We Inherited a Zoo

So, I haven't written something here in awhile.  I considered many different weighty, profound topics for my next entry, because it's been sort of a weighty year.  I contemplated the issue of how the smartest group of students I've ever had makes for the most stressful year, the woes of unhappy teachers unions, and life under a microscope as a teacher.

It's been a busy year so far, what with attending far more teacher meetings than I ever have, and also plowing through a 6 week middle school endorsement class.  I just don't have the mental stamina to write one more scholarly article with APA citations, I tell you!

Instead, I will resort to the brainless and comical as it pertains to my school.

So here it goes: my school is a zoo.  Whether it be the result of the drought, elevated animal reproduction rates, or the exterior of the school eroding, all I know is there are more beasts than children in the school right now.

Here is the current line up for the Animal Kingdom Parade!

 The Box Elder!

                                                                             The Centipede!








 





 The Wolf Spider!

                                  And....

                                                         The Mouse!





Okay, so the mouse hasn't made an appearance in a couple of years, but we still find remnants of the past in the form of tiny shreds of Hershey's Kisses wrappers. I'll never forget the time I turned around from my computer to find Ralph--sans motorcycle--sitting a few feet away just staring at me. I think there were a few moments' confusion as to who really belonged in the room.

The mouse is a distant memory, but the three aforementioned critters are alive and well and terrorizing our school.  Spiders have scurried over children's feet mid-class; a box-elder landed directly in my hand while I waited for the copy machine the other day; bookshelves have been broken in attempts to apprehend the intruders.  Teacher pleas for pesticide have not been well received, so I'm thinking it's about time to go vigilante on these mugs.

So I've done some research (would ya look at that?  The brain cells aren't all used up yet!) and here's what I've found out. Some home remedies for repelling wolf spiders include hummingbirds, lavender, and diatomaceous (???) earth. Also, wolf spiders just love trees, logs, brush, and other foliage.  So, I will probably pave the prairie in the school's backyard and put up a parking lot.

For centipedes, one website suggests setting out a sticky trap and catching multiple at once.  The image of a sticky trap full of centipedes has just insured at least one nightmare tonight.

Apparently box elder bugs can never be completely killed off as they have an "unlimited source" and migrant box elders will come from neighboring places to replace the dead ones. Great.

Probably the best way to handle any future mice infestations is to get them on a motorcycle.  I hear those things are pretty dangerous.







This school ain't big enough for all of us. Either all these guys get wiped out soon, or I have a feeling us teachers are going to be carried off by an angry mob of many-legged creatures.

The war begins.

No Superstar

Norman, one of the pocket-sized 6th graders I inherited this year, is a friendly face in the crowd. Literally.  If you happen to lock eyes with him, even accidentally, you are probably in for an ear-to-ear grin and frantic wave. Even if it is a manifestation of extreme social discomfort, it's so precious.  Norman is also the only student on earth to ever fist pump at the mention of a math test. Even his weirdest quirks are adorable.  During his weekly meeting with Brandon, the Social Worker, Brandon had to step out for a moment.  "Okay," Norman replied. "I'll just wait here and do my favorite thing in the world." "What's that?" Brandon inquired. "Talk to myself," Norman answered matter-of-factly.

And talk to himself, he does.  I was fortunate enough to eavesdrop on one of these intimate conversations between Norman and Norman this week as he was creating a title page for a paper.

"Let's see," he pondered, mulling over the directions on the proper format for the title page, "should I put my last name?"

"Yes, yes," he replied, confidently. "I should put my last name. I am NOT a superstar."

Oh, Norman. So wise. If only every middle schooler was as self aware as you.

Getting Mine

To this day when I am reminded of my student teaching semester, nearly 6 years ago now, I nearly vomit in disgust.  I h-a-t-e-d it with a vengeance. After becoming quite the professional at acing papers, and being surrounded by fellow teacher candidates all getting our hands held through fake teaching experiences, I was spit out of the cozy college life back into lousy Lake County all by my lonesome to get my first true taste of the teacher life.

It sucked. I was thoroughly overwhelmed by big, scary, confusing projects on top of attempting to play teacher to kids who were as little as TWO YEARS younger than me in a student teaching assignment that really was not conducive to my program requirements (Way to go, Uni. STILL holding a grudge on that one.)  I'll never forget the post-observation conference I had with my supervisor, when she shared with me that as far as my written knowledge of the teacher profession went, I was solid.  What I needed to work on was the teaching component.  In other words, what I had set out to do all along was not working so well for me.

Okay, she wasn't exactly calling me a failure; and looking back, I'm sure I looked terrified up there, still in the mode of perfectionist honor student, rather than passionate educator.  But I remember being so frustrated at the discrepancy between the potential others saw in me and the potential I knew I had.  I was so confident in my calling and so self-assured in my abilities that it felt like total injustice to be told I just wasn't that great.

I survived student teaching, but my pride wasn't done taking severe blows.  Next, it was the administrators at several schools who failed to see my potential and passed me by on employment.  The only school who seemed willing to take me--my first career experience--was so hard up for teachers they would have hired an armless chimpanzee if it had a valid teaching certificate. Meanwhile, I watched old college classmates who had exerted far less effort and seemingly far less teaching potential, score jobs in really great districts, and my one person pity party continued.

When I was going to get MINE?!

Then, my shining moment came.  I was finally deemed a good fit for a wonderful district and the skills and quality attributes I knew I had to offer were finally put to good use!  I pinched myself to have gotten something so good, and I felt so spoiled that I was content to be low on the teacher totem pole, watching my P's and Q's and playing by the book so as not to lose the best thing that could have come along.  Being employed here was reward enough.

I have to say it really wasn't until very recently, under the perfect combination of achieving tenure and the right supportive administration I finally felt acknowledged. Originally, I intended to come here and gush about how affirming and refreshing and encouraging it is to be told by someone who really counts how valuable a teacher I am; how satisfying the reward is for honest-to-goodness hard work.

Then, I got served a couple helpings of humble pie in the form of two sermons from two different pastors in one day...two weekends ago. 

The first message painted a metaphor of our earthly struggles as an Olympian's grueling training and pursuit of a medal. The only difference: ours is one that can't be earned in this lifetime. The second message was a call to evaluate our lives and identify the aspects that we tend to claim as ours, knowing full well nothing in our lives is truly ours to own--tangible or intangible. To me, the message was loud and clear:  forget the reward, Miss T.  You aren't in line for one this side of heaven. 

I've been so preoccupied with achieving my personal success story in the teaching world that I've failed to remember that it's pretty meaningless as far as my worldly existence is concerned.  And my current circumstances are proof of that fact. Has the figurative pat on the back from administration made me any happier? Has it made my life any more easy and care free?  Nope.  As well it shouldn't. 

The approval of man can only get us so far, and I set out long ago on this career path seeking something far greater than the acknowledgment of others or even myself.  Pride and selfish gain just seem to get in the way of the truth from time to time.

Thank goodness for the "little darlings" in my classroom who remind me quite frequently I'm not so magical as I may think.

Haters Gonna Hate

As previously mentioned, I am surprisingly good at leaving any high emotions of the teaching day at the door, or at least ridding myself of them on the therapeutic drive home.  But there are some days when the frustrations remain with me, set to "Continuous Play" in my brain.  I find myself replaying dreadful scenes from the day and repeatedly curse crazy parents, or the inventor of whatever technology failed me and thwarted my plans of for the day.

Today was definitely was one of those days, but nothing that a good 40 minutes of speed walking couldn't fix.  Even better, as I was in the homestretch of my quasi-workout, I was suddenly reminded of the very best moments of the school day which had occurred first thing in the morning, and had been buried under a load of "junk" meanwhile.   How unfortunate the way the burdens of the day had nearly erased a refreshing moment when I was reminded why I love my job!  But, no matter, the good memory was salvaged!

My student, Leon, should be the star of the next movie about a mischievous, but irresistibly adorable child and his antics to befuddle the adults in his life.  Also, he could voice Ralph in a re-make of the movie "The Mouse and the Motorcycle." He is physically on par for a seven year old, and his emotional capabilities are not far behind.

That's why I wasn't all too surprised when he came into first period today proudly clutching a small, sort of dirty stuffed dog.  Knowing Leon's propensity to throw mini temper tantrums when he's not getting his way, I began to slowly and tactfully lead him to the conclusion that stuffed animals--even cute stuffed pugs named Indiana Jones (Indy for short) were not appropriate in middle school.  Whether Leon was fully listening or not was unclear as he removed his glasses, put them on Indy and began making him dance to a cheerful little tune.

A polite hand went up at the other side of the room.

"Uh, Miss T?" Westin chimed in. "I think I have something that might help Leon with this situation."

Having already proven himself incredibly articulate and profound for a 6th grader, I welcomed Westin's input.

"Well, when I wore my 'My Little Pony' belt to school yesterday..."

OH NO.

"...well, I got some nasty comments, but I just said to myself 'you know, I don't care because, you know, haters gonna hate..."

My eyes shot to the three other adults in the room hoping I was transmitting the message: Is this a dream come true, or what?

Out loud, I simply said, "Haters going to hate".  Instantly, I regretted my little too precise, white bread pronunciation of the saying, but figured I safe in this room.

  Au contraire. Of all people it was Leon, still loving on his stuffed animal at his desk, who corrected me.

"It's haters gonna hate. You have to say it right."

Was I really just out-streeted by a kid with a plush toy and a "Pony" belt.

After the initial shock at this interesting turn in events, the class launched into a fruitful conversation about the fine line between being unique or young at heart, and setting yourself up to be a target and undesired by your peers.  The students were surprisingly receptive to the information; some of them clearly craved it as it were groundbreaking for their social lives.  My heart began to break when students earnestly raised concerns about their inability to make friends, or their awareness that they just weren't well-liked by most students.  But there was such joy in being able to begin unpacking this scary new world for them.  This was what I had set out to do in my job:  help the helpless--those not running on all cylinders from the start.

And God bless these kids, they're starving for the basics, right now.  They're just peeking into the world of social norms for the first time to find out that the people you play on X-BOX Live are not your real friends, and failing to bathe will ruin your relationships with others. 

Sometimes it's refreshing to get back to the basics, but being reminded that even then, haters STILL gonna hate.

Summer break is tough

I already sense this post's title is not getting any of your sympathy. You can stop growling at me now.

 I acknowledge the gaping hole in my work calendar each year is a a luxury that the greater part of the working world doesn't enjoy.  But,  too much of anything is never a good thing and I am reminded of that each July when my short summer school stint comes to an end and my annual travels are still far on the horizon.  With no wake up time, no schedule, little to no obligations, and not very much company, I inevitably fall into a restless funk where I throw daily pity parties for myself and do everything short of jumping in my car and driving aimlessly just to stay busy.

This lack-of-routine-itis is easily cured by an international journey--somewhere around the end of July--which reminds me how darn blessed I am to be afforded such an opportunity, then thoroughly exhausts me and gives me a new found appreciation for the lazy comforts of home.  By the time I return in August, or thereabouts, I'm struck by the realization the new school year is only weeks away and my mind is consumed with thoughts of planning, organization, and anticipation (err, anxiety more like it) of my new "little darlings" for the year.

It isn't until the final full week of summer break (which, if you're keeping count, is right now) that I fully appreciate and truly embrace the gift of summer break.  My only explanation for this phenomenon is the understanding that life will be hectic again in a very short time and, as a result, I feel much more entitled to and deserving of my freedom in the present moment. 

If the close relativity of my summer break to the beginning of the school year is what breaks me out of my summer break funk, it makes me toy with the idea of endorsing year-round schooling (I think I just heard a teacher somewhere reading this scream).  In this format, teachers still receive the same quantity of days off, they are just much more spread out, in much smaller increments.  If this were my situation, I imagine I might have greater access to the contentment of blissful nothingness for days on end, knowing I'll be back to the grindstone very soon.

But, no. I am left to the miserable fate of 80 days' break for now.  At least I don't have to worry about lack-of-routine-itis again until December when I get another 2 weeks off.  Sigh.

You may commence throwing tomatoes, now.

Easy Street - Part II

In my last post, I was busy counting the blessings of holding a job that many people, at the mention of, may run and cower 

Looks can be deceiving.

So far, I've hit up 3 of 5 very good ways my job can be easier than the typical middle school teacher:

1) The evils of Inclusion: 2) Academic freedom:
3) Isolation--the good kind

Onward!

4) A good excuse for bad behavior
Any given day at my job promises some sort of behavior abnormality and/or dysfunction amongst the students.  A day free of that would be, frankly, a little bit scary.  But I signed up for my fair share of bad behavior when I signed my name on the line to an ED position.  Though I'm not saying I'm always going to handle the run-of-the-mill outburst, shut down, or work refusal with total grace, my tolerance runs quite high for it because these kids are coming in the door with a piece of paper (the IEP) that's a license for deviance. 

What really tests my limits?  The kids who act much the same way but without the piece of paper that says their behavior is medically/psychologically/intellectually proven.  They're just plain old bad boys and girls. Degenerates, menaces to society, what is this world coming to? When I was their age....!  Yeah, regular education kids quickly turn me into stubborn, crotchety old man convinced the world is going down the drain with every new generation of kids.  They're the future of America, for crying out loud!

And my kids?  The ED population?  Well, they get a free pass.

And finally, the ultimate reason my job is better than other teachers'...

5) Blondes (from a bottle) have more fun--particularly when they're special ed. teachers
With all the freedom and isolation and good excuse for bad behavior, Annie and I really make those lemons into lemonade as often as we can. 

I ask of those in the mainstream teaching profession:  When was the last time you helped out a student too nervous to present in front of the class by giving him a pink handle bar mustache to wear while he did it?Or how about required everyone to end all of their sentences with "Meow".  Taught a lesson on how to express emotions using finger eyebrows and mustaches? ( Mustaches are a pretty big deal in Room 501).

While using humor in the classroom is sort of an afterthought in the good teacher textbook of your undergrad years, it's pretty much a prerequisite to developing solid relationships with students and getting things accomplished.  I don't know about you, but a job where inciting laughter is mandatory and you actually get a decent salary and benefits to do it (sorry, stand-up comedians), sounds like a sweet deal to me.

Easy Street--Part I

"You are an absolute saint for what you do."
"God bless you, Miss T., because I don't know how you do it."

It's not uncommon to hear such praise and lauding from friends and family who learn of the population with which I work, or a neighboring teacher who catches me giving a run-of-the-mill discipline lecture outside of my classroom in my most patient but firm tone of voice.  The sentiments come much appreciated, particuarly when I become so entrenched in my job that I forget that it is outside the realm of normalcy for a public school teacher (yes, I've actually forgotten that my students are considered "weird" by most standards).

But, lately, I've begun to ponder if such kind words are undeserved. What's more, should I be the one bestowing them on others--namely the teachers with the normal population?

I just may be inclined to believe that when you put my job side-by-side with that of a typical middle school regular education teacher, I've got it infinitely easier.  Here's just 5 of the reasons why...

1) The evils of Inclusion:
Whoever masterminded the idea of Least Restrictive Environment for students with disabilities, clearly never experienced the joy of teaching a science class of 30 students, 5 of whom are diagnosed with some form of emotional disorder or pervasive ADHD disorder.  My personal instructional classes can get a bit batty when Joe Schmo has shut down and Sally Sue is crying and Billy Bob has forgotten to take his medication.  But, I have the luxury of bringing my class to a halt until I've got functioning students again.  For a regular education teacher with no aide, there's still obligation to 25 other little brains.  Oh, yeah, and you still may have to answer for that "F" you gave Joe Schmo even though he didn't do a darn thing in class. 

2) Academic freedom:
While collaboration and team work and all that stuff valued by the Professional Learning Community is fantastic, it often gets taken to the extreme when teacher teams feel bound to teach the material in an identical manner, at an identical pace, with an identical test taken on an identical day.  Then, there's the recent roll out of the Common Core teaching standards which will soon become the material of standardized testing, and is so specific and rigorous in nature that it is bound to quickly fill every teaching moment of the school year with non-negotiable and requirec content.  Whatever happened to the days when Mr. Jones could throw an extra day into the Tom Sawyer unit to come to class in the character of Mark Twain and let the kids interview him?

Now, it's not to say that my little island of students is immune to school and federal policy, but as an instructional special education class, it's sort of a given that we are going to take our own routes to the same destination.  We'll stay on the same lesson 5 days in a row if we have to, and if yoga or a dance off or spending the whole class speaking in different accents seems a necessity, well by golly...My room is where Academic Freedom comes to party.

3) Isolation--the good kind
There's nothing like the delightful solitude that comes when you are left alone by administrators, fellow teachers, other students--pretty much everyone.  Remember your school days when the BD kids were banished to the basement or the untraversed wing of the building--a mystery and enigma to the masses?  Well, that's not us exactly.  Sure we've adoringly nicknamed our windowless room-formerly-known-as-a-closet "The Cave" or "The Dungeon" or "Hell".  But, it's got a rightful spot in the same hall as the normal classes and, by all appearances, is just a mini-me version of the other classrooms (minus any glimpse of daylight). 

Still, at times, I wonder if it is only visible to those who need it (a la the Room of Requirement from Harry Potter), and I have to say I like it.  It's a little bit of a terrifying realization that I could be alternating my days playing "Twister" and reciting Mother Goose rhymes to the kids without anyone ever knowing the better (and it sounds like a whole lot of that was going on in here prior to my hiring), but since I'm actually working my butt off, being left alone makes me feel very confident, self-assured, and self-sufficient. 

Recently, Annie inquired with our principal how some of the sweeping changes in the school would affect our classroom and program next year.  Mr. Principal responded, with arms open and shaking head, "We just want you and Ms. T. to keep doing what you're doing."

If ever words were music to my ears...

[Stay tuned for Part 2 of the List]