slight misunderstanding

I now have a nickname. I've never had one that stuck before, but this one's sticking. It started with a few people assuming I was Black while taking attendance (an understandable assumption, since everyone else is Black), and the name has stuck, mainly because people think it's funny that someone as White as I am would ever be mistaken for Black. I now answer to the name Shawana (it would be spelled Scha'Wannah if I were truly Black) as well as to the shorter and accurate Shawna. At least I know what I'd be called if I were born Black.

walking back from lunch...

Last week I was walking my students from the cafeteria to my classroom after lunch. We were lined up outside the classroom and Mikea started vomiting - profusely - all over the hallway. And it wasn't just once - we're talking four or five good vomits. I've had students throw up before, but never quite so energetically or with so much quantity. I asked my paraprofessional to grab the trashcan, and I got it under Mikea for the last one or two heaves. Well, the rest of the students were still standing in line, fascinated by the sight of Mikea displaying everything they had for lunch. Then the smell started to hit, and some of the other kids began sympathy-vomiting. So I was standing in the hallway, one hand over my nose so I wouldn't throw up as well, trying to get the trashcan under whichever student was gagging. I felt a bit like a basketball player, trying to be anywhere the action was. Eventually most of the students either had emptied their stomachs or been ushered into the room by my paraprofessional, while I escorted Mikea and the other vomiters to the nurse to get cleaned up. Occasionally one of them would give a hiccup or a cough, and I'd leap to get the trashcan under them. I suppose I was a little jumpy, but who wouldn't be if they just survived a rash of vomiting in the hallway?

I think I can

Today after lunch, I read the students a story about animals, and we were talking about the various characteristics of each animal. I illustrated on the white board when the pictures in the book weren't sufficient (ex. the webbed feet of a duck). I was trying to show them how a frog can croak by putting air in a pouch in his neck, and the students wanted me to draw it on the board. I'm good at stick figures, or occasionally a farm animal, but beyond that, my skill rapidly deteriorates. Often I'll tell my students what I'm drawing, and that eliminates a lot of problems. For example, I'll say, "This is a horse. See, here's the mane, and this is the tail." Anyway, it's hard to draw a stick-figure frog. I said, "I don't think I can draw a frog." Cycret replied, "Uh uh, Ms. Marshall. You need to say, 'I think I can, I think I can.'" I laughed, because she was right. We'd been having problems with students whining, "I can't" when I asked them to do something, so we'd read The Little Engine That Could and really discussed how to face challenges. So I then modeled what I had taught them to do, and I drew a frog on the board. And I must say, it was a beautiful frog. I amazed even myself, and I haven't brought myself to erase it yet.

brief, but complete

I think I've become a little too efficient. There are a few other TFAers in my certification class offered by the county, but most of the participants are veteran teachers who are renewing their certification. We had to give a presentation that consisted of a literacy lesson as though we were giving it to our students. We were to provide copies of our lesson plan and any handouts for everyone in the class. Those presenting before me teach upper grades, and they were teaching guided reading lessons, creative writing, and high-level thinking activities. Their lesson plans consisted of packets of paper and lots of other impressive-looking handouts that they passed out periodically throughout their lesson. My lesson plan was half a page, composed of three sentences and a couple bullet points. When it was my turn, I went up to the front of the class, handed out some puppets, read a book to the class, and sat back down. That's my literacy lesson. If I can get my 4-yr-olds to sit through an entire story, my lesson is a raving success. There weren't a lot of comments on my lesson (maybe because there wasn't much to comment on). There were a few other pre-k teachers in the class, although they present next week. As soon as class ended, they started laughing at me because my lesson plan was so short. I had everything in my lesson plan that I needed, but I doubt that the teacher appreciated my brevity.

is it snowing? NO.

Two days in a row this week it rained during recess time, so we had to stay inside for recess. This is a killer for both me and the students. They have to behave, and I have to try to figure out a way to get their energy out in a way that is still quiet and orderly. The next day it didn't rain, and I was so excited. We bundled the kids up and marched them outside. I opened the door, and it was snowing. Well, barely flaking, but around here that constitutes as nearly a snowstorm. Now, I love snow. I adore it. Winter is the best time of the year. But I was horrified. If it's snowing, it's technically too cold for the kids to be outside (ridiculous, yes, I know). But I desperately wanted the kids outside for recess that day. So I ignored the snow and brought the kids out for recess. The kids were ecstatic: "It's SNOWING!!" Me: "No, not really. There's a flake or two, but it's not really snowing." If I admitted that it was snowing, I'd have to take them back inside. So I continued to downplay the reality of the weather until it was time to head back in. I felt bad about putting a damper on their excitement, but at least we were outside for recess. That's all that really mattered, anyway.

I'm thankful for...

In recognition of the coming holiday, we wrote a list of things yesterday in class that we are grateful for. I told the students what we were going to do, but I clearly didn't do a good enough job of modeling what I was looking for, because the first response was, "I'm grateful for Spiderman!" I wrote it down. The other kids took their cue from the first one, and we soon had a list of all the superhero and cartoon characters known. After they had exhausted the supply of cartoon characters, one girl varied slightly from the format and said, "I'm grateful for my Cinderella dress." I was so excited. I said, "Clothing! Great!" and wrote it down.

Little girl: "No, I'm grateful for my Cinderella dress."

Me: "Yes. That's clothing. We need clothing to keep us warm."

Small but stubborn girl: "No, I'm grateful for my Cinderella dress."

Larger and stubborn teacher who is holding the marker: "Yes. Clothing. Great job. Anyone else?"

Since we didn't quite meet the objective I had in mind, we tried again the next day. I did a better job of modeling. Me: "For example, I'm grateful that I have food to eat and a place to sleep." It went better, although we got a lot less responses. Apparently I had not understood the relative importance of superheros and cartoon figures.

time management

Saturday we had TFA professional development, a five-hour ordeal composed of three different sessions. Two of the three are elective workshops, which are chosen several days in advance, normally during times when one is most busy and doesn't want to be bothered with reading through what each workshop entails. For the first session on Saturday, I had signed up to go to a Time-Saving Tips class. When I walked in, the class was full (40 or 50 corps members) and only one of them was a second year. Apparently we were the only two second years who hadn't gotten our act together. Everyone else had already figured out how to save time. We thought it was pretty funny, and continued to waste time by not doing the assigned work through most of the session After all, who wants to learn how to save time when one has successfully lived the last 26 years in happiness without it?

birthday party gone awry

Friday was J's 5th birthday. His mother had called the week before and asked if she could bring cupcakes for the class. I said of course, told her what time snack was, and didn't think more about it. I didn't think J's mom would forget, but I didn't think it would be a big deal. The kids would eat the cupcakes with their snack, sing happy birthday to J, and head home. Well, J's mom did bring in the cupcakes - and ice cream, and the whole works. She had brought enough for both pre-K classrooms, so the other class came in with us, and all the adults were running around pulling up tables and chairs and putting down special birthday napkins and bowls for the ice cream and everything. J had a special HUGE cupcake, with candles in it, so all 34 kids had to wait until J had made a wish and blown out the candles (I'm not sure candles are allowed in a school) before they could eat their cupcake and ice cream. The waiting, I think, was pure torture for them. We had finally gotten everything settled (by now normally we'd be cleaning up snack) and the fire alarm went off. We rushed both classes outside and waited, and waited, and waited. Someone must have pulled the fire alarm, cause it took forever for the janitors to ring the bell to let us back in. By the time we got back in, it was time to go home, and the kids still hadn't eaten their cupcake and melting ice cream. The adults again scurried around, yelling EAT! EAT! to disgruntled children and rushed them through the cleaning-up-and-getting-backpacks-on process and ran them out the door as the buses were getting ready to leave. All in all, I'm not sure that J's birthday went quite the way either his mother or I had thought it would. But I think it will be one of the most memorable birthday parties I've hosted. The best part about it, I think, was that J and his mom had made the cupcakes from scratch, including the icing. They had put so much food coloring into the icing that it stained the kids' skin. And of course, none of them could eat a cupcake without getting it all over their faces. So no matter how we tried, nearly all students had blue, red, orange, or green stains covering their nose, mouth, cheeks, and chin. It looked like we had put muzzles on the children and sent them home. The provoked teacher strikes again.