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. ♥

structure... taken away

Today was our school's annual Field Day. Classes start at one game and move through stations every 12-15 minutes for a little under three hours. It's exhausting. It's hot. And it's very, very fun.

This was the first Field Day in several years, though, that I didn't have fun. Even though the children had practiced some of the games in PE, even though we divided ourselves into teams of five (even with little colored yarn ties around each child's wrist to help them remember), and even with a little strategy for one team to split if there were to be four teams instead of five... Even with a practiced "two whistle" signal from my whistle, even with a map looked at (well) ahead of time... even with several different lead up days with time for any and all questions the children had...

It was a hard day.

The kids mostly had fun, I would say. Also, luckily, we started and ended with a couple of fun water-relay games, which always put a big smile on people's faces. But, personally, I was miserable for most of it. Children were getting frustrated with games and taking it out on their teammates. Children weren't showing the empathy or respect for others that they have become so masterful at this year. I spent a large portion of the time redirecting children -- redirecting, redirecting, redirecting...

In our school, we spend a lot of energy on Previewing experiences -- we talk about what it will look like, what it will sound like... we discuss and practice how we will handle things that come up that aren't desirable, we talk about how to be assertive in situations like that, and we talk about how to celebrate and share joy in ourselves and in others. With 12 minutes at each place and 2 minutes to get there, we didn't have time to do that between stations.

My class is a particularly needy class this year (I did just reread this post from the beginning of the year again) and today they only had me going through this brand new experience of Field Day with them. Looking back on today and this year as a whole (and yes, there is a glass of wine here with me as I write this), it hit me just how much routine and consistency I built into the school day for the children. Not because I'm some sort of consistency or structure guru, but because they needed it. With that structure, they were able to be incredibly successful and independent. We did a lot of work together this year; we learned and laughed and thought and wondered.

But when all that structure was taken away, even with our relationships and the strength of our community, it fell apart. It was as though we were learning it all over again.

It was a hard day.

And I do wonder... what is there *to* be done for days like this? There will always be times when a predictable routine will need to change -- and the children were just happy, relaxed and quiet at the end of the day, remembering some of their favorite times from Field Day. I don't think it's necessary or even desirable to *not* have days like this. We need them! I just wonder what additional structure can be built in to make it even more successful for everyone.

Any thoughts?

sickness...

One of my students had a fever last night, but seemed fine this morning, so his mother sent him to school, but called to let us know.

Well, by about 10:15, he looked exhausted and was burning up, so we took his temperature and it had shot up again. He just appeared at the door (the rest of the kids are in Art) with a buddy.

"I have to go home!" he told me, in tears. "But I want to stay! And learn!"

We gave him love as we got his backpack and sent him down to the clinic to wait for his mom.

I just thought... how amazing is it that kids in our school do everything they can to stay IN school, that they don't want to leave. ♥

problem solving...

About ten years ago, when I taught Kindergarten, we opened a Conflict Corner in my classroom. It developed out of a belief that children could solve problems between them, and would if they were given both the autonomy to do so and the tools they needed.

Designating a space itself was a realization I had because several of my young lovelies were just not capable of solving a problem about the blocks if the blocks were right there. They needed to be separated from the problem in order to talk about the problem.

It was the sort of successful insight that I was so proud of having as a third year teacher. I was inspired by the ability to invent something that my children needed, simply by watching, learning, and knowing what they needed.

Of course, I was the tiniest little bit let down near the end of the school year when I discovered that it wasn't my invention after all, that classrooms in other schools had Peace Corners, Apology of Action spaces, and etc...

Ten years, two schools, and four classrooms later, I still always have a place in the classroom where children can go to solve problems. The needs of each class are different, as are the structures they need in place for the area. Some classes simply need the space, and the children are able to use and manage it with little to no support from me. Some classes need the ceremony of building an Apology of Action book, of developing the process for solving problems. Other classes, like my class this year, need a specific, but simple structure. (and how!)
This year, we have The Frog Carpet.



It's a space, right behind our classroom library, in fact, sort of in our classroom library, with a little frog carpet (ahh, we are clever titlers in our class) and a small pocket chart with sentence strips on it.



The sentence strips say:

Excuse me, ______, will you please come to the frog carpet?

When you _______, it ___________________.

I'm sorry, how can I help you feel better?

[high five, hug, special clap, short song, handshake]

These are the words that the class decided. I would have gone toward something a little more open-ended, but I mostly tried to keep my mouth shut as we talked about this, and pulled what I was hearing from the children.

I'm glad I did.

Since we put this into effect in February (much later than I should have), the incidence of: "Miz F, Marcella said/did/looked/ate/called me..." has gone down exponentially. Children use this space independently; they know that they can't use it during a lesson time (ie, at the beginning of Math), but that during a work period, it's fair game.

In classes past, I've needed a record keeping system because some children spent all of their time there, and this helped me regulate it for some of the frequent fliers. But in this class -- even with their need of this specific, almost rigid structure -- no one overuses it. In fact, I have kept an informal tally and each of my twenty-four lovelies has been there at least once. On a particularly rough day one of my students has gone four times (I counted), but my thoughts were: if he's having a rough day, and this is a tool that he has found helps him manage himself independently... well, why not?

It's kind of awesome.

NOTE: I do have a story from last week that really illustrates the power behind having a conflict space, but I also have about twenty minutes and report cards are calling my name (do you hear them?), so I shall type that up later. Peace out. ♥

illustrations...

Some other glorious teachers at my school and I participated in a short online webinar several weeks ago with Katie Wood Ray. One of the things she mentioned that she's been thinking about and examining in student work recently is children's illustrations and how they can drive their writing.

I'm really looking forward to what she writes about this, because I've long found that their illustrations can be a rich, rich piece of writing. In mid-May, our class was reviewing what we'd learned about George Washington Carver. One of our learning experiences was that each child got their own copy of a book about Carver that our First Grade team wrote a couple of years ago. The children's job was to illustrate the book in a way that would let someone else who didn't know anything about Carver really learn it.

I love how different, yet detailed each of these illustrations are...



Each of these pictures is separated into two parts, with Carver studying science in one, and plants in the other. I just love the illustration of science here, with the test tube and the bubbles coming out. ♥


This student consistently likes to add labels to her illustrations -- she tells me that she thinks it helps the reader learn even more.


This one? Well, I just think the little excitement lines drawn over Carver's head in the second part of the illustration are nothing short of brilliant. I mean, it *is* exciting to study science and plants! I'll bet if Carver were to see this picture he'd agree that it's quite an accurate representation about how exciting it is to learn such things.

muscles...

Yesterday, in the midst of talking about a book we'd just read, I was gesticulating wildly (as I am wont to do). Hannah watched me, then cocked her head and raised her hand, "Miz F, I saw your muscles. They're nice."

Good to know that while they're not as finely developed as those of my sister in law, or my friend (not)Angela Lansbury, or Ms. Swamp... they are still there. :)

elusive (as it were) standards...

This number begins to consume my life during the end of May. To those of you that aren't elementary school teachers, 16 is a reading level. More specifically, it's the end of first grade benchmark reading level. Yes. This number is a Big. Deal.

This brings up a myriad of insecurities and judgments as I move toward the closing of the DRA assessment window: how many children will meet or exceed the benchmark? who didn't pass? what if I had just two more weeks? why didn't they pass? did I honestly and truly do everything I could have for [insert any child's name here]?

The self-doubt is exhausting.

Case in point. Ammir. Oh, heavens, he is a glorious child. This boy has been moving along in reading this year. His effort is stellar, his connections many. Everything we've talked about this year is right up there in his brain: schema, visualizing, making connections, digraphs, consonant blends, long vowels, short vowels, quick & easy words... all of it.

It's not quite automatic for him, though. If he confronts a word he doesn't know, and someone says, "well, do you see a consonant blend? or another part that you know?" he will always find something, and nine times out of ten, he'll figure out that word. So, he has everything that he needs; he just doesn't have it automatically yet. It doesn't always occur to him to ask himself those questions.

He will, though. This will come. Things will start clicking into place and he'll make sense of things rapidly.

But, as of Friday, he was reading at a level fourteen. This, according to my school system, is not passing performance. You see, children in our school system are expected to pass or be reading on a level 16. The kicker, though? Our children are expected to pass or be reading on this level by last Friday. School doesn't end for three more weeks.

Just to throw another little piece of information into this example, Ammir turned seven a week ago. Another one of my darlings that passed the level sixteen turned seven in December. Ailanya has five more months of existing than Ammir. When one is in their thirties, five months might not seem like a big deal, but that's nearly one-seventeenth of his life. If Ammir had those extra five months, I am confident that he would be well beyond a level sixteen. And yet, even though he was born near the end of the school year, he is still expected to fit into the same little box with all of the other children.

So, that's a bit of a tangent, I know, but I think it helps illustrate my mindset. In some ways, this standard is helpful, but in other ways it's quite arbitrary. It certainly doesn't paint the rich picture of who Ammir is as a reader or as a person.

Now, I don't disagree with standards, and I don't disagree with having a measure with which teachers can consult to guide instruction. Quite the opposite. But I do think that the very act of having standards automatically brings exceptions and places where the standard isn't going to be the best measure.

This is clearly one of those cases.

If I had my druthers, I would much rather write a full page narrative about each child during each grading period and use that to communicate with families and other teachers. It would take a lot more time, yes. But it would allow me valuable reflection on every student in my classroom and their progress and development as the months have gone on.

And it would certainly give a much more developed picture of a child than a single number ever will.

job advantages...

I imagine that a disadvantage to having a job where you go to schools dressed up as children's book characters might be wearing that big, stuffy costume. There is also the limited vision and movement from the costume as you try to act out the book while someone else reads it.

Then again, when you're all done... you get to hug 100 children.

So, all in all, maybe not such a bad deal after all.


No, it wasn't me in the costume. But part of me wishes it were.