Bulletin Board: Together is Our Favorite Place to Be

I'm one of my district's two remote learning kindergarten teachers, and moved from a classroom I've occupied for twelve years into a new space that amazingly, has been an ideal fit for my materials, curriculum, and virtual learning plans.  While the bulletin board displays within the space will be easy to reference during live Zoom instruction and photograph for close-ups that can be added to Google Slides or elsewhere, this year my own students won't be navigating the school's hallways or displaying their artwork and creative constructions. I anticipate that I'll experience a serious case of withdrawals.

Despite my own students learning from home, the on-site classrooms of my colleagues are nearly ready for the arrival of eager, masked children.  These kids will be passing by my door as they begin and end their instructional days, and I want them to see something cheerful.

This is likely the last year that I'll use my "scribble kids," because frankly, they're more wrinkled than I am, but seeing them has cheered up my days and lowered my stress levels, and I hope they have the same effect on those who pass by them every morning and afternoon.

Whether on-site or remote, together is our favorite place to be.

Pedagogy in Crisis: Goodbye Art Cart, Goodbye Dramatic Play, Goodbye Puppets

Today was the first day of my twenty-fifth year in the classroom.

I wore my mask on my face and a button with my face on it.  Upon admittance to the building and my classroom, I found tables and desks set up spaced six feet apart with all of the other furniture pushed against the walls and stacked upon cabinetry. After early morning PD, I was sent back to the room (will I be teaching here in a month, or stationed elsewhere as a remote learning instructor? Who knows.), ate lunch, and then started my assignment: determine what remaining furniture, if any, could still be used, and remove all of my own personal belongings and all cloth items from the room.  Furniture to be stored had to be labeled and put in a central location within the classroom so it wouldn't clog up the hallway.

I might have been able to maintain some semblance of stoicism for the remainder of the afternoon, but a dear friend walked into my room, and it was all I could do to not sob. After drying some tears (crying and having one's nose run behind a mask is NOT an ideal situation), I pushed through to problem-solving mode: what do I need to keep? What must I send to storage?  What must I take home? How can I provide visual cues to students (who I may or may not have in-person) so they know where to keep their very moveable individual desks (one solution would be Sit Spots on the floor, one marking the upper right desk leg and the other marking the lower-left desk leg) as we attempt to maintain social distancing requirements?

But being the first day of my twenty-fifth year of teaching, I recognized that I am being required to do exactly what I have fought doing for my entire career: I must work against my students' very nature, coach and praise them against how they learn best, and constantly redirect them from their very selves.  And if I manage to do it "successfully," I know that there are other teachers and possibly even administrators who would find the arrangement of kindergarten students sitting face-forward in straight rows for seven hours each day at desks ideal, even desirable post-pandemic.  I'm experiencing a pedagogical crisis.

Here is the furniture to be removed:

Goodbye art cart.  Goodbye alphabet rug.

Goodbye Dramatic Play/"House" Center.

Goodbye lightbox, Lego table, and painting easel.

Goodbye reading table.  Goodbye Play-Doh table, and math table, and writing center table.

Goodbye discovery table with the roadway on one side of the flippable topper and a farm scene on the other.

The wooden barn and dollhouse will sit high atop the upper cabinetry, stored, but not out of sight.  Students will wonder why they are there, and why they are out of reach.  If I'm not reassigned, my class set of scoop seats will join the barn and dollhouse.  So will whatever extras might fit that we won't be allowed to use... but students will see them.  And wonder.

As for the personal belongings that I have to bring home, here's the first load:

Kindergarten will have no resting mats.  

No storytime chair. No mini couch or chairs. 

No shopping cart. No puppets, no apple basket tree to hold them.  

No stuffed animals to "buddy read" to. 

No balance beam.  No stepping stones.  No sensory bin.

No side table for plants or book displays.  

No rolling cart for lunch box and snack bag collection. 

Kindergarten not being kindergarten is supposed to pass as a solution this year, but a developmentally inappropriate learning environment will never be the correct answer. 

I am grieving. 

Back to Work Tomorrow

The cleanout of my greenhouse has begun. I'm down to one cucumber plant and a handful of cherry tomatoes, some parsley and "nasty urchin" (nasturtium's nickname bestowed many years ago by a Super Star kindergartener) blooms.  After an initial harvest, dry mold took the peppers and a different cucumber plant, and a frog took over my barrel of green onions. 

Thanks a lot, Kermit.

Despite the rapidly multiplying beetles that I've been unable to deter or kill, the pumpkin vines they inhabit are still busily producing, to the point that I have greenhouse porch and house porch pumpkins.

I love pumpkins.

I return to work tomorrow for Convocation.  Student tables or desks or chairs or stools (who knows what I will find) have already been arranged in my classroom, and I'm not to move them. I have no idea if my increased risk factors for COVID complications will mean that I'll be assigned to teach as a remote learning instructor.  I do know that if I am to teach remotely, I will do so from within the school building, though not necessarily from my own classroom. I may have to pack a little and try to make the walls of my classroom more appealing, or I may have to pack everything and move to a different space, possibly sharing it with another remote teacher. 

I'm of the opinion that remote teachers remaining within school buildings will likely end up serving as substitute teachers.  If schools don't return to full-time distance learning, I wonder how many teachers will break their contracts and quit at the semester. I know, I know. These are not cheerful ponderings, but I don't have to channel Pollyanna here, so I won't.  I'm wondering how much of my back to school PD will be structured as school-as-usual pantomime... theater.  Going through the motions and "acting as if" there's some normalcy to be had, and as if that appearance of normalcy is of some benefit to teachers who, though wearing masks, will still be sharing air and thinking about the colleagues sitting to the right and left of them, six feet away. 

My usual routine of getting my hair done and indulging in a pedicure before the first day back isn't in the plan for today.  I've watered the pumpkins, harvested edibles, and will be baking cookies that will be well-wrapped in individual servings for our custodians. I'll do a grocery pick-up run, come home, shower, iron clothes, play with Google Sites to see if I can make a more appealing, navigable and intuitive resource for parents and students before they dive into Google Classroom (we no longer have Seesaw, which is difficult), make dinner, pack tomorrow's lunch, lay out my clothes, masks, visor (or glasses, I haven't decided yet), and put my tech devices into my teacher's bag before starting on my manicure. 

I still haven't decided whether or not to wear makeup tomorrow, aside from waterproof mascara and some moisturizer.  I'll be behind a mask all day, after all.  And seeing my classroom so visually sterile is going to be a punch to the gut. 

I'll need to bring a camping chair so I can sit outside and eat my lunch too, come to think of it. 

If you're new to Google Classroom and Google Sites and Google anything for schools, explore Google for Education and seek out groups/pages on Facebook such as "Google Sites for Distance Learning" and "Google Classroom for Kindergarten and Primary Teachers." There's bound to be similar pages for other grades, too.  If I can make progress on my Google Site I'll make sure to screenshot it and share it here at the blog- we need inspiration, right?

Don't forget that there is a sale over at Teachers Pay Teachers today, too.

Must Teachers be Martyrs to be Saints?

Peeking in on new teachers' groups I've joined via social media isn't really helping my mood.

All teachers are concerned about their students' health and welfare if they continue to have to stay at home without food, without access to the internet (or reliable internet) and digital devices, and where abuse and neglect occur. Some teachers are MORE concerned about those students than their own health, which I understand: that's the default setting for almost all of us.

Other teachers (even after considering school shootings and other crimes) are for the first time adding their health, their lives, and the lives of their families to the same side of the scale, joining, not dismissing or demeaning their students' needs. For many teachers, this is a first, a precedent in our careers. Not every teacher who needs to stay home will have the option to do so. Not every student who needs socialization will get it in socially distanced classrooms.

When teachers get sick (and we will), our substitutes, if available, won't first be looking for signs of abuse or neglect and it's possible that they may not teach to the standard of a veteran educator. When children get sick (and they will, if they don't come to school on the very first day asymptomatic or symptomatic and medicated to mask it), they'll have to have digital back-up resources provided not only in an attempt to keep them connected and learning, but to provide districts data that demonstrate they deserve to retain their accreditation. Why not start digitally for everyone, then use those color-coded district plans in reverse, as we acknowledge the surge in cases that is currently happening (red), achieve some flattening (yellow) and then get the clear-as-it's-going-to-get status proven by study and research (green)?

Trying to pick one side of this debate over the other ignores that there may be yet three more angles and options of which we're unaware or unwilling to explore simply because we are fixated upon a first-day-of-school date that should be just as sacrificial as traditional high school graduation ceremonies were. Sacrifices hurt, but I cannot teach if I've on a ventilator or dead. It's incorrect to label instinctual self-preservation as only selfish.

Must we be martyrs to be saints?

Instincts and Urges

It's summer and this is the week traditionally when I would be back in my classroom arranging furniture, freshening up bulletin board displays, pulling stuffed animals, manipulatives, journals, tubs, books and other items from cabinetry and sitting down at my reading table to take a break, eat lunch, and survey the progress.  There's usually music playing through the surround-sound speaker system, my door is wide open for colleagues to come through if any are around, and it's either sunny and hot or storming like crazy outside my classroom windows, making me wonder if I'll be navigating around downed trees once I leave the building. Even last year after my surgery my teenager was able to help me sort through things and prep.  An angel of a colleague arranged all of my furniture so I wouldn't strain myself. 

Last week I got to see a video of my classroom, completely cleaned, and that same old urge automatically kicked in. I wanted to walk back inside, stand immediately within the door, and just look, slowing scanning my room from left to right, up and down, and back again. Bookcase, SMART Board, dry erase board, check. Calendar, storytime chair, book display, ELA tubs, check. Word wall, student chairs, writing table, center toys, check. Apple basket stand for puppets, dramatic play kitchen set, baby doll cradle, math bulletin board, check. Bookcase, round math table, manipulatives, rolling cart, check.  Art cart, desktop laminator, paint, glue, crates of craft mock-ups sorted by month, check.  Easel, play-doh table, carpet, sink, paint rack, Pete the Cat sitting in a wreath gifted to me by a Super Star family, check. Handwashing station, birthday bulletin board display, and way up high, above all of the built-in cabinetry, tchotchkes and keepsakes accumulated from over two decades of teaching in Alaska, New Mexico, and Kansas... check.  Door to a shared workroom/storage space, teacher desk, cabinetry, student lockers and cubbies, dollhouse table, check.  Rolled up carpets and students' tables stacked, rolling cart used for storage and at the end of each year- except for this year- yearbook distribution... check. Hooks hanging from clear fishing wire.  Check. I can imagine the laughter and buzz of students talking as my eyes track across our spaces.

I have also had the incredible urge to walk back into the classroom, empty all of the furniture into the hallway and shared space at the rear of the room where the bathrooms and iPad carts are located, measure out the actual floor space, and start pulling tables and chairs back into the room to measure some more and get a feel for what six feet apart all facing the same direction feels and looks like.  Tables and chairs have been in a wagon wheel or flower petal arrangement for several years now, which can't happen now. My go-to, when faced with a problem or situation requiring modifications and solutions, is to move furniture and be creative, taking inventory of what I have, and imagining new ways of using it all.  I've been watching all summer and have been seeking out photos and information about schooling and classroom arrangements shared by teachers from all around the world.  Articles and tweets about the happiness of being reunited with students, the smell of disinfectant permeating the air and face coverings, the adjustment being more difficult for adults than children and the touchy-feely declarative posts of "I just have to be here no matter what" do nothing to reduce my urges to cry or feel nauseous.

I've wondered if plexiglass dividers would work across the middle of each of my student tables, and should they be too expensive if creating dividers using clear shower curtain liners, PVC pipe and foam strips for a gasket-type seal would serve instead. I've wondered if I need to replace the fabric curtains that cover most of my lower cabinetry with vinyl or plastic of some sort, so they're easier to clean.  I've purchased Ziploc baggies with sliders and plastic lidded containers with divided sections of various sizes to see if they'd be efficient and easy for kindergarteners to access and store math manipulatives daily.  I've priced individual book totes in anticipation of students not being able to select, share or trade books to look through. I've purchased new tongs, long and short, for selecting items from bins without using our hands and for picking up the tissues, disposable masks and other garbage that will end up on the floor or left on desks.  I've tried different masks and bought safety glasses to see if there is any combination that isn't overly uncomfortable, sweat producing, or too scary for young children.   I've bought masks with our school mascot on them.  I've ordered new sit spots shaped like stars and colored carpet tape for delineating spaces and suggesting traffic patterns.  

Despite all of these deeply ingrained habits and urges, my instinct, just as it did in May, continues to tell me to stay away from the classroom.  Guidance about social distancing aside, it's always been my job to create a learning environment that appeals to young children, that communicates our classroom is a safe space to which they should want to return day after day and that parents also find reassuring.  I could shift decor and manipulatives to all laminated, disinfectant-friendly items.  But the safety implied, if it could effectively be so without our puppets and stuffed animals and shared spaces and hugs, would be a lie.  Acting-as-if and putting on a brave face aren't markers of professionalism during a pandemic, despite society believing them sufficient in the case of fires, tornados, earthquakes and school shootings.  

It's not lost on me that my money might have been better spent on purchasing a large dry erase board to help set up space at home from which I could teach, no masks required.  But as usual, my instinct and urge have been to anticipate and prepare for the worst while hoping for the best.  I just wish the worst wasn't so very, very bad this year.

Pandemic Teacher Summer Day 1: It's Time to Play in the Dirt

Yesterday I wrapped up my twenty-fourth year of teaching with one last visit to my school building (I had to deliver some yearbook payments that had been hastily grabbed from my mailbox on the day teachers were given a half-hour to grab essentials to help facilitate instruction from home), helped a fellow teacher take down her twinkle lights so she can transfer to another school in-district (we wore masks and I re-rolled the LED strands from six feet behind her), planned a very tentative instructional schedule with the remaining members of our grade-level team (two have left) during an informal and productive Zoom meeting from home, wrote and sent my last weekly newsletter to my Super Stars and their families, and held my last parent-teacher conference of the year before dinner, three hours after I technically stopped being my students' "official" teacher. A few last teacher-appreciation gifts made me smile:

This morning I woke at my normalish time, made coffee, and checked to see if there were any education Twitter chats planned but found my regulars on break for the Memorial Day weekend. For the past few years I've enjoyed #satchat and #sunchat get-togethers as transitions to the beginning of my summer break, but this year it seems I'm to dive right into my end-of-the-year reflection.  I reread my self-check from the start of the year and found all of it to still ring true.  The raw feelings of my last few posts since the stay-at-home order have started to heal and fade, and I remain determined to find some semblance of balance between my professional and home lives as I look forward to spending quality with my family, tending the food and flowers growing in my greenhouse and taking online courses addressing the creation of effective online teaching and content creation. No, no "summer off" for this teacher.

I'll update my district web page so that parents of my next class of Super Stars who go searching for sneaky-peeks into our classroom this summer are greeted warmly, and I'll undertake the Herculean task of cleaning up the desktop of both my school-issued and personal computers. I created so much content and didn't sort it effectively as I went along, and I don't want to risk throwing it all away with the possibility of still needing it during the upcoming year.  I already took down the classroom props and essentials in my craft room to return it to what I hope will be a comfy and cozy creative space for my continued hobbying.  I'm working on two afghans, plugging along on my goal of crocheting at least one big blanket per month. Last night I took a long soak in the tub and began reading Neil Gaiman's The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

My family and I plan to continue to stay at home as much as possible and to socially-distance ourselves if and when we have to go out to run essential errands.  Masked people are my people, but I've noticed far too many children, who, while accompanying their parents, cower in fear, like many kids do when faced with something or someone scary, as they encounter me in an aisle, or see me sitting in my vehicle waiting for my pick-up delivery.  Some families aren't preparing their children for this new normal, so I anticipate creating and sharing content to help normalize mask-wearing for future students. If I see one too many "prevent the summer slide" or "fill curricular holes created by the pandemic" advertisements or even blog posts by fellow teachers, I'll probably get all ranty in an attempt to explain how no, children don't really shake their heads and erase everything they've encountered and explored like an Etch-a-Sketch pad, and yes, play really IS the best way for them to develop their awareness, knowledge, and interest in this world.  Though I really would have enjoyed a longer break from taking college courses, the workshop I've applied for was frankly irresistible, since I'm a just-in-case person.  With the likelihood that I'll need to continue to reimagine and modify my future students' learning environment, I want more resources and inspiration to help me creatively problem-solve.

With year twenty-five on the horizon, do I hope to remain a kindergarten teacher for the rest of my career?  No.  I would like to become a library media specialist and am waiting for the all-clear so that I can reschedule the taking of my PRAXIS.  I'd pack up my teaching belongings in a heartbeat if I were offered a library in my district, even during a pandemic. Thankfully, I'm not feeling like a reluctant kindergarten whisperer: a year (or a few more) working exclusively with young children and their families doesn't fill me with dread- I will love them forever.  But I do rather feel like I'm on autopilot, and my spirit is chomping at the bit for a new challenge and adventure in education. It's not abandonment or burnout, but a continuation of change and growth, and its possibilities excite me. Shouldn't we all get to feel that several times during our careers?

This year's class photo (and yearbook, when it finally arrives) will get filed away with the others from all of my years of teaching but will stand apart, no matter what. I can only hope that my students and their families, and my colleagues with whom I've traveled and taught over this quarter-century remain safe and healthy. But for now, it's time to go play in the dirt.

A Note from the Teacher

Families will be returning their borrowed tech devices to school this week, and many teachers are hoping that they'll be able to pick up one last packet from us before the start of summer vacation.  Some students will experience a continuation of their current stay-cation, while others will be packing up to move when Uncle Sam finally decides upon their military parent's next duty assignment.

This will be the last time this year's Super Stars will receive feedback or a note from me, and most likely it will be added by parents to their child's copy of Oh, the Places You'll Go! or some other keepsake book that will be given upon graduation from high school.  As seventeen and eighteen-year-olds there's a good chance my students won't remember me, but they may retain clear memories of when they unexpectedly had to continue their kindergarten learning activities from home.  While heartfelt, honest sentiments are always best, the conclusion of this year has me feeling raw and exhausted. I cannot bring myself to handwrite these notes. I've tried writing one to see if I could then scan it, a solution suggested by my husband, but I hate the look of the lined paper, and frankly, my wobbly penmanship.  With my thoughts clear but my wrist and fingers unwilling to execute, I came across another way to solve the problem: adhesive mailing labels.  I can type and then print what I want to say, handwrite each salutation and closing, and keep the sticker backing in place so that parents can easily add it to their child's book.  

Every year I give my Stars a final storybook, an end-of-the-year certificate, and a copy of our memory video on a disc. 

This year they will also receive this note:

Children will tell their parents "Oh, Mrs. Sommerville always says 'goodness gracious me' (or 'goodness gracious Google') and 'okie dokie artichoke-y,'" and hopefully my Stars and their families will understand how much I appreciate them without becoming sad.  It's been emotional, writing this last note from the teacher for both a present-day almost first-grader and a future high school graduate.  I hope that when my Stars read it again twelve years from now that it affirms how much they have been valued by not only their families but by their teachers, too. 

Goodnight Room... But For How Long?

My room is packed and put away, my report cards are finished, and my curriculum is checked in.  At the same time that I was turning off the classroom lights and turning in my key today, other schools in the country were opening back up and admitting students.  I'll admit it: I cried. I cried for myself, cried for my Super Stars, and cried for the teachers and students stuck in horrible situations where going back to school while COVID19 remains just as dangerous and deadly is preferable to staying at home.

Because at home there might not be any food.  Or at home, the only engagement from family members may be abusive or neglectful. Maybe there isn't a home at all.

As for the accommodations that reopening schools are making for students, especially in regard to kindergarten and other early childhood grades, I just want to cry some more.  It doesn't matter if you space individual student desks and chairs six feet apart: young children seek connection, and they seek to interact with toys, materials, books, textures, nooks, crannies, scents, tastes, and one another.  They don't just want hugs when they get hurt, they need them.  They need them when they're scared, proud, unsure, and filled with joy.  They explode with enthusiasm, anger, fear, relief, discovery, and acknowledgement, and it doesn't matter if there's a poster with rules on it or a sticker chart "rewarding" (shaming) them into compliance, or a reminder note, or the threat of a phonecall home put in place to "manage" them: NOTHING is going to change the fact that these dynamic, organic, spontaneous and constantly inquisitive learners will not be contained.

And if they decide that their masks itch, or are too tight, or feel gross after they open-mouth cough and sneeze into them leaving a soggy mess rubbing against their skin?  How many extras will be sent to school in backpacks, or distributed by teachers? How about when students play with the masks or take them off while using the restroom, dropping them to the floor, or dangling them from their little fists as they grip the toilet seat and flusher?  How "preventative" and "protective" will that be? Nosepickers and booger-eaters (just keeping it real, because it's important that none of us ignores all authentic aspects of childhood as we swift march ourselves toward "solutions" that make grownups feel good) aren't going to stop picking, eating, and wiping those germy morsels all over themselves, the furniture and other surfaces or objects just because they're wearing masks.  And when those masks begin to chafe and hurt their faces, or families discover that their children are allergic to the fabric content of the masks and ties?  How about the vomit?  Good lord, the vomit.

Arranging desks six feet apart is a new classroom layout. It is not proof that the children who sit in them (or the teacher who will sit and stand elsewhere) will be safe. Requiring children to wear masks shows that we're attempting to reduce the spread of disease, but it doesn't prove that we're going to succeed, especially when we continue to make decisions while purposely refusing to consider how young children will, in fact, remain tactile young learners who simply aren't designed to leave things alone.  And for those students who will remove their masks, refuse to wear them, or wear them ineffectively?  Who will be blamed when those children become sick?  How many long-term subs will be available to replace the teachers who become sick due to exposure from children or from the over-use of disinfectants?  How many family members who remain at home will become ill from school children?  And when parents return to work, only to become sick themselves?  Their family goes into quarantine, including their schoolchildren, correct?

I'm no virologist, but I **know** kindergarteners.  I **know** children.  And I **know** adults.  So do you... which is why reopening schools is an experiment, at best.

At worst, it'll cause more than just tears.

Teacher Appreciation: Dedicated Teacher

Yesterday was the "flipped" Teacher Parade in my district. Teachers and staff lined their school's sidewalks while families drove their students slowly through the street to see us. My incredible colleagues and I somehow managed our emotions as families drove by in their decorated vehicles with their children, our students, shouting our names and holding up signs as their parents honked their horns. We laughed, smiled, waved, cheered, held back the happy tears, fought back the I-miss-you-and-hurt-over-not-being-with-you tears, blew kisses, threw long-distance hugs at anyone and everyone, and signed "I love you." 

Mother Nature knew better than to rain on our parade, saving the sprinkles for later in the afternoon. And for the first time, the post's monthly test of the tornado sirens wasn't frightening: they blended in rather nicely with the honking and music blasting from all of the cars. I may have gotten carried away with a noisemaker that a colleague gave me. Can you blame me?

It was wonderful, painful, joyous, surreal, and... needed, this recognition of both the palpable grief and the bright flashes of hope that we're experiencing and using to keep ourselves going.

This is the shirt I wore.  As usual, my teacher's wardrobe is full of affirmations, whimsy, humor, and lots of messages. I found it on Etsy, in this wonderful little shop... head over to @DesignsByManon and show her some love.

It was a good day, a wonderful parade, and yes, I cried in my truck on the way home. 

How are you doing? What are you doing?

Fellow educators, how are you doing?

Me... I'm still in the process of establishing a new daily routine.  The stay at home and help my teenager adapt to his new schedule routine. The stay at home and help my teenager adapt to his new schedule while connecting with students and families routine.  The stay at home and help my teenager adapt to his new schedule while connecting with students and families at the same time I'm doing laundry and disinfecting frequently touched surfaces routine.  The stay at home and help my teenager adapt to his new schedule while connecting with students and families at the same time I'm doing laundry and disinfecting frequently touched surfaces in between learning new digital platforms and creating content to be posted to those platforms routine.

The do-all-of-the-above while attending multiple Zoom meetings, and then, when the videoconferencing is done for the day, sewing masks for the family routine.

For me, the hardest of all has been the do-ALL-of-the-above while reminding myself often that everyone is free to have their own opinions and coping mechanisms and latitude in how they express their emotions, even when it's in not-so-nice ways and inflicts additional stress upon everyone else while we're calling it all "granting grace" routine.  There's a very good chance you know what I mean.  Not everyone rises to the occasion.  There are even some who refuse to try. 

Yes, there are folks whose stay-at-home routines include health issues, and the loss of friends and family and security and safety.  I can't let myself wallow in either empathy or sympathy simply because I'd feel like I was drowning in sorrow. I experience it, affirm that I am still a human being, and then put it aside.  It's how I continue to function semi-effectively.

What are you doing?  Have you annexed some part of your living space to serve as a makeshift backdrop for your time with students? Are you scrambling to learn Google Classroom, Seesaw, Loom, or some other such thing?  Have any of your pets, children or spouses "crashed" your video recordings or meetings? 

Thankfully, my recent Master's Degree in Educational Technology has already served me well by planting my feet directly upon the baseball diamond, rather than on the edges or barely within the ballpark itself.  Seesaw, Loom, Zoom, and creation tools such as PowerPoint are intuitive for me, but I know they aren't for many other teachers.

Whether I'm recording "good morning," storytime, fingerplays and songs, instructional, or "goodbye, see you tomorrow" videos, or attending grade level, building or district Zoom meetings, Tish-Tish chooses to join me, enabled by the fact that my teaching backdrop is situated within my craft room downstairs affording her easy access.  Teachers in my district were able to retrieve essentials from our classrooms, our choices guided by the Kansas State Department of Education's Continuous Learning Plan. I brought home my document camera, manipulatives, some recognizable classroom charts and lots and lots of storybooks that have been stored on a bookshelf and in tubs on the floor near my desk.

I was also able to rescue plants from my classroom and grabbed some other decor to catch my students' eyes, though the wall of yarn was a really big distraction for the first few days.

I've worked ahead, creating ELA, Math, and social-emotional content four days in advance in an effort to avoid the frequent internet outages that take place in my neck of the woods. Reading and recording a story the day that it's to be enjoyed by kindergarteners is a gamble I'm not willing to take. Has it helped that my internet provider was bought out at the start of the pandemic and is now owned by a company whose customer service has yet to yield an actual human being with whom I can interact in real-time as I inquire about my account and service?  No, not so much.  I know, they're experiencing the same difficulties we all are. 

If only we'd had, oh, I don't know... advance warning that this type of situation was on the horizon.  But I digress.  

I've found humor and joy in the little things, like drinking my coffee out of previously not-appropriate-for-school mugs:

... and lending my smiling face and a sweet sentiment so that a colleague could create  a "we miss you" video for all of the students in our school:

 I've also discovered new things about myself, such as:

1) I'm not a pajama-wearing teacher even when I'm at home.  I'm a business-on-the-top-and-yoga-pants-on-the-bottom professional. 

2) I have never wanted sneak peeks into my colleague's bedrooms, especially not during meetings.  Didn't have to worry about that until now.  As it turns out, I still don't want sneak peeks into their bedrooms.  I don't care if you're comfortable rocking your best bed-head hairstyle, just do me a favor and choose to flaunt it while you sit at your dining room table or out on the back porch during our meetings, okie dokie?

3) I'm not a big fan of motion sickness, which is probably why I've never enjoyed videos featuring hand-held videography or subjects who insist on always being in motion. Lordie, people, put the device down on a sturdy surface and plant yourself in front of it. 

4) I go into withdrawals when I don't have access to my students, our routine, our schedule, our laughter, our... us-ness. It's not pretty. 

5) Though I'm a kindergarten teacher, I would love to do read alouds for upper-elementary and middle school students.  The Girl Who Drank the Moon would be the first book I would read and record for middle schoolers if I had the opportunity.

*****

I hope you're well, and that your friends and family and co-workers and neighbors are experiencing good health while exercising good judgment.

As for me, Tish-Tish has decided it's time to collaborate and sort through activity pages for next week, and I'm not one who tends to argue with administration.

No Tears and No Fears: What I've Communicated to My Students and Families

As a Kansas teacher, I've been asking myself a LOT of questions since Tuesday afternoon when our state officially closed school buildings. After spending the rest of Tuesday trying with little success to pick my jaw up off of the floor, I awoke Wednesday determined to enter a more productive state of mind.  Having the luxury of a few more days on spring break, I began to wonder "What do I say?" and "How do I say it?" to my students and their families, because we are not done with this school year, no siree Bob. 

Surfing social media, there are a lot of other teachers in the same boat, acknowledging the need and their desire to reassure their students and families, but not knowing quite how. Those of us with our own children now at home have needed some reassurance too. When I stumbled across this gentle reminder, it helped to ground me, refocusing my attention to my purpose as both a parent and an educator:

Young children don't need any more scares, frights or worries, and it's not my place as my Super Stars' teacher to weigh them down with uncertainty.  Here's what I sent to them earlier today, no tears and no fears:

Hello again, Super Stars and Super Star Families!


Parents,

Though we are all still technically on "spring break," I thought I'd quickly check in to touch base and let you know that I am looking forward to our return to learning and sharing in whatever forms they may take for the remainder of the school year. This week I have been collecting digital/online resources for you and our Stars, exploring digital platforms such as SeeSaw, Google Classroom, Padlet, and Zoom, and have also toyed with the idea of creating a closed Facebook Group for our class use. When district administrators share the Kansas State Department of Education's plan for continuous learning with teachers, staff, and families, I will implement their directives in order to facilitate the creation of our new learning environment using the tools and resources that they recommend.


Super Stars,

Hello! I hope you don't mind that I am interrupting your vacation, but I just wanted to let you know that I have been thinking about you a lot this week! I have been cleaning, working on the yearbook, cuddling with my cats Buck and Tish-Tish, crocheting (my Wildly Important Goal or "WIG"), and creating Symbaloo webmixes like the ones that we use on our SMART Board for you to use at home. I've included some of our dance songs, some Cosmic Kids Yoga videos, reading and math tiles, and even cool videos and directed drawing lessons about BUGS! I'll email those to your parents when they're ready.

I haven't been dressing like a teacher this week, in fact, I've been pretty slouchy. I wore jammies on Monday and Tuesday, and leggings and a t-shirt yesterday and today. I've even been wearing silly pink shoes that don't match anything that I wear:

Have you had pajama days this week? We'll have to think of some fun clothing days for when we begin learning online.

I'm also going to spend this weekend trying to decide where I am going to set up my teaching space at home. I don't think I'll use the kitchen, because we still have to cook, bake and clean in there. As much as I'd like to use my back porch, it can get really windy and wet out there, and my allergies wouldn't like it very much. Maybe I'll use my craft room, even though it's full of yarn and my silly collections. While I set up my teaching space, you can help your family set up your learning space! Think about what will make you comfortable and what will be fun to use:

A table or desk and chair
A cushion for the chair if the seat is hard
A cozy spot for looking at books
Room on the floor for yoga and dance
A drawer, cubby or shelves for paper
A cup, container or pencil box/pouch for crayons, pencils, and a mini-sharpener
A wall or door to hang up your artwork, schedule, charts and other papers
A container for glue, scissors, glue sticks and tape (this container should probably be kept out of reach of little brothers and sisters)
A bag of twenty small items to use as counters for math (20 medium-sized lego pieces, 20 plastic spoons, or anything that isn't a choking hazard)
A tray, binder or folder for unfinished work so you can find it quickly
A quiet stuffed animal who can rest on your desk while you work or sit with you while you look at books and listen to stories
A basket or drawer for recyclable items such as small cardboard boxes, tubes, newspaper (these are great for crafts and engineering)
A basket or tub for plastic lids (off of milk cartons, laundry detergent, or other non-toxic items: wash and dry them before adding them to the tub) that can be used for crafts, games, counting, and building

Just as we always put away our center materials and toys and clean our mess in our classroom at school each day, we'll be making sure our learning spaces at home are also clean and ready for the next day's learning. This will be my first WIG for teaching at home, and you are welcome to use it for your learning spaces at home too.


"I will clean my learning space at the end of school activities every day."


We will brainstorm strategies together for how we will accomplish this goal, okie dokie, artichoke-y?


*****


Finally (for now), here's a sweet poem that I found earlier this morning about this new adventure we're sharing together:

(Poem found here)

Enjoy the rest of your spring break, and feel free to let your Star check back in with me as needed,


Mrs. Sommerville


*****

Adopt and adapt my parent and student message if you'd like as you begin this transition. Like me, you won't have all the answers, and you certainly won't have thought of every single question to ask about how we'll navigate what will become the new normal of teaching and learning.  But...

Your students would love to hear from you...

...their parents will appreciate your positivity and suggestions, and...

... you'll feel better, too.