One Leg at a Time

The focus of my quarterly reading class is theme. Reading several mini-memoirs, the students work to uncover the answer to the question "How can we learn from the experiences of others?" To do that, they must first learn that the theme of a story is the universal truth about life that it reveals. It's a new concept to many sixth graders, but it's one they take to, although the idea of universal is a little tricky at first. Kids want to make the lesson case-specific.

So, to introduce the whole idea I start with what has got to be one of the strangest Dr. Seuss stories ever. What Was I Afraid Of? is buried in the back of the Sneetches collection, and I swear the 8-year-old me had nightmares about the creepy olive green pants and the weird nocturnal yellow bear-like protagonist wandering through the bizarre aqua night of the pages. It's one of his lesser-known works, though, and so most students approach it with fresh eyes and open mind.

I emphasize how odd it is, too, and that makes it engaging, as well. Anyway, for those who are unfamiliar, the title is a big hint as to the lesson of this story. It's basically that there's no need to fear unusual or different people.

Oh, we get to that eventually, but first I have students write their ideas on index cards and I share them anonymously with the class. As a group we talk about universality and text support, and in that way we find our way.

Those first attempts can be pretty amusing, though, and today we had a great one:

Have fun with pants!

Not on the Ballot

I always do a first quarter review with my students. It gives all of us a chance to look back and call the highs and lows of our class as we see 'em. One of the questions is always What do you want to learn second quarter? and although the answers vary, they are generally inside the box.

To write fiction is always a biggie, as is more independent reading time in class, and to a lesser extent more poetry, more cool words, and more grammar (!).

This year, though, there was sort of a write-in candidate near the end of the day. As the day went on, We want to learn to take care of our class hamster! started to appear on more and more review sheets.

"But we don't have a class hamster," I said.

"Exactly!" was the answer. "We should!"

Unexpected

I try to balance my class between novel and predictable. So, we have a weekly routine, but within that there are plenty of opportunities for new and different activities to tackle the curriculum. In keeping with that model, Monday is the day I check in with students on their independent reading, and we also have a word study quiz.

This year, there is a student who has been on my team's collective radar literally from the first week of school. Opinionated, vocal, distractible, and self-deprecating, he is also work-avoidant both in and out of class, not a successful combination. On this first Monday of the second quarter, he was unprepared: no book, no reading log, and he readily admitted that he hadn't studied for the quiz.

I can't say I was surprised, but a little while later, he pulled me aside. "I've had enough," he told me earnestly..

I looked at him with curiosity. Despite his academic struggle, he is generally very good-natured, light-hearted even.

"Today is the last time I'm coming without my stuff!" he continued. "I'm going to do my work, read my book, and study! You'll see," he assured me.

"Okay," I answered, "I'm going to hold you to that. But let me know how I can help you, ok?"

He nodded and returned to his seat quietly.

Sour Tomatoes

How fortunate we are that well into November our garden continues to provide. In the last couple of weeks we've gotten plenty of peppers to dry and mix into our proprietary house chili powder and enough tomatoes to ripen on the window sill and put up in a quart jar. 

Then there are these guys...

Coming Soon: Pickled Green Tomatoes!

Not Just for Selfies

A tumble of ice cascaded from the freezer when I opened the door a little while ago. We were away from home all day, but as busy as we had been, the ice maker was obviously much busier. Clearing away the frozen crescents from the thin silver arm to manually lift it into the for God's sake stop making ice position, I saw that the little piece of wire had pulled loose from one side and so there were literally no brakes on the maker.

Just then another perfect batch dropped, partially burying my hand. Although urgent, it did not seem like a difficult repair: I could see the hole across from me where the wire was still in place, so surely there must be a corresponding opening on the facing part, even though it was out of my line of sight. I reached in and poked about with the loose part, trying to find that obscure cavity by touch alone with no success. I cleared some space in the freezer and stepped on a small ladder, but neither my neck nor the design was yielding. 

I need a mirror! I said to myself and then visualized such a tool and where I might find it in the house, but I could not think of where a hand mirror might be. What do we use to see ourselves? I wondered, and the solution became clear. I grabbed my phone, swiped on the camera, flipped the view around, and thrust it into the freezer where the teeny, tiny hole was revealed. In went the wire, and the ice maker was fixed!

Good Start

Heidi received a big fat envelope in the mail earlier this week. Inside her parents had packed all her report cards, first communion programs, and traffic tickets (yes, traffic tickets) from kindergarten through college. Since then, she has gleefully reviewed her developmental milestones, Especially interesting? Why her very first progress report, dated September 1973. At not yet 5, Heidi entered kindergarten and was deemed strong, coordinated ("able to run, hop, skip, and jump"), prepared ("well-rested and ready to learn"), and socially adept ("carries and uses tissues or hankie" and "able to tell stories in sequence and using complete sentences").

That's my girl!

Semantics

"Why do you think I ask you to be quiet when we're in a workshop?" I asked my class today in an effort to, well, get them to quit yappin' and start writin'.

Several hands shot up. "So we can wooooork!" they practically chorused.

"Yeah," someone added, "It's called 'workshop' not 'talkshop'!