Changes in North Carolina: What is happening to our profession?

I haven't been good about following the North Carolina educational changes this past year, partly because every time I hear something about the legislative changes I am so horrified that I assume it isn't true and I put my hands over my ears and hum loudly to myself. 

Lisa Sorg in Indy Weekly sums the changes up like this:

In education, lawmakers march toward privatizing schools: ending salary increases for many teachers with a master's degree; no longer requiring charter schools to hire licensed teachers; allowing students to use vouchers—taxpayer money—to attend private schools, including religious ones, while draining $90 million from public schools statewide.

This is what I'd been trying to pretend isn't happening.

Sorg's article goes on to profile one of my college classmates who is leaving the state because of these changes. He is quoted as saying, 

"The pay differential is a huge deal. For me, there would be no difference in pay between a master's and a bachelor's degree. [Lawmakers] are saying we want you to saddle yourself with debt, stick with it, and say you're noble for doing it.

So I started broadening my search. This is a good chance to get out of here and go where I would have a chance to make more. People in my situation—single, no kids, no deep roots to North Carolina—are looking to get out of the state. Some teachers can't or don't want to leave; they're not going to give up. But a fair share of them told me to get out of here while I can"

My family has talked about moving to North Carolina to escape the craziness of the DC area. We have family in Charlotte and it would be wonderful to raise Little Lipstick with her cousin. But now? I certainly do not want to move into a state that boldly says, "We do not believe in our public school teachers. We do not believe in the teaching profession, the craft of teaching, or the importance of having good teachers in the field".  I do not want to teach there and I certainly do not want my daughter to go to school there. 

I am always baffled by parent support in changes such as these. I want my daughter to have a teacher who has a masters. I want my daughter to have a teacher who loves her job, is dedicated to the field, feels like a professional and is treated that way by the school system and the state. Teachers who feel like professionals are more likely to take their jobs seriously and put in the hard work and extra hours it takes to do the job well. Disheartened, frustrated teachers who feel disrespected are far more likely to "work their contract" putting in minimal hours to get by and not taking the extra steps that really make a good teacher. It's true in any job. Treat people well, tell them you respect and trust them, that they are invaluable and that their hard work is worth something and they will work even harder for you. 

What's happening to our profession? Are we somehow moving towards un-professionalizing teaching, assuming that anyone who can turn a page in a teachers' manual can teach? How can we spend so much time discussing our broken education system only to decide that to fix it we should actually weaken the system and punish those who want to make it better? 

To Teach or not to Teach?

Since about April I've been struggling with the question of whether or not to keep teaching. Around spring break I came to this realization that I wasn't sure what I was doing anymore.

In the past I loved my job. I was proud to say I was a teacher, and would scoff at people who talked to me condescendingly about my "cute" job. I was in this for kids, and what's more, I was exceptionally happy doing it. Everyday on the way home I'd think about my day and send a silent prayer to God thanking Him for blessing me with a job I loved. I felt lucky to be in this career, lucky to work with the children I worked with, and lucky to be able to help teach children to read. I was proud.

I'm not sure what changed. Going back over old blog posts from this year I can slowly watch the transformation. The year started with some "I love my job" posts, but towards the end they were few and far between. It's been the slow death of a dream.

What changed?

Is it me? In April I realized it's been TEN years. I've spent ten years perfecting my craft. I like to think that I'm good at this job. I am extremely dedicated to being good at this job. I read books, take classes, reflect, blog, analyze, research, and put in long hours to do the best I can at this job. In ten years I've learned so much. I'm a much better teacher than I was ending my first year teaching ten years ago.

And yet, I have the same job that anyone right out of college could have. Although I've personally made huge gains professionally none of those really matter. I hold the same job 22 year olds are qualified for. We have the same voice, are treated the same professionally, and are considered the same in the eyes of the school district. For that matter, we're treated the same in the eyes of society. Or maybe not. Maybe the 22 year old is given more respect because there is still time for her to get out. This isn't her career yet- it's just a stopping place.

The realization that despite the work I've done I haven't actually gone anywhere was humbling and shocking. What am I doing? I wondered. Why work so hard? Why be so dedicated? Before I was a mother it wasn't even a question. Hours and hours after school was worth it. But now? I love working hard, but I realize that hard work- and I'm talking about the hours late into the night, the hours on the weekend, the checking and responding to emails while my daughter plays- seems pointless. Now I'm taking away from family time but where am I going? I'm treading water, and exhausting myself doing so, for what? To continue to hold a job I could have been hired for at 22, and could keep until I was 65.

This took me to job search engines, hoping, perhaps that I'd find jobs that my ten years would justify. I didn't even want to apply for these jobs, I just wanted to know that somewhere out there my ten years of experience meant something.

What I found was that there seem to be few jobs out there that want a former teacher. If jobs do want someone with teaching experience they seem to want a 20 something- at least 3 years of classroom experience. If I apply for those jobs I'll be competing against 20 somethings who will work for less. Twenty somethings without families.

Has my ten year dedication and love for my job backed me into a corner? Is this the meaning of teacher burn out?

Or is it the job?
In ten years of teaching I've seen the profession change. When I started teaching I was a first grade classroom teacher. The same curriculum, same lessons and activities we used in first grade then are not being used in kindergarten. The kids haven't changed, so why has our expectations for them changed?

I've spent ten years doing research, analyzing kids, reading books, being coached, and truly trying to understand child development and how children learn so I can apply it in the classroom. And for awhile we were asked to be professionals and apply our knowledge to our teaching. But that too seems to have changed. What we know is best for kids- what we know about how kids learn, how to teach, how to analyze children's mistakes to use as teaching points, anything that made the job a place for an intelligent professional seems to no longer be respected or wanted. I loved the job when it asked me to watch children learn to read as a scientist- analyzing and making decisions to produce a better reader. That no longer seems to be what we're asked to do. And I don't know if I want to be a part of that anymore.

Where do I go next?
Last year I decided I was not going to finish my doctorate program because I couldn't have a family, teach full time, and get my doctorate- and I wasn't ready to be out of the classroom. Now that I'm ready to go full time for my doctorate my GREs are expired. Am I going to spend the summer studying? (I'm trying, I really am.)

I want to love my job again.  But I also want the profession to be different. I don't want to wake up at 50 feeling absolutely stuck in a job that doesn't respect me despite the years of work I've put into it. Why is our profession like this? What has happened to teaching? When is the pendulum swinging back?

Spring Break Woes

Spring break is almost over. I'm not sure how that happened. The whole week was wonky, starting with the snow fall on Monday, and as you can see from the picture, Little Lipstick was not impressed. 

First day of spring break. Not what we expected.

Don't get me wrong. Little L LOVES snow. Her favorite book is The Snowy Day. She loves her snowsuit. She loves putting on snow clothes. She loves watching the snow fall. She loves feeling the snow go "PLOP" on her head just like in the book. She loves watching Mommy walk with her feet pointed out, like this. She loves riding in the stroller while snow falls around her. She just doesn't like interacting with the actual snow. And of course, I'm sure she's not thrilled with Mommy snapping a picture at her distress. 

The snow threw us off our spring-break game. Somehow the week turned into a stay at home and cuddle week instead of a "let's enjoy this week off to get busy and go on adventures" week. 

I spent a lot of this week pondering my decision to be a teacher. It's been ten years since I started. Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I love the work. I love the day to day with the kids and I love the intellectual challenge it inspires in me. 

Perhaps it's the fact that my little brother, five years younger than me, is in the midst of his first year at a big law firm, showing the world how successful he is. Perhaps it's the continued anti-teacher movement in the media, perhaps it's frustrations at work, perhaps it's a looming ten year college reunion  perhaps it's just my yearly "what am I doing with my life" crisis. I'm feeling regret at ending my doctorate program, regret at staying in the classroom, resentment of my enjoyment of my job.

Why do we do this to ourselves as teachers? Why is being a teacher not enough? Every year I hone my craft, become a better teacher, read books and do action research that improves my work in the classroom. Yet it's not enough. 

If I leave the classroom and pursue a doctorate will I miss the day to day excitement of teaching? Will the intellectual stimulation be enough to keep me from regretting a job I'm good at. 

Why isn't teaching enough? How can we make it more than "just teaching" while still being a team player, a member of a collaborative school, and making a true impact on children's lives? Why does it have to be "just" teaching?

Is anything worse than un-made ice cream?

Today was horrid. A might, gigantic flop that left me driving away from school thinking that this job is just not for me. Not that I'm not enjoying it, but that I'm just not good at it, and that the kids deserve someone better.

Let's start with the ice cream.

Last year I did an amazing ice cream unit. It was the stuff teaching-dreams are made of. We made ice cream one day and then spent the next day giving people a taste test of ice cream to decide what they liked better- our ice cream or store bought ice cream. We graphed it and analyzed our results. It was one of those magical, amazing lessons that you don't full appreciate until it's a year later and when you try to repeat it ice cream blows up in your face.

Literally.

In the midst of trying to get the materials out of the freezer, deal with behaviors, check in with other service providers and just generally trying to remind myself where I was I made a glaring ice cream error. In a moment of lost common sense I decided to have the kids pour the ingredients into the ice cream churn itself and then turn it on. This decision was made quickly, based on the current (read: crazy) behaviors in the room.

It was not a decision made logically.

We are working on using and applying the words "on" and "off" so I made a big deal of turning it on. I asked one of my girls to come turn it ON. We sat back and watched in with the hope and excitement one has whenever ice cream is about to be made.

The ice cream maker rocked on itself a few times and made a horrendous grinding noise and then stopped.

"I'll turn it OFF" I said,  never one to lose a teachable moment. "Turn it ON again."

She did, and it repeated its unproductive movements.

It was then that I realized my horrid mistake. Of course if you are not moving the ingredients around when you put them together in the cold ice cream churn it all freezes together at the bottom of the churn, and will not, in fact 'churn' as it is named to do. I jammed and pushed and tried to break through the frozen sugar at the bottom that was making it impossible to turn but that only made the milk and cream fly all over me.

While I was desperately trying to salvage the ice cream (and failing) one of my kiddos took the opportunity to run around my room and knock things off shelves. She has never, ever done this before, but apparently failed ice cream leads people toward destructive tendencies. I can't stop her immediately because I have would-be-ice cream all over my hands, pants, face and hair.

What's even worse is that although my children were upset, they didn't understand why they were upset. I wanted to turn it into a "sometimes we fail and that is OK" lesson, or even just a "it is OK to be sad but we have to try again" lesson, but they barely batted an eye.

We'll try again next week.

This led right into lunch time, which made me realize that I'd actually forgotten my lunch. Now I was hungry AND ice-cream-less.

The day was almost over- five minutes before dismissal in fact- and I took one of my students aside to talk about his day in PE. I'd gotten an email from the teacher telling me that he wasn't doing so hot. I talked to her and then said, "Next time you will do your work in PE."

He paused, looking pained. After a moment he said, "Well....  Maybe, maybe not."

"No," I repeated, "You WILL do your work in PE next time."

He paused again, looking like he hated to break the news to me but it just couldn't be helped. "No, I don't think so, Mrs. Lipstick."

At least he was honest?

Can I get an Amen?

Somehow John Chubb's article on the Best Teachers in the World manages to insult me and vindicate me all in one swoop. If you don't have time to read the whole thing Joanne Jacobs does an excellent job of summarizing it.

Chubb begins by discussing Peabody College, the education college at Vanderbilt University and the intellectual demands it places on its teaching candidates (which happens to be where one of my amazing former co-workers went). Peabody is exactly what we need all over the country to prepare teachers- an academically challenging and competitive college that attracts candidates who could also compete in other top rank schools in other fields. There teaching is not seen as the easy path, or the "I can't be a doctor or a lawyer so I guess I'll be a teacher" major. 

Chubb goes on to write, "Teaching is not an art, to which some are born and others are not. It is an intellectually demanding endeavor that can and should be guided by research-based practice. Teachers should be trained, both before they take charge of a classroom and thereafter. They should not be trained, however, in the schools of education that predominate today." 

Jacob sites- "The US needs to recruit high achievers to teaching and give them 'work that is less menial and more expert, less prescribed and more responsible,' Chubb writes."

It makes me want to cry.

Yes, yes, yes.

Raise the standards of my profession. Raise the expected SATs to get into teacher prep programs. Make it difficult to graduate from a teaching college. Raise our expectations of what we do in the classroom- NOT through giving us prescribed curriculum designed to be "idiot proof" but by using the intellect of the teachers in the room to design instruction to meet the needs of their students. Make teaching an intellectual profession. Please.

Chubb's argument is one I've been making for years. Seeing it in print validates my beliefs but also makes me want to cry- because right there in black and white it paints a brush of our profession as being fairly, well, dumb. 

The answer to much of this, I feel, sadly is money. 

 Not because I want more money, but because something has got to change in our profession. We are spending time, resources, money and messing around with our children's education and future all to try to micro-manage a profession that could be fixed in one way-

Pay teachers more.

Paying teachers more will validate the career path.

Paying teachers more will encourage the best and the brightest students to become teachers.

Paying teachers more will allow quality teachers to stay in the profession.

Paying teachers more will make it a more competitive field where it will become easier to weed out poorly performing teachers, or not hire them at all.

Paying teachers more will initiate a national change in mind-set where as a culture we begin to respect the profession, which in turn will attract smarter candidates.

Sadly it's a chicken or the egg question. No one will agree to pay teachers more while we don't respect the work teachers do. When teaching is still seen as the "well, you can't do anything else but at least you can teach" option no one wants to pay teachers more. And until they pay teachers more they are not going to attract higher achieving candidates. And until we attract higher achieving candidates we're not going to change the nation's mindset of the teaching profession. And until we change the nation's mindset of the teaching profession we're not going to pay teachers more.

Now I'm depressed. Why didn't I go to law school when it was still possible to get a job when you got out of law school?

*I have other thoughts on what the article says about Teach for America but I'll share those for another time. That would make this post much, much longer...

Holding us accountable

On Friday afternoon one of my teammates and I sat down to attempt to plan our Thanksgiving unit. We were looking at all of the teaching objectives we need to hit- the students' IEP goals, the state testing standards, the county report card standards, the county grade level curriculum, and the boxed programs we are suppose to teach (which do not correspond with state standards or the county curriculum) for each of our grade levels (between us we have to cover grades K-5).  Not wanting to be a pessimist I was determined that we could pull this off. I mean, if someone tells me it's possible then I'm going to make it happen.

I'm new to this position. I'm still learning that the people who tell us what's possible have no idea. They are hoping naive teachers like me will make it possible. 

I don't have anyone in a testing grade, but she does. Our kiddos are not going to take the standardized state test but instead, because as teachers we still need to be held accountable, we must create binders for each child showing that we taught the specific testing requirements and that the children completed the tasks and know the information. We poured over past binders looking at exactly all the work that would need to be done in order to show what had been taught. Still wanting to be positive I took a deep breath and explained a plan to achieve what needed to be taught in a meaningful way. If we are deliberate about it up front then we can still have good teaching- right?

She looked at me sadly, the way you look at a child who asks to go trick or treating the day after Halloween. Oh honey, that's cute, and so, so, not going to happen.

This has to be done by the end of January, she pointed out. And went on to explain the timeline that needed to happen in order for this massive binder to be produced and submitted for grading by the end of the year.

And it was at that moment I lost any positive outlook I had left about this job. 

This. is. crap.

I was OK with teaching standards that didn't really matter to kids who truly need to know life skills. I was OK with putting kids through tasks and worksheets as long as I could at least attempt to make them meaningful. I actually enjoy looking at all the standards and goals and creating units that will meet all of them. I love finding ways to teach all of these objectives organically and in meaningful ways. I love linking it all together. 

But to tell me that it all has to be done by January- that I'm not actually suppose to make these things meaningful to the kids- I'm not suppose to be a good teacher. I'm suppose to give a child a meaningless worksheet, briefly teach the subject and then re-teach it over and over again until the child can perform it for that worksheet only. Then I put the worksheet into a plastic sleeved binder along with all the other worksheets that have been a complete waste of time and I submit it for a grade. A meaningless grade because the child isn't actually expected to know the information because I wasn't expected to actually teach the information. It is a binder just for show.

I know, I know. Many of you are shaking your heads. How could I be naive after ten years of teaching? 

I really lived in my happy, naive place where I believed that if I deliberately planned out instruction and made it meaningful then I could teach the standards AND life skills and that the combination would be better for my kids. High expectations along with realistic, important expectations.

The thing is, I'd like to meet a parent of a child with an intellectual disability who WANTS their child to go through this mess. I can't imagine one of my parents saying, "Oh yes, I want to know that my child can identify the Powhatan Indians on a worksheet. Please spend valuable time making sure that my child can identify the Powhatan Indians vs other American Indian tribes on a worksheet. That's more important than knowing how to safely cross the street, identifying the letters, telling me that they love me, or counting to 10. And make sure it is on a worksheet. Not a fun hands-on activity that can help my child distinguish between American Indians and settlers, but a worksheet. Yes, as a parent, please give me that data. I need to know that my child's teacher is being held accountable just like all the other teachers."

I've heard numerous parents complain about this process. So why are we doing it? Why are we taking away from quality instruction? To tell politicians and the public that special education teachers are also being held accountable? 

It's an amazing waste of time and resources. No one is benefiting from this. Not the kids, not the parents, not the schools or the teachers. We're jumping through a hoop because someone told us to, and no one can tell us why other than saying, "Because you must be held accountable."

I'm not sure how long I can participate in this.

Sad Friday Night

Husband:  Are you doing work? It's Friday night!

Me: Ummm....  (nodding head, not taking time to look away from computer to answer).

Husband: You work a lot. I'm beginning to suspect you work more than me. You must be in a really high powered job and get paid a lot of money for the amount of work you do.

*books thrown across room in anger*

Now I'm stressed by the amount of work I have to do AND disgruntled at the reminder that I am working far more than I'm getting paid.

Oh, Lovely Mud!

Of course the day after writing a post titled "Giddy Job Love" is bound to be a reminder of everything that is NOT giddy or love. It's Murphy's Law. I mean, no teacher can write a post like that and then have a day of flowers and sunshine. It's just not possible.

My Friday started with a fire drill. A fire drill in the wet, soggy, almost grass-less field. And since it was Friday I was wearing my fun, red, canvas Friday shoes. Does anyone know what happens to fun, red, canvas Friday shoes when you wear them to stand in mud for ten minutes? The canvas fills with mud and water, sucking it up from the field as though it's trying to independently dry it up. This of course makes the canvas shrink and cling to one's skin.

In the words of Mrs. Wishy Washy's crazy farm animals, "OH lovely mud!"

So perhaps my Friday wasn't really so awful, it was just that teaching all day with wet, cold feet is bound to make anyone grouchy. Perhaps I need to keep my rain boots in school for this exact reason, although I don't think I'd really be permitted to change shoes specifically for a fire drill. The fire marshal might frown on that, although I'd like him to try to keep his patience all day with wet, cold feet?

Monday will be better. Monday I plan on having dry feet. I will be patient and thoughtful and forward thinking. I will use appropriate teacher language. I will reinforce good behavior and redirect unproductive behavior. I will not put my head on my desk and wonder what caused me to write about giddy job love.

*I should add that the one bright side of my Friday was finding the note the sub left me that said, "good plans." In ten years of teaching I have never, ever had a sub tell me I have good plans. The hours I've put into writing subplans- detailing every part of my class' day for ten years- and nothing. It's funny how two words could make me so illogically pleased. And of course after getting such praise my first thought is, "Oh yeah, next time I'll make them even better." It's amazing how inspirational a bit of praise can be.

Finally!

I've been saying this for years and I'm so, so glad to finally read it from a Teach for American alum.

He writes:
TFA has positioned their teaching jobs as employment graduates can brag about.  But is it possible that the way TFA sells itself—by selling the connection to TFA rather than the prestige of teaching– could actually be hurting how graduates and the general public alike view the teaching profession?  Ultimately TFA needs to change their recruitment model and their two-year commitment contract.  TFA should sell theteaching profession to college graduates rather than the two-year commitment.  


It's so, so true. In my opinion TFA has actually hurt how the teaching profession is seen by the general public making it appear that the only reason an intellgent person would go into teaching would be because they plan to leave the profession. 


He begins the article by writing about how he would vary between telling people he was a TFA teacher and just a teacher and how their reactions would change. The vast difference in respect between those who viewed him as a member of TFA and those who saw him as "just a teacher".  From personal experience I know that to be true. In my early 20's when I'd go out to bars with TFAers I was always frustrated and horrified by the reaction people had when they heard what we did. Although we all taught first grade, those who said they were in TFA were given lots of respect, while I was always treated like I didn't have a brain. I once had someone literally drop their hand when they found out that although I taught I wasn't in TFA- literally did not want to shake hands with "just a teacher".


I can't tell you how thankful I am to finally read this and see that someone who has been in the program can also recognize the problem. If we are going to improve public education we have to make it a respectable profession. We have to make it so that new teachers don't have to drop "I could have gone to law school" into conversation so that that they get some respect. We have to make college students look towards teaching with the same light they look at going into public policy or non-profit work. We'll never compete salary-wise with doctors or lawyers, but there are ivy leaguers out there who are determined to dedicate their life to the greater good- shouldn't they be able to consider teaching without having others look at them in horror?

looking for love

Today was one of those days that is reserved for torturing special education teachers. The type of day where I didn't get to work with kids but spent a lot of time in tedious meetings working on paperwork. Many times I can reconcile the paperwork and the meetings with the fact that in the long run it truly supports what is best for kids, but...  not today.

Despite the utter grossness of today there were moments that made me remember why I teach. And as I sit here sipping my beer I desperately need to remember what each and every moment was.

1. My whole class rocking it to the 'We've Got a Whole Pizza!' song, flashing their pizza halves as they sang about their pizza, the fraction. (Thanks Splatypus!)

2. One of my little friends very clearly explaining to his table-mate why two halves were equal even though I wasn't sure he'd paid attention to the lesson.

3. My friends lighting up when I came into the room after my meeting and asking how it had gone.

4. A friend using a calm voice to ask a friend to leave her alone (progress!!)

5. Magical's smile

6. Magical and his friend holding hands in the hallway because, "They are best friends" as they emphatically explained to me.

7. Rock Star rocking out to the new CD I bought the classroom and using long phrases to tell her friends that we have a new CD.

8. One little girl helping her "baby" (a stuffed Curious George) cut squares and circles in half. Her caring language showed so much empathy and understanding of others.

9. Watching one of my friends who usually chooses to play alone decide to go to a center that he'd rather not go to because he'd rather play with his friends than by himself.  (Amazing progress!!)

10.  When Magical explained that the special ingredient in his play food sandwich he brought me was water and then proceeded to explain the merits of water bread.

I do love my job. I absolutely adore these kids. Now if I could just find time to work with them!

shameless

The school year has come to the point where while we are all still teaching our lovely hearts out we are also very focused on everything we need to do in the next week before we can start summer break. My to-do list is filled with end of year paperwork. Most of my co-teachers to-do lists are filled with packing. Packing up the books, crayon holders, math supplies, computers, reading book, files, games, posters, calendar, etc. Anything that we've used to do our job in the past year must be put into a box for storage over the summer. Is there any other profession that is required to pack up every pen, pencil, and important job-related tool every 9 months only to unpack it again a month or two later?
We're at the point in the year when we all want boxes. We don't just want boxes- we NEED boxes. Boxes are what can keep us from starting summer break when we want to. We can't leave until we're packed and we can't pack until we have...  boxes.  It's every man for himself at this point- sharing a box with a neighbor just puts you an hour off of leaving. Or a day later if you don't get a box to pack in until after the kids leave. It's not a pretty scene.
As we were walking the kids to lunch I noticed a man grunting over the water fountain as he tried to fix it. He was clearly frustrated and hard at work, but beside him as a large, beautiful box. Inside it was another water fountain, but that could be taken out, couldn't it? How important is it to him to have a box to carry his water fountain back to his truck?  I mean, he could probably carry it all by himself if he just gave me the box.
He didn't see it that way.
The kids stared at me oddly, wondering why my voice had gone so pleading and desperate when only moments before I'd been in full teacher-mode.
I am still boxless.  Boxless and apparently shameless. 

Half full or half empty?

It's just about half way through the year. These kids who have taken up so much of our brain power, sneaking into our thoughts even when we try to focus on other things, have now been with us for about the same amount of time we've got left with them. We've had 18 weeks to dive into their little brains and teach our hearts out, and we've got 18 weeks to finish what we've started.
At this point each one of them is a glass of water- either half full of the knowledge we plan to teach them, or half empty.
This week I'm bouncing back and forth between how I view their progress. At one moment I'm amazed at how many letters Pixie has learned so far, and at the next I'm in a cold sweat because Pixie has only learned a third of her letters. It doesn't matter that she is exceeding expectations based on her disability, I still have high hopes of closing the gap between her and her typically developing peers. She can do it- look at the progress we've made! But look how far we have to go...
And look at these kids subtracting! But wait, did one honestly just count a set of 8 objects completely incorrectly? We've been working on counting all year- how is this possible? My entire day bounces back and forth between satisfaction for a job well done and panic at how much further we need to go.
I'm usually a better teacher when I focus on the positive, so fingers crossed I can somehow find the silver lining as some of my friends struggle to write their name tomorrow...

really?

Me:  Magical, this is a numeral 3. Can you find the card with 3 dots?

Magical:  Hmmmmmmm

Long pause

Magical:  HMMMMMMMM

Me: this is the numeral 3. Can you find the card with 3 dots?

Magical: (moves hand toward the cards and then stops suddenly while making an electrical dying noise) oh no! My computer just died. The batteries are dead. I have to recharge. Can't find it 'til I recharge.

Me:  Guess what?  I have the secret power of being able to re-charge kids!  Ready?

I put my hands over his head and made some noises.

Me: All re-charged.  Now, this card has the numeral 3. Which card has 3 dots?

Magical:  Oh no! My hair is too long, I can't see, I can't see- my hair is falling in my eyes, oh no, oh no.

Me:   Why don't I help you?

I pull his bangs back (which are not long at all and are no where near his eyes).

Me: There, now find it.

Magical:  Here it is. 3 dots. Phew, that was a close one.

****  really? Some days I think it is amazing that my head does not literally explode. ***

totally inappropriate...

I knew my panty lines were showing today because a kindergarten friend "snapped" them to get my attention.

I feel violated, horrified, and more than a bit distressed that my outfit isn't quite what I thought it was.

*sigh* 

Dear Paper Towel Dispenser,

Dear Paper Towel Dispenser,
Don't take it personally, but I hate you. Do you have any idea how difficult you've made my life?
Do you have any idea how noisy you are?  Have you ever tried to read a story to a class of antsy kindergarten students while one student bangs away on you, desperately trying to coax a tiny slip of paper out of it?
There seems to be a direct correlation between the number of bangs required to dispense paper and the inches of paper you release. Kindergarteners are smart kiddos- they pick up on this quickly. The only want to get a piece of paper, any size piece of paper, is to repeatedly slam ones hand into the lever on the bottom as hard as possible, causing a clunking sound to echo throughout the entire room. No book, no matter how exciting, can compete with the constant jarring noise of your dispenser.
What's worse, is that 3/4 of the time you don't share your paper.
This is kindergarten. We're learning to share. We spend a lot of time talking about sharing. And yet you, the great paper-towel sharer, seems to refuse to share more than half the time. How are we suppose to get the kids to share if you wont do your job?
Instead you hoard the paper yourself, crunching it up inside so that each time the lever hits you release paper inside yourself, taunting us, because you refuse to actually let the paper slip down so we can get it. Sometimes, of course, just to tease the children, you'll let one tiny corner dip down below. This inspires more banging, over and over again, and occasionally some grunting, until a teacher has to come and tell the student that no, once again, the paper towel dispenser isn't going to work.

I don't ask for much, really. All I want is for everyone in our classroom to learn to read. That's it. It's kind of important. But to do that we need it quiet. It would be nice to have dry hands, but having it quiet is more important. Anything you can do to work on that?
Thanks,
Mrs. Lipstick

more bad day

Here's the view if you were standing at my desk. Can you make out the tissue box way back there? and the pencils and pens in the far distance?

Before this occurred the same friend walked around the room sprinkling puzzle pieces around his fellow students as though he was Hansel and Gretel leaving bread crumbs. 

It's hard to believe from today, but we've come a long way. If I wasn't so tired there is a lot I could write about the strategies we're using and what we've put in place. Today was just not so great. On a positive note, Pixie continues to make my day, even if she does give hugs at the wrong times...

not a good day

Today was not a good day. A lot went wrong today, and a lot of the items from my desk ended up on the floor. Someone was really, really upset with me, so one by one he picked up items from my desk and sent them flying across the room. (luckily partner-in-crime and I were able to rescue my swan statue before it too hit the dust.)

*sigh*

if I ever die and wake up in a small, confined bathroom used only by 5 year olds...

I'll know I did something very, very wrong in this life.

At exactly 3 o'clock this afternoon My-Partner-In-Crime and I were nose to nose in the kids' bathroom in our room. She clutched her computer and we both tried to limit our breathing to what is absolutely necessary- normally we (and the custodians) don't go near the two foot by four foot pee closet, especially in the beginning of the year when kindergarten boys are still learning to use the bathroom standing up.
We eyed the yellow liquid on the toilet seat and on the floor, tried to block out the noises of the two giant crickets hanging out under the toilet, and read the hieroglyphic drawings written on the door by someone who'd obviously snuck a crayon into the bathroom when he knew he was going to be in there for awhile. A book would have been too hard to sneak in.

We looked at each other in astonishment. Outside the door, inside our lovely scent-free classroom a friend was having a difficult time and our administration felt it was best we were no longer in his eye sight. Of course he was blocking the door so we were not able to leave the room. We could have gone out the window, but that could have created a scene. So instead, we were sentenced to the bathroom.

Our admin was right- we needed to be out of eye sight. It was the right decision, but wow. I can take being peed on, puked on, run from, yelled at, punched, and spit on, but please, please never again close me in a small box covered with numerous children's pee and the heavy scent of years of kindergarten boys still learning to aim.

It's amazing any of our children actually use the bathroom at school. It's so disgusting I'd think we'd have more children determined to hold it until they go home.

Later this evening in my Stats class my fellow doctoral students shared their daily activities which included attending seminars for professors, analyzing data, and summarizing reports on early childhood intervention. I changed the subject when they asked me- somehow, "I was stuck in a kindergarten bathroom" just doesn't make good small talk.

It is almost comical that I thought yesterday was a bad day. Because today, today makes then top ten list. Today was epic.

I don't have the capability to get into it all now- but I'll give you a small window into this morning from my co-teacher's point of view.

A friend and I are in the "break room", (the special ed office across the hall from our classroom). My friend is really letting me and everything in his path have it- screaming, crying and throwing- a tantrum to end all tantrums. I mean, it's a good one.

My partner-in-crime is in the hallway having a very serious conversation with a parent. She's trying very hard to pay attention to this parent, who is telling her very important details about her child, but all my partner-in-crime can do is try not to laugh as crayons come shooting out from under the door of the break room. One after another, brightly colored broken crayon pieces appear from no where and fly across the hallway. While my partner-in-crime tries very hard to carry on a normal conversation. If it was me I don't think I would have been able to keep a straight face.

Inside the room?  Inside the room my friend was breaking the crayons into tiny pieces and throwing them at me, one at a time.

I have a headache. But it is Friday.

how many candy bars is too many?

There are bad days, and then there are BAD days. Of my top ten worst teaching days the Great Poop Storm of '07 is the absolute worst. So bad I didn't even blog about it- and when I called Mr. Lipstick on the way home to moan about it he asked me to stop talking because I was making him sick. I took two showers that evening.

The second worst day was probably when one of my first graders put germ x in my diet coke. And I drank it.

Then there was the day I walked into the room to see a bruised and wounded kindergarten class- the recess queen had literally beaten everyone up at the end of recess- there were ice packs all around.

The kindergarten field trip from hell definitely has a place in the top ten- puke AND run away children.

Speaking of puke, there was the jump rope field trip that ended with a lot of puke in a hot, small car.

Oh, and the day a child broke a raw egg in the classroom hoping to see the baby chicken. During math.

There was my little one with no internal monologue, when he'd curse me out in his head, only it wasn't in his head, I could hear all of it.

I'd go on, but I'm actually getting depressed remembering them all (why do I do this job again?)

But as splatypus, my fabulous co-teacher pointed out- as bad as today was, it did not involve poop on walls, there was no puke, and nobody tried to poison me.

So, it could have been worse.

Still.  I was told to "SHUT UP STUPID LADY" more than once today. Once from someone hiding inside a closet. The other children gasped in horror and one whispered, "Mrs. Lipstick, that is not a nice word!" as though I didn't know.

One moment of clarity snuck in this morning when PJ and I were taking a break in a nearby office. The Story-Teller and one of my friends from last year walked by, saw me and stopped in to say hello.
"Mrs. Lipstick!" the Story-Teller declared, "I've been missing you!"  (I so, SO needed that today).
"What's wrong with him?" my other friend asked, pointing at poor PJ who had just finished telling me how he didn't want to be a bear, or a beaver, or a bird, or a moose. (read PJ Funny Bunny).
"Well, you can ask him" I answered, but when PJ didn't respond to her request I said, "Do you remember when you were in kindergarten and sometimes you and I had to take breaks together?"
She nodded, slowly, remembering. She and I took a lot of breaks. There was screaming, crying and kicking back then. It wasn't fun. She had such little language and she'd just hit a frustration point and burst.

She was quiet for a moment, remembering this. Then she smiled, "I took walks," she explained to PJ. "I took walks and got water to feel better."
PJ eyed her suspiciously from his chair as though I'd planted her there to teach him about good coping skills.

She grinned, hugged me and went back to second grade with the Story-Teller.

It was amazing to watch her now and think back to how she was two years ago. Since then she's grown and matured, increased her stamina, and gotten more language. She's learned how to communicate with us.

PJ will too. PJ will get there. It may be a long, painful process in the beginning- but slowly we'll learn language, increase our stamina, and mature. We'll learn to follow directions. We'll start staying with the class.

In the mean time I need to remind myself not to use food, alcohol or shopping as a coping mechanism. There's got to some healthy stress relief out there, right?