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"
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
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
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
Friday, December 2, 2011
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
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
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