our class pet September 3, 2009

It was our first morning meeting, and the children were flagging, a little.  It’s hard to be four and sit on your bottom AND fold your legs AND put your hands in your lap AND remember not to interrupt the teacher.  I was trying to get them through our new daily routine of calendar and counting the days and morning message, when someone noticed the wasp.

(It is warm today, and I was sweating within thirty minutes of the start of the school day, so our window was open.  No screen means that sometimes bugs do fly in.)

Panicked expressions were everywhere.

I said, “Oh, yeah, that’s our wasp.  He’s fine, he won’t hurt you.  I know, let’s make him our class pet!”

Blank faces.

“What should we name him?”

Then one little girl piped up, “Max?”

“Max!”  I cried.  “What a wonderful name!  Okay, everyone say hi to Max!”

“HI, MAX,” they chorused.

“Now where did he go?” I asked.  “Maybe he’s playing hide and seek with us.  I think he’s hiding behind that light.”

The whole class was smiling and waving up at the light fixture.

“Let’s look for him tomorrow,” I suggested.  “I bet he’ll still be here.  He likes us.”

And then — “Let’s read our morning message!”  And all was well.

the first day of school September 3, 2009

They are as cute as can be.  I’m exhausted, and my voice is hoarse, but I love them already.

getting ready for the first day of school September 3, 2009

The past two weeks have whizzed by and I have been simply too exhausted to post.  I will try to be better from here on in, especially since I am starting to get into the groove.  (Waking up at 6 am again is quite painful, but I’ve responded by hurling myself out of bed to work out on the treadmill each morning, before I’m awake enough to talk myself out of it, and also by going to bed at 9:30 (!) each night.)

I am not fond of the first day of school.  You might even say I hate it.  I’m accustomed to a class that hums along like a well-oiled machine, and on the first day, things definitely do NOT hum along smoothly.  It occurs to me, each first day when I look at the children’s little faces, that they don’t know anything about my classroom, and it is now my job to teach them EVERYTHING.  Sort of a daunting task, but then I just dig in and get started.

Actually, I get started before the first day of school.  Here are some of the things I do to prepare:

• I write out a class list of first names in alphabetical order.  I will use this constantly in the first week.  My class always lines up in alphabetical order.
• I make nametags for the cubbies, and put them in alphabetical order, so that when we are lined up in the hall, the child whose name starts with A is in front of her cubby, and the child whose name starts with Z is in front of his cubby.
• I make a different set of laminated nametags, and put velcro on the backs (okay, actually, I ask Miss Slinger to do this), to mark the spots on the carpet where I want each child to sit.  (We’ve got limited space for morning meeting, so I assign spots.  It works wonderfully — no one pushes or shoves to sit up front, and they all have their own space.)  I make a map of where each child should go, based on what little I know about them, and post it near my chair in the meeting area.)
• I label hanging files in a basket so that each child has a “take-home file.”  This is where they put their finished work; I do this to avoid children going out to the hall to their backpacks, and problems arising because they are unsupervised.  Of course, the files are in ABC order, and this year, I used my new labeler to make them, so they look even neater than usual.
• I make a class list on a chart I’ve copied from a “first days of school” teacher book, write the names on (in ABC order, of course!), and then make copies.  One copy goes on a clipboard that hangs from a hook near the door.  This is where all dismissal and bus info goes.  On the chart’s top axis I write out options for dismissal that include the after-school program, the preK bus, the special ed buses, or being picked up by a parent.  I use this as we head out each day so that every child goes to the right place.
• I make colored nametags, four of each color.  Then I decide (based on the little info I have) which color group each child goes in, so that the groups will work well together.  On the first day of school the red group gets to go to the art center.  On the second day of school, I open a second center, and green gets to go there, and blue gets to go to art.  On the third day I open a third center, and so on and so forth until all the centers are opened and every group has been to every center.

I hope this is helpful to those of you who are getting ready for YOUR first days of school!

two sets of hands are better than one August 21, 2009

I’m going into the weekend feeling pretty Zen.

This morning Ms. Mellow and I met at school, and kept chatting, and all of a sudden, all the furniture was in the right place, and a lot of baskets and organizers were, too.  We are farther along than I thought we’d be, so I’m ready to officially return to work Monday, and spend lots of time in meetings and staff development.  We’ll have enough time to get the room presentable for the open house on Thursday, which is great.

It has been interesting talking to her as we go along.  We put up the calendar, which led to a conversation about calendar time, and all the options with that.  We put up a pocket chart, and I told her how I use it for a word wall to go with each theme.  We talked about the science center, which definitely needs work, and how I’d be happy to follow her lead there.

It’s a good experience to talk about what you do in the classroom, because it makes you think about WHY you do it.

rites of fall August 18, 2009

I went to the teacher store this morning.  I spent $102, which actually shows restraint on my part.  Usually it’s $140.  Picking out labels for the cubbies for me and Ms. Mellow was really hard; I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to find nametags that were a) attractive, b) color-coded (I’m green and she’s blue), and c)small enough to fit in the cubbies.

I stopped in at the office this morning and managed to cajole our secretary into giving me my class list; this afternoon I’m going to mail out a letter about school supplies and our ice cream social next Tuesday.

And I went to my physical therapy appointment; so far, so good.  I’ve had no migraines for 2 1/2 weeks!  I think I’m ready to go back to work.

summer is almost over August 16, 2009

I received my back-to-work letter from the Prince (my blog name for our principal).  Our official back to work day is Monday, August 24, and the open house will be Thursday, August 27.  We have tons of meetings scheduled, plus a full day of staff development, and only two half days open to work on our rooms.  I’m wondering how he thinks we can get our rooms ready with only two half days….Especially since he said we shouldn’t try to get in our rooms this week, as the engineers are still working on getting the furniture back in.  We always are able to work the week before; if this is really true, next week is going to be some sort of stress nightmare.  I can see myself sitting in endless meetings, agonizingly bored and longing to get to work in my room.

Tomorrow I go to a leadership team meeting at school, so I’m going to ask him about this.  I haven’t had a migraine for two weeks and I don’t want to start now.

what needs to be done before school starts August 12, 2009

I met with the afternoon teacher — I’ll have to think of a good nickname for her — and she’s great.  Down-to-earth, sensible, articulate, friendly, mellow, self-confident, interested and interesting.  So phew, no more anxiety dreams!

She has lots of teaching experience, but none with preschool, so she had a long list of questions for me.  One thing she requested is a to-do list for getting ready for the first day.

I can think of a few things:

• send out school supply letter
• plan ice cream social for the preschoolers at the park (ask principal about dates, so he can be there too)
• buy/write/put up name tags for the cubbies (morning and afternoon!)
• get furniture in the right place
• organize/set up art shelf, which has always been a mess
• organize/set up desk (also, to be shared by two people!)
• put up new bulletin board paper and trim
• put up job charts
• put away all the stuff I bought over the summer, and the stuff I brought home (but never used!)

What things are going on YOUR to-do list?

life on the rollercoaster September 24, 2008

Anyone reading this who is already a teacher (I know I have some fledgling teachers reading this blog, as well as some non-teachers) knows what teaching is like.  Teachers are well-acquainted with the experiences of being bombarded by stimuli all day, of needing to think of 100 things at a time, and having to make decisions constantly. 

So teachers, you can skip today’s post.  You’ve been there, done that.  This is for the non-teachers.

Today was a better day, because David was not there, and Max had had a long talk about his behavior with his parents, and was determined to do better.  But it was still hard, so here, in list form, are just some of the things that I was juggling this morning:

• Driving into parking lot, see school psychologist driving out.  Stop and roll down window.  Ask him if he heard about what happened yesterday.  He says no, so I tell him, and then he says he is working on finding a different placement for David.  I park my car with sense of relief that I am being taken seriously.
• Go to yet another meeting before school, this time for the mentoring leadership team’s weekly gathering.  I have become the unofficial timekeeper, and as such, try to steer discussions back on track, to keep us moving through the agenda, and to help find conclusions and consensus on each item.  I am praised for that by a colleague, which I really appreciate, although I admit to him, “I know that what this really means is that I’m bossy!”
• Find kindergarten teacher whose room I’m supposed to visit during my prep, and ask her if I can bow out, even though I have just seen note from her asking me to read a story to class when I arrive as she has laryngitis.  Bow and scrape and apologize for not coming.  She is very nice about it, and sympathetic to my description of my room being “in freefall.”  Listen to her scratchy voice.  Feel guilty.
• Return to the classroom to find both Nan and Miss Nelson, and a stranger (Miss Nelson’s mentor).  Introduce myself to stranger, who is sitting at my desk, using my computer, so I cannot.  Damn, can’t check email.  Very little time to talk to them or get the room ready before I opening the door to the children.
• Greet two more new students (that’s three this week, and four since last week), both girls, only one of whom speaks English.  Beg the social worker to help, but she can’t, so her intern comes into the room to help children sign in and move their nametags.
• Oops, nametags in the wrong place!  Rush over and move them.
• Note that sign-in line is not moving.  See that Boy A is standing there with pencil hovering over sign-in book, frozen.  Intern does not know what to do.  Tell Boy A to make a mark, any mark, which he does, and usher him to move his nametag to “Who’s Here?”
• Find pencil to get next child in line to sign in.
• Take new girls to hall to find their cubbies.  See that only one has a cubby.
• Go into room to get new cubby sign, write new girl’s name on it, help her find cubby and tape her sign in place.
• Note that we have two minutes to get to Gym.  Turn off lights, say, “One, Two, Three, Freeze!” and explain to new girls how to freeze, cross arms, and look at me for directions.  Tell class it’s time to go.
• Turn on lights, line up children alphabetically, finding spaces for new girls.
• Downstairs meet gym teacher in cafeteria (gym is next to cafeteria), so warn him that there are new students, hand over class, and take one new girl to talk to Spanish-speaking teacher who is helping out with breakfast.  Ask, “could you ask her how to pronounce her name?”  Answer is inconclusive.
• Drop girl off in gym and go upstairs with Nan, who says she can help during prep.
• Sit down at desk (yay, she’s gone!) and feel unfamiliar sense of calm descend.  Am alone in room with Nan, my friend, who asks, “what can I do?”  Give Nan many many things to do. 
• Hour passes in a flash.  Cannot remember single thing that happens during prep.
• Pick up class in gym.  Find out that new girl says her name is Lola.  We already have a Lola!  Turns out her first name is name I was given, but family at home calls her Lola, her middle name.  Make mental note to find Spanish-speaking employee to call home to find out what we should call her at school.
• Back in room, children finish journals, but wander aimlessly when done.  Repeatedly give instructions to “find a book and sit down in your chair!”  Note that I never labeled the books on the shelf now that they are all books about color.  Wonder when I am going to find time to do that.
• Start writing morning message.  Get interrupted several times. 
• “Teacher, the bug is back!”  Go over to terrarium to see one sowbug.  Notice that he is not moving, and hope that he is alive but just resting.  Try to write morning message.  Give up halfway through.
• Start cleanup time.  Get frustrated with children visiting the sowbug instead of cleaning up and coming to sit down.
• Boy B and Boy C, who were fighting over Superhero ABC earlier, are now fighting over Knuffle Bunny.
• Horrible tearing sound as Knuffle Bunny gets torn in two.
• Feel like crying or yelling.  Do neither, but cannot help sounding mad.  Boy C starts to wail.  Send both boys into hall with Nan to discuss situation.  Make note to self ask Spanish speaker to call Boy B’s mother to tell her what happened and ask for $2 to help cover cost.  Make note to self to call Boy C’s mother and tell her same thing.  Make note to self to order new copy of Knuffle Bunny from Scholastic book order.  Which reminds me I haven’t sent in payment for September order, so make note to self to do that.  Soon.
• Start morning meeting without being ready.
• Find out during playing of song about colors (from math curriculum) that boom box is dying.  Instead of loving the song, everyone cringes with weird noises cd player makes.  Make note to self to buy new boom box.  Or try to play cd on computer.  Remember time last year when I tried to do that and computer would not eject cd.  Give up train of thought and move on to next thing.

I think I’ll stop there, although that recounting does not include Max’s anger at having to go with the physical therapist and how he picked up a brick in a threatening way, or how he knocked over a bunch of stuff when sent to time out later on, or what happened during centers time, or story time, or dismissal, or how I made it to the office with a list of three Spanish-speaking families to call for different reasons.

I will say this.  I dug out My Friend is Sad, by my buddy Mo Willems, and read it at story time with great enthusiasm.  So we did end on a happy note.  The children laughed, and I smiled, and then I sent them home.

to my new class September 7, 2008

Hi.  So, uh, I guess I’m your new teacher.  You’re all looking at me so expectantly, and I’m looking at you and thinking, wow, you guys are young. 

I hate to say it, but I miss my old class.  Those guys were awesome.  We had a great thing going.  Now they are all gone — except for you, Ferdinand, and I’m glad to have you back, but I notice you forgot how to speak English over the summer — and here I am with you guys.  Most of you can’t write your own names, or even draw a picture of a person.  A few of you were three years old just a few weeks ago.  Some of you boys don’t know how to lift up the seat instead of just peeing on it.

My old boys knew how to pee in the toilet.

My old class knew how to discuss books.  They knew what a Caldecott Medal was, and they had read the collected works of Jan Brett and Mo Willems, and they had more or less memorized Knuffle Bunny and Stellaluna and Strega Nona.  They could count and they knew their colors.  They knew how to solve problems without hitting.

I guess that’s because I taught them.  I’ll teach you, too, only right now it looks like a big job.  I feel like I’m one side of a huge mountain, and all I’ve got with me is a bunch of kids who were recently three years old, and they don’t really look like they know how to climb.

And then there’s the love thing.  I loved my old class.

A few years ago, on the first day of school, a little girl we’ll call Caterpillar raised her hand and said, “I love you, Mrs. X.”  (Actually, she said, “I yuv you, Mrs. X.”)  I said, “Wow, Caterpillar, what a wonderful thing to say.  I love you, too.”  Then someone else raised his hand to tell me he loved me, and someone else, and pretty soon it was just a love fest at morning meeting.  That first day set the tone for the whole year and that was when I got in the habit of telling my students I love them.  (I still love Caterpillar, and she still loves me.  I bump into her regularly around the neighborhood and she always throws her arms around me to hug me, even though I think she’s going into 2nd or 3rd grade.)

None of you told me you loved me on the first day of school.  So I told you guys I loved you, even though I wasn’t quite sure if I meant it yet. 

I know I will, though.  I will love you wholeheartedly, all year long.  Every day at the end of our time together we’ll hold hands and sing the “School Family” song, and my heart will melt a little.  On the second day of school, at calendar time, I told you that tomorrow would be Saturday and we wouldn’t see each other, and my heart melted when you all went, “awww,” with disappointment.

I said, “I know, it’s sad we won’t be together.  Tomorrow I’ll wake up in the morning and I will feel sad that I won’t be seeing you.  And I won’t see you on Sunday, either, but then on Monday it will be great because we’ll all be together again.”

Okay, I admit I kind of meant that.

Tomorrow is Monday and we will all be together again.  You’ll start learning how to write your names, and I’ll start learning to love you.

Because I’m your teacher, and that’s my job.

 

(Image from http://www.theposterlist.com/, an awesome resource for posters and art.)

i hate the first day of school September 4, 2008

It’s here.  The room is ready (except for my desk, which resembles a demolition site), but I’m not.  I’ve been having weird dreams (I was dying of cancer in one dream, running away with a New York City firefighter in another, and hanging out with Martha Stewart and a rock star in another) and not sleeping well.

I told my husband this morning that I think the reason I hate the first day of school is that it’s all so awkward.  Once we get going we’ll have this awesome, streamlined, smooth-functioning routine, and it will be easy to plug things into the routine.  On the first day there is no routine, and so we do a little bit of this (tour the school) and a little bit of that (our first morning meeting and calendar time) and a little bit of this (drawing self-portraits) and a little bit of that (touring the classroom and opening up our first center).

Also I feel like a big dork.  I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing the whole time.  Like maybe I completely forgot how to teach over the summer.

I can’t wait until this morning is over!