wishes for writing

In Small Moments: Personal Narrative Writing, Lucy Calkins writes this:

You will have read through your children's work and, in your mind, you'll have a long list of wishes for your kids.  You'll wish they'd

• Draw more representationally
• Write more focused narratives
• Write more in addition to drawing
• Use their time wisely
• Focus on writing more than handwriting

You are wise to wish these things for your writers, but don't show children your feelings if you are discouraged.  For now, instead of tackling all the problems, immerse the class in rich examples of what you hope they'll do.  Act as if all is going splendidly, even if it isn't yet.  Find the good in the classroom even if you know you are overlooking the problems that are really there.

I love that. I love it not because it's super peppy and positive, but because it's real. With young writers (perhaps with all writers), there are always so many places to improve, always so many places to go, to teach. As a writer, there are so many things to remember (audience, voice, showing, not telling, and etc...) . As a kid... there are even more. They're still developing control over their handwriting, they're learning to match letters and sounds, and then remember how to spell words correctly, how to put spaces in between words, and even what that crazy "experlation mark" is for.

Then, their teachers pile even more on: we talk about zooming in, about writing about just one thing, about using interesting punctuation (ellipses and quotation marks); we talk about choosing the right word, about thinking about how to write a good lead that will capture the reader and make them want to learn more.

It's no wonder that reading over children's writing can be overwhelming. There are so many things for them still to learn! And what about the punctuation, didn't I teach that already?

But Lucy Calkins is right on.

Reading this advice a few years ago really freed me.  Teaching writing had been 20% joy and 80% something else entirely.  This advice helped me remember to do what I like to do best:  notice what the kids are doing.  Notice it out loud.  Individually.  In pairs.  To the whole class.  Point out the good writing going on.  Children want examples; they want to be examples.  Holding onto the wishes for my students as writers was important, but finding it within what they were already doing was more important.

Everyone who studies child development studies Lev Vgotsky and his Zone of Proximal Development -- this is the idea that the best learning place for something new is something that's slightly harder than what that person is already doing. They need to be able to challenge themselves, to reach up just a little to grasp the new learning, but not too far that it's out of reach and creates frustration. This is highly oversimplifying all of Vgotsky's work, but bear with me.

It's different for everyone and it changes. Sometimes daily.

Isn't that exactly what Calkins is getting at in her statement? Instead of presenting my class with a list of things that they need to start doing, we examine and notice what we are already doing. Then we build little challenges in to learn more, to see more, to do more. Instead of a list of things they need to be doing, but aren't, children are recognizing what they are already doing well, and eagerly anticipating learning even more.

I've shared this quote often with colleagues, usually paraphrased, and then I have to go dig through the book to find it again.

I think tomorrow I'm going to print out that quote and tape it to my writing clipboard to keep under my fingertips.

how to laugh...

My students and I laughed so much today. So much.

It started in the middle of writing when I was visiting tables, listening to various students share their work (we're writing How to stories at the moment). Hyung shared her story with me. It's title: How to not get sprayed by a skunk

If that's not a useful story, then I don't know what is. Also, I can say with complete certainty that this is not a story that has been written by any first grader I've ever worked with. It's a complete original.

Also, she was quick to point out that one of our strategy mini-lessons (namely, getting a friend to act out your story while you read it aloud to see if there are any things you left out or anything that just does not make sense) was very useful to her writing process. She showed me the page where it had said, "If you see a skunk, move."

Well, when she read it aloud to a friend, Annie pointed out that Hyung hadn't shared with the reader which way to move -- what if the reader thought that meant you should move TOWARD the skunk?! That just wouldn't do!

So, Annie saved Hyung's story (and many potentially skunky-smelling people) and Hyung added to that page "If you see a skunk, move back and away."

The best thing? Hyung has a sense of humor about the whole thing. She gets that it's a pretty funny topic to be writing about. But she still wants it to be the best it can be. And every grin or giggle (from student or teacher) just makes it better.

So, that was first thing this morning. Then we were working on a book about Symbols and the kids were at tables illustrating their books. One table got talking about what would happen if the Statue of Liberty came to visit the Washington Monument, and what it would look like and what they would say (and could the Washington Monument even talk, really?) Then they got giggling about what all the people around would say if they saw the whole thing going on!

I... I don't even have words.

Plus, it turned out to be a nice day, so when we went out to recess we all tossed our coats on the ground and ran around like crazy and made up crazy titles for games that I'm not sure I could spell.

All in all, a really good day to be six. (or several times six, in my case)

I wonder what sort of How to story I can look forward to tomorrow...

what else can I say...

Reason #8764658977 why I love my class:

I'm trying to do less. More spefically, I'm trying to do less with my left arm. It is so easy for me to carry piles of paper, pick up baskets of color tiles, and continue just doing everything in the classroom by myself (believe me, there is always plenty to be done!). Except, as you may remember, I have a broken arm. So, I really shouldn't be doing all those things. The doctor told me not to. My husband keeps telling me not to. Everyone keeps telling me not to.

It's so hard to keep asking for help, over and over and over again.

And while I'm significantly older than I was when I was in school and really good at doing everything my teacher told me, I am (mostly) capable of learning new things. I think.

I'm trying.

Last week I told my class that I had a goal: I was trying not to use my broken arm, even though I wanted to. It wasn't good for helping it heal, and I didn't want to hurt it again. I asked them if they could help me remember my goal if they saw me forgetting.

Later on that day, as we were modeling a project, I remembered my goal and kept asking various students to help cutting out different things for the project. Of course, I hadn’t realized how much there was – I should have had more of it prepared. After asking the third or fourth child to help cut something out, and feeling totally exasperated with myself, I burst out, “I’m so sorry you guys. I shouldn’t be asking you all to do all this cutting; this is not your job.”

Well.

There was this absolutely genuine outpouring of support from them: “We don’t mind!” “Of course it’s our job!” Miz F – you have a broken arm!”

It was as though they were all showing me, “Dude. We’ve got this one.”

I looked at all of them, sort of overwhelmed and didn’t really know what to say. And really, what else is there to say in a situation like that other than thank you?

So I did. ♥

growing humor

With all of the recent snow, we've had a lot of indoor recess. My class has been wondering when we can go outside for recess again. Our playground is somewhat cleared off, but I've been worried about bringing them out because it's really slippery. I told them:

I don't want to go outside when its slippery and have someone slip and fall and break their arm. Like somebody in this class. Then I grinned knowingly at them.

They all laughed and nodded at me.

Isn't it amazing how children grow and their humor matures? Several months ago they would have been tripping over themselves to say, "Look! You broke your arm!" and point out the connection to what I'd just said. But now they get the joke.

How cool is that?

everything is fixable...

note: I just found the writing below in a folder of half-written teacher posts. Since I wrote it in November, I've thought a lot about this moment and other moments when I have not been my best self, and at the expense of one of my students.

One of my teacher mantras is this: Everything is fixable.

I do believe that. If I didn't I don't think I'd be able to teach because I'd be too worried about inflicting irreparable damage on my students. Daily. But I do believe things are fixable - and that oftentimes it's the fixing that can do some of the most profound social teaching.

It's humbling -- and not in a good way -- to put this out here. With a blog, I get the chance to showcase my successes: the moments of awesome that I see in my students every day. But, and particularly in a profession so emotion-laden and isolating as teaching, I think it's important to share the less than stellar moments that we all have.

Here's one of mine...


11 November 2009

Last Friday I was not my best self.

We were getting ready to go to PE:  bookbags out and ready in the circle for when we return, the line leader, door holders and caboose in line and ready.

Emma asked if she could call the kids to line up (her job is the "announcer" and that is one of the announcer jobs if we have time.).  I reminded her to go quickly; we didn't want to be late.  She assured me that she would. I went to stand next to the line and grin at kids.  The clock ticked ominiously at me; we had only a few minutes to get there and the gym is really far away.

"Emma," I called.  "Let's go quickly, sweetie."

She kept calling.  But apparently not quickly enough for my liking.  I kept looking at the clock; it was getting later and later. 

"Emma..."

She was calling them.  But slowly. Four were left.

"Emma, honey, come on..."

I looked again and there were still the same four children sitting quietly on the rug, ready to be called. Time was running out; we were going to be late.  So I called their names, quickly and distinctly. 

Emma absolutely wilted. She was crestfallen.  As I sent the line leader down the hall on the start of our walk to the gym, she said to me, "I just couldn't remember their names right then."

Emma knows everyone's face; she remembers details about people. Emma is always there with a friendly word when someone is upset and is one of the most enthusiastic members of our class.  She just can't always get people's names to come to her when she needs them.  Particularly in a tense situation.  Like when her teacher is saying over and over again to call the kids, call the kids, call the kids... 

Way to go, me.  I basically threw her disability right into her face and waved it around for good measure.

I was appalled at my insensitivity. 

As the class continued down the hallway, I took her hand and guided her out of line.  Then I kneeled down and looked right at her. I didn't know what to say other than: "Emma.  I'm sorry."

She teared up, and I teared up.  Then she gave me hug.  We walked down the hallway to PE together and about half of the way there, she reached out and held my hand.

Everything is fixable.

Except I think tomorrow I'm going to try for not having to fix something I should have been more sensitive about in the first place.

a broken arm...

Last week I broke my arm.

I broke my arm in a tap dancing class I take once a week. It was a rather spectacular fall (imagine, if you will, the craziest fall you've ever witnessed. Multiply it by four and then add a sprinkle of Chevy Chase. Now you're getting the picture.) and, naturally, I broke my dominant arm (I'm a lefty).

Apparently I just like to keep things interesting.

This has been interesting, eye opening, and rather annoying in some respects. One great thing about being a lefty is that I'm also pretty adept at using my right hand with a lot of things. You can't grow up in a right handed world and not absorb some of it. I can write passably well with my right hand. And by passably I mean that my writing looks like a very shaky first grader's writing.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

It's weird how writing, for me, has gone from something that I did all the time before to a very cognitive process now. I have to think when I write with my right hand; I have to concentrate on forming the letters and keeping the sizes relative. I even have to think about capital letters.

As much of a pain as this is, it has really given me a new found empathy for what some of my students are dealing with when they write.

And isn't it just like a teacher to turn a broken arm into a learning experience?

love will keep us together...

In our classroom we listen to a lot of 60's & 70's music. (I know I've mentioned this before.) I play it during indoor recess, as the children come in in the morning, and sometimes during a work period when we need an extra little kick.

Well, today during a work period, children were working through their Task Sheet (a list of science/social studies work they are required to finish for the week), they asked for music, so I put it on.

As the kids were working, some of them were singing and the work was just humming along. Then, Love Will Keep Us Together by Captain & Tenille came on. This song has become a bit of an anthem for our class this year. We sang it at Morning Meeting one day in November, and they've since become really interested in learning some of the sign language to go along with the words. They love it.

As the song played, some kids sang quietly, but as soon as the chorus came on:

Stop! 'cause I really love you.
Stop! I've been thinking of you.
Look in my heart and let love keep us together... forever.

Every kid started singing.

They were all still working, some weren't even looking up. A bunch of them looked up and caught each others' eye or my eye and smiled. It was just this organic moment when music permeates something and makes it even better.


Okay, now I must confess that I have this fantasy...

Ten years in the future. My darlings are in High School. They're taller, gorgeous, and even more brilliant than they are now. They're at a dance and hanging out with their best friends in groups, chatting, dancing, watching others. They haven't talked about first grade in years. Most of them have totally new groups of friends. But then... Love Will Keep Us Together comes on (I know, I know, I'm not sure why some high school deejay is going to play this song at a High School dance ten years in the future, but just go with me on this!)...

Then... light dawns! A bunch of them click right back in. They remember the words! Some of them might even start singing (probably not), but they'll catch each others' eyes across all of the different cliques and grin with memories in their eyes: Don't you remember this song from first grade? Oh my god, I haven't heard this song in years!

And it'll be this lovely little moment where they realize how powerful music is. Well, and how awesome first grade was.

But that goes without saying.

writing epiphanies...

Sometimes a new tool or routine in the classroom works so well that I'm both overjoyed and embarrassed that I didn't connect the dots and figure it out earlier.

So, writing workshop. I love it. They love it. It's a regular festival of love and writing. Of course, there are issues. Issue number one: the stapler. Ahh, the stapler. The stapler is awesome. You put papers in, press it down really hard (showing your muscles) and then voila! Your book is stuck together. My students would probably list the stapler as one of their favorite tools.

Some of them love it so much they want to use it a lot. Every day. Multiple times per day, if possible. One of my little darlings even wrote four books one day (four books!), just so he could staple each one together. Of course these books consisted of a cover and a single sheet of writing paper stapled together. Fun, yes. Numerous, yes. But quality writing... not so much.

In December, I told the children that we were going to take a break from the staplers. Not because they weren't being safe with them, but because I wanted to spend some time really working on the content of their writing: making it better, more interesting, more compelling to other readers, and then after we spent some time doing that we would bring the staplers back.

Simultaneously, I was also trying to devise a way to get the children to talk to each other more often about their writing. They were talking, yes, but it was along the lines of: how do I write this word? Or: can you help me make a bicycle in my picture? Now both of those are valid and important questions, and I don't want to stifle that. I just want to promote more consistent interaction about writing. I had grand plans of this great and gigantic checklist; I had thoughts of a huge poster detailing how to conference and talk about writing.

Then, last week, as I was getting the staplers full and ready to be returned to our writing station, I had an epiphany:



Incorporate both of them together: before the children can staple their book, they have to reread the book and share it with three other people for feedback.

So. Guess how it worked out?

If you said beautifully, you win! Because it was. It was like... take the two things you want to see happening and squish them together and hope for the best. It was the best. I saw children offering real suggestions to other students about their writing. I heard them asking each other questions about punctuation and word choices. I heard laughter and funny voices being used for dialogue.

It was like winning the teacher lottery.

Granted, it won't automatically stay this beautiful. We will still spend time talking about ways to conference and discuss writing with others. We will need to model and practice and refine that. But as for a way to get the kids to focus on content and interact more? This was perfect.

I'm rather embarrassed that I didn't put the two together much earlier.

running like Phoebe...

How many of you used to watch Friends? Admittedly, I was a huge fan. My brother had videotaped the first and second seasons from the television and given them to me for my birthday one year. Friends was such a happy place for me for a long time. I still find moments in my life will remind me of something from a Friends episode, and I often continue to share quotes with my brother.

I was reminded of it again this morning, by the first graders. Did you ever see the episode where Phoebe wanted to go running in Central Park with Rachel? Where Phoebe ran all out, arms flailing and screeching when necessary? Here's a little clip as an example:



When my students get to the gym, our (amazing) P.E. teacher always has a poster up, greeting the children and telling them what to do for their warm up. Often they are directed to jog around the gym as they were this morning.

Well, Phoebe had it right on, let me tell you. That is exactly how my students run: all out, arms flailing, screeching and laughing, stopping and panting to catch their breath, and then starting all over again.

It's awesome. I think I may go join them the next day we have P.E.

what do the earrings say?

I love my students.

I also know this is not news to anyone reading this.

This week I have been just reveling in their six-ness: delighted by the way they look at and interpret the world. I have several different examples, so I'll try to write them up over the next couple of days and post them.

Story the first:

Today my students were lined up at the Morning Message, reading together and waiting their turn to answer the question of the day. I was talking to a few at a time, marveling at their sheer level of awesome and chatting about various things.

Then Warner said, "Where are you going today, Miz F?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're wearing those," he said, pointing at my earrings. "Where are you going?"

"Ahhh," I said, understanding. "Here." I gestured around our classroom. "This is where I'm going. I thought I'd dress up for the amazing first graders. What do you think?"

"It's good." he said. Then he grinned. Enormously.

*~*

What a wonderful interpretation of why I was wearing earrings. I'm sure he's seen people in his family getting ready to go out somewhere special, wearing earrings or other fancy things. He saw my earrings and assumed I was doing the same.

And, for those of you that don't know me in person: I am not one of those put together, well accessorized human beings. I get by and all; I'm not hideous to look at. But I am not winning any best dressed contests. A sweater, trousers, ponytail, and danskos or keens (depending on whether my sweater goes with the red danskos or not)... that's about it for me. Well, and every third Wednesday or so I wear eyeliner. So, his interpretation was a pretty good one.

I just love that the special occasion for which I was decking myself out in earrings? Was a Wednesday with my brilliant first graders. ♥

goods and services...

This past week our class has been learning about Goods & Services in economics. Every year this concept proves to be a little hard for my six year olds to grasp.

note: the language they use for the children is this:
Goods: Things people make or use to satisfy needs and wants.
Services: Activities that satisfy people’s needs and wants.

Every year when we first start talking about this, my gorgeous students get these looks of rather a lot of intense concentration, and then confusion on their face and essentially give me the old: "Um, awesome, Miz F, this is so great and yay learning and all, but, um... what in the ever loving world does all that mean?"

So, we act some things out. We tell little stories. We circle some of the words that make our brains go fuzz-buckets and define them. We do little projects. Eventually we get to this very basic distillation: things you can touch? Goods. Things you can do? Services.

Yes. So, that's not completely accurate. But a lot of the kids need a way of classifying consistently before they can start discussing or thinking more deeply and delving into the grey areas (Can something be both a good AND a service? whoa...)

Anyway, so my class is on their way to this place of classification right now. On Thursday when we were waiting for our reading buddies to arrive, we had a couple of minutes, so I said: "Alright, let's play Goods & Services!" I called out something (books! pencils! putting out a fire!) and the kids called back what it exemplified (goods! services!).

We do have a raucous good time in first grade, I tell you.

Later, in the library, our librarian was reading the children a story in which the two main characters had just done something and were "...carrying the tree inside..."

Immediately, Adin bursts out, "That's a service!"

Yeppers, ladies and gentlemen. Those are my students. Taking their learning beyond the four walls of our classroom. I do believe they might be completely awesome.

dancing...

Every morning I play music as the kids are coming in. It's a mix of 60's and 70's music that is just awesome (Dancing Queen, Rockin' Robin, Love Will Keep Us Together, You Make Me Feel Like Dancing, and etc...). We all love it. It's fun to bebop as we greet each other and do all of the numerous morning jobs.

I wait for the children in the hallway and greet them as they come in, but I can hear the music from inside. Often, I dance.

Okay, fine. All the time I dance.

This morning I overheard:

student 1: Look, Miz F is dancing.
student 2: She always dances.
student 1: Oh yeah. Look, Miz F is dancing again.


Guess they've got my number now. ♥

hermit crabs!

We have hermit crabs! So much excitement! I brought them in on Friday and set up the tank.

Things they notice: "The shells are different." and "They have legs and claws and like to hide in their shell."

Things they want to know: "Can we please name them, Miz F?" and "Will they have babies?"

Things they want to do: watch them all day long and skip everything else.

My compromise: add a station to Reading time where they can observe and write questions.

So, I stayed after work today to rearrange a bit on one counter and make a more kid-friendly observational space. Here it is:

The empty tank on the far right is a gift from my work boyfriend, Angela. It will eventually hold fish, but probably not until January. I'm not sure the excitement level could take another notch right now.

Which is kind of awesome, if you ask me.

an open letter...

Dear Social Studies Department Office,

I adore you. Over my tenure here in this school system, I have continually been impressed with your depth of knowledge, your professionalism, the resources you develop and provide, and the professional development you offer. In short, you're absolute Rock Stars. Capital R. Capital S.

Keep that in mind.

So, why then, when there is a new element to the First Grade curriculum this year and you've developed a great Make and Take workshop for teachers to create a good resource to bring to their classroom, why would you hold only one session? And limit it to 30 teachers? Aren't there are approximately six squillion first grade teachers in our school system?

Why, Social Studies Department, why?

I even went to register immediately after my SS lead teacher informed me of the workshop and it was already up to number 24 on the wait list.

*sniffles*

Don't worry. Our relationship will recover. I know it will.

I think I might need some Ben & Jerry's, though.

a long hallway walk...

Our classroom is at the end of a long hallway.

Basically, our classroom is as far away from any other place in the entire school as you can possibly get (with the exception of a small area that abuts the street in front of us). Any time we need to go somewhere we always budget extra time. It's a long walk.

Today, my class had a vision screening. Some lady came to take half my class for vision screening and sent back three children at a time. Then she came and got the rest of the class and sent them back three at a time. For the long walk back from the vision screening.

So, when each group of three arrives back in the classroom, they're each out of breath and guilty looking and rather shifty. Do you know where I might be going with this?

Let me restate: our classroom is at the end of a long hallway.

Yeah, so I have to do the teacher thing and look at them and ask if they know what being out of breath shows? ("That we were running, Miz F.") I'm solemn and serious and they're each totally contrite and sweet and awesome, really.

To be honest, though? That's about as far as I'm going to take it. If I were six I would be all over a hundred and twenty foot dash down a long hallway when no teachers are looking. I totally get it. Plus, it's supposed to rain in about an hour and the sky is already looking menacing.

Good for them for getting some exercise while they can. ♥

my first grade writers...

Writing from some talented writers today...


My mom is gonna get
me a nintendo (dintendo) DS... in
Walmart. I am delighted!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he said delighted! We've been noticing some of the language in the books we've been reading and found "delighted" in one of the Henry and Mudge books.



I can ride it.
I ride it at the blacktop at
my house. My scooter makes
fire. It is a racer scooter.
When I ride it, I yell, "Rock on!" "Man!"

Yeah, okay, tell me you had such a writer's voice when you were six years old. I sure didn't.

I love Writing Workshop.

reading aloud...

On Friday I cried in front of my class.

Okay, that's sort of an exaggeration. But I did get teary in front of them. And they noticed. They knew about it. In fact, they expected it. My friends, there are so many amazing books out there in the world. Tons of them. There are quite a few that I cannot read without getting teary. Dogger is one of them. The writing is lovely and well paced and real, and there is a moment where a sister does something so kind for her brother that I always get choked up. Children always respond to this book, too. They want to borrow it, reread it, examine the illustrations, and make some of their own.

But I can't just go reading any book willy-nilly to my students. Before I can read aloud a book where I'm probably going to get teary for a moment, I have to know that:

1. the kids will be okay with seeing me tear up. (They worry.)
2. our class is in a place where we can have moments of raw emotion like that
3. they're going to get something out of the story, too.

They did. ♥

Before we read, we talked about books we'd read over the year... books that had taught us how to predict, books that had made us laugh, had inspired our writing, had done a multitude of different things. I also told them that sometimes we understand the story or the characters so well that we almost feel what they are feeling. We talked about laughing and crying, about happy tears and sad tears and proud tears, and we talked about what we would do if someone did cry during a story.

We were prepared.

I don't quite know how to describe the feeling of reading aloud to children to someone that has never had 24 children hanging on every dramatic word, but believe me when I say it is magical. Good writing and good reading do this. Shirley Hughes so beautifully described the feeling and action of the main character that by the climax of the story, the children were absolutely still, some with mouths open and all with their eyes no where but on the lush illustrations, and none with a single breath in their mouth.

By the time the children realized that I had paused at one point not because I was being dramatic, but because I literally couldn't read the next words until I swallowed the lump in my throat, they knew exactly how I was feeling.

Because they were feeling it, too.

Reading aloud is such an intimate, exciting, beautiful part of the day, and on Friday they realized another important layer.

Hyung told me later, "I know why you cry, Miz F. I feel like it, too."

So, yeah. On Friday I cried in front of my students. But they were ready. We all were.

magic...

It's coincidental that the 40th Anniversary of Sesame Street coincides so perfectly with my current train of thought... magic.

Not Harry Potter magic, exactly, but the sort of magic or thrill of belief in something.

Years ago, I was watching an A&E biography on Sesame Street. It was really interesting. They showed the set of the TV show. I remember seeing demonstrations of how the puppeteers did their work; I remember distinctly seeing how Big Bird's puppeteer did all of the amazing Big Bird work work. It was fascinating.

And yet, when it was over, I remember turning to my partner and saying to him, "That was awesome. I had no idea how much work went into all of it. But, you know what? There is still a part of me that's convinced that there is an actual Sesame Street. With Ernie and Bert and Grover and Linda and Bob. So, that was a really cool show and all. But there really is a Sesame Street. And that wasn't it."

No matter what I may know now as an adult, there is still the level of magic that I still hold onto. Because it is magic.

My students live the magic every day. I see evidence all the time. I'll give you an example. Every day, wen I go pick up my students at lunch, I bring Zed. Zed is a little zebra puppet attached to a stick that fits inside a cone.



I hold the cone and the stick, and can control Zed with the stick. Zed's story is that he comes out only when it's quiet; loud noises scare him and he goes back into the cone. I initially brought him down to lunch in the beginning of the year when some of my darlings were having trouble transitioning from the loud of the lunchroom into the quiet of the hallway. Zed helped a lot.

Plus, Zed is adorable and I can make him really look like he's peering over the top, or looking intently at a student, or if I shake the stick just right I can make it look like he's waving to the children.

They. Love. Him.

And they wave back. (also, so do many teachers if Zed waves at them in the hallway. ♥)

Recently Sandy realized that *I* control Zed. That he's a puppet. That when I push the stick, Zed comes out. That when I turn the stick, Zed turns around. That when I shake the stick, Zed waves. Sandy noticed this and started watching and telling some of his friends. He was obsessed with it for a few days. His observer eye was glued to my stick hand and he watched every moment, finding triumph in the fact that he was right! Miz F was controlling Zed.

I think he wondered why none of his friends, though, seemed as obsessed by this idea as he was, why none of them really paid any attention to it, even when he pointed it out to them. A lot. He'd whisper to Warner, "look, look! See how Miz F is moving the stick!" Or: "When she shakes it, it makes Zed do the wave at us!" His friends might nod, or look, or acknowledge what he was saying, but only in a polite 'isn't that nice?' sort of way.

About a week later, Sandy stopped paying attention to every movement I made with Zed on the stick. He now waves to Zed as we walk down the hallway; he watches Zed and not my stick hand. He smiles and grins and laughs along with the children as we head down the hallway to our classroom. Sandy knows the truth now, that I control Zed.

But I think he just prefers the magic.

halloween card...

I can't say that I've ever received a Halloween card from a student before, let alone a handmade one. I'd say Caden has set the bar pretty high. I adore this card. ♥

when I wasn't looking...

I was rereading this post this morning where I was reflecting on the disequilibrium of the beginning of the year. I always find it helpful to go back and reread previous posts both of my own and other teacher-bloggers that I appreciate. In the same way that different books/movies/articles inspire me in different ways depending on when I see them, rereading something about which I was thinking months or even weeks or years ago always gives me a fresh perspective.

The reason this hit me so profoundly this morning in my reread was that we're now somewhere around the 36th day of school. Our class has had eight weeks together and we are starting to find our feet. It struck me on Friday as I sat with a reading group and we giggled together when they realized that we have learned a ton of Quick & Easy words in the past three weeks, I looked out at the rest of the class. They were all working at different Reading Work Stations with their partners: reading, writing, talking, thinking.

Of course, I did have to give Caden a look to remind him to get back and focused, and there were a few other little teacher R's I did, but that's typical all through the year. All of the children were writing, reading, doing the work that we've practiced and thought about. They heeded the Stop sign (which reminds them that I am doing Very Important Work with the children at the teacher table) and solved any pressing concerns with their partner or another friend. They wrote and practiced words from our Word Wall, they worked on fluency in reading, the built words together with magnetic letters and Wikki Sticks. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was real.

I watched my class and realized that somehow, when I wasn't looking (and when I was), my amazing students became first graders.

What a beautiful thing. ♥

rethinking columbus day...

I have the hardest time with Columbus Day.

In our school system, first graders have to learn about the Columbus Day holiday. To their credit, they no longer tout him as the person who discovered America, but instead say that he was "given credit" for doing so.

When I teach about Columbus, children usually have some knowledge about him already. We talk about his plan to find a western route for sailing to the east, and how his mistake taught people in Europe about lands they did not know existed. We also talk about how there were already people living in the places he landed, so he didn't discover a new land, but rather find land that many people hadn't known about before. I tell them that he didn't always make the best choices with how he treated the new people he met, that sometimes he didn't treat them well at all.

What first graders have to learn is simple: that Columbus Day is a holiday that celebrates Christopher Columbus, that he was given credit for discovering America, and that Columbus day is celebrated in October.

But Christopher Columbus is far from simple. The way he treated the Taino people that he came into contact with, the way he wrote about them as people that would make good servants... I don't necessarily think Columbus Day is the right holiday to be celebrating.

So, I face a professional dilemma every October: how do I make sure children get the knowledge that they're going to need for the future (and, let's face it, for the standardized tests they're going to have to take in a few years), but also make sure not to paint a saccharine, contrived picture of something untrue?

There's a wonderful website and resource - www.rethinkingschools.org. I don't spend enough time reading articles here, but there is a wealth of knowledge here. I've recently found another site: reconsidercolumbusday.org. It's not a well designed site, but there is a thoughtful video there that's worth watching.

So, I don't have any answers to this, mostly just questions. I wonder: how do you reconcile your own teaching dilemmas?

disequilibrium...

I have a beautiful teacher's journal that a friend of mine gave me many years ago. It has preprinted pages, the front with several sentence starters, and the back with a place for more in depth reflection. Every time I take it out, I tell myself that I should write in it more, because rereading always gives me some insight into something else.

As I sit with this journal right now, feeling as many teachers feel by the thirteenth day of school (encouraged, bewildered, curious, enthusiastic, exhausted and possibly more), I'm struck by something. I have only written a handful of times and each time was in the very early part of the year. Each entry of mine is wondering about the children, about the group of beautiful young six year olds I have and marveling at how young they are. At the same time, in each entry, I mention missing my former students and yet being fully aware that I sent on children that were end of the year first graders, rather than the beginning of the year first graders that I have now.

Rereading my journal has given me such insight into this: the beginning of the year is a time of great disequilibrium (if that's even a word). It's exciting to build a community with a brand new group of children, it's exciting to try out new teacher learning that I did over the summer, it's exciting to have a fresh start. But it's also a time of learning routines and procedures. It's a time of practice, practice and more practice. It's a time of fun, oh yes, but it is surrounded by a lot of the less fun stuff. (Fire drills, walking in the hallway, walking safely in the classroom, finding out where we put our papers and how we take care of colored pencils, and etc...)

I never doubt the power and absolute necessity of the time we spend at the beginning of the year building our sense together of how we're going to take care of each other, the classroom, ourselves, and how we're going to learn together. It's exhausting, though, and I know it is for the children.

The children remember the end of Kindergarten and all that they did and could do in their classroom on a daily basis. I remember my students at the end of First Grade last year and how independent they were and the quality of their work and discussions.

You know what, though? The reason the students could do all of that was because I taught them how. We went through the same process I'm taking my new class through right now. The reason my current students were so successful at the end of last year was because their Kindergarten teachers taught them how to be successful.

So, really, I need to remember the end of last year as a reminder of what we will be like together (and already are at times) very soon.

In fact, just today we had a moment where we were all struck by something funny and had a lovely class moment together. It gave me a glimpse into what our class is going to feel like in a couple of months. It was kind of magical.

I can't wait.

class library...

We opened our class library yesterday. We don't even have three shelves open yet and they're all so excited about it.

I have a lot to say about the beginning of the year, but I keep spending my time on family conferences and first grade stuff and not blogging about first grade stuff. I'll try to rectify that next week. I definitely miss writing.

conferences...

I love Family Conferences.

Today I was meeting with a mom of one of my students and I asked what her hopes were for her son in first grade and in the future. She told me she'd like to see him be a doctor or an engineer or a scientist. We talked a little more and then she thought for a minute and said,

"But what I really want is that whatever he does is what he chooses. That's what I want for him."

I love Family Conferences. ♥

excellent mail...

It feels vaguely apropos that I finally start writing in this blog again on September first. In the magical world, children have ridden the Hogwarts Express to school and are starting their year. In the Muggle world, many schools have started already, and in my case, teachers are back and the children come next week.

I'm so excited about the upcoming year, full of new ideas and busily updating old ones. I plan to post some pictures of my classroom set up progress -- I try to take pictures every year because it gives me such a sense of accomplishment to watch the room go from an empty space to a ready classroom.

For now, though, I'm just going to share the single most wonderful piece of mail I received this summer. One of my students moved this summer, and her mother emailed to ask if she could send a card she'd made to my home address.

This is the beautiful card I received:


My favorite part? The PS. Best. Post script. Ever. ♥