New Year, New World

This was the first week back to school, but with a bit of a twist for me.

I'm in a brand new district (it's HUGE!), at a totally different school (the most diverse student population in the district!), and I'm no longer in a self-contained classroom (Just reading, writing, and social studies from now on, baby!).

(Feel free to throw confetti and bounce about in a mini-celebration for me. I'll wait for you to finish. It's okay, I'm excited too!)

Whew. Talk about change. And if you know anything about me, you know this: I don't do very well with big changes in my life! In fact, even though this job hop sounded perfect for me, it took many many hours of conversation with friends and family before I finally decided to accept the offer. I'm lame, folks. I like a little stability in my old age.

Lucky for me, my husband and I are carpooling the 30 minutes to work each day. My poor husband is doing a fantastic job of listening to me on our drives home from work -- I require lots of reflection time every day!

I knew leaving my school, with its focus on brain research and many freedoms in the classroom would be difficult, but I didn't anticipate how much I would feel like a foreigner in a new country!

Besides the obvious differences -- Newbie district is more than twice the size of Oldie district, my new school recently became a Title I campus, the technology resources are (far) less than ideal, the student population is incredibly diverse, and this district has some pretty stringent ideas on how a classroom should be run -- there are also many interesting nuances that I am adjusting to that create the culture on my new campus.

Although I was obviously excited to embark on this adventure in an ELA classroom, I knew things would be different. I mean, c'mon people. I am used to:

• not wearing shoes in the classroom
• snacks and water bottles all day
• students working in the halls, under tables, anywhere that works for them!
• playing music all day
• narrative report cards
• textbooks gathering cobwebs in the corner
• ample technology resources - 2 computer labs, teacher laptop, Macs in the classroom, Smart Boards, classroom iPod sets...
• freedom to teach how I want with little interference or questions about my methods
• a general belief among coworkers that worksheets are coma-inducing time wasters
• collaborating with a classroom of 1st grade buddies each week
• two different schedules that we flip-flop back and forth from all year
• student led conferences with parents twice a year
• portfolios that go home throughout the year
• and much, much more (including a 10 minute drive to work!)

In many ways, I spent the past 5 years feeling the freedom to try out just about any wacky idea I came up with. Some worked, some didn't, but I always knew I was free to give it a shot. My team was my family and we worked our little educatin' booties off -- including meeting weekly over the summer to continue planning for the upcoming school year. We shared professional development books and ideas and were always there for each other -- no matter what.

It's difficult to walk away from such a close family. I don't think that is something you can find in every school, though I'd like to believe it is possible to grow that type of closeness between teachers.

My new principal is 100% behind my teaching beliefs, although she did raise her eyebrows at my shoeless feet once this week! My students (all 35 of them) are sweet and polite and eager to learn ... even if I think I may befuddle their brains a bit. We're all still figuring each other out, and having a lot of fun doing it! And although my new coworkers may not yet see the sense in my unusual classroom antics, I think we've settled into a comfortable work relationship. This week at lunch, the teacher in the classroom next to mine said, "I think I heard you guys singing or chanting stuff today..." and I laughed and apologized if we were to loud. But he simply replied, "Nope, sounds like my kind of classroom."

And that, my friends, was a very good feeling.

Even though Newbie district is a little more strict in how they want me to organize my teaching time, I still have the freedom to teach what I'm supposed to teach in the way I want. This week, instead of jumping into academics like many of my coworkers, I spent a great deal of time setting up the environment with my new learners. We talked (a LOT) about what we want our room to look and feel like, we learned about how our brain works and what type of learners we are, and I set them loose in our classroom library to play with the different genres they will be reading and writing this year.

There were some moments that, quite literally, rattled my thoughts: arriving to work an hour before sunrise to find two young students seated in the dark front steps of the school, a 10-year-old student tearfully asking me to help him spell his last name before he got to the end of the lunch line, because the lunch lady keeps asking him to spell it and he doesn't know how, among other things.

I'm eager to make this new campus a home, and it's happening day by day. I know I've landed here for a reason, and if I forget amidst the chaos of finding my way in this new world, I have two groups of amazing kiddos that remind me every time we sit down to learn together.

In Search of Something More

When I entered the teaching field, they handed me a binder full of lessons on writing, sent me to a day of professional development, patted me on the back, and said, "Teach."

That first year I tried to live by the pretty white binder. I really did. But it wasn't long before I found myself shaking my head in disbelief.

I knew there had to be something more to teaching literacy.

I threw myself into the pursuit of this "something more."

My ideas were a little strange, I suppose, but my students seemed happier. They wrote more. And I was definitely happier. Our classroom was coming alive.

The binder began to collect dust in the corner.

I did my own lessons. I kept them to myself. Partly, I was afraid I'd get in trouble for not following along. But in all honesty, I was afraid to share. Afraid to put myself out there. I lacked professional confidence.

A few years went by and I found new resources, like Jeff Anderson's amazing books on grammar. A new teacher told me about something she did before moving to Texas, called the Oklahoma Writing Project. A chance trip to the bookstore brought me Donalyn Miller's incredible read, The Book Whisperer, which has forever changed what reading looks like in my classroom.

Somehow I found myself applying to join the Summer Institute at the North Star of Texas Writing Project. I don't know what I was most afraid of: applying and not being accepted, or being accepted and making a fool of myself. But something inside me kept telling me to push forward; I was finally getting closer to that idea of something more.

I entered Summer Institute the first week of June -- barely able to contain my excitement (writing! five days a week! all month!) and scared beyond reason (writing! five days a week! all month!)

There are not words that can shine bright enough or shout boldly enough to define my NWP experience. The relationships, ideas, and beliefs that have grown from my one month at Summer Institute have taken root in the essence of who I am. Not just as a teacher, but as a person.

I am stronger -- I fight for what I believe in.

I am confident -- I share my ideas and beliefs freely.

I am proud -- my students have grown emotionally and academically because of my confident, positive approach to teaching.

The National Writing Project changed my life, and some might say that one person is a small thing. But I know it is because of NWP that I am able to confidently share resources with teachers. And perhaps more importantly, I know I have changed the lives of my students.

Just ask the boy who came to me in August, grumbling about how much he hated reading and writing. This same boy is currently writing a screenplay about his favorite superheroes. He also wrote me a poem this morning about how camouflage is his favorite color, because you cannot see it.

His poem made me reflect on the nature of the National Writing Project. You may not realize what you are looking at when you walk through the halls of a school. You may not realize how many hands from a writing project site have touched the teachers, sculpted the minds of students, forever changed someone into the person they were always waiting to become.

But we are definitely here. We are working to change lives, we are reinventing the landscape of literacy as we move forward, and we are necessary. Removing the funding for programs that heighten student achievement and bolster teacher leadership is the exact opposite of the kind of progress our country needs.

I finally found the "something more" I knew was out there, if I just kept searching.
And I don't intend to let it go.

My student, my teacher

This week, my students reminded me that I love teaching. Even though they probably don't realize it, they deserve a huge thank you.

Lately, I've let myself get bogged down with data meetings and testing expectations and -- my favorite -- "peer fear." Oh, you know what I mean -- that strange, oozing fear that seems to flow from room to room, spreading like the Blob as state testing time sneaks up on us.

Thankfully, my students always have my back when I start to succumb to the fear. When I swaddle myself with the love I have of learning and share my passion for discoveries with my students, we have amazing days. You will catch us cheering and shouting and bouncing and laughing (laughing!). Stand outside our door and you might wonder if anyone is even in charge. You might have to search to find me, as I'll be on the floor, or huddled in the corner with a small group of students, or possibly, I'll be lying on the floor next to them, reading.

You just never know what kind of learning you'll catch us doing.

Every day is different. Every day a gift. Every student equipped with a lesson to share.

What did you learn this week?

Breaking Away

Are you doing what you love? When you envisioned yourself as a teacher, surrounded by children in a school bursting with new ideas and creative coworkers, did that mental snapshot include high-stakes testing, anxiety inducing data meetings, and teachers whose spark has lost its luster?

I was especially excited when I finally completed my student teaching and accepted a position at my school. For years I had watched the atmosphere at this campus as my son moved from grade to grade. The teachers were energetic, the theory of brain-based teaching was innovative, and my son loved school. I knew this was the place for me. I barely made it through the interview without frothing at the mouth. Finally, I thought, I will be surrounded by people that share my passion for learning.

My first year at that campus was incredibly deflating. How could I have been so easily fooled? What happened to the energy, the passion, the zest for learning that I had seen as a person on the outside looking in?

Once inside, I discovered myself surrounded by teachers that were buckling under the pressure of a system that seemed purposefully constructed to tear down every good thing they were trying to accomplish. Not enough time, constantly changing schedules, and expectations that seemed to dangle always just out of reach resulted in a group of teachers that were worn down to bare knuckles.

Every day I go to work, I find myself hoping I can avoid certain people. I try to slip unnoticed through the halls, hope my principal doesn't highlight accomplishments in my classroom -- I already feel enough animosity from teachers that have been frustrated with my excitement; I don't want any more rolled eyes, hushed whispers, or cold shoulders. I've had enough. Somehow it is seen as bad to rise above, to hope for more, to continually push the bar. Teachers that dare to break away from the group are seen as dissenters, and not to be trusted.

At this point, I simply want to make it through the year. I love my class; love the energy from my kids, the desire for learning they show every day. We have accomplished miraculous things this year, and I am so proud of their hard work. It is only because of their willingness to try new things and motivation to learn that any of my ideas have found success. I am a dreamer, and these kids -- they are definitely the mechanism that fuels my dreams.

When I began teaching, I believed my encouragement and support would come from other teachers. I believed I would find solace surrounded by individuals all moving forward towards a similar goal. Now I am left to wonder if that was a childish fantasy, or if it is simply time for me to move on. Change seems impossible on this campus. Matriarchs of the school have assembled strange cliques and I don't seem to fit into the mold.

For once, I'm actually happy not to fit in. I enjoy my differentness. I am proud of my ideas and my desire for constant growth. I don't care to gossip and needle the weaknesses of others. I don't have enough energy these days to spend any of it on the ugliness that so many people seem capable of. I have accepted that things aren't always as they seem, I am thankful for the small handful of inspirational teachers I have met along the way, and I am ready to shoulder up against the wind and keep pushing forward. Perhaps a few will follow, perhaps not.

Regardless of my hurt feelings and disappointments, one thing remains true: I will stay true to my beliefs and do what is best for each child entrusted to me. Their future depends on me, and every teacher whose life they light up, one rushed year at a time.

We are here, we are learning.

Idiom Day is one of my favorite days of the year. And it's not just because we all get to dress up in fun costumes. Well, okay -- it's a little bit because of the costumes.

Each year after teaching figurative language to our students, they choose an idiom, design a costume to match the idiom's literal meaning, and come to school for a day of rotation through each 4th grade teacher's classroom for games designed to reinforce their learning.

I love seeing the various interpretations they come up with for their idioms. "Caught red handed" showed up today in several versions: with handcuffs, painted hands, gloved hands, or even wrapped in a large net! My favorite "break a leg" wore an xray screen showing a fractured leg, and I think my favorite costume of the day was a simple red t-shirt with a heart drawn on one sleeve. Simple. Perfect.

As for my amazing team, we showed up as "thrown under the bus," having a "green thumb," the "bee's knees," the ever popular classroom idiom "all eyes on me," and "it's all Greek to me." We had a ridiculous amount of fun letting all the other teachers and parents guess what our idioms where.

In the rotations, the students spent time playing 4 different figurative language games, including Jeopardy with me, where they teamed up to answer questions about idioms, hyperbole, simile, metaphor, and onomatopoeia. They enjoyed finding the figurative language within famous quotes and poetry, and completing popular idioms.

At the end of the day we gave out awards for best in class, funniest, most creative, best overall, best at keeping us guessing, and most over the top. The kids each had a moment in the spotlight to tell who they were and what their idiom was -- everyone clapped and cheered during "the big reveal!"

Next year, I think I'll take it a little further and add a bit of a research element by having my students find out where their idiom originated and sharing that information with our class when they come in costume.

So, yeah. One of my favorites. Love to dress up, love the costumes, the creativity, the laughter, and the months that follow as students run to me with a book in hand shouting, "I found an idiom!" grab a sentence strip, write it down, and post it on the wall -- a symbol to me, to them, to anyone that enters our room -- we are here, we are learning.

Today a wiki, tomorrow the world

They come in loud. A laughing, back-slapping, exclusive all-boys club.  21 hootin', hollerin' boys between the ages of 8 and 11, crashing into the computer lab like a wrecking ball in full swing.  There is no turning back now.

When I first thought of it back in June, I loved the idea of an all-boys club.  Take new collaborative technology, the opportunity to write creatively, and the shared camaraderie of boys becoming a cohesive pack, and see where it takes us.  That was the idea behind my after school club.

The reality was much scarier than the idea, however.  I hadn't actually meant to include 3rd grade, but didn't think to mention that when the forms went home.  I also never considered the fact that there would barely be enough computers for all the boys that wanted to join!  I assumed I'd have a nice, simple group of 10.  12, maybe.  21?  No way.  Third grade.  Did I mention that part?  I'm not sure what scared me more.  A huge group of boys that could easily become an unruly pack of kids that wanted nothing more than to play silly games online, or the fact that some of them were barely out of second grade. 

But there they were  on day one -- all 21 expectant faces asking about websites and online comic creators and blogging.  All eyeballing me with obvious concern.  Did they feel betrayed?  Had no one told them that the all-boys club was going to be led by (gasp) a girl??

How could a woman -- a teacher -- have anything cool to share with them about the Internet?

I probably eyed them with the same concern that day -- how was I going to manage twenty-one rowdy boys on computers at the same time, from three different grade levels?  What had I been thinking?  Why hadn't I planned this better?  Where were my parent helpers?

But I did what I always do when in doubt.  Forge ahead.  If there isn't a path, make one.  And that's what we have done.  Together.

Today was our third meeting.  Three one-hour meetings and the boys no longer look concerned.  In fact, they invite me into their jokes, grab my arm and pull me toward their computers to show me the newest treasure they have uncovered.  As of today, I officially feel like a part of the club.

Five of the boys are from my own classroom and already know how to do some of the things I introduce, so they get to be "experts" during this hour, helping me answer questions, fix problems, and run interference.  They are IT guys in the making.  It's brilliant, because I watch these kids that are typically the awkward, goofy guys in class become leaders.  For one hour a week, they take charge.  I'm eager to see how it changes our regular classroom environment.  I'm eager to see how it changes them.

Today I introduced our club wikispace, and they sank their teeth into it, quickly and repetitively erasing the home page I had created for them before finally figuring out the difference between editing the Home page and editing their own page.  It was a humorously frustrating experience.  Each time it happened we laughed, learned, and moved on.

One of my youngest members sat quietly working in front of his computer.  At the beginning of our meeting, I had asked him to pass out folders, to which he replied, "But I'm just a third grader!"

Now he sat, hunched toward the screen, clicking his way toward discovery.  I watched as he learned how to embed his glog we made a week ago onto his page, save it, and then share it with others.

"I thought you told me you were just a 3rd grader?" I said, grinning at him.

His giant smile was all I needed to see.  And that's a good thing, because a half-second later he was out of his chair and sprinting to a friend to teach them what he had learned.

I can't wait until next Monday.

Lighting the Way

This year my kids are proving to me, over and over again, if I raise the bar they will find a way to scale it. Naturally, this will be followed by a glance back at me with a, "That's all ya got?" smirk. Why not? When I challenge them, they challenge me right back.

Thomas Edison is quoted as saying, "If we all did the things we are really capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves," and I agree completely. I consider it my responsibility to help my students find out what makes them tick, grasp at their passion, and run wildly towards their dreams. They deserve that from me. They deserve a life well lived. I want to help them find that life.

The problem in the classroom (for me, anyway) is finding the way to help all of my students turn their light on. How do we take an uninterested, seemingly unmotivated student and help him or her transform into a child full of wonder? I've spent years searching for that answer, and I assume I'll spend many more -- in truth, if I ever find a solid, concrete answer, I suppose I've lost a little of my own wonder. The minute I stop growing, reaching, searching, and navigating my own maze towards excellence is the exact instant my students have a right to tune me out. I am no longer valid if I am no longer passionate about my pursuits.

I love the delight in their eyes when I show them a new way to look at an old problem. I love the flicker of pride in their eyes when a boy who once hated reading now devours books with a ferocious hunger -- as if making up for lost time. I love when past students bring me books to read because they know I will still read them, and my heart literally jumps when a struggling writer finds words they never knew they had.

This year I am seeing this happen more than ever before. Kids are enjoying what they learn. They are helping one another succeed. They are eager to try new things.

So I have to ask myself ... why? I still teach the same grade in the same school with the same level of excitement that I always have. Why are my kids jumping forward and so eager to challenge themselves now?

A few things have changed -- I went to Summer Institute with the North Star of Texas Writing Project over the summer, I have given them so many technology resources they are giddy to try them all, and thanks to Donalyn Miller's The Book Whisperer, I completely revamped the way I teach reading.

But I think it's more than the sum of these things. I am more confident. I try new things and ask questions later. I step out on a limb and say, "May as well TRY to fly since I'm out here!" more often. I share more resources. I copy less and do more.

Confidence breeds confidence. My kids spend their day with a strong, energetic, confident, passionate teacher. I like a good challenge, and I certainly don't back down from some healthy competition -- and they know this. This year, my kids are in a classroom full of choice lead by a teacher whose confidence is finally growing.

I think we're going to be good for each other, this group of 21 strong-willed geniuses and me.

Challenge #1: Learn how to use Glogster and share your favorite book:

How do you think they did?