Autumn means several things to me.
1. Fleece jackets
2. Pumpkin spice lattes
3. Round two refreshing the crayon/glue supply.
4. The satisfying "crunch" from stepping on a leaf.
5. FALL BREAK.
Finally, a blessed week away from my little angels. Today was spent marking report cards and deciding whether or not I really wanted to invite parents in for a conference. By noon, I was spent. Even though I was sitting in an empty classroom, lights off, door shut, I was exhausted. All morning, I reviewed what I had taught, how I had taught it, and forced myself to look at the results-- were my students learning anything? Yes, the majority seem to be. Several are flying through their sight word lists, adding numbers, and using academic vocabulary. Then there are the few sweet ones that sit quietly every day, and have perhaps spoken a total of 18 words throughout the entire nine weeks.
This past week I've been on a mental battleground with myself. Team School is how our district wants us to assess English learners. Team Me is how I feel I should assess them. For example, students are graded in regards to the standards. They receive a score of 3 (mastery), 2 (progressing), or 1 (needs improvement). General ed. students can receive any score, per their performance. According to the rules of Team School, EL students may not receive a score below 2. Ok, so... Cry-Baby, who has a comparatively solid grasp of English already, can put his head down, cry, and refuse to do his work... yet he's "progressing?" Progressing in what, learned helplessness? However, it's completely fine to give a student labeled "General Ed." a 1 or "needs improvement." A general ed. student may be developmentally behind or may have a language disorder... even so, it's fine to hand out the "Ns" and "1s" and hopefully alert the parent that something is not clicking. How do you explain to EL parents that their child isn't making progress, yet the teacher marked "progressing" on the report card?
Did I mention that ELs may not be retained? Why is it acceptable to retain general ed. children but not ELs? I've yet to receive a logical answer to this question.
I'm not trying to make excuses, but this is just one of many ridiculous policies that is supposed to create a better education system that will produce better citizens. So... a child can go through an entire year, mastering only twenty-five percent of the content, be promoted to the next grade, and build on the shaky foundation laid in the previous grade. And repeat. And repeat.
Some believe that any progress is good progress. It's hard to understand how we're setting these children up for success by passing and accepting mediocrity.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
The wheels on the bus
For the most part I really enjoy the kindergarten curriculum. Even those tiny plastic math manipulatives that seem to multiply like rabbits have found their purpose (by the way, I've finally sorted all of those manipulatives into boxes for die, rubber counters, plastic counters, clear spinners, clocks, snap cubes, and plastic money... oh plastic money. Snap cubes and plastic money will probably invade my dreams tonight. I digress). However, there are two units I dislike greatly-- transportation and community helpers.
These were always the most boring for me to learn, therefore, I find them very boring to teach. Yay Thomas the Tank Engine, yay Bob the Builder. Last year in pre-K, I remember having to spoon feed them the answers to "how can you get from one place to another place?" It was painful. The shoot-me-now looks on the kids' faces just added to the enjoyment. As I introduced transportation today, I was fully braced for the same reaction.
Those twenty little ones surprised me again.
The kids were asked the same question, and asked to discuss with a friend. As I put up my lovely laminated piece of green paper and readied my red Post-It notes for typical answers of cars, planes, trains, I noticed some unusual energy floating through the air. "This could be interesting... and entertaining," I thought to myself with a genuine curiosity in what the twelve kids with their hands up quietly could possibly have to say.
Kevvy, little Kevvy, who never says a word or sentence except "I like (whatever we're currently doing)," was waving his hand wildly in the air. Kevvy, who scored a 5 on the EL proficiency test, was actually doing something besides looking like someone was stabbing him in the back with small needles. Of course I called on him immediately. He enthusiastically said "car!" I could have cried.
The discussion continued with the typical answers. Kevvy kept raising his hand, mostly to just repeat what someone had already said. At one point he stated "fly in sky." Ok, I'll take it. We had just listed airplane... a few answers ago.
Then CryBaby pipes up. CryBaby has a tendency to grunt his words-- a very annoying quirk that occasionally forces me to tune him out. "Yes, CryBaby," I said rather impatiently. He grunted a few sounds then said "ummm cat." It took every ounce of self-control I had not to burst out laughing. Fortunately CryBaby corrected himself and grunted "oh, no, not cat." He laughed, the other kids laughed, all was good.
Then... F raises his hand. F tends to say whatever is on his mind, so I was expecting some sort of comment about how he likes to play Star Wars on his X-Box. "F, how else can we get from place to place?" F raised his little finger up to his mouth, his "thinking" pose, and announced confidently "A unicorn."
Again, my talent of stifling (honed in college in reaction to ridiculous sorority girl outfit choices) laughter came in handy. All the kids seemed to agree that the mythical beast was in fact a valid form of transportation. Might as well added in Floo Powder and a broomstick.
Finally, Kevvy raises his hand again. You could have heard a pin drop, every child was dead silent. Considering for a second, he finally said "a rainbow."
Granted, he had a point. You do follow the rainbow to get to a pot of gold. We'll just say that's exactly what Kevvy was thinking.
And there you have it. The forms of transportation listed by my Kindergarten 2011-12 class. A cat, a unicorn, and a rainbow. We'd all benefit from thinking creatively like this instead of immediately belittling political decisions and economic woes. Wouldn't it be nice?
And for F's benefit, there is in fact a picture of a unicorn waiting to be sorted into land, water, or air transportation.
These were always the most boring for me to learn, therefore, I find them very boring to teach. Yay Thomas the Tank Engine, yay Bob the Builder. Last year in pre-K, I remember having to spoon feed them the answers to "how can you get from one place to another place?" It was painful. The shoot-me-now looks on the kids' faces just added to the enjoyment. As I introduced transportation today, I was fully braced for the same reaction.
Those twenty little ones surprised me again.
The kids were asked the same question, and asked to discuss with a friend. As I put up my lovely laminated piece of green paper and readied my red Post-It notes for typical answers of cars, planes, trains, I noticed some unusual energy floating through the air. "This could be interesting... and entertaining," I thought to myself with a genuine curiosity in what the twelve kids with their hands up quietly could possibly have to say.
Kevvy, little Kevvy, who never says a word or sentence except "I like (whatever we're currently doing)," was waving his hand wildly in the air. Kevvy, who scored a 5 on the EL proficiency test, was actually doing something besides looking like someone was stabbing him in the back with small needles. Of course I called on him immediately. He enthusiastically said "car!" I could have cried.
The discussion continued with the typical answers. Kevvy kept raising his hand, mostly to just repeat what someone had already said. At one point he stated "fly in sky." Ok, I'll take it. We had just listed airplane... a few answers ago.
Then CryBaby pipes up. CryBaby has a tendency to grunt his words-- a very annoying quirk that occasionally forces me to tune him out. "Yes, CryBaby," I said rather impatiently. He grunted a few sounds then said "ummm cat." It took every ounce of self-control I had not to burst out laughing. Fortunately CryBaby corrected himself and grunted "oh, no, not cat." He laughed, the other kids laughed, all was good.
Then... F raises his hand. F tends to say whatever is on his mind, so I was expecting some sort of comment about how he likes to play Star Wars on his X-Box. "F, how else can we get from place to place?" F raised his little finger up to his mouth, his "thinking" pose, and announced confidently "A unicorn."
Again, my talent of stifling (honed in college in reaction to ridiculous sorority girl outfit choices) laughter came in handy. All the kids seemed to agree that the mythical beast was in fact a valid form of transportation. Might as well added in Floo Powder and a broomstick.
Finally, Kevvy raises his hand again. You could have heard a pin drop, every child was dead silent. Considering for a second, he finally said "a rainbow."
Granted, he had a point. You do follow the rainbow to get to a pot of gold. We'll just say that's exactly what Kevvy was thinking.
And there you have it. The forms of transportation listed by my Kindergarten 2011-12 class. A cat, a unicorn, and a rainbow. We'd all benefit from thinking creatively like this instead of immediately belittling political decisions and economic woes. Wouldn't it be nice?
And for F's benefit, there is in fact a picture of a unicorn waiting to be sorted into land, water, or air transportation.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten.
Unfortunately my kindergarteners are not reciting Feist lyrics. We're good until about three and then we jump anywhere from "nine" to "forty-seven."
As much amusement as my twenty-one little angels provide for me, they often shock and deeply trouble me. Today was one of those days.
After lunch, we normally shake out our sillies out on the playground. Today we only enjoyed five minutes of this, mostly because the playground was packed. The only reason we even went out was maintain consistency and dole out some sort of punishment for J. Cryer and F who had yet again destroyed their morning work beyond recognition. A pig will soar by your window some afternoon... then you'll know these boys have finally left their cozy spot on the wall and earned the privilege to discover the joys of recess. But I digress.
Our math lesson today revolved around writing the numbers 1, 2, and 3. While my ten superstars are practically solving quadratic equations, the rest of my minions are performing one of three actions:
1. Attempting to set a world record for time spent sitting still, doing absolutely nothing.
2. Finding new ways to break the lead of their pencils so they can dramatically notify me of such OR examining the end of their pencil to see if there is enough lead available for the undoubtedly stellar work they will produce one they receive a sharp, pointy pencil.
3. Contemplating the mysteries of the universe. This is done performed in either sworn silence or an outside voice.
Sadly, I know why these children revert to these self-limiting behaviors. They have no idea what to do or how to go about doing it. During math time, I am fortunate to have the Exceptional Ed. teacher doing inclusion with me. She provides an extra set of eyes and another person to help explain directions. She's also much more patient than I am during whole-group work. She's also very helpful to affirm that I am teaching clearly. These eleven children are out on planet Jupiter. Today I was so exasperated I wanted to scream, "don't you know how IMPORTANT it is to be able to write your numbers?!?!?!" I knew all of this before I even went to school.
Then, that's when it hits me. I knew all of it before because I had the best kindergarten experience in the world-- I was home-schooled by my mom. She didn't have the distraction of twenty other needy children sneezing and then rubbing their hands all over her. She provided that direct instruction and only accepted the best from me. I was lucky. Very lucky. For some of my students, I spend more time with them than their own mothers do.
Of course these kids don't know how important it is to write their numbers. They barely even know what school is-- no one has taken the time to tell them. At age 22, I am not equipped to be anyone's mother, yet this is what is asked of me. It's my job. No one else will take the time to help Eduardo write his two or show Kevvy how to hold his pencil. It's exhausting, but the smile that comes from the first time a kid says "I like three!" or "I can do it!" makes it worth it.
So count on, little ones, count on. We'll get you from Feist to 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, once I caught a fish alive in no time.
Just please cover your mouth when you cough.
As much amusement as my twenty-one little angels provide for me, they often shock and deeply trouble me. Today was one of those days.
After lunch, we normally shake out our sillies out on the playground. Today we only enjoyed five minutes of this, mostly because the playground was packed. The only reason we even went out was maintain consistency and dole out some sort of punishment for J. Cryer and F who had yet again destroyed their morning work beyond recognition. A pig will soar by your window some afternoon... then you'll know these boys have finally left their cozy spot on the wall and earned the privilege to discover the joys of recess. But I digress.
Our math lesson today revolved around writing the numbers 1, 2, and 3. While my ten superstars are practically solving quadratic equations, the rest of my minions are performing one of three actions:
1. Attempting to set a world record for time spent sitting still, doing absolutely nothing.
2. Finding new ways to break the lead of their pencils so they can dramatically notify me of such OR examining the end of their pencil to see if there is enough lead available for the undoubtedly stellar work they will produce one they receive a sharp, pointy pencil.
3. Contemplating the mysteries of the universe. This is done performed in either sworn silence or an outside voice.
Sadly, I know why these children revert to these self-limiting behaviors. They have no idea what to do or how to go about doing it. During math time, I am fortunate to have the Exceptional Ed. teacher doing inclusion with me. She provides an extra set of eyes and another person to help explain directions. She's also much more patient than I am during whole-group work. She's also very helpful to affirm that I am teaching clearly. These eleven children are out on planet Jupiter. Today I was so exasperated I wanted to scream, "don't you know how IMPORTANT it is to be able to write your numbers?!?!?!" I knew all of this before I even went to school.
Then, that's when it hits me. I knew all of it before because I had the best kindergarten experience in the world-- I was home-schooled by my mom. She didn't have the distraction of twenty other needy children sneezing and then rubbing their hands all over her. She provided that direct instruction and only accepted the best from me. I was lucky. Very lucky. For some of my students, I spend more time with them than their own mothers do.
Of course these kids don't know how important it is to write their numbers. They barely even know what school is-- no one has taken the time to tell them. At age 22, I am not equipped to be anyone's mother, yet this is what is asked of me. It's my job. No one else will take the time to help Eduardo write his two or show Kevvy how to hold his pencil. It's exhausting, but the smile that comes from the first time a kid says "I like three!" or "I can do it!" makes it worth it.
So count on, little ones, count on. We'll get you from Feist to 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, once I caught a fish alive in no time.
Just please cover your mouth when you cough.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
September
September, ahhh, my favorite month. I have always had a love of September-- marching band, walks in the woods with my dad, birthday presents. In college it was the start of a new semester, the start of new friendships, the start of new art history classes. Popular culture has a penchant for it, from Earth, Wind, and Fire, to Harvey Schmidt and Tom Jones. Even in my "adult" life I still am excited about September. Mostly.
The cooling temperatures, the crisp leaves, the runny noses, the coughing, the hand sanitizer... any teacher knows what I'm talking about. After a few blessed healthy weeks, it happens. You sneeze. Your throat is itchy. Suddenly your sunny outlook on the new school year is replaced with a foggy haze of congestion. As if overnight, those cheerful and adorable five-year-olds become germ-ridden transmitters of doom.
Like the Loverboy classic, I am indeed working for the weekend. When my immune system is invaded by these super-strength strains of strep throat and the common cold, my dangling cheese is snatched away from me until the next weekend. So dear chicos and chicas, I warn you. This week, I will be prepared with my Germ-X, Clorox Wipes, and Lysol Disinfectant. We will have a discussion about the transmission of germs. Glitter will make an appearance. You will not be able to rid yourself of the glitter. Soon the glitter will ruin your life, invading your Hot Pocket or covering your rest mat. The germ:glitter analogy may be lost on you, dear five-year-olds, but I WILL have my weekend back.
Love, Your Fearless Leader.
The cooling temperatures, the crisp leaves, the runny noses, the coughing, the hand sanitizer... any teacher knows what I'm talking about. After a few blessed healthy weeks, it happens. You sneeze. Your throat is itchy. Suddenly your sunny outlook on the new school year is replaced with a foggy haze of congestion. As if overnight, those cheerful and adorable five-year-olds become germ-ridden transmitters of doom.
Like the Loverboy classic, I am indeed working for the weekend. When my immune system is invaded by these super-strength strains of strep throat and the common cold, my dangling cheese is snatched away from me until the next weekend. So dear chicos and chicas, I warn you. This week, I will be prepared with my Germ-X, Clorox Wipes, and Lysol Disinfectant. We will have a discussion about the transmission of germs. Glitter will make an appearance. You will not be able to rid yourself of the glitter. Soon the glitter will ruin your life, invading your Hot Pocket or covering your rest mat. The germ:glitter analogy may be lost on you, dear five-year-olds, but I WILL have my weekend back.
Love, Your Fearless Leader.
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