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.

Labor Day

Teacher's really don't get time off. Even if we're not with the children, we're thinking about them. Even if we're not lesson planning, we're thinking about it. And even when we have no money, we're shopping for the classroom.

There's stuff I need that school doesn't provide. We got all this great nomenclature material from plant biology to animal classification to geometry terms, but nowhere to put it - I mean, no containers. So I went to Walmart today. Ten bucks on baskets. Also, we need to have plants in the classroom - for the beauty, for the leaf shapes, for the care of - so I bought a couple plants. Fifteen bucks. Snack. Haven't received any donations from parents yet, better buy some pretzels. Ah, and folders - only 25 cents a pop ... 26 kids, letsee, homework folders, writing folders... I counted out 26 two times... wait a minute, that's another 13 bucks.

I put the folders back. Enough is enough.

I don't mean to complain about all aspects of my job... there are plenty of good ones. There is the little boy on Friday, the new first grader, who was just so whooped after a full week of school, walking back down long halls after recess.

"Ms. Lowe? Can I hold your hand? And when we get back to the classroom, can I sit next to you?"

"Of course." I take his hand immediately. And when we get back to the classroom, I make space for him next to me. (I fall in love over and over and over and over).

There is plenty of good, and I'll be writing about that, too. There are moments of such overwhelming love and pride. There is so much hope and celebration. And when we sing or play a game or crack jokes, there is pure joy.

Still, I have the Sunday night blues, only it's Monday. I have the Monday night blues. It was such a stunning weekend - my husband and I went to the mountains yesterday and hiked long and hard. At the top there was a ledge where para gliders and hang gliders were jumping off and floating, colorful birds floating above us all over. Beautiful. We went out for dinner. We held hands on the way home in the car.

I wanted some recreation and I got it. I also wanted to clean out the closet, re-arrange furniture in our bedroom, tackle the laundry, shop for the classroom and work on lesson plans. I got to the laundry and I got to the shopping. I got to the spring for water, and I got to the farm for veggies and eggs. And now it's nearly over.

When I was little I'd get a fever nearly every Sunday night. We called it "Sunday night fever." I would physically manifest a fever. I don't do that anymore, but the dread feels the same. And then, I know, I get to school, I switch gears, and I work. And it's fine. But looking at Tuesday morning from the view of the end of a three day weekend, stunning weather and not enough time...
Boo.

day 5 - tgif

My feet hurt. I should know better - somehow wood based clogs that I used to live in don't feel that good anymore after clomping in a school the size of a shopping mall. Imagine having to walk from Macy's to JC Penney's for recess, plus two flights of cement stairwells. School policy is that all the children walk silently with their hands behind their backs. Some of my first graders are tiny: imagine having to walk with your hands behind your back when you are 4 feet tall? Who made up this policy? If one of the principals is in the hallway and the children are not silent or have their hands behind their backs, they will be barked at. It's already happened to my class twice.

Poor things.

I'm all for quiet and order, but holy moly. So there I am, barking dutifully in the basement level tunnel that goes under the highway connecting one shit part of town to another. They built this place in the 70's when community buildings were all the rage. No walls, let the community in, rah rah rah. The floors are like supermarkets I used to go to with my mother - they haven't changed since the 70's: White tile except for of every other single tile a different color; red, blue, yellow, green. I tell the leader to count ten red tiles (every fourth, or, including the white tiles, every eighth one). They stop, and then I might say seven blue tiles. Then maybe 8 green tiles. Yes, I'm telling you, the walk is that long.

And one side of the hallway by the steps that go up (yes, more steps) and out the doors to the "playground" (teacher's pick of a dirty grassy area; don't forget to check for needles) the floor has a permanent puddle, it seems. Stained brown filmy nasty puddle. We don't walk on that side. If you look overhead or in the corners, ceilings are crumbling and paint is buckled and chipping off. When it rains, there are buckets dispersed in about 8 different areas that I can think of , with the folded plastic yellow "caution: wet floor" signs in front of them.

By the way, there is no play structure, if that didn't get across. No swing, no slide, no nothing - but the new asst. principal says we should have balls and jump ropes and things for them to play with. I went to my new asst. principal: I would love to fork over 60. bucks for playground activities, but I'm not going to.

Oh, no, she says. You don't have to do that. Get balls from the gym teachers.

Right. Except that gym teachers are in the middle of class when we go outside.

Oh, well. Just a detail.

By the way, the volcano was awesome today - told my "Great Story" Montessori style - creation of the universe - kids agape, totally into it, watched their brains reeling while I ranted on enthusiastically about how light could travel around the WHOLE EARTH SEVEN TIMES IN ONE SECOND!!! Isn't that AMAZING? And can you believe the earth is just a TINY SPECK when you compare it to THE SUN???

... actually, it was pretty exciting... the kids loved it... more experiments to come...

I'm happy to report also that E and A made it through their day... the both were a bit wobbly, a few times, but somehow pulled it together and didn't fall down... A did a drawing of football players and wrote a caption "THE STEELERS ARE WINNING!" and a drawing of a basketball game that said - I can't remember - but SOMEBODY beat the CELTICS ... I guess he's not a Boston fan... He was starting to stew at the end of the day, the fists were clenched, the eyes were furrowed and I said "...And A did AMAZING drawings today of football and basketball, which I would LOVE to share with the class if he'll give me permission!" ...
I watched his face soften and his mouth almost break into a smile...

It was M, however, that I was worried about today. The last month of school last year, her teacher had so had enough of her was ready to have a mental breakdown. That teacher had a real tough class. We all do, really, but M was her last straw. I remember this teacher writing an incident report about one of her students (turned out it was M) and just crying and crying .. so defeated.. so DONE with this little girl...

The principal decided at that point that she should be in MY class.
One day she showed up with an asst. principal. "Ms. Lowe, I think M would be a good fit in your classroom. Can she be with you for awhile?"

Beautiful girl. Brown skin and green, green eyes. Really, the girl is gorgeous. "Sure!" I said. "Nice to meet you! C'mon and meet the children!" etc. I recieved no history on the girl, no information (this was deliberate), but I knew instinctively that she needed love, and she needed it bad. So Ms. N, my para, and I, poured it on. And for the last month of school, we had not one problem with her.

Turns out she's on all kinds of behavior surveillance, suspected "ODD" (oppositional defiance disorder), therapists and counselors and hullaballo...

Ug. Need I go on. I'm seeing it now. Cat fights with other girls. Refusing to budge. Beautiful girl who wants what she wants, when she wants it, how she wants it, period. ... Last year after I'd had her for only a couple weeks I'd met her father. "Hey! My name is Ms. Lowe, M's been hanging out in my class for the past while. She's doing great! It's so nice to meet you!"

He didn't even look at me.

"C'mon M, let's go," he said.

Wow. Okay, then. Right. See you.

A week later I chanced upon her mother.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Ms. Lowe, M's teacher!"

She barely glanced at me.

Right. Okay, then. See you.

Oppositional defiance disorder? Or maybe ... maybe... something else?

I don't dare criticize the parents. I mean, I'd love to, of course. I'd love to say what fucking SHITTY parents you are, my God, keep your fucking hands off these kids. Pay attention to your kids. What the FUCK do you think you're doing? ... but I don't. I can't. I won't. I do believe, though sometimes I waver, that parents really do the best they can do with their kids, to the best of their ability. T's mom is a crack head, so the best of her ability fucking SUCKS, which is why she lives with her Grandma. But T still talks about her mother as if she is an angel, and when I met her mother for a conference, it was clear that she loved the crap out of her daughter, but just had No Clue - how to be a mother, or how to be herself. How can I criticize? I would love to, but how can I? And how can I explain this conviction? As compassionate as I am for the kids, I'm as compassionate for the parents... I can't help it... and I wasn't always this way...

Who could you possibly love more than your own child? And how terrible would it feel to have no idea how to love your child, who you want to love more than anyone? How much pain would one have to be in? So much. Too much.

But this cycle. Too much. How does it stop?

day 5... FRIDAY!!!

Long week. Some of my poor first graders by 1:30 start crying "can't we go home yet? is it time yet? can we go home?" ... long days... long first week... for kids and for teachers...
It's a mistake to wear my clogs, I know - but they're black and they went good with what I'm wearing today. I've had these clogs for like 10 years now - made of wood - and they used to be the most comfortable shoes ever. Now my feet hurt after clomping on wood all day. Is it age? Or is it just that my school is the size of a flippin shopping mall?

Seriously: to go to gym or outside for recess is like walking from Macy's to JC Penney's. There's no escalator, though, but there is two flights of stairs. And the school rule is for the children to walk with their hands behind their back, no voices.

Imagine little six year olds: They've been walking for less than five years, and now they have to do so with their hands behind their backs. It's not my rule. But it's pretty ridiculous. And keeping them silent on a ten minute walk to or from recess? Coming back in is worse, much worse. They're all sweaty and thirsty and tired, and now they have to walk silently, hands behind their back, ten minutes and up two flights of stairs to get back to class.

ugh.

But we made it through the week.

day 4, sped teacher.

I have a new teacher in my room. So now there's three of us: me, my para, and a SPED teacher. There are 26 children in our class. There are 20 some odd kids on either side of our "pod." Did I mention this? The pod? There are no walls. There are dividers. There are three classrooms in a pod. Mine is in the middle. Loud? Are you kidding? Of course it is.

But back to the new teacher. I knew she was coming; my principal had me meet her before she hired her. Fine, whatever, she seems nice, I said. And she is. But I also said "Three adults in one classroom is too much." Yes, she replied, and then something to the affect that five or six SPED kids in one classroom is also too much. Good point.

However, as far as I can tell, I only have two SPED kids. One who was in my class last year and was pulled out for two hours a day for services, and a new one who started yesterday, a CLEARLY SPED child in second grade who doesn't speak a lick of English. Which is funny, because the new sped teacher doesn't speak a lick of Spanish. Should be interesting.

It should be interesting also in that it seems that my new SPED teacher wants to claim some ownership over my class. It's her first day and already she was jumping in with both feet.

ummmmm... ummmm...

I wanted to say something.

Something like "what do you think you are doing? this is MY class."

Which is when it occurred to me that I might have a little control issue.
I'm sure to be working on this as the arrangement evolves.

In the meantime, E spent the day with the new Asst. principal. He was shouting all morning "I AM EVIL! I AM EVIL!" Creating havoc, shoving shelves around and hiding behind them. Lovely. I thought about the "buddy classroom" method (which is basically dumping him in another room to cool off... works for some, but for him? Not so much...), but really wanted to nip this in the bud. Last year he walked on shelves, barked like a dog, threw pencils around the room, kicked desks over... and also came in with checks stained so raspberry red that on closer inspection were actually bruises. "What happened to your face?" I asked. "I was bad." Then he smacked his own face, left and right, left and right, pulled up his sleeve, and showed me the bruise from the belt his mother hit him with. After that I gave him room. Too much, I fear. Which brings me to the "nip it in the bud" idea.

And a deep sigh....... What's a teacher to do? Ironically, he is the child I love the most, if the most is possible. I love them all. But E? I see the kid, right through. I see right into him. And I want so badly to show him what I see.

Ug.

Oh yeah... back to the new teacher... The first thing she said was "Wow, they love you!" ... yeah, thanks, I guess they do... And later, "Wow, I'm so impressed - you really are good!" ... wow, thanks, yeah, I guess...

How did I almost forget such a compliment?

I am good at this. And some days, some moments that stretch into hours sometimes, I love it. I love it, love it, love it. But the exhaustion.. the speedy adrenaline by the end of the day.. the fast forward feeling okay gotta do this and that and fill out this incident report and write that message down and call that mother and plan this lesson and remember that appointment and and and "GET OFF THAT SHELF." and "we do NOT speak when we are walking in these halls." and "I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened." and "I'm sorry your mother's a crackhead, but could you just learn this multiplication please?" ... okay, so I don't actually say that last one, and hardly even think it ... :)
but seriously.

Tomorrow I'm telling the first great story of creation. I just showed my husband the volcano; baking soda, vinegar, red food coloring, etc. Can't wait, it's gonna be cool.

I'll let you know how it goes.

day 3. Sept. 2, 2009

I want to tell you about the best part of my day.

Got up at 5am and took annie dog for a walk, watched the sun rise. Very cool. That wasn't the best part of my day, though.

E and A are giving me hell in my class. Ten years teaching pre school and I never once got my bitch on. I mean, It would have scared the hell out of 3, 4 and 5 year olds. Last year I didn't get my bitch on either, and yes, I payed for it when my first and second graders did some walking on me. With boots. So this year I have my bitch on.
"I should NOT hear ANYONE'S VOICES."
"This is NOT a line!"
"You may NOT speak when I am speaking!"
Etc. It's so weird, this persona... I hate to admit that it's even kind of fun... and it sorta freaks me out when I find myself sounding exactly like my sister...

So the best part of my day was at the end of it, when there were two children left waiting for their bus and we sat on a bench to wait.

I. is the coolest boy ever. I am nuts about that kid. Some kids you just connect with, no effort, like little soul mates. He is that kid. So, there I am on the bench thinking about me-as-bitch-teacher and I say, "I've been pretty mean, huh?"
I. looks at me and nods his head.
"Do you think I'm being too mean?"
"Hey," I. shrugs, my 8 year old soulmate student, "You gotta do what you gotta do!"

Oh my God. That was the best part of my day. That moment will keep me going for at least another week. I am crazy about my kids... even if I've got my bitch on... for now.

second day.

The morning was going pretty well. Two more children arrived, bringing my class up to 23. I was even comfortable enough to go to the lounge to make a few copies. On the way I passed one of the doors to the stairwell and heard the screaming as I drew near. Through the small window on the door, I glanced and saw a principal and counselor restrain a screaming child. Screaming. Echoing.

Oh yeah. Oh yeah, there's that, too.

Maybe it was a premonition for my afternoon, not that there was screaming. But when we were lining up to go outside for recess (gorgeous day), A didn't want to come. Stood refusing to get on line, shaking his head no. "C'mon, A, I need to you be the door holder." It worked. He got on line behind the leader, the other coveted position.
We were outside for a few minutes when he looked at me and stated simply, "I'm out." He swaggered along the fence toward the door.
Oh crap, I thought. Here we go.

A was in my class last year. He was in foster care for a year and half because of domestic violence. His brothers were placed in two other separate homes, one was allegedly molested where he was kept. They were all reunited in March, with their parents, back at home.
I don't know details. I do know that A gets into fits of rage that seem to come out of nowhere; you can't track where it came from, he just turns on a dime. And when he's there, in that space, it's almost impossible to get through to him. I've seen him throw chairs, overturn tables, push a kid so hard the kid went flying. His face turns red, his eyes get glassy and his fists clench. He poofs out his chest and storms. And most of the time, there's nothing I can do but evacuate the rest of the class from the room and call the counselors and/or the principal.

Last spring he told me his parents had a party and both his mom got into a fight with a guest, and his dad got into a fight. Of course there was plenty of drinking.

A week later he came in cheerful, and told me that he beat up a kid at the park the evening before. "He cried. And I made him bleed on his face."
He smiled at me, as if I were going to give him a high five or something.
"A," I said, "That's not cool."

He shrugged and walked away.

So today, there he was, bolting outside. Another teacher offered to talk to him. He ran from her, to the fence, which he climbed and scaled. "Call the office," she told me.

He was heading to the parking lot so I followed him. The more I followed the quicker he ran, so I turned around and left. I know from past experience that if I don't follow him, it's not as much fun and he eventually crosses my path just for reaction. Which is what he did. I fell for it, and called out "A, I don't know what happened, I can't help you unless I know why you're running." He sped his pace, to another out of bounds area.

I turned around and walked away, again. Counselors arrived.

Ugg.. the story is exhausting just to tell. Anyway he was eventually cornered and the asst. Principal, a very authorative man, stepped in. They escorted him inside. I don't know how that went.

Later the other asst. principal, new to the staff, called on the phone in our classroom wanting an incident report. Standard. I filled it out and brought one down to her office.

She told me A was calm now, and that she gave him some cheese and crackers. They used puppets to demonstrate non-violent communication, and "he really liked that. I don't think he'll be back here again, will you A?"

A is back to being sweet, hugs me and hands me a drawing with the words "Ms. Lowe, I won't run away from you again."

I point to the part where the incident report is checked "pattern of behavior." I flip it over and point to the part I wrote in purple ink "this is familiar behavior from last year. We need to discuss strategies." Ms. new principal is saying that she thinks he's ready to come back to the classroom, doesn't it seem? And he'll do better tomorrow. She reads as she talks. I point to the part that I wrote "I don't feel safe bringing him outside." She says, "Maybe as a consequence he should come to my office tomorrow during recess." A shakes his head, No, no, no. I say, "I think that's fair."

I have so many sweet kids in my class; they really are a good bunch, even A. They are beautiful, they are so innocent on one hand, and too many of them so grossly exposed to circumstances no one should experience.

I don't always know what to do. I don't always know how to react. I work on instinct. I talk about peace, community, and safety All The Time.

It's the second day. It is a long year ahead looking from the second day. I do the best I can.