Slices of Stacy

Breakafull, like my heart

The very first blog entry I ever read was this one at Real Live Preacher.  My husband sent me the link and even though Sweet Pea was only a few months old when I read it, I understood exactly what he meant. 

Sweet Pea has had several phonological mishaps that became part of our daily language.  Sadly we watched as one by one, they all drifted away.  When singing the ABC's, she no longer says "q r Rex, t u v..." and if the dog could understand, I'll bet his feelings would be hurt.  She figured out that the expression is "Stop copying me" instead of "Stop coffeeing me."  Little things like that.  Today I needed to go to Caribou and was sad to discover that she no longer calls it 'Collegebou' since that's where I do a good deal of studying.  In fact, we're down to our last one, "breakafull", which means anything that, if dropped, will shatter into two or more pieces.  I'm waiting on pins and needles because one day she's going to realize that the word is actually "breakable" and then that sound you hear will be my heart.

Isn't it enough that she's already moved past individual letter sounds to sight words?  Isn't it enough that we've started to buy her size 7/8 clothes?  Every single day a little bit more of my baby slips away. 

And you people wonder why I drink.

Blog whoring

Technorati, baby. Technorati Profile

And BlogRush because Sarah said so. 

AND I finally fixed a couple of old links (sorry, Beth) and added Sarah.  Because next time she'll fly through Atlanta and we'll have beer(s).

*AND I've been fucking around with my blog for almost two hours instead of doing homework.  I need to be in bed by midnight so I now have 59 minutes to write two lesson plans, six running records and a long drawn-out reflection on my own fabulousness.

One small boy

His shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs when I picked the kids up from Art.  His eyes were filled with tears he was trying desperately not to let his friends see, but it was too late.  The other boys were quick to tell me that he was crying.  I asked him what was wrong and he said that he'd forgotten to clean his room and when he got home he was going to get a whipping.  He meant it.

I'd already been warned about his grandmother.  Former military, she'd been forced to take him in when her daughter flaked on her parental responsibilities.  At the orientation she'd been quick to tell the teacher that she believed in corporal punishment and that if her grandson didn't perform up to standards he'd "get his butt whupped but good" at home.  In Georgia it is legal to use a belt to punish your children as long as you don't leave a bruise or a 'significant welt.'

My first week in the classroom, he was the class's 'Soaring Eagle.'  I marveled at his work ethic and good behavior.  The teacher advised me that he was afraid to be anything other than perfect.  She related the story of the orientation meeting and told me that the one time she had made the boy move his clip to yellow (green-yellow-red behavior system) he'd reacted the same way he was reacting today: he was actually afraid to go home.

Now we were standing in the hall outside the Art room.  The Art teacher, not aware of the background, was giving him strategies on how to tackle his room.  I put my arm around the boy's shoulders as we walked back toward our classroom.  His shoulders heaved under my arm and I tried to figure out what to say.  He looked up at me helplessly and I leaned down to speak softly into his ear. 

I said, "I think you are a terrific kid.  Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I am thinking about you, okay?  I know that you're smart and special and I care about you just the way you are."

He nodded, still looking miserable.  My words weren't enough and we both knew it.  And then he got his book bag and, when the bell rang, he got in line to get on the bus.  And I got my things together and I went home. 

And I haven't stopped thinking about him since.

In which the author demands a cigarette afterwards

Food porn.

iHappy

I'm writing this while listening to my BRAND NEW 80 GIG IPOD.

Which I have because my Math professor tapes us every week and puts the videos up to be watched.  We need something to watch them with, so he talked the Tech Center folks into loaning everyone in our class an 80 Gig iPod.

Naturally, the moment I got it, I opened it up, photographed it with my Razr and sent it to DJ. 

Naturally, he wanted to know why the hell I needed an iPod for math class.

Naturally, I responded, "Who gives a rat's ass?  I HAVE AN 80 GIG IPOD UNTIL DECEMBER 3!"

School vs. School

Once again this semester, we're faced with the dichotomy between what we're learning about how to teach and what we're seeing in the schools.

I spend two days a week at the university being confronted and challenged with new ideas in education.  There is definitely a strong constructivism wave coming through.  I leave my classes exhausted and thrilled at the thoughts racing through my brain, ideas on how to engage my students and make them love to learn.  I am overwhelmed by the thought of all the planning and forethought that goes into this type of teaching and I wonder if I'm in the right field.

Then I spend two days in the public schools.

The school I'm at right now is considered the best elementary school in our county, based on their test scores.  I understand why the scores are so high: everything is scripted.  Everything.  Every single program is preplanned with endless worksheets for the kids to fill out.  I've been there for four days and have yet to see an original lesson.  They have made 'teaching to the test' an art form.

It's paying off for them, too: the kids are doing very well on the standardized tests, which is how the school is judged.  The school gets all sorts of mad props and the kids can read and write.  They just don't know how to ask questions, or wonder.  There's no room here for intellectual curiosity.  Fill out this worksheet, sit still, no talking, when you're finished read your AR books silently.  When you're finished with your AR book, take the computerized test and when it tells me you're ready, I'll let you start getting books from the library that have a different color dot on the spine.

My challenge, then, will be to figure out how to blend the two.  How do I help my school reach their AYP (Adequate Yearly Progress) that it needs to keep its funding while also teaching my students to keep reaching for more, to keep wondering, to keep pushing?  How do I reconcile the constructivist "unbolt the chairs from the floor" viewpoint that would actually engage the kids' interest and stimulate the curiosity (possibly even of those "low performers") with the monstrous system of checks and balances that's already in place?

"Do it, a**hole!"

So it's 12:30am on Saturday night.  I'm up making potato salad -- and no, that's not a euphemism for anything else.  I'm making potato salad.

While the potatoes finish cooking, I watched a few minutes of Saturday Night Live and just saw something pretty goddamn funny.  They did a Dora the Explorer spoof and anyone with a child under the age of 6 will get a laugh.  Surely someone will put it on YouTube tonight.  Go find it.  It's called 'Maraka'. 

Go NOW and watch it.

Why are you still here?  GO to YouTube and search 'Maraka'!  Jesus.  You people.

Dear Pete:

For what it's worth, I know I can't edit worth a damn.  See, I get started on an entry and then about three paragraphs into it I go back and reread what I've written.  I do some spot editing then: verb tense irregularities, obvious misspellings and the like.  Then I keep writing and I try to come up with a pithy ending.  Then I reread again.  Then I try to finish again.  Pretty soon it's been one long damn circle and I end up just thinking "Fuck it, dude," and hitting 'Publish.'

Deal with it.

Love,

Stacy

P.S.:  Are the phones broken in New York?