things I would like to tell my students’ parents (but won’t) May 29, 2012

1. Could you please check your child’s backpack weekly, if you can’t manage daily?  Do you remember back in October when we met at your parent conference and I asked you politely to keep checking your child’s backpack?  It makes me sad when I see your child’s carefully created work getting ripped and wrecked because it’s still in his backpack.  It makes me feel frustrated when I go through your child’s backpack and find notes in there from March.  And it makes me feel like you don’t care what is happening here when you never read my reminders or newsletter or calendar, and you’ve got no clue that we have a field trip or party coming up.
2. I sent home the bus form for next year four times.  Once it was even pinned to your child’s backpack.  So please, don’t tell me you never saw it.  (But could you please send it in tomorrow, for Pete’s sake?!)
3. If your child has asthma, would you please send unexpired medication to school?  September would be a good time to do this.  It makes me sad when your child starts wheezing and there is NOTHING I can do about it because we have no meds here, even though I have reminded you several times.
4. Would you please find out what the weather is going to be before your send your preschooler to school?  You can find out on tv, online, by phone, on the radio, or in the newspaper.  It would prevent your child from coming to school in just shorts and a t-shirt on very cold days, or from coming to school with a wool coat plus hat and mittens on very warm days.
5. Before you pull your child out of school, could you please mention it to me?  We want to be able to say goodbye to your child, and it would be nice to send his journal, art work, memory book, and assessment portfolio along with him.

That is all.  Thank you.

zip, zoom, hello, goodbye May 4, 2012

Two of my new students are now gone, just like that.  To be honest, my life is easier without them, but still.  ARGH.  Why would you put your child in a preschool class for a month, and then pull him/her out without even saying goodbye?

One family pulled their child out suddenly, saying that he/she was being teased.  They never talked to me, never called the school, just pulled the child.  A social worker called the school to let the school secretary know.  I talked to the Princess, and she sighed.  If parents say there is bullying going on but never contact the school to let them know, then there is nothing we can do to make it better.  She said that sometimes she gets asked, “why didn’t you do anything to address the incident?” but how can she, if she never knew that it happened?!  We asked one of our interpreters to call the family and ask them to come in to talk about what happened, but I haven’t heard if she ever reached them.

The other child was pulled because his family moved.  That is fairly common among low-income families, unfortunately.  They never called me to tell me, though, just pulled him out.

It frustrates me that the parents think so little of school, of me, of their child’s friends, that they wouldn’t even think to let us say goodbye.  And the child’s things at school just go in the garbage, because, you know, the work children do at preschool is so unimportant.

On the bright side, Little One is calmer, the sun is shining, and the class is a more manageable size.

the flaw in my brilliant plan April 25, 2012

I believe that I am a very good teacher, and that classroom management (behavior, organization, community-building, routines, etc.) is one of my strengths.  And that is largely true.  I start off the year by teaching the children all of our routines, hold them to high expectations for behavior and academics, and then teach them step-by-step how to meet those expectations.

While the beginning of the year is exhausting, by mid-October the class has settled into school and my room has become a well-oiled, high-functioning machine.  My room is calm, happy, loving, and purposeful.  It works great, and it makes me feel great to have gotten there.

However, I have just discovered the flaw in my way of doing things.  I expect that from October to June, things will mostly go according to plan.  I have failed to accomodate for the possibility of getting new kids in the spring who don’t know any of my rules, routines, or expectations, and who are way behind all the kids I’ve been able to teach since September.

So here I am, completely flummoxed and frustrated, because I have new students who don’t know that they are supposed to listen to me when I say their names, who don’t know that hitting is not reasonable behavior, who don’t know that books are precious and it is not okay to write in them, and who don’t even know how to wash their hands.  I am no longer in beginning-of-school mode, and it is overwhelming sometimes to think of all the things I have to reteach.

Yesterday was another bad day.  I was short-tempered, and felt terrible about it.

April is late, too: musings on my failures April 17, 2012

I haven’t posted much lately.  I think it’s because usually my posts about my year and my class tell a story, and this year, the narrative keeps getting botched up.

Three years in a row I had an awesome class.  Last year’s bunch mostly had two parents at home, even the ones who were in poverty, and it really showed.  This year I have a lot of awesome students, but as a whole, it has been a difficult group.  I guess it was time for me to experience a little adversity.

It’s April, and I am having difficulty seeing the progress my lovelies have made.  That’s been overshadowed by the progress some of my lovelies haven’t made at all.  One of my special ed students has a tentative diagnosis of developmental delay, but I think that it might change to something like developmentally and cognitively disabled.  This child has learned very little all year, no matter how hard we have all tried.  Another one used to show a lot of progress, both in behavior and academics, but things are so bad at home that it doesn’t matter what we do, the rage and fear and stress have taken over.  I am powerless to make things better.  (Yes, we have called Child Protection.  They won’t do anything.)  I’m watching a child suffer and I can’t help.  My third special ed student (that’s another story — I’m only supposed to have two, but somehow just got a third) shows signs of having been allowed to be dependent on adults for too many things, so I’ve got two months to teach this child how to be independent.  A fourth student hasn’t learned much all year in terms of academics or basic skills, so I am trying to have him referred to special ed, but it may be too late in the year.

I’ve gotten three new students recently (plus I had two “old” students return from being overseas for almost two months).  Two of my lovely, charming babies moved to another school, and were replaced by a child who doesn’t speak any English, a child whose parents have not prepared him for school academically (he can’t speak in coherent sentences, can’t recognize or write his name, knows no letters/sounds/numbers/shapes, can’t count past two, etc.), and the third special ed child I mentioned.

April is usually when you start to measure tons of progress and it’s a good feeling, but all I can see right now are the kids I can’t help.  How can I get kids ready for kindergarten when they are only in my room for two months?  Or when their special needs are so overwhelming?  Or their families are so dysfunctional?

March is a little late March 26, 2012

….to be getting new students.  One little boy started a few weeks ago, and this is his first experience in school.  He is doing pretty well, actually.  He learned how to walk in a line, how to sit in the meeting area, and how to keep his hands to himself, most of the time.  His academic skills are quite low, as are his communication skills.  I wonder how I am supposed to get him ready for kindergarten in the short time I have left.

Last week we got a new girl, who moved to this country from a refugee camp in another country just 4 weeks ago.  She is very sweet, with a huge smile, but she is confused and working hard to figure out what school is all about.  She has good functional skills — if everyone else does something, she copies them and does it, too — but so far all we’ve heard her say in English is “I need this.”  Another child in class speaks her language, and wonderfully, is mature enough to understand how to translate my questions for her, so that helps.  But how am I supposed to get her ready for kindergarten in the time we have left?

This week I will get a new boy, who is on an IEP.  I will have three special ed students then, instead of the two I am supposed to be limited to.  I know nothing about him, and can only hope his IEP doesn’t have a behavior portion.

This week we have to start doing portfolio assessments for the next round of report cards, and….I wonder if I will be able to get them ALL ready for kindergarten, in the time I have left.

yank your kid out of school and other thoughts on problem-solving skills March 17, 2012

Yesterday our bus driver, an immigrant man who is great with the kids and delightful to talk to each day, reported that on Thursday, when he got to my new student’s stop, there was no one there to collect him.  The bus driver waited for ten minutes until finally someone came.

I called Mom to let her know what had happened.  I could hear her asking someone else who was with her, “were you at the bus stop on time?”  I told her that sometimes the driver ends up bringing the child back to school, and the parents have to come get him.  In rare cases, the police are called and the children are taken to the local Children’s Home.

This was the wrong thing to say.

She said, “I know that place!  I’m not dealing with that place!  I’m pulling my baby out of school.”

And she hung up on me.

**********

I let the Princess know what had happened.  She thanked me for giving her the heads-up, and assured me that the parent will probably cool down and forget all about it, but if Mom called, the office would know the story.

Then I went back to my classroom and talked about it with my Americorps volunteer.  It seems crazy to say that you are going to pull your child out of school (especially when he has just started school for the first time a few weeks earlier) just because the bus driver says you were late to the bus stop.  It’s inexplicable to the average middle class person.  But to some mothers living in poverty, it makes perfect sense.

I have encountered this before .  These are mothers who love their children and want the world to know they  take care of their children.  They are also women on the defensive in a tough world, who are very quick to go on the offensive.  She perceived a threat, and she responded quickly.  Never mind that all she has to do is meet the bus on time, or be willing to go to the school to pick him up.  Never mind that his skills are incredibly low and that he needs to be at school to be at all ready for success in kindergarten.  It was a) threat, and b) response.  And I think she felt like a good mother, looking out for her kid.  In her world, perfectly logical.

But it took a while for me to stop being upset and just let it go.

i know why i am so tired February 10, 2012

It hit me at breakfast this morning.  My classroom is a well-oiled machine.  It runs smoothly, calmly, and happily.  That is my normal.  But in the last few weeks, with Crow struggling and Little One totally falling apart, my classroom is not running smoothly.  Other children are stressed by Crow and Little One’s actions, and it is affecting their behavior.  And the three grownups, used to things running smoothly, are exhausted with trying to put out fires everywhere.

Today was another very hard day.  I spoke to the Princess about it, and she is going to try to help.  For one thing, we will send the social worker to Little One’s home to talk to her parents — their phones are disconnected and we cannot reach them.

Right before dinner tonight I felt a little funny, like a migraine was on its way.  I took a pill, but only a third of the way through my meal it hit me that I no longer felt like I had the energy or balance to continue to sit upright.  I spent the evening in bed.  It is where I still am, typing this.

But I will go to work tomorrow.  I have to.

it is hard to be an angry, stressed-out preschooler February 9, 2012

Little One is struggling, and we are struggling right along with her.  For about two weeks now, she has gone way backward in terms of her behavior.  She comes in sad, or manically happy, which soon veers into tears or yelling.  She desperately wants the other girls to like her, but almost seems determined to screw things up in one social situation after another.  She doesn’t do it on purpose, of course, it just seems that way.

I realized at breakfast that I know now why we three (my assistant and my Americorps member and me) have been sooo tired lately.  It has been 2 or 3 weeks since Little One and Crow have started spiraling out of control.  What is normally a really smoothly-running classroom, with all transitions and routines accomplished with ease, is now a place with little brush fires popping up all over the place.

Yesterday at cleanup time, the kids who were done headed over to the meeting area to sit down for story time.  The adults weren’t over there yet, but were still helping various groups clean up their centers.  Suddenly a little girl I’ll call Blue Jay started to sob, loudly.  It turns out the when walking over, Blue Jay accidentally bumped into another girl.  Little One took it upon herself to yell in Blue Jay’s face to scold her.  Had Little One not intervened in something that was not her business, Blue Jay probably would have followed our classroom script:  ”I’m sorry, it was an accident.  Are you okay?”

Anyway, instead of starting a story, I had a sobbing child in my arms, and Little One angry about being in trouble, again, and stomping away, refusing to rejoin the class.  (Although she did say “Sorry” to Blue Jay, because Blue Jay is one of the girls Little One adores and wants to be friends with.)

At another cleanup time recently, the kids in the block corner were being very slow, as usual.  Kids who wanted to sit down in the meeting area couldn’t, because it still had blocks strewn around.  They are supposed to wait on the side until there is room to sit down.  Instead of sitting down in her spot, where there were no more blocks, Little One waded into the crowd to start cleaning up blocks.

“No,” I told her.  ”You weren’t in blocks, you’re not supposed to put the blocks away.  Go sit in your spot.”  I admit I didn’t say it in the calmest, most patient voice.  My patience is frayed these days.

Little One refused to stop, so I had to say it again, even more firmly this time.

She stomped over to her spot and sat down, and with tears running down her face, said, “I’m mad at you!  You’re mad at me!”

(Just to explain, in my room the rule at clean up is you clean up your own center, and when that center is all clean, you come sit down.  You don’t go to other centers and clean up; I find that is a delaying tactic and I want all kids to come sit as soon as possible.  The Clean Up King or Queen of the week gets to help everyone, and that is considered a very coveted and honored job.)

Meanwhile, Crow is hitting kids, almost every day.  Never for any reason.  He is confused and seems to be making no progress at all.  It is sad and frustrating.

the boy who doesn’t know how to play with blocks November 30, 2011

One of my developmentally delayed sweethearts is a little boy who knows all the letters, and a lot of sounds.  He knows numbers, colors, shapes, and that sort of thing.  It’s obvious that he has difficulty with verbal communication — he will repeat what you say, or repeat one phrase over and over, and he doesn’t always know how to answer a question or tell you what happened — but it didn’t seem like he was that behind in other ways.

But this week, I started watching him in blocks.  He doesn’t know what to do with them!  They hold a real fascination for him — he picks blocks almost daily.  But he doesn’t know how to build anything.  He can’t make a plan (“I’m going to build a bridge!”), he can’t copy what I do when I build something, and he can’t clean up — he doesn’t know how to find where particular block shapes go, or put them in place with the correct orientation.  He seems to be lacking creativity, planning skills, problem solving skills, and spatial relations.

So now my jobs are to help him learn in the block corner, and to have a diplomatic conversation with his mother about the importance of play.  She does a lot of drill with him, is proud of what he knows, and thinks that he will be “caught up” by kindergarten or first grade. ( I’m thinking he might start to crash and burn in kindergarten.)  Apparently there is no playing and no mess at his daycare, and I need to find out what he is doing at home.

take a few steps forward, take a few steps backward November 28, 2011

I haven’t named any of my students so far this year, with the exception of Little One with her large personality, so it is high time.  I will start telling tales about this year’s class, and will name them all after colors.

When I arrived this morning, late, I looked through my classroom window and saw a meeting taking place.  Oh yes, I was supposed to have been there 15 minutes earlier to talk with the social worker, speech pathologist, and parents about little Blue and his speech therapy.  I’d forgotten all about it.  Very embarrassing.  But everyone was nice about my late arrival, and I really like Blue’s parents, and the good news was that we all agreed it’s time to evaluate him to see if we can take him off service.

Blue is small for his size, but confident, sparkly, and in love with school.  He often raises his hand to show off his English skills.  He tells me things in careful, clear sentences that he just might have practiced first, beaming the whole time.  He’s smart, and has good things to say, and is proud of himself.  Since I can understand him all the time, I agreed with the team that it’s time for him to end his speech therapy.

Late or not, it was a lovely way to start the day.

The morning ended, however, on a stressful note.  Little One kept almost losing it all morning, and kept being able to pull herself back together, until it was time to go home.  A series of little things which she couldn’t handle appropriately made her fall apart, more and more and more.  I had to call a social worker to come help.  The social worker ended up having to carry a screaming and kicking Little One onto the bus, where she and the driver then struggled to get her safely buckled up.

I called Dad to let him know, and then after I hung up, worried that she would get a spanking, which won’t help things at all.  I’m not sure what’s wrong, but she has been slipping backward for a few weeks now.