Caught Red-Handed (Or Black-Handed--If There's No Red Ones)

       Yes, school has started. Yes, school with kids has started. Teachers talking to other teachers always like to make that distinction. "With kids?" when they're comparing start dates. Because almost-always, there are several days or a week of deadly dull fascinating meetings that cure insomnia inform and educate the teachers before the students begin.

photo by missngui

      I have had two days already with my students. And it has been two good days. But that is not what this post is about...

       When the teachers begin a new school year, so does the tried and true annual stealing spree. In the halls and teachers' lounge, there are stacks and boxes and rows of treasures junk that have been discarded as cabinets and file cabinets are cleaned out. Cruising through colleagues' clutter to find a valuable worthless goodie (that--most likely--you will discard next year) is how we warm up.

      Because this is just the appetizer. The entree waits...in the office.

      There, in the school office, is the vault. In our building it has a combination, and only the secretary knows the left-right-left-right-left (and so on) combination that has to be spun to, the dial wildly spinning as forty-two numbers are clicked into place, 42 rotations of the dial, until--with a magical whoosh--the vault door is opened.

      Once the Brinks men have left their post at 7:30 every morning (because now the secretary will take over the guarding of the loot), the safe's contents are fair territory. Educators sidle in, sideways glances to see if the secretary or one of her minions (the aides) are watching, and if no one is paying close attention, they slip in, closing the door slightly, to stealthily carry out the deed.

      Only new teachers get excited with file folders and scotch tape. The highly-prized and almost-extinct rolls of masking tape, dry-erase markers, staples and (whisper) Sharpie markers are what we old frumpy and hairy-chinned veteran teachers stuff into our pockets and shove into our armpits...but we grab a few file folders or a few envelopes as our "cover." And then we scuttle back to our rooms with our bountiful booty.

      Earlier in the week, I snagged a whole box (count them: four of 'em) of dry erase markers. Sadly, no Sharpie markers could be found. I also grabbed two rolls of masking tape. Yes, I might only need one right now (I have 157 dozens of large, laminated leaves that still need to be affixed to my ceiling) but educators are hoarders. You never know when the producers of masking tape will go on strike...so you must collect and hide and say, when asked, "I have no square to spare."  Because teachers who share end up with empty cabinets. And the friends they shared with? They're happily snapping off snippets of masking tape, not even shedding a single tear for their tapeless neighbors...

photo by Tony Lynch Photography
Blue Tack (do not confuse it with the grayish, useless Blue Tack wannabe) is never in the vault. Teachers have to buy
this miracle material themselves.

        Teachers are not the only talented thieves around. Writers steal, too. They find a device, a strategy that's clever (like beginning with the ending, and then flashing back--or leaving the reader in the dark until the end of the piece) and then they embrace it as their own. Oh, we're glad to give credit, but we steal nonetheless.

        What have you stolen from a writing friend? For writers, the statute of limitations is seven minutes, not seven years, so don't be afraid to admit it.  

Unless You Have Sugar...

         I read a great quote recently, a twist on another really old quote. It went something like, "If you take lemon and turn it into lemonade, unless you're also adding water and some sugar, you're going to have really sour lemonade."

        On Monday I got the news that my story, "There's No Ceiling On Dreams," will be published in the Chicken Soup for the Soul's The Power of Positive. (It will go on sale on October 23.)

        That positive news helps sweeten up some of the setbacks that all writers have. No news. Bad news. Waiting-on-pins-and-needles...nothing new about that. 

        My story is about when my students and I each hung up a cloud from the ceiling of our classroom. We each put our dream on a cloud. Who knew what the impact of magic markering unspoken dreams onto posterboard would be...

        If we don't sweeten up our life of writing, it gets bitter. Facing rejection on a regular basis is tough, so we have to put some pockets of pleasure into our routine--otherwise we'd give up. 

        What do you do to keep yourself going? What technique do you use...what activity do you engage in...what mantra do you mumble to sweeten up your writing life?

(How would you like to sit back in a comfy chair and listen to C. Hope Clark talk about writing? You can, if you go here. It's a wonderful podcast, jam-packed with humor and self-deprecation and advice.)

       
       
           

        

The Most Precious Gift

          Earlier in the week, I got a present from one of my students. It was in an envelope, so I figured it would be one of the frequent drawings they give me. (Some of them are pictures of me, and I am always tipped off when they have a crayon in their hand and they ask, "Mrs. R--is your hair orange?" as they are vacillating. That tells me I have gone overboard with the hair dye.)

      He's a hard little kid, too. At any given time you can see him slamming a chair around, glowering at me, or shouting at a peer (sometimes all three at once).

      I need to go back a little further. Just a little, I promise. Last week, we had our monthly "auction." The kids earn "money" through their behavior, work habits, etc. At the end of every month we take bids on dozens and dozens of things--stuffed animals, fancy spiral notebooks, bags of candy, and so on. One of the most popular items--two months in a row--was a giant (two feet in diameter) roll of bubblewrap. (I'm sure the parents were quite appreciative of that thing coming home...)

       One student (the kiddo who gave me the present) bid on and got a set of refrigerator magnet picture frames. I told them it would make a great Christmas present for someone. 

          So, I was surprised when I opened the envelope and there--framed by one of those magnets--was a little love note to me. Pencil on notebook paper, it was carefully folded so it fit into the frame. This little boy doesn't even have enough food to eat every day, but he managed to give me a present I will cherish for a long, long time.

        What is the sweetest gift you ever got--from a child or an adult?

What Teachers REALLY Do on Snow Days

         My students think I get disappointed when school is not in session.  When I tell them at dismissal, "We might not have school tomorrow--so sad--and if that's the case, you will have extra time to..."

        I add a wink in when I express how regretful I will be if we get a snow day.  My brighter kids get my true intentions before the wink even happens.  Some of my slower kids try to argue with me, telling me they think it would be great if school was called off. 

        Don't get me wrong.  I enjoyed our holiday break.  I would have loved to have another few days tacked onto it, but I was genuinely glad to see my kids when January 3rd rolled around.

        However, snow days are another thing...

        Snow days are like a gift from the gods.  They are an unexpected day to do...whatever.  Snow days are a nod from above, telling us 'We know you lead too hectic of a life, so here's a span of time, and life as you know it is suspended for one whole day.'

photo by Wowpictures

       This is what my students probably think I do when I am not at school:

• use sharpie markers to make the circles under my eyes darker
• comb the hair (gray!) that has the ambition to become a full-blown mustache
• practice my broom-flying skills
• devise new ways to torture them through writing and math assignments

      However, when this morning rolled around, the possibility did not look too hopeful. At 3:30, the snow did not look too deep.  Would there be enough inches on the ground to cancel school?  Or, would I have to drag myself to work, surly, because I had counted my snow day before it had hatched arrived?

       This is what I really did this morning:

4:00 A.M.  Turned on the TV, even though the "real" (main") closings don't begin until an hour later. 
4:02  Switched channels several times.  No mention yet...Went back to sleep.
5:00  Turned on the TV again.  After looking at several channels, I have the schools--the ones that are close alphabetically to my district-- memorized, and when mine is skipped over, I groan.
5:00-5:19  Kept changing the channel on the TV, trying to find the station that would deliver the good news first.
5:20  I see my district's name at the bottom of the TV screen.
5:20:2  I scream and jump into the air.
5:21  I watch again, to make sure it was not a mirage.
5:22  I call the teacher "below" me on the phone chain, and then I call several other teachers (just because I want to share the good news).  
5:25  Hug the dogs extra tightly, and tell them what a fun day it is going to be for them.
5:30-7:00  Read "The Help" until I only have 70 more pages til the end.  I decide that will be my afternoon "treat."
7:00 Shout at my (now awake) husband:  "No school today!"  He rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath, and tries to escape my squealing and shrieking.

Later on in the day, I ate a few things (nothing bad, which was miraculous), did some knitting, did a session of our new exercise program (only lasted for 30 minutes; the hour was impossible to even contemplate) and finished "The Help."

photo by Christina007

       So tomorrow, unless we get a bunch more snow dumped on us tonight, we'll be back in school.  We'll have our normal routine, and that's a good thing, because I'm glad to have the 25 kids I have. I'm grateful for the job I have.  But I definitely enjoyed this day of playing hooky...

photo by Shutterbee by Liz

       

Legalize Freedom

photo by kameraurmel

          My friend "M" * works in a school as a teacher.  As all teachers are overwhelmed these days with state testing pressure and crazy parents and (occasionally) lazy colleagues, faculty meetings are not fun.

        Imagine you are a lobster, put in (still alive) into a pot of boiling water.  That's what it's like being a teacher these days...

       During a recent staff meeting, the principal spoke of how they "journaled" during administrative meetings.  This particular principal writes in their notebook to calm down.  They write things down so they don't say them aloud during the meeting.

      When the principal recounted this, "M" said she journals as well during our faculty meetings.  (I should tell you that "M" is very religious.  Probably "spiritual" is a better adjective.  She is not one of those people who goes to church but then treats people in an unkind fashion.  She is a gentle soul who constantly tries to reach out to others, she bends over backwards to avoid offending anyone. "M" is the kind of person who always tries to make allowances for people's boorish behavior, by examining what they might be going through.  She has had many obstacles in her own life, and her faith is an integral part of who she is.)

       Unfortunately, "M's" best friend is "R,"  who is a heathen.  "R" goes out of her way to offend people who are boorish.  She is intolerant of those who are lazy or those who whine or those who hate kids but continue to work with kids or...The list goes on for quite a while. 

       Anway, at the end of the staff meeting, a colleague asked "M" if she would mind reading what she had just written in her journal, knowing what a kind and gentle person "M" is.  Perhaps this would help uplift the faculty, after all the twice-monthly doom and gloom we get heaped on us...

       "M" obliged.  Horrors!  The "G" word was mentioned.  Heaven help us!  Jesus' name might have been uttered.  Anyway, it was just one person's thoughts and beliefs.

        The next day, the poop hit the rotating ceiling paddles.  Another colleague was "offended." 

        Now, if someone was offended by "R," that would not have surprised anyone.  That happens on an hourly basis.  But offended by "M" was shocking to most.

          Was the offended Buddhist?
          Do they belong to a Wicca group?  (not sure how to word that...sorry.)
          Are they Muslim?
          Are they atheist?
         Are they agnostic?

        "R" was not sure, but it was none of her business.  "M" wrote up a little apology and gave a copy to each staff member.

       A few days later, it was "M" and "R's" turn to cook chili for everyone, along with their two grade-level colleagues.

      Since "R" does not eat red meat, she made meatless chili.  Not wanting to offend, she wrote a sign and taped it in front of the crockpot.

       This is meatless chili.  I embrace the no-red meat lifestyle.  I hope I am not offending anyone by offering this chili for your consumption.  I am not expecting you to embrace my lifestyle.  I am not making you enjoy this meatless chili.  I am not physically forcing you to consume it.  It is just here if you care to partake..."

       The principal refolded the sign, so all that showed was "This is meatless chili." Apparently someone was offended yet again...

photo by LoveVickyx

*  Initials are used to protect the guilty (in the case of "R") and the innocent (in the case of "M").

Welcome to my newest follower, Kayenta.  I don't know much about her, but she has started following several teaching blogs. Kayenta--I follow a few educational blogs myself. Check them out, and thanks for following...

Hot with Gray Hair and a Thong, Oh My!

        As difficult as handling 25 kids can be at times, I have found a way to terrify them...To freeze them into a submissive state...To petrify them in place and scar their psyche...Permanently.

       As we're well aware, language is constantly changing.  It's fluid, like a river, and sometimes we pick up "debris" that gets carried along with the rest of our speech and becomes one with our language.

      My grandparents never had air conditioning, and barely had need for a fan.  After working in their garden, and sitting down on their creaky, metal glider with a huge glass of ice tea (complete with a long-handled spoon, to stir up the sugar), I knew what "hot" meant.  It meant water droplets dripping down my forehead.  It meant smelling the pungent aroma of sweat.  It meant damp armpits and slick legs.

      Last spring, in the middle of a lesson and overwhelmed by a hot flash, I blurted out, "I'm so hot!"

      All of a sudden, I had the attention of my entire class. Their eyes widened.  They glanced at each other, trying to ascertain if they had heard me correctly.  When I saw their facial expressions, I quickly shouted out,

"I don't mean I'm hot like Beyonce, I mean I'm sweaty hot!"

    However, I'm not sure they were convinced.  I think they had this little nugget of belief, thinking that I really perceived myself as "hot."

    Same classroom, different set of victims, different school year.  This fall, I was telling a story about my childhood.  It was summer, the summer I broke my arm when I fell off the high diving board (#1 in my Gawky Hall of Fame).  I mentioned I put on my thongs

      and

                my

                         students

                                                froze...

        All eye movement ceased.  Their breathing stopped.  Their mouths gaped open.

             I then quickly explained that when I was a kid, flip flops were called thongs.  But it was too late.  The damage was already done.

photo by KalebHermes

        There are now 25 kids who will need to see a psychiatrist when they are older because--in their mind's eye--they saw their teacher in a thong.  And it was not a pretty sight!
       

Thanks, and a...Test?

         The other night I was part of a very large birthday celebration at a local Mongolian grill restaurant.  I had just fulfilled a bet with my husband for $20 (I ate a plate of with their hottest sauce; I finished it, but did drink a huge glass of water as I ate it.  In the past I've also smoked a cigarette, while my witnesses watched me turn green, and I've eaten a pickle without the help of gravy.  From my perspective, both the cigarette and the pickle are equally deadly and disgusting.)

       Okay, I digress...

       Heidi, one of the young women there, is an interpreter for the deaf.  Seated across the narrow table from me, and knowing I am a teacher, she asked, "Who is your most unfavorite student?"

        I sat there and started mentally going through my class of 25.  Who would that be?  I thought of Teflon-Boy, a student quite talented at making sure no homework ever stuck to him.  Now, however, he was getting a bit more serious about school, he accepted when I stapled his homework to his forehead every afternoon, and he had won me over with his smile...

        How about Miss Moody?  She regularly snarls at her peers, the nasty looks she give me when she thinks I'm not looking, she's a challenge. But when I met her mother, I knew why MM is the way she is.

      I thought of a few more students, trying to form an answer, and finally said, "Well, there is a student in our class who hates being made fun of, and yet he daily says the most cruel things about his peers.  He's super bright, and one-on-one, has an incredible amount of empathy and is quite self-aware.  He's made some improvements so far, but is still very resistant. He's not a student I dislike, but he's my biggest challenge right now..."

      She smiled at me, and then immediately asked, "Who is your favorite student?"

      Whew, another hard one.  I have a bunch of students who work really hard every day in spite of academic struggles, they have their loveable little quirks...Who would I name as my favorite?

       "If you asked me that question last year, I would probably say ___ because this student began the school year reading way below grade level, but she never gave up, and although she had this 'tough' exterior, when she saw that I really cared, we formed a great relationship.  Now she comes and says hi every morning and every afternoon, and we tease each other, and I really admire her perserverance..."

      Heidi smiled.  I guess when I could not come up with a name instantly for each of her questions, I had passed her "test."

     I guess I wonder how you can spend all day--5 days a week--with kids, and look at them in such black and white terms?  Like.  Like.  Like.  Don't like.  Like.  It's impossible.

      Here's a few more thanks to folks who follow my blog. Some of them might have just checked in once, and are now bored, but I'm extending a thank you nonetheless...

photo by little_bulldog_design

Pat Wahler at http://critteralley.blogspot.com.  She is an animal lover, a writer (and rewrote the "Night Before Christmas" in a way-clever version) and has a dog named Indy and a cat named Bogey.

Lisa Ricard Claro at www.writinginthebuff.net.  Lisa is a gifted writer, can be serious or wry, and even has links for writers.

OJ Gonzalez-Cazares at http://castazero.blogspot.com/.  OJ is a writer and a traveler.  She can take you to another country via her words, and you can smell the aromas and see the sights and feel the pulsating music.

Clara Gillow Clark at http://claragillowclark.blogspot.com.  She writes historical fiction.

Janel Gradowski at http://janelsjumble.blogspot.com.  Janel is one of those people that make you envious.  She bakes.  She writes.  She makes jewelery.  (You can even buy her necklace and bracelet patterns!)

Karen Lange at http://karenelange.blogspot.com.  Karen is not only a writer, she's also an online writing teacher.

and Tammy at http://messageinabloggletheartofbeingbroken.blogspot.com.  Tammy has lots of publishing credits under her belt, and she is a substitute teacher along with her freelance writing.   Her sense of humor will slay you...

I hope that 2011 is a great one for all of us...Thanks for making comments, for reading my blog, for checking in once in a while...










   

A Whooping-It-Up Tuesday and Wednesday

          Today my teammate and I spent the day doing a science experiment with our 3rd graders (homemade cranberry sauce), and we also began a huge pot of pumpkin soup.  (The secret to driving nine-year olds to salivation over the prospect of eating pumpkin soup?  Sautee a bunch of onions and add them into the soup.  It will create an aroma that is indescribable!)

         Tomorrow we will have a feast---a chicken casserole, green beans, cranberry sauce, a sweet potato casserole, the soup, and corn muffins.

         But tomorrow night is when the whooping it up begins...

         My mid-quarter progress reports have just been turned in.  The papers have not had a chance to form their usual overwhelming piles yet.  It's going to be a wild night of frivolity, even to the extent of extending into the next day. 

          Knitting...Watching two of my favorite TV shows...Hopefully finishing the book I've been reading and then falling asleep on the couch in a puddle of drool...Heaven!

         Wednesday I am off (my husband has to work!) so I might take a mid-day nap, a kind of daytime slumber party with the dogs.  After all, that's what they do all day!

Annie (on the left) and Foley---both rescued from Love a Golden Rescue

          If I am too busy getting a short story ready, or my knitting needles are clacking against each other at such a furious pace that I am prevented from posting in the next couple of days, have a great holiday.  Gather 'round a table and tell everyone what you are thankful for. You never know when it may slip between your fingers...

Gifts From "Above"

           If you occasionally stop in and read one of my posts, you might suspect that the word "above" in quotation marks might mean I am not writing about anything religious or deep. I don't go there...The two gifts I received this week are from above me, but both gift-givers are living, breathing mortals...

          This was mid-quarter progress report week.  All week I have intended to go through stacks of work that have not been graded, so I can grade them and enter them in on the computer.  All week I have arrived home late in the evening, worn out.  I have nodded off (sitting upright on the couch) and although I did grade the reading and spelling papers that belong to my teammate's homeroom kids, I could not bring myself to helping out myself.

       They were due by 3:30 yesterday afternoon.  Around 2:15, I called my principal. (Sometimes it's easier to tuck your tail between your legs via the phone than in person.)

        "Can I drop off my progress reports  at your house sometime this weekend?"

       My principal, who knows I am definitely not a slacker, told me to not worry; she is allowing me to bring them in on Monday.



photo by jaaaanet


       Earlier in the week, I found out I had missed out on a deadline.  Saturday Writers (in St. Peters, Missouri) had a holiday short story contest. I don't have many holiday tales up my sleeve, but I did have one that has been gathering dust.  I thought I had until the end of the month, but looked again and saw the deadline was November 15.  Oh well, another screw up...

       This morning I read the Saturday Writers newsletter and saw that---thank goodness---the deadline had been extended to November 26.  So, back to the revising table so I can send it off next week.

        What "gifts" have dropped into your lap recently?   (After all, Thanksgiving is right around the corner.  It's time to give thanks for even the little things...)

          

  

A "Fictional" Story

          The two teachers plotted together...The older, gray-haired one took the lead, and insisted, days in advance, that they were not going to stay after the musical performance to take down the decorations that had been scotch-taped all over the walls and the base of the stage.  The two of them were going to race out as soon as the performance was over. The grizzled-one's rationale:

• This is the music teacher's "event" and he/she does not support events sponsored by other teachers. It is bad enough that all the teachers are "guilted" into attending and supervising, but taking extra time to painstakingly pull off bits of tape, trying to avoid tearing at construction paper decorations...That was too much.
• The traffic is horrendous, with everyone trying to get out of the crowded parking lot at the same time.  Leaving ahead of the surge of people would result in a quick exit.
• The music teacher goes out of their way to ensure that the music is not culturally relevant to the kids, making sure that as much rhythm and fun are squeezed out of the program/song choice.  Why go out of the way when an educator feels the road to respect is only a one-way street?
• It was already a late night.  Her contacts had already been in too long...
• It was Glee night.  (No hope in getting home in time to watch it. That was just a huge source of surliness.)

        The wrinkled and haggard one kept an eye on the program, counting off the songs.  As the two teachers stood behind the risers, giving evil looks to off-task kids when they clowned instead of sang, the old one saw that the younger one did not have her coat with her. 

"Where is your coat?" she hissed.  Their plot would fail if one of them had to go searching amongst the audience for a coat.  Almost certainly, a parent or colleague would stop them to talk and then... The two of them would just have to cut their losses and leave the coat behind...

       The apprentice in espionage smiled, and nodded to a spot on the floor next to her.  There was her coat. Ready to grab as they escaped.

          As the program ended and the two teachers escorted their students off the stage, they hurtled up the aisle, and out the door.  As the gray one shoved open the auditorium door and raced down the hall, she turned to look back.  No sight of the young one. She was torn between leaving her there, stranded, and waiting for her.  But there was no need to worry. A moment later, the perky one emerged, and together they ran to their cars, laughing.

photo by bradleygee

           They were the first cars out of the lot.  But they didn't feel guilty, because they are usually the first ones on the lot in the morning. And on many Saturdays and/or Sundays, their cars are the only ones in the teachers' lot...

Giving Forgiveness

           Teachers---I'm hoping---begin each day with a "clean slate."  Students get a second/third/109th chance...It happens every morning at 8:45.

          I'm much less tolerant with adults.  In fact, my best friend accuses me of judging people on first impressions, and I hold onto those first impressions like a pit bull. It takes me a long time to form a different opinion, and often I do it begrudgingly.  (I guess "accusation" is not the correct term, because she's accurate.)

        Check out the Underground Teacher's blog.  Her November 11 post is a compelling one.  It speaks a message to everyone, not just teachers...

photo by deepsha

My Teacher's "Wish List"

          After a near-death (of the spirit and sanity) encounter with a parent and grandparent tag-team this week, I am writing down my wish list.  I know Santa is watching me, and my self-control and pleasant expression that remains intact until I get back into the privacy of my classroom--when it's empty--is evidence that I've not been naughty.  I'm always nice (at least I always have a hard, candy-coated nice exterior).  Because my job depends on it.

       So, since there is only a little more than a month before Christmas, I wanted to send off my list early.  These are things I would truly appreciate and use (not like those hideous hand-knit sweaters in old-lady colors and styles that I used to get), yet I know they'll be a challenge for the elves to hammer and glue-gun up.  And yet I am still asking for them...

photo by MADsLucky13

1.  Stop thinking I have the time and energy and inclination to plot with your child's  previous teachers from kindergarten, first, and second grade---along with the PE and Music teachers---and together, we form an evil scheme to paint an incorrect "picture" of your son or daughter. Your child's former teachers and myself do not stay up late into the night on the phone, planning how we are going to "get" your child.  There is no conspiracy swirling around, portraying your child as disruptive if they are not. Seriously.  I am so tired when I get home, I barely have the energy to take off my bra when I get home. I am too exhausted to carry out a vendetta against anyone, including your child.

2.  Chew me up without your child watching it.  Don't go off on me over the phone and allow your child to listen to it.  I have a thick skin.  My name has been scratched on bathroom stall walls and surprisingly, kids can't spell "when" correctly but there are other words they definitely can spell! I can take it.  What I can't take is you cutting my legs out from under me.  You undermine me when your child watches as you cuss me out and rant and rave and tell blatant lies.  When your kiddo sees me take that with a polite expression, it tells them they---kids--- can treat me in a similar manner.

Help me provide a "united front."  In public, portray the illusion that we are a team, working together.  In private, you can say anything you want.  I can take it.  Really.  I mean it...

3.  Come and spend a few minutes in my classroom before you decide I am the epitome of evil.  You may find out that your child is not the empty vessel just waiting to be filled with knowledge, as you previously thought.  You might just see that I beg and plead and cajole and bribe your child---and a few others---all day...many times a day.  If every teacher for the last three years has told you that your child has anger management issues/sexually inappropriate behavior/learning obstacles/problems focusing for more than 1.7 seconds at a time...Perhaps it's not evil intentions on my part.  Perhaps you need to turn and really look at your child...

4.  Be an advocate for your son/daughter.  Come up to the school like a rocket because they are reading two years below their grade level.  Yell and scream because you are demanding ways YOU can help them.  Don't holler because I took a bag of chips from your offspring after they were eating them in the middle of my math lesson instead of paying attention and then lied about it.  There are things that are scream-worthy. A bag of Flamin' Hot chips is not.

5.  Take your child to the cultural things like the free museums and the zoo and the nature centers. Expose them to the world in kid-friendly ways. Watching R and X-rated movies is not usually often  ever appropriate for third graders  second graders  first graders   kindergarteners kids.  (Even if you view them during your "family time," it's still warping their minds.)  Talk with your children. Engage in conversations with them.  Ask how they feel and what they think and what they dream of becoming.

       Santa, I know this is a lot to ask for.  So perhaps you could bring one of the above things to me this Christmas, and next year, perhaps another, so by the time I retire, my wish list will be fulfilled?

Going Teacher

        If you didn't already know, the "average" IQ is 100.  I think if you are a potential MENSA member, you have to have a score of 140 (but I'm not, uh, smart enough to know for sure, if, uh, that's right).

        One of the crazy things that teachers have to contend with is the expectation that the state (and the country, with the No Child Left Behind mandates) has for students who fall in the crack, intellectually-speaking.

          For example, I have some students right now, in my regular class, who have an IQ of 71 or 72.  It used to be that 70 was considered mentally retarded.  I think it has changed to a number under 70.  (That is so less kids will qualify for special help. And the term is now ID--"intellectually delayed." However, that term hints that eventually they will "catch up," which is never the case.  If their IQ is that low, they will always be behind...)



photo by peter_kucerka

             I know that some number has to be decided upon.  I get that. However, there is not a lot of difference in the capabilities of a student who has a 68 IQ and one that has a 72.  It's not as if they are not prepared for grade level work under the 70 line, and once they cross that line, they magically can do the sophisticated problem-solving and concluding that is necessary in the third grade. 

              The state, in its stupidity, expects that all students will excel at high levels on the state test.  Even the ones who are ID.  They read at a level two or three grade levels below the grade they're in, they interrupt a lesson on measuring with the excited comment, "Mrs. R, I got a new book bag!", they cannot add 2 + 4, but the state does not want to hear any "excuses" about why these kiddoes won't score in the proficient/advanced range. They just keep putting the pressure on.

            In the past, there were lots of jokes about people going "postal" because of the frequency of postal employees getting angry and shooting the place up.

          If things do not change, soon the phrase will be "going teacher" because we have lots of valid reasons to be 

"mad as all get-out, and we're not going to take it anymore!"

Too Long...

        It's been a while since my last post---at least for me---but this week has been parent-teacher conference week.  That mean long days, late nights, so when I get home, I collapse.

         At the beginning of the week, I was despondent.  One of my student's parent was is quite upset with me.  They have not observed me teaching (not even for five minutes) they are disregarding their child's perceptions (the student knows I care about him) and they wanted their youngster out of my classroom.  Unfortunately, the other 3rd grade classroom is maxed out (capacity-wise) which means the parent---if they really are unhappy with their child's placement---will have to drive to another school every day.  (Tomorrow is the conference with this parent. I am keeping my fingers crossed that I can smooth feathers...)

         Being judged without having the chance to "prove" myself as a concerned, rigorous, and imaginative teacher really caused me to wonder what else was I qualified to do...If they don't change the guidelines, I have 6 more years until I can retire; if I'm going to make parents miserable, I need to make a career change.

           This is what I found I can do when I retire next year (after jotting down my skills):

• radar-gun tester (Hey, I do speed sometimes most of the time, so perhaps I could find employment with the police, where I race along the highway, and they see if their radar guns are calibrated correctly...)
• unrhythmic, anti-stripper (I have no dancing ability, but I could be paid to put clothes back on...)
• earplug tester (If the sounds of my snoring do not penetrate the earplugs, they are highly effective.)
• Nutella spokesperson  (It's heaven on a spoon.  Or, if you want to eat it in a more socially acceptable way, put some on a croissant.)

         However, tonight I met some parental jewels.  They are the type of parents teachers dream about. They were supportive, funny, involved, and had great attitudes about life and childrearing.  They made me want to not give up...

Thanks!

It's You and Me Against the Kids

         When you close your classroom door and begin teaching, it's a very private, lonely thing.  It's you up against 20-30 students, and your mission (if you choose to accept it) is to entertain and cajole and comfort and inspire as you teach.

          If you're the only adult, it gets lonely in there.  You yearn for a peer, so you can exchange knowing looks across the room.  It's great to have a colleague to get some feedback from.

          In my class, I am fortunate to have Mr. W.  He spends most of his day in room 12 helping out one student, but in actuality, helps out all the kids in the class and helps me out immensely.

            Working with students who are difficult to manage can be exasperating, yet I've never seen Mr. W lose his cool.  He remains calm at all times.  He has the utmost respect for the students, and it shows in his body language and tone and in his patience.

         Some educators are reluctant to have other educators push into their classroom but I have always enjoyed it. It's fun to bounce ideas off each other.  And it's great to have another grown up who "gets it."  (For example, the other day we were brainstorming situations that frightened us, for story ideas.  One student, when asked, "What scares you?" she said, "My dad's taser."  Mr. W. and I each raised an eyebrow at each other, and the discussion continued.  


            Mr. W. is only a special education substitute.  When the regular special ed assistant returns from her maternity leave (and she is phenomenal too; I tried to convince her to have her baby, and we could set up a little nursery in my room. For some reason, she didn't respond the way I would have liked...) we are hoping he can stay.  There is certainly a need for both of them.


          When he walks into the room, a bunch of kids always are clamoring for him to "Sit by me!"  He has handled every situation that is thrown his way with grace and wisdom.  Recently, he was able to speak to an angry family when he (unbeknownst to me) sang my praises and "got real" with the family.  After meeting with him, their attitude had completely changed (for the better).

          If you are a teacher, and would like a Mr. W. in your classroom, go to www.mr.w.com.  Apparently, along with the 2nd job he has in the evening, he also has been in such demand with teachers, he has set up a lab in his basement and is cloning himself.  Good luck!  There are so many backorders, he cannot keep up with the shipping requests...  

A Bunch of Hooey

       If I was around my friends, I would not use the word "hooey," but since this is being viewed by the public, I will put my public face on and attach my public duct tape.

       I was so looking foward to the "documentary" Waiting for Superman when I heard about it six months ago.  I wanted to be inspired, to hear success stories.  Unfortunately, it is just another instance of teacher-bashing (from what I have seen).

photo by Chris Pino

       From what I have heard, no public school success stories are highlighted. Did you know that charter schools can kick a student out if they are disruptive/out of control/disrespectful?  Public schools must educate all the students in their enrollment area.  We take the tired...the poor...the wretched refuse yearning to breathe free (of boundaries)...

       In the movie, it claims that tenure comes after two years.  That is not the case. In my district, it comes after 4 years (or 5; it's been so long ago, I forget which).

         If you want to read a barbed (and honest) blog about this "shock-umentary" you should check out the Dream Teacher.  Her post on 9/26 is brilliant!

Fabulous Fathers

         This week I had cause to publicly praise one of my parents.  When I get the chance to see him in person, I am going to shake his hand.

           The parent in question has a son in my class.  It is clearly evident that this family does not play.  They have high expectations for their children, they set firm boundaries, there are consequences in their home.  In other words, the kind of family I'd like to clone about 25 times each year.

       The young man told me earlier this week that he asked his mom and dad if he could get his hair cut, mohawk-style.  His father replied, "NO.  That's not normal."

       Don't get me wrong.  I am all for individuality.  I enjoy squirrely kids, kids bursting with personality.  However, too often children get the impression that an unusual hair style gives them carte blanche for being the exception in other ways. And for some, that eventually leads to them being unable to conform in any way.

    When I saw the mom later in the week, I recounted the conversation that took place in class, expressed my gratitude to dad, and mom said, "If he was in a band, that would be different."

       I responded, "Yeah, like a band called The Mohawks."

       She countered with, "Or The Village People..."  *

photo by Charles Allen

(* If you are so young that you are clueless about who The Village People were, I'm sorry for you.  You missed out on a fun musical era...) 

It Seems Like It Was a Lifetime Ago...

        Three years ago, I had a student in my third grade class who had what I (a layperson) would call an "episode."  She lost all control.  She went berserk.  And she broke a small part of me.

        It was within the first two months of school.  We didn't know each other terribly well; she was reluctant to trust the teachers at our school, but I thought it would happen at some point, given some time.

       All of a sudden, as we walked down the hall to P.E., she began lashing out at the other kids, swinging her fists at kids and kicking them.  She had no specific target; it seemed she just wanted to do some damage.

        Luckily, we were right at my friend's classroom and also fortunately, another teacher was walking by at that exact time.  My friend had the same plan period  I did, so her students had already been dropped off at the music class.  Since her room was empty, I took this out-of-control student into the empty classroom, and the other teacher walked my class down to gym.

          While we were in there, she screamed, she watched out of the corner of her eye as she pinched my arms and scratched them, trying to gauge my reaction.  She threw chairs across the room and knocked over desks. I was with her for the "ride" and she was my bucking bronco;  I had her in a bear hug from behind, trying to keep her from hurting herself and from destroying whatever was in her path.

         At one point, early on, I had my friend lock the classroom door because I knew if she got "loose" into the hall, and possibly other classrooms filled with students, other kids would be injured.  She was so hurt inside, she was bent on hurting others. 

photo by Loupiote

        The whole time, she was shrieking and I was crying. I don't even remember now exactly what I said to her, but I know I tried to convey to her that I cared about her, that she didn't really want to hurt me, that if she calmed down, we could talk about it...


         The custodian came in at one point and tried to talk to her.  (We have an exceptional custodian, who has a real rapport with the students.)  My friend was there. The counselor was there.  The principal-in-charge came (our principal was at a workshop), and when it was all over, was an incredibly calming influence.  The police were called, and tried to convince me to press charges.  Since I was not physically hurt in a permanent way, I refused.

         She had been in a foster home, and after that day was hospitalized and then went to a mental health facility/group home. I tried to get information so I could visit her, but since I was not a family member and was no longer her teacher, I was not given the needed details.


         That day she had grabbed a handful of my skirt during the ordeal, and tore a piece off.  (Again, while she watched me out of the corner of her eye. I will never forget that sliver of white, her brown eye glinting. She was like a wild horse, panicked about the prospect of being corralled.)  The skirt was gauzy, one of those "broom" skirts, so the fabric was thin.  Thankfully, the part missing was at the hem edge, so even though the bottom looked a little ragged, I could continue to teach the rest of the day.

         Colleagues who saw me that afternoon and the next day, commented on what an "interesting" day I had had.  Most of the building had heard her (she was that loud), and gossip traveled up and down the halls. They wanted to know how I was; I was not the one they should have been concerned with...  


         Just a few months ago, my friend said, "You know, I still have that piece from your skirt." A flood of emotions, stemming from that memory, came rushing in.  My friend saves all sorts of things, gluing them in her writing journal to channel her muse.


        I wonder what she thinks about when she looks at that scrap of fabric...

Colleagues Who Double as Friends...Or Is It Friends Who Just Happen to Be Colleagues?

          If you've never experienced it, teaching is a lonely profession...

          Parents who spend all day (every day) with their children...think about how they yearn for an adult to talk to.  They're pulled in a million directions at one time, there's rarely "time off" in their schedule because they can't put their kids on hold while they drink some coffee or prop their feet up and read a bit of the newspaper.  It's like a game of tag...and they're always it.

           Imagine they don't have one or two or even six or seven kids.  Instead, they have 24.  And they're trapped in a room all day with them.  (Which means they are grossly outnumbered.)

        When the last bell has rung and the last car rider and walker have trudged down the hall and out of the building, teachers need to debrief.  They need to vent, and laugh at what they can and rail against the things they can't change.

photo by Kevin Hutchinson
(Sometimes I feel like I'm headed towards a cliff...)


          When I desperately need to go home---my day officially ended two or three hours ago and the couch is calling me---I often first go upstairs to room 22.  My friend/colleague/cheap free therapist is hard at work (she burns even more midnight oil than I do), and I can de-stress before heading down the highway.  When I pull myself up that flight of stairs, usually that adds another hour to my day, but it's well worth it.

          What do you value most in your friend/colleague?  What do they bring to the table that sustains you the most?

Here Comes the Brinks Truck...And It's Loaded With Staples

          Just when you think you are having a tough time, you hear from someone who has it worse...

         This weekend I went to a Gateway Writing Project retreat.  Gateway is part of the National Writing Project.  If you're a teacher---whether it is PE or Science or Social Studies, and no matter what level---you should check out the closest National Writing Project site.  (They're all over the country.)  It is all about teachers teaching teachers, as they work to help their students develop into better thinkers.

        I was feeling overwhelmed.  Rushing out of work on Friday afternoon (just dumping piles of papers into a huge tub---my Tub O' Fun, I fondly call it---so I could grade them later in the weekend so I could prepare mid-quarter progress reports at an even later hour), my friend and I drove to the retreat.  My friend needed coffee.  I needed chocolate.  We both needed sleep.

        Not wanting to whine (there was no cheese and crackers to go along with it), I would reply, "They're going," when colleagues asked, "How are things going?"  However, I soon realized how fortunate I am, at least in a small way.

        One of the teachers read a hilarious piece (funny in a black, bleak way).  She was miffed because one of her dry erase markers had been stolen.  Not a big deal, she could just request another one to replace it.  Except that she had just gotten the marker from the school's office manager, who said there were only 4 more left, and they had to last the rest of the school year. Were all the teachers in the school---20 or 30 or 40 or whatever---going to knife each other to get one of those markers?  

         This same teacher, when she needs staples, does not get a whole box of staples. Instead, she gets a "sleeve" of staples. Packaged up nice and neat in an envelope (probably so her colleagues do not see what she's holding as she walks down the hall--if they saw she had some staples, she might get mugged!)

photo by grace_tee

         When you see a Brinks truck barreling down the street, don't assume it's carrying money. It might be loaded up with dry erase markers and staples...