Tales From First Grade

Today I started a two-month long, 1st grade substitute job because, you know, I'm not busy enough. Anyway, first grade is really fun. We were having a little getting-to-know you kind of a meeting, where each of the kids got to tell me something about themselves, and then they got to ask questions of me. This can be a dangerous endeavor, but I decided to go ahead and risk it. One boy raised his hand and asked, "How OLD are you, because you look like a TEENAGER!"

Pretty much decided who my favorite is right there on the spot.

Their regular teacher is on maternity leave, having just given birth to twins. Naturally much of the chatter among the children is about babies and their origination. As they were coloring their worksheets, I listened to one boy tell all the other kids at his table all about how babies are made.

And I quote: "The mom goes to the doctor and he opens up her belly button and sticks a tiny baby inside. Then he covers it all up and the mom goes home and takes a nap. When she wakes up, the baby is big, so she goes back to the doctor and he stretches out her belly button and yanks the baby out!"

It's going to be an entertaining couple of months.

Courage.

For Christmas this year, I decided to make gratitude journals for my husband and kids. Each book is entitled, "365 Things I am Grateful for in 2013." I thought it would be a fun exercise for us to do together, finding something to be grateful for each day this year -- and acknowledging it.

I thought I would share what I was grateful for yesterday.

Yesterday, I got called in to my old school to sub second grade. It's the first time I've subbed since before the shooting at Sandy Hook happened. Yes, that event hit especially close to home for me, as it did, I'm sure, for every other teacher in America. I'll admit, it was on my mind as I pulled into the parking lot. As I entered the classroom, I took note of little things, like how this classroom was exactly three doors down from the office; like how the door opens out to the hall and not in to the room, which would take an extra bit of a second in the event of a lock down. Also, how there was no way to lock the door from the inside. I also noticed that the wall between the hallway and classroom is made of cinder block, and how that was a good thing.

But then the bell rang and the kids came in, and we talked about what Santa brought them and the difference between summarizing and retelling. We added two-digit numbers and played "I'm Going to the Moon." We stayed in for recess because it was EIGHT degrees outside and we learned about electrical charges. All in all, it was a really good day at school.

And so, the thing I was grateful for yesterday was courage. I never thought of teaching school as a very courageous thing to do (that's usually reserved for the police and firefighters and customer service reps at Target). But yesterday, it took a little courage for me to walk into a K-4 elementary school, in a small town, with a close-knit community.

And I was grateful I had it.

Excuse Me, Your Age is Showing

Today I had the chance to observe a perspective teacher do a counting lesson with a kindergarten class. I remember being a young college student...so fresh, so inexperienced.

So not digital.

She was using the smart board, which, if you've never seen one, is like a giant, wall-sized iPad. In the course of teaching this lesson, she marked and moved things around on the smart board. When she swiped to the next screen, it inadvertently skipped a couple of pages.

"Oops," she said, "J.K."

J.
K.

J.K.?!?

What the? I wondered if the students wondered why she was reciting the alphabet when they were supposed to be counting. In reality, I think it went right over their heads.

But really, has life become so fast-paced, so instantaneous, so digital, that we are now speaking in initials? That we speak the way we text? By the way, does anyone else think it's funny that text is now a verb?

Just to be sure, I asked my 9-year-old if he knew what "J.K." meant. It went right over his head.

"So what does it mean?" He asked.

"Just kidding," I replied.

"No, really, what does it mean?"

"It means just kidding," I said again.

"Oh. Well that's dumb. Why don't you just say just kidding instead?"

Exactly. 

I WAS a Size 6

I've picked up a long-term sub assignment this month. It's back at my former school, which has been a lot of fun. It's been nice to talk to former co-workers and it's always a treat to get bombarded with hallway hugs from past students.

So I've been there for a few weeks and I have a couple left to go. In this time, I have learned something new about myself: I'm a stress eater and I have a drinking problem.

Lest you show up on my doorstep to haul me off to Jenny Craig or AA, allow me to explain.

I have this thing about paying with exact change whenever I can. I like the neatness of it. Also, it keeps my wallet from feeling heavy. Yesterday, when picking up pizza for my daughter and her friends, the total was $23.86; I did not have the exact change, nor any change, for that matter. And I realized -- I'd spent all of my spare coinage on multiple trips to the vending machine in the teacher's lounge. Doritos, Cheetos, fruit snacks... Snickers, Reese's peanut butter cups, trail mix... I know. I have a problem. But seriously, who calls the school, asks for the sub by name, and then complains about how they don't care for the quality of instruction their child is receiving?!? I would have told her to come on down and teach it herself, but my mouth was full of potato chips at the time. In her defense (as well as mine) she didn't understand that Title 1 help means remediation, not acceleration. But still. Complaining to the substitute?!?

On another occasion, the principal, a good and decent man, found out that I had a headache. After an hour of doing kindergarten assessments, I returned to my room to find a bottle of coke on my desk and a text on my phone saying I would need to get some ice. Does that make him an enabler? I don't know. I was too busy guzzling my room temperature soda to analyze his role in this situation.

This brings me to my drinking problem. Yesterday, as I cleared my desk for the weekend, I had a drinking glass, a travel mug, a water bottle, and yet another bottle of Coke to take home.

The goal pants are getting tight.

Dress Code: Pajamas

It's been an interesting weekend. Much like my son, my weekend started last Wednesday.

But now it's Monday and the dust has settled, my mind has cleared up a bit, and now I'm ready to write about it.

So back to last Wednesday. I was at a meeting for entrepreneurs, hoping to do a little networking. The subject of the meeting didn't really have anything to do with my objectives, which was all about securing angel investors for your company. I'm a one-woman show, and all I need is some people who need a good copywriter. As I was thinking up creative ways to sneak out of this 6-person meeting, the old iPad alerted me that I had a new e-mail. It was my friend, notifying me that Midway Elementary had a new opening for a kindergarten teacher and that I should apply so she could put her son in my class. Ten minutes later (clearly I had not yet figured out a way to sneak out) my formal principal called to also inform me of the position. As I hung up with him, another friend called with the same message.

I sent my husband a text to inform him of the job. Just to give you a little background, we are house shopping, and the thought of some extra money is really tempting right now.

By this point I had been out of the meeting room for a few minutes, so I figured I could go back in for my stuff and act like I had an excuse to leave. I sort of had one, right?

I drove to the school, tracked the principal down, and asked him about it. He invited me to apply and I told him I would think about it. That night I went home and did a little soul searching. I am still trying to prove to myself that I can do other things besides teach school. It's not that there's anything wrong with teaching; I'm just not passionate about it. I really, really want to earn money as a writer. However, the teaching job was for a one-year contract, so I figured I could do anything for a year, and teaching is a pretty good thing to do for a year.

I spent Thursday getting paperwork together and applied for the job -- with that tight feeling in my chest.

Friday, I interviewed, and I questioned myself all the way there. A few hours later, the principal called to tell me he decided to go with the other candidate, who had just finished her student teaching on that very team. I have to admit, it was an effort trying not to sound elated.

In the end, I'm flattered that so many people were looking out for me. I was told flattering things about myself as a teacher. And yes, sometimes I do miss it.

But do you know what? I've spent this entire morning writing and doing writing-related things. And I feel light and happy; and most importantly, I feel at peace. This whole doing-what-you-love and following your passion? I'm a believer.

Besides, you can't teach school in your pajamas.

Drowning

Note to self: put up a Post-it in a permanent place to remind me how busy the last weeks of school are. There are permanent files to file. There are report cards to complete. There are field trips and assemblies to be had. There is testing to finish and there are parties to plan. There are lessons to plan that will keep kids' interest until June.

And then there are the things from the other side of the teacher's desk. There are teacher gifts to remember and thank you notes to write. There are permission slips to sign. There are registration papers to fill out. There are field days to attend and field trips to chaperone. There are lunches to be made, despite noses that crinkle up at the thought of a real piece of fruit. There are after-school activities to drive to, and if I can just hold on for a few more days, they will simply be activities peppered in between the boredom.

Boredom. What's that like?

Do you ever feel like you're drowning in a sea of never-ending stuff to do? Even when there's Nothing to do, there's always Something to do. At some point, I am not going to look tired. People are going to quit telling me I look tired. That will be nice. Today someone told me that I look like a certain, pretty local news reporter. That was very nice. I've seen her on t.v. and she never looks tired.

She's obviously not a teacher.

Or a mom.

P.S. Yesterday my husband turned 41, and concerned for his aging father, my 8-year-old son said "I hope your thumbs don't fall off."

Your Mom Went to College...

At the risk of disclosing my real age, I'll begin by saying that I graduated from college sometime during the 20th century.

When I went back to teaching three years ago, I had a lot of catching up to do. In the ten years since I had become a stay-home mom, policies had come and gone, they were speaking a whole new language that I had never been a part of, and kindergarten somehow became less about getting along and more about reading actual books.

There were certain requirements I had to meet in order to get my teaching certificate updated. Among other things, I had to take a two-part test known as the Praxis. I was given a year to take the first part and three years to take the second part. I took the first part at the end of my first year. It was more like a big trivia quiz than a test. I'm really good at trivia. My mind is a steel trap for all kinds of useless information. For instance, did you know that babies don't have knee caps until they're three years old? Needless to say, I nailed it. I even got a special certificate in the mail because I scored so exceptionally high on it, along with a letter stating that I am truly dedicated to my profession for being so knowledgeable in so many areas. Whatever. Useless information.

In two days I will be taking the second part of the Praxis. I've been studying. And I'm worried. This is the stuff that I learned in college. You know, back in the late 20th century. I have to know the names of behaviorists and their theories and tell how I would apply their expertise in my classroom. I need to remember the difference between Piaget and Maslow. Does anyone out there even understand Constructivist Theory?

What I'm saying is, I know how to apply it, I just can't remember what it's called.

I learned more about teaching from motherhood than I ever did in college. Teaching is about common sense. If a kid does something right, praise them. If a kid does something wrong, let them know and praise them for trying harder. Be enthusiastic. If you love to learn, so will they. Be consistent and follow through with consequences. I before E except after C. AND BAND-AIDS FIX EVERYTHING.

It's just too bad there won't be anything on the test about band-aids.

Status Update

So we decided to move. We'd have to move eventually, and this way we get into a place that we really like, and then it's overwith. The big day is Saturday.

However, I've had the flu all week, and I am not a good patient. I'm one of those stubborn sickies... you know, the kind who won't admit they're sick. So until today, it was just a head cold. It hit me Saturday night. Sunday I powered through church and took care of my responsibilities there. Monday I went to work, packed a few things at home, and did what moms do. Tuesday I couldn't even lift my head, so I got a substitute, but still managed to pack a few things. Wednesday I went back to work, came home, took a load of stuff to the new house, came back home and collapsed onto the couch until I went to bed. This morning I got up, fully expecting to go to work. I washed my face and had to lay back down again. That was when it dawned on me that it might be more than a cold. I finally mustered up the strength to set up for another substitute teacher. By the way, let me just say, setting up for a sub is a pain. It's easier to just go to work. And don't think I didn't think about it.

I have spent more time on my couch this week than I would ever care to admit. In education, the occupational hazard is illness. We're only three weeks in, so I hope this isn't a sign of things to come. A couple of years ago, a fellow kindergarten teacher was hospitalized with pneumonia at this point.

No move ever goes smoothly, but moving while sick? Please.

Slip-Sliding Away

Do you ever feel like you're living on borrowed time? Or that whatever time you have is being pulled right out from under your nose? I'm not talking about the deep, philosophical, facing-my-own-mortality kind of fleeting, in case you're wondering.

But sometimes you just gotta put on your swimsuit without shaving your armpits, know what I mean? In1999 when my daughter was born, I walked away from a lucrative teaching career, vowing to never again return. I knew I would go back to work one day, but I had visions of working in a furniture store and using my paycheck and employee discount to buy pretty things on which to park my patootie.

Flash forward eleven years, and I am embarking on my third year of teaching kindergarten. That vow I took? You know, the one where I vowed never to set foot inside of a school as an employee? Today was one of those days when I was reminded why. Unfortunately, there are no furniture stores here in Midway, so there but for the grace of God go I.

And since returning to teaching, my summers have become sacred. I appreciate, enjoy, and dare I say it, relish the carefree lifestyle that summer offers to teachers. Do I sometimes leave dirty dishes in the sink at night? Yes. Do my kids and I stay up way too late watching Amazing Stories? Naturally. Do we plan to go swimming 10 minutes before we go swimming? Without a doubt.

I have the next few days of blissful summer left before school brings it all to a grinding halt on Monday. What will we do? Anything we want; because, after all, summer is being yanked out from under our noses... and sometimes there's just no time to shave.

Kindergarten Spring Fling

Today at recess one of my students, a girl, came running up to me. This is what she said:
"Mrs. Stagg, there's this kid, well he was Jenny's boyfriend, but they broke up, and then he got jealous of her and now he's growling at us. Can you make him stop?"

It's good to know that spring and love are in the air.

It's Official

Yep. I'm the world's greatest teacher. Here are two documents attesting to the truth.

My Crazy Mixed-Up Day

My day started off like this: I realized that I am married to a wookie. Not because he's big and fuzzy and cuddly. But because he sounds like one when he sleeps. Something has got to give, because:

I got it in my head somehow that everyone at school was supposed to wear green. We've been celebrating Dr. Seuss' birthday all week and I thought that we were all wearing green in honor of Green Eggs and Ham. I told my kindergarteners to show up today in as much green as they possibly could because there was going to be a prize awarded to the class who had the most. So this morning, my 22 5 and 6-year-olds came decked out in their most verde-licious duds. There were green bows, beads, socks, tights, shoes, shirts, and even a green shark-tooth necklace. Much to my dismay, there was no such contest going on.

Unfortunately, they kept asking when the student council was coming to count up their green-ness. So, being a master of improv, I said, "let me count you all up and I'll turn it in to the principal." Fortunately there is a grocery store right next to the school and I quickly ducked out during recess to pick up some green peeps as their "prize."

As I was walking down the hall towards the exit, I noticed a man, who I assumed was a substitute teacher, using a snow shovel to prop open the door (yes we had a major snowstorm overnight). You have to have an activated I.D. badge to get into any door in the school, besides the main entrance. Hence, I presumed, the reason for the snow shovel. His minivan was parked in the drop-off/pick-up zone and for some unexplained reason, as I crossed the parking lot, he decided to back up at full speed. In other words, he punched it. In other words, I found myself running for my life. Across a snowy, slushy, slippery parking lot. He missed me by a few inches. When he realized what he had done, he did apologize, and proceeded to explain that he was trying to back up to his former parking spot. There were no parking spots available in the area he was reversing toward, by the way. I found out later that there were no male substitutes in the building today, so I still don't know who he was.

Needless to say, I came home and took a long nap.

Kindergarten Writing Project

I gave my students a writing assignment: "I love my ______."

This assignment now falls under more things I love:

"I love my frogs."
"I love my sister." She wrote it, then looked at me and said, "but not my other sister."
"I love my pistol."
"I love my dog but he's dead." (I wonder if the kid with the pistol had anything to do with that).
"I love my sea monkeys."

I love kindergarten.

Survival Week

This week is S.E.P. week at school. S.E.P stands for "student education plan" - a fancy term for parent-teacher conferences. Report cards are filled. Data is entered. Goals are set. Plans are made. Meetings are held. We celebrate success and offer suggestions for improvement. We look for ways to improve our own teaching methods. We put up dazzling bulletin boards for parents to admire. We make new seating charts and create small learning groups. We evaluate and re-evaluate. We marvel at some people's ability to procreate and marvel still at their inability to parent. We give each other knowing nods and sympathetic smiles as we pass each other in the hall. We spend 12 hours at a time at the school and then go home and take care of our own kids.

And somewhere, somewhere in the middle of all that, we might even teach a little.

I've simply been referring to it as "survival week."

Wanna Hear (Read) Something Funny?

I was sitting at my desk this morning as the kindergartners made their way into the classroom. One especially cute little boy walked right up to my desk, with eyes wide as quarters, looked at me and said, "Mrs. Stagg, did you see The Biggest Loser last night?!?!?"

Why I Love Kindergarten

Christmas break is officially over and today was the big return to school. This is my second year teaching kindergarten and I am really enjoying it. Before my kids were born I taught 4th and 5th grades and I couldn't understand how anyone could handle the chaos known as kindergarten.

Kindergarten is an interesting place to be. Do you remember the toy that had a clear dome full of hard little plastic balls and a long push handle? When you pushed it across the floor, all the little balls would pop every which way and make a noise that would send your mother into fits of rage. Well kindergarten is something like that toy, only you're trapped inside with all of the little popping balls. Eventually you learn to escape and become the person pushing the handle (most days).

Every morning I discuss the calendar with my class. We sing about the days and months, we count how many days we've been in school, and I call on a helper to add the date to our calendar on the wall. The numbers are printed on little sunburst-shaped die-cuts. One side is yellow and the other side is orange. Our first day of school was on September 11th, so I had placed the first 12 days on the calendar yellow side out. On the first day of school I placed the date orange side out to indicate that it was a special day. I did the same for holidays and students' birthdays. After that, as the children came up to place the die-cuts, they started turning them orange-side out if we had P.E., art, or library that day. Then a new pattern emerged. As the child would come up to the calendar, several of the other kids would whisper, "Special! Special!" So the child would again stick the number orange side out. Everyone else would then give a Tiger Woods fist pump and triumphantly cheer "Yesssss!" Finally, we are to the point where every day is an orange day.

Every day is special. And that's why I love kindergarten.

Merry Christmas!

Today is December 2nd, so I thought I'd better get this out in the open right now. I am a Christian and I celebrate Christmas. I have a sparkly, pretty Christmas tree in my living room. There is a nativity set sitting on my entrance table. My family and I are spending the month reading accounts of Jesus Christ's birth from the scriptures. I will give my children Christmas presents on the morning of the 25th. I will wish various people throughout the month a Merry Christmas. If you happen to be one of those people, but you don't celebrate Christmas, I won't hold that against you. I won't apologize for it either, but please don't hold it against me because I celebrate it. I am simply giving you greeting of warmth, love, and general good cheer.

If a Jewish friend wants to wish me a Happy Hannukah, that's fine with me. I promise not to be offended. I will be glad for the kindness. That goes for anybody else who celebrates anything at this time of year. What a nice way of sharing a little bit of yourself with me!

I write about this today because a co-worker of mine was recently berated by a parent whose daughter came home with a paper turkey. He yelled at my friend, telling her in no uncertain terms that he did not want his daughter involved in any type of activity that had anything to do with any holidays. Period. This teacher never received so much as a note on a napkin informing her of this request. We've already celebrated Halloween and the parent never said "Boo." When this parent came in with his tongue lashing, he didn't cite any type of religious reasons or any other reason, for that matter. Thanksgiving is an American holiday, by the way; not a religious one. His child attends an American public school. What does he expect?

Let me give you non-teachers a bit of advice: when an irrational parent comes in and yells at and berates a teacher, all it gets you is disrespected and talked about behind your back amongst all the other teachers. And then, as your child moves up through the grades, nobody wants her because they don't want to deal with YOU.

Of course we teachers are happy to accommodate and will respect requests for students to not participate in certain activities for whatever reason. Many years ago I had a student whose family practiced a religion that did not allow for the celebration of parties, including holidays and birthdays. They spoke to me about it in a calm and kind manner on the first day of school; and you know what? We parted at the end of the year with genuine feelings of kindness and mutual respect. That student has to be in his early twenties now and I can imagine that he is a very successful and well-rounded young man.

I realize I live in a part of the country (Utah) where most people predominantly belong to one religion. But I have a grandmother who is a Muslim. She sends me Christmas cards. I have relatives who don't believe in any type of higher power at all. They send me Christmas cards. I have relatives who are gay, who are living with HIV, who are black, white, Indonesian, Dutch, American, Catholic... you name it. They've all got a branch on my family tree. And the fruit is beautiful.

So this December, let me share a little bit of myself with you.

Merry Christmas, people!

Tuesdays with Mrs. Stagg

I guess I'm on a kid quote thing lately.

Today is Tuesday. You'll need to know that in a sec.

My kindergarten class goes to art every Tuesday. Today the art teacher had little piles of legos for each of the kids to play with while she pulled them back one by one to do something artsy with them. Being that report cards are due tomorrow I sat in a corner and tabulated assessment scores and eaves-dropped on 5-year-old conversations. This is what I heard:

Boy: Hey - let's make a robot!
Girl: Don't spit on me!
Boy: Let's make a robot!
Girl: I said don't spit on me! That's gross! And I took a bath! I took a bath on Sunday!

Uh-huh.

Start 'Em Out Young

If you didn't already know, I teach kindergarten. Along with getting 22 5-year-olds to sit still for more than 25 seconds at a time, I'm supposed to teach them to write their names. To accomplish this, I laminated 22 sheets of grid paper and wrote each letter of each of their names with meticulous perfection. I then gave each student their paper and a dry-erase marker.

The last writing session was going better than I ever expected. They were quiet. They were focused. They were writing their names. And then one girl (who shall remain nameless but about whom I'm SURE you'll be hearing a lot this year) discovered that the dry erase marker "smelled good." She quickly pointed this out to the other kids at her table who all proceeded to wave their markers under each others' nostrils. Word spread like wildfire and within seconds, I had a class full of little sniffers.

I actually said the words, "markers are for writing, not for smelling." Thankfully it was over before they could move on to the spray paint.