winter discontent

Maybe it's the lack of sun.

I'm just gloomy.

It's hard, too, to be as consistently chipper as it seems a first-grade teacher must be. How excited can one be about the fact that yesterday was Wednesday and tomorrow will indeed by Friday? I mean, it would be noteworthy if yesterday was Wednesday and tomorrow turned out to be something besides Friday...an extra Tuesday perhaps...that would be exciting. We'd talk about that all extra-Tuesday morning, I'll bet, and be talking about it still when the next day rolled around (would it be Saturday or Wednesday following an extra-Tuesday that came after a Thursday? I don't know.).

And I hit a brick wall today while reading with one of my kiddos...not to tell tales out of school or anything, but I think I can share my frustration without revealing this one's identity.

S/he's been working really hard on letter sounds, only knowing about seven of them when school started and now knowing all but a tricky handful like y, u and some other slippery vowels. And after all, why doesn't /y/ say wuh or /u/ say yuh when /d/ reliably says duh and /p/ says puh? Most letter-names do sound like their associated sound. Anyway...s/he knows most of 'em now, and we were looking at the word, "still."

I tried all my best tricks. We thought about context. We were reading about bikes. The page showed an exercise bike. We'd talked about it when we previewed the boook. "Those are exercise bikes," I'd said. "They stay still while you pedal them." We'd looked at the picture and noticed that the bikes were bolted to a frame. S/he'd thought that they were pretty funny looking, so I knew s/he had noticed them.

"Do these bikes move?" I asked.

"No."

"So what do they do?"

"They have to stand still."

"Ok. Let's read this sentence again starting at the beginning."

"These bikes stand...stay...These bikes stay s...st...."

"Good! I could tell you were thinking about that first sound! That's a great strategy. And I saw your eyes looking at the picture. That sometimes helps, but I don't think it's helping you this time. What's the next sound in that word?"

S/he named the letter...i.

"Ok. What sound does it make?"

"Eye?"

"What other sound can it make?"

Nothing.

"Ok. Let's think about something you know," I said and I wrote the word it on a small dry-erase board in front of us. "What's this word?"

"It."

"Great! Sometimes thinking about a word you know can help you figure out a new word. Change the t sound in it to ll," I said, stretching out the sound of each letter as I made the change on the board. "What do we have now?"

Nothing.

"Hmmm...say it."

"It."

"Now, say it without the t sound....take the t sound away....just say the first sound in that word."

None of those worked.

So, finally I just gave in and told the little one the word. "Now, let's read that sentence one more time from the beginning."

"These bikes stay s...st...."

Ugh. That's why I hate to tell the word. It means so much more when you figure it out yourself. When the teacher tells you, it's just one more word in a long list of words that the teacher says throughout the day (insert Charlie Brown teacher wah wha-wha wha wha-wha whaaa here.).

There's a reason they call that level of text - the level just beyond where you can have meaningful success with moderate support - the frustration level. It's frustrating to try to read there. It's frustrating to try to teach there. It's frustrating for everyone. So, faithful reader, why were we trying to read that book in the first place?

Why indeed.

Here's the long and short of it. More long than short, I'm afraid.

We use the DRA2 to assess our readers. The state uses these scores to decide how we're doing. Connecticut says that beginning first graders should read at at level 4. Beginning second graders should read at a level 18.

The student featured here entered first grade reading at a level B...thus qualifying for extra support from our school's reading center. S/he meets one-on-one with a reading tutor for half an hour, four days a week. The reading center is overseen by a wonderful reading teacher. This teacher meets with me bi-weekly to touch base about the students from my room who go to the reading center. Among other things, she tells me what level each student is currently reading on at the reading center. It's generally a little beyond where they're reading in the classroom. The reading center is one-on-one; with me, it's a small group of 4 or 5...it's different. I always feel a little uncomfortable with that difference. If they can read at a certain level with someone else, I want them to read at that level with me!

At our most recent meeting, and then at this student's report card conference, the reading teacher reported that s/he was reading at a level 5. Considering where we started, that's great! Still a long way to go to get to 18...but, still, celebrate the small gains! With me, s/he's been working hard to read at a level 4. The reading teacher told the mom at the report card conference (and, today, the team at the Intervention Team meeting) that the student is reading at a 5. I figured it was time to break out the 5s!

There's all that pressure to get to 18...each level up is reason for celebration...failure to move up those levels at a quick pace is cause for "reflection". Reflecting is what teachers and administrators do together when a teacher/class isn't performing to a given standard. We reflect on how we can do better. We reflect on the state standards. We reflect on our teaching and our students' learning. I hate too much reflecting.

Anyway, I let that stress about being at level 4 when everyone was writing down on all sorts of official documents that it was level 5. So we tried a level 5.

Won't do that again.

Tomorrow we'll read a level 4, and I'll try not to feel too much 4/5 disconnect-related stress.

Ok.

That was really long.

Anyway, I'm gloomy.

Things I Can Say to my Seester...

My seester and I engaged in a long, rambling chat session on the facespace last night. In it's own 21st century way it was kind of like the long, rambling chat sessions we used to have when I slept on the top bunk and she on the bottom. So here, in no particular order, are things that my seester understands.



1. But I'm looooooonely!

2. Feet + rainbow socks = teddy bears

3. Not baby ducks!

4. My name is Juan Carlos. I come for my hhhhhat.

5. Watch out for low flying ducks!

6. Calling all seesters!

7. You can marry a cat.

8. I like it here! Is nice!

9. In an emergency, Lincoln logs can be used to make a crucifix (for repelling Vampires).

10. Hungry frogs (and I'm sorry about that one).

11. Elevator rides. Sorry about that one, too.

12. Ummmm....Mary said, "Ummm,"....Ummmm.....Nora said, "Mary said, 'Ummmm'!"

13. Peach fuzz and a lawn sprinkler.

14. The strange link between "Walk Like an Egyptian," and "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

15. Tormenting Mom with that bathrobe.

16. The Love Puppy.

As if you didn't know...

Like my last few posts left any doubt:

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Life

What odd set of priorities led to me sitting here on the sofa on a Saturday morning hoping that the laws of physics will bend just enough for my laundry to dry by 11:00 so that I can leave on time to meet my friend for a matinee of "Sex in the City"? How does one shuffle these things so that having clean undies ends up at the bottom of the list? What other important things took precedence this week? Let's see...
reading my sister's blog (and all the super-snazzy blogs associated with that)
gruffling my doggies' ears
reading on the porch,
contemplating a hair cut
correcting umpteen papers (sure, it's first grade work so you could correct it upside down while simultaneously sorting your laundry, but would you?)
obsessing over my display for the Writing Celebration
making lists...

Oh, and in case you're wondering what I would do if it were Friday night after a long week and I shared a bottle of wine with my hubby...evidently, I'd go on line and randomly pay bills without looking at any actual billing statements. I guess I'd just figure I owed some people some money, and I'd send them some.

But I wouldn't do laundry, no. I'm not so irresponsible as to mess around with dangerous things like laundry detergent and dryer sheets while tipsy. So, don't you worry about a thing, mom.

And that about covers it.

Haven't we met?

I've always harbored this secret (until now, ha!) conviction that deja vue is the universe's way of telling me that I'm on the right track. I think I developed this theory in college. Freshman year, I was constantly having flashes of deja vue, and it was a great year - sophomore year, not so much - and so on.

Not that I've ever formally collected any data, but I do notice myself feeling anxious when I haven't felt that flash of familiarity for a while. Or rather, I feel relieved once I do, not having noticed until then that I was feeling tense.

Anyway, despite what the folks who wrote The Matrix would have us believe, I've always found it reassuring...a sort of, "Ah, yes, there we go, back on track," sort of feeling.

I wish I had a good example to share. It's been a while; which, come to think of it, is kind of unsettling.

When you're fast asleep...

Last night I punched a girl in the nose because she went out to dinner with V and a group of friends after I broke up with him for cheating on me. I punched her a lot.

Then, I felt bad about the whole thing and went to the front of the restaurant and tried to pay for dinner for the whole group. It came to over 1000 dollars, but I didn't find out until after she'd run my debit card and come up with insufficiant funds. Then, I couldn't pay even part of it because my bank was mad. Then, I realized that V's bank card was still linked to the same account, and he wouldn't be able to pay for dinner either. I felt embarassed and sad, and I realized I was wearing my wedding dress. The woman running my card felt sorry for me, and complimented me on my dress. I looked down, and realized it was a different dress.

I left the restaurant and started driving home. As I drove, a gray pick-up truck on a road below the bridge that I was on ran off the road and into a river. I didn't have my cell phone. I was afraid of the water. I flagged down the next car to pass, and several people ended up stopping. A young Puerto Rican boy ended up jumping into the river and saving the driver of the truck. The driver lay on the ground for a moment, and then looked at us, shoved his sandy red hair out of his eyes and walked away down the road. The police showed up minutes later. He had been trying to escape from a bounty hunter; he was a criminal; we saved him and he left.

I sat on the porch at camp, and everyone around me was insisting that this was a dream and they were dreaming it. The person next to me began arguing that it couldn't possibly be all of our dreams, so it must be real. I pinched myself, and wasn't sure if I felt it. I bit the tip of my finger and it was numb. I began to laugh because I knew it was my dream.

Then, the alarm clock went off.

If a dream really is a wish your heart makes...

I don't want to know what this one means.

I dreamt that my hubby banged his head against the edge of the frame of the closet door, cracking his skull neatly open in three triangular pieces. I was watching as he did this, and kept watching as his brains oozed from the opening. They looked like pomegranate seeds. So much so, that I leaned in and took a mouthfull. They tasted so vividly like pomegranate that for a second I forgot it was really, err, brains. As soon as I realized what I'd done, though, I discretely spat them out into a napkin and turned to help him. He talked incoherently, and I realized he'd forgotten my name. "Maybe I ate it," I thought glumly as I rearranged the pieces of his skull on his head and tried to get him to let me put ice on it. "No, no, no," he insisted, "I'll just put my hat on." He pushed his MFD baseball cap firmly onto his head and smiled blearily at me. Thankfully, that's when I woke up.

Today, he has a horrible sinus infection. I hope my eating his brains has nothing to do with it.

8 minutes in...

Oh my,

If you are not watching Cranford on Masterpiece Theater, you ought to be.

It is revealed that a new young doctor will be joining the local practice. The elder doctor comes to inform two of his clients. He will write the rest of them, to let them know of the change...

"The rest shall know by tea-time," he assures them.

"Or sooner, doctor, this is Cranford!"

Ah - it's all about gossip and manners...and it stars two Dames! How can you go wrong?!

Eeep! "You will attract curiosity. You must bear it nobly."

Good advice.

New Curtains

We bought new curtains! My favorites are below...we also bought curtains to replace the vertical blinds on the doors to the front porch, but they're still growing on me. I'll post them later if I decide I like them.

These are in the kitchen:

These are in the great room...on both sides.

The sliding doors' curtains are sage green, with a subtle tapestry-like pattern embroidered on them. Still not sure.

Just Doin' My Job, Ma'am.

I often take the pups out out their leashes, even when we're just going in the backyard. Our yard, after all, is an unpredictable place. Deer, turkeys, song-birds of various types, feral cats, and political candidates have been known to meander by at unpredictable intervals. All of these have inspired enthusiastic responses from Mr. Puck, of one kind or another. His typical reaction, of late, has been a mad dash at whatever is strolling through, barking ferociously until he arrives at what he perceives as the border of his territory. Then, he screeches to a halt, though not before sending me into a panicked tizzy.

My hubby scoffs at my cautious nature. He trusts our doggies. He has faith that they won't do anything unforgivable, or irrevocably stupid. At night, when the raccoons prowl, and in the wee hours of the morning, when the deer traipse daintily through, he lets both dogs out at once; Puck barreling over Brittany, hardly waiting for her to finish what she's doing before bounding over to reclaim those lost square-inches of the backyard. They are barely controlled chaos when they're out there together, and they gallop back into the house once they're done: Puck running full speed up the ramp to the front porch, skidding past the front door, turning at the rail, and running back, shoving the door open with his nose while Brittany dances back and forth on her tiny paws, waiting for him to get out of the way before she ventures in.

Tonight, when they bounded in, Puck's eyes were bright, wide-open, and excited. His tongue lolled to one side, and he plopped down on the basement floor, looking at us with a very believable smile. "Well, this one just proved his worth," said his proud pop, following him down the stairs at a more sedate pace.

I guess this is what happened: Brittany and Puck went outside in their normal slapdash fashion- Brittany heading for the far corner of the garage, Puck following at his habitual, respectful distance. As Puck reached the garage, he slowed, and V heard him growl his low, intense danger-growl.

There was a growl in response.

Puck ran. V leapt from the porch where he'd been standing to follow.

By the time he got to the garage, Puck was at the border of the woods, scraping the ground with his front paws, growling his most menacing growl. All V heard was something large tromping off into the woods. A coyote? A neighborhood dog? Who knows...

Brittany, perhaps oblivous, or just confident in her bodyguard, kept right on doing what she had come outside to do.

Puck and I played a triumphant game of chase (I was the coyote) after I heard the dramatic tale (tail).

That's my boy.

list

Reasons to take a sick day (opinions expressed herein being those of my own personal private self, and not related in any way to the opinions I might have as a teacher):



2. Reading groups: Let's just say that when you lean in to hear a child read, you are in their direct line of sneezing fire.


ok. Reasons 1, 3, 4, and 5 have been removed because I'm just not brave enough to blog about my job. I don't think anyone will argue with reason 2, though. I mean, really...

On a completely unrelated note, I think I want to start one of those grammar-snarky blogs about misusing personal pronouns, namely, me, myself, and I.

There are probably already a million of 'em, though.

A list to look back on in March

Things that are going well in first grade:

1. We are studying producers and consumers. To solidify the idea, we are producing Valentine's Day cards to be sold to all those willing consumers in the other first grade classes. We put together a consumer survey last week, analyzed the data, and are working hard this week to make the world's best glitter-encrusted SpongeBob Bratz cards (with stickers) that respond to our target customers' exact specifications. This has been sooooo much fun. All last week, the surveys would trickle in, and we would jump up and down with excitement while we tallied up the responses. Now, we are making cards, and that is even more fun.

2. We are studying friendly letters...and later, we'll be studying neighborhoods and maps. So, we arranged our room in straight streets (with one 'circle'), gave each a name and used wacky math patterns to decide on the numbers for each street ('cause, hey, this is New England). Now, we're writing friendly letters to each other and will learn to write the address on envelopes so they can be delivered around our 'town.' funfunfunfun Later, we'll make maps! Yay, maps!!

3. Four of us are concentrating very hard on following directions...earning stamps, Puck Bucks, and praise up the ying-yang (there's an image!). It's finally starting to feel like it's making a difference (knock on virtual wood!). I didn't say it. It's probably a fluke. Chaos will surely ensue shortly.

So, enjoy February. It's even got a vacation thrown in just for fun!

Report card season comes in March.

Much like mud.

Look-alike Meter...resistance being futile and what-not.

MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Free family tree

Man. This was harder than it looked! I began to think I might actually be a vampire, as the first 4 pictures of myself that I uploaded came back with the message "no faces detected."

As a major blow to my ego, I resemble 7 male celebrities that I've never heard of more strongly than I do the 1, yes 1, female celebrity for whom I am a match.

I'm sure the results would have been different if I could have gotten one of those other pictures to upload...