First Year Letters

My first year of teaching, which doesn't feel like it was a full ten years ago, was a whirl wind. I wasn't in a good place school-wise, my family and one of my close friends had a lot going on. I lived in a teeny-tiny studio apartment in a not so great neighborhood by myself, with almost no friends in the area. I woke up every morning, looking myself in the mirror and telling myself that this job was actually better than law school.  When I look back at that year I find myself thinking about those memories- the constant fight to not doubt myself, the tricks I used to avoid the school's administration who was constantly nit-picking new teachers, the moments of trying not to burst into tears in front of the class because the kids were amazing and I was convinced they deserved a better teacher than I was.

I left that school and found my way to The Think-Tank where I learned that I wasn't the horrid teacher I'd been led to believe I was, that a supportive and forward thinking administration can create a brilliant school, and that teaching was in fact the right place for me over law school. (Looking back on the at first year it still amazes me that I came back to the profession).

After meeting one of my former students last week I found myself sifting through the scrap book I'd made from that year. I'd kept a few of their letters to me and put them in a book along with pictures from the year. Looking through it what strikes me the most is how much their writing changed and developed over the year. The letters from September are far different than the end of year letters. After all these years it turns out that I did teach them something that year after all.

Reading the letters also reminds me that it was a wonderful year despite everything else going on. We had an incredible class community where kids felt safe to learn. I'd forgotten about that.

Why do we have a test? Why do teachers teach?

"I enjoy being in our class. I enjoy you"

"PS. Keep up the good work"

I'm sorry we are having a winter break. I'm going to miss you.

Now that I teach students who aren't able to write these letters it's nice to take a moment to go back and remember a time when I worked with students who did drop random notes of thank you. Now I get thank yous in different forms- big smiles, spontaneous hugs, "I DID IT!" shouted at the top of a student's lungs, simply listening to a child read independently. It's different, but still good.

This year has bee difficult. I hope that ten years from now I can look back at the pictures and moments of the year and realize that it wasn't just about all the chaos and stress, but that flowers were growing among the weeds.

Remember Me?

As I was leaving school today I ran into one of the students in our Intellectual Disabilities program and his sister. I stopped to talk to him and barely even acknolwedged his sister. Suddenly she interupted me.

"I know you don't remember me," she began, "But you were my first grade teacher. You were my best teacher. Ms. L"

I just about fell over. The minute I looked at her face I remembered her. Of course I did. She was smaller, more timid, a quiet six year old, very different than this confident teenager standing in front of me holding car keys- but yes, I remembered her.

It's been ten years. It meant so much to see her all grown up. It was my very first class and I left the school I taught at to go to the think tank. Until today I'd never seen any of those kids again.

It was a surreal experience to realize that I was driving out of the parking lot with a little girl I'd taught to read. How is she old enough to drive? How am I old enough to have taught someone for so long?

It was one of those moments as a teacher that you are blown away by the general nature of change in the world.

Art work completed by my first class of first graders, ten years ago. The beauty in first grade is watching them bloom

In the midst of a tough day it was beautiful reminder of why this job is the best.

Is there anything more exciting...

than discovering that the cups of water you left outside in the morning on a cold, cold winter day have turned into ice.

Except maybe discovering that you can turn it back into water by running hot water over it.

Science is MAGIC when you are six and seven. 

There had to be something good coming out of the 17 degrees on the thermometer this morning. 

All in a Day

I arrived at school this morning to have my coworker hand me this article. It is amazing. Preview- it's about a teacher who doesn't like kids.

It was clearly the right type of humor to start my day so that I was able to find amusement in the little things.

~~  ~~

Me: Friend, we need to clean the tables. Go get a wet paper towel.

2 minutes later

Me: Friend, where is the paper towel? I asked you to get a wet paper towel. 

Friend: I did. *looks at the trash*

Sure enough, there is a wet paper towel sitting in the trash can. She followed directions- she got the paper towel and wet it. She did exactly what I told her to do.

Me: *deep sigh*

~~  ~~

Me: Wear your pajamas inside out tonight so that it will snow!

Friend 2: Hooray! Wait, oh no, I don't wear pajamas.

Me: What do you wear?

Friend: Ummmm.....  not pajamas. How will it snow?

Me: Well, wear your clothes inside out.

Friend: I don't wear clothes.

Me: Wear your jammies inside out.

Friend: Oh! Jammies! I wear those.

~~  ~~

It's the little things during the day that make me giggle. 

love

At the end of each day I put one of my students on the bus and strap him into his seat. After I've given him his "high five for a great day" and am heading down the stairs he almost always calls out, "I love you, Ms. Lipstick."

And no matter how tired and stressed and overwhelmed I am my heart melts a bit.

It's at that exact moment that I know I have the best job in the world.

blown away

At the end of the day today I was standing in the hallway chatting with one of our literacy collaborative coaches. I was showing her the work from the wonder center and I mentioned that I was blown away by some of their work. As we stood looking at the backwards s and the phonetically spelling posted on the wall I heard a voice behind me.

"Mrs. Lipstick was blown away?" 

I turned around to see one of my former students standing there with a small smile on his face. Until today he'd barely said two words to me all year and usually responded to my "good mornings!" and "How are you?s" with grunts. So I was surprised to see him initiating conversation with such enthusiasm.

"Mrs. Lipstick, you were blown away?" he asked again, curiously.

Ah, yes. It wasn't that he had any interest in talking to me. It was only that he'd happened to be walking by when he heard a particularly fascinating tidbit from a teacher. I'm sure the mental picture in his head was too good for him to pass by and despite his best efforts he had to confirm whether or not I really had to knocked over by a sudden gust of wind.

Once we explained what I'd meant he looked disappointed, but he continued with the conversation, filling me in on his year and telling me about his family.

"Oh, and Mrs. Lipstick?" he asked as we walked down the hall.
"I hit those kids. I said I was sorry, but I hit my friends."
"When? This year or last year?" I asked, confused. How did hitting his friends have anything to do with anything?
"Last year. I hit them. Yeah. I said I was sorry. Ok, bye!" and he was off.

Did he finally want to come clean about some incident I can't even remember? Did the idea of me being blown away encourage him to confess his sins? Or was it just a six year old brain bouncing from topic to topic on a conversational trampoline?

Teaching Problem Solving

Yesterday I heard Seth Godin interviewed on the radio for his new book, Linchpin. (As soon as I finish Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest I'm headed out to buy this book, so expect more later!)

Everything Godin has to say about education rings true. He discussed how the model of education we follow now was set up to support the industrial revolution. What we need now, he argues, are problem solvers.

I could not agree more. It made me miss having my own classroom, where I could truly dive into teaching problem solving. I'm re-posting an entry I wrote on teaching problem solving in the classroom because when I wrote it, 3 years ago, I don't think anyone was actually reading my blog :)

problem solvers

In my graduate and professional development classes I'd heard about elementary IB programs. I was fascinated by their method of having one open-ended question that is examined in every subject during the entire year. I decided to try it and chose a very open question, "What is a problem solver?"

This was simple to incorporate in first grade. We approached reading decoding and comprehension strategies as 'problem solving'. Word study and spelling was also problem solving, as was writing... 'does it make sense? how you can solve that problem?' Science was also easy to incorporate, every unit of study started by discussing what we noticed in nature. Then we talked about how we could learn more about what we noticed. In social studies we looked at people as 'famous problem solvers'. We had a problem solver wall and every person (other than Helen Keller, more on that later) we studied we made a poster for and added it up there so we could refer to it throughout the year.

I found this hugely successful. It gave us a common language and asked the kids to create skills they could apply to every aspect of their lives. Can't do something, don't know... can you be a problem solver and figure it out? Studying famous Americans gave us definitions of what a problem solver is, reading and math gave us a chance to practice it, and science gave us a chance to develop higher-level questions where we could work through strategies for finding answers. I loved the inquisitive nature this created and how it developed thinkers, wonderers, and triers. It gave kids permission for things to not be perfect, because you could always be a problem solver to fix it. It was ok to take risks. It also gave them control of the classroom, asking them to look at problems, take responsibility for them and fix them.

Where it was most effective was giving us a common language with social skills. Can't find a chair? Can you be a problem solver? Someone stepped on your toe? Can you be a problem solver and figure out what to say? Spilled crayons on the floor? That's fine, just be a problem solver and clean it up.

For my young scholars and kiddos ready for higher-level thinking I saw so much growth in their thinking patterns. They were excited to approach new topics and frequently asked questions showing that they were looking at things from every aspect. Some even wanted to tell us about how their family members were problem solvers.

The common language this created was also great for my special education students. I was worried that asking them to 'be a problem solver' left things too open ended and unsettling. Yet, it seemed because we used this language all the time it actually gave them a sense of flexibility to help them get through the day. My little autistic friend frequently asked us "Be problem solver!" when someone can't find a spot on the rug or a chair in the classroom.

If I was going to do it again there are things I would change. We needed more discussions in the beginning of the year on good problem solving and bad problem solving. One little kiddo took problem solving into her own hands and started pinching people to get them to do what she wanted. Not ok, not solving the problem...

On Friday a head start teacher told me that one of my children was visiting her. After watching her try to put stuffed animals in a box my little one told her, "Just be a problem solver. Maybe try another box". If nothing else, hopefully studying problem solvers has given them a life skill that will help them take responsibility, be creative, and show initiative later in life.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
*sigh* I loved teaching problem solving. Re-reading this makes me desperate to go back into the classroom... Then again, I'd have to give up teaching all my amazing kiddos with special needs...

*It's interesting to go back and read my writing from when I first started. I cringe at some of my word choices, and my non-person first language. It's funny what happens when you begin writing almost every day. We always tell the kids that, turns out it's true... who knew? ;)
'

love those kids

9 days until summer break and we're all finished. Standardized testing is finished, grades are being completed, assessments have been taken, the pool is open, and all of us- kids and teachers- are ready to bounce. There are boiling hot days outside the building and inside the building the air conditioning isn't predictable, so you never know if you will be teaching in a tropical sauna, or an ice box. When the kids aren't cranky from the heat they're tired from late nights at the pool, or day dreaming of how fast they can get back in the water after school (and then there are those silly bracelets... but that's for another time)

Yet amongst the drama there are still those moments...

~After reading aloud Amazing Grace, one of my all-time favorite read-alouds in first grade, our friend from Iraq raised his hand. "Grace could do whatever she wanted because she has freedom. In America we are free. In my country we did not have freedom."

~One afternoon I returned to my desk to find a copy of Ramona, The Brave. I adore Ramona books and immediately assumed it was my own copy I'd loaned to a teacher. However, days went by and every teacher I asked swore it wasn't from them. Finally one of my friends came up to me in the hallway.

"Did you get my Ramona book?" she asked. "I got it at the free-book fair at the church I went to last week. It made me think of you since I know you love Ramona books. I thought you would enjoy re-reading it."

This is a little one with nothing. Her family recently lost everything and is homeless. And she wanted to give her free book to me, because she thought I would enjoy it.

Melt.

We decided she should keep the book and that we would read it "together" over the summer- a chapter at a time, and email about how we liked the story. She thinks she'll be able to get email access this summer, so I'm looking forward to my first-grade virtual book club.

~"Mrs. Lipstick, look what I did to my finger when I was playing cricket!!" One of my first graders announced early one morning.

"You were doing what?"

"Playing cricket. You know, the real sport, with real balls, not like baseball. We use real balls. And real bats. It's really hard. Not like baseball."

~ I spend my Monday afternoon duty with three 5th grade safety patrols. Since we do not do much other than yell at children to get off the playground, or remind kids to walk and not run, we have time to chat. I get filled in on all the 5th grade gossip.

me: How's it going in 5th grade?

them: Terrible! We are taking FLE! (Family Life Education)

me: It's not that bad, is it?

them: Yes it is! We have to sit there and listen to teachers say words we didn't even know they knew!

yes, yes, even though you and your friends know those words us silly teachers have no idea about any of that....

what's your sticky note say?

When I walked into my first grade classroom today I immediately noticed something strange-Every child had a note paper clipped to their shirt with one or two descriptive words.

"Good artist"

"Hard worker"

"Nice"

"Funny"

I wondered what they were up to. We teach writing in the afternoon, so it couldn't have been a lesson on using descriptive words.

I finally asked and quickly learned that it was a part of my awesome co-teacher's morning meeting. She had the children pair up and share something they liked about their partner. Noticing how nice the comments were, she decided to write them down for them, thinking they could tape them to their desks. But, she explained, having them wear them seemed so much better.

It was.

I sat down to begin the reading focus lesson and looked out at their happy labels. Sure one kid was playing with his shoe, but the minute my mind went to being annoyed, I saw the label "funny". I smiled, remembering the comic book the boy wrote a few weeks ago. Yeah, he is funny. No longer seeing him as annoying-shoe-boy, but instead as a funny, bright first grader, I returned to looking at the whole group- a sea of positive sticky notes.

I love this idea for a morning meeting activity, and love that my friends spent the rest of the day with their happy notes pinned to their chests even more. Their own character trait became a badge of honor to wear proudly.

At the end of the day one came to visit me at my desk before he left.

"Mrs. Lipstick," he began earnestly, "I'm a Hard Worker." He tapped his note as though to prove it. And with that, he left to catch his bus, walking with a little more pride in his step.

motivation

There are some families in our school who have become notorious for needing extra-special love and care for working with their children. These families all tend to have many siblings in different grades, making almost every teacher in the school come into contact with a family member in one way or another. These are the families whose parents are difficult to get a hold of, or when you do manage to track them down they give you fabulous one-liners like,

"Condoms? You found condoms in my first grader's backpack? I don't know where he got those- we don't use them at our house!"

or

"what do you want me to do? Tell her what to do? I'm her mother."

or

"I'd be happy to come in and have a parent conference. Let me just get a pen and write down that time. Oh look- I don't have a pen. Nope, no pen in the whole house. Too bad, I really wanted to meet with you."

Most of these parents truly want the best for their children, but are overwhelmed with their jobs, their many children, trying to pay rent, feed their families, and stay above water. These are the children who rarely do homework, tend to need to repeat kindergarten, and need to spend a lot of time with the guidance counselors. They are sweet, wonderful children, whose lives just haven't exposed them to good problem solving strategies, immersed them in language and literacy, or prepared them for school's academic environment. Many of them come to kindergarten able to wash dishes, cook food, and translate for their parents' at the hospital, but have little idea of how to spell their name.

Today, during kindergarten free choice I walked by the youngest members of one of these families. He looked up at me with his bright kindergarten smile and said, "Hey, want to come to our show?"

Quickly he explained that he was getting his friends to put on a Knuffle Bunny Play like his brother had seen on Friday when the first grade went on a field trip. He was directing a whole of children around him to take part in preparing for "the show".

I smiled, said "of course" and then asked him what his brother told him about the play.

Turns out, the brother had the family spend the weekend re-enacting Knuffle Bunny The Musical over and over again.

The family who seems to never turn in homework, avoids parent-teacher conferences like the plague, has let us know that academics are not nearly as important as their children's survival- the children in that family spend the weekend acting out a book, not because it was homework, but because they wanted to.

I died. The first grader in question is the most notorious of this particular family, and the one brother who spent the most time meeting with our fabulous administration. The one who acts like he, at 6, is way too cool for this school stuff. Yet he organized the rest of his brothers to put on a play- a play he'd seen in school- a play based off a book.

On Friday I wrote about how awesome our field trip was, and how much the kids got out of it, and that it was an event they would remember forever. But to be honest, I didn't expect anybody who wasn't already an avid reader to go home and bring the play home to his family.

We can talk all about data collection, high standards, merit pay, accountability, and student outcomes until we've exhausted the subject, but until we find the spark for each of these kids- until we are able to inspire our most troubled learners, no real reform will take place. It's events like our Friday adventure that allow children to connect with the world, and motivate the learners we are so desperately trying to teach.

weather channel similes

Remember our weather man?

Today he informed my co-teacher that his heart was beating like a severe thunder storm warning.

There is something to be said for having an obsession and then relating it to everything else in your life.

Aggle, Flabble, Klabble

If those words mean something to you, then you're going to be oh-so-jealous of how I spent my day.

In my last post I mentioned I was ready to enjoy kids as kids instead of only seeing them as test subjects. Today my wish was granted.

Jenny, in a fit of brilliant inspiration last fall, managed to get our whole first grade tickets to Knuffle Bunny, A Cautionary Musical, at the Kennedy Center. We've been waiting for this day for what seems like forever, and today we finally boarded all 140 first graders onto buses and ventured into DC for the literary experience of a lifetime.

Yesterday my fabulous co-teacher and I played up the wonders of the Kennedy Center, just to make sure the kids fully understood that we weren't just going to any old play- we would be viewing a play in a "very fancy place" as we put it. We looked at pictures and ohhhhed and awwwwed at the red carpets and fancy lights.

Today, when our first graders marched into the school in their nicest dresses and dress shirts, we knew they'd taken our fancy-talk seriously. One, who dressed like a gangster for school pictures, informed me that it was her only dress, and she'd owned it since she was 4 but had never worn it. But today, she'd clearly decided, was dress-worthy.

On the bus ride I heard multiple kiddos tell me their DC stories- detail accounts of the sights they saw on their trips into DC to visit family members- the gang signs, the unsafe streets, the people on corners, the smell. "It's not safe" two boys told me, most likely concerned that we were so excited about taking the entire first grade into such a dangerous place. It took multiple teachers to calm them down and promise them that the part of the city we were going to did not have gangs, violence, or a disgusting smell.

They calmed down even more as the bus neared the Potomac. Throughout the bus we could hear gasps of excitement. "What a beautiful place!" the Story Teller exclaimed. I think riding the bus with kids around DC is one of the best experiences- there is so much to see. I tried to listen respectfully as multiple children explained to me, as though I didn't know, what the Washington Monument was and why it was named after this guy George, our first president, don't you know?

I was rather enjoying myself as we drove along and I pointed out landmarks until we passed the Watergate. Without missing a beat I pointed it out and started into a "this is an important place because..." and then I stopped. How do you explain to a first grader why the Watergate is important? "You'll learn about that building later" was all I could come up with. I did not mention how ridiculously over priced the Safeway inside the Watergate is, nor did I mention the creepy homeless man who hangs out near the corner. I tried to keep to the more generic landmarks the best I could.

But then... we arrived. And as awesome as riding a bus through DC with first graders is, it's nothing compared to sitting with them to watch Knuffle Bunny, A Cautionary Musical.

First of all, the musical itself was fabulous. It was so well done and they managed to pull out underlying themes in the book through the songs. Trixie even sings an entire ballad in her Aggle Flaggle words. How does it not get better than that? There are visits from the pigeon, a spin cycle fight, a dream sequence, and a giant pair of dancing underpants.

The best part was the celebration of the books inside the play. I mean, every kid in the theater knew that book by heart, and could completely appreciate the drama unfolding on stage. They also could pick up on visits from Mo's other book characters, or when he borrowed lines from his other stories ("Just once around the block?") and had a character say "Wait, wrong book!" The book-geek in me loved the literary references, even if they were for children's books. Getting to share those sort of literary inside jokes with first graders- is that not heaven? Were we not setting the stage, right there, that books are to be loved, song, danced, laughed, and joked about?

I enjoyed it even more because I was sitting between my two friends from last week's field trip, The Story Teller and Eyebrows. And, just like last week, I was peppered with both of their comments. The Story Teller clapped with utter joy and delight as the play began. "I love this day!" he said, over and over again. He took time after each joke to let me know there had been a joke. "That was a joke Mrs. Lipstick!" he'd say in a loud whisper. "That was funny!" Eyebrows liked to keep me informed of what was real and what wasn't. "That's not real underwear" he'd say, pointing to the boxer shorts large enough to be used as a bed spread. And of course, when Trixie and her Daddy leave beloved-Knuffle Bunny in the washing machine, both boys, along with every other child in the audience, desperately screamed at the stage, "Don't forget Knuffle Bunny!" as though they could somehow prevent the horror of what was about to take place.

Once the play began it occurred to me that although we'd discussed The Kennedy Center and we'd re-read Mo Willem's books, we hadn't actually talked about what a musical is like. The minute the first song ended and the audience clapped two children near me gasped. "It's over already?" they asked, horrified. I hurriedly tried to explain how audiences clap during musicals, but neither child looked convinced. Throughout the rest of the show, despite the fact both children had the book memorized, every time a song ended and someone clapped both children looked depressed, as though they thought the Kennedy Center was going to just end the story in the middle, with Knuffle Bunny lost forever in the washing machine.

They all became completely engulfed in the play itself. The minute the actors made a reference to their imaginary environment, like "look, a fire truck driving by" and pointed to the back of the theater, the entire audience turned around to look, as though the actors were pointing at a fire truck headed straight into the family theater at the Kennedy Center.

We'd also forgotten to mention the heavy folding seats that few first graders are heavy enough to keep in a seated position by merely sitting. I watched children struggle to keep their weight forward, but inevitably, in a moment of distraction, they'd shift their weight and the seat would snap up into a folded position, enveloping them inside. Some fought a good fight the whole play, while others gave up, and made themselves comfortable sandwiched in the seat.

When it ended every child sat back and smiled. "That was great!" the Story Teller exclaimed. "Mrs. Lipstick, did you enjoy that? I sure did!"

As we were leaving one girl took my hand, "That was the second best movie ever" she said, "It was almost as good as Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Squeakel."

Although I was quick to explain the difference between a movie and a play, I think that's a pretty high compliment coming from a first grader.

First Grade Nature Walk

Yesterday was our first field trip of the year in first grade. (We get two a year, and we saved them for spring- to enjoy the nature center and then, next week, we get to experience Knuffle Bunny, The Musical. I am SO excited).

I positioned myself with the Story Teller, selfishly because I knew I'd personally enjoy the field trip more if I was able to hear his commentary throughout the event. And of course, he didn't disappoint-

The minute he saw he me said in a flat, serious voice, "Hello, Mrs. Lipstick, I am no longer The Story Teller. You can call me..." (dramatic pause) "Dr. Cockroach".

As we walked outside to the bus he noticed a police car sitting in front of our school. He shook his fist. "I don't like those police interrupting our field trips!"

On the bus ride he turned around in his seat and yelled, "Quiet down children, it's a bit loud in here." Then he looked at me sheepishly, and said, "Oh, sorry, that's right- you're the teacher."

We arrived at the nature center and walked down the path, passing a man gardening.
"Wow, good garnering there"

On the way out he attached himself to another friend's little brother who'd joined us on the trip. "Say Godzilla" he demanded, and the 4 year old buried his head into his brother's back, partly because he was shy, partly because he had an older boy barking words at him, and partly because the poor little one only spoke Russian.

"Say T-Rex"

"Say Monster Truck"

After a pause the Story Teller looked at me and said, "Nope, he can't talk at all. This one has no words."

And of course, throughout the walk, he turned into a T-Rex, pulling his hands in front of his body and making dino-like growls as he marched through the woods, clearly in his own imaginary world, not worrying that the rest of us were even around him.

Because The Story Teller spent 2 years in kindergarten this was my 5th field trip with him. How am I suppose to go on field trips next year without him? I'll be so bored! Maybe he should do another year in first grade just to keep me entertained.

Along with The Story Teller I was stayed close to another friend, whose statements of the obvious are always very similar to The Story Teller. I adore this child in all his earnest impulsively. This is the little one, who after hearing the read-aloud Tikki-Tikki-Tembo raised his hand and gave a long talk about how when he was living in Afghanistan, where they didn't have any electricity, and had to go over mountains on a donkey to get water, someone fell down the well and had to be rescued. At the end of his monologue he scrunched up his face and said, "I think it was me."

"You think it was you?"

"Well, yeah, I was a baby, so I don't know, but my parents told me, it was me. I was down there for a long time and they were scared because they couldn't get me out. But I only think it was me- I don't know."

Hmmmm. That could explain a lot...

We walked through the woods- the Story Teller on one side of me darting his eyes around feverishly like T-Rex, looking for small dinos to eat. My other friend elbows me, as though we're high schoolers. "Psst" he whispers, "look out for the snipers".

"Friend, there are no snipers here, this is a safe forest" I say.

"No, shhhh.... this is where they hide so no one sees them." he argues, and moves one eye brow up and down rapidly, as though he's delivering some sort of flirtatious information instead of telling me to fear for my life.

The rest of the trip went on in the same manner. Time after time he'd elbow me and then whisper some sort of misinformation, followed with the eyebrows. Sometimes he'd just repeat what the guide said, as though I myself hadn't heard. I started to feel like I was being hit on by a 7 year old.

After the guide talked to us for awhile about tadpoles and repeatedly answered the same question over and over again, ("Yes, those are going to be frogs. Yes, frogs. Frogs- yep, that's what I said already") it was obvious he'd reached his limit with first grade questions.

Eyebrows raised his hand. "Did you know," he asked our guide, "I have bed bugs at my home."

The guide, clearly fed up with us and our off-topic responses, merely said, "Oh, cool" and called on the next friend. I felt an elbow tapping me.

"Hey," he whispered, "I just told him I have bed bugs, and he said COOL. It is NOT COOL. It is NOT!" he whispered indigently.

"We can't get rid of them. They are everywhere. And I vacuum every day. And the apartment people keep leaving us notes telling us to be clean, but I think they lie because WE ARE CLEAN and the bugs still wont go away. They are still there. We can't sit on our couch, or our carpet. And we have cockroaches too. The apartment people spray for them, but they never go away either." He shook his head, clearly not impressed with our guide who seemed to be embracing the very nature that was driving his family crazy.

I couldn't think, at that moment, how to separate the nature we were learning about with the nature in his house. Nor could I shake the idea that while I've been desperately trying to get us to meet the end of year benchmark in reading, his family's been dealing with that mess, all the while making sure he does his homework every night in between scrubbing their house for the bugs they can't get rid of.

The Bloomers

Yesterday when I arrived home a bright white Kodak envelope was waiting for me by my door, kindly welcoming me home. I have a small obsession with pictures, and at this point I think I may be keeping Kodak in business all by myself.

This package held a compilation of pictures I'd taken years ago- so long ago that the little first grade subjects in the pictures are about to take their 5th grade state tests and then leave us for middle school. I ripped open the large envelope before even putting my bag down and stood in my doorway flipping through the happy pictures of my kiddos investigating seeds, baking cupcakes, taking part in centers, reading books to stuffed animals, and playing at recess. They were an incredible class.

We'd named ourselves The Bloomers that year, after totally bonding with Leo, The Late Bloomer. If you are not familiar with Leo I highly recommend you find your way to the nearest children's library and meet Leo who can't do anything right when compared to his friends. His father worries about him, but his mother keeps reminding his dad that "a watched bloomer doesn't bloom". And then, at the end of the book, in his own good time, Leo blooms.

It's one of my favorite children's books of all times. And the perfect comparison for our class. That year I had a large percentage of children with special needs, along with a large percentage of children who'd been retained in kindergarten or were in their 2nd year of first grade. It was an old bunch- and although we weren't academically advanced we were quick on our street sense. This was the year I had two children from the middle east- one from Pakistan but who'd also lived in Iraq, and one from Iran. They frequently got into heated debates over whose country had nuclear weapons.... always a fun way to start morning meeting.

The class, with its quirky personalities, quickly bonded and truly took on the name The Bloomers. The whole year become dedicated to blooming as a team. It was an amazing classroom community.

So much of a community that they kept having difficulties on the playground. Not with each other, but with the 4th graders who shared the playground with us. There were some 4th graders that year in the special education program who seemed to seek out my first graders at recess. It may have been to pick on them, but most likely it was because they felt more comfortable with smaller children. However, my children were so street smart and weary that they'd quickly defend one another from any "attack" they believed to be happening against a fellow Bloomer. One day a gang of my first graders managed to de-shoe one of these 4th graders (not one with special needs) and throw the shoe over the large fence around our playground- right into poison ivy. There was frequent ball-stealing, (some of this was because I had kids with wicked soccer skills and the 4th graders would get upset when my 6 year olds stole the soccer ball from them fair and square). Once it even escalated to rock throwing. My six year olds, throwing rocks at the big kids. Oh yes, I was so proud.

None of this was ok. Sure the 4th graders were starting it, but my kids were not just defending themselves. They were retaliating like a small gang. They'd taken the idea of community a bit too far.

After weeks of long lectures from me and the principal, class conferences where we discussed positive problem solving behaviors, lost privileges, a class book called "we don't want bullies on our playground", and some agonizing time with heads down on tables, I realized nothing was working. The behavior wasn't changing. So, after a chat with the guidance counselor, one day I decided to skip math after recess. Instead we held a class meeting and wrote a letter to the 4th graders about what was happening. I can't remember the exact wording (I so wish I'd taken a picture) but I think it covered the fact that we knew we weren't making good choices at recess, but we needed them to help us because we were smaller than them. I think we gave specific examples of what we could do to share the soccer ball, and how we'd promise to not hit or kick them, if they made sure they would not hit or kick us.

The discussion about the letter within my classroom was amazing. For the first time my kids really took responsibility for a problem that I thought we'd already covered in every way possible. The difference was- this time, instead of me lecturing them, I was including them on solving the problem. We were also acknowledging that they were not the only ones at fault- which allowed them to see it was a problem to be fixed instead of something they were getting in trouble for. Instead of being lectured they were able to examine the situation with new eyes.

Then, we made an appointment with the fourth grade teachers to come read our letter to them. We quietly made our walk over there, and I tried not to make this feel like a reward- they were, after all, still in trouble for fighting. I planned to have my class just read the letter and then leave. But one of my students had a different idea.

After we stood in front of the 4th grade class and read our heart-felt letter, one of my little girls loudly said, "Yeah!" and cleared her throat. All 4th grade eyes turned and stared at her.

"You need to think" she said, projecting her small voice to the back of the room, her chest puffing out like a bird, "when you look in the mirror in the morning, you need to say to yourself, 'Who do I want to be today? Do I want to be somebody who bullies little kids? No! Do I want to be that person? You need to wake up and realize what you can do. This is your life, and you have to make these choices. You. Only you can decide who you are."

We were silent. This little one had some of the weakest English skills among our friends, yet somehow, today she found the words- all the words- for this lecture. She even whipped out her finger and shook it at the 4th graders.

"We're just little kids" she continued, "And you're so big. You don't even know how big you are. You need to decide how you'll be"

It was the most inspirational speech I'd heard in a long time. I immediately wanted to be a better person myself.

I have no idea where her speech came from. She'd always shown a flair for the dramatic in the classroom, but this was something new.

I can't say we never had recess problems again, but they significantly lessened after our peace-conference with the older kids. Both parties- my class and the 4th graders- were now working together to prevent recess scuffles. We were finally on the same page.

Four years later now The Bloomers are the big kids- the ones who have to share their playground with the younger students. They are patrols, helping first graders get to class, and proudly walking through our hallways as though they own the school.

They've bloomed.

Luckily I have photographic evidence of how small they use to be, and plan to share it with them at graduation, just so they can appreciate exactly how far they've come.

we're saving lives here, people

Yesterday as we switched guided reading groups I asked one of my readers to move a little faster since he was keeping the group from starting their new book. One of the group members nodded gravely, "That's right" she agreed, "Our reading time is very important. Reading saves lives."

And with that the slow poke sped up and we were able to get back to our life-saving measures of learning to read.

Who says we don't have the most important jobs in the whole world?

moments

Yesterday was pretty awful, and then today... I'm not even ready to blog about today. But despite all that, there were those moments- moments that help remind me just why this really is the best job in the world.

Yesterday morning I was walking in the hallway when I over heard two third graders.

"So, did you like living in Africa?" one asked the other as they made their way to class, as though comparing different continents is natural for all 9 year olds.

** ** **

As I was leaving school yesterday I heard screeching coming from one of the houses right off school grounds. I ignored it, but it only got louder and more frantic. Then I started to wonder if the house was on fire and the child was screaming for help. It sounded like she was yelling about a stick- wait, no, not a stick- lipstick. Yes, someone was leaning out the window of their house, screeching, jumping up and down, waving her arms, screaming about lipstick.

Oh, wait- Mrs. Lipstick. Yes, she was definitely calling to me.

As I walked closer to her house she waved her arms even harder.

"I'LL SEE YOU TOMORROW!" she screeched as she gave me thumbs up with both hands. I waved back and started to get into my car.

"MRS LIPSTICK!" she screamed again, "YOU DRIVE A WHITE CAR."

** ** **

Today as I was in the midst of a guided reading group, I noticed the story teller silently stomping his feet around the room. On second glance I noticed that he was not just stomping, but giving occasional silent 'roars' with his mouth in the direction of others, with his arms bent in front of him, mimicking the front legs of a T-Rex. Yes, the storyteller was spending reading workshop pretending to be a dinosaur. Grant it, he was doing his center, he was just doing it dino-style, as though he was straight out of Calvin and Hobbs.

two steps forward, three steps back

My fabulous first grade co-teacher and I have a little boy who is not officially "one of mine" but most likely should be. We've started the special education process, and suspect that if he is not on the autism spectrum he must have significant learning disabilities that severely impact his ability to communicate appropriately with those around him.

When he first entered our classroom he assumed the entire world was against him. If one child laughed in the back of the class he knew it was about him. Once my co-teacher and I were laughing as we walked the class down the hallway and he exploded. "Teachers aren't suppose to laugh!" he exclaimed angrily. During lessons if we laughed because we made a mistake he'd get upset with us for laughing at ourselves. "It's not nice to laugh when someone makes a mistake" he'd recite, not understanding that the rule didn't apply to laughing at yourself.

Back in September and October he would come visit me every morning to tell me about the mean kids on the bus, in the hallway, or in his classroom. He couldn't get past what he perceived as the mean actions of others. He couldn't focus on anything else. The school day wasn't a safe haven for him- it was a place where he had to stay on guard, never knowing if he was being picked on or not.

My co-teacher and I put our heads together and decided to give him some direct instruction with social skills. We spent time analyzing the book Oliver Button is a Sissy (one of my favorites). We debated the actions of the bullies, and talked about how Oliver never gave up, even when the bullies made fun of him. We sorted the actions from the book into two categories- when you should tell a grown up and when you need to be strong and not let it bother you.

He LOVED this and truly took pride in it. He continued coming to visit me every morning, but to tell me all the different ways he'd stood up for himself throughout the day, all the different times he ignored people who were mean to him, and how he didn't give up, just like Oliver Button.

It worked! I celebrated. Success!

He'd continue to find me in the morning to tell me about the incidents on the bus, but now instead of anger and frustration he was filled with pride and self-confidence. He'd brightly tell me about how he didn't care what they said, or if someone was laughing. I really thought he was doing great.

And then... the assistant principal pulled him out of class for a chat. Turns out he'd been bullied pretty badly on the bus, but he hadn't said anything because he'd decided he would be like Oliver Button.

*sigh* Ok, so we gave him self-confidence, but in the end he was worse off than he was before!

I gave the direct social skills training a rest and tried to give him more guided instruction during the day, modeling with his peers what was ok and not ok. I was worried to encourage him to stand up for himself and ignore others since it had ended up getting him bullied. How do you teach him to draw the line, I wondered, when he sees life as black and white.

He slowly reverted back to his old frustrations. "The story teller made a mean face at me!" he growled one afternoon. "So I punched him." The story teller sat there scratching his head. "I wasn't even looking at him, I wonder why he punched me." he'd ask inquisitively (being the story teller he's not even upset about getting punched).

He's back to meeting me in the morning to tell me who was mean to him on the bus, or what kindergarten girl "hit" him when she went to pick up her bookbag.

Today, as I sat at my desk I could hear him and two of my other friends with learning disabilities talking with their teacher. I left my classroom and found them having a post-recess conference about the fight the 3 of them had during recess. We marched down to the principal's office as I tried to weed out what on earth happened.

Ultimately it seems it all came down to none of them correctly reading the social cues of the other. One thought they were playing a game, the other thought they were angry with him, one didn't know what was going on, and when he went to investigate he was "punched in the stomach". (I don't actually think this was a true "fight". The boys used the words "punched" but... it is first grade. I've seen a first grade fight, and it's not pretty- these boys did not look like they'd just had one of those. But regardless, they believed they had fought, and we needed to treat it as though they had).

Basically, their ability to assess a social situation dissolved into a physical tumble on the playground. The physical tumble on the playground resulted in a trip to the principal's office that meant they lost instruction time. Instruction time none of them can afford to miss.

So. Time for some more social skills training. They are all making progress academically- all moving along quite well in other areas of the school day. Somehow I let teaching social skills lag behind this year, and now here we are, taking a trip to the principal's office. I could kick myself because I know teaching social skills works. I particularly know it works with one of these children because I saw the success we had before. But I dropped the ball.

Now I just need to reassess their needs, find a way to help us differentiate between dangerous bullies and just pesky peers, and find time in the day to work together on these skills. Any suggestions?

old wives tales

I usually don't believe in telling kids stories to encourage them to make good choices. I try to tell them the truth- mainly because I remember how shocked and betrayed I felt when I found out my first grade teacher lied to us. It was the first time I knew a grown-up lied and I was horrified. (She'd told us that her son only spoke French, so when he came to visit if we wanted to speak to him we could only use the small amounts of French we'd learned in school. As he was leaving she sent me to remind him to wear a jacket. I ran after him, wanting to be compliant, and then froze when he looked down at me. I had no idea how to say any of those words in French. I stuttered through, making big hand motions and trying to act out wearing a jacket. He laughed at me and said, "thanks, tell her I will." In English.)

After that I had a hard time believing the other things she told us, like that she was a witch.

Anyway, most of the time I try to be completely honest with the kids, at least as much as is appropriate.

Of course, I actually have to know something is an old wives tale in order to know not to repeat it to them.

This afternoon in the middle of reading workshop the fire alarm sounded. There are never, ever fire drills in the middle of the day (it would interfere with the lunch schedules, which is a complete hassle) so we immediately knew it wasn't a planned drill. We escorted the children out of the building and prepared ourselves for an extended outdoor break while the fire department checked our school. It turns out that one of our preschool children pulled the alarm. At least they chose a nice day to do it, I have to admit I didn't have any problems spending time outside in the sun.

Back inside the classroom I wanted to make sure the class understood the seriousness of the child's actions. Our assistant principal had briefly addressed this outside, but most of our friends were playing in the grass and didn't really hear her. So we gathered the class together and briefly went over the seriousness of pulling the fire alarm if there is not a fire.

Along with my list of reasons not to pull the alarm- you made the whole school angry with you because everyone had to sit outside and waste their time, - our entire afternoon schedule was messed up, -the poor kids eating lunch were going to have less time to eat and will be hungry the rest of the day, etc, etc (It's first grade- 6 and 7 year olds truly feel that all these consequences are absolutely horrible). And, for good measure, I threw in "if you pull the alarm you will get ink all over your hand so we know who did it."

I mean, that's what they told us in high school.

Sometimes I can be so gullible.

The children were horrified by this. They wanted to know all about the ink and whether or not it would wash off. They fixated on it until my co-teacher and I demanded a change in subject.

At home I mentioned this to Mr. Lipstick. "WHAT? I've never heard that! That's not true" he demanded and made me look it up. He clearly did not attend a high school that had a problem with a once a week fire alarm or bomb threat starting the first week of spring.

So, yeah... they don't actually put dye in every fire alarm. That's a lie. But they SOMETIMES will inject ink into the alarms if there is a problem with frequent pulling (ie, my high school). My internet search led me to learn that this ink is about $95 and becomes darker when you put water on it.

So, now I know. I only kind of lied.

I don't want to bring it up again with the kids because it's time to move on, but I don't want them scared to pull the fire alarm in their apartment building because they don't want to get the ink on their hands. I also don't want them to become so curious about the ink that they pull the alarm to check it out.

*sigh*

I don't know what's worse- lying to them, or lying to them because I believed the stupid lie the first time I heard it...

ps. I never did believe the whole thing about what happens when you pee in the swimming pool so I don't know why I believed the fire alarm story. Although, that may be because one summer when we were young my cousins said, "hey, have you ever heard that if you pee in the pool it turns red? Well, it doesn't, see? I just peed and you can't tell"

itchy book love

Today my story teller rushed up to me and exploded with excitement, "MRS LIPSTICK! I wasn't here yesterday, did you read the monkey book without me??"

I had to pause, wondering what on earth he was talking about. The monkey book. Monkeys... book... OH

Just before break I'd taken my story teller into our school book room to help me pick out books for his reading group. This room was clearly his own little piece of heaven, and he relished in looking through book set after book set to select the perfect books for his group. He loves non-fiction, so he selected a series on different types of monkeys. We read one about gorillas before break, and saved one on chimpanzees for our return. I couldn't believe he remembered, especially since I'd forgotten, and I'm the one preparing the lesson plans.

Not only did he remember, but he was clearly preparing himself to be devastated if we'd read the book without him.

I smiled. "No, of course we didn't read it without you!"

"Phew!!" he breathed a sigh of relief. "I couldn't be here because I was itching all over. I had fleas."

And with that he hopped back to the carpet where his teacher was running morning meeting.

The conversations we have in elementary school that require us to keep a straight face- neither laughing or looking shocked and disgusted...

life, death, and spring

I've spent the last 2 weeks living the luxurious lifestyle of my current year-round schedule, enjoying the last intersession break our school will ever have. It was originally scheduled to be a full 3 weeks, but the snow allowed us to take one of the weeks in February, so we've only been granted two weeks and a day off (we have to go back next Tuesday). The kids and teachers who chose to teach have been back for a week now taking/teaching fun classes that have SOL standards secretly embedded into them between the cooking, crafts, and video-making.

I am so going to miss this next year.

Not just because I've had 2 weeks to play in the sometimes beautiful, sometimes cold, sometimes too hot spring weather.

I've busied myself planting flowers on my balcony, a task that always makes me miss the classroom. In first grade we had an intense plant unit, where each child had a chance to plant one or two plants of their own, along with a class garden and other planting experiments where we watched the magic of roots, shoots, and leaves. In first grade science = magic and there is nothing that compares to the excitement of first graders witnessing nature.

One year, instead of telling them what plants need to live we developed hypothesis of what those important elements may be. Each child was able to choose where in our classroom to place their plants- in the window, over by their desk for indirect light, the sink for easy watering, by the air conditioner, or in the closet. Each child needed to write why he was placing his plant in that place, and had to be able to articulate his hypothesis of what plants needed and why his experiment would show that.

We waited to perform this activity until the plants were already healthy green stalks, and the children had already tenderly cared for them for a week or so and grown attached to their plant. Do not forget that in first grade everything has a soul- every object has a life of its own and pencils, plants, crayons, and books all automatically have feelings.

The class excitedly filled out their hypothesis papers and placed their plants in their desired location. Days went by as we charted, observed, measured, and checked our hypothesis.

The results were as expected- those who placed their seedling in the sun had plants that continued to grow strong. Those who placed it in indirect light had plants that grew, but not as well. Those who placed theirs in the closet had plants that died.

Died.

I will never recover from the look I received from the first graders whose plants had withered without the sunlight. They had killed their plant- they cried. And I had forced them. I had turned them into murderers.

There were tears, pouting, foot stomping, destruction of someone else's plant, and more tears. They were killers, their plant had died. It was my fault.

In retrospect perhaps we should have had some generic class plants we could have put in the closet so that it wasn't any one's personal plant who made its way to plant heaven. This would have left every first grader with a healthy plant, and relieved all guilt of from the 6 year old gardeners of becoming plant killers.

I wanted to tell them not to worry- anything I plant, no matter what I do, dies under my black thumb. That they should get use to killing plants because they have a whole life ahead of them of forgetting to water the beautiful potted plant from a friend, or going on vacation and returning to find that in one week the sun has withered the garden beyond repair. Or from being on spring break and watching the squirrels dig up your newly planted pots and throw your geraniums to the ground below.

But that would only solidify their belief that I was a plant murderer so I held my tongue, and allowed them to redo the experiment in the sun.