Slice #3- I've Got That Losing Feeling

OK, I'm just going to admit it right up front.

I've got that losing feeling.

I'm pretty creative.
And pretty unorganized.
As long as life is reasonable,
I can manage, pretty much,
to keep track of everything.

But when I get a little too tired,
or a little too stressed,
My life loses any semblance of order

And I get that losing feeling.

In the last month, I have lost:
     - my drivers' license
     - my debit card (twice)
    - a  stack of graded fourth grade essays,
    - a library book
    - and the dog's leash.
 
Today I lost my water bottle.
Oh, and also my laptop computer.
I work at a K-8 school.
The middle school kids at my school
are usually pretty mellow.
They definitely have their moments
but for the most part,
they are pretty good.

That hasn't been true
for the last two weeks.
These absolutely weeks
they have been absolutely crazy.

I think it's partly Spring,
and partly hormones
and partly the fact
that one of their teachers
has been in Peru
for the past two weeks
because her mother is dying.

And they are crazy.

This afternoon we had Reading Rocket
(known in my day as the bookmobile).
I went upstairs to get the middle schoolers.
I was walking down the hall
when the sixth grade door burst open
and two  boys
burst out the door,
followed by one of our terrific young teachers.
The boys stomped down the hall
and plopped themselves at a table
we use for writing conferences and small groups.
I have a few more strategies in my tool box
so I followed the group back down the hall.

An hour later, the situation was over.
I was preparing for a meeting
and went to pick my computer.
And I suddenly realized
that I had absolutely no idea
where I had left my computer
or my water bottle.
I was more worried about my computer.

I backtracked my steps-
the auditorium
the library,
the first grade,
the cafeteria
the computer was no where to be found.
I spent a frantic hour looking
and looking and looking

And then the secretary called me.
The assistant principal had found
my computer in the library.
She had left it in the office.
My heart, which had been beating
 frantically for  an hour,
slowed a little.

I've got that losing feeling.
And I hate it.

Slice #2: Welcome to the Club, T!

T is a member of my second grade reading intervention group.
He is as nice a kid as you will ever find,
a hard, hard worker,
solemn, sweet, friendly
and as full of integrity as the day is long.  

The reading thing, however,  has not come easy for this little guy.
The state of Colorado measures reading growth using a tool called the DRA2.
By the end of kindergarten, kids are supposed to read at a Level 4. T was at a 1.
By the end of first grade, they should be at a 16. T was at a 4.
He loves to listen to stories, and talk about them,
but he just wasn't pulling things together himself.
We had read our way up to Level 10,
but then we got stuck.
For about a month, nothing happened.

And then yesterday, we had a major breakthrough.
There are usually four kids in his group,
but the three girls were creating a puppet show setting
and so I gave them the day off.
T and I sat on the floor with our latest read, All About Dinosaurs.
We had read the book the day before,
so the day's work was supposed to be about fluency.
D loved the book, and couldn't wait to talk about it.
He began with a diagram that compared a dinosaur to a school bus.
He though that that would be about two thirds as long as the classroom.
Maybe a little longer. We moved on to talk about several
other pictures, and then it was time to read.
I asked him what strategies he was using.
He told me he always looks at the pictures.
Some times he reads on or reads back.
Sometimes he uses his finger to cover the suffix,
a strategy we call big fat thumb
He had struggled horribly the last time
we had group, on the Friday before.
Today he started slowly and then picked up speed,
until pretty soon, he was actually reading,
word after word, sentence after sentence,
page after page
He closes the book
and finishes with a huge grin.
We visit the principal to share T's good news,
and then he decides he would like
 to tell his first grade teacher.
She is thrilled too, and invites her to come
and read to the first grade.

"The whole class," he says, "or just a few kids?"

"Which would you like?" she says.

T thought he should start with a small group.
Kathy invited him to come at 9:30.
This morning, I picked him up at 9:15,
because he had asked to practice one more time
We read through the book. He made more mistakes than he had made yesterday
and I was a little worried.

At 9:30 we headed into first grade.

"I don't have to read to all of these kids, do I?"

I reminded him that he had said he wanted to read to a small group.

He was relieved.

T sat in the teacher's chair at the back of the kidney table.

I could see his hands shaking.

I introduced him and then he told the kids about himself.

He said that he used to read a level 4,  but that he had worked hard,

and now he can read a level 18.

He told him that if they worked hard,

they could read too.

And then he started to read.

With each page, his voice got more confident.

When he had to problem solve,

he stopped at the end of the page

and we talked about what he had done.

He told the first graders he would love

to come and read again,

and that he would be glad to teach them some strategies,

If they told him which ones they wanted to learn.

He got up from the table, smiling.

Both Kathy and I were ready to cry.

Welcome to the club, T, welcome to the club!

SLICE #1- The mind of a six-year-old

K is a seventh grader at my school. She's had a tough couple of years. Her mom is a single mom, working two or three jobs, to keep her family afloat. Last year her grandmother, probably K's most significant adult, died in the middle of PARCC. Her best friend did one of those middle school abandonment things. One day they were best friends. The next day they were worst enemies. K didn't know why. She cried a lot.

K is a smart, smart girl. And a terrific big sister. Last year, she helped me teach J the alphabet, then sight words. She reads to him every day.  Helps with homework. Assumes the parent role when her mom is gone. She's a smart girl, a sweet girl.

Today I hear her coming from about halfway down the building. They are arguing.

"J," says K. "You have got to change. It's embarrassing."

J shakes his head. "No," he declares adamantly.

K tries again. "You have got to change," she says. "Sit down on the side of the hall and we will fix them."

J refuses again.

"You are embarrassing me," she says again.

It doesn't take long for me to figure out what is wrong.

J's shoes, little black leather high tops with bright red strings, are on the wrong feet.  They point outward, and he waddles down the hall, his backward shoes slapping against the floor.

K is a great little mother, but she deserves to be a teenager. I try to help her. "J, I'm great at shoe tying. You switch your shoes and I will help you tie them."

Again, J refuses. And again, K. reminds him that he is embarrassing her.

I try a different approach. "Well, I guess you can try them that way. I'm not sure they will e comfortable that way.  Try it. If they are uncomfortable, let me know, and I will help you."

J still doesn't want his shoes tied. His sister rolls her eyes again.

And then the bell rings. I tell K to go to class. I will handle this. K sighs. "He is so embarrassing," she says. He never listens to me. And he looks like a nerd with his shoes on the wrong feet."

I laugh and tell her little kids have been wearing their shoes on the wrong feet for many years. I tell her a story about a little girl in my class. She had bright yellow patent leather shoes. And she wore them on the wrong feet every day. It got to the point that the principal was coming down every morning to change Shani's shoes. And every day, as soon as he left, she changed them back. And wore them backwards all day long. This story makes K and her friend M, who arrived mid shoe saga, laugh. The girls head upstairs to their classroom.

I head into first grade. Somehow, Kathy, J's first grade teacher, who is masterful at entering into the minds of her six-year-olds, has convinced J to change his shoes. She is bent down tying his shoes, which are now on the right feet.

The mind of a six-year-old. A strange and wonderful (albeit slightly embarrassing) land.

SLICE OF LIFE

I live in an old, old house.
I love it, but things break.
A lot.
A couple of weeks ago, the lock on the front door stopped working.
And it was a teeny bit of a problem.
When I went to bed, the lock worked.
Not great, a little sticky, but ok.
When I got up the next morning, I couldn't get the door open.
At all.
And we had to go out the back door,
through the gate,
and down the steps.
(or climb out the dining room window).
And so I called a locksmith.
He came the next afternoon when the boys were home.
My son called to tell me the locksmith said the lock was worn out and needed to be replaced.
I paid him over the phone.
I had class that night and didn't get home until much later than usual, after 8.
The old lock was sitting on the corner of the dining room table
in about ten assorted pieces.
I meant to throw it out.
But I didn't do it that night.
The next night when I came home, the lock was still on the table.
But it was reassembled.
Totally put together.
I was not surprised.

Son #1 is a kinesthetic learner.
He loves, loves, loves to put things together.
He struggled and struggled and struggled through school.
Barely a C average.
An IEP.
Partially proficient on every standardized test he ever took.
Right now he is working in the fuel department of a grocery store.
That's code for he sits in one of those little gas stands
outside of a grocery store and takes your money.
It's not a great job.
In fact, I think it sounds boring
and tedious
and lonely
and pretty awful.
And every night I worry that he will get shot.
Or killed by a drunk driver on the way home.
But at least he is doing something.
He goes to work every day.
He pays his car payment and insurance and phone.
He handles his responsibilities.

Still, I wonder what would have happened
if I had done a better job
at finding a school
that fit him.
That marveled at his kinesthetic mind
and "putting together" talents.
Instead of always
evaluating him
through the lens
books and words
and essays.
And all the other things
that he is not.

I wonder what he would be doing right now.

POETRY FRIDAY MEETS #Nonfiction 10 for 10

Don Graves used to always say that poets and scientists have a lot in common, because they both have to observe the world very closely. I thought about that comment this week, as I was putting together my list of  #Nonfiction 10 for 10. Most Fridays, I participate in Poetry Friday. Today, however, I also wanted to participate in the Nonfiction Picture Book 10 for 10. I decided to combine the two, and put together a list of books that combine nonfiction and poetry. 

For this week's Poetry Friday, go to Donna Smith's Mainely Write. 

You can find lots more Nonfiction Picture book 10 for 10 here. (Hint: You should get out your library card and hide your debit card before you check out this site!)

I know most people know Joy Sidman's work, but in my mind, she's the queen of nonfiction poetry, and I couldn't put together a list without including at least one of hers! WINTER BEES, about how animals survive the harshest of seasons, is her latest. I reviewed it here.

A poetic book about the life of a woodpecker, illustrated by one of my all time favorite Colorado artists, Steve Jenkins. A couple of sample pages:

Spring sap rises

Who will drill?

Sapsucker, sapsucker,

Sticky bill!

Wedge it, skedge it,

Wham by wham

Clear those chips

Slam, slam, slam

End notes include six pages packed with facts about woodpeckers, for instance, I'll bet you didn't know. did you know that the woodpeckers's nostrils are covered by feather tufts that keep out wood flakes as they dig.

REEF STONE FISH

Spines of death

down its back,

it waits…

waits…

waits…

attack!

Rock?

Coral?

Stone still,

It waits…

Waits…

Waits…

Kill.

This book is divided into sections:  

Sea life- Ghost crab, common octopus, flounder, reef stone fish

Amphibians- Gray tree frog, copperhead, young bullfrog,

American alligator

Mammals- Bengal tiger, fawn, eastern gray squirrel, polar bear

Insects and spiders- Bumblebee moth, crab spider , praying mantis, walking stick

End pages include a paragraph about each animal.

I love Irene Latham's DEAR WANDERING WILDEBEEST, which was a CYBILS finalist last year. Irene has a new book, with poems from Antarctica. 

I work at a dual language school. I can't put together a poetry collection, then without including at least one bilingual book.  I love Pat Mora's book about water around the world.

Water rolls, water rises,

water rests, water plunges,
Water swirls, water slides

El agua rueda, el agua sube,
El agua descansa, el agua se sumerge,
El agua gira, el agua resbala

Mora's poetry is accompanied by artwork by Meilo So (PALE MALE, WATER SINGS BLUE). End pages include not only a bilingual author's note, but also references to what part of the world served as the inspiration for the art. 

Now that I'm a grandmother, I've developed a new interest in board books. THIS LITTLE PRESIDENT presents a short riddle/poem about approximately ten different presidents, including George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, and of course, Barack Obama . The facing page is a fact about that president. 

This little president

Is a family man

When others say, “We can’t.”

He declares, “Yes, we can!”

The facts are basic, but really appropriate for the book-eating set, e.g. Barack Obama is the first African American president of the United States.

Barack Obama's inauguration speech, illustrated by none other than Dav Pilkey, yes, he of Captain Underpants fame! I'll be using this one with our middle schoolers this year!

…One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story

told by our silent gestures moving behind windows

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,

Each one yawning to life, crescendoing int our day:

Pencil yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,

Fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows

Begging our praise.

This gorgeous new picture book captures the lives of slaves in New Orleans, in the early 1800's. From early Monday morning until Sunday at noon, they worked hard…

Mondays, there were hogs to slop,

Mules to train, and logs to chop

Slavery was no ways fair

Six more days to Congo Square.

Tuesdays, there were cows to feed,

Fields to plow, and rows to seed.

A moment without work was rare,

Five more days to Congo Square.

Finally, Sunday afternoon came, and they slaves, met at Congo Square and share song and dance and art and stories. 

…They rejoiced as if they had no cares;

half day, half free in Congo Square

This piece of earth was a world apart.

Congo Square was freedom’s heart

End pages include an author’s note and a glossary. 

This picture book biography tells the story of George Moses Horton, a  North Carolina slave who taught himself to read and eventually became the South's first African American published poet. The author's note, where Don Tate talks about his experiences growing up as the only brown face in a sea of white, would make a great discussion in and of itself.

This is the story of the National Memorial African Bookstore in Harlem. Lewis Michaux didn't have much schooling, but he had a hunger for words and learning, and wanted to own a bookstore. When he took his idea to a bank for financing, bankers told him they would finance a restaurant, but not a bookstore, because black people didn't read. Michaux fought against this stereotype, and quickly became the heart of culture in Harlem, visited by people like Malcolm X and Muhammed Ali. Michaux frequently made up rhymes to sell his books:

Knowledge is power

You need it every hour

Read a book!

Books will help him clear the weeds

And plant the seeds so he’ll succeed

You are not necessarily a fool

Because you didn’t go to school.

SLICE OF LIFE

I coach several young teachers, with little babies.

Many mornings, they come to school, hair knotted on top of head, dark circles under their eyes. They tell stories of midnight feedings, teething, ear aches. They long for the days ahead, when they will once again be allowed to sleep through the night.

And I wish I could tell them that this is true. That mothers eventually do sleep through the night. That my sons, who are 20 and 22, let me sleep through the night every night.

But that doesn't seem to always be the case.

Take last night for instance.

A few days ago, my son told me that they were changing his hours at his job. For the past few months, he's worked 1:00-9:30. He's not a morning person, so that works well for him.  He sleeps, I think, until about ten. Plays a few video games. Eats something and goes to work at 1.

And the schedule kind of works for me. I am not a night person, but I can make myself stay up until ten, so I can see him. Touch base.  Answer random questions about car insurance and W-2's. Be there if he wants to talk (he usually doesn't).

The new schedule, 3:45 until closing, sometime around 12:30, doesn't work for me at all. I don't get home, ever, before he leaves for work at 3:15. And I definitely can't stay up until 12:30, then get up and go to work the next morning. I wonder if I will ever see him. How we will make time to talk. How I will know if he is ok.

At first, he tells me the schedule will start in a week or two. Then on Sunday he texts me while I am visiting my mom. The new schedule starts today, he says.

Immediately, I start to worry. I imagine him being jumped as he walks across the dark parking lot with a bag of money from the gas stand.  I imagine him being killed by a drunk driver on the way home. Or being pulled over by the police to become yet another young African American male statistic on his way home.  I am terrified.

Several times that evening I text to check in. He becomes irritated. Tells me he is making money and I need to leave him alone. I apologize.

I go to bed. Drift into that light mother of adolescents sleep mode, where you are kind of half, but know your babies are yet not home safe. The dog doesn't not come to bed with me. She is also waiting for her boy to come home.

At 12:38, my phone rings. My son's number shows up on the screen and I immediately panic.

Fortunately, it's nothing major. A co-worker is having car trouble. Zay is following the worker home to make sure he gets there. I ask where the co worker lives. Zay doesn't know, but says he will be home after that. I'm grateful (and a little surprised) that he has called to let me know. I wonder if these midnight calls will become a regular occurrence.

Evidently, the co-worker lives close by, because at 12:53 the front door opens. I hear the dog jump off the couch to greet him. Hear Zay's heavy work boot tread on the kitchen floor above me. Hear him open the refrigerator. Pause at the top of the stairs.

"Can I have that box in the fridge?" he says, referring to the leftover fajitas I brought home from lunch with my mom, thinking I would take them to school for lunch on Tuesday. I tell him he can.

He clunks around the kitchen for a few more minutes, then I hear the microwave ping. A few minutes later, his door shuts, and the house is quiet. I go back to sleep.

At 2:40, the dog begins to whine. She wants to go outside. This isn't typical for her, and I wonder if she is sick. I lay awake for a few minutes, contemplating where the money for a vet bill might come from.

At 4:00 the alarm goes off. I have the day off, but have a ton of papers to read and grade and have not been very productive this weekend. I groan and roll over.

Motherhood, with its sleepless nights, doesn't end when children are two or three or four.

I am pretty sure those go on forever.

GOOSE GOES TO THE ZOO- Laura Wall

Sophie and Goose are best friends. Sophie is worried that Goose might be lonely while Sophie is at school, so she takes her to the zoo to find a new friend. The giraffe is nice and friendly, but he can't fly. The smiling crocodile likes the wrong kind of goose food! The flamingos don't do much.

Finally, Sophie and Goose find the perfect friends- a flock of geese. Goose likes them a lot, but of course, they are not as special as his best friend, Sophie! A sweet addition to the GOOSE series, the little guys are going to love this one!