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.