This class I teach.

This class I teach is filled with children who live lives I will never fully know or understand. I have to accept them for who they are and what they bring as they enter our space - and be ready for anything on any given day: happy and sad and angry and confused, filthy and clean and hungry and unkempt and tired and alert and kissed/hugged and satisfied and filled with dreams and ideas and ready or not ready to face the day ahead.

The dynamics that play out in my classroom are as predictable as the day is long; these children have been together since first grade. The first grade teacher struggled, the second grade teacher nearly gave up, the third grade teacher left the profession, and now they are with me in fourth grade. The structure of my school is such that this group will stay together until they go off to middle school - and so here I am with this class I teach.

At the beginning of the school year I began as I always do: rituals and routines, community building, proactive social teaching. I tried to be more intentional than in other years, in response to both the reputation they arrived with and the issues that immediately presented themselves. My administrator's words were encouraging: "Don't be afraid to ask for help."

When the first patterns of nitpicking surfaced, I problem-solved in the classroom and role-played in morning meetings, talking with students about how to handle situations. When different situations began - work avoidance, bullying, minor disruptions - I continued to problem solve and document but a few weeks in I sought help. I was then called into the administrator's office, only to be told that the children were "taking advantage of my good will" and that I needed to stop being so "empathetic" and begin teaching. These kids were behind - they needed instruction, not all of this class meeting, social curriculum stuff.

And so I heeded the advice. I bucked up and taught - I did away with the morning meetings and buckled down to the business of curriculum and instruction. Fast forward to now, to this class I teach. To the extreme bullying situations, to the climate of distrust: so much so that I will not leave my room without locking it even for a moment for fear of having something stolen from myself or from one of the students. To the constant disruptions, the level of disrespect toward myself and one another and the nuances that exist within that disrespect. The learning lost, the discomfort I feel arriving at work each day. The fact that I feel there is no one to turn to in my building who can offer anything except for an encouraging (yet unhelpful) "hang in there!"

I am almost a decade into my practice and never have I felt so ineffective as a teacher. My frustration is transparent, I know I am visibly rattled, I cannot help but talk about it because I care so deeply about my teaching and especially about each and every student and I feel so defeated... and yet, I came to a realization last night. I know now that back in September when I asked for help and was instead reprimanded, I walked away from that meeting and took my administration's directive without question, ignoring what I know in my heart about teaching and learning. Ignoring my core beliefs about children. I spent half a school year allowing this class I teach to slip out from under me.

I have three months to get them back.
All is not lost.

One of those days...

It is Monday. I've always had an aversion to Mondays. It is early in the school year. A perfect combination for a not-so-perfect day. Today was one of those days that happens once at most in a school year, if I'm lucky.

My copies for the first homework packet of the year did not get finished (originals lost somewhere in the shuffle I think) and though I could have sent home just today's recommended homework, I want the packet to be intact this week. I want the students and families to know what the routine will be.

Two of my planned lessons fell through this afternoon. Not because of my teaching methods, not because of assemblies or fire drills or lack of student engagement, but because of missing materials. The trade book I needed for our writing lesson is missing, and I discovered this minutes before the students returned from lunch. Yikes! Lesson scrapped, rewritten on the fly! That never feels quite right. Later in the afternoon I discovered that the curriculum guide for our social studies lesson (which contains today's copies) was sitting on a colleague's kitchen table. She had borrowed it for the weekend. Another lesson, recreated on a moment's notice.

I have a student teacher this year. Even though I finished the day frazzled - and of course trying my best not to let it affect the students' day - I like to hope it served as a lesson for her. Even after years of teaching, we can still have days like that. Even after hours of planning and crafting, sometimes the floor drops out.

Here's to a better tomorrow!

Diamond Willow

Recently I read a review of Diamond Willow by Helen Frost and I just had to see for myself. It's about a twelve year-old girl named Willow who experiences all of the normal insecurities of adolescence. She lives in rural Alaska and wants her independence. Willow begs her parents to allow her to venture to her grandparents' house alone with the dogsled. When they finally give in, Willow is elated. She hooks up the dogs and is on her way. Willow makes it there okay, but on the way back home something terrible happens.

This story is told mostly in Willow's voice, and Frost wrote it in an interesting way. Each page of prose is written to look like a diamond, with a hidden message in bold print. Through the other voices that tell the story, Frost presents a whole new perspective about the intelligence and wisdom of animals. I loved this book, and can't wait to share it with my fourth graders!

This makes me smile

This is my friend Tessa's son. He is not quite four years old.



Teachers in Vermont, watch out!

Seeing a child this young reading independently brings about so many questions. The biggest for me is, how do some children naturally pick it up while others face so many hurdles? It helps that Tessa is a rockstar mom and she TALKS WITH HER KIDS. Their home is full of books, paper, crayons, train sets and dinosaurs and all kinds of toys that encourage creative energy... but so many homes have that in place and their children still struggle as readers. What are we missing?

The Invention of Hugo Cabret

It took me a long time to pick up this book. I have to admit, it was because of its size!

But once I opened it, I was pleasantly surprised. This 500+ page book has over 200 pages of pictures! Chapter book? Yes. Graphic novel? Not quite. The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick reads more like a silent film than anything else. A series of pictures, then some storyline, then more pictures. It's fitting, since old time movies play such a huge role in this book. But this beautiful tale is more about Hugo himself. Hugo is an orphan boy who lives in a train station in Paris and maintains the clocks. He makes his way through life the best he can, until an old man catches him stealing from his toy shop. Then things get much more complicated...

Chains

As a reader, I love books that are straightforward, honest, and gritty. In fact, I seek them out. I love historical fiction most of all, especially when it allows us to see the ugly, truthful side of humanity. Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson does just that. Through Isabel's powerful story of struggle and survival, I not only found myself engrossed to the point of missing a couple of meals, but I also learned a great deal about New York City during the Revolutionary War. The realities of being somebody's property, the cruelties, the living conditions, the raging fire I never knew about, the human side of being a Patriot or Loyalist, the medical procedures... so many tiny details embedded in so much research. Wow!

As a fourth grade teacher, I might not add this to my public class shelf. I would keep it on my sought-after personal book shelf for the day when a child needs just the right book. A child who is mature enough, and interested enough to see slavery as it truly was, and war as it truly is.

Jack Adrift

I love books of short stories. You can read just one story, or you can read cover to cover. Jack Adrift by Jack Gantos is such a fun book of short stories! Each story chronicles an adventure Jack Henry had in fourth grade, and each story easily stands alone. Even the title pages have their own stories (in cursive!) that stand alone. And yet, the entire book tells a bigger story about Jack's struggles and triumphs throughout that year.

In typical Jack Gantos fashion, the descriptions are stomach turning. On page 7, younger brother Pete gets carsick and Gantos somehow manages to describe the vomit as both 'pretty' and 'toxic' at the same time. This book will have you laughing at Jack's clever antics and cheering him on as he struggles to get out of sticky situations.