The Not So Welcoming Welcome

I may have just survived one emotional roller coaster of a week.

This week I said goodbye to my old school and staff. Tears were prevalent and emotions high. People always say you don't realize how nice you have something until it is taken away and I believe now in the sincerity of that statement. In a staff of only 8 total, our building had the potential to either be a place of harmony or a place of secluded drama. We truly were harmonious one hundred percent of the time. We worked like a well oiled machine against the roughest of conditions with no resources and we made great gains as a team. The nursery housed in the same building could have either been a source of animosity or a mutual friendship. It was entirely a friendship. We changed for the better with their guidance and vice versa. Yes we all worked way too much, yes we were understaffed, undersupplied and exhausted, but we were going through it together. And none of us--NOT ONE-- of us wanted this change. But we are coping....

To counter all these emotions of sadness and loss, I have also been faced with the burden of feeling unwelcome. Very unwelcome. All week long my new principal emailed me menial tasks that took me 2-3 hours each despite knowing that I had report cards, closing holiday celebrations and oh yeah A MOVE going on. I worked night after night to pack up my class labeling every single box, bucket and piece of furniture with my name and school so that when the movers arrived Friday, I would be ready. Move out went smoothly. Move in did not. We rolled into our new schools with sad eyes and exhausted souls on a mid morning to find classrooms piled to the ceilings with junk, the evidence of a broken promise that it would be ready. I begged the administrators to move it out so that I could set up my room by Thursday when I left town and they said, "No need, we are teaching second grade in here all intercession, so you can just push your stuff against the wall and fix it in January before school starts."

So I took a card from my students and threw a temper tantrum. Immature? Undoubtedly. Successful? Absolutely. I burst into tears and started heaving just a bit (perhaps it was more of a panic attack) and started rambling about how I said over and over and over and over and over again that I HAD to have my room ready by Thursday as I was out of town until the day school started, since no one wanted to tell me my school was going to close until right before the end.

Luckily, my amazing para and ally in what now feels like a battle against a school district, grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the bathroom and talked me down. She just kept saying, Hannah, it is going to be okay. If we have to give the kids coloring books for the first day of school and stay until midnight the whole first week back, we will do it. You have to pull yourself together. So I did. I walked back into the room and apologized for my reaction only to find my new boss, two higher up administrators and about five teachers hauling things out of my room like they had just gotten caught sneaking out of the house and were trying to earn their way out of their punishment. While no one would ever have the dignity to apologize to me for essentially throwing me through the loop and lying to me time and time and time again, their decision to not have the second graders at intercession in my class and actually allow me to do my job was the apology I wanted. Wait--I still want a real apology too, but this will do.

Now let me flash back for a minute. In July when I started school, I was in a classroom with about 20 giant boxes, no Pre-K, teaching or much life experience and told to set up my room. All in less than 48 hours. I would have begged for someone to walk in and say, "Put this here, put that there, this is what you need to do." My room was painfully silent however.

Now back to the present. I might still be a first year teacher, but now I have six months under my belt which have been more or less a success. I know my materials, I know my classroom and I know my kids and so I walked into my class with a clear vision of what I wanted. After cooling off from my panic attack, temper tantrum, what have you, I then had my boss, a veteran Pre-K teacher and another administer start telling me what I needed to do. It was ironic, however, because all their advice seemed to involve me using the furniture left in the room that they had no space for. It was odd to me, that all three of them were adamant that I needed three teacher desks in my room when I actually only use my one teacher desk to pile things on and have literally, never sat at it once. Quite absurd, I thought, that I was downsizing my space in my room, but all the sudden, I needed five giant cabinets for storage, three teacher desks and twelve large tables. But, what do I know, I am a first year teacher. So coincidental however, that all the furniture they thought was essential to my students success--happened to have been sitting in an empty classroom untouched for the first six months of school.

So again, I had to make a bad impression and quite pointedly, ignore their advice. Had I even an inkling that their advice actually had to do with the well being of my students and not just avoidance of their bigger problem, not knowing what to do with their furniture, I would have listened. But while it may have made me look bad, I will not be bullied into wasting classroom space my students need out of incompetence from people higher up. Hopefully when I get back in January, they will be over it...

The Pre-K teacher then took the opportunity to show me what a "real blocks center looks like" and led me into her oh so perfect room. After about twenty minutes of being talked at, I said, I love some of the ideas you have and I am going to use them after my kids have been back for a couple weeks. First I am going to set my classroom up as close to has it was before so they can readjust. They are going through a big change right now and I want to keep things consistent before I start adding to my centers. She then grabbed my hand as if to comfort me (I did not ask for comfort I may add) and said, "You are going through a big change. You are transferring your emotions and discomfort with the move and displacing it on your kids. They do not care, they will adapt easily." I agreed that it was harder on me than them, but said I still wanted to be consistent for the first couple weeks. She then let go of my hand and said with a huff, "I'm sorry, I thought I was the one with the child development degree." I excused myself back to my room before steam started coming out of my ears.

Now from anecdotal notes of all the conversations I have ever had with a person in the workforce, horrible bosses, mean co-workers and incompetence are run of the mill in all jobs. But I did not use to have to deal with this. I had an amazing staff focused on learning, not on room decoration or placement and a boss who cared about my well being and professional development. We were a mission driven family working against the grind to make things happen. Now I have no idea what I am getting myself into.

In an effort to be less negative, as I am realizing my posts since the news of the move have increasingly become, two of the kinder teachers were exceptionally nice to me and offered to help in anyway they could and expressed their excitement for my arrival. The nurse is pumped to see my kiddos more often and my para and I worked our bottoms off and as of now, my room is all in order and organized, I simply need to finish decorating the walls and labeling my centers (which takes much longer than you would think). My new set up is really nice and I managed to get my hands on a lot of nice resources from claiming from the heaping piles of stuff left in my room (including probably one hundred dollars worth of paint!). My roommates and I threw a end of the year party in our apartment last night that was a success. Plus, my mom is coming to visit on Monday and help with the finishing touches and I am about to give myself two weeks of freedom from the stress once at home. So things are not all bad by any means.

But right now, I am being physically and emotionally drained from all angles. I am anxious and losing sleep and feeling like people are constantly trying to pull me down and ask me to prove myself. I said goodbye to T with the knowledge I will probably never see him again. J left without saying goodbye and I did not get back S. I am confident in my teaching abilities and I know I am strong, but I feel like the people at my new work are doubting my competence.

Regardless of the changes, it is time for positivity. I cannot live the rest of my year hating my new job, so I am going to start seeing things more glass half full. Usually I am an optimist and I still feel I am taking this better than a lot of people would, but now I am just going to have to squint a little harder to see the sunshine. I am going to use my break to refocus and recharge and in January, I am not going to let anyone take me off focus. I am doing this for my kids and for the new students I will gain in January, and no one can tear me down without my consent.

"We're taking it all to the end and planting our own garden." -Delta Spirit "Strange Vine"

December 22nd, December 22nd, December 22nd

I probably tell myself twenty times a day...just wait until December 22nd. Just keep waiting for December 22nd. Nothing climatic or exceptional is happening on December 22nd, contrary to the suggestion made by the title. But to me, that day is the light at the end of my very frightening and seemingly endless tunnel.

While I only have three days left before my school closes its doors forever, permanently relocating my kiddos and I into the gigantic and overwhelming new school, the scary reality of moving my classroom from one building to another flashes its ugly teeth. December 22nd is the last day I will be in New Orleans and therefore, between now and then, I have to do whatever it takes to complete the transformation, despite my incredible burden of utter sadness slowing down my usual energetic self. I have had nightmares every single night since Thanksgiving related and unrelated to the move and I have been self medicating my emotions with an odd combination of songs for a break up (I know that is odd, but it speaks to me right now), watching Wilfred episodes and playing Super Mario 3.

Last week, I was talking to the other Pre-K teacher at my school and she described it to perfection---it is like we are the new kids in school. All the other kids know the teacher, their classmates and the written and unwritten rules of the building. They have a sense of camaraderie created from experiencing the year together which bonds and solidifies the daily experience. We walk in as outsiders and are asked to assimilate. While it will be done quickly and most likely smoothly, until the actual change occurs, I sense I am going to continue to feel an anxiety that will not disappear until I leave the state for a bit.

So if I appear delusional, humming Paul Simon songs while pressing up up up B down down A B A, understand that I am simply trying to keep my head above water until my holy day, December 22nd.

"Concentration is a fine antidote to anxiety."
-Jack Nicklaus

Losing Grip

Before the move of the school was announced, I had a firm hold on my life. I was working a semi less ridiculous amount of time, I was feeling the results of my hard work and I felt confident in the future of all 20 of my kids, despite the tremendous odds they we were all up against.

But I am losing my grip.

Quite literally too. This morning I was running late to school after oversleeping from staying up past 11 working on things. Plus, I had to stop on the way to school to get some sort of caffeine as I also have a vicious cold. So two minutes late to work, clutching the glass cold coffee rushing to my desk, I lost my grip and dropped it on the floor, resulting in spilled coffee and shards of glass all over the floor with the suspenseful knowledge that 20 bright eyed kids would be walking through the door any minute. It felt a whole lot like my life right now.

Not to say I'm disorganized, behind on work or failing miserably, I'm actually more productive than ever. I probably already put in 65 hours since Monday and I still I have the weekend, but I am lesson planned all the way to February, done testing my kids for the report cards due on Dec. 14th and have a clear action plan of how to completely dissect and rebuild my classroom into the new building by December 22nd, when I leave for home. While the plan is strenuous and time intensive (as the turn around is oh so quick), it can be easily accomplished as I know once December 22nd hits, I will have two full weeks to recuperate.

I am losing my grip because I am worn out (physically obviously), but more notably emotionally. I found out this week I am losing most likely three kids, one of which already left without saying goodbye. I had no idea how completely and utterly attached I am to my children. Despite my constant blubbering about my kids and endless hours devoted to them, I don't think it is possible to realize the extent of an attachment to someone until it is taken away.

The first I lost is S. The youngest girl in the class, S stole my heart from day one. Her unbelievably high voice is countered by an unmistakable toughness and tomboyishness that can only be attributed to being raised by her father alone. She burps and farts and bites and spits and thinks it is all hilarious good fun. She has an unmistakeable unibrow which fits her beautiful little face like Frida Kahlo. She is tiny, but boisterous and so smart. Her writing skills are lacking just a bit (most likely due to her age), but in every other area, she is on the top of the class. S is one of those students who is constantly in trouble because she is loud and tough, but is just so loveable you cannot stay mad. Two of my favorite memories of S is when in the middle of testing, she looked at me with her big beautiful brown eyes and said, "Ms. Knipp, the doctor said I can't drink soda anymore because it burns when I pee!" and when I was away during intercession, another teacher tried to punish her and she retorted in her oh so matter of fact way, "You are not my teacher. Ms. Knipp is." She is independent and strong, only crying whenever her mom comes to pick up her brother and not her (she does not see mom much), or when her dad leaves town for long periods of time. She is probably more grown up than she should be because of her life circumstances, but despite all her flaws, she knows how to love. That little girl stole the heart of the class too. Another S in the class, my ladies man has had her as his main squeeze since day one, and after her fourth day of not showing up, he demanded bravely to her 2nd grade brother who does not even live with her, "WHERE IS S?" I do not know how but someone her grandmother managed to fit her into one of my districts other Pre-K classes and she has been attending for the entire week. Her father did not tell me, but just stopped bringing her. I never got to say goodbye to my little tomboy. I think I am in denial as I cannot bring myself to tell the class yet. I know their little hearts will be as broken as my own.

The second to leave for sure is J. J is a handful. One of my smartest and brightest for sure (she is one of the one's who passed the Kinder reading test), she has major attention issues. Wearing her hair in two big big braids, she is often caught on the rug putting her arms in between her braids and swinging her head back and forth making weird noises. J works my last nerve each and every day due to her CONSTANT inattention, but you cannot help but love her. She never listens to a word I say, I promise you, as she is always in la-la land, but she somehow always gets the answers right and has an undying loyalty to me. Everyday she wanders into class eyes up at the ceiling, talking to herself (yes she does that constantly), but holding some sort of letter or picture or drawing from home she wants to give to me. She is always asking me to sit with her or talk with her, although she is often content to talk to herself (particularly during nap). A major goofball, but a brainiac none the less, her mom is putting her into nursery services instead. It breaks my heart because she is at the top of the class and I was going to push her as far as I could this year, but now she will be back to watching movies, taking long naps and involved in very little instructional time on a day to day basis. While I believe one hundred percent that she is academically gifted, I worry that her gift will go to waste waiting around in a nonacademically based child care service.

And last is T. Yes the infamous T. His mom has not told me for sure, but everyday it becomes more clear she will put T back in the same nursery he has been in since age 2. T is the second lowest in my class and the worst behavior problem by far. He needs Pre-K more than anyone I have ever met. And he has grown. For my loyal readers, you may recall a helpless and undoubtedly long blogpost about the headache of my life which is T. But for the past two weeks, my para and I have finally found some way to calm down his crazy. Through a few strategic body placements and responses to the madness, we have got him to a point where he has earned celebration for the past two weeks (a feat he has never achieved before). And now that his behavior has calmed down, he is beginning to learn too. I mean he is still so so low, but at least now I am seeing improvement. In fact, on my most recent assessment, he was one of only four students to get a hard question right regarding following nonverbal directions (ironic I know). At the beginning of the year, I must admit, I had my doubts about T. I did not know if I could get him where he needed to be academically and emotionally by the end of the year. On the bad days, I still have my doubts. But recently, I have seen hope. But now, he is going back to a nursery where the primary activities involve watching movies, taking naps and being rewarded for compliance with skittles (something I am adamantly against and I think contributed to the behavior). While S and J will probably be okay, both are likely to go into Kinder on level despite their new placements, I worry about T. Honestly, T was one of the four or five in my class who need intensive academic intervention and putting him with 2 and 3 year olds is not going to fix anything. His future is no longer within my control, if his mom goes through with it. While I know 100% whomever would come into my class to replace T would not be as difficult as him, I love the boy so much and do not want to lose him. Not only out of selfishness on my part, but fear of what will become of him.

So I am struggling right now. Not at an alarming rate, but more than I anticipated I could. On a face seldom welcoming tears, I anticipate water leaking out of my eyes in the coming weeks. Not just yet, but as the truth of the loss I am experiencing sinks further in, I am positive the emotions will become quite overwhelming. I am losing grip.

But I have always believed when you start losing grip, you should clutch on tighter and squeeze with more might. So, I will not go down without a fight. You better believe even though S has already been at her new school for a week, I will be calling her daddy this weekend. I know it was her grandma's decision and I know that daddy has more say than appears. I also know that daddy loves to call me baby and make me extremely uncomfortable every time he goes to pick her up, but at this point, I am using his awkward affection for me as leeway to get my baby back, his little girl. My principal is going to call this weekend too. Because while we are all frustrated with the changes, we are not going to let our dissatisfaction break our devotion to the children we work with and for. I am going to confront J's mom about her intentions and use every ounce of persuasion to change her mind. And I am going to keep speaking with T's mom to make her reconsider, whatever it takes.

So like one of those horrible romantic comedy movies where the protagonist does not realize their love for another until they have already lost them, and most go through all sorts of animosity to win them back, I am following suit. I will not let my kids go until the job is done and right now, we have a lot left to do.

So here is to the fight.

"Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster." -Sun Tzu

Bloated Self Esteem and Haterade

No time for introductions or fancy prose. Too much to say....

Monday the letters went home telling the parents about the move. We were instructed to NOT reach out to parents until Thursday when our CEO would be at the school holding a meeting, but you all know I am not one for patience, so I strategically stayed late at school hoping parents would approach me, or called families for other reasons (field trip chaperone confirmation, great test scores) and waited for them to bring it up, just to gauge interest. Parents generally confirmed three feelings a) the distance was rough b) the size made them uneasy and c) at least I would still be with them. By Thursday, my most apprehensive parents went to the meeting and besides personally feeling as though the meeting was more a PR move than genuine helpful or empathetic transfer of information, my most apprehensive parents were more on board with it by the end. I am more hopeful now than I was last week that I will retain my class.

My emotions were up and down all week long. Some days I was so optimistic and excited for my new resources, a chance to revamp some classroom systems through the move and just the excitement of starting over, another adventure. Some days my attitude was extremely cynical (I'll let your mind wander into the thoughts I was having), but one positive that came from this week was the support I felt from parents. My kids parents adore me. Really. I always criticized myself a bit for not spending more time reaching out to parents. Some other teachers I know call parents once a week with a positive about their student, some teachers plan parent events constantly and get to know them beyond the connection of the student. With the craziness that has been my first year, I have had to triage parent contact into what is sustainable and practical and it has resulted in daily communication via the homework folder (just behavior scores and sometimes very brief comments), two field trips with over 5 chaperones each, a couple phone calls/parent conferences when students are cutting up in school, one parent night, one report card conference day and lots of informal communication when parents bring in or drop off their students. Honestly, this is an area of deficiency for me.

With this in mind, I think I was surprised at how insistent parents were that I stay with their students. Honestly as a white 21 year old woman working in the ninth ward of New Orleans, you always anticipate that you are going to have to overcome negative images and perceptions from parents and therefore are going to have to go above and beyond in the field of relationships with families in order to squash any negativity. But for some reason, my parents love me. So many parents pulled me aside and said variations of my student is learning so much, you have been such a wonderful teacher, my student talks about you constantly, this is such a great atmosphere, I can't lose you as a teacher. Being myself, I know that I love their kids more than I love my right arm and spend absolutely absurd amounts of time planning, preparing and reflecting on perfecting my instruction and management for their kids. I know that my arm blew up to four times the size it was before when C scratched me hard and the wound got infected, but I still would raise C as my own in a heartbeat. I know that while I am not an experienced teacher or notably fantastic, I am at least giving my students my life in some sort of effort to make up for my inadequacies and the inadequacies life has served them up to this point. But I did not know my parents knew this. I mean to some extent, my parents do not know this fully, but this week has shown me that they sincerely know I am in this for real, not as a way to pay bills or boost my resume or pass the time, but I am in it to make real academic gains. One mom shed some light with me when she said, "You know I go to this church here and my student stays after school at the nursery and I see you sneaking in on Saturdays and Sundays and I see you here at 6pm and you do not look like you are leaving anytime soon", she continued, "You know everyone at the church just talks about how hard you work and how you are here all the time and my student has learned so much from you. He sits at home and says, '/b/ backyard, that's b! /f/ fence, that's f!' all day long. That is why I don't care where you move the class, as long as my student is with you, I'm staying."

Feel good moment. Granted, I do not deserve this level of praise. I know that there is SO much more I could be doing and my physical exhaustion and to be frank, selfishness, on some days prevents it from getting done. I know I lack experience and have so many areas to improve and I will not even say that my students are better off with me than they would be with another teacher because I do not know that. But, what I do know is I CARE and it is nice for someone to acknowledge the fact that I do care, probably an unhealthy amount. So maybe actions really do speak louder than words sometimes.

With the bloated self esteem aside from parent sentiments, let's move onto the hard data. My end of the year goal is for 100% (all 20) of my students to be at a pre-read level on the STEP test. Basically it is a reading test, that if you pass, qualifies you as "pre-read" or kinder ready in literacy and if you fail, qualifies you as "before pre-read" or below kinder in literacy. But I have until May to make this a reality in my classroom. This is such an important goal, as 95% of the kinder students in our school came in at the before pre-read level or under grade level this year. That means already at the Kinder level, the Kinder teachers are required to produce more than a year of growth in only one year in order to "catch students up". I know I am getting technical, but bare with me . So we had our students take the test for the first time to see how close they were passing the Pre-Read, their areas of improvement, what they already know, etc. FIVE OF MY STUDENTS PASSED! 25% of my class has reached their end goal in literacy at this point in time, less than half way through the year. Now, I feel as though I can only take credit for one of the scores fully, as four of the five who passed came into the year knowing a lot, especially compared to the rest of the class. Granted, they would not have been at a passing level on a day one, but getting them there did not take long. The other one of the five however, I am going to brag about because that little girl came in knowing nothing. I was honestly shocked when the other Pre-K teacher who tested her (we test each other's kids to reduce bias) told me she passed.

This is what I am more proud of: alphabet knowledge! My students came in knowing NO letters. Seriously, letters were like foreign objects to my kiddos. I'm not talking letter sounds, or writing letters, I'm saying they looked at letter A and then looked at me blank, unable to connect verbally that that was letter "a". On the STEP test, we test 54 letters (all 26 uppercase, 26 lowercase, typed a (as opposed to the typical a) and typed g (as opposed to the traditional g). To pass the test, you have to know 15 letters. My quarter goal was knowing 20 letters and my end of the year goal is to know 40+ letters. 95% of my students, or all but one knew 20+ letters. Many were closer to the 30s or 40s in how many letters they knew. My one student who did not know 20 only knew 6, so she is a huge concern for me, but I will get her there too.

I know this is a weird one to be proud of, as letters seem pretty easy to teach, but they are so significant. Some prisons use 3rd grade reading scores in communities to plan for how many beds they will need in the future (AOI Business Viewpoint, July-August 2006). I have known this for a long time and this has motivated me in so many ways. However, what I learned recently in a professional development (and I apologize for no citation-perhaps she made it up) is that the NUMBER ONE predictor of 3rd grade reading scores is as plain and simple alphabet knowledge. Not sounds, not writing, just verbally being able to see a and say, "a". The more letters students know, the more likely they are to read on level in the future.

So, I am going to get them there. Plain and simple. I have had progress that I am proud of, but it is not time to stop yet.

On a less exciting note, some more people have been drinking the Hannah Haterade. Despite my immense growths in self image due to positive parent feedback and great test results, I still got some haters out there (sorry Roger, I know you don't like the term haters, but I do). Unfortunately, the new school I am being integrated into is being a little negative towards us, as we discovered at our district wide professional development. Not realizing I was from the school, I overheard my future coworkers talking about my current school and how the only reason we got such great test scores (our students started out LOWER than the other three schools in our district in all grades, but are now almost caught up or higher than the other three schools in literacy) was because we were small and it must be NICE to be so small. Biting my tongue, I didn't retort about our lack of resources, being displaced half way through the year, our absolutely exceptional behavior issues or starting from literally nothing, but just took a breath and knew we would prove them wrong. Also, more upsetting, I was speaking with one of the Pre-K teachers at the school I am going to and casually talking about how I have ridiculous behavior problems in my class and she would get to know my loves quick. Instead of laughing with me about how ridiculous my problems are (seriously-who gets clawed and bit in their daily job who is not a vet), she said, "Oh we had behavior problems at the beginning of the year, but we fixed that in the first two weeks of school. B (referring to the other veteran Pre-K teacher) will fix your kids too." I know for a FACT that my students have come a LONG way behaviorally, but yet again, my kids started off low behaviorally. Just like our school was lower academically, our poverty and societal stressors are even more intense than the other schools. I mean I work in the ninth ward. Granted, I do not want to sound petty, all the schools in my district work with families from essentially the roughest and toughest parts of New Orleans, the state and the country to be transparent. But from talking to B, the woman who my co-worker insisted will "fix" my kids, she said flat out that they got lucky this year and really do not have exceptional behavior problems. The administrative assistant at my new school said flat out, oh you are the teacher who teaches T and C, I have heard you are doing a great job with them! because my students are so infamous not just in our tiny school, but in the entire district. I am not complaining because I know I love T and C most likely more than my other kiddos, but I was not dealt an easy card this year. So maybe I am being shallow and trashy, but it legitimately angered me to have my future co-worker imply that I was the problem with their behavior, when I know they have both improved tremendously since day one. And excuse me, but they do NOT need to be fixed because while they have tremendous problems, they are not broken.

So yeah, the haters are at it again. Drinking the haterade. But I am going to try not to be bitter. This teacher who said this to me is a first year teacher as well and honestly, is probably just apprehensive about having two more pre-k teachers come over to her neck of the woods. She has only been a teacher for one year, so she does not realize that some classes are legitimately just rougher than others. I learned this lesson quick as my class curses and fights constantly and the other Pre-K class at my school has been quiet and shy from day one. Classes just have different personalities and manifest themselves in different ways. My other pre-k teacher has trouble keeping her kids awake and enticing them to interact with their peers, as they are incredibly timid and shy as a class. I have trouble getting mine to sleep and they love to talk about Chuckie or prison or how they had to switch bus stops because people kept getting shot there. I only have one girl who is even semi shy. As my para always says, "Our kids are not four. They are grown up men and women." And it is true. Our kids are from the same neighborhood and go to the same school, but for some reasons, they are two different groups of kids. Just the way life works. So this new pre-k teacher will see. Hopefully B will be able to help me, as in all honesty, I do need help with my special cases. I am not narcissistic enough to say otherwise. But I will not let the other pre-k teacher make me feel inadequate or like I am the problem (although she did succeed in making me question myself for a good two days), when I know that this year, it was just the luck of the draw and I was lucky enough to pull the kids with the most intense of behavior problems, which in all honesty, is exactly what I wanted. I may have the hardest kids, but they need me the most and have the most room to grow.

So I know that post was SO long. I am sorry. But I had major events happen this week and needed the reflection of an empty text box to sort out my emotions. Hope you enjoyed the read and keep my kids in your thoughts.

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence" -Robert Frost

Dramatic Irony

Well, the inevitable happened--that is life gave me a little unexpected push and now I have to see if I will stand or fall. Things were going really well, my kids were rocking their academic work, behavior was under control (taken in context of course), I was happy and adjusted and still working a lot, but I felt really effective and like my force exerted was somewhat equal to the weight of the product. So today, when I walked upstairs to my informal school PD meeting, my mind was wandering to my to-do list, my weekend plans and the other insubstantial grains of existence that pollute the mind in downtime. As narcissistic as this absolutely sounds, sometimes I like to imagine this moment as a small scene in a work of fiction, where the readers all know what is about to happen, but the main character is completely oblivious--a little dramatic irony. I took a seat and as my principal began to form words and sentences, I thought to myself that I wished the chair was more comfortable and the air less chilly. However, those thoughts did not cross my mind again when these words escaped her mouth, "Our school is closing in December"

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(Now please entertain me as I overly dramatize this event and use hyperbolic language to recreate the event in a way that somehow comforts my now hurting body and soul.)

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It was like a near death experience in some ways. I thought back to the first weekend before the school opened, walking into the building with my principal one late afternoon to see a completely empty, less than impressive and seemingly massive building with the clear expectation that by Monday, it would be our school. It terrified me then. Such a large classroom, I had no idea how I would fill it with activities and children and lessons to fill such a long day and as far as I could tell, the playground did not exist. That weekend went by so quickly, I scavenged for the absolute barest of essentials, some wall decor, chairs, a rug, desks, anything to make this look like a school. By Monday I had something, but it felt like nothing.

As the weeks went on and I was able to exhale for the first time in a long while (probably mid-August), I have memories of staying at the school until 7, 8, 9 pm every single night, spending hours setting up outdoor hall decorations, creating centers from scratch, going back and adding order and systems to the original hodge podge that was my class. The church deacons knew me by my other name, that Pre-K workaholic who constantly begs us for just five more minutes.

I thought about that morning in September when the police escorted me out of my own place of work for setting off the building alarm because I was dumb enough to come into work on a Saturday morning during a tropical storm and over Labor Day weekend. But I just had to work to do, I had to finish the classroom that was never really set up in July.

My mind wandered to every nook and cranny in the building that I know like not even as my second home, but as my first home. I know the hole in the wall that J loves to stick his finger in. I know the unattached and surely hazardous large pole of wires that T loves to pull on when his tantrums reach their height. I know the birthday display in the hallway that inevitably results in at least three of my kids falling down the stairs from staring at the pictures of themselves. The same display that I have fallen down looking at on the weekends when I am at school alone, wondering if my kids are safe and healthy at home.

I remembered the days when my entire staff walked all over the lower ninth ward passing out fliers for our school to get more first, second and kinder students enrolled so that we would not be shut down. I remember how I was actually not invited because my coworkers were not so subtly trying to set me up with a summer intern and requested I stay behind with him and the remaining students. That one sure feels ironic now.

I love my school. Sure we don't have a janitor, but just a lady who mops about once a week. Sure we don't have a playground, but instead a giant field that frequently fills with sewage. Sure we don't have internet or adult toilets or even appropriately sized chairs for my students. We lacked in so many ways, but it was my home, my comfort, my family in New Orleans. We were small, understaffed and lacking resources, but our kids were learning, our families appreciated our work and we were doing some great things in our small little corner of the church building.

Okay, so obviously all these thoughts didn't pass my mind between, "Our school is closing" and the follow up sentences explaining what would happen next, but does it not sound so poetic when I pretend it did?

So here is the result. My principal will be co-principal at one school in our charter and the Kinder teacher will take her class there as well. The 1st/2nd teacher will become an interventionist at the same school--her kids will be spread out among different teachers. The Pre-K team will move with our two Pre-K classes to the other school in our charter. Obviously, parents do not have to keep their kids in the school; however, there are no other Pre-K classes open at the time, so I hope and pray I will get to keep my kids.

So yes, I am being dramatic for no reason, I realize. I have a job. I have my students. So why complain? However, I have what I feel are relevant worries. It took so long for me to build my classroom and now I am faced with the task of transferring it. My children need consistency and I worry about what will happen to them with these big changes. I love my coworkers and I hate that half of my team, including my leader will be displaced. I think the hardest part though is that we are losing that small school feeling. I know the name of every single student in my school, who is related to whom and I have a general sense of where they are academically. It is inevitable in such a small school for this to happen.

But there are upsides. My kids will have resources (computers, playgrounds, janitors, behavior interventionists, so many unknown pleasures!), I will meet more hopefully awesome coworkers, I will be able to go to my school WHENEVER, not just when the church is open, it is closer to Wal-Mart (I know that sentence seems to lack class, but Wal-Mart is my one stop shop) and there are many more resources for teachers too. So it will be okay.

Today though, I will mourn. I will cry and yell and show all sorts of emotions I seldom display because today it hurts. In December on my probable 50th car load back and forth from school to school, I will curse and hate the world. In January, when my students discover all sorts of new ways to act out and lose focus in the big school, I will shake my fist and say I told you so. But in the end, I will not fall, I will just make do. Just like how we transformed our little corner of the church building from a empty, freshly waxed floor to a lively and engaging series of classrooms, I will take this change in stride. Because at the end of the day, no matter what curveballs life decides to throw to me (or at me), I will not give up on my kids. I will be their consistency and stability when life refuses to hold them upright. I will.

"It's a lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges. And I believed in myself." -Muhammad Ali

Send Encouragement

I must preface that this post will be less than the tried, but optimistic and hopeful posts I usually dish out like a "As seen on TV" product. I might not highlight the rare but meaningful stories of success sandwiched between the overarching trial that is my job at the moment and show the arbitrary glimpses of incredible self-assurances in my ability to overcome. Today, I have to let some of my insecurities surface.

This morning I woke up at the unearthly 7am after collapsing into bed at the less than impressive 10:30pm. Perhaps it was from the exhaustion of a really hard week coupled with having entirely too much fun the weekend previous, but for the first time in awhile, Friday night was just not happening for me. So this morning, I woke up feeling compelled to be creative, to write a blog, to create some mediocre poetry, to appreciate the beauty of hardship around every corner. But instead, I drug myself to school, only to find it locked. Drug myself to my favorite coffee shop to work, only to realize I left my money at home. Then drug myself home, only to discover I could not work until I debriefed my current situation. So here goes nothing.

I feel so desperate over T. For those of you who know me well, you know right now, T is the crux of my existence. From the first day of school until right now, I have spent hours talking to his mother, his grandmother, his father and the nursery worker who is housed in the same building who has been working with him since infancy. I have spent nights tossing and turning about my failures with him thus far and my doubts that I will not be able to redirect his seemingly inevitable path. I have tried method after method to tame the beast, so to speak and have only seen short and brief glimpses of semi-success, always overpowered by a quick reversal to old ways. I remember distinctly on the first day of school, the nursery worker said, "It took us six months to get him under control" and I remember talking with my para saying, "Well, let's give ourselves three." I hate to say it, but my three months are up and the progress is little to none. The worst part is, he is second to last in my class academically due entirely to his behavior and shows no sign of progress anytime soon. I hope you realize I am not exaggerating when I say how much time I spend dreaming and scheming about this boy.

So for those of you who may not know the tendencies of T, let me paint you a short profile. Here is a typical day with T. He comes into my classroom and immediately walks to something he is not supposed to do before putting away his backpack (i.e. centers, another child, attempting to take three cereals) saying inevitably something along the lines of, "I go to Chuck E Cheese" (I know it is weird, but literally it is all the kid talks about). I calmly talk him down from whatever is tempting him at the moment and some days, he will go put away his bag and get breakfast quietly. He then either eats breakfast quietly or the tantrums start. He either decides he does not want what we are serving, refusing to eat, but screaming loudly if we take away what he was given. Or perhaps he decides to start punching or yelling at another child at his table until we have to make him eat alone. Then the tantrums really start, bearing the similar pattern, with phrases being screamed such as, "Leave me alone!" "No" or my personal favorite, "You are getting on my nerves". If he is really angry at this point, he begins to run around the classroom, laughing and screaming for about 10-15 minutes. Once down from that high, he eats breakfast and then it is time for centers. We tell him he cannot have centers because of his conduct and another tantrum follows suit. Then it is time to go the rug and someone is the sharer of the day. He then throws a tantrum every 19 out of 20 days when it is not his turn. Then he wanders around the classroom for the remaining 25 minutes of rug time, knowing full well he will not get centers. Then centers comes and due to his wandering, he does not get centers. Hence another tantrum. Eventually he cools down from the tantrum and about half the days, he makes it to the tail end of centers and then keeps it cool for music and calender time, the other half he does not, depending on if he has calmed down. Then we have another set of centers and groups and that is his group time. During group time, he inevitably screams that he is not at centers, so he is the last to pick his color of manipulatives, as I let the kids who sit quietly pick first. He then throws a tantrum if someone else gets orange (literally orange is the only thing he seems to be invested in) and then I tell him he cannot play at all until he stops screaming. He then throws another tantrum and then eventually realizes he can play if he just calms down and usually is back for the last 3-5 minutes of the small group lesson. Journal (the other small group) typically goes well. Although you never know with T. Then we have bathroom break (which is ALWAYS silent) because the kids know if they talk, it is five minutes of their recess. T always speaks during bathroom break (and he is the only one who has multiple chances during bathroom break, but he still runs through all of them in less than 2 minutes), resulting in five minutes of recess being taken away and then throws another tantrum. We tell him he cannot eat lunch until he calms down from the tantrum and usually after the other kids have been eating for about 10 minutes, he is ready to eat. Sometimes he still refuses to eat because he is upset it is not pizza, until we tell the kids it is time to throw away their food, then he will begin to shove it down reluctantly. Then we go to recess, which he does not get for being ridiculous the entire day and he is the only kid to NOT touch and hold during recess, resulting in him never being released from time out, when all the other kids do their time and move on. Even though he always should miss all of recess, we tell him if he can touch and hold against the wall, we will let him have the last five minutes. It never happens. If it does, he then throws a tantrum when recess is over and sometimes runs out the gate in an attempt to stay longer. Then we come in from recess and half the time, he is so tired, he will sit through story time quietly. The other half, he has tantrums because he was not picked on to volunteer, he is still mad about recess or just because he is having a bad day. We then have nap and it goes one of two ways. Some days he sleeps. Best days ever. Other days, he gets up and runs around the classroom (i.e. on top of tables, on top of centers, running on kids heads who are asleep) until my para and I work together to catch him and hold him down. He then screams really loudly his favorite phrases ("Leave me alone!" "No!" and again my favorite, "You are getting on my nerves") until he eventually gets tired and falls asleep. After nap, it goes one of two ways again. He either wakes up rested and goes to eat his snack without much ado. If this happens, the rest of the day is perfect. He eats his snack, he sits through lesson quietly and enjoys centers the rest of the day. Or he wakes up angry, throws a tantrum, snack gets taken away, he misses the lesson and gets centers taken away, resulting in complete chaos until 3. However, even on the days the afternoons go well, the day always ends on a negative note, as a tantrum ensues at 3pm every day when he does not get announced the Superstar of the Day (with the exception of once out of every twenty days). And that is T.

I should explain what his tantrums look like, just to fully illustrate. Hitting. Lots of hitting. Other kids, me, my para, anyone. Running. Lots of running. Running in the parking lot, the classroom, out the classroom, down the hall. Yelling and screaming. Lots of yelling and screaming. Yelling his key phrases and literally screaming just so that the other kids cannot hear my teaching or instructions. And occasionally, destroying. Lots of destroying. Grabbing every single box in my centers and throwing them on the floor. Tearing things off my wall. And the list goes on. The newest tantrum he had this week involved going onto my rug and peeing his pants on purpose all over the rug. Then laughing.

Out of fairness, I should say some positive things about him. He is the most loving kid ever. When he does calm down, he says sorry very sincerely (although usually after coaxing) and gives you the sweetest hug in the world. He loves his baby sister a lot and when he is not having a tantrum (so about 10% of the day), he is actually a very well behaved and calm student. He loves to participate and every once in awhile, he even shows some empathy and caring to the other kids in the class (i.e. when another one cries, saying, "it's okay" and patting their back. His parents are really invested in his behavior and are really working hard with us to try to get it under control. I mean, his mom comes constantly to watch him and when she does not come, we always discuss the day. So there are some positives, but sometimes it is hard to remember.

I realize how incredibly negative and non strength focused this post sounds. Part of me hates myself for writing it and the other part of me has to get it out somehow. I am running out of ideas with this child. The only times he ever behaves is when he gets his way, when his parents sit in on class (and take him into the bathroom and beat him if he does even one thing wrong) and that is about it. And when his parents leave, he immediately throws a tantrum or misbehaves more than his usual, as if to spite us for bringing in family. I literally talk with his mom at least 4 times a week and she observes him about 2-3 times a week, sometimes for the entire day. I take videos of him during his tantrums and show both his mother and make him watch it. We talk constantly about good choices and bad choices and I try so hard to keep my tone positive with him, even when I want to cry. He gets so many second and third and twentieth tries and I give him more attention easily than anyone else in the entire class. Maybe my entire life. I call on him immediately when he is behaving and brag on his good choices all the time, but it is not enough. I tried a check in check out system with him for every five minutes for the entire first three months of school, but I think it is time to admit, it just did not work. It worked wonders for C, my other little once terror, now fairly under control love, but for T it is just not working. The nursery teacher suggested I am harsher with him, told me to yell at him, growl at him, do whatever I have to do, but I do not believe that is the answer. Sometimes she takes him out of class, but he always comes back eating skittles and smiling, so I am not sure what she is doing is working. And he cringes and flinches when his parents gesture at him, knowing he what is coming and I do not think that is right. I am not saying I am against spanking or that his parents are bad, in fact, I think they both love him a lot. I am just saying, whatever is going on at home, it is not working as evident in his behavior at school.

I do not believe this child needs anymore yelling or hitting in his life. His family punishes him with yelling and hitting and I believe that is where he learned these horrible behaviors. But because of it, that is literally the only thing he responds to, violence and screams. And even if I screamed at him, I think he would still act up because he knows I will never hit him. But I do not know what to do. I love this child so much (although my post might suggest otherwise), I assure you I do. But I just do not know what to do. If I cannot get him under control, he is going to go to Kindergarten academically behind and a behavioral nightmare. At this point, I would suggest another year of Pre-K, but it is impossible to hold back a child in Pre-K and so my time is running out. I do not think he needs an evaluation or medication, because I have seen glimpses of a studious and well behaved boy in between the tantrums and I think his behavior is learned, not inherent. If I can get him under control, I believe I can catch him up academically (because he does learn fast when he is sitting still and not screaming) and I am sure next year, the transition will be easy. The stakes are so high and I am low on ideas.

My next step. I am working with my principal to set up a meeting with her, my para, our supposed district social worker (I've never met him/her--so I have my doubts) and the family about more positive child rearing techniques. But I just don't know.

So if you have encouragement or suggestions, send it my way because right now, I know I am failing this little child. He is sweet and loveable and very smart, but right now, the only side of him I see is intense anger, destruction and violence. I cannot let him fall between the cracks. I am lacking confidence that I can do it, something I usually do not lack, but I know I care and I know I won't give up, so I hope that is enough. His little future depends on it.

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not" -Dr. Suess

In Sync (Not the Boy Band)

The past few weeks have not been exceptional. In fact, it has been very routine. I work long hours, I have horrible days behaviorally (especially with my special ones all my friends hear me groan and growl over day after day), I have great teaching days and a lot of gray matter in between. Some days my kids get the material, other days I get blank stares. I work way longer than I mean to work every single night, but somehow I don't lose my steam. About two or three times a week one of my lovelies tells me something that humbles me and breaks my heart and about two or three times a week I completely lose my straight face and burst out laughing at something absolutely preposterous one of my kids said. It's up and down, but it is fluid. It's my daily rhythm. It stretches me and compresses me. It sustains me.

I came to this realization today when I had a meeting with my principal. We were discussing the progress of my students, my own professional and personal development and all things in between. We do not meet as often as we could and probably should, but when we do, it is always so meaningful and insightful. At one point in the meeting, my principal said, "You know I got the best compliment the other day from ___ (another one of my bosses). She said that I have a knack for picking employees who other people may not; but who turn out just right in the end, just like Hannah." She went on to say a couple people did not think I was the right choice in the beginning but she saw in me a passion that others do not have and knew that I would come through and she believed I had. She also said my haters (as I will henceforth refer to them) agreed that they had underestimated me. Granted a perfectionist of sorts would be boggled down wondering why said people were against hiring someone as absolutely wonderful as myself, but as I have never been a perfectionist, I will instead just be proud I made them question their own judgments and will of course, refer to them as my haters behind their back.

In reality, I am far from perfect in the world of teaching. There are so many things I am working to improve on and my work-life balance is far from reaching any sort of equilibrium. Not to mention, some of my students still don't know the simplest of concepts or are still behaviorally out of control--cursing, jumping on tables, you name it. But, it is nice to know someone sees progress is me. And I must admit, despite how historically hard I am on myself, I see major professional strides in me as well, which in all honesty, is the most meaningful reflection of all.

So I don't really have much to say. I know this is refreshingly brief of a post for my consistent followers, used to pages of rambles and stories, but I guess all I have to say is I'm in sync. Again--not the boy band.

I'll leave you with this quote. The prose is less than impressive, but witty in the context of the post. Also, I really just miss going to hockey games.

"I love proving people wrong." -Ed Belfour

Just Noticeable Difference

When I first realized as I opened the clean slate of a new blog post that I wanted to explain the "just noticeable difference" in the context of my classroom, I used my dear friend Wikipedia in an attempt to show me the real academic definition. However, left with sophisticated jargon and formulas way beyond my comprehension, I will explain it just as it was explained to me. So for my friends on the world wide web who are extremely proficient in science and academia, please excuse my incoming feeble attempt to explain the concept of the "just noticeable difference".

Imagine you are in a room with 5000 candles. Someone comes in and lights one more. You cannot tell the difference in brightness with your eyes because your perception is not that acute. However, if someone continually keeps lighting one more candle and adding it to the room over and over again, at some point, you would notice it got brighter. That is the "just noticeable difference". It is the nth candle that wakes you up and makes you realize, hey it is brighter in here, despite the fact that each and every candle before that was actually contributing to the brightness change.

Again, sorry for any scholars who may know that I have misinterpreted the concept or have been misled, if I am wrong, I am content with that because my definition of the "just noticeable difference" is perfect in this context.

Alas, after a long explanation, to the point. My class has reached the point of a just-noticeable difference. I have been astounded at the progress my students have appeared to make over the three week intercession and while I know I have been figuratively adding candles to their rooms day after day after day, it was hard not to walk in on Monday and think, wow these are different kids. The gains my kids make day to day are so miniscule that sometimes it is hard to perceive how much the miniscule differences add up to until you leave for awhile. Sometimes I wish so much I could go back and relive my first day of teaching, not changing anything, but just observing my kids and seeing how far they have come behaviorally, socially and academically from day one to now. Actually, I would love to see how much I have grown professionally as well. It would be a hard bet to discern which of us have grown the most--myself or the little ones, but either way, at least we are improving.

So today, I do not have a lot to say really, but I want to give you a story. To illustrate my point, I will bring in S, the ladies' man of the class. S came in extremely low and lacking any confidence. He was a huge behavior problem (and still is to some extent) although he was always very overshadowed by the bigger issues of the infamous T and C. Anytime S had a writing utensil, he would attempt to eat it or get up and run from the table. He refused to write out of fear of failure and if coerced into doing it, he would draw two or three straight lines and say, "me done". His mom reported a similar problem at home. Not only that, but in small group time, most of my kids favorite time as it involves more attention from the teacher, S would act out constantly and whine and fall out of his chair if asked to count cubes or do any sort of learning. In carpet time, S would hit other kids or try to make moves on the little girls but would never participate in class. His favorite past time was pulling at the tape of the rug and then eating it. And perhaps most disturbingly, when you would so much and touch S on the shoulder or try to grab him when he decided it was time to take a quick jog around the classroom, he would scream "OUUUUUH" and melt onto the floor like you had just tackled him. Obviously, on the quarter assessment, he was tied for the lowest score in both ELA and math and showed little progress. What disturbed me most; however, was his absolute lack of excitement to learn, a trait absolutely inherent in four year olds.

But now, for some reason, it clicked. We reached the point of the just noticeable difference and all the sudden my little ladies man is a new man. Not only is he participating actively on the rug, but he is getting the answers right. I here his little voice booming with the other kids with "rhombus!" when I point at a shape and I see his little arm waving excitedly to answer questions. In small groups, he is not only staying at the table, but he is often the first in his group to find the answer and proudly holds his little chest high. Perhaps most notably, he is now writing not just when required, but in center time, he is getting out pieces of paper and taking notes about the tall tall buildings he is creating in the blocks center. And he can now write his first name and is getting pretty good at his last name too. Behaviorally, he is excited to learn and on task most of the time; however, he still has some work. Nap time to S looks a lot more like gym, as he loves to run around the room and lay down, stand up, lay down, stand up all nap long (driving me INSANE I might add). Also, the kid is still absolutely fixated on eating inappropriate objects and is still chasing skirts like he is 16 instead of 4, but he has come a LONG LONG way. I cannot help but absolutely gloat in excitement at the progress of S. I must admit, at the end of last quarter, I was so worried about S, as he just seemed to not be willing to learn. But sometime between day one and now, he flipped the switch and now I am confident he is going to end the year, not just on par, but probably above some of the other kids.

I have a lot of stories like this from day one to now; however, S has such a dynamic little personality, I thought he was the story most worth sharing. I worked another long week this week and another tireless weekend and I had my fair share of trials and tribulations for the first week back. However, at the end of the day, if I don't focus on the just noticeable differences and I don't celebrate the little steps that can feel like leaps for a four year old, I will not be able to get out of bed in the morning. So while it may be unhealthy to dream about teaching letters and fall asleep hearing my para's voice echoing in my ear, "S, get that out of your mouth", I wouldn't trade it. I love my kids and so somehow in the absurdity that my life has become, I find peace and gratitude.

To end, I had a memory the other day of one Thanksgiving talking with my Grandpa Waier, probably sometime in high school, maybe early college about the future, ambition and what not and I remember the advice he gave me to this moment. I like to think at this point in my life, I am following his advice. He said it in his own words, but I never forgot the message and here it is:

"Find a job you love and you will never work a day in your life." -Confucius

The Rebirth of Optimism

After three weeks of MUCH needed recuperation, relaxation, or whatever you want to call it, I am feeling so incredibly pumped for quarter two. In all seriousness-I may need to see a doctor about how excited I am for Monday-this cannot be healthy. I miss my kids wholeheartedly, I miss teaching and I am pumped for my goals for this quarter. I could spend this blog ranting about the unforgettable shenanigans and fun times I engaged in while off in both New Orleans and Fort Worth or bore you with the details of getting my life together (i.e. buying a desk, obtaining a drivers license, etc) but this blog is dedicated to my classroom, so instead you must listen to me preach passionately about the achievement gap, my diabolic yet loveable kids and my entire experience in education reform.

Since my re-immersion in the classroom for prep time, which I sentenced myself to starting Wednesday, I have been on an upward spiral of happiness, reaching a peak today during our district wide professional development (unbelievable I know, but the truth). Usually, I am less than a team player when it comes to the absurdity of mandated trainings when I have a to do list that would put the most ambitious to shame, but today was different. Perhaps it was because yesterday, in an attempt to grow personally, I decided to go to a well known and successful private school in New Orleans for a quick observation. I spent two hours in this classroom, half expecting to come home sourly disappointed at my own performance as a teacher, but with a list 20 pages long full of ideas and changes for my own class. Surprisingly, however, I came home still sourly disappointed, but not at my own incompetence, but at the lack of impression made on me by the school.

I observed three Pre-K classrooms in this school and while their 15 or so female students were not yelling obscenities, getting in fist fights or generally raising hell, as my 20 co-eds love to do, I got the impression that these girls probably had not started at the same level of behavioral anarchy as my lovelies. Also, while the girls appeared to know significantly more than my kiddos, it was obvious yet again that their starting point was drastically different, as their teacher explained most of them knew all their letters and could write their name on the first day of school. So yeah, I guess I should be impressed, their girls were well behaved and smart, but the school seemed to lack ambition. The teachers had a lot less instructional time with the kids, lacked any sense of urgency in the classroom and seemed completely unconcerned with the results of their own teaching. Each teacher spent about 15-30 minutes chatting with me and often walked from room to room to ask the other teachers their weekend plans (which blows my mind, as I don't even get a chance to use the restroom during the day). What I gleaned from my time there was something along the lines of this mentality: we teach, some get it, some don't, then we go home. I am saying this is incorrect or they are bad teachers-I do not believe that, I am just stating my impressions. In reality, they do not have to fret at night worrying about the future of their kids because their kids come in on grade level and all they have to do is the bare minimum and their kids will stay right on track. Not to mention their kids have all the resources in the world at home, so their longtime success is likely not a worry, so I can't blame the teachers for treating teaching like a job, not a mission. My classroom starkly contrasts this picture. I have to work my behind to the bone day after day, integrating learning objectives during recess, lunch time, bathroom break and every spare second and I still toss and turn at night because my kids know so little. And if they don't catch up, my kids face the reality that so many of their dads, moms, brothers and cousins are already living-poverty or jail time. The reality is, this work is high stakes. The women at the private school do not understand my world. They do not understand working 80 hours a week, feeling legitimate anxiety at the fate of their students due to socioeconomic status or wondering on Sunday afternoons if their students are going to get lunch that day. They have no idea how to teach a child how to write their name that has legitimately never held a pencil (or perhaps even seen one) or how to teach a class full of 20 kids who have learned to push, bite and pinch in order to express their feelings. I realize I may be coming off self righteous or pity seeking, but I promise you I am not. I am not envious, I am not jealous, I am simply stating the truth of the haves and the have nots. Schools may no longer be segregated, but in so many ways they still are. Segregated by class (often unfortunately coinciding with race), segregated by achievement and segregated by the lives of our parents. But as I said, I am not jealous, but sad. I am sad because I wonder how much the educational system of today is cheating our children. I swear to you by the end of the year, my kids will be on grade level. It seems so obvious, but the more and more I look at my data, the data of the brothers and sisters of my students and the data of our school, I see just how far off our goal is. But my students will be on grade level because I am going to work tirelessly to achieve that goal. What makes me sad is that if the teachers in the private school continue to put in the same effort they put in when I observed them, their kids will also finish on grade level. But if they were to put in the same effort and have the same level of rigor and academic focus in the classroom as my school, I can only imagine how much further their little girls could grow. They have no idea how lucky they are to have a set of children already so primed to learn. And that is why the educational system is cheating us. Those who are behind, fall further and further behind despite the most dedicated persistence from teachers because sometimes when you are at a Pre-K level in 2nd grade, as many of our 2nd graders are, the gap feels so insurmountable. And for those on grade level or perhaps even above, many schools do not challenge and push further. As long as they pass the state tests-they are good to go. Our children as a nation are capable of so much and we just keep holding everyone to low standards. The poor cannot learn and the rich know enough seems to be the mentality. And people wonder how America ranks so poorly on the international surveys of school performance. Personally, I'm sick of it and this visit is the kind of thing which switched me out of mini summer break mode back into urgent mode.

Back to my original point, my excitement at professional development today. In the whole district setting, we spent time celebrating the victories of last quarter, discussing trouble areas and looking realistically at how much further or children have to go. We examined graphs of where the state expects each child to be at the beginning of the year, and how their scores should improve throughout the year and saw comparable ratios of improvement. Where the state wanted our kids to move up two points, our kids moved up two points. However, our kids started drastically behind the state standards and therefore, have so much further to go. We cannot continue at the expected rate and catch up, instead we must see more than a year of growth in a years time. Then, in our school professional development, we met in a room filled with a post it of each child K-2 (my kids do not take the test for another month) and where their STEP (a state reading test) level is compared to where it should be at the end of the year. Almost every single child at our school was on the Pre-Read level, the lowest level. This is the level my students should be at the END of Pre-K. We even had 2 second graders still performing at a Pre-K level. Only one student in the entire school was on grade level. Obviously, this news did not contribute to my happiness, but instead our outlook on the information overjoyed me. So many schools spend staff meetings planning homecoming parades, book fairs, and other special events, but not my school. While I see the value of such events, this is not what I signed up to do. I signed up to close the gap and that is exactly what we talked about all meeting long. I am lucky enough to be at a small enough school where we could brainstorm for individual children, figure out ways to best utilize our limited resources and figure out how to invest the families further. I know some of this went over your heads if you are not a part of the New Orleans education movement, so I will sum it up like this. In staff meeting, I did not feel like a run of the mill teacher, working every day out of a love for teaching and a need to pay the bills; instead, I felt like a real advocate of change, fighting for a cause so much more powerful than the monotony of the days. And that is exactly what I wanted out of this experience. Not to be a teacher, but to be a catalyst of change.

So now, even though it is Friday night and my friends are impatiently waiting for me to join them at a nearby bar, I feel compelled to share my passion for my work and excitement for quarter two with the likely less than impressed electronic world, as most days, nothing seems more important than the future of my 20 brainiacs. And now, in my last weekend off, I will probably spend the overwhelming majority of it at my school, singing obnoxiously to my pandora radio station while prepping materials, with annoyed church deacons at my classroom door insisting that I go home so they can lock up. But I do not envy any one else for their free time (what a thought!) or the general lack of stress in their lives because I can go to bed every single night knowing I am working for something that has real meaning and will get real results.

I love you and miss you all!

"Anyone can dabble, but once you've made that commitment, your blood has that particular thing in it, and it's very hard for people to stop you." -Bill Cosby

At the Quarter's Close

Exhale.

The first quarter is over. Life somehow exploded in my face and one day, I'm desperately moving classroom chairs from one side of the room to the other between exasperated breaths before the first day of school and then next thing I know, I'm meeting with parents to look over the progress of their students in the first quarter.

Come again?

I guess that is the true enigma of year round school. It makes no sense and all the sense in the world. Time seeps through the hidden cracks between your fingers just slowly enough so you do not notice and then all the sudden, you look down and realize what you were holding onto is no longer there. So what do you do when you are out of time? Reflect.

So alas, here are my reflections. Imperfect and dramatized, but nonetheless, meaningful if for no one else, myself.

I taught four year olds for two months. More than two months actually. I jumped into a classroom with little classroom experience, even less classroom experience with kids below the age of 5, limited resources, no authentic energy, and a ton of adrenaline and was told to swim. Now I cannot tell you for certain that I swam, but I can tell you I certainly did not drown. I slowly learned some imperfect way to keep my head above water. At times, I accidentally swallowed some water when I started to slip, but always managed to emerge unharmed and with a stronger determination. My head is now above water and somewhere way off in the distance I can see the shore. The end of all three quarters. I can see my four year olds kinder ready--scratch that ABOVE kinder ready both academically and socially. I may not be swimming the most efficient and well traveled path, but I will get them there whatever it takes.

So the moment you have all been waiting for (or at least, should have been waiting for)--how was the progress? From day one to now---did they learn? The answer is absurd in its utter lack of simplicity. Yes and no. A lot and barely anything. Impossible to determine. I have no giant success stories. Most of my kids I required to come to the three week intercession or tutoring (or whatever tutoring looks like when you are deficient in colors, shapes and counting) while I take my time off. 13 out of 20 in fact. And in all honesty, I believe closer to 18 of my kids needed it, but I was only supposed to require 60%, so that is what I did. However, due to the increasing complication of being with a four year old (even your own four year old) all day long and balancing work, life and more, all my parents thankfully opted to continue to bring their child to the shortened days during intercession. Maybe during that time, for my five students who still don't know all ten colors or the two who cannot even identify blue--it will click. Maybe for my kids who get to 9 when they count and then say 20..it will click. Maybe for my student who only can identify 1 letter of the alphabet (my goal this quarter was ten)..it will click. I can only hope.

I did have successes however; which are so incredibly important to reflect on. Little or big--anything and everything is worth celebrating when you are up against the odds, as I must admit, I truly am. On my mid-quarter assessment, only 2 of my kids could tell me first and last (an incredibly hard skill at that age) and now well above half of my students can. All except for my new student can identify their first name in print, all of my students can hold a book correctly, identify print versus pictures on a page and all but two of my students can sort objects by either color or shape (a personal area of pride for me :D). All of my kids are attempting to write their name and two of my lowest performers are writing their names correctly (however sometimes the letters are jumbled and you have to take a second to find them all). Many of my kids who came in on the scribble phase are now starting to draw rudimentary people and objects and some of my higher performing kids are beginning to write not only their name, but the names of their classmates with ease.

Are the kids learning? YES. Are they learning enough? Harder answer.

All data aside though, I am proud of what I have done so far. Given the circumstances of my rushed beginning and utter lack of preparation, good things happened in my classroom. Now for the next three weeks, while I have time and more knowledge of what I should of been doing from day one curriculum, structure and management wise, I think things will be REALLY great next quarter. I have a lot of great ideas I finally have time to implement and I now KNOW my kids. I hate to admit it, but I probably know some of my kids (particularly the problem behavior kids because they tend to monopolize my time) more than some of my closest friends. Scary, but the reality of the job. So things are going to be good next quarter. Next quarter, I am positive I will have trials and tribulations, but I am also positive I will have more successes and clearer results than this quarter.

On a cuter note--I am surprising my student's parents with something amazing (or at least I think it is). I am interviewing each of my kids for a couple minutes at the end of each quarter to talk about school, what they are learning and their dreams. At the end of the year I am going to put it all together into a CD and give it to their family so they can see how their child grew (physically, emotionally and academically) from quarter to quarter. I conducted my first round of interviews on Thursday and let me tell you---HILARIOUS. Seriously, if I could post videos of my kids on the internet, they would be up in a second because I have never laughed so hard in my life. Whether it was odd proclamations of "I love playing robot at school" (we don't play robots--I assure you) or a mid sentence hesitation to proclaim "I gotta USE it!!!" (meaning use the restroom in New Orleans slang) or an inability to stand away from the camera, resulting in a zoomed in view of the nostrils- the videos are light hearted and adorable and sure to make parents proud (if not in this quarter, by the last quarter undoubtedly). Moments like that are days when working 7-9 does not seem so bad. While I take my job so seriously, as I am the front lines and essential force in combating the achievement gap for my kids--not a day goes by where I don't laugh. And not just giggle, but BURST into laughter. Because as important as it is for my kids to learn and as serious as I am about their learning, I cannot help but love them as my own. So on the days when I feel like 21 going on 40 as I crawl my aching bones into bed at 9:30 PM, silencing my cell phone from my younger more lively friends, I remember that my students also keep me young--laughing away the exhaustion and burden as T insists for the hundredth time that it is indeed again, his birthday.

In my personal life, I am so ready for a break. I plan to stay up past 9:30 (crazy for someone in their 20s I know), have a couple visitors (the first of which I am picking up in two hours from the airport!) and go home to reconnect with college friends. I plan to work on some requirements for my organization, prepare my classroom and attempt to become a better teacher with better results. I will not lie. This is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, but also the most meaningful. And I know I may be young, but for those of you who know me well, you know I have seldom ventured into meaningless and easy tasks--always attempting to go down the most challenging and most impactful of streets, despite my youth. So I had a bit of a reality check today when I went into Supercuts to get a haircut (mom--you should be proud, I paid for a haircut for once) and the person cutting my hair assumed I was a Tulane student. At first, I thought almost offended--how in the world could she think I'm so young? Despite the reality of my youth, I truly often feel an older soul, especially since graduation from college. But then I realized, if I were more normal, I would still be in college right now. If I had not opted into the fast track for life, as I always do, I would be closing up the first month of my senior year of college. Busy--undoubtedly, but in a different way. For one surreal moment I closed my eyes and imagined myself in my single dorm room amongst 100s of 18 year old neighbors, my only stressors exams, papers and my own personal success. No one's academic fate and let's be realistic--future socioeconomic status--in my hands but my own. For one bittersweet moment I let myself daydream about the freedom of joining 100 different organizations and the mellowness of laying in the commons and the relatively easy life I left behind. I asked myself with hesitation, did I make a mistake? And in all honesty, I can say that I did not. Not even a little bit. Sure I miss college, or if nothing else, the amazing people I left behind, but all good things come to an end and my life right now is exactly what I want it to be. New Orleans is an amazing town filled with awe-inspiring stories, sites and cultures and I truly do love my job. It wears me down to the ground daily, but I always get up the next day because it is a beautiful joy to work with the students and families I work with. I am finding my niche in my new town with my new job and my new friends and it feels right. No mistakes, no regrets, just content exhaustion.

So yet again, I have left you with another stream of consciousness, less than inspirational, but surely genuine blogpost. I miss you and love you all and will be back in a Fort Worth in a few days for those of you I will have the pleasure of seeing!

"Happiness cannot come from without. It must come from within. It is not what we see or touch or that which other people do for us which makes us happy; it is that which we think and do and feel, first for the other fellow and then for ourselves." -Helen Keller

Inextricably Linked

Perhaps due to my newly discovered closet love of writing or my need to feel productive, yet at the same time, find time to relax, I have been very consistent with my blog up until now. Usually, at one point every weekend, after a ridiculously long day of working, I have haulted midpoint and reasoned with myself I need to stop and take time to reflect on the crazy whirlwind that my life has become. Also, I need to inform the people who stubbornly (or perhaps loyally) insist on maintaining friendship despite my virtual nonexistence in their lives, I reason to myself halfheartedly, really just desiring a reason to put away the lesson plans. But this weekend I hit a wall. I had no desire to write, no desire to reflect, nothing. I was just exhausted and bitter and tired. It all stemmed from a less than successful day of teaching Friday, which carried over into a bit of the blues over the weekend that did not cease until a better teaching day Monday.

One realization I am coming to is that my current life happiness is inextricably linked with the progress and successes of my students. When C comes back from the weekend angry and violent, I find myself feeling hopeless and defeated. When M still cannot tell me red versus pink, I doubt my abilities as not just a teacher, but a human being, silly as it sounds. On the flip side, when T makes it through a day without any temper tantrums, I foolishly walk with my chest held higher, confident in my ability to make a real difference. When E sits with me after school and not only tells me almost all the letter names, but multiple words that start with each letter, including the names of other people in the class, I drive home smiling as if I just singlehandedly changed the world. These are exaggerations of course, but somewhere between the hyperboles, lies the deafening fact that I love my children so much that I refuse to let them fail at my hands. I feel like I am in tunnel vision right now, desiring only for significant and substantial growth academically and socially by June. I have a vision of the end of the tunnel, but I find myself questioning the validity of the paths I am taking at times.

Sometimes I am so caught in my own tunnel vision that I forget the tremendous life difficulties of my students. Four years old and already, so many of my kids have faced more life traumatic events that I have ever or will ever face. Perhaps because I grew weary of never eating lunch during the day due to a lack of a lunch break or because I wanted to use the ever enticing bribe of "Ms. Knipp will eat lunch with a table that is sitting quietly" as a classroom management technique, I began sitting down with my own lunch at the prime time of 10:45 with my kids to eat. Whatever the cause, it is one of the best decisions I ever made. Not only do I have a chance to help my students learn how to communicate effectively (i.e. we do not talk while another person is talking), review GLEs (i.e. what color is your milk?) and build relationships (my kids are absolutely FASCINATED by my inevitable lunch of Cheez Its and a peanut butter sandwich), but it is eye opening to the struggles faced daily by my kids. It breaks my heart when C brings up at lunch that his daddy is in jail and it shatters more fully when another student, J, wholeheartedly bursts out, "My daddy too! He used to hit mommy!" Then as C begins to describe how when his daddy and mommy used to fight, he would jump in the middle, I quietly explain that it is important that we can share what happens at home, but we should talk about something else during lunch, holding back the desire to just hold my kids and let them talk or cry or do whatever they need to do, knowing at this point in time, I have to make sure the other students are not subject to hearing about life traumas no four year old should experience. Time and a place I believe they say. When on the rug, Tr and C talk about how their daddies died, I am overcome with sadness, trying to imagine growing up my entire life without a dad. Life is rough for my four year olds.

During dramatic play, when Tr exclaims to the other kids, "The police are coming, everyone get down!" I immediately hold back reflexive giggles at the hilarity that later in the night turn into melancholy reflections at the sad truth that that sentence means something to a four year old. In the moment, I calmly explain that the police do not come to the dramatic play center, we just practice cooking and eating pretend food. Ten seconds later, as Tr boasts, "Time for a house party ya'll" I catch myself again in an odd paradox between refreshing laughter and somber reflection at the origin of the exclamation, once again clarifying that dramatic play is not a place for house parties. The tone then switches to throwing a party at Chuck E Cheese, which I praise with relief and later, as Tr yells out the names of her classmates and pretend writes, I ask Tr if she is writing a guest list for those who can attend, only to be told, "No Ms. Knipp, this is the no recess list", humbling me at my own influence in her life.

Pre K students are sponges. Literally sponges. Unfortunately, some of my students came in well acquainted with curse words and obscenity. Now, it is common occurrence that I am writing a note home to parents about a child saying the F bomb or flipping the bird and I hesitate, but realistically admit they probably learned it from another student. On the flip side, my students are learning. Learning lessons I try to teach, learning lessons I inadvertently teach and learning things I never intended to teach. Learning subconsciously and mostly accidently, when I start a sentence, "I really appreciate that....." they better get in criss cross applesauce because I am scanning the room for someone to praise. Learning purposefully how to count, shapes, sorting, letters, names, how to interact, independence and more. Learning ironically, my mannerisms, way of speaking and more and mimicking me with hilarious accuracy.

So I guess the point of all those tangents is one of the major realizations I have had is that my students learn so much just from modeling themselves after me. As my students have modeled themselves after their parents, brothers, sisters and other life influencers, I am now one of those influencers. If I yell at my kids all day long, take away their recess, snack and every privilege under the sun they will still love me so wholly because they are four and they are made to love. Every word I say they cling to like gold. Ask any of my kids what my favorite day of the week is, I assure you they will say Friday. Case in point- last week for our families unit we made a book of our drawings of our families and shared about them. The book was placed in the library section. I shared that my brother Andy was one of my best friends and that we liked to spend time together listening to music when I modeled sharing to my kids. Later, C brought me the book from the library and asked me to show him which one was Andy (yes he used his first name--two days later). Take away message? My life (and what I allow my students to see of my life) is a lesson in itself. It does not matter what kind of person I am, they will take a piece of me when they form their own little personalities, morals and ethics more fully (although at times, it is hard to believe their personalities are not already fully developed!) What I am teaching them by being me? Am I letting my frustrations during the day turn my positive behavior narration into last resort punishments? Am I subconsciously communicating to my students any disbelief in their ability academically or behaviorally? Am I modeling in my own interactions with them, the student I want them to be at the end of the year? Food for self reflection.

I am quite certain this came out as a collection of some amusing, some disheartening and let's face it-absolutely cute stories about my students instead of a revelation, as it feels to me. But I hope some part of this post shed some kind of light into the difficulties and opportunities I have as a Pre K teacher in a low income community. I cannot wait for the rewards which I cannot help but believe will come of academic and social maturity in each and every one of my students. In the mean time, I must reflect on my end goal and whether or not my lessons (both planned and inherent) are aligned.

Until next time.

"Every reform needs examples more than advocates" -John Kerry

A Community of Caring

Things are looking up. Amongst the craziness that is a class full of 4 year olds, good things are happening.

I realized this on Monday morning this week when in the writing center, one of my brightest students was drawing smiley faces on a paper with concentration and focus. I watched him as he found T's laminated name and etched silently the letters of his name onto the paper. He was mimicking the behavior tracker I use with T daily. He showed me sheepishly and said, Ms. Knipp, I want T to get all smiley faces every single day and when he can get all smiley faces, I want to give him one of my toys.

I realized this on Tuesday when I was so sick I could barely speak and the students asked me with the sweetest hesitation what was wrong with my voice and actually WERE quieter when I told them I was very sick. Then on Thursday, when my voice came back, when the students were overjoyed to see that Ms. Knipp was feeling better and hoped I did not get sick again.

I realized this on Wednesday when I discovered that C asks with intrigue and concern everyday where so and so is, depending on who is absent. C, who seemed to look through the other kids the first week of school, is always the first to notice an absent student and the first to comment on the Superstar of the Day. Due to C's behavior issues, he even has a quiet place in his room where he can work and on Wednesday, he let T and another student play with him there because he wanted to share.

I realized this on Thursday when G (one of my three year olds) was sitting in my small group with me and raised a quiet hand to tell me, Ms. Knipp, I love you.

I realized this on Friday when my students spontaneously burst into song during center time singing the song we had been singing every morning in morning meeting, ___ is here, ___ is here, it's a great day because ___ is here (inserting the name of every classmate as we go around the circle).

Behavior is getting better every single day. Academics are still far off, but I now have data and assessments which will give me a better idea of where to go with my kids. And now we have a little community.

Personally, it was a rough week. I had flu like symptoms at the beginning of the week which included two days of essentially losing my voice and one day spent running in and out of the bathroom to throw up while teaching. But with this sickness, I forced myself to take better care of myself. At this point, I have only worked 58 hours this week and I plan to work no more than 4 tomorrow. It is still a lot, but compared to the 80 average I have going, it is something. I went out to dinner on a school night, I came home before 6 most nights and tonight I am going to a pool party. I even went on a run today, which was perfect for endorphins, exploration and mind clearing. Things are slowing down and looking up.

I am not a great teacher yet, in fact I am increasingly mediocre. But I am learning quick and improving rapidly. When I look back to the first day of school to now, I feel like I have grown more in five short weeks than I did in an entire year of college. Maybe in my entire three years of college---okay maybe not, but close. This realization helps me remain optimistic and driven in the face of sickness, low test results and still serious behavior issues.

So today, for perhaps the first time since teaching, I write a post where I focus fully and wholeheartedly on the successes. It took awhile, but I have a community of caring in my corner of the school and that is something. We still have issues with pushing, shoving, tattle telling, name calling and lack of sharing, but nonetheless a solid foundation has formed. Next step, to increase the caring and additionally create a community of academic curiosity and drive.

Keep me in your thoughts and please don't worry. My job is difficult, but rewarding and my heart is in it 100%. I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be and doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

I miss and love you all!

"The significant problems we face cannot be solved at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them." -Albert Einstein

Academic Awakening

*Note: This was originally written Sunday afternoon. I forgot I never posted it until just now. Enjoy!*

Before absorbing the afternoon ponderings of an exhausted soul, please excuse the stream of consciousness writing and lack of attention to detail and focus on the content, not the subpar presentation of the following message....

After another unholy amount of work this week, things are coming together in some areas and falling apart in others. I am learning how to really manage C and T and the routines and procedures of my classroom are finally starting to sink in with my students, making me feel less like a failure at the end of every day. One of the higher ups came into my classroom this week and said in a shocked voice, "Wow, it is like a completely different classroom this week compared to last week." Torn between taking it as a compliment and an insult, I choose to ignore the burn of the obvious shock in her voice and focus on the message--I am getting it together. My focused and relentless work is paying off, at least slightly. My students are not quite there behaviorally, but every day it gets a little more in reach. T is having less frequent tantrums and even got recess for the first time ever on Thursday, earning him the coveted title of the "Superstar of the Day." C only hit himself once over the entire week, left me with no visible markings (although I did get hit more than once) and even began to significantly reduce the episodes of cursing and running out of the classroom. C and T are adapting well to the happy/frowney face system, craving happy faces like little addicts and communicating well how their behavior relates to the subsequent faces. The entire class is also aware of and invested in helping C and T get their smiley faces and occassionally asking for smiley faces themselves (which I draw with my finger on their hands as a happy compromise). Overall, my students are transitioning more smoothly, following directions quicker and beginning to share and interact in a more healthy way. I can ALMOST take a breather after one entire month of teaching.

But then comes the scary part. Academics. With my intensity of focus on culture, behavior and routine, the end of the first unit is almost to an end and my goals are NOT going to be met. I just finished creating my unit one assessment (letter identification, name recognition, number recognition, shape recognition, colors, etc) and am realizing how many objectives I barely covered, skimmed over or rushed through due to behavioral concerns. Granted it is only the first unit of the first quarter of the year, but I was hoping to NOT already be behind. Unfortunately, unless I REALLY make some HUGE changes in the next week, most of my students (even my highest performing students) will probably not master the objectives from unit one. Of course when creating my year long plan, I left some wiggle room for remediation and back tracking, but I am nervous that I let myself neglect academics so much in the first month of teaching. Obviously, I thoroughly lesson planned each day, worked hard to stick to my schedule as much as possible and taught what I said I would teach, but the truth of the matter is my kids are not at the point I claimed I would have them at right now academically. My mind keeps pouring over the studies screaming the importance of Pre-K and readiness for Kindergarten on long term success and the guilt and worry at my own inadequacy as a teacher sinks in so deeply. I need to step up my game and do whatever it takes to get my kids where they need to be. I need to get creative and start implementing learning at EVERY point in the day. Recess, breakfast, lunch, bathroom breaks need to be filled with color flash cards, number flash cards and alphabet flash cards. Afternoon pick ups need to be reiterations of the lessons of the day and communication with parents about what to reinforce at home needs to be exponentially expanded. In all honesty, at the rate I am going, my Pre-K kids will not be ready for Kinder by next year so I have to step it up. I am just glad I have reached this realization now and not in December, while I still have time.

So as my roommates and TFA corps member friends finish their first week of teaching, I complete my first month, excited about my progress and strides in behavior, but scared of my neglect of academia. I have a lot of work to do.

Personally, I am exhausted. The last day I did not go into work was July 11th, over one month ago. All the deacons of the church where the school is located know my name and know that I am a workaholic, as they tap their toes late at night, waiting to lock up, as I beg for just five more minutes. The last time I worked less than 80 hours a week was the end of the May (right before TFA Institute). I am counting down the days until intercession (a three week break for year round schools) and praying that I will look back on my first quarter with pride and not regret, but nervous it will be reversed, a blow I am not sure I can take. I find myself a little homesick for the people I love and oddly sad to not be at RA training right now with my TCU friends (a phrase I never thought I would say) gearing up for another year with crazy 18 year olds experiencing their first taste of freedom. But alas, I am content despite the difficulty with things as they are right now. As cliche and narcassistic as it may sound, I do not believe there is anything more meaningful for me to be doing than the work I am doing right now. My kids love me so fully and without inhibition in a way that makes it impossible to let the intensity and pressure of the work t0 burden me. And vice versa. Plus in the roughest moments, the ridiculousness of the words that come out of four year olds mouths sweeten and lighten the urgency, often leaving me muffling back giggles when I should be enforcing the rules.

In reality, my students probably won't remember their experiences in Pre-K, I surely do not, but deep down I know the influence that I have the opportunity to have in their life is sensational and impactful, even if from day to day it often seems menial. I am not ready to give up yet and will keep fighting.

"Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting." -Napoleon Hill

I love you all and miss you! I'll see you September