quote of the day

Spotted this in the hallway of the administration building (trailer) today on my way to the laminator, and it rang very true:

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes it's the quiet voice at the end of the day saying 'I will try again tomorrow.'"

Today was a very happy Monday. The kids were well-behaved (didn't hurt that three of our biggest behavior problems were absent, of course, and that a fourth is finally medicated for his ADHD), I got through my lessons with ease, and I ended the day not feeling frustrated and exhausted. Did they get it--it, today, being rounding to the nearest ten (a second-grade objective) and subtraction with regrouping (a review from last week)? Not all of them--their exit tickets came in right around 60%. But some of them did, and it at least gives me hope that if class is as well-managed as it was today, I can get them there.

Of course, tomorrow could be an entirely different day. But hey, you've got to take the good days when you have them.

random acts of kindness

Lesson learned: ask, and ye shall receive.

A week or so ago, I posted a link on my Facebook page to a wish list for my classroom library. I have 13 kids in my literacy block, ranging in reading level from H (mid first grade) to M (late second grade), and only about 80 or 90 books at those levels total. That's not enough for my class, who would plow through the collection almost entirely in another week or two. So I compiled a list on Amazon of 30 or so books that I would love to have for my library.

I figured a few people would donate. Maybe I'd get 12 books out of it. Best case scenario, I'd get the wish list fulfilled.

Turns out, I should have had higher expectations.

I came home today to a pile of five Amazon boxes. I get to bring about 20 new books to my third graders tomorrow, and I know more are in the mail. Some of them were from the usual, expected suspects (hey, Dad and Grandma, and thank you!). Many were from old friends. Some were from people I barely knew. Each box I opened nearly brought me to tears, seeing that people from all over the country and from all parts of my life cared enough to send a book or two my way.

Today, I reposted the link with a thank-you message to those who had already given. I added some more books to the list, because it was already dwindling closer and closer to zero. A family friend reposted the link. Within an hour, I had a Facebook message from a complete stranger offering to ship me the books her own children had outgrown.

Whenever I have a rough day, I'm constantly buoyed up by family and friends who endlessly remind me how important this work is. Today was not the best day--I lost control of my classroom after my kids finished their social studies test early and I didn't have enough worksheets for them to do to kill 50 minutes of unplanned time. My TFA PD was observing when I had to step between two students threatening to punch each other and talk to them outside, implicitly assuming that she'd do something if more trouble were to brew in the classroom (luckily, it didn't). Only 20% of my students passed their math benchmark exam.

But coming home tonight to a stack of boxes filled with uncreased books brought me new hope. Thank you to those of you who have given. You can expect thank-you notes in the mail soon (I told my literacy block this yesterday, and they immediately demanded to make the cards now, because "phonics is boring." Lesson learned: do not advertise distant fun activities when you need to get through boring ones first.) Shameless plug: if you're inspired to donate, here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/wishlist/14S1VYFM2V5LK/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_ws_c9Tzob1Q88CHZ. And even if you're not, know that you all have inspired me. Thank you.

river running

Pretty much the only "extracurricular" activity I do these days is running. Anybody who knew me in high school will likely believe this; anybody who knew me in college is probably rolling on the floor in laughter right now. In college, when my life was filled with the Crimson and classes and naps and extensive social plans, I never really had the time or energy to pick up and go for a run. But when I arrived in New Orleans, I remember sharing at Induction that one of my goals was to run a half-marathon this year. And I registered for that half marathon on Saturday.

Running--and the handy-dandy training plan I created on runnersworld.com--has been one of the few things keeping me sane over the last month and a half. It's the one solid 30, 45, or 60 minutes of the day where I am not feeling guilty about all the things I could be doing, or insecure about all the things I am doing but not succeeding at. It's the block of time that I can't be reached by phone or email or a child's tugging hand reminding me that once upon a time I promised them a trip to the prize box and by golly, Ms. L, you haven't given me my darn Mickey Mouse pencil. I come home feeling relaxed and like I've accomplished something--a feeling that I need on those really bad days where I often feel like I've just pushed my students backwards.

Today's run was a 5-miler, so I headed over to Audubon Park and ran the long loop, which takes me all the way down to the Mississippi River. It was about 6:50 by the time I got down there, and the sun was slipping down toward the horizon. It was a scene that reminded me of home, as my few runs during college took me up and down the banks of the Charles. And it reminded me that I do have control over some things in my life--like how far and how fast my legs and my lungs will carry me when I lace up my sneakers in the evenings. I can't control how far behind my students are, or how many of my calls home result in them getting physically beaten, or how my school is in a set of FEMA trailers past their expiration date that are broken into a couple of times a week. What I can control is what I prepare for them, how I build relationships with them, how hard I work to fix my own flaws so that I can be the kind of teacher they need. As I ran home today, clocking in under my goal time of an hour for the run, I thought back to how painful the first week of starting that training plan was, when I couldn't even make it around the short loop of Audubon Park without having to stop, wheeze, and try to breathe through a side stitch. I hope every day that a few months from now, I will be able to look back on these first few painful weeks and laugh at how out of shape I was.

roses and thorns

Back in my freshman year at Harvard, my roommate and I used to do Roses and Thorns in our bunk bed before we went to sleep every night. We'd share the best part of our day (the rose) and the thing we wish would have been different (thorn). In that spirit, here are today's roses, thorn, and quote of the day:

Roses: When I walked into the resource room, where the kids who come on the first bus route spend the first half hour of the morning doing iLEAP prep with the principal, at 7:55 this morning, I noticed Jamie, a girl in my second block math class, with her head buried in her hands, sobbing on the table. I pulled her outside to calm her down and see what was wrong. Jamie struggles with all aspects of school--she's reading at a kindergarten level, doesn't really know how to add at all, and often writes letters and numbers backwards. So it wasn't surprising, but was still heartbreaking, to hear her sob about how she wanted to go home because she couldn't do it, didn't know how to do her work. I told her how smart she was and how proud I was that she tried so hard every day, brought her to the bathroom to wash her face, and sent her on her way to homeroom.

When she arrived in math class at 11:30, I made sure to single her out as a team captain for her group during centers. Next thing I know, I'm looking up at Jamie's group--five students who really struggle with math, who are often behavior issues--while they're working independently at the other side of the classroom. I notice that Kyle, a boy who gets easily distracted and likes to distract others, sitting far apart from the rest of the group. "Kyle," I call across the room, "why are you sitting by yourself?" Jamie turns around to talk to me. "Ms. L.," she says, "Kyle was playing, so I moved him." I couldn't help but smile at how seriously she took her role as team captain--but my smile was even bigger when I saw her sit at my table, carefully draw out 24 counters on her piece of paper, and correctly solve a subtraction problem.

remember to breathe

Upon arriving back in New Orleans after a wonderful mini-vacation to Disneyland with my dad and sister, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. I'd never gotten on a plane to go "home" before and not wound up in Boston. All of the reasons why I needed some time away from New Orleans (after a particularly panicked phone call after a bad day two weeks ago, Dad decided I needed some time in the Happiest Place on Earth and booked me a flight to join him and Erin for the weekend) were right in front of me, and I had no imminent trip to look forward to. I nearly burst into tears right there in the terminal.

But then I walked outside onto the parking deck, and the strangest thing happened. I could breathe.

For anybody who hasn't been to South Louisiana in the summer (or really, ever), the humidity here is oppressive and constant. After nearly two months of living here, I'd just started to get used to it. Then I arrived in Anaheim and remembered what it was like to have a sunny day without feeling like you were breathing underwater. So when I came back to New Orleans, I expected that heavy air to greet me, just as it has every morning for the last two months.