It's the Small Things

During guided reading a fifth grade boy stumbled on a word that started with a d. After he slowly decoded it correctly he looked up at me with a huge smile on his face and exclaimed, "Hey! Do you remember when you taught me that strategy, like, years and years ago?"

OK-

1) I've taught you a lot of strategies

2) Years and years ago? Two. It was two years ago when you were in third grade. But I guess that can feel like a lifetime ago when you are ten.

3) We JUST talked about the importance of attending to the book and not getting distracted by outside information. I should tell you to get back to work, but now I'm curious. Plus, being able to articulate your strategies is always a good meta-cognitive skill.

"No...  which strategy?" I asked, biting my tongue to keep in my reminder to keep reading.

"You know, the B, D one! BED!" he proudly showed me turning his fingers into a b and a d to make the bed. "I use it ALL THE TIME! And I did it just then, under the table. I wasn't sure if that was d, and then I checked, and it was!" He is beaming with pride and suddenly I am too.

Yes, in third grade I taught him that strategy so he could check if a letter was a b or a d. I didn't think he heard me, or cared to even use it. I had no idea he ever tried it- not once. And here it is, two years later and he's telling me he used it all the time? Secretly? I was taking a running record on him and attending closely to his reading behaviors and I had no idea he was moving his hands under the table to do anything but fidget. He's clearly working hard on hiding his confusion, but instead of giving up he's found a work-around.

So many of the rewards in teaching are found in these little moments. Moments that are easy to overlook and aren't reflected in the data. But it's the small things- a kid sharing one way you've helped him over the years, that remind us of why we do what we do.

Parent Torture and Valentines Day.

 Once again my now experienced parenting self would like to apologize for my child-less teacher self. This time it's for assigning a horrendous project that I had no idea was so painful to complete at home. I assigned it every single year, and often patted myself on the back for all the literacy skills I was able to sneak into the project. Childless Mrs. Lipstick thought that this project was a great, exciting, and organic way to at the very least encourage students to write their name, identify their friends' names, and practice basic literacy skills. At its best it encourage creativity, a chance for parent/child bonding, and problem solving.

I hate Childless Mrs. Lipstick.

My daughter's preschool teacher assigned the same assignment.

Valentines Day cards.
Innocent, no?
Childless me LOVED this assignment. I made a big deal about how the students were supposed to write their OWN names on the cards. I didn't want to see their parents' handwriting. I also sent home baggies of red, white, and pink squares of paper so they could create their own handmade valentines. Look! I'm saving mom and dad from spending money at the store on those cheap cards! No excuse for not sending them in. I had no idea you could buy them at the Dollar Store. Or how long it takes to create 25 valentines cards with a child who is really proud of their first card and now would like to go practice forward rolls or play in the doll house.

I hate childless Mrs. Lipstick.

My daughter's preschool class said nothing about making their own valentines, but I knew there was no way my daughter could write her own name on those tiny store-bought cards, and I also knew that I was not going to stay up late Thursday night writing her name 25 times. I saw absolutely no value in that. I figured she needs to practice writing her name, this is a great way to do it, so we'll just make our own valentines.

With materials we bought from the dollar store (I want to note it would still have to been cheaper to buy one packet of already-made valentines) we set about creating fun heart-based pictures. Most of these were her idea. She discovered you could make a butterfly if you put a pop-sickle stick on top of a heart with a pom pom for a head. I can guarantee you that she regrets that discovery now. That was a great idea if she wanted to make ONE valentine. But we needed 25. So, slave driver mom forced her to keep working. She'd finish one and proudly show me and I'd barely look up. "That's great sweetie, now do another one! We still have 20 to go!"

Once we finally finished and sat back to admire the 25 beautiful cards she still had to write her name on them. Three days. We spent three evenings after school encouraging, cajoling, begging, demanding that she write her name in a legible fashion. She may never write her name again.

The final product is beautiful, and more importantly finished. Just in time for her to take to school, proudly deliver to her friends, and for their parents to throw them in the trash with the rest of the store-made cards. AND I'm not even giving this project the time it takes to figure out how to rotate the pictures on the blog. Because, while I love her beautiful work, her wobbly little butterfly antennas and her random pom pom balls, we're done. Project complete.

Happy Valentines' Day.

Parents everywhere- I am sorry. I will never roll my eyes at store bought cards again.

Student Trust, Testing, and Grit

Last week I watched a small group of upper grade students try as hard as they could on a standardized reading assessment, submit their computerized test for grading, and immediately receive their scores. Their faces fell when the computer gave them their results. They hadn't passed- hadn't even come close. There is nothing more disheartening as a teacher than to watch students try so hard- doing everything you've taught them to do- fail, and then be heart broken by the results.Their responses to their scores haunted me all weekend. "Why even try?" seemed to be their question as they berated themselves for their scores. "Hard work doesn't matter."

I was disheartened by the scores myself. Many of the students I've put my blood sweat and tears into did quite poorly, even on questions I would have thought they could answer. While my reaction to the scores was not as extreme as the students themselves, I certainly related to where they were coming from. For that one moment on Friday afternoon it felt like all of the work we've put in for the year had been meaningless. And that's a pretty horrible feeling to have.

Soon after I sat in a 3 hour meeting where we combed through the grade level scores of the assessment. We analyzed each question, looked at trends across the grade level, and made instructional plans. Which children would receive more direct test prep and which ones need more specific reading instruction? How do we want our lessons to address the gaps from the test? What do we need to focus on?

I left the meeting feeling better about the scores- as professionals we have a plan. The results may not have been pretty but now we have specific methods to bring up those scores. We know what we need to do. My teaching can be more exact, targeting the key areas where my students struggled. The test, as unpleasant as it was, is going to improve my lessons and in the end the students will be better readers.

Now how do we take that lesson to the kids? Kids who are already asking the question of whether or not school is meant for them. There are no easy lessons for how to help these kids see that failure right now means future growth. That doesn't seem to be an intervention group we can plan for. It's going to be more than a conversation- we're going to need to prove our words to the kids- over and over again- so they'll believe us. They did everything we told them to- worked hard, used strategies, didn't give up- and the results didn't match their effort. Now our job is to keep their attention and trust long enough to prove that failure now means growth later.

Love, Learning, and Our Communities: What we see when we celebrate success at the end of the year

The business of the school year came to a grinding halt as we watched the last bus pull away from the school and head into the neighborhood on the last day of school. Just moments before the building had been filled with laughing, clapping, and shouts of goodbye from happy students on a hurry to start their summer. Now all that was left were the teachers, the empty building, half packed boxes, and one last celebratory staff meeting standing between us and the start of our summer.

It's funny how a place can feel alive in one moment and in the next go back to being just a building. Just a place. That yearly shift in a school between being filled with the energy of students to being nothing but long empty hallways is such a reminder of why we teach. We may focus on data points, closing the gap, improving our lessons, writing school improvement plans, and increasing scores because they are our profit margins. We may consume data as though it is the only sustenance that will keep us alive. But all of what we may do, all of those vitally important professional tasks that drive us to provide better futures for students are meaningless if we forget about the little beings we are doing it for.

From preschool to fifth grade our students are everything. Each one is a different human being entering our building every morning for a new experience. Each one comes to us in search of a place to belong, a need to feel love, and a hope to learn. Each one watches us for signs that they are important within our rooms and school community.

On the second to last day of school we decided to create a slide show of our student successes. My special education team and our school counselor wanted to go beyond data points and celebrating a year's growth and look at the other successes each child made. So we started pulling students aside and asking them, "What did you learn this year?" "What are you proud of?"

Here are some of the responses:

"I learned to be a part of morning meeting."

 "I learned to to be a good friend."

 "I learned to use calm-down strategies."

 "I'm a good problem solver."

"I can read with fluency."

"I learned I like math."

These were the students we struggled with, pulled our hair out over, held meeting after meeting to problem solve about, and lost sleep the entire month of September as we lay in bed wondering how we were going to help these little ones get through the year. And in June? These little ones could articulate their successes themselves. They did learn to be a part of morning meeting. They figured out (with our careful coaching) when to use calm down strategies and how to not hit their friends. They discovered aspects of the school day they liked. They found a place to belong. They learned they were loved.

 The end of year data points don't capture their small successes. Their reading and math scores are captured within the whole school data. They made amazing gains on paper. But it is the story behind those gains we need to embrace. They are more than data points and are bigger than part of a gap that needs to be closed. They are little humans, but humans none the less. They are why we teach. Why we give up personal time on weekends to plan, why we work extra hours, why we are in this profession. Without them a school is just a building and we are just doing a job. With them we are a community of learners preparing for the future.

The Power of Wait Time

My understanding of teaching improved drastically the year I spent teaching a self contained class for students with intellectual disabilities. I learned so much about the basics of how we as humans learn new concepts, how teachers can break down concepts into the smallest steps to help students learn, and ways to think about re-teaching when you think you have already exhausted every concept and yet your students still are not making progress. But one of the most important lessons I learned that year was about biting my tongue, standing back and simply waiting.

So many of the students in the intellectual disabilities program needed to be taught to do tasks independently. Independence was our gold standard. It did not matter if the student could do a task 100 times with you right there. If they could not do it by themselves it did not count. So we kept track of every time we helped a student. We counted every time we prompted a student to sit down. We made made mental tally marks of every time we gestured for a student to follow directions or verbally reminded a student to do the work. Once you start making note of every time you are prompting your students you quickly become painfully aware of just how much you are aiding your students when they do not even need you. Often I'd find that if I just bit my tongue and waited a moment before I jumped in and correct a student the student would do the task independently. It was just up to me to stand back.

Every day in an elementary school starts with a teacher who has a long to-do list for the day. We cram so much into every single moment that we spend our seven hour days constantly feeling behind. And because of that feeling we are constantly on top of our students, reminding them what the directions are, telling them to hurry up, repeating ourselves, and quickening the pace. We do not have time to wait. Plus we are in charge. When you are in charge we often want to show we are in charge by filling silence with orders. We talk. We talk a lot. We talk constantly throughout the day. It's in our job description. Or is it?

Our rapid pace often limits our students. We are so busy talking that we do not give them time to follow through with the directions on their own, so we often do not even know what they can do. Will they follow directions if we do not remind them what the directions are? Will they give us an answer to our question if we wait in uncomfortable silence while they process their thoughts? If we say nothing else will they line up on their own? Most of the time we don't know. We never give our students time to find out. We keep our pace fast in our lessons. We expect students to do what we say when we say it, and we expect them to answer questions as soon as we ask them. We forget to give wait time. We don't give them time to process the directions, think about their answers, or figure out what to do next. 

Not only is our fast pace keeping us from seeing what our students can do independently, but we are creating learned helplessness. Students begin to know that they do not have to listen to the directions the first time because we will repeat it. Mrs. L gave a direction? I know she'll repeat it in a minute so I can keep talking to my friend. (If you don't believe me think about how we act in staff development meetings. After directions are given there is always a low hum as teachers clarify the directions with the people at their table. We don't always listen either.) 

Our children who are learning to speak English, or who have difficulty with receptive or expressive language, are the ones who benefit from wait time the most. Yet often we don't give it to those students because we are working so hard to close the achievement gap that we want to make every moment count. We repeat, remind, and restate over and over again because we want to keep our pace going. We have things to teach, assessments to give. We have over a year's growth of progress to make.

Our constant reminders and nagging of children with processing delays or who are learning English can also start to cause behavior problems. Once children start to feel like they do not belong in a classroom, once they feel the teacher is exasperated with them, or feel that the teacher is "always on their back" they will start to resent school. They will see themselves as someone who is often in trouble. Once a student sees themselves as one of the bad kids it is hard for them to turn that around. And who wants to work hard in school, or even come to school when you don't think your teacher cares for you? 

Giving students wait time- giving a direction and then standing back quietly to see who will follow it- asking a question and giving students time to formulate an answer before moving on- allows students to process information. They will either use peer models (a great life strategy), think through their auditory memory to find the directions and then follow them, or get off task, at which point it is time to intervene. 

When we interrupt a student's processing time- whether it is because of a processing delay or because a student is learning English- we are starting the student's processing clock over again. If a student takes five seconds to process a direction and we interrupt at the three second mark by repeating the direction then we have just started the clock again. Now the student needs five more seconds to process what we said when we repeated the direction, but we've added the stress factor of the student knowing he should really already have figured out the direction. 

So we can stand back and watch. We can stay quiet and see who follows directions, who lags behind but eventually follows, who is confused and needs a reminder, and who is not interested in following directions but understands them perfectly. By waiting, even when it is uncomfortable, we learn about our students. We gain information about how they learn, what they like, how they process information and what supports they need. We take away the crutch of the teacher prompt and take a step closer to independence. Sometimes we teach students more from being quiet than from jumping in.

"Did you have any good questions today?"

A few weeks ago in church our pastor opened by relating an interview he'd heard on NPR with Elie Wiesel, the author of Night. During the interview Wiesel discussed how when he came home from school his mother wouldn't ask him what he learned, but instead "did you have any good questions today?"

The power of asking that question to a young child is overwhelming.
Did you have any good question?
Did you not just take in the information, but instead studied it, rolled it over in your head, thought about it, and challenged it?
Did you take what you were learning and seek to learn more?
Did you wonder about what you saw throughout your day?
Did you shift from being a passive observer of your day to being an active one?
Did you move beyond participating in required tasks but instead think beyond what is asked of you?
Did you admit to something you didn't understand and try to understand it?


We want to take all of our students beyond being passive learners and make them engaged learners. We want them to think for themselves, interact with what we give them beyond our expectations.

We need more of this in classrooms. It's so easy to teach specific, direction instruction and so easy to measure specific, direct instruction. It's harder to teach and measure questioning, but think about the broader implications when we do.

*unfortunately I have yet to find the npr interview but I will keep looking*

Turn and Talk

In the first nine years of my teaching career barely a day went by when I didn't ask my students to turn and talk to each other during a lesson. Once the strategy was introduced to me in my first year I found it invaluable. It encourages children to be engaged and actively participate during what would otherwise be a one-woman show, it forces everyone to be interacting with the concepts and ideas of the lesson, it gives you a chance to take data and do a quick assessment on the whole class' understanding, and it teaches children to listen to one another. Plus, 9 out of 10 times the lesson goes deeper than you expected it to when you get those little minds working. In general, asking children to talk to each other- however you want to call it- "eye to eye, knee to knee", "turn and talk", "turn to your talking partner" "talk moves", is one of those teaching strategies that once you start you can't stop. As a general education teacher I often found that if a lesson was going south it was because I hadn't put enough partner talk time into the lesson.

In the beginning of this year, however, I didn't see how it would be possible. My kids have a difficult time forming sentences and some of them are non-verbal. Asking them to talk to each other didn't seem very fair or productive. So I sadly let it go as one of those "that's for other classrooms".

In the beginning of March, however, I was at a training with some general education teachers from my school who were talking about different ways to use turn and talk in the classroom. At first I started to get nostalgic for the days when I could get powerful whole class discussions from turn and talk. Then I started to wonder why I needed to be nostalgic  Listening to the group of teachers talk I realized that I didn't have to give it up. I just needed to modify it, and make it an accessible strategy for my students. There was still value in doing it, and if introduced correctly, my kids could still benefit from it just as much as the general education students.

SO, I started with the weather.

We talk about the weather every. single. day. I know I'm personally tired of charting the weather, but its one of those routines that you just do.

So why not turn weather into a time for talking?

I set up my class ipad with the Answers HD app which works as an assisted communication device. My non-verbal kiddos can look the picture choices of the weather and hit the ipad button in order to tell their partner what the weather is. If I didn't have the ipad, however, I would just use a sheet with weather choices on it so that the children could point to what they thought the weather was that day.

In the beginning- and by beginning I mean first two weeks- it was painful. I'd ask them to talk to their partner and give them a partner and they'd still sit quietly. I had to model it. And model it. And model it. But the

n one day they got it. One day I said, "turn and tell your partner what you think the weather is" and there was immediate movement. Immediate conversation. Immediate button pushing.

Now that we've got it down we're ready to generalize our partner-talking skills into academic areas. I can start asking them to partner-talk during reading and math lessons as a way, just like with the general education population- to get the more involved and active during a lesson. AND, now if they are in the general education classroom and are asked to turn and talk they'll know exactly what to do. It makes inclusion that much easier.

Progress?

On Friday I sat down with a group of kids for writing workshop, expecting the typical chaotic writing workshop that we've been experiencing. And yet...

They surprised me (these kids surprise me each and everyday so I don't know why I'm surprised by being surprised. Regardless...)

Now that we've worked on sequencing our board maker pictures enough they have the routine. They get what to do. They independently (or with less prompts than they normally need) cut out the words, sequenced the words on the paper in the right order, glued the words down, drew a picture to match their words, and wrote the words (in some cases they didn't need to trace the words- they were independently writing!)

It was one of those moments where you are scared to breath because you are worried that in one breath the whole beautiful event will blow away or come crumbling down.

It is amazing what happens.

I've worked hard on writing workshop this year, trying to maintain what I believe writing workshop should look like while meeting the needs of my students. It's working. Slowly but surely I'm seeing genuine progress. The connection between reading and writing, the ability to write words from the word wall, READ words from the word wall, sequence centers, enjoy books, interact with literacy- it is happening.

It was a long week and I'll admit, I'm not feeling overly good about our profession as a whole or my place in it. A friend recently commented that my blog makes her feel manic- and yeah, I know- that's how I feel I'm living- low lows and high highs. But this one moment- to see the progress, the small steps- the increase independence, pride and work skills- maybe something somewhere is working.

Re-visiting Mindset

Of all the education books, articles, blogs, and studies I've read, Carol Dweck's Mindset has had the greatest impact on my day to day teaching. When my new school announced we were going to be reading it this winter I was ridiculously excited for the chance to re-read it and get to discuss it with my new co-workers. 

I've written about Mindset frequently on here, both in terms of how it framed up how I thought about  my own thinking, how it influences how I praise and interact with my students, and how I interpret other education philosophies like Responsive Classroom, Patterns of Thinking, and general good teaching strategies. Needless to say, I love this book. Almost every time I give a child praise I find myself thinking of the research in my head. Either reminding me that saying "SO SMART!" to a child isn't really the best idea even though the words just came out of my mouth, or in trying to frame my feedback in terms of working hard and labeling specific strategies that children use.

Reading it again I have two totally new perspectives. One is as a parent and how I need to frame my language with my daughter from the very beginning. (And how hard is it to not tell your child that they are so smart, because, I mean, they are. 18 months ago she was in my womb, and 14 months ago she couldn't do much but smile, poop, and sleep. Now she can TALK. And WALK. And say "NO! NO! No!" ) The other perspective is as a teacher of students with intellectual disabilities. 

I'm really looking forward to re-reading and re-thinking about different mindsets. You'll have to excuse me because I foresee many blog posts on the subject. I apologize in advance. In just re-reading the first chapter I had to stop myself from writing three different posts. They are coming, I'm sure, over Little L's naptimes...

Re-thinking writing workshop for students with intellectual disabilities

Before this year writing workshop was always my favorite time of the day. I love helping children get their thoughts and ideas on paper. I love the insights into their world that come out during writing conferences. I love the amount of literacy skills I can teach in a good writing lesson.
This year has been a bit different though.
Some of my children are ready for a traditional writing workshop with a focus lesson and the independent and guided writing, ala Lucy Calkins or Katie Wood Ray. Some still struggle to draw meaningful pictures or communicate with words or gestures so getting them to write books was a challenge in the beginning. I tried to teach it the way I had before, which worked for some of my kids but not all.

So I took a step back and tried to figure out the essential skills I want my students to get out of writing workshop and what skills they need to get there.

Essential Skills-

1. Writing has meaning. We write or draw pictures to tell a story, ask a question, or tell someone something important. We write for other people.
2.  When we write our pictures match our words.
3. Our words and pictures stay the same each time we tell our story. What is on the page doesn't change.
4. We can share our writing with others.
5. When we read our writing we touch each word using one to one correspondence.
6. . The words on our word wall are also words we can read in books, and are also words we can write in our own books. They are the same words no matter where they are.
7. Words are made up of letters. If you say a word slowly you can hear and record the letters that make up a word (most of the time).
8. Words make up sentences. We need to think about where the words go in our sentences so that they make sense to people. (Sentence structure). Where the words go on the page matters.
9. We plan our writing. We plan our stories, our sentences, and our words. 
10. Words have spaces. The spaces help us know where the words start and stop.

SO, I took one giant step back. We started using our word wall words to make class books. I started the first of these lessons with a stack of index cards that said 'look', a stack that said 'at' and a stack that had each child's name. Then as a class we put the words together on the page. We read and re-read and re-read each page. We took turns with the pointer, touching each word. Each child illustrated the page with their name on it so that the pictures match the words. We carefully put the book together and read and re-read the book for days.


I used the book in guided reading lessons. We re-built the sentences on the word wall.

Then each child had the opportunity to make their own book using the same pattern. I differentiated this based on their ability level. Some children were able to use the program Pix Writer where the teacher types in a word bank and the student is able to select the words he wants to use and put them in the correct order. Some children were able to write the sentences themselves without any aids. Some needed the words on board maker icons where they were able to select the order they wanted their words to be in and then select what they wanted to say "look at", "come here", etc. They did not have to stick to using the class names like we did in our class book. Instead they had a variety of words to choose from, most around a single topic- farm animals, snow words, school words, etc.

Each child produced a three page book. They each had to illustrate their page to the best of their ability. For children working on their handwriting someone may write the words in highlighter and the child can trace the words. 

At the end of every writing workshop period the children each share (my small class lets me do this) so that they are re-reading their writing and they continue to get the message that we write so that others will read/listen to us.

 

Now our writing workshop looks like this:
Week 1- we build a word wall based book together and illustrate it. The next day the students work on individual books. As they finish those books they publish them, illustrate and decorate them. After that they can start a new book, try to write a book on the computer (if they didn't before), or work on their handwriting. (In gen ed I separated handwriting from actual writing workshop. Now I need an independent skill for the students to work on, and because they need so much practice in handwriting I find it important to be connected to writing).

Week 2: Making a mural using interactive writing so that we can work on all those hearing and recording sounds in words skills that we are missing in our other writing lessons.

I'm not 100% pleased with this. I don't like that the kids aren't composing as much as they could be. I don't like handing the kids structured sentences. But for some of them that is where they are. Throughout the day we give them models to talk- so it makes sense that we would give them models to write.

There is a lot I am still tweaking and developing. But at the moment each child ends each week with a "published" book that they can read, or at least can point to the words while an adult reads it. They can connect the words on the page of their book with the words on the word wall and the words in our class book. They understand that words contain meaning.

It is very different than any writing workshop I ran when I was in gen ed, or even from last year. But we're creating building blocks (I hope) that will give us the language and tools we need to get into more creative planning and writing.

Full of Thanks

I am thankful that no day in my job is ever boring, predictable, or easy.

I am thankful for an amazing group of children I am blessed to teach.

I am thankful for my great teammates. I love their sense of humor, their ability to see the bright side in all situations, and their flexibility.

I am thankful I've got Rock Star back. Love those dance moves and those songs.

I am thankful I've got a group of kids who loves to sing and will do so loudly, without apology.

I am thankful for Mr. Lipstick's patience with me as I spend more time working after school than I ever have before.

I am thankful for the opportunity to be teaching in a classroom for students with intellectual disabilities- I love this population and feel like it is was meant to be.

I am thankful for learning new things, stretching myself beyond my teaching comfort zone, and for the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them.

I am thankful for 4 consecutive days off when I can be with my family, relax, and plot my next adventures in our little classroom.

To program or not to program?

Not to be a broken record, but I strongly dislike prepackaged reading programs. I don't like the way they script lessons, or how it takes thought and planning away from the teacher. I don't like how they encourage me to be passive, or how they follow a formula that isn't based off of the kids in the class. I associate them with lazy teaching. I've written about this quite a bit and I know you're probably tired of hearing me whine about them.

There are some programs I don't mind. I am a fan of Early Literacy Skills Builder as well as LLI (OK, for LLI I really just like the books it supplies to use as guided reading books. And it's software. And that it does encourage teacher thought). 

But I still don't fully buy into the concept of using a program. I've had years of quality literacy training. I don't want to give myself too much credit, but I like to think of myself as a good reading teacher. Teaching emergent reading skills- it's something I can do. I understand how kids learn to read and I can design instruction based off what small skills and steps they need to take to get from point a to point b.

Now that I'm teaching in a program for children with Intellectual Disabilities I have to re-look at how I view teaching reading. I am teaching children whose parents and teachers decided traditional methods in a traditional classroom were not going to work, so it would be important for the child's education to be in another setting with different instruction. That's not something I can overlook lightly.

It doesn't mean I can't teach traditional guided reading when it is appropriate, but it does mean that I need to take into account the possibility that it might not be appropriate. 

I'm torn between whether or not to use a program for a few of my students. We can do traditional guided reading- which I love and feel I am good at teaching. Or I can use a boxed program, or some combination of the two. The children in question are learning decoding skills, which is traditionally difficult for students with intellectual disabilities. The more we dive into practicing these skills the more I see just how difficult it is for my students. The special ed solution to this difficulty is to teach whole-language and teach specific words in isolation.

Despite my personal aversion to programs that teach words in isolation I want to do what is best for the children. Am I holding them back by trying to teach them to decode words? Or am I slowly building a strong base of literacy skills they will be able to use and apply to all words? Can I adapt my guided reading plans and a boxed program to give the students both whole-word instruction and decoding skills? 

I realize what a gap I have in my understanding of how children with intellectual disabilities learn to read. I've been introduced to the programs but I've never been taught why these programs are chosen over others. What in the neurological development makes it difficult for children to learn to decode words and makes whole word instruction better? What is the research on these programs that shows the benefits of teaching one way verse another? 

I don't want to limit my children's skills but I also don't want to limit their opportunities for growth. I worry that if I teach them using whole-word instruction that we can't go back and teach decoding principals. I want them to be able to understand sounds, rhymes, and word play. I don't want to give up on those skills just because they are in our program.

I'm trying to find a way to balance both the pre-programmed kit and the student-driven guided reading in order to give my students the best of both worlds.

One Boy, Two Perspectives

A few years ago I joined other educators around a table to discuss a preschool student transitioning to kindergarten. Two of the educators at the table were the student's teachers- one had him in the morning in a small special education class with five other students. The other taught the student in the afternoon in a general education preschool class with fifteen other students. As the meeting progressed the two teachers stared at each other in disbelief and horror. They each described a very different student. The special education teacher described a young boy with no academic skills. A boy she felt may need to be placed in an intellectual disabilities classroom down the line. The general education teacher described a bright, though shy boy with many academic skills- a boy who could write his name, count to 10 and knew his alphabet. Neither teacher could believe that the other one would be so blind toward the child in question. They each truly believed they knew the child- they'd taught him all year. They were both experienced educators who have a good understanding of child development. Yet their years of experience gave them each a different perspective on the child.

The following year when I supported the boy in his general education classroom I found a very bright yet shy boy who was able to count to ten, say his alphabet, build anything anyone put in front of him, and write his name. I watched him shut down when the speech pathologist worked with him and I watched the speech pathologist form an opinion of him much like his preschool special education teacher's opinion. From her years of experience she saw a boy with limited functioning. Eventually we helped the student get comfortable enough with her so that she too could see his bright sparks.

The special education teacher and the speech pathologist were not wrong- they made their judgments based off of what they observed. In the special education setting the boy had never been asked to count to ten, write his name, or say the alphabet. He was never given the peer models to show how to behave and therefore his shy, quiet mannerisms morphed into what appeared to be a cognitive disability. Yet in the general education classroom he followed his peer models, overheard the alphabet song being sung, and attempted participating in classroom activities like writing his name. He was given the chance to try these activities so he rose to the challenge.

This experience haunts me this year as I watch the students in my class. I fully support the intellectual disabilities self-contained program but I also realize it has its limits. I worry that my students will not be exposed to activities and lessons their general education peers are exposed to and that this lack of exposure will further separate them from their peers. They may be fully capable of learning and performing academic tasks that their peers can perform, but since they are not being exposed to it they never will learn how. 

Last year I tried very hard to model my classroom lessons after what was happening in the general education classrooms. I wanted it to be as similar as possible so that my students would be exposed to everything their gen ed peers were exposed to. I differentiated for them so that the lessons met their needs, but I also followed much of the same lesson structures and demands of the gen ed classrooms. Last year I was a part of the gen ed kindergarten team and so I was able to follow the gen ed curriculum closely.

This year, sadly, I am not a part of any of the gen ed teams because of time-demands. I am teaching specific, scripted programs that do not allow us to follow the gen ed curriculum. I am terrified that all of this limits my students and that I am becoming that preschool special education teacher who believed a student was not capable of activities he had mastered solely because she never asked him to do them. 

I hope that merely being aware of the problem will help me remember to constantly challenge my students, but I have the sinking feeling that it is not enough. 

What's inside?

I continue to absolutely love my class. They are amazing and are going to push me to learn so much.

Most of them have already surprised me in so many ways. As many children with intellectual disabilities do, they can appear as though they are not as capable as their general education peers. Yet in only the second day I'm already seeing amazing glimmers of their bright abilities shinning through. I give them activities I think they are going to struggle with and they fly with them independently. Some rarely speak but when prompted in just the right way they are able to share what they know. Now it's my job to figure out exactly the right way to prompt them in order to see what they know and then determine the best way to build onto what they have.

Right now I can barely keep a linear thought- I have so many goals and ideas for each child that by the time I pick up the pen to jot myself a note I've thought of something else and I've lost my original thought. The classroom community is coming though. It might not be pretty yet but we're working our way there. If I can just stay focused on one idea long enough to pull out a coherent lesson plan we'll be good to go...

Teacher Language- When not to talk

"Never say anything a child could say"

As the presenter at our math staff development said these words I let the simple brilliance of it sink in.

Never say anything a child could say.

How many times do we give them their words, rush to fill in instruction, or shorten our wait time becomes it fits our needs? 

Or becomes the silence and the awkwardness of allowing a child to say it makes us uncomfortable? 

Or because silence and waiting makes us feel like we aren't in control? 

In my own practice in special ed I'm going to extend it to "Never say or DO anything a child could say or do."

Even with my almost a year old daughter (how on earth did that happen?) we are trying to let her do her own things. She likes to turn on and off the lights. It takes longer to leave a room, but it makes her feel like she is more in control. She likes to help buckle her car seat, which takes a lot longer when we're doing it together, but it lets her be a part of the getting-in-the-car routine. So much of her life is being carted around from here to there, it's important to give her an opportunity to be involved in her environment.

The same goes for our kids. If we do and say things for them they'll be more passive in their environments and what's worse, they will believe that we WANT them to be passive in their environments. They'll be less likely to feel as though they belong and are control in their environments.

Starting from scratch

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

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

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

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

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

I can't wait.

Beginning to reflect on the year- placement decisions?

Now that the year has ended and I'm enjoying my summer vacation it's time to start reflecting on what worked really well this year and what didn't.

Last summer I wrote that my goal for the year was to get the majority of my students into full inclusion settings by the end of the year. Of the nine that started in my room in September here's the final breakdown:

Three students are moving on to more restrictive settings.
Three are returning to the non-categorical classroom for next year.
Two will be in full inclusion next year.
One is moving to another school but will continue to be in a non-categorical placement.

When I look at the numbers I have to admit I feel a sense of failure. I would love to see the children either go into full inclusion or stay in a non-categorical classroom instead of a more restrictive program. But if I'm honest I want that for myself. I have to look at what is best for the individual students. On a case by case basis they are going on to what is best for them at this time and I wouldn't change their future placements at all.

Could I have done more to help more of them work toward full inclusion? This is something I'll be trying to sort out all summer. There is one student in particular that I would have loved to see move toward more hours with her gen ed peers.What could I have done differently?

If I could go back I would re-look at the reading program I used with her. Although it was a strong program it was scripted and I let the program lead us through most of the year. It gave her a lot of foundational skills that I most likely would not have spent as much time on if I hadn't been using it, but it also may have held us back. If I had been teaching guided reading the way I did in a gen ed classroom I may have pushed her further along instead of being satisfied with following a teacher's manual.

I also wish I'd spent more time attempting to integrate her into her gen ed classroom. I'd hear reports from others about her struggles with whole group lessons when she was in her gen ed room and when I was able to get into her gen ed room I'd see them myself, but I wish I'd done more to sit with her and help her adapt to the environment. She may be ready for strategies that will help her learn in a whole group but since she was with me for her main academics we never touched on that.

On the other hand, because she was one of two students for math and writing she most likely made more progress than she would have in the gen ed room. She primarily received one on one instruction and we were able to truly focus on those essential early learning skills she'll be using the rest of her life.

What would have been more important? Having her with her peers feeling frustrated but included? Or having her with me where she could work on the skills she needed and truly master them? When you compare the student's achievement in academics and self-regulation to her kindergarten year when she was in a full inclusion classroom she made tremendous gains. Yet could I have done things differently that would have given her a least restrictive yet successful placement?

It's not an easy question to answer and it's the reason that we spend so long on IEPs going over the legal definition of the Least Restrictive Environment and a Free and Appropriate Public Education. Placement decisions are never to be taken lightly and should never be done because of a school's general policy. It comes from a team of people putting their heads together, looking at the facts and deciding what is best for the student. And even then we're not always sure that we found the right answer. I have a feeling I'll keep thinking about what else I could have done for this one all summer.

More deep breaths

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

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

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

 For awhile.

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

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

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

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

Praise, girls, boys, and us

Someone posted this article on facebook yesterday and it really got me thinking. The article discusses how women and think differently, but not because we are hard-wired to do so, but because of the praise and encouragement we receive as children. Because smart girls are likely to be praised by being told that they are smart, clever, or just generally good. Boys, on the other hand, who tend to have a harder time sitting still in school, are more likely to be told, "If you sit still and pay attention you can learn this".  Boys are getting the message that they  have control over their own learning while girls are being given the message that their intelligence is innate. 

Carol Dweck (who wrote the book Mindset- which I highly recommend reading) found that: 

"bright girls, when given something to learn that was particularly foreign or complex, were quick to give up - and the higher the girls' IQ, the more likely they were to throw in the towel.  In fact, the straight-A girls showed the most helpless responses.  Bright boys, on the other hand, saw the difficult material as a challenge, and found it energizing.  They were more likely to redouble their efforts, rather than giving up."

Mindset is probably one of the books that changed my teaching the most. It truly made me reflect on what praise is and how I give praise to my students. I had never thought about the difference of praise along gender roles, or how that difference plays out in the long-run. 

Regardless of whether we are teaching boys, girls, children who have a difficult time settling down or children who are always quiet, hard workers, as teachers it is worth putting thought into how and why we praise our students. How much of an impact do our simple praises have for students in the long run?

Retention?

This year I served on our school's retention committee. We spent almost all day meeting with teachers to discuss whether or not a student should be retained. It was surprisingly exhausting. As a classroom teacher when I had a student who needed to be retained I always felt very strongly about it. It was never a decision I made lightly and I always gave careful consideration to the student't emotional needs, the academic work, the family dynamics, the student's birth date and any other outstanding factors. It always frustrated me to have to come meet with a committee after I'd put all that thought into it and have to defend my decision a group of people who had never even spoken to my student. As a professional I felt that my opinion should be respected.

On the other side of the table I felt for the teachers coming with their students' data and talking points. Having been in their place I hated to ask questions that could be interpreted as second guessing a teacher's opinion because I know none of them made their decision for retention lightly. Sitting on the other side of the table however, began to change my perspective from one student's current, immediate needs and had me look at a student's long-term school career.

It was not easy. Even the most cut and dry cases for retention seemed to probe questions of whether or not retention would be helpful. At times we could all agree that a student would not be successful going on to the next grade, but we also had to consider whether or not retention itself would help the child be successful. Would retention address the issues at hand? Would it allow the student to have another year to mature or would it just keep an impulsive student back with peers who were younger so that the behaviors did not stick out as much? Would it give a student confidence and build them up or would it send the message that her hard work was being rewarded by being held back?

Until yesterday I feel that I would have argued for almost any student to be retained in kindergarten. Another year of language development and literacy practice could not hurt anyone, and I truly believe that reading is the most important skill a person can have. If sending them on to first grade is going to impede their ability to be a lifelong reader then they need to have another year of kindergarten.  But yesterday I began to consider students I knew who had been retained and had not improved with another year of kindergarten. I began to think about these students in high school. I began to question whether or not retention would truly address the child's underlying issues.  Another year isn't always going to solve a child's academic difficulties.

But there are times when it is absolutely appropriate. There are cases of students who have thrived from doing another year of kindergarten. There are times when retention is life changing.

I am thankful I work at a school that allows for a collaborative discussion of the students' needs. There is no black or white answer at our school- no formula that says "if x, retain, if y, move on". There is not a blanket statement that we cannot retain students. And although I hated it as a classroom teacher I do appreciate that there is a committee to help with the decision. Parents can know that their student's academic future was agonized over in a room full of professionals who tried their best to ask all the right questions in order to consider the best outcome for the student's future.