The Baby and the Bathwater

On the second day of school our interdisciplinary team met. It was the first of semi-weekly meetings that will continue throughout the year and the final vestige of the middle school team model that was the standard when I began my career.

Back then, teams were intentionally-organized independent entities designed to support students and based on the theory that a small group of adults working with the same kids could use their common knowledge to both educate and build a community to support the whole child. Students would feel connected and nobody would fall through the cracks.

We spent a lot of time in the 3-4 times a week we met discussing students and meeting with other professionals and parents to find successful interventions to help them. The model wasn't perfect, but it was helpful in smoothing the way down one of the roughest roads many kids encounter.

These days the focused has shifted, and supporting the whole child has taken a backseat to academic achievement measured by standardized tests, an approach more reliant on technology and disciplinary expertise than personal relationships and community. Although teams exist in name, kids are cross-grouped more and more, and the discrete, grade-level team is a thing of the past.

Today, I saw the glazed eyes of my colleagues as they sat through a meeting that was significantly devoted to the needs of students they don't know and never will. When time is a premium, as it always is with educators, such a practice cannot stand, and my prediction is that the middle school model will be abandoned in a decade.

First Impressions

Every year there is some notable feature about the latest group of sixth graders. This year it has to be height. I kid you not-- there are at least 10 kids who are under four feet tall.

"There must be a colony of elves nearby!" I noted to my colleagues as the students left us following their first day of middle school. "I hope they are the industrious kind."

So Long for Now

The cicadas were screaming this afternoon as we pulled into the parking lot at Roosevelt Island. Clearly, the place had been packed before-- as evidenced by the cars pulled up on the shoulder of the parkway on the other side of the stone wall-- but we had no trouble finding a spot. At 4 PM on Labor Day, the holiday weekend was winding down, despite the persistent aroma of wood smoke and barbecue.

As Lucy, Heidi, and I ambled down the trail and across the bridge crossing the Potomac, a fresh breeze blew over the river from the north, and without thinking the three of us paused to look over the railing. Lucy's eye caught a merry group of kayakers passing beneath us, and she cocked her head when they disappeared. Heidi and I looked out over the towers of Georgetown University and the National Cathedral, standing clear against the late summer sky.

We had a very pleasant walk along the perimeter of the island and then returned to our car, crossing the bridge again with the western sun in our eyes and summer at our backs, falling ever farther behind as we headed home.

Coexisting

A house wren has built her nest in one of the hanging baskets on our back deck. I knew what she was up to when she darted away each time I watered, but I figured she'd go on her way after being regularly drenched.

A few rain storms later, she was well-established. especially since I hadn't been dumping water on her every day. And now? There is an ever strengthening peep peep peep coming from the basket, and a quick peek inside reveals a lovely woven structure with an opening to the side (presumably to keep the moisture out!).

Oh, I'm not angry-- the plants are fine, and what an idyllic young life those nestlings have! Imagine being born on a late August day in a basket of mint and flowers. I wish them all the joy that such a lovely beginning surely promises.

Mane of Shame

As Lucy's inevitable spay surgery approached, we tried to be proactive. Every pet I've ever had has been a little bit traumatized by that giant megaphone that some politely call a surgical recovery collar, but everyone else knows as the cone of shame. Watching them crash and stumble around the house is heartbreaking, so hoping to get ahead of that awfulness I researched alternatives.

The top two were an inflatable ring that resembles a travel pillow or a life vest and a soft, velvety version of the cone which was also designed to look like a lion's mane, complete with ears. Perhaps I should have known better, especially when the product description exclaimed that it could double as a Halloween costume, but that was the device we chose.

And... it is adorable! And somewhat useful, but we did go buy an inflatable ring this morning, and of course that classic, let's call it, Elizabethan collar, shall we? Is standing by.

Just Add Kids

Before I left school this evening I paused to look around my classroom. It was ready for the first day next Tuesday. In fact, it was so ready, everything just so and just so familiar, that I had to blink a few times to remember that summer even happened.

Year 25?

Here we go!

It's On

On the Thursday of pre-service week we always host an open house for new sixth graders and their families. Moving to middle school is a big deal, and it must be comforting to scope out the place and put a few faces to unfamiliar names. Our message is simple-- Don't worry! When you come to this room on Tuesday, I will tell you everything you need to know. 

Almost everyone leaves feeling better, including me. It's always great to meet the kids, and the open house reminds me that I have been doing this job, this very job, in this school and this very room for quite a while. I know what I'm doing, no matter how many monkey wrenches are thrown my way.