Time

[Drafted Dec. 5, 2020] 

I never blog as often as I want to, but I am always grateful to my former self when I capture my thoughts at a particular moment in time that I can revisit weeks, months, and years later. 

 In 2014, I had one of my harder years of teaching (not nearly the hardest, I would come to find out). In November of that year, I blogged about finally feeling like my class was "my class". I’ve looked back at that post almost every year since to remind myself that it takes time to get to "that place." Without exception, every fall, I have nostalgia for my class from the previous year, for procedures running smoothly, for the routines and traditions we developed together. 

A Tuesday Tradition for our Greeting

This year has been no different in that respect, but with the added complication of nostalgia for practically everything from the “before times” as well. Yet, just like every other year before, this year it was only a matter of time before this class started to feel like my class. Over the past 14 weeks, my co-teacher and I have created an incredible little online community. I’ve had some of my favorite teaching moments, maybe ever, with this crew of kiddos. And in the last few weeks, in particular, virtual school has finally felt like school. 

On most days, the kiddos log into the programs we use for independent practice quickly and independently, and I am able to pull individuals into separate meetings for feedback or intervention. During small groups, I’ve tried a few different things, but have found ways to get students working on differentiated skills and even collaborating to solve problems. I’ve also created traditions, like the “Which ____ are you?” Greeting during Morning Meeting on Tuesdays (with gifs of popular characters) and our favorite Brain Breaks from UJU videos, which siblings and parents often join for. At the end of the day, when everyone unmutes to wave and there’s a chorus of byes, and “Have a great afternoon!” and “See you tomorrow!” it almost feels we’re together. 

On Monday, I will go back to school in person with a small cohort of kiddos. Friends, family, and colleagues have been asking “how are you feeling about it?” And my best answer right now is “I'm feeling it all.” I’m equal parts anxious and curious and nervous and excited and terrified. I don’t know if it will feel like school when we’re all in masks and the desks are spread out and we can’t gather on the carpet for a read-aloud. But I know that we have re-created school before, which gives me hope that we can do it again. I'm also reminding myself that it takes time.

Reflections

Six years ago, I left the only school I’d ever taught at and went to teach at a new school across the city. This new school had different terms of engagement, different expectations for students and teachers, different policies and routines. I went from being a veteran teacher with a lot of confidence, to feeling like I had no idea how to interact with students. 

At my new school, we weren’t allowed to sit in a circle for Morning Meeting, give first graders math workbooks, or administer individual reading assessments. We weren’t encouraged to provide differentiated reading choices, only the basal reader. I felt like all of the teaching tools I had acquired during my first seven years of teaching had been yanked away from me. As things got more difficult, I doubled down. I worked harder to re-create the systems I’d used in the past, to make my new classroom feel familiar, and to urge my administration to reconsider their policies. I started putting in even more hours than I typically did (which was a lot.) I went in early, left late, worked constantly at home. 

I lost count of how many times
I put this library back together.

My goal up to that point, had been to move into leadership within a year or two. During those first few months, I thought constantly about how I could excel in this teaching environment, while every challenge and set-back made me question if I was cut out for teaching or administration at all.  I was miserable and confused. I cried a lot. I truly believed, or wanted to believe, that if I put in more time and more effort, that things would get easier, but they didn’t. In fact, they got harder, and more things started to change: my co-teacher was pulled from classroom, my roster was switched, and I got less frequent support. By the middle of fall, I was exhausted and sick, looking at new jobs and new careers. 

Miraculously, I was pulled out of that situation by a call from my former school that a sudden vacancy had opened up in the fourth grade. I’d only ever taught early elementary, and the thought of working with older students made me nervous, but I barely had to think twice about accepting. I needed out. 

Day 1 in my first fourth grade classroom. 

In January, I started teaching fourth grade. It wasn’t easy, but this time, I didn’t let it consume me. I stopped focusing on the future. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay in fourth grade, or in teaching, but I decided I could survive until the end of the year. I stopped worrying about re-creating my old classroom environment; after all, this was a new grade for me. I didn’t assume I knew everything. Instead, I tried to pay attention to what worked and didn’t work with the kids in front of me. I didn’t try to innovate much with the curriculum, since I was only ever a few days ahead in my planning. I kept things simple. 

I continued to put in a lot of hours, but I also read, baked, and visited friends on the weekends. I started to re-prioritize my physical and emotional health. I let myself believe that I could get better, and I did. By the end of that year, I’d decided to stay in fourth grade for another year to continue learning and improving. 

One of my favorite student notes EVER.

In hindsight, I can see that one of the reasons I struggled so much at the new school was because I couldn’t let go of the way I had done things in the past. I didn’t think I could improve unless I was allowed to do things my old way. I knew that my way was better. It took me a long time to realize, however, that I hadn’t just been trying to hold on to a familiar way of teaching.

During the same time I was switching schools, I was also experiencing significant changes in my personal life. I’d moved out of the city and an apartment I loved, away from my friends and neighborhood. Looking back, I still believe that my way of teaching could have been better for me and my students at the new school, but now I wonder if that would have been enough for me. I wasn’t just trying to make my new classroom feel comfortable and familiar, I was trying to make my new life feel comfortable and familiar. 

The past four weeks have been some of the most challenging of my teaching career. I’ve been miserable and confused, I’ve cried a lot, and I’ve been letting it consume me. I’ve been struggling to try to make this new way of teaching (all virtual) feel like the old, familiar way. I've been putting in more hours than I have in a long time. But recently I realized, even if I could re-create my old classroom online (or in person), even if I could go back to the way I’ve taught and assessed students in the past, it wouldn’t be enough. 

Three devices now feels like a minimum.

Moving to a new house and a new school in the same year is not the same as teaching during a global pandemic, but the parallels aren't lost on me.  Working from home, in a makeshift office, with political unrest and the coronavirus always in the back of our minds, our personal lives as teachers are completely changed. No amount of “consistent routines” or “innovative lessons” will be enough to make this year feel comfortable and familiar. 

So instead, I’ve decided to stop focusing on the future. I don’t know if I want to stay in teaching like this, but I believe I can survive until the end of the year. I’m not going to worry about re-creating my old classroom environment; after all, this is new for me. I won’t assume I know everything.  Instead, I’m going to pay attention to what works and doesn’t work with the kids in front of me.  I'll remind myself of my own words from years ago, “beyond a point, another hour of lesson planning at 11pm, or spending another weekend rearranging the classroom yet again, or reading another article on behavior management techniques, won't ‘solve everything.’”

During my first year of teaching, my roommate would ask me to name 3 good things each day. Some days it was a challenge to come up with that many. It all seemed impossible. Yet, over time, it got easier to focus on the good moments. I have never taught virtually before, or in a hybrid environment, or through a global pandemic, but I have been a first-year teacher, and a teacher in a new grade, on a new team, and in a new school. I've had days when teaching has come as naturally as breathing and many more days when it has felt like it sapped all my energy, and then some. These days, teaching online seems impossible, but I'm trying to name 3 good things each day. Some days it may be a challenge to come up with that many, but I'll celebrate the days when I can.

Me by the Numbers

Of course, at the beginning of each year we always start with those obligatory "getting to know you" activities. Now that we are departmentalized, I wanted to do those general "meeting and greeting" activities with my homeroom, but I also wanted to do some more math-specific activities with each of my three math classes.  We did not rotate classes for the first two days of school so that we could have a little more time to bond with our new homerooms, and then on day three we did a "practice rotation" with slightly shorter periods and extra time for reviewing expectations. Our math activity on this day was something I called "Me by the Numbers."

This activity was particularly important for this year because, for the first time in a few years, I had never taught any of my students before.  Because I've moved grades a few times, I've had quite a few classes where I've actually already taught at least half of my kiddos. Even when I hadn't taught a particular kiddos, I had known all of the students in the grade reasonably well and could often remember anecdotes or details about them from their previous teachers. This year, though, I had never taught this cohort -- I'd moved to fourth grade by the time they were in first.

The connections I build with my students and their families is one of the things I value most, and it's a huge contributor to my classroom management approach.  So this year I was really nervous about how I would connect and bond with so many (58!) new kids and families. Granted, I'm still at the same school, so there were a few kiddos in this crew who I had known as babies when I taught their older brothers or sisters, but for the most part, we were all new to each other.

As it turned out, I had no reason to worry because these kiddos are such loves! They wanted to know everything about me as much as I wanted to know everything about them. I shared my own "Me by the Numbers" and added in some stories about my pets, where I went to school, and how long I'd been teaching. They were so into it!

Then, while the kiddos were working, I got to walk around, ask questions, make connections, and learn more about each them -- how many siblings do you have? what are your hobbies? how long have you lived in the neighborhood?  Instead of sending these home after we completed them, I held onto them so I could refer back to them during the first few week as I tried to put names and faces with personal details. I've found it really helps to know who likes sports, who loves to travel, who has pets, and who is an only child.  I don't necessarily use these facts all the time, but when I want to write a meaningful word problem or share a great book, I know who I can turn to!

 

Teaching is Hard

We are 4 weeks into the school year.  It hasn't been the easiest four weeks of my teaching career.  In fact, I've been feeling a little like I'm back in my first year when it seemed like a couple of kiddos were running the show.  It didn't seem to matter how much I planned, or how exciting our monthly theme was, or how I set up the classroom, these little guys had other ideas.  During that first year, I didn't have many tools in my toolbox for teaching an ordinary class of 4-year-olds, and even fewer skills to manage the extreme behaviors of a few students.

I hadn't yet read Gartrell's Power of Guidance, or Positive Discipline, or Teach Like a Champion.  I hadn't learned how to practice procedures until we got them right, or how to call kiddos back to the carpet when things go out of hand.  I hadn't figured out that a "teacher look" or a silent signal could refocus students during a lesson.  As a result, I spent most of that year in tears, feeling pretty hopeless about how each day would go.

But it's not my first year -- far from it -- and the difference is tangible as I look around my classroom.  I've set up clear expectations for entering the classroom, transitioning, working with partners, and reading independently.   I've taught the silent signals for "SHINE," "track the speaker," and "wait your turn," so I rarely need to interrupt my instruction for minor misbehavior.  I've created charts to show how I expect the kiddos to keep their seat pockets, book bins, and writing folders neat.

I now have a much larger arsenal of teaching tools, including the experience to know that some years are just like this.  During my first year, when it felt like nothing was going right, my roommate would insist that I find out at least 3 positive things that had happened each day.  I learned to focus on them, articulate them to myself, and try to foster more of them.  I know now that I won't always have to search for the good things, but I also know that there will always be at least a few good things even in the worst days.  The majority of my kiddos are falling into the procedures easily and getting used to the routines of the day, even though I am constantly on my toes to ensure that that the distracting and disruptive behavior of a couple of kiddos doesn't throw off an entire day.  I now know that, beyond a point, another hour of lesson planning at 11pm, or spending another weekend rearranging the classroom yet again, or reading another article on behavior management techniques, won't  "solve everything."

Because teaching is hard. It just is. It's like no other job in the world, and also a little like every job.  As a teacher, I often feel like part doctor, part lawyer, part parent, part police officer, part minister, part manager.  I don't think teaching ever gets "easier," but we become more comfortable with not knowing everything, not doing everything, and not being everything.

Sometimes on my worst days, I still get notes like this: "The Best Day of School"