This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Today I will write a poem about my second graders. It will not be a lament for Wisconsin It will not be an allusion to another second grader calling 911. But rather my second grader Walking into our classroom to tell me about her sweater. It had foxes and snow and little bits of glitter. She smiled from dimple to dimple about that sweater. But rather about my second graders – Two boys counting their STAR tickets quietly while we waited for them so we could do the Pledge of Allegiance. (You know the one.) But rather about my second graders wearing hats made from roll paper as they performed Snowflake Bently. But rather about my second graders giving me an early birthday gift of beautiful pages they wrote and drew for me with crayons. Their words a beautiful combination of the spelling they have learned and the still perfect misspellings. But rather about my second grader standing on top of a pile of playground logs at recess, telling us “From where I am, I see 7 snowmen being built!” But rather about my second grader looking over at the lollipops I was quickly sorting “Boy that looks like fun,” he said. If I weren’t doing this, I’d sure like to help you sort those.” But rather about my second graders gathered on the rug to hear a story, lined up to go home, saying goodbye with a hug, handshake or high-five. But rather about my second graders. The ones I spend my days with are amazing, brilliant humans. Little kids who did not yet need to call 911 to report gunshots.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
We’ve been trying to practice transitioning from morning recess to writing with a little writing warm up.
Our notebooks are supposed to be on our desks before we even go out to recess, a pencil too.
“Or a pen!” My second-graders like to remind me every time I say the word pencil. Choices are important.
Today I asked them to write “In December, I am…” at the top of their page, and then to draw 3 things they are doing in December.
“I don’t know what I am in December.” Someone said to another teacher working with them later.
Me neither, buddy. Me neither.
But I drew my examples. I labeled them with captions:
In December I am reading books every day. In December I am walking Finn in the freezing, freezing cold. In December I am sitting, resting near the candlelight.
I thought to myself how funny it is that teaching writing is both telling the truth and lying at the same time.
In December I am reading books every day, yes. I am trying for at least a picture book a day this month at school. Plus, we are trying to finish Wild Robot. Two days in, and I’m doing great! 4 books already, and Wild Robot time too. But I haven’t sat on my couch and read a book for me in a very, very long time.
In December I am walking Finn in the freezing, freezing cold, yes. But not as much as I should. He’s antsy, I’m busy. It’s freezing, freezing cold out there.
In December I am sitting, resting near the candlelight. If you can call my artificial Christmas tree, pre-strung with LED lights, “candlelight.” But, I didn’t want to make my example about a specific holiday. Sometimes I do light a candle… but, do you count it as resting if you are working near the Christmas tree?
It’s storytelling time in second-grade. We are reading and writing imaginative stories, asking “What lessons can we learn from the characters in stories.”
Today I asked the kids what story they love.
“I don’t know what story specifically,” my favorite answer began, “I just know I love beautiful stories.”
Me too, buddy. Me too.
We warmed up in math with a problem to do on the number line. If I am 47 this month, and the other second-grade teacher is 26, what is the difference in our ages? I made the problem up, the number line work is solid. But it doesn’t mean I loved the answer.
“21!” They figured out.
“And that’s how old I am!” My student teacher said.
Tonight I made myself stop making my “What lessons can we learn from characters?” chart, and start packing up to go home. It was dark, late, my animals needed dinner, and I had not been successful drawing a stick figure squirrel character for the Snow Thief character’s lesson.
“The kids will do a much better job drawing the characters sketches,” I reminded myself. “Why was I taking that away from them anyway?”
I walked toward my classroom door, made sure I had everything I needed. I was ready to turn off all my little lamps with my remote. I’m so proud about remembering to do that every day.
I had to pause as I passed the Storyteller Fireplace. Our bear was sitting, waiting for tomorrow’s stories I guess.
“Goodnight Fireplace, goodnight bear.” I thought.
And then I wondered why I wasn’t stopping to take pictures of all the things in my classroom so I could go home and write a book called “Goodnight Classroom.”
Which I guess would make me the quiet old lady, whispering, “hush.”
If I’m the character in this story, I so hope there is a different lesson I might learn from my day.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
My friend Mardi died four and a half years ago or so, but she was in my dream last night. She doesn’t show up in my dreams a lot anymore, but it’s always so nice to see her.
She was late to a picnic full of teachers I worked with long ago.
That should have been my first indicator that this was a trick of the mind. She would have never been late in real life.
“It’s raining.” She said when she arrived
“Really?” I asked and she showed me how her dress had sprinkles of water, and the back of it was wet from accidentally sitting in a puddle.
Another indication that this was not a real event. Mardi wouldn’t sit in a puddle. This was a woman who had a white winter coat that she always kept clean.
We sat and chatted and I told her I how I changed my desk configuration to try to help my class focus.
This is actually true in real life. Just yesterday after school I rearranged my desks. We’ll see if it makes an impact.
“I mean, I had everyone facing each other, and then I kept reminding them to stop talking. That’s on me.” I said.
She laughed in agreement.
Then I told her how I have to have another lunch bunch for kids to finish their missing work.
I must have been teaching sixth-grade in this dream.
“They really can’t get work done in the loud cafeteria,” I explained. “But if they come here I feel bad that they don’t get a lunch.”
She gave me one of her classic looks.
For this, I am so grateful for my dream. I miss that Mardi look.
“Just have them eat their lunch and then come back to do their missing work,” she said. She reminded me that it’s okay to keep my expectations high.
How she did this with a look and a sentence might sound like it is only in a dream. But, real-life Mardi could say a lot with a look and a sentence.
I wish that dream picnic could have lasted longer, but my alarm was loud, and the picnic and support session was over in a flash.
I don’t need a dream interpretation website for this one. It was lovely for Mardi to visit me in my dream to give me some teaching advice and encouragement.
It’s not her fault that it makes me cry to remember her dream visit.
Knowing her, she knows my tears are mostly because I miss her. And just a teensy bit because I only get an instructional coach in my dreams.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Finally out to our second recess, the air chilly and the sun warm, I take a deep breath.
There’s no time to do all the things, and I find myself rushing through so much all day long.
Even though I know rushing doesn’t help. Even though I know that slowing down is the only way to get more done. Even though I know it doesn’t serve any of the students I serve.
We don’t need more binders of must dos or more scripts, I think. We need more pauses. The line between a perky pace and a frantic one is too small to measure already. The less we do each day, the better the day. And somehow, the more we learn. I know there is research about this, but I also see it every day.
Usually we live a few “If you give a mouse a cookie” books each day. They start with “If your teacher takes attendance one minute later than usual…” or maybe “If morning meeting starts 3 minutes late and you have to practice coming to the circle quietly a few times …”
Today we had an “If you are ready to start math 2 minutes late, you will have to talk about it. If you have to talk about it, you will start math 5 minutes late but your teacher will still want to have all the math, so you will be getting ready for recess 5 minutes late. If you are getting ready for recess 5 minutes late, some of your friends will hurry but others will not and you will be 10 minutes late to recess. If you are 10 minutes late to recess, you won’t have time to have all 15 minutes of recess.”
I’m not saying it is as fun of a story as the Mouse and the cookie.
I watch the kids outside, running and chasing and smiling in that chilly warm sun and turn around to one of my kids who is fixing her sweatshirt.
“I love recess because…” she says as she pulls her sweatshirt over her short sleeves, “because you can meet more of the kids and also because you can have fun!”
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
I have a student teacher.
When I told my 17 year old that my student teacher was starting today, he said incredulously, “they approved you for that?”
“I am a veteran teacher,” I explained to him.
In my first year again.
Today after recess, or maybe after lunch — the time runs together — we were getting started on — well something. But there was a chirping.
The second-graders asked, “What is that? A cricket?”
I thought it might be my quiet writing music from writing, so I muted my computer but the chirp kept chirping.
Indeed, it was a cricket.
Earlier, still at home, enjoying my coffee, I had stumbled upon an “I love bugs song” that had promise for school. See the other day at recess some kids were stomping on a bug outside. We had a chat about that. So a song would be so good.
I like bugs, and I’ll tell you why. They’re alive and so am I. Bugs. I like grasshopers cause frogs eat em I like bees cause flowers need em I like spiders I like slugs I like caterpillars I like bugs…
But when I listened to the whole song I wasn’t so sure. There’s a line about hating crowds, loving people and not being down with the plague…
But when there was a cricket in my room, I wished I had memorized that song.
Maybe we could make up another line.
I like crickets and I’ll tell you why. They’re alive and so am I Crickets chirp chirp Crickets
Instead of singing, I reminded the kids that we don’t hurt bugs. We are STAR students. We show kindness to all creatures great and small.
When the class went to their special, my student teacher and I tried to find the cricket.
Okay, fine. It was mostly him. I let him find the cricket.
When he found it, he asked if he should take it outside.
“It’s actually really big,” he said.
I told him that it was up to him. If he felt comfortable doing it he could, but he certainly didn’t have to carry a giant cricket outside on his first day of second-grade.
“When you tell this story in 20 years about your first day with your mentor teacher, please make sure you include the part where I told you it was totally up to you.”
I mean, this is a story you tell right? Your first day student teaching?
Well, it’s a story I’m telling at least.
As for my student teacher, he survived his first day in second-grade, and he helped a giant cricket survive second-grade too — by taking it outside.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me
You know that trend where they record teachers before the first day and after the first day?
Imagine this video of me, if you can.
Usually the video is of the teacher in their class – but who are we kidding – I will not be stopping to take a video this morning.
So.
Before:
Hi! I’m Ms. Gabriel. I teach second-grade – well, I will. This is me before the first day of school.
I’m in my pajamas, my heartless curler is still in, I am finishing my coffee. My mug choice was intentional. It says teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher teacher.
I don’t want to forget who I am.
I woke up early, remembered that I hadn’t printed out my class lists yet. Actually, I remembered that last night, also remembering that I still don’t actually know how to take lunch count.
My bag is packed, but not my lunch. I know what t-shirt I’m wearing, but not what pants. My middle child is awake and ready, but not my youngest. My plans are done, but not really since first day of school plans are a somewhat hilarious thing.
I keep remembering Natalie Louis at a Phonics Institute. She reminded us that on the first day of school the kids should leave feeling lucky to have you as their teacher, maybe knowing a class song, and they should be excited to come back the next day.
So inspirational. But also, maybe a tall order.
Only time will tell.
……..
After:
Hi! I’m Ms. Gabriel. I taught second-grade today. This is me after the first day of school.
I’m back in my pajamas. I left my laptop on the dining room table. I made myself take a break. I hope this break turns into going to bed soon.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me
What do you care most about?’
This is what I asked myself last night when I was getting scattered about my plans for the first few days of school. There is just so much to do. It turns out I care about a lot of things.
I’ve been trying to coach myself to start the school year.
I want to take my own head in my hands and sternly say,
Focus!
But, I’m giving myself grace.
I’m reminding myself that I believe in “ishing” it.
Nothing needs to be perfect. You are enough.
Thank goodness for that because nothing is perfect.
Nothing is perfect, but so many things are good! What you focus on grows, what is happening that is good?
I finally made a book display I’ve been wanting to make, and I brought in my old Fisher Price school set pieces to add to the Back to School display. It’s so cute and nostalgic, I just want to keep looking at it.
My felt panels didn’t fall down for a third time, I found a place for the giant calendar, my peel and stick paper looks just like I wanted it to, I brought plants in and I have hope they will survive… Oh! I finally remembered to bring the little baby stuffed cougar to school!
Soon I will meet my second-graders and their families, and I will figure out which nicknames are the right ones! Soon I will find a way to hang the macrame picture hanger things I got so that I can clip student work to it.
Soon I will print out schedule cards that actually fit in my schedule pocket chart, and dates to hang on my magnetic curtain rod.
Soon I will figure out all the systems.
Speaking of systems, soon I will figure out what to do with that one space between my desk and the shelf where things are shoved, and soon I will find a paper organizer that works for me.
Soon. I will find a way to focus on the heart of what I will be teaching, and also soon I will learn how to send emails to families, and maybe even how to take attendance.
Soon, I will read aloud books and write with kids, and soon we will figure out the ways to talk about math.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me
Teacher summer is like nesting for me It’s okay if it’s different for you
I love getting ready for school organizing, planning . . . and also wow it’s a lot sometimes it feels impossible to hope it will all get done
Like seriously, how?
My 37 boxes, 3 shelves and ottoman – work ordered to my new classroom but still waiting at my old one – have been weighing on my mind. I can’t focus, or rest, without getting my new space settled.
I wondered if I had done the work order correctly.
One of the custodians told me a thriller of a story about the year someone’s things didn’t get delivered until the day before in service.
How can you organize all the things in your classroom without all the things in your classroom?
“We’ll just take the truck and get it ourselves,” my friend Kris said last week.
And I feel like I would need 1,000 slices of life to explain how many times Kris has done this – had a solution shown up
So yesterday, we texted a plan to meet at school today at 9:30. Kris, her husband, his truck and me.
Our friend Krista chimed in, “I’ll meet you there.”
And I would not be exaggerating to say I had no words but I did actually cry a bit because friends — Friends do you have friends who say “I’ll meet you there?”
I hope you do.
When I got to school at 9:25 this morning, I saw a big truck, crept around to look inside and saw half of my stuff loaded on.
My work order worked!
Timing, right?
We pivoted – it’s a thing.
My friends met me at my new classroom, the truck delivered all my things, Kris’ husband left to go golf, and we got to work.
We moved some shelves. We moved them again. We moved them again.
“How do people do this when they don’t have friends who are teachers?” I asked.
We unpacked 37 boxes, organized, reorganized.
I held things up and said, “Tell me I can throw this away.”
They said “Throw it away.”
I want to tell you about the cabinets that are too deep but also too small to hold all the supplies I need them to hold. I want you to picture the bins I took out of several of those 37 boxes. Bins of pipe cleaners and paint, buttons, small wooden cubes, wooden characters, beads, special tape, play doh.
I need you to understand that some people might laugh at me if I pulled out another bag of stick-on googly eyes, or asked where I should store the stick-on ladybugs.
“Do they go with the googly eyes?” (We decided yes.)
There are many good people out there who would get mad if after we thought the cabinet was done with the bins finally fit together like a perfect Tetris, I found another wooden stick person. But not Kris and Krista. They just said, “Oh! I know exactly where that bin is now!”
This is what I’m talking about friends!
It was a hot day today. A summer break day today.
I don’t want to sound dramatic but My friends gave me hope today.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Exit Interview
A first-grader recently asked their teacher, “What’s an exit interview?”
Because first-grade teachers know how to explain all the things, she answered,
“It’s a conversation you have with a person who was in charge of something when that something is done and they ask you questions about how it went.”
Since then, I’ve been thinking about exits.
I’ve never had an exit interview. That’s not the point. The point is, I’ve exited many times.
Once I taught second-grade and I thought, “I should probably always teach second-grade.”
I was sure I’d be one of those teachers who teaches the same thing for all the years of my career. But there wasn’t an opening there the next year.
The last week of school, my principal said, “Oh Ona, what are we going to do without you?”
(Was that an exit interview?) and I said,
“What am I going to do without a job?”
I sobbed saying goodbye to my second-graders.
Have you ever loved a group of kids? Have you ever worked every day with a community of learners? Have you ever said goodbye?
I hope they aren’t traumatized by that to this day – their second-grade teacher at the classroom door, tears streaming down her face.
The next year I went to sixth-grade.
“Middle school! God bless you!” Everyone said. Everyone. They were right, I was blessed. Sixth graders rock. I knew that after my second year there, not my first year – no that year was tough.
After my second year there, I thought, “I should probably always teach sixth-grade.”
Have you ever laughed with 11 year-olds? Have you ever had students beg to stay in from recess to finish a read-aloud? Have you ever watched a preteen become a reader? A writer?
I stayed for years, with many temporary exits to stay home with my babies. My babies!
One year I decided I wanted to lean into working with teachers too. I went to elementary school and I coached. I fell in love with life in elementary school.
Who wouldn’t?
Have you ever walked the hallway of an elementary school? Have you ever known kids for their entire elementary career? Have you ever met an elementary teacher?
Coaching is a lot of things, in case you were going to Ask.
Have you ever made relationships your top priority? Have you ever taught lessons in all the grades? Have you ever leaned in to vulnerability just to enter a closed door or a conversation? Have you ever presented to hundreds or sometimes just 2 teachers? Have you ever learned so much every day from so many people – from 5 year olds on up?
I even started to learn how to be a good listener. Small steps.
After a few years, I thought, “I should probably always coach.”
Even though I missed having my own classroom of kids. I know, they are all all our kids. But,
Have you ever taught your own class? Have you ever gathered kids on the carpet? Have you ever had inside jokes with 7 year-olds?
I missed it, but I loved coaching. So long story short –
I reinterviewed for the job I had been doing and they said
Congratulations! You are now a permanent coach.
Permanent is a weird word, because what it really meant was not permanent.
If I were to give myself an exit interview, I think my questions might be different from those someone is meant to ask. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had an exit interview.
But I would ask myself questions like:
Can you describe the feeling of walking down the hall, a sea of familiar kids you’ve known since they started Kindergarten?
What does your heart do when a student calls out your name in the morning, or stops you to show you a special item they have with them?
What is your favorite question a student ever asked? Why was it, “When are you going to come back and teach writing again?”
Why did you laugh every day? What were the best things kids say?
What did it feel like when a door was closed? How did you know if you were welcome in a classroom?
What was our best decision while you were coaching? What was our worst? Why are you baffled?
Why do you think that teachers can do so much when we do it together?
What story paints a picture of the impact coaching can have?
What questions do you want me to ask you?
I may not really know how to do an exit interview, but I think I might start them with my second-graders next year. Perhaps my questions to myself are a good starting place for second-grade versions.
How did you feel in second grade? Did your classmates and teachers know you? What was your favorite question this year? What made you laugh? Did you feel welcome at school? What were our best decisions this year? What were our worst? How did it feel to work together? What story will you remember most about second-grade? What questions do you want me to ask you?
On a Thought 