tuesday, post labor day...

It was a relief when there were only 18 children in the gathering. Then a couple more came. Then more, until 25 out of 26 children arrived. We sang for awhile, and they mostly all sing except for a couple too cool for school third graders. But I even catch them mouthing the words after awhile. Singing is great - always a mood lifter, a community builder, and downright fun.

The day, overall though? Not entirely fun.

Obama spoke today. I had no idea if our school would be participating or not; hadn't heard anything. That is, until about 10:45 when my pod mate came to tell me we were going downstairs to eat lunch RIGHT NOW instead of at our regular 11:40 so we could come back and watch Obama. Grrreat. Love the notice. Shuffle we go to the cafeteria, down two flights of concrete stairs.

E was acting up. "Obama sucks!" he was yelling. And, "I don't care about the president! I don't want to watch him!" He was being a little shit. The VP was downstairs, the one who told me I couldn't bring him to her office unless it was a last resort. So I brought her attention to E (he was hard to miss by this time); I told her that he was not listening and was out of control. She said "He'll eat alone. I'll take care of him." He was with me when she said that. His head went down, but only for a second as he processed this. Then he looked up and shouted "YIPPPEEEE!!!"

He reminds me of that commercial, "never let em' see you sweat." It doesn't matter what the situation is; he will be adverse to whatever it is, period. He is a pain in my ass.

By the end of last year I was able to spend time with him, re-direct, read with him, get him feeling good about what he knows and what he can do. This year, ten new first graders, A and M and the new boy who is Sped and Spanish and touches ev-ree-thing constantly (UGGGGG), I don't have time - I don't have time to give personal time - and I want to say "yet" and I hope I can say "yet" and I hope that "yet" comes...

When we were back in the classroom and Obama's speech was about to begin, E was yelling his head off about how Obama sucks and he doesn't care and he doesn't want to watch his stupid speech. "Fine." I said. "You can hang out with the principal."
NOOO!!! he wails.
He flopped down in the middle of the hallway.
Lo and behold, there was my VP, walking my direction.
"Just the person I was hoping to see."

He stayed with her nearly the rest of the day, and allegedly spent his time writing "fuck you" on papers on her desk. Yes, he is one charming kid. And still, I adore him even though I'd love to throw him at times.

My para called his mother twice (she only speaks Spanish) but one of the phone numbers was disconnected (typical) and the other number, nobody answered.

Meantime, MD, the girl I worry about, and with good reason, had her own meltdown. We were leaving for lunch and she wanted to bring her coloring book and crayons. I said no. She said "Fine, then I'm going home." She got her jacket, backpack, and headed for the stairwell. By then I was back in my pod, herding children to get ready for this impromptu early lunch that had already started. Another teacher found her headed down the stairwell and out the door and brought her back.
Like I have time for this?
Later after lunch, after speech, during Science class (my prep time), she was refusing to listen to the teacher there and was sent, also, to the principal, where she joined E for the afternoon.

"Please don't go off, A." I chanted this in my head. "Please don't go off."

For the most part, A did alright. At least there was that.

But after science when it was time to go outside for recess and the principal wanted my para to stay in her office b/c E and M were there and she needed her to call the parents since she spoke Spanish - no way in hell was I taking the other 23 children outside by myself after A had already bolted once before and I have ten kids I've barely known a week and thanks for blowing my plans, VP. So I took them back to the classroom, down the long hallway and up a flight of stairs. I read a new chapter of Charlotte's web. Things were fine, but I was spinning.

I didn't mention the lesson I gave to the first graders in the morning. Figured we'd start simple and talk about the seasons - spring, summer, fall, winter. Talked about them all at length. "So what season is it when it's freezing out and snow is on the ground?" One of my new boys raised his hand. "Summer?"
Holy crap, you're kidding me, right?

So I'm spinning. And I'm thinking, 26 kids to start. Three that are already on a first name basis with the new Vice Principal. Six incident reports in my file already. Simple freaking lesson on seasons that didn't get through. Are you kidding me? This is what I'm working with? What am I doing? How am I going to do this? How did I do this last year? And even though there are 18 perfectly obedient kids, sitting with their hands in their laps, waiting for me to give some direction or thought or song, I can't stop spinning. My energy is peaked, and I know it, and I can't stop it, and I can't leave and go take some breaths, and I feel trapped, and I feel scared, and I feel like this job is hopeless... and I take a breath and one by one, invite them to line up to go outside for recess.

And then we come in and I invite them to go back to what they were working on and there are children studying fossils, there are children doing math work, there are children studying planets, there are children designing their own calendars, there are children writing booklets about the history behind the names of the days of the weeks, there are children working with the hundreds board, and there is a child painting.

There are small miracles happening. There they are, in front of me. There are engaged children, filling up their notebooks after one week of school, excited about learning, about discovery. Yet I forget to see this. I forget to see this until now, until I am home and I've had my dinner and I look back.

It's time to clean up and I remind everyone to look at the job chart, and children begin fixing the library, sharpening pencils, wiping off tables, putting up chairs, sweeping up pencil shavings. We line up for dismissal, and the school day is over. For the children, anyway.

And then we have a staff meeting, like we do every Monday, only it's Tuesday. And there are I don't know, a hundred teachers in the gallery, and we are being schooled on the standards nobody met last year, how we are accountable for our lesson plans and frameworks, how if children do not come to school we need to call parents and find out why, and blah procedure this and blah MCAS that and blah and blah and blah.

And by now I am once again feeling so overwhelmed I just want to run. I want to get up and run across the room and out the door and say you know what? Somebody else do this stupid job.

But I don't. I stay.

And I make the 45 minute drive home which today was more like a hour because of traffic and I take a walk with my husband and my dog before the sun goes down and I marvel at the sick oak tree he cut down yesterday that I hadn't seen yet and I look in the garden to see if anything is edible among the weeds and my neglect. I find some tomatoes, two pepper and a cucumber. We go inside and Chris takes chicken off the grill. I make a salad. We eat. The sun goes down. I get on the computer to write. It's 7:30 and I want to go to bed, but I need to plan for tomorrow.

And I love my job, and I hate my job, and I love my job, and I hate my job, and it's just another day, and it's only the beginning and I wish to God I knew what I was doing, but I don't. Not really.

THink about what is good, I tell myself. Think about what is good, I tell myself. And there is BE and A and B and G and I and J... there is Z and C and D. They are there, overshadowed by the five that consume my attention. They are there, living the same adversities as the others only finding that good in themselves and sticking with it. And I think of them now, the ones that really do work hard, and sing, and help each other, and don't get the attention they deserve because of all the other factors (i.e. children).

I will go back tomorrow and I will try again. And I will try again, and again and again.
I will do the best I can, despite the test scores and frameworks and standards.
I can only do the best that I can.