It feels good. I don't want to brag. I don't want to boast, I want to be humble. Dang that L___, one of my administrators and mentor, I suppose. She's already pushing me to be better. I like that and I hate that but I do appreciate it. Today I was observed again by my principal, the vice-principal, my faculty head and L___. When I was informed a few weeks ago that the "event" was going to occur, I began to fret. I counted my blessings that it was a few weeks away, but I worried.
If you've read my blog called "Ground Rules," you will know that my last observation was a disaster. I think it may have scarred me for life. I'm no sissy when it comes to observations. During my Reading Recovery training year I had to go behind the glass at least six, or maybe nine times. I'm not sure anymore, that whole grueling ordeal is somewhat of a blur in my mind now. But, the point is, I've always come through somewhat unscathed. Maybe a little bruising to my ego, but basically I've developed a thick skin when it comes to evaluations. I'm usually tougher on myself than my observers. So, I decided, I needed to nail this observation. But, you know, the whole thing isn't about me, it's all about what those little bodies in front of me do. How they respond, how they buy in to my dog and pony show.
Well, today, BAZINGA! I've been wanting to say that all day. I don't think it fits here, but it feels good to say it. Two nights ago, I worried, I didn't sleep. Four days ago, I was sick. I went to hospital to see a doctor and get a head X-ray. I guess I've finally "had my head examined." I digress, sorry. I was sick. Sinus infection. The doctor says I have allergies and that I will probably be better when I go home. I guess I'm allergic to the UAE. Sigh. But, I knew I was being observed on Tuesday, so I went to work on Sunday, over achiever that I am, and promptly came home after a half day of work. I couldn't rest to get better because I had to go back to hospital to get a sick leave note. Silly, I know. So, Sunday's lesson was shot. I only had one day to set up prior learning to present an outstanding lesson on Tuesday, and on Monday, I still was uncertain what I wanted to do.
The dog and pony show part of me wanted to be outstanding and different, the theorist in me said, "don't depart from the known." So, I just did what I've been doing, but this time I did it even better. Either all of the stars lined up or perhaps, just maybe perhaps, all of the scaffolding that I've been setting up has panned out for me to experience success.
Today, I feel like I have accomplished some of what I have set out to do since my arrival. My boys are starting to notice high frequency words in text. Today my little Mohamed R called out words in text during a shared read. I heard bugles blowing somewhere I'm sure. I love that little guy. And they listened. My boys listened and followed directions and searched through text and cut and pasted and used their reading finger to point to words and read text to me. I was in teacher heaven. I didn't even notice the observers in the room. I was "in the zone," I guess. It felt good, and it still does. It felt authentic and I was so glad when they all finally decided to leave. I was exhausted, I didn't have any more to give. I knew when I went into school today if everything fell apart it would be out of my hands because I couldn't work harder than I have been working. If it wasn't good enough then I was in the wrong place.
Two nights ago, like I said, I didn't sleep. My mind would not stop. I'm not a month long planner type of person. I have ideas of where I want to be in a month, but the next day's lesson for me is not scripted, it often hinges on what learning occurred the day before. I am a strong believer in following the child. Sometimes lesson plans just have to be thrown out the window and something new evolves, like the day I read a big book to my boys about a dinosaur. They loved that book and I loved sharing it with them. But, the clock was ticking, we couldn't savor the moment and I sent them back to their seats to work on some math grouping. It took me a few minutes to find what I was looking for and my colleague and co-teacher Susan, plopped a blank white sheet of paper in front of each boy while I searched for counters. My mind was thinking counters, groups, math.... and then I turned around, and on those blank white sheets of paper emerged the most beautiful first grade dinosaurs I had ever seen. Their little minds were still thinking about seeing dinosaur toes and tails and teeth and drippy dinosaur noses.
I looked at Susan and our eyes locked and I think we both had teacher tears in our eyes. "They're drawing dinosaurs," I cooed. "They're supposed to be getting ready to do math, but they're drawing dinosaurs." I love those dinosaurs. Those dinosaurs are an authentic unsolicited unscripted response to reading.
I had so much fun with those dinosaurs that I decided to use the same book with another first grade class that I ended up subbing in later that day. Because it was better planned, I was able to draw a dinosaur as a model for this other group of boys. I was sad because their dinosaurs looked better than my boys' dinosaurs. I showed them to my friend Y___. Y____ in all her wisdom said, "No, they are not better. If you drew the same model for your boys, they would do just as well if not better." So, the next day, we read about crabs. I modeled drawing a crab for my boys. I tell you what. Those are some stinkin' good crabs. Those are probably the best looking first grade crabs I've ever seen. My boys can draw, and they draw well.
So, my lesson went well. I feel good. It's one of the first times I've felt good in quite a while. I feel good about my teaching and I feel good about myself. After school, I stopped in to L___'s office to chat about my lesson. I was expecting just a little bit of praise, maybe even just a, "Wow! You've come a long way, baby!" But, no, she tilted her head and looked at me over the top of her glasses and with a slight smirk on her face, she said, "Your lesson went well, but ...." I hate "but." "....I don't know how yet, but we need to work on helping you so that you aren't working so hard. You are still so much a small group teacher. You were zooming around that room so much and so fast, you tired me out watching you," she said. "You can't keep up that pace all the time."
Sigh. She's right. My heart is in the small groups and in the Reading Recovery one-on-one lessons. I can pull groups of students all day long and be happy. I've been asking my principal for a table to be able to pull small groups of my boys together for guided reading lessons. Today was an opportune time to make the pitch again. Shortly after my request, in came a beautiful table. It's not really like any table I've ever had before. When I envision my favorite table I recall my horseshoe table with a nicely cut out center making it easy to lean in to hear all the children read. This table is simply beautiful. It is covered on top with silky material gathered in rosette bunches and stapled into place. The sides are draped with complementary silky material with more bunching and pleating and rosettes. I will need to make it childproof and cover it with a durable clear plastic tablecloth. And then, I will gather my boys near and set up the rules and set up the groups and, insha'allah.... magical shifts in learning will occur.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Wasted Days
Have you ever had one of "those" days? You know when you just wake up cranky, and continue on to be crankier and crankier as the day wears on until nobody really wants to be around you and eventually you don't really want to be around yourself either? Well, today could be my day. What a crank I am.
It started this morning, probably because I decided to skip church so I could sleep in, when my phone rang at 6:00 a.m. I decided to ignore it because I deliberately left it downstairs last night. Who wants to run all the way downstairs that early in the morning on my day off anyhow? Next, through the fog of my sleepy brain, I distantly heard a text message come in to my phone, followed by the distinct sound of Doug's phone ringing, also downstairs. By this time alarms started ringing in my head that I was desparately needed at home. I began to mentally calculate what time it was on the other side of the world. Dreading the worst, thinking some one was hurt, the dog got hit by a car, one of my horses was colicking, or that at the very least there was no power at home and all the pipes were freezing, I stumbled down the steps and rummaged around in the dark trying to locate one of our phones. My worst fears were confirmed, yes, it was home calling.
An immediate return phone call determined that Emily was having power issues in the barn and she needed to talk to Doug. That didn't bode well for me. That meant that I had to wake him up and the coffee pot hadn't even started to perkolate. Sigh. So much for sleeping in. Eventually he was able to help her begin to trouble shoot and I made my way back to bed. There's just not much to be said for going back to bed to try to catch a few more hours of sleep, it's just not the same. Two hours later, I still felt groggy and cranky.
So, I decided I should cheer myself up with a chilled KitKat bar. Just one little smidgeon first thing in the morning, it's not like I'd eat the entire candy bar. My first bite reminded me that one of my dental caps had loosened and dislodged. Sigh. I reminded myself that now I need to locate a dentist. I hate going to the dentist, and I don't think it's going to be a better dental experience in Abu Dhabi. I can't seem to find any denture grip goop to stick it back in place until I suck it up and make the call for a dental appointment. Sigh.
Okay, I knew I could get past this. I could still turn my day around, it doesn't have to be totally ruined. I began to cook breakfast for Doug and myself. After I seasoned and cooked the American potatoes I look over to see Doug with his paws in my cooking. "Sorry," he says. "I added some salt to the potatoes." Salt was literally crusted all over the top of the taters! Now, I was beginning to become a little bit agitated. My tongue lashed out, with an immediate retort, something in the neighborhood of, "I already salted them, stay the hell out of my cooking!" "I didn't see you salt them," he replied defensively. "YOU WERE ON THE PHONE IN THE OTHER ROOM! I WONDER WHY NOT?" I replied calmly and cooly, yeah, that's the way I remember it coming out. And then he has the audacity to say, "I said I was sorry." Good grief. This guy just doesn't get it, does he?
We made it through breakfast, and Doug immediately made an exit out the door, busying himself with washing the car. Our car sits right outside our front door. I could hear him cheerfully whistling while he worked. I decided I needed to check my important social network site and finish some bill paying chores while sitting at my computer. Earlier this morning, Doug had chosen to install himself in my office chair leaned back with his feet propped up on my desk while he carried on a lengthy phone conversation with his son while I was cooking the aforementioned salty potatoes.
I sat at my desk, settled myself in, and commenced to mentally escape before completing my important "work." It was in the midst of my stimulating game of Spider Solitaire that I discovered my laptop seemed to be hot. This couldn't be, I thought, I have a cooling fan underneath, and that's when I discovered, no I didn't really have a cooling fan under my laptop, I had a non-functioning cooling fan underneath my computer. It's not that old, and I haven't used it that much. After disconnecting the fan and attempting to twirl the blades with a pencil point, I gave it up for lost. Sigh. More dhirhams to spend. Dentist, fan....
I decided to check on my "flowers" in our "garden." One of our flower bushes didn't look so hot. It wasn't thriving like the others we planted. I decided it should be transplanted to another spot. The new spot I chose was hard. Rock hard to dig into. I scratched around ineffectively with our only garden tool, a hand trowel. Not making much progress, I decided to drench the spot with water and maybe come back to it later. Eventually, I made my way out to sit on the front step and watch Doug wash the car. That's when I noticed two things.
The first was the gigantice scrape across the front driver's side of our rental car. Ouch. More dhirhams to the rental agency. Doug explained that one away just last night when I discovered it while we were out and about, some quip about a tight squeeze and backing up and scraping a curb. Arggh. And that's when I spied it. My dish towel, one of my favorite dish towels, brought from home, to the UAE, the most absorbent cotton pastel yellow and blue striped dish towel in our bare bones kitchen, sitting on top of the recycling bin outside. Doug chose that moment to say, "Hand me that drying rag will you? I've been using it to dry down the car." I had wondered why that dish towel had those great big brown smudges all over it the last time I washed it. I snapped. "That's not a drying rag, that's one of my favorite dish towels, it's the only one we have that dries well." I scooped it up, held it safely against my chest, made my way into the kitchen and rummaged around the bottom drawer to find one of the non-absorbent kitchen towels and bestowed that upon Doug. Ha! That ought to fix him, I chuckled to myself.
At some point early this morning, Doug called from the utility room, "How do you run the dryer?" "Not easily," I replied. We have this washer/dryer combination machine. You can wash 6 kg of laundry, but only dry 3 kg of laundry. So, I had to patiently explain that whole concept to him. At which point he pawed through the clothes he washed yesterday, still wet in the machine. He separated out a few items and we deliberated together over which buttons might make the machine function as a dryer. We decided we might have made the right choice and went on to other tasks. The timer said it would take 3 hours and 30 minutes to dry. Hmm. It's his clothes, I thought, and smugly went on my way.
Eventually, I made my way back to my computer. Doug started up the stairs. At that time, I chose to roll my office chair backwards. There was a resounding SNAP! And I found myself deposited neatly on the floor. Remember the aforementioned leaned back foot propping phone conversation that took place earlier this morning? Doug quickly came to investigate and found me still sitting on the floor staring stupidly at one half of the rolling feet on my office chair. Sigh. "I think that may have started to happen when I was sitting in your chair this morning." Doug says.
I made my way to the couch with a very thick book. Doug made his way to the currently closed pool with the broken filter. Three hours and thirty minutes later, my dryer sang a little song to me and I went to check on Doug's clothes. Wet, soaking wet. Not cupboard dry. I shut the utility room door and made my way to my blog. Currently, I am sitting in my lawn chair at my warm laptop wondering if Doug will find his way home.
It started this morning, probably because I decided to skip church so I could sleep in, when my phone rang at 6:00 a.m. I decided to ignore it because I deliberately left it downstairs last night. Who wants to run all the way downstairs that early in the morning on my day off anyhow? Next, through the fog of my sleepy brain, I distantly heard a text message come in to my phone, followed by the distinct sound of Doug's phone ringing, also downstairs. By this time alarms started ringing in my head that I was desparately needed at home. I began to mentally calculate what time it was on the other side of the world. Dreading the worst, thinking some one was hurt, the dog got hit by a car, one of my horses was colicking, or that at the very least there was no power at home and all the pipes were freezing, I stumbled down the steps and rummaged around in the dark trying to locate one of our phones. My worst fears were confirmed, yes, it was home calling.
An immediate return phone call determined that Emily was having power issues in the barn and she needed to talk to Doug. That didn't bode well for me. That meant that I had to wake him up and the coffee pot hadn't even started to perkolate. Sigh. So much for sleeping in. Eventually he was able to help her begin to trouble shoot and I made my way back to bed. There's just not much to be said for going back to bed to try to catch a few more hours of sleep, it's just not the same. Two hours later, I still felt groggy and cranky.
So, I decided I should cheer myself up with a chilled KitKat bar. Just one little smidgeon first thing in the morning, it's not like I'd eat the entire candy bar. My first bite reminded me that one of my dental caps had loosened and dislodged. Sigh. I reminded myself that now I need to locate a dentist. I hate going to the dentist, and I don't think it's going to be a better dental experience in Abu Dhabi. I can't seem to find any denture grip goop to stick it back in place until I suck it up and make the call for a dental appointment. Sigh.
Okay, I knew I could get past this. I could still turn my day around, it doesn't have to be totally ruined. I began to cook breakfast for Doug and myself. After I seasoned and cooked the American potatoes I look over to see Doug with his paws in my cooking. "Sorry," he says. "I added some salt to the potatoes." Salt was literally crusted all over the top of the taters! Now, I was beginning to become a little bit agitated. My tongue lashed out, with an immediate retort, something in the neighborhood of, "I already salted them, stay the hell out of my cooking!" "I didn't see you salt them," he replied defensively. "YOU WERE ON THE PHONE IN THE OTHER ROOM! I WONDER WHY NOT?" I replied calmly and cooly, yeah, that's the way I remember it coming out. And then he has the audacity to say, "I said I was sorry." Good grief. This guy just doesn't get it, does he?
We made it through breakfast, and Doug immediately made an exit out the door, busying himself with washing the car. Our car sits right outside our front door. I could hear him cheerfully whistling while he worked. I decided I needed to check my important social network site and finish some bill paying chores while sitting at my computer. Earlier this morning, Doug had chosen to install himself in my office chair leaned back with his feet propped up on my desk while he carried on a lengthy phone conversation with his son while I was cooking the aforementioned salty potatoes.
I sat at my desk, settled myself in, and commenced to mentally escape before completing my important "work." It was in the midst of my stimulating game of Spider Solitaire that I discovered my laptop seemed to be hot. This couldn't be, I thought, I have a cooling fan underneath, and that's when I discovered, no I didn't really have a cooling fan under my laptop, I had a non-functioning cooling fan underneath my computer. It's not that old, and I haven't used it that much. After disconnecting the fan and attempting to twirl the blades with a pencil point, I gave it up for lost. Sigh. More dhirhams to spend. Dentist, fan....
I decided to check on my "flowers" in our "garden." One of our flower bushes didn't look so hot. It wasn't thriving like the others we planted. I decided it should be transplanted to another spot. The new spot I chose was hard. Rock hard to dig into. I scratched around ineffectively with our only garden tool, a hand trowel. Not making much progress, I decided to drench the spot with water and maybe come back to it later. Eventually, I made my way out to sit on the front step and watch Doug wash the car. That's when I noticed two things.
The first was the gigantice scrape across the front driver's side of our rental car. Ouch. More dhirhams to the rental agency. Doug explained that one away just last night when I discovered it while we were out and about, some quip about a tight squeeze and backing up and scraping a curb. Arggh. And that's when I spied it. My dish towel, one of my favorite dish towels, brought from home, to the UAE, the most absorbent cotton pastel yellow and blue striped dish towel in our bare bones kitchen, sitting on top of the recycling bin outside. Doug chose that moment to say, "Hand me that drying rag will you? I've been using it to dry down the car." I had wondered why that dish towel had those great big brown smudges all over it the last time I washed it. I snapped. "That's not a drying rag, that's one of my favorite dish towels, it's the only one we have that dries well." I scooped it up, held it safely against my chest, made my way into the kitchen and rummaged around the bottom drawer to find one of the non-absorbent kitchen towels and bestowed that upon Doug. Ha! That ought to fix him, I chuckled to myself.
At some point early this morning, Doug called from the utility room, "How do you run the dryer?" "Not easily," I replied. We have this washer/dryer combination machine. You can wash 6 kg of laundry, but only dry 3 kg of laundry. So, I had to patiently explain that whole concept to him. At which point he pawed through the clothes he washed yesterday, still wet in the machine. He separated out a few items and we deliberated together over which buttons might make the machine function as a dryer. We decided we might have made the right choice and went on to other tasks. The timer said it would take 3 hours and 30 minutes to dry. Hmm. It's his clothes, I thought, and smugly went on my way.
Eventually, I made my way back to my computer. Doug started up the stairs. At that time, I chose to roll my office chair backwards. There was a resounding SNAP! And I found myself deposited neatly on the floor. Remember the aforementioned leaned back foot propping phone conversation that took place earlier this morning? Doug quickly came to investigate and found me still sitting on the floor staring stupidly at one half of the rolling feet on my office chair. Sigh. "I think that may have started to happen when I was sitting in your chair this morning." Doug says.
I made my way to the couch with a very thick book. Doug made his way to the currently closed pool with the broken filter. Three hours and thirty minutes later, my dryer sang a little song to me and I went to check on Doug's clothes. Wet, soaking wet. Not cupboard dry. I shut the utility room door and made my way to my blog. Currently, I am sitting in my lawn chair at my warm laptop wondering if Doug will find his way home.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Ground Rules
It's been a long haul, but I think I'm winning. It's taken me this long to figure out how to communicate effectively with my boys. It's taken me this long to figure out just how to monitor and how to track and reward behavior. It's not my strength, it's not my forte'. It's just not easy for me. I don't enjoy being a policeman in my classroom. I don't enjoy having to be "on" every single minute of every single day. It's one of the reasons I was so happy to leave the classroom and move into the role as a support person and resource person with Title 1 and Reading Recovery. I haven't missed managing 25 bodies all at the same time. I haven't missed always being on top of every motion and movement within my classroom. For the past 8 years I've enjoyed being able to teach small groups or one-on-one with very little energy put forth for classroom management and behavior. I've enjoyed using every minute for instruction with little wasted time for behavior. For the moment, though, those days are over.
I've always admired classroom teachers with awesome classroom management skills. This has been the ultimate challenge for me. My boys have put me through the wringer. It's hard to say what's happened. I believe it has to do with consistency and communication. I couldn't communicate clearly early on. I didn't know what worked with my boys. I didn't know what they cared about. I didn't have a clear plan. It's so stinkin' simple in my mind now. But, I hadn't ironed out what worked for me. I was searching for a system that was easy to implement and track and I didn't know what that system was, until now, maybe, for awhile.
It started the day after I was observed by my principal and her entourage of observers. I'm not certain why I had to have at least six people in my room to observe me, but I did. It was the week before our two week break. It's much the same atmosphere as we've experience in the states right before Christmas break. Every morning for over a week, we started our day with a whooped up taboor to celebrate National Day, and it seemed like things just never settled down after that.
My boys were horrendous. They were beyond horrendous. Even my good boys were bad... and I mean B-A-D. It started with one boy who decided he had to poke and pick and talk and wiggle and squirm and giggle on the rug. He had an audience and he yucked it up. I pulled out every trick in my hat. I gave him the look, which he promptly ignored. I moved near him. I moved him. I pulled out stickers for the "good" boys. I tried distraction, I tried ignoring him, I sat him next to another adult. NOTHING worked. All it did was fuel his fire and his behavior escalated and spilled over onto his buddy who then got the giggles and the pokes and the wiggles. By this time I figured I was toast. No instruction was happening, there was no classroom control. I figured it was going to happen. I could tell from the tone of the boys when they came in late from their earlier class.
And so I carried on like a good soldier and the boys carried on and the observers shook their heads and cast me disparaging looks. My cheerleaders included in the observation crew pleaded with their eyes for me to do "something," but I didn't know what that something was. Eventually the principal gathered up her entourage and they cascaded out of the room and on to their next appointment. Twenty-three years of teaching experience and I felt like a complete idiot. I had planned and prepared and prepped, but it didn't work. I felt set up for failure. I felt incompetent, incapable and completely at a loss. And so, at the end of the day, when I had time, I cried. I figured I would be sent packing home. Now what? I wondered.
I went home that night and licked my wounds and went back the next day and... I...got....mad. I got like... Mary. When Mom had enough of me and my siblings clowning around... oh, boy. Watch out. She got bigger and taller, and she got a really creased look to her face. I'd swear her nose and chin got longer and pointed. Her blue eyes didn't twinkle anymore, they dug into you like spades. She would cross her arms, or shake her finger at us, and her voice got a really sharp tone to it, and when she leaned in and said, "Now, enough. I will NOT have that kind of foolishness going on in my house. You take it outside, or settle yourselves down. Now!" We did! We straightened up quick and we got lost fast! You didn't and still don't mess around with Mary.
So, the next day, I blew into my room like Mary. My boys took one look at me and something changed. I'll bet one of my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline while the other one formed a crooked line above my one squinty eye. I crossed my arms, tapped my toes and with as few words as possible asked the boys if "amse," yesterday was good? (thumbs up) or bad? (thumbs down). There was a consensus with thumbs down. They knew it. Then I went to each boy and he had to tell me how he behaved yesterday. They knew. They knew it well.
And then, we made up a list of class rules. I'm certain any first year teacher is tisking her tongue and wondering why in the world we hadn't already written our classroom rules together. Well, there are a myriad of reasons why not. First and foremost, we didn't have a clue what we were all saying. They didn't know what I was saying and I didn't know what they were saying.
For much of the year, I've had my good friend and colleague, Y____, in my room. Y's role in our building is to help with the Arabic translation and transition to English for the LT's. She is amazing, and she is stretched so thin between eight LT's that we are wearing her out. She has a presence much like Mary's. And, I hadn't realized until recently how much her authority overuled mine within my classroom. We have co-taught side-by-side all year and we've had some good results.
I haven't needed to have her with me all of the time. I had found that if Y just popped in every so often, things would run okay within my room. However, sometimes, when she left the room, my boys would suddenly decide it was okay to misbehave. If Y walked back into the room... instant good behavior. Recently, I noticed that if I started my day without Y, the boys' behavior would be fine, and continue to be fine when Y walked into my room. When Y left, then disruptive behavior may pop up. I started to think back on Y's role within my room. Two of the most disruptive and disrespectful recent days I barely survived were days when Y was not at school, and they both occurred when I had my boys in the afternoon instead of the morning.
I started to wonder how the boys viewed me and how they viewed Y. Y was the authority and it seemed like I was just along for the ride. I was the babysitter, the substitute teacher. I had to become the enforcer. Y had to step back. Y and I never discussed it, but somehow I think we both sensed it. She started excusing herself from the room when I began to launch into a lesson. I'd watch her leave the room thinking to myself, "...but, but, what if I need you?" I'd ask her to clarify a point in Arabic and she'd reply, "They understand," or she might repeat directions in English. Y in her wisdom, was cutting the apron strings. She was pushing me out of the nest. I had to fly or flop. I've definitely experienced the flop syndrome lately and I don't have any desire to continue. It's time for me to fly.
And so, the boys and I composed together, our classroom rules. I'm pretty stinkin' proud of those rules. To me, they represent our first open line of communication. Everybody's lights were on and ears were open. They clearly understood what we were talking about. My proudest moment was after we had written a few rules like, "Listen," and "No hitting," I asked, "What else?" I wasn't expecting a verbal response, but Ali piped up, "Sit down!" YES! Absolutely. We completed the list with, "Finish work," and "Follow directions." Tah dah!
Then, I introduced....the chart. I love the chart. It's a happy face chart. Happy faces appear on the chart when Miss Sheri is happy. When a boy gets five happy faces, he gets to dip his hand into the "treasure box."
I hate the treasure box and I love the treasure box. The treasure box costs me money because I have to fill the treasure box with goodies, little cars, play dough, pencils and stickers. Basically, I am buying good behavior and I hate that.
I found that back in the US, the same kids earned the treasure box rewards every week, and all it did was cost me instruction time. The students I wanted to motivate really didn't care about my old treasure box. Once I just set my expectations and didn't try to bribe my students they seemed to respond better. So, two years ago, I put away my treasure box and have never regretted it.
But, here and now, my treasure box is my friend. It works, it's working and my hope is that eventually, I will be able to wean the students away from the continual extrinsic rewards and develop some intrinsic motivation.
So, I have had two great weeks of instruction since we have returned from our break. My first grade students are starting to cruise. I feel like I've got them, and I am finally, in charge. It's about time. Naturally, once I get something good going on, a wrench needs to fall into the works. As soon as we returned from break, I also became the lucky teacher of a 2nd grade class. Their LT decided she needed to resign. They aren't nearly as challenging as my 1st graders were, but they are a new challenge. It's all about setting the ground rules... again.
I've always admired classroom teachers with awesome classroom management skills. This has been the ultimate challenge for me. My boys have put me through the wringer. It's hard to say what's happened. I believe it has to do with consistency and communication. I couldn't communicate clearly early on. I didn't know what worked with my boys. I didn't know what they cared about. I didn't have a clear plan. It's so stinkin' simple in my mind now. But, I hadn't ironed out what worked for me. I was searching for a system that was easy to implement and track and I didn't know what that system was, until now, maybe, for awhile.
It started the day after I was observed by my principal and her entourage of observers. I'm not certain why I had to have at least six people in my room to observe me, but I did. It was the week before our two week break. It's much the same atmosphere as we've experience in the states right before Christmas break. Every morning for over a week, we started our day with a whooped up taboor to celebrate National Day, and it seemed like things just never settled down after that.
My boys were horrendous. They were beyond horrendous. Even my good boys were bad... and I mean B-A-D. It started with one boy who decided he had to poke and pick and talk and wiggle and squirm and giggle on the rug. He had an audience and he yucked it up. I pulled out every trick in my hat. I gave him the look, which he promptly ignored. I moved near him. I moved him. I pulled out stickers for the "good" boys. I tried distraction, I tried ignoring him, I sat him next to another adult. NOTHING worked. All it did was fuel his fire and his behavior escalated and spilled over onto his buddy who then got the giggles and the pokes and the wiggles. By this time I figured I was toast. No instruction was happening, there was no classroom control. I figured it was going to happen. I could tell from the tone of the boys when they came in late from their earlier class.
And so I carried on like a good soldier and the boys carried on and the observers shook their heads and cast me disparaging looks. My cheerleaders included in the observation crew pleaded with their eyes for me to do "something," but I didn't know what that something was. Eventually the principal gathered up her entourage and they cascaded out of the room and on to their next appointment. Twenty-three years of teaching experience and I felt like a complete idiot. I had planned and prepared and prepped, but it didn't work. I felt set up for failure. I felt incompetent, incapable and completely at a loss. And so, at the end of the day, when I had time, I cried. I figured I would be sent packing home. Now what? I wondered.
I went home that night and licked my wounds and went back the next day and... I...got....mad. I got like... Mary. When Mom had enough of me and my siblings clowning around... oh, boy. Watch out. She got bigger and taller, and she got a really creased look to her face. I'd swear her nose and chin got longer and pointed. Her blue eyes didn't twinkle anymore, they dug into you like spades. She would cross her arms, or shake her finger at us, and her voice got a really sharp tone to it, and when she leaned in and said, "Now, enough. I will NOT have that kind of foolishness going on in my house. You take it outside, or settle yourselves down. Now!" We did! We straightened up quick and we got lost fast! You didn't and still don't mess around with Mary.
So, the next day, I blew into my room like Mary. My boys took one look at me and something changed. I'll bet one of my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline while the other one formed a crooked line above my one squinty eye. I crossed my arms, tapped my toes and with as few words as possible asked the boys if "amse," yesterday was good? (thumbs up) or bad? (thumbs down). There was a consensus with thumbs down. They knew it. Then I went to each boy and he had to tell me how he behaved yesterday. They knew. They knew it well.
And then, we made up a list of class rules. I'm certain any first year teacher is tisking her tongue and wondering why in the world we hadn't already written our classroom rules together. Well, there are a myriad of reasons why not. First and foremost, we didn't have a clue what we were all saying. They didn't know what I was saying and I didn't know what they were saying.
For much of the year, I've had my good friend and colleague, Y____, in my room. Y's role in our building is to help with the Arabic translation and transition to English for the LT's. She is amazing, and she is stretched so thin between eight LT's that we are wearing her out. She has a presence much like Mary's. And, I hadn't realized until recently how much her authority overuled mine within my classroom. We have co-taught side-by-side all year and we've had some good results.
I haven't needed to have her with me all of the time. I had found that if Y just popped in every so often, things would run okay within my room. However, sometimes, when she left the room, my boys would suddenly decide it was okay to misbehave. If Y walked back into the room... instant good behavior. Recently, I noticed that if I started my day without Y, the boys' behavior would be fine, and continue to be fine when Y walked into my room. When Y left, then disruptive behavior may pop up. I started to think back on Y's role within my room. Two of the most disruptive and disrespectful recent days I barely survived were days when Y was not at school, and they both occurred when I had my boys in the afternoon instead of the morning.
I started to wonder how the boys viewed me and how they viewed Y. Y was the authority and it seemed like I was just along for the ride. I was the babysitter, the substitute teacher. I had to become the enforcer. Y had to step back. Y and I never discussed it, but somehow I think we both sensed it. She started excusing herself from the room when I began to launch into a lesson. I'd watch her leave the room thinking to myself, "...but, but, what if I need you?" I'd ask her to clarify a point in Arabic and she'd reply, "They understand," or she might repeat directions in English. Y in her wisdom, was cutting the apron strings. She was pushing me out of the nest. I had to fly or flop. I've definitely experienced the flop syndrome lately and I don't have any desire to continue. It's time for me to fly.
And so, the boys and I composed together, our classroom rules. I'm pretty stinkin' proud of those rules. To me, they represent our first open line of communication. Everybody's lights were on and ears were open. They clearly understood what we were talking about. My proudest moment was after we had written a few rules like, "Listen," and "No hitting," I asked, "What else?" I wasn't expecting a verbal response, but Ali piped up, "Sit down!" YES! Absolutely. We completed the list with, "Finish work," and "Follow directions." Tah dah!
Then, I introduced....the chart. I love the chart. It's a happy face chart. Happy faces appear on the chart when Miss Sheri is happy. When a boy gets five happy faces, he gets to dip his hand into the "treasure box."
I hate the treasure box and I love the treasure box. The treasure box costs me money because I have to fill the treasure box with goodies, little cars, play dough, pencils and stickers. Basically, I am buying good behavior and I hate that.
I found that back in the US, the same kids earned the treasure box rewards every week, and all it did was cost me instruction time. The students I wanted to motivate really didn't care about my old treasure box. Once I just set my expectations and didn't try to bribe my students they seemed to respond better. So, two years ago, I put away my treasure box and have never regretted it.
But, here and now, my treasure box is my friend. It works, it's working and my hope is that eventually, I will be able to wean the students away from the continual extrinsic rewards and develop some intrinsic motivation.
So, I have had two great weeks of instruction since we have returned from our break. My first grade students are starting to cruise. I feel like I've got them, and I am finally, in charge. It's about time. Naturally, once I get something good going on, a wrench needs to fall into the works. As soon as we returned from break, I also became the lucky teacher of a 2nd grade class. Their LT decided she needed to resign. They aren't nearly as challenging as my 1st graders were, but they are a new challenge. It's all about setting the ground rules... again.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The People
We've finally had a little bit of time to experience some of the culture of Abu Dhabi. Last night was a night that created memories that I will always treasure. The nation of the United Arab Emirates is a young nation. Yesterday they celebrated their 39th birthday as a nation. And these people do know how to celebrate and how to have some fun.
I've read articles and talked to people about the National Day celebration on the Corniche. The Corniche is a place along the gulf with beaches and places to visit with some little shops sometimes. It's much like a boardwalk or like the Strand in Hermosa Beach, CA. It's a place where the people gather for events. We were warned to not go anywhere near the Corniche on National Day. The traffic would be horrific and we could be stuck in a jam for hours. However, the fireworks display would be magnificent and memorable.
So, of course we decided that we must experience the adventure at least once. When else would we be able to see the largest fireworks display in the world? We've seen the tallest building in the world, we needed to add this to our bucket list. So, Doug and I planned and strategized and debated which would be the best way to go about our adventure.
We finally decided that worst case scenario we would park the car for a few hours until traffic cleared so we could go home. We entered the Corniche coming in from Yas Island which is more north of the city and at the outskirts. We armed ourselves with snacks and books and chairs then we entered the thick of things. It was like nothing I could have imagined.
The traffic once we entered was bumper to bumper and just inched along. We weren't entirely certain of our destination, we only knew we were caught up in the flow of traffic and there was no backing out. Teenage boys were driving trucks and SUV's. Apparently, the four-wheeled vehicles have an RPM regulator on them. I don't know much about the mechanical aspects, but I do know this, those boys rev those trucks and push in the clutch and the trucks make a big noise and backfire. At one point we had four trucks next to us revving and banging and boys were hanging out of sunroofs and piled in the truckbeds and they were having a good ol' time. Stereos were blasting and crowds were cheering encouraging them on.
And the cars and trucks were decorated. I don't mean with a little bit of poster paint. They went all out! There was one truck completely covered with red, silver and green garland. Many of the cars were actually covered in shrink wrap printed with flags and UAE slogans and images of the Sheikhs'. There were red, green and black hearts and the number 39 was everywhere. There were streamers and at one point I saw a small car with a flag rigged up like a sail with lights twinkling along the sides.
The cars and trucks were packed with families. Dads were driving with toddlers on their laps. Children were standing up and looking out of the sunroofs. Boys would hop out of cars and run alongside the stream of vehicles and then hop back in for a ride. It was wild, crazy fun and then there was the Silly String.
Entrepreneurs were hawking cans of Silly String for 10 dhirhams alongside the road. They carried plastic bags full of cans of Silly String. Of course we didn't escape the onslaught. We were fair game and so getting caught up in the moment Doug flagged down a Silly String hawker and we joined in. It was great fun to tease the kids in a neighboring car making silly faces at them and then returning fire when they aimed their cans at us. I think we caught them by surprise. I had to plan my strategy just right though by manually rolling down my window just a crack, aiming and shooting at just the right moment aiming for an opening in a window. I surprised myself by aiming quite accurately, I think! Score!
One dad was quite surprised when I shot a stream of foamy string through his window. His kids were yucking it up in the back seat. I was having so much fun laughing at him, I didn't see the teenage boys sneaking up behind us. Those crazy kids yanked open my door, sprayed me in the face and hair and ran away squealing with delight! And there I was with my face and mouth full of foam! What a hoot! I spluttered and laughed while Doug shot a photo before it could all disappear. Too much fun!
Of course, there was no real escape from the people we taunted and teased, as the flow of traffic basically remained the same. That dad in the car next to me had great fun the next time we passed him miming the opening of my car door and motioning for me to roll down my window. I kept my window rolled tight next to him and shook my finger from side to side the way they do here to say, "La, la, la!" No, no, no! However, I did learn from my mistake and locked my doors. The next time those boys came near, I was ready. They yanked on my door and seemed genuinely surprised when they couldn't get it open. Curses. Foiled. Tee hee.
And so, we inched along with strings of foam hanging from our windows clinging like globs of sphaghetti to our windows. At one point, I think we were connected to the car in front of us by a gooey string. I discovered that there are a few different types of the Silly String. One kind, like I remember from my childhood, is just a gooey string shot out and in a jet stream, but there were other types. Some come out of the can like big flakes of snow, so at one point it looked like it was snowing outside our car. Another kind I had the honor of experiencing right up close is more like the consistency of shaving cream. Not the most pleasant experience I've ever tasted!
For two hours we crept along, but eventually decided we had enough fun and didn't really want to continue having that much fun into the wee hours of the night. At one of our first opportunities we were able to turn off of the main road, also called the Corniche, and we wove our way between buildings and back alleys to land a primo parking spot pointed in the right direction to make a quick get-away after the fireworks.
The sidewalks and walkways were jam packed with people. Eventually we pushed our way through and claimed a spot on the beach. By this time it was close to 9:00 pm. Fireworks were scheduled to begin at 8:30 pm inshallah. And very true to desert time, they started at 9:37 pm. No problem.
Doug and I were all nestled comfortably in our lawn chairs feeling quite smug at our clever ploy of bringing along chairs. The people were all settled nicely on the sand, awaiting the first sparkle and crackle and when it happened, the first thing they all did was STAND UP! And, then, they all surged forward, towards the water like they were going to get a closer look. Doug and I being the fireworks veterans that we are, looked at each other in disbelief. What were they doing? First of all, they were obstructing our view. Second of all, they were obstructing our view. And then, the fireworks changed all the rules by shooting off a display close to the horizon so that we had to STAND UP in order to see.
As we stood and enjoyed the view, glorious displays lit up the sky. Doug enjoyed looking behind us to watch the brilliant reflections bounce off the glass on the building behind us. And of course, it was all over too soon. After twenty minutes and a spectacular finale, people immediately began to gather their children and head back to the road. I didn't believe it was over. Two hours of traffic and two cans of Silly String, couldn't equate only twenty minutes of fireworks in my mind. I told Doug it couldn't be over. I even sat back down in my chair to wait for round two. Always being the practical guy, he pointed out that it really was over, people really were leaving, and that five minutes sitting in my chair could equate to at least another hour stuck in traffic. Sigh. I had to give up my protest and return to reality.
We really did luck out and our parking space proved to be very advantageous. We were home forty-five minutes after the fireworks ended. Too cool. When we pulled into our complex we searched frantically for our left-over can of Silly String to shoot at our security guard, but alas it was to no avail, it was hidden in the murky depths of our Yaris. Curses. Foiled!.
I've read articles and talked to people about the National Day celebration on the Corniche. The Corniche is a place along the gulf with beaches and places to visit with some little shops sometimes. It's much like a boardwalk or like the Strand in Hermosa Beach, CA. It's a place where the people gather for events. We were warned to not go anywhere near the Corniche on National Day. The traffic would be horrific and we could be stuck in a jam for hours. However, the fireworks display would be magnificent and memorable.
So, of course we decided that we must experience the adventure at least once. When else would we be able to see the largest fireworks display in the world? We've seen the tallest building in the world, we needed to add this to our bucket list. So, Doug and I planned and strategized and debated which would be the best way to go about our adventure.
We finally decided that worst case scenario we would park the car for a few hours until traffic cleared so we could go home. We entered the Corniche coming in from Yas Island which is more north of the city and at the outskirts. We armed ourselves with snacks and books and chairs then we entered the thick of things. It was like nothing I could have imagined.
The traffic once we entered was bumper to bumper and just inched along. We weren't entirely certain of our destination, we only knew we were caught up in the flow of traffic and there was no backing out. Teenage boys were driving trucks and SUV's. Apparently, the four-wheeled vehicles have an RPM regulator on them. I don't know much about the mechanical aspects, but I do know this, those boys rev those trucks and push in the clutch and the trucks make a big noise and backfire. At one point we had four trucks next to us revving and banging and boys were hanging out of sunroofs and piled in the truckbeds and they were having a good ol' time. Stereos were blasting and crowds were cheering encouraging them on.
And the cars and trucks were decorated. I don't mean with a little bit of poster paint. They went all out! There was one truck completely covered with red, silver and green garland. Many of the cars were actually covered in shrink wrap printed with flags and UAE slogans and images of the Sheikhs'. There were red, green and black hearts and the number 39 was everywhere. There were streamers and at one point I saw a small car with a flag rigged up like a sail with lights twinkling along the sides.
The cars and trucks were packed with families. Dads were driving with toddlers on their laps. Children were standing up and looking out of the sunroofs. Boys would hop out of cars and run alongside the stream of vehicles and then hop back in for a ride. It was wild, crazy fun and then there was the Silly String.
Entrepreneurs were hawking cans of Silly String for 10 dhirhams alongside the road. They carried plastic bags full of cans of Silly String. Of course we didn't escape the onslaught. We were fair game and so getting caught up in the moment Doug flagged down a Silly String hawker and we joined in. It was great fun to tease the kids in a neighboring car making silly faces at them and then returning fire when they aimed their cans at us. I think we caught them by surprise. I had to plan my strategy just right though by manually rolling down my window just a crack, aiming and shooting at just the right moment aiming for an opening in a window. I surprised myself by aiming quite accurately, I think! Score!
One dad was quite surprised when I shot a stream of foamy string through his window. His kids were yucking it up in the back seat. I was having so much fun laughing at him, I didn't see the teenage boys sneaking up behind us. Those crazy kids yanked open my door, sprayed me in the face and hair and ran away squealing with delight! And there I was with my face and mouth full of foam! What a hoot! I spluttered and laughed while Doug shot a photo before it could all disappear. Too much fun!
Of course, there was no real escape from the people we taunted and teased, as the flow of traffic basically remained the same. That dad in the car next to me had great fun the next time we passed him miming the opening of my car door and motioning for me to roll down my window. I kept my window rolled tight next to him and shook my finger from side to side the way they do here to say, "La, la, la!" No, no, no! However, I did learn from my mistake and locked my doors. The next time those boys came near, I was ready. They yanked on my door and seemed genuinely surprised when they couldn't get it open. Curses. Foiled. Tee hee.
And so, we inched along with strings of foam hanging from our windows clinging like globs of sphaghetti to our windows. At one point, I think we were connected to the car in front of us by a gooey string. I discovered that there are a few different types of the Silly String. One kind, like I remember from my childhood, is just a gooey string shot out and in a jet stream, but there were other types. Some come out of the can like big flakes of snow, so at one point it looked like it was snowing outside our car. Another kind I had the honor of experiencing right up close is more like the consistency of shaving cream. Not the most pleasant experience I've ever tasted!
For two hours we crept along, but eventually decided we had enough fun and didn't really want to continue having that much fun into the wee hours of the night. At one of our first opportunities we were able to turn off of the main road, also called the Corniche, and we wove our way between buildings and back alleys to land a primo parking spot pointed in the right direction to make a quick get-away after the fireworks.
The sidewalks and walkways were jam packed with people. Eventually we pushed our way through and claimed a spot on the beach. By this time it was close to 9:00 pm. Fireworks were scheduled to begin at 8:30 pm inshallah. And very true to desert time, they started at 9:37 pm. No problem.
Doug and I were all nestled comfortably in our lawn chairs feeling quite smug at our clever ploy of bringing along chairs. The people were all settled nicely on the sand, awaiting the first sparkle and crackle and when it happened, the first thing they all did was STAND UP! And, then, they all surged forward, towards the water like they were going to get a closer look. Doug and I being the fireworks veterans that we are, looked at each other in disbelief. What were they doing? First of all, they were obstructing our view. Second of all, they were obstructing our view. And then, the fireworks changed all the rules by shooting off a display close to the horizon so that we had to STAND UP in order to see.
As we stood and enjoyed the view, glorious displays lit up the sky. Doug enjoyed looking behind us to watch the brilliant reflections bounce off the glass on the building behind us. And of course, it was all over too soon. After twenty minutes and a spectacular finale, people immediately began to gather their children and head back to the road. I didn't believe it was over. Two hours of traffic and two cans of Silly String, couldn't equate only twenty minutes of fireworks in my mind. I told Doug it couldn't be over. I even sat back down in my chair to wait for round two. Always being the practical guy, he pointed out that it really was over, people really were leaving, and that five minutes sitting in my chair could equate to at least another hour stuck in traffic. Sigh. I had to give up my protest and return to reality.
We really did luck out and our parking space proved to be very advantageous. We were home forty-five minutes after the fireworks ended. Too cool. When we pulled into our complex we searched frantically for our left-over can of Silly String to shoot at our security guard, but alas it was to no avail, it was hidden in the murky depths of our Yaris. Curses. Foiled!.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Orchestration
My life is good. I am blessed. My life is good. I am blessed. If I repeat myself enough, I'll be able to pull myself up by my bootstraps and buck up a little bit. Again, I find myself avoiding my blog. I'm afraid to dig too deeply into my thoughts. If I even begin to scratch the surface the wall that I have been so carefully constructing may crumble and then poor Doug will be left with a blubbering mess of me.
Thanksgiving was wonderful and awful. Awful because I had to work. National Day is coming up and celebrations have already begun. Our morning tabour assembly has turned into quite a production filled with skits, speeches, competitions, dances and demonstrations. The boys show up in the morning with scarves, hats, waving flags and balloons. Their faces are painted with the UAE colors of red, black, white and green. Our normal 15 minute tabour has turned into a 45 minute production.
Yesterday morning after making my rounds and wishing my fellow Americans a Happy Thanksgiving, I found myself volunteering to be on one end of a tug-o-war rope. When I volunteered and swished out in my long flouncy skirt to yank on a thick rope, I thought I was headed toward the winning side. I was wrong. I didn't pay close attention and while I was flexing my muscles at my boys, I missed the Arabic version of, "Ready, set, GO!" Next thing I knew I was trying to dig in with my Birkenstocks on a slick brick courtyard floor. I didn't even have time to kick off my shoes and coach my team mates with a rhythmic, "PULL! PULL! PULL!" We lost. I was sad. Personally, I think the sides were stacked against us. Oh well.
It was hard to watch the celebration with all of the red, green, white and black and not see one single turkey feather, Indian headress, or Pilgrim collar and buckles. This morning, though, after church, Doug and I made some stops in the city. We ended up literally, going to three, yes, three, different grocery stores to get the things we needed. At our second stop, I saw Christmas trees. A store here called, Carrefore, had a good sized display set up near the entrance to the store.
I can't help but think of all the times at home when I have walked into Meijers, or K-Mart, or the mall and have felt unindated with all of the commercial hype of glitz and blitz and the not so subliminal messages of, "Buy! Buy! Buy! Spend! Spend! Spend!" And I have turned away, or shaken my head and tisked my tongue to grumble, "Oh, good grief, what will they think of next?"
But, today, felt different. Here it is Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. By this time last year, Doug and I had already collected the mandatory lists from all of our children, we had strategized our plan of attack, and would have already been standing in lines wrapped throughout the stores with our coveted prizes in hand smirking at the latecomers rushing through the store doors.
Today, when we entered the main aisle of Carrefore, off to my right, I saw it... the sparkle, the glimmer, the glow, the twinkle and the comfortable, good old feeling of "home." It was like adjusting my shoulders into just the right fitting coat. For a moment, the tension seemed to leave that space between my shoulders and for a moment, I imagined I might be in the center aisle at Meijer Thrifty Acre. For a moment it was good. There were several Christmas trees set up, blue and red and silver and white. My eyes drank in the shiny blue bulbs, the silver garland and the twinkling white lights. Home. I miss home.
I miss my children, I miss my family, I miss my animals. I miss pumpkin pie and grape jelly and toothpicks with dental floss on the end. I miss my colleagues and I can't believe I'm saying this, I miss my Reading Recovery On-going Professional Development meetings. I miss being able to discuss theory and problem solving with my Reading Recovery colleagues. It is a good feeling to be challenged and to be made accountable and to have to search through the writings of Marie Clay to find words of affirmation or words of wisdom to guide my teaching.
Each day in my classroom is a struggle. I struggle to find the fewest just right words to communicate to my students what it is I want them to learn. I struggle to hold their attention and to not become the Charlie Brown teacher sounding like the honking horn. I struggle to get to each student. I struggle to make my room a print rich environment with very limited resources. I struggle to meet the high expectations of my employers and administrators. I struggle with finding the time to plan and to find resources to use to teach the guidelines. I struggle to find the patience to endure just one more meeting for "only a few minutes." Well, I only have a few minutes everyday.
I struggle with patience for well-meaning folks that want to provide me with activities to teach CVC words to my first graders with early emergent writing skills. I struggle with patronizing individuals who want to provide professional development to show me how to use a big book. I struggle with people who want me to teach word families and to use only visual information and expect me to teach not using meaning and structural cues. I struggle with what I know are best practices and with what I know are not. I struggle with keeping my integrity intact and my ego in check.
And yet, I see my boys grow. Sometimes, I look back over my day and I think of the conversations I've had with the boys. Somehow, we are communicating. Today, at least 3 or 4 boys let me know they saw me in the Tug-o-war. I think they got a kick out of it. Each day, we have conversations about where we are going and when we will go. We have built things together, we do projects together. I think they want to take care of me. They have taken stacks of books out of my hands to carry for me to put them away.
Two days ago, they were so wound up. They would not settle down, it didn't matter what I did I could not get them all to listen, I was angry and frustrated and eventually I was literally moved to tears, and when they looked at me and saw my distress, they stopped, they settled and they began to listen. I could see the compassion in their eyes and the age old "man-look" of panic and confusion and concern for the crying female, and could tell they just wanted to make everything better.
They know when they are being naughty. Yesterday, I had a list of several boys that needed to stay in during their break for being disruptive. I began by letting the boys go to break one-by-one. Then, the rest of them ganged up on me. Somehow, more than one slipped through the door and they were gone! Like a pack of wolves out the door they went. Well, I had already corraled two of the boys on the list and they stayed dutifully behind and put their heads down on their desks. I was alone and couldn't chase after the other offenders without losing the two I had. Within a few minutes, much to my surprise, I had one of my runner rule-breakers come straggling back through my door. He had willingly given up his freedom and came back to pay his dues, or perhaps he was just returning to the scene of the crime, or perhaps, just maybe, I did get through to him some of my expectations. I'm not sure how it all came about, and then, not one more, but two more of my buddies came back. Of course they giggled and continued to cause me more grief before I could get them to settle down long enough to think they were being punished instead of me. Maybe, just maybe we are making progress.
There are two things I know I am doing well with my boys. Those of you who know me well won't be surprised. First,they are beginning to write. They love their journals, and I love their journals. Yesterday, I told them to draw pictures of the UAE flag in their journals and to write/draw about the National Day celebrations. Beautiful flags were made, but to my concern, mafi-letters (no letters) mafi words. I could tell a mini lesson was in order. With much difficulty and energy I gathered them all on the rug. The next challenge was to get them to "shouf" look at me and then "ismak" listen. Ten minutes later, I was able to introduce El Konin boxes and stretching words by saying the word "f-l-a-g" slowly. I drew attention to the "f"sound, we made links to the Zoo Phonics fish by putting our palms together and wiggling our thumbs making the "f" sound, and then.... I drew the letter F. "F_l_a_g" I said as I dragged my finger beneath the word. "Flag/fish", I made links to the initial letter. I saw lightbulbs go on! The room was freakin' flashing with lightbulbs all over that room! F's were drawn, flag was stretched and was written "f l g" , M's for mangos and B's for burgers were drawn and written and UAE started emerging on journal pages and finally to end the day, a pizza was drawn and when I pointed out the word, "PIZZA" next to the pizza on our ABC chart, awareness dawned and my writers emerged and a word, an entire word "PIZZA" was written and read aloud next to a drawing of a pizza, "Miss Sheri, Pizza!" Abdul Satar proudly read. Meaning, structure and visual - orchestration of the three cues needed for reading. .
And so I struggle, but we are learning.
Thanksgiving was wonderful and awful. Awful because I had to work. National Day is coming up and celebrations have already begun. Our morning tabour assembly has turned into quite a production filled with skits, speeches, competitions, dances and demonstrations. The boys show up in the morning with scarves, hats, waving flags and balloons. Their faces are painted with the UAE colors of red, black, white and green. Our normal 15 minute tabour has turned into a 45 minute production.
Yesterday morning after making my rounds and wishing my fellow Americans a Happy Thanksgiving, I found myself volunteering to be on one end of a tug-o-war rope. When I volunteered and swished out in my long flouncy skirt to yank on a thick rope, I thought I was headed toward the winning side. I was wrong. I didn't pay close attention and while I was flexing my muscles at my boys, I missed the Arabic version of, "Ready, set, GO!" Next thing I knew I was trying to dig in with my Birkenstocks on a slick brick courtyard floor. I didn't even have time to kick off my shoes and coach my team mates with a rhythmic, "PULL! PULL! PULL!" We lost. I was sad. Personally, I think the sides were stacked against us. Oh well.
It was hard to watch the celebration with all of the red, green, white and black and not see one single turkey feather, Indian headress, or Pilgrim collar and buckles. This morning, though, after church, Doug and I made some stops in the city. We ended up literally, going to three, yes, three, different grocery stores to get the things we needed. At our second stop, I saw Christmas trees. A store here called, Carrefore, had a good sized display set up near the entrance to the store.
I can't help but think of all the times at home when I have walked into Meijers, or K-Mart, or the mall and have felt unindated with all of the commercial hype of glitz and blitz and the not so subliminal messages of, "Buy! Buy! Buy! Spend! Spend! Spend!" And I have turned away, or shaken my head and tisked my tongue to grumble, "Oh, good grief, what will they think of next?"
But, today, felt different. Here it is Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. By this time last year, Doug and I had already collected the mandatory lists from all of our children, we had strategized our plan of attack, and would have already been standing in lines wrapped throughout the stores with our coveted prizes in hand smirking at the latecomers rushing through the store doors.
Today, when we entered the main aisle of Carrefore, off to my right, I saw it... the sparkle, the glimmer, the glow, the twinkle and the comfortable, good old feeling of "home." It was like adjusting my shoulders into just the right fitting coat. For a moment, the tension seemed to leave that space between my shoulders and for a moment, I imagined I might be in the center aisle at Meijer Thrifty Acre. For a moment it was good. There were several Christmas trees set up, blue and red and silver and white. My eyes drank in the shiny blue bulbs, the silver garland and the twinkling white lights. Home. I miss home.
I miss my children, I miss my family, I miss my animals. I miss pumpkin pie and grape jelly and toothpicks with dental floss on the end. I miss my colleagues and I can't believe I'm saying this, I miss my Reading Recovery On-going Professional Development meetings. I miss being able to discuss theory and problem solving with my Reading Recovery colleagues. It is a good feeling to be challenged and to be made accountable and to have to search through the writings of Marie Clay to find words of affirmation or words of wisdom to guide my teaching.
Each day in my classroom is a struggle. I struggle to find the fewest just right words to communicate to my students what it is I want them to learn. I struggle to hold their attention and to not become the Charlie Brown teacher sounding like the honking horn. I struggle to get to each student. I struggle to make my room a print rich environment with very limited resources. I struggle to meet the high expectations of my employers and administrators. I struggle with finding the time to plan and to find resources to use to teach the guidelines. I struggle to find the patience to endure just one more meeting for "only a few minutes." Well, I only have a few minutes everyday.
I struggle with patience for well-meaning folks that want to provide me with activities to teach CVC words to my first graders with early emergent writing skills. I struggle with patronizing individuals who want to provide professional development to show me how to use a big book. I struggle with people who want me to teach word families and to use only visual information and expect me to teach not using meaning and structural cues. I struggle with what I know are best practices and with what I know are not. I struggle with keeping my integrity intact and my ego in check.
And yet, I see my boys grow. Sometimes, I look back over my day and I think of the conversations I've had with the boys. Somehow, we are communicating. Today, at least 3 or 4 boys let me know they saw me in the Tug-o-war. I think they got a kick out of it. Each day, we have conversations about where we are going and when we will go. We have built things together, we do projects together. I think they want to take care of me. They have taken stacks of books out of my hands to carry for me to put them away.
Two days ago, they were so wound up. They would not settle down, it didn't matter what I did I could not get them all to listen, I was angry and frustrated and eventually I was literally moved to tears, and when they looked at me and saw my distress, they stopped, they settled and they began to listen. I could see the compassion in their eyes and the age old "man-look" of panic and confusion and concern for the crying female, and could tell they just wanted to make everything better.
They know when they are being naughty. Yesterday, I had a list of several boys that needed to stay in during their break for being disruptive. I began by letting the boys go to break one-by-one. Then, the rest of them ganged up on me. Somehow, more than one slipped through the door and they were gone! Like a pack of wolves out the door they went. Well, I had already corraled two of the boys on the list and they stayed dutifully behind and put their heads down on their desks. I was alone and couldn't chase after the other offenders without losing the two I had. Within a few minutes, much to my surprise, I had one of my runner rule-breakers come straggling back through my door. He had willingly given up his freedom and came back to pay his dues, or perhaps he was just returning to the scene of the crime, or perhaps, just maybe, I did get through to him some of my expectations. I'm not sure how it all came about, and then, not one more, but two more of my buddies came back. Of course they giggled and continued to cause me more grief before I could get them to settle down long enough to think they were being punished instead of me. Maybe, just maybe we are making progress.
There are two things I know I am doing well with my boys. Those of you who know me well won't be surprised. First,they are beginning to write. They love their journals, and I love their journals. Yesterday, I told them to draw pictures of the UAE flag in their journals and to write/draw about the National Day celebrations. Beautiful flags were made, but to my concern, mafi-letters (no letters) mafi words. I could tell a mini lesson was in order. With much difficulty and energy I gathered them all on the rug. The next challenge was to get them to "shouf" look at me and then "ismak" listen. Ten minutes later, I was able to introduce El Konin boxes and stretching words by saying the word "f-l-a-g" slowly. I drew attention to the "f"sound, we made links to the Zoo Phonics fish by putting our palms together and wiggling our thumbs making the "f" sound, and then.... I drew the letter F. "F_l_a_g" I said as I dragged my finger beneath the word. "Flag/fish", I made links to the initial letter. I saw lightbulbs go on! The room was freakin' flashing with lightbulbs all over that room! F's were drawn, flag was stretched and was written "f l g" , M's for mangos and B's for burgers were drawn and written and UAE started emerging on journal pages and finally to end the day, a pizza was drawn and when I pointed out the word, "PIZZA" next to the pizza on our ABC chart, awareness dawned and my writers emerged and a word, an entire word "PIZZA" was written and read aloud next to a drawing of a pizza, "Miss Sheri, Pizza!" Abdul Satar proudly read. Meaning, structure and visual - orchestration of the three cues needed for reading. .
And so I struggle, but we are learning.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Scrags
I've been away for awhile. I've been hiding within myself, just trying to hold on. Life is not bad for me, it is just different. Things are going on at home that occupy my mind. First and foremost, the blessed arrival of Baby Ella. She is beautiful and arrived without much muss and fuss, on my end anyhow. Sadie and Jesse may not agree. Each time I see a newborn baby in this land, I wilt a little bit, and I watch grandparents playing with infants with a great deal of envy. Envy is not a good trait, I must try to count my blessings.
Doug is here with me now. It has been difficult to find a quiet time and spot to be alone with my thoughts and to blog. My apologies. We are not tripping over each other's space now. We have moved into our villa. I have lived for eighty-nine days in a hotel. It was a nice hotel and encompassed at least three different moves into four different rooms and two different hotels. I suppose my relief at having our home now does not define me as a world traveler. It was fun a little while. I never imagined I would be homeless for so long! All is better now.
Our villa is out in the middle of nowhere, and I LOVE it! We are away from the city. It takes us at least 25 minutes to get to the outskirts of the city where we can get food and household items. No more running to the mall next door for supplies for tomorrow's lesson or for tonight's fast food dinner. I'm going to need to be more organised in my thinking and planning. That's okay. We do have a new grocery store only about ten minutes away. My favorite part of the entire store is the section in the back that is labeled, "Non-Muslims Only." They stock delightful items like pork chops and pork loins and bacon and sausage and hotdogs and bologna and pork rinds and salami and all of the things that I have been deprived of since I left home. They have ...... HAM!!! Honey ham and smoked ham and deli ham, I have SO missed having my favorite ham and cheese sandwich. I have to admit, I have had bacon for breakfast for the last three days. It's all gone now, I think I'm okay with not having bacon for awhile. I just needed to work through the feelings of deprivation.
I have so much to catch up on. I will start with a little adventure I had at school one day. We have a room called our LT room. In this locked room, we have a bathroom and a sink and fridge and table and counters for workspace. It's like a nice little teachers' lounge. I may duck in there every few days to use the facilities or to snatch a few moments of peace and quiet. One day, after hanging out for 10 minutes, or so, I was casually looking through some big books laying on the counter when I heard a little whimpering, "meow." I looked out the window to the outside yard thinking there might be one of the wild cats outside. No cat. "Meow, meow, MEOOWWW," I heard. At that point I determined my feline friend and I were sharing the same quarters. So, I began to search about. Obviously, he wanted to be found. I lifted table skirts and peeked about, at that point I decided I needed reinforcements. So, I went in search of one of our workers.
She was busy with one of her never ending mopping chores, but she was more than happy to put aside her mop and help me with my quest. She got down on her hands and knees and peeked beneath the counter, and sure enough, there was this little bit of scraggly thing. Orange and white striped hugging the back wall just waiting for some one to find him. Of course the whining, " meow, meow, MEOOOOW!!!" helped with the search. After some poking about with a broom stick, the worker lady snatched him out from under the counter and wrapped him up in a paper towel. He didn't look quite so cuddly now. Actually, kind of scratchy and just a little bit creepy. He had one third eyelid that sort of refused to go back in place and covered part of his green eye. He looked like he really needed some one to love him.
I could have easily fallen in love with scragglepuss, but then I would be stuck with a problem. It would be a big problem, because I would end up forking out big bucks to take the little feller home with me when my time is up here. Fortunately, I had a good idea for a home for him. The worker lady and I stuck the little guy in a cupboard until I could commandeer a suitable box for him. I sent a few text messages and talked to a few colleagues. One of my co-teachers warned me not to let him out into the courtyard because she was certain the boys would kill him....gulp.
Plan A included Michelle. Plan B involved letting him loose outside the school to fend for himself. I didn't like plan B very well, Plan C was as a last resort bringing him home with me, I didn't think the hotel would look favorably upon Plan C, so I was really counting on Plan A working out. Michelle texted back saying that, yes she wanted the cat but would have to talk to her husband first. I anxiously awaited her next response. Finally, at day's end, I collected my furry friend, now nicely deposited in a box with airholes, and called Michelle. Well, she hadn't yet talked the matter over with her husband, but decisions were made in a hurry and before any minds could be changed, I quickly made my way over to her house.
It was love at first hiss. When they lifted the cover off the box and made the first cautious effort to stroke the little darling, kitty reacted with a great big, "hisssspt!" We all went, "Awww..." Michelle had the biggest, happy grin on her face. I knew they were going to be a happy family, and I beat a hasty retreat back to the city.
The next day, Doug and I went out to our villa to clean up and begin to get ready to move in. Michelle and family just happen to live right across the street. I was really afraid to call her. I figured they would love me or hate me after 24 hours, I had visions of a wild fleabitten hellcat living next door, but I decided no news was good news. I sucked it up and cowardly sent a message enquiring after the wellfare of "meowface." Michelle called right back and told me to come visit. I tripped across the street and was met with the site of fuzzy little scraggly kitty all nestled up snug beneath daddy's chin. That silly little cat is one of the cutest little ugliest little cats I've ever met. When he's lifted up and his paws are reaching for something to catch, his legs stretch way out and are long and seem way out of proportion to the rest of his body. His ears are just way too big for his pointy little head and puts me in mind somewhat of a gremlin.... Awwww..... I quickly dubbed myself "Auntie," and received the position of Kittysitter when they go away on excursions. Ahh, home sweet home.
Doug is here with me now. It has been difficult to find a quiet time and spot to be alone with my thoughts and to blog. My apologies. We are not tripping over each other's space now. We have moved into our villa. I have lived for eighty-nine days in a hotel. It was a nice hotel and encompassed at least three different moves into four different rooms and two different hotels. I suppose my relief at having our home now does not define me as a world traveler. It was fun a little while. I never imagined I would be homeless for so long! All is better now.
Our villa is out in the middle of nowhere, and I LOVE it! We are away from the city. It takes us at least 25 minutes to get to the outskirts of the city where we can get food and household items. No more running to the mall next door for supplies for tomorrow's lesson or for tonight's fast food dinner. I'm going to need to be more organised in my thinking and planning. That's okay. We do have a new grocery store only about ten minutes away. My favorite part of the entire store is the section in the back that is labeled, "Non-Muslims Only." They stock delightful items like pork chops and pork loins and bacon and sausage and hotdogs and bologna and pork rinds and salami and all of the things that I have been deprived of since I left home. They have ...... HAM!!! Honey ham and smoked ham and deli ham, I have SO missed having my favorite ham and cheese sandwich. I have to admit, I have had bacon for breakfast for the last three days. It's all gone now, I think I'm okay with not having bacon for awhile. I just needed to work through the feelings of deprivation.
I have so much to catch up on. I will start with a little adventure I had at school one day. We have a room called our LT room. In this locked room, we have a bathroom and a sink and fridge and table and counters for workspace. It's like a nice little teachers' lounge. I may duck in there every few days to use the facilities or to snatch a few moments of peace and quiet. One day, after hanging out for 10 minutes, or so, I was casually looking through some big books laying on the counter when I heard a little whimpering, "meow." I looked out the window to the outside yard thinking there might be one of the wild cats outside. No cat. "Meow, meow, MEOOWWW," I heard. At that point I determined my feline friend and I were sharing the same quarters. So, I began to search about. Obviously, he wanted to be found. I lifted table skirts and peeked about, at that point I decided I needed reinforcements. So, I went in search of one of our workers.
She was busy with one of her never ending mopping chores, but she was more than happy to put aside her mop and help me with my quest. She got down on her hands and knees and peeked beneath the counter, and sure enough, there was this little bit of scraggly thing. Orange and white striped hugging the back wall just waiting for some one to find him. Of course the whining, " meow, meow, MEOOOOW!!!" helped with the search. After some poking about with a broom stick, the worker lady snatched him out from under the counter and wrapped him up in a paper towel. He didn't look quite so cuddly now. Actually, kind of scratchy and just a little bit creepy. He had one third eyelid that sort of refused to go back in place and covered part of his green eye. He looked like he really needed some one to love him.
I could have easily fallen in love with scragglepuss, but then I would be stuck with a problem. It would be a big problem, because I would end up forking out big bucks to take the little feller home with me when my time is up here. Fortunately, I had a good idea for a home for him. The worker lady and I stuck the little guy in a cupboard until I could commandeer a suitable box for him. I sent a few text messages and talked to a few colleagues. One of my co-teachers warned me not to let him out into the courtyard because she was certain the boys would kill him....gulp.
Plan A included Michelle. Plan B involved letting him loose outside the school to fend for himself. I didn't like plan B very well, Plan C was as a last resort bringing him home with me, I didn't think the hotel would look favorably upon Plan C, so I was really counting on Plan A working out. Michelle texted back saying that, yes she wanted the cat but would have to talk to her husband first. I anxiously awaited her next response. Finally, at day's end, I collected my furry friend, now nicely deposited in a box with airholes, and called Michelle. Well, she hadn't yet talked the matter over with her husband, but decisions were made in a hurry and before any minds could be changed, I quickly made my way over to her house.
It was love at first hiss. When they lifted the cover off the box and made the first cautious effort to stroke the little darling, kitty reacted with a great big, "hisssspt!" We all went, "Awww..." Michelle had the biggest, happy grin on her face. I knew they were going to be a happy family, and I beat a hasty retreat back to the city.
The next day, Doug and I went out to our villa to clean up and begin to get ready to move in. Michelle and family just happen to live right across the street. I was really afraid to call her. I figured they would love me or hate me after 24 hours, I had visions of a wild fleabitten hellcat living next door, but I decided no news was good news. I sucked it up and cowardly sent a message enquiring after the wellfare of "meowface." Michelle called right back and told me to come visit. I tripped across the street and was met with the site of fuzzy little scraggly kitty all nestled up snug beneath daddy's chin. That silly little cat is one of the cutest little ugliest little cats I've ever met. When he's lifted up and his paws are reaching for something to catch, his legs stretch way out and are long and seem way out of proportion to the rest of his body. His ears are just way too big for his pointy little head and puts me in mind somewhat of a gremlin.... Awwww..... I quickly dubbed myself "Auntie," and received the position of Kittysitter when they go away on excursions. Ahh, home sweet home.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
It's been a pretty crazy two (or has it been three?) weeks. Long story short, Doug is here. Life seems better for me with him. I don't feel the loneliness and emptiness I felt before. I still have strong heart twangs when I see a newborn infant with a mother, or worse with a grandmother. Although Ella has not yet arrived, I am already grieving the absence of the holding and hugging and cuddling moments I am never going to experience with her as an infant. Those are the memories I hold so dearly in my heart from raising my own children. The milky fresh powder scent of a freshly bathed baby. The warm soft weight of a contented infant asleep on my shoulder snuggled against my neck as we gently rock back and forth in my favorite chair.
I miss my horses, especially now. This is my favorite time of the year to ride. I miss the changing of the leaves and trailrides through the woods. A few nights ago, I took Doug to a furniture store at the mall. I had to show him the lamp. This is not just any lamp. I wish I had the luxury of just being able to purchase this lamp just to have it. This lamp is a plastic mold of a full size horse, head, legs, barrel, rump, tail and all. To literally top it off, the horse has a lamp on top of its head, right between the ears, it sticks up and has a lampshade. I can stand beside this horse and feel like I am standing next to a real horse. I'm missing the entire tactile experience, of course, but it's about as close as I'm going to get to the real thing for awhile.
I just tried to upload a photo of it. I failed. But, I promise I will try again later, I will prevail.
I also have a photo of three camels riding in the back of a truck in downtown Abu Dhabi. Now, that is something I've got to see before I leave this country. I want to know how in the heck they get the camels in the back of the pickup, and how they get them to lie down, and how they get them to stay in. It's pretty amazing to me! Those camel guys already have my respect as I think about all of the horse trailer loading episodes I've gone through! I promise I will load that photo also.
This blog entry is short and sweet. I have much more to say, but right this moment, the pool is beckoning. More later. I promise.
I miss my horses, especially now. This is my favorite time of the year to ride. I miss the changing of the leaves and trailrides through the woods. A few nights ago, I took Doug to a furniture store at the mall. I had to show him the lamp. This is not just any lamp. I wish I had the luxury of just being able to purchase this lamp just to have it. This lamp is a plastic mold of a full size horse, head, legs, barrel, rump, tail and all. To literally top it off, the horse has a lamp on top of its head, right between the ears, it sticks up and has a lampshade. I can stand beside this horse and feel like I am standing next to a real horse. I'm missing the entire tactile experience, of course, but it's about as close as I'm going to get to the real thing for awhile.
I just tried to upload a photo of it. I failed. But, I promise I will try again later, I will prevail.
I also have a photo of three camels riding in the back of a truck in downtown Abu Dhabi. Now, that is something I've got to see before I leave this country. I want to know how in the heck they get the camels in the back of the pickup, and how they get them to lie down, and how they get them to stay in. It's pretty amazing to me! Those camel guys already have my respect as I think about all of the horse trailer loading episodes I've gone through! I promise I will load that photo also.
This blog entry is short and sweet. I have much more to say, but right this moment, the pool is beckoning. More later. I promise.
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