Accountability

 The yogi who leads my morning exercise and meditation session imparted three rules:

Always be kind

Never speak ill of others

Never speak ill of yourself

These precepts have been in the back of mind for a couple weeks, and the other day, when my homeroom kids were bickering irritably in the early morning, I stepped to my chalkboard and wrote the three of them boldly, white on black.

"These are rules I have for myself," I told them, "and I'm writing them here because I hope you will help me follow them."

I read each out loud and explained what it meant.

"Can you help me?" I asked. "Will you let me know if I'm forgetting one of them?"

They nodded. 

"Should we follow them, too?" asked someone.

"I wish you would!" I answered. "Especially when you're in here. Maybe we can remind each other."

It was only a few hours later that I saw that same student smack one of his peers on the back of the neck during the change of classes. I motioned him over to where I stood in the hallway. "Why did you do that?"

"He did it to me first," he said.

"But it's against the first rule," I pointed out. 

"I think it's going to be really hard to follow them when other people are mean," he replied thoughtfully.

"I know!" I told him. "I'm going to keep trying, though! Are you?"

He waggled his head from shoulder to shoulder in indecision. "I will," he said finally.

"I'm so glad!" I replied. "And if you figure out any tricks, make sure you tell me!"

Wacky Wednesday

I've been digging deep and scraping the bottom of the barrel to find fun and engaging bonus challenges that are also quick. Today was "Wacky Wednesday," and the challenge for those who posted their writing was to go to a linked list and pick one of the activities to do during class. 

1. Wink at the person next to you. Make sure they see you. Then give them the chin nod. 
2. Raise your hand, and when the teacher calls on you say, “I always thought broccoli was tiny little trees.”
3. Sing everything you say for 5 minutes. 
4.  Draw a picture of a monkey and hold it up to yourself. Ask someone if they see the resemblance. 
5. When storytime is over, tell the people at your table that you cried when you found out Pluto was not a planet. Explain why you were so emotional. 
6. Pretend to be a robot for at least 5 minutes. 
7. Start swatting at an imaginary fly. Ask, “Does anyone else see that thing? It’s humongous!” 
8. Have a conversation with your pencil. Pretend it is talking back to you. 
9. Finish everything you say with “Hold the pickles!” for at least 5 minutes. 
10. Raise your hand and when you are called on, say, “Yeeee Haw! Giddyup!” then gallop around your table and neigh like a horse. 
11. Be silent and act like a mime trapped in a box for 2 minutes. 
12. Talk in an English accent for at least 5 minutes. 
13. Stand up and pretend that you’re snowboarding. 
14. Whenever anyone talks to you, tip your imaginary hat and say, “Top ‘o the mornin to ya!” 
15. Ask the person next to you, “Are you okay?” at least 6 times, but not right in row. 
16. When the bell rings for dismissal, do the chicken dance.

The rules were strict-- it couldn't be while I was teaching, and they couldn't explain why or what they were doing. What followed was a hilarious day-- it's been a while since I laughed so much in school. It was especially funny at the beginning of each class when many of the students had no idea what was happening.

At first, some of the kids were hesitant about the concept, even though the challenge is always optional and voluntary. In fact a couple of students wrote about the challenge before they even got to class.

"I just read the list of wacky acts and I’m not doing any of them. I dan’t care about the prize. I don’t want to do any of those things. Ever. So I have nothing else to say."

"Today’s challenge sounds super fun. The only problem is that I feel like it would cause too many extra distractions. I think a lot of people are going to be be disrupting the class and trying to explain why they’re doing it. Anyway, despite distractions, I hope this will be fun."

I understood their reservations, but I've spent all year building classroom community, and I made sure it felt safe for anyone who wanted to take a risk and do something wacky.

I'm happy to report that student #1 had a very earnest conversation with her pencil, laughing the whole time, and student #2 really under estimated my classroom management. Everything was a little looser than usual, but nothing I couldn't put back together, and kids who hadn't written hurried to get theirs done, and their classmates who needed to move got the opportunity. 

At the end of the day, all the instruction was delivered, all the assignments were complete, and everyone walked out of the room in a pretty good mood, hold the pickles.

Moving the Needle

The other day I was chatting with a colleague who moved from 6th grade to 8th grade this year. She was telling me about preparing her students for their recent standardized writing test. "They told me they had never been taught how to write an essay," she sighed. 

I laughed, because "We never learned this!" is a common refrain in classrooms everywhere.

My co-worker laughed, too. "I told them that I knew that was wrong, because I had literally taught them that myself 2 years ago."

I thought of our conversation yesterday, when my homeroom students were taking yet another survey about their social-emotional learning.

"What does this question even mean?" a students asked.

I walked over to help. How confident are you that you will remember what you learned in your current classes, next year? I read out loud. "It means, how sure are you that you're going to remember what you learned in sixth grade when you get to seventh grade."

"Oh," he scoffed. "Nothing. I won't remember anything."

"Really?" I tilted my head. "Are you sure?"

"100 percent," he said. "I never remember anything I learn, ever."

"Didn't you tell me last week that you learned about setting when you were in 3rd grade?" I asked. "And so you knew the answers to the questions in class."

"Oh, yeah," he shrugged.

"What about math?" another student asked. "You know a lot more math than you did in elementary school."

"Of course I do," he said.

"Don't you think that's because you remember what you learned?" I prompted.

"Maybe," he admitted, and moved his tick mark from Not at all confident to Slightly confident.

This Ain't Horseshoes

The bonus challenge today was to "Ask me a trivia question, please." (I made sure to add the 'please' since it is National Common Courtesy Day.) 

You might have guessed, but I love trivia. (Heck, who am I kidding? I just love answering questions! This teacher thing is a pretty good fit that way.) 

And the questions started coming early. "What year did the United States start?" asked the first student in the door.

"1776," I replied.

"Dang!" he said. "You knew it!"

"You still get the prize!" I assured him. "You don't have to stump me."

"What year was this school built?" asked the next student.

"1971!" I answered confidently.

She shrugged. "I guess so."

"Wait! You don't know the answer?" I said.

"No," she shrugged again, choosing her Jolly Rancher, "but you do." 

Just then, a third inquisitor entered the room. "How many championships did Michael Jordan win when he played for the Chicago Bulls?"

"Good one," I said thoughtfully, thinking back over the last 38 years. "I don't know. Five?"

'Maybe," he replied.

"Don't you know?" I asked him incredulously, even though the same thing had just happened.

He shook his head. I had to admit that my directions had not specified knowing the answer. Nor had they been clear about whether or not you had to stump me.

"Hey Siri!" I called over my shoulder at my iPad. "How many championships did Michael Jordan win with the Bulls?"

That weird round purple graphic contracted and expanded. "Michael Jordan won six championships with the Chicago Bulls," Siri intoned. 

The student looked at me impressed. "You were so close!" 

"Yeah, but not close enough,"  I sighed.

Equinox

Yesterday it was gloriously warm, this morning it was cool and sunny, this afternoon it is blustery and cold, windows open, windows closed, heat back on. 

Dig out your flip flops and fire up the grill, pull on your hoodie and set some soup to simmer, unfurl the fleece throw and lay a fire on the hearth. 

Open with the daffodils, shine with the morning dew, bend with the willows in the wind. 

Spring will come as it will: 

There is no denying the vivid green of the tiny leaves on the trees, the pinking of the redbud branches, the cherry blossoms unfolding to their peak. 

Saturday Morning Clouds

The last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday morning was a 3 and 1/2 hour professional learning session, but there I was in front of my lap top at 9 AM, joining a Zoom call. At first, there were only 3 other participants, and I sighed as I considered all the extra participation that might be necessary with such a small cadre of fellow learners. 

As it was, the group only expanded to 8, but I was glad to see a name I recognized; a former student teacher I had worked with was on the call, too. We texted back and forth a bit as the session went on (the virtual equivalent of passing notes), evaluating the activities and gossiping about the guy who left the breakout room when we suggested that he be our spokesperson. 

The time went by as quickly as a workshop on Saturday morning can, and I came away with a few new additions to my teaching tool box. One of them, WordSift.org, creates word clouds of text so that teachers can actually see the most prevalent terms in an article or passage and then front-load or scaffold them for English language learners. The site also suggests images and other resource that instructors can use to help with teaching the vocabulary.

I love anything with a word cloud! I texted to my friend, and spent the next few minutes copying and pasting entries from my blog. (Don't worry! I was listening, too.)

Shine On

After all the rain yesterday, I was doubtful that our 7:15 engagement would go on, but it did. As the skies cleared and a full moon rose, dusk found eight people and two dogs in the school parking lot just at the top of the hill. 

We were there to honor Ben and Blasket on their birthday, two congenial old fellows who our dog community had recently lost. To do so, someone had brought flying lanterns: hot air balloons made of paper with a wax and cardboard wick that when ignited fills the lanterns with hot air and sends them soaring hundreds of feet into the sky before they are consumed by the flames that make them rise. 

Aside from the rain, I was a little hesitant to participate. Some internet sources described the lanterns as dangerous, and even illegal in 29 states, including our own. Once at our meeting point, I was put a bit at ease by one of the other folks. "I've done this dozens of times," he said, ticking off the names of people he had lost, "it's perfectly safe." The wet weather was also reassuring-- everything was still damp; nothing seemed dry enough to burst into flames.

And so we began assembling the lanterns and lighting the squares. It took a nerve-wracking minute or two of holding a light paper structure with an open flame attached before the warm air filled the ballon and it was able to be tossed aloft to float up and up. 

But when they did take flight, I was unprepared for how moving it was to watch the glowing light drift up and away. Soon there was a line of them stretching toward heaven, tiny orbs shining in the darkness as they flew away into the night, almost as if they knew where to find Ben and Blasket.