Intellectual Wasteland

Remember how a while back I blogged about education being a fashion wasteland? Well, that's not the only one.

This Monday the 4th grade language arts teachers had to attend a training on small group guided reading. Awesome, I thought. I get a break from the kids, and I can learn something new about a topic we didn't have in middle school.

Unfortunately, I was needlessly optimistic. Because it was all too clear, just a few minutes into the day that the woman conducting the "training" didn't need to be a trainer. You'll see in just a minute that she doesn't need to be a teacher either.

On at least one occasion she used the word REINERATE.

Maybe this is some cool, new mashup of the words incinerate and reincarnate. Maybe we were going to burn up all our old knowledge and then let our new knowledge rise from the ashes like a glorious phoenix about to...

Nah, I think she meant REITERATE but isn't very smart.

Yep, that explains it.

A little later she was modeling a small group guided reading lesson where she was teaching main idea.  She told her "students" that main idea was a combination of the characters, setting, and what happened in the story.

Um, no. That would be a summary of what happened. Main idea is the most important idea in a NON-FICTION text.

After the second incident, I was finished. Done. Thanks for comin' out.

Boys Who Prance

Let me get straight to the point on this one. I have a student. Who is a 9 year old boy.

And he prances when he walks.

Actually, maybe it's not so much a prance. Because a prance is more a walk where you pick your feet up in a feminine, dancer sort of way.

It's not a skip, either. It's a hybrid, really.

He walks like a rooster with his chest puffed out, his arms behind him like he's about to take off in flight, and legs moving as if he is about to chasse across the room.

It is hard not to stare sometimes.

Ironically, he is one of the boys with a girlfriend.

I love it.
______________________________________________________________________

And in only quasi-related news, this post reminded me of my all-time favorite YouTube video.

I call him "Awesome Apple Bottom Ginger Kid Succumbs to Flo Rida Madness"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azhgVB5uXlo

P.O.S.

This past week sucked. My classes haven't been good since the beginning. There was no honeymoon period for this group. They are worse than middle school kids in terms of behavior and it's starting to wear me thin because it is continually worsening.

Like the kid I sent to the office yesterday. He tried to take a book away from his table partner and when he didn't get his way he called the other kid a "piece of shit." I expect that type of thing from a middle schooler. But a 9 year old? Oh, that's right, he watched Southpark.

Then again, I recall my Mom's week at her school, which brings a whole new meaning to the title of this post.

She found an actual P.O.S. in the hallway. More precisely, a trail of poo from a 4th grade classroom all the way to the bathroom.

And as bad as my kids are, they have yet to "drop a load" in the hall.

Knock on wood.

A Field Trip As Told Through Texting

The following text transcription occured during a trip to, during, and returning from a field trip to an art museum.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent...and this blogger.

B: I wndr if leaving him w/o princpal knowing was best idea

D: Hmm, maybe, but it did happen right as we were lining up to leave. Ms. X heard him use the "F" word and then when she told me he took off sprinting down the hall and wouldn't stop. Sooo...hopefully it will be ok (that we left him).

10 minutes later

B: Y was Phoebe yellin at the window tellin a girl in shorts 2 put some more clothes on? Ms. Dazey Duke herself!

D: Haha

B: Y did Joey kick Ross off the seat w/ him and Rachel? And looks like Chandler is seriously tryin 2 mack on Monica and Daniel is singin his own lyrics 2 a beach boys tune.

D: Good grief...

20 minutes later

D: These kids are crazy and don't listen...Every single exhibit Peter asks a question someone else has already asked, Johnathan keeps trying to touch all the paintings and Annie just stroked a sculpture!

D: Also, James got really mad at me when he grabbed and tried to hold my hand and I said no (James is 12).

B: Girl I'm just glad tht this is over. We get 2 c wht it looks like whn kids aren't exposed 2 anything outside of tv and main event...

Not chronicled in the text messaging was the museum guide who kept grabbing students' arms when they tried to touch paintings and the little boy behind me who was making noises that rivaled Meg Ryan's performance during the lunch scene in "When Harry Met Sally."

Fashion Wasteland

When someone says the words "professional dress" we may differ slightly in what comes to mind. What is professional in California is not in Texas.  What is professional in the art field may not be in a courtroom.

In education, sometimes we ask students to define what something is not in order to give them a better understanding of what something is.

While what is professional seems to be open for debate, I would hope to think that what is not professional would be obvious.

A 55+ woman wearing a too-short, too-tight dress from the Juniors department in Target is not appropriate. I mean, come on, even I wouldn't wear the dress in question and the tweens who do at least throw on leggings under theirs.

Wrinkled, khaki capris are a blight that should be banned from the earth. Oh, wait, they don't wear them everywhere on the earth? So, just banned from the teaching profession? That's right, I forgot that teachers are the worst dressers ever. In other words, wrinkled capris are not appropriate.

Greasy hair? No makeup? Not appropriate.

A too-short hoodie with a cartoon character on the front is something no one should wear outside the privacy of their own home - or a taping of COPS.

Bras that offer no support or padding...this is another post entirely I assure you. Clearly, not appropriate.

Flip flops. Are. Not. Professional.

Not only are the people I work with (mostly) delusional about what is professional, they are completly out of the loop about fashion at all. In fact, it is a FASHION WASTELAND.*

I guess I wouldn't be so bitter about the whole thing if they would let me wear jeans. Nice, dark wash jeans with a nice button-down and high heels that are ten fold more professional than wrinkled khaki capris. But no, jeans are not "professional."

What am I getting at exactly? Well, I want to wear my nice jeans because they're cute and comfortable and practical for teaching elementary school. I want the discrepency corrected, because it doesn't make sense to get to wear flip flops but no nice denim. If those other teachers refuse to dress with any regard for themselves, then could they stop giving me weird looks for what I wear? At the very least, I want a slideshow presentation at the next faculty meeting with pictures of what is and is not acceptable.

Do you think they would let me snap pictures around campus for the slides? Can I force feed them episodes of What Not To Wear, The Hills, and The City? Can I get on DonorsChoose and get funding to buy supportive bras for the staff?

I mean, really.


*Fashion Wasteland: A place of work or community where no sense of style exists at all. There is no out-of-date or out-of-style, there is only absence of any remnant of style whatsoever. This place is in need of fashion coaches. I nominate Amber Weston.

And Now, For Your Viewing Pleasure...

My partner teacher (math and science) gave the kids a word problem based on the Simpsons the other day.  When they finished, she let them draw a picture of Lisa since the problem centered around her.  As the two of us took our classes out to recess that day she could hardly contain her laughter as she scooted some of the kids along to play.

Pulling out her clipboard I could see a stack of manilla paper clipped neatly and couldn't understand what could possibly be so funny...of course, I hadn't seen "The Lisas" yet.

We laughed until we had tears streaming down our faces. I know it's bad, but really...we couldn't help it.  Besides, if you can't laugh in education - you won't last long.

"Strapless Dress Doesn't Cover Everything It Should Lisa"

"Amputated Demonic Lisa"

"Miss Pac-Man Lisa"

"Half Naked Um....Um...Lisa"

"Big-Bird Lisa"

Monday Hug

More and more it seems people tell teachers not to lay hands on their students, don't pat them on the back, don't shake their hands, don't gently reassure them with a hand on the shoulder...and definitely, no hugs.  I sometimes wonder if those teachers were ever really in the classroom and if so, did they love their students at all? Because sometimes, a hug is the only viable option.

My 4th graders took a post-assessment for their personal narrative unit today. An on-demand writing prompt and a set block of time with no, not even spelling, help from me.

Midway through, a small-for-his-age, sandy colored hair little brainiac came to my desk to tell me he didn't think he could write anymore.  I smiled and told him that writer's block was normal and good writers have to think through things sometimes.

He shook his head and said, "No, Mrs. D, I really can't write anymore..."

Then he bursts into a heart-wrenching sob and hands me his paper, which I immediately read.

The prompt was to write about someone special to you and he chose his dad. He wrote that his dad is honorable and brave and fighting in Afghanistan.  He also wrote that he hasn't seen him or heard from him in two years and that he is afraid he is dead.

I didn't know what to say, so I stood and pulled him into a hug; silently cursing those people who tell you with a jaded smirk never to touch a kid.

What do they know, anyhow?

Panic at the Disco

My students have incredible voice. They don't always apply it in their writing, but look out when they get passionate about something and start telling you about it...

4th grade girl with major personality: Mrs. D, my birthday's comin' up next month and my Momma's gettin' carried away like she always does for stuff like this.

Me: Really? Well, I think it's ok to get a little carried away for your birthday, right?

4th grade girl: Look, I told her, I said, "Momma, I jus want a quiet evenin' at home, ok? Maybe a few friends over and some cake," But NO, she has to go and make all these plans. You should SEE our house! She's already started decoratin' and it's gettin' outta hand.

Me: Oh, I think it sounds sweet that she wants to make your birthday special.

4th grade girl: Yeah, I guess, but Mrs. D? She's doin' it like a time machine. Like those things that you had when you were little. Ya know? Our house. Looks. Like. A. DISCO!

I wasn't aware that we had, you know, discos in the 80's.

The Arm Rule

Oh, elementary school, how I am adjusting to you.

Middle school kids don't exactly want to be very close to you. They have a fairly decent-sized personal space bubble and remain a safe distance away.

Elementary kids? Elementary kids sneak up on you with their stealthy little feet only to make their presence known when they sneeze in your ear. Or worse...when they breathe right in your face.

Just last week I had one of my dearest little 4th graders approach me before school began. She was about a foot and a half away from my face (already too close for comfort) when she leaned even closer and whispered, "Mrs. D, I threw up all night and this morning and my Grandma says I should go to the nurse after 10 this morning."

Well, at the word "threw" I began holding my breath until I got red in the face, moved away from her, and took in clean, fresh, non-germinated air. Now, I am somewhat of a hypochondriac, but I've also spent my first years teaching catching a whole host of viruses and bugs without sick children breathing in my face.  I love my kiddoes, but I will not add to the probability of catching things.

So now we have the arm rule in my classroom. Whenever you approach Mrs. D, you must remain an arm's length away at all times. And because their arms are so short, for them it is an arm and then an extra hand's length away.

I hope no one important ever walks in.

Because when the kids stick their arms out like that to make sure they are far enough away?

They kind of look like Hitler Youth.

If Only...

If only we had more funding,
If only we had no unions,
If only we got the best and brightest of the bunch,
If only we had unlimited resources,
If only we didn't have to deal with parents,
If only we didn't have to deal with behavior,
If only we didn't have all that paperwork,
If only the teachers before us had done their job,
If only No Child Left Behind worked,
If only there was no state testing,
If only,
If only,
If only...

There's a plague among American educators called blameitonsomeoneelse-itis. In classrooms and workrooms across the country sit angry, bitter, tired faculty and staff who are playing the blame game. They are playing the what ifs, the if onlys, and the only thing that it seems to be affecting? Increasing negativity.

Thankfully not all individuals in education are like this, but there are far too few of them.  They are the administrators, teachers, aids, and secretaries who know that it does nothing to blame; to say "if only." They know that the time spent complaining is time lost from planning, collaborating, thinking, and making a difference.

We can have summits and conferences and debates in the government and the private sector about how to fix education and "who's to blame," but until we stop pointing fingers at others and start pointing them back at ourselves, it seems as if nothing much is going to change.

Yes, there are issues that must be dealt with in education: and they're whoppers. In the meantime, though, change can be occuring in small pockets everywhere by asking, "How can I do the very best that I can with my students, with my resources, and my circumstances, right now?"

Then, and here's the hard part: we have to actually do it.