An Unexpected Phone Call

An early morning phone call for most  people would bring concern.  For me the call brought delight.  Today, we had our fourth day off in three weeks.  To make it even more relaxing, this weekend we have Friday and Monday off for our mid-winter break.  I can almost feel my blood pressure subsiding as I take the time to do things I’ve put off. 

I admit to regretting not having my students make their Valentine’s card holders earlier, but we’ll get it done.

 I had a delightful day of making soup stock, cleaning the fridge and the joy of listening to some of our son's sermons on line.  I even squeezed in a trip to work to set up a new system for my small reading groups.   I had the time to call the endodontist and pay a bill--before it was even sent!  I even had time to smile at the parents grumbling on Facebook about our school cancellation.  

I didn’t take time, or courage to comment on that!

Frustration!

Four years ago I was placed in a Kindergarten classroom.  It was a whole day, alternate day program and I had over 50 students between my two classes.  Last year I taught Young 5's to one group and Kindergarten to the other.  This year I'm teaching all day Young 5's to just one group of 23.
With double the time and half the students I should feel relaxed.  Nope!
I've tried to learn all I can about writing, after reading the Lucy Calkins Units of Study I wholeheartedly jumped into the workshop.  Each year I've read at least two more books about writing and have tried to learn all I can.  I'm blessed to have a good friend in first grade.  Betsy is a writing teacher extraordinaire and she's so willing to look at anything I need.  I'm not alone. 
This year all Young 5's, Kindergarten and First grade teachers are going to a literacy training program hosted by our intermediate school district.  We've assessed, assessed and assessed.  We've collected data and analyzed data.  And after all this I feel so inadequate.  The program is focused on K and 1st.  We don't really have a young 5s curriculum in our state and the training only addressed our Young 5's questions when we ask and it often feels like they don't know what to say to us.  Maybe that's the root of my problem.
I enjoy teaching writing.  I love helping my students to see they always have a story to tell.  I love seeing them use those new letters and sounds they have learned to make words!  Kids drawing makes me smile.  Why does writing time feel so frustrating? 
Am I pushing Kindergarten down to Young 5's? Am I expecting too much from myself?  Is it report card time and I'm stressed?  Is this the disequilibrium that comes with learning and applying new skills?

Line Leader

Line leader

In my kindergarten classroom I only have one job.  Line Leader!  My students get the glorious privilege of leading the line, holding the flag at pledge, starting the greeting at Morning Meeting and turning the lights on and off when we use the Smart Board. Oh yes, they also get to select the pointer that I will use all day. 

My children only get this glorious honor about 6 times a year.  It amazes me how often my Line Leader has a really rotten day.  Not because they don’t enjoy the prestige, but because they are amazingly naughty!  Today was a good case in point.  O was the leader, and I was nearly ready to put him in a police lineup!  Rude, uncooperative, and just plain defiant.  Why?  I guess I need to think about this a little more. 

New Year--New Rules

In a week full of  unusually sunny winter Michigan days our room began to look like a disco.  When the sun was pouring in the window the room sparkled. Many of my students were proudly wearing their new clothes they got for Christmas.  The girls were glittery and shiny with spangles and rhinestones.  One girl even had silver sequins on her boots!
 We'd been back from vacation for a couple of days when I noticed some inattentiveness and odd movements among my 5 year olds.  I observed and learned they were pulling the sequins and shiny stones off their new clothes to give to friends.    I was starting to see hurt feelings and knew the parents wouldn't be thrilled with their destruction of their new outfits. Phone calls were sure to follow!
At Morning Meeting the next day I was amused to hear myself declare, "if you find or are given a  shiny piece of someone's clothes you must give it to me."  I added, "I will put it in my pocket and throw it away."  Back in September when we'd created our rules I hadn't seen this coming, but the new rule shut down the trafficking in glitter. 
Parental phone calls were averted.

This is Not the Day I'd Planned

“Are you terribly busy today Lori?”, without caller id I would not have recognized my elderly mother-in -law’s voice.  I abandoned my computer, with the half written e-mail confirming my late morning meeting for lunch and thrift shop browsing,  I set down freshly brewed tall mug of tea and ignored my pjs and unshowered hair.  My few remaining days of break suddenly had a different schedule.

“No, what’s up?” From the sound of her voice I knew this couldn’t be good.

“Could you come over and make me some toast?” an unheard of request to the most stubbornly independent woman in the county. 

My mind quickly returned to the ten days she’d spent in the hospital in early December, where time and time again she’d relapsed with the stomach flu.

“Sure, what’s going on?” I wondered if I should call for help.

As she explained her long night of illness I quickly added a line to the e-mail, telling my friend I’d contact her if our plans could continue.  I ran to the bedroom and grabbed jeans and sneakers and the closest top, dressing for sick room, not lunch.

As I drove the 5 rural miles I prayed for skill and kindness as I dealt with an uncomfortable situation.  I have a weak stomach and I anticipated a mess when I arrived. 

When I arrived, Midge’s hands were shaking with weakness; she lay on the couch, with walker and cane close by.  I made her tea, and toasted some bakery bread I’d bought earlier in the week.  As I convinced her to eat half a banana and drink some water I wondered how I’d know if she needed to be hospitalized.

I started the washing machine, stripped the bed and gathered up anything that needed to be washed.  As the washing machine swished and rinsed I reflected, someday I will need help too.  When she finished her breakfast I settled in to chat and fetch anything she might need.

Over the next hours as she napped and began to get stronger I thought of the hard decisions that will need to be made in the future.  After a light lunch she encouraged me to go home and “fix your husband’s lunch.”  I struggled not to laugh, my husband has happily made his own lunch for the 17 years I’ve worked in education.  But years of making her farmer husband’s lunch still are clear in her mind. 

As she began to worry that I had work to do at home I agreed to leave for a few hours, and arranged to stop in the late afternoon to deliver a few groceries and check on her. 

After a late lunch and shopping with my friend, I returned to make a light dinner.  As I refilled her water and laid out a snack for the evening I asked if there was anything else I she needed.  Little did I expect the next request to be the most disgusting and dreaded of the day. 

“I think I caught another mouse, could you check and reset the trap?" 

I felt the blood run from my head.  I loathe mice.  That is one task I always leave to my husband!  If he’s gone on a business trip I throw trap and corpse away.  For a moment I thought about pretending the trap was empty.  I really hate mice!  I never do that task!    But now was not the time to explain this. I took a deep breath, smiled and asnwered,“Sure, where is it?” 

It Shouldn't Be So Difficult

One of my Young 5’s students is struggling.  He came in with very few skills and while he’s grown, it's such a tiny gain he is so far behind the other students.  Rarely a day goes by where he doesn't cry.  I try to strive to build independence, but he doesn't dare try anything without my reassurance or help over his hand. "You help me?" is his frequent request.

 As the half year mark of the year approaches I’m amazed at the growth most of my students have made.  My little friend is not one of them.  He gets every extra program we have in place.  I “play” games on the Smart Board part of playtime to help him learn but he isn’t learning.  He works with a loving volunteer to learn to write his name.  I’ve got him staffed into speech services. He sits next to the kindest students I have.  Yet everything, every game, every project, every transition is difficult.

While I know the process to get him extra help is underway he’s breaking my heart. The holidays and schedules put another month of hardship in front of this little guy.  As last week came to an end he left for the bus in tears, twice.  In both situations I know I did what I needed to do, but I still feel sad he is so overwhelmed.  Even in specials classes he’s in tears. 

Over the weekend I thought of him often, I made another plan of how I was going to try and ease his situation while we wait. Monday morning I stood ready to greet him with a need to make his week a wonderful time.  He was absent.  Now I wonder if I’ve misread the situation Thursday and Friday, was he so emotional because he was getting sick?  Maybe, maybe not.  Today I’m going to greet him at the door with yesterday’s resolve to help him have the day and week he deserves.

Moving Day

Our youngest child recently moved into her first post college apartment.  We knew this moment would come and while we did not look forward to the day, we knew it was a natural, healthy step for her to take.   We prepared for the move when we stored our old furniture this summer so she’d have a usable couch and loveseat for her new home.  The Friday after Thanksgiving my husband loaded his pickup truck with furniture, my car was filled with kitchen supplies and our daughter’s car was full of clothing and bedding.  We drove to the building and made countless trips up to her third floor apartment.  As the afternoon became evening we agreed to wait and move the couch and loveseat the next day.  Our aching legs and arms were ready for a break.

The couch and loveseat while rather worn are still usable and solidly built.  They are overstuffed and we had a difficult time moving them out of our house in July.  They’d been stored at my mom’s house for the past months but we still remembered the struggle we had getting them out our door. 

When we first entered the apartment we worried about the small door size and a pesky wall we’d need to negotiate.  As we measured the door we realized the loveseat might fit through the door but we were certain the couch was not going to fit.  Our daughter fretted that her budget would be broken if she had to purchase new furniture.  I dreaded lugging them to the top of the building to find they wouldn’t fit and the subsequent trip back down those three flights of stairs.

That evening as my husband sat at the computer I heard him laughing.  He was watching videos of people moving furniture, researching how to get a couch into a small space.  As the next day dawned my husband had formed a plan to use ropes to pull the furniture up the side of the building to the balcony and in the large slider in our daughter’s apartment. I was skeptical of the plan. “No good ideas start with a You-Tube search”, I declared as I insisted he call my carpenter/handyman brother-in- law, the crazy laughter of the videos still ringing in my ears. 

When Dan agreed it was a good idea to pull the furniture onto the balcony I was certain it was the most foolhardy idea ever sanctioned by my usually wise brother in law.  I filled my car with the remaining things from Amy’s room and followed my husband to Mom’s to load up the couch and loveseat.  Once we’d flipped the loveseat on top of the couch like an oversized Tetris piece we headed off to pick up Dan, they guy with the rope and brawn for this experiment. 

As I followed the truck I fretted about the likelihood of the furniture falling or a rope breaking, so many calamities I was sure could befall us.  The guys began to drive faster, I saw the loveseat move, and it began to shift.   I watched in horror as the loveseat lifted up.

 I knew they needed more straps! 

Nobody ever listens to me!!!

The loveseat was airborne, and flipped over as it flew off the truck.  Landing on its legs, it slid across the mercifully empty passing lane and came to a rest in the grassy median. 

I sat in my car, speechless as I watched Dan and Wayne pull over, jog back to the loveseat and pick it up.  Amazing, the piece was still intact.  The legs were undamaged, the arms were still attached.  The guys flipped it over re stacked it atop the couch, added several more straps, previously unused, and walked sheepishly back to the truck.

When we arrived at the apartment my inspection revealed one scuff mark on the corner of the loveseat, but it was certainly usable.  Dan quickly formed a slip knot, loped up the stars, and caught the tossed rope.  He quickly pulled the rope hand over hand, within moments the couch and then the love seat were sitting in the third floor apartment.