Blog Posts

I'm not quite ready to end this school year

5/17/2017

I’m almost done with school. Smackah, track, documentation of goals, a huge round of feedback to students (and so many other things) have finally rounded a bend, and I can actually choose what to do next. I can choose what is important and not urgent. I was on my computer, chatting with students online about their work today, and I looked up.

I immediately made eye-contact with a student and we smiled at each other.

I watched my students. I watched them all focused on crafting their weekly emails, and I watched them quietly talk, point to their screens, smiling. I circulated the room and saw how engrossed they were in their emails, where they were telling their parents (and extended family for many) about their work and learning in all classes. They were uploading links to their work. I clicked open their documents and the links to their final projects.

Almost every student reflected that they loved writing. Almost every student said that first.

I’m not ready for the end of the year. Oh, I’m ready to sleep in, and I’m ready to choose each and every moment of my day, but I’m really not ready to be done. I’m tired and overwhelmed, but I’m not pushed to my limit. I’m still peddling faster than I’m going forward, but I’m still good with peddling.

For weeks, people have been asking me if I’m ready for the end of the year, and I am always so uncomfortable with that question. I’ve been all-out for months with teaching, track, and Smackah. I’ve been behind in just about everything (feedback and grading for students, emails, laundry, cleaning, calling my parents, texting my brother and sister, helping out my team and grade level, feeding the cats (kidding)). But that just makes me less than ready to be done. I want to settle back in to a relatively normal school life, where I can enjoy moments.

I’m exhuasted, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be done with the school year. Oh, I’ll get used to it once school is done for the year, but I’m never ready to end the school year.

I also feel awkward when teachers pass by me and say, “Hey, it’s almost Friday.”
I also feel awkward when people gripe about Mondays (well, except I do simply because I don’t know how to get out of bed in the morning and get myself going:).

I love my job, so I don’t look for the weekend and again, I enjoy it once it comes, but I don’t wait all week for it. And I don’t hate Mondays.

And I don’t need the end of the year. Well, I do. I’ll decompress and re-energize, and it will be so good and so needed. But I don’t see that through the trees.

When I looked up today, finally, at my students, not at their words on their documents, and their pictures on my screen, I realized I needed some real time with them again. We’ve all been so busy working, we’re not interacting in a relaxed, human way. So, I will spend as much time as I can this last week to see their faces as they work, as they interact with their peers.

It is gratifying, in a way, to realize how seriously my students take their work. To realize how the classroom feels like a place of business, with everyone doing their jobs. But we’ve all been so busy that I’ve missed being silly with them.

That’s important. But it’s feeling urgent too. There are only 6 days left.

Gratitude: getting back to important.
Goal: pack in as much interaction with my students as I can in this short time before summer break.

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Happy Smackah Love

5/11/2017

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I am stepping away from some urgent for some important. I learned that expression quite a few years ago at a leadership conference. We often have to focus on urgent, not important. My urgent is finishing up some grading I’m behind on, emails, laundry…

My important now is some pretty important things. Saturday is our seventh annual Happy Smackah. Braden Stevenson is our recipient this year, and he and his family are in need of our help, and we are honored to have a part in helping.

I always get reflective this time of year, as the Smackah approaches. Our friends and community created this for us. Most of the original crew are still involved, and others have eagerly joined to make the Happy Smackah a St.Vrain Valley tradition. I’m so humbled by how hard this community, our friends, and so many people I don’t even know, work to come together to make someone else’s life better.

And, of course, I remember where I was, when Danny and I needed so much support.

My memories of Danny’s hospitalization, the trauma, have been brought a little too close to home though. My cousin’s daughter is in critical condition, in a coma, fighting for her life, and she has been for weeks. My cousin just posted that she finally went home from her bedside vigil for her daughter today after three weeks.

I’ve been in contact with her and her brother, who is back down in Texas with her. I’ve privately asked her brother about a few things, a few thoughts I had about coping during these times. They both latched on to my advice. At one point, I said, in a private message, that I understood, but that wasn’t much help. My cousin said, “It absolutely is.”

That brought me to some big tears. That brought me a humility I felt with my whole being.

I have been sending every single fiber of prayer and positive thinking to my cousins. To my little cousin fighting for her life, to my (still think of as little cousins but who are now amazing adults) cousins every day, throughout the day.

At the risk of sounding cliche, philosophical, or spiritual, or trite, Danny and I often recognize that what he went through, what we went through, is a gift. It’s a gift to be recognizable and relatable to others who are going through suffering.

My cousins are suffering, and it is all too familiar. I have said this often: when I felt at my lowest when Danny was battling, I would go over to Children’s Hospital and get a reality check. Danny and I have been lucky to have what we have. To have a child fight...well, that’s different.

So, here are my cousins, fighting, fearing. I don’t have any wisdom, and yet they do find comfort in knowing I know. It’s so deeply humbling.

Danny and I have an expression for these moments, when we feel this grace, this connection to others simply because people trust that we understand. It happens in our lives with friends, old friends and strangers. We say, “It’s a lot.” We mean it in every sense of what that sounds like. We mostly mean it’s a lot that we are gifted with and humbled by.

And on Saturday, the seventh annual Happy Smackah is for a young man who embodies the spirit of the Happy Smackah. He is a fighter and happy and brave. We are all so pleased to come together to help Braden and his family.

Goal: reach out to others more. Healing, hope, and love for my cousins.
Gratitude: others who reach out to us.

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NEW SOL Post

5/1/2017

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A few weeks ago was my first Slice of Life post, and it was funny. Well, I tried to make it funny. Today’s is not.

I have horrible hearing. I have to blast the tv to hear it. My husband is the opposite. He gets up in the morning and rides the exercise bike in the loft, watching sports center on the tv, which is below, in the great room.

I can’t hear the tv standing next to it while he’s on the bike. He can hear it just fine over the spin of the wheels. Yes, I’m hard of hearing. Though, I do manage to still have that great teacher hearing. That’s right, kiddos. I can hear you just fine!

Back to my hearing. Aside from the classroom kid hearing, I have a new gift. I’m Radar.

Probably most of you don’t know who Radar O’Reilly is.

The popular 70’s show MASH, was set in Korea at a mobile army hospital. It had a wonderful cast of characters, and Radar was the company clerk, and he could hear the choppers before anyone else. Pre-nowadays-technology, he was the first to say, “Choppers.” A huge gift that prepared the nurses and surgeons for the incoming wounded they would treat at mobile hospital.

I can hear choppers now too, before anyone else. Even Danny.

When Danny got sick, after hours of surgery, his surgeons said his only chance would be to be airlifted to Anschutz in Denver. After hours of being told he wouldn’t survive, this last chance was a desperate hope. My friends drove me to their house, where they had to look up the address for Anschutz hospital, and where we had to grab supplies for what we knew would be a long days and weeks at the hospital. Luckily, it was months, not days. He survived. But. That was a long time to fight.

So, when we left the hospital as they were preparing him for the flight, we drove to our friends’. I had no idea that he hadn’t left the hospital yet. I was standing alone in their driveway, on February 11th, 2011. The flight for life chopper went right overhead, and I looked up, feeling like he’d just touched me and said, come and get me. For the first time that day, after being told with solemn assurance that he would die, I had hope. It was a distant hope, nebulous and surreal.

And I heard “Fortunate Son” by Credence Clearwater Revival.

A lot of people ask me if I had hope right away, and I tell them honestly, that I didn’t. The doctors were quite clear how sick he was. They operated for hours and called surgeons across the country. All of the brilliant doctors said he didn’t have a chance.

But a surgeon at Anschutz said he’d still try to save him. He would have to do aggressive surgery, and if it worked, he’d have weeks and months of lots of touch and go...and. Likely, he still wouldn’t survive.

I was asked if they could try to save him.

I remember being in shock and being concerned about what they might need to do. But I asked them to try.

But when Danny flew right over me. Well. That was a sign.

And I’m reminded of that every time I hear a chopper.

I just heard one. I’m home, and I heard it coming. I heard the thumping before it became the resonating deep timber of the rotating blades.

I hear like Radar. I’m the first out the door, scanning the skies.

It hits me first with a deep traumatic sensory memory. Then it shifts as I look to see if it’s military, other. Or flight for life.

It was flight for life, and I stilled myself, praying that the person in the chopper would be okay, and sending bountiful gratitude for the flight for life crew and the doctors, nurses, everyone. All these people who deal with trauma day in and day out. All in service to others.

Gratitude: medical people.
Goals: remind myself of my gratitude for everything.

Self-evaluation:
I cried when I wrote this, so I’m guessing some of my emotion got through in this. I like to feel moved when I write. I should always smile, cry, laugh, wonder, when I’m writing. I don’t think that I stayed enough on topic though. The slice of life was supposed to be about hearing choppers well, and I feel like I didn’t come around to that as well as I should have. It was also hard to reference being “Radar” to an audience who is unfamiliar with the impact of that. But, my audience can internet search “MASH” and “Fortunate Son”.

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April 25th, 2017

4/25/2017

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I just had a moment with a student where I doubted and feared. I feared I was doing the wrong thing. I haven’t felt that intensity in a long time. It’s not that I don’t reflect and think constantly. It’s not that I don’t do something wrong or not ideal almost daily. It’s just that this doubt was big and scary.

The level of personalization Emily and I have created in our classroom is making me reflect constantly (hence this blog). It fills me with wonder, how much our students can experience and grow. It’s awe-inspiring, and I get so much more insight into their thought process, and I learn so much from them.

Once in a while though, because it’s evolving in what feels like a lightning quickness, I have doubts.

Here’s what happened today. It’s our email day, and we wanted to have students share their work on their yearlong “Expert Author” project. We’ve built the project through the lens and theme of “We’re all becoming better thinkers, readers, and writers.”

They’ve fully bought into this and daily self-reflection is a huge part of this.

Today, we showed them the rough draft of their final “showing” of what they’ve learned and where they are and where they’re going. It was purposefully very open, as daily class is, and we knew some of them would want more structure. As always, we wanted them to grapple first. We knew some of them wouldn’t like it.

One of my students approached me, agonizing over how he could possibly make a movie (one of the suggested platforms) showcasing his growth. I gave him a couple of broad ideas. He got more confused. I told him not to use a video platform if he didn’t have a vision for that. He repeated his concern and wanted to be told how he could do it. He wanted it to make sense. I told him it didn’t need to make sense right now. I heard my words. I saw his struggle. I knew he hated my answers.

I stayed firm. If we’re going to meet students where they are, then we can’t make everything make sense. It should not. If learning is personalized, it looks different for everyone. That means a movie makes perfect sense to someone and no sense to someone else.

I told him if he thought about it and couldn’t figure out how, that he should think of another platform. I sent him away.

My heart constricted. I thought about talking to him at the end of class and trying to reassure him that it was okay that a movie made no sense to him.

Two minutes later, he approached me, a calm and satisfied expression on his face. “I’m going to make a website. A movie needs a theme, and I don’t have a theme yet. With a website, I can showcase all the ways I’ve grown as a writer and reader.”

He sauntered away.

My heart constricted in a good way. Wow. Just wow. He barely grappled with it, and he came to an amazing wisdom and truth. A knowledge I could not give him. He had to make the meaning himself.

A few weeks ago, I was involved in an impromptu collegial discussion that started as a question about competition affecting learning, and it meandered into how learners need to make their own meaning. A long time ago, that philosophy was labeled “constructivism,” and a long time ago, I identified with that philosophy. A long time ago, it was my greatest dream for all the learners in my classroom (including me). Now, I say this yet again, the ideal can be realized. I’m learning so much from my students, and I’m so excited to have their learning be so much more transparent to me.

And, on a completely unrelated note, some of my STEM students were having trouble finding video of moving mice for their PSA on showing students the dangers of leaving food in lockers. We brainstormed search terms. I suggested scurrying mice. “Scurrying!” They all yelled. Then yelled it again. Then, they kept repeating “scurrying mice.” Ah, the beauty of perfect word choice.

Goal: moments like these every day.
Gratitude: moments like these every day.

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Slice of Life

3/28/2017

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Here I go with my first Slice of Life blog post. It’s funny because I consider myself a storyteller, and I’m a blogger, so this shouldn’t be hard. But. I find I’m daunted. I just read a funny blog. Well written, perfectly modulated in tone and length. And it was funny.

My story is supposed to be funny. Just to give you context and a goal.

We have two cats: a male (10 years old) and a female (4+ years old). They have a very unique relationship. When we first got Thea (pronounced Tia), Cecil was an excellent big brother, and he protected her from the wrath of our alpha female Scout (who we sadly had to put down over a year ago). He protected her, and he taught her the lay of the land. He showed her where the treats were; he showed her how to let us know if we let the food or water bowls go unfilled for too long. In case you’re interested, the technique is to rub up against us, meow, and then make us follow them to the bowls.

The best thing he showed her though, was the basket of toys. He would go to the basket of cat toys and pull one out, play with it, then make sure he left it for her. He would bring her toys until he saw her play with them.

Cats are nocturnal, and I have long thought that we had the noisiest cats ever. I’ve been assured that there are a lot of noisy cats (my insomniac friend Kris has told me some funny stories about not being able to sleep at her friends’ house because of the antics of the cats). So, one night the cats were making a racket like I’d never heard before. Both my husband and I kept waking up. We never got up to see what they were up to. We just kept dozing back to sleep. The next morning, we saw what the racket was about.

Every single cat toy was out of the basket and strewn about the entire main floor of our house. The basket was on its side, rolled far from its spot on the hearth. Backstory here: we have no kids.

We have cats.

The cats have a lot of toys.

Literally, every cat toy had been played with. Every single toy was strewn about from near the basket, through the kitchen and bathroom and into the downstairs den. But most of them were still relatively together like a deck of cards dropped for a game of 52 pickup.

Thea, then a kitten, sat proudly next to one of the stuffed birds, as if she single-handedly had killed it.

Cecil, the tutor and instigator, looked at us with guilt. He slunked away from the mess, but not too far. He kept his eye on his protege. When he heard our tones of laughter and delight, he stretched and came back out. He even gave a stuffed mouse a shove, letting us know he was complicit in the midnight kitty party.

Goal: Introduce the SOL to my students for more authentic writing and sharing.
Gratitude: Cats that make me laugh.

For my students (who I ask to self-evaluate everything they do): Here is my self-evaluation: I tried to use sentence fluency (especially the use of short and incomplete sentences) and short paragraphs to make the story have more of an impact. I did not spend a lot of time revising it. Most of my revisions were on the sentence fluency. If I took more time on it, I would try to also revise the word choice. I’m sure I could have used different words for better impact. I did struggle to write this story as funny stories are hard to write. I usually tell funny stories and use my tone of voice and gestures. I have another story I’m working on, but I do think I’d like to get back to this and see how much I can make it better.

I went back about three hours after my initial drafting and revising and added more paragraphs (to break it up and slow it down more as I would if I were orally telling the story). I also added that simile with the 52 pickup card game. I’m not sure if I like it, but I do think it adds a needed picture.

Of course, I would benefit from some feedback.

Further note: please note I did not self-evaluate with a grade. I self-evaluated how I worked, what I worked on, and what I could do better.

P.S. My photo re-enecactment was a big success. Thea played with just about every toy. The funniest thing to me is how she plays with that big orange ball that I think is a dog toy left here from a dogsitting stint.

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Let's just read

3/20/2017

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I’ve been thinking more and more about grades and how they get in the way with authentic, passionate learning. I’ve been fortunate these past few months to have conversations with educators who are a heck of a lot smarter than I am. I felt a window to share my thoughts, and I did.

I’m also fortunate to be connected to amazing teachers, including my online Professional Learning Networks.

My first question to two district coaches was about grades and “accountability.” I put that in quotes because so many educators use that word to draw a line in the sand with what students need to do. That word has always made me feel uncomfortable.

I don’t mean we don’t all need to be accountable for what we commit to doing. As a teacher, I’m accountable for making sure my students learn and are safe (physcially and emotionally). I also believe I’m accountable for making sure they’re happy and love learning.

That’s really all I care about. If I’m going to be honest. I want my students to love learning. There are a lot of educational practices that get in the way of every student loving learning. I’m getting more and more confident in stopping all educational practices that get in the way of that.

So, I was particulary pleased to read the thought process of these teacher bloggers whom I follow. Three teachers talk is an amazing blog by teachers who are constantly self-reflective. In this particular blog, the author, Shana Karnes, writes about how she learned not to attach a grade to free reading. She was afraid that no grades would make some kids not read, and she was right. But then she realized that her priorities were not in order. Grades and logs got in the way of what she really wanted, to foster the love of reading. Yup.

I was so honored when they asked me to be a guest blogger a few years ago. This is the blog I shared. I made a lot more online connections with like-minded educators from that experience. All of these connections keep me learning!

This blog really sealed the deal on my opening up more about my beliefs. I have been following Shana Karnes for a long time. I loved her honesty and self-reflection in this post. She makes me wish I blogged a long time ago, as in twenty years ago. It’s so hard to think about my process, given I’ve been teaching for 25 years. I love reading her blog.

So, here is my attempt to backtrack and show my own learning. These are things I have not done in years or have never done in the spirit of creating life-long learners:

Reading logs/journals
Parent sign-off sheets for reading
Any accountabiltiy for reading minutes/pages
Any accountability for reading levels/lexiles

All of those things do not help humans want to read. They might force grade-driven students to read, or they may give us something to measure, but is that our goal?

It’s not my goal. I write a lot about writing and mentor texts. That’s the relationship I want to encourage.

Anytime educators pull out the word “accountability,” I feel like they’re looking for ways to categorize learning and students.

This might sound loosey-goosey. My classroom has clear and high level expectations. But I believe in giving students the structure they need with the choice that is vital. They are held accountable to learn. And I help them support their claims for what that means.

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Lessons the not so hard way

3/7/2017

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It takes a lot for me to take a book from a student. I can probably count on one hand how many books I’ve taken from students in the past twenty-five years. Taking a book from a student is tantamount to saying, “stop reading,” and that is abhorrent to me.

But I took a book from a student yesterday. Nearly every day, Preston asks me if he can “just finish this chapter?!” before he settles into the daily question. Given the routine of the class, that usually works fine. It’s a workshop, and there is always time for reading and writing.

He approached me yesterday and asked if I’d help him get caught up at lunch. “I’m about a week behind on the fire-ups”. I gave him that look. “Really,” I said. “You want me to give up my lunch because you keep making the wrong choices?” He hung his head. I told him I’d be happy to help him at lunch if he got right to today’s question. His next sentence put me over the edge. “I’ll just have my parents help me.”

That’s when I decided I had to help him make better choices. I took his book, which he’d opened back up. “Nope, I ask you every day if you’re making the right choice, and you tell me you are. I’m going to help you.” So, I walked away with his book, and I told him I’d give it back to him when he got today’s question thoroughly answered.

A student behind him looked at me and said, “You’re suffocating him.”

I gave her a nod of agreement and a look of dismay.

A little backstory. I was talking to a district coach a few months ago about our classroom procedures. We talked about the student-led workshop. We talked about how often students ask…”Can I…”, and we answer with “Is this going to help you to do that?” Most often, the answer is yes.

So, I’d been saying yes to this student, but he wasn’t being completly honest about if that reading was going to help him.

Or, maybe he was. Maybe he’s okay with having to make up a bunch of work because he got the joy of liivng in his book.

Today, he came in, sat down, opening his computer, and he tapped his book. “I’m using restraint.”

“Good.” I said.

So, I do wonder how he feels about his choice. I’m assuming he realized he went too far.

I read a great quote from an educator on Twitter. ““We must all suffer one of two things: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.” -Jim Rohn. I’m assuming he learned both of these things.

Preston just approached me and said, “I did learn a lesson! I should start with answering the question.”

Gratitude: Students who love reading
Goal: Keeping the best practice to fuel that flame, so I don’t suffocate any students.

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Bossy...bounty....beautiful

3/3/2017

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I start my morning each day at school with my “General STEM” class. What this means is I have 30+ students who are all working on different STEM projects. The good news: they are all so excited. The bad news: they are all so excited.

Our grade level offers some specific STEM classes and two general ones. I always offer to teach the general one because I love the ebb and flow of all the ideas. It’s messy. Super messy. I’m good with messy though.

I also start each morning with getting, and I will say this honestly, with getting bossed around. Sometimes my students couch their bossiness in polite questions, well, actually, they always do, but, really, they’re bossy.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot. They’re bossy because they are working, and they need my help to get their jobs done.

They’re bossy because they own their work. They’re bossy the way that I am with my bosses with what I need. I am polite, but I’m specific. I also know that if I’m doing my job as I should, that I should expect a certain support.

This is what my STEM kids are doing. They are owning their work, and they are expecting support.

It. Is. Awesome.

And it’s not just during STEM block.

In language arts, my students are getting better and better at realizing how much they own their work. They’re making more decisions that are authentic to their lives. One student, who has been reading blogs, was having trouble wrapping her brain around how she could write her own blog. (I know the feeling!). She sent me this email yesterday:
Hi Ms. Cribby. I have been exploring a lot of tennis blogs. ( There are not a lot of the kind I have been looking for.)I've been really thinking specifically about what I want to blog about. I think I want blog about pros, and strategies. I found a really good website that I wish other tennis players would look at. The website is called Active. It is not a real " blog," but it has a lot of good information that I like, but there is so much. I was thinking maybe I could take some topics from there, and writet about that, and my opinion on it. I am also planning on keeping people updated on what is happening with pros, pro tournaments, and tournaments I participate in. I am wondering what is the next step in starting my blog. My dad always forwards me interesting articles/videos from this sight. ( So it is very trustworthy.) Thank you!

Here was my answer:
I would start writing in your writing document, and then transfer it into your blog when you're ready. Think about also having a plan for when you update your blog. For instance, I keep wanting to have a day of the week that I update my blog, but I'm still struggling with that.

I forgot if you're using Weebly? Your plan sounds fantastic! You'll hone it as you go too, as far as what you want to do with it. I love your ideas. So authentic.

I felt like she was ready for a nuts and bolts answer, and she was. We talked a bit after, and I clarified that she should write her blog in her writing document, so that she could get feedback before she published.

This particular student likes to “ping” me on email. That’s a good platform for her because she’s able to articulate her questions, and she “gets it” pretty quickly. She also likes a lot of feedback and seeks it out. Her process is to ask for feedback and run with it. So, though she reaches out a lot, she also is able to incorporate some high level ideas.

We have our students write emails once a week to their families, explaining what they’re learning in all of their classes. We also expect them to include links to their works and to include how they’re feeling about all of school, not just the academic. It’s amazing. Parents love it. Students love it. I read every email every week, and I learn so much. I am so grateful for this look into their lives. I don’t respond every week to every student, but I get to. They craft their emails each week into their daily work document, and so I read their emails and grade them “a la notebook” style once every 3-4 weeks. But I read them all as they come in, in real time. It’s such authentic writing. This week, I read this from one of my students, a young man who is super quiet:
I like this class because it gives you choice and and complexity to go how far on the topic you want and how indepth you can into it. (IMPORTANT MESSAGE: My fire-works document is due tomorrow and I’m hoping to get a 4 but I need to do some things to make it a 4. First of all I need to get some of my self evaluations done. Self evaluations are a really part of my work and I’m missing some of them. Second, I need to go back and revise some of my fire-ups. This would be awesome because some of my Fire-ups need more depth. These are the necessary revisions I need to get a 4.

I loved reading his perspective, this quiet young man.

Another student, in her emai wrote about how she gets to choose the “rhythm” of her language arts classroom work.

I like that word, rhythm, for how we work. We all have a rhythm. I know I work in fits and spurts. I sometimes have to nest a bit, clean, organize. Sometimes I have to run around the building, pretending to be doing something but really just needing to explode my energy.

I always need classical music to make me focus.

I work furiously sometimes, chatting with students in real time and online during class. Ideally, the way class is structured, that’s all I do. But sometimes I look out the window, wander around, watching students work. Sometimes I am a bad student and start chit-chatting with students about something silly. Or I read the weather, teacher blogs, news.

So, when I read my student’s email about how she likes to get to find her rhythm in her work in language arts. I was moved. Moved by her words and moved by what I get to be a part of.

Goal: keep learning from my amazing students.
Gratitude: learning from my amazing students.

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It's February, and we're fine

2/10/2017

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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”.

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Busy, Thinking.

2/7/2017

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I started this blog because of how much innovation was rocking my world with teaching. I just needed to “dump” my thoughts, but I also wanted to craft my thinking. I had so much swirling in my mind that I needed to get it out to organize it and save it.

I still feel like that. I still feel these huge jumps in my thinking.

My students read this blog now. A lot of them do, anyway. Once in a while, while I’m walking around the classroom, I see them reading it. I keep a link to it and to my current writing drafts on our agenda.

As I’ve stepped away from the “teacher” role and further into the facilitator role, I watch with fascination with what my students choose to engage in to further their learning. Back in the old “workshop” days, I couldn’t keep up with exemplars and resources. Now, there is no end.

Here is what I see students doing daily:

Answering the daily question so thoroughly that that’s all they do.
Answering the daily question as quickly as they can so that they can work on their own writing.
Answering the daily question as quickly as they can so they can read their own mentor texts.
Answering the daily question as quickly as they can so they can research about the topic more and then do some more work on answering the question further.
Answering the daily question quickly so they can research another topic they care about.
Answering the daily question and clicking open links on the agenda (student exemplars, my writing, “funny similes”, serious articles,...whatever is there.)
Answering the daily question and then engaging with their peers on the Padlet the entire class period.
Not answering the daily question because they want to write.
Not answering the daily question because they want to read their peer’s writing.
Not answering the daily question because they want to read or research.

Here is an example of what students do daily. The settings don’t allow you to see all of the self-evaluations, but you’ll get the idea.

Here is an example of a self-evaluation in my students’ weekly email. Of course, not all students reach for this daily, but this is the beauty of this structure. This student, all students, can.

I could go on. It’s beautiful. The expansiveness of how they approach their learning is breathtaking.

And all those who aren’t answering the question...well, they do eventually. Sometimes, as all good teachers do, I have to nag or re-direct, or just ask the question that has become my mantra: “Will that help you learn?”

Gratitude: A job that humbles me daily.
Goal: Teach until I’m 90...or maybe 80...depends on my knees. Well, I hope it depends on my knees!

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