He has two new books coming out! Listen to My Trumpet! will be released next week, on February 7. The Duckling Gets a Cookie!? will be available on April 3.
I’m doing my happy dance!
I have a daddy but my daddy hates us January 30, 2012
Today was our first day learning about our February theme, Families. We talked about different people who are in a family — mommies (I said, “some families have a mommy, but not all”) and daddies (I said the same thing), and sisters, and babies, and brothers, and grandmas…..
Various kids raised their hands to tell me who was in their family.
Quail raised his hand. ”I have a daddy,” he said, in his confident voice. Then his face fell. ”But he hates us.”
“Oh honey, your daddy is wrong. You are so wonderful and lovable. I’m so sorry about your daddy, but I know you have a mommy who loves you very much.”
I hate Quail’s daddy, I thought.
what does why mean? January 26, 2012
Today Crow hit a little girl at the beginning of the morning, at journal time. It came out of nowhere. I put him in the take-a-break chair.
“Crow, did you hit her?”
He nodded.
“Why did you hit her?”
He looked blank and nodded again. I started to think, maybe he doesn’t know what why means. And explanations, cause and effect, all those things are beyond his ability to comprehend or communicate.
He hit kids all day. Not once was he mad, not once did it make any sense, or happen after a provocation. When he had to take a break, when I talked to him about no hitting, he smiled a little and nodded, in a friendly way. (If I say “is it okay to hit people?” he will always give that little smile and nod, totally uncomprehending.)
It’s pretty rough if you don’t know what “why” means.
bad guys busting through the windows January 26, 2012
I’ve got a new friend in my class. He is very much like one of my other boys, in appearance, behavior, curiosity, and temperament. However, the original boy has a really stable home life, considering that he was once homeless. The new boy….maybe not. I’ll call my new friend Quail, and the original, Partridge.
Quail sat at journal time yesterday, and wanted to be done after making a picture of his mom that consisted of a head, two legs, and hair all the way around the head.
“Your mom needs eyes,” I said. After a stream of interruptions, I looked at his journal. He had added some scribbles, but it wasn’t clear what they were. ”Where are the eyes?”
“Here!” he pointed, to some tiny scribbles located where his mom’s ear should be.
“How about two eyes right here in the middle of her face?”
More interruptions. When I looked back, his mom had two purple eyes and a purple smile.
“She is smiling because my dad’s not saying he wants people to kill us anymore.”
?!
“What, sweetie? What did you say?”
And it all came pouring out. He talked about people busting in through the windows, how his dad said he wanted people to kill them, how his parents were going to get married but now they’re not, how dad doesn’t want to take care of the kids, how dad got mad at mom for “running the streets” all night, how mom would leave him alone with his two year old brother “and she didn’t even lock the door,” how he would fight and hit people if anyone tried to hurt his little brother….
He didn’t want a hug, but he did sit on my lap for his outpouring. He wasn’t upset, and seemed really upbeat and resilient, but also that he was afraid and wanted me to know about it.
Later, he and the social worker had a lovely chat, and she said that she thinks most of it is true, but that it happened in the past. Now they live in a different part of town, and he feels safe.
But it’s so sad. I try to think of one of my sons, at the age of 4 or 5, having experiences or fears like those, and it boggles the mind.
The next day, his wiggles were greatly reduced, and he started settling in happily as a member of the class. I think he feels safe with me, and I am glad.
Spring cleaning, with snow on the ground January 23, 2012
It is a classic winter day here, with ice and snow and cold. However, I felt some signs of spring within me — I did a major spring cleaning of the classroom, with the help of my Americorps volunteer.
Visual clutter raises my blood pressure. My classroom is a warm and friendly and pleasing place, with lots of plants, and wonderful children’s artwork on the walls and hanging in the windows. However, there were lots of areas of mess.
Having piles of boxes behind the kidney table made it impossible to walk back there, and piles of papers, bags, and snacks on the table made it impossible to use. Now the kidney table is BLANK. It is empty and clean, and we can use it for small groups, which is what it is there for. Now that there is nothing behind or under the table, our engineer can mop and sweep under there at last.
The window sills are long and useful, and were covered in junk. Now the front of the window sill is almost empty, so now we have a place for artwork to dry. Along the back of the window sills, we have neatly arranged magazine boxes and other tubs with alphabet, vocabulary, literacy, and assessment materials for easy access (and hopefully, frequent use).
We threw away at least four boxes, gave away bags of stuff, and trashed/recycled quite a bit more. We found new places to put things, and emptied shelves for the afternoon teacher to use for her stuff. (I am guilty of not giving her enough space, and I know it. I am trying to make amends. I’m still working on three more shelves to empty and give to her.) I went nuts with my labeler and labeled lots of shelves, so that cleanup will be easier for all the adults who are in my room at various times.
My hands feel like sandpaper from all the washing, but my heart is light. I’m looking forward to tomorrow, when I get to teach in this lovely room.
