tales of a fifth grade surprise

You know that little substitute teaching gig I agreed to? I've logged 16 hours this week alone--silly me! I totally thought it would be a once a week thing TOPS. As of this morning I've worked with grades 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7 and 8 (and, consequently, all 3 of my own children). I've taught division with two digits, conjunctive adverbs (with a bonus lesson on semicolons!), the "dropping rule" in phonics (involving that pesky silent "e"), a couple chapters out of The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe, passive voice, diagramming compound sentences and supervised book report compositions in the computer lab. (Yes, I know I totally needed semicolons in that last sentence.)

Whew!

Surprisingly, 5th grade has been a real treat. When I was in college, I deliberately did NOT get certified to teach 6-12 grade English. I feared/dreaded/loathed the very IDEA of middle school kids--what with all their weird hormonal issues and emotions and icky smells. I hated middle school as a middle school kid, I was positive I had no love for them once I grew up. If a teacher got certified to teach a grade level or subject area, a district can assign the to teach it--whether they want to teach it or not, so by only obtaining certification to teach English 9-12, I was guaranteed only high school jobs. I feared a middle school assignment more than I feared not getting a job--and that's saying something.

It was with some hesitation that I agreed to sub in the Parochial School, but I figured with grades PK-8 represented, I had a greater shot at hanging out in grades PK-4.

I've spent the bulk of my time in middle school. And you know what I've discovered? It's a lot of fun.

Maybe it's because it's a Parochial School and the kids wear uniforms (khaki bottoms, blue polo shirts) and the class sizes are small (20 tops) and respect is totally drilled into these kids--but they were quite delightful. Especially 5th grade.

And you know what else? They smelled just fine.

They're energetic, funny, curious, talkative, hard-working and interesting. They help each other. They remind each other. They forget to follow instructions. They're easily distracted. They read a lot. They are happy to try new things. They admire their older classmates and look out for the younger classmates at the school. They love a corny joke and they look sideways at me but don't say a word when I don't make the sign of the cross at prayer time. They accept others with very open hearts.

There's one girl with gorgeous shiny blonde curly hair and hipster glasses who always always always had her nose in a book, oblivious to the world. She's polite and cooperative, but the moment she has a chance, she's got the pages open again. There's another girl with freckles and a huge grin, quick to lavish complements on her peers. I don't sense the back-biting and bullying typical in most middle schools. There's a boy who races through his work so he can have free time--and then when I ask him what he plans to do (instead of distracting his friends with his chatter), he volunteers to help a classmate finish a missed assignment.

I really like helping these kids with their work and easing the lives of teachers who are stressed out with having to miss class--I remember well what a huge blessing a competent sub was when I had to miss school. And because I taught school for 10 years, I inherently know stuff, like classroom management skills and where to look for the vocabulary lists and how to efficiently transition from one activity to the next. It's kind of a bonus that I get paid.

Spill it, reader. What have you tried lately that surprised you?

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off

Sure, we're spraying it to keep the mosquitoes from draining us every night.

My balance is off, too. I rolled my left ankle at karate and it's swollen up like an apricot on the side of my leg. It hurts when I bend it wrong. I know, I know. Quit bending it wrong.

I've signed off on sending Team Testosterone to parochial school. It was a decision we reached earlier this summer, but certain people deserved hearing the news in person, not via the grapevine. A tough call, I feel like I'm bailing on public education, never in a million years would I have thought I'd send my kids to parochial school. But that was when I was a teacher, a taxpayer, an average citizen. Now I'm a mom and it's become a personal choice. Factors weighing in included my philosophy about kids and learning and how the entire process should not be skill/drill but rather employ higher level thinking skills and develop their curiosity and talents. The public school is all about "How fast, how many?" and they like the kids to fit into a box, any kid who thinks outside of the box isn't encouraged or supported. This philosophy is driven in part by testing and in part by teachers to whom things have come easy. If I were an administrator, I'd like to see at least one B or C on a new teacher's transcript because it would demonstrate that they struggled at some point in their education. Struggle develops empathy and better teaching methods. The straight-A gang of teachers tend to be baffled by kids who struggle because they have no concept of what that means. They lump it as "lack of effort" or shrug their shoulders and write the kid off as a failure, but they don't think outside the damn box to address the issues. I believe in authentic assessment, testing kids to see if they understand the concepts. I'm seeing a lot of good things at the parochial school down the road, I want all three of my sons to have access to the same quality of education, regardless of their learning styles, strengths and weaknesses.

I also have three sons who think outside the box and I want that to be celebrated, not frustrated by their teachers. I like sending my kids to school in a uniform, I prefer the rigor of the curriculum at the parochial school and the administration over there kicks butt. A little liturgy every week is a small inconvenience when there's so much to be gained.

I'm still spouting off to the school board, however. The superintendent has finally presented the teachers with a contract. Box or no box, some of the terms of the contract are shitty. I can still support the public school even if I'm opting out of sending my kids to it.

I'm laying off the blog a bit, too. Regulars probably notice. It's summer. We're busy. Just like everyone else. And I'm trying to keep my kids away from TV/video games so I need to set a good example, right?

Now I'm off to clean the fridge where something smells a bit off. (Come on, you totally saw that coming.)

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I never figured out the wisdom of building Happyland Elementary on a county highway, far off the beaten path of sidewalks and 25 m.p.h. speed limits, but I'm guessing it had something to do with cheap farmland for sale. Because of where it's situated, every single one of the 800 kids attending get driven to school--except for mine, who get to walk across the field. Trust me, the 45 m.p.h. traffic on a county highway linking Happyland to All Major Thoroughfares is not for the fainthearted. Traffic is heavy, usually impatient and careless of others.

Yesterday I had to deliver Team Testosterone via Momvan because I had a huge load of donated paper for the classrooms. Moments after I turned onto the highway, an SUV (isn't it always?) came speeding up behind me and sat on my rear bumper. I hate tailgaters and vandals--but I grit my teeth and didn't hit my brakes because I was hauling children. In my dented and tan Momvan. Lay off, big, shiny, show-offy SUV. Suck it.

I kept glancing in my rear view window and thinking, "Lady, it's a school zone--traffic is slow. You're probably new here, or unfamiliar with this road so I'll cut you a break. But when I turn off here in 200 feet and you speed off like an assh*le, I really hope a county deputy pulls you over. See? See the yellow caution signs? The big elementary school where most of this traffic is turning in? We're not driving on a speedway. Sheesh!"

But! When I turned into the school's parking lot, the SUV followed, centimeters from my rear bumper. Was she following me to bitch me out for driving too slow? Was it some hotshot school supply salesperson with no concern for school kids, only their profit? Or--gasp!--was it a driver dropping off kids?

The rule at Happyland Elementary is that only buses can park in front of the building to drop off and pick up. To de-congest traffic jams, all other vehicles must park and drivers must escort children safely to the front doors of the (poorly designed with only one main entrance and craptacular parking/access driveway) building. If you break the rule and try to park at the front door and drop your kids, the two crones guarding the door will give you a stern lecture. Regulars know better than to do this. Imagine my smug grin when I turned to park and the SUV kept driving towards the building.

I parked and herded Mr. G and Mr. B across the parking lot towards the building, all the while thinking how the crones would have a field day giving this tailgater speeding along in her SUV what-for when she tried to shove her brood out of their car seats directly through the front door of the building. Or even better--she'd stupidly park in one of the prime Visitor spots right in front of the door and get blocked in by a school bus--a common experience for newbies dropping off their kids--what looks like the easy route takes forever with all the traffic.

We were almost past the parked cars and on the sidewalk across the front of the school building while I scanned the lot for my speeding, tailgating SUV driver (I had to see what kind of person this was--a slick salesperson hawking school supplies? Perfectly coiffed mom dressed in her gym clothes and sending texts while hustling her kids out the side door of her Expedition? Someone who missed her alarm and had to off her kids wearing baseball cap, pajama pants and muklucks?). I glanced over my shoulder to watch her pull up in front of the crones when a loud SCREEECH-BANG! echoed through the air. Team Testosterone stiffened and the parents, children and two crones in front of the building whirled around to and stare with curiosity and condemnation.

The speeding, tailgating SUV driver had whipped into a Visitor space and slammed into another parked car. The crones were on the case immediately. "You're going to have to report that!" "You were really driving fast through here!" "What were you thinking?" I bid Team Testosterone farewell and retraced my path across the parking lot feeling vindicated.

Speeders never get anywhere fast because tickets and cops and insurance companies really slow them down.

Heh.

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in short

The political climate is positively RABID and HOSTILE in my fair state right now. Progressives are rolling in their graves as I type this. All I can say is shame on you, new governor/dictator.

The Hunger Games--wonderfully plotted, but frankly I am not chomping at the bit to grab the next installation. I will, but other books call to me first. The premise of the 13 districts intrigued me, though. I forgot how great science fiction CAN be.

In a fog here--cannot see past a quarter mile.

Mr. T's face when I told him about the EEG report was the biggest grin you could ever imagine. I love love love that he's not on pills. I was telling someone jubilantly about our success the other night and learned of a family we know whose daughter was recently diagnosed with the same seizure disorder. I'm definitely giving them a call to lend them support.

Whilst sparring last night I took a THUMB to my RIGHT EYE when my partner punched me in the face. Ew. I told him I hoped his hands were fairly clean. A few moments later I kicked him in the head. Not hard--but we were both a little shocked that this old gray mare could still get her leg up that high to pull off such a move.

Editing my latest project. Sometimes it's really hard to see your work for what it is. It's always easier for me to edit for other people.

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in which she speaks of politics, religion, education and biker/disco fusion

The most controversial issue consuming Happyland's school board of late is this: Should high school students be allowed to ride snowmobiles to school? Yep, that's a sign that we live in the country snowmobiles dominate school board debates for almost 8 months. The answer, for those of you interested, was a 4-3 vote against this seasonal mode of transportation. Nevermind that no snowmobile trail leads directly to the high school, or that the insurance company, county sheriff, town police and state sheriff opposed allowing snowmobiles on school properties. I believe one of the major deal breakers for the school board members voting on the issues was where to park the snowmobiles.

***

And speaking of politics and education with a side of religion dished up, I'm on a panel discussion at my church tomorrow morning. The topic? "School Choices for Your Children." I'm representing the "Public School Option" alongside the charter school moms, the homeschooling moms, and the parochial school moms. When it's over, I'll race out in time to don my hairnet and apron and serve sloppy joes to at Mr. T's PS (parochial school).

***
I would love to buy the soundtrack for Sons of Anarchy--if such a thing existed. Sadly, I have to go on the official SOA website and find the list of songs for each episode and then buy them individually. Alas! But I'll do it--a little bad-ass biker music makes an excellent addition to my disco play list. They both make me run faster, disco makes me run in a happy, bouncy kind of way, SOA rock makes me run in a more determined, woman-warrior kind of way. Biker/disco fusion. It could become a whole new fashion trend.

Spill it, reader. What's your fusion of choice these days?

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Catholic school boy

Everyone's asking how Mr. T's doing. Mr. B glad-hands his way through life, happy to return to school, excited to learn, pleased to be around all of his buddies again. Mr. G started all-day Kindergarten, but he's a hyperactive little monster of a boy so the challenge to be there all day with his friends doesn't put a hitch in his step. No one asks how the younger two are doing, they're just fine, thankyouverymuch. But, our Mr. T. Different story.

Backing the truck up for the benefit of new readers, Mr. T missed the equivalent of 2 years of elementary school. He was in school all the time, but during 2nd and 3rd grades we were diagnosing a seizure disorder, finding the proper treatment and then discovering his dyslexia. Mr. T is a great reader, poor reading skills are the main red flag alerting teachers to learning disabilities. Mr. T's dyslexia is more on the output end of his brain processing, making his processing speeds slow and his ability to spell and write horrific. I believe the proper term for this is dysphasia.

Because of all these factors, Mr. T has been a half-step behind his peers. The gaps in his learning are profound, his self-confidence pretty shattered and he really detests school. I've tried to make up for this by working with him over the summer months, and he gained considerable progress in math, but he's still not "in the game." We've spent the last two years exploring options and praying and discussing what course to follow. We applied to a Montessori charter school. Denied. We tried our darndest to work with the public elementary school. Frustrating. I've spent the last year attending and researching the local parochial school. Meanwhile, Mr. T's problems festered and grew.

You know how something too good to be true probably is?

That's what I thought. I posed this question to parents sending their kids to this parochial school, hereafter referred to as PS (for "Parochial School," clever, eh?): What do you hate about PS?

Their answers sounded like this: "Sometimes the principal makes a decision, but doesn't stick to it." Really? That's your biggest gripe?

We've moved Mr. T to PS--but more than that, we moved him to PS to repeat a grade and then continue there through middle school. We wrote the tuition check (and buy-out fee for not doing any fundraising), bought appropriate clothing (uniforms!) and braced our boy for the new school year. We held our breath.

At the end of the day my son greets me with a smile on his face. He's relaxed and happy. The class sizes are small, the students well-behaved and polite. Everyone knows each other, they don't even put locks on the lockers. He plays football at recess with his new friends. He hasn't missed an assignment yet, he adores his new teachers and is excited about what he's learning. Instead of assigning problems 1-25, his teachers assign 1-25 the odd numbers. He looks pretty snazzy in his uniform and we never argue in the morning about what he's wearing when he leaves the house. He's taken the repeat year in stride, understanding that when he begins high school he'll be a year ahead of his public school peers in math and quite advanced in the other subject areas.

He doesn't get homework on weekends (the school/church policy views weekends as Quality Family Time). He brings home weekly newsletters that informs us of things like "6th grade social studies test on Unit 2 next Thursday" so I am 100% on top of what's happening at school. His new teachers and classmates have welcomed him with enthusiasm and open arms.

My kid even left his lunch box at school last week because he was in a hurry to get out to that football game at recess. My kid, who since 3rd grade, hasn't participated in that kind of recess game. Accepted. One of the guys. Because if you're a warm body, there's room for you to play the game at a small school.

Mr.T has to sit through a morning religion class every day and attend church once a week, but his exposure to the Catholic faith is a good thing, opening up healthy discussion about what our church preaches compared to this one. I bet 90% of the doctrine is the same, and we're not going to quibble over 10%. Besides, Mr. T's father comes from a long line of Catholics, so it's good for him to learn their heritage.

The third day of school Mr. T came home reporting that he'd done the wrong math assignment. "But it's okay, Mom. They're Catholic so they had to forgive me!"

Maybe PS isn't too good to be true.

We only wonder why we didn't move him over sooner--and whether we should follow suit with the rest of Team Testosterone.

Exhale.

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More blessings than banes

Holy road-trippers, fellow bloggers! Y'all have been there, seen that, all to some great tunes on the radio or 8-tracks. I know who to call if I ever get the urge to drive somewhere. I'd have great company on a journey to cheesey roadside attractions and national landmarks if I called any of you.

Helpful hint: holiday-themed stuff goes fast at a bake sale! Some of the moms whipped up ghost, bat and pumpkin cookies (frosted like you would not believe), Halloween cupcakes and the best seller: giant pretzel sticks with candy molded mummies at one end. They were GONE within 20 minutes. A lot of generous moms made some yummy treats to support our PTA--participation is at an all-time high which is such a relief.

Our company came, retrieved their tickets to watch the Packers lose, and enjoyed jambalaya and corn bread (made in the nick of time). Mr. D comes from good people, his Iowa hometown is filled with friendly folks always welcome on my doorstep.

Mr. T survived his first Campboree with the Scouts and is 100% head-over-heels in love with Scouting. Camping, fire making, rocket shooting--he did a lot of neat stuff and came home overflowing with stories about it. I herded him straight into a hot tub so he could relax and wash up before Sunday morning church. Within seconds his brothers were stripped naked and climbing in the tub with him, eager to hear all about his experiences. Miss him much? It thrills me how they adore each other. And despite the fun he had camping, Mr. T was very grateful to be back home in his warm bed last night with Mr. G on the bunk above and Mr. B across the hall. No place like home.

Now a nasty cold has taken up residence in my head. The combination of Claritin and orange juice brought down my bowling average 2 pins yesterday afternoon and how I can be so dried out yet still produce mucus I'll never know. Hopefully I can unclog ad uncloud myself enough to come up with something witty (or at least cohesive) to say at tonight's staff meeting when I represent the PTA to the teachers. Would this offend?

"The PTA is here to help you achieve your goals so No Child is Left Behind. God love you for your good work, you are hard-working decent folks who deserve a break. As PTA president I'll work hard for you because I can see this school right through my kitchen window."

I'll leave you with Mr. B's prayer from the other night before he went to bed. In Sunday school they've been studying the 10 commandments and this last week we focused on honoring our families.

Dear God, I'm really sorry I broke my promise to you and didn't obey my mom today. I understand if you want to kill me. (long pause) But please just make me really sick instead.

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Green Girl is a Community Organizer

I've mentioned how as "Happyland Elementary PTA President" I've tried to nudge our school's organization in a new direction--beyond bake sales and fund raising and into political advocacy. I'm in my fifth year as president (what happened to term limits? this is where corruption starts--one day the local grocery store is going to ask me for a little "favor," say, passing around an advertisement at the school sock hop and I'll persuade the PTA to grant it--while collecting a free bag of coffee grounds on the side--from there I'll likely spiral into deal-making and bribery unsurpassed since the Abramoff scandal).

My second year with the Happyland's PTA was harsher than exfloliating with and SOS pad. Most meetings had fewer than 5 moms in attendance--and about 5 staff members. I'd go home feeling a mix of shame and resentment--political apathy peaked in Happyland around the winter of 2003 (no surprise, consider the times, right?). The dance committee didn't have enough volunteers and we nearly canceled the sock hop. I talked to PTA members in other towns and learned their annual budgets were $20,000 to $50,000. Ours was a piddly $10,000. The 5 active Happyland members thought a fund raiser netting over $500 was a great success. I beat my head against the brick wall outside the school after each meeting.

After months of gnashing my teeth, I recalled the history of the Happyland PTA. It's origin was in a group of women who were friends. Aha! As each woman's children left the Elementary school, a piece of the PTA left with them--no one ever recruited new members. It never occurred to anyone to rebuild for future years.

The Vice-President, Liz, and I rolled up our sleeves, chomped down on the ends of fat cigars and met in a dimly lit conference room to solve the problem. No committees, we decided, just straight-out marketing to target the early childhood parents--we picked them because they haven't been suckered into coaching youth soccer and leading scout troops yet. Fresh meat.

Liz and I hit that target hard--at Pre-K/Kindergarten orientation, Open House night and on the sidelines of summer soccer games. We used all the usual tactics--shame, incentives and encouragement--to get these moms to attend PTA meetings. We brought up other PTA budgets in our meetings, counting on a collective spirit of competition (My town is better than your town--nanner nanner nanner) to raise more money and with more money, do more for our school.

Last Thursday the Happyland PTA met for the first time this school year. Almost 30 people showed up--a record. Only one was on staff, the rest were honest-to-goodness PARENTS. The committee sign-up sheet was filled that first night (another historic record) with a variety of volunteers--not the same 5 people doing all the work.

Then we reached the pivotol moment of the night, The Moment of Truth. For years I've worked towards the goal of political advocacy. I've prodded and primed the group with careful planning and well-phrased hints. South American government coups have been carried out with less patience and organization. I cleared my throat.

As a lot of you know, we've been discussing the playground situation for three years now. It's inadequate for our kids and while we've done a few things to make it safer, we really need to add new equipement. The price tag on that was around $170,000. We have to decide the future of this initiative tonight. Here are our options:
1. We fund raise 100% towards this goal--with current fund raisers we're making an average of $30,000 each year (yeah! I know! knuckle-knocks). We could build that playground ourselves within 5 years, but that would mean spending on nothing else--no school assemblies, no classroom supplies, no teacher retirement gifts.
2. We try to solicit donations to supplement our fund raising.
3. We go to the school board and try to get them to fund the project.
I'm done talking. Let's open the floor for discussion.

Every single person who spoke wanted to go to the school board. And not just about the playground--they were mad about the lack of technology, upset about next year's move to all-day kindergarten, sick of the PTA providing what they saw as necessities for our children's education. In other words, they rallied.

We're on next month's school board meeting agenda and our PTA now has a stated goal of having parent representatives at all the meetings this year. They realize it's time to take a stand beyond standing behind a card table laden with baked goods priced at a quarter each. Friday morning the follow up calls began, fellow moms taking ownership of their committees and tasks, ready with questions and information.

I've been on Cloud Nine since Thursday--this feels really good. It hasn't been fun and there's certainly no glory (although, Mr. Grocery Store Owner? I'm wide open to a "special discount," if you know what I mean). Very soon my children's school is going to be improved in meaningful ways. Because a community of parents got their sh*t together.

And that, friends, is what a Community Organizer does.

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First Day of School

I've never been a fan of the first day of school. When I was in elementary school I was horribly shy and the very idea of all those strangers freaked me out. Add to the equation a regular move every 4 years to a new state/house/district and I was forever having "first days."

The worst was high school. We'd moved over the summer so I knew no one. My mother had filled my head with her insane ideas of the terrors of high school--it was certain I'd be force-fed drugs no matter how many times I said "no!" and shoved into a locker. I got off the bus, jostled and pushed and shoved to the ground by the teenage citizens of my new community--a community where people didn't move to, so to be the new kid was quite rare. That particular first day, in addition to the stress of being Brand New and starting High School, I was greeted at the main doors of the building by a line of upperclassmen manning tables. Each freshman had to "weigh in" that first day--the first Senior prank of that year. They made each kid stand on the scale and then wrote their weight on a "Hi, my name is" sticker which was then slapped to the corresponding chest.

I remember vividly my horror while I stood hefting my backpack up on my shoulders. Freshmen were shoved onto the scales amid jeering and laughter. One girl was literally carried to the scale and placed on it while she protested. The vague faces of strangers whizzed in and out my consciousness while I tried to move forward toward the doors.

And to my surprise, they let me pass by unnoticed. For the first time, being new on the first day was to my advantage. Nobody knew I was a Freshman, nobody knew to prop me onto a scale, nobody knew to haze me that first week. That first day I passed muster without additional suffering. Too bad the rest of my four years at that high school weren't filled with the same good fortune.

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