not so terse verse...

A Poem in a Post--Blogetry? Bloetry? perhaps a Bloem? 

Longfellow or Dickinson I'm not and at this even Dr. Seuss would probably blow snot...

The greatest compliment ever given to me

By someone OTHER than my family,

Was not "You look nice today!"

(Guess yesterday was just okay?)

"Cute purse! -- "Lovely shoes!"

Even those words won't transfuse

a cure to lighten the occasional blues.

It wasn't "Your hair's so cute like that!"

( It only took two hours to make it flat.)

"I like your outfit."?

(Why, it's only the oldest in my closet.)

Nah...

The statement that's made me feel replete

comes from a child

And I revel in receipt.

Feeling bewildered, a bit besotted and THEN

" Hey, Miss! ,

I wanna be

in YOUR class

again!"

What more candid words

could a teacher hope to hear

from a student of a previous year.

the only thing constant is...dirty socks

Ah, summer! Home again, home again, bloggety blog!

Forget all the aforementioned emotions about the end of the school year...I'm free!!!

Well, except for the laundry, and the doubled amount of trips to the grocery store to feed my overly ravenous offspring three, count 'em, three meals a day. Oh- and the whole Mom's Taxi service business, it never seems to slow.  I have spent the majority of the days being perfectly content with actually getting the laundry threat down from security level red to a modest yellow. I have delighted in de-junking drawers, cabinets and consoles. I have reveled in the reverie of purging the personal things that are superfluous. The beds are made and countertops visible. How much happier I feel when I have time to get things in their proper places! To open a closet door without fear of possible concussion. This euphoria is also been afforded to me at a price of sending my pre-teen angst filled daughter to a week long theater camp. (While I love my children with all my being, peaceful coexistence is absent when the two are together!). Thus leaving my seven year old son to bemylittlecompanion as the summer commences. He's content with gunning down birds with his pellet gun or watching movies, playing games, building forts and so forth. We are in our clean cocoon of conditioned air. It is a nice "change" of pace...

It also gives me time to reflect on the school/work year passed and the one upcoming. There is constant buzzing in a small town about changes in staffing, administration, and salary of ones school district. Without the daily meeting of other faculty members there is trepidation about possible changes that looms ( like an overflowing laundry basket or so-full-it won't -open junk drawer.)  And while I try not to let my own anxieties creep into my consciousness; I'd be lying if I said they didn't .

Why are we as adults so apprehensive about change? Why, the sheer look of delight of my students upon hearing they are getting new a new seating arrangement closely resembles being told they are about to watch a Li'l Wayne video and eat ice cream! Is it because we fear the unknown? That's a valid explanation. But I believe there is more. We fear not only the possibilities, for our mind hasn't quite been able to master filtering the infinitesimal options of outcomes, but I see that it's not unlike an animal's flight or fight response. We fear how changes will directly affect our lives and how we will reciprocate; our defenses are up! And we may have to (insert deep dramaatic inhalation) adapt.  When we do, in August, have to spread our newly formed wings and ditch the cocoon (which by now will be in a state of disarray again anyway), we wonder what we will face "out there". Will we be forced to change the way things have always been done, be them successful or not? Will the waywe like to fly be threatened? Let's not leave out the fear of being socially isolated as a result of new people and policies on a campus. Add to that what is inevitably in our human condition (unlike the animal world inhabitants) to obsess over how changes will impact us individuals.  While of course, we SHOULD, as ed-u-cat-ors ( snobby British accent yet again), shift our focus away from our insecurities and try to see outside of our cocoons; to ponder how the changes just might positively affect the whole system. (Insert grossly understated generalization here: It is WAY easier said than done.)

AND, if the only thing constant is indeed change, why, the very things over which we fret will be fleeting for sure! Think about the hard work that must be endured to rearrange ones bedroom. You worry you will hate the layout once you (after nearly dislodging a back disc and sacrificing a toenail) finally get the bed to the opposite wall and may not have the physical wherewithal to move it back even if you can't close the door for the headboard being in the way. ( Hmm, never ever happened to me before, I swear.) But it's worth the effort to see if you might like a new layout. And guess what? In the process of the change you've uncovered the long forgotten end- of -season, got 'em for nearly free,  knee high boots in a dust covered box!  You are suddenly aware of something you maybe didn't even know your life was lacking. Perhaps the fervor to try new things or roles in your life? And if you truly detest the change(s), if nothing else it will maybe make you appreciate allthe more, your previous situation, cocoon, layout what have you, that you may have taken for granted.  We may not like the change itself, but the power of perspective is ultimately self initiated and directed. Sigh.

The last week in July always seems to prompt those not in the public school realm to ask, with a insidious smirk and drippy sarcasm if I am ready to go back. (About the same time as the onset of first day of school nightmares involving a class full of rowdy kids and me with little clothing on-eek!) When the truth is I'm not really going back. Things will be different: the students assuredly will have changed, and while I may vacillate between the zebra or cheetah border on my calendar board, or what songs to make the kids stand up and sing to help them learn their figurative language, it will, regardless, be a new school year. (Something I begin to anticipate mid-April!). The way in which I enter and view my classroom will not be identical to the year previous, or the day before, for that matter. And there will be some things I will continue do in a ritualistic nature, as ceatures of habit we , no doubt, all are.  No matter who the boss may be, I am the person who has beenentrusted with teaching reading to my community's sixth graders. No matter who sits in a central office, I must direct myself to adjust and adapt to the needs of those kids. Keep my focus on trying to create a classroom that could be a fun cocoon for them to come and hopefully learn. And if I need to change, or someone feels the need to displace me,  I pray I will have the self introspection to successfully do so (without a full blown hissy fit- maybe just a stomp and late night ice cream binge).

I've been told the Bible has the words "Do not fear" cited 365 times, that means I can double up on a few days of my 187.

Crikey, I just heard the dryer buzz.

standard eyes-ed

Seems most blogging and commentary these days centers on parallels or analogies, so here's another one for the books.

Last July I set out an adventure. Armed with my smartphone (equipped with lime green headphones and a nothing short of magical app that would track me via GPS), a sparkly new pair of sneaks with some sort of thigh tightening technology built right in, and sheer determination; I jogged all the way to my mailbox and back- without stopping. And lived to tell about it. Barely. Sweating profusely and gasping for each ragged breath, I had traveled a whole half a mile! Hot diggety dog! That was a feat not conquered since middle school. Thus began my love/abhor relationship with plodding, er- jogging, and eventually running.

Running was a great way for me to burn those calories consumed during the afternoon doldrums of the school day; i.e. any sugary snack I could pilfer. It also afforded me time to reflect on life, have meditation (albeit the heavy breathing variety). I even joined a very fulfilling bible study at my church geared toward running the race God has set before us. The activity gave me a unique opportunity to fellowship with my Lord.

And eventually, I sought out an official race in which to run. What was it about being timed and participating in activities with throngs of total strangers that was so appealing? Validation? Pride? Curiosity? The cool t-shirt to prove I took part? Ah, competition. The allure for some is intoxicating; it propels us to train, work tirelessly, strive to achieve a goal. And for what in return? The sense of accomplishment, and perhaps, if performance ranks high enough; reward(s). At my first organized 5K, the goal was simply to finish and not pass out, be trampled, or eek-be last! I crossed the finish line (with many still behind me) and felt exuberance, accompanied by a tinge of exhaustion. Since the race was in August and I was drowning in my own sweat, I didn't stick around to find out the results. Yet in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder-how did I place? How good was I? How many others did I surpass?   Driving home I assured myself I  had done my best-accomplishing my fastest miles to date; and that it didn't matter how I placed. Or did it?

Fast forward to Spring of 2012. I was preparing for multiple timed events, all on which  I hoped to achieve personal bests. A 5K, a 10K and gulp, the STAAR reading test that would be administered my 6th-grade students at Edna Junior High. The 5k went well, occurring on a brisk March morning. Completing with an adrenaline-charged personal best, I thought: Victory! Eh...Didn't make top three in my age group. Really thought I had been among the fastest of the late thirtysomethings. Oh well, on to bigger and better. April brought a 10k race to Victoria. Over 6 miles. Whew. Entering it again with thoughts of " I just wanna finish". This event would be "chipped" timed, meaning, each runner would have a microchip attached to his/her race bib and quite accurately track and time each runner as he or she stepped on a computerized mat. I paced myself, for fear of passing out or hitting the proverbial wall. As the course came to an end,  I propelled my body miraculously into a sprint while Katy Perry blared that I was a "Firework". My running app displayed that I had averaged a pace of under 10 minutes a mile. Was that standard? I had trained relentlessly and felt a surge of excitement that I had conquered this milestone of the running world. That is until I logged on to the site that posted all the official times. And places. Talk about a deflation. Only a handful of people trailed me. Sigh. Hadn't I done my best? Was there anything I would have done differently? Admittedly, no, I don't think pushing myself any harder would have been beneficial for my body or, most likely, those standing by to administer medical treatment. I had been focused on the goal and worked toward it with intensity that I felt would allow me to feel successful.

Those of you in the turbulent world of education and high stakes testing may begin to the see the point at which I am finally arriving. After several expectant weeks following the STAAR administration, some elusive documents graced my desktop. The raw score results of my sixth graders were there in front of me. I raced to the calculator to arrive at the number correct out of number possible to quickly see who had garnered a 70 percent, by most accounts a passing "standard".  This information was, or is, of course inconclusive, at present, since Texas educators this year will not know until months from now what the passing standard actually is. We don't know how we actually "placed".  Still my heart began to sink with each name.( Well, not all names, but quite more than I had anticipated.)  Fear all year long as to the difficulty and probable outcome of the test had been discussed and instilled in most teachers. Yet we trained diligently, we had sweat daily through our skills n' drills. We knew how long the race was to be, or rather the maximum time allotted, yet remained at a disadvantage not knowing exactly how the course would be charted. We all assumed there would be some pretty steep hills and predicted parts might break off into unfamiliar trails, so to speak.

Stamina was also going to be an issue in this feat. While I knew this a teacher, I also knew the value of pacing one's self. I was aware that trying to maintain a speed too accelerated would not guarantee success.  Still the students were told and shown what would be seen along the race and shorter practice runs were completed. Race day strategies even explored.  And even though we were all unsure how the territory was to be charted, we hoped that our training sessions would be enough to see the students through to the end. As a professional, I have a vested interested in the results of my participants. As their "coach", I hate to feel defeat for myself and them. Their performance is ultimately a reflection of my competence. As the students crossed their finish lines on April 24th, many felt like I did at the end of a race. It wasn't always easy or fun, but it was DONE and a valiant (fingers crossed) effort had been put forth.

So the results are still unofficial, not yet uploaded for world to view.  Do I judge success by how I feel the race was run; by the preparation that was endured prior to the big day?  Do I feel defeat because the numbers look bleak and had hoped would have been higher? By what standard is success measured? Had I hoped to surpass that? Absolutely.  Do I hope to someday run a mile in under 7 minutes? Hmmm. At the risk of sounding pessimistic, that most likely will not happen. I would be quite frustrated if someone expected that of me, especially since I have not yet mastered an 8 minute mile. More specifically- since my body just isn't cut out for that speed... regardless of the ( oh I am gulping as I am typing) "rigor" of my training. 

I will not give up, I will continue to run the race set before me as God has planned.  I will run even if I don't finish first or win a medal. I will teach even if test scores don't reflect the best performance. With prayer and persistence, how can we not be winners?

I'm so glad we had this time together...

So this post title may easily reveal my age, but what the heck? I've already entered the dark side of cyber literacy- why not go full throttle? Carol Burnett once uttered (followed surely by a chortle) that comedy is tragedy plus time. After seventeen tumultuous years in the classroom, this statement should by now be my mantra.

So, it is May and alas- the anticlimax of it all! In a matter of hours, the school year will be toast- we've all been counting down for this glorious moment since "Time's UP!" was proclaimed at the end of April's high stakes, high stress scantron bubblefest. ( At least that's what my scores seem to indicate what it was to a few students. *sigh*) It always seems that once state assessments leave the building, so do the inhabitants of the school building's fervor, and any trace left of motivation- for learning anyway.  We all take a big breath and begin the downward spiral to the elusive final shrill of the last bell. Everyone looking forward to the days of "Summertime...and the livin' is eeeeaaasyyy". And yet, when all the papers settle and the traces of smelly preteen bodies waft lazily out the doors I can't help but feel such a strange sensation of, dare I say it? Emptiness. Every year affords me a few kindred spirits with whom I bond and say farewell to much in the same manner that a mother says to her child. (Lord help me, whatever will I do when my own flesh and blood spread their wings? Paging Dr. Flynn!) And every year the slight trace of thought crosses my consciousness- what if I am asked to move up a grade? Could I withstand another 180 days with Sir Taps His Pen A Lot, or Lady Long-Stare off into space? Probably not...most assuredly, NO. They all need a fresh start next year, as do I.

But as I walk out of our end of the year , district-wide "bread breaking" as our superintendent refers to it, there seems to be a tear or two welling in the ducts. Another year, and what do I have to show for it? Did I spend it wishing it away? Did I analyze the data?  Did I make a difference to anyone? Is my worth judged solely by the result of the aforementioned state-administered scantron bubblefest? What will I do differently next year? Oh my Gawd- I'm already thinking about THAT and I haven't even pulled out of parking lot!

I've tried giving a little end of year anonymous survey to the kids- a la education service center style- but the results are so varied and inconclusive, it leaves me even more confused. I want to be an effective ed-u-ca-tor (snooty Ivy League and/or British voice), but oh the days of "Time to make the donuts." Even with a very supportive set of bosses who are always there to listen to the earth-shattering goings-on from my little corner of the universe on 505 W. Gayle Street in Edna Texas, I know deep down what happens in room 506 is ultimately up to me. (When I get a raise I am so buying the hot pink tee with the words Queen of My Classroom emblazoned on it). All this leads to further self-inquisition and reflection: How can I propagate a hunger for reading? What can I do to make the instruction learner-centered?  How can I challenge these kids and still allow them success-prepare them for future learning, cover all the TEKS? And ultimately, how can I prepare these kids for what the state expects of them without incurring DEATH BY PASSAGES? Sigh...a big one.

Another question is usually, How would I feel if my own child was in my classroom?  That question was somewhat answered this year as my very own Kendall joined me daily after lunch in 6th period. I cut her NO slack, I assure you. It was nice to have a little sounding board-even though it was instilled to me in college days to not think like a student- a little 12-year-old perspective and brutally honest opinion was quite insightful.  We even planned a few activities together. And while I know she's fairly intelligent, I think I still managed to teach her a thing or two. That's actually a whole other post--back to the anticlimax business. I suppose, at the end of the day, er- year, what matters is that I not only ask those questions but attempt to incubate the thoughts that could answer them. Why, just today three of my kindred spirits who did not want to spend the last bit of the school day waiting for the bus in the throngs of the cafeteria sat down with me to talk about,well, school. They told of the horrifying warnings they had received about junior high in the previous grade and we had a good laugh about that. We talked about testing and how it differed this year. And I went out on a proverbial limb and asked, level of difficulty or vocabulary aside, if they felt PREPARED for the assessment. The nods and evidence of reassuring facials came..and empty I was not. Much akin to what the  immortal Annie Sullivan, teacher of Helen Keller, said at the end of the day upon which Helen learned that everything had a name; " I thought my heart would burst, so full was it of joy." And just as Miss Sullivan had many years ahead of her teaching and guiding, God willing,  so will I.