You have to let them spill the food

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.


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"If you want your child to learn to take his dishes to the sink after eating, 

you have to expect him to drop the plate, spill the milk, and slop the food, first."

Not sure this is the precise quote.
Not even sure who provided me this wisdom.
However, I find it profound.

This is how one becomes more competent - by making mistakes. I know this.

For me, it is the trickiest part of being a lead teacher, working alongside a beginning teacher. Mid-year, under our "gradual release" plan, my beginning teacher is taking the lead almost two full days a week - leading the children to and from the classroom, reading books aloud, planning centers activities and small groups, resolving children's conflicts, and more.

I am stepping back, as best I can,
reminding myself that

she's going to drop the plate,

and that's okay.

Think of all the 'rookie' mistakes we do as beginning teachers, learning to lead a class:

• doggedly follow lesson plans rather than shifting to meet what the student needs;
• under-plan lessons, and unsure what to do to fill the bonus time that remains;
• take a bathroom break even though a small crisis is brewing in the classroom; 
• gather materials for a lesson after the lesson has begun;
• begin reading a book before all the children are paying attention;
• become focused on one child at the expense of many others;
• lead lines down the hall and to the playground, oblivious to what is happening at the end of the line;
• talk at students rather than converse with students;
• miss opportunities to instigate children's engagement;
• unable or uncertain as to how to move away from one part of room in order to meet some unexpected need in another part of the room;
• solve children's conflicts for them rather than coach the children to listen to one another and resolve the issue themselves;
• become hyper-focused on all the negative behaviors that children are doing;
• get defensive when more is expected, because it feels as if you are already doing so much.

As lead teacher,
it is essential to see each of these (and many more) as the 'rookie' mistakes that they are,

with no malevolence intended.

I spend a lot of time trying to identify those 'chunks' that went well, to help her build on these. I remind myself that she simply cannot see the full picture yet, and, in time, she will.

It is important to let go, let mistakes happen, watch things fall apart, and trust that they can be put back together again.

It would definitely be easier to do it myself - but that is not the point, is it?

This is a huge challenge for me, staying patient as I coach the beginning teacher through these teachable moments. I want to be the calm voice that says, 

"I see you tried....next, you will...."

It is a work in progress.

How to do everything at once?

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.


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This is my fifth year of working alongside a beginning teacher, a "Teaching Resident." I see how hard it is for a beginning teacher to do two essential things at once -
engage children and
extend their learning. 

With both practice and planning, each of these essentials can be accomplished separately  -

Engage! Yes, I will create this interesting, vibrant lesson and encourage children to attend

or

Extend! Yes, I will have the children think about . . . and  I will ask them . . .

However,
ideally,
teachers accomplish both engagement and extension of learning

at the same time,
simultaneously,
as one.

I am more and more convinced that only
time and experience as a lead teacher
will allow this to happen.

Only time in the "hot seat,"
responsible for each individual child in your classroom,
provides the perspective,
the understanding,
the realization
of how to make everything happen at once.

Gathering children for an exciting project,
enticing new faces to join in the fun,
stroking their curiosity,
heightening their awareness,

daring to go deep with those who need,
all the while,
helping the wiggly one to focus,
drawing in those on the sidelines,
stretching their understanding,
questioning children in just the right way,
considering new tangents,
noticing their learning,
knowing whether to hold back or provide more,
all the while,
being aware of the class as a whole . . .

Until you are responsible for your own classroom,
I suspect this is an elusive art.

Tuesday SOL How much can you change?

This is a Tuesday Slice of Life for Two Writing Teachers. 

Check out their website for many more reflections on teaching.

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My Teaching Resident worked with a small group of students to race cars in the hallway today, using this profound interest of theirs to cultivate curiosity and understanding about measuring distance.  This lesson was my idea, and one that was unsettling to her.  Her own educational experience has been far more traditional - teacher-led instruction, much memorization of facts, working at tables. This idea - learning math by racing cars? - was a huge, amazing step for her. 

I have been searching for ways for her to more fully experience children driving their own learning. (No pun intended! Well, maybe it was.)

She watches/observes me, but, ultimately, the best learning is experiential - "letting go" in a lesson of your own.

Her mentor observed as she worked, giving her feedback in between small groups…there was no need for me to be there, too.

I was able to get a small glimpse from my classroom window that peeks into the hallway:

I was so tempted to be out there with them,
to hear the children's enthusiasm,
to see their engagement,
to watch the fun. 

A teacher friend says her principal insists "Don't expect any radical changes - one's teaching style can only be changed about ten percent in any given year… and that's when the teacher has a strong desire to make the change."

I wonder about change.

How much can you change your very instincts?

How can you do something that is so different from how you yourself learned? 

How do you find the courage to attempt something all new?

I suspect my Teaching Resident is often in a state of disequilibrium.

I am watching her change so, so, so much more than ten percent.

Today, I saw a huge smile come over her face,
seeing children race down the hall after their cars,
intent on measuring how far the vehicles had gone.

Here's the note that she shared with families about the experience:

The Big Cats tested cars to see which ones could go the furthest. Children were introduced to the concept of measurement and comparison from this activity. Once the car raced down the ramp and stopped, children used a piece of tape to mark where the car stopped and compared the distance with each other to see which car went further. Also, we talked about how we could adjust the 'slope' of the ramp to make the car go even further. We used different types of measurements including yardsticks and big blocks to measure the distance. The Big Cats practiced counting, measuring, and following directions.

It is extraordinary to watch her metamorphosis.

SOLSC #5: How to give the right guidance?

Each day during March, I am participating in the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOLSC). All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for thirty-one days. My slices will be primarily about teaching preschoolers. Check out the Two Writing Teachers  website for lots more reflections on teaching. Thanks especially to Stacey, Tara, Anna, Beth, Dana, and Betsy for hosting this writing challenge. 

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Each teaching day for the past four years, I have worked alongside a Teaching Resident, a beginning, novice teacher, who will lead her own class in D.C. public schools the following year. It is exciting and challenging work, as I try to guide a new teacher in the midst of working with young children. 

For me, there is almost a constant tension between "the way I'd like things to be" and the daily reality of "why are you doing that? have I explained and demonstrated the need to do otherwise? shown you the why behind what I'd like?"  

How many things do I 'swallow,' do I keep to myself, as I - on the fly, in the midst of the cacophony of the teaching classroom - try to discern what is the most important thing to say out loud? I don't want to overwhelm my Teaching Resident with all my thoughts! (Save that for the blog, right?) She is doing a very good job; she is very much on the right trajectory, as the year progresses and she begins to take on more responsibility. But, my thoughts are always whirling...wondering what is the right feedback to give at this particular time. Here is just one small example.

Our Teaching Residents are working on their master degrees, going to school in the evenings while teaching by day. It is a rigorous year, with unending demands. As one part of her grad work, my Teaching Resident was videotaping herself delivering a sample lesson. She decided to work with a small group in our early childhood library - a space just outside our classroom. 

[My swallow: Why do our teaching programs expect such static, sterile sample lessons? When does a preschool teacher ever get to work with a group of four students only? How realistic is that? If I were watching that videotape, I'd be much more interested in what is happening in the rest of the room while the teacher is focused on four children!]

She had planned a lesson on sorting, using our beloved found objects...preschoolers would sort them by size, color, material. 

Here, I spoke up, complimenting her on this lesson idea - "I know the children are going to enjoy exploring this with you; this is work we know they love - so many great, hands-on materials."

This is authentic work for our class; the children have built this collection themselves, bringing in these inconsequential objects from their homes. (We have an ever-growing supply of these materials - I see the beginnings of a materials library!) It is so awesome that she chose to extend our exploration of these objects through her small group work.

Then she called select students to do the work. 

(My swallow: Does she realize that she will not be able to hand select children in her class next year? You are teaching every child, not just the ones who behave in the way you can handle best. )

She left the room with the small group. Out of sight, out of mind, to some extent...though I really wanted to be a fly on the wall out there, hearing her teach. 

When she finished the lesson, she seemed frustrated that the taping didn't go as well as she had hoped. She said one preschooler was very difficult, that she kept saying, "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be out here. I am missing my Mommy."

My mind races with swallowed feedback, a rush, a torment of questions:

What do we know about how children learn best?

Why was she so sad? 

How might she be soothed, in the midst of your teaching?

How do young children respond to being taken out of their routine, out of what they normally do?

What kind of control or choice did the children have in this learning?

What were her needs? 

Were they being met?

What do we know about how children learn best?

How might you have set up this same work in the midst of our classroom, as an exploratory center, for children to choose of their own liking?

How might you have made the lesson more palatable? 

How might you have engaged her?

What do we know about how children learn best?

But there is no time to say all this. It is time to clean up, to line up, to head to the playground. We can only speak to one another in passing, as we continue with our day. I decided to say the piece that keeps repeating in my head. I say simply,

"I hope that you will find time to reflect on the lesson for this one student, how and why it wasn't a successful experience for her. What do we know about how children learn best?"

Gnawing thoughts continue - will she take the time to reflect? In the midst of the rigor of working in this classroom, going to grad school, applying for a teaching position for next year, will she ever have the mental space to think about this? How can I help her see how essential it is to think about this? 

Unbelievably, a day later, I continue to have this gnawing feeling that I haven't coached her well enough, that I haven't 'gotten through to her,' that she doesn't understand me fully.

I remind myself to breathe in, breathe out.

This I know for sure -

my Teaching Resident,
just like any young child,
will learn as she goes, as she grows, 

through cause and effect, 

through failure and success, 

through reflection.
She has learned so much already, and
in time, with time,
she will understand, do, and learn more.

Maybe she will challenge herself to do the same project inside the classroom next,
in the midst of the whirling energy of preschoolers.

Maybe she won't.

Rest assured,
she will learn as she goes, as she grows.

I am not her only teacher.
I am not her last stop.

What do we know about how children learn best?

What do we know about how teachers learn best?

Tuesday SOL Exploring the light tunnel

The Two Writing Teachers March Challenge has ended but the weekly Tuesday "Slice of Life" begins! Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.
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At Gathering, Melissa re-introduced the tunnel - one section now with special lights! The children were so, so, so excited about this - jumping up and down, hardly believing that this was theirs to play in. Melissa explained that she would work with a small group, just a few at a time...reminding the children that a cardboard tunnel would need to be used with great care.


I worked peripherally, at another center -
stencils, pastels, and watercolors.




However,
I found it impossible not to
observe,
listen,
take notes...

This fun, playful tunnel became a experiential way to learn how
to move carefully and respectfully, one by one,
to wait for one's turn,
to not push one's way into front,
to allow others an opportunity to do something you want to do,
to take turns,
i.e., to share.

  







I hear Melissa,

"One at a time,"
"Follow the arrows."
"No, it's the other way."
"Remember, you are crawling through."
"You need to take a break and remember how you let those in front of you go first."
"Who's in front of you?"
"Yes, you are next."

Melissa joked with me at one point - "They almost look like little hamsters going round and round and round. Hopefully for nap, they'll be out!"

Well, naptime was pretty much the same as always...but, certainly, the morning exploration of the light tunnel was awesome fun!

SOLSC #17 Observing teachers

I am posting every day during March as part of the annual "Slice of Life" Challenge for Two Writing Teachers.  Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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Here we go again, another snow day here in the Washington, D.C. area. I've lost track of how many days off we have had this year. I can't remember when we've had a full week of school, five days without something breaking it up -
professional days, holidays, snow days. It has been an unsettled year.

My spring observation was supposed to be this morning -
9:15 a.m., 45 minutes,
observing me in whole group and small group.

We are evaluated by "CLASS" and the observer is noting:

• the overall climate in the room, whether there is positive communication and respect between children, children and teachers, and teachers themselves;
• teacher's sensitivity, awareness, responsiveness to students and issues in the classroom;
• is there regard for student perspectives, student expression and individuality supported?
• what is the behavior management, is there proactive and redirection of misbehavior? 
• overall "productivity" - whether the teacher is prepared, are there clear routines, do children know what they are to do?
• the instruction - are there varied modalities, clear learning objectives, and student interest?
• and how rich is the teaching itself? Does the teacher develop concepts, give feedback, ask open-ended questions, use advanced language?

I consider myself lucky that I work for a school where these formal observations aren't surprises. Certainly, there are surprise appearances by people, pretty much every day - anyone can walk in at any time, all the time, and observe. Our doors are always open. But the graded appraisal is taken with advanced warning - the teacher knows when the evaluator is coming and you can plan lessons to support your best teaching self.

In most DC public schools, these evaluations are not scheduled in advance - on any given day, your evaluator can walk in and begin assessing your teaching. I fail my Teaching Resident in my inability to speak to how to prepare for these. I often wonder what other professional fields have surprise observations. Do supervisors walk in on doctors and evaluate how well they are doing? How is their bedside manner? How long are patients waiting? There is something about this element of surprise - kind of a 'gotcha!' - that seems demeaning to me, demeaning to teachers, makes it seem less a respected profession.

And, yet, conversely, why not have surprise observations? Every day is fodder for an observation! No two days are identical and yet all have common threads. I'm prepared. I'm ready to be in the presence of children. I am happy and welcoming to the children in my classroom.  I am ready to build on what we have been doing.

So, the snow day gives me another day to think. Another day to get ready. When the children come to school tomorrow, it will have been five days since we have seen each other.

I'm ready to spend time with my preschoolers again!

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(A daily share by preschoolers in their own words)

A Story Collage by Julian

     My Mommy went to the coop and then the monster truck was right behind Mommy and he got mean to Mommy and a rainstorm came all the way down to the clouds and it went “shhhhhhhh!” and it scared the monster away. The monster said “Rahhh!” And the dragon is over here, next to the big cloud and the rainstorm is coming down at the monster, big giant truck. Then the big house fall onto the coop and Mommy hurt herself. And then a monster with a big horn bicycle. The End

SOLSC #15 Mindfulness Conference

I am posting every day during March as part of the annual "Slice of Life" Challenge for Two Writing Teachers.  Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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Beware the Ides of March!
(I always say this on March 15th.)

I am not fearing today! I am attending a Mindfulness in Education Network Conference at American University this weekend - yesterday, today, and tomorrow. After day one, I can report - it is awesome! Obviously, no real time to process it all just yet...but I'd love to share some of my notes and get you thinking, too.

Yesterday's sessions were run by Parker Palmer's Center for Courage and Renewal. The umbrella title for the day was "Courageous Schools: Teaching and Leading in Tough Times." There were many provocative discussions.

They shared Parker Palmer's five essential habits of the heart:

1. An understanding that we are all in this together.
2. An appreciation of the value of "otherness."
3. An ability to hold tension in life-giving ways.
4. A sense of personal voice and agency.
5. A capacity to create community.

Are these true in your classroom? With colleagues? With families? In the whole school community?

How do you build the muscle for dialogue and problem-solving?

What makes it possible to see the gifts of students, teachers, colleagues, parents, other? And what makes it hard?

Can we take different perspectives? How can I get your perspective?

In what ways do we, and can we, model in our community of colleagues what we are expecting of and hoping for students in the classroom?

So much to think about! Gotta get over to Day 2 now!

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A Story Collage by Ian

     Once upon a time, there was a house. And lived, a metro station over the tracks.  And a monkey! Then I knocked down the metro station. And the monkeys eat you up! The End

SOLSC #6 The Read-Aloud

I am posting every day during March as part of the annual "Slice of Life" Challenge for Two Writing Teachers.  Check out their website for lots more reflections on teaching.

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Beginning in March, and continuing the remainder of the school year, the Resident Teacher begins to have more "chunks of the day" to call her own - times when I am placed firmly into the observer role. We have a fancy name for this transition period - "release of responsibility."

I think I will call it "the catbird seat." I find it delightful.

I love being able to be in the background, watching and supporting. I love being with the kids, seeing the classroom from their point of few, feeling their emotions. They are so, so funny!

My catbird seat for the read-aloud means
I am nestled on the floor,
amongst the children,
at least one child on my lap,
others cuddled at my sides.

The picture book read-aloud is always a feat for a new teacher - learning to hold the book wide open and comfortably static, so that everyone can see. She provides a gentle reminder at the outset, "Move your bodies so that you may see the book that I am holding up right here."

A huddle of children is sitting down,
as close to the teacher's knees as they can possibly get.
There are a couple are laying down, on the fringe of the mass,
plus one is behind the chair that the teacher is reading from...
There's one sitting with her back to the book, watching the lunches being set out on the tables,
two are facing each other, quietly talking, ignoring the teacher,
and one seems to be fixated on the stuffed animal in her lap, also ignoring the teacher.

But I'm not fooled.
These little ones are simply getting ready for the exciting book.

I smile, thinking that this relaxed atmosphere wouldn't fly at many public preschools today. I mentored a teacher a few years ago whose school expected her to have a room full of preschoolers sitting cross-legged and quiet, eyes on the teacher...any departure from this strict position, and the child was sent to the "sit and think" chair. I don't think I will ever fully understand the point of these restrictions. Goodness, have you watched adults settle down in a movie theater to watch a film? We're all over the place - checking phones, repositioning ourselves in chairs, whispering and giggling. I believe the teacher's job is to set the simple expectation of respecting one another [be good listeners, protect each other's space/body] and have faith that children will 'settle in' if the book is worthwhile.

Our book read-alouds have the expectant air of a new theater release, with everyone joyfully gathering.

She begins to read the book and,
as if on cue,
hands fly up into the air with burning questions and comments,
I have something to say!, 
I have a question! 

When a preschooler wants to be heard,
they can't resist perching on their feet,

Our most recent "theater release"

getting up on one knee,
jumping up with hand in the air,
gesticulating wildly.

There's a domino effect,
one preschooler playing off another.
The one who was laying down,
the one who had her back turned,
the one who I thought was nestled in my lap,
well,
they are all on their feet,
too excited to sit back.

They are right on top of one another,
desperate to see and be heard.

And those whose view is now being blocked cannot contain themselves either -
"I CAN'T SEE! I CAN'T SEE! IT'S YOU!! I CAN'T SEE!"

(Then there's the one keen observer who takes note of the classmate who has scooched onto his knees, and immediately bellows an indignant "I CAN'T SEE!" even though this keen observer is positioned to the side or in front of the classmate on his knees, by no means with an impaired view of the book. This child is the parliamentarian of the class, the keeper of the rules.)

When the teacher hesitates for a mere moment in calling out someone's name to give a comment,
then, another child just speaks LOUDER, more rapidly.

Everyone is spirited now,
just wanting to be part of the animated conversation,
by contributing a new thought,
so echoing their classmates words - what was just said a moment ago - verbatim,
or simply raising their hands,
belonging.

Back and forth,
lots of animated discussion,
a gentle reminder by the teacher when the talking seems excessive -
"Remember our class rule - never what?"
"NEVER INTERRUPT A GOOD BOOK!" they shout, completing her sentence.

"Let's settle in."

But the very next page of the book
provokes another burning question,
which, of course, means a preschooler has jumped back up on his feet, and...
well, you get the idea...

In the catbird seat,
all of this makes me chuckle.

Maybe a lively read-aloud means you've read the best book in the world - engaged them to the max?
There is no doubt in my mind that these preschoolers love books!
We are cultivating readers.

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(A daily share by a preschooler, in their own words)

A Story Collage by Caroline

Puddles. Two boys were jumping in a red puddle. And then Mommy said it was time to go in for lunch. “Coming, Mommy!” And then the Mommy says, “You can go play where you want to play, but come back inside when it is time for dinner.” “Okay!” Then the boys heard a scary noise. Then they went heard another noise and it went “Grrr! Grrr!” That was the bear. The boys picked out a big long pencil and shocked the bear but it didn’t hurt. And then they went to chase a butterfly. Then they wanted to fly like an owl but they didn’t have wings, so they began to climb up the tree house and play with the owl. Then it was time for naptime and they came back inside. But they really wanted to shock the bear again but the bear went back to its cave.  But then Mommy said “Naptime’s over.” But then Mommy said, “There might be a really big puddle outside.” They went outside and there was a really big puddle and they jumped and jumped and jumped. The bear said “Who’s jumping in my big hat puddle?” And then they ran and ran back inside. Then the Mommy said, “Do you want to chase another butterfly?” And they said “Yeah!” and they chased another butterfly. And then the butterfly saw that pencil and it ate and ate and ate. The End