Staying Flexible: Preparing for School at 6:30 AM on a Sunday

My internal clock doesn't ever allow me to sleep in except when I'm sick, or frankly, recovering from surgery.  Thanksgiving Break?  Up at 5:15 AM.  Winter Break?  Same.  Spring Break?  Still an early bird.  Summer?  A cruel irony: I sleep in by about an hour, max, two or three days before autumn PD starts up again, I kid you not.  So it's not at all unusual that I am up, drinking coffee, eating a breakfast sandwich, and being productive at six-thirty this morning.  What has changed is that I'm not crocheting while catching up on DVRd shows, or reading, or participating in a Twitter chat, or throwing a breakfast casserole into the oven.  I've been navigating some work emails and have been updating instructional materials because the week I planned for has been altered quite a bit.  

"Stay flexible" continues to be my professional mantra, carrying over from 2020.  I volunteered to be a remote learning teacher last fall, and am one of those weird teachers who has actually looked forward to and even enjoyed creating a new learning and teaching environment. I've shifted from trying to make my Zoom and digital experiences "just like" on-site or "real" school (with all of the restrictions that on-site students and teachers have to adapt to, why would I wish any of that upon my class?) and to put it bluntly, my body greatly appreciates having multiple breaks scheduled throughout my day.  That's right, I have five, count them, F-I-V-E intermissions where I can and do use the restroom, e-v-e-r-y day.  In twenty-plus years of teaching, this is the most accommodated my bladder has ever been. 

Unlike past teaching years, my class size can accordion greatly.  I began with twelve of my own "permanent" remote learning students in the fall. Families chose my class because they intended to have their kindergarteners learn safely from home for at least the first semester of school.  Two transferred to on-site learning after parents who had lost their jobs during the spring and summer gained employment ("If I don't take this job and move _______ back to school in-person, we won't have Christmas or be able to pay other bills.") while recently another parent working the night-shift couldn't support his kindergartener's daily Zoom and activity schedule.  As a remote learning kindergarten teacher (I have a grade level partner) I host students who test positive and must isolate or who have a family member who has tested positive and must therefore quarantine for up to two weeks. My class size has grown by one, two, three, six, and last week, by sixteen students overnight. Yes, sixteen. Stay flexible.

SHIKHEI GOH—GETTY IMAGES

Though my entire district moved to remote learning right after Thanksgiving Break, on-site classes begin again tomorrow.  Last Thursday and Friday, district students, their families, and teachers and their families were offered the opportunity to be tested for COVID, and as anyone could have guessed, I've already added at least one new student to my roster.  Should a kindergarten teacher in the district have to quarantine in the future, however, and with an extreme shortage of substitute teachers, there's a chance I could yet again, take on another entire class in addition to my own.

This week all of our middle-of-the-year mandated assessments begin.  Will I be screening ten, eleven, or twenty-five students for dyslexia and STAR Reading, or administering curriculum-based measures for math to children who I have not yet met nor even had the time to build a rapport? I'm also having to take Friday off to accompany my husband to his dental surgery, so I'll need to prepare for a guest teacher who has yet to be assigned since my original sub just received a positive COVID test for a family member. 

You know, even flexible tools like pipe cleaners and wikki stix break apart after being bent one too many times. At what point must others release their grip from the mindset of "we-have-to-make-this-year-as-normal-as-every-other-year-because-we-refuse-to-envision-education-in-any-other-way?" Often our ability to effectively apply self-care relies heavily upon the responsibilities thrust upon us even during our hours away from work. Here's hoping that this latest surge doesn't last long and that I can reclaim some of my time for myself and my family, and that my colleagues and their families can do the same. 

#TeachingInTheTimeOfCOVID

#BloggingIsSelfCareForMe  

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. 

My Twentieth Year of Teaching Has Been Hell

As I begin typing this post, it's 1:30 a.m. Saturday morning, meaning I can officially report that I survived Friday being one of the worst Mondays that I've had in a very long time. Teachers have our fair share of rough days and work related stress, but when I put my truck into park in my garage yesterday afternoon, turned off the ignition and began sobbing before even unfastening my seatbelt, it became very apparent that my limit, my breaking point, had been reached. Perhaps not so much met as exceeded. Yes... yes. That.

I faced the beginning of this, my twentieth year teaching, with curiosity, hope and energy. I had goals for myself and my students, planned engaging new lessons and activities, and put extra effort into creating an inclusive and appropriate learning, sharing, and growing space for my Super Stars. I took into consideration the traffic areas, work flow, and spaces needed for our daily rhythm and pace. I purchased new stuffed reading buddies, wonderful books, and freshened up classroom manipulatives, anchor charts, and organizational systems. I laid out our academic, thematic unit and special events calendar for August through May, making some tweaks here and there to accommodate changes in our report card and the possibility of having a practicum student in the spring. After determining that all of my school spirit shirts were still in great condition, I decided to set money aside for this year's Autism Awareness shirt instead. I made sure my students were flush with Play Doh, fun pencils, dramatic play essentials, and arranged our materials so that they were easily accessible. Accommodations were put into place, and intervention tools were ready.

August arrived. Introductions were made, relationships began to be built, needs were determined, and our trajectory was plotted with what I thought was only a hiccup involving a small group of students and their families. "Strong personalities" is how many teachers and parents characterize these friends, and there are many tried and true classroom management techniques and resources shared amongst us that consistently do the trick as we work to dismantle difficult combinations and create productive working partnerships for the benefit of all. With practice we become less me-me-me and more we, we, WE. We adopt rules and follow them. We aspire to be safe, kind, and helpful. We feel proud of ourselves and reap the benefits of growing together.  

But this year's small hiccup in August and September turned out to be a problem that didn't respond to the tricks of the trade nor the interjections of various school-provided and privately obtained services as the year wore on. Patience, practice and caring haven't helped, and neither have love and logic. There are only so many corners and activity areas in the room between which I have tried to separate the members of this crew, and the sheer number of them have made it difficult for any teacher or staff member to divide and conquer, be it in the classroom, on the playground, or in the cafeteria. Role playing, social stories, lessons in kindness, sympathy and manners and many opportunities to practice appropriate behaviors have gone unabsorbed. Worse, the headlamp on the train of tough consequences barreling toward this core group of students isn't motivating them to jump off of the tracks to try another path. Instead, they smile (yes, smile) and dig in their heels, despite the deafening sound of the wheels on the track and the whistle warning them that the train is approaching at top speed. 

Inappropriate behaviors haven't been grown out of, and they haven't faded away. They haven't been altered by praise, by teacher request, by the pleading of their other peers, nor the shunning by families who understandably have been very selective when planning play dates and get togethers. In fact, these students actually seem to enjoy inflicting themselves upon others, smiling as they damage, tease, defy, disturb, and cause injury. They bait one another, rise to the occasion, escalate situations, then smile, roll their eyes, and use other body language to communicate their intentions, much to the apprehension of their classmates. Even as young children, this group is nearly a gang, and they find it funny.  

Parent response has been disappointingly unhelpful:

"We have no words, but thanks for letting us know."

"Yeah, we see that at home, but she just won't stop. We'll talk to her again."

"Are you sure he did it on purpose?"

"Oh, I can buy you a new ____________. Sorry he broke/ripped/destroyed your _________. Where can I get it for a good price?"

"We just don't see this at home, so we're having a hard time believing that her behavior is really as inappropriate as you make it seem."

"Can't you just separate them? Give them assigned places to sit and line up and tell them to avoid each other on the playground for the remainder of the year."

*****

There IS good happening in my class. A lot of it. But not as much as there could be... as there SHOULD be. Nearly two-thirds of my students have spent a considerable portion of their kindergarten year running the gauntlet created by the others. Worrying over all of my students, those who endure AND those who inflict, has burned through much of my professional energy and drained me personally. Parents too busy to help, too annoyed or tired by my communications to respond, or possibly too inconsiderate to entertain the thought that their child ISN'T entitled to run roughshod over others have me wondering if the partnerships I've been blessed with in the past are at an end. My sweet Super Stars have learned that while I will do my very best to protect and provide for them, it comes at a price: my time and attention are over allocated  to dealing with the demands of the others. The social/emotional needs of one group have robbed many of the resources that they too, need and deserve. 

For myself, surviving the year doesn't feel like success.  Plastering a smile on my face each day and chirping "good morning" in a cheerful voice can no longer hide the truth:

My twentieth year of teaching has been hell. 

Teacher Truth: We Shop 'til We Drop

 Go ahead, ooh and ahh for just a second:

Non-teachers might think that the goodies above have been purchased for a party, and in a way, they're right: the beginning of my 20th year teaching kindergartners occurs in August.  What they might not be aware of is the fact that ~every~ year I've taught I've HAD to make similar colorful, cute, usable, necessary, and SUBSTANTIAL purchases.  I had to build my class library.  I had to feed more than a few students.  I had to purchase items that a one hundred dollar classroom budget couldn't cover. There was a year I bought used iMacs so my students could have technology tools, and another where I created a housekeeping center from scratch.  Educational videos, music c.d.s, my own printer, laminator, storage tubs for organization, paint, colored pencils, google eyes, glitter... I've shopped 'til I've dropped.  

Hunting for and finding perfect classroom essentials can be a lot of fun, until you realize that it's your own wallet making purchases to support 16-30+ students, in addition to the children who may reside with you under your own roof.  We are never done shopping, trading, recycling or making, and as a result many of us become hoarders of:

Manipulatives, reading buddies (stuffed animals), markers, crayons, folders, pencil grips, paper, desk tags, ink, play dough, storybooks, paper towel and toilet paper rolls.  

Shoelaces, spare winter gear (scarves, hats, mittens) and coats, and NOT for dress up bins or dolls, because those, by golly, are kept in their own separate stash. 

Plates, cups, plastic food, puppets, sensory bin supplies, bulletin board trimmer, curtains, pocket charts, measurement tools and tape.  Lots of tape.

Cereal, snack bags, crackers, and juice which are stockpiled ~before~ "treat" purchases like Smarties or valentine lollipops.  Birthday pencils, gift books, supplies for parent gifts, paper, label packs and ink to print off name tags, anchor charts, and organizational signs. 

... and volunteer appreciation gifts, notecards, and "Welcome to School" postcards. 

Manipulatives wear out or disappear over time.  If you're a kindergarten teacher, you regularly encounter teeth marks, bends, folds, and tears.  Maybe you're stuck with a grade level or district-wide school supply list, and you're inundated with materials that you have no need for, but certainly don't want to go to waste.  Two-thirds of your students will come to school with the exact tools they'll need, but one-third won't even have a backpack. You will shop. 

The more you think about it, the less you see these items as "cute," "fun," or "sweet."  Your professional filter accommodates your utilitarian intentions.  You recycle, repurpose, and rethink furniture, toys, books, and your own child's outgrown clothing or shoes.  You find stores with teacher discounts, and learn to track down coupons and annual sales.  You use spray paint and a glue gun.  You accept any and all donations.  Every year that you're an educator, you'll buy before you teach a single lesson.

(Walmart)

(Target)

(Target)

(Kohl's)

(Target)

(Thrift store, Target)

(Walmart)

Except for the star-shaped chalkboard tags, none of the items above were a "fluff" purchase.  Everything will be put to good use, right down to the last marker that will dry out prior to May, at which point I'll have my summer shopping list ready.

Perception VS. Truth

Teacher Truth: educators don't sleep in coffins all summer.

We stalk the Target $1 Spot until classroom manipulatives, organization and decor items are unboxed, and then descend upon its bins like a swarm of ... well... teachers.

(Thanks to Bill Watterson)

Can't Stay Away for Long

The school year officially ended last Friday, and like many teachers, I completed the check out process with time to spare.  Materials were tucked away, technology was checked out for summer use, and my keys were turned in.

All of my plants are now nestled into their summer spots at home.  My teacher bag is empty.  I've reclaimed the back porch and have attempted to start our summer garden, despite Mother Nature's attempts to overwater the raised beds this past week. 

And where did I end up yesterday?  Back in the classroom:

Each summer I try to tackle an organization task with the hopes that it will boost my efficiency the following year.  Two summers ago I sorted and rebuilt my reproducibles binders, and last year I divvied up and organized math manipulatives, making grab-and-go lessons and spontaneous teaching moments easy to facilitate.  My daughter helped me do an initial sort of all of my books two years ago before she headed back to college, but several times after Christmas I found myself repeatedly digging and searching for books I ~knew~ I had. A year of hastily putting books away and not sorting new books purchased or received by theme or month did a number on me.

Look at the stack above: it's just a small selection of books that I use during Theme 3: We're a Family, featuring letters Tt, Bb, Nn and Aa.  Family books: check.  Letters Tt, Bb, and Aa?  Check.  Take a gander at the Nn pile. Apparently I only have TWO books, Nests, Nests, Nests and The Boy Who Cried Ninja. 

Wait, what?  Where's Noisy Nora and No, No, Titus?  How about The Nose Book, The Nutcracker,  Nini Here and There and No Nap?  I didn't loan the books out, and none of them were damaged beyond repair requiring replacement, which can only mean one thing:

I put them away in the wrong spot.

And now I get to find them.

*****

Like my reproducible binders, craft mock ups, files and curriculum map, I like to have my books organized and stored by thematic unit (we use Houghton Mifflin Reading) and for holiday titles by month, in instructional order.  At the end of each unit, I can quickly check books for damage, and replace them on shelves as I pull down the next set of storybooks, fairy tales, and poetry for my students. 

Methinks I'll remind myself to pay better attention to the re-shelving process next year. 

Do you work in the classroom over the summer? What organizational tasks do you take care of in order to prep for the upcoming year?

 

Teachers Understand

Teachers understand:

Cleaning and straightening up the classroom at the end of the year can result in some major "ewwwwws."

Clorox is my friend.

Yes, it is.

What Teacher Prep Programs Don't Teach You: Snow Day Magic

There's no school today due to snowy, cold and icy weather, and I've got plans for how to spend my free time:

Enjoying the eye candy found in magazines, crocheting a bit, and figuring out springtime craft projects that will utilize pastel-dotted dominoes.

Students aren't the only ones who enjoy snow days, you know.

Why do you think teachers encourage them to create snow day ~magic~ by sharing special instructions when helpful weather is on the way?

Directions:

Do a snow dance.

Wear pajamas inside out.

Put ice cubes in the toilet.

Place a spoon under your pillow.

Just one more thing teacher prep programs DON'T teach you.

Coffee-to-Student Inquiry Ratio

Now that the 100th Day of Kindergarten milestone has been reached, our 100 chart has been changed into a Countdown Until Summer (or First Grade) chart. With some seventy-ish days to go, one of my Stars inadvertently opened up the floor to a clarification meeting this morning, making me realize that I should have splurged on a drink from Starbucks before getting to school.

Star 1: "Mrs. Sommerville, are we counting down to summer, first grade, or both?"

Me: Well, that depends. It definitely counts down to summer, but it also counts down to the LAST day of kindergarten. What will you be when you aren't kindergarteners anymore?

Star 2: "Graduates?"

Star 3: "No, we won't be ~gra-jee-ate-ed~, we'll be ready for first grade."

Star 1: "So we're counting down to lots of things, and they all happen on the same day?"

Me: Well, let's try to...

Star 4: "No, no, nonono, I've got it. We're going to take a day off (Star 1: "You mean SUBTRACT, we're going to SUBTRACT...")... okay, yes, yeah yeah yeah, we're going to SUBTRACT a day off of the chart, and when we get to the last ten days, we're supposed to get ready to move to another classroom. Is that right?"

Star 5: "Uh, do the first grade teachers know this?"

Star 4: "Am I right?"

Star 6: "One thing at a time. Okay. ~inhale~ We're going to subtract. I can do that. And we're going to get ready for vacation. I like vacations! I went to Disney last year!"

Star 4: "AM... I... RIGHT??????"

Star 7: "Maybe we should have just gone to first grade yesterday, you know. The first 100 days are for kindergarten, and then on the one hundred and... the one hundred and (Star 1: "The one hundred and FIRST...")... yeah! On the one hundred and, uh... (Star 1: "FIRST!")... YEAH! On THAT day, we go to first grade!

Star 1: "How come you can say first grade but not one hundred and first?"

Star 7: "What?"

Star 4: "I don't think I'm right."

... and that's when I knew I had miscalculated the amount of coffee that today was going to require.

Professional Resolutions

As I began to consider new year's resolutions a few weeks ago, I decided to revisit goals I had set last summer for myself as a teacher.  Changes planned in July included:

• Adding Twitter to my students' digital citizenship curriculum, as a basic introduction to social media on how, why, and what to share with those who might be looking. 

~check~

• Participating in professional chats via my own Twitter account.  I've come to look forward to connecting with other teachers and friends of education on a global level via #satchat, #sunchat, and #teacherfriends each week. 

~check~

• Adding an updated sensory tub into my students' center rotation seemed important too, after having gone without a sand and water table for years.  Dear Husband and The Third Grader made one for me out of PVC pipe and a clear storage tub with lid.  Its popularity rates right up there with the iPads that my Super Stars love to use. 

~check~

But I'm a teacher whose annual personal and professional calendar runs August to May, with some professional development activities planned for June and July.  I don't eat, breathe, and sleep teaching, because I'm a wife and mother who is far too interested in exploring my little corner of the world, expressing myself, and learning about other things and other people.  I have hobbies that have little to do with teaching kindergartners the rhythm of public school.  I enjoy loud music and bawdy humor that aren't appropriate for classroom and school settings.  I want to spend time with my family, garden, read, nap, and breathe deeply in a way that just can't be done when every moment is scheduled with objectives to be met and measured.  June, July, many weekends and holidays are mine, for me and my family, though my teacher's eye is never completely closed (hello Target $1 bins, yard sales, used book stores and Pinterest).

Proud to be a teacher, I try to be a good one, and thankfully I can say that the good I find in and feel about teaching young children still outweighs the burdensome, depressing, and defeating events that also find their way into this profession.

What does the future hold?

I'd love to take the next step in having my students collaborate and communicate with other kindergartners via Twitter.  I don't believe in throwing my students into the deep end of the social media ocean, or burying them under an avalanche of new vocabulary, tools, apps, and requirements for mastery listed on seven pages of objectives.  Let's explore, share ideas, and learn from, about, and with other like-minded children, at our own pace.

Though I've shared to #ksedchat (hoping it's Kansas Ed Chat), teachers here in Oz don't seem to meet up via Twitter at any set time.  I'd love to explore the possibility of becoming a co-moderator for a chat.  Anyone else with me?

... and, because I don't have more hours in the day than anyone else, and I believe in an effective and efficient plan for a well rounded life, I'm considering passing the torch of committee work and extra duties to someone else next year.  I want to take more college classes, but just can't while Dear Husband works until seven at night, The Third Grader needs help with homework, and the house requires upkeep.  While many teachers accept their heavy work load, over time becoming adept at meeting the requirements of their contract, such efficiency tends to cause administrators (and the public) to believe that three or four more responsibilities will be also be well managed and executed by capable employees in the same brief amount of time allotted within a school calendar.  So many of us feel we can't say no, so we don't, or fear we shouldn't because we might receive a less than proficient rating on our teacher evaluations.  It's our families, spouses, friendships and our own souls that end up neglected for it.

This is my nineteenth year of teaching.  I'm committed to it.  

But I am no less committed to the rest of my life.

Kindergarten Teacher Truth: The First Month of School

My first grade teaching colleagues usually wear a slightly exasperated look after the first week of school, but thankfully, they've all taught long enough (and in the same hallway as our kindergarten classes) that they know better than to cast aspersions.

After all, a kindergarten teacher's first week month (quarter?) of school is full of how-to's, modeling, practicing, reminding, and reteaching when it comes to routines and rules.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

Rinse, wash, repeat.

For.  A.  Month.  (Or longer.  Oh yes, we've all had those years.)

Don't forget: curricular goals need to be included amongst all of this introductory stuff too!

I drink a LOT of coffee during the first month of school.

I sleep the sleep of the dead every single night.

I barely speak to my children or husband over the first two weeks of school because my voice is hoarse, my throat is sore, and my cheeks are in pain from constantly smiling at the end of each school day.

I am ~on~ constantly for students and their families, which means the first month of school is not the best time to make plans with friends or family.  Yes, I become anti-social.  It's nothing personal, truly.  I love you all.  Wait... I need to plan on signing "I love you."

That's more like it.  Save.  The.  Voice.

It takes first grade teachers a week or two to get almost everyone settled.  Sure, there's that one student (or three) that don't tow the line, march straight, or remember when it's time to listen instead of time to speak, but compared to the kindergarten teachers who herd cats/chickens every single day for the first month of school and continue to coax sharing, negotiating, bravery, and safety behaviors out of students for the remainder of the year, I think they've got it easy.

Or... easier.

Which is why, every August, when encountering the exasperated expressions on first grade teachers' faces that hint at the question, "Didn't you teach them *anything*?"  I simply tell them, "you're welcome."

Just a Teacher

Sipping my coffee this morning, I was scrolling through my FB feed, catching up with friends, family and colleagues who were sharing their Labor Day weekend plans.  A fellow friend who is also a teacher shared a link to Jamie Vollmer's poster that outlines
"The Ever Increasing Burden on America’s Public Schools."  Read through it and make sure to click on each red arrow next to the outlined decades.  (You can download the pdf version here.)

I've taught since the 1990's, and am aware that not only are education professionals expected to fulfill the requirements on Vollmer's list, we're expected to do it while also building relationships with students and families. Parents who try the ol' I-think-I'll-try-to-run-roughshod-over-the-teacher during our first parent teacher conference don't get very far with me because they're the ones who haven't read this list or imagined the additional items not on it.  They've bought the you're leaving my child behind agenda and believe it's right to tell me via body language, rolled eyes, attitude, crossed arms and smirks that I'm "just a teacher."

Having taught seventeen years, I don't let it go.  I don't dance around their attitude or nervously try to placate them.  I hit them right between the eyes with honesty and tell them why they're wrong.  I NEED my paycheck, which means I have no reason to lie and every reason to do my job well.  I care about children so much that I've chosen a profession where I work with them daily: I don't have to do this job, I want to do it.  I'm also an experienced professional, and believe I deserve to be treated like one without having to put up with BS.  Whether families are large-and-in-charge or low-key observers, trying to demean me or my colleagues should not be a sporting event.



(Cropped photo, original found here)

I've been blessed to have almost two decades' worth of Super Star Families who have advocated for their children and me as we've partnered together to make our kindergarten years everything that the Stars deserve and need.  Mutual respect has been given, apologies have been shared when necessary, and ties have been strengthened to the point where I still receive prom photos and graduation announcements from former students.  My first class of Super Stars is gainfully employed or pursuing higher education.  Some of my former students have even started their own families.

But there have been some notable thorns in my side, experiences with parents that inspire me to share the following:

As you consider how to initiate your relationship with your child's teacher, you should know what many experienced educators a teacher like me thinks when I'm faced with grandstanding.  Behind my courteous and professional demeanor, my inner dialogue is saying "Don't like me?  Fine, it happens, but don't think you're going to shake me, make me bend over backwards to please you, or frighten me.  I've spent more time and more years in more classrooms and more states with more families and young children and their issues, needs, strengths, joys, and successes than you have.  You've got nothing on me, because "just a teacher" is the biggest compliment I could ever be given."

*****
Kindergarten colleagues, I hope you and your students have a wonderful year!  Families, remember the Golden Rule as you meet and work with your child's teachers: they work harder than you'll ever know.

Michaele

Remember

Another Thing Your Ed. Prep Courses Don't Tell You

Sure, you'll wear ~many~ hats as a teacher:  teacher, snack-provider, disciplinarian, nurse, speech therapist, and soother-of-boo-boo's-and-owies.

But there's a good chance you'll also need to be a PIRATE, and possibly even...

... a MOOSE.



Make sure to staple paper headgear so that the prongs face to the OUTSIDE of the band, otherwise you'll risk ~major~ snag and scrape damage.

That's what I'm here for: teacher fashion heads-up and advice.

**grin**

*****

Here's a great pirate hat and eyepatch template from Made It~

The Sassy Pepper shows us how to make a very cute "Sunday" or fancy hat with newspapers...

Want to make the traditional triangular newspaper hat?  Click here for a photo tutorial~

Paper bunny ears found here...

... and why not use a paper plate to make a flower crown?

*****

Winners for my Bailey Book Give Away have been selected, but I haven't heard back yet from the Scholastic representative.  Once I do, I'll let you know who the winners are (nope, I'm not trying to leave you in suspense)!

Kindergarten Reality: It's Not All Sunshine and Roses

I've been back to school for two weeks now, two weeks of half-day sessions where my class of nineteen students has been divided into a morning group of nine students and an afternoon group of ten.  We're able to ease most students into new school routines when they're in the smaller groups: how to handle and put away personal belongings, giving papers to the teacher, using the lunch chart, washing hands, and using desk tools safely and at the appropriate times.  Students can tour the school, and are introduced to specialists who in turn can share rules and routines that will need to be in place for effective and efficient use of time when we visit Art, Music, Science, Library and P.E.  All of our learning centers can be demonstrated and explained, and we can get to know each student a bit better, academically through baseline screening/assessments and socially through one-on-one time.  We begin to bond.

Even with the smaller groups, it's a huge undertaking.  What most non-kindergarten teachers and parents fail to understand though is that despite this introductory time, once both groups of students are combined and attending kindergarten full day, it's a whole new ball of wax.

Why?

~  Students are four, five, or six years old.  Many have had immediate attention from and constant interaction with their parents since birth, and haven't yet developed the skills, patience, or understanding of how time passes to be able to wait for their turn with the teacher.  Adults will make an appointment and go on about their lives until it's time to meet.  Kindergartners will not.

~  Having to compete with eighteen (or more) other students for the teacher's attention is a pain!  How to get noticed and experience that instant gratification of acknowledgement?  Push.  Yell.  Interrupt.  Whine.  Impatiently raise your hand so 1) you get points for following the rules but 2) get to talk to the teacher first.  You know, all those things that work with moms and dads.

~  Speaking of what works at home: I asked a student demonstrating what I suspected was selective hearing exactly how many times he made his mother say his name before he answered her.  The young man actually pondered, counted on his fingers, and then told me "three or four."  No grin, no sass, and I suspect, no fib.  My next question had to be "... and am I your mother?"  No sarcasm, no authority, no threat.  Just a question.  He pondered again.  "Uh......nooooooooo," followed by a puzzled expression that washed over his cherubic face.

That's right, you might *think* that parents or pre-school have readied your new students for sharing, taking turns, empathizing, sympathizing, being patient, and complying, but I'm here to tell you: I love kindergarten.  I love kindergartners.

I do NOT love the first few weeks of our full day program.

My Stars are frustrated.  They doubt me.  They lash out at one another.  They want my attention and they want it now, even though we're in the middle of a story, or a classmate has had an accident and needs his hand held to walk down to the nurse's office for a change of clothes.  But *I* want you NOW teacher.

During the small group transition weeks, patience is easier.  One-on-one time happens more often.  It's easier to buy into following the rules, humoring the teacher, cutting one another some slack.  Kindergarten is fun, and the kids are willing to come day after day.  Parents are relieved and reassured.

And then WHAM-O, reality sets in, and we're back to square one.  Parents become concerned because their children start saying they don't like kindergarten.  Mrs. Sommerville is ~not~ the "bestest and nicest teacher ever," and sharing materials with that little girl that always grabs instead of asking or taking turns isn't fun.  Students might compete with siblings at home, but I guarantee there are few who have to juggle eighteen other personalities, temperaments, moods and needs under their roof for seven straight hours when all they really care about are their own. 


Sure, some of the kids are spoiled.  Some are unexperienced and unexposed.  Some are so performance-driven that they appear perfectly ready for school: they wait, use their indoor voices, say please and thank you, know how to use scissors safely, and they don't over-react when *that* kid cuts in line for the third time.  After a few days of this perfection however, those sweethearts crack too, and rightfully so.

It's tough.  Though it's part of the job, and I know everything, given time, will end up okay, it's draining.  Difficult.  Stressful.

And that's the truth.