I have a student who is convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I hate him/her. I know that it is the age and maturity, but I find it quite interesting that this group cannot separate that I dislike the behavior they are exhibiting, not them. I have said it before and I will say it again, if I hated the little adolescents, I would have quit this business a long time ago--like before I ever started. Because he/she is convinced of my nonexistent hatred, he/she has made my life a living hell for the past month. I have tried a variety of classroom management approaches including calls home, the principal, and behavior contracts. Finally, I presented said student with a choice: he/she could either show me that he/she wants to be in my class and behave appropriately, or he/she would spend the rest of the term in the office doing bookwork and worksheets.
At any rate, this student and I had a heart to heart today. I explained to the student that he/she has a gift. He/she has the gift of the desire to learn. And he/she does! He/she is very eager to learn, and I really do love that. I told him/her that I appreciate that so much, but at the same time,I need him/her to behave appropriately when he/she has questions or is feeling overwhelmed. I was able to work one on one with this student for a bit today and it was marvelous! He/she was so receptive to this one on one time and compliments. I need to remember this when I want to discipline in a punitive manner. This is what I have been taught my whole life. It's what my parents did and it is what all my teachers did. But I want to change. I want my students to know that I love and care about them. I want them to be eager and willing to learn. I don't want the negative atmosphere that comes with negative, punitive classroom management. I am taking a class on this. It's starts tomorrow. Wish me luck!
If any of you anonymous readers out there have suggestions on how to overcome the negative monster that has ruled my life, please, leave a comment.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Snippet of Sunshine
This is going to be a short one. Tonight was parent teacher conferences. For those of you who have been with me through this journey known as my first year of teaching, you know that the first parent teacher conferences I cried like baseball player who got decked in the groin into my decadent Cold Stone concoction of oatmeal cookie batter and brownies. This go around I went in with my head held high, with a goal of not crying (seriously, I even told a few teachers before hand that my goal was to not shed any tears). Well, not only did I escape without a sharp new hint of tears, I found out that I am two students' favorite teacher (one can only hope that it is more than that, but only two parents let me know). So there. I have made a difference for those ones as well.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Come what may and love it! (Finding Joy in the Journey)
This post is acting in a therapeutic way for me today. I feel, and correct me if I am wrong, it is fair to say that being a public school teacher is hard, thankless work-mostly. Being a first year public school teacher is even more difficult, and less gratuitous than teaching in general. It truly is like being Daniel in the lion's den. You go into it with faith that your expertise and training will help you escape the beasts alive. The difference between Daniel and I, however, is that I will not escape with the help of the Big Guy unscathed. I will not come out of this first year without many cuts, bruises, and quite frankly, life altering scars. This is good though. I have learned much, and I know that next year, fingers crossed that there will be a next year, things will be better. I will be better.
But that's not why I need this therapy. You see, my dear anonymous reader, whomever you may be, it is the midterm of my second trimester and I am burned out. Christmas break was bliss. I fled the town in which I teach and relaxed. It was lovely. Since then, however, and it has been three weeks now, I have had the most difficult time getting back into the groove of being an adult. I cannot bring myself to be responsible. I am tired of lesson plans, blank stares, and pointless excuses. I am tired of telling students to grow up, to stop whistling, and to wash their hands when they go to the restroom (that is another story for another time). I am tired of leaving my apartment before the sun has created the breathtakingly stunning dance of pinks and purples on the Wellsville's behind my classroom (it's gorgeous, you're missing out if you don't know what I am talking about), and returning to my abode after the sun has tucked itself behind the same mountains. I am exhausted by the phrases from my students that claim, "Ms. ---- hates me." Trust me kids, if I hated you, even one of you, I would have been out of this business before you walked in the door. And to my prego cousin with the terrible twos, welcome to every-freakin'-day of my life (I read your post last night, and honey, I feel your pain! Except, the children aren't mine)!
So here's the deal, I need a change. I need to heed the counsel offered by one of my favorite apostles of time and find joy in the journey. I need to embrace what has come and love it! I had a conversation today with one of my sage colleagues and he said, "Come on, Spinster, you got to find something to get you through this." So that is what I am going to try to do. At the end of each day, I am going to blog (my very own secret-public journal) about why I am doing this. I am going to tell all you anxious readers out there why I am in this fantastically miserable profession.
On that note, here is my excerpt for today:
Every other day at the beginning of class, my students have to fix a sentence on the board and I walk around the room and mock or praise them for what they have done (for any English teachers out there, its a system called Caught'ya: Grammar with a Giggle by Jane Bell Kiester, and it is amazing!). Well, today's sentence was one of the most complicated ones we have done so far this year. As such, I offered big extra credit opportunities to any student who could get it correct (it involved the pesky who/whom conundrum, and it sure did get their goat). Well, only one student came even close (it was also a run-on sentence that they had to turn into three different sentences). So I gave him half of what was originally offered, because he was the only one to catch the "whom" in the sentence.
Afterward, we discussed as a class what was wrong with the sentence. Since this student got the extra credit, he was able to confidently raise his hand and tell his peers what they all missed. As much as it pains me to write something dripping with processed cheese, he was glowing with excitement. Further to his delight, his peers gave him much praise for noticing something they did not. As I contemplated what to write about today, I thought about that old story about the starfish and I couldn't help but think, "I made a difference for that one."
I am fully aware that there are many students who walk out of my classroom thinking unkind things towards me and my content. Being "with-it," I also know students converse about the different degrees of hate they each feel for me. I even know that there are students who are convinced that I am plotting their demise (and I quote, "You have a look. Like you are looking into my soul and thinking, how am I going to kill her?" Yep, a student actually said that). Regardless of all that, I can go home tonight, in the dark, knowing that I made a difference in one student's day today. And who knows? Maybe one day he will be able to say, "Ms. ---- is my favorite teacher. she made class fun, and she showed me that she cares." One can only hope, right?
But that's not why I need this therapy. You see, my dear anonymous reader, whomever you may be, it is the midterm of my second trimester and I am burned out. Christmas break was bliss. I fled the town in which I teach and relaxed. It was lovely. Since then, however, and it has been three weeks now, I have had the most difficult time getting back into the groove of being an adult. I cannot bring myself to be responsible. I am tired of lesson plans, blank stares, and pointless excuses. I am tired of telling students to grow up, to stop whistling, and to wash their hands when they go to the restroom (that is another story for another time). I am tired of leaving my apartment before the sun has created the breathtakingly stunning dance of pinks and purples on the Wellsville's behind my classroom (it's gorgeous, you're missing out if you don't know what I am talking about), and returning to my abode after the sun has tucked itself behind the same mountains. I am exhausted by the phrases from my students that claim, "Ms. ---- hates me." Trust me kids, if I hated you, even one of you, I would have been out of this business before you walked in the door. And to my prego cousin with the terrible twos, welcome to every-freakin'-day of my life (I read your post last night, and honey, I feel your pain! Except, the children aren't mine)!
So here's the deal, I need a change. I need to heed the counsel offered by one of my favorite apostles of time and find joy in the journey. I need to embrace what has come and love it! I had a conversation today with one of my sage colleagues and he said, "Come on, Spinster, you got to find something to get you through this." So that is what I am going to try to do. At the end of each day, I am going to blog (my very own secret-public journal) about why I am doing this. I am going to tell all you anxious readers out there why I am in this fantastically miserable profession.
On that note, here is my excerpt for today:
Every other day at the beginning of class, my students have to fix a sentence on the board and I walk around the room and mock or praise them for what they have done (for any English teachers out there, its a system called Caught'ya: Grammar with a Giggle by Jane Bell Kiester, and it is amazing!). Well, today's sentence was one of the most complicated ones we have done so far this year. As such, I offered big extra credit opportunities to any student who could get it correct (it involved the pesky who/whom conundrum, and it sure did get their goat). Well, only one student came even close (it was also a run-on sentence that they had to turn into three different sentences). So I gave him half of what was originally offered, because he was the only one to catch the "whom" in the sentence.
Afterward, we discussed as a class what was wrong with the sentence. Since this student got the extra credit, he was able to confidently raise his hand and tell his peers what they all missed. As much as it pains me to write something dripping with processed cheese, he was glowing with excitement. Further to his delight, his peers gave him much praise for noticing something they did not. As I contemplated what to write about today, I thought about that old story about the starfish and I couldn't help but think, "I made a difference for that one."
I am fully aware that there are many students who walk out of my classroom thinking unkind things towards me and my content. Being "with-it," I also know students converse about the different degrees of hate they each feel for me. I even know that there are students who are convinced that I am plotting their demise (and I quote, "You have a look. Like you are looking into my soul and thinking, how am I going to kill her?" Yep, a student actually said that). Regardless of all that, I can go home tonight, in the dark, knowing that I made a difference in one student's day today. And who knows? Maybe one day he will be able to say, "Ms. ---- is my favorite teacher. she made class fun, and she showed me that she cares." One can only hope, right?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Kids say...
Well, for anyone who actually gives this space in the cyber world their perusal, I will give you something to feast upon.
My students say some pretty funny things sometimes. I know that I am not supposed to laugh. I know that I am supposed to be the adult in the room and maintain order, but seriously? Have you ever been out numbered at least thirty to one by hormonal mutants? Its hard to do what is right. So, here are a few of the funny things that have been uttered within my four walls since I last posted:
After Christmas break, one of my students asked if I got anything for Christmas. To which another student replied, "No, duh, she lives alone." To which I replied, "You're right. I am completely and utterly alone. I have no friends, no family; in fact, I don't even have an apartment, I live here." It feels so good to know that my students see me as a lonely recluse.
One day we were taking notes on subjects and predicates and I neglected to perform a proper and thorough proofread. As I was in the throws of a spectacular lecture, one of my students raised his hand and asked, "So it's predict? I always thought it was predicate, but you're the teacher." Before entering the educational world, I was told that I would have to dial down my sarcasm because they wouldn't get it. I think they do, and at times, they are definitely better at it than me.
More to come...
My students say some pretty funny things sometimes. I know that I am not supposed to laugh. I know that I am supposed to be the adult in the room and maintain order, but seriously? Have you ever been out numbered at least thirty to one by hormonal mutants? Its hard to do what is right. So, here are a few of the funny things that have been uttered within my four walls since I last posted:
After Christmas break, one of my students asked if I got anything for Christmas. To which another student replied, "No, duh, she lives alone." To which I replied, "You're right. I am completely and utterly alone. I have no friends, no family; in fact, I don't even have an apartment, I live here." It feels so good to know that my students see me as a lonely recluse.
One day we were taking notes on subjects and predicates and I neglected to perform a proper and thorough proofread. As I was in the throws of a spectacular lecture, one of my students raised his hand and asked, "So it's predict? I always thought it was predicate, but you're the teacher." Before entering the educational world, I was told that I would have to dial down my sarcasm because they wouldn't get it. I think they do, and at times, they are definitely better at it than me.
More to come...
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Time for a change
I haven't ranted in over a month! This is a problem for me because I started this whole blog thing as an outlet for my deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. Here's the reason why, I'm boring. I haven't been on a date since school started (got blown off for two, if that isn't any indication of my loser status I don't know what is), so I don't have much to talk about when it comes to being a twenty-something spinster. As such, I am feeling like I need a change of pace.
Recently I thought about my career choice and whether or not I am cut out for it. I have yet to come to a solid conclusion, but I thought that if I turned my blog into a forum for discussing the idiosyncrasies of and odd happenings with my pubescent (and in some cases prepubescent) children, I just might survive my first year of teaching. So, while I will, from time to time, discuss my disgust of my generation (oh, and happy moments when they roll), I have decided that it will be more beneficial to my mental health to vent about being a middle school English teacher.
A few things you should know right off the bat, I love teenagers. Truly. They are quirky and awkward and I LOVE that! They are often dealing with things way beyond MY maturity level because times have changed and they have a lot on their plates. As such, while they drive me nuts, I understand that they are trying their best to understand and be a part of this thing called life. All that aside, I am going to tell you the funny stories of my encounters with the most awkward of the adolescent years. On that note, here are a few of my favorite stories of the year thus far:
I have a student, bless his little heart, who LITERALLY (and for those of you who know me, I don't use that word lightly) picks his nose throughout the majority of class. We are talking fifty minutes of gold mining, here! It is so distracting! What do I do to make it stop? Do I put my box of tissues on his desk each day and say, "Here, try these. They are much more sanitary." Or do I call him out on it and subject him to enough embarrassment to scare him for life with the hopes of halting his hideous habit? I mean, I am not the only one who notices. Other teachers? For sure and I often wonder about this. If I am not the only teacher noticing his need to dig a little deeper, then how is there anything left for which to dig? It's not a bottomless pit of mucus! Other students have also caught on to his deed. They don't want to work with him or touch his papers because at least one of his fingers is stuck like a magnet up his left nostril. I, for that matter, hate grading his papers because the whole time I am thinking, "Dear golly, I am going to get a boogie on my finger!" I love my middle school students!
The Monday after Halloween, one of my students came to school with a different shade of locks. As he walked into the classroom I said, "Oh, John [name changed to protect identity] got a make-over over the weekend." To which another student, over hearing, replied, "Yeah, he was at a party and fell asleep and his buddies dyed his hair." I looked at her quizzically and inquired, "Fell asleep? Really? Do I have 'idiot' tattooed on my forehead?" She looked at me sheepishly and suggested no, but "I can't say what really happened, right?" "Right," I replied. Boy would I like to fall into a deep enough slumber that someone could dye my hair and I wouldn't wake up. Oh wait, I have covenanted not to do such things. I love my middle school students! (I know, isn't it sad that at such a young age they are already mixed up in this garbage.)
I love to scare my students. Being an English teacher, I have more than the usual teacher's opportunity to do so and have taken advantage of such opportunities a few times this year. The most recent incident occurred just this past week. I was reading aloud to my students, which I am want to do to break it up every now and then, and circulating the room to make sure they are following along (as all 'with it' teachers do-thanks Barb). At any rate, in the story we are currently studying, there is a scene where one of the characters scares another. I thought to myself, I have to do it! I simply cannot resist. So I tried it out with my second hour. The kids all have their faces in their books, not even paying attention to me, so it is all too easy. I picked my prey. I stalked up to her slowly like a feral cat after a field mouse, and when the timing what right I hunched over, stomped my right foot and yelled, "Boo!" right in her face! She jumped so high, she almost touched the ceiling (okay, not really, what element of literature is that?) It was golden. Made my day. We all had a good laugh and continued. Well, in my next hour, I tried the same thing to a student who is stone faced most of the time (as such, I have made it a goal to get her to smile as often as possible. Smile count: 1. But I am not giving up). Anyway, I got nothing. No reaction. She just looked up at me, while thinking, I am sure, "My teacher is an idiot and a freak." Whatever. I said, "Dang, you're good," and kept reading. My fifth hour victim had the best reaction. If only I could have taken a snap shot of his face for all to see. It was like he was at Nightmare on 13th and the guy with the chainsaw just jumped around the corner. He was mortified and jumped out of his desk. Then he yelled, "You're so mean!" I lost it. I could not stop laughing. In fact, there were moments later on in class where the image would pop back into my head and I would start laughing again. Golden.
More stories to come, but 1. they have to happen, and 2. I have to remember them. Enjoy!
Recently I thought about my career choice and whether or not I am cut out for it. I have yet to come to a solid conclusion, but I thought that if I turned my blog into a forum for discussing the idiosyncrasies of and odd happenings with my pubescent (and in some cases prepubescent) children, I just might survive my first year of teaching. So, while I will, from time to time, discuss my disgust of my generation (oh, and happy moments when they roll), I have decided that it will be more beneficial to my mental health to vent about being a middle school English teacher.
A few things you should know right off the bat, I love teenagers. Truly. They are quirky and awkward and I LOVE that! They are often dealing with things way beyond MY maturity level because times have changed and they have a lot on their plates. As such, while they drive me nuts, I understand that they are trying their best to understand and be a part of this thing called life. All that aside, I am going to tell you the funny stories of my encounters with the most awkward of the adolescent years. On that note, here are a few of my favorite stories of the year thus far:
I have a student, bless his little heart, who LITERALLY (and for those of you who know me, I don't use that word lightly) picks his nose throughout the majority of class. We are talking fifty minutes of gold mining, here! It is so distracting! What do I do to make it stop? Do I put my box of tissues on his desk each day and say, "Here, try these. They are much more sanitary." Or do I call him out on it and subject him to enough embarrassment to scare him for life with the hopes of halting his hideous habit? I mean, I am not the only one who notices. Other teachers? For sure and I often wonder about this. If I am not the only teacher noticing his need to dig a little deeper, then how is there anything left for which to dig? It's not a bottomless pit of mucus! Other students have also caught on to his deed. They don't want to work with him or touch his papers because at least one of his fingers is stuck like a magnet up his left nostril. I, for that matter, hate grading his papers because the whole time I am thinking, "Dear golly, I am going to get a boogie on my finger!" I love my middle school students!
The Monday after Halloween, one of my students came to school with a different shade of locks. As he walked into the classroom I said, "Oh, John [name changed to protect identity] got a make-over over the weekend." To which another student, over hearing, replied, "Yeah, he was at a party and fell asleep and his buddies dyed his hair." I looked at her quizzically and inquired, "Fell asleep? Really? Do I have 'idiot' tattooed on my forehead?" She looked at me sheepishly and suggested no, but "I can't say what really happened, right?" "Right," I replied. Boy would I like to fall into a deep enough slumber that someone could dye my hair and I wouldn't wake up. Oh wait, I have covenanted not to do such things. I love my middle school students! (I know, isn't it sad that at such a young age they are already mixed up in this garbage.)
I love to scare my students. Being an English teacher, I have more than the usual teacher's opportunity to do so and have taken advantage of such opportunities a few times this year. The most recent incident occurred just this past week. I was reading aloud to my students, which I am want to do to break it up every now and then, and circulating the room to make sure they are following along (as all 'with it' teachers do-thanks Barb). At any rate, in the story we are currently studying, there is a scene where one of the characters scares another. I thought to myself, I have to do it! I simply cannot resist. So I tried it out with my second hour. The kids all have their faces in their books, not even paying attention to me, so it is all too easy. I picked my prey. I stalked up to her slowly like a feral cat after a field mouse, and when the timing what right I hunched over, stomped my right foot and yelled, "Boo!" right in her face! She jumped so high, she almost touched the ceiling (okay, not really, what element of literature is that?) It was golden. Made my day. We all had a good laugh and continued. Well, in my next hour, I tried the same thing to a student who is stone faced most of the time (as such, I have made it a goal to get her to smile as often as possible. Smile count: 1. But I am not giving up). Anyway, I got nothing. No reaction. She just looked up at me, while thinking, I am sure, "My teacher is an idiot and a freak." Whatever. I said, "Dang, you're good," and kept reading. My fifth hour victim had the best reaction. If only I could have taken a snap shot of his face for all to see. It was like he was at Nightmare on 13th and the guy with the chainsaw just jumped around the corner. He was mortified and jumped out of his desk. Then he yelled, "You're so mean!" I lost it. I could not stop laughing. In fact, there were moments later on in class where the image would pop back into my head and I would start laughing again. Golden.
More stories to come, but 1. they have to happen, and 2. I have to remember them. Enjoy!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Keeping the Sabbath Day What?
I am a sinner. I need to get this off my chest and then I will repent and be a better person. Honest.
Truth is, I feel better than I did this morning, but I still need to put something into cyber space so that I can sleep easier tonight. Confessing my sins isn't what I need to get off my chest and certainly not something that I would share with a global public. The topic today is the lack of decorum held by my generation and I am sure the generations to follow. There are two things I noticed during my Sabbath day worship. A lack of respect and clothing.
As mentioned in a previous post, I attend a Young Single Adults ward and all that implies (I don't really know what that means, but I couldn't fight the urge to add a cliche). Today I distracted myself from feeling the ever-present, strong and wonderful spirit by allowing unrighteous thoughts to cloud my better judgement. I would like to say that they were about the six-foot-two, brown hair, blue eyes in the lime green tie, eye candy, blessing the sacrament, but alas, that would be a lie and yet another sin I would add to my plate. I was distracted by the Daisy Duke-inspired shortness, and legs for miles I witnessed in the chapel (there I go with those blasted cliches again). Not only that, but there was way too much "Cleavland Rockin" and sexy bare backs. What's the deal? Have we forgotten the purpose of the Sabbath day? While I recognize that the brethren were inspired to start Young Single Adult wards as a tool to help us become "anxiously engaged," I do not condone the meat-market mentality that has overtaken the hearts and minds of the young and single community. I'm sorry ladies, but what you are advertising is not celestial marriage, but rather loose morals and free milk. Bold and crude, I know, but somebody needs to say it. Its no wonder the young men of the church have a problem with pornography, they can't even avoid it in a house of the Lord.
Nobody's perfect. I know that I have my fair share of problems, and as you can deduce from the topic and ranting of this post, pride is definitely one of them. I am not flaunting that fact. I am merely trying to work through it in a ridiculously public manner. I just wish that more of my generation took more time preparing themselves spiritually than physically when it comes to "worshiping" on the Sabbath day.
Ladies, we have immense power! And with great power, comes great responsibility. We should be using our bodies and minds to be charitable. We should cover up and get to work. Men need all the help they can get in the spiritual department, and we should be there to help them not hinder. I simply cannot wait for winter!
One other Sabbath day tirade and then I will let this dog lie: Relief Society is not social hour. I have to admit for the first time ever, I walked out today. The beautiful young ladies circumambiently perched by me this day were so busy chatting, quite loudly mind you, to even have a clue what the teacher was teaching (she was discussing fidelity, virtue, and chastity, topics all young women these days could benefit from). They were blatantly ignoring the teacher and those around them who might actually care about the lesson. A young lady in the row in front of me actually tipped her chair back in order to chat with the girl next to me, and they certainly did not whisper! The girl in the short skirt on the other side was discussing the attractiveness of a young man in the ward. I couldn't take it anymore! I gathered my stuff and transplanted in the foyer and attempted to scripturally study the topics of the lesson alone. The only problem was that I was livid. I couldn't focus because I was so turned off by the lack of decorum of the daughters of God that surrounded me. I know, a problem I have to work through on my own. I was the one that got in the way of my feeling of the spirit. That being said, I still think that too many of the twenty-something spinsters of my generation use church service as an excuse to catch up on the latest gossip. If you want to chat for three hours, do it in your house instead of the Lord's. Some of us are there to feel of the spirit and gain insight into what really matters in this life. Whether or not you really want to be there doesn't matter anymore once you walk through the doors. Since you made the choice to attend church, you must accept the consequences that come with it. Sunday appropriate dress and attitude. Be respectful of those that have spent hours praying over and planning lessons. Show the love and respect you should feel for your peers by not distracting from the spirit. Take a journal and write down thoughts and impressions if you are finding yourself bored on Sundays. Don't turn to your neighbor and start gabbing on and distracting them, yourself, and your peers. Thank you. That is all. I must retreat to my closet now, and begin my penitence.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Fed up with the d word
So here's the deal. I am a twenty-something spinster who sincerely hopes to become a twenty-something housewife. Sad, but true. But with all this talk about divorce, I am beginning to wonder why I should even bother. If marriage isn't worth fighting for, especially of the eternal variety, then why should I even step in the ring? Don't get me wrong; I know that marriage is tough. And if the relationship is abusive then by all means get out! But no relationship is always a picnic. Why are so many couples in my life giving up? Don't those covenants mean anything more to these people than just a piece of paper that can easily be shredded beyond recognition? I apologize if I offend any of my readers, but this is a subject that has been plaguing my mind A LOT lately and has been causing problems in one of my relationships. I will say this, however. My good friend is in charge of ward stare in her ward and tonight she has decided to revolutionize the way it is done. I say more power to her, but that is not the point. The thought she has chosen to use tonight is one from Joseph Smith that discusses the fact that fear and faith cannot reside in one person. So although I am tempted to be burdened by the fear that marriage is a crock and not worth my time, I am going to choose instead to have faith that I will be able to find a man who will be in it for the long haul. Eternity is a long time, so why would you ever opt to spend it alone?
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