Let Summer Begin!

By the second half of June most teachers have been on their summer break for a week or longer. The teacher groups I belong to on social media always seem to have several members who are surprised by how late the school year goes for some of us. But it evens out - those of us who just started our summer breaks won't have students in front of us again until after Labor Day.

As part of my usual start to summer I had a way to interrupt my personal routine on the calendar. I didn't have one last year, but last spring was an overwhelming pattern interruption, so I didn't miss having my own plan. I did miss traveling and having plans on the calendar, but somehow once summer began I did not struggle with what to do with myself. I couldn't even tell you what I did. Sleep?

This year a friend of mine from high school, who teaches in our home state, came up for a visit a week after her school year ended, which was two days after mine ended. It had been three years since we had seen each other, when we met in Las Vegas for an end of year getaway. This year we took an impromptu overnight to Leavenworth, Washington, a Bavarian style village in the Cascade Mountains. It's a complete tourist trap, with a few blocks of hotels, shops, and restaurants that locals probably wouldn't be caught dead in (unless they work there). But I love to visit once in awhile. 

We also went wine tasting in Woodinville, where there are tasting rooms stacked on top of one another. Despite the variety of options all within walking distance of each other, I realized I took my out of town friend to the same tasting rooms I've already been to multiple times. I think I'll have to push out of my comfort zone and try something new the next time I go wine tasting. Maybe.

On her last full day here, we did nothing. We sat in the backyard watching the pets (two cats, one dog, one tortoise) interact with each other. We drank the last of the growler of cider we brought home from our tasting excursion and opened a bottle of wine as evening arrived. It was so peaceful I fell asleep in the sun for a bit and ended up with my version of a sunburn (very pink skin that never hurt, but itched for a couple of days).

Her flight home was in the evening, so we left the house early enough to have lunch and poke around downtown. We hit the sweet spot of weather not being too hot, recent homeless encampment cleanup, and tourists making their way back to Pike's Place. There were crowds waiting for someone to buy a fish so they could see it thrown, a long line in the sun to get into the first Starbucks, and generally enough people in the indoor and covered spaces that we donned our masks even though we are fully vaccinated. 

It's a strange time. COVID is beginning to recede from the forefront of all my decision making, but it is definitely still lurking in the background. This weekend we have plans to visit my in-laws for the first time since the start of the pandemic. My husband's parents were champion quarantiners until my father-in-law needed urgent care for an infection. We and they have all since been vaccinated, so we finally feel comfortable subjecting them to our germs.

We have no further plans for the summer. It's a far cry from two years ago when we went to two different countries and two national parks. But it's certainly a step up from last year when we went nowhere and no one visited us.

Last Day of School Eve

 Tomorrow is the last day of school: the last day of my first year teaching fourth grade, the end of my first boomerang year at my current school. It was Field Day. I marked the occasion with my first run down the awesome slide, and had the student ahead of me in line get photographic evidence.

It's been a great year. Exhausting, but great. 

We watched several episodes of Phinneas and Ferb this morning before Field Day and another half episode during the staggered dismissal. It seemed appropriate to watch a show about summer vacation on the second to last day of school. There was an interesting mix of kids who seem to have every episode memorized vs. kids who had never heard of the show.

Field Day was actually pretty similar to my memories from past years at this school, except that instead of moving as cross age school families, we moved through as class cohorts. Every station was set up outside this year, without the library game of Heads Up 7 Up, and without a crazy loud activity in the gym (games on scooter boards or inflatable obstacle courses). It was also shorter, with fewer stations and grade levels split to help maintain physical distancing. Thus the Phinneas and Ferb marathon in my room.

The kids seemed to have a great time, even the student who had a recent emergency appendectomy followed by another run to the emergency room. She was not allowed to run, and I had to remind her more than once to stop showing her excitement by jumping up and down. During the Balloon Smash (where kids run around trying to pop the balloons tied to the ankles of their classmates) she hung out on the play equipment with an activity book sent with her by her forward thinking mom.

When I asked what everyone's favorite station was at the end of the day, the enthusiastic replies tripped over one another. I believe a good time was had by all. During my drive home today I had high hopes of cleaning a bathroom, mopping the kitchen... but I came home and fell asleep on the couch for two hours.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. Cleaning up my classroom and closing it out for the summer was more emotional than I expected this year, even though there wasn't much to do. I have only been teaching in person since the end of January, and my new room used to be the middle school science lab. The science teacher is finishing clearing out the science equipment from the cupboards in my room this week. I'm already ready to check out, even though I haven't even handed out report cards yet. That has literally never happened to me.

Flashy Me?

I had a co-worker I don't know very well tell me recently that I'm flashy. To be fair, we were taking about my purple car, purple hair, and matching sunflower shoes and mask. Okay, I see his point. I do "commit to a theme" as some of my other co-workers have called it, when I wear flamingo shoes, shirt, and earrings. I enjoy putting outfits together, and I am the reason my husband and I bought a plum crazy Challenger. My colored hair brings me joy (and keeps me from cutting it short again). I just switched from purple to blue, and can't wait to see my students' reactions on Monday morning.

But, flashy? Me? It's almost laughable. I was the high school student who never raised her hand in class because I could literally feel my heart pounding with anxiety at the mere thought of speaking up in class. I was the voter who attended a caucus in my 30s, and had specific points that would have added value to the discussion, but did not say anything. I am the 20+ year seasoned teacher who will share my ideas with my teammates, but not contribute to the whole group discussion at a staff meeting.

Even though I'm still working on speaking up in groups, I have gained confidence over the years. I credit my husband with most of my ability to feel free to be myself. But teaching certainly has helped. Teaching middle schoolers and developing connections with them gave me a safe space to showcase my zany side outside my home. I felt free to stand on desks, dance around the room, and generally put on a show for them each and every day. I remember clearly one student who asked me several times about my high school experience as she was preparing herself for hers. She was convinced that I was popular and outgoing in high school. From what she saw of me in the classroom, my flashy side, I could see how she came to that conclusion. I don't know if she believed me when I told her the truth: I was super shy and didn't feel like I had any real friends until maybe my junior year of high school.

When I was in high school I never would have thought I'd be someone with a "rebellious" hair color or even someone who dressed in a way that stood out. Mind you, I don't dye my hair or "commit to a theme" with my outfits in order to stand out - I do it because it makes me happy. But now that I am comfortable enough, confident enough in myself and who I am, I do make fashion choices that stand out and cause others to comment. I didn't peak in high school, and frankly, I'm glad. I'm in my mid-40s and I hope I still have a lot of life left to live on this earth. I like to think that the best years are yet to come.

Does that make me flashy?

Boomerang

 For the past month or so when I think about where I am in my career, one word flashes through my mind: Boomerang.

I left my current school at the end of the 2016-2017 academic year, pursuing my life long dream of becoming a foster parent. We had been fostering a brother and sister sibling set for over half a year by then and were taking steps toward finalizing their adoption to make them permanent members of our family. The commute (10 freeway miles in the heavy traffic during rush hour direction) combined with all the appointments and activities that came with parenting an additional two children who came from a trauma filled background, meant something had to give. 

When I left four years ago, I was sad that I was leaving the school where I had experienced the most professional growth of my entire career, even though I was over a decade in before I even started working there. I knew I had grown so much as an educator working for the principal and that I would be hard pressed to find another boss who would work so hard to push me to keep achieving more. But I was excited about my personal endeavors and ready to work toward ensuring a successful transition for my new children. Little did I know that my foster children had only shown the tip of the iceberg of their trauma to that point, and the placement would fall apart as we got closer to making them legally a part of our family.

The teacher hired to replace me ended up leaving at the Christmas break. My principal called me and practically begged me to take back my old job. But all the reasons I left were still in play. We talked back and forth and he convinced me to sub in what had very recently been my classroom for the month of January, 2018. Just as he hired a replacement for the second half of the school year, my foster son was being permanently removed from my home after several behavioral escalations resulted in several 911 calls, a medical evaluation for me, and an in-patient stay at the behavioral health ward at Seattle Children's Hospital for him. His sister was still in my care, but her behavior at that time was infinitely more stable.

Since my old job was once again taken, and my house was no longer in crisis on a daily basis, when I heard a different previous school was looking for a long term sub to finish out the school year for the 6-8 grade language arts teacher who had been severely injured in a car crash, I interviewed for it. I finished out the school year in someone else's classroom, doing a job I had long thought would overwhelm me. It was *so* much fun connecting with those middle schoolers and teaching them to become better writers.

That spring my foster daughter was also permanently removed from my home. After her brother had moved out, her behavior had deteriorated to the point that we were filing "serious Incident reports" with her social worker and our adoption agency daily. Her behavior escalations were happening at home and at school. We didn't ask for either of the kids to be removed, but life became infinitely more calm after they were gone. I found myself looking for my own classroom again.

I could have stayed on for one more year, working in the classroom belonging to the teacher who had been in a car wreck. But I wanted my own classroom. There were two openings at a school close to my home: fourth grade and middle school ELA. The principal there was moving across the state, but the search for his replacement was still underway. He spoke to my former (and current boss), and told me he had never heard such a glowing recommendation for a person he was considering hiring and offered me my choice of the open positions. Coming off of the middle school language arts position, I jumped at the opportunity to take on a middle school homeroom position of my own.

Although I had a difficult time connecting with my homeroom sixth graders, who I only taught for one class each day, the eighth graders made me excited and joyful to go to work every day. My second year there the schedule shifted and I taught eighth graders exclusively, removing the sixth grade homeroom and one class period per day from my schedule. The middle school team was a welcoming and joyful group. We sought each other out for professional and personal support and celebration. I remember very clearly thinking I had found my forever school, and was surprised to discover I could easily picture myself finishing my career teaching 8th grade history and language. There's a mountain of grading and feedback required to push middle schoolers to become better writers, and that part of the job was incredibly time consuming, but I found joy in working with the kids. I knew I was making a positive difference in their lives and they were returning the favor. Twenty years into my career I felt I had finally landed at my "forever school."

Then, as the pandemic was beginning to shut everything down in my area, my principal delivered devastating news. My contract was not going to be renewed. The school was facing a massive budget shortfall, and staff was being cut by 20%. I knew about the budget crisis, and that staff was going to be reduced. But, like many of my co-workers, I assumed those would be aides, front office staff, and possibly custodial staff. Very few of us thought homeroom teachers were going to be cut. However, both fourth grade teachers, both middle school ELA teachers, and the academic support specialist were all let go.

We were told our contracts were nonrenewed literally as students were coming into the building for the final time of the 2019-2020 school year to collect belongings and supplies for the start of remote learning. As shattered as I felt, I had to finish out the school year teaching remotely. Under the circumstances, I was relieved that many of the 8th grade end of the year activities were cancelled, and those that were held were physically distanced. I didn't want the kids to see how upset I was.

Searching for a job in the spring of 2020 was difficult. Schools were not sure what kind of learning model they were preparing for in the fall and there were threats from the federal government about cutting funds even as facilities upgrades and additional barriers and sanitizing supplies were needed. I was in regular contact with my former principal, asking him to fill out reference forms and write letters of recommendation. One of my requests was met with the response, "I'd be happy to. But why don't you stop applying at districts all over the state and come teach fourth grade for me?"

So here I am, closing out my first year as a fourth grade teacher at the same school I had left in June of 2017. I have boomeranged back, even after considering another school my "forever school." I have thoroughly enjoyed teaching fourth grade, and can now say I have taught every grade 3-8. The connections are very different than those I had with eighth graders., but the relationships are still quite strong. We have fun together, and I am planting the seeds of life lessons that will serve these kids well as they mature and come into their middle school years. I also love that I will get to see some of that growth as they move down the hallway, away from me and toward their eighth grade graduation.

Now What?

This was the weirdest week. After ending last week with a phone call from a parent causing me to melt down, this week just continued the roller coaster ride. I am pretty sure my reaction last week was in part due to me being at the end of my own rope thanks to it being the second May of a global pandemic. Thankfully I really do love my job. 

It was standardized testing week. For the first time in my 20+ years of teaching, I came through with zero students needing to take a make up test, or even needing to utilize the make up time to finish now that we take the untimed MAP test. Every student was present (in person, even) for every testing period. Those who didn't finish with their peers were able to complete their tests after they finished other work on the same day or during the next morning's "soft start" time.

What was that I said about teaching math last week? Dang. This year I have the funniest gifted, yet reluctant, math student. Her recent gem reached into the thousands of likes in a teacher group on Facebook only 24 hours after I posted a pic.

The consensus in the comments is that the child needs a gifted IEP and art lessons. Admittedly I haven't read every one of the over 100 comments, but I haven't seen a negative one in the mix. Both the number of likes and the possible positive only comments are Facebook wins.

We made it into the garden this week for the first time all year. A guest garden educator helped us plant vegetable and marigold starts and had the kids do some weeding. My students found so much joy in weeding! The second group to plant turned eager eyes to the garden educator asking, "Can we go back to weeding?" as soon as their plants were in the ground and watered. 

They attacked the biggest weeds they could find and were disappointed when it was time for us to leave the garden to make room for the next class.

During my recess duty this week, I had some third grade girls rush up to me complaining about how one of their classmates had made their friend sad. Their friend had mentioned earning money for work she had done the day before and the classmate had bragged that he could easily make more money in less time. When I talked to the girls' friend, after just a few words she recognized that her classmate's words were likely untrue and maybe even came from a place of jealousy. She also took the next step of telling him assertively how his words made her feel. Her Second Step training (and mine) kicked in and paid off. The same couldn't be said for her classmate, but he did give her an apology, punctuated with an eye roll. She was satisfied enough that she was able to run around and play with her friends again. Wouldn't it be great if all crises were that manageable?

One morning this week did begin with an enormous adrenaline rush. I usually get to the school about the same time as the before school childcare employee and her children. Her kids have helped me carry my bags in, she's opened the door for me when I left my keys locked in my classroom, and we always exchange pleasantries. But one morning this week she was sitting outside with her children and one other student when I arrived. She started to tell me why, but was interrupted by one of the kids, excited to explain that we would have to cancel school for the day because there was a gas leak. After listening to the adult's explanation of the very strong smell of gas, and the people she had contacted, I went into the building, knowing at least two of my colleagues were already in their classrooms upstairs. The stench was the worst gas smell I have ever experienced. One breath was nauseating. Getting myself past the downstairs hallway and up the stairs as quickly as possible, the smell rapidly dissipated behind me. I checked in with the teachers who were indeed already in their classrooms but hadn't smelled the gas because they entered the building from the upstairs entry. We began making calls. My co-worker called the facilities director while I called the principal. My call went to voicemail, which I followed up with a text. While I was texting my boss, the other teacher was following the directions of the facilities director to call the fire department. Rather than looking up the number to the local fire department, she dialed 9-1-1, and was routed to FIVE different people before finding someone who could help us. 

We evacuated while every fire truck in the city responded. Afterwards someone explained that a gas leak had caused an explosion a few years back, and ever since they err on the side of caution. My pictures were taken from the lower lot, by the door I use to enter the building each morning. But I'm told there were at least two more trucks by the main entrance to the building. 

A van from the local energy company arrived shortly after I took my pictures. The fire department found some spilled water had extinguished the pilot light on the gas stove in the kitchen, and run a test on our gas lines, finding no sign of a leak. The gas company ran their own check and came to the same conclusion. We were all invited back into the building, and asked to open every window and door. From arrival to actually entering my classroom was 45 minutes. We had a completely normal school day, with the rolling drop off beginning just fifteen minutes after the fire department gave us the all clear.

Everyone who was present for the crazy morning was in good spirits. We joked with each other and even got to know one another a bit better. The Mexican born daycare worker (who always calls me "miss!" or "teacher" even though I've told her my name several times) asked if I was born in this country. I told her, "soy media peruana, pero no hablo mucho espanol." She had noticed something in my facial features and hair that tipped her off to my Latin descent. Somehow, that single interaction made me feel seen.

When Teaching Math Makes you Laugh

So after the downer post that was yesterday, I wanted to take a moment to focus on something much more positive. I'm sure you've all seen posts of funny student answers on assignments. This year I have a student who consistently makes me laugh with her responses, most often on her math papers. Her mom is a co-worker and friend of mine, so I have an inside view of how challenging it can be for this student to complete math assignments. She is really intelligent, and definitely an outside the box thinker.

We have standardized testing next week, so I'm handing out review sheets when they fit into the day with little to no instruction. A quick refresher often gives kids confidence going into this kind of test. But, when the kids saw the "Bonus Box" option to name all of the polygons on a perimeter worksheet, their eyes got huge and they asked if they had to do the bonus. I told them I'd like for them to try. Most of them declined. But this outside the box thinker did not disappoint in her responses. I had to give her bonus points for her answers!

Even though math assignments are challenging for this student, everyone who works with her can see that she does understand the concepts. But she doesn't like math and has developed several work avoidance techniques. Her parents, her therapist, and I are all working together to decrease these behaviors. She is slowly learning that there might be a short term gain to avoiding her work, but in the long run it becomes more work. We've added the incentive of the gift of a random Pokémon card for any assignment completed with expectations exceeded. (I kind of felt bad that the first one she earned from me was a lousy Energy card.) The assignment above definitely deserves a card, but her mom texted me a picture of something that surely deserves to be praised. 

When her mom asked why her math homework was taped to the shower, she responded, "So I can I review my math while I shower." 

Given that this is also the child that turned in the assignment below, I believe making her math work visible during her showers is a step in the right direction.

Kids really are awesome.

When Teachers Cry

 This week I had a parent reduce me to a sobbing, blubbering mess minutes before students walked into my classroom. I honestly think this is only the second time in my entire life a parent has undone me to this level. And the first time I was young, just barely out of my teens, and working in childcare.

For the 1997-1998 school year I was working a split shift at the before and after school daycare at the same school I had attended for my K-6 education. It was my "gap" year between my undergrad college experience and the fifth year teaching program required by the state of California, where I lived until I was married. 

There was a lice outbreak midyear. Kids were being sent home right and left from the school and daycare alike. We discovered a first grader had lice shortly after school got out one afternoon. The daycare director called her mom and informed her that she needed to come pick up her daughter ASAP. I don't know what occurred during the phone conversation, but the director was under the impression Mom would show up soon. She didn't. The director was a college student herself, and ended up having to leave for class before the parent arrived. Before she left, she pulled me aside and asked me to show Mom the "no nit policy" in the daycare contract when she showed up. The director even asked me to try to talk to the parent outside of the child's presence.

The parent finally arrived at her usual pick up time, just as we were setting up for our evening snack. I asked the first grader if she wanted to have snack before she left, and she joined the line at the snack table while I walked with her mom to the other portable to pick up the little girl's backpack and convey the message from my boss. She appeared to take the message well, and left with her daughter as soon as she skipped in with her Dixie cup full of Goldfish crackers.

But as soon as she settled her daughter in the car, Mom came back over to the portable where the remaining five kids, my co-worker, and I were winding down for the night. She yelled at me from the doorway, in front of everyone else who was still there. I don't even remember what she said. But I do know I had to lock myself in the bathroom after she left because I started sobbing as soon as the door closed behind her, and could not regain control of myself. My co-worker offered to close up and let me leave early, but I had walked to work, and wanted to stop sobbing before I left. I wasn't successful, and ended up having to walk home through a blurred vision because my eyes would not stop leaking.

My skin is thicker now, more than twenty years into my teaching career. I can think of several times when I've been frustrated, upset, even emotional about interactions I've had with parents. But reduced to an uncontrolled, emotional disaster hadn't happened since. Until now.

In this COVID crazy year, we have been working online quite a bit. My students know how to get ahold of me via Google Hangouts, Google Classroom messages, and email. They had individual meetings with me over Zoom, both scheduled and impromptu, before we came back into the building four days a week, with asynchronous Fridays. I had three "evidence gathering" assignments for a literary essay assignment last week. Two of them were digital and I told kids I would check them off on Saturday, giving them the entire asynchronous Friday work day to complete them before I even looked at them. On Saturday I sent blanket emails (bcc'd of course) to kids and their families who hadn't turned in one or both of the digital assignments, "Dear Fourth Graders, if you and your parents are receiving this email, it means you still haven't completed..."

I had a parent email me some point after that, with the message, "X said he messaged you asking for help??" I saw her message as I was packing up my computer on Sunday night for the next morning. I checked Google Hangouts and saw that her son had in fact sent me a message on Saturday. It was time stamped at 10:37am and asked for me to Zoom with him at 3:00pm.

I wrote back on Monday morning reminding the parent that I was not available to help students on Saturdays. She replied asking for a phone call. Knowing that she wanted to talk to me to complain, I cc'd my principal and offered up several times I was available. She said she would be sure to be able to take my call at any of the times I mentioned. I tried to call at the very first time I offered, 7:30am the following morning. I could not get through. I got two different errors, depending on whether I dialed 9 + area code + phone number or 91 + area code + phone number. We recently had a new phone system installed, so I tried several different phones in the building, including those that I was pretty sure had already been used for external calls, before the front office staff arrived and unlocked their space. With our rolling drop off to allow for COVID health screening of every individual before they enter the building, the front office officially opens at the same time students start arriving. As students started arriving for the day, I sent an email telling the parent I had tried to call, but apparently needed a tutorial on making external calls from our newly installed system. I promised to call the next morning. She wrote back thanking me and promising to be waiting for my call.

That afternoon I asked for a tutorial from the front office on our phone system. My story made the school secretary believe the new phones were not functioning as expected. She put in a call to the company that had installed our phones and told me she didn't think the problem was "operator error" on my part. The next morning I decided to try calling my own cell phone from the phone in my classroom. I discovered that with the 91 + area code + phone number option, I had no trouble getting through. After checking our Learning Management System I discovered the parent had mistyped her phone number in her message requesting a call. Using the phone number from the LMS, I called at the agreed upon time. The call went to voicemail. I left a message, hung up, and laughed out loud.

On the third morning we finally connected. Her tone of voice was pleasant, her demeanor nonconfrontational. But the attack was long and personal. She believes I am better suited to teaching older grades. "All the parents" at "practices" agree that their students are afraid of me, and they refuse to ask me questions because they know I will yell at them. In fact, apparently, I yell all the time. I refuse to give parents and tutors information needed to help their kids at home. Her child cries every day after school because of my class. The days when he doesn't see me (I only teach him one class) are the only ones when he is happy after school. He's relieved on the days he doesn't have to see me. 

None of this is my lived experience with my students. In fact, during the one class I teach in my partner teacher's room, I run around the entire work time, answering questions from kids who raise their hands over and over. I sometimes have to ask those with their hands in the air to be patient while I check on the progress of the kids who aren't raising their hands. The child in question does sometimes ask for help, and I also check on him when he doesn't because I know writing is challenging for him. During remote learning he and I had a regular weekly 1-1 meeting scheduled to discuss writing, and he frequently sent messages asking for additional 1-1 meetings.

I held it together while I was talking on the phone. The parent told me she was going to contact our Learning Resource Center Director and principal and request that her child be removed from my class since I make him so uncomfortable. I know the principal and LRC staff have my back, so I encouraged her to contact them both. I told her I understood her concern and shared it, if her child was crying every day after school.

When the call ended my team, who knew I had been trying to contact this parent for three days, asked how it went. I dissolved into tears. I was still sobbing as the rolling drop off began. I knew the child of one of my co-workers was probably already in my room, but I couldn't stop crying. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. It got the sobbing under control, but my eyes were still leaking intermittently, for hours. I couldn't even talk to the first several students who arrived. (I usually cheerfully greet everyone by name as they walk in.) By the time I had to actually start teaching, I was finally breathing easier. The presence of my students had brought me enough joy that I was finally able to regain most of my self control.

Even though I have observable evidence to refute most, if not all, of what this parent accused, even though I know I am good at what I do, even though I know my administration has my back, this interaction hit me like a ton of bricks. 

It's May, the second May during a global pandemic. Parents are stressed, but that's still no excuse. Teachers are stressed too. We are not punching bags. I do expect kids to learn - do work and turn it in. To do work, turn it in, and even do better on this assignment than the last one. Isn't that my job? Of course, it is! And I know I'm good at it. I love it too. But sometimes it's really hard. 

Mean people suck.