I need a bodyguard. He'll stand outside my bedroom door to make sure no one messes with me. (And as a bonus, he'll ward off demons like the mice creeping in the night). I heard about these forced entry/ attempted rape events and googled it (Don't ever google that.): Scary Man. I live on the 400 block of Catharine Street and have since checked every lock on every window and every door.
To put this all in perspective, I'm trying to remember all of the daily crime reports I was sent by campus security at USC that I so quickly and easily ignored as I went about my daily life. The main difference, however, is that it was EXPECTED at USC, but now I live in a real house in a real-life neighborhood with a fireplace and newlywed neighbors with 2.5 children and a dog. Pepper-spray and a maglite are in my immediate future.
Blog update: I have changed the blog set-up to allow all readers to comment on their thoughts or suggestions while reading. This will particularly come in handy when I'm sending out mass calls for teaching advice after September 10th when school begins.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Basement and Bikes.
As could have been deduced from my lack of commitment to blogging, institute finally ended with a whirlwind that landed me in grad school at UPenn. Here will be my brief avoiding-writing-my-paper update on the current events in the world of Ms. Nix, former elementary school clown.
On the last day of school, with cupcakes and watermelon, Ms. Osborn and I let the students graffiti in their books (for the definition of graffiti see also: take notes in the margins), before illustrating their narratives, and eloquently reading their creations to adoring fans comprised of moms, dads, aunts, sisters, cousins, and grandmas. I took pictures and teared up as Ariel timidly read her entire story as her dad proudly listened. The rest of the day comprised of student-led tours of the classroom and an auction where instead of filling up the trash bags, our hand-made posters became a point of conflict when Pocahontas and Ursula both wanted the "How to write a middle paragraph" poster. In follow up of Pocahontas' earlier outburst (literally), she again shouted during the end of the day activities, "I gotta go poop and I got doo doo coming out of my butt!" At least this time her rant was within earshot of Gaston who jumped on the possibility to teach Pocahontas a lesson about social suicide, "Did you just say you got DOO DOO coming out of yo' butt?!" With a disgusted look that made Pocahontas rethink her strategies for surviving the 5th grade.
While cleaning out the room after saying farewell and piling loads of unwanted posters on our students' arms, I discovered another drawing of what I presume is supposed to be me that Ariel made during lunch with "To Ms. Nix" written on the inside, but never delivered to me, rather mysteriously shoved among a stack of student lunchtime artwork. *Tear* When the dump truck had finished its rounds in room 312, Ms. Osborn and I spooned and snored on top of a classroom table, while Ms. Yang read us the REAL story of the three little pigs.
My watch stopped as I soon as I stepped off the bus for the last time and onto Temple's campus, signifying something, I'm sure.
You may have noticed that the colors have changed on my blog. This is due to the fact that Ms. Nix now teaches high school math (algebra and geometry) and pink is for babies. Blue is more regal and grown-up.
After spending one day in Chico, vigorously packing and repacking my car like a game of tetris, my dad and I headed on our 4 day trip across the country, where we got to enjoy many sights. The first would be the armpit of the United States: Battle Mountain, where I began my amusement of asking for a veggie burger at every truck stop. We next drove through a number of small towns that were being listed in the book on tape we were listening to as sites where the murders of various prostitutes and strippers took place. After resting our eyes in Wyoming, we ate lunch at a diner that served half-gallon cups of coke and fish n chips that was, literally, a deep fried whole fish. We saw fields of dreams in Iowa, stopped to visit Monique and Joe at a hotel in Omaha, Nebraska, took a detour to Chicago, and landed 4 days later in Philadelphia. I gave my dad the fast-forwarded version of a travel video tour of Philadelphia before he said goodbye and left me to unpack.
My apartment is a row home in South Philadelphia that was built somewhere in the 1800s and still flaunts its original hardwood floors, dug-out basement, and fireplace in my master bedroom. There are spirits that haunted me until last night when a roommate showed up and I was no longer flying solo in this 4 bedroom mansion. I'll post pictures as soon as I take one, but I'll tell you that the view from my bedroom is of a tennis court and swing set, so you know I won't be getting bored.
Classes at UPenn Graduate School of Education began on Monday and I've discovered that riding my bike across town takes less time and is more rewarding than driving. In addition to the city driving skills I acquired in LA, I will soon have adapted to city biking. I have lollygagged enough and I must begin this paper about my teaching philosophy.
On the last day of school, with cupcakes and watermelon, Ms. Osborn and I let the students graffiti in their books (for the definition of graffiti see also: take notes in the margins), before illustrating their narratives, and eloquently reading their creations to adoring fans comprised of moms, dads, aunts, sisters, cousins, and grandmas. I took pictures and teared up as Ariel timidly read her entire story as her dad proudly listened. The rest of the day comprised of student-led tours of the classroom and an auction where instead of filling up the trash bags, our hand-made posters became a point of conflict when Pocahontas and Ursula both wanted the "How to write a middle paragraph" poster. In follow up of Pocahontas' earlier outburst (literally), she again shouted during the end of the day activities, "I gotta go poop and I got doo doo coming out of my butt!" At least this time her rant was within earshot of Gaston who jumped on the possibility to teach Pocahontas a lesson about social suicide, "Did you just say you got DOO DOO coming out of yo' butt?!" With a disgusted look that made Pocahontas rethink her strategies for surviving the 5th grade.
While cleaning out the room after saying farewell and piling loads of unwanted posters on our students' arms, I discovered another drawing of what I presume is supposed to be me that Ariel made during lunch with "To Ms. Nix" written on the inside, but never delivered to me, rather mysteriously shoved among a stack of student lunchtime artwork. *Tear* When the dump truck had finished its rounds in room 312, Ms. Osborn and I spooned and snored on top of a classroom table, while Ms. Yang read us the REAL story of the three little pigs.
My watch stopped as I soon as I stepped off the bus for the last time and onto Temple's campus, signifying something, I'm sure.
You may have noticed that the colors have changed on my blog. This is due to the fact that Ms. Nix now teaches high school math (algebra and geometry) and pink is for babies. Blue is more regal and grown-up.
After spending one day in Chico, vigorously packing and repacking my car like a game of tetris, my dad and I headed on our 4 day trip across the country, where we got to enjoy many sights. The first would be the armpit of the United States: Battle Mountain, where I began my amusement of asking for a veggie burger at every truck stop. We next drove through a number of small towns that were being listed in the book on tape we were listening to as sites where the murders of various prostitutes and strippers took place. After resting our eyes in Wyoming, we ate lunch at a diner that served half-gallon cups of coke and fish n chips that was, literally, a deep fried whole fish. We saw fields of dreams in Iowa, stopped to visit Monique and Joe at a hotel in Omaha, Nebraska, took a detour to Chicago, and landed 4 days later in Philadelphia. I gave my dad the fast-forwarded version of a travel video tour of Philadelphia before he said goodbye and left me to unpack.
My apartment is a row home in South Philadelphia that was built somewhere in the 1800s and still flaunts its original hardwood floors, dug-out basement, and fireplace in my master bedroom. There are spirits that haunted me until last night when a roommate showed up and I was no longer flying solo in this 4 bedroom mansion. I'll post pictures as soon as I take one, but I'll tell you that the view from my bedroom is of a tennis court and swing set, so you know I won't be getting bored.
Classes at UPenn Graduate School of Education began on Monday and I've discovered that riding my bike across town takes less time and is more rewarding than driving. In addition to the city driving skills I acquired in LA, I will soon have adapted to city biking. I have lollygagged enough and I must begin this paper about my teaching philosophy.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Kids spell the darndest things.
Finding time to write a blog is an impossible mission these days--I constantly ponder what I will write in my next entry, creating lists on scraps from handouts and worksheets, but spend every waking second thinking "what about the kids?" as I have so (rightly) been trained. A friend of mine replaced student names with historical figures, but seeing as I am a theatre major and I'm teaching elementary school, I've carefully selected personality appropriate Disney character replacements for my stories. Two weeks (nope, now it's been three weeks) worth of teaching will now be summed up in one entry as I scramble for every last minute of sleep. I'm aiming for 6.5 tonight (a world record).
Day 1. 8:00 am: School starts. 8:15 am: still no students. Between 8:20 am and 10:30 am 6 drowsy 4th graders make their way into room 312 to greet 4 teachers with clipboards and lesson plans to last until Christmas. To ease into summer school, our students fill out a survey with attached crayola self-portrait. While wandering around, I learn that Ursula (clearly the class leader) wants to be a lover when she grows up and Gaston (handsome flirt) wants to be a foolball. As we rack our brains of ways to breach the topic of career choices with Ursula, I find out the next day she aspires to be a lawyer, but needs to learn how to spell first. My first block of teaching responsibilities included test-taking procedures, spelling inventory diagnostics (complete with "My best work yet" hand-written by each student at the top), and the lining up for lunch procedure (which we mastered in under 20 seconds). The spelling and reading assessments tell us that we've got a long way to go. Two students are able to spell 5 letter words, and the rest got less that 8 letters correct on the 25 WORD spelling test. As far as reading goes, including the 4 more students that have trickled in at the end of the week, 3 students are on grade level, while the rest fall somewhere between pre-kindergarten and 2nd grade with Pinocchio only knowing half of his letters. Jasmine, our ESL student, likes to "caress" her bags up the stairs, despite the traditional route of carrying your bags up the stairs. Lesson learned: extreme differentiated teaching. Feeling somewhat defeated, the 80 some odd teachers at my school board their (adult) big yellow school bus to head for the (adult) dormitory to start planning and arrive at destination to a parade of streamers, banners, crowds, DJ, otter pops, and T-shirts to boost morale. Day 1 with students completed.
Day 2. Students will be able to (SWBAT) identify the 4 elements of a summary. GusGus sounded out his answers and came up with "who, whot, whn, whore" as his response. Dori similarly sounded out her words for the the spelling test and came up with "denth" as the correct spelling for "bottle." And how do I get Ariel to respond to me when I ask her a question? Me: "What are the 4 elements of a summary, Ariel?" **crickets** Then, on the opposite spectrum, I have Chicken Little and Pocahontas who are so eager to answer a question that they are getting their cards moved down as warnings for breaking the rule of talking out of turn. Wait? I'm punishing the kids who ARE paying attention and not the kids who are counting sheep behind their eyelids? New plan.
Day 3. The students internalize the "you must raise your hand to speak" rule by recognizing the possibility of a ticket for following directions. This is investment plan #1, and I know it's working because Tinkerbelle, Pocahontas and Chicken Little are sitting in the back of the class with one hand over their mouth and the other waving around in the air so vigorously that it might fly off. But what do I do when Pocahontas won't put her hand down after the question has been answered until SHE gets to voice her response? Thinking quickly, I ask the students to put their hand on their head if they had the same excellent answer. To which, Tinkerbelle says in a sassy tone, "I had a better one." While battling the problem of too many loud voices, how do I get Gaston to stop untying his shoes and tying them over and over again? Gaston is the show-off, off-task, talkative class tough guy, who got in a fist fight with Ariel last year. Ursula seems to have joined forces with Gaston and flat out refuses to work with Ariel saying that she hates Ariel (who, mind you, has still not shown that she can, in fact, speak).
Day 4 and 5. I make a deal with Gaston; he has two rules he must follow: keep your hands on your desk, and pay attention by keeping your eyes and body facing the teacher. If these rules are followed, he may have a squishy stress ball to play with all day. This worked like a charm until Ms. Osborn had to seize the ball when Gaston was throwing it at Chicken Little's head. At this point, Gaston began to cry and we had a whole flood of bonus problems, including the fact that he thinks he's stupid because he is left-handed. Additional individualized behavior plans for Gaston will follow shortly, but right now I have to mop up a crisis in the cafeteria. During guided reading, which falls immediately prior to our 10:30am lunch, Jasmine politely requests a trip to the bathroom. Following the preset guidelines, Ms. Patton responds, "Lunch will be soon, you may go when you get to the cafeteria." And so she does--right through her flowered sun-dress and into a puddle on the lunchroom floor. After feeding time, our leading issue is convincing the students to keep their arms outside of their shirts and their heads ALL the way through the neck hole. Being the only school with air conditioning means that the students, unaware that they'll need to dress for winter, wear as little as possible to fight the heat, only to find out that they wish they had their fur coat.
Monday. Luckily or unfortunately the air conditioner is broken, or more than likely, just turned off and we're melting. Tinkerbelle, Ursula, Dori, and Pocahontas enter the room rubbing their eyes only to be shuffled around and escorted to the Principal's office for wearing flip flops instead of tennies. The ladies must wait for their mothers to bring appropriate learning shoes (that will protect against the possibility of the teacher getting furious and going on a toe-stomping rampage), thus subtracting at least 30 minutes of valuable remediation time. Later in the day, as the students work in pairs to create one of the 4 parts of a summary in response to The Hare and the Tortoise, GusGus has is head on his desk as though he's trying to sleep to the sound of my voice. I sternly tell him he needs to sit up, to which he responds by staying perfectly still. As I give up and release everyone but him for lunch, he peers his teary-eyed face up at me and says he's got a stomach ache. We converse about the appropriate way to tell someone about your stomach ache when you are supposed to be participating and I walk him down to his mother, homework in hand. His mother tells me that he gets a stomach ache when he has to read, but can't figure out why when all of her other 8 kids love to read. She turns to GusGus and tells him he can go home--pulling him out of class (and consequently pulling him further behind) is a counter-intuitive response to him failing to learn during reading, but nonetheless, GusGus is gone. As I sort through the papers in their desks, I find that on the note card I've given Gaston to follow along while reading, he has written "Ms. Nix is next." Next for what?
The rest of the week blended together. Update: air is back with a vengeance and I'm glad that I wore my parka. Ariel has also returned with a vengeance, making racial slurs at Gaston and threatening to fight anyone for looking at her. At least I now know she can talk. The next day, she angrily throws her desk forward and stomps her feet when her card gets moved to pink for shouting at Gaston. (Where did this girl come from?) Ariel's father is called to bring her a sweatshirt since she still won't take her arms out of her shirt (which would prove to be entertaining if she did, in fact, challenge someone to a fight, but out of place in the "raise your hand to speak" classroom), and Mr. Dad informs us that Ariel's step-mom has failed to give her her medication for the past two days, but for what, we are not told. This is the week I must teach the children to write a personal narrative, even though a handful can barely write their names. Here are some excerpts from their stories. Tinkerbelle: "My sister threw up and my cousin fell in it....I was happy because we were lighting M-80 and I got pop by it." Pocahontas: "I once fell over a flower. " Ursula: "We saw a lady with two strollers with two baby girls in it. Me and my mom went over to her. We said, “Your babies are so pretty.”" Dori: "We had to buy fut flup blue dots." Gaston: "Bow chika bow wow." Getting Gaston and Ariel to write was like pulling teeth and we finally resorted to a dictated story while a teacher writes so they can copy.
MATH WEEK aka my most exciting week yet. Seeing that the current plan for Ariel was not working and that she was asleep during most of the rest of the day, I pull her aside right before my lesson on area to play, "let's make a deal." If she pays attention and works hard through my entire lesson, I will call her dad and tell him how good she was. She lit up like a light bulb and shook hands on it. Keep in mind that we have since learned that Ariel cannot add 1 +1, let alone multiply and today I'm teaching area of squares and rectangles. At the end of the class we had a mathematician's war to crown a mathematician's magician and despite my avid multipliers in the class, Ariel was the reigning champion. On the way out of class, I reminded Ariel that I would call her dad and she turned her head toward me, "was I good today?" I called her father, but had to rely on t a voicemail on the answering machine to get the message across. The next day, I made the same deal with Ariel--this seemed to be working flawlessly. This day, I decided to walk the class out at the end of the day and give praise face to face with Ariel's dad himself. After drowning her in compliments, Mr. Dad looks at me and says straight-faced and in front of his daughter, "did she tell you she started her menstrual yesterday?" Shocked, "what?" "her menstrual, her period, she started her period yesterday." Still shocked, "oh, well, she's been a pleasure in class and I can't wait to see her tomorrow!" Ariel sunk in her chair, trying to disappear.
Gaston also gets a new behavioral plan in the middle of the week after his mother has been called, while he regretfully sobs and apologizes for racially mocking Tinkerbelle. He gets two cards (red and green) taped to his desk on which the teachers draw a tally line for respective behavior. The point being that he can literally see that he is capable of being good, but is off-task too much. He's excited and this plan has been successful all week.
Thursday is my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I spent 45 minutes implementing consequences for sleeping, singing, talking out, turning around, throwing papers, yelling at each other, you name it. We got through 7 minutes of material in 45 minutes. As soon as I would get the class back on track, I would open my mouth and Ursula would open hers as well. Tinkerbelle left class halfway through with a boil on her stomach, Chicken Little and Ursula would chit chat when I'd turn around to point to the board, Pocahontas needed ALL of my attention, Jasmine dug through her desk, and Dori fell asleep despite my tapping on her desk and moving her card. This is the day that would have made me quit, had Ariel not handed me a homemade card before class that says "To: Ms. Nix From: Ariel" in perfect writing with hearts. The fact that at the beginning of the summer, she could barely sound out her letters reminds me why I can't quit. To top the day off, as I frustratingly snatched papers away, Pocahontas wildly waved her arm, pretending to follow the hand-raising policy, while muttering "Miss, miss, but miss, I gotta say something, miss miss, miss, mumble mumble mumble." Me: "You need to get ready to go, class is almost over, I'm not taking comments right now, Pocahontas, please put your hand down, I'll get to you in a moment." "But miss, miss miss, I gotta go to the bathroom! Can I go?" "Class is almost over, you can go when class gets out, but first you need to get ready to leave before I can excuse you." "But miss, miss, miss, miss, miss, can I whisper something in your ear? miss, miss miss." As I grudgingly walk by, I let her comment in my ear, hoping she'll FINALLY put her hand down. "I have to go poop!" "That's fine, Pocahontas, but you need to get ready to go and then you can use the restroom. The longer you take to get ready, the longer until you get to use the restroom." *Arm still up* "But miss, miss, miss, miss, miss, but miss, I gotta whisper in your ear. Miss. I gotta go poop and it's coming out of my butt right now!"
Friday has to change. While transitioning to my teaching block, I walk up to the class in silence, handing someone a stack of papers, motioning to pass them out. I motion Tinkerbelle to scream "DO NOW" as it reads on the top of the paper and murmurs trickle around the room, "Ms. Nix can't talk. why can't she talk?" When I see they are all curious, I draw a star on the board and begin talking. I tell the students about mimes and that I'm going to be a mime...meaning that I'm not going to talk AT ALL. I trick the class into playing a game where we all have to be silent. When I draw a star, I can talk. When I blow the harmonica, they can talk. When I blow the harmonica again, talking must cease immediately. If we're able to do this, we get to play the mystery box. Apparently, when I just tell the class no talking it's not as powerful as making the concept into a game. I taught breaking up non-rectangular shapes into rectangular shapes and finding their area in absolute silence while my clown experience shined through and every student mastered the assessment. In the mystery box, harmonious groups of 3 had to solve for the area of a Mike and Ike's box (cut into a non rectangular shape) in order to get the candy inside. At the end of the day, Gaston won the Friday raffle and, like a gentleman in love, gave his prize to Ursula: a match made in heaven.
We're now in the home stretch.
Day 1. 8:00 am: School starts. 8:15 am: still no students. Between 8:20 am and 10:30 am 6 drowsy 4th graders make their way into room 312 to greet 4 teachers with clipboards and lesson plans to last until Christmas. To ease into summer school, our students fill out a survey with attached crayola self-portrait. While wandering around, I learn that Ursula (clearly the class leader) wants to be a lover when she grows up and Gaston (handsome flirt) wants to be a foolball. As we rack our brains of ways to breach the topic of career choices with Ursula, I find out the next day she aspires to be a lawyer, but needs to learn how to spell first. My first block of teaching responsibilities included test-taking procedures, spelling inventory diagnostics (complete with "My best work yet" hand-written by each student at the top), and the lining up for lunch procedure (which we mastered in under 20 seconds). The spelling and reading assessments tell us that we've got a long way to go. Two students are able to spell 5 letter words, and the rest got less that 8 letters correct on the 25 WORD spelling test. As far as reading goes, including the 4 more students that have trickled in at the end of the week, 3 students are on grade level, while the rest fall somewhere between pre-kindergarten and 2nd grade with Pinocchio only knowing half of his letters. Jasmine, our ESL student, likes to "caress" her bags up the stairs, despite the traditional route of carrying your bags up the stairs. Lesson learned: extreme differentiated teaching. Feeling somewhat defeated, the 80 some odd teachers at my school board their (adult) big yellow school bus to head for the (adult) dormitory to start planning and arrive at destination to a parade of streamers, banners, crowds, DJ, otter pops, and T-shirts to boost morale. Day 1 with students completed.
Day 2. Students will be able to (SWBAT) identify the 4 elements of a summary. GusGus sounded out his answers and came up with "who, whot, whn, whore" as his response. Dori similarly sounded out her words for the the spelling test and came up with "denth" as the correct spelling for "bottle." And how do I get Ariel to respond to me when I ask her a question? Me: "What are the 4 elements of a summary, Ariel?" **crickets** Then, on the opposite spectrum, I have Chicken Little and Pocahontas who are so eager to answer a question that they are getting their cards moved down as warnings for breaking the rule of talking out of turn. Wait? I'm punishing the kids who ARE paying attention and not the kids who are counting sheep behind their eyelids? New plan.
Day 3. The students internalize the "you must raise your hand to speak" rule by recognizing the possibility of a ticket for following directions. This is investment plan #1, and I know it's working because Tinkerbelle, Pocahontas and Chicken Little are sitting in the back of the class with one hand over their mouth and the other waving around in the air so vigorously that it might fly off. But what do I do when Pocahontas won't put her hand down after the question has been answered until SHE gets to voice her response? Thinking quickly, I ask the students to put their hand on their head if they had the same excellent answer. To which, Tinkerbelle says in a sassy tone, "I had a better one." While battling the problem of too many loud voices, how do I get Gaston to stop untying his shoes and tying them over and over again? Gaston is the show-off, off-task, talkative class tough guy, who got in a fist fight with Ariel last year. Ursula seems to have joined forces with Gaston and flat out refuses to work with Ariel saying that she hates Ariel (who, mind you, has still not shown that she can, in fact, speak).
Day 4 and 5. I make a deal with Gaston; he has two rules he must follow: keep your hands on your desk, and pay attention by keeping your eyes and body facing the teacher. If these rules are followed, he may have a squishy stress ball to play with all day. This worked like a charm until Ms. Osborn had to seize the ball when Gaston was throwing it at Chicken Little's head. At this point, Gaston began to cry and we had a whole flood of bonus problems, including the fact that he thinks he's stupid because he is left-handed. Additional individualized behavior plans for Gaston will follow shortly, but right now I have to mop up a crisis in the cafeteria. During guided reading, which falls immediately prior to our 10:30am lunch, Jasmine politely requests a trip to the bathroom. Following the preset guidelines, Ms. Patton responds, "Lunch will be soon, you may go when you get to the cafeteria." And so she does--right through her flowered sun-dress and into a puddle on the lunchroom floor. After feeding time, our leading issue is convincing the students to keep their arms outside of their shirts and their heads ALL the way through the neck hole. Being the only school with air conditioning means that the students, unaware that they'll need to dress for winter, wear as little as possible to fight the heat, only to find out that they wish they had their fur coat.
Monday. Luckily or unfortunately the air conditioner is broken, or more than likely, just turned off and we're melting. Tinkerbelle, Ursula, Dori, and Pocahontas enter the room rubbing their eyes only to be shuffled around and escorted to the Principal's office for wearing flip flops instead of tennies. The ladies must wait for their mothers to bring appropriate learning shoes (that will protect against the possibility of the teacher getting furious and going on a toe-stomping rampage), thus subtracting at least 30 minutes of valuable remediation time. Later in the day, as the students work in pairs to create one of the 4 parts of a summary in response to The Hare and the Tortoise, GusGus has is head on his desk as though he's trying to sleep to the sound of my voice. I sternly tell him he needs to sit up, to which he responds by staying perfectly still. As I give up and release everyone but him for lunch, he peers his teary-eyed face up at me and says he's got a stomach ache. We converse about the appropriate way to tell someone about your stomach ache when you are supposed to be participating and I walk him down to his mother, homework in hand. His mother tells me that he gets a stomach ache when he has to read, but can't figure out why when all of her other 8 kids love to read. She turns to GusGus and tells him he can go home--pulling him out of class (and consequently pulling him further behind) is a counter-intuitive response to him failing to learn during reading, but nonetheless, GusGus is gone. As I sort through the papers in their desks, I find that on the note card I've given Gaston to follow along while reading, he has written "Ms. Nix is next." Next for what?
The rest of the week blended together. Update: air is back with a vengeance and I'm glad that I wore my parka. Ariel has also returned with a vengeance, making racial slurs at Gaston and threatening to fight anyone for looking at her. At least I now know she can talk. The next day, she angrily throws her desk forward and stomps her feet when her card gets moved to pink for shouting at Gaston. (Where did this girl come from?) Ariel's father is called to bring her a sweatshirt since she still won't take her arms out of her shirt (which would prove to be entertaining if she did, in fact, challenge someone to a fight, but out of place in the "raise your hand to speak" classroom), and Mr. Dad informs us that Ariel's step-mom has failed to give her her medication for the past two days, but for what, we are not told. This is the week I must teach the children to write a personal narrative, even though a handful can barely write their names. Here are some excerpts from their stories. Tinkerbelle: "My sister threw up and my cousin fell in it....I was happy because we were lighting M-80 and I got pop by it." Pocahontas: "I once fell over a flower. " Ursula: "We saw a lady with two strollers with two baby girls in it. Me and my mom went over to her. We said, “Your babies are so pretty.”" Dori: "We had to buy fut flup blue dots." Gaston: "Bow chika bow wow." Getting Gaston and Ariel to write was like pulling teeth and we finally resorted to a dictated story while a teacher writes so they can copy.
MATH WEEK aka my most exciting week yet. Seeing that the current plan for Ariel was not working and that she was asleep during most of the rest of the day, I pull her aside right before my lesson on area to play, "let's make a deal." If she pays attention and works hard through my entire lesson, I will call her dad and tell him how good she was. She lit up like a light bulb and shook hands on it. Keep in mind that we have since learned that Ariel cannot add 1 +1, let alone multiply and today I'm teaching area of squares and rectangles. At the end of the class we had a mathematician's war to crown a mathematician's magician and despite my avid multipliers in the class, Ariel was the reigning champion. On the way out of class, I reminded Ariel that I would call her dad and she turned her head toward me, "was I good today?" I called her father, but had to rely on t a voicemail on the answering machine to get the message across. The next day, I made the same deal with Ariel--this seemed to be working flawlessly. This day, I decided to walk the class out at the end of the day and give praise face to face with Ariel's dad himself. After drowning her in compliments, Mr. Dad looks at me and says straight-faced and in front of his daughter, "did she tell you she started her menstrual yesterday?" Shocked, "what?" "her menstrual, her period, she started her period yesterday." Still shocked, "oh, well, she's been a pleasure in class and I can't wait to see her tomorrow!" Ariel sunk in her chair, trying to disappear.
Gaston also gets a new behavioral plan in the middle of the week after his mother has been called, while he regretfully sobs and apologizes for racially mocking Tinkerbelle. He gets two cards (red and green) taped to his desk on which the teachers draw a tally line for respective behavior. The point being that he can literally see that he is capable of being good, but is off-task too much. He's excited and this plan has been successful all week.
Thursday is my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I spent 45 minutes implementing consequences for sleeping, singing, talking out, turning around, throwing papers, yelling at each other, you name it. We got through 7 minutes of material in 45 minutes. As soon as I would get the class back on track, I would open my mouth and Ursula would open hers as well. Tinkerbelle left class halfway through with a boil on her stomach, Chicken Little and Ursula would chit chat when I'd turn around to point to the board, Pocahontas needed ALL of my attention, Jasmine dug through her desk, and Dori fell asleep despite my tapping on her desk and moving her card. This is the day that would have made me quit, had Ariel not handed me a homemade card before class that says "To: Ms. Nix From: Ariel" in perfect writing with hearts. The fact that at the beginning of the summer, she could barely sound out her letters reminds me why I can't quit. To top the day off, as I frustratingly snatched papers away, Pocahontas wildly waved her arm, pretending to follow the hand-raising policy, while muttering "Miss, miss, but miss, I gotta say something, miss miss, miss, mumble mumble mumble." Me: "You need to get ready to go, class is almost over, I'm not taking comments right now, Pocahontas, please put your hand down, I'll get to you in a moment." "But miss, miss miss, I gotta go to the bathroom! Can I go?" "Class is almost over, you can go when class gets out, but first you need to get ready to leave before I can excuse you." "But miss, miss, miss, miss, miss, can I whisper something in your ear? miss, miss miss." As I grudgingly walk by, I let her comment in my ear, hoping she'll FINALLY put her hand down. "I have to go poop!" "That's fine, Pocahontas, but you need to get ready to go and then you can use the restroom. The longer you take to get ready, the longer until you get to use the restroom." *Arm still up* "But miss, miss, miss, miss, miss, but miss, I gotta whisper in your ear. Miss. I gotta go poop and it's coming out of my butt right now!"
Friday has to change. While transitioning to my teaching block, I walk up to the class in silence, handing someone a stack of papers, motioning to pass them out. I motion Tinkerbelle to scream "DO NOW" as it reads on the top of the paper and murmurs trickle around the room, "Ms. Nix can't talk. why can't she talk?" When I see they are all curious, I draw a star on the board and begin talking. I tell the students about mimes and that I'm going to be a mime...meaning that I'm not going to talk AT ALL. I trick the class into playing a game where we all have to be silent. When I draw a star, I can talk. When I blow the harmonica, they can talk. When I blow the harmonica again, talking must cease immediately. If we're able to do this, we get to play the mystery box. Apparently, when I just tell the class no talking it's not as powerful as making the concept into a game. I taught breaking up non-rectangular shapes into rectangular shapes and finding their area in absolute silence while my clown experience shined through and every student mastered the assessment. In the mystery box, harmonious groups of 3 had to solve for the area of a Mike and Ike's box (cut into a non rectangular shape) in order to get the candy inside. At the end of the day, Gaston won the Friday raffle and, like a gentleman in love, gave his prize to Ursula: a match made in heaven.
We're now in the home stretch.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Room 312
The weather channel says Philadelphia is 80 degrees in the summer, which, compared to Chico's 100 degree July heat, seems like the perfect spring breeze, right? Wrong. Don't let these numbers mislead you: humidity matters. The moisture in the air determines the degree to which your professional clothes will cling to you as you truck to and from the bus. Lucky for me, Thurgood Marshall Elementary is the only summer TFA placement school with the luxury of air conditioning (a young building constructed a mere 10 years ago). While my roommate Emily (who coincidentally has the same birthday as me) wears as little clothing as possible while still maintaining her "teacher-look," I pack sweaters in preparation for my chilly classroom with frosted windows (no joke). Interspersed within this intense heat are T-storms that leave 2-inch deep lakes all around campus. Chico downpours occur in winter, which makes dancing in the rain a miserably cold experience with mittens and rain boots. On our way back from a disappointing and wet expedition to the closed campus bar, Brenden and I rolled up our pants, took off our shoes, and went puddle-jumping. I felt like Gene Kelly singing, "what a glorious feeling," while dancing in his raincoat.
Sleeping for more than 4.5 hours feels like less of a nap and more of a coma. This morning at 11:30am, I woke up from my coma. Last night marked the first celebration of many for persevering through a week of 12 hour work days with 5 hours of homework to boot. Temple University is a dry campus, but conveniently has a bar situated as its center piece. Rumor has it that last year on the first Friday of Institute, the flood of celebratory drinks dried up every last drop of beer by 10pm. The festivities last night were not as joyful for some; Britney packed her bags and headed south for the summer back to sweet home Alabama. After a happy hour toast, I got dressed up to send her off with a farewell "cheers" and, despite the deceiving pre-departure picture, just waved as she left for the center city bars while I watched TV and caught up on sleep and phone calls home. (I apologize to those of you thinking, "e.t., phone home," but 5 minutes between sessions doesn't lend itself to catch-up conversations). The most exciting update on my life is that at least the dining hall has a soft serve machine with sugar cones and sprinkles. I'm eating healthy and increasing my calcium intake to build strong bones.
Tomorrow is work day. This means using our 0$ budget to finalize and prepare for the first day of school. Our classroom management plan consists of tickets for good behavior that are put into a biweekly raffle for prizes (skillfully selected by yours truly at the dollar tree), a "Caught Being Good" chart, class rules, a systematic card chart with colored index cards representing increasingly worse behavior with corresponding consequences, and a weekly newsletter highlighting the objectives mastered, with exemplary students spotlighted for both good deeds and academic achievement. We will track this scholastic progress on the wall with a grid and star constellation.
Monday will determine whether or not we (Ms. Nix, Ms. Yang, Ms. Patton, and Ms. Osborn) have, in fact, prepared properly with our multiple posters and word-for-word lesson plans. I will lead-teach (yes, that's Ms. Nix to you, sir) at 8 am with a "Do Now" name tent, and student survey complete with self-portrait. My collaborative member, Katie, will then create a team circle to point out similarities and differences in the questionnaires/stick-figures and emphasize the importance of diversity and class community. The entire rest of the day will consist of diagnostics and drill-Sergeant training of rules and procedures.
Each day this week, I will lead teach "Shared Reading" for 45 minutes before the students line up for their impending food fight in the cafeteria. My objective for Monday is that SWBAT (students will be able to...) define a summary (4Ws: Who, What, Where, When). I'll summarize the story that we will choral read: in Africa (where) long, long ago (when) the clever rabbit bets Elephant (who) that he can pull Elephant off the cliff into the ocean (what). Thinking "no way," Elephant agrees and Rabbit ties a rope around his waist. Rabbit then bets Whale (who) that he can pull him out of the ocean onto land. Thinking "nuh uh," Whale agrees and Rabbit ties a rope around his waist. Elephant and Whale then begin tug-of-war battling while Rabbit laughs. Eventually the two of hostages realize they've been duped and Rabbit is long gone (what). The end. Who, What, Where, When (apparently "why" is way too advanced on Bloom's taxonomy).
This just in: the School District of Philadelphia has had budget cuts, leading to several administrative positions being eliminated and, consequently, fed into elementary teaching careers. This process has decreased the amount of elementary openings originally determined for the fall, which, in short, means I ain't gettin' hired. Given the option to cross my fingers on the faint possibility of a k-6 classroom by waiting until after the first day of school or to convert to another grade-level, I chose to fill the need for bilingual Chinese high school teachers. HOWEVER, it seems that this placement does not entail teaching bilingual English and French to Chinese students. I have instead opted for high school math. I hope my students still go ga-ga over my harmonica morning rooster call and sing-song mnemonic devices.
Sleeping for more than 4.5 hours feels like less of a nap and more of a coma. This morning at 11:30am, I woke up from my coma. Last night marked the first celebration of many for persevering through a week of 12 hour work days with 5 hours of homework to boot. Temple University is a dry campus, but conveniently has a bar situated as its center piece. Rumor has it that last year on the first Friday of Institute, the flood of celebratory drinks dried up every last drop of beer by 10pm. The festivities last night were not as joyful for some; Britney packed her bags and headed south for the summer back to sweet home Alabama. After a happy hour toast, I got dressed up to send her off with a farewell "cheers" and, despite the deceiving pre-departure picture, just waved as she left for the center city bars while I watched TV and caught up on sleep and phone calls home. (I apologize to those of you thinking, "e.t., phone home," but 5 minutes between sessions doesn't lend itself to catch-up conversations). The most exciting update on my life is that at least the dining hall has a soft serve machine with sugar cones and sprinkles. I'm eating healthy and increasing my calcium intake to build strong bones.
Tomorrow is work day. This means using our 0$ budget to finalize and prepare for the first day of school. Our classroom management plan consists of tickets for good behavior that are put into a biweekly raffle for prizes (skillfully selected by yours truly at the dollar tree), a "Caught Being Good" chart, class rules, a systematic card chart with colored index cards representing increasingly worse behavior with corresponding consequences, and a weekly newsletter highlighting the objectives mastered, with exemplary students spotlighted for both good deeds and academic achievement. We will track this scholastic progress on the wall with a grid and star constellation.
Monday will determine whether or not we (Ms. Nix, Ms. Yang, Ms. Patton, and Ms. Osborn) have, in fact, prepared properly with our multiple posters and word-for-word lesson plans. I will lead-teach (yes, that's Ms. Nix to you, sir) at 8 am with a "Do Now" name tent, and student survey complete with self-portrait. My collaborative member, Katie, will then create a team circle to point out similarities and differences in the questionnaires/stick-figures and emphasize the importance of diversity and class community. The entire rest of the day will consist of diagnostics and drill-Sergeant training of rules and procedures.
Each day this week, I will lead teach "Shared Reading" for 45 minutes before the students line up for their impending food fight in the cafeteria. My objective for Monday is that SWBAT (students will be able to...) define a summary (4Ws: Who, What, Where, When). I'll summarize the story that we will choral read: in Africa (where) long, long ago (when) the clever rabbit bets Elephant (who) that he can pull Elephant off the cliff into the ocean (what). Thinking "no way," Elephant agrees and Rabbit ties a rope around his waist. Rabbit then bets Whale (who) that he can pull him out of the ocean onto land. Thinking "nuh uh," Whale agrees and Rabbit ties a rope around his waist. Elephant and Whale then begin tug-of-war battling while Rabbit laughs. Eventually the two of hostages realize they've been duped and Rabbit is long gone (what). The end. Who, What, Where, When (apparently "why" is way too advanced on Bloom's taxonomy).
This just in: the School District of Philadelphia has had budget cuts, leading to several administrative positions being eliminated and, consequently, fed into elementary teaching careers. This process has decreased the amount of elementary openings originally determined for the fall, which, in short, means I ain't gettin' hired. Given the option to cross my fingers on the faint possibility of a k-6 classroom by waiting until after the first day of school or to convert to another grade-level, I chose to fill the need for bilingual Chinese high school teachers. HOWEVER, it seems that this placement does not entail teaching bilingual English and French to Chinese students. I have instead opted for high school math. I hope my students still go ga-ga over my harmonica morning rooster call and sing-song mnemonic devices.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Call and Response.
5am in Philadelphia means 2am in Chico, California. It is also the hour at which the argument (or battle, really) between my alarm clock and my cement slab prison (or dorm) mattress begins and ends when a second alarm clock chimes in and, of course, as we learned in school: 2 beats 1. To get a visual of where this occurs: See Dorm Pictures Here. At this point, my roommate and I call on each other to critique our professional dress; at which, I found out on the first day, we apparently failed. Rules for professional dress at Thurgood Marshall Elementary School insist that professional, dressy, crop slacks (the kind found in the professional aisle of Express) are inappropriate, whereas skirts (no length specified) are just fine. When the masses in the auditorium called for reform, challenging this rule, the program director made another one: "if you have to ask, it's not appropriate," thus eliminating 95% of my wardrobe on the possibility that I'll be sent home.
6am is when 700 fresh faces (see also: groggy teachers) march in a herd toward the cafeteria that is 5 blocks down the road. This journey in the half moonlight does not prepare you for the traffic collision at the entrance to the cafeteria.
Yesterday was my first day of the experience of eagerly waiting for breakfast like kindergartners pumped to ride Pinocchio's Big Adventure as soon as Disneyland opens--only without the magic. I ironed my clothes the night before, looked sharp, headed to breakfast, and grabbed my pre-packed sack lunch to store in my (free) Teach for America lunch pail (complete with ice pack cooling system); I could not be more prepared for war.
That was until what I like to call Mayonnaise Monday. As we scurried to squish our cardboard lunch boxes into our matching pails, a young professional near me dropped her mayonnaise package, and to ensure that it was really dead, stepped on it with her needle-point pumps, oozing mayonnaise up and down my sensible-shoe covered foot. After showering my foot in the cafeteria bathroom, breakfast was out of sight as I staggered toward the convoy of school buses that would leave promptly at 6:45am.
6:45am is a critical hour; it is the hour when the fleet of buses race as though to be the pilot of this armada merited a prestigious award. One minute late, and, as Ryan (the guinea pig) kindly demonstrated, even chasing after the bus with an apple and coffee (perhaps even promising sweet treats to the driver), will not halt this mission.
Missions are central. In case you forget, this lesson in call and response will help you remember; if quizzed, when prompted, "TWO GOALS!" is followed by 700 sharply dressed teachers (all of which were casually sporting sweatpants last night) chanting, "ONE MISSION," and at Thurgood Marshall, the proper response to "I am" is "because we are!" As long I can remember these two mantras at 7am, I think I'll survive what my 4th grade summer school students throw my way come Monday.
6am is when 700 fresh faces (see also: groggy teachers) march in a herd toward the cafeteria that is 5 blocks down the road. This journey in the half moonlight does not prepare you for the traffic collision at the entrance to the cafeteria.
Yesterday was my first day of the experience of eagerly waiting for breakfast like kindergartners pumped to ride Pinocchio's Big Adventure as soon as Disneyland opens--only without the magic. I ironed my clothes the night before, looked sharp, headed to breakfast, and grabbed my pre-packed sack lunch to store in my (free) Teach for America lunch pail (complete with ice pack cooling system); I could not be more prepared for war.
That was until what I like to call Mayonnaise Monday. As we scurried to squish our cardboard lunch boxes into our matching pails, a young professional near me dropped her mayonnaise package, and to ensure that it was really dead, stepped on it with her needle-point pumps, oozing mayonnaise up and down my sensible-shoe covered foot. After showering my foot in the cafeteria bathroom, breakfast was out of sight as I staggered toward the convoy of school buses that would leave promptly at 6:45am.
6:45am is a critical hour; it is the hour when the fleet of buses race as though to be the pilot of this armada merited a prestigious award. One minute late, and, as Ryan (the guinea pig) kindly demonstrated, even chasing after the bus with an apple and coffee (perhaps even promising sweet treats to the driver), will not halt this mission.
Missions are central. In case you forget, this lesson in call and response will help you remember; if quizzed, when prompted, "TWO GOALS!" is followed by 700 sharply dressed teachers (all of which were casually sporting sweatpants last night) chanting, "ONE MISSION," and at Thurgood Marshall, the proper response to "I am" is "because we are!" As long I can remember these two mantras at 7am, I think I'll survive what my 4th grade summer school students throw my way come Monday.
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