Ready? Get set... Wait!

I am in a holding pattern of sorts, waiting for my Washington State teaching certificate. The process is complex, with many required documents, references, forms, exams, and cash outlays. I appreciate why many professionals refuse to stray further than their first professional leash will allow. The  tedious redundancy and expense of crossing state or international borders is ridiculous.
At the very least I will need to sit two two-part tests to teach elementary school. Should I wish to venture into middle school (yes, I'm that crazy), I must take up to an additional four.  The first two-part test determines if I can read, write, and do extremely basic math. (God help us if our universities produce graduates that don't have this! Note: one needs to graduate from college to earn the right to take this first test. It seems we can't be too careful. Even Illinois insists on this one. Yes, I passed it there. No, it doesn't matter.) The second two-part test ensures I know how to teach. I passed that one in Illinois, too. Guess what else doesn't matter?
So I've decided to stop applying for jobs only to hear nothing back, most likely because I don't have a certificate yet. It seems my mind is happy to fill the ensuing silence with relentless self-depricatory remarks. Entering an interview with such uncertainty does very little for my self-confidence. I've never had much of a poker face. In my heart I know I am a good teacher. I know I love to do it and my students can tell. So, I'm doing my best not to choke up when seeing the piles of back-to-school supplies. My teaching-self is on sabbatical in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Still, some parts of moving stink.

My First Classroom

So this is it, my first classroom. Please overlook the chaos, as this is how it must be left for the cleaners who promise to have it back to me by August. To be honest, I'm beside myself with anticipation. It can be a tad overwhelming at times, but ever so worth it. When I think back to my first year as a physical therapist, I know I still had so much to learn. I was also a measly 21 years old with as much to master outside the workplace as within it. Despite the additional nineteen years of life experience, I know I won't be able to dodge every rookie mistake. Still, they are mine to make. I'm ever so grateful for the opportunity.
Look out 5th grade, here I come!

Poetry in Action

They had just finished reading the poem Lester by Shel Silverstein in pairs. I had them answer the usual questions teachers must ask like, "Who granted Lester his first wish?" and "What did he do with it?" I had them delve into what the author thought Lester should have done with his wishes instead wishing for more. I even probed into how we might describe the rhyme scheme and meter. But then came my favourite question, "If a troll granted you one wish, what would you wish for?"
First came the answers I expected: Ferraris, iPods, cell phones, and getting to meet someone famous. But then one brave soul spoke out, "I wish my mom and dad would get back together." "Me, too," said another, and then another. Someone started to clap. I joined in. Hands shot into the air. "I wish I could see my grandma again." "I wish my brother would come back home and live with us." Students who had wished for trinkets asked to change their wishes. The pain behind these wishes was raw. Miraculously no one laughed at anyone else. For a split second they were a family.
How I'm going to leave them on Wednesday without crying is beyond me.

Teacher Rant: Old School Measuring Cups, Dear Pyrex.

To whom this may concern at Pyrex:

A few months ago my 1-cup liquid measure broke during an unfortunate dishwashing accident. Its design was what I must now describe as 'old school'. It had increment markings that could be read only from the outside with the observer crouched down to the level of the meniscus of the liquid inside. I have since attempted to replace the aforementioned cup without success. It would seem the only 1-cup liquid measures sold in my area are the more modern 'read from above' variety. As a teacher and science educator, I am disappointed that a manufacturer of measuring tools would make such a blatant design flaw. Consider the following photos of the same volume of cooking oil.

In the world of baking, where the liquid to dry ratio is key, this is a huge discrepancy and, quite simply, unacceptable. I would highly recommend you reconsider this design, if not for me, then for the future bakers and scientist who I must forcibly re-educate in my classroom. 

Thanks for this,

Mrs. Miller aka Mighty Mom

Teacher at Work

This was my five minutes of fame last year: front page of the Peoria Journal Star, a photo taken as I novice taught at Quest Charter Academy. (Notice the granny glasses that I still wasn't in the habit of wearing except as a headband.) The article related the school's successes in its previous (and first) academic year. My fabulously engaging lesson plan was woefully overlooked. I left Quest at the end of December grudgingly, having fully enjoyed the experience of being a 5th and 6th grade science teacher, if only for a few hours a day. Who knows...I may be back there someday. For now, I need to prepare to teach fourth grade at Thomas Jefferson Primary School, a few blocks away. I start January 18th. Wish me luck!

Quest Charter Academy student Aniya Bailey listens to suggestions Friday from Bradley University student teacher Melissa Miller during 5th grade science class. The students were studying taxonomy, or the scientific classification, of different species.

Apparently they re-ran the photo on the first of January as part of an article called "Journal Star Best Stories of 2011." I guess I've had my fame for 2012 already. 

The Sound of Silence

Blogging, for me, has always begun away from the computer, in the very midst of precious moments that I don't want to forget. As the mother of little ones, those moments were interspersed by nap times during which I would record them at leisure while my pretty ones slept. As the naps fell away, the blog posts persisted, serving the purpose of distilling our family's experiences into something we could revisit weeks, months, or years later. But then life got busy. And complicated. I found myself debating whether I could post one thing or another for fear of betraying the privacy of Emma, Mouse, or my students. It is one thing to post about a child's antics when they are too little to be embarrassed by them; it is quite another to spill forth with one's parental pride or frustration when said proginy (or her friends) are capable of googling such anecdotes, code names be damned.  It is is a predicament that I  haven't sorted out yet, as my sporadic posting would suggest.
In a few weeks time I will begin student teaching. I guarantee that the blog-worthy moments will over-floweth, both at home and at school. A few months after that I hope to have my first classroom. I would like to look back a year from today at a journey in blogs. Read that as a resolution if you like. 2012 will be recorded. It promises to be a doozie.

New Routines

It's September 20th which places the girls and I a solid month into the 2011-12 school year. So far it's been uneventful. The girls both like their teachers and have enough friends in class to keep them happy, yet under the misbehaviour radar. Extracurricularly, Emma and Mouse decided almost simultaneously that they weren't 'that into' figure skating and would not be returning to the rink as has been their winter tradition since age 3. Tant pis. As I see it, I've done my patriotic duty, ensuring yet another generation of Canadians who can keep their butts off the blue line. One year we'll make a family a trip to the Ottawa Canal for sugar-topped Beaver Tails on blades. When that happens, all those years rink-side will have been worth it.

As for me, I'm novice teaching 5th and 6th grade Science and learning more than the kids. Thursday I get to teach 6th grade the states of matter. It will be my first full-class instruction and I'm very, very excited. As I write, my freezer is chock-a-block with popcorn-and-shortening 'ice' cubes that the students will melt to a liquified state. In preparation for the liquid to gas transition, I've test-popped corn in an oven bag three times in the past week. Here's hoping the school's hotplate doesn't let me down.

The Captain's travel has started to ramp up again after a summer of relative peace. While it is always a challenge to parent singlehandedly, I trust that life won't dip to depths of last semester any time soon. One bout of shingles is enough for a lifetime, thank you very much. We celebrated our 12th anniversary with dinner at a restaurant that features seasonal dishes made with local produce. In a few weeks time we'll be taking in Wicked with the kids at the P-town Civic Centre and shortly thereafter I'll be turning the big 4-0 in the company of Mighty Mum and The Colonel.

Fall is looking up. Way up.

A hand along the way...

It would appear that my fourth semester of six will be the hardest — at least I hope it is. I'm learning so, so much. I took on a sole student last semester, from the same school as the Echoes. We worked hard together: she did her best; so did I. She took some baby steps; I was one step behind, hand in hers. This week I had to say good-bye. I pray her future is brighter for our time together. I pray...

Making Math Add Up

I'll be taking Math Methods next semester, so I found this particular speech thought provoking.

One Step Forward, One Step Back

***all names are changed except my own***

I knew from the moment I met Tyrone that he was slippery. For one, the child could barely stay in a chair. Five seconds was all he needed to toss his pencil skyward, crawl under the desk to fetch it and, en route, untie his neighbour's shoes. Perceptive, charming, happy and infuriating: all these things were Tyrone. Unfortunately 'literate' did not rank among them.

Now you may be thinking, he's five: since when is reading an expectation at such an age? It is and it isn't. No one expects the average kindergartener to be reading Harry Potter, but after nine months of being drilled on the alphabet and each letter's respective sound, most can decode a three-letter word that follows the basic phonemic rules. While I suspected Tyrone was still struggling, I couldn't be sure. Were his inaccurate responses due to inattention? Impulsivity? Poor phonemic awareness? Impaired memory? All of the above? Lucky for both of us, my exams finished last week and I had a sudden influx of something more precious than gold: time. I offered to work with Tyrone one-on-one to which the classroom teacher agreed. This moved Tyrone from Tier 2 up to Tier 3 intervention: one step closer to special education.

During our first session I quizzed Tyrone on his letter names and sounds. His score: 10 out of 26. I was stunned. How was this possible? I suspected difficulties, but nothing this tragic. He'd almost slipped through my fingers. Almost. When Mouse was one-year-old she nearly fell out a window at the Chateau de Chillon. I'd been sitting beside her at the time and had looked away. Clearly there was a grave difference between potential illiteracy and that moment, but they shared a similar element: my own culpability. Mouse didn't fall; neither did Tyrone. My judgement, however, would be honed forever by both incidents.

Tyrone and I have had three sessions and already he's showing improvement. We'll continue until next Wednesday when I'll have to bid all my Echo's good-bye. It will be a tough day.

Tiers and Tears

I lost a student yesterday in the best way possible: he didn't need me anymore. According to his classroom teacher, Jacob's DIBELS scores were well into the safety zone meaning he no longer needed Tier 2 intervention: me. When we broke the news to him, his eyes got shiny and full.

"But I still want to come with you."

I said he could come one last time and his eyes cleared. Minutes later, quite on purpose, Jacob scrawled the worst letters of his kindergarten life into his Fundations workbook. I could hardly believe my eyes. He was trying to throw the game, wielding the only power he had left. The thing of it was, it was too late. He couldn't fool anyone. He'd been writing clearly and reading for weeks. The poor kid had mistaken his victory parade for overtime: his last chance to prove me wrong.

When we got back to class I gave him his workbook and a certificate I had made. "I'm really going to miss you, Jacob."

"Me, too." He gave me a hip-crushing hug and headed for his cubby to put away his things. From across the room I watched him wipe his eyes.

On my way out of class he hugged me twice more.

Damn.

Off Task

"Mrs. Melissa?"

Marques calls out to me from his seat. The rest of the Echos are busy writing their capital C's.

"Marques, where is your hand supposed to be?"

"Oh!" He raises his hand.

"Yes, Marques."

"Can you eat your necklace?"

"Nope."

"Ah, man! That's too bad." He looks truly disappointed for me. I wonder if he would have asked for a bite if I'd said yes.

"Back to work now, Marques."

Sticker-palooza Part 2

Missed Sticker-palooza Part 1? Read it here.

I arrive the next day forewarned and forearmed, an arsenal of recognition stickers at my hip, ready to reward hard work and acceptable behavior with a flick of my wrist. Channel yourself back to your kindergarten years and you can imagine the anticipation this created. Alisha is more wide-eyed than usual. It is at this moment when I realize that this could go either way: success would bring elation; failure, devastation. I take a deep breath and signal Alisha to do the same. We'd chatted before class. She knew what she needed to do.

"T, top, /t/." I start the echos off with a phonics review, flashing cue cards as I go. Everyone stays on task. I figured they might. This part's easy. We finish off with a circuit of stickers on their incentive card. When Jamal raises his hand to ask a question he gets a sticker, too. My sense of fairness makes me want to recognize all of them, not just Alisha. Suddenly the rest of them are raising their hands, too. Alisha is shaking in anticipation. I call on her earlier than I might have otherwise, hoping to bolster her success and lessen her anxiety. It seems to help. She smiles down at her card as she counts her stickers.

A half hour later they've nearly drained me of ammo, and Alisha's reached her limit. The crayon box is out of reach when she bellows, "I want a crayon." Tears are in her voice. I don't react, instead continuing to work with Tyrone on his letter 'b' formation. A second later I hear a sweeter version of Alisha's voice, still tight with tears. "Miguel, can I have the crayons, please." I stop what I'm doing and slap a sticker on her card. "Great words, Alisha." She wipes her eyes and smiles. Her card's almost full.

I'd say the process was a success in many ways. I was consistent in my recognition and clear about what I was looking for. I also got some important information: given the right circumstances, Alisha can reign herself in and Tyrone and Marques can stay in their chairs. There were, however, a couple fatal flaws:

1. This was clearly not sustainable. Eventually stickers would loose their effectiveness, not just on Alisha, but everyone.
2. Were they developing self-awareness and self control? Yes and no. Jamal, who raised his hand to ask an on-topic question got appropriate feedback. On the other hand, Marques, who raised his hand just to get a sticker, had found a loophole I hadn't anticipated. Some kids are just too smart for their own good.
3. Would they repeat this behavior in other environments without the presence of reinforcement? Perhaps, but not likely due to this single session.

I suspect, as usual, I learned more than they did. Clearly they could control themselves. The question was how to set up a sustainable environment where they could work toward their success without draining the Midwestern Sticker Reserves. Hmm... Stay tuned.

Sticker-palooza Part 1

Alisha was back at school by Thursday, February 11th. She had only missed one day, but somehow she had regressed a few months. "I WANT A GREEN CRAYON!", "WHY DOES HE GET TO BE LINE LEADER?" and "THAT'S NOT FAIR!" burst from her lips at the least provocation. She remembered who we all were. She even remembered her letters and their respective sounds. But her manners, her patience, and her smile were MIA.

This past Tuesday was a particularly bad session. Alisha was in tears more than half the time. A brown dry-erase marker appeared to be the trigger. Part of the Fundations program has the kids writing their letters on individual white boards with guidelines. Alisha wanted to write her l, k, and h in brown, but Miguel already had it. From that moment on she was inconsolable.

"If you really want the brown, Alisha, you may need to wait until Miguel is done."

"I don't want to wait." Her big, almost black eyes glared at me from between her braids.

I shrugged and moved on down the row of desks, giving the others stamps on their cards for their beautifully formed letters. Alisha wailed, picked up her red marker and got work. Her letters were lovely and I told her so as I added a stamp to her card. She grunted through her tears, refusing to look at me.

I left the Echos that day a tad confused. Why had Alisha regressed so much? Whatever the reason, it was getting far too disruptive. Was I unwittingly encouraging her? Did something happen at home? She had always seemed a tad immature for age five, but at what point does a child's emotional turmoil cross the line and become something requiring special intervention?

It was time to call in the troops. I spoke to the classroom teacher, the amazing classroom assistant, and three of my professors. I needed to know a few things before I could proceed:

1. Did Alisha have a diagnosed behavioral or emotional disability? If so, I would need to see her Individualized Education Plan.
2. Was there any recent turmoil at home that might be contributing to her behavior?
3. Was there a change in her behavior in the classroom, as well, or only with me?
4. Was there anything I was doing that encouraged her outbursts?
5. Is this something that Alisha is capable of controlling?

For obvious reasons, I can't share some of the details I uncovered. Regardless, I entered the school yesterday armed and ready. It was Sticker-palooza Day with the Baby Echos. If Alisha was able to control her emotional outbursts, today would be the day.

Math Facts Go Fish

Mouse has hit the part of grade one when it isn't enough to know how to add; now math addition facts need to be memorized. To help this process along, the girls and I have started to play a modified version of go fish. The goal: to create combinations of cards that add up to a designated sum. The goal of the first hand is to create groups of cards that add up to 10.

Here are the rules:

1. Use one or two decks of regular playing cards and shuffle them well. For the purposes of this game, Aces count as 1.
2. Deal five cards to each player. Lay the rest of the deck face down in the middle of the players.
3. Before the start of play, players lay down any combinations of cards with the sum of '10' face-up in front of them.
4. The youngest goes first for the first round, after which the privilege goes to the next oldest, and so on.
5. On their turn, a player can ask any other player for a card that would complete a pair or combination of cards that they have in their hand. For instance, if I had a 5, 2, 7, and 9 in my hand, I might ask another player if they have an Ace. If they do, they have to hand it over and I can lay my new group of 10 in front of me. If they don't I must Go Fish and chose a card from the pile. My turn is over.
6. Oh, and about those pesky 10's, Jacks, Queens, and Kings: 10's must be laid down in pairs. The royals must be laid down as a threesome. A player can only ask another player for a royal if they have two of the set already in their hand. This means, unless you have a Queen and a King already in your hand, don't be asking anyone for a Jack.
7. Play continues until one player runs out of cards.
8. Scoring is as follows: each player gets one point for every card that is part of a set of 10. For instance, my combination of 9 and Ace would earn me 2 points. If a player still has cards in their hand, one point is subtracted for each. If I had three cards still in my hand, my score for the hand would be -1. Bummer.
9. Collect the cards and shuffle well. It's time for round two: create sums of cards that add up to 11. The final round will be groups of twenty.

Right now Mouse is winning with 21 points. Emma is close behind with 20. I've got 9. I hope I have better luck tonight!

Emotional Literacy: The Missing Link

In preparation for a presentation on the importance of emotional literacy, I came across this very compelling story of how one school's commitment to emotional literacy is making a big difference.

'Operation Smart' by Justin Meli

A good friend put me on to an interesting article on what makes a terrific teacher, at least according to Teach for America. If you are at all curious, watch this clip titled Operation Smart. If you are more than a little intrigued, read the full Atlantic article here.

Conjugation Crunch

The time has finally come for Emma the Brave to master the next to impossible, yet equally unavoidable: French verb conjugation. She brought home her first assignment this week-- regular verbs ending in -er -- accompanied by vague instructions to parents to encourage their kids memorize it. Having come into my second language relatively later in life, the painful mundanity of this task still lingers in my memory--more so, I'm afraid, than the skill itself.  Can learning French verb conjugation be fun? Perhaps. Try this:

Preparation: 

To create game pieces, make a 3x9 grid like the one below, filling the squares with all necessary pronouns, verbs and terminations. Make sure to use an easy-to-read font and font size. (Alternatively, use small index cards and write text by hand) 

• Cut along the grid lines and place all game pieces in an opaque bag. 
  
• You'll also need a tall cereal box or two to act as a barrier between the players so that they can't see each other's cards when laid out flat in front of them.  

Rules of Play: 

• The game operates much like Go Fish. Without looking, each player takes three game pieces from the bag and lays them face-up on the table behind their box and out of view of their opponent(s). 
• The youngest player begins by asking any other player for the piece they require to complete their conjugation. For instance, in the picture above, Player 1 has the pronoun 'je', the termination '-ons', and the verb 'jouer'.  He or she can ask their oppenent if they have either the corresponding termination for 'je' (-e) or the corresponding pronoun for -ons (nous), but not both.  
• Players can only ask for pronouns that correspond to the terminations they have in their hand. That is, Player 1 cannot ask an opponent for 'tu' because they don't have the termination '-es' in their hand. The reverse also holds true: Player 1 cannot demand the termination 'ez' as they don't have 'vous' in their hand. A player can demand a verb only if it is the sole piece they are missing to complete a conjugation. 
• If the opponent has the correct piece, they have to hand it over, thereby allowing Player 1 to complete their conjugation and earn one point. 
• If the opponent does not have the correct piece, Player 1 must 'Go Fish' and take a new piece from the bag. 
• Play continues in a clockwise fashion until one player has no pieces left. The player with the most conjugated verbs at the end of play wins!
  

For the first few rounds I allowed Emma the use of a cheat sheet to help her remember the rules of conjugation, but after just two rounds it was no longer needed. I suspect we'll get only one more round in before the game is considered 'too easy.'  No worries, though. I have a sneaking suspicion that the verbs ending in -ir are only a week away!  That should spice things up a bit!

Bingo Brush Up

The girls went back to school this week. Emma the Brave was eager; she was missing her friends. Mouse, on the other hand, would have been content with another week of holiday, or two for that matter.  She loves school when she's there but, given the choice between a home and the classroom, her preference is clear. Who can blame her? I'd pick my kitchen over the grocery store any time. 

Back to school means back to homework and not even Mouse is exempt.  For the first time in over two weeks, she and I sat on the couch to read her new book from English school.  Prior to the break she'd been plowing through these readers with little difficulty. Between her expert decoding skills and ever-growing list of sight words, listening to her read had been a quite pleasant experience. Wednesday afternoon was altogether different. She stumbled over the simplest words making loads of 'close but not quite' errors. When I tried to help, she yelled at me to stop. How frustrating!  She was in desperate need of a phonics refresher but didn't want to hear it.

On the computer I printed out five 3x3 grids based on the Jolly Phonics list of letter sounds. I printed them a second time and cut them into individual squares placing these inside a little bag. Mouse and I went on to play Phonics Bingo.  The goal: to get three letter sounds in a row (vertically, horizontally or diagonally) before your opponent.  Mouse beat me fair and square two times in a row and, in the process, got her much needed review.  The next day we sat down to read another new English book and, wouldn't you know it, her decoding had improved dramatically. Great job, Mouse! A little review goes a long way.

Season's Greetings à la Suisse

Vacance de Noel is finally here and not a moment too soon. I had only just put my novel's latest draft to bed when the call came: one of the teaching assistants at the school was sick, could I come in? Eager to put my shiny new work permit to the test, I was quick to accept. I would have to do lunch duty a few times, would that be a problem? Pshaw! I thought. Bring it on.

I have since come to the conclusion that there is a special place in heaven for lunch ladies. Strive as I might, I cannot recall the faces let alone the names of the martyrs who, year after year, paced the cafeterias of my youth. Of course, back then, I'm fairly certain none of my buddies carried anaphylactic shock kits with them, or if they did, they kept their secret well hidden.

I had just finished passing out the hot lunch plates--hamburgers on sesame seed buns--when a young girl ran up to me. She had swallowed a sesame seed that her table mate had flicked in her direction. Already her lips were tingling and turning red. She guided me to the box where her anti-histamines were kept. I watched as she counted eight drops from the bottle onto a spoon, then swallowed them. I hovered, waiting for them to kick in, all the while declaring an official cease fire in the battle of the buns. In the end, all went well. The drops had done their job and an all-out hamburger war had been averted. Day one of lunch duty was over. Two weeks later it's safe to say I may never enjoy this aspect of the job. There was bound to be one.

The girls are beside themselves with anticipation: euphoric one minute and miserable the next. I've had to wake them for school every day for the past three weeks. Given their normal tendency to wake earlier than your average rooster, this behavioural shift is indeed remarkable. Emma the Brave charges down each morning to devour her advent chocolate. Mouse is, for the most part, saving her chocolate squares for Christmas morning. Emma's warned her that eating that much chocolate at once will amount to a big tummy ache. Mouse is not concerned.

Geneva is poised on the brink of yet another Christmas. Lights, however understated, are strung up. Restaurants are serving vin chaud and small wooden shacks have sprouted on street corners selling roasted chestnuts or marrons. The grocery stores are stocked with mounds of shellfish and are accepting orders for Christmas turkeys--fresh never frozen. There are sweet potatoes and cranberries for us North Americans who can't go without. Platters of dried fruit sit wrapped and ready for giving. In the midst of all this hoopla it's easy to forget what this celebration is about: a long time ago there lived a man who dreamed of peace.

Wishing a happy, healthy holiday season to you and yours!

May peace be with you,

Mighty Mom