ADD fashion - distracted by something else - while I sat there feeling kicked in the gut. How does this kid have a chance? Dad's an abuser, Mom seems to have a pattern of relationships with abusive men, relationships that obviously leave her kids confused since D has no idea what to even call the latest guy - is he a boyfriend, fiance, what? All I can do is cry out to Jesus for this child - that somewhere along the line, he'll see what normal looks like, he'll know he can make different and hopefully better choices than his parents did, he'll know that this lifestyle isn't all there is, that there's more, that there's hope.

I cry out - and then I ask him if there's anything I can do for him. A puzzled stare. "Nope, I'm fine," he says, and I realize he probably wouldn't know what fine was if it walked up and hugged him.

Another piece of my heart, gone.