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!