Ed Classes Don't Prepare You For Everything

So here's a note I never expected to need to write on a student's paper-

"Next time, please use a tissue to blot arm when your scab bleeds rather than your spelling test paper.

"Fondly, Mrs. W."

Chalk Talk

It occurred to me today that chalkboards are now as obsolete as Easter bonnets. You can find them in a few primitive communities and ancient church Sunday school rooms, but for the most part chalkboards have been replaced by the more classroom-friendly dry erase board. It's sad for me, as possessing supreme power of the chalk was one of the main reasons I wanted to become a teacher in the first place. Getting to be master of the markers is not quite as glorious, more like glorified kindergarten.

I remember staying in at recess and inventing writing games to play on the board, just for the sake of practice. I remember my eccentric science teacher in fourth grade showing us how you could make the chalk skip across the board making dots by holding it at a certain angle. And, saddest of all, gone is the childhood joy of banging chalk dust out of erasers onto the board itself, onto classmates, and into the grass outside of the building. I realized that this is a memory that I could share with Laura Ingalls but not with my own fourth grade students.

Aesthetically, the green board is a loss, for what better complements the red-apple decor of school days? The giant white board now dominating the front of most classrooms is impersonal and intimidating, evoking thoughts of arctic tundra, hospital corridors, and women's legs in the winter.

Besides, when you want to get the attention of a classroom full of unruly teens, scratching fingernails across a chalkboard was always a sure last resort (just ask Sister Mary Clarence). All we can do now is to keep the door shut and hope the fumes from the dry erase markers will eventually slow the pranksters down.

School Rocks

I am happy to announce my most successful first day of school yet. I had the fewest recurrences of my first day of school nightmare (basically, that I show up for a work day that turns out to be the first day of school and I'm unprepared) during the last few weeks, and I felt the most prepared I've been going into today. My lessons went well, and I didn't have to use many of my made- up- time- waster activities.

In other school news, I'm joining an experimental group of lunch buddies. The idea is that on Sunday, this group (there are currently three of us) will cook a yummy meal and package it up in portion-sized containers. We all bring our meal to school and trade around, and we all end up with three homemade lunches for the week. We're hoping to expand our club to cover all five days. I'll let you know how it goes, but I'm thrilled at the prospect of fewer peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Finally, I have finally joined the most high-tech of teachers, and I have a school sponsored class blog. It's not nearly as interesting as my personal blog, of course, but if you are interested in the minutiae of my daily schedule, it's a riveting read. You can find it easily through my school's website. No stalking, though.

Okay folks, I'm off to soak my weary feet and rest up for Day 2.

What I Have Been Doing Lately-Narrative Assessments

Report Card Says:
X brings such joy to our classroom. I appreciate his love of learning and the enthusiasm that he brings to his tasks. I encourage him to work on his classroom habits of orderliness and self-control.

Teacher Means:
Your kid is bouncing off the walls. His only volume is "extra loud" and he refuses to sit his bottom on his chair. Have fun trying to keep him under control this summer, sucka!

RC Says:
Y has been given the gift of a gentle and quiet spirit. I appreciate her attentiveness to instruction and her care to comply with classroom rules and procedures. Y has excellent attendance, and she is consistently prepared for class with assignments and projects. She is a sweet friend to her classmates, and her kind words are a blessing to all.

Teacher Means:
I see this name in my gradebook, but I am not even sure which child this is; she must be one of the quiet ones. I am not missing any grades for her, so she turns in work, which also means that she is in fact present on most class days. I cannot recall any other student tattling on her, so she must not be too offensive to others.

RC Says:
Z is an eager and diligent student. He is attentive to instructions and does his best to meet expectations for his academic work and his personal behavior. I appreciate his careful work and his thoughtful answers.

Teacher Means:
Your kid is actually kind of a suck-up, and I don't really blame the other kids for resenting him. But honestly, while I do sometimes judge your child as a person, I appreciate obedience and attentiveness under any circumstances at this time of year.

RC Says:
I will miss having your child in class next year.

Teacher Means:
This is actually true. Most days.

Post Hoc

Six weeks ago, one of my school administrators asked if I would write a script for our fourth and fifth grade end of the year play. We had purchased a script from a children's theater company, but we weren't very happy with the product, and there wasn't time before the performance to try to order another one. It was Spring Break, and I was feeling intoxicated with all my free time, so I accepted the offer.

I chose the topic of Texas history, because it was a unit that was on my scope and sequence for the year, but one that I knew I'd run out of time to cover thoroughly. Unfortunately, Texas history is not an area of my expertise, and so the first two weeks of my writing project were devoted to research as I narrowed down my possible topics and then learned as much as I could about the seven events and figures I'd chosen.

The next week and a half were full of frantic writing as the script took place. As had been the case since I began the project, my free time was spent at the computer, including most of the daylight hours of my weekends. Lesson plans, grading papers, all of my other normal responsibilities were an afterthought (and forget about cooking dinner or cleaning house, where my uncomplaining husband graciously picked up the slack). Finally, the Thursday before we released for Easter break, I passed out final scripts to my eager students. It was three weeks from our scheduled performance date.

The past weeks have been filled with frantic rehearsal, as the fifth grade teacher, Jennifer, and I devoted all of our expendable class time to the play. All of our twenty-five students had to memorize lines and deliver them convincingly, in addition to learning six new songs for the final production.

I've fretted over details of stage blocking, decorations, costumes, props, and transition times, and I spent more hours than was necessary on a program. I thought through details of the script to distract me from ab crunches in my aerobics class. I have had Texas-themed songs stuck in my head for weeks, and have dreamed about Sam Houston and the Alamo since Easter.
We did two shows this past Thursday: one at two o'clock for the rest of the school, and one at seven for parents and grandparents. Both performances were fantastic, and I could not be prouder of my students, who worked hard, did a great job, and do not seem to harbor any lasting resentment for my impatience and stress of the past weeks. I received lots of affirmation for all of my work, which I won't pretend I didn't appreciate.

On Friday, as Jen swept down the stage and I picked up wadded-up programs from the floor, I felt a very strange sense of loss. I think it must be like postpartum depression or the letdown some brides feel the day after the wedding is over. There's so much buildup for one moment, and even when there's plenty of work left to do afterwards, it's hard to
let go.

I came home almost in tears, put on my sweats, and watched about four hours of television. Today I'm going to think about the rest of the school year. And if I get to pining away for some fourth grade theater, well, there's always next year's play to think about...

Classic

School is still going, and I am continuing to shape and mold children's lives by teaching them valuable information and life lessons. Consider the following conversation, which took place yesterday afternoon as we waited for the students to be picked up from school.

Student X tugs on my pant leg to get my attention. "Mrs. Watson, Student Y is tooting and he won't stop."

I turn around and lean down, and the foul air confirms the accusation, as does the fact that all students nearby have their shirts pulled up over their faces like bandits. "Y..."

Y is all innocence. "I can't help it! Why are they so mean to me about it?"

I try to be patient and supress my gag reflex. "Y, they are being mean because you are making them uncomfortable. You need to hold it in."

Y: "I can't!"

Me: "You need to try. If you absolutely cannot hold it, you may ask to be excused to the restroom."

It was a glorious moment. After almost eight months of not understanding his classmates' aversion to him, the lightbulb comes on for Student Y: Malodorous gas does not a friend make.

La Mesa Mas Fantastica

Every year, my school puts on a Grandparents' Dinner and Silent Auction. Each class is asked to contribute something to the auction, and conventional wisdom suggests that items that represent the creative efforts of the students sell for the most money. I stumbled upon inspiration in the form of a black wire table frame at Laverty's a few weeks ago, and Stephen was given the mighty task of attaching a table top to the frame so that I could do a tiling project on top of it.

I took my seventeen students to Practically Pikasso, where they each painted a tile with one of their initials. The color choices were strictly limited, so the resulting tabletop was nicely coordinated. KarenD and I went back to the studio and painted three more tiles (our masterpieces are the d, H, and W in the third row) so that we'd have an even twenty to make a grid. We used small matching tiles to fill in the border when my measurements turned out to be a little on the small side.

I did the decorative arranging, and Stephen did the hard work of spreading the mortar and grout, and the result was a personalized, yet quite attractive tabletop.

The students each brought money to pay for their own tiles, and the rest of the materials cost about $100 or a little less, but it was worth the investment when the table was auctioned off for a whopping

one thousand dollars.

Updates

1. We went to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Christmas concert this weekend, and it was incredible! Unfortunately, I think you had to be there to fully appreciate it. I tried to type up a long blog about it, and it just sounded like one of those awful amazon.com reviews that I always laugh at ("OMG, it was totally awesome! If you don't know this band, you should!"). So it's in the trash. I'll just say, the music itself was great, and the visual effects were really cool, including strobes, laser lights, fake snow, and other cool stuff that I don't know how to describe. The most interesting musician on the stage was a girl who could play her violin (very well) while running up and down the stage and dancing.

2. We got our Christmas cards in from Wal-Mart, and they are great.

3. Anyone who wants to be discouraged from teaching should come be my substitute for the next two days of school. There is nothing less productive than a fourth-grade classroom in the wee days before a big break. The fun thing is, fourth graders are young enough to want to shower their teachers with gifts. So I gratefully accept them, but I also think, "If you really want to give me a gift, why don't you stay home for this week?"

4. We're having our Christmas Nativity service for school tonight. My kids are in all the lead roles (you know...Mary, Joseph, shepherds...) and it is going to be special. Fun, fun.

5. I went to Cheddars for a girls' night out dinner with some of my co-workers. We had a great time chatting without having to worry about our conversation getting cut short by the tardy bell.

Okay...duty calls.

The Road Home is Littered with Good Intentions

I have great intentions of being a productive, industrious person. Unfortunately, some of my other intentions get in the way, such as my intention to read my magazines in a timely manner, to get at least eight hours of sleep each night, to keep my house clean, and to read as many books as I can in a week. I find myself in a vicious cycle that goes something like this:

Arrive at school at 7:45. Make a list of tasks to complete during the day. At first teaching break, check e-mail and new blog comments. Check teacher mailbox for gift from Secret Santa (disappointed again!). Grade a few papers, organize thoughts for class immediately after lunch, and eat sandwich. Resume teaching until 3:30.

After the kids have been safely delivered into their minivans, I return upstairs to the rest of my to-do list. It usually features immediate items such as "make quiz for Latin tomorrow," "Read up on William and Mary for history lesson tomorrow," and long-term ambitions such as "pre-plan Christmas Around the World event for next week" and "chart out weekly schedule for history lessons in the spring."

I sit down in the computer lab with my notes and textbooks and find myself distracted by all the teachers' kids singing along to Barbie.com until their parents are ready to go. I decide to take my work home, where I can cozy up in some fleece pants, heat up some hot chocolate, and work in the peaceful quiet of my study.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the 40-mile commute, I lose all urgency for the tasks on the to-do list. By the time I arrive home, warm from the greenhouse effect and eyes tired from squinting into the sun, Latin and the English monarchy are the last thing on my mind. I am easily wooed by the siren song of my unopened Reader's Digest on the couch.

Before I know it, it is 5:30 and time for King of the Hill, and then dinner needs to be made and cleaned up, and then it is time for shower and hair maintenance. By the time I have given Callie her daily nurturing and posted a blog, my whole evening is gone, and it is bedtime.

So I arrive at school at 7:45 the next morning with too much work to be done, and I find myself scrambling around trying to stay five minutes ahead of myself, as usual.

It's time to begin planning my New Year's Resolutions.

Teachable Moments

We have a "nature studies" table in our classroom where students are encouraged to display interesting artifacts that they find. We have a beta fish as a permanent resident, and I've had cameo appearances by scorpions, mice, guinea pigs, and non-animate objects such as fall leaves and cool rocks.

I was not ruffled in the slightest when a student asked me yesterday if she could display her pet rabbits on our table for today and tomorrow. We've done the animal thing before, and I like it because the kids are into animals and it makes me feel like a non-uptight teacher to allow such things.

Well, my sentiments changed when I walked into my classroom and observed the rabbits, well, enjoying one another in an adult way. When my efforts at ceasing this behavior (verbal scolding, swatting the cage with paper) were unsuccessful, I offered up a frantic prayer: "Lord, don't let them do this when the kids are in here!" I knew of several students who had not yet been told about the facts of life, and I'm just guessing that rabbits in the classroom were not the desired teaching tool of these careful parents.

Before I had enough time to think through a game plan, my students arrived and, of course, made a beeline to greet the rabbits. All was well, and I breathed a quick sigh of relief. I turned my attention to a sweet little girl who wanted to tell me a story about a special pencil she had brought to school. I froze when she stopoped mid-sentence, and tilted her head confusedly as she glanced over toward the nature table.
"What are they doing?"
I didn't even have to turn my head. The rattle, rattle, of the cage told me everything.
"Um...they're just playing. Would you excuse me for a second?"

And, convulsing with laughter, I ran to enlist the help of my next door neighbor. We loudly decreed that the rabbits were too distracting to keep in the classroom on a day that we had so much work to do, and we carried the rabbits off to the privacy of the teacher work room.

Now that's a nature study!

Au Natural

I know indirectly of a family who has decreed that every Friday is "Natural Light Day" in their home. It means exactly what it sounds like: no artificial light, which includes anything except sunshine. If it's raining, tough noogies. I laughed hysterically at this family's expense, and probably made some joke about natural light being better for hemp braiding, clothes making, organic garden growing and other such hippie-ish activities.

Today, I'm not laughing, I'm filling out a form to nominate these wise parents for the Nobel Peace Prize, because I'm convinced that they were on to something. Today we were under a wind advisory all day long, and at about 9:30 the strong winds knocked out the power at the building where my school meets. The powers that be decided that it would be more trouble to try to call parents to come pick up their children (with all phones down and all parent info inaccessibly organized on computer databases) than it would be just to try to keep educating them with no electricity. So the instructions trickled down: continue class as usual.

My class has been bordering on the brink of insanity for about two weeks now, and I would have guessed that such an unprecedented and out-of-the-routine event such as an hours-long power outage would tip all of us over the edge. However, I was glad to be wrong.

The power was out for about three hours, and thanks to the big windows along my eastern wall, we were able to continue class without a hitch. Oddly enough, it was the best-behaved that my class has been all week! We came back from lunch to find the power back on, and my students begged me to turn the lights back off.

I was not sure if that was a good idea, until one of my students (you might know him as Loki, and also as Student A-N from the previous post) commented, "I like it with the lights off. It makes me want to just sit still and listen."

I think that I jumped over three rows of desks in a single bound to reach the light switch in as few seconds as possible, and the lights stayed off for the rest of the day. And maybe for the rest of the year, if it continues its magical effects.

Freaky Friday

For many professionals, Friday is the highlight of the week, because it is a day that signals the start of the weekend. For teachers, Friday is slightly bittersweet, because while the thought of the upcoming weekend is tantalizing, actually getting through Friday takes almost as much energy as the rest of the week combined. Throw in a couple of extra factors, such as unseasonably warm weather, an upcoming holiday, crack for breakfast for a couple of fourth graders, and Friday can be a real trial.

Such was my day yesterday, and I am only now (Saturday, 4 PM, with a long-awaited Peppermint Mocha in my bloodstream) starting to feel my muscles relax. My own voice is still echoing in my head from yesterday with bizarre reprimands that were somehow necessary:

"A, please stop growling at your classmates. If you really want to crawl on your hands and knees, you can pick up the trash on the floor."
"B, I realize that you are frustrated, but screaming at Child C and kicking his shins is not appropriate. Please apologize."
"D, take that plastic bag off of your head. That is not safe."
"E, thank you for sharing, but please do not bring poisonous animals to school any more."
"No, F, you may not stand in your chair during this lesson."
"G, do not pull your shirt up during class."
"H and I, it is never your job to tell a teacher what you should or shouldn't be doing during class."
"J, would you please go find K?"
"L, just because M's backpack has rollers doesn't mean it is okay for you to ride on it."
"N, your pencil bag is not a weapon."

It's no wonder that by the end of the day, all I have energy for is "Zzzzz..."

Happy Thoughts

On Friday I finally had a breakthrough moment with the kids in my Latin class. I had a difficult start, because my class contains some students who have had Latin for a couple of years, and some who have no experience studying a foreign language of any kind. So I've been blowing their brains out by talking about inflected endings, which is why we say puella for "girl" when it is the subject, and puellam for "girl" when it is the direct object, and I have heaped vocabulary on their heads all the while. So last week I decided that I'd let them have a little fun, and I taught them to sing "If You're Happy and You Know It" in Latin, and this turned out to be very effective in helping them to associate happy thoughts with the class. So I was pretty ecstatic on this day, when I walked outside the classroom a couple of minutes after class was dismissed, to hear Latin still on the lips of my students. One was demonstrating our new song to some friends, one was trying to translate the "Hello, mother...Hello, father" song into Latin using mater and pater, two of his new vocabulary words, and one of the cool guys was taunting another by telling him "Tu mater est oppidum magnum," which roughly translates to "Your mother is a large town." After thinking for a minute, the recipient of the insult got it, and both boys broke into hysterical laughter. A little nerdy, you might say...but it was music to my ears.

So my bliss continued when I was wasting time on the internet this weekend and I found that not one, but THREE of my favorite artists have some new albums coming out: Pat Green, Clay Aiken, and Josh Groban. I was excited about JG in particular, because it's been a LONG time coming. I put all three items, plus some more, on my Amazon wish list (link to your right) for your holiday shopping convenience, Mom.

Yesterday I bought "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Playing the Piano" and started practicing on the keyboard at the church between services. This has been on my to-do list for a long time, and I feel very gratified. Today I practiced the right hand notes for the Doxology, and it was sounding pretty darn good if I do say so myself. Also I finished "Dispatches from the Edge," which was a surprisingly enjoyable read by Anderson Cooper.

Add into the mix that we enjoyed a nice afternoon on the town yesterday, went to a very encouraging church service, had dinner with some friends, got some free cake, and had two nice services at church today...I've had about all the excitement I can take for one weekend. It's a good thing that I have to get back on the job tomorrow or I'd start getting spoiled.

For the Love of an Apple

Friday, 3:30 PM. All elementary students are outside, corralled into groups by grade level, waiting for their parents to pick them up from school. My fourth graders are grouped with third graders in a designated space of sidewalk that I affectionately refer to as "the Cage." There is a sidewalk break that marks the boundary of the Cage that no student is allowed to cross until their parent arrives. As it is Friday, the kids are extra wired, and the supervising teachers (myself included) are holding on to their last shreds of sanity by entertaining visions of a kid-free weekend.

At the end of the day, the third grade students were given caramel apples as a treat. The apples were supposed to stay wrapped up to be eaten after school. However, one third grade girl (I'll call her "Dora") had opened hers and was sneaking bites in front of the jealous eyes of one of my fourth grade boys, whom I will refer to with the overwhelmingly appropriate nickname "Loki."

Dora's taunting apple-eating had taken place while my back had been turned as I visited with another teacher. By the time I turned around, Loki was kneeling low to the ground, with his face in the dirt. Having no idea what was happening, but with an awareness of Loki's track record of poor choices, I immediately began yelling.

"LOKI! What are you doing?"

Loki looked up at me, spitting dirt out of his mouth, which was ringed with mud. "I was kissing the ground," he explained, as if no further information was necessary.

"Why?" I prompted.

"Because Dora said that she would give me a bite of her apple if I kissed the ground for as long as she said."

As an employee of a private Christian school, my options were limited in how I could respond. I used the strongest language available: "That was a very poor choice!"

Meanwhile, the third grade teacher was similarly lecturing Dora. She prompted Dora to come and apologize to Loki: "I am sorry for making you kiss the ground. I didn't know it would get you in trouble."


This sort of story is the best and the worst part of teaching. Sometimes I wish for a corporate job where I could be surrounded by adults and the padded walls of a little cubicle. There would certainly be fewer uncontrollable variables in my day. Kids are crazy, and I certainly could have done without mud-kissing on an already frazzled Friday. At the same time, kids are funny, and I get to laugh with (and at) them all day for nine months out of the year. And then, I get a much-earned three months' rest.

Easily Amused

I never cease to marvel at how easily amused my fourth grade students are. Since I began teaching fourth grade, I have had the privilege to conduct daily observations of a fascinating microcosm of human society: RECESS. If asked what their favorite subject is in school, 75% of my studious, motivated fourth graders will respond "recess." My kids spend the entire morning watching the clock, willing it to be 11:45. They will move heaven and earth for the promise of going outside five minutes early.

It is one of the reliable hysterical moments of my day to watch how these children spend their twenty minutes of freedom. Sometimes they race to climb on top of the monkey bars, where they sit on the side rails and flip over backwards. Sometimes they play a game that can loosely be called "tag," although it somehow involves teams and full-body tackles (the boy and the girl who are mortified to have to sit in the close proximity necessary for sharing a desk now think nothing of this much more personal physical contact). Recently the amusement of the hour involved collecting acorns from the ground and trading them as some kind of currency, like really cheap pogs.

My favorite game so far this year was born when the Latin teacher handed out index cards for the students to use in making flashcards. Within one day, every student had folded a card in half, drawn a happy face on one side, and named their new "friend." The index card friends came out to recess, where they became the sad victims of a new game in which the goal for the boys seemed to be to kidnap as many girls' cards as possible, in order to rip them up. The girls were quite happy to chase the boys around, shrieking in concern for the safety of their papery pal. Alas, this game had to be ended by the mean teachers because the fragments of index card friends littered the ground like September snow.

This is by no means a phenomenon limited to children born in the mid-1990's. I remember my own preteen amusements: naming balls of clay and cheap toys from Power Play, establishing exclusive clubs for those of us who could perform various playground feats (like back flips off of the monkey bars), and riding Big Wheels down the big hill in the parking lot. I also remember being thoroughly entertained by inane games such as Four-Square, Colored Corners, and Finger Exercises.

I'd like to say that I have matured enough to spend my leisure time identifying birds, practicing Latin, and composing sonnets, but it is not really true. My funniest memories from the past year include: watching Callie snip at flies, going down the big slide at Kiddieland, dressing up for Halloween, and playing "Operation" at Christmas. You just can't outgrow good times.

Dressed for Success?

Well school has officially kicked off, and once again I am confronted with a question that I have been repressing for the past three months. It haunts me once again every night as I drift off to sleep; it roars its ugly head every morning in the darkness of the early hours as I stare bleary-eyed into my closet. Upon this question my professional success rests: What should I wear today?

I am 24 years old, and my co-workers are predominately middle-aged women (30-40 years old, all with children). I had originally assumed that I could stay ahead of the fashion curve among this particular peer group merely by virtue of wearing pants and skirts that are not elastic-waist. While that might be true in other elementary school settings, it doesn't work at LOCS. These women have set the bar high; therefore my daily work attire conundrum is multifaceted:

Trendy vs. Professional: I am trying to compete as an equal among women who tend to view me as a daughter. Therefore, I try to dress in a way that is classy and mature yet which does not look like I'm trying on my mother's clothes (BTW, this is really not a great comparison, as my mom is a pretty hip dresser. But you know what I mean). I find it quite difficult to walk the line between looking like I got lost on my way to class at Baylor and slinking around school feeling frumpy because I'm wearing a jacket with shoulder pads.

Skanky Ho vs. Grandma's Vest: I thought that department stores would be the best place to look for clothing items that might be flattering yet timeless. It was really not even worth the trip. I first went to the "Petite" section, hoping to find adult clothes that would fit. This doesn't work because you have to have all the right proportions, and my arms and legs are too long. So then I tried the "Ladies" section, where I was immediately repelled by the price of the items for sale as well as the abundance of clothing featuring sequins and appliques. So, hoping I would not see anyone I knew, I snuck back to the "Juniors" section. After navigating past the string bikinis and "Mrs. Federline" baby tees, I found the dressy clothes. I even got as far as trying some of them on. But everything was see-through and/or cropped and/or low cut and/or bell-bottomed and/or decorated with cherries. Thanks, but no thanks, Dillards.

Affordability vs. Respectability: The clothes that I admire on my chic co-workers come from Ann Taylor, Talbots, and Chicos. Have you ever walked around in those stores? I can't even get service. You can easily drop eighty bucks on a shirt. When it's on clearance. My friend Katie has a knack for finding fabulous things at AT Loft for less than twenty dollars; I have never had that kind of luck. Rather, I find myself returning clothing items to the GAP outlet because I couldn't sleep the night after I spent eighteen dollars on one shirt. How can I compete?

Seasonally Appropriate vs. Non-Frostbitten: I don't like looking like the resident grizzly bear in my long sleeved, dark clothing among the flirty skirts and sandals of my more summery-dressed colleagues, but it's frigid inside our building. I wore a long sleeved t-shirt today and my teeth were still chattering before class began. To keep my feet warm requires closed-toed shoes. Closed-toed shoes require long pants. My long pants are brown and dark gray. What to do?

Finally...
Fantastic vs. Realistic: Yesterday I wanted to convey a "get down to business" attitude to my summer-brain-drained students, so I wore a button-down shirt with a straight wool skirt (from Ann Taylor--thanks, Mom!) and some really cute brown low-heeled pumps. I commanded respect all the way down the hallway and to the front of my classroom, where I immediately lost face by having to remove said pumps from my feet. By the end of the day, I was literally hobbling. Last Friday, I wore a pair of nice linen pants to school, and at recess they were spattered by student vomit.

Meanwhile...my husband tries to empathize with me by sharing his own wardrobe dilemma: which color mesh polo should he wear with his khakis today? Life is not fair...

Acknowledge, Acknowledge

Sorry about the blog drought. I actually have a new one (about gardening, Lydia!) but I can't get my pictures posted with it so it's still in my dashboard.

So we are now at T-minus one day until school starts. This means that all of my fellow teachers and I have been putting in grueling hours at school trying to get our rooms looking fabulous and our first-day mixers planned out while also trying to decide what the heck to teach all the kids who will be inhabiting our rooms this year.

There are all sorts of dynamics involved in workdays, many of which are too teacher-specific to make good blogging. There is one glaringly awkward situation which I think is common to most of us, so that is what I am going to talk about today. It's the "do we have to make small talk every time we pass in the hallway?" dynamic.

The school is small, and everyone has a million reasons to be in the supply closet, the office, the copy room, or the computer lab. The result is that I bump into my colleagues at least thirty times a day. I'm running out of things to say.

All of the useless comments that I might make up to fill the silence are either embarrassingly cliche, or even worse, open up the door to further conversation. Jerry Seinfeld suggested one time that it should become office etiquette just to say "acknowledge, acknowledge" every time you see a colleague to spare everyone the mental trial of clever hallway talk. That's all you are really saying..."I see you, I recognize you, I still like you even though I don't have anything to say to you at this moment." I've started carrying papers around that I can pretend to be reading to avoid eye contact in the first place.

Tonight I experienced yet another level of the awkward social small talk: Meet the Teacher night. This is where I get my room sparkling clean and dress up in hose in order to shake hands with students who are not ready to go back to school and lay the building blocks of a mutually supportive relationship with their enthusiastic parents. The problem is, I have not had these kids in class yet, and I don't know some of them at all, so I really have nothing to say to the parents that hasn't already been said in my parent introduction letter. So we smile and shake hands, and exchange special coded phrases. I will translate some of them here:

Teacher: "So, is X excited to come back to school?"
(trans: Of course the answer to this question is no, but I want to be positive and I don't know of anything else to ask you.)

Parent: "Well, X hates to see the summer end, but I think he'll be glad to be back."
(trans: Of course he doesn't want to come back to school, do you think my kid is a freak? But I sure will be glad to get him out of the house for 8 hours a day)

Teacher: "So, X, what is your favorite subject?" OR "Have you been reading this summer?"
(trans: Throw me a line, kid. I am having as hard of a time with this conversation as you are.)

Teacher: "So nice to meet you. Come on inside and look around."
(trans: Please walk on past me without forcing more conversation.)

Parent: "We think [school] is a great fit for X. He is really right-brained."
(trans: Our kid is bouncing off of the walls at home. We hope you can channel the energy into something productive.)


Speaking of forced cleverness, I have a hard time with closing lines for blogs. The end.

The First Day of School Poll

I'm in the process of trying to plan out my first couple of days of school, which are always my LEAST favorite. We start on a Thursday, so I have basically two days to fill before I can jump into actual school work. Basically I will have to cover things like rules and procedures, and I will be filling some time with activities that help kids get to know each other. The rest of the hours in the day will be taken up by activities which I feel like are basically just "stalling" techniques. The get-to-know-you's and the stalling activities are where I'm having some trouble: I recognize the need for team-building and for easing into the school year, but I don't want the kids to feel like school is going to be a waste this year.

This is where you come in: think back to your school days. What are the things that you like(d) about the first days of school, and what did you hate about the first days of school? If you are a teacher, I am happy to hear some of your first days of school strategies.

Muchas Gracias, and don't say you can't remember your school days!!

Continuing Education

For those of you who do not know, I have just returned from a week-long conference in Austin. It was a series of lecture modules for teachers on various subjects, hosted by a relatively young but incredibly successful (so far) private school. Some of you may be thinking, "A week of meetings, away from your home? How terrible! I hope you at least got paid a big stipend!" Other than a small daily allowance to cover basic expenses, I did not get extra pay. I still got the better end of the deal, though: my fellow Waco teachers and I were put up at the home of another teacher's parents. Class was over at noon. The bedroom which I shared with one other person was as big as my house. We could sit on the spacious upstairs porch and admire a fabulous view of the lake and of the roofs of the other mansions in the neighborhood. One night we got to go on a boat ride on the lake. Another night we ate homemade manicotti on the porch while watching the sunset. Every night we would hike down to the neighborhood pool (unlike any pool I've ever seen) and float around in the cool water until it was time for bed. The only down side is that every afternoon we had to make sure we weren't getting in the way of the young girl who came over to clean up after us.

So anyway. A couple of the sessions that I attended were duds, which was kind of disappointing. I attended a poorly-organized three-day lecture on worldview and a very impractical session on classroom management. One on philosophy and one on cultural leadership were good. What all of these classes did impress on me, though, is how little I know about the topics which are interesting to me. Just last week I blogged about my goal to be an expert in something. This seminar put some fire under me to get cracking on that goal. I am not sure what my new expertise will be in, but here are some of my options:
-Latin and ancient culture (Greek and Roman)
-Theology
-Christian educational philosophy
-Christian worldview and popular culture
-Philosophy
-Literature

I need to go back to college! I have a very hard time reading non-fiction and I really am pining away for the days when I was held accountable for difficult reading, had an expert to explain that reading to me, and a classroom of peers to discuss the topic with. Other than graduate school, how do post-college adults continue to expand their horizons?

PS- Not to be trite, but as I sit here in my little home with my husband and my dogs, having spent the night in my own bed, I will say that there really is no place like home.

A Taste of My Own Medicine

As last school year progressed, I found myself saying the same phrases over and over, to the point that I could have made an audio recording of myself and stayed home for the last half of the year and no one would have noticed. The phrases are along the lines of:
"Put your feet flat on the floor."
"Sit up straight."
"Be attentive."
"No, you must wait for a break to go to the bathroom."
"Do not chat with one another during class."
"You don't need a snack. You should eat breakfast."
"Those papers should be filed neatly in your big binder when you are finished using them."

I confess, I took a small amount of pride in the high standards of behavior that I expected of my nine little angels. However, I was still a little bit frustrated by their seeming inability to apply such self-discipline without daily (hourly, minutely) reminders.

Fast forward two months. For the past two days, I have been attending a seminar called "Spell to Read and Write" from 8:30-5:30. For the first time in many years, the tables have completely turned! I found myself sitting at a long table in a hard, straight-backed chair, listening to a lady at an overhead projector for extended periods of time.

Over the past few days, I came to a sobering realization: I am a terrible student. I slumped in my chair, employed inattentive body language, whispered to my neighbors, faked restroom emergencies for an opportunity to stretch my legs, snacked constantly, sat cross-legged in my chair, and caused general disruption in my work space with my papers scattered everywhere.

This experience has opened my eyes to the unfairness of my expectations for my little ten-year-old students. I vow to get off their case about posture, attentive habits, and allow them to complete assignments while lounging on the pillows in the reading corner. Furthermore, I will employ song-and-dance routines whenever possible to break the monotony of daily classroom life.

Ha, ha, ha. Not really. But maybe I will put a little more compassion in my voice when I find myself repeating for the eightieth time (and it's only 9:30) "Feet on the floor!"