I just experienced my last spring break. It feels kind of sad. I am just like the kids at school in their excitement for the one week of freedom that we long to experience during the hectic school year. My last one.
Yes, I know….I've heard it before--"teachers have it made with all of those vacations." When you work so closely and intensely with students--we both need breaks to recharge to come back strong again. It's a job that you don't leave daily. You take it home. If not papers and planning materials, then it's worry and constant thoughts of what needs to be done. We are NEVER done. Even if we come in on the weekends (which many of us do) or stay late into the evenings--there's always more that could have been done. Those who say that about the vacations have never been in one of our classrooms for a day. The pressures of teaching are just growing and so is the workload.
I think I was able to stay in teaching as long as I did because of my school breaks. The spring was always the beginning of my training for wheelchair racing or the hand cycling season. I always looked forward to it with excitement and vigor. The summer breaks were when I would really train hard and go to competitions. I couldn't have done that if I didn't have the two and a half months off in the summer. That was a time when I really did manage to forget about work and concentrate on myself. My thoughts were on equipment, training techniques and where I would go to compete. My alter ego of "wheelchair racer" or "hancyclist" would get its turn. I trained and played hard for those months and enjoyed them immensely. However, even on those trips--my thoughts still went back to teaching. I would look for books or materials to buy and use in my classroom. Sometimes I would find some artifacts to bring back that I know would fit one of our social studies units. I would even bring my students addresses so I could send them post cards from my travels or even little trinkets to give them when I returned. Those brought more excitement to them than I would ever know.
Spring break is short (maybe not to others) but it seems to fly by. You have to grab all the gusto you can before it's time for that last long push to the end of the school year. This year, I will savor it, remember it and be thankful for it as it will probably be my last. (but never say never as who knows what my next career will bring)
Showing posts with label students. Show all posts
Showing posts with label students. Show all posts
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Sunday, September 25, 2011
When in doubt...call a meeting!!
Well, we've been in school now for about a month--or 23 days of actual school. It's amazing where my class is now from the beginning of those 23 days. They are more solid in our routines. Our transition times are better, they are showing signs of academic progress.
They are enthusiastic about learning and that's why I love teaching second graders. They get excited about new things, they'll work hard for a sticker, they come up and give you hugs, and can be taught independence. I think by mid October we'll be running like a well-oiled machine. That's when I can take a breath....and sit back and watch them do as they are expected.
My job is far from over, though. I have over a year's worth of curriculum to teach them in a year. The district has our daily, weekly and monthly curricula to be taught all laid out. It just doesn't account for the lack of hours in the day. We've already taken out anything that doesn't fit the CAP. (that's the document we all follow) It sounds great to have everything laid out like that, but it doesn't allow for any reteaching when the kids don't get it...or interruptions such as fire drills or assemblies--or God forbid, fun things! When those occur, you are behind. It just seems like you are always trying to catch up.
This document says that students are entitled to a "guaranteed and viable curriculum" by Jeffco. That means that you could walk into any 2nd grade class in the district and we should be teaching the same things in math, reading, writing, etc. This sounds good...but if you walk into any 2nd grade classroom across the district you will find very different situations in each. We are not all the same. Some have very impacted populations that need lots of intense interventions just to get them to the level they should have started at. Others may have students whom can move quickly through the curriculum. Usually, we have both ends of the spectrum and are expected to provide individual students with what they need. That is what we all want to do...hope to do. However, reality steps in--and you do the best you can with the resources you have.
It gets overwhelming. I don't know how new teachers do it. I've been around for 28 years--and I still feel overwhelmed at times. The meetings alone keep your schedule filled. We have staff meetings every Wednesday. Team meetings every week. Meetings with our coach twice a month, we have a book study we are doing and meet monthly for, we have professional development in writing every month. Those are just the planned ones. Then there are the meetings that just seem to pop up out of no where. (parents, or principal, etc.) With all of these meetings, it's amazing that we can get anything done in our classrooms at all. I guess that's why I'm there until 5 or 6pm most days.
It's this time of year I look longingly back at the summer, when my time was my own and the only meeting I had was with my bike on a long path. I'll keep plugging along, and it will get easier, I hope. Until then....if you can't reach me, I'm probably in a meeting.
They are enthusiastic about learning and that's why I love teaching second graders. They get excited about new things, they'll work hard for a sticker, they come up and give you hugs, and can be taught independence. I think by mid October we'll be running like a well-oiled machine. That's when I can take a breath....and sit back and watch them do as they are expected.
My job is far from over, though. I have over a year's worth of curriculum to teach them in a year. The district has our daily, weekly and monthly curricula to be taught all laid out. It just doesn't account for the lack of hours in the day. We've already taken out anything that doesn't fit the CAP. (that's the document we all follow) It sounds great to have everything laid out like that, but it doesn't allow for any reteaching when the kids don't get it...or interruptions such as fire drills or assemblies--or God forbid, fun things! When those occur, you are behind. It just seems like you are always trying to catch up.
This document says that students are entitled to a "guaranteed and viable curriculum" by Jeffco. That means that you could walk into any 2nd grade class in the district and we should be teaching the same things in math, reading, writing, etc. This sounds good...but if you walk into any 2nd grade classroom across the district you will find very different situations in each. We are not all the same. Some have very impacted populations that need lots of intense interventions just to get them to the level they should have started at. Others may have students whom can move quickly through the curriculum. Usually, we have both ends of the spectrum and are expected to provide individual students with what they need. That is what we all want to do...hope to do. However, reality steps in--and you do the best you can with the resources you have.
It gets overwhelming. I don't know how new teachers do it. I've been around for 28 years--and I still feel overwhelmed at times. The meetings alone keep your schedule filled. We have staff meetings every Wednesday. Team meetings every week. Meetings with our coach twice a month, we have a book study we are doing and meet monthly for, we have professional development in writing every month. Those are just the planned ones. Then there are the meetings that just seem to pop up out of no where. (parents, or principal, etc.) With all of these meetings, it's amazing that we can get anything done in our classrooms at all. I guess that's why I'm there until 5 or 6pm most days.
It's this time of year I look longingly back at the summer, when my time was my own and the only meeting I had was with my bike on a long path. I'll keep plugging along, and it will get easier, I hope. Until then....if you can't reach me, I'm probably in a meeting.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Who Needs Sleep?
Thousands of us teachers started back to work yesterday, I was one among them. I entered into my classroom, with some dread. Where had the summer gone? It seemed like yesterday when I was scrambling to get it packed up for the summer. The summer is just a memory....but not yet faded. I long to jump on my bike to cruise down the South Platte trail or sit on my patio reading a great book.
Some people think teachers have it made because we have the summers off. I will admit that it s a perk to have that time off. However, I don't know how long I could have lasted as a teacher if I didn't have that long break to disconnect and re-energize. I learned to immerse myself in my play, as I do with my teaching in the Fall. Working with kids takes a great deal of energy--both physical and mental. That stamina has to be built up--just like we do with the kids.
So, after a picture for my new staff badge, and a group shot with the whole staff out in front of the school--we were released for our designated "teacher work day." It wasn't twenty minutes later, that all K-3 teachers were required to go into the library for a training or re-training on one of our assessments. I sat there thinking about all I had to do. It urks me that we have so many meetings!!
After a full day of working and meetings--I decided I had to go shopping for more "teacher stuff." I went in for a few specific things and come out with two large bags full. Once I got home I worked on making labels for the files of the new class of kids. I don't mind this mindless stuff that requires little or no thinking, I can do it while in front of the TV. I also wanted to get ready for the testing we do next Friday--so I spent another hour working on the computer.
Finally, I decided to go to bed at 11:30. Now, I'm a night owl--during the summer. But this is something I have to change once school starts. I can no longer stay up past midnight and wake refreshed and ready to go. (I don't really think I ever could, even when I was younger!) So, I get to bed and--I can't get to sleep.
My mind was thinking about all of the things that I wanted and needed to do. I tossed and turned, trying to turn off my mind. This always happens when the school year begins. I go from worrying about which route I'm going to ride the next morning to planning, meetings, and getting every little detail prepared for school. It's a transition that takes some time.
I finally got up and took an Advil PM to help me sleep. I guess I must have slept because I woke up the next morning--but definitely not refreshed!! I was thankful I didn't have to work with kids this day. I'm hoping for a good night's sleep tonight and I've got to stop dreaming about working!!
Some people think teachers have it made because we have the summers off. I will admit that it s a perk to have that time off. However, I don't know how long I could have lasted as a teacher if I didn't have that long break to disconnect and re-energize. I learned to immerse myself in my play, as I do with my teaching in the Fall. Working with kids takes a great deal of energy--both physical and mental. That stamina has to be built up--just like we do with the kids.
So, after a picture for my new staff badge, and a group shot with the whole staff out in front of the school--we were released for our designated "teacher work day." It wasn't twenty minutes later, that all K-3 teachers were required to go into the library for a training or re-training on one of our assessments. I sat there thinking about all I had to do. It urks me that we have so many meetings!!
After a full day of working and meetings--I decided I had to go shopping for more "teacher stuff." I went in for a few specific things and come out with two large bags full. Once I got home I worked on making labels for the files of the new class of kids. I don't mind this mindless stuff that requires little or no thinking, I can do it while in front of the TV. I also wanted to get ready for the testing we do next Friday--so I spent another hour working on the computer.
Finally, I decided to go to bed at 11:30. Now, I'm a night owl--during the summer. But this is something I have to change once school starts. I can no longer stay up past midnight and wake refreshed and ready to go. (I don't really think I ever could, even when I was younger!) So, I get to bed and--I can't get to sleep.
My mind was thinking about all of the things that I wanted and needed to do. I tossed and turned, trying to turn off my mind. This always happens when the school year begins. I go from worrying about which route I'm going to ride the next morning to planning, meetings, and getting every little detail prepared for school. It's a transition that takes some time.
I finally got up and took an Advil PM to help me sleep. I guess I must have slept because I woke up the next morning--but definitely not refreshed!! I was thankful I didn't have to work with kids this day. I'm hoping for a good night's sleep tonight and I've got to stop dreaming about working!!
Friday, August 12, 2011
A Story
I took the Colorado Writing Project this summer. It got me in touch with my own stories that were in me to tell and that's where I wrote this. This is a story that stayed with me even though it happened over 20 years ago. It was my first year in regular education--having transferred out of special ed. It was a year I never forgot.
Classroom Terror
Sherry Schulz
July 21, 2011
CWP II
I sit at the back table in my classroom during reading. The kids in my guided reading group are involved in partner reading a passage. We are looking at making meaning from what we have just read. I look at my six students who are in front of me at our reading table. They whisper read with their partner, coaching each other as I have taught. My eye wanders across the room and over to Jamie. She’s supposed to be copying her spelling words but I see that she has her hands in her desk. My focus pulls back and I can see the hundreds of tiny pink bits of paper under and all around her desk. I will her to look at me so I can give her that “teacher look” but she carries on with her scissor escapades. I can no longer stand it.
I speed wheel over to her desk.
“Jamie, what are you supposed to be doing?” I ask sarcastically.
She just looks at me sheepishly. Her fiery red hair and puddles of freckles on her nose and cheeks seem to glow on her pale white skin. She just sits there looking guilty.
Just ignore and then redirect I tell myself before I begin to lose it. That’s what I was taught. That’s what works for most students but not for Jamie.
“I didn’t do that, it wasn’t me!” she exclaims as she puts her scissors back into her desk.
“How many times to I have to tell you to stop fooling around and get your work done?” I ask with my voice rising in volume.
Her face starts to turn a light shade of pink, then it turns a brilliant shade of red. She jumps up from her seat, pushes past me and flies out the door of the classroom.
Panicked, I follow her.
She’s in the darkened computer lab. She sits balled up next to a bookshelf with tears flowing freely. She’s crying hysterically with gulping sobs as sloppy tears drench her freckled cheeks.
My heart is beating fast, my face flushed in anger. I can think of no words of comfort or understanding. I can only remember her misdeeds for which there are many.
“Jamie, you need to come back into the classroom—now!”
She cries on and sobs, “I hate this school, and I want to leave!”
I bite my tough to keep it from saying my inner most thought (go ahead, please!) I head back to the classroom trying to calm myself and put my focus back on the students who are doing things right.
Why can’t I find the good in her, I think. Every child has a part of them that makes them loveable—where’s Jamie’s? I head home that day drained from our dramatic encounter.
The next day Jamie comes in happy as ever—as if nothing had happened. It doesn’t bother her—but it bothers me. I am the teacher. I am not supposed to let a student push my buttons the way that she does.
We carry on through our days, some bad and some worse. A month passes. I wonder how I will get through the year.
Today is Friday and the kids are excited. It’s a fun day that we do for every Friday in October. The kids earn a scary story reading session by me if they can earn the letters for “Fright Day” throughout the week. By Some miracle, the class has earned it this afternoon.
I exclaim, “Okay, now it’s time for fright day!”
Cheers rise up from the class as the students scurry around the room, closing the blinds, shutting the door and finding my flashlight. We gather in a big huddle on the floor in the middle of the room. I pull my wheelchair up to the group and Evan goes and fetches the pillow that I will sit on. They watch me as I pull my feet out of my footplates, scoot to the end of my seat and gently set myself down on the pillow below.
I hear “Wow, you’re short! “
“Your legs look kind of funny!”
“I know, I am short but you can’t tell when I’m sitting in my chair, can you? My legs are paralyzed, so they are kinda skinny looking,” I reply.
It’s the second time the kids have seen me out of my wheelchair. I like to see their reactions. They are so real and so honest—and many times just blurt out a question or a comment. Since Jamie was new, she had never seen me do this before.
I get out my Scary Stories to Read in the Dark series and begin to read. I make them all jump when I yell, “YOU HAVE IT!” with the Big Toe story. They huddle together loving every scary minute of it.
Amanda looks frightened.
She asks, “Can I go in the hall because this is too scary for me.”
“Sure you can, “ I say. “Just bring a book with you to read by our door.”
After a half an hour our fright day is up. They moan and beg for more but it is near the end of the day so there is no more time to give. We break our huddle as the kids switch back on the lights, open the door to let back in the kids in the hall, and raise the blinds.
I move my chair behind me as I grab the seat pole to begin to lift myself back in.
“Okay, who’s going to lift me?” I jokingly say.
They just laugh at the thought of trying to carry me and put me back in my wheelchair. Jamie comes up to me and puts her hands beneath my legs in an effort to help me into my chair.
I am touched. A warmness overtakes me. I have never seen her do anything that resembled kindness or helpfulness. This was a first.
“Thanks, Jamie,” I say. “But I can really do it myself.” She smiles
and stays near in case I do need her.
We get our room cleaned up for the end of the day. The chairs are stacked, folders passed out and the kids are lined up ready for the bell. The bell rings and the students eagerly file out of the room. Jamie swings by me on her way out and gives me a strong hug. I hug her back. We have found our connection.
I think maybe I will be able to get through the year after all.
Twenty plus years later I am at a Starbucks in a Barnes and Noble. A young woman with red hair waits on me as I order my skinny vanilla. She looks at me with an unbelieving look.
“Are you Ms. Ramsey?” she asks.
It was Jamie all grown up. We talk of our lives since our year together in fourth grade. Her freckles have faded—but I still see her essence of her younger self. As I am ready to leave she replies,
“You were my favorite teacher,”
I smile as I head out and think I am grateful we found the goodness in each other.
Classroom Terror
Sherry Schulz
July 21, 2011
CWP II
I sit at the back table in my classroom during reading. The kids in my guided reading group are involved in partner reading a passage. We are looking at making meaning from what we have just read. I look at my six students who are in front of me at our reading table. They whisper read with their partner, coaching each other as I have taught. My eye wanders across the room and over to Jamie. She’s supposed to be copying her spelling words but I see that she has her hands in her desk. My focus pulls back and I can see the hundreds of tiny pink bits of paper under and all around her desk. I will her to look at me so I can give her that “teacher look” but she carries on with her scissor escapades. I can no longer stand it.
I speed wheel over to her desk.
“Jamie, what are you supposed to be doing?” I ask sarcastically.
She just looks at me sheepishly. Her fiery red hair and puddles of freckles on her nose and cheeks seem to glow on her pale white skin. She just sits there looking guilty.
Just ignore and then redirect I tell myself before I begin to lose it. That’s what I was taught. That’s what works for most students but not for Jamie.
“I didn’t do that, it wasn’t me!” she exclaims as she puts her scissors back into her desk.
“How many times to I have to tell you to stop fooling around and get your work done?” I ask with my voice rising in volume.
Her face starts to turn a light shade of pink, then it turns a brilliant shade of red. She jumps up from her seat, pushes past me and flies out the door of the classroom.
Panicked, I follow her.
She’s in the darkened computer lab. She sits balled up next to a bookshelf with tears flowing freely. She’s crying hysterically with gulping sobs as sloppy tears drench her freckled cheeks.
My heart is beating fast, my face flushed in anger. I can think of no words of comfort or understanding. I can only remember her misdeeds for which there are many.
“Jamie, you need to come back into the classroom—now!”
She cries on and sobs, “I hate this school, and I want to leave!”
I bite my tough to keep it from saying my inner most thought (go ahead, please!) I head back to the classroom trying to calm myself and put my focus back on the students who are doing things right.
Why can’t I find the good in her, I think. Every child has a part of them that makes them loveable—where’s Jamie’s? I head home that day drained from our dramatic encounter.
The next day Jamie comes in happy as ever—as if nothing had happened. It doesn’t bother her—but it bothers me. I am the teacher. I am not supposed to let a student push my buttons the way that she does.
We carry on through our days, some bad and some worse. A month passes. I wonder how I will get through the year.
Today is Friday and the kids are excited. It’s a fun day that we do for every Friday in October. The kids earn a scary story reading session by me if they can earn the letters for “Fright Day” throughout the week. By Some miracle, the class has earned it this afternoon.
I exclaim, “Okay, now it’s time for fright day!”
Cheers rise up from the class as the students scurry around the room, closing the blinds, shutting the door and finding my flashlight. We gather in a big huddle on the floor in the middle of the room. I pull my wheelchair up to the group and Evan goes and fetches the pillow that I will sit on. They watch me as I pull my feet out of my footplates, scoot to the end of my seat and gently set myself down on the pillow below.
I hear “Wow, you’re short! “
“Your legs look kind of funny!”
“I know, I am short but you can’t tell when I’m sitting in my chair, can you? My legs are paralyzed, so they are kinda skinny looking,” I reply.
It’s the second time the kids have seen me out of my wheelchair. I like to see their reactions. They are so real and so honest—and many times just blurt out a question or a comment. Since Jamie was new, she had never seen me do this before.
I get out my Scary Stories to Read in the Dark series and begin to read. I make them all jump when I yell, “YOU HAVE IT!” with the Big Toe story. They huddle together loving every scary minute of it.
Amanda looks frightened.
She asks, “Can I go in the hall because this is too scary for me.”
“Sure you can, “ I say. “Just bring a book with you to read by our door.”
After a half an hour our fright day is up. They moan and beg for more but it is near the end of the day so there is no more time to give. We break our huddle as the kids switch back on the lights, open the door to let back in the kids in the hall, and raise the blinds.
I move my chair behind me as I grab the seat pole to begin to lift myself back in.
“Okay, who’s going to lift me?” I jokingly say.
They just laugh at the thought of trying to carry me and put me back in my wheelchair. Jamie comes up to me and puts her hands beneath my legs in an effort to help me into my chair.
I am touched. A warmness overtakes me. I have never seen her do anything that resembled kindness or helpfulness. This was a first.
“Thanks, Jamie,” I say. “But I can really do it myself.” She smiles
and stays near in case I do need her.
We get our room cleaned up for the end of the day. The chairs are stacked, folders passed out and the kids are lined up ready for the bell. The bell rings and the students eagerly file out of the room. Jamie swings by me on her way out and gives me a strong hug. I hug her back. We have found our connection.
I think maybe I will be able to get through the year after all.
Twenty plus years later I am at a Starbucks in a Barnes and Noble. A young woman with red hair waits on me as I order my skinny vanilla. She looks at me with an unbelieving look.
“Are you Ms. Ramsey?” she asks.
It was Jamie all grown up. We talk of our lives since our year together in fourth grade. Her freckles have faded—but I still see her essence of her younger self. As I am ready to leave she replies,
“You were my favorite teacher,”
I smile as I head out and think I am grateful we found the goodness in each other.
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