All posts by onathought

A slice of anxiety

Family, Pets, Slice of Life

Slice of LIfe

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

You may remember this story of my worry over a bat. Ugh. Read that to get into my head a bit.

Saturday: I’m taking it easy, trying to get over this stupid cold when I decide to do a little yoga. There I am practicing cat tuck when BAM!

A small, cylindrical, brown…dropping? And another one… And another one. I groan, I vacuum, and then quick as a whip I google —  all. the. kinds. of. poop. I determine that it’s mouse (not rat – phew.) and stop and read a bit about the deer mouse. Oh no. Don’t ever read about the deer mouse. I realize I shouldn’t have vacuumed it if it is a deer mouse. I ask my husband about 100 times if he thinks it was a deer mouse dropping. I find another one, I compare it. It isn’t pointy…so…it must be a house mouse. Still not good but better. Vacuuming house mouse poop is not as fatal… I ask my husband again if he thinks it could be deer mouse. We do, after all live near a lot of trees. (“No. It isn’t.” He says, again. He’s so patient with me, really. Then, “Stop googling.” Then, “Put your phone down.”) I start to feel anxious.

I wonder why our cats haven’t alerted us to this mouse problem. I wonder if the previous owners of our house had mice. I wonder if it is possibly something that the kids dragged in on the bottom of their shoes that I am constantly telling them not to wear in the house. I call my mom. She tells me to relax, that I’m going to make myself insane. I try to forget about it, but realize we are going to have to figure this out soon…I try to tell the cats to go find the mice!

Waking up Sunday morning, I decide that we need to search the house for more droppings. Mr. Thought has the idea that if it isn’t under the couch, it is probably just some sort of oddly shaped dirt from shoes. I hope it isn’t under the couch. We lift the couch to search.

There they are: 2 pieces.  We find 2 or 3 more in the kitchen. We take a picture. I google. I am surprisingly relieved at first thought when I realize it more closely matches the cockroach poop. (“Stop googling horrible gross things on your phone!” Mr. Thought is not so patient any more. Who could blame him?) I google cockroaches, and we search cabinets, and corners and floors. Nothing. We search for the name of the pest company that did our old house’s pest inspection. I email the picture and a brief note to the tune of “Hi – We are settling into our new house, yada yada yada. Help! I think we have cockroaches! Please look at this crazy picture and come to our house asap!” 

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I start to search the dining room. I can’t believe this is my Sunday. I want to read my book. I want to not be thinking about how horrible it will be if we all get a disease from a sick mouse, or how I’m never going to be able to turn off the light for fear of cockroaches.

The pest guy emails back, “It looks like a mouse – in this weather they like to come in. I can come Tuesday to take a look.”

I continue to search the dining room. I find another one. This one is a little bigger. That’s when it dawns on me.

A week ago.

A birthday party.

Ten 6 year olds, and

a tray of cookies…with

sprinkles.

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I’ll wait for you to finish laughing at me.

I’ll let you imagine how I still need to be convinced. You can picture us, on our search for more sprinkles, the whole family on our hands and knees…how my 9 year old uses the scientific method to convince me. You should know that I still vacuum everything, and wash down all the floors. I still look around the next few days just to make sure. And of course, I have to email the pest guy back… “So, this is embarrassing because I’m pretty sure it was actually chocolate sprinkles from my 6 year old’s birthday party. I’ll let you know if anything changes…” 

Moral of the story? Vacuum the whole house after a party — don’t wait for the next weekend. (Duh.) And maybe listen to your mom when she tells you to stop freaking yourself out. (Double Duh.)

Mr. Thought took pictures of the cookies at the grocery story for further proof. No more “droppings” have been found in the house. The case of the deadly sprinkle poop is over.

Knock on wood.

I believe I have homework.

Reflections on coaching

My coaching team gave me homework. It’s due tomorrow: What do I believe about coaching? What do I wonder about coaching?

I’m thinking that it won’t quite get the big-thinking job done if I say, “I wonder what I believe.”  (Maybe an A+ for creative effort?)

I believe I have a lot to learn.
I believe listening is powerful.
I believe I need to 
shut myself up more
I believe that silence can be scary,
that not knowing what someone is thinking is hard
but that listening to understand matters

I believe I will need a daily reminder:
"It's not about you, Mrs. Thought"
so that I won't take things personally
and I will lose the ego,
be open to everyone's positive intentions
relationships matter

I believe I will learn much
from many 
amazing
people
1 day in classrooms, and I have a list started: "Fabulous ideas to take back to myclassroom!"
I believe teachers matter 

I believe I will love my time with kids too
Today I laughed with primary students,
and later hugged almost 50 of my 6th graders (yes, they will always be mine!)
I believe kids matter 
(plus they're fun...Scene:classroom mini lesson on surveying text. Teacher asks, "what does 'survey' mean?" Student responds, "It's a type of non-dairy ice cream." ...pause, questioning glances... Teacher asks,"Really, is it?" Student thinks and then says, "Oh. That's sorbet.")
Smiling matters, laughter matters, fun matters.

I wonder
Will I help?
Will I be able to focus in?
Will I mess up my google calendar?
How long will I be living outside of my comfort zone?
Since wondering matters, learning matters, and stepping outside of your comfort zone matters... I believe I'll keep wondering.

 

A Slice out of the Comfort Zone

Reflections on coaching, Slice of Life

Slice of LIfe

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

Yesterday was my first day “on the job” as an instructional coach. After a meeting, a few emails, and a stop at one of my schools, I headed over to the PIIC conference and spent the rest of the day with over 100 Instructional Coaches. Talk about a first day! Surrounded by people who actually know what they are doing was wonderful of course — and I also found myself going “meta.” I kept thinking about what I was thinking — what it felt like to be new. Honestly before this year I had never even heard of PIIC. Walking into the conference I had no idea what to expect, and I paid attention as my brain took it all in. When is the last time you were in a totally new situation with all new people? It doesn’t happen to me very often. If I’m in a new situation, I usually try to bring a friend. Or, I research it a lot so I know what to expect. But if I think about it – the last totally new situation I was in was when I started taking yoga last year.  I just don’t do it very often… because it’s scary! When you are new, you walk in and you think everyone else knows… knows each other, knows the content, knows better.  Sometimes one or all of those assumptions are correct, and sometimes none of them are.

I noticed my brain as I sat at my assigned table with all new people. I was trying to take it all in, frame my brain to this culture and its norms and inside jokes. I held my breath and hoped not to be “voluntold” to answer a question because my brain was still working to catch up with the “new.” After the introduction, I stayed for “Coaching 101,” while the rest of my district colleagues went off to their choice sessions. I was at a table full of people who were at their first PIIC conference too, but they had much experience as instructional coaches.  On each table was a picture of a vehicle, and we were asked what it represented in terms of instructional coaching. I laughed at what was sure to be the first of many conversations where my voice would be quiet and non-essential! When my turn came  to share, I simply said “Well, that car looks new! I’m new too. This is my first day.”

I said a variation of that many times over the course of the day. The response was generally astonished delight. “How lucky to start at this conference!” and “Nothing like throwing you into the fire!” were common answers. (Also, “Don’t expect snacks like this every day on the job!”)

This morning it occurred to me that this has happened before! Soon after getting my first job and finding out I would be teaching second grade, I was sent to a conference with a 2 other second grade teachers – a conference all about second grade! I had no idea what I was getting into then… and that was a great year. So, there’s hope!

When I walked into the conference today the quote on the screen was appropriate:

 

“Your comfort zone is a place where you keep yourself in a self-illusion; nothing can grow there. Your potentiality can grow only when you can think and grow out of that zone.” – Rashedur Ryan Rahman. 

Well, nobody could say I’m in my comfort zone this week!

Celebrate Endings

Celebrate, Uncategorized

celebrate-image

This post is part of Ruth Ayres Celebrate Link up. Thanks, Ruth for this great opportunity to celebrate.

Years ago, it was the last day of school and my intern started a compliment circle with our class. Each person would choose one other person to gift a compliment. I crossed my fingers that nobody would feel left out. A boy, I’ll call him Dave, raised his hand to go first. Dave had seemed to not care about school much all year. He sometimes gave a little attitude, and he struggled with getting his work done. I tried to hold him accountable, and I definitely felt that I wasn’t one of his favorite people. Dave looked over and said, “I choose Mrs. Thought.” and proceeded to tell me how I was his favorite teacher, and how much he appreciated me.

I believe I celebrated that by crying. Ends of school years have always been emotional for me. I am pretty sure I scared my second graders at the end of my first year of teaching. I sobbed as they left the classroom for their summer. I couldn’t believe the year was over, the kids were leaving — and I didn’t have a job lined up for the next year yet! The year before last I watched as more than half of my students started crying and hugging each other before the final bell rang. That time had very little to do with me — they were just that close. I’ll never forget the 6th grade girls and boys just breaking down because 6th grade was over! When things end, I think it’s easier to appreciate what you had. I often think of it as the summer camp phenomenon, and I see it play out in June each year: This ride we’ve been on together is over, we will never be able to replicate it, and man that was a fun and crazy time!

This year, I got my June day in January. Friday was my last day with my students as their teacher. (Monday I start as an instructional coach for the rest of the year.)

After telling my classes and their parents about the upcoming change, we had a mini June at school. Everyone suddenly loved me! And, the feeling was definitely mutual. I have loved my classes all year – that’s no lie. But looking at them through the eyes of someone about to leave. . . I should have just played dramatic movie soundtracks in the background for the last few weeks; everything they said was so important and meaningful. As they shared the books they were reading I had to hush an inner voice shouting at me, “Stay! Abort mission! Don’t leave these amazing people!” But, as one of the parents told me in an email: Opportunity knocks at complicated times. I’m so excited about my new opportunity, much to celebrate in that as well! But this week was about saying goodbye.

 

I’m trying to live in the present — never have been one for filming things instead of just living them. However, I wish I had a camera rolling  Friday during 8th period. If you’ve never had a 6th grade boy tell you with all his heart that what you’ve done means so much, if you’ve never had one hug you and tell you he loves you and that things won’t be the same without you… If you have never had a gaggle of 11 year old girls tell you that they will miss you, that the new teacher will “always be number 2, Mrs. Thought!…” I don’t know if you can understand. If you haven’t had a student play some sort of sad classical piece on his chromebook and march it towards your desk, if you haven’t had a kid run to the bathroom crying because you’re leaving… I’m not sure I can explain it to you.

Of course, I’m not celebrating that these kids are sad — I know their emotions are true right now. I also know that they will be okay. Their new teacher is passionate, excited and ready for the challenge that is 6th grade. They will love her, and I will still be around in the building. It’s all good.

 

Celebrate Imperfection

Celebrate, Family

celebrate-image

This post is part of Ruth Ayres Celebrate Link up. Thanks, Ruth for this great opportunity to celebrate.

I let my mom guilt trip herself into making a gingerbread house again this year. She makes such amazing houses. Open windows, and chocolate stone chimneys, tootsie roll firewood piles and powdered sugar snow. The smell of the gingerbread and the fudge glue takes me back to my childhood; and I love that it is a part of my kids’ holiday traditions too.

Things started so promising, I could almost smell that gingerbread through the texted picture:

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Then this morning my mom texted again.

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A roof collapse. And later, “It’s getting worse”

So tonight when the grandparents arrived with the gingerbread house, and we were warned not to laugh too hard, we were ready. Image 2.jpg

We still laughed. (Sorry mom)

We still decorated it. We tried to decide what the lesson was here. Christmas isn’t about perfection? You can decorate any situation? It’s not about the roof? Gingerbread is yummy even when it’s broken?

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We laughed at our efforts – even the glue wasn’t working tonight.

Meanwhile, my mom brought another handmade gift. Another house: a paper replica of our old home. Amazing treasure.

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The smell of gingerbread

The smell of gingerbread
baking 
or just sitting 
with its fudge glue
is enough

Organizing the candy
on plates
or just watching 
kids sneak a taste
is enough

Powder sugared gingerbread memories 
are perfect 
But Gingerbread time
with family
collapsed roofs and failing icing
is enough

Image 3.jpg

A Slice of … What’s a Coach?

Reflections on coaching, Reflections on teaching, Slice of Life

Slice of LIfe

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

I haven’t started my job yet, but many people are asking me what I’ll be doing as an Instructional Coach. After I told my students that I would be leaving to go be an Instructional Coach, they had the same question.

So I asked them to think of coaches they’ve had. “What do your coaches do? 

“Yell at us!” a few students said, in their ever-present ability to help me refine my questioning.

“Okay. Think about one of your favorite coaches. What kinds of things do they do? 

The answers… they made me wish I were in front of a piece of chart paper or my computer, instead of sitting on the rug in the circle.

“My coach pushes us to practice.”

“Supports us during our game.”

“Coaches play with us.”

“Let us play new games. My coach thinks that playing other games actually helps us with our game.”

“Coaches are there for you.”

I think my 6th graders’ tips are good ones to start me off as I start to learn my new role!

Celebrating something different

Celebrate, Reflections on teaching

celebrate-image

This post is part of Ruth Ayres Celebrate Link up. Thanks, Ruth for this great opportunity to celebrate!

“God bless you.”

“I could never do that!”

“What are they? 11? 12? Thank you.”

Just a snapshot of some things I usually hear when I tell someone I teach 6th grade. Truth is, I love 6th graders – They are the best, they are awesome!  (Full Disclosure: I also said similar things about my 2nd graders way back when.)

So last week, when I sat my classes down to tell them that I was leaving to fill in as an Instructional Coach for the rest of the year, I was curious about what their reactions would be. Sad? Angry? Elated?

Shock. They were just so shocked. Calm, and cool, like 6th graders can sometimes be. (It’s true. They can be. They are.) They looked at me with what can only be described as astonished betrayal.

“I’ll still see you.” I told them. “I’ll be helping your new teacher. I’ll be helping you. We will still be connected.”

“How about you help our new teacher by teaching us once a week?” They challenged.

I tried to articulate to them that their new teacher would be with them longer than I have. That when they look back on their 6th grade year, the new teacher is whom they will really think of. This was hard to say aloud, because I love being these kids’ teacher. But, I said it. Several students looked at me thoughtfully, some I’m sure wanted me to stop being so dramatic so they could go back to their own thoughts, and a couple just shook their heads, “Not going to happen. You are our teacher.” 

Hands up for questions and comments.  This is where we come to the celebration.

“I’m just worried about one thing. Are we going to have as much read-to-self time with the new teacher?” 

“Wait. Are you going to take all of the books?”

“I’m not angry, I’m happy for you. I’m just going to miss you.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.” 

“I hope you remember me. I will remember you.” 

Later that day I sent an email to my students’ families, and it took a strong will not to call off the change! What kind words I got in return. Congratulations for sure, but lovely appreciation messages and “we will miss you” notes that made me feel so good, and also so guilty.

Listen. As a teacher I almost never know what if any impact I am having. I certainly don’t measure it by test scores. If I measure it at all, I measure my impact by fleeting moments; teachable and emotional. I measure it by glances that I can’t seem to articulate in writing — in inside jokes that hint at lightbulbs going off. I measure it in cooperation and laughter, relationships and community. The past week of transition, shadowing the current coach, teaching my amazing students, and getting ready to leave the classroom in January has been full of reflection and celebration.

Leaving the classroom is hard. I pre-miss it already. And, I’m so excited to try out this new role – I am going to learn so much – and I can’t wait to start to figure it all out… and celebrate along the way with all of the teachers and students I am lucky enough to be working with.

A slice of Thanks

Reflections on teaching, Slice of Life

Slice of LIfe

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

A day that starts with this anonymous note on the board is sure to have some good in it. IMG_5542.JPG

I stole an idea from The Hands Free Revolution facebook page for writing today. We talk a lot about how writing is power, but today I told the kids that I think writing is a gift too. We talked about gratitude, and about how sometimes it’s easier to write something from the heart than to say it. I shared the sentence starters with the class and they started writing notes to the people they wanted to thank and appreciate over their Thanksgiving break. I wanted to read everyone’s thank you’s because man, they must be beautiful. But, they are private, so I didn’t.

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Later, a student touched a nerve with yet another out of turn comment, and I breathed mindfully. We spoke in private, where I told my truth — that I was starting to feel hurt by the constant sarcastic jokes today. At the end of the day, he handed me a rolled up note, and said “This is for later.”

Before I read the note, I  wanted to cry about the kindness of it. After I read it, I wanted to share it with you. But, it’s is private, so I won’t.

I hope you have the chance to thank someone this week. It really is a wonderful way to brighten their day.

Sentence Starters we used from  The Hands Free Revolution

• I’ll never forget when you …

• I appreciate how you …

• I’m sorry that sometimes I …

• What I love most about you is …

• I have you to thank for …

• Five words to describe you are:

• Our family wouldn’t be the same without your …

 

A Slice of “1 Page then 2.”

Slice of Life

Slice of LIfe

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here

George Bailey’s impassioned speech at the end of It’s A Wonderful Life keeps playing in my head, only it’s me, crying “Please! I want to write again! I want to read again! I want to run again!”

Moving has been, continues to be all consuming. . . In its first-world way.

The slices have been, continue to be everywhere…Snapshots of

leaving and crying

arriving and smiling

boxing and unboxing

Taking three days out of the classroom last week means I’m still catching up.

What I want to do is write and read and go on a run. Luckily, last month I read Donalyn Miller’s piece, Fallow Fields. I’m fairly sure she didn’t mean this… this days on end of life-is-too-busy-I-can’t-sit-and-read-or-write-plus-my-books-are-still-packed. But, her piece helps me feel less guilty.

On Monday I confessed to my class. I said, “I’ve been so busy. I’m living out of boxes. I had to pack up my books, and my digital library loan ended right in the middle of my last book. I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been reading.  I haven’t been running. How many of you have ever had a break between books where it’s hard to pick up the next book?” So many kids raised their hands, some with guilty expressions.

I told them (and myself) that readers and writers and runners take breaks sometimes — and that even super strong readers can have trouble getting back to it. Then I asked them for help. “How am I going to start again? I can’t pick up a book and read it all right now. I can’t go run a 5K, it’s been too long!”

A student raised his hand and told me advice he learned from his gym teacher. He thinks it could go for anything. “Just start slowly. Read one page one day, and then two the next.”

Brilliant advice. He’s totally right. I told my class that this was one of the extra benefits of being a teacher: A whole room full of advisors and people to cheer you on as you try to reach your goals.

So tonight, I’m taking his advice: 1 slice at a time.