The Class Clown has recently discovered the Magic Tree House books, a series about a boy and a girl who travel back in time and around the world to solve mysteries. The other day, he looked up from his book with an amazed expression on his face.
"Miss Brave," he began, "I may have never said this before ever in my whole life, but...this book is awesome!"
Later on, he approached me with an expression on his face that said, Are you ready for this?
"Miss Brave," he said, "I may have never, ever, ever, ever said this before, in my whole life, but...I like reading!"
Ladies and gentlemen, my work here is done.
Showing posts with label happy thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happy thoughts. Show all posts
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
100 acts of kindness
After I found out that the 100th day of school wasn't going to be the extravaganza it has been in years past, I had to come up with a way my class would commemorate the occasion. Some teachers ask their students to do projects where they bring in 100 of an item, but I honestly didn't want my classroom cluttered with collections of 100 coins or crayons or toothpicks in ziplock baggies. So I decided to make that an optional project, with a note on the homework sheet that says children who do participate will be "eligible for a special prize."
I am giving a 100 days homework sheet with very simple fill-in-the-blanks: "I wish I had 100 _______. I could eat 100 ______, but I would never eat 100 ______." My favorite one is "Miss Brave has told me 100 times to _______." (I gave the class a special preview of this one, and one of my chattiest students shouted, "Be quiet!" Ding ding ding, we have a winner!) I also have a few activities for us to do in class that shouldn't be too taxing: Write the letters in your name over and over in a grid with 100 squares and then color in the first letter to see what the pattern looks like; count up the tickets in our class ticket jar to see if we have fewer or more than 100; lick a lollipop 100 times and see what it looks like, etc. But everything else I found online seemed too expensive (I spend a fortune already on school supplies, am I really going to buy 100th day glasses?) or too complicated (each of the 28 students in my class is going to make a necklace with 100 beads without making an enormous mess? yeah right).
Then I found this great lesson plan, for which I can't take credit, about collecting 100 acts of kindness in honor of the 100th day of school. (The lesson plan ties in to Martin Luther King, which I didn't explicitly do.) So I set up this giant posterboard with a grid of 100 numbers on it. I printed labels (which I bought at Staples) that say, "I caught _____ being kind! Here is what I saw." Each label is the size of one of the numbered boxes on our posterboard. On Monday, I told the kids that we were going to be "kindness detectives" and try to catch each other (along with our teachers, friends, family members, etc.) in the act of being kind. We talked about how all the little things we do for each other every day (like lending someone a pencil or helping someone pick up something they dropped) is an act of kindness. Then we got the ball rolling by writing about a time when we were kind to someone else. (I wanted to get all the "I did something kind!" stuff out of the way right off the bat, and for the rest of the project they are not allowed to catch themselves being kind.) Anyone who is "caught being kind" gets to wear a smiley sticker that says, "I was caught being kind!"
I was a little nervous about how they would react to all the touchy-feely kindness stuff -- for young kids, my class is usually a pretty skeptical group -- but I have to say they are doing a fantastic job. We are up to 82 acts of kindness and counting -- everything from lending someone an eraser to sitting with someone who was alone. Jason -- who says things like, "Move it, sissy" to other boys in the class -- has been caught being kind multiple times and has been thrilled to pieces about it. Ariela, who is always kind to her classmates and who has already been Student of the Month, told me with a shy and proud smile that she had seen her name on the "kindness board." During our science experiment, when I against my better judgement trusted my kids to be able to pour dirt/rock mixtures into containers, I witnessed Bryce (the king of personal space) and Felix working together: "You hold the cup still! I'll pour!" When they were done, they said, "Yay, we did it!" and gave each other a high five. I swear to you, it was like an afterschool special. I "kindness boarded" them myself for that one.
I love this project -- which, by the way, I researched in my own time and bought my own materials -- far more than I have ever loved (or even liked or merely tolerated) any of the boring, repetitive, droning, rote learning teaching points that are supplied to me by my administration. I don't have any way of checking it off on a checklist, or of entering into a data field, but to me it's still a lesson that's valuable, and I'm so glad I've taken the time to teach it in my classroom.
I am giving a 100 days homework sheet with very simple fill-in-the-blanks: "I wish I had 100 _______. I could eat 100 ______, but I would never eat 100 ______." My favorite one is "Miss Brave has told me 100 times to _______." (I gave the class a special preview of this one, and one of my chattiest students shouted, "Be quiet!" Ding ding ding, we have a winner!) I also have a few activities for us to do in class that shouldn't be too taxing: Write the letters in your name over and over in a grid with 100 squares and then color in the first letter to see what the pattern looks like; count up the tickets in our class ticket jar to see if we have fewer or more than 100; lick a lollipop 100 times and see what it looks like, etc. But everything else I found online seemed too expensive (I spend a fortune already on school supplies, am I really going to buy 100th day glasses?) or too complicated (each of the 28 students in my class is going to make a necklace with 100 beads without making an enormous mess? yeah right).
Then I found this great lesson plan, for which I can't take credit, about collecting 100 acts of kindness in honor of the 100th day of school. (The lesson plan ties in to Martin Luther King, which I didn't explicitly do.) So I set up this giant posterboard with a grid of 100 numbers on it. I printed labels (which I bought at Staples) that say, "I caught _____ being kind! Here is what I saw." Each label is the size of one of the numbered boxes on our posterboard. On Monday, I told the kids that we were going to be "kindness detectives" and try to catch each other (along with our teachers, friends, family members, etc.) in the act of being kind. We talked about how all the little things we do for each other every day (like lending someone a pencil or helping someone pick up something they dropped) is an act of kindness. Then we got the ball rolling by writing about a time when we were kind to someone else. (I wanted to get all the "I did something kind!" stuff out of the way right off the bat, and for the rest of the project they are not allowed to catch themselves being kind.) Anyone who is "caught being kind" gets to wear a smiley sticker that says, "I was caught being kind!"
I was a little nervous about how they would react to all the touchy-feely kindness stuff -- for young kids, my class is usually a pretty skeptical group -- but I have to say they are doing a fantastic job. We are up to 82 acts of kindness and counting -- everything from lending someone an eraser to sitting with someone who was alone. Jason -- who says things like, "Move it, sissy" to other boys in the class -- has been caught being kind multiple times and has been thrilled to pieces about it. Ariela, who is always kind to her classmates and who has already been Student of the Month, told me with a shy and proud smile that she had seen her name on the "kindness board." During our science experiment, when I against my better judgement trusted my kids to be able to pour dirt/rock mixtures into containers, I witnessed Bryce (the king of personal space) and Felix working together: "You hold the cup still! I'll pour!" When they were done, they said, "Yay, we did it!" and gave each other a high five. I swear to you, it was like an afterschool special. I "kindness boarded" them myself for that one.
I love this project -- which, by the way, I researched in my own time and bought my own materials -- far more than I have ever loved (or even liked or merely tolerated) any of the boring, repetitive, droning, rote learning teaching points that are supplied to me by my administration. I don't have any way of checking it off on a checklist, or of entering into a data field, but to me it's still a lesson that's valuable, and I'm so glad I've taken the time to teach it in my classroom.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Miss Brave in the Sparkle Days
Yeesh! Where do I begin? In one day I've collected enough stories for a week's worth of posts.
Let's start at the top. And by the "top," I mean the head. And by the head, I mean "the head full of wriggling, squirming, itchy creatures that have apparently invaded my classroom." Yes, that means what you think it means -- lice has come to Miss Brave's class! Apparently Julisa's aunt e-mailed our parent coordinator that Julisa has been complaining of an itchy head since the winter break ended (which, by the way, was three weeks ago, thank you for waiting three weeks to tell us). So two school aides came up to my classroom to check my kids' heads for lice. (While they were taking a math test, by the way.) Introducing them was definitely one of the weirder announcements I've had to make to my class: "Boys and girls, we have some visitors in our rooms, and they're going to be taking you out into the hallway to...look at your heads." (Cue confused faces from the class.) "It's not going to hurt, and they're not going to do anything to your hair, they're just going to...look at your head."
Apparently lice is not a phenomenon with which my students are familiar, because at that point only one person whispered, "Ew, what if someone has lice?"
Anyway, there was a brief scare at one point when the school aide confided that poor Dana appeared to have a head full of nits, but I think they turned out to be dandruff. I have now been assured that my class is lice-free! Which doesn't stop my own head from feeling like it's crawling. Ew.
At lunch, I worked on my "promotion-in-doubt" list. I've just been informed that I have to designate Amhrita as promotion-in-doubt, even though she just moved here from Nepal. She's not "technically" an ESL student because she attended an English boarding school in Nepal, and in order to make room for more new arrivals with no English they transferred her out of an ESL class into my class. But seriously? She's an ELL. She's a sweet, polite, enthusiastic kid, and she's not hopelessly below grade level, and I just think it's kind of unfair to threaten to hold her over when maybe she just needs more time to adjust to moving to the other side of the world.
Next. During social studies, the guidance counselor poked her head into my classroom. Now, she is a lovely woman, but I have seen a lot less of her since William and Julio departed, which is kind of the way I like it. No matter how lovely she is, nothing good has ever come of having the guidance counselor poke her head into my room (except when she comes to reward my Student of the Month). But anyway, she came with news. Juicy, twisted, horrifying news. Apparently Julio's mother showed up this morning and wants to re-enroll Julio at our school.
Okay. Let's take a minute and revisit the story of Julio. Since kindergarten, Julio has had massive behavior problems. He was like the first six-year-old ever to be suspended. In first grade, Julio was diagnosed with ADD. His mother didn't like that diagnosis, but instead of getting a second opinion about why he might be exhibiting such grossly inappropriate behavior at school, she just pretended the diagnosis didn't exist. By the time he got to second grade in my class, he was wetting his pants (and my entire bathroom floor) repeatedly, threatening suicide, drawing pictures of violent shootings and stabbings and anal sex, screaming curse words, and throwing chairs. Literally throwing chairs!
I met with his mother. The guidance counselor met with his mother. The assistant principal met with his mother. Her response was to transfer him to another school. Where, on his first day, he cursed at and hit another student.
Somehow, in the time that's elapsed since that happened in November, his new school convinced his mother to sign an IEP that places him in a 12:1:1 classroom. I have no idea what his classification is, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's "emotionally disturbed." So what did his mother do? She showed up at our school, crying, claiming she didn't realize what she signed. We don't have a self-contained placement for him, but apparently she has the right to "cancel" his IEP and re-enroll him at our school. (Are you wondering what his zoned school is? Julio and his mom were staying with his grandmother and commuting to our school. She transferred him to his new school by listing his address as the grandmother's, but she's now claiming that they never actually moved, they just pretended to move in order to get him transferred. Which I know personally is a lie because Julio is a fairly bright kid and he told me what neighborhood he lives in.)
First of all: No backsies on this kid. Second of all, I think this is the first time in my teaching career that I've literally been this angry at a child's parent. I mean, there's denial, and then there's just doing the wrong thing for your child. You can't yank this kid around like a yo-yo just because you disagree with pretty much every teacher, counselor, principal and social worker who's ever assessed him. That is not what's best for him. It's one thing to have doubts about giving your child a "label," or placing him in an environment where he's not going to thrive, but it's another think to totally ignore the fact that your child is in pain, he is angry, he is disturbed. I'm not talking about a kid who used to get mad at other kids and impulsively reach out and pinch them, like Jason does. I'm talking about a kid who used to bang his head against the wall and then throw himself onto the floor in the corner of the room and curl up in a ball and sob. Even Julio knew that he had a problem, that he didn't react like other kids, that he couldn't control his anger and his frustration. None of that is going to change by sticking him back in a general ed classroom at our school (as if his two and a half years here did him a lot of good), and it's obviously only going to get worse as he gets older!
Whew. And now to switch gears a little. The other day, when I picked up my class from lunch, two of my boys were sitting off to the side by themselves. This is like wearing a giant sign on yourself that says I AM IN TROUBLE. Listening to one of my students try to explain how they got into trouble when I wasn't there is like Rashomon. "All I did was tell him to go in front of me!" "Well he was waving his hand up in the air and it looked like he was going to punch me and then they made us sit over here!" Okay, um, what? I still have no idea what went on. Anyway, my class was scheduled to be in the auditorium for three periods in a row while I was at a meeting (one thing I do not miss about being an out-of-classroom teacher is those ridiculous mass preps), so when we got upstairs, I geared up for full-blown Lecture Mode. You are representing our class. You want other teachers to want to spend time with us. You understand that our rules are the same whether we're in the classroom with Miss Brave or in the auditorium with other teachers. Then I had this funny conversation with some colleagues:
Me: "Ms. M, let me know how my class is when you're in the auditorium with them, because I told them they could earn compliments from you."
Ms. N: "Oh, me too, if they behave with you they'll earn a check."
Ms. J: "I just told them they better not make me look bad or they'll regret it for the rest of the year."
Heh, everyone has their own style. Anyway, my class happily received a good report, so up went the compliments.
Then it was Shaina's birthday. Shaina is a great kid, mellow with a good sense of humor. After we ate the cupcakes and drank the juice she brought to share with the class (with most kids calling out, "Thank you, Shaina!" without me even having to remind them), she asked if she could go offer one of the extra cupcakes to her first grade teacher. (See? Such a good girl.) As she was leaving, Bruce ran up to her and said, "Tell Mrs. C I say hi!" which I thought was cute. While she was out of the room, the rest of the class decided they wanted to surprise her by bursting into the happy birthday song when she returned. (Then they decided we should turn off the lights and "hide," to which I was like, uh, no. Where would we all fit?) And so they did. A bunch of the girls had been busily decorating cards for her while they were supposed to be packing up, which I pretended not to see because, well, I thought it was sweet and she deserved cards.
Then it was time to pull a ticket from the ticket jar. When my kids are behaving, I hand them a ticket on which they write their names, and then they drop it in the ticket jar. A few times a week, I pull a ticket from the jar and that person gets a prize. We've had a problem in the past with s-o-r-e l-o-s-e-r-s who act poorly when their name isn't the one called, so I've been trying to instead encourage celebration for the person whose name is called. (Because, let's be honest: Alex has about twelve times as many tickets in the jar as the rest of you knuckleheads.) Anyway, when I pulled Lyle's name from the jar today, everyone started calling out, "Congratulations, Lyle!"
I'm not even going to be glib about this: I was so pleased. And to celebrate their celebration of Lyle, I gave the whole class another compliment.
So what's up with Miss Brave in the Sparkle Days? Henry and Mudge in the Sparkle Days is one of my favorite Cynthia Rylant books in the Henry and Mudge series about a boy and his dog. In it, the "sparkle days" are what Henry and Mudge call the days of winter, when everything seems to sparkle.
Despite everything that happened this morning, we had a lovely afternoon. Today was a sparkle day.
Let's start at the top. And by the "top," I mean the head. And by the head, I mean "the head full of wriggling, squirming, itchy creatures that have apparently invaded my classroom." Yes, that means what you think it means -- lice has come to Miss Brave's class! Apparently Julisa's aunt e-mailed our parent coordinator that Julisa has been complaining of an itchy head since the winter break ended (which, by the way, was three weeks ago, thank you for waiting three weeks to tell us). So two school aides came up to my classroom to check my kids' heads for lice. (While they were taking a math test, by the way.) Introducing them was definitely one of the weirder announcements I've had to make to my class: "Boys and girls, we have some visitors in our rooms, and they're going to be taking you out into the hallway to...look at your heads." (Cue confused faces from the class.) "It's not going to hurt, and they're not going to do anything to your hair, they're just going to...look at your head."
Apparently lice is not a phenomenon with which my students are familiar, because at that point only one person whispered, "Ew, what if someone has lice?"
Anyway, there was a brief scare at one point when the school aide confided that poor Dana appeared to have a head full of nits, but I think they turned out to be dandruff. I have now been assured that my class is lice-free! Which doesn't stop my own head from feeling like it's crawling. Ew.
At lunch, I worked on my "promotion-in-doubt" list. I've just been informed that I have to designate Amhrita as promotion-in-doubt, even though she just moved here from Nepal. She's not "technically" an ESL student because she attended an English boarding school in Nepal, and in order to make room for more new arrivals with no English they transferred her out of an ESL class into my class. But seriously? She's an ELL. She's a sweet, polite, enthusiastic kid, and she's not hopelessly below grade level, and I just think it's kind of unfair to threaten to hold her over when maybe she just needs more time to adjust to moving to the other side of the world.
Next. During social studies, the guidance counselor poked her head into my classroom. Now, she is a lovely woman, but I have seen a lot less of her since William and Julio departed, which is kind of the way I like it. No matter how lovely she is, nothing good has ever come of having the guidance counselor poke her head into my room (except when she comes to reward my Student of the Month). But anyway, she came with news. Juicy, twisted, horrifying news. Apparently Julio's mother showed up this morning and wants to re-enroll Julio at our school.
Okay. Let's take a minute and revisit the story of Julio. Since kindergarten, Julio has had massive behavior problems. He was like the first six-year-old ever to be suspended. In first grade, Julio was diagnosed with ADD. His mother didn't like that diagnosis, but instead of getting a second opinion about why he might be exhibiting such grossly inappropriate behavior at school, she just pretended the diagnosis didn't exist. By the time he got to second grade in my class, he was wetting his pants (and my entire bathroom floor) repeatedly, threatening suicide, drawing pictures of violent shootings and stabbings and anal sex, screaming curse words, and throwing chairs. Literally throwing chairs!
I met with his mother. The guidance counselor met with his mother. The assistant principal met with his mother. Her response was to transfer him to another school. Where, on his first day, he cursed at and hit another student.
Somehow, in the time that's elapsed since that happened in November, his new school convinced his mother to sign an IEP that places him in a 12:1:1 classroom. I have no idea what his classification is, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's "emotionally disturbed." So what did his mother do? She showed up at our school, crying, claiming she didn't realize what she signed. We don't have a self-contained placement for him, but apparently she has the right to "cancel" his IEP and re-enroll him at our school. (Are you wondering what his zoned school is? Julio and his mom were staying with his grandmother and commuting to our school. She transferred him to his new school by listing his address as the grandmother's, but she's now claiming that they never actually moved, they just pretended to move in order to get him transferred. Which I know personally is a lie because Julio is a fairly bright kid and he told me what neighborhood he lives in.)
First of all: No backsies on this kid. Second of all, I think this is the first time in my teaching career that I've literally been this angry at a child's parent. I mean, there's denial, and then there's just doing the wrong thing for your child. You can't yank this kid around like a yo-yo just because you disagree with pretty much every teacher, counselor, principal and social worker who's ever assessed him. That is not what's best for him. It's one thing to have doubts about giving your child a "label," or placing him in an environment where he's not going to thrive, but it's another think to totally ignore the fact that your child is in pain, he is angry, he is disturbed. I'm not talking about a kid who used to get mad at other kids and impulsively reach out and pinch them, like Jason does. I'm talking about a kid who used to bang his head against the wall and then throw himself onto the floor in the corner of the room and curl up in a ball and sob. Even Julio knew that he had a problem, that he didn't react like other kids, that he couldn't control his anger and his frustration. None of that is going to change by sticking him back in a general ed classroom at our school (as if his two and a half years here did him a lot of good), and it's obviously only going to get worse as he gets older!
Whew. And now to switch gears a little. The other day, when I picked up my class from lunch, two of my boys were sitting off to the side by themselves. This is like wearing a giant sign on yourself that says I AM IN TROUBLE. Listening to one of my students try to explain how they got into trouble when I wasn't there is like Rashomon. "All I did was tell him to go in front of me!" "Well he was waving his hand up in the air and it looked like he was going to punch me and then they made us sit over here!" Okay, um, what? I still have no idea what went on. Anyway, my class was scheduled to be in the auditorium for three periods in a row while I was at a meeting (one thing I do not miss about being an out-of-classroom teacher is those ridiculous mass preps), so when we got upstairs, I geared up for full-blown Lecture Mode. You are representing our class. You want other teachers to want to spend time with us. You understand that our rules are the same whether we're in the classroom with Miss Brave or in the auditorium with other teachers. Then I had this funny conversation with some colleagues:
Me: "Ms. M, let me know how my class is when you're in the auditorium with them, because I told them they could earn compliments from you."
Ms. N: "Oh, me too, if they behave with you they'll earn a check."
Ms. J: "I just told them they better not make me look bad or they'll regret it for the rest of the year."
Heh, everyone has their own style. Anyway, my class happily received a good report, so up went the compliments.
Then it was Shaina's birthday. Shaina is a great kid, mellow with a good sense of humor. After we ate the cupcakes and drank the juice she brought to share with the class (with most kids calling out, "Thank you, Shaina!" without me even having to remind them), she asked if she could go offer one of the extra cupcakes to her first grade teacher. (See? Such a good girl.) As she was leaving, Bruce ran up to her and said, "Tell Mrs. C I say hi!" which I thought was cute. While she was out of the room, the rest of the class decided they wanted to surprise her by bursting into the happy birthday song when she returned. (Then they decided we should turn off the lights and "hide," to which I was like, uh, no. Where would we all fit?) And so they did. A bunch of the girls had been busily decorating cards for her while they were supposed to be packing up, which I pretended not to see because, well, I thought it was sweet and she deserved cards.
Then it was time to pull a ticket from the ticket jar. When my kids are behaving, I hand them a ticket on which they write their names, and then they drop it in the ticket jar. A few times a week, I pull a ticket from the jar and that person gets a prize. We've had a problem in the past with s-o-r-e l-o-s-e-r-s who act poorly when their name isn't the one called, so I've been trying to instead encourage celebration for the person whose name is called. (Because, let's be honest: Alex has about twelve times as many tickets in the jar as the rest of you knuckleheads.) Anyway, when I pulled Lyle's name from the jar today, everyone started calling out, "Congratulations, Lyle!"
I'm not even going to be glib about this: I was so pleased. And to celebrate their celebration of Lyle, I gave the whole class another compliment.
So what's up with Miss Brave in the Sparkle Days? Henry and Mudge in the Sparkle Days is one of my favorite Cynthia Rylant books in the Henry and Mudge series about a boy and his dog. In it, the "sparkle days" are what Henry and Mudge call the days of winter, when everything seems to sparkle.
Despite everything that happened this morning, we had a lovely afternoon. Today was a sparkle day.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Two nice stories
Remember Azul? When he became my student in September of 2008, he was a B reader who had just moved to the United States a few months before. I saw him in the hallway today at school and asked how he was doing in reading. He told me that he's now a level L! From B to L in a year and a half. Amazing.
Today with my small extended day group we were answering some questions that asked us to circle the word that didn't belong. I was trying to get the Sesame Street "One of These Things Is Not Like the Others" to play on our computer, but our school network naturally blocks YouTube, so I had to settle for reading the lyrics today. One of my students was bouncing and bopping around as I read them, and the boy next to her turned to her and sternly admonished, "This is not a dance party!" Heh.
Today with my small extended day group we were answering some questions that asked us to circle the word that didn't belong. I was trying to get the Sesame Street "One of These Things Is Not Like the Others" to play on our computer, but our school network naturally blocks YouTube, so I had to settle for reading the lyrics today. One of my students was bouncing and bopping around as I read them, and the boy next to her turned to her and sternly admonished, "This is not a dance party!" Heh.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
One day more
There's no denying we got off to a rough start this year. But now that William and Julio have left us, we've evolved into a kind of cozy classroom community. Most of their transgressions are now frustratingly predictable: Kyle forgets to put his schoolbag in the closet every. single. day; David needs an engraved invitation to the meeting area when all of his classmates are already there; Viviana's loud, chatty voice pierces through every direction I give like a siren; Jason cannot resist the urge to insert explosive noises and mime punches in an effort to liven up every mini lesson. Even when my class is driving me up the wall with their chatting and their resistance to following directions, not a day goes by when I'm not thankful that chatting is the worst I typically have to deal with; I do not miss the days of peeing on the floor and jumping off tables and loud swearing.
And then there are times when it all comes together and I get to sit back in satisfaction and think, "Ahhhhh, Miss Brave's class." Last week, for instance, we arrived alarmingly early on a field trip and had to sit on the bus for a half-hour. We'd already had two students get carsick and we were in for a long thirty minutes of "Is it time yet? When are we getting off?" until I suggested we play a round of Guess What Character Miss Brave Is Thinking About. They asked me questions about the character -- "Is he helpful?" "Is he from a book by Kevin Henkes?" -- until someone finally guessed correctly, and then I gave someone else a turn. They were raising their hands, they were calling on each other, and when we finally got to go inside (and we had to wait again), some of them continued to play amongst themselves. It was great.
Last week, I received in my Department of Education e-mail a "Holiday Gift Memo" from the DOE's "ethics officer." The e-mail encouraged me to review the Chancellor's Regulation C-110 on conflicts of interest and reminded me that, as a city employee, I "may not accept gifts or 'tips' for doing [my] job" and that "teachers should only accept individual gifts from parents that are of a sentimental nature and/or of small financial value."
Apparently the over-gifting of teachers was a growing problem in the suburbs, where wealthy parents were competing to out-gift each other by lavishing upon their children's teachers gifts of spa certificates (!), Coach bags (!!) and Rolex watches (!!!). But in NYC public schools, when I read Mayor Bloomberg's admonishment to parents to keep it under $50, all I could do was roll my eyes. My students don't even pay for lunch. How could they pay $50 for a Christmas gift for a teacher?
Today, two of my students presented me with holiday gifts. One of them, Alaina, is new to my class and new to the country; the other, Marco, is my class clown, and handed me the bag looking like the gift had been entirely his parents' idea. No, it wasn't a Coach bag. It was better: a large tote bag (perfect for lugging heavy teacher manuals), with plastic slots on the front (the perfect size for sliding in photos of my class), and best of all, embroidered with my name. I now have my very own teacher tote with my name on it! Eat your heart out, suburbia.
And then there are times when it all comes together and I get to sit back in satisfaction and think, "Ahhhhh, Miss Brave's class." Last week, for instance, we arrived alarmingly early on a field trip and had to sit on the bus for a half-hour. We'd already had two students get carsick and we were in for a long thirty minutes of "Is it time yet? When are we getting off?" until I suggested we play a round of Guess What Character Miss Brave Is Thinking About. They asked me questions about the character -- "Is he helpful?" "Is he from a book by Kevin Henkes?" -- until someone finally guessed correctly, and then I gave someone else a turn. They were raising their hands, they were calling on each other, and when we finally got to go inside (and we had to wait again), some of them continued to play amongst themselves. It was great.
Last week, I received in my Department of Education e-mail a "Holiday Gift Memo" from the DOE's "ethics officer." The e-mail encouraged me to review the Chancellor's Regulation C-110 on conflicts of interest and reminded me that, as a city employee, I "may not accept gifts or 'tips' for doing [my] job" and that "teachers should only accept individual gifts from parents that are of a sentimental nature and/or of small financial value."
Apparently the over-gifting of teachers was a growing problem in the suburbs, where wealthy parents were competing to out-gift each other by lavishing upon their children's teachers gifts of spa certificates (!), Coach bags (!!) and Rolex watches (!!!). But in NYC public schools, when I read Mayor Bloomberg's admonishment to parents to keep it under $50, all I could do was roll my eyes. My students don't even pay for lunch. How could they pay $50 for a Christmas gift for a teacher?
Today, two of my students presented me with holiday gifts. One of them, Alaina, is new to my class and new to the country; the other, Marco, is my class clown, and handed me the bag looking like the gift had been entirely his parents' idea. No, it wasn't a Coach bag. It was better: a large tote bag (perfect for lugging heavy teacher manuals), with plastic slots on the front (the perfect size for sliding in photos of my class), and best of all, embroidered with my name. I now have my very own teacher tote with my name on it! Eat your heart out, suburbia.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday cupcakes
Yesterday, while I was walking my class upstairs with William at the front of the line (which is not where his line spot is, but you try getting him to stay in his place), he enthused to me: "We're going to have a party!"
"Where, in after-school?" I asked.
"No, in our class!" he responded, jerking a thumb to the back of the line. There was Arianna carrying three boxes of Entenmann's Halloween cupcakes that I had no idea were coming.
Now, Friday was Joan's birthday; Saturday was Arianna's. A few days before, Arianna had said to me: "My dad asked if the class could sing happy birthday to me, but I don't want to take away from Joan's birthday."
My hardened, blackened teacher heart melted, and I assured her we could sing to both of them. But I had not been forewarned about the cupcakes.
Arianna is a holdover; she was in my reading group last year. She is a quiet, sweet little girl who tries very hard, has low self-esteem, and giggles when I tell jokes to the class. Naturally, I adore her. I get the impression she doesn't necessarily get pumped up by her family at home, so I was surprised they went out of their way to send her in with birthday cupcakes. Here was the problem: There were 18 cupcakes for my 27 students. (Well, 25...thank goodness Julio was absent and William was with a pull-out teacher, because the day might have ended with a food fight instead of singing if they had been there.)
That's why, seventh period, I found myself sawing through the gooey cupcakes with a plastic knife. Robert gave each student half a paper towel, Tanya collected all the garbage, and I handed out baby wipes so everyone could clean their frosting fingers. Then a student from across the hall popped in to offer me a cupcake from her birthday party. When she proffered the box of cupcakes, I nearly fainted: They were from Magnolia Bakery! You bet your sweet frosting I took one.
As we all settled in to eat our cupcakes, my students started venting their complaints about William: "I know why I can't behave," Jose said sadly. "It's because William keeps saying mean things, and I try to ignore him but he keeps saying them, and then I just get so mad!" Melinda agreed: "When William keeps coming to my table and bothering us, my brain just gets so angry and I just have to say something to him."
And I really can't blame them. They're seven years old. It's hard. Even I can't control my anger at William sometimes. How do I explain to them that William is angry, and frustrated, and compensates for that by trying to bully them? How do I explain that William is obviously not in an appropriate setting, that we're working to find a better environment for him?
All I know is, for forty minutes on Friday afternoon, I got a taste of what my classroom would be like without William and Julio. And oh my, it was sweet.
"Where, in after-school?" I asked.
"No, in our class!" he responded, jerking a thumb to the back of the line. There was Arianna carrying three boxes of Entenmann's Halloween cupcakes that I had no idea were coming.
Now, Friday was Joan's birthday; Saturday was Arianna's. A few days before, Arianna had said to me: "My dad asked if the class could sing happy birthday to me, but I don't want to take away from Joan's birthday."
My hardened, blackened teacher heart melted, and I assured her we could sing to both of them. But I had not been forewarned about the cupcakes.
Arianna is a holdover; she was in my reading group last year. She is a quiet, sweet little girl who tries very hard, has low self-esteem, and giggles when I tell jokes to the class. Naturally, I adore her. I get the impression she doesn't necessarily get pumped up by her family at home, so I was surprised they went out of their way to send her in with birthday cupcakes. Here was the problem: There were 18 cupcakes for my 27 students. (Well, 25...thank goodness Julio was absent and William was with a pull-out teacher, because the day might have ended with a food fight instead of singing if they had been there.)
That's why, seventh period, I found myself sawing through the gooey cupcakes with a plastic knife. Robert gave each student half a paper towel, Tanya collected all the garbage, and I handed out baby wipes so everyone could clean their frosting fingers. Then a student from across the hall popped in to offer me a cupcake from her birthday party. When she proffered the box of cupcakes, I nearly fainted: They were from Magnolia Bakery! You bet your sweet frosting I took one.
As we all settled in to eat our cupcakes, my students started venting their complaints about William: "I know why I can't behave," Jose said sadly. "It's because William keeps saying mean things, and I try to ignore him but he keeps saying them, and then I just get so mad!" Melinda agreed: "When William keeps coming to my table and bothering us, my brain just gets so angry and I just have to say something to him."
And I really can't blame them. They're seven years old. It's hard. Even I can't control my anger at William sometimes. How do I explain to them that William is angry, and frustrated, and compensates for that by trying to bully them? How do I explain that William is obviously not in an appropriate setting, that we're working to find a better environment for him?
All I know is, for forty minutes on Friday afternoon, I got a taste of what my classroom would be like without William and Julio. And oh my, it was sweet.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Complimentary
This just in: William hears like a bat!
It took a lot of pep talks and a little bribery, but with twenty minutes to go in the school day on Friday afternoon, William passed his second hearing test with flying colors (and made off with a cool toy of his choice from my prize bin, whereas all my well behaved students had to make do with "You get what you get and you don't get upset" -- sigh). Which is excellent news, because it means that the school psychologist can evaluate him, a process that will hopefully keep him out of my hair (William, I mean, not the school psychologist) for most of the day on Monday. Meanwhile, Friday was William's best day in school yet, by which I mean I did not once come close to crying while having to chase him away from everything in the classroom. In fact, he had an excellent, hard-working, quiet writing period, to such a degree that other students actually noticed and complimented him on it. Which brings me to...
Things Going On in My Classroom That Are Actually Going Right
1. Table tallies. All I have to do is say with exaggerated casualness, "Hmmmmmm, I wonder which table I'll be able to give a tally to for the nice way they're working now," and all of a sudden my room is a frenzy of seven-year-olds badgering each other to sit up straight, fold their hands, zip their lips, and get all the crap off their desks. My favorite part of table tallies is how frantically the kids hiss directions at each other: "Table tally, TABLE TALLY!!!!" as if the table tally were actually, like, some kind of cool reward. But I'm not complaining, because it works -- even on my chattiest table.
2. The compliment box. It's literally, like, a shoebox with a stack of index cards next to it, and the kids have free reign to write someone a compliment and leave it in the box. When I see a nice stack starting to pile up, I take some time away from our extremely busy academic schedule (shhh, don't tell my administration) and read the compliments out loud to the class. It's so sweet to see their faces light up when they hear a compliment directed their way, and it's especially nice to see who gets recognized: my very best behaved student, who deserves all the recognition she can get; and of course my naughty friends, who looked slightly awed when they realized someone had actually caught them being good.
Now, there are definitely times during the day when it's looking like the compliment box is getting out of hand -- like during writing time on Friday, when there were half a dozen kids standing around it writing compliments -- but want to know a secret? I kind of don't care -- after all, writing compliments is writing too, and goodness knows my class needs all the ego boosts it can get. What's even better is that my tattle turtle isn't seeing much action, while the compliment box is nearly always stuffed. The compliment box is definitely the very best thing I've had going so far.
It took a lot of pep talks and a little bribery, but with twenty minutes to go in the school day on Friday afternoon, William passed his second hearing test with flying colors (and made off with a cool toy of his choice from my prize bin, whereas all my well behaved students had to make do with "You get what you get and you don't get upset" -- sigh). Which is excellent news, because it means that the school psychologist can evaluate him, a process that will hopefully keep him out of my hair (William, I mean, not the school psychologist) for most of the day on Monday. Meanwhile, Friday was William's best day in school yet, by which I mean I did not once come close to crying while having to chase him away from everything in the classroom. In fact, he had an excellent, hard-working, quiet writing period, to such a degree that other students actually noticed and complimented him on it. Which brings me to...
Things Going On in My Classroom That Are Actually Going Right
1. Table tallies. All I have to do is say with exaggerated casualness, "Hmmmmmm, I wonder which table I'll be able to give a tally to for the nice way they're working now," and all of a sudden my room is a frenzy of seven-year-olds badgering each other to sit up straight, fold their hands, zip their lips, and get all the crap off their desks. My favorite part of table tallies is how frantically the kids hiss directions at each other: "Table tally, TABLE TALLY!!!!" as if the table tally were actually, like, some kind of cool reward. But I'm not complaining, because it works -- even on my chattiest table.
2. The compliment box. It's literally, like, a shoebox with a stack of index cards next to it, and the kids have free reign to write someone a compliment and leave it in the box. When I see a nice stack starting to pile up, I take some time away from our extremely busy academic schedule (shhh, don't tell my administration) and read the compliments out loud to the class. It's so sweet to see their faces light up when they hear a compliment directed their way, and it's especially nice to see who gets recognized: my very best behaved student, who deserves all the recognition she can get; and of course my naughty friends, who looked slightly awed when they realized someone had actually caught them being good.
Now, there are definitely times during the day when it's looking like the compliment box is getting out of hand -- like during writing time on Friday, when there were half a dozen kids standing around it writing compliments -- but want to know a secret? I kind of don't care -- after all, writing compliments is writing too, and goodness knows my class needs all the ego boosts it can get. What's even better is that my tattle turtle isn't seeing much action, while the compliment box is nearly always stuffed. The compliment box is definitely the very best thing I've had going so far.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
What the new year will bring
So I've been hibernating for a little while, getting used to the idea of being a classroom teacher for the first time. (Pet peeve: When my students found out I would be going to the classroom, they all said, "You're going to be a real teacher next year?" I kept explaining, I'm a real teacher now, I just don't have my own classroom!)
Slowly and painfully, I am getting used to the idea. Bonuses: No more coverages or suspension room ever again!
Many of the first grade teachers had their students write letters of greeting to their second grade teachers (hello, that would be me!). They are too cute not to share, and so here they are. I'm preserving their spelling and grammar, so you'll just have to do your best to decipher them like any good second grade teacher would.
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exited to be in your class next year. because you were are writing. [Note: She remembers when I was her kindergarten writing cluster teacher! Awww!] Let me tell you about myself. My favirit subject is sincese I love to do some fun things. math is fun becaue we have game day on Friday. I am very smart and Ms. S Loves me because I am grat I am I best in class Ms. S does not want me to leve. I Love to read ficshin books. I am a grat sutint I never miss behave with teachers. I allwes do a grat job. I am reading K level books. [Note: She will be a higher reader in September of second grade than many of my AIS second graders were in June. That's going to take some getting used to!] I am in a hihtg level. I am prod of myself. you will love me. you will never get mad at me. trust me I will not miss behave. I am a hard waking gril."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so ecxited to meet you. [Note: He already knows me. Obviously he doesn't remember.] I hope you are nice I wonder how the classroom would look like. Let me tell you about myself. Ms. S said that I beahave somtimes. my favoret subject is gym. because it is a fun subject. I am so excited to be in your classroom. you are so lucky to have me because I am in J books I promise I will beahave and wont get in truoble."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exsided to be in senkent grad nexst year. Let me tell you about myself. I love to read and I'm in level I and reading is so fun deacause you get smart and I like reading none fickshine because you lern stuff. I Like to wite beacus I like to wite nonefickshine. I like math cuase I like to add and take away. and I will Love to learn my hole life and I think wordwork is giong to de hard beacaus we are going to spell harder decaus we are going to be smarter. I like social studies beacause I like to larn more and more and more evey day cause my parents want me to and I will Love to learn evry day and I will try to be on time evrey day and be here evrey day exsepd whene I'm sick."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exsited to be in your class. I am so happy to be in 2nd grade. I was student of the moth one time and wrod master too. let me tell you about myself my favreit subjuct is gym and art I love gym cuse I like haveing fun and I love punting and makeing suff and when I am sad I just sing it makes me flle so much buttr I love to wite poty and I love to read nonficshin in math I love doing adoing with base ten blocks and I like taping out songs in wrod worck and I am a good child I do not get in troble and I do not bring a toy to school"
"Dear Miss Brave, I like to read do we read a lot in second grade? [Note: She has no idea...] I'm so glad that I'm going to sectond grade. When are we going to second grade? I hope I have fun at second grade. What class are we going to be in. In 3 more days is the last day."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so glad that I'm going to secont grade with you! I've always wanted to go to secont grade and you look petty and when is your birthday and I am 6 years old and I love you and I love science because sceience is my favrite thing to do and writing and reading and math and word work is my favrite thing to do I love everything to do Do you like everything to like science or writing or reading or math or word work to"
"Dear Miss Brave, I like Art becus I can make crafs I bo not like word work we have to sand out all day in word work. my favorite book is maelia beloomer it is a boot a gril that bus not wunt to wer a dig drss. my favorite colr is Red I will see you nex yer."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so happy to be in your class because you are so fun. [Note: That's what he thinks now. Ask him again in October.] Let me tell about my self I sometimes I behav bad and I help cids and I come to scool late and I have bloblus with my hands and I like writing and math and gym and luch."
"Dear Miss Brave, I'm so glad to be in your room I hop I lrn los of new dings in 2nd grad Let me tal you auput my salf wal I cun good and dab unitul but mapy if you put me with good kids ul pinv [Note: I'm pretty sure he means, "I can be good and bad, but maybe if you put me with good kids I'll behave -- thanks for the tip!] My forvat attivut [favorite activity?] is math wulam utitpicrasy and I'm funy I like rideing and wrading so as wal math and you are liky to hav me kus I I'm a cute little boy."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so Happy to see Miss Brave and I seed you in the KindrGrden. Let me tel you odout my self. my favorite period is Reading in Reading is fun! I get more levels. I read chapter books only at home."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exited to go t second grade because I will be very smart at second grade. Let me tell you about my self I love reading I am in level K! I also love writing. Did you know I can be very quiet. I like to play with my friends."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am glad to go to your class Im glad to have you do my 2 grad techer. I like Majik Tree house I like to Draw What do you like to do?"
Slowly and painfully, I am getting used to the idea. Bonuses: No more coverages or suspension room ever again!
Many of the first grade teachers had their students write letters of greeting to their second grade teachers (hello, that would be me!). They are too cute not to share, and so here they are. I'm preserving their spelling and grammar, so you'll just have to do your best to decipher them like any good second grade teacher would.
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exited to be in your class next year. because you were are writing. [Note: She remembers when I was her kindergarten writing cluster teacher! Awww!] Let me tell you about myself. My favirit subject is sincese I love to do some fun things. math is fun becaue we have game day on Friday. I am very smart and Ms. S Loves me because I am grat I am I best in class Ms. S does not want me to leve. I Love to read ficshin books. I am a grat sutint I never miss behave with teachers. I allwes do a grat job. I am reading K level books. [Note: She will be a higher reader in September of second grade than many of my AIS second graders were in June. That's going to take some getting used to!] I am in a hihtg level. I am prod of myself. you will love me. you will never get mad at me. trust me I will not miss behave. I am a hard waking gril."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so ecxited to meet you. [Note: He already knows me. Obviously he doesn't remember.] I hope you are nice I wonder how the classroom would look like. Let me tell you about myself. Ms. S said that I beahave somtimes. my favoret subject is gym. because it is a fun subject. I am so excited to be in your classroom. you are so lucky to have me because I am in J books I promise I will beahave and wont get in truoble."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exsided to be in senkent grad nexst year. Let me tell you about myself. I love to read and I'm in level I and reading is so fun deacause you get smart and I like reading none fickshine because you lern stuff. I Like to wite beacus I like to wite nonefickshine. I like math cuase I like to add and take away. and I will Love to learn my hole life and I think wordwork is giong to de hard beacaus we are going to spell harder decaus we are going to be smarter. I like social studies beacause I like to larn more and more and more evey day cause my parents want me to and I will Love to learn evry day and I will try to be on time evrey day and be here evrey day exsepd whene I'm sick."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exsited to be in your class. I am so happy to be in 2nd grade. I was student of the moth one time and wrod master too. let me tell you about myself my favreit subjuct is gym and art I love gym cuse I like haveing fun and I love punting and makeing suff and when I am sad I just sing it makes me flle so much buttr I love to wite poty and I love to read nonficshin in math I love doing adoing with base ten blocks and I like taping out songs in wrod worck and I am a good child I do not get in troble and I do not bring a toy to school"
"Dear Miss Brave, I like to read do we read a lot in second grade? [Note: She has no idea...] I'm so glad that I'm going to sectond grade. When are we going to second grade? I hope I have fun at second grade. What class are we going to be in. In 3 more days is the last day."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so glad that I'm going to secont grade with you! I've always wanted to go to secont grade and you look petty and when is your birthday and I am 6 years old and I love you and I love science because sceience is my favrite thing to do and writing and reading and math and word work is my favrite thing to do I love everything to do Do you like everything to like science or writing or reading or math or word work to"
"Dear Miss Brave, I like Art becus I can make crafs I bo not like word work we have to sand out all day in word work. my favorite book is maelia beloomer it is a boot a gril that bus not wunt to wer a dig drss. my favorite colr is Red I will see you nex yer."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so happy to be in your class because you are so fun. [Note: That's what he thinks now. Ask him again in October.] Let me tell about my self I sometimes I behav bad and I help cids and I come to scool late and I have bloblus with my hands and I like writing and math and gym and luch."
"Dear Miss Brave, I'm so glad to be in your room I hop I lrn los of new dings in 2nd grad Let me tal you auput my salf wal I cun good and dab unitul but mapy if you put me with good kids ul pinv [Note: I'm pretty sure he means, "I can be good and bad, but maybe if you put me with good kids I'll behave -- thanks for the tip!] My forvat attivut [favorite activity?] is math wulam utitpicrasy and I'm funy I like rideing and wrading so as wal math and you are liky to hav me kus I I'm a cute little boy."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so Happy to see Miss Brave and I seed you in the KindrGrden. Let me tel you odout my self. my favorite period is Reading in Reading is fun! I get more levels. I read chapter books only at home."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am so exited to go t second grade because I will be very smart at second grade. Let me tell you about my self I love reading I am in level K! I also love writing. Did you know I can be very quiet. I like to play with my friends."
"Dear Miss Brave, I am glad to go to your class Im glad to have you do my 2 grad techer. I like Majik Tree house I like to Draw What do you like to do?"
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
At long last, a good day
When I walked into the office this morning, I said to the secretary, "Who am I going to be today?" To my great surprise and relief, the answer was nobody! For the first time in what felt like a very long time, I got to be myself...and, for a change, it felt wonderful.
On Friday afternoon, one of my students handed me a folded note and instructed me to read it at home. (I cheated.) It read: "Dear Miss Brave, I have been practicing for level L, on Monday will you please read with me?" (Her note-writing skills have vastly improved; a few weeks ago she wrote me a priceless note, now hanging on my bulletin board at work, that read: "Dear Miss Brave, Me and Edward are mad at you because you are always passing Alyssa and Luis to the next level but you do not pass us.")
So I read with her, and sure enough she moved up a level. Then, like clockwork, Alyssa tiptoed up to me and handed me another note: "This is from Edward." (The aforementioned Edward conspired on the first note but then chickened out and asked the writer to erase his name.) Edward's note, naturally, read, "Will you move me up a level please?" So competitive! So I wrote him a note back ("I will read with you tomorrow") and made him happy.
Bayani is a tough kid to do running records with. He reads nicely but gets really, really nervous when it comes time to talk about the story and answer questions. So every time I do a running record, he seems like he's not ready to move up a level, and then he cries and I promise that we'll try again with another story in a week or so. Today we tried again, and he is now a level L. He was sitting at his desk, literally hugging a level L book to his chest, and with a beaming smile he said, "I'm so happy!" Teacher dream moment!
Rosa is a girly girl. She's the only pre-adolescent girl I've met who's had her hair highlighted. Her nails are more nicely manicured than mine, and she's always fussing with some part of her adorable matching outfit. Today I overheard Rosa saying to someone, "I'm a level K, but I want to be an L. My daddy says if I move to L, he'll buy me new shoes."
That was too funny to resist, and I was in a good mood, so I said, "Let's give it a try." We read the story about the chicken pox, and when she was retelling the part where the mom comes home and the kids realize they're about to get in trouble, she said, "Then the mom came home from work and Dusty said, 'We're busted!'"
That's when I cracked up for real. Then I asked her, "So what kind of shoes are you going to get?" And for the rest of the day, Rosa was all smiles.
On Friday afternoon, one of my students handed me a folded note and instructed me to read it at home. (I cheated.) It read: "Dear Miss Brave, I have been practicing for level L, on Monday will you please read with me?" (Her note-writing skills have vastly improved; a few weeks ago she wrote me a priceless note, now hanging on my bulletin board at work, that read: "Dear Miss Brave, Me and Edward are mad at you because you are always passing Alyssa and Luis to the next level but you do not pass us.")
So I read with her, and sure enough she moved up a level. Then, like clockwork, Alyssa tiptoed up to me and handed me another note: "This is from Edward." (The aforementioned Edward conspired on the first note but then chickened out and asked the writer to erase his name.) Edward's note, naturally, read, "Will you move me up a level please?" So competitive! So I wrote him a note back ("I will read with you tomorrow") and made him happy.
Bayani is a tough kid to do running records with. He reads nicely but gets really, really nervous when it comes time to talk about the story and answer questions. So every time I do a running record, he seems like he's not ready to move up a level, and then he cries and I promise that we'll try again with another story in a week or so. Today we tried again, and he is now a level L. He was sitting at his desk, literally hugging a level L book to his chest, and with a beaming smile he said, "I'm so happy!" Teacher dream moment!
Rosa is a girly girl. She's the only pre-adolescent girl I've met who's had her hair highlighted. Her nails are more nicely manicured than mine, and she's always fussing with some part of her adorable matching outfit. Today I overheard Rosa saying to someone, "I'm a level K, but I want to be an L. My daddy says if I move to L, he'll buy me new shoes."
That was too funny to resist, and I was in a good mood, so I said, "Let's give it a try." We read the story about the chicken pox, and when she was retelling the part where the mom comes home and the kids realize they're about to get in trouble, she said, "Then the mom came home from work and Dusty said, 'We're busted!'"
That's when I cracked up for real. Then I asked her, "So what kind of shoes are you going to get?" And for the rest of the day, Rosa was all smiles.
Friday, March 13, 2009
This weekend is brought to me by the letter L
Ladies and gentlemen, we have our first grade-level reader.
OK, that's not entirely true. I've had kids reach grade level (and surpass it!) after transferring out of my group. And I've had kids reach grade level who started out in the teacher's group, came to my group after falling behind and ended up going back to the teacher's group. But Dalya is my first student who started with me, below grade level (although juuust barely below), at the beginning of the year who is now on grade level. (Grade level for this point in the school year for second graders is level L. Sample level L book: the Pinky and Rex series by James Howe -- can you tell I still have series books on the brain? And remember Bunnicula, also by James Howe? Anyway.)
She is my first L reader, and it couldn't have happened to a nicer kid -- first of all, the other day I moved her to K, and she's been walking around beaming and hugging her book baggie full of K books, so you can imagine how excited she was to be an L reader, and then I actually got a "Thank you for moving me to level L, Miss Brave."
In other happy running record news, Azul has moved to F. Unfortunately, he has been driving me a little crazy lately, but it is a riot to watch him read -- in the beginning of the year, he was a complete clown during running records, turning to me after each page with a huge exaggerated grin on his face as if to say, "See? I can read this!" But today he was all business, absolutely poker-faced, hunched over the book and taking deep breaths as if to pump himself up for every tricky word.
Too bad the level G texts are ridiculously hard. One is about a boy dancing at a Native American powwow...'cause my eight-year-olds who live in New York City really have the mental capacity to conceptualize a powwow. Also, he's wearing a headdress and they always think he's a girl. Today one kid told me that he was "dancing in water" because the page background happened to be blue. The other G book is about a boy whose family is moving, and he projects all his negative feelings about moving onto his pet fish, so he's all, "Flipper likes his friends and his school, he will miss them if he moves away," and then on moving day his family gets into the elevator and goes up, not down, and the boy is all, "Who lives on this floor?" and his parents are all, "We do now!" and then the kid (and his fish!) are both happy. I have read this book about fifty times and only once has a student fully understood that (a) fish don't attend school so obviously the boy is referring to himself and not Flipper and (b) the family actually just moved to another apartment in the same building so the boy is happy because he doesn't have to move away from his friends. It's not like the boy says, "Wow, this is great because this apartment must be zoned for the same school I currently attend!"
First of all, what kind of neglectful, twisted parents don't tell their sad, worried child that they are actually just moving up two flights of stairs and not, you know, out of the city? Second of all, while the boy is packing he says, "I put everything in the box except Flipper," which makes all the kids think that the boy is sad because he's not allowed to take Flipper with him to the new apartment (because the new apartment building doesn't allow fish? I don't get how their minds work either, I'm just the reading teacher). Usually I manage to interrogate the answers out of them (me: "Why doesn't the boy want to move to a new apartment?" Kid: "Because Flipper will miss his friends and his school." Me: "Do fish go to school?!" Kid: "No..." Me: "So who do you think the boy is really talking about?" Kid: "Um...himself?" Me: :::mental ding ding ding:::)
Meanwhile, the level H book is about this boy whose mother's car breaks down, so every day they try to get to school a different way but there's always some wacky problem (like they get on the wrong bus and it takes them to the beach, or they get on the ferry but it's bumpy and they feel sick), and the only inferring required is the monumentally stupid question of why the boy and his mother look so happy at the end of the story. (Actual answer: because their car is fixed. Miss Brave's personal answer: because he managed to weasel out of an entire week of school! With the consent of his hapless mother!)
I'm pretty sure this entry reflects the fact that I drank a large coffee and a caffeinated soda today, the fact that it is Friday, and the fact that I am still drowning in a vast sea of work created by our series book club unit, a unit that has me so ensnared in its clutches that I actually dreamed about it all night.
There are fifteen weeks until summer!
OK, that's not entirely true. I've had kids reach grade level (and surpass it!) after transferring out of my group. And I've had kids reach grade level who started out in the teacher's group, came to my group after falling behind and ended up going back to the teacher's group. But Dalya is my first student who started with me, below grade level (although juuust barely below), at the beginning of the year who is now on grade level. (Grade level for this point in the school year for second graders is level L. Sample level L book: the Pinky and Rex series by James Howe -- can you tell I still have series books on the brain? And remember Bunnicula, also by James Howe? Anyway.)
She is my first L reader, and it couldn't have happened to a nicer kid -- first of all, the other day I moved her to K, and she's been walking around beaming and hugging her book baggie full of K books, so you can imagine how excited she was to be an L reader, and then I actually got a "Thank you for moving me to level L, Miss Brave."
In other happy running record news, Azul has moved to F. Unfortunately, he has been driving me a little crazy lately, but it is a riot to watch him read -- in the beginning of the year, he was a complete clown during running records, turning to me after each page with a huge exaggerated grin on his face as if to say, "See? I can read this!" But today he was all business, absolutely poker-faced, hunched over the book and taking deep breaths as if to pump himself up for every tricky word.
Too bad the level G texts are ridiculously hard. One is about a boy dancing at a Native American powwow...'cause my eight-year-olds who live in New York City really have the mental capacity to conceptualize a powwow. Also, he's wearing a headdress and they always think he's a girl. Today one kid told me that he was "dancing in water" because the page background happened to be blue. The other G book is about a boy whose family is moving, and he projects all his negative feelings about moving onto his pet fish, so he's all, "Flipper likes his friends and his school, he will miss them if he moves away," and then on moving day his family gets into the elevator and goes up, not down, and the boy is all, "Who lives on this floor?" and his parents are all, "We do now!" and then the kid (and his fish!) are both happy. I have read this book about fifty times and only once has a student fully understood that (a) fish don't attend school so obviously the boy is referring to himself and not Flipper and (b) the family actually just moved to another apartment in the same building so the boy is happy because he doesn't have to move away from his friends. It's not like the boy says, "Wow, this is great because this apartment must be zoned for the same school I currently attend!"
First of all, what kind of neglectful, twisted parents don't tell their sad, worried child that they are actually just moving up two flights of stairs and not, you know, out of the city? Second of all, while the boy is packing he says, "I put everything in the box except Flipper," which makes all the kids think that the boy is sad because he's not allowed to take Flipper with him to the new apartment (because the new apartment building doesn't allow fish? I don't get how their minds work either, I'm just the reading teacher). Usually I manage to interrogate the answers out of them (me: "Why doesn't the boy want to move to a new apartment?" Kid: "Because Flipper will miss his friends and his school." Me: "Do fish go to school?!" Kid: "No..." Me: "So who do you think the boy is really talking about?" Kid: "Um...himself?" Me: :::mental ding ding ding:::)
Meanwhile, the level H book is about this boy whose mother's car breaks down, so every day they try to get to school a different way but there's always some wacky problem (like they get on the wrong bus and it takes them to the beach, or they get on the ferry but it's bumpy and they feel sick), and the only inferring required is the monumentally stupid question of why the boy and his mother look so happy at the end of the story. (Actual answer: because their car is fixed. Miss Brave's personal answer: because he managed to weasel out of an entire week of school! With the consent of his hapless mother!)
I'm pretty sure this entry reflects the fact that I drank a large coffee and a caffeinated soda today, the fact that it is Friday, and the fact that I am still drowning in a vast sea of work created by our series book club unit, a unit that has me so ensnared in its clutches that I actually dreamed about it all night.
There are fifteen weeks until summer!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Snow day!
One of those funny little role reversals about becoming a teacher is that you realize that teachers fantasize about snow days as much as students do, and we feel the bitter sting of disappointment when we face the disappointing truism that New York City public schools never close because of snow.
...except when they DO!!! Yesterday, I knew better than to fall into the snow day trap, so I prepared as though it was any other Sunday. I laid out an outfit. I made my lunch. I printed out directions to the bakery I ambitiously planned to visit after school as consolation for the long snowy bus ride. I set my alarm early so I could leave early on the subway instead of in my car.
Most importantly, I did not jinx anything -- because everyone knows New York City public schools never close.
I never sleep well when it snows all night -- I'm always up to check on the accumulation, and I always have dreams that no snow has stuck at all -- so I was up extra early this morning. DOE website: nothing. NY1: nada. Local news channels: nope.
So I got dressed. I put on my track pants and boots. I put my work pants and work shoes in a backpack. I packed my lunch. I even accessorized.
Just before 6 am, I gave the DOE website once last chance. "Come on," I pleaded as I hit refresh. "You really don't want to close schools? No? OK, then, thanks for nothing."
I put on my big puffy coat and my hat and my gloves. I headed downstairs. The snow made it difficult to push open the door. I lifted my hood against the wind and began trekking through the unshoveled snow. It was still dark out. Cars were driving cautiously through the streets.
Then my phone rang. "Are you sure they didn't close schools?" said my fiance.
"Of course I'm sure," I answered impatiently, still hoofing it through the snow.
"I think they might have just closed them," he said.
I stopped cold. (Get it? Cold? Ha!) I made him check the DOE website, which was not updated ("They're probably just inefficient!" he said). In an effort to convince me, he held the phone up to the television, where I could halfway make out various news anchors telling me that city public schools were closed, only I didn't really trust them, because everyone knows city public schools never close.
Finally my fiance suggested that I hang up and 311. And when the recorded message informed me that New York City public schools were indeed closed, I actually jumped up in the air, shouted, "Yahoo!" and began running back toward my apartment. Five minutes later? I would have been underground on the subway headed towards school.
I grew up as a New York City public school student, and the only time we ever got a snow day was in 1996, when the city recorded 20 inches of snow. Schools hadn't closed due to snow before that since 1978. According to NY1, we've only gotten five or six inches on the ground so far, and my main man Pat Kiernan is quite surprised at the chancellor's decision. But for the first and probably only time in my life, I say praise Joel Klein and hallelujah!
...except when they DO!!! Yesterday, I knew better than to fall into the snow day trap, so I prepared as though it was any other Sunday. I laid out an outfit. I made my lunch. I printed out directions to the bakery I ambitiously planned to visit after school as consolation for the long snowy bus ride. I set my alarm early so I could leave early on the subway instead of in my car.
Most importantly, I did not jinx anything -- because everyone knows New York City public schools never close.
I never sleep well when it snows all night -- I'm always up to check on the accumulation, and I always have dreams that no snow has stuck at all -- so I was up extra early this morning. DOE website: nothing. NY1: nada. Local news channels: nope.
So I got dressed. I put on my track pants and boots. I put my work pants and work shoes in a backpack. I packed my lunch. I even accessorized.
Just before 6 am, I gave the DOE website once last chance. "Come on," I pleaded as I hit refresh. "You really don't want to close schools? No? OK, then, thanks for nothing."
I put on my big puffy coat and my hat and my gloves. I headed downstairs. The snow made it difficult to push open the door. I lifted my hood against the wind and began trekking through the unshoveled snow. It was still dark out. Cars were driving cautiously through the streets.
Then my phone rang. "Are you sure they didn't close schools?" said my fiance.
"Of course I'm sure," I answered impatiently, still hoofing it through the snow.
"I think they might have just closed them," he said.
I stopped cold. (Get it? Cold? Ha!) I made him check the DOE website, which was not updated ("They're probably just inefficient!" he said). In an effort to convince me, he held the phone up to the television, where I could halfway make out various news anchors telling me that city public schools were closed, only I didn't really trust them, because everyone knows city public schools never close.
Finally my fiance suggested that I hang up and 311. And when the recorded message informed me that New York City public schools were indeed closed, I actually jumped up in the air, shouted, "Yahoo!" and began running back toward my apartment. Five minutes later? I would have been underground on the subway headed towards school.
I grew up as a New York City public school student, and the only time we ever got a snow day was in 1996, when the city recorded 20 inches of snow. Schools hadn't closed due to snow before that since 1978. According to NY1, we've only gotten five or six inches on the ground so far, and my main man Pat Kiernan is quite surprised at the chancellor's decision. But for the first and probably only time in my life, I say praise Joel Klein and hallelujah!
Friday, February 27, 2009
The best guided reading group ever
Friday, last period. Mentally, I'm done for the week. Still, I summon up the last reserves of my energy and call together Stanley, Adam L., Adam P. and Victoria for guided reading.
At level J, they're my highest readers (still below grade level -- at this point in the year they should be reading at L -- but so close and with so much potential!), and today is our last day reading Corduroy. All my J-reading friends get extremely jazzed to read Corduroy, because generally it's a book they're already familiar with, and I've had some great guided reading conversations about seeing things from the character's point of view and using your imagination and what it means to have a home and friendship and be loved.
So we take a little picture walk through the last pages of the books, and my friends are already firing neat little comments to each other ("Is she stealing Corduroy?!" "No, she just doesn't want a box because she wants to hold him and feel him"), and then they go ahead and read to the end of the book. Stanley and Victoria are sitting next to each other, and suddenly shy Stanley's eyes go wide and he leans over and whispers excitedly to Victoria, "She knows that Corduroy can talk!" and they have a little side conversation about whether Corduroy is a real bear who comes alive or whether Lisa is just using her imagination to talk to Corduroy (I think all the non-fiction reading they've been doing is affecting their suspension of disbelief, bigtime). Then Victoria turns to the back of the book, which says, "Poor Corduroy! Will he ever find a home?" and she says to me, "I just realized something. Corduroy is looking for his button, but he's really looking for a home."
Thunk. I don't know whether or not that sounds like a big deal to you, but for me that was one of the most insightful, wonderful comments anyone in my reading groups has ever made. My kids' reading levels are low enough that they don't often get to do much critical thinking about their books -- you should see the contortions I've gone through trying to coax some higher-level thinking out of books like Danny and the Dinosaur -- and so Victoria's comment was such a breath of fresh air.
Then we got into a conversation about how Corduroy is looking for a home and Lisa is looking for a bear and both are really looking for a friend, and quiet Adam P. points out, "Each other." Okay, awwwww.
It may not seem like much, but it seriously made my afternoon. What a great way to kick off the weekend.
At level J, they're my highest readers (still below grade level -- at this point in the year they should be reading at L -- but so close and with so much potential!), and today is our last day reading Corduroy. All my J-reading friends get extremely jazzed to read Corduroy, because generally it's a book they're already familiar with, and I've had some great guided reading conversations about seeing things from the character's point of view and using your imagination and what it means to have a home and friendship and be loved.
So we take a little picture walk through the last pages of the books, and my friends are already firing neat little comments to each other ("Is she stealing Corduroy?!" "No, she just doesn't want a box because she wants to hold him and feel him"), and then they go ahead and read to the end of the book. Stanley and Victoria are sitting next to each other, and suddenly shy Stanley's eyes go wide and he leans over and whispers excitedly to Victoria, "She knows that Corduroy can talk!" and they have a little side conversation about whether Corduroy is a real bear who comes alive or whether Lisa is just using her imagination to talk to Corduroy (I think all the non-fiction reading they've been doing is affecting their suspension of disbelief, bigtime). Then Victoria turns to the back of the book, which says, "Poor Corduroy! Will he ever find a home?" and she says to me, "I just realized something. Corduroy is looking for his button, but he's really looking for a home."
Thunk. I don't know whether or not that sounds like a big deal to you, but for me that was one of the most insightful, wonderful comments anyone in my reading groups has ever made. My kids' reading levels are low enough that they don't often get to do much critical thinking about their books -- you should see the contortions I've gone through trying to coax some higher-level thinking out of books like Danny and the Dinosaur -- and so Victoria's comment was such a breath of fresh air.
Then we got into a conversation about how Corduroy is looking for a home and Lisa is looking for a bear and both are really looking for a friend, and quiet Adam P. points out, "Each other." Okay, awwwww.
It may not seem like much, but it seriously made my afternoon. What a great way to kick off the weekend.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Music to my ears
Remember Azul, my Arabic B reader who was desperate to move up to level C? Azul was 100% convinced that he was ready. So I sat him down to do a running record. I think we were both feeling the same way: excited, but nervous! (Azul: "I so scared! I really want be C!")
Well, Azul didn't move to C.
He moved to D.
D!!!!! I have students who have been at my school for three years and haven't moved to D. Needless to say, Azul was pleased. OK, scratch that -- Azul was thrilled. He pumped his fists. He clapped his hands. He did a little happy dance all the way over to the D book bin.
Later on, I saw Azul in the hallway. "Thank you for D!" he called out to me.
I stopped. I turned to look at his beaming face. I pointed at him. "You should be thanking yourself," I said, "for working hard."
Azul nodded solemnly. Then he drew a letter E in the air with his finger. "Next we go to E!" he chirped.
I was thinking about giving my students pencils or trinkets as gifts this holiday season. But what I really wish I could give them is motivation like Azul's.
Well, Azul didn't move to C.
He moved to D.
D!!!!! I have students who have been at my school for three years and haven't moved to D. Needless to say, Azul was pleased. OK, scratch that -- Azul was thrilled. He pumped his fists. He clapped his hands. He did a little happy dance all the way over to the D book bin.
Later on, I saw Azul in the hallway. "Thank you for D!" he called out to me.
I stopped. I turned to look at his beaming face. I pointed at him. "You should be thanking yourself," I said, "for working hard."
Azul nodded solemnly. Then he drew a letter E in the air with his finger. "Next we go to E!" he chirped.
I was thinking about giving my students pencils or trinkets as gifts this holiday season. But what I really wish I could give them is motivation like Azul's.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
26.2 to the finish
I can't resist posting this personal note: Tomorrow morning at 10:20 am, I will be lined up at the start of the New York City Marathon. Cross your fingers for me!
On Friday, one of my colleagues announced to her class: "Everyone, Miss Brave is going to be on TV on Sunday!" She happens to have the sweetest second grade class, and they went NUTS. "What channel? What time?" Some of them were distressed: "I want to see you on TV but I have to go to church school on Sunday!"
I explained to them that I was running my big race (earlier in the month I used my running as a metaphor for reading), but that 40,000 other people were also running and therefore I would probably be very difficult to spot. When they persisted -- "What will you be wearing?" I discovered that Mrs. A was having a little fun with me: "Maybe next week Miss Brave can wear her running outfit to school and then we can see what a real athlete looks like!" The kids were of course all in favor of this idea: "Miss Brave! Can you wear the same clothes next week?"
I told them I would bring them a picture instead. Then a number of them started to ask that inevitable question: "Are you going to win?"
"You know what?" I told them. "There are going to be a lot of other people running this race, and a lot of them are really, really fast. I'm not going to win, but I'm going to try to be the fastest that I can be. And when I finish, I'm going to get a medal and my friends and family are going to cheer for me, and I'm going to be really happy and proud of myself no matter what!"
See you at the finish line!
On Friday, one of my colleagues announced to her class: "Everyone, Miss Brave is going to be on TV on Sunday!" She happens to have the sweetest second grade class, and they went NUTS. "What channel? What time?" Some of them were distressed: "I want to see you on TV but I have to go to church school on Sunday!"
I explained to them that I was running my big race (earlier in the month I used my running as a metaphor for reading), but that 40,000 other people were also running and therefore I would probably be very difficult to spot. When they persisted -- "What will you be wearing?" I discovered that Mrs. A was having a little fun with me: "Maybe next week Miss Brave can wear her running outfit to school and then we can see what a real athlete looks like!" The kids were of course all in favor of this idea: "Miss Brave! Can you wear the same clothes next week?"
I told them I would bring them a picture instead. Then a number of them started to ask that inevitable question: "Are you going to win?"
"You know what?" I told them. "There are going to be a lot of other people running this race, and a lot of them are really, really fast. I'm not going to win, but I'm going to try to be the fastest that I can be. And when I finish, I'm going to get a medal and my friends and family are going to cheer for me, and I'm going to be really happy and proud of myself no matter what!"
See you at the finish line!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Falling into place
There's nothing like hitting your stride! Last week as we wrapped up our TC assessments, I finally did some lessons that really seemed to click with my struggling readers. At the end of the period they were all coming up to me wanting to share strategies they had been using to help them figure out tricky words. They all want to know when I'm going to "test them" so they can move up to a higher reading level. (Ack -- I can't believe November running records are right around the corner!)
One thing that bugs me about the very structured workshop model is that no matter how well I plan in advance, I always seem to come up with a better way of teaching a strategy when I'm in the middle of teaching it, so I adjust my teaching accordingly. Of course there shouldn't be anything wrong with that, but I'm afraid that if I get observed and this happens, it'll just look like I didn't have a plan.
I'm gearing up for observations soon because my AP followed me around the school all day. By that I mean that she was observing all the second grade teachers during reading -- so I saw her in each second grade classroom every period. My lessons were going so well that I almost wish she had been observing me!
One thing that bugs me about the very structured workshop model is that no matter how well I plan in advance, I always seem to come up with a better way of teaching a strategy when I'm in the middle of teaching it, so I adjust my teaching accordingly. Of course there shouldn't be anything wrong with that, but I'm afraid that if I get observed and this happens, it'll just look like I didn't have a plan.
I'm gearing up for observations soon because my AP followed me around the school all day. By that I mean that she was observing all the second grade teachers during reading -- so I saw her in each second grade classroom every period. My lessons were going so well that I almost wish she had been observing me!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Alphabet of woe
The other day I saw one of my (mildly annoying) students from last year. "Miss Brave," she said with interest, "are you a teacher now?"
"Am I a teacher now?" I repeated, slightly put out. "I was a teacher last year, too, my friend!"
"No, not a writing teacher," she replied with exasperation, "like a teacher teacher."
"I'm a reading teacher this year," I said.
"Oh," she responded, "so you turned into a reading teacher?"
Poof! Like magic, I've turned into a reading teacher! And I really enjoy it, too. Even though all I've done so far is running records (if I have to hear one more kid butcher his way through Fancy Dance -- in which the lines "They wear beadwork and bells. They wear feathers and fringe" frequently get mangled into "They were badwork and bells. They wear fathers and fingers" -- I might scream), I think I'm getting into the groove and gearing up for what's ahead. So far, that entails writing everything down in multiple places (I swear I am going to start dreaming of lists of kids' names that have letters of the alphabet -- representing their reading levels -- next to them) and color coding everything. I'm fully prepared for the fact that my administration is going to count all the labels in my binder to make sure I'm seeing my students enough times a week and that they're going to grill me when my kids don't move up on their running records.
Today we had an Academic Intervention Services meeting in which we discussed how many kids each of us could expect to have in our groups. I thought AIS groups were supposed to have no more than ten, hence the phrase "small group instruction," but it turns out we can go up to 15. Theoretically, we are supposed to be servicing the kids who are below grade level, but in some classes this can be up to three-quarters of the kids in the class. In one of my classes, 16 of the 22 kids are below grade level. So I asked, am I supposed to take 15 kids and leave 7 with the classroom teacher? We all agreed that this did not make sense.
Just to give those of you out there who are not reading teachers an idea of how this works: In reading, kids are assigned reading levels that correspond to a letter of the alphabet. Theoretically, kids should come into first grade at a level C and leave at a level I. (If you think that sounds like a big jump, you're right -- first grade is widely considered the most crucial year for reading progress. I've heard it said that if kids aren't reading on grade level by the time they leave first grade, they'll never catch up to grade level.) In second grade, they should enter at a level I and leave at a level M. The kids I will service in AIS range from A to H.
In order to find out what a kid's level is, you do something called a "running record." When you do a running record, a kid reads a book out loud to you while you sit there with a teacher's copy of the same text and record all his or her mistakes (or "miscues," as the running record calls them). (My favorite miscue so far has been "mother" for "mouth," so that a sentence about someone trying to whistle became "She puts two fingers in her mother and blows.") A handy little chart at the bottom of the running record converts the number of miscues to the percentage of words the child read correctly. Then you ask them some comprehension questions. In order to achieve a certain level, the child has to read with 96% or above accuracy and answer three out of four comprehension questions correctly.
We do running records five times a year, in September, November, January, March and May. Unfortunately, right now a lot of our kids are experiencing what we call "summer slump" or "summer slide," in which they don't read over the summer and forget how. I've had a lot of kids take dramatic tumbles from H all the way back down to E. On the one hand, this is disappointing, but on the other hand it probably means that they'll jump right back up pretty quickly (I hope).
The other day, a sweet boy for whom English is obviously not a first language said to me, "Miss Brave, when are you going to use me?"
Trying not to laugh, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I've already read all these H books from Ms. C's class," he said, indicating his book baggie, "and I am ready to be an I!"
Awwww! Let's hope so!
"Am I a teacher now?" I repeated, slightly put out. "I was a teacher last year, too, my friend!"
"No, not a writing teacher," she replied with exasperation, "like a teacher teacher."
"I'm a reading teacher this year," I said.
"Oh," she responded, "so you turned into a reading teacher?"
Poof! Like magic, I've turned into a reading teacher! And I really enjoy it, too. Even though all I've done so far is running records (if I have to hear one more kid butcher his way through Fancy Dance -- in which the lines "They wear beadwork and bells. They wear feathers and fringe" frequently get mangled into "They were badwork and bells. They wear fathers and fingers" -- I might scream), I think I'm getting into the groove and gearing up for what's ahead. So far, that entails writing everything down in multiple places (I swear I am going to start dreaming of lists of kids' names that have letters of the alphabet -- representing their reading levels -- next to them) and color coding everything. I'm fully prepared for the fact that my administration is going to count all the labels in my binder to make sure I'm seeing my students enough times a week and that they're going to grill me when my kids don't move up on their running records.
Today we had an Academic Intervention Services meeting in which we discussed how many kids each of us could expect to have in our groups. I thought AIS groups were supposed to have no more than ten, hence the phrase "small group instruction," but it turns out we can go up to 15. Theoretically, we are supposed to be servicing the kids who are below grade level, but in some classes this can be up to three-quarters of the kids in the class. In one of my classes, 16 of the 22 kids are below grade level. So I asked, am I supposed to take 15 kids and leave 7 with the classroom teacher? We all agreed that this did not make sense.
Just to give those of you out there who are not reading teachers an idea of how this works: In reading, kids are assigned reading levels that correspond to a letter of the alphabet. Theoretically, kids should come into first grade at a level C and leave at a level I. (If you think that sounds like a big jump, you're right -- first grade is widely considered the most crucial year for reading progress. I've heard it said that if kids aren't reading on grade level by the time they leave first grade, they'll never catch up to grade level.) In second grade, they should enter at a level I and leave at a level M. The kids I will service in AIS range from A to H.
In order to find out what a kid's level is, you do something called a "running record." When you do a running record, a kid reads a book out loud to you while you sit there with a teacher's copy of the same text and record all his or her mistakes (or "miscues," as the running record calls them). (My favorite miscue so far has been "mother" for "mouth," so that a sentence about someone trying to whistle became "She puts two fingers in her mother and blows.") A handy little chart at the bottom of the running record converts the number of miscues to the percentage of words the child read correctly. Then you ask them some comprehension questions. In order to achieve a certain level, the child has to read with 96% or above accuracy and answer three out of four comprehension questions correctly.
We do running records five times a year, in September, November, January, March and May. Unfortunately, right now a lot of our kids are experiencing what we call "summer slump" or "summer slide," in which they don't read over the summer and forget how. I've had a lot of kids take dramatic tumbles from H all the way back down to E. On the one hand, this is disappointing, but on the other hand it probably means that they'll jump right back up pretty quickly (I hope).
The other day, a sweet boy for whom English is obviously not a first language said to me, "Miss Brave, when are you going to use me?"
Trying not to laugh, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I've already read all these H books from Ms. C's class," he said, indicating his book baggie, "and I am ready to be an I!"
Awwww! Let's hope so!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
What a difference a year makes
This time last year, my teaching life was a mess. I was crying in the staff bathroom, searching job sites and waiting for my health benefits to kick in so I could score some anxiety medication.
Which makes it even more gratifying to report that one year later, the school year is going swimmingly. Of course, I can say that now because I haven't really started teaching anything yet. But I am one hundred times more relaxed and confident than I was last year. And I am actually excited to pull my groups and start teaching reading!
It's true what they say: You really do have to come back for a second year. And, the craziness of my position last year is paying off this year, because I already know all of the school's first, second and third graders. Which makes it easier to yell at them in the hallways when it's my turn to sweep the floors at dismissal.
So, first-year teachers, take heart: Your life will improve!
On another note, a neighborhood blog I read got into a discussion about teaching. A teacher posted a little joke about teachers being underpaid. Someone else responded: "Underpaid? I don't think so. Perhaps if you worked 12 months out of the year, and got only 2 weeks vacation instead of 2 months. Perhaps if you worked an 8 hour day, like the 9-to-5'ers do, instead of only less than 7 hours....Sure you have to deal with rotten kids from rotten homes. So do the police, only they get paid less, and put their life on the line. Teachers have the easiest and best compensated job of all in my opinion."
OY! I didn't even know where to begin. I put on my argument face and started gearing up for a fight when my fiance noted, "These people don't know what they're talking about. There's no reasoning with them." Still, it burns. I think because most people have been in school and had teachers at some point in their lives, they assume they know exactly what teaching entails and how easy it must be because teachers get all that time off. I wouldn't walk into an operating room or a courtroom and presume I could take the place of the nurse or the judge, but everyone thinks they can be a teacher. Plus, good teaching looks effortless, which makes observers think it can't be that hard.
Anyway -- tomorrow is the first Friday of the school year. Enjoy it! I know I will.
Which makes it even more gratifying to report that one year later, the school year is going swimmingly. Of course, I can say that now because I haven't really started teaching anything yet. But I am one hundred times more relaxed and confident than I was last year. And I am actually excited to pull my groups and start teaching reading!
It's true what they say: You really do have to come back for a second year. And, the craziness of my position last year is paying off this year, because I already know all of the school's first, second and third graders. Which makes it easier to yell at them in the hallways when it's my turn to sweep the floors at dismissal.
So, first-year teachers, take heart: Your life will improve!
On another note, a neighborhood blog I read got into a discussion about teaching. A teacher posted a little joke about teachers being underpaid. Someone else responded: "Underpaid? I don't think so. Perhaps if you worked 12 months out of the year, and got only 2 weeks vacation instead of 2 months. Perhaps if you worked an 8 hour day, like the 9-to-5'ers do, instead of only less than 7 hours....Sure you have to deal with rotten kids from rotten homes. So do the police, only they get paid less, and put their life on the line. Teachers have the easiest and best compensated job of all in my opinion."
OY! I didn't even know where to begin. I put on my argument face and started gearing up for a fight when my fiance noted, "These people don't know what they're talking about. There's no reasoning with them." Still, it burns. I think because most people have been in school and had teachers at some point in their lives, they assume they know exactly what teaching entails and how easy it must be because teachers get all that time off. I wouldn't walk into an operating room or a courtroom and presume I could take the place of the nurse or the judge, but everyone thinks they can be a teacher. Plus, good teaching looks effortless, which makes observers think it can't be that hard.
Anyway -- tomorrow is the first Friday of the school year. Enjoy it! I know I will.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Summertime and the living is easy
Summer vacation rocks my socks! Am I allowed to tell people I became a teacher for the summers off, or will that give us teachers a bad name?
Now that I've had some time to reflect on my first year of teaching, I'm ready to say something I don't say very often: I am tremendously proud of what I accomplished this year. When I look back over my lesson plan book to the lessons I was writing in September, it's painfully obvious just how far I've come -- from having no idea what I was doing to scheduling my curriculum with ease. As incredible as it seems to me now, my school created a brand new position, filled it with a brand new teacher -- and never gave that teacher (me) any idea or guidance about what on earth she was supposed to be teaching. I came up with my curriculum all on my own, without an outline or a mentor or professional development or even common planning sessions with any other teachers.
I made a lot of mistakes. But I learned from each and every one of them. And now that it's summer, I'm grateful for the opportunity to bask in my tiny successes: the day one of my second graders said, "Miss Brave, I like writing now"; every time a student reported a new Flat Stanley sighting; the praise I got from other teachers at our end of year planning sessions. I've grown enormously as a teacher this year. And no matter where I go from here, it will have been quite an experience.
Now that I've had some time to reflect on my first year of teaching, I'm ready to say something I don't say very often: I am tremendously proud of what I accomplished this year. When I look back over my lesson plan book to the lessons I was writing in September, it's painfully obvious just how far I've come -- from having no idea what I was doing to scheduling my curriculum with ease. As incredible as it seems to me now, my school created a brand new position, filled it with a brand new teacher -- and never gave that teacher (me) any idea or guidance about what on earth she was supposed to be teaching. I came up with my curriculum all on my own, without an outline or a mentor or professional development or even common planning sessions with any other teachers.
I made a lot of mistakes. But I learned from each and every one of them. And now that it's summer, I'm grateful for the opportunity to bask in my tiny successes: the day one of my second graders said, "Miss Brave, I like writing now"; every time a student reported a new Flat Stanley sighting; the praise I got from other teachers at our end of year planning sessions. I've grown enormously as a teacher this year. And no matter where I go from here, it will have been quite an experience.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
All over but the shoutin'
Well, that's it.
I haven't been this proud of myself since I finished the 2004 Cape Cod Marathon. And I was going to write a reflective wrap-up post, and I make it a point never to post about my personal life on my teaching blog -- but the last day of school was not only the last day of school but the day I got engaged, and now all my binders and grammar games and laminated Dolch words are stashed away in the trunk of my car and school is truthfully the last thing on my mind.
Bring on the summer!
I haven't been this proud of myself since I finished the 2004 Cape Cod Marathon. And I was going to write a reflective wrap-up post, and I make it a point never to post about my personal life on my teaching blog -- but the last day of school was not only the last day of school but the day I got engaged, and now all my binders and grammar games and laminated Dolch words are stashed away in the trunk of my car and school is truthfully the last thing on my mind.
Bring on the summer!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The last days
When I graduated from kindergarten, I wore a sundress and a mortarboard made from blue paper. I had my first brush with fame when I delivered the line "We welcome you to kindergarten graduation."
Like many rites of passage, kindergarten graduation has come a long way since the late '80s. As I gazed around in amazement this morning at my 6-year-olds transformed into 16-year-olds through the magic of polished shoes, poufy dresses and copious amounts of hairspray, Miss B read my mind: "It's like a prom," she said, and then she corrected herself: "It's like a wedding and a prom."
The boys wore 3-piece suits made by Calvin Klein (!), complete with vests, ties, and slippery shoes. Their hair was slicked within an inch of its life ("My mom says my hair can't get messed up," one reported). The girls had their hair curled, or blown out, or otherwise styled, and at least 75% of them were dressed like Princess Diana (if Princess Diana were about to become a kindergarten graduate, that is).
181 school days ago, on the very first day of school, my kindergarteners were the first students I taught at this school. Armed only with a copy of Miss Bindergarten Gets Ready for Kindergarten (and the all-important stickers, of course), I was scared to death. Now they are kindergarten graduates and I am very nearly a second-year teacher -- we've all come a long way.
I oohed and ahhed over how handsome and beautiful they all looked -- "Miss Brave, do you like my tie?" "My grandma bought me these shoes!" "My titi did my hair!" -- and then I patiently zipped up gown after gown, admonishing them not to touch their tassels ("Miss Brave, what's a tassel?") or fuss with their hats. When the boys began to complain that their ties were too tight and the girls began to complain that their bobby pins were sticking them, I introduced them to a painful truth: Fashion hurts.
But then again, so does growing up. And that's what this year has been all about.
Like many rites of passage, kindergarten graduation has come a long way since the late '80s. As I gazed around in amazement this morning at my 6-year-olds transformed into 16-year-olds through the magic of polished shoes, poufy dresses and copious amounts of hairspray, Miss B read my mind: "It's like a prom," she said, and then she corrected herself: "It's like a wedding and a prom."
The boys wore 3-piece suits made by Calvin Klein (!), complete with vests, ties, and slippery shoes. Their hair was slicked within an inch of its life ("My mom says my hair can't get messed up," one reported). The girls had their hair curled, or blown out, or otherwise styled, and at least 75% of them were dressed like Princess Diana (if Princess Diana were about to become a kindergarten graduate, that is).
181 school days ago, on the very first day of school, my kindergarteners were the first students I taught at this school. Armed only with a copy of Miss Bindergarten Gets Ready for Kindergarten (and the all-important stickers, of course), I was scared to death. Now they are kindergarten graduates and I am very nearly a second-year teacher -- we've all come a long way.
I oohed and ahhed over how handsome and beautiful they all looked -- "Miss Brave, do you like my tie?" "My grandma bought me these shoes!" "My titi did my hair!" -- and then I patiently zipped up gown after gown, admonishing them not to touch their tassels ("Miss Brave, what's a tassel?") or fuss with their hats. When the boys began to complain that their ties were too tight and the girls began to complain that their bobby pins were sticking them, I introduced them to a painful truth: Fashion hurts.
But then again, so does growing up. And that's what this year has been all about.
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