An Honest Recording

     This year, I've decided to pursue National Board certification, which among other things, means I have to occasionally record myself teaching. I was fortunate in that I had to record myself many times during my student teaching, so I no longer have fear of seeing or hearing myself on video. But still, recording your teaching and knowing that someone else will be watching it for the express purpose of judging you would make anyone nervous. I couldn't help but be hyper aware of every little thing that went awry.

Here are a few things that happened on camera in my classroom today:

1.) As a reward for winning the Black History Month Door Decorating contest, my principal bought doughnuts for my little darlings. There were more than we needed, so most kids ate two. Cue nausea and hyperactivity all around!

To be fair, they did a great job.

2.) One student stared directly into the camera for five minutes and made funny faces. Blissfully unaware, I continued to teach with him in the background.

3.) One student burped loudly, twice.

4.) One student (on camera, mind you) dropped his paper and then accused another student of taking it from him and throwing it on the floor.

5.) And JUST as I was finally getting into a solid momentum with the lesson, one of my girls sprang a nosebleed.

After this last interruption, you see me sigh heavily and say "Oh, teaching..."

Regardless of all of this, the lesson actually went pretty well. For the purpose of National Board, you only need 10-15 minutes, and you can make two cuts to the video. I will also record on other days, but honestly, there is something endearing about this video. It's the kind of thing I would show a student teacher or a class of preservice teaching students to illustrate the best and worst thing about teaching: even the best laid plans don't stand a chance against a determined group of middle schoolers.

This post was written for Slice of Life Tuesdays.

Hang in There, New-ish Teacher

Slice of Life Tuesdays

When I was a brand new teacher, I believed that, no matter how restrictive the curriculum, there was always a creative way to instill important life lessons, foster creativity, and give students some measure of voice and choice.

I still believe that, but somewhere along the way, I forgot, and I don't like where I ended up. With young teachers leaving in droves, people often blame pay, administration, parents, etc, but what no one ever mentions is that your third and fourth years are hard. For me, I'd argue that they are even harder than my first year was. You face all the same pressures and responsibilities of your first year with the added problem of wanting to earn some measure of respect from your colleagues. You don't want to ask for help because you don't want people to think that you need it. 

When I was first hired, I asked my principal if I would have a mentor. She said no, but she also said, "Don't worry. They'll come knocking." She was 100% correct. I didn't have a mentor, but I did have required monthly new teacher meetings with other new teachers in my district. Much to my school's credit, I also felt like I had a barrage of support from my fellow grade level and subject area teachers. I was never without someone to lean on, and by the end of my first year, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude toward many of my colleagues. 

But somewhere in the middle of my second year, I started to feel like all that support was evaporating. It wasn't that my coworkers became any less supportive, but I do think they became less concerned. They didn't "come knocking" as much. I had survived year one; surely year two would be no problem! And, to be totally honest, I think I started to feel like I needed to prove myself. Year One's mission was to survive. By Year Two, I felt like I should have it all together. No more rookie mistakes for me! 

Of course, that's not what happened. The pressure started to get to me. Between test scores, classroom management issues I was unprepared for, and my own perfectionist nature, I started to compromise on what I knew were best practices. The wisdom of my college professors gave way to the practical challenges of real students in a real classroom and navigating collaborative relationships with coworkers.

So today, I am reflecting on where I've compromised and where I can reclaim some of the high ideals that I've let go: social emotional learning, project-based learning, a classroom that doesn't "look" perfectly in control and allows for a little more student freedom. I made a lot of mistakes my first year, but I always felt proud of myself and what I was trying to do. I want to feel that way again. 

Other newish teachers, I salute you! No one told us these years would be the hardest.

Not newish teachers, check on your third and fourth year friends. As a whole, they are not okay.

How "Brown Girl Dreaming" Changed the Way I Look at My Students

     One of the reasons I became an English teacher is the way books can change parts of who you are in an instant. On page 101, you can believe something so fiercely, and by page 102, you might have trouble remembering you ever thought that way at all. Earlier this year, Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson convinced me that lying isn't so bad.
     In the poem "believing," Woodson explains that, as a child, she was prone to making up stories about anything and everything, foreshadowing her career as a prolific author. She juxtaposes her mother's response to her fibbing with her uncle's. Her mother worries that "if you lie...one day you'll steal" (176). Her uncle is less worried (as uncles usually are). He doesn't see the storytelling as a fatal character flaw. Rather, he listens to her and asks her questions. He encourages her to elaborate.

If you haven't read this book yet, shame on you.

     I read this poem for the first time in the middle of my classroom as my students read their own books all around me. When I finished the poem, I looked up and thought of a few students in particular. As teachers, how many times per day do our students lie to us? What are their reasons for lying? What are the best liars, if not spectacularly convincing storytellers?
     Just like that, my students looked completely different. Not sneaky tricksters. Not liars. Not ornery charlatans. No. Gifted story tellers. Destined for greatness, not in spite of their naughtiness, but precisely because of it.
     It was in this moment that I resolved to be more like Woodson's uncle. Rather than dismiss their comments or scold students for lying, I started asking some probing questions. Why did that happen? Then what came next? How do you know? For every single student I have done this with, one of two things have happened:

          1. They ran out of lies and came clean.
          2. They caught on to my trick and told me a sweeping, beautiful, epic story.

     If I can get a student to be honest or tell me a really good story, I know I've done something worthwhile that day.

     What lies do your students tell you? What would happen (or has happened) if you asked them to tell you more?

My First "Slice of Life" #sol19

I'm new to this whole "slice of life" thing, and if you are, too, check out Two Writing Teachers to learn more.

For the first time in a long while, I woke up completely naturally on a weekday. Everything was perfect: the memory foam pillow (with cooling technology!) cradling my head, the warm doughy comforter wrapped all around me, savagely tucked under my body to prevent sharing with other creatures, the soft, gray light of an overcast February morning. I couldn't believe how happy and well-rested I felt.

Then, I really couldn't believe it.

Then, I remembered that it hasn't been light out when I've woken up for months.

Then, I noticed my alarm clock was blinking.

Unleashing a string of words unbecoming of a role model for children, I hatched my way out of my comforter and checked my Fitbit as I ran down the stairs: 6:45 am. Only twenty five minutes before I needed to be at work, a twenty-five minute drive away.

(I know, I know "set an alarm on your phone." Call me old school, but I have a strict "no phone in the bedroom" policy. If you couldn't tell from the memory foam pillow and the no-sharing blanket policy, sleep is very important to me.)

I made it through three of the five stages of grief in about thirty seconds.

Denial: I can still make it! I'll call my buddy, and she can put copies on my desk and....

Anger: NOPE, that is not going to work. I can't believe I did that. I just reset the clocks in the kitchen, too. Shoot! (Pepper swearwords throughout. Use your imagination!)

Bargaining: Who do I need to sweet talk to get someone to cover my class for 20 minutes? Do I have time to shower? If I shower, do I have time for coffee? Shower? or coffee?

Just as I was about to give up hope of smelling nice today (because after sleep, nothing is more important than coffee), I picked up my phone. I had missed texts, voicemails, e-mails, and an assortment of other things. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

You see, those who know me and love me and accept my flaws know that I cannot be relied upon to check my phone even once per day. If I forget it at home or at work, I don't even give it a second thought and just go without. (#NotAllMillennials)

Since it is well known that calling me is useless, an early morning storm of voicemails, Facebook notifications, and text messages can mean only one thing, that glorious thing that reminds us all of the perks of being a teacher:

E-learning Day!

Why I'm Going to Spend More Time at my Desk

   

Hello! This is a long blog post, but it's also my first one, so I'd like to take a brief minute to say welcome, and thank you for reading!

    Back in September, a colleague of mine paid a visit to my classroom and left a sticky note on my desk when she left. It said, "Great job! I don't think you sat down once!" It made my day! As a teacher of ninety minute blocks, that tendency is a huge point of pride for me. All of my teacher preparation classes emphasized the importance of the "two eyes, two feet" system of classroom management. Be up. Be aware. Be present. Invest in comfortable shoes. And never, under any circumstances, be caught sitting.
     Don't get me wrong. I still think it's important to be mentally and physically present in the classroom. After all, it's our job to interact with students. However, for the past couple of weeks, I've had a nagging pain in my back. Most of the time, I don't notice it at all, but it hurts the most when I stand up, especially if I have to twist to do it. When I agreed to a two-week Fitbit challenge with my fabulous coworkers, I had no idea one of them was made of steel, and she had no idea that I am an incredibly poor loser, so naturally, we tried to step each other to death. (I lost.) As I am just shy of twenty-six years old, back pain is a new phenomenon for me, but it is just the latest of many signals I've been receiving lately that are all screaming the same thing: sit your butt down.
     All physical symptoms aside (Don't worry, Mom; I put Bengay on it), the message of taking a load off is beginning to haunt me. This week, I read Kristin Souers' incredible book, Fostering Resilient Learners: Strategies for Creating a Trauma-Sensitive Classroom. While it was just as practical and informative as I had dreamed, it took me by surprise. I bought the book expecting it to tell me all about students, what they need, and what to do and say to them to help them. It did a lot of that, but Souers also said this:

Educators are notorious for giving selflessly, for tending to their students and ignoring their own needs, for buying classroom materials with their own money, and for focusing most of their energy, time, thoughts, and emotions on their students. It is no small feat to get some teachers to even talk about their own needs, let alone address them with action– yet it is a foundational step in the process of becoming a trauma-sensitive practitioner. If we aren't physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy, we cannot reasonably expect to be able to help our students become healthier and more successful in school. (41)

     It's not revolutionary to say that teachers are magical, self-deprecating, martyrous unicorns who need to take better care of themselves, but what struck me about Fostering Resilient Learners was that this idea wasn't just relegated to a paragraph here or there; it was the primary focus of the book! Souers is helping teachers create trauma-sensitive classrooms not by helping us "fix" students who have experienced trauma, but by helping teachers fix the way we understand and react to our students. By my completely subjective, unscientific estimates, at least half of the book is about teacher reflection and self-care and how it directly impacts our practice. In other words, sit down and take care of yourself, and you will be better emotionally equipped to take care of your kids.
     No sooner had I finished this book than I learned the same lesson yet again, this time from my students. After nearly a week of inclement weather days, compounded by our winter NWEA testing, I wanted to give my students something really authentic and engaging to sink their teeth into, to remind them that school is more than worksheets and tests. So I pulled out a lesson my mentor teacher, Erin Franklin, taught me, and I challenged my students to design their dream school. Using the jigsaw method, we read six articles about different styles and philosophies of education, and in every teacher's favorite game of chicken, I let my students choose their groups. Each group had one simple mission: design a school that will prepare students to become functional citizens of a stable society.
     As always happens when we let students choose their groups, pods of friends congealed in every corner of the room. I found myself pacing nervously. Would Sammie's group be too loud? Would Eric's group just goof around? Would Taylor derail her group entirely with something fabulously creative that totally misses the point of the assignment? (Names are fictional.) I got hundreds of steps walking circles around my classroom just waiting for something to go wrong. But then I noticed something both troubling and exciting.
     When I was nearby, students would ask me things, sometimes legitimate things, sometimes silly ones. They would turn to me to settle debates or help with a grammatical question or whatever else. However, by the time I circled the room again and came back, they had settled many of these issues on their own. What, then, was the purpose of my pacing the room? To make myself feel better? To appear busy in case an administrator popped in? To create the illusion of control over a group of students who were functioning perfectly well on their own?
     In my next class, I stayed in my seat. And you know what happened? The class did just fine. I'm sure some students got away with a few minutes of off-task behavior, but the fact remains that they were solving problems on their own better than they ever did when I was making myself constantly available for help. When I did eventually check in with my groups, they were working together, thinking critically, and getting their assignments done.
     I've seen a lot on Twitter lately about our obligation to be firecrackers in the classroom. To be constantly engaging, up, moving around, maybe even getting rid of our desks entirely. If that's your style, go for it! But if, like me, the universe is telling you loud and clear that you need to sit down, sit your butt down, and don't feel guilty about it. It just might be exactly what you (and your students) need.