Riding Out the Waves

Teacher work week started this week and it's been strange to not be a part of it except for one day. Even when I missed the first three months of school for maternity leave I was still there for teacher work week because my daughter thoughtfully decided to join the world after I had everything perfectly set for the long term sub. 

The anxiety of taking a risk and doing something new is absolutely numbing. The waves of self doubt that come are those from an angry ocean, knocking me off my feet and holding me under water so I have to fight to come up to the surface, gasping for air to breath. In between the waves varies from a sense of calm, where I can look out at the wide ocean and know I am exactly where I need to be right now, and a sense of excitement, because when the anxiety is not there I love what I am doing and could work for hours on plans for my clients. Then a wave comes and knocks me off my feet again. What am I doing? What on earth am I thinking? I had a perfectly fine job with a benefits and a steady salary that contributed to my children's college fund. 

It is just scary. I'm working on being able to better handle each crashing wave and get to my feet faster each time. I know the anxiety will come each day, and that it will also go away. At least, that is the mantra I am telling myself. 

I am fighting a constant battle of trying not to sabotage myself. This is my year at sea. My year to explore, yet waves of self-doubt come with a desperate desire to get out of the ocean and back to land. Steady land, where I'm not moving forward but I'm not under water either. I have to fight the constant pull to get back to safety. This may not work, and that is OK, but I need to give myself a full year to figure it out. A full year to find my footing, see if I can swim in the ocean, and if I even like it out there. But until then I need to keep fighting the anxiety and following through on the risk. At the end of the year I don't want to be back on land because I was too scared to swim out further. If I'm back on land, I want it to be because I either realized my plans were not sustainable, or because I truly like the security of land better than the unpredictability of the ocean. 

There will probably be many more of these anxiety posts this year as I work on handling my own emotions along with figuring out the taxes and banking of having my own business. There is so much to learn, from the practical aspects to just learning about myself. 

Getting Comfortable with a Steep Learning Curve

I sat down with a reading group yesterday and realized I had no idea what I was doing. I've never read with on-grade level third grade readers before. Even though I'd met with the reading teacher, filled out my lesson plans, and thought through each step I still felt naked in front of the group.

Guided reading to me is something I can do in my sleep. I love guided reading and for the most part I think I'm pretty good at teaching children to read (nobody is perfect, but I think it is one of my strengths as a teacher). Note that I said "teaching children to read". I can take a non-reader and immediately know what to do next. I can assess what strategies to need to be taught, what high frequency words need to be addressed, what book handling skills need to be put in place. At this point I have most of those low level books memorized so I barely have to think about my book introductions.

I sat at a table yesterday looking at 5 skeptical third graders, holding a book wondering how on earth I was going to make this book interesting for them. I listened to them read and wondered what words are suppose to be high frequency words. I wondered why they could read so fluently without stopping to decode the massive amounts of big words on the page. I wondered what next step to choose for them- what word study to pull from the book, what teaching point, what to have them retell.

These are all decisions I no longer agonize over in the lower grades. There was a time when I did, of course, but that time was years ago. This uncertainty isn't comfortable either. In fact, it's down right scary. What if I screw up these poor readers?

I remember my first year being so ashamed that I didn't know what "guided reading" was. I tried to hide that I had no idea what I was doing, and then was scared to ask questions because I felt everyone was judging me for not knowing what to do. I made it so much worse on myself by not allowing myself to ask someone to show me what to do.

Now, 11 years later, I'm slightly embarrassed by the amount of questions I keep shooting off to the reading teacher but now my embarrassment isn't going to stop me. If I learned to teach guided reading once I can certainly learn to teach it again. It's uncomfortable to no longer feel like an expert, but it's also a good experience. It reminds me how the kids feel when they are learning something new, and how the new teachers feel throughout their day. That unsettling feeling that you really have no idea what you are doing while you try to fake your way through the day. Luckily now I'm older and have less to prove. I look forward to one day feeling like I know what I'm doing, but until then I'll keep asking questions and chugging along.

Stating the Obvious

One of the biggest transitions between working exclusively with students with intellectual disabilities and working with a more general education population is how aware the kids are. They don't miss a thing. My students in my classroom last year were accepting of most adults and situations. They didn't question if your clothes didn't match, if you had a bad hair day, or if you made a mistake. They would roll with it. I guess I started to take that for grant it.

Of course if you work with typically developing elementary school students you know this isn't the case. At least one kid in each class is going to be aware of something out of the ordinary. My first year teaching I had a student ask me, "How are you even going to get a husband if your hair looks like that?" 

You know, that kind of thing. Comments your friends would find a way to point out to you nicely and your acquaintances would simply ignore. 

Last week I went over to speak to a boy who was loudly whispering to a friend in line. He was very into his conversation and clearly didn't want to be bothered by this new teacher who'd suddenly showed up in his classroom. He turned to me, slightly, as I reminded him to stand quietly in line. He looked like he planned to ignore me, but then his eyes started to get big.

"Are you having a baby or something?" he asked in horror, staring straight at my stomach. 

And I knew, immediately, that I was back in a typical elementary school classroom, for better or worse. 

Changes, changes, changes

In two weeks a lot has changed for me. I went to work two Mondays ago as a teacher in an intellectual disabilities class. A bit overwhelmed with beginning of the year craziness, but understanding and accepting of the craziness because it is the beginning of the year and I expect nothing but craziness.

Then some things changed. Without going into too much detail, I ended up on medical leave for a bit due to complications with Little Lipstick's coming sibling (arriving in March). Everything is FINE and no need to worry, but suddenly I was forced to have series of conversations about the nature of my job, the physical requirements, and whether or not I could fulfill those requirements safely.

It was an odd thought process to struggle with. I love my job and I love my students. I want to do everything I can for them. I belong in the classroom. But it soon became clear to me that because I love my students and want to do right by them that I wasn't capable of taking care of myself and my new baby while being the best teacher I could be. It was a strange realization, and to be honest, a hard realization. I didn't want to accept it for awhile.

So I was home for about a week, coordinating with my doctor and the school, trying to figure out what it all means. Thankfully, my fabulous administration worked some magic and I'm back at work, just in a different role that doesn't have the same physical demands working in a classroom for students with intellectual disabilities does.

At the moment (and it is fluid so who knows how it could change) I'll be supporting a kindergarten classroom as well as third grade. I'm back to being the special education support for students in inclusive settings. It's a good thing. I love co-teaching, I'm thrilled to be working with kids, and I really enjoy supporting kids in their general education classrooms. It's not what I thought I would be doing a week ago, but it certainly is something I enjoy doing.

I still get to work with my class from a distance. I'm supporting my long term sub with lesson plans, behavior plans, and problem solving. I'm tracking their individual data and following their progress. I'm enjoying that- although I miss actually getting to teach them.

I'm sure it's just Baby Lipstick's way of telling me that once again my world is going to get rocked by a little one so I'd better get comfortable with being flexible. I'm lucky to work at a school where I can be flexible and where no matter what position I'm in I get to work with great people.

Dreams of next year...

It's the time of year when I can't stop thinking about everything I want to do better next year. Grant it, planning to improve next year starts in September when I start making mistakes and start thinking "next year I won't do that..." but right now I'm desperately trying to remember all of those fleeting thoughts.

This was my first year in an intellectual disabilities program. I've learned a lot, and I did a lot of learning on my feet. I planned lessons I did for years in general education classes, only to find that I had to adapt, and adapt, and adapt some more to make them work. I tried things that flopped and tried things that kind of worked and finally settled on teaching methods that worked for me and the kids.

Here's my starting list of things I need to improve for next year:

1. Intentional time on "learning to learn behaviors", particularly "quiet hands". I had a student transfer into our class in January and I was much more deliberate in teaching him how to wait and not touch materials than I was with the other children. Next year I'm going to plan activities or plan to work one on one with students to intentionally teach not touching materials, waiting for instructions, etc. 
2. Following my new writing workshop structure from the beginning. It took me a long time to settle on a writing workshop structure that worked for my kids. I love Lucy Calkins and Katie Wood Rae. I LOVE writing workshop. Giving up the structure I was used to using in general education was hard, but in the end my kids are making more progress now that I've adapted my structure. Now I do more of a center style writing workshop, and kids that are able to use that time for free writing go to a free writing center. At this point in the year more kids can do free writing since I changed the structure.
3. Be more deliberate in inclusion. I think we did fairly well with inclusion this year, but I think we can do better. I want to spend a lot of time before school starts looking at ways we can include students with their gen ed peers and then planning how we're going to work on getting them there from day 1. 
4. Change how I store materials- this year I didn't want my kids to have free access to pencils, crayons, etc (see number 1 change for next year) so I kept baskets empty and put the supplies they'd need inside them before the activities. It worked occasionally but lent itself to being disorganized. To work it needed heightened organization, which just isn't possible on the fly.
5. How I organize my work table. I set it up how I used my table in past years, but this didn't transfer over to this class. I need to change how easily I can access materials while teaching. 
6. Better organization of my math centers earlier in the year. Halfway through the year I took time to file my math games and really organize them. It's been a life saver. I want to spend a lot of time organizing them this summer so I start the year knowing where all my games are.
7. Being more upfront with how I want the class run with my aides and other teachers in the room. This year I didn't know what I wanted so I'd often find myself thinking "why isn't anyone doing this" and then I'd realize that I hadn't actually told anyone what my vision was. 
8. Including parents on my weekly notes to all service providers. I spend a lot of time writing an email to all the teachers who work with my students so that they know what prompts we're using, what language we're using, what behavior plans we're starting and what we're teaching. There isn't any reason I can't include parents on this. 
9. Have a re-telling Board Maker answer chart set up from the beginning so that I have generic answers to questions like "who", "what", "where", "when", including distractors. 
10. Actually post on my class blog and make it a living part of the classroom. I had that intention this year. Next year it will actually happen...

Back to the beginning

We got a new student today. That's 3 since September. This is fairly typical of a program for students with intellectual disabilities because the base schools start the year trying their best to meet the needs of all students. As the year goes on and they find that their school isn't the best fit they look to us.

The kiddo is awesome- a great addition to our crew. It's just- a new kid is tough! When I was a gen ed teacher I loved getting new kids. It was an awesome chance to reinforce our routines and do some more class bonding. It usually let the kids who had gotten comfortable with an unspoken identity in the class (the class clown, the quiet one, the helper) be forced into a new routine and a new place. It was good- shake us all up, get us on our toes.

And that's all still true now, it's just...  a bit harder. Today was like the beginning of the year again- trying to predict behavior, somehow trying to get three adults to magically turn into ten so that we could all be in different places at the same time.

Change is hard for all my kiddos. It was a long day. It made me realize how far my kids have come since the beginning of the year- how independent they are, how confident and sure of themselves they are- how much I rely on them to be independent so that we can get our learning on. Today felt like that disheartening first day of school all over again when you wonder if it will be possible to ever get to the bathroom again.

We'll get our groove back and our new friend will become an integral part of our team, just like our other kids have become. We're lucky to have him and it's going to be a lot of fun getting to know him. I may just need more caffeine in the morning and more ice cream in the evening until we get ourselves on track.

Flush

When I first realized that all the toilets in our new building automatically flushed the general education teacher in me thought "Brilliant! No more interrupting a guided reading group to remind a kiddo to flush from across the room. A kiddo whose been in the bathroom a loooonnnggg time so you know that if you don't remind him to flush you'll be interrupted by the next student who goes into the bathroom and is disgusted by what they find. Those mid-reading announcements are learning buzz kills. "Ms. L!!! Johnny left something brown in the toilet and it's floattttinnngggg...." " Now try to get your little readers back on track.

Plus I am tired of getting dirty looks from my husband every time I ask him if he flushed. It's not my fault that anytime anyone comes out of a bathroom my first instinct is to ask them if they flushed and then check their hands to see if they are damp from being washed. You remind enough children to flush and wash their hands everyday you'll be doing it to total strangers too.

Then the special-ed teacher in me took over.

Wait.

These toilets flush- automatically.

They make a big, whirring noise without anyone telling them it is acceptable to do so?

So, the child who is terrified of the loud noise in the bathroom- the child who would rather use diapers than have to flush the toilet- that child will now have NO control over whether or not the toilet suddenly decides to yell at him.

The child who previously would only be coaxed into the bathroom on the promise of not having to flush will now be forced endure the dramatic bathroom hurricane coming up behind her when she's done nothing to indicate to the toilet that she'd like it to take her business away.

Let's face it- the flush is about control. It's about saying, "OK, I'm done. Now be gone with you!"

 "Now, I've decide it's time for you to make your loud poop-eating roar."

Yet now the toilet has the loud noise AND the control. And if you are in a battle with someone who is louder than you and has more control than you everyone knows that your best option of winning is clearly not to acknowledge your opponents existence.

Toileting training will go well this year I see.

*Also, how about all those poor gen-ed parents who previously benefited from their kids learning to flush the toilet at school? Now kids will just assume that all toilets flush for you. They'll hop off and run away without thinking twice- leaving a whole bunch of homes smelling like roses, I'm sure.

Newness

Many times when I'm chatting with another teacher about my new school their eyes get big. "I am SO jealous!" they exclaim. "It must be heaven."

The assumption in education is that any new building must be nicer than an old one. In many ways that's true. Some public school buildings have been around since the 50s. They are old and falling apart and were built in a time with different priorities. Still, a brand new public school building is still a public school building. It's still built by a school system on a budget. I'm not complaining- the new building is nice- but it doesn't mean that crickets aren't chirping in the corners or that there isn't water dripping through the tiles. Things happen, even in new buildings.

A school is really built by whose inside it- the dedication of the teachers and the smiles of the students. When I student taught I was in a building in the midst of a renovation gone wrong. The classrooms had been stripped of any paint on the walls and the floors were cold concrete, the tiles pulled up long ago. The ceiling tiles were also non-existent and the kids could look up and see all the wiring in the ceiling. Yet because of the dedication and determination of the teachers it was still a school.

There are some downsides of a brand new building. For one, we don't have the furniture collection older schools have. At the think-tank we thought we didn't have enough book shelves. Ha! When everyone's been issued the exact same shelves and those shelves were bought with precise math of how many go into each classroom (no storage room to rummage through for the previous years' discarded shelves) we have what's in front of us to work with. Same with the book collection- classroom libraries, the book room- only contain one year's order of books. Everything is new, but it also means we don't have the surplus of books and supplies older schools have.

I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining because the new building is beautiful. The staff is amazing and the energy is palpable. But a new building isn't going to automatically make it a great school. It's not about the building itself, it's about what happens inside the building. Are teachers energized and dedicated? Are the students motivated? Do they feel safe?

*All that being said I'm going to take a moment to brag about my storage. OMG they are building new schools with CABINETS. I have so many cabinets I don't know what to put in them. Places to put materials away from the kids' little hands- meaning that what's on the shelves in the classroom can purely belong to the kids themselves. Staring at the empty cabinets trying to decide what to put in them makes me giddy, I'll admit.

Breathing, breathing, breathing, panic

On Thursday morning my aid and I smugly discussed how our room was pretty ready to go. We still needed to get things on the walls, but everything was organized, unpacked, and set up. We were in good shape.

Three hours later I was frantically scavenging for boxes to pack all of my things in.

Three hours after that our well-organized room had been hastily packed into boxes and piled into the middle of the now empty, no longer set-up classroom.

Eight hours later I woke up in a cold sweat thinking about all I have to go to get ready for September 4th, the smugness of Thursday morning mocking me. 

When we found out we could move rooms we were ridiculously excited (and still are). It puts our room right in the middle of the kindergarten and first grade rooms- the perfect place for a room with primarily kindergarten and first grade students. Our kids will easily be able to join their same-age peers and then come back to us when it's more appropriate for them to be in a self-contained setting. We'll be able to be a part of morning assemblies and whole class activities. We won't be finagling our way up and down the elevator multiple times a day. 

The new room is a huge relief. I hadn't even been letting myself think of how inconvenient the previous room was- I'm flexible and I'm willing to work with anything (almost). But the new room is 100% better for the kids.

Which is what I keep telling myself in my moments of utter panic when I think of all the things I have to do to re-set up the room. Today we don't have to be at school but daycare is open so I'd given myself a day to breath. I have a massive stack of books I planned on reading by the pool, uninterrupted. I had a craft project or two I hoped to get to. I announced to my husband that it was "Mrs. Lipstick Day" and I would not be using this day to do any chores- it was a celebration of being alone. "Mrs. Lipstick Day" will have to occur some other time... but that's OK. It's absolutely what is best for kids. In two weeks I won't be thinking about losing "Mrs. Lipstick Day", I'll be thinking about how great it is to have my kids right next door to their peers.

One day I'll have an organized room again...

We can do hard things!

More Change

SO, I've now switched from being a "non-categorical" teacher to having my own classroom for students with Intellectual Disabilities. I'm ridiculous excited (I'll even have one of my kiddos from last year) and am extremely nervous. I had four students in my classroom last year who had an Intellectual Disability. They were all very different and a lot of fun.

I'm blessed that the aid in the room has a wealth of experience with children with Intellectual Disabilities, particularly when it comes to behaviors. I'm already feeling guilty that she's getting an IA salary with her vast amount of knowledge and my own learning curve.

This year just got harder and more exciting. I'm already plotting our cooking, our voice-threads, our read alouds and praying that I somehow make it through the year.

Stay with me as I navigate all of this...

Are there any of you out there who are Intellectual Disabilities teachers? What resources do you recommend?

Our classroom has NO BOOKS. What sort of classroom library do you recommend? Any suggestions on where I can get good sets of children's books? I left most of my personal library at my old school because I was under the impression that I'd have a brand new classroom library, but they didn't order any for our rooms. Hopefully we'll get this remedied, but in the mean time- suggestions on good texts and cheap places to get them?

The start of a Professional Learning Community

I feel I have an apology to make to my former coworkers. I certainly never helped us go towards a Professional Learning Community* model. I was a part of the gossip resistance, the groaning, the moaning, the occasional (or not so occasional) eye rolling. I'm not proud of it. My previous notions of a PLC were that it would take away our creativity in the classroom, force us to have unnatural and unfocused conversations, and would treat us like technicians instead of professionals. I did not keep these opinions to myself.

To be fair to myself I'd heard friends at other schools share horrifying experiences of such events, and I'd experienced a bad PLC community at the first school I worked in. So I wasn't completely pulling things out of my rear end. But I could have given it more of a chance than I did when it came to the Think-Tank.

So, yeah, I'm really sorry.

Today at the new school we sat together from 9 until after 3 discussing the ins and outs of a Professional Learning Community. That's a long time to sit in one room with a group of people you've just met. Yet it went by relatively quickly and I don't necessarily know how you'd build a PLC without putting that time in up front. Now that I understand the thought behind the process, the why behind the how, I realize how wrong I was with every one of my assumptions.

The idea behind a PLC isn't to create a top down structure that makes sure every teacher is teaching the same thing in every classroom in the exact same manner every day. The idea is to create a team of people who are capable of coming together as professionals, identifying goals, analyzing data, looking for creative solutions, trying new techniques, sharing their thoughts, ideas, successes and failures together under the overarching umbrella goal of ensuring that all children learn.

It is doing daily action research in the classroom. It is a constant dialogue of how we can improve. It is collaborating openly and honestly outside of classroom walls. It is being willing to share great ideas, successes, and struggles with colleagues.

I'm not exactly sure what we'd been running from because that's exactly how every educator I know wants to teach.

I'm going to try to chronicle my own PLC journey as I continue to understand it and watch it go from a theory into practice. It will be my thoughts and my interpretation of what's been presented, so please don't read this as the true PLC method.


*If you're not familiar with PLCs you can learn more here or just substitute the phrase "really collaborative team" whenever I use PLC.

Starting from scratch

I'm transferring from the Think Tank to a brand new school. The newness is palpable- wide, empty hallways, furniture trickling in, an empty library begging to be filled with books, classrooms that have never been inhabited by children. Right now it's a big, empty, building that reflects the promise of a school but isn't there yet- how can you have a school without children?

In a meeting today one of our administrators stopped us to remind us that we are starting from scratch. We don't have to do anything because "that's the way we've always done it". Instead we get to refocus, step back and look at where we're all coming from, reflect on our previous experiences, identify what works and what doesn't work for kids, and then create systems and practices that are truly meaningful.

It's an amazing opportunity- to be able to stop and question every practice we've ever used or been taught and to ask ourselves- what is the meaning behind this? Why am I doing this? How is this best for kids? What's holding it back from being more effective?

It's a blank building with blank walls, empty classrooms, and a fresh start. A chance for us, as educators, to step into practices that truly mean something.

It's not going to be easy, but I have a feeling we're all going to grow as educators in ways we aren't even sure exist yet.

I can't wait.

By the numbers

Every year the Annie E. Casey Foundation publishes it's Kids Count data book, showing the trends in child-well being across the US. If you work with children in poverty, or make decisions that will effect children who live in poverty, it's worth looking at the data to get a sense of where we are as a nation.

This year the data compares 2010 to 2005, and it's not pretty. Not surprisingly it shows that more children live in poverty in the US than in 2005 (22%), more children live in households where parents do not have secure employment, and more children live in households with a high housing cost burden.

What does that mean for us as teachers? Although we wish we could, we can't give every parent a job, we can't single handedly pull our children out of poverty, and we can't guarantee that their families won't worry about their housing situations.

What we can do is be aware of what our families are going through. When a family is worried about losing their house, providing food for their children, or just getting by on a day to day basis their concerns are not going to meet up with our concerns. When we wonder why they won't come in for a conference, we wonder why homework doesn't get completed, papers aren't returned, or and phone calls aren't answered it's easy to let our frustration get the best of us.

Don't they know how hard we're working to teach their children? Don't they know everything else we could be doing with our lives that doesn't exist making no money in a job where nobody appreciates us, our friends tell us our job is cute, and the national media portrays us as lazy, incompetent, and only in it for the summer vacations? Why won't anyone just call us back? We're concerned about your child!

With that 100th unanswered phone call or conference where we've been stood up we've all thought that. It's frustrating. We've got to remember that our parents are embarrassed and scared. Embarrassed to tell their employers that they need to take off work yet again for a conference. Scared they will be fired and everything that will mean. Embarrassed to tell us that they can't take off work to meet with us. Embarrassed because of all the other things they have going on in their lives hearing that their child is having a rough time reading or behaving isn't a huge priority right now. They want their child to succeed and they want their child to behave, but when you're worried about feeding and clothing your children, keeping them safe, keeping a roof over their heads, keeping your job, making sure everyone is healthy and clean, some things start to lose their significance in the long line of other truly important priorities. How does coming in for a conference about Johnny calling out all the time stack up to getting food for dinner?

We can look at ways we can meet our families' needs, we can phrase questions so that we are respectful of their situations while still getting our message across, we can find creative ways to meet with busy, stressed parents.

Breaking up is hard to do

Saying goodbye to a class at the end of the year is similar to a break up. Some years it is a release. You end the year with wonderful memories, knowing that it is time for everyone to move on. Everyone's grown and progressed and it's time for new adventures. You knew it was coming, you were prepared, you said your goodbyes and made amends with the inevitable. You'll still remain friends and you know the break is best for everyone involved.

Then there are the years that leave you with a sense of absolute sorrow and loss. You knew it was coming but you didn't really process what had to happen. It was such a good relationship- so much was right. You just thought it could last forever. Months after the break happens you still find yourself wistfully wondering what they are up to, waking up from a dream about them and then suddenly realizing it was just a dream, nothing more, you won't be going in to see them today. Wondering if they are thinking about you too, and if they would think you were absolutely crazy if you called them. No, don't call- put down the phone- everyone needs to move on.

This year was one of those years. I must think about those little ones everyday. Every time I hear "I've got a feeling" (which is a lot because the CD is stuck in my CD player) I am immediately transferred back to my classroom where I am laughing at their fabulous dancing skills. Rain makes me think of the day we had such a dramatic and scary thunderstorm that we all sat around the window talking about what the rain looked like and then we made rain tear-art pictures so we can use our nervous energy to tear paper into tiny pieces. Books I read to Little Lipstick make me wonder what Magical and Rock Star would say about the story. I plan lessons for them before I realize that I won't be teaching them again. I stumble across an empty container and think "this will be perfect for Brown Bear to store his puzzle pieces in!"

I'm a summer-time mess.

Seeing Magical once a week helps some. Seeing him happy, adjusting to his summer school class, moving on. It's time for me to do the same.

It's a good place to be, saying goodbye to an amazing class. But like all break ups, I am going to need to come to terms with my loss so that I am able to welcome another class with open arms. I need to make sure that the next batch of children isn't just a re-bound class, but an absolutely true class. Hmmmm, maybe I need to go round up some kids on the playground and have a mini-class one morning just so I can have my re-bound class and be ready to move on.

As the weeks go on I can feel my sadness beginning to transfer into nervous energy. I'm terrified of starting the new school, but excited. Give me a few more weeks and I'll be chomping at the bit to get back into the game. Bring me your new students, bring me the challenges, let's get this party started.

More deep breaths

The last day of school started with a a phone call from Magical's family- he refused to come to school. And frankly, that was not acceptable seeing that it was my last day with Magical after two years. Absolutely not going to happen. So my aide and I ran down to his house to bring him to school. (He lives walking distance from our school). The three of us had a great walk back to school listening to him talk about how tomorrow he is absolutely NOT coming to school no matter what anyone says. Sure, we nodded in agreement. No problem. We won't be there either.

Usually our last day of school is two hours long- not even a full half day. This year because we did not get enough snow days and they changed our last day of school we had a full day. I think I was the only teacher in our district that felt that the day was actually too short.

We played our favorite games, painted the packing boxes so that they'd be beautiful (best last day of school activity ever), joined another class for water balloon games, watched some readers' theater, finished our scrap books, sang our favorite songs, read our favorite books, had one last long free play time in the dramatic play center (everyone's favorite), and most importantly had one last dance party. We played I've Got a Feeling on repeat and watched as Magical, Rock Star and the others danced their hearts out in their own special ways. The dancing was good for me. It kept me from crying.

 For awhile.

I bit my lip so many times trying to hold it together. This year, this classroom, these kids have all been pure magic. I don't think I'll ever have another year like this. The class was amazing. They were all such good friends. They had this family-like connection that even us as teachers couldn't quite understand. They had their own jokes and their own understandings for what it was like to be them. The empathy they felt for one another came from an understanding of what it is like to not be able to communicate like you want to, not be able to access equipment and materials like you want to, and to just be a little different than the other kids. When Rock Star made sure everyone waited for our friend in a wheel chair, when they told one another "good job", "smart thinking", "Wow, I like your picture", or helped each other get crayons, count the napkins for snack, or reminded someone that water in the sink was for hand washing and not for playing- their interactions with each other were more powerful than when we interfered as teachers.
Watching them hug each other on the last day was both magical and so, so hard.

On the last day of school the think-tank's tradition is to go out to the road and wave goodbye to the buses and cars as they leave. The kids love this so much that they bring video cameras to tape their teachers waving frantically. Now they all have video footage of me sobbing, tears streaming down my face, trying to stop myself because seriously, why are those kids video taping me???

It was so hard to watch those cars and buses drive away. As their little hands waved at us from the windows I realized that these fast glimpses of smiling faces may be the last time I see many of these children. Children who I taught years ago but still care so much about. Children I've watched grow from being screaming kindergartners with significant needs to being caring, thoughtful and smart members of their upper elementary classes. Students I taught to read who I then stopped every morning in the hallways to ask them what chapter books they were now reading. Students who have overcome so much considering their difficult home lives and the turmoil they live with. These are kids who have occupied my thoughts daily for a year, or two. Kids who I'd think about falling asleep at night and think about again first thing in the morning. Children whose cases have driven me to read more books, learn more, and improve my teaching. Watching those little faces drive away was just too much. I lost it. The tears couldn't stay in.

When Rock Star drove by her car windows were open and she was leaning out the window, with the biggest, most confident grin. She waved like a princess. The shy little girl who avoided eye contact with any adult she didn't know (and sometimes those she did) was leaving on her last day of first grade with royal confidence. I hope I never forget the image of her driving away from me, destined to go on with confidence and excitement.

Thoughts on change

I wrote this over the weekend, emailing it back and forth to myself as I tried to figure out what my thoughts actually were:


 I am contemplating leaving the think tank. It's a horrendous thing to think about. In the 8 years I've worked there I have met my husband, married my husband, and had a baby. My coworkers have become my family and have seen me through so much. While at the think tank I learned everything I know about literacy. I went from being a classroom teacher to being a special ed teacher. I fell in love with hundreds of children. I learned what competitive jump roping is and learned all kinds of crazy jump rope moves. I've traveled to international jump rope competitions and traveled to day long jump rope clinics. I've learned how to get parents involved. I've learned about responsive classroom. I've been to three week long RC trainings. I've been to national conferences where I've gotten to present my research at poster presentations. I've learned the concept of teacher research. I completed my masters. I've written two published articles based on my work at the think tank. My opinions on school policy, education reform and testing have been challenged, informed, and grown. I've been trained to have student teachers and I've worked with student teachers/ one I got to watch grow into an incredible teacher who I strive to be like.


 I've been given the freedom to create special education programs that meet the needs of my kids. I was able to push my desk into my partner-in-crime's room, creating a easy, true least redrivtive environment flow for our inclusion kids. When it was needed I was able up create my own noncategorical classroom where I could truly meet the needs of my students so that they did not need to be sent to centers.


Back when no one had smart boards my principal let me get one for my first grade classroom even when she was skeptical of the use in the primary grades. Along with my awesome coworkers I've been able to push the envelope on technology in the classroom. I've been truly able to follow my mantra of "it's easier to ask for forgiveness instead of permission" and usually have been given ample support.


Maybe most importantly I've seen what it is like to work for amazing administrators. Before I came to the think tank I was burned by an administration and was contemplating leaving education. I gave it one more try and was truly shown that supportive administrators can make all the difference. Administrators that trust, respect, and encourage their staff are what education needs in order to make changes in students.


 So why leave? How can I walk away from a place that has been so amazing for such a long time? I'm not sure I can put it into words. The other day I was in the shower when I realized it was time to go. I cried thinking about leaving and told myself it was crazy to even think about. But I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So I sent my resume off to a brand new school opening this fall. Two weeks later I'm contemplating whether to accept a position at the new school or stay at the think tank.


 Perhaps what is encouraging me to leave the most is that I'm in search of a new think tank. When I decided not to finish my doctorate work because I didn't want to leave the classroom I didn't realize how much I missed the academic side of teaching. I love the research aspect- the puzzle of finding the right way to teach certain students, how to best meet a child's needs, how to really improve instruction. Although this year I was trying a brand new program I still found myself missing the intellectual challenge. A brand new school, opened from scratch, is bound to come with the right amount of challenges. Working with an entire staff of people who are energized and ready for the challenge? It is too tempting to dismiss. Plus what other instructional methods can I learn if I leave the think tank? What other understandings of education can I gain from being part of a new school?


 The unknown is terrifying. I have an unexplainable distrust of administration until I've gotten to know them. It is hard enough for me to learn to trust the think tanks' new assistant principals (who are fabulous and I now trust completely). How will I learn to trust an entire new admin team? Will the administrators be supportive of teachers in the face of difficult parents? Will they understand different teaching styles? Will they appreciate a "ask forgiveness instead of permission" plan of action that I tend to go by?


 I love the laid back culture of the think-tank. Will I need to buy a whole new wardrobe? The think-tank is so family friendly- Will I be expected to work late into the evening? Will it be understood that I have to leave to pick up my daughter from daycare? I love the co-teaching/collaborative model of the think-tank. Will I find something similar at the new school?

One of the aspects I cannot get past is that it is not a Title 1 school. I never, ever thought I would teach at a non-title 1 school. Sitting in their lobby waiting on my interview I thought about just walking out. I never thought I would get to the place where I would interview at a non-Title 1 school. My whole life has been about teaching children who need the most help. I have to remind myself that all children need good teachers, and that even at a non-Title 1 school I can have an impact.

If I stay at the think-tank I am worried I will not continue to be the teacher I can be. I am comfortable here. I know what I am doing. I may be getting a little lazy. I try to always push myself to find new methods but I am pushing myself. Is it time that I was pushed by someone else? 

What I fear most about leaving the think-tank is losing my voice. In high school and in college I had no problem going through an entire semester without ever opening my mouth in class. I didn't believe in mandatory participation and would tell my professors that I would prefer to take a B or write extra papers than participate in class. Yet since I entered the think-tank I haven't really been able to stop talking. I tell myself to keep my mouth shut in meetings and I can't do it. I tell myself to let someone else talk and chime in and I have to really watch and monitor myself so that I don't cut someone off. At the think-tank I am excited to talk about education. I am exciting to write about education. I enjoy meetings where we get to brainstorm and find solutions. I LOVE talking about teaching. The high school me would not recognize the current-meeting me. In fact the high school me would probably roll her eyes and moan at the current think-tank me.

I have to somehow have faith that I will not lose my voice at a new school. I maintained a voice in graduate courses. I have to have faith that I will continue to speak up with confidence and excitement when it comes to education.

I'm also worried about losing the ability to blog. I am a better teacher because of my reflection through blogging. I would be devastated to lose that ability. Will the new school's administration be comfortable with teacher bloggers?

But should I stay somewhere out of fear of the unknown or should I take a risk?

I know I will miss the think-tank if I leave. I will miss the amazing co-workers, the children, my classroom, the current policies, the meetings I am comfortable in. I know what I will miss. I can list it. I do not know what I will miss if I stay at the think-tank and don't make the jump. I don't know if I will miss out on excitement and energy. I don't know if I am missing out on growing as a teacher. I don't know if I will miss out on working with another set of amazing coworkers.

**  **  **
I wrote this over the weekend and after lots of agony I decided to take a leap and leave the think tank. In the last few days I've cried a lot but I've also gotten really, really excited. 

First day

For the first time in nine years the first day of school came and went without me. I usually love the first day of school, despite the tears, difficulties figuring out schedules, and adjusting to new routines. My goal had been for the first day to be my last before maternity leave but of course my plans were nothing compared to the plans of my newborn daughter who decided to make her appearance on Saturday. My Tuesday was still filled with tears, difficulty with scheduling, getting to know a new face, and adjusting to new routines- just a little different than I'd expected.
So my maternity leave has started. I know I'll have lots of ideas to blog about when I'm home, I just might not find the time to get it written down.

to count to 100

Last week while I was off at Mandt training my fellow kindergarten co-teachers were in a math in service learning about the changes to our K math curriculum. Turns out they decided to add a bit to our already heavy standards- which may or may not have been fine in itself, but I'm not sure anyone took into consideration that we are teaching kindergartners. They are five years old. Sometimes they pick their nose. They are scared of the dark. Some of them don't like to flush the toilet by themselves. Trust me, I'm all for high standards, but I also firmly believe in setting a strong foundation so that our children will be able to reach high standards later in their school careers.

When I was getting my masters I remember reading a study on the downfall of US math textbooks- compared with other countries US math text books try to cover too much in one year. Other countries focus on smaller topics but truly dive into those topics so their children have a firm understanding of the concept. In the US we try to cram to much into one year of school, leaving students unprepared to use the math they've spent a year struggling to learn. (If I have time I'll dig up the article to site it.)

Still, my district decided to up our standards, which includes teaching kindergarten students 1/2 and 1/4. This use to be a requirement in first grade and I remember how hard it was to teach it to six and seven year olds. A year earlier? And why? Just because we'll feel better about ourselves if we can point to our kindergartners and say they are learning fractions?

Another one of the new standards is that the children are all expected to count to 100. This doesn't seem too bad, especially if you are a parent of a child who is already able to do this backwards and forwards. The three and four year olds I worked with this summer had no problem counting to 100. But if you've just entered school and have never been taught how to count? There's a lot to learn.

What does it take for someone to be able to count to 100?

1.First you need to be able to count to 10. The names for all of those numbers must be in your long-term memory.

2. You need to understand that when you count to 10 each numeral has a corresponding name attached to it. These numbers are different than letters. Ten and 10 are the same thing.

3. More importantly, though, the word ten and 10 must correspond to a set of 10 objects. The word Ten and the numeral 10 mean something- they exist when there is a group of 10.

4. How do you determine that there is a group of 10? You have to be able to count to 10, and you have to know that each object is counted once. One object is equal to one number. For some of our children this is such a difficult concept- they can count to 10, but they don't understand that they are saying numbers- they are just sprouting off words they've heard adults say. This also means they have to be able to control their fingers and eyes to point to each object once and give it a value.

5. So, now we can point to a set of objects and give each one a value, including ten. Next we have to learn our teen numbers. 11, 12, 13. There is something about the number 13. Perhaps five year olds sense it is unlucky and don't want to say it. Regardless, they always seem to skip 13.

Because the teen numbers have funny names that don't fit a pattern this is really just memory- over and over again, counting sets of objects. Correctly. 15 comes after 16. Really, it does. 11-20 have to go into long-term memory.

6. When they can get to 19 (hallelujah) it's time to apply the patterns. While learning about the numbers' names, the corresponding numeral and how to count sets of objects accurately, kindergartners are also learning patterns. Things repeat. Colors can repeat, shapes can repeat, and numbers can repeat. You can make your own pattern- you can read someone else's pattern- you can finish someone else's pattern. You can have AB patterns, or ABC patterns. You can clap patterns. You can sing patterns. Patterns are everywhere.

7. Math is all about patterns, and kids are not ready to count to 100 until they understand patterns. Our number system is really a abcdefghij pattern- over and over again.

8. They understand that numbers repeat- after every 0 in the ones place there is a 1, then a 2, then a 3. Next they need to learn the tens places. They need to learn to count by 10s so they know the names of the ten sets- 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, etc. And they have to remember those names in order, while understanding that even though I said a "5" was called five, once it is in front of another number it is called "fifty". Unless it is behind another number, then it is a something-five. Once they know that they can apply the repeating numeral pattern until they get to 100.

9. And finally, after slow and steady development they can count to 100.

And that is only how to count to 100 orally. I left out learning how to form letters correctly and how to write 23 so that the 2 comes first and the 3 is second, and that the 3 is facing the right direction with two small circles stacked on top of each other. That's a whole other step. And then there is knowing that we can put groups of objects together to make a bigger number, and then we can take that big group and put it into two smaller groups to get two smaller numbers- the beginning of addition and subtraction. I'd rather kids spend a lot of time firming up their beginning understanding of adding and subtracting instead of memorizing how to count to 100 before they are ready. They can add small numbers before they can count to 100- and that is ok. It's where they should be. Once they can do it with small numbers they can do it with larger numbers.

Most of our kindergartners come in with no number sense. Some know their numbers to five, and if they were lucky enough to be in our head start program they can count to 20. But most? They know we use numbers to count, but they don't understand that counting means giving one object a value, or pointing to each object when you count. Some have no problem counting a set of 10 objects as "1, 2, h, 5, 18, a, n,"

Before we really focused on counting to 20. If they can count to 20 without a problem they'll have no difficulty moving on to 100 later. But we gave them a firm number sense base with 20. With a firm base they'll have no problem quickly learning the pattern of counting to 100 in first grade.

Now? We'll teach them to count to 100. It might not be pretty and we might stress out a lot of kids, forcing them to skip steps they're not developmentally ready for. Brushing over steps might hurt their number sense when they're ready to add or subtract. It might not give them that firm understanding of numbers they'll need to be successful in first grade. But we'll do it because our teachers are awesome and we rise to the occasion.

 But really, why are we doing it?

snapshots of the last day

The last day of school, much like the first, is always a whirlwind. The kids arrived in a mixture of their best clothes, and outfits that said: I'm headed to the pool as soon as I finish with this school nonsense. We were all excited, giddy, and a bit sad. There is always little structure since the day ends before lunch, and classrooms stay busy cleaning tables, reading books, or making last minute memory books of the year. Anything to occupy everyone for a few hours.

Watching the graduating fifth graders is always a highlight of the day. Most come fully outfitted in their very best- whether it is a new dress, an old flower-girl dress, or navy pants with a black blazer. They all take the promotion ceremony very seriously, and walk through the hallways when they arrive that morning as though they are already 10 years older than they were yesterday.

One of my jumpers arrived in a full tuxedo.

I tried to talk to all my former students and parents. Since our school is so transient only 10 of my former first graders from that year finished 5th grade at the think-tank. A few days earlier I'd given them each a letter with a set of pictures of them from first grade. It had been amazing to watch them pour over snapshots of their former selves, giggling about how silly we'd been in first grade- "why am I making that crazy face?" their embarrassed fifth grade self grimaced. One boy looked at me and said, quite seriously, "You know, I've changed a lot since then. I've become a better learner."

In talking to his teachers I learned that was true. In first grade he hadn't quite taken on the attitude that school is important, but somewhere along the way he managed to figure it out. I've watched this change in a lot of children, but I've never had anyone mention they realize it before. I wonder how many kids can recognize their growth.

Back in the first grade and kindergarten classrooms there the flurry of end-of-the-year activity. The story-teller saw me walk by his room and popped his head out to say hello. "Mrs. Lipstick," he moaned, "I think I'm gonna miss you! You were my three-year teacher!"

What will I do without him?? It has been 3 years of receiving his whispered commentary throughout the day. From his first year of kindergarten when his comments all pertained to being abducted by aliens the night before, to this year in first grade when he followed me around the classroom asking questions about whatever nonfiction book he was reading.

The worst part of the day was loading Amazing onto her bus. As her wheelchair rose into the air on the power-lift we watched her sad eyes scan the crowd for her friends. She's made so many incredible friends this year, and was with a group of girls who showed maturity beyond their 5 years in how they adapted their play to include Amazing, without being condescending or too motherly. Their play was somehow completely natural without any adult intervention. Watching Amazing's face as the bus doors closed I could tell she knew how wonderful her group of friends had been. I think we all hope that her friends at her new school are equally wonderful and inclusive.
The bus would not let anyone ride with her for liability reasons, so we watched it pull away- small, strong Amazing on a full sized bus all by herself, carrying no one but her and the driver. Almost a metaphor for Amazing's life- her, by herself, strong and brave, while those around her worry about little things, wishing they could do more.
I lost it when the almost-empty bus pulled away. She is a child you get to teach once in a lifetime. I am going to truly miss her.

Once the halls were empty an uneasiness fell over our school. They were announcing our new principal that afternoon and we all stood around, waiting and wondering. We compared notes trying to predict who it would be- did we think it would be our fabulous assistant principal, or someone new? What had been overheard in the office? Did anyone read anything from the substitute Principal's face? What were the principals in other schools saying?

We sat, almost unable to eat, waiting for the future of the think-tank to be decided. Finally, we slowly walked to the library, knowing that once we were there we would know- no words would need to be said- there would be a stranger in the room, or there wouldn't be.

I'll write more about this later- I have so much to say about school leadership. But I will say that in the end we all cried for joy and felt ourselves truly relax for the first time since our principal announced her retirement. The new principal is our AP- the think-tank will stay close to the same, if not get better.

And now it's summer. A week later I'm slowly sipping my coffee, reading for fun, telling myself to get to work on my to-do list. It's funny how when the stress of the school year comes to a screeching halt I feel utterly useless and lost. It will take a week or so to become comfortable in the slower paced lifestyle.

Not that I'm complaining :)

decisions, decisions

Back in October I wrote about the phd programs I was looking into. I spent the year writing essays, ordering academic records & test scores, and submitting my applications to two different grad schools.

One is in-state, less than 5 minutes from my current school. An easy commute & in-state tuition. How can you go wrong?

The other is in DC, which means out of state tuition, as well as commuting into the city and trying to find parking in order to attend classes. Or late nights waiting on the metro and then the bus to take me home.

I have been accepted into both of them, and am desperately trying to decide what to do.

The absolute logic side of life tells me to go to the in-state program. Then again, the absolute logic side of life tells me to not get a phd at all, and enjoy my life as it is.

Sometimes logic is stupid.

When I discovered the DC program two years ago I immediately knew I had to go. Part of the program's description is:

The program incorporates the changing knowledge landscape of human growth and development by offering opportunities to translate and apply new neuroscience research for populations at risk for atypical development and learning processes. The special education curriculum and student research opportunities are aligned with developing knowledge about the plasticity of the brain and neurological processes as they relate to cognition, language and social-affective development. The course work is designed to deepen knowledge of disability in society and understanding of the response of social institutions to atypical development.

When I first read that I wanted to cry. I want to take those classes. I want that knowledge.

If it was not for that description I would not have even considered a phd program. Maybe another masters in a few years, but why get a phd?

In fact, getting a phd can actually make me a less desirable applicant in some school districts because I would require a higher pay check. More education will actually make it harder to get a job in education.

And if I want to leave schools? What are the chances I'll get a job that pays better than my public school salary? So I'll pay lots of money to educate myself out of having the job I love, and possibly educate myself out of getting paid a somewhat comfortable salary.

So what am I thinking?

But how do I NOT go? Ever since I've learned about this program it's been almost all I've thought about. As I finished my masters courses I would occasionally go back to the website just to read and re-read the program description and the course catalogue. I want this. I want the knowledge, the opportunities it may open up, the challenge, the experience.

I could of course, go half-way, and settle for the in-state program, getting a phd and not going into extreme debt. But if the program is not perfect, what is the purpose of going? I don't necessarily want to have a phd, I want the knowledge of the DC program.

Do I need to be an adult and make the grown up decision of not going into debt?

Or can I go after what I want?

Any one know of someone who wants to pay for me to get my doctorate? Any grants out there that will help me? Any one looking to hire someone for the summer so I can make some extra cash?