Freudian Smell

The other day while curriculum mapping some of my co-English teachers and I got on the discussion of smell, who has what kind of smell, if we find those smells attractive, strong, correct for that individual, and so forth. I was told I smell "spicy." I'm okay with that.

But the conversation was somewhat serendipitious in timing as the night before Adam had gone to bed before me. He closed the bedroom doors and when I opened them to go to bed a couple of hours later the room was filled with the smell of my DAD. Adam, when in a contained space, emits a smell that is uncannily like my father's smell. Now my dad has been dead since I was 22 years old, and I don't really know his smell nor could I really describe it in words, but when Adam sleeps in a closed room his body makes my dad's smell.

How Freudian is that?

Teacher Effectiveness

I have been getting irritated to bordering on rage lately with this entire discussion of teacher effectiveness. Let me premise this post by saying that I *do* think that teachers should be held accountable for being effective in their classrooms. I do think less-than-effective teachers should be given professional development, and I do think that some should be counseled out of the profession. But, this has been happening! Not like this is some new idea in the education sector.

By and large, most educators don't go into teaching in order to coast for 25+ years until retirement. The teachers I work with work HARD. And yes, some are more effective in delivering instruction than others, but as mentors/substitute parents/caring adults they are all 100% effective. Unfortunately, we are never be rated on the hours of social work we do as educators.

The vilifying language used to describe the teaching profession is infuriating and the idea that our country's students are failing b/c teachers are ineffective is ridiculous. Our students are falling behind globally for myriad reasons, none of which have to do with the quality of their teachers. The country itself has fallen behind economically, technologically, and scientifically for the past several decades. Anyone remember the "Nation at Risk" report that came out in the early 80's with these same fears? Same shit, decades later.

Coming down hard on teachers is NOT going to solve any of the educational conundrums we are facing at this moment in history. What it will do is drive the best and brightest out of the profession. And it most certainly will drive the strong teachers out of the struggling schools. And yes, I *am* indirectly talking about myself. I have taught in a Title I, academically struggling school of all Black, Hispanic, and Arab kids for 10 years by choice. I could have left many times, but I chose to stay. But, this spring I will be getting my doctorate in education. At this point in my teaching career, I have had myriad leadership positions in my school, including being a Lead English teacher, the school's literacy coach, and currently the school's Master Teacher for English. As much as our school has struggled in other subject, our English scores have been solid. I have options--even in this economy. I could go elsewhere.

But teaching this student population is truly where my heart is. It will break me to either leave my students to go teach at a celebrated high school (like Brooklyn Tech, or Stuy, read: White and Asian kids) or to leave the classroom overall. But I am not sure how long I can handle this pendulum swing that has all fingers pointing at me as the root cause for my students' failure to pass. I am not.

The semester just ended. I had 14 kids fail my 6th/7th period English class that has 34 kids in it. And I don't mean fail by a couple of points, I mean FAIL b/c they had a 17 average. I will be asked for call logs that document the millions of times I called their homes to question their lack of attendance (do you know how many parents asked me to stop calling?), my gradebook will be scrutinized, and my documentation of letters sent home will be checked as will those students' empty work portfolios. Of course, they are all in order b/c I *am* an effective teacher. But I will be questioned nonetheless.

And it didn't use to be like this. One, I never had so many kids outright fail--students are not coming to school for various reasons, and in 2011 I think it has a great deal to do with the economy, the lack of value in a high school diploma, and the easy access to making money illegally. Two, in the past, the administration didn't every question me when I did fail a kid (and I did), but now each kid = a statistic, and each statistic = our school's progress, and our school's progress = Race to the Top funding...

I honestly just don't know how much longer I can be held responsible when 18 year old juniors decide they want to sell weed or work at McDonald's instead of coming to class. You seriously think that an engaging lesson on "The Crucible" will pull them away from immediate monetary gain? Bullshit.

Nobody is discussing the real issues in education: both poverty and entitlement, the economy, the increasing divide between the rich and poor and the disappearing middle class, the lack of jobs, the institutional racism in public schooling....Teachers can't be the scapegoat for all the issues our government refuses to address. If they fire all of us and rehired a new crop of teachers, it wouldn't change a thing.

Classroom Management

I have been teaching ten years, this is my 11th. Classroom management has never been my forte in this profession. I have never had serious problems, but when given a difficult group of kids that I can't immediately win over with my charming wit, my hilarity of performance, and my illuminating content knowledge, combined with my amazing lesson planning & effective instruction of course, I struggle.

Which is why today's anecdote about Alexandra made me laugh.

Adam came home to report that Alexandra's teacher told him this morning that Alexandra now reads the classroom story to the daycare class before naptime. Let me preface this by saying that Alexandra cannot read, but she makes up very descriptive and mostly accurate stories based on the pictures in the book. She creates different characters' voices, and oftentimes the dialogue emulates what she's heard at home or at school (i.e.: and the lion said, "If you don't stay in your chair through all of dinner you will get NO dessert!"). Having caught myself listening to her storytelling instead of doing the dishes, folding laundry, or making dinner, I can attest that she has quite a talent and is captivating. No exaggeration b/c I'm her mama.

BUT, the best part of the story--according to her teachers--is that when one of the teachers at daycare reads the pre-nap story, she always has to tell the kids to sit criss-cross-applesauce (the new politically correct term for indian style) and to stay seated and focus about a dozen times. But when Alexandra reads, the kids sit still and listen. Perfectly. Every. Time.

Man, my 3 1/2 year old already has better classroom management than I do.

the f bomb

I'm blaming this on on the Department of Sanitation. They're an easy scapegoat, as everyone has been all up on them since the lack of plowing during the blizzard of 201o and the complete lack of garbage/recycling pickup still, one month later, due to the snow that won't/can't freakin' melt b/c it's colder than a witch's tit outside. But seriously, I think the conundrum I have gotten myself into right now with Alexandra's new and frequent usage of the f-bomb stems from one night in particular.

I went to get the kids and I took the jogging stroller, since I thought I'd be schlepping through some snow/ice. It was on the day that all us teachers thought for sure would be a snow day--problem was--it wasn't. I got a call from Alexandra's daycare that she was sick so I made a doctor's appt. I got the kids, hung out at the Tribeca Peds office and played with wooden toys while over-protective parents scorned their kids for playing with wooden toys (I personally could give a rip), and headed home.

Well, seemed that the Dept of Sanitation decided to plow while I was out, and in one place on my block they plowed a MOUNTAIN of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces RIGHT UP TO THE STAIRS OF AN APARTMENT BUILDING. This = no sidewalk at all but a mountain of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces to summit with my jog stroller. I could have walked around the block, but it was cold, after 6pm (when I"m usually feeding the kids, not on the street still getting home), and shoot--I'm in shape. I strapped Nico in nice and tight and began the climb.

After my extreme toddler sledding post you have probably been questioning my parenting overall, and, let me tell you, you should.

So, I'm hauling Nico over the mountain of snow/ice/dirt/dog pee & feces and cursing like a sailor. Alexandra has scaled it lightly like all kids do, and was walking up the street. I thought she was out of hearing range, until I heard her start yelling, "You f**ker! F**ker! F**king snow!" Uh-oh. I shut up, almost catapulted Nico out of the job stroller by tossing it over the last leg of snow mountain from hell, and had a conversation with her about not using the word. Didn't hear it again until...

...Wednesday. I was still sleeping b/c of previously mentioned UTI and Adam was getting the kids ready and I was trying to sleep which is impossible in our house from 7-8am during a school day. Adam was trying to get the kids' coats on, and suddenly Alexandra just started saying, "F**ker!" like she had turrets. Poor Adam tried to squash the language, and was somewhat successful.

But then I was walking her home the next day. She was telling me about her day and she said, "Daddy gave Nico the mail, and Nico ate it, and daddy said, 'Nico, you little f**ker!'" (which Adam swears he didn't say and I do believe him, he really doesn't use the f-bomb).

Ahhhhh!

Any tips on subtracting Alexandra's amazing ability to appropriately use the f-bomb?

One liners

Today was a day of pure frustration. TMI here, but I once again have a series of chronic UTIs. When I get a UTI, they seem to come in bouts of 5-6. I got one last week, did 5 days of antibiotics, took my last antibiotic yesterday morning and by last night had the raging symptoms all over again, but worse. For anyone who has had one you know--NOT fun.

So, I spent the morning trying to get in to a dr. My doctor closed. My midwife at a birth and not returning calls. The midwives in the neighborhood closed. Seriously, wtf to all the doctors' offices closed on Wednesday? Walk in clinic stopped taking patients at 11 and I got there at 11:15, so I rushed to work to teach two of my four classes so I wouldn't be marked absent for the day. Ugh.

After I taught my class, a student of mine from the morning class I missed came in and said, "Miss, where were you? I missed you a little bit." This girl is a HARD nut to crack. She's mean, and every time I ask her to do anything she sucks her teeth at me and rolls her eyes and says something nasty under her breath. I tried calling the mom about her sass, but no luck. Her and her mom are BFFs--she has her mom's name tattooed on her wrist and she's 16 years old! So, I have been chipping away at her mean girl facade and today's one liner was evidence that I. have. won. Woot! I told her that her comment made coming to work today worthwhile and she paused. "Really?" she asked. "Yep," I said, "It's not everyday you say something nice." Tender teaching moment.

One liner #2: Go back to walk in clinic at 2:30 and get seen at 4:30. Thank god for a good book from a coworker in my bag. As the doctor and I chatted about my chronic UTIs, he said, and I quote, "In a woman YOUR AGE...." What? A woman MY AGE? Lord, he made me sound like an artifact or something. I don't think I have ever heard that expression before, but I'm sure I'll hear it again.

Oy.

Extreme Toddler Sledding

Over the Christmas Holiday, we visited my dear friend Lisa at her parents house in New Hampshire. Unlike NYC, where there was 24 inches of snow, NH only had about a foot or so, which was the perfect amount for snow play with the three year olds. Her son Finn and my daughter Alexandra played in the backyard until they were near frozen. They sledded, hiked, used the swing, made a snow fort....It was all idyllic until (insert horror movie music here): extreme toddler sledding happened.

Our second day of snow bliss, Lisa and I took Finn and Alexandra out into the backyard alone. Actually, Lisa might have been wearing Zeo, their 12 week old baby in the Ergo carrier. The day before, we had found through extended experimentation the perfect sledding conditions. First, it was quickly noted that when our fat adult assess were in the sleds with the 3 year olds, they didn't go too fast (shocker). Then we found that two wiggly three year olds in one sled usually resulted in one tipping over and derailing the whole ride about 1/3 of the way down the small hill. We decided that each of them sledding separate was best for performance, but when they went downhill sitting up they usually tipped over. Lastly, we concluded that on the tummy was the best way to go. See above picture.

Until they sled head first into a running stream. Which is what Alexandra did.

Also note, the first day of sledding had SIX adults outside, and day two of sledding--during which extreme toddler sledding occurred--had two adults only, one at the top of the small hill & one at the bottom. I was at the bottom.

Both Finn & Alexandra left the top of the hill together & then went in opposite directions. Finn headed right first, towards the patio drop off of about 3 or so feet, then Alexandra veered left, towards the stream. Finn was a bit ahead, so I went to move towards him, envisioning his neck breaking as he launched off the patio ledge, but then I saw Alexandra heading towards the water. I couldn't get to her. I started screaming. It was probably one of the more helpless moments of my life.

She went over the bank of the stream, a rocky 4 foot drop that was covered with snow, slid less than an inch next to a tree, and her sled stopped with its tip dangling over the now running stream that had just unfrozen. I couldn't see her as I raced after her b/c the embankment was well below the yard level. I envisioned her skull split open and bloody, her face mangled, her body limp....but as I reached the lip of the bank I saw her on the sled, dangling over the stream, her hands gripping the sides of the sled tightly and heard her crying. It was a tiny stream, she would have just gotten freezing wet, but I yelled, "Don't move!" and tumbled down the slope to get her. She was crying, and a tad hysterical, but completely unharmed (minus the therapy bills that will probably emerge in 10+ years).

Due to my screaming, Adam and Ross (Lisa's brother) and Uros (Lisa's husband) ran outside and across the yard to the stream where Lisa was pointing, somewhat hysterical, too. I passed Alexandra up to Adam and the sled up to Ross and climbed back up to the yard. I was practically crying but I felt in shock, my heart was racing a million miles per hour, and I felt like the worst parent on earth. Seriously. She could have easily been badly hurt or worse. I was traumatized for at least a week after. I'd look at her and get teary, or just give her a squeeze out of nowhere. I felt like we had escaped some sort of horror.

After she stopped crying, the first words she said were, " I want to tell my teachers!" and she did. In fact, she told anyone who would listen for about a week that she went sledding so so so fast and "my face went over the water." Of course, that makes sense to nobody except those of us who were there.

Extreme toddler sledding--not recommended.

The Death Talk

So, it happened last night. Alexandra and I were walking home from the train, and she asked me, "Mama, who's Luca's daddy?"

For any of you who have been reading my blog for a while, you know that right before Alexandra was born, in May of 2007, our close friend and neighbor Eric died suddenly of a heart attack. He was healthy, a vegetarian, and 34 years old. Two weeks later his wife, also our good friend, Kat, found out she was pregnant. Luca is their miracle son--no exaggeration on the word miracle.

When Alexandra asked me who Luca's daddy was, I didn't know where to begin. I told her that his daddy was our close friend Eric, whom we loved very very much, but he died right before she was born so she never got to meet him. Then she went on to ask some difficult questions, like HOW did he die, HOW does anyone die, WHEN do people die....It was an intense conversation, all within a two block walk until we bumped into our neighbors Jess & JP and the conversation got interrupted and she forgot what we were talking about.

The one thing that she did know, though, was that once someone dies they don't come back. And that, my friends, she learned from Sesame Street. We have the 40 Years of Sunny Days DVD and they have the skit where Big Bird is told that Mr. Hooper's dead and won't be coming back. The first ten times I watched this with her I started tearing up, but now I can watch it without crying (mostly). But as Alexandra matter-of-factly told me that once people die they don't come back, I was so thankful that Sesame Street had taught that to her. Hands down, it's the best children's television out there.

At the conclusion of our conversation, Alexandra said, "Well, sometimes when your daddy gets really old, like 19, they might die. And then other people share their daddies with you." I asked her if she'd share her daddy with Luca, and she bluntly replied, "I think that'd be okay." (In order to fully appreciate her end of the conversation, you have to picture her little head weaving back and forth and her hands gesticulating every statement like a little old Italian lady.)

As always, she lightly entered and exited this conversation, but it's still weighing heavy on me.

Firework

I had about five students tell me this week that I look like the woman giving birth in the new Katy Perry "Firework" video, so tonight, since Adam's in CT and I have ample time to procrastinate on my own, I found it and just watched it about five times. And yes, I do kinda look like her in that we're both White women with brown hair, bangs, and a decent-sized nose, so I'm kinda flattered that they actually thought of me. I love getting my pop culture references from them.



But something about this song really moved me. The video just seemed so powerful. And yes, before you crucify me as a pop music addict and refuse to take me seriously--watch it.

First, I don't think there's really a more perfect comparison to giving birth than to feeling like a firework is exploding out of you in the most amazing and terrifying feeling that that might bring. So, the woman giving birth--my doppelganger--really spoke to me. Especially since I birthed both my babies on my back and probably had a similar look of terror/exhaustion on my face as my firework babies emerged. Doesn't every woman? Really impressive metaphor there.

Secondly, the little girl with cancer just ripped me apart. Yes, because she was a little girl with cancer and if that doesn't just make you fall to pieces you are obviously not human, but also because of a story I heard on NPR probably 13 or so years ago. The story went over creative ways to celebrate the end of life, and one way was to get cremated and use your ashes in the creation of some fireworks and then to set them off in your honor. I LOVE that idea. No lie. I want to be a firework when I die. Every time Adam and I have seen fireworks together I point out the colors and shapes and sounds I like for future reference. So, when I saw that little girl my mind traipsed over the the death zone and I got all emotional.

And lastly, I freakin' love this vein of pop songs that celebrates being DIFFERENT and, as an educator, I can't say enough what a desperately needed mantra that is for youth today. I could make a whole post on that, but I'll save that for another day. Pink's "Raise A Glass" is another song like this that came out recently.



Maybe I am just a pop music aficionado, but watch the video. Am I wrong? It's spectacular.