Chinatown

My class joined the first grade classes today on a field trip to Chinatown. Our one clear destination was Mee Mee's Bakery, where one can observe the making of a fortune cookie from start to finish... pretty mesmerizing, really. We were dropped off a ways away by the school bus and hiked in buddy pairs through crowded streets, jostled by old women whose daily shopping routine had been disrupted by a river of children with matching maroon blazers. Every shop window provided new eye candy and a constant supply of "oooohs" and "aaaaaaaaahs" from the kids: wedding cakes, bronze lion sculptures, stacked dried fish, piles of fruits. Every time we reached an intersection along Stockton, where we could perceive pieces of the Bay Bridge through the gaps in the buildings, M. would announce, "Whoop, there's the Bay Bridge. 'Cause you know, the Bay Bridge is silver." "Yes, M., you're right," I would say. And then again at the next intersection, "The Bay Bridge! Ms. V. you missed it." "The bridge is following us," I replied.

We finally found the bakery and waited in pairs for our turn to go in. It's a small spot and they only allow 6 children in at a time. They got a little restless, but it was worth the wait. When our turn finally came, we walked to the back of the store, where to our left, small squirts of batter were being dropped onto a small press by little metal fingers, four at at time. From there, they were flattened and spun into an oven. When the made their way around the oven, they were moved into a machine which shoved a fortune inside them, while shaping them into perfect fortune cookie crescents. "This is like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory," I pointed out, secretly very excited that they would have an easier time visualizing the story after this experience. We waited outside for the other classes to finish, shoving sesame cookies into our mouths. I spied a man on the corner with a top hat on and a beard. "There's Willy Wonka," I said jokingly. All my kids scrambled to see who I was talking about but by the time they poked their heads out of the line, the man had gone. There were grunts of disappointment at having missed their chance to see Mr. Wonka, himself. The grunts, however, were soon forgotten as the prospect of lunch came into sight.

The rest of the day went well. We walked around for a bit and when we got to school, they were all wiped out. So was I.

We spent the rest of the afternoon working on our "Perfect Paragraphs," which will be hung on our classroom bulletin board (due tomorrow- yikes!). We are using the Step Up To Writing templates/systems, which have been working extremely well. The general theme was "favorite book/s" and C. was writing about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Here is an excerpt from his paragraph:
"I like the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I like it because Augustus Gloop went up the pipe Willy Wonker was laughing his but OFF"

Some days, it's hard to keep a straight face.

This can't be true.... right?

I am plowing forward with my investigation of internet match-making engines. In my email box today was a list of potential matches sent by a new site that I signed up for. Here is a sample from one of my "matches":

"My Self-Summary
I am looking to meet women who are interested in getting a breast implants. I would be happy to pay for your implants if we get along. By get along I don't mean that we have wild hot sex only that we become friends. I think the world needs more beautiful busty women. Don't you?

I am totally serious about this. You should be too."

I'm not kidding. I actually think the world needs more teachers who don't have to pay rent... can anyone match me up with the guy whose ambition it is to make that vision a reality? I'm not quite sure what criteria they used to match me up with this gem, but my breasts are just fine, thank you.

computer love

I've been toying with the idea of finding love online... everyone has had their recommendations citing friends, roommates, sisters, grandmas who have had success with these bizarre search engines. So far, my attempts have been timid- just a toe-dip in, if that. Tonight, I was looking through the craigslist personals (recommended a few days ago by a friend) and came across this ad http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/m4w/269888425.html. Who on earth would reply to this? This man is looking for a "mutual beneficial arrangement." What the hell does that even mean? Is this really a step up from meeting someone random at a bar? I am still just a toe in.

nature walk

To escape the chaos of being sandwiched by three classrooms with substitutes (this is where the charm of open pods ends) and the palpable stress and tension in the atmosphere that classrooms in semi-anarchic states create, my class took a nature walk. With paper, pencils, and whiteboards in hand, we trekked out on a mission to capture the essence of the hill that borders our playground. This morning was slightly foggy, which gave a dramatic grey backdrop to the houses and hills surrounding us. My students each found a spot on the hill and began to sketch and write.

JJ was having a hard time getting started because he was stuck on something that had happened on the way there (could not tell me what), so I called him over, luring him with the idea of a secret. "JJ, let me tell you a secret," I said. He inched closer and leaned his ear towards me. "Do you know that you are the best artist in our class?" Through clenched teeth,he replied, "I know..." "Well, you need to take a seat and draw what you see." With his jaws still clamped together, he said "o.k." To get him in the nature mood and to get him started, I asked him questions about the details of the surroundings:"What do you see in the tree?" (This tree was filled with pine cones) "A plastic bag's stuck in the tree." Funny, I hadn't even noticed it. "You're right... what else do you see in the tree?" "A plastic bag's stuck in the tree." Once he focuses on something, he really doesn't let go. "Do you see the pine cones?" "Oh, yeah." After that, he drew an amazingly detailed picture of the tree.

Before we left, each child was allowed to take one thing back into the classroom. L found a big pine cone and I thought it would be fun to get a little collection of items from our experience on the hill. As soon as I told them they could take one thing, they all started running. They were all running towards the most visible object on the grass- an old plastic cup. "You can't take trash!" I yelled after them. My classroom aide started laughing and said, "You're going to be a good mom... you knew exactly what they were going to do before they did it." In minutes, we had a healthy little collection of pine cones, leaves, sticks, flowers, and clovers, which the kids carried back like trophies to the room.

We had a few minutes before lunch and we all sat in a circle on our new circle-shaped rug to show and tell about the items that they had collected. As JJ was describing the brown speckles on his green clover, all other kids began to squeal in alarm. I turned my head and saw an earwig on the rug frantically trying to walk away from the cluster of kids surrounding it. "It's ok, it's ok... " I said, scooping it up with a piece of paper, "I'll just put it back outside." P., our classroom aide explained that we had taken its home- the pine cone- and that now it needed to find a new home. I walked back to the circle and we continued our session. Now N. was showing off his bright yellow flower (he originally had picked two- one for me and one for P.- but he had lost one along the way and kept repeating, "This is for both of yall, this is for both of yall.... " in case one of us got jealous that we didn't have a flower. ). While he was talking, a series of "eeeewwwws" emerged like a falling domino chain. I looked at the rug, near J. this time and saw a second earwig that had escaped from his pine cone home. I scooped it up again and carried it outside. When I sat back down, I saw that M. was no longer on the rug and that he was keeping a safe distance between him and his once beloved pine cone. "M.," I said, "Come join us on the rug." M. jerked his head back and forth saying "uh-uh, uh-uh." After a few more attempts to get him to the rug, he said, "I don't want that ear thing to come out."

Truth be told, I didn't either... it was lunch time, afterall.

declaration of independence

Today is a new day. Since coming to the realization that my students have invisible dependency umbilical cords linking to me, thereby preventing them from pushing themselves to their full potential, I have decided to sever these ties, wean them off the proverbial teet, push them from the branch to force them to use their own resources to fly... today is their first day of independence from me. The floaters are coming off, the training wheels are gone.

I posted a sign in the front of my classroom outlining the steps that students should take before raisig their hand to call a teacher including: 1.use the word wall, 2. use the sound/spelling cards, 3. stretch out a word on your own, and 4. ask your desk partner quietly. If students sit idle for minutes without helping themselves, then they are given the same assignment to finish during recess. Yes, this is the same tactic that my grandpa used with my mom and her siblings when they did not eat their whole dinner-- same food again at the next meal until it was finished. Old school tactics in full effect.

Since this morning, I have stuck to these guidelines and have referred students to them when they raised their hands, telling them to make absolutely certain they had gone through each option before calling me. Of course, I said all this with a cold, hard Viola Swamp stare. I then walked around and observed. Some students would raise their hands, I would give them a raised eyebrow look and they would say things like, "Wait, let me try to stretch it out myself." I also got a more accurate picture of the things that students are retaining and the spelling patterns that they are still having problems with. Hopefully, this will also free them up to write more without being so stuck on spelling. One thing that I was also unwavering on was capitalization (since this drove me up the wall yesterday). I had students examine and reexamine their writing for punctuation and capitalization before they showed me their work. All in all, I was tough and unfriendly all morning, trying to shift the responsibility of their work back in their own hands.

This is why I was surprised when at the end of the morning, Little Capone raised his hand and said, "Ms. V, you're the nicest teacher." Is this an attempt to ease the work load or a plea for more rigid structure? Either way, I was shocked. Viola Swamp is here to stay for a while.

Rollercoaster

My feelings about teaching and my classroom fluctuate in rollercoaster fashion. Many times, I feel positive and productive-- clearly working towards my goals with a healthy balance of realism and idealism. Today, however, I have to say that I am giving in to the gravitational pull of negativity and it is dragging me down.

It was during interactive writing today when I asked my students what kind of a letter I should start my sentence with, a question which they answered with blank stares- that I started to question how much I am actually teaching them. "Should I start with a capital letter or a lower case letter?" I spoon-fed them, after which only a few kids raised their hand and could tell me why I needed a capital letter. This is not nit-picking. This is not minor. We practice this skill every single day. I model it, we do it together, I make them check their writing for it... and still, after 4 1/2 months of school, it is not automatic. On normal days, I would start to draw from the well of endless patience that I like to believe I have inside, but today this was enough to drive me over the edge. Of course, I kept my frustrated comments and expressions of disbelief as inner monologue, but I admit that it evaporated my patience, leaving dusty, crackled frustration in its place.

I have also noticed that my students have become too dependent on my classroom aide and I. We are their personal cheerleaders, oozing with positive reinforcement, building up their self esteem, reminding them to use our word wall, pointing out the posted letter patterns, helping them stretch out words so they can hear and write every sound... I mean, it's exhausting. But, I realize that we are enabling their dependence. Why think if you can raise your had and have your teacher do half the work for you? It is my fault and so today, I laid out some new ground rules (which I will need to post)- the steps that they need to follow before they call on a teacher. This is not a problem just in my classroom- one of my neighboring teachers told me that her New Year's resolution was to have her students work harder than she does... foster more independence. Well, I am definitely ready to hop on that boat, because after reminding my students that a sentence starts with a capital letter for the millionth time, I wanted to give them a stack of worksheets to complete while I researched travel deals online. Wasn't I just on vacation?

lessons in empathy

As Charlotte took her last breath on the big screen, I turned my head slightly back to peek at the row of my boys behind me. Two dark streaks lined JJ's cheeks as he absorbed the weight of this little spider's death. It relieved me to see him cry at such a simple but beautiful story- to see that he is sensitive to others' sorrow. And then, an unexpected sniffle escaped from directly behind me. The least likely student to cry, C, was also apparently moved.
After the movie, they all rushed to me to tell me who had been crying, the ones who told wearing their burgeoning machismo like a medal. I explained that it was good to cry, because it demonstrated that you could show your feelings... but I think the point was lost on them. "I almost cried," I declared, trying to make an example of myself. This wasn't very persuasive or impressive to them, because they started cracking up. I saw C. quickly laughing: "Ha, ha, Ms. V almost cried!" Then, before we left he came up to me and confessed, "I almost cried...." I smiled at this half-truth, lined them up and walked them out of the theater into the strong light of day.

Slight drizzle in the forecast and Willy Wonka's Grill

The chapter we read today in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory described the craze that took over when Willy Wonka launched the golden ticket contest. It described a man who created a machine that could detect hidden gold, in order to scan chocolate bars in stores to potentially find the winning one. Unfortunately, his invention's success came to a screetching halt when during a demonstration of it's use, it's robot arm pulled out a Duchess' gold tooth. When C. heard this, he quickly raised his arm and explained: "Iiiiiii know what it is. When you have a gold tooth, that's called a grill. She had a grill." Making connections from the text to our world... good. Still, the thought of a fancy duchess with a big gold grill cracked me up.

M. has been crying less than he usually does, but he always has salty streaks coming from each eye all the way down his cheek because he inevitably cries at some point during the day. Today we saw him start to cry and my aid asked him what was wrong; why he was crying, to which he replied, "I'm not crying... I'm drizzling." This was true since it was much less intense than the monsoonal, earth-shaking cries that he usually has.

In the sadder news of the day, N. got his field trip to see Charlotte's Web tomorrow(!!!) taken away, because he slapped his speech therapist two times in the face. I'm really unsure how things escalated to that point or how it actually happened, but somehow, while playing a board game, he got the impulse to reach over the table and plant a few well- placed smacks on this teacher's cheek. This behavior really surprised me and now there will unfortunately only be 7 of us going to the movies. C'est la vie, so they say.

It is absolutely freezing in my room. Not only is it a frosty morning in San Francisco, but someone somewhere where the temperature is centrally controlled decided that it would be a great idea to turn on the air conditioning in our pod. No, this does not make an ounce of sense and it is truly and honestly freezing. I guess we'll have to do jumping jacks in place or laps around the room to keep warm. Does his happen at schools in higher income districts? And, if it happens.... how long is it tolerated?

human toasting

Wearing winter clothing as a necessity is a new concept for me in San Francisco. I thought that the last few remains of my armor for bitingly cold weather were just a silly precaution I had taken when moving. Well my friends, winter or as I used to skeptically say "winter" is in full effect in San Francisco and I'm sorry I left my warm coat in Chicago. I'm having thoughts like: "It's too cold to go out..." which seemed to only make sense before in climates like Chicago's. I just spent 10 minutes getting dressed in front of the central heater, which seems like a protective hen keeping its young close by, since it's the only part of the house that is slightly warm. Not only did I get dressed in front of the heater, but I stood in front of it, then with my back to it, then with my left side to it, and finally my right, in order to toast my cold, cold self!!! What's up, San Francisco? I am not discouraged... and am braving the cold to go out.

After reading the first few chapters of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory to my class today, it was clear that they were hooked and the wheels in their heads were cranking. The third chapter tells of an Indian prince who asked Willy Wonka to build a palace for him, made entirely of chocolate. My kids' eyes widened and glistened as they listened to the descriptions of chocolate bricks, rooms, and furnishings. I stopped and asked them: "Is it a good idea for someone to build a house out of chocolate?" to which they all impulsively and enthusiastically answered, "YES!!!!" Then we stopped and thought about it. I asked, "What are some bad things that could happen if your house is made of chocolate?" The general consensus was that you would eat so much chocolate that you would feel sick. So I prompted them again: "What about in the summer? What would happen to your house then?" Every hand shot up as the lightbulbs came on: "It would melt!"

During math time (right after read-aloud), with thoughts of recess creeping into their heads and Willy Wonka chocolate fresh on the brain, this discussion happened:
L (little capone): When we go to recess and the sun is out, we'll be warm.
[It's been absolutely freezing in my classroom because for some inexplicable reason, the air conditioning has been blasting all day on top of the already frigid weather we've been getting in San Francisco.]
L (daydreaming): If we were made out of chocolate, we would melt!
Me: Good thing we're not made of chocolate.
At this point, C. starts pointing frantically at his arm as he struggles to speak (he has a strong stutter): Iiiii'm made of cho-o-o-o-oco-o-late, because I'm black.

Everyone looks at him with a slight perplexed look and I start cracking up. C. starts cracking up too.

It was cold outside and after recess, due to a curious craving for chocolate, we made hot cocoa and drank it as we sat in a discussion circle.

Hoooooooooray for the loooooong weekend ahead!

Every once in a while driving home, I stop and listen more attentively to the lyrics of the catchy songs spewing from the radio. A couple of days ago, I focused in on one of the latest Snoop dogg songs, "I wanna love you" (that's the clean radio version title), while stuck at a traffic light. In this song, Snoop Dogg describes a strip club scene where he is watching a woman dancing from the smoking section. After that, the song breaks down into an extremely vivid description of his fantasy about this woman rubbing this and rubbing hat. Eww. Way more information than I would ever want to know. This is why we have internal monologues that we don't share with the rest of the world- no one wants to know your personal fantasy, Snoop Dogg. At least, I don't. It's also disturbing that many little boys and girls grow up with those words on their lips, memorizing this pattern of objectification so that they can easily fall into these roles later in life.

I am aware that this makes me sound old, but I remember when I was in middle school, and Salt n' Peppa's "Let's Talk About Sex," which is G-rated compared to many songs now, made quite a stir. I also remember listening to lyrics like "you are the sunshine of my life," and "I want to hold your hand"- poetic and more innocent ways of singing about love. Although I still enjoy listening to the radio, I wish the grahic raunchiness could be diluted or at least infused with a little poetry.

short of breath

For the past few days, I have been getting the urge to take deep breaths. When I do, the air I'm getting just doesn't seem like it's enough and I feel a little panicked so I keep trying to take slow deep breaths until I feel the deeper satisfaction of a full breath. Since I excercise really regularly, am not a smoker, and am not in the least bit stressed, I'm a little perplexed at why I am feeling this way and I guess I will need to give it some time to see it continues.

The honeymoon at school persists to my great delight. It's as if a gentle fog of calm had decided to perch itself in our midst for awhile. Even C., who was so oppositional before break is more engaged and has relaxed. I gave his mom the first positive report in a long time when she picked him up- even though I had to practically corner her to tell her since catching her eye was like a game of cat and mouse. It seems that she expected me to tell her something negative about C. and so was avoiding any contact with me. JJ still rattles off his sountrack of video game, movies and radio, which occasionally includes profanity, but it's not as disruptive as it was before and is easily redirected. I am well aware that a lot of the serenity has to do with the break and the fact that I approach things in a much calmer and more positive way. As Leyla would say, "Kill 'em with kindness."

Ok, things aren't all peaches and cream. M. still cries every day and I'm am not sure how to help him. He is mainstreamed for part of his day and some of his general ed teachers have suspected that he gets teased in subtle ways in their classes. M, however, does not articulate this even when asked and will find any reason to cry when he is back in my room. For example, today since several students had gone home early, I sat all of the students at one round table to plan their short stories. Although there was room for M. and I asked him to come over, he purposely went to another table and made declarations like: "No one likes me! No one wants me to be their friend!" This has become a daily breakdown that M. rarely eases out of. We have referred him to get counseling, which will kick in shortly. Hopefully this will help him a little.

Generally though, things are gooooooood.

Honeymooning

The first day back went very smoothly. Everyone seems to be either relaxed or too stunned to be back in the work grind to create any friction. I was delighted to find that my students had not forgotten as much as I thought they would have, since I expected to be met with either furrowed brows or complete amnesia at skills like reading long-voweled words and recollection of basic sight words.
One of my students came to school with a new leather jacket. I told him that he looked like James Dean and he corrected me: "No, Michael Jackson." To each his own.

I got a very nice and touching card from one of my student's parents. The small things really make a difference.

I know the calm won't last forever, but for now, I'm ejoying the honeymoon.