Hug Your Family

I tend to add some comments to my homework to remind my students to share themselves. To acknowledge who is important in their lives and let them know. Show them. You know - before their big fifth graders and don't want to hug their moms and dads anymore.

So yesterday I wrote "Hug your family."

In their agendas the next morning I had a few notes in agendas - most in the form of a smiley face written by mom or a check mark from dad.

Today, one of my students wrote it again on her own.

Then she walked up to me, and said - simply - "Hug your family."

Then she gave me the biggest hug possible from her little fourth grade arms.

My extended family.

Conference Time

This year is flying by. I can't believe it is already the end of the first quarter, and I haven't blogged more than - um - once? It's not for lack of activity, that's for sure. I attribute the lack of blogging to the sudden lack of time. I swear someone stole a few hours a day from me.

The end of the quarter also means - (insert scary music) - CONFERENCE TIME. This is the 2nd year I have offered home visits as a conference option for parents. Why come to me, when I can come to you!??

I have had a handful of these conferences in the past few weeks - but tonight's visit was the most exhausting. I can honestly say I was only able to squeeze in 3 sentences of actual teacher conference dialogue between the two boys chatting - with me - at the same time - about EVERYTHING. Only one of the boys is my actual student - but the other is an older brother that once attended our school. I walked in the door and they greeted me with hugs. AND, oh, the wonderful smells of home cooking. I do not encourage that families feed me - and I try to avoid "dinner time" conferences - but something tells me that no matter what time I chose for the conference, they would have fed me.

So, hugs upon entrance. Then a whirlwind tour of the boys' room, parents room, family room, game room, art work on walls, porcelain figurines that have after-factory marker embellishments. And, of course, the bathroom. It takes everything I have to not say "oh, so this is where you poo..." Instead, I replace it with something about the wonderful light fixture or hand made rugs.

I am seated at the dinner table - the head of the table. I am served delicious food - and dessert - with various beverages laid out in front of me. The boys surround me with family pictures and stories that I'm sure the mama wouldn't necessarily want to be shared on my first visit. Tales of when the chairs used to be covered in plastic and the time they were locked out of their house and did I "want to see the window they had to break into?"

This insight is priceless. The hugs from grandma, the cheek kisses from mom, and the hugs and handshakes from the boys.

Learning. I learn about them and where they are from and their history. And really, only then, am I ready to teach them.

An Octopus in Water

I imagine an octopus in water is constantly moving - all 8 arms flailing around as the body floats through the water. Floppy and awkward.

It reminds me of a new student to our school - who landed in my classroom. Just as a reminder to you, the reader, I will tell you that my classroom is outside. I live in a quad that is adjacent to a local wooded park, our windows facing a back field of the school property. Anyone could walk up to my door and knock. Or, in this case, parents.

On the first day of school, Octopus arrived. Both parents in tow. He looked what I thought was timid and unsure at the moment. Now I know that perhaps he was just stuck in his brain and not accessible. I opened the door and welcomed the student to the room. Both parents bombarded the classroom - cracking the working buzz that was happening for those students already hard at work at an opening activity.

Then.

Then the parents took the student to his seat. Then they stood there. Then they pointed and dictated what he would write. On his "All About Me" activity page. Then. Mom took the pencil and filled it in herself.

Twenty minutes of my humming and pacing around them didn't phase these 2. They didn't seem to register my subtle pleas to leave their son with me. They didn't mind when I ignored them. Finally, as I started my first lesson of the day - I somehow broke their spell and they left.

Now I see their little man when he struggles with focusing. When he can only be presented with one basic instruction at a time. In writing. His arms and legs are in constant movement, and he seems to be always locked in his own brain.

Slowly I will find a way to pry his brain open - and I will employ many techniques to help him focus his body energy in positive ways that will help him learn.

I'm going to go Google "how to teach an octopus."

Ish-ness

Early in the year I read the book Ish by Peter Reynolds. I read this book many times throughout the year, but this first time is always my favorite. At our school, this book is usually introduced to the students long before I get them in fourth grade, but for some reason they are silent and spellbound when we pick it up for that first time.

Last year, I shared that thought with the students, to which one replied, "It's because every teacher has a different voice, and it gives a different feeling to the book."

Right back at them. Every class shares something different, reflects in a new way, or responds to the book in a manner I haven't yet heard. Some take Ish very literal, as if there is an end goal and they haven't yet reached it in the way they perceive it should be reached or completed. Others take a more general stand and see Ish as a "close enough" to succeed or feel successful. I hope I am explaining this clearly, it is sometimes hard to capture the thoughts and reflections of 9/10 year olds.

This past year was no exception. It wasn't uncommon to hear "-ish" added on to day-to-day conversations throughout the year from my students, sometimes making sense and sometimes not. And, in true form, on the last day of school I had this conversation with one student:

Me: How are you feeling about being a 5th grader?

J: It's complicated.

Me: Explain what you mean by "complicated."

J: Well, I feel like I could do my best. I could do what they ask, but it might not be what I want to happen or what I want to show. Like I will do something that I feel isn't perfectly right, but not really know how to change it.

Me: A little confidence goes a long way. Be proud of doing your best.

J: Then I guess I'm ready.

Me: Ready!?

J: Ready. (pause) ISH.

ISTE Presentation: Take 2

Here is a link to one of my co-presenters. She has provided a link to our resources and projects site that we share with our attendees. I still have not had time to process this presentation, and will dedicate a post to this in the near future. For now, I wanted you all to be able to see what we share at ISTE.

Here for pre-presentation post.

Here for a direct link to delicious site with links - what we share with our attendees. These are things actually done in our school that we talk about during our presentation.

Minute to Win It

Part of our end of year fun was a grade-level attempt to recreate the gameshow "Minute to Win It." We have 6 classrooms, so we picked 6 of the show's many activities. My room was the site of the "Junk in the Trunk" contest - where you strap an empty tissue box with 8 ping pong balls on your lower back. Without using your hands, you have to shake and jump those 8 balls out of the box in less than a minute.

Repeat 120 times.

The students were creative in ways you can't imagine - trying to get those balls out of that tissue box in any way possible. Some were a little shy about looking like a fool in front of their peers, but most just shook it out. It was hilarious to watch them - and I had giggles for at least most of the first 50. I tried to keep up my enthusiasm, which was definitely a challenge after watching so many... I also tried to keep my mouth shut about ways that worked so well for people before them - I wanted them to have the chance to figure out the road to success on their own.

I had this one student whose body just didn't seem to get the memo. His head was shaking furiously, but not one part of his body was moving. We were all cheering him on, in hopes that our cheers would ignite movement in the parts of this body that would help complete the task. No luck.

I had another student who didn't want to look silly, so he tried to bend backwards (without using his hands, if you can imagine). I was truly impressed by his flexibility and balance as he bent further and further back. Until he collapsed on the box and all 8 balls inside. Good thing I had extra.

These are the moments that I love to share with them at the end of the year.

The giggling moments.

Walking a Cat

When I was younger I had this cat that I just adored. He was so cool. His name was Marbles because of his appearance, but ever since that "fat cat" phase we called him Bubba. Well, Bubba was an outdoor cat with full freedom to roam the neighborhood. In fact, he'd lay in the middle of the street. I remember hearing the neighbors yell "Bubba get out of the road!" as they would slowly drive around him. Well, it was my bright idea, that even though Bubba could walk outside as he pleased, that I should walk him. Yes. I should get a leash with a full harness, strap it all on him, and prance him up and down the sidewalk. The same sidewalk that he already walked, independently.

Well, I don't know if you've ever tried to put a cat on a leash before - but it was wild. Bubba bucked like a ticked off horse, hissed at the slightest touch of the harness. I carried him outside, all harnessed up, and when I put him on the sidewalk it looked as though all of his legs were broken. If a cat could tiptoe - he was definitely showing me how. He stood still for a moment, and then just went berserk - circling around and whipping his paws at the leash. I was sure that he was going to crawl up the thin red fabric between us. It wasn't natural. He wanted free and unharnessed and able to explore ... without the hinderance of my pesky leash.

This is a lot like the last weeks of school. Kids are free and playful and fun, and they can smell summer break like a bear can smell fear. Students have never been so keen to their surroundings as when they can sense the ripeness of the year fresh on their teachers' skin. They can sniff out the moment when their teacher is daydreaming and completely disrupt the rest of the day. So, I spend the last few weeks walking the cat. I try to harness their freedom that they know is SO CLOSE. They start to lose focus and restraint and good sense. So we strap on the harness and place them on the path.

What they don't know is that we're right there with them. We may be trying to keep them restrained for the little while we have left with them, but inside we are playing outside, daydreaming, and losing our own good sense.

Even with the pain of trying to keep them calm, this is my favorite time with the students. We laugh, have fun, and learn all without the pressure of testing. We can do experiments and we have time to explore things we aren't normally able to, due to curriculum restraints. It's a great way to end a year... seeing the students laughing and learning and having a great time. Definitely better than walking the cat.