It's that time again. The start of school is upon us, and honestly, I'm kind of ready for it because this is the time of year when I get really excited about being a teacher. I get a clean slate, a refresh button, a chance to start over. I read teachery books and teachery blogs all summer in hopes of revamping my classroom and gaining more teachery wisdom from those who do it better. I sift through endless grains of information, straining to find my gold. What I read churns up new ideas, so by the time school starts, I'm brimming with awesome. All summer I feel like I've been clicking my way up to the top of the roller coaster, gathering inspiration, preparing for the drop. I feel ready to implement all my new teachery ideas and rock my students' worlds, and I'm such an idealist, a dreamer that I think all of these will flow uninhibited, flawlessly into my classroom, like a gentle breeze of revolution. As I've learned from past experiences, though, after a couple weeks, I realize I'm not all that, and my classroom doesn't always resemble the well-oiled, pristine machine I'd visualized all summer. And I'm becoming OK with that.
It's always difficult to process the feeling of not measuring up, which creeps to the forefront of my mind often. There is always someone who does it better, which means I must be doing it wrong, right? My brain gets gray and hazy with self-doubt sometimes, and I'm a little too hard on myself. But I've been doing some soul-searching and reminiscing of past years in the classroom, and I've decided that I do some good things. It's unrealistic for me to assume that I can adapt a hundred new strategies from Pinterest and completely restructure my classroom around others' ideas. Where's the ownership in that? I'm firm believer in kids taking ownership of their learning, but I wasn't taking ownership of my teaching. I'm not saying I can't learn from people, but it was getting to the point where I was discrediting my own experiences, which is just not healthy. I've realized that I need trust myself too. There's no way I can possibly implement all the ideas that have crossed my eyes this summer: 1.) Everyone is different and runs their classroom accordingly. 2.) That's just too much multi-tasking, and I'm not that talented. 3.) The fun of teaching lies in the atmosphere I create.
I never want to get to a point where I feel like I know everything. That's a like a tree willing itself not to grow. I love learning and will continue to research ways to better myself, but learning to trust myself is an invaluable lesson too, one that I can't read on a teachery blog. So, this year, I think I'll try a couple of new things in class as well as continue to build upon what I do already: build relationships to reach kids where they are.
I've still got A LOT of work to do before the year starts (seriously, I won't sleep next week), but as I nail down specifics of how my classroom will work, I wait at the top of this coaster for the last couple of clicks. Then the only thing left will be to close my eyes, lift my hands, and drop.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Friday, June 6, 2014
The end of an era.
I may be the only teacher who cried on the last day of school. I didn't cry while kids were in my room. I didn't cry while I packed up my room. I kept myself busy with end-of-year tasks, so I didn't think about how much these kids meant to me until all was done. There were no more papers to shred or supplies to put away or file cabinets to organize. I was left staring at my empty room. As I stared at the lifeless desks, the movie roll of memories began to play and the tears began right on cue.
I've loved all of my kids from day one, but there is something about the finality of an empty classroom. Knowing I would never teach those kids again was too much too handle. Seeing the empty chairs and bare walls made me realize how much I will miss these guys. As I reminisced about the year, I just couldn't help thinking about how far these kids have come as individuals and as writers. I'm so honored and humbled that I got to pour a little of my life into them. There is no other feeling like watching a kid "get it" or watching a quiet kid finally come out of her shell and embrace who she is or watching a kid become a young adult right in front of your eyes. They've become a part of me, and they each have a piece of my heart. They will never know how much they've touched my life.
As I was standing at my classroom door ready to leave, staring at white walls and vacant seats, the tears came (again). I literally stood at my door with the lights off for at least 10 minutes, staring and sobbing. It was pretty ridiculous. But it felt like the end of an era. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't close off the year. I couldn't close off the connection I'd worked so hard to build with my kids. I couldn't handle it. My co-workers, confused, saw me standing there, eyes bubbling and consoled me as I cried and told them how I didn't want the year to end. I feel like a parent whose kid is graduating. Man, I'm doomed when I have kids. These kids don't even come home with me and I can't keep it together!
So, here's to you Class of 2019, you will do great things. You will always hold a special place in my heart. I look forward to hearing of your accomplishments. Thanks for blessing me with your presence this year. I am humbled, honored, and proud to know you.
They definitely saw my "true" colors and decided to bless me with such a lovely photograph...
Nevertheless, these kids light up my life.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
The Best Part
Ugh. STAAR testing is here. The bane of my teaching existence. I did not become a teacher simply to prepare kids for a standardized test, which measures on an unreasonable curve. It isn't fair to determine the skills of every student based on one test. If I wanted to build robots, I would have become a mad scientist. But this is just one negative, unavoidable aspect of the job I love. I became a teacher simply because I love and appreciate the fragility and goofiness of adolescents. I can still see myself at that age searching for where I fit in the world and I'm trying reach her.
There have been several days, more than I'm willing to admit, when I come home from school ready to look for a new job. I whine to Kyle about how I can't handle the disrespect, the entitlement, the attitudes and laziness of these crazy kids. "There is no way I will make it in this profession for another thirty years," I complain. While that may be true, I may not make it another thirty years, today, I will choose to focus on the positive aspects of my job. Starting with the fact that, most days, I love my job. I realize you have good years and bad years, as my elder colleagues have informed me. Last year, however, it was not uncommon for me to come home frustrated to the point of tears. I think we can safely call that a bad year, or at least a frustrating one. But, I digress. I'm going to capitalize on the fact that this is a good year.
To celebrate how much better this year is treating me, I've decided to make a list. A best parts list. So far, these are the best parts of my year, my job, and my awesome, intuitive, fragile little seventh graders.
1. My kids get excited about reading. Divergent is the new fad in YA lit. Several of my kids have already read it, and I see more books everyday sitting atop desks, decorated with bookmarks. This is always a conversation starter for me. How awesome is it that I can walk into my room and generate genuine conversation about what faction we'd be in and discuss other book favorites? It fuels my fire to see kids get excited about reading! I love being in a profession where I can share my love of literature and see kids reciprocate that passion. I do not take it for granted. Of course, not all of my students appreciate reading, but I revel in the small victories! Some of my favorite teaching memories hold pictures of students standing around my desk spouting their favorite parts of Divergent or The Fault in Our Stars. It's the most rewarding feeling to know that I played a small role in sparking a passion for reading/writing.
2. Watching my kids morph into a community of writers has to be one of the coolest parts of my job. This has not been easy road, and some of my classes have not made it to this point yet. It has not come without several lectures/lessons about respecting one another, but one day, I'm not sure how, it happened. One of my students was sharing something we had all been working on from class, and that's when I saw it. As she read what she had written, my eyes bounced to each face of her peers as their expressions transformed from judgment to awe. Jaws dropped, eyes softened, and hearts opened with respect. "Wow, I didn't know you could write like that." The comments began. It was like 20 little light bulbs clicked on as I witnessed their perceptions of one another change from band nerd or jock or popular to writer. Everyone was equal. As you know, middle schoolers are insistent upon labeling (people, styles, music - you name it, they've labeled it), and in one moment of raw honesty, all those labels dissipated. They were united. I tried to disappear behind my podium and soak it all in. I let them share for as long as I could, reveling the new atmosphere of acceptance. That day they emerged with a new identity, a new label: writers. That will ever be etched in my memory. Even yesterday, we did some creative writing but ran out of time to share in class, but this didn't stop my 8th period. I glanced up from my desk to see several gathered in the back of my room sharing what they wrote before being dismissed. Guys, my job is cool.
3. I love watching my kids wrestle with writing. As with any skill, writing comes easily for some but not all. Not everyone gets it. Not everyone is good at it. And that's OK. They're 7th graders, not published authors, but I feel so encouraged when they try something new in their writing. It makes my job worthwhile when I witness them improve on a daily basis. I have literally caught myself in the middle of class with a teethy smile, giddy that they reached for a thesaurus or that they used a simile or that they indented a paragraph! Like I said, it's the little victories on which I thrive.
4. My kids actually work together. It's so nice to have a group of kids who will do what they've been asked! It still shocks me sometimes when I ask them to work on something with a partner, and lo' and behold, they actually work! On a few occasions, of course, I'm not so lucky. It does take a bit of motivating sometimes. Contrary to what I hope, most are not dying to write and revise essays, but they do anyway. There is one instance that I've tabbed in my memory. In the process of our essay writing, it was revising day. They were peer editing and revising when I noted one particular partner choice, of which I approved. One of my struggling writers chose to work with one of the strongest writers in that class, and the things I heard/saw made me want to fist pump, jump for joy, and sing all at once. In fact, I probably did. I overheard genuine discussions of where detail should be added and parts that sounded confusing. Both learned from each other, and because of this partnership, BOTH essays were better than the previous ones they had written! Win!
5 My kids know me. One day in class we were talking about "showing vs. telling." In my power point I showed several examples of what "showing" looks like in writing, but I only wrote one example myself. The other two examples I used I found from other sources. (I know, I cheated. Whatever.) As I read, they immediately knew which one I had written. I've shared enough of what I've written with them that they could instantly recognize my writing style. "Mrs. Nielsen, that one has to be the one you wrote because it's the best and it's long." (Awe. They know I'm wordy and over the top! ;) ) I was just impressed they could tell a difference! One even told me that I should write a book. They're so cute and naive. Writing is easy when your audience is a room full of 12-13 year olds!
6. The absolute best part of my job is the relationships that I build with my students.
Sometimes those relationships start with sarcasm, which is why I love junior high kids. They get it. I once told a kid to leave my class because he did not like Christmas music. Obviously, I was kidding. Kind of. We laughed and moved on.
I know I've mentioned sharing reading experiences above, but that also plays a part in how I build relationships. When they're eyes light up because I'm interested in what they're reading or doing or that I have noticed them, how is that not a teaching win? When my 8th graders come back to see me, my heart is full. I love those kids! It's special to know that I paid enough attention to them as 7th graders that they'd want to come back to visit me.
As their writing teacher, I know about them all of which they choose to share with me. It's very humbling when a little person trusts you enough to share their secrets with you, hoping for nothing less than acceptance. I do not take my position of influence for granted. And, occasionally, when one of my dears leaves for the weekend, I'll get a heart-warming gem like this as he back pedals out the door: "Bye, Mrs. Nielsen. If you're lucky, I might even miss ya." How friggin cute is that? Icing on the cake. Then you get the darlings who are honest to a fault: "Mrs. Nielsen, you look tired. Like you sound tired, too. Are you okay?" Just precious. Gotta love 'em. Seriously, though, I love my kids. I love that they are goofy, honest, confident, insecure, curious, and dare I say, dauntless. If I had kids, I'd want mine to be friends with them.
These guys have reminded me why I became a teacher. They've brought joy back to my job when the paper work and the planning and the grading and the pressure and STAAR seem to suck the life right out of me. Ultimately, I'm there for them - not for STAAR or grades. They should be my focal point. That is not always easy as I have my fair share of challenges and insecurities. I'm just grateful that the group of kids I have are motivated enough to give me hope and goofy enough to make me laugh; they work hard enough to make me proud and are malleable enough to accept correction. I have to remind myself that my students are seventh graders, and as such, lose their brains every other day. They don't always make good choices, but that's the beauty of growing up. It's not always pretty. They're really just little people reaching for ways to connect with the world. I'm just reaching back.
There have been several days, more than I'm willing to admit, when I come home from school ready to look for a new job. I whine to Kyle about how I can't handle the disrespect, the entitlement, the attitudes and laziness of these crazy kids. "There is no way I will make it in this profession for another thirty years," I complain. While that may be true, I may not make it another thirty years, today, I will choose to focus on the positive aspects of my job. Starting with the fact that, most days, I love my job. I realize you have good years and bad years, as my elder colleagues have informed me. Last year, however, it was not uncommon for me to come home frustrated to the point of tears. I think we can safely call that a bad year, or at least a frustrating one. But, I digress. I'm going to capitalize on the fact that this is a good year.
To celebrate how much better this year is treating me, I've decided to make a list. A best parts list. So far, these are the best parts of my year, my job, and my awesome, intuitive, fragile little seventh graders.
1. My kids get excited about reading. Divergent is the new fad in YA lit. Several of my kids have already read it, and I see more books everyday sitting atop desks, decorated with bookmarks. This is always a conversation starter for me. How awesome is it that I can walk into my room and generate genuine conversation about what faction we'd be in and discuss other book favorites? It fuels my fire to see kids get excited about reading! I love being in a profession where I can share my love of literature and see kids reciprocate that passion. I do not take it for granted. Of course, not all of my students appreciate reading, but I revel in the small victories! Some of my favorite teaching memories hold pictures of students standing around my desk spouting their favorite parts of Divergent or The Fault in Our Stars. It's the most rewarding feeling to know that I played a small role in sparking a passion for reading/writing.
2. Watching my kids morph into a community of writers has to be one of the coolest parts of my job. This has not been easy road, and some of my classes have not made it to this point yet. It has not come without several lectures/lessons about respecting one another, but one day, I'm not sure how, it happened. One of my students was sharing something we had all been working on from class, and that's when I saw it. As she read what she had written, my eyes bounced to each face of her peers as their expressions transformed from judgment to awe. Jaws dropped, eyes softened, and hearts opened with respect. "Wow, I didn't know you could write like that." The comments began. It was like 20 little light bulbs clicked on as I witnessed their perceptions of one another change from band nerd or jock or popular to writer. Everyone was equal. As you know, middle schoolers are insistent upon labeling (people, styles, music - you name it, they've labeled it), and in one moment of raw honesty, all those labels dissipated. They were united. I tried to disappear behind my podium and soak it all in. I let them share for as long as I could, reveling the new atmosphere of acceptance. That day they emerged with a new identity, a new label: writers. That will ever be etched in my memory. Even yesterday, we did some creative writing but ran out of time to share in class, but this didn't stop my 8th period. I glanced up from my desk to see several gathered in the back of my room sharing what they wrote before being dismissed. Guys, my job is cool.
3. I love watching my kids wrestle with writing. As with any skill, writing comes easily for some but not all. Not everyone gets it. Not everyone is good at it. And that's OK. They're 7th graders, not published authors, but I feel so encouraged when they try something new in their writing. It makes my job worthwhile when I witness them improve on a daily basis. I have literally caught myself in the middle of class with a teethy smile, giddy that they reached for a thesaurus or that they used a simile or that they indented a paragraph! Like I said, it's the little victories on which I thrive.
4. My kids actually work together. It's so nice to have a group of kids who will do what they've been asked! It still shocks me sometimes when I ask them to work on something with a partner, and lo' and behold, they actually work! On a few occasions, of course, I'm not so lucky. It does take a bit of motivating sometimes. Contrary to what I hope, most are not dying to write and revise essays, but they do anyway. There is one instance that I've tabbed in my memory. In the process of our essay writing, it was revising day. They were peer editing and revising when I noted one particular partner choice, of which I approved. One of my struggling writers chose to work with one of the strongest writers in that class, and the things I heard/saw made me want to fist pump, jump for joy, and sing all at once. In fact, I probably did. I overheard genuine discussions of where detail should be added and parts that sounded confusing. Both learned from each other, and because of this partnership, BOTH essays were better than the previous ones they had written! Win!
5 My kids know me. One day in class we were talking about "showing vs. telling." In my power point I showed several examples of what "showing" looks like in writing, but I only wrote one example myself. The other two examples I used I found from other sources. (I know, I cheated. Whatever.) As I read, they immediately knew which one I had written. I've shared enough of what I've written with them that they could instantly recognize my writing style. "Mrs. Nielsen, that one has to be the one you wrote because it's the best and it's long." (Awe. They know I'm wordy and over the top! ;) ) I was just impressed they could tell a difference! One even told me that I should write a book. They're so cute and naive. Writing is easy when your audience is a room full of 12-13 year olds!
6. The absolute best part of my job is the relationships that I build with my students.
Sometimes those relationships start with sarcasm, which is why I love junior high kids. They get it. I once told a kid to leave my class because he did not like Christmas music. Obviously, I was kidding. Kind of. We laughed and moved on.
I know I've mentioned sharing reading experiences above, but that also plays a part in how I build relationships. When they're eyes light up because I'm interested in what they're reading or doing or that I have noticed them, how is that not a teaching win? When my 8th graders come back to see me, my heart is full. I love those kids! It's special to know that I paid enough attention to them as 7th graders that they'd want to come back to visit me.
As their writing teacher, I know about them all of which they choose to share with me. It's very humbling when a little person trusts you enough to share their secrets with you, hoping for nothing less than acceptance. I do not take my position of influence for granted. And, occasionally, when one of my dears leaves for the weekend, I'll get a heart-warming gem like this as he back pedals out the door: "Bye, Mrs. Nielsen. If you're lucky, I might even miss ya." How friggin cute is that? Icing on the cake. Then you get the darlings who are honest to a fault: "Mrs. Nielsen, you look tired. Like you sound tired, too. Are you okay?" Just precious. Gotta love 'em. Seriously, though, I love my kids. I love that they are goofy, honest, confident, insecure, curious, and dare I say, dauntless. If I had kids, I'd want mine to be friends with them.
These guys have reminded me why I became a teacher. They've brought joy back to my job when the paper work and the planning and the grading and the pressure and STAAR seem to suck the life right out of me. Ultimately, I'm there for them - not for STAAR or grades. They should be my focal point. That is not always easy as I have my fair share of challenges and insecurities. I'm just grateful that the group of kids I have are motivated enough to give me hope and goofy enough to make me laugh; they work hard enough to make me proud and are malleable enough to accept correction. I have to remind myself that my students are seventh graders, and as such, lose their brains every other day. They don't always make good choices, but that's the beauty of growing up. It's not always pretty. They're really just little people reaching for ways to connect with the world. I'm just reaching back.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
ICEmagedon 2013
Well, this is day three of being cooped up the house. I've only gone minimally stir crazy, so I've had to find things to keep me busy. I've graded papers, cleaned, miraculously found enough ingredients in my pantry to make sugar cookies and even found powdered sugar and milk to create an icing for them, and I made chocolate chip pancakes this morning. (I think Kyle is happy!) I've watched countless Christmas movies and other movies to pass the time. (Anyone else find it weird that they are playing end of the world movies, like 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, and Armaggedon on TV? Winter weather doesn't mean end of humanity... but whatever. I'm still watching, so I guess I'm just as crazy!)
However, I must say I don't mind being cooped up too much. I could get used to Christmas decorations and views like this. Streets glazed in white. Leaves and branches encased in a sparkling glass cocoon. The crunch of ice under my feet prickling my soles. The sting of cold biting at my ears and nose and tingling my fingers until they lose feeling. The cold even raises the hairs on my neck and ignites a chill down my spine. The vapor my breath creates as I talk makes me feel like I've escaped the mundanity of every other day and entered into a magical ice world. Yesterday, as I was "ice-skating" on my driveway, as my feet glided over the slippery silver, exhilaration and fear filled my veins. I haven't been actually ice-skating in years, and as clumsy as I am, I knew I would fall. Much to my surprise, though, I held my fleeting balance. Kyle and I "skated" to the end of our street to watch cars brave the roads. Down the street a little ways was a Chevy Silverado who was bound and determined to get out of his driveway, but after about 15 minutes of sliding and fishtailing on the ice, I think he gave up and went back inside. Good choice. Soon after, another genius creeped up the road behind us. As I turned around all I could see were her tires facing one direction while her car was facing another. She slid diagonally for about 30 seconds before she tried the gas again, which of course did nothing. Her tires spun idly on the ice, but her truck stayed in the same place. Finally she caught a patch of dry ground and gained enough traction to pull out onto the main road. Kyle and I decided then we'd seen enough so we ventured back home, sliding down driveways and streets and sidewalks the whole way. My feet felt like those tires -- struggling, straining, sliding and hoping for traction.
I felt like an eight year old again exploring the icy paradise that awaited me outside my front door. At one point, I closed my eyes and imagined snow falling and swirling from the sky like mini cotton balls and clinging to the few arms of grass reaching up from the ice. It took me back to when I was kid eating icicles off frozen trees and playing basketball on a frozen driveway, shooting into a frozen net. It only took one shot and our ball was stuck in the glass net that had fused together because of the cold. When we'd get too cold, we'd go inside to make s'mores by the fire. Good times. We never got ice or snow or cold for that matter, in Port Neches, TX, so that freak ice storm some 16 years ago held some of my fondest childhood memories.
This weekend was a nice distraction. Now, it's back to school where I've got to keep my balance for a few more weeks. It's nice to be able to enjoy these impromptu holidays. It helps me keep my traction when everything else seems to be spinning. Happy ICEmagdon, friends!
However, I must say I don't mind being cooped up too much. I could get used to Christmas decorations and views like this. Streets glazed in white. Leaves and branches encased in a sparkling glass cocoon. The crunch of ice under my feet prickling my soles. The sting of cold biting at my ears and nose and tingling my fingers until they lose feeling. The cold even raises the hairs on my neck and ignites a chill down my spine. The vapor my breath creates as I talk makes me feel like I've escaped the mundanity of every other day and entered into a magical ice world. Yesterday, as I was "ice-skating" on my driveway, as my feet glided over the slippery silver, exhilaration and fear filled my veins. I haven't been actually ice-skating in years, and as clumsy as I am, I knew I would fall. Much to my surprise, though, I held my fleeting balance. Kyle and I "skated" to the end of our street to watch cars brave the roads. Down the street a little ways was a Chevy Silverado who was bound and determined to get out of his driveway, but after about 15 minutes of sliding and fishtailing on the ice, I think he gave up and went back inside. Good choice. Soon after, another genius creeped up the road behind us. As I turned around all I could see were her tires facing one direction while her car was facing another. She slid diagonally for about 30 seconds before she tried the gas again, which of course did nothing. Her tires spun idly on the ice, but her truck stayed in the same place. Finally she caught a patch of dry ground and gained enough traction to pull out onto the main road. Kyle and I decided then we'd seen enough so we ventured back home, sliding down driveways and streets and sidewalks the whole way. My feet felt like those tires -- struggling, straining, sliding and hoping for traction.
I felt like an eight year old again exploring the icy paradise that awaited me outside my front door. At one point, I closed my eyes and imagined snow falling and swirling from the sky like mini cotton balls and clinging to the few arms of grass reaching up from the ice. It took me back to when I was kid eating icicles off frozen trees and playing basketball on a frozen driveway, shooting into a frozen net. It only took one shot and our ball was stuck in the glass net that had fused together because of the cold. When we'd get too cold, we'd go inside to make s'mores by the fire. Good times. We never got ice or snow or cold for that matter, in Port Neches, TX, so that freak ice storm some 16 years ago held some of my fondest childhood memories.
This weekend was a nice distraction. Now, it's back to school where I've got to keep my balance for a few more weeks. It's nice to be able to enjoy these impromptu holidays. It helps me keep my traction when everything else seems to be spinning. Happy ICEmagdon, friends!
Monday, October 14, 2013
What I need...
Our theme this year for our school district is superheroes. That's exactly what a good teacher is to a kid or should be. But it's exactly what I feel like I'm not.
I constantly feel like I'm not enough and today, it culminated. It was purposeful planning day at school and I assumed I could get a lot done. Apparently, I was mistaken. I was not enough today. I was overwhelmed with the lessons plans I had yet to make, the parents I needed to call, the piles of papers I needed to grade, the paper work I needed to fill out, the practices I needed to plan, the laundry I needed to fold at home, the dishes I needed to do, and the husband I needed to spend time with. All these "needs" were staring me in the face begging me to tackle them. It was too much. There is no way I will fill every need everyday, so today I had to stop. Yes, I had to cry about it like a little girl, but I got it out of my system so that I could think straight again. More importantly, I had to revaluate which "needs" were most important in my life.
As I was planning for the week, I realized I had stopped writing. I remember thinking about this last night, too. While I was grocery shopping, all I could think was how much I wanted to go home, run, come home, write for a while, shower, and finally, sleep. Of course, I didn't do these things. (Honestly, I'm lucky I had time to get food in the house). I filled my evening with more stuff I "needed" to get done. I didn't run. I didn't write. If I'm honest, I didn't even shower. Last night, I put all of these things on the back burner and focused on what I thought needed to be done. But today I thought about this decision because I came to the same cross roads. If I stop writing, I stop growing, stop learning. If I stop writing and growing, what can I teach my kids about living a writing kind of life? How are they supposed to learn from me if I don't incorporate writing in my life, even when it's hard, but expect them to? There will always be "needs" that I must fill, but if I'm not nurturing the most important ones, the ones that make me who I am, I'll lose myself.
So, the laundry is still in the dryer. The dishes are still dirty. The papers are still ungraded, but I don't care because I made time to do what I needed. I shared some laughs with the hubs, shared some snuggles with my pups, and shared some meager thoughts with the world. I may not be writing poems or novels or anything profound, but a simple blog entry will suffice tonight. It was something I needed to do. Everything gets a little simpler, priorities become a little clearer, when pen hits the paper. Thanks for keeping me accountable! :)
I constantly feel like I'm not enough and today, it culminated. It was purposeful planning day at school and I assumed I could get a lot done. Apparently, I was mistaken. I was not enough today. I was overwhelmed with the lessons plans I had yet to make, the parents I needed to call, the piles of papers I needed to grade, the paper work I needed to fill out, the practices I needed to plan, the laundry I needed to fold at home, the dishes I needed to do, and the husband I needed to spend time with. All these "needs" were staring me in the face begging me to tackle them. It was too much. There is no way I will fill every need everyday, so today I had to stop. Yes, I had to cry about it like a little girl, but I got it out of my system so that I could think straight again. More importantly, I had to revaluate which "needs" were most important in my life.
As I was planning for the week, I realized I had stopped writing. I remember thinking about this last night, too. While I was grocery shopping, all I could think was how much I wanted to go home, run, come home, write for a while, shower, and finally, sleep. Of course, I didn't do these things. (Honestly, I'm lucky I had time to get food in the house). I filled my evening with more stuff I "needed" to get done. I didn't run. I didn't write. If I'm honest, I didn't even shower. Last night, I put all of these things on the back burner and focused on what I thought needed to be done. But today I thought about this decision because I came to the same cross roads. If I stop writing, I stop growing, stop learning. If I stop writing and growing, what can I teach my kids about living a writing kind of life? How are they supposed to learn from me if I don't incorporate writing in my life, even when it's hard, but expect them to? There will always be "needs" that I must fill, but if I'm not nurturing the most important ones, the ones that make me who I am, I'll lose myself.
So, the laundry is still in the dryer. The dishes are still dirty. The papers are still ungraded, but I don't care because I made time to do what I needed. I shared some laughs with the hubs, shared some snuggles with my pups, and shared some meager thoughts with the world. I may not be writing poems or novels or anything profound, but a simple blog entry will suffice tonight. It was something I needed to do. Everything gets a little simpler, priorities become a little clearer, when pen hits the paper. Thanks for keeping me accountable! :)
Saturday, September 21, 2013
It's the little things...
I should be grading right now, but I chose to write instead. It felt too amazing outside not to soak it up. It's like Texas just wanted to give us a glimpse of what fall is supposed to feel like - cool, stagnant air just relaxing in the peaceful silence. Sadly, these envied temperatures will be melted away by the end of the week. Oh well, we can always hope for more rain.
As I'm sitting out in the coolness, I'm reflecting on my teaching week. Everyday I feel a little more drained than the last, so by Friday, it's a miracle I'm still walking. However, this Friday (yesterday), was different. After three years of teaching, I felt like the best teacher version of myself. We were working on our first personal narrative essays of the year, and yesterday was revising day. As usual, I wrote an essay of my own as an example, but I did something with it I've never done before. I put my rough draft - my sloppiness, open and exposed - under our document camera for the kids to see. I have done that before. I've written with them and modeled how to start an essay. I've given check lists of what makes a good essay or what they should have in theirs. We've answered questions about revising essays. I've even done musical revising, where they get up and move around while music plays and they revise whichever paper they arrive at when the music stops. But I've never had them revise mine or modeled what revising looks like. To tell the truth, it was one of my least favorite things to teach because I could never really find a good, meaningful way to do it. I'm sure there plenty of simple ways out there that much better teachers breeze through. But Friday, although small, I had a victory.
I put my rough draft under the camera, so everyone could see. I read it to them and had them follow along. Occasionally, I stopped and told them what I was thinking when I wrote a part or when I though I needed to get rid of something. I also told them to revise it. I wanted to see if they would pick up on the many things I did wrong. At first they were unsure when I opened the floor for discussion of my essay.
"You mean, we won't get in trouble for correcting you?"
"No ma'am, This is a conversation - writer-to-writer."
Once they realized I was serious, they jumped in, excited for the opportunity to correct the teacher. More importantly, I finally started hearing music to my ears. They were genuinely decoding the message of my essay and thinking through the words I chose.
"You went on too long about your courage."
"I think you repeated yourself when you said mountains twice."
"I think that sentence is too long. I can't understand it."
"You said one thing in that paragraph that doesn't go with your story."
Just when I had them right where I wanted them, I brought my lesson home.
"This is revising. What you just corrected is my first draft. Clearly, it was not ready to be my final draft. You had to figure out what I was trying to say and delete the extra stuff."
I saw some lightbulbs begin to click. It wasn't profound or even that creative and it may not sound like it, but I felt like I finally taught them that revising is not just replacing a word or fixing a comma. Revising is about shaping and molding your words to paint the picture you want your reader to see. Words are the clay and students can mold them into any art form they want. It won't be perfect the first time, which is why they have to keep running their fingers through it.
Again, it is pretty insignificant, and I'm sure all you other more talented teachers are laughing at me, but I'll take a small victory. I know I have a long way to go to becoming a "great" teacher, but I had so much fun watching my students genuinely revise and shape their essays, crafting their words into little masterpieces. Even though I was so drained and nearly dragging, my students turned my day completely around. It was refreshing to watch them work and actually realize why we do this. Sometimes it's the little things that keep me going on days when I don't want to get out of bed.
As I'm sitting out in the coolness, I'm reflecting on my teaching week. Everyday I feel a little more drained than the last, so by Friday, it's a miracle I'm still walking. However, this Friday (yesterday), was different. After three years of teaching, I felt like the best teacher version of myself. We were working on our first personal narrative essays of the year, and yesterday was revising day. As usual, I wrote an essay of my own as an example, but I did something with it I've never done before. I put my rough draft - my sloppiness, open and exposed - under our document camera for the kids to see. I have done that before. I've written with them and modeled how to start an essay. I've given check lists of what makes a good essay or what they should have in theirs. We've answered questions about revising essays. I've even done musical revising, where they get up and move around while music plays and they revise whichever paper they arrive at when the music stops. But I've never had them revise mine or modeled what revising looks like. To tell the truth, it was one of my least favorite things to teach because I could never really find a good, meaningful way to do it. I'm sure there plenty of simple ways out there that much better teachers breeze through. But Friday, although small, I had a victory.
I put my rough draft under the camera, so everyone could see. I read it to them and had them follow along. Occasionally, I stopped and told them what I was thinking when I wrote a part or when I though I needed to get rid of something. I also told them to revise it. I wanted to see if they would pick up on the many things I did wrong. At first they were unsure when I opened the floor for discussion of my essay.
"You mean, we won't get in trouble for correcting you?"
"No ma'am, This is a conversation - writer-to-writer."
Once they realized I was serious, they jumped in, excited for the opportunity to correct the teacher. More importantly, I finally started hearing music to my ears. They were genuinely decoding the message of my essay and thinking through the words I chose.
"You went on too long about your courage."
"I think you repeated yourself when you said mountains twice."
"I think that sentence is too long. I can't understand it."
"You said one thing in that paragraph that doesn't go with your story."
Just when I had them right where I wanted them, I brought my lesson home.
"This is revising. What you just corrected is my first draft. Clearly, it was not ready to be my final draft. You had to figure out what I was trying to say and delete the extra stuff."
I saw some lightbulbs begin to click. It wasn't profound or even that creative and it may not sound like it, but I felt like I finally taught them that revising is not just replacing a word or fixing a comma. Revising is about shaping and molding your words to paint the picture you want your reader to see. Words are the clay and students can mold them into any art form they want. It won't be perfect the first time, which is why they have to keep running their fingers through it.
Again, it is pretty insignificant, and I'm sure all you other more talented teachers are laughing at me, but I'll take a small victory. I know I have a long way to go to becoming a "great" teacher, but I had so much fun watching my students genuinely revise and shape their essays, crafting their words into little masterpieces. Even though I was so drained and nearly dragging, my students turned my day completely around. It was refreshing to watch them work and actually realize why we do this. Sometimes it's the little things that keep me going on days when I don't want to get out of bed.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
6 word memoirs. Coolest assignment ever.
I've made it through the first two weeks of school so far! Two very... long... weeks. Tryouts the first week almost killed me. 13-14 hour days feels like someone pressed thumb tacks all the way into the bottoms of my feet. But my hilarious co-workers lifted my spirits and made every minute worth it. I'd make fun of Miley and dance to "Started from the bottom..." all day with tacks in my feet all over again. Labor Day weekend brought me enough sleep to recoup in time for the next round. Morning practices. My body still doesn't understand what's going on with a 4:45-5:00am wake up time. Though, somehow my brain finds a way to wake itself up enough to function. Too bad I don't drink coffee. Once I realize I'm awake and at practice, I can see that we have some really talented athletes (and great kiddos) that make my job well worth the loss of sleep. Plus, we kicked butt at our first scrimmage, so now I'm pumped for the season.
Then, there is the classroom side of my job. While I have more students in my classes this year than I've ever had, it's been pretty smooth sailing (knock on wood). Granted, after the second week, kids are starting to come out of their angel shells and test the waters, but I love all of them regardless. I feel privileged to be able to teach these guys. I've got some super sweet, respectful, intriguing babies who make my job a little easier. Let's just hope it stays that way. :)
Already, though, I'm impressed by them. The first week of school they wrote me a letter introducing themselves, and I was impressed by their ability to write so well already. (Good job 6th grade teachers!! You are amazing!) The second week we continued to do some reflective writing with some 6 word memoirs. This is definitely the COOLEST assignment I've ever done, and I learned so much about them. I can't tell you how much I LOVE 6 word memoirs! It was so cool to watch my kids dig inside themselves and splatter their stories in 6 words. I can't wait to hang these up in my room. I can't wait to see their reactions to how inspirational, strong, and deep their peers are. Whenever I get time, I'd like to make a cool video of these, but until then check out these 6 word memoirs and see how awesome my kids are...
I can trust anyone... I think?
Bruised legs. Dirt Everywhere. That's fashion.
Lost in life. Dad is dead.
Football, best sport for teaching character.
Sounded much better in my head.
Creativity big, height small, heart huge.
Swinging so high, falling down hard...
Stress me out, Starbucks saves me.
Without books, life's black and white.
Finding who you are is hard.
Quiet has never been any louder.
My mind is a forest... lost.
Life's a song you're the lyrics.
Lost in thought, slowly falling apart.
Life's a game without extra lives.
Misunderstood, mistaken, mistreated, but still here.
Gooey on inside, rock solid out.
I'm not quiet, I'm just listening.
Like a rose, falls for nothing.
Knowing not all feats are impossible.
Slow learner, but still get it.
Still waiting for that one day.
Today's biggest worries. Tomorrow's funniest memories.
Love bacon, love mustaches, love life.
Used to be shy, not anymore.
I'm short, but touching cloud nine.
This one about sums it up:
12 years old, blinded by life.
I wish I could put all of them up here, but that might take a while. I'm so thankful that they took the risk to be so transparent with me and each other. I think we can agree my kids are awesome (and smarter than me)!
If I could sum up the first two weeks, even though I've been dog-tired and dragging through most of it, it has been surprisingly refreshing. It's refreshing to be able to work with people that make every day better than the last. To work with coaches who love the kids they coach and who dress up like gangstas. To work with teachers who I can learn from and who share the same goals and approach to writing as I do. Suffice it say that I'm excited for the year, and I love my job!
Long hours. Frustrating days. Worth it.
Then, there is the classroom side of my job. While I have more students in my classes this year than I've ever had, it's been pretty smooth sailing (knock on wood). Granted, after the second week, kids are starting to come out of their angel shells and test the waters, but I love all of them regardless. I feel privileged to be able to teach these guys. I've got some super sweet, respectful, intriguing babies who make my job a little easier. Let's just hope it stays that way. :)
Already, though, I'm impressed by them. The first week of school they wrote me a letter introducing themselves, and I was impressed by their ability to write so well already. (Good job 6th grade teachers!! You are amazing!) The second week we continued to do some reflective writing with some 6 word memoirs. This is definitely the COOLEST assignment I've ever done, and I learned so much about them. I can't tell you how much I LOVE 6 word memoirs! It was so cool to watch my kids dig inside themselves and splatter their stories in 6 words. I can't wait to hang these up in my room. I can't wait to see their reactions to how inspirational, strong, and deep their peers are. Whenever I get time, I'd like to make a cool video of these, but until then check out these 6 word memoirs and see how awesome my kids are...
I can trust anyone... I think?
Bruised legs. Dirt Everywhere. That's fashion.
Lost in life. Dad is dead.
Football, best sport for teaching character.
Sounded much better in my head.
Creativity big, height small, heart huge.
Swinging so high, falling down hard...
Stress me out, Starbucks saves me.
Without books, life's black and white.
Finding who you are is hard.
Quiet has never been any louder.
My mind is a forest... lost.
Life's a song you're the lyrics.
Lost in thought, slowly falling apart.
Life's a game without extra lives.
Misunderstood, mistaken, mistreated, but still here.
Gooey on inside, rock solid out.
I'm not quiet, I'm just listening.
Like a rose, falls for nothing.
Knowing not all feats are impossible.
Slow learner, but still get it.
Still waiting for that one day.
Today's biggest worries. Tomorrow's funniest memories.
Love bacon, love mustaches, love life.
Used to be shy, not anymore.
I'm short, but touching cloud nine.
This one about sums it up:
12 years old, blinded by life.
I wish I could put all of them up here, but that might take a while. I'm so thankful that they took the risk to be so transparent with me and each other. I think we can agree my kids are awesome (and smarter than me)!
If I could sum up the first two weeks, even though I've been dog-tired and dragging through most of it, it has been surprisingly refreshing. It's refreshing to be able to work with people that make every day better than the last. To work with coaches who love the kids they coach and who dress up like gangstas. To work with teachers who I can learn from and who share the same goals and approach to writing as I do. Suffice it say that I'm excited for the year, and I love my job!
Long hours. Frustrating days. Worth it.
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