October 7, 2009
I knew I had to quit when I literally pulled my hair out. Recently some friends and I have discussed, sometimes after a few glasses of red wine, the misuse of the word “literally”, often by those younger, and therefore dumber than us, but also by such beloved figures as our own parents. We scoff at each other’s tales of how Mom said her mouth was “literally on fire” after eating the chili, or how the TV announcer claimed that his jaw was “literally on the floor” when he heard the news. These statements conjure up images of cartoon characters dousing oral flames or scooping the wayward body part up and dusting it off, images which are amusing to us learned folk.
All this is to say that I know what the word literally means, and that this was not a metaphoric hair-pulling experience. As I stood over the garbage can in my classroom holding a clump of my hair, I knew that I could not live like this. I also had the passing thought that my hair looked worse than I had pictured it in my mind, sort of a fuzzy brown nest, and that I better throw it out before anyone saw how gross it looked.
The first time I quit a teaching job partway through the year, it took three months for me to make the decision. This time, it took less than half an hour. It took the amount of time between my somewhat surprised revelation that yes, that is my hair that I am holding in my fist, and the arrival of the Spanish teacher, whose rolling blue cart has never been a more welcome sight.
When I graduated from college in the Spring of 2009, I was quite proud of myself. I had survived student teaching with only a few battle scars, even enjoying myself at times. My first placement had been in a solidly middle-class school a few blocks from my house. I skated through, enjoying the company of my cooperating teacher and our daily Diet Coke break, basking in the glow of her explicit compliments: “You’re more of a co-teacher than a student teacher”, and her implicit ones: “Yes, that last student teacher, well, she just wasn’t cut out for the job. Teaching isn’t for everyone.” Clearly, though, we were two of the chosen few.
My second placement had been a bit rockier, with a slightly rowdier band of children, the constant threat of a head lice outbreak and, in one case, a student lifting his desk over his head (“I just wanted to move it. So I had to dump all my stuff out first”). Still, I attributed any difficulties I had to the fact that my cooperating teacher’s behavior management system consisted of short bouts of yelling interspersed with long lectures about what it means to be a good child. Surely, I thought, if I had had this class from the beginning, they would have been attuned to my kinder, gentler, though still sufficiently firm, ways. Just because I wasn’t as strict as Mrs. Wahlfeldt, it didn’t mean I couldn’t control a classroom. My own classroom. Just not this classroom.
My self-satisfaction increased with every box and lamp my boyfriend and I loaded into his minivan. We were hitting the road, leaving the state, heading for the big city. There would be no return to the Chicago suburbs for me, back to a school like the one I came from, where the children were white and each carefully packed lunchbox contained a sandwich, a bag of chips and an apple, with an icepack to keep the carrot sticks at an optimal temperature. No, I had secured a job at Moten Elementary School, a 4th through 6th grade monstrosity atop a hill in Southeast DC. I was impressed by the principal at a job fair I had attended in March, and apparently I had impressed her as well. I soon wondered if it was my ignorance that impressed her most of all.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Just add water
We had macaroni and cheese tonight. Which is fine, and something that Kurt and I have done before. We usually toss in some tuna for a little extra protein, just in case that scary orange cheese powder is really as devoid of nutritional value as it looks. No, mac and cheese for dinner is nothing new for us crazy newlyweds. However when you consider that it is the most complete meal I have served/eaten in the last four days, it is a little worrisome. But such is the life of a single parent.
Three weeks ago, Kurt and I took the leap into instant parenthood, a task I recommend only for the brave or for those lacking any self-preservation instincts. For those who know us, it came as no surprise. Brittany and Brianna have been part of my life, and then Kurt's life, since they were a mere 14 days old. Just before school started (notice the clear lack of self-preservation on my part) we decide to have these darling 2.5-year-olds come and take up residence in our abode. Just during the week, mind you. So, overnight, we went from being happily childless-for-now, with thoughts of children still blissfully just beyond the horizon, to parents to two wild and crazy toddlers. Which all comes back to explaining why, with Kurt out of town, I spent Friday night curled up in the Pepto-Bismol chair, eating chips and cheese dip and drinking beer, and watching TV until I fell asleep. It may not have been a nutritional meal, but for those few hours, babyland resumed its earlier place in the land of my dreams.
Three weeks ago, Kurt and I took the leap into instant parenthood, a task I recommend only for the brave or for those lacking any self-preservation instincts. For those who know us, it came as no surprise. Brittany and Brianna have been part of my life, and then Kurt's life, since they were a mere 14 days old. Just before school started (notice the clear lack of self-preservation on my part) we decide to have these darling 2.5-year-olds come and take up residence in our abode. Just during the week, mind you. So, overnight, we went from being happily childless-for-now, with thoughts of children still blissfully just beyond the horizon, to parents to two wild and crazy toddlers. Which all comes back to explaining why, with Kurt out of town, I spent Friday night curled up in the Pepto-Bismol chair, eating chips and cheese dip and drinking beer, and watching TV until I fell asleep. It may not have been a nutritional meal, but for those few hours, babyland resumed its earlier place in the land of my dreams.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Still nearly new after all these years
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers. After all, they have no way of knowing what is coming their way. It's like being at the beach and everything is bright and sunny, when all of the sudden a huge wave comes sweeping up that sand and completely soaks everything, including all seven Harry Potter books that you happened to bring along with you just in case you have time. Sure, you think you're ready, you've been watching the tide bring the ocean closer and closer, but when the moment finally arrives, you're toast. All you can do is hang your sopping wet, sandy towel over a railing to dry and try to get comfortable even though the sand has also crept into every imaginable crevice.
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers, and I can't believe I am one of them yet again. Sure, I'm with the same school system, moving from Brentwood to Petworth (two DC neighborhoods), but it's a new (much larger), new (much cooler) principal, new (?) coworkers, new (!) curriculum, and a new (much smaller) classroom.
Even still, I was pretty excited about it all. I have ignored the info I keep hearing about my new class being "difficult" and now whenever someone brings it up, all I hear is a faint buzzing, much like a mosquito. I have arranged and rearranged my room to accommodate 26 desks while still meeting the fire code. I have worked with my excellent fifth grade coworkers at other schools to disassemble the curriculum document into something that makes sense. All of this served to make it seem like the water was only at chin height rather than eyebrow.
Then, they "rolled out" the new schedule. Instead of the 2 hours of daily planning time that we were promised, we have 45 minutes. With the extended school day, that means we will be with our little darlings almost non-stop from 8 am to 430 pm. So much for absence makes the heart grow fonder. A small part of me feels like I am whining, that some teachers don't even get that much planning time, etc, etc, but the larger part of me says that just because some people have it worse does not make our situation right. Last year we had 45 minutes of planning time, but the children left at 330, so staying until 5, which I usually did, meant at least an extra hour to plan once the kiddies were gone. Now, I won't even have the next day's pencils sharpened by 5. Argh. All of this makes me feel just as new as before, with no higher ground where I can relocate in order to keep my metaphorical towel from getting soaked. Bring on the tidal wave.
I can't help feeling bad for new teachers, and I can't believe I am one of them yet again. Sure, I'm with the same school system, moving from Brentwood to Petworth (two DC neighborhoods), but it's a new (much larger), new (much cooler) principal, new (?) coworkers, new (!) curriculum, and a new (much smaller) classroom.
Even still, I was pretty excited about it all. I have ignored the info I keep hearing about my new class being "difficult" and now whenever someone brings it up, all I hear is a faint buzzing, much like a mosquito. I have arranged and rearranged my room to accommodate 26 desks while still meeting the fire code. I have worked with my excellent fifth grade coworkers at other schools to disassemble the curriculum document into something that makes sense. All of this served to make it seem like the water was only at chin height rather than eyebrow.
Then, they "rolled out" the new schedule. Instead of the 2 hours of daily planning time that we were promised, we have 45 minutes. With the extended school day, that means we will be with our little darlings almost non-stop from 8 am to 430 pm. So much for absence makes the heart grow fonder. A small part of me feels like I am whining, that some teachers don't even get that much planning time, etc, etc, but the larger part of me says that just because some people have it worse does not make our situation right. Last year we had 45 minutes of planning time, but the children left at 330, so staying until 5, which I usually did, meant at least an extra hour to plan once the kiddies were gone. Now, I won't even have the next day's pencils sharpened by 5. Argh. All of this makes me feel just as new as before, with no higher ground where I can relocate in order to keep my metaphorical towel from getting soaked. Bring on the tidal wave.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Top Three Things I Learned from One Awesome Workshop
Here is a list of the greatest hits from the RC workshop, as per my mom's request.
In no particular order:
1. Children understand instructions best when they are given in a simple, direct format.
For example, say, "Put the scissors down now," rather that, "Could you please put the scissors down?" Tricky, and we all do it, but don't ask a question unless you want an answer.
I was struck by the truth of this at the park the other day when I heard a daycare worker yell at a child on the playground, saying, "What do you think you're doing?" A common phrase, but it's meaningless to a 5-year-old. Perhaps, instead she could have said, "Please get down from the slide. What you are doing is not safe." I have been trying to watch my own language in this area, but this coming school year will put it to the test.
2. Logical consequences are the best way of correcting problem behaviors.
There are three main types of logical consequences. The first, reparations is what I like to call, "You break it, you bought it." Or more accurately, "You break it, you fix it." As in, you spilled it, you clean it up; you knocked it down, (even on purpose), you help put it back together; you crumpled up your homework paper, you write it over.
The second, removal of privilege, is just what it sounds like. "I see that you are not able to walk in line the way that we have talked about. For the rest of the day, you need to walk next to me." I like this one, because it says to kids, "I trust you to do the right thing unless you show me otherwise. If that happens, we will deal with it, but I don't expect us to have any problems." We expect kids to "earn" privileges, but what if we give them those privileges to begin with, and teach them to respect the privileges? I am interested to find out the answer to this question.
The final consequence is a positive time-out, either in the classroom or in another teacher's room. It gives the child a chance to "reset" and regain self-control. The best thing about that is when we watched a video and the teacher gave a personal example of a time when she might need a time-out from the class. I know exactly the kind of situation she is talking about. Plus, by giving that example, she shows the students that anyone can use a time-out.
I was reading the book Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and in it she quotes someone else, I don't know who, and says, "We are not punished for our sin, but by our sin." I believe that most children know when they have made an error, intentionally or accidentally, and the only "punishment" they need is a chance to make it right. Now if we could just get students to be rewarded by their successes rather than for their successes.
3. Students have needs, just like everyone else.
Okay, clearly I knew this, but it was so nice to have it reaffirmed. Even now, as I have been sitting here writing, I've gotten up to go to the bathroom, went to get a drink, and talked to my husband about a broken glass in the kitchen. I've been sitting here for 20 minutes. Why is it then, that we expect students to sit for 45 minutes without talking, playing or moving, as we administer a lesson? It is illogical, and, for the teacher and the kids, very frustrating.
Today my principal called me to ask about this year's school supply list. One new addition for me is a reusable water bottle. I am also hoping to have snack time in the morning, as well as a morning recess. Perhaps we'll even call it our "coffee break". I am still trying to figure out what to do about the bathroom, though, because the only bathrooms in the school are in the basement, and we are on the third floor. The previous principal required students to go as a whole class, which does not line up with my philosophy on that. So I will have to wait and see how that is resolved.
I know that's only three, they are big ones. I will post some more as they come to me.
In no particular order:
1. Children understand instructions best when they are given in a simple, direct format.
For example, say, "Put the scissors down now," rather that, "Could you please put the scissors down?" Tricky, and we all do it, but don't ask a question unless you want an answer.
I was struck by the truth of this at the park the other day when I heard a daycare worker yell at a child on the playground, saying, "What do you think you're doing?" A common phrase, but it's meaningless to a 5-year-old. Perhaps, instead she could have said, "Please get down from the slide. What you are doing is not safe." I have been trying to watch my own language in this area, but this coming school year will put it to the test.
2. Logical consequences are the best way of correcting problem behaviors.
There are three main types of logical consequences. The first, reparations is what I like to call, "You break it, you bought it." Or more accurately, "You break it, you fix it." As in, you spilled it, you clean it up; you knocked it down, (even on purpose), you help put it back together; you crumpled up your homework paper, you write it over.
The second, removal of privilege, is just what it sounds like. "I see that you are not able to walk in line the way that we have talked about. For the rest of the day, you need to walk next to me." I like this one, because it says to kids, "I trust you to do the right thing unless you show me otherwise. If that happens, we will deal with it, but I don't expect us to have any problems." We expect kids to "earn" privileges, but what if we give them those privileges to begin with, and teach them to respect the privileges? I am interested to find out the answer to this question.
The final consequence is a positive time-out, either in the classroom or in another teacher's room. It gives the child a chance to "reset" and regain self-control. The best thing about that is when we watched a video and the teacher gave a personal example of a time when she might need a time-out from the class. I know exactly the kind of situation she is talking about. Plus, by giving that example, she shows the students that anyone can use a time-out.
I was reading the book Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott, and in it she quotes someone else, I don't know who, and says, "We are not punished for our sin, but by our sin." I believe that most children know when they have made an error, intentionally or accidentally, and the only "punishment" they need is a chance to make it right. Now if we could just get students to be rewarded by their successes rather than for their successes.
3. Students have needs, just like everyone else.
Okay, clearly I knew this, but it was so nice to have it reaffirmed. Even now, as I have been sitting here writing, I've gotten up to go to the bathroom, went to get a drink, and talked to my husband about a broken glass in the kitchen. I've been sitting here for 20 minutes. Why is it then, that we expect students to sit for 45 minutes without talking, playing or moving, as we administer a lesson? It is illogical, and, for the teacher and the kids, very frustrating.
Today my principal called me to ask about this year's school supply list. One new addition for me is a reusable water bottle. I am also hoping to have snack time in the morning, as well as a morning recess. Perhaps we'll even call it our "coffee break". I am still trying to figure out what to do about the bathroom, though, because the only bathrooms in the school are in the basement, and we are on the third floor. The previous principal required students to go as a whole class, which does not line up with my philosophy on that. So I will have to wait and see how that is resolved.
I know that's only three, they are big ones. I will post some more as they come to me.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Takin' the Long Way Round
It is hard to think about beginning again. Last year ended on a sour, and very bizarre note, so I know that it is for the best that I am compelled to move again. When I graduated from college, I never would have imagined that I would be working at my fourth school in four years. When I tell people that, I often find myself concluding with something along the lines of, "But it's not my fault, I swear!"
Fortunately, this past week allowed my to experience something wonderful that got me excited to begin again. I attended a training called Responsive Classroom. For those teachers out there reading this, you NEED to go. At first I was hesitant, because going meant giving up a whole week of time basking in the love of my darling, precious, totally crazy goddaughters, Brittney and Brianna. The prospect of leaving them in the care of their dad was not heartwarming, and I am sure that tomorrow will have to start with bathtime and the arduous process of doing their hair. Nonetheless, it was the right decision.
I suppose the best way to encapsulate Responsive Classroom is that it takes what good, interested teachers know are best practices, or at least recognizes as ideals, and distills it into a usable format. It focuses on making rules with students and helping them to follow those rules in a way that recognizes the students' and the teacher's shared humanity. Basically, it seems to be the best, most natural way to run a classroom.
The best thing about the workshop, though, was not the material. It was the time that I spent with my coworkers as we all got excited at the prospect of implementing RC in our own classrooms. I knew I was with the right people when, as we sat outside for lunch, I shared with the new fourth grade teacher at my school that I had taken the kids to a farm the year before. She immediately wanted to start planning a trip that we could go on together, possibly taking the kids overnight, which has been a dream of mine since I heard that such trips are available at the center we went to this year. We were so excited, talking back and forth, that we barely ate our sandwiches.
I had a game when I was little called "The Wizard of Oz". In it, you could decide if you wanted to take the long, safe way, or the short treacherous one. The short one was riddled with hazards that could send you back to start, but if you made it through, you would be ahead of the other players. I don't remember which way I usually chose, but there were no life lessons in that game anyway. Just because you take the long way doesn't mean it's any easier. But then again, who am I trying to get ahead of, anyway?
Fortunately, this past week allowed my to experience something wonderful that got me excited to begin again. I attended a training called Responsive Classroom. For those teachers out there reading this, you NEED to go. At first I was hesitant, because going meant giving up a whole week of time basking in the love of my darling, precious, totally crazy goddaughters, Brittney and Brianna. The prospect of leaving them in the care of their dad was not heartwarming, and I am sure that tomorrow will have to start with bathtime and the arduous process of doing their hair. Nonetheless, it was the right decision.
I suppose the best way to encapsulate Responsive Classroom is that it takes what good, interested teachers know are best practices, or at least recognizes as ideals, and distills it into a usable format. It focuses on making rules with students and helping them to follow those rules in a way that recognizes the students' and the teacher's shared humanity. Basically, it seems to be the best, most natural way to run a classroom.
The best thing about the workshop, though, was not the material. It was the time that I spent with my coworkers as we all got excited at the prospect of implementing RC in our own classrooms. I knew I was with the right people when, as we sat outside for lunch, I shared with the new fourth grade teacher at my school that I had taken the kids to a farm the year before. She immediately wanted to start planning a trip that we could go on together, possibly taking the kids overnight, which has been a dream of mine since I heard that such trips are available at the center we went to this year. We were so excited, talking back and forth, that we barely ate our sandwiches.
I had a game when I was little called "The Wizard of Oz". In it, you could decide if you wanted to take the long, safe way, or the short treacherous one. The short one was riddled with hazards that could send you back to start, but if you made it through, you would be ahead of the other players. I don't remember which way I usually chose, but there were no life lessons in that game anyway. Just because you take the long way doesn't mean it's any easier. But then again, who am I trying to get ahead of, anyway?
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
I have been warned that those students who will come to me next year are challenging (my word)
I have been told that they are mean and nasty and don’t care about each other (not my words)
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
Last year I had students who got pleasure from seeing each other in pain,
Pain caused by excluding,
Pain caused by baring their own hurts by digging in another’s tender flesh
And I was too young, inexperienced to stand up and say,
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
This year we have spent hours, days, practicing what it means to be a friend,
To treat even those who are not our friends with the dignity all humans deserve
We still have lapses, but we also know that we are better than that
I have all this in my mind as I face the challenge of next year.
I will not allow my hope to be dimmed by a coworker, who says,
“I feel bad for next year’s fifth grade teacher,”
When she knows it will be me.
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
Because that is what we hear,
That is what we learn.
I have been warned that those students who will come to me next year are challenging (my word)
I have been told that they are mean and nasty and don’t care about each other (not my words)
Why is it that we insist upon cutting each other down?
Last year I had students who got pleasure from seeing each other in pain,
Pain caused by excluding,
Pain caused by baring their own hurts by digging in another’s tender flesh
And I was too young, inexperienced to stand up and say,
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
This year we have spent hours, days, practicing what it means to be a friend,
To treat even those who are not our friends with the dignity all humans deserve
We still have lapses, but we also know that we are better than that
I have all this in my mind as I face the challenge of next year.
I will not allow my hope to be dimmed by a coworker, who says,
“I feel bad for next year’s fifth grade teacher,”
When she knows it will be me.
Why do we insist upon cutting each other down?
Because that is what we hear,
That is what we learn.
Here I go again...
When I began writing this blog around this time last year, I thought I had come up with such an ingenious title. After all, it was the end of my first full year of teaching, which made me a new teacher all by itself, but then I found out that my school would be going from Catholic to charter, and I felt like the newness came from beginning again, in the same building but with a new principal, new coworkers, and, most importantly, new students. I am beginning to think that my title is not as clever as I once thought. Here I am, at the end of my second full year of teaching, and what do you know? My school is closing. It seems like I am doomed to live the life of a new teacher forever.
I am fortunate in that I was only technically jobless for a few weeks. In the fall, I will be moving to the Petworth campus of Center City Public Charter Schools, still teaching the fifth grade. But once again, the principal, coworkers and students will be new. To top it off, our current art teacher also teaches at Petworth, and she decided to say, "I feel bad for whoever is teaching fifth grade next year, " even though she knew that it was me. I realize now that I should've come back with, "Well, I feel jealous of whoever gets to be a student in fifth grade next year." In any case, I begin again, and, at the very least, I can keep the title of my blog.
I am fortunate in that I was only technically jobless for a few weeks. In the fall, I will be moving to the Petworth campus of Center City Public Charter Schools, still teaching the fifth grade. But once again, the principal, coworkers and students will be new. To top it off, our current art teacher also teaches at Petworth, and she decided to say, "I feel bad for whoever is teaching fifth grade next year, " even though she knew that it was me. I realize now that I should've come back with, "Well, I feel jealous of whoever gets to be a student in fifth grade next year." In any case, I begin again, and, at the very least, I can keep the title of my blog.
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