Struggle is Real

Sometimes, when I read the various blogs I subscribe to or scroll through my Facebook and Instagram feeds, I wonder how everybody but me manages to make everything work all of the time.  I realize that's not the case, but it is easy to be caught up in the perfection projected by so many on social media.

Where are the posts about the days that just don't work?

Because I could use one of those right now to let me know that I'm not the only one who is having a hard time keeping it all together.

Don't get me wrong... I love my kids and I love my school and colleagues.  My struggle right now has nothing to do with them and everything with me.  Each day when I sit in my room after the kids have gone and reflect on the day, I am left with the feeling that something's just not right.  I can't figure out what that thing is, but I can feel it.

Maybe it's the fact that last year at this time, I was running on pure adrenaline.  I was learning so much as I went that I barely had time to think about how things were going.  Maybe it's also the fact that it's easy to forget what the beginning of the school year is like - I remember how smoothly everything ran in late May but not necessarily all of the hard work it took to get there.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm hard on myself.  I know what I do MATTERS, that I have a huge responsibility to do the very best every day for the kids in my class.  I don't cut myself much slack, and I don't really like to ask for help, even when I know that I should.

So here I am, staring week four of the school year in the face, and I'm wondering when I'm going to hit my groove.  It'll come... I know.  And if it's like past years, there will be a moment when everything just clicks and I'll be on my way.

And next year, when I'm thinking about how hard the beginning of the school year is, I can look back and read this and remember that I've been here before.

Get off the train, Mindi!

Photo via Creative Commons. Attribution here.

I am about to start my third week of school.  As I sat at my desk at school yesterday (yes, I went in on Sunday), surrounded by my teacher's editions and unit plans, I began to feel a twinge of familiar anxiety - how am I going to get everything done that I need to get done so that my kids learn as much as possible during their third grade year?  How much more quickly can I move through the math chapters so that I cover all of the important concepts before PARCC testing?  How are we going to finish this social studies unit before we switch over to science?  Chug...chug...chug....

This feeling of faster...faster...chug...chug... is a familiar one for teachers.  Pacing guides, teacher's editions, and the publishing of test scores underscore this need to move and move quickly.  And to be honest, we want to make sure our kids are learning and growing as much as they can in their 180 days in our care.  We want to be effective.  We want to do our jobs well.

But here's the thing.  Getting on the curriculum train doesn't help our kids.  "Coverage" of content does not guarantee a student is deeply learning.  I have to constantly remind myself to slow down, to allow time for my kids to think about what they're reading, writing, and learning, to encourage them to explore the aspects of our curriculum that they are especially interested in, and to allow them time to research their own passions and then share their learning with the class.

I've seen for myself the difference in learning when I make myself slow down and let the kids show me what they need and when they're ready to move on.  When I ask the class what they're interested in learning about and then let them go, I find that they usually hit the learning targets the district has set out for the unit and much more.  They are also learning other skills... how to develop a research question, how to seek out and synthesize information, how to present that information in a way that is interesting and compelling.  And more importantly, they are engaged in their learning and excited about it.  THIS is what will make a difference in their retention of new knowledge.

To be honest, this has been easier for me to do in my literacy block and science and social studies  periods than it has been in math.  I think this is mostly because I lack the deep understanding of mathematical practices that I have in literacy.  I've written about this before, and the work of learning the "why" behind math is work I continue to do.  The pacing guide in math also contributes to this as well.  It's a much tighter progression through the units than we have in the other subjects.  Luckily, I have colleagues who can help me work through how to make the math learning deep and meaningful rather than just surface knowledge that is easily forgotten.

So here I am, at the beginning of my third week of school, reminding myself to get off of the train, to listen to my heart and my kids, to take a deep breath and dig in to the work that matters.

Building Stamina

The transition from the freedom of summer to the routines of the school year can be difficult, even for teachers.  During the summer, I can wake up whenever my body decides I've had enough sleep.  I can eat when I'm hungry.  I can read when I want for as long as I want.  I can talk... or not.

Students, too, have this transition.

They, and I, have to build stamina to do the hard work of learning and growing.

The kids have to get used to using their Level 0 or 1 voices during the literacy studio and I have to get used to talking to both the whole class and small groups, and more importantly, giving ample wait time.  We all have to get used to eating lunch later than we might like and waiting longer than we might like to go to the bathroom.

We often think about building stamina within the definition of the literacy block.  At the beginning of the school year, students and teachers work on building stamina in silent reading.  Each day the students should be able to read without getting distracted for a longer period of time.  We might also talk about writing stamina - the length of time a student can write, which hopefully gets longer each day.

I've had to do some serious thinking about my classroom management and stamina this week.  The things that worked for me last year don't seem to be working this year.  I need to really take a step back and do some kid-watching in order to make decisions about changes we (because it will take BOTH the kids and me to change things) need to make in order to create an environment conducive to learning.  I have to remember that when I think about last year, I am remembering END of the year third graders, but the kids who are sitting in front of me are BEGINNING of the year third graders.  Some of them are just now turning eight.  I have to remember to cut us all some slack as we adjust to each other and build our learning community.

So tonight as I sit here thinking about the year so far, I am kind of ok that I need to make a course correction.  If I thought things were PERFECT, I'd be deluding myself.  Instead, I need to be realistic but also pragmatic.  I need to remember that this school year is a marathon and not a sprint.

And marathoners need stamina.

Putting one foot in next year

Over the weekend I received this email notification:

My reflection isn't due until the end May, about a week and a half before school ends, but to be real, I've been reflecting since the first day of school.  I can't help it; it's how I operate.

But... here's the thing.  When spring break rolls around, I start getting itchy to begin planning for next year.  And every year I tell myself that it's too early; I still have a little over two months with my current students, and there's still so much to do.

It's not that I want to wish this current class away... I don't!  I have the best class of third graders a girl could wish for for her first go at this grade level.  They have taught me so much about patience, humor, and trusting them (and myself).  I just keep thinking about how I could do things BETTER next year.

I'm a perfectionist.  I know that I can be a better teacher than I am right now, and I am lucky to work in a district that provides me with the resources I need to grow.  As I talk to colleagues and read their blogs and see their tweets, I am inspired to be better every day.

So what am I thinking about, sitting here on my couch in the middle of my spring break?  What will I do differently next year?

• My kids will write more.  Looking back, I realize I put a HUGE emphasis on reading during my literacy studio, and I did not do enough writing instruction.  Because my literacy block is almost 2 hours long rather than separated into a reading workshop and a writing workshop, it is easy to focus on just one of the areas.  The whole idea of a literacy studio, though is to blend the reading and writing instruction as much as possible in order to build on the power of the reading/writing connection.
• My kids will share more.  I am one of those teachers who KNOWS kids are supposed to share every day during literacy studio, but who doesn't remember to do that often enough.  Don't get me wrong... the kids talk every day in lots of situations.  But we don't SHARE our reading and writing lives enough.  This is something I'm thinking about a lot. And it's something I can make myself remember to do when we return to school next week.
• My kids will do more inquiry-based learning in science and social studies.  I tell myself that because this was my first year learning the new curriculum, it was ok to just follow the units as they were written.  I know, though, that I've done a disservice to my students by not including them in the planning and learning as much as I could have.  This needs to change.
• I will incorporate more choices into my math block.  The expectation in my district is that our math block is really a math workshop, where there is a short mini-lesson followed by time when students have choice in their work while I pull small groups or confer with individual students.  This did not happen most days, in large part due to my discomfort as a math teacher.  I'm working on learning more about being a math teacher, so hopefully I will be able to make this better next year.

Being a reflective practitioner is an important part of teaching.  It's easy to sit back and think about everything that went well, and a bit harder to acknowledge the things that aren't so great.  But if I am to truly grow as a teacher, I can't just stay in my comfort zone; I have to push myself to face my weaknesses and seek out the help I need in those areas.

So yeah... I have one foot in next year.  But there's still one firmly planted in this year.  And I owe it to my students to be fully focused on them until June 8.

In a slump

Age 3. Reading. Of course.

I have been a reader for as long as I can remember.  Not a casual, "Oh, I'll read for a bit to pass the time" kind of reader.  I'm a "Life is not worth living if I don't have a book with me" kind of reader.  Last year alone, I read 359 books.  I don't say that to brag, but rather to let you know that I am a reader. An avid one.

Over the course of my reading life, I've gone through cycles.  I'll binge on trashy romances and then make it up to myself by reading something literary.  I read more young adult books than I could possibly count when I was teaching seventh grade ELA.  Now, my reading rate is much higher because I'm reading mostly picture books and early chapter books.

Or at least I was.

About age 12. Reading. Of course.

Because right now, I'm not reading much of anything.  Since returning to school after winter break, I have not been able to find a book that will hold my attention.  I've tried just about every type of book I can think of to get myself back on track.  I've started books I've heard about on NPR, ones that I read about in People magazine.  Books recommended by friends, books I bought  from the Scholastic flyer.  Books for adults.  Books for kids.  Books for teens.

Have I found that book that will give me my reading mojo back yet?  Nope.  And to be honest, I'm kind of concerned about that.  I think this is the longest I've ever gone without finishing a book, at least since high school.  Maybe it's that I'm preoccupied by life right now, and my focus is elsewhere.  Perhaps I'm too distracted by Facebook and Twitter to focus on a longer text.

Age 48. Reading Kind of.

Or maybe I just need some time and space to lose myself in words again.  Spring break is just four weeks away, and as of right now, that week is wide open.  Dan will be at work.  Molly will be out of town with the orchestra.  Abby will be with friends or making art in her room.  That leaves a whole week of quiet for just me and the dog and a stack of books.

Now... how do I figure out what I'll read first?

Lightbulb Moments

Some days, after I've walked my third graders out the front door of the school, I go back to my classroom and just sit at my desk.  It often looks as if a tornado has hit it, since I don't have time to put things away over the course of the day.  I turn my chair so that I'm facing the groups of student desks and I think about the day just past.

I'm not always happy about that reflection.  Some days, it seems like I'll model, and think aloud, and provide practice, and confer, and provide feedback and the kids just don't seem to GET IT.  It's as if we're in a third-grade version of Groundhog Day and I'm Bill Murray, making small adjustments to my instruction, thinking that I've finally made a difference, then WHAM!  That clock flips and Sonny & Cher come on and I'm right back where I was the day before.

Some days, I just want to throw in the towel and give up and move on.

That is a rather hyperbolic description of the weeks since winter break. My literacy coach and I had been working with the students on using text evidence to answer questions in the reading part of our literacy studio and the beginnings of writing opinion papers in the writing part.  We were doing all of the things we were supposed to be doing (see list above).  To be truthful, we did see small movement in the students' ability to answer "right there" questions and to write very basic paragraphs, but it was slow going.

And then it wasn't!  Last Thursday, it was like a switch flipped and things started to click.  I had given students a short piece of text entitled "Should Students Learn Cursive" that we read together and discussed.  As third graders, this is a topic they are interested in, as many of them learned to write their names in cursive in second grade, and they want to learn more.  For their opinion writing practice, I asked them to take a side... should they have to learn cursive in schools?  Why?  Why not?
They started writing like they were on fire!  I saw T-charts and webs and bullet lists being created in the planning space.  I saw them going back into the text to reference the pro and con arguments.  I had students asking me for writing advice.  I had students asking EACH OTHER for writing advice (even better).  I saw students writing multi-paragraph papers outlining all the reasons they SHOULD learn to write (and read) cursive.  I nearly fell off of my conferring stool!

It was a lightbulb moment day.  Teachers live for those.

But it was also a day that reminded me that learning takes time.  I have to avoid getting caught up on where I think I'm "supposed" to be on a timeline or a curriculum map, and I have to honor the students who make up our learning community.  I have to think about where they are at on that day, and what they need NEXT to grow as writers.  Most important, I need to remember to teach the WRITER not the writing.

These are not new lessons for me.  But the reminder is no less important.  If I were not reflective about my practice; if the literacy coach had not reminded me to step back and be an observer in my own classroom, I might have just moved on to the next stop on the curriculum train.  I know in my heart that when I take the time my students need, I am doing the right thing - no matter what the calendar says.

So tomorrow, I'll head back into Room 301, and I'll model and think aloud and confer and listen and give feedback.  But I'll also observe and think.

And I'll watch for the lightbulbs.

Good Intentions

I had every intention of using this blog space as a place for reflection, to sit down at least once a week to write about my new teaching life, my thoughts as I got reacquainted with the rhythms and routines of the classroom, my growing relationships with my students.

Then... it didn't happen.

This did:

Life.  Life happened.
I'm a teacher, yes, but I'm also a mom, a wife, President of the Secondary Reading League, Secretary of the Glenbrook North Parents Association.

I spend my evenings driving my kids to dance lessons and orchestra rehearsals.  I cook dinner.  I do laundry.  I plan (as evidenced by my dining room table on Sunday afternoon).

But I do think and reflect, even if I don't always get around to getting it all in writing.  This reflection is important.  If I don't take the time to think about my day, about my successes and flops, I'll never become a better teacher, and really, that is my goal: every day a better teacher than the day before.

What I have been doing is posting a "Highlights of my teaching day" post on Facebook each evening.  They typically look something like this:

These posts do a couple of things for me - they force me to focus on the positives that happen in my classroom every single day.  I am a horrible perfectionist, and if I let myself, I focus only on the things that were less than stellar.  In making these highlights public, I have to think through my day and choose the things that brought me joy.  I'm finding that knowing I'm going to write about them later, I notice these joyful moments more.  I'm looking for them.  I'm savoring them.

Of course, paying attention to the positive does not mean that I'm not considering the things that did not go as planned.  Every teacher, every day has those moments when he or she thinks, "Well... I did not expect THAT!"  Sometimes it's a piece of text that did not engage the students.  Sometimes it's a group project gone south.  Sometimes it's tripping on a cord and landing on your butt in the front of your room (yes... that happened to me and on a day when I had a group of observers no less).  I spend time each evening thinking about those things as well, and I make notes for myself about changes I need to consider in my lesson and unit plans for next year - or even the next day.  My plans are definitely fluid.  They need to be if I am going to be responsive to my students' needs.

So yes... I've been sporadic in posting here on the blog, but I am still trying to make it work in third grade.  Overall, I feel great about what I'm doing.  Here's why:

• Most of my kids came into third grade loving to read; I get to benefit from that by seeing how excited they get about my classroom library.
• The kids get to teach me new things every day (especially in math), and I let them know when they've done just that.  The smiles of pride on their faces are priceless.
• I've had several students come to me, asking to share pieces of writing they did at home, just for fun.  They know I think it's fabulous they do the work as writers even when they're not told to.
• Even though I'm dog tired at the end of every school day, I go home excited about my work.  I look forward to returning to school the next day.
• I don't count down to Friday anymore.

And then there's this:

Onward to a New Adventure!

This year has been a difficult one - a year full of soul searching and deciding where I want to go in my career.  I've spent 22 years teaching in a junior high; 18 years teaching seventh grade language arts and (part of the time) social studies and 4 years as a literacy coach.  My work has been fulfilling, and I've always felt that seventh grade was the perfect grade for me.  I loved the kids.  I loved the books.  I loved my school.

The four years I spent as a coach were also fulfilling, but in a different way.  But more than that, I found coaching to be lonely and isolating.  As the only instructional coach in my building, I missed the collaborative work I did with my grade-level job-alikes.  I often felt like because I had a foot in teaching and a foot in the administrative side of the school, I wasn't part of either group.  I decided this year that I needed to return to the classroom.  I needed to be in the company of children.

So in the fall, I am moving schools within my school district.  I will be teaching third grade at the elementary school my daughters attended.  I am excited and a little bit terrified.

I'm excited to be part of a team again.
I'm excited to have my own classroom again.
I'm excited to only be responsible for my own teaching again.
I'm excited to be with children again.
I'm excited to plan units again.
I'm excited to be creative again.

I'm terrified of third graders.
I'm terrified of teaching math.
I'm terrified I won't know how to talk to third graders without making them cry.
I'm terrified of making new friends.
I'm terrified I won't remember how to teach.
I'm terrified I won't be a good teacher.

Those sibling feelings of terror and excitement are actually a good thing.  They mean I care about the work I will be doing and the community I'll be a part of.  I know I'll have teammates who will be there to help me and support me, and I'll be able to do the same for them.  As a former literacy coach, I'll have tools in my toolbox that I didn't have before, and I have the benefit of having additional training in some of our district initiatives.  I know I'll be fine.

Watch this space over the summer as I document my thinking about this big change.  You'll see some reviews of professional books and sneak peeks of some of the things I'll be working on.  I might just even float some ideas about classroom management and questions I have about the differences between third graders and middle schoolers.

It's going to be a wild ride, for sure.

Trying This Again, But Different

This blog has been largely dormant since I left the classroom and moved into the literacy coaching position in my building.  I've struggled with how I can write about the work I do, thinking alongside teachers to solve problems of practice or working with them to grow as professionals.  A large part of my job is the trust I need to build with the teachers who let down their guard and invite me into their classrooms and their professional lives.

I was afraid that if I wrote about this work, it would violate this confidentiality and trust.

But as I learn more and more about being a coach and being reflective about my own practice, I realize there are things I can write about in relation to coaching as well as good instructional practice. To some degree, I can write in generalities about my work with teachers, but be specific about my own reflection on the work.

It will be a fine line to walk, but I'm sure I can do it.  As time goes on, I feel a greater need to write about the work I do and reflect upon it in order to grow as a coach.  While I could do this privately, in a notebook no one else will see, I also crave feedback from others whose jobs are similar to mine.  I am the only middle school coach in my district, and while I have a learning team composed of the coaches in the three K-5 buildings, there are many situations that are unique to the middle school.  I'd love to grow a professional network as a support system.

It may take me a while to find my writing groove again, but I am determined to do it.

And I'd be grateful if you'd join me in my search to find my voice.

Put On Your Listening Ears

Image used via Creative Commons License from http://www.flickr.com/photos/niclindh/1389750548/

Today was one of those days when I truly enjoy my role as a coach.

I got to spend an 80 minute block observing in a social studies class, listening in on conversations students were having around an article they were reading.

I spent 40 minutes listening to a science teacher talk through his thinking about a lesson in which he will think aloud how to summarize a newspaper article on a science topic and how he is connecting his language and the expectations for student summaries to the work they do in their language arts classes.

I spent another 40 minutes listening to a language arts teacher describe pre-assessment results and thinking through how she will adjust instruction based on the data she collected.  I also listened as she described the format of her small-group lessons.

Today I listened.

The teachers I met with today didn't necessarily need help with they work they were doing.  They needed to talk through their thinking with someone.  They needed a listener who would ask questions that would help them to think more deeply about their practice.  They needed time to process.

When I was still in the classroom, I would often have conversations such as these with my teaching partner.  We would plan our lessons together and ask each other questions, often playing devil's advocate, imagining the questions students might have or predicting student roadblocks.  These conversations were great practice for much of the work I do as a coach.

Tomorrow I will be in that science class and in that language arts class listening as those teachers put into practice the lessons we discussed today.  Both teachers have asked me to listen for specific student language and to look for specific student behaviors.

I'm learning that listening is perhaps the most important thing I do as a literacy coach.  It can be hard not to jump in with suggestions for how I would do the lesson or the language I would use in a demonstration or think aloud.  I have to think carefully to determine what each teacher needs at a particular time during our coaching conversations.  I have to remember that providing an opportunity for a teacher to reflect on his or her practice in order to refine a lesson or rubric or activity is just as important and impactful as demonstrating in a classroom or co-teaching a lesson.