I'm a Believer

Back in April, when we were doing the poetry challenge, one of my students wrote a poem about summer vacation that kind of sums up what we were all looking forward to today, the last day of school for middle school kids:

I believe in the summer days and the joy that comes with them,
the feeling of happiness that spreads when the warm weather has finally come,
the sensation that you feel when the sun shines on your neck,
the freedom you get to do what you want when the summer comes,
and the laughs and smiles when people are having fun,
Sportsmanshp, Responsibility, Privilege.

But I don't believe in staring out the window while doing homework
and wishing that you could be playing outside.

I believe in having a good time with friends.
I believe in staying up late and sleeping in the next morning.
I believe in having no worries and no stresses in life.
Relaxation, Sleepover, Takeout.
And I believe in counting down the days until summer, 
when you can finally take a down day, 
when you are tired at the end even after a good long day of rest, 
when the days go by without notice, 
when you wake up and forget if it is Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday, 
and when your tongue is purple when you finish a grape popsicle.

The Biggest Room in the House

A couple days ago, my students calculated their independent reading for the year. Based on the weekly reading log they keep, the numbers this year were quite an improvement over last year.

They read an average of 47 books per person for an average of 9,835 pages each since September. That adds up to over 800,000 pages and 3,856 books-- pretty impressive figures.

The point of this activity is to encourage students by showing them how much they have accomplished over time. It can be a powerful lesson, and I ask them to write a brief reflection after looking at their totals and those of the group.

This year, though, the overall sentiment was different than in the past. Several students said something similar to this one, "I'm proud of myself, but I think I could've read more."

I hope they make good on that next year.

Impulsive Much?

I was at an IEP meeting yesterday for one of our students. In discussing her educational needs with the dad, her teacher mentioned that sometimes this particular student is unaware that she is talking out loud. The teacher gave an example of a time when she had redirected this student by specifically referencing what the girl had said and the student looked at the teacher in awe.

"How do you know that?" she asked her teacher. "Can you read my mind?"

Today at my team meeting, I had a similar experience. This was our last meeting of the year, and I was glad that the counselor could join us. Still, every person there had a million things on their to-do list, and one of us had to be downstairs in the gym in five minutes to play in the student-teacher basketball game.

I did my best to expedite the meeting, but when it came time for the counselor to talk, she offered a great activity to any teacher who had some time in these next two days. "I can't come to every class," she said, "But I'll come to the first one and do my spiel, and then you can take it from there."

Conversation followed, and the word "spiel" (pronounced "shpeel") was repeated over and over again like proverbial fingernails on the chalkboard as the science teacher and the counselor negotiated the implementation of this (very worthy) activity.

"Please don't say "spiel" anymore!" a voice interrupted, and in the surprised silence that followed, I realized it was mine. I had actually said it out loud.

"Spiel," said the counselor, "spiel, spiel, spiel!"

"So," added the science teacher, "when you come tomorrow to give your spiel..." she looked at me, "I'll listen carefully, so I can give the same spiel."

"If you don't like my spiel," the counselor answered, "then feel free to come up with your own spiel."

They continued unmercifully, and by the end of the meeting, we were all laughing hysterically.

Mascot

At our school, each of the grade-level teams has an animal name. Until last year, there were two teams for each grade-- the Dolphins and the Tigers, the Penguins and the Otters, and the Eagles and the Gators. Because our enrollment is growing, we knew last June that there would be three sixth grade teams. Of course, the teachers on the new team got to choose the name, but I was full of ideas, too. Well, mostly I wanted them to be called the Rays, because the team leader's last name was Ray, and in the end, they did choose the Stingrays as their name.

This year, the opportunity bumps up to seventh grade, where I have little to no influence. As such, I haven't given it much thought. Then, at lunch today, a few sixth graders were waiting for sign language club to begin in my room and I engaged them in conversation as we waited for the sponsors.

"So, what team do you guys want for next year?" I asked.

"Penguins!" several called.

"Otters!" many of the others shouted.

"Wait! Isn't there going to be a new team?" someone asked, but that's not what I heard.

I heard, "Isn't there going to be a Gnu team?" and all of a sudden, I had an opinion.

One of the teachers I regularly eat lunch with is going to teach science on that team next year. "Hey!" I barreled into the lunch room. I know just what your team should be called. "The Gnus!" I took a piece of chalk and wrote G-N-U on the board. "Get it?"

"I do now," she said, unimpressed.

Still, I persisted. "C'mon!" I said. "You'll always have good Gnus!"

"We'll always have bad Gnus, too," she laughed.

"What? Are you saying that no Gnus are good Gnus?" I asked.

And so we continued, amusing ourselves until the bell rang. Truthfully? I am not hopeful, but there's always next year, when the eighth grade will get a gnu team, too.

Get Out the White Shoes

As big movie fans, we have really been looking forward to this year's crop of summer films. We are partial to the Marvel Universe, so Iron Man 3 was definitely at the top of our list as the season approached, but May 3 just seemed tooooooo early for a classic summer blockbuster, so we skipped the crowds and decided to wait.

Since then, things have been pretty busy, and the movies have been a luxury we haven't had much time to afford. This afternoon, though, seemed like a perfect opportunity to head to the theater. The weather was warm and there is only one week to go before vacation,  so Iron Man 3 it was.

We were not disappointed. Welcome, Summer.

Population 1

As a blog writer I get a particular little thrill whenever I'm on this or that site or page and I see that they have a link to their blog. Just this morning I enviously read a few posts on Living the Dream @ Deer Run authored by the proprietors of a vegan, oceanfront bed and breakfast on Big Pine Key in Florida. It does seem aptly titled.

Also this morning I ran across a link to a blog by a former student of mine. Ben was in sixth grade in 1999 and I was eager to read his writing again. I was a little disappointed to find that the latest entry was dated 2009. There were some beautiful pictures of New Mexico, though.

Ben's blog made me wonder what will happen to all the millions of sites that people have started with the desire to express themselves to a wider, many times unknown, audience. Over the last couple of years, I've come to think of them as ghost blogs and sometimes, rather than be disappointed, I explore them for clues about what may have happened to their authors.

Some writers formally end their blogs; Vegan Dad eloquently called it quits on January 3, as did Patrick, on Duck Fat and Politics, after he was elected to local office. (Patrick is back now and blogging from Vermont, something I wouldn't have known if I weren't researching this post. Yay, Patrick!)

I couldn't say for sure, but it seems like most bloggers just stop. Maybe the itch has been scratched, maybe the scratch has taken a different form, or maybe the itch has been re-prioritized, but in my imagination? They all think that they will get back to it soon, perhaps tomorrow or maybe next week, but then time passes, and weeks turn into months, months to years, and they just haven't posted. Soon there are tumbleweeds blowing down main street, right past that saloon door squeaking mournfully in the wind.

See ya tomorrow!

Last Friday Night...

...before summer break officially begins!

(Sorry if you were expecting something more racy to go along with the Katy Perry reference.)