Finished up parent conferences last night. I love conferences, the deeper glimpse into my student’s lives.  The chance to hear the perspectives of my students and their parents.  It is so elucidating.  

I also love to hear how happy my students are, and they seem pretty darned happy.
They love their classes, and there is a beautiful balance of that.  Most of them have favorite classes, and it’s balanced.  I’m so lucky to teach with passionate, caring, gifted teachers.  The balance of what we bring to our students is an almost ideal.  

I woke up early, the day after conferences, my mind whirling with possibilities.  I’d heard how much students loved language arts, and why.  They loved the freedom of choice.  My teaching partner, Emily, and I have been talking about this.  

Today’s big question had students reading the bullets in my last blog and identifying which statement I’d made about what what Emily and I see on a daily basis that fits them best as a learner. As always, our hope for our big questions is to learn a lot from them.  We did.  You can see some responses here.

One of the best moments was when I walked by a student who was on his writing document. I leaned down and asked him if he’d done the fire-up(opening question) yet. He smiled and said no.  I smiled back at him and directed him to look at my blog.  I told him I could help him with his answer because I already knew it.  I pointed to this bullet:

• Not answering the daily question because they want to write.

He got an even bigger smile and sheepishly maneuvered over to his daily work document to quickly answer the question so he could get back to writing.

As Emily and I dive more deeply into this personalized learning atmosphere, we keep opening up to more and more freedoms.  That student who was “off task” was engaging in something pretty darned important. He was writing.  And this is a student who had never liked to write before he got to choose.

And then another student answered the question briefly, and he began to work on a science project. I asked him why he was working on science.  He got teary and said he needed to get his grade up. This is a student we’ve been helping a lot lately because he’d gotten himself into a hole.

So, I jumped on his document and wrote this:
To student:  So, your answer today should be this:

• Answering the daily question quickly so they can research another topic they care about.  

And your research today is science.  

I gave him permission to do his science work during language arts class.  Why not.  I’m going to mix up that old metaphor.  Give a kid an inch, and he’ll give you a mile.  I watched him after I wrote to him on his document.  He sat staring at his document not working on it and not working on his science.  I walked up to him and quietly asked him what he needed, what I could do to help.  He said, “I’m re-reading all of my work so I can add to it and make it better.”  His tears were long gone, and so was his need to work on science.


So, my reflection is about how we really just need to pay attention to our students’ needs. We have 30+ souls a day in each class.  They all have their lives.  

And we don’t know what they’re going through in their lives.  At best, their lives are full and confusing.  At worst...well, they’re bad.  And every kid is a person who thinks differently, thinks differently from others, and thinks differently from us.  

And every day is different.

What we learned, reading their responses, is what we mostly expected: they are all different and have different needs.  They want to do well, and they want to learn.  

I’m a teacher and an adult. I have one major responsibilty, and that is to help my students with whatever they need, as much as I can.

I believe that letting a student finish their science during language arts is okay, maybe more than okay..  I believe that  letting my second language learner skip the fire-up question so he can write his novel is better than okay.  

As I was circulating around the room today,I watched one of my students on her laptop, scrolling through pictures of cupcakes.  This is my student who bakes every night and brings us all treats daily.  I spoke to her, softly, asking her what she was doing.  She got flustered and switched over to her poetry tab. I waved her off, essentially telling her that I knew what she was doing.  She was exploring her authentic interest.

She was red-faced, embarrased, and I pulled her aside.  I asked her if she had ever considered writing a baking blog.  I watched her face, her mouth opening and closing like a guppy.  She said “I never thought of that.”  She procedeed to brighten and lighten.  Then, she physically jumped.  

Every time I pull a student aside, for any reason, and they get nervous, it makes me sad.  Students should feel like a teacher wants to talk to them for good, not bad.  I watched her friend when I pulled her aside.  Her friend watched on, worried.  I pulled a face at her, and she smiled sheepishly.  But she continued to watch, and when my student went back to her desk, alive with the possibilities of the blog, they whispered together, both smiling, then settling into their own work.  

During conferences the other night, I talked to a student who was worried because he couldn’t settle into writing, though he’d had many ideas and had been excited about them. I told him I had a theory about why he often sat, staring into space.  I asked him if he just couldn’t stop daydreaming.  He admitted that that’s exactly what he was doing. So, I repeated a common mantra.  “Write your thoughts down. Instead of sitting and thinking. Sit and write.”  He liked the idea.  I have said the same words to him many times, but this time he heard them (and listened, or understood, or decided to try it since his mother was sitting next to him….).

He asked me to read what he’d written, to see if he was doing what I suggested...to see if he was doing “okay”.  I read three pages of his hopes, dreams, aspirations, and fears.  It was amazing.  What made it even more amazing was that he shared the document with his family, including his grandparents.  And I read their replies to him, their encouragement, and his response to them.  I got choked up at the beauty of the glimpse into his mind and heart and family.

And that is why I love my job.  I get to be humbled and learn every single day.  

Yesterday, one of my teammates and I approached a student who was making too much noise in the classroom.  She got to him before I did, and I watched her softly talking to him about his behavior and how it affected others.  She reminded me how important it is to stay soft, to be gentle.  I’m so lucky to teach with such amazing peoople who I learn from daily.

And I’ve written this before.  Being surrounded by so much humanity has bouyed me during difficult times, sustained me, and kept me focused on love and learning, not sadness and fear.

Today is the 6th anniversary of our first of three visits to the doctors and the hospital, and tomorrow is the 6th anniversary of when Danny was hospitalized, when we were told he probably wouldn’t survive.

Last night, Danny and I were sharing stories about students.  Good ones, sad ones, amazing humbling ones, and funny ones.  I shared all the ones I’ve shared here.  And then, we both stopped and looked at each other, sharing an understanding.  We both got teary, and we said, almost simultaneously, that our lives are impacted so greatly by the humanity of what we do. And our focus during this difficult, reflective time, has been mostly not on us and what we went through, but on others.  And for that, we are so grateful.  

Gratitude: Pretty much everything. Teaching in an amazing community with fantastic teachers. Neighbors, family, friends.  Danny.


Goal: as my sister-in-law says, “keep looking through the windshield and not the rear-view mirror”.

Happy Holidays!  I've had a lot churning inside for the past few months. As usual, I wrote a few blogs and abandoned them to google heaven. They were too much about the nuts and bolts of pedagogy, and I have realized I need to just speak my heart.

On Friday before break, the faculty played the 8th grade boys in the annual basketball game.  The boys have won once (twice according to some sources who refute a score from 15+ years ago) in the past 22 years. Danny is an amazing athlete, and I love watching him play in this game.  

This year, as I watched him, for the first time in five years, I wasn't afraid.  I wasn't sitting with my knuckles in my mouth, worried someone would elbow him in his fragile frame.  I wasn't worried he'd list to the left and fall.

I watched him play, and I watched what has changed.  He plays once a year, and so he doesn't know how to play defense without his left arm.  He told me the next day how he needs to step to the left so he is defending with his arm.

I'd seen that.  I'd watched him play a game that wasn't his.  

So, instead of being afraid, I sat and watched who he is now.  I had a moment of sadness.
  
I don't do that much.  I was told on February 11th, 2011 that he would die.  I was told that for weeks and months, that he probably wouldn't survive.  So, I have lived in gratitude that he lived.  I haven't thought about what he lost.

But Fridayy morning, watching him play a game with new rules, for the first time, I felt sad for what he lost.

Then, of course, within seconds, I realized the luxury of that thought.  

Danny and I are so fortunate, and we know that.  We have so much.  I'm humbled by him.  When I asked him how the game went, he said he had fun, but that he would have liked to have made that 3-pointer.  That was the first game he's played in that he didn't score.  

And he was okay about that.  And I was more than okay to realize I went from fear to sadness to gratitude.  Yes, he isn't the same physical being.  But how luciky are we?  Everyone changes.  Everyone grows older.  We all must face realities that aren't easy.

But how lucky am I that I'm married to a man who faces life with humility and courage.  

That same day, I opened up dozens of cards from my students.  They were sweet, thoughtful, grateful.  At the end of the day, students were in my room for the afternoon social.  I had six boys, and they said, casually, how great of a basketball player Mr. Cribby was.  They saw what I missed.  They saw him steal the ball, turn it over, grab it, throw it.  They saw all of what he did, what he could do.

Their eyes were wide with respect.  These kids only know Mr. Cribby with one arm.  They saw a great basketball player.  A great role model.

I'll tell Danny about this blog once I post it.  

Be well, everyone.

Gratitude: perspective.
Goals: perspective.

The past few days have been rough. Yesterday, our students were more distracted than they were on Halloween.  Today, so many of my students were upset about the election.  I cannot speak about my beliefs, but it is my job to help my students. It is my responsibility to help them feel safe and cared for.  Some of my students were scared, and they needed comfort.  

It is a fine line, to balance my care for them, my respect for them, with my responsibility to be an adult who is safe no matter what. I cannot say to them I’m excited for the election results or devastated.  I have to meet them where they are and help them feel safe.

Our students were amazing today.  They respected each other and supported each other. I didn’t hear gloating or complaining.  The students who were upset tried to keep it to themselves.  The students who were happy kept it to themselves.

They were what I hope for our country.  They were so mature, reasonable, honest, but discreet when they needed to be.  

I was late for school this morning because I came upon an accident at the end of our road.   The emergency vehicles were there, and I couldn’t get by until the firetruck left the scene.  I saw the car, and it looked really bad. My heart jumped to worry that someone was very hurt.  I texted my teammates that I’d be late, and I drove on.  I pulled over again, realizing that I needed to deal with the anxiety that the scene had instilled. When I got to school, nearly fifteen minutes into our first class, the walls were open for our team time, and our students were all working.  One of my students looked up from her work and said, “Good Morning, Ms. Cribby.”

That simple greeting lifted my heart. I have written about how, when losing our friend, my students help me.  I’ve written this version so many times.  But, how can I not keep writing this truth?  How can I not stop and take note of my gratitude?  

A former student from over twenty years ago posted on my blog today. She found it through social media, and she posted a comment that was sweet, funny, and inspiring.  

The gifts of being a teacher are resplendent.

I love teaching.

As most teachers do, I reflect daily, moment to moment on what I am doing, and what I can do better.  I’m so excited by how technology has transformed learning.  I have stepped back more and more, from being at the center of the room. I am truly a facillitator of instruction, and it’s exciting and elucidating. At first, it was hard to give up the stage, even as little as I was on it.  But now, it’s exciting to see students grapple with problems they identify.

It’s about the process of learning.  It’s not about what I can give them for knowledge.  It’s not about a content I need to cover.  It’s about what they want to learn.  It’s exciting to have students approach me with questions, and most of the time, I ask them if they looked at the resources I gave them, and they didn’t, so they move on, and they fly again.


But, all of that stepping back.  All of that me at the back of the room, literally.  All of that...does not mean I am not relevant. It makes me wonder sometimes, of course.  It’s so new.  It’s not though.  I have always sought to give students choice and to make them find meaning on their own, with my guidance.  I just get to step way further back now.  And it’s exciting.  

But  again, I’m not irrelevant.  I frame their learning, and I give them context, passion, choice and voice.  And I am their teacher, and I try so hard to keep them safe so that they can risk and grow.  And our conversations are real.

Gratitude: being upheld to be my best because I am a teacher.
Goal: making sure all the people in my life know my gratitude for what they give me.

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I was talking to a district teacher coach the other day, and I made the statement that I work less because of technology.  Of course, it’s more that I work better, but that’s a cliche I’d like to flesh out.  The procedures I can put into place in the classroom because of technology allow me to streamline how I give feedback to students.

Instead of lugging a stack of papers from school to home and back again (we commonly call that giving our papers a ride or a field trip), I can give students feedback in real time.

Instead of writing a bunch of feedback on a paper, I can give students an almost infinite amount of support in the form of exemplars, student collaboration, online research, exemplars, exemplars, exemplars.

Instead of teaching the whole class the same thing at the same time, I can give them access to support from exemplars, student collaboration, online tutorials, and online programs that let them proceed through concepts at their own pace.

Those are a few quick examples of the exchange of the “work smarter not harder,” but the essence of this comes in the form of how these proccesses allow for students to self-evaluate constantly, for me to step back further and further from the teacher as center, and for students to own their own learning.  Ironically, the most I ever read about this is for teacher reflection, like this recent Edutopia post, not student.  This is a great article, but why aren’t we applying this to student learning?

I feel more empowered, in that further stepping back, to step back completely.  I am truly a facillitator.  The tools I’m discovering to improve that practice are frankly, within my own imagination.  

I’ve always taught a workshop, student choice, student-driven classroom, but until a one-to-one device ratio, I have not felt the ability to make this possible for all learners to stretch and grow to their full desire.

I’m able to meet them where they are, and they can take themselves wherever they want to go.

This is an odd place for a caveat, close to the end of this blog entry, but here I go.  I don’t know how useful this blog is for anyone.  It’s philosophy verging on cliches and platitudes.  But, it’s why I need to blog.  

When I started this blog (the blog site, not this entry), I was almost physically shaking with my excitement for what techology was allowing me to finally be able to do.  It wasn’t about “wow, how cool is this,” or “wow, this makes this easier.” I was never interested in this app or that app.  I was excited about what students could do on their own.   It was about the limitless possibilites for students to learn their passions, interests and fly.  

Since the time I started this blogsite, I have settled into a routine of class procedures that are efficient and effective, and I’ve been happy in a relative plateau.

Now, with my new 6th graders coming in, I’m shaking again.  I’m starting over with a group, and the possiblities are blowing further open, and my brain is storming with ideas.  I can barely attend to a moment because I’m reaching into possibilities.  

I started this blog with how I’m working not as hard.  I think, if I were to sum it up without a cliche, I’d say I’m working funner.  

It’s way more fun to meet students in the moment of their work, chatting in real time, on their documents or in person.  It’s way more fun to pop onto their Google Doc and ask a question and have them answer it immediately.

And it’s exciting to push them every time they make a statement.  And they have to answer that question, that probe, because it’s a living document, not a piece of paper with a grade stamped on it.

And it’s exhilirating when they realize that they’re discovering things about themselves and the world.

I am loving teaching now, more than ever.  I engage with students more frequently and with more depth.  

My husband, who teaches science, told me the other day that he has been loving teaching science so much more lately.  He said, “I feel like I get to do that workshop thing with science.”


So, he thinks it’s funner too.

Goal:  everyone gets that that whole “funner” thing was on purpose.  I also would like to add some student exemplars to this blog.  And..a side goal to my students who read this blog: I’ll try to make the next one funner.


Gratitude: I get to teach where I do, when I do, and with the people I do.  ​

Everytime someone comments on how long Danny and I have been together, Danny likes to say: “long time to be towing the anchor”.  He likes to say a lot of things like that.  I think it’s funny.  I think he’s always funny.


We just got back from our annual summer trip to Maine the other day, and I’m exhausted.  I spent yesterday snuggling with our cats.  Our older orange tabby kept meowing at me all night when we returned, and all he wanted was to snuggle.  So, I slept in and snuggled.  Then, I took a bath and went back to bed to nap and snuggle with the cats.

I was interrupted a few times because Danny found a new building project, and I had to hold some boards.  I had to hold more boards today.  In the two days since we came home, I guess I did a few things. I did all of our laundry.  I did some cooking, reading, writing, and I also held some boards.  

Danny designed a new cabinet, cut boards, started the new shelves, made a few trips to get mulch in Boulder, did some weed-wacking, mowing, watering, dishes, litter boxes...I could go on.


We love our lives. He jokes about towing the anchor, and, frankly, sometimes, I think he is.  But he doesn’t mean a word of it.  He loves to work, and he hates to have help.  He hates that he has to ask me to hold a board, though he’s gotten better at that.  He thanks me for my patience when I help him with his building projects.  

I thank him for his patience with me and my desire to read on the couch and snuggle with cats.  

Tomorrow is our 31rst wedding anniversary.  I asked Danny today what he wanted to do.  He looked at me, then smiled.  “Oh, that’s tomorrow.”  I know what he wants to do.  He wants to keep working on his new project.  

We’ll go to dinner later. Or, I’ll make some dinner and run to town for some champagne.

He’s not towing an anchor, and he did not forget our anniversary.   

I don’t want dinner.  I don’t want flowers. I want what I have: Danny playing cribbage with my father every day while we were in Maine, listening to the stories he’s heard for 35 years, Danny driving us around Maine to see people, Danny taking care of the plants in my writing studio he built me, Danny kissing me on the cheek every morning, while I slumber, after he’s made the coffee, watered our garden and deck flowers, and fed the birds.  


I am lucky.


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