ups, downs, and loving these kids

I drove home Friday afternoon planning to write a blog post on the ups and downs of a day with PJ because Friday itself captured all PJ in all of his greatness- the best when he is a sweet, loving boy, and the not so great when he is, well, not sweet and loving. Friday itself was a roller coaster.
As Friday night wore on I found myself thinking of PJ. Saturday morning as I worked on my paper for my neuroscience class I found myself thinking of PJ. And even at the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, I found myself thinking about PJ.
I truly love that kid.
It seems to be my nature to love all kids I work with, and I rarely meet a kid I don't enjoy teaching. There are kids I don't love as much as others, but for the most part I enjoy all of them, even the most difficult ones. Yet there's something more about PJ. Maybe it's the pain and confusion I see in his mother's eyes behind her laughter and great sense of humor. Maybe it's how sad he gets after he's had a meltdown. Maybe it's hearing himself say he's mad at himself and watching him punish himself by taking away all his favorite things. I love that kid so much it hurts. Because there is a wonderful little boy in there. There is a sweet, loving boy who wants friends, takes care of others, loves those around him, eats up books, puts together puzzles in a matter of minutes, and loves panda bears. And if I really think about it, I think the sweet little boy is truly frightened of what happens when things go wrong. I think his anger scares himself, which is why he becomes so sad after a fit.
Is there anything worse than watching a sad, scared, angry little boy and not being able to help them? Not being able to take away whatever is going on inside him that gives him so much pain?

Friday was truly a roller coaster. On Thursday, out of desperation, I kept him the special ed office room all day and just pulled out other children to work in small groups. We're a full inclusion school so normally I work with children in their general ed environment. However I knew PJ wasn't going to be successful in our gen ed classroom today and I didn't want to miss out on my time with my other children. Plus, I also wanted to set some limits for PJ. He might not be in the classroom, but I wanted to state expectations and have PJ meet them in the smaller environment.
On Thursday this went swimmingly. PJ responded very well to limits, moved with the other children when I explained the schedule, and even participated in activities with the small group. Perfect! I thought. We'll just repeat this on Friday.
Ha.
If there is one thing I've learned about PJ it's that what works one day does not always work the next. I should have known better.
The morning was great. He participated in small groups, and in one group sat at the table and sorted letters into the /b/ and /r/ sounds. He worked hard, followed all the limits I set, and got along well with the other kids.
And then.
He wanted to use my plastic bowling pins. And like the other things he's wanted I set a limit. It was writing time. We were going to write first, then we could bowl. This turned out to be one limit to far. PJ burst. I had no idea small, plastic bowling pins could be so loud but I suppose in a small space with cinder block walls and a tiled floor sound just echos. My ears still hurt. Finally I exited the other children (only to have the bowling pins hurled across the room) and I sat and waited for the fit to end.

PJ recovered (after spending some time with one of our amazing assistant principals). In the afternoon he returned and joined the class to watch The Great Pumpkin. (There is something fabulous about watching kindergartners watch a classic cartoon for the first time. The animation quality doesn't bother them, they still adore the quirky kids). PJ loved the movie but was becoming upset that the other children were laughing and talking. Yet instead of getting upset he asked us for the "no talking" sign we sometimes use as non-verbal cues to the students. He sat, watching the movie, and holding his sign, occasionally using it to signal to other children that they needed to be quiet. We died with love. It seems that only a few weeks ago he would have thrown something at us or hidden in a closet.
As the movie ended we allowed him to pass out the treat bags he'd brought for the class. It was wonderful to watch him hand each child a bag, explaining matter of factly that it was for Halloween and he wanted to give them something. The exchanges between him and the other children were wonderful and everyone truly enjoyed our mini Halloween celebration.
And then.
PJ had one last bag to hand out. But it was a special bag, it was for Mrs. Partner-in-crime. She stood across the rug from PJ with the rest of the kindergarten students in between them. Right as PJ started to cross the rug to get to her she dismissed the class to line up for recess.  Suddenly PJ was met with resistance. He stood, frozen, panic-stricken for a brief moment and then let out a grunt. He ducked down into a football stance and shouldered his way through the crowd, practically knocking down some of our sweetest little boys.
*sigh* And for a moment there it had been such a beautiful afternoon.

The more we get to know PJ the more we know he's struggling with things we can't understand. He certainly makes everyday a little more challenging, but he also adds something special to our class. It's easy to forget what he adds, and then suddenly I'll find myself watching him do something like lean over another friend, coaching her on how to write a z. Slowly, he'll guide her hand, then say "you try". He'll softly correct her when she starts to draw the line backwards, then as she fixes her mistake he rewards her. I can hear myself in his voice as he murmurs that she did a great job. She beams and so does he and suddenly I love him even more.

a sad reality of public schools...

Yesterday clairvoy shared these videos with the staff at the think-tank. Luckily we can laugh at these knowing this is NOT our school, but we all have friends who work in these schools.  I've worked in one of these schools. These videos are sadly extremely accurate.
This is what happens when there is too much focus on bad teachers and weak administration.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAbEqIZ1baA&feature=related

inside

Yesterday we sat on metal folding chairs inside one of our student's homes. The children bounced between beds, giggling with glee that teachers were there, in their home. The mother sat on the smallest bed, closest to the chairs, where she could ask us questions through an interpreter about her concerns for her child in kindergarten.

The room we sat in was full of love, with the children's photographs on the wall along with religious icons. It was spotless, toys stored neatly under the bed, teddy bears waited on a shelf to be hugged, and table tops were clear of clutter. Important school notices were pinned to the wall right by the door, including the note reminding them of our conference. The family even offered us bottled water as we chatted about important kindergarten conference details. (It's incredible all we try to cover in a kindergarten conference- we're introducing parents to the entire public education system, setting the tone for their next 13 years, while covering curriculum, behavior, and the importance of potty training/teaching your child to feed themselves/creating independence.)

The conference was wonderful and when we were done the mother followed us out the door of the room they rented, through the dark, dirty common space they shared with another family, and to the door to the outside. 

And now we know. 

We know why our friend is wide-eyed when shown new manipulatives, we've seen how little he has. We understand his energy level, his need for his own space, his tiredness, and how overwhelmed he's been these first 9 weeks of kindergarten. Adjusting to life outside of the four walls of your small, secluded room you share with your entire family is difficult. Especially if inside your room you only speak one language, and in school you spend 7 hours listening to another. 

All night I thought about that room. Inside was love, cleanliness, order, and life. Yet, it was one room, four walls.

 This was not the first child we visited who shared an apartment. In fact, in most of our visits we see many other people coming and going from the houses. Many times our children do not know the names of the people who live with them. Once, we arrived at an apartment and asked the two teenagers who opened the door if our student and her mother were there. They had no idea who we were talking about and had to go into a back bedroom to find out the names of the girls they shared an apartment with. These visits always stay with me, yet something about sitting in a close circle on the folding chairs in a back room is haunting me this week. There's so much potential for the family. So much hope that can come from the people inside that room. 

We have 10 months. If we can teach the children to read, write, count, add, and subtract, speak English, share, take turns, get along with others, set goals and work to meet them, plan ahead, follow directions, and show delayed gratification we'll be setting them out on the right track. And now, we teach our hearts out. 

I heart our administration

I rarely go this long between posts. A lot has happened that's kept me busy between family and work. I have a million posts swimming in my head- I feel like a first grade writer struggling to get started in writing workshop. There are so many topics to choose from that it's easier to sit playing with the paper and the pencil (or checking facebook) instead of just choosing one and jumping in. When I've waited this long it's as though the words have built up in my head and no longer come out smoothly- in their rush to escape they end up with rough edges. Be patient while I work on smoothing them out...

In the field of special ed there are an incredible amount of roadblocks. Many are legal and come from IDEA-II, but most are the state or county creating their own policies as they try to interpret the federal law. Many are put there to look out for the child, and that's a good thing. Road blocks are set up to make sure everyone is always on the same page, putting thought behind what they are doing, and no one is making snap judgements that could impact a child's entire life.  All that is good. But sometimes those road blocks can seem like the most ridiculous wastes of time out there. The amount of paper we kill trying to get through them, along with the man hours it takes, is what drives special education teachers out of the field. It's not the kids or the parents, it's the unending, thankless paperwork.

I was out of town in the beginning of the week and returned to school Wednesday morning to find that we (my partner-in-crime and I) were suddenly expected to produce a large amount of paperwork on a student. We're talking slaughtering entire rain forests. I just about cried. We'd had no idea about the change in procedure and this sudden road block would take up hours and hours of our time. The irony of paperwork is that it actually keeps you from the children you're trying to help. Wednesday morning my partner-in-crime and I bounced back and forth between being livid and extremely depressed.

Then we got an email from our amazing administration, with the subject, "Breath in, Breath out".  The minute they'd learned of what we had to do they knew exactly what it meant for us in the classroom. They put their own work on hold for the day and set up camp in an office huddled around a laptop, completing the paperwork with the help of our incredible school psych. They only took me away from kids when they absolutely had to and they managed to keep partner-in-crime with the kids all day.

When I left the school yesterday I couldn't help but feel a strange euphoria after what had started off as a horrendous day. Without being asked our administration stood up and fought for us, protecting our time, sanity, and the teaching that happens in the classroom.

I have friends at other schools who have been in similar situations and ended up staying hours into the night to finish paperwork like this, only to be criticized by their administration when it wasn't done to their liking.

I love my school.  I love that teaching children is considered more important than anything else. I love that our administrators work with us, fight for us, and protect our time with our students. I love their sense of humor and how they take our problems on as their own. Wednesday's great paperwork rescue wasn't the only time they'd done something like that for us this year. In fact, I could probably list almost daily occurances of what they've done to protect the sacred nature of being in the classroom with our students.

I'm not sure there is anything more important in K-12 education than good educational leadership. I'd always like to think that teachers would be able to be strong even with weak leadership, but when you get down to it, the leadership sets the tone of a school. Good teachers can do great things with weak leadership, but they'll have a lot of roadblocks in their way. I was terrified when our amazing principal retired last year. I had so much respect for her leadership style, the tone she set for the school, and how she reacted in times of crisis that I wasn't sure how the Think Tank would go on without her. When they announced that one of our assistant principals would step up to take her place we all breathed a sigh of relief. We already knew the wonderful leadership style our assistant principal held and knew we'd be in good hands. Now, under our rock star principal and our two brilliant assistant principals the think tank is back in business.

cluck, moo, squeal

Partner-in-crime and I sat in our assistant principal's office this afternoon just staring at each other. There was nothing else to say. Our first field trip of the year was over and we'd survived. And perhaps even more importantly, all the animals at the farm survived (as far as we know). 

It was a long day, with some amazing highs and some stunning lows we just wont get into now. Some things are best to be blocked out. I must admit though that my favorite moment of the entire trip was when we made it to the chicken coop. I'd stuck myself on Pixie today knowing how easily she can be distracted and how quickly she could wonder off or end up jumping the fences to get to the animals (which she tried numerous times). She also managed to actually exchange kisses with numerous goats. Looking back, perhaps I wasn't doing such a great job as Pixie's bff after all.

Regardless, we left the nursing pig and made our way to the chicken coop. Growing up in the country I didn't think anything of seeing a bunch of chickens, but Pixie believed in equal squeals for every set of animals. She sprinted toward the chickens and immediately threw her tiny hands around the chicken wire.  PJ who'd been standing off to the side gasped in horror. 

"NO!" he screamed, "Don't touch the chickens! They'll get you!" and ran toward Pixie, pushing her out of the way. Pixie is not one to be discouraged and simply moved down the wire, ignoring PJ's warning. PJ does not like to be ignored, and he also really does not like chickens.

"NO!" he repeated, "WATCH OUT!" with that he grabbed her hands and pulled her back away from the oblivious chickens. Pixie looked confused that someone was standing between her and her wanted birds. Luckily she was quickly distracted by the promise of seeing a rabbit. I'm not sure what PJ would have done if she'd made another run for the chickens.

I love that PJ was so concerned about his friends. I was a bit worried he'd actually cause more harm to Pixie than the chickens would have, but it was really sweet to see him protecting his classmates.

The rest of the day was equally enduring/exhausting.  These kids are lucky they're so cute. 

positive praise

Last night I headed home from my grad class on the metro. I was completely zoned out, as one does on the metro after a long day, when I realized the announcement wasn't your typical difficult to understand metro information. A woman's voice came on, clearly announced the next station, and then, with even more clarity said, "For those of you who just joined us at Rosslyn or at Foggy Bottom I'd like to thank you from standing back on the platform before boarding. You kept us all safe. Thank you." 

For those of you who ride metro you may be as confused as I was by this message. Metro, thanking us? I've heard messages yelling at us, I've heard messages taunting or ridiculing us, I've heard the occasional chipper announcer instructing us to have a nice day (but even then that seems rare), but thanking us?

Of course, positive praise is the secret to surviving in kindergarten. Many classroom management techniques focus on using positive praise to prevent bad behavior before it starts. I feel like my days can be full of thanking students for doing what I wanted them to do, knowing that they need this positive praise or they'll head in the other direction.

Tuesday a little boy popped out of his reading center and ran across the room.

"What are you doing??" I asked, "You'd been sitting there so nicely reading!"

"Those kids aren't sitting nicely" he pointed to a group of children currently being redirected by my partner in crime. 

"Yes, but look at partner-in-crime. She's not happy. They are getting in trouble."

"She looks happy to me."

"Mrs. Partner-in-Crime" I called, "Look at our friend. Isn't he doing a great job sitting quietly, reading at his center?"

"Wow, yes," she quickly picked up on our friend's need for positive praise. "I'm so impressed. Look how he keeps the book in his lab and quietly turns the pages without getting out of his seat."

Our friend beamed and remained at his center.

Has one metro announcer discovered the secret to positive classroom management? 

And then there was puke...

You know those days where your lessons just don't go as planned? Something just doesn't work right- despite careful planning, excellent preparation, and careful curriculum alignment the kids just aren't with you?

Yeah.

Today was one of those days. Which would have been survivable but for the fact that the lesson partner-in-crime and I had planned used paint.

We'd delightfully planned to have the children use apple slices as stamps (we're studying apples, the life cycle, and fall so we've been investigating apples for the last week) to make patterns. Our kids have mastered AB patterns but we wanted another fun activity to gain more practice on ABC patterns. ABC meant 3 colors of paint for each table.
 3 paper plates with paint.
3 chances for each table to knock a paper plate on the floor, drag their shirt sleeve through paint, or push a friend into the paint.

It was lovely.

The day started off rocky for PJ to begin with. He was off and on all day, occasionally making very poor decisions and occasionally doing an excellent job. This hot-and-cold always leaves us on edge- we're ready for the worst but trying to pretend like everything is absolutely fine before the dam bursts.

We were using our lunch break to prepare the lesson (partner in crime) and finish up IEP paperwork for tomorrow's many meetings (me). We had about 5 minutes left when suddenly PJ showed up in the door, having sprinted away from the class in the cafeteria. And he'd inspired another friend to join him.

From that minute on the afternoon went down hill.  PJ and his friend spent the directions of the lesson ignoring us as much as they could, loudly distracting the other children, and generally not cooperating. I wasn't much of a help. We're in the midst of giving individual assessments to each child in both reading and math and I was trying to power through while partner-in-crime taught, both of us ignoring PJ and his friend. Somehow this led the rest of the class down the rabbit hole and by the time everyone was sitting at their tables with apple pieces and paint PJ was the only one doing his job. If you walked into our classroom at that moment you would have no idea the ruckus he'd been causing only minutes before.

Paint was everywhere. The kids who loved to get messy had their hands covered in paint while the kids who hate any speck of dust on them kept trying to wash their hands between each piece of the pattern. We'd tell them to wait but before we knew it they were sneaking tissues and water. Pixie was COVERED in paint, which she nicely shared with my pants. (We're still working on the ask before you hug rule)

Half the class was finished with their patterns and sitting on the rug playing with math manipulatives while other students waited in line for the sink and still more sat at their patterns and painted away. In the midst of responsive-classrooming a friend to not call their other friends stupid and dumb (trying to use my responsive-classroom language as much as possible when really I just wanted to run screaming from the room) I heard partner-in-crime say "put it in the trash can, trash can, trash can..." followed by squeals of glee/disgust from the group of kindergartners standing around her.
One little girl, in the midst of the excitement by the hand washers at the sink, had managed to lose her lunch everywhere. And not just a little bit either. It kept coming. all over the floor, filling one trash can and forcing us to grab another trash can.

The already wound-up paint covered children seemed to multiply as my partner-in-crime and I just looked at each other in horror. If we closed our eyes and wished really hard would it all go away?

I grabbed the poor puker (is there anything worse than throwing up in front of your classmates?) and led her and the trash can with the least amount of puke in it to the clinic and grabbed a custodian on the way. (Who didn't seem overly concerned with the fact it needed to be cleaned. I love our custodians but something must have gotten lost in translation. Me: puke, everywhere! please come, hurry!  Him:  A spill? ok, I come later.)

After finally getting him to understand the situation was serious and securing our sad, frightened vomiter in the clinic I met the class on the playground. We were totally infringing on another class' recess time but at that point we didn't care. We were away from the puke, gasping at the fresh air, and hoping no one minded the small red hand prints on the slide from the little ones who didn't ever get to the sink since it was blocked by puke.

As we stood there trying to laugh about it our instructional aid ran up to us with another one of our lovelies, who had managed to fall and bust open his lip.

Paint. Puke. Blood.

All in one day.

How is it only Tuesday?