just....thinking

I'm having quite the reflective moment here: watching CNN coverage of the earthquake and tsunami, while reading students journals (oh yeah, wild Friday night in the Speiser household!) it is causing some mental meanderings.  I had bus duty this morning so many of the students were running up and asking if I had heard about the earthquake or the tsunami.  Being here--in Oregon--they are words that my students know and understand.  They have clout.

So, it's pretty incredible.  And awful.  And for some reason I've been thinking about public memories, and perhaps my recent birthday has me dating them.  What was yours?  I think my first was the country's bicentennial, because we did cool art projects--I was 8.  But then, I remember in '80 Reagan got shot, and the Phillies won the World Series.  I was in a college class fifteen years ago or so and the students were asked what their public memories were.  Most kids said the space shuttle blowing up. I bet that most of my students wouldn't remember September 11th, but I know a few of the kids I had that year will remember it.

In fact, a few years ago, on that day, an ex-student called me to just to tell me how he remembers me every year on that day, because it was so profound. And I guess that's what has me musing.  This kind of day is shocking, and our reactions are profound.  And I can't help but think about how completely ill-equipped I was in 2001 to handle that kind of trauma or responsibility--but I guess you just sort of deal--you rally--and

what I did right

So, I had the most awesome cooperating teacher.  Kathleen Wilt.  She taught me so much, and was truly instrumental in making me the teacher that I am today.  (Of course, some might argue that her influence wasn't a good thing, looking at the teacher I am today).  However, one of the things she taught me was to think about what I did right.  At the end of every day, she would ask me to list of three things that I did correctly.  You have NO idea how hard this is.  Seriously.  Try it.  Right now.  What did you do correctly today?
See?  It's hard.

The first few times I came up with things like, "Well, I didn't mortally wound anybody.  I remembered to put my pants on.  I didn't trip over the overhead cord."  This last one was prompted by actual tripping over said cord the week before.  But those weren't good enough.  See, her reasoning behind this exercise is that most days, we spend 99% of the day doing things right, and 1% of the day making gaffs.  But most of us then spend a disporportionate amount of time obsessing over that overhead cord induced wipeout.  Her theory is that if we recognize what we did right, we ar emore apt to repeat what we did right, and if we emphasize what we did wrong, well, then, the same thing goes.  Hence, wouldn't it make more sense to recognize those good things we did?

Okay.  That said.  Yesterday:  What I did correctly:  1) I walked away before I lost it.  2) I went for a walk when I couldn't stop crying.  3) I hugged and loved my dog when the tears threatened again.  4)  I went to the batting cages.  5)  I thanked my 6th period class for being such an awesome way for me to end my day.

I'm Not an Appropriate Chew Toy.

This is something I say to my sweet pit bull, Daisy, all the time. Well, not quite.  What I usually say is, "The cat isn't an appropriate chew toy," when she turns her attention to Simon or Oliver, instead of the stuffed hedgehog or random spherical object in the yard or house.  She generally gets a sheepish look (she's quite the good communicator) and sighs heavily (she's overly dramatic too), and then attacks whatever she was previously occupied with.  However, I currently feel like a certain parent's chew toy.  And this parent is not letting go.  This parent is the worst kind of pit bull.  And I love pit bulls.  I really do (although, I doubt I will ever own another one, because they sure take a lot of responsibility!).

AND, I should say--I'm not a parent.  Mainly because of that whole responsibility thing.  I mean, I'm relatively responsible--I pay my bills, walk my dog a lot (and pick up her poo), post my grades when I'm supposed to, vote, get insurance for my car, and what not.  But--I'm under no illusions--I'm too selfish for that whole parenting thing, so I am a little limited on the perspective-side here, I get that.  And there's good reason (besides my inability to date men that could pass a parenting test, should there be such a thing).  Sometimes, I don't eat sitting at the table.  Sometimes I have nachos for dinner. Sometimes I go for days without eating a single vegetable.  You can't leave kids in the car when you go the bar (or the grocery store, for that matter).  Sometimes I slack on the whole laundry thing.  And these are just a few reasons.  This isn't a litany on the failings of my personal life or habits--it's supposed to be a professional development-type blog.  SO.  That said--I recognize I'm not looking at this issue from the parent-side of things.

BUT--for the love of everything good and bacony in the world--I'm a pretty good teacher.  I mean, at least, I think so.  I love my job.  I love my students.  I try to to reflect on what we do in class and if it's relevant and effective.  I (over) analyze scores and data and if something worked or not.  I meet not only with my department but with other teachers from other districts to discuss relevance and meaning of current practices.  I read journals.  I spend hours on the Internet, and I survey students.  I think, in general, I'm not only passable as far as things go, I'm pretty good.  I mean, I realize that sounds like I'm doing a little bit of tooting, but...I mean, I over-analyze so much that I think if I thought I wasn't any good, I'd quit.  Or ask for help. Or ask if I should be asking for help.  Hell, I'm such a sucker for praise, I pretty much ask if I need help all the time as it is.  I love people in my classroom--any adult.  ANY adult.  Parent, co-teacher, random observer.  Bring it.  I love it.  I love the feedback.  I thrive on it--good or bad.  Seriously.

Ach, I digress.  Here's the issue:  I have a parent who won't let go.  I mean, WILL NOT.  I feel targeted and frustrated, and shackled.  I feel like I have no recourse, and it makes me angry and not fit for human company.  And I'm not being alarmest here--really (and I DO tend to exaggerate, I know this, and freely admit it).  She really is sort of being obsessive.  And, I mean, if I really were amiss, wouldn't somebody DO something?  Wouldn't I have been counseled? Put on a plan of assistance?  Been "talked" to?  I've been supported by the administration and when I question or analyze, my fears are put to rest.  So.  What do I do?  How do I continue with this? It's making me quite decidedly grouchy. 

And I don't like that.

BUT--I do have at present some pretty awesome news as well.  And as this is a professional development-type blog, this is the place to showcase it and muse about it.   This year has been a tough one.  I've been frustrated with apathy and lack of homework and engagement, and my seemingly inability to reach my student or inspire them or sometimes even to see a glimpse of interest.  Yet, despite all this and our intervention team losing resources every year since its inception, this year (THIS YEAR!) my students did better than ever on their state writing tests.  Seriously.  I'm not lying. It's a matter of public record. It's true.  I even had one kid score two sixes.  SIXES!  In voice, true, which doesn't count (according to the state) but still!  And, he also scored two fives in ideas and content, so that DID count, and so there! 

And as far as reflection goes, I'd have to say, I didn't do that much different this year than in years past.  I did  cover the imaginative prompt first thing, since most students choose that one (and this year, most of my students did not choose that one--first time ever!).  The other change I made that I think really helped was instead of harping about the test for weeks before we took it, I just briefly covered key points the day before--that might have helped.  I don't know.  One thing I'm SURE of, the addition of this guy is probably the biggest positive change we've had to our team this year, so I would have to say that much of these props is due to his reading and writing workshops he's been teaching.  Other than that, I'm at a loss.  I truly can't take the credit. 

So--I close on a positive.  My cooperating teacher used to make me tell her what I did right every day.  At first, I was coming up with things like, "Um, I put my pants on?" and, "I wore the same matching socks," because I was obsessing over tripping over the overhead cord. That was her point.  Even if we do 99.9% of things correctly in a day, we spend 80% of the day obsessing over that little thing (the stupid cord) or even the not so little thing, (when you give the sharp answer instead of taking a breath first).  Her idea was that if you obsess over the bad, you'll repeat it.  If you emphasize the positive, chances are you'll repeat the positive.  So, even if I can't figure out what it was, I'm truly going to try to repeat the positive, and let this mean pit-bull of parent just...go.  I'm not a chew toy.  I'm a pretty dedicated and hardworking teacher who loves what I do.  That's gotta be worth something.


And Tyson got two sixes.  TWO! 

thoughts...

A couple things I've been mulling about:

1) Am I ALWAYS this exhausted in March?  I'm just cranky and tired and frustrated and unmotivated and ready for the school year to be over, and we aren't quite close enough to the end of the year for this level of done-ness, I fear.  And I'm just not sure if I always feel this weary right about now or if this year is just tougher than usual.  Really.  I'm not sure.  It just sort of feels like I'm complaining more than usual.  Like I mention my grumpitude to my non-teacher friends more often.  And I DO really love my job; I do.  I truly, honestly do.  But sheesh, I'm tired.  I'm mentally sore; emotionally exhausted. 



 2) Sometimes, I really wish I didn't love my kids so much.  Sometimes loving them hurts.  Knowing that their lives are pretty crappy is frustrating and painful.  I wish I could fix their housing situations, their safety fears, their hunger.  I wish I could do it all. 

3)  How do parents do it?  I mean, seriously.  Sometimes, when I get home, it's all I can do to feed the dog, let alone me.  The idea of doing laundry, going to the gym, taking a bath, sometimes even brushing my teeth! seems overwhelming. Sometimes I feel so exhausted, and it's just me.  And I feel guilty sitting here, doing nothing, and I'm just letting myself down (well, and Daisy--who is looking at the leash very pointedly).  How do parents do it? How do they come home from work and do everything?  Feed kids?  Clean kitchens?  Get groceries?  Do laundry?  I'm amazed at parents. I'm amazed at people in relationships.  I barely have enough to function for my own sanity--I surely wouldn't be able to handle anybody else's wellbeing on my shoulders.  I suppose it's a good thing I don't have kids!  I'd leave them in the car and send them to school barefoot, no doubt about it.

Later than you think...

Yup.  One of those times where I should be grading and cleaning and working out and tutoring.  And I'm not.

Yikes!

Holy moly!  What a week.  Seriously.  The kids are amped.  I'm so glad I'm not an administrator!  SO GLAD.  I would not want to work that hard, or deal with the problems they deal with.

Or have the conversations they have to have. 

And I like it when I get a sticky issue and can pass it to them.

Does that make me a slacker?

Probably.

So, we had this snow day...

Actually, we've had three. 

Three snow days.  And, well, to be honest, very little snow.  But today, there was some snow. 

Also, I have these kittens.  Two of them.  And a dog.  And the kittens, well, they pretty much love the dog.  I do too, but that's not really the point.  The point is, that our midterm grades needed to be posted, so I walked to school on our snow day, and one of the kittens, Simon, followed us.

Then, while I tried to get to work, while Daisy was all curled up the reading chair, Simon decided that he was more important than work.

Somehow, I managed to get the grades posted. 

But he's cute, isn't he?

Oh, Middle School.

So, today--I saw an amazing thing.  I saw a drama fueled, emotinally charged, socially...erm,...well, I don't know...unsure?  socially eager, social 8th grade girl?  I mean, it's 8th grade!  Plus, well...I don't think she's had the easiest time of it, kind of girl--well, I watched her walk away from a fight.  She walked away because she knew it was the right thing to do. But also, this girl--she didn't have the best...well, skills?  Upbringing?  History?  Highly transient, long history of changing schools because of fights, long self--perception of being disliked by "trusted" adults--I saw this powerful young girl not only walk away, but unflinchingly tell the truth about a tough situation.

This, in a time where I'm personally struggling with my own abilities, plus more looming budget news, plus overwhelming feelings of unflagging tedium, this strong, self-assured, powerful young woman not only does the right thing, but also trusts me enough to unload the burdens of how crappy 8th grade drama can be.  Of course, I cried.  I mean, I access every single emotion through tears.  But still--it was amazing to watch this young girl process her emotions in a way I only hope I can--she was so...well, she wasn't self assured, she just seriously thought about her actions.  Wow. 

I am a reactionary person.  Well--no. That's not true.  I'm learning, and getting better, and I don't always react right away.  I'm getting better at stopping and thinking.  But this girl--this 14 year old dramatic, hormonally charged girl, stopped and walked away.  There is such power in that.  I was left in awe.  And honor.  Today, this girl, she's my hero.  She's who I look up to right now.

Thanksgiving, with a point. Really.

So.  Thanksgiving is my all-time favorite holiday.  Yes, I realize it's still weeks away.  But I was excited about it WAY back in July.  Seriously.  The thing is, I'm a recovering vegetarian.  I was a vegetarian--like most idealistic youth--for over eleven years.  When I was growing up, I detested meat with a passion that rivaled my negative feelings toward my brothers, the Detroit Tigers, and visiting the my great grandmother, Griselda (seriously, that was her name) in her retirement home.  (I know, I'm awful--and, in retrospect, if I knew what I know about the elderly, I might have tried to be a bit more compassionate--but I was young, and it was a forced activity, and she scared me.)  Anyway, I really did hate meat--all kinds. 

My meat affliction stemmed from a sky-mall article.  When I was pretty young, but old enough to fly alone, I took a trip to Philly to seem my most awesome Granny.  I was the oldest grandchild, and therefore, the favorite, and this was a supreme privilege.  I was sitting next to a man that, seconds after lift off, started smoking a stogie.  Yes--this was a long, long time ago, and yes, you could smoke on the planes then, but I KNEW I was sitting in the non-smoking section, AND I knew that even if you could smoke, you couldn't smoke big, fat, stinky cigars.  He argued with me.  I won.  However, even now, I still equate the information in the sky-mall article with the smell of cigars. 

The article:  It was all about the tiny, microscopic awfulness that can live on a knife that was used to cut pork and then washed in extremely hot water for a very long time, and can still (STILL!) give you a nasty worm that lives in your stomach.  I was, what? maybe twelve?  I was horribly grossed out and decided at that moment to never, ever eat any pork product again.  And I didn't.  For, well, probably over twenty years.  Seriously. No bacon.  And we lived in a bacon loving house.

Truth be told, we lived in a meat loving house.  We had meat at every meal.  EVERY meal.  Hot dogs, liverwurst, steak, burgers, sausage, pork chops, stew, bologna, you name it, we ate it. While we did eat our share of crazy processed meat products, we didn't eat meat out of a can.

So--I come home from my exclusive Granny-filled vacation and declare I won't eat pork ever again. My parents gave in. I mean, there are some battles you just can't fight, right?  Especially with a twelve year old girl.  I know this.  I teach middle school.

And they were cool with that.  But soon, my issue spread, and within months, I would gag at the table when we had burgers.  I would eat around the chicken in the pasta.  I would--much to my father's disgust and horror--try to cover the taste of my steak with mayo.  But they were firm.  Pork I could avoid, but all meat, no way.  So, as soon as I moved out, I quit eating meat.  Whew. 

And then, of course, I joined a co-op and read the pamphlets on the treatment of chickens, and pretty much went off and on vegan.  I was self-righteous and opinionated and stick thin.  And then--well, years later, I had a carnitas taco.  I don't know why, but OH MY GOD it was good.  Crispy fried wild boar, soaked in house made lard, fried in lard.  Damn.  So, I got over it.

And then:  My first Thanksgiving with meat.  My brother likes to tell the story about how I punched him after my first taste of gravy and stuffing and turkey and mashed deliciousness.  I exclaimed, "WHY didn't you tell me it was so good!?" And ever since then, yeah.  It's my favorite holiday.  I especially like the sausage cornbread stuffing creations, but it's all pretty yummy.

And this gets me thinking, because of course, I like to bring up the whole, "What are you thankful for?" bit with my students.  So, I get home today, and I start thinking about Thanksgiving, which gets me thinking about the thankful bit, which gets me thinking about a lot of other stuff. 

Quite often, I spend Thanksgiving up at a friend's farm.  I care for and watch and love their animals, and get to stay in this awesome house and have a bunch of friends over.  This year, this isn't the case--but the thing is, this friend, she used to co-teach with me.  Well, we used to co-teach together.  And this is how my weird  brain works, because the whole reason for this post is that I miss having this friend in my classroom.  But more than that--this year is the first year that I haven't actually been fully involved in an intervention team.  Oh, our class rosters are still made up of the kids that scored lowest on their state assessment tests, but we have no true interventions in place.  And this is the thing--for three years, we were a full on reading intervention team.  We had a team that met way too often.  We looked and looked and looked at and analyzed data.  We questioned every little assessment  we did--and we did a lot of them.  We studied all the literacy gurus and tried all sorts of new things.  I had different adults in my classroom all the time, and our team worked with literacy coaches and reading specialists.  We had a variety of different supports and we really analyzed what we were doing.  We looped and had the kids for two years, instead of just one (trust me, I saw some good and some bad in that practice).

 And we saw results--but really, is three years enough?  I mean--yeah, our first group of students--they are now sophomores--and we keep in touch with some of them.  Well, I do, and our reading specialist is now working part of the day at the high school, so she sees some of them too, so we get some unofficial, anecdotal updates on them.  But...when we formed the team, we wanted to see them go through high school with some sort of continuing support.  We also wanted to keep the team fully supported at the middle school--so we could continue to track our progress and make changes.

Ah, well.  no use crying over spilt milk, right?  (Unless you have to clean it up, as I told my Granny when I was six, cleaning up a mess).  But the thing is, after weird schedule changes and budget cuts and decisions that lowly peons like me just don't understand, I am now left teaching on my own.  Just me.  Just like I used to teach, before I agreed to join the reading intervention team.  Now, I close the door, and nobody cares what I do.  There is nobody analyzing my results.  Nobody cares about my lessons.  We aren't (over)assessing the students and then trying to figure out their gaps.  Nobody else in my room.  And it's weird.  And it's a little lonely.

But also--is this how everybody teaches?  I mean, I used to teach like this.  I used to just...well...teach.  I don't think I was so introspective.  I think I wondered if I was doing an okay job, but I also don't think I really looked all that closely.  And true, having so many adults in my classroom was a little unnerving at first--but I'm sure it made me a better teacher.  I was accountable.  And I think that's what is really bothering me now.  I know I'm still accountable.  I'm clearly accountable to my students and to myself.  I always have been--we all are, right?  But I don't think it feels like that when it mostly feels like nobody really cares what you do.  I want other teachers all up in my business, because I think it made me a better teacher.  I want those conversations about what's best for kids, because I think it helps guide us to do what's best for kids.  I don't really want to go back to the way I used to teach, because I think it's real easy for us all to forget that we are supposed to be here for them, not for us.  We are supposed to be doing what is best for kids, not what is easiest for the adults.  And I think that quite possibly, the powers that be might have lost sight of why we are here, and now, I close my door, and I might just be the only person who cares what happens in my classroom. 

Accidents Happen

So, completely by accident, I think I've done something right.  I mean, that remains to be seen, but I think...I just think that possibly, this may have a positive outcome.  Every year we give the state writing assessment to all of our 7th graders.  We try and cover the important things before the window opens, and then we scramble to reteach before the deadline looms, and then we turn them loose.  No coaching, no help, just hours of quiet and student directed editing and revision.  Except--see, I don't think my kids have done all that well and I usually spend hours of reflection and nerdy data analyzation going over scores and errors the list of things I could have or should have (or could of, as my kids write) done, but then I just start the next year all over and January approaches and I haven't really changed things. 

Well.  THIS year, I accidentally did things differently, and I think it might pay off.  This year, instead of slogging through the dreaded personal narrative that open, regardless of how many times I try to correct them, with, "Hi, my name is Julie, and here is a little about me," we started off with a story.  Most of my kids don't mind writing stories, and--the majority of my students have always chosen the imaginative prompt on the writing test (and, sadly, the majority do not meet, either).  I just realized that perhaps by starting with a story, the kids will be able to choose that prompt and maybe do better?  I mean, it's a possibility, right?

Plus, I'm really hammering home the revision piece.  We've changed the language from rough draft and final draft to FIRST draft, which will be followed my many subsequent drafts.  Hopefully, this will have a positive outcome.  And I have to say that that sentence is a huge thing for me to write, because I'm just not in the most of positive moods this week, so truly, that is saying something.

I'll let you know!

Guilty

Here I am, procrastinating.  Tomorrow, the first drafts are due, and I'm struggling with my revision versus editing lesson.  And so...I search and read and research, when really, I should be grading and cleaning and grocery shopping and cooking. 

But I found this--and it's pretty cool.  Giving me some ideas, at least.
http://www.aea11.k12.ia.us/curriculum/6_Traits/ppt/TTT05conventions.ppt

Sigh.

I think, quite possibly, the hardest thing about teaching isn't trying to figure out how to engage your students, or keep grammar exciting, or motivate kids to write, or get a reluctant, struggling reader to love books.  I think that the hardest thing about being a teacher is when you realize just how different their reality is from what you thought it was, and they are just twelve, and their life is already harder than almost anything you have ever dealt with.  I think that is the hardest part.

Maybe one day...

Well, this would be my first post.  I'm just testing things out.  One day, maybe, I'll write something interesting and amazing.