About two weeks ago, I was seriously wondering if coaching volleyball was a good decision for my personal sanity. It meant 12 hours a day at school, and still coming home with work to do. It meant forgoing my workout schedule and having less time to cook healthy meals to stay in shape. It meant collapsing into bed dead tired, and waking up feeling like I got hardly any sleep. And it meant 2 more hours a day with 12 and 13 year olds. It didn't feel worth it, and I was not sure I'd survive.
Today, many of those things are still true. I can't remember ever feeling this tired, both mentally and phsyically (although I can imagine I felt similar to this at some point last year). I hardly get 7 hours of sleep, and I haven't run in 2 weeks. But I'm loving it.
I'm loving the opportunity to be with such a great group of girls outside of school and really build relationships. I'm loving playing a sport that I miss so much, even if it's just standing in for a missing girl during practice. And I'm loving seeing the girls WIN and be excited about it.
As of yesterday, we're 3 - 1! We've only played two teams, but we play double headers because the schools are all so far apart and it limits the amount of travel. Our first match was away, and you could tell the girls were nervous. We lost in two games. But once the nerves were gone, we came back and won the next match in three games. The girls went NUTS--they pigpiled on top of the girl who served the winning point. They were so proud of themselves that they told everyone at school the next day that they won--and failed to mention that we also lost a match right before.
Yesterday, we played our second double header. The other team was significantly smaller and less talented. But the girls were equally as excited about winning 2 more matches, and it was so encouraging to see them celebrate their victories. The coach from the other team complimented our girls' talent, and it really meant a lot to me. Because two weeks ago, we looked rough. Balls were dropping on the court left and right. There was no communication, and we hardly looked like a team. I was honestly worried that we weren't ever going to win a game, much less a match. Not only did we not look so good, but I am an inexperienced coach and had no idea what drills to run in practice to make it effective. I was worried and frustrated and exhausted, and I wasn't having fun.
And then, I decided that it wasn't worth being stressed over. I decided that I just wanted it to be fun for the girls, and for it to be an opportunity to teach them about responsibility and working hard. I wanted them to focus on being a team and acting like one. To represent Enfield in a positive way, especially since there is so much negative attention on our school.
So far, I'd say it's been a success. Not only have they worked hard, they've been WINNING and making me proud to be their coach. I'm truly enjoying being on the sidelines of a game that I love with girls that I love, as well.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
"Hey Miss H..." PART 2!
Student (same student from part 1): "...Ima bring pitt bulls to school tomorrow and let them bite all the teachers."
Miss H: "I'm going to write that up as a threat."
Student: "Naw, it wasn't a threat....I was serious!"
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Same student: "...Ima white boy."
Miss H: "Why do you want to be a white boy?"
Same student: "Cuz, I be doing skateboarding tricks."
Student #2: "Yeah, I got a skateboard and some skinny jeans."
Miss H: "Do you think all white boys wear skinny jeans?"
Student #2: "Yup."
Student #1: "Ima white boy. If anyone asks me whats my race, Ima say white African-American. My daddy be orange." (???)
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Same student: "___ said he be po'. He can't afford no lunch. Will you buy him lunch?"
Miss H: "How do you know I ain't po'? What, you think just because I'm white I'm rich?" (I love this line.)
Student #2: "You ain't white. You light-skinned."
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Same student: "And I'm just a herman being."
Miss H: "A what?"
Student: "A herman being!"
Miss H: "You mean a human being?"
Student: "It don't matter...it's the same thing!"
If only you could actually hear these babies talk. So much funnier.
Miss H: "I'm going to write that up as a threat."
Student: "Naw, it wasn't a threat....I was serious!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Same student: "...Ima white boy."
Miss H: "Why do you want to be a white boy?"
Same student: "Cuz, I be doing skateboarding tricks."
Student #2: "Yeah, I got a skateboard and some skinny jeans."
Miss H: "Do you think all white boys wear skinny jeans?"
Student #2: "Yup."
Student #1: "Ima white boy. If anyone asks me whats my race, Ima say white African-American. My daddy be orange." (???)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Same student: "___ said he be po'. He can't afford no lunch. Will you buy him lunch?"
Miss H: "How do you know I ain't po'? What, you think just because I'm white I'm rich?" (I love this line.)
Student #2: "You ain't white. You light-skinned."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Same student: "And I'm just a herman being."
Miss H: "A what?"
Student: "A herman being!"
Miss H: "You mean a human being?"
Student: "It don't matter...it's the same thing!"
If only you could actually hear these babies talk. So much funnier.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
"Hey Miss H..."
Student: "...where you stay?"
Miss H: "I stay in Roanoke Rapids."
Student: "Roanoke Rapids?"
Miss H: "Yes, Roanoke Rapids."
Student: "Oh, well...where you stay at?"
Miss H: "I'm not telling you my address."
Student: "Why not?"
Miss H: "Because I don't want you showing up at my house! Anyways, my address doesn't come up on a GPS." (This is true.)
Student: "What you mean? Everybody's house is on GPS."
Miss H: "My neighborhood is new and the street isn't on the map."
Student: "So you mean to tell me...If your house is on fire, and you call the fire department...how they gonna find your house?"
Miss H: Laughter. Nothing but laughter.
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Student 1: "...I quit the football team."
Miss H: "Why?"
Student 1: "Because I won't pass my physical."
Student 2: "Do you even know what a physical is?"
Miss H: "I stay in Roanoke Rapids."
Student: "Roanoke Rapids?"
Miss H: "Yes, Roanoke Rapids."
Student: "Oh, well...where you stay at?"
Miss H: "I'm not telling you my address."
Student: "Why not?"
Miss H: "Because I don't want you showing up at my house! Anyways, my address doesn't come up on a GPS." (This is true.)
Student: "What you mean? Everybody's house is on GPS."
Miss H: "My neighborhood is new and the street isn't on the map."
Student: "So you mean to tell me...If your house is on fire, and you call the fire department...how they gonna find your house?"
Miss H: Laughter. Nothing but laughter.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Student 1: "...I quit the football team."
Miss H: "Why?"
Student 1: "Because I won't pass my physical."
Student 2: "Do you even know what a physical is?"
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Welcome Home, Baby!
So I mentioned in my last post that the Ponderosa was welcoming 4 new additions to the house. Well friends, today's the day. It will forever go down in history (although it already is), as the Day We Received Our Great Gift.
If you've walked past an Apple store anytime recently, you may have noticed the Teach for America display in the window. A few months ago, we caught wind of an advertisement in which Apple was asking people to donate first generation iPads for Teach for America classrooms. I remember thinking, "I wonder how they'll choose which classrooms to donate them to." I assumed it would be for big cities, like New York or Los Angeles, where they would get the most press. We never heard anything else about it, and to be honest I never thought much of it after that.
Then one morning in late August, we got an email from a fellow ENC corps member that set the Ponderosa abuzz. TFAnet, our Teach for America portal, had posted a news article that said that Apple was donating the refurbished iPads to EVERY TFA classroom. We were excited, but there was still a feeling of disbelief. It sounded too good to be true.
A few days later, we got an email from our regional office that confirmed what we saw: we were in fact receiving iPads for FREE, one for each classroom, and would get to pick them up within the next few weeks!
It became the talk of TFA. iPads? For FREE? (As a fellow corps member said, they certainly don't come free--the price is blood, sweat, and tears.)
Soon after, we received another email with the option to sign up for a pick up date and location. We chose Sunday, September 11 at the mall in Raleigh. We loved reminding each other of the beauty of what was to come. A free iPad, in our hands, in just a few short days. This weekend couldn't come soon enough.
And then, it was here. The bittersweet date: September 11, 2011. I felt guilty being so excited on such a somber day. It's a strange way to commemorate the 10th anniversary of 9/11. However, I can't help feeling a bit giddy about this new tool and the world of opportunities it opens up for my kids and our classroom.
So bright and early this morning, the four of us piled in the car and headed to Raleigh to pick up our new 64 GB babies. The Apple store was opening especially for us at 8:30 am, where we received basic training from the Genius Bar workers. I could hardly contain my excitement, as is evident below:
Now we're back home, all flopped around various parts of the living room, glued to the screens of our new iPads and brainstorming ways to use them in the classroom. It's a scary thought, the fingers of my grimy 12 year olds all over the screen of such a precious, precious piece of technology. But I know it will be a great incentive, and I'm excited to use it to enhance my instruction. If only I could set it down long enough to be productive....
On a more serious note...I'm in the process of planning how to discuss the events of 9/11 with my class tomorrow. It's hard to believe that most of my kids were only 2 or 3 when it happened, and I learned last year that many of them really don't know anything about it except that a few planes flew into a few buildings. Especially since I remember moments from that day so vividly, even though I was only in the 8th grade. I remember hearing the news in Social Studies, and our teacher rushing us over to the science classroom to listen to the radio. I remember the announcement that came on that forbade the teachers from turning on the televisions. I remember being terrified when I heard one of the planes that crashed had left from the Boston airport, because I knew my mom was supposed to fly home that day from Logan International. I remember that all after school activities were cancelled. I remember walking home from the bus stop that day, stopping at the end of our cul-de-sac with tears in my eyes, wondering how such an awful thing could happen on such a beautiful day. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the flowers were still in bloom, but something just didn’t feel right. We found out my mom wouldn’t be able to come home for a few days, and my dad knew we were upset, so he took us out to dinner that night. We sat outside to enjoy the weather, but now I suspect it was also to avoid the televisions that were replaying the sickening footage over and over again. I remember I kept thinking, “Why?”, but no one had answers.
There is so much to talk about, yet I don't even know where to begin. I want to show videos, I want to have discussions, I want them to experience what it felt like to be a part of the events that day in even the smallest of ways. But most importantly, i want them to take it seriously and to be grateful for what we have. It's so easy to talk about September 11th one minute and then forget it ever happened the next, but the truth is it is still very much apart of our country's present. There are still people sacrificing so much for us to be what we are and have what we have. To all of you--thank you a million times over.
A good friend of mine found a website a few years ago that allows you to show your support for our troops by adopting a pen pal and sending a letter to a serviceman or servicewoman once a week (much better than the first program she found, writing to prisoners. A bit sketchy if you ask me.) I "adopted" my first solider from AdoptAPlatoon.org my junior year in college and wrote letters once a week for the length of his deployment. At the end of last school year, I signed up again and have been writing to another soldier once a week for the past few months. If you are looking for a way to show your support, check out the website. If you're worried that you wouldn't know what to say, don't worry, I never know, either. I just write. I update him on what's going on in the United States and in my classroom. I tell the occasional story about a crazy child or a fun adventure. And I always try to remember to say "thank you" in some way, shape, or form. I'm ashamed at how easily I forget all the men and women who have given up so much for us and put their lives on the line everyday. And recently, when I'm feeling frustrated with my job, that letter to Iraq reminds me of how grateful I am for all that I have, and the people that make it possible. All it takes is a stamp and some kind words.
If you've walked past an Apple store anytime recently, you may have noticed the Teach for America display in the window. A few months ago, we caught wind of an advertisement in which Apple was asking people to donate first generation iPads for Teach for America classrooms. I remember thinking, "I wonder how they'll choose which classrooms to donate them to." I assumed it would be for big cities, like New York or Los Angeles, where they would get the most press. We never heard anything else about it, and to be honest I never thought much of it after that.
Then one morning in late August, we got an email from a fellow ENC corps member that set the Ponderosa abuzz. TFAnet, our Teach for America portal, had posted a news article that said that Apple was donating the refurbished iPads to EVERY TFA classroom. We were excited, but there was still a feeling of disbelief. It sounded too good to be true.
A few days later, we got an email from our regional office that confirmed what we saw: we were in fact receiving iPads for FREE, one for each classroom, and would get to pick them up within the next few weeks!
It became the talk of TFA. iPads? For FREE? (As a fellow corps member said, they certainly don't come free--the price is blood, sweat, and tears.)
Soon after, we received another email with the option to sign up for a pick up date and location. We chose Sunday, September 11 at the mall in Raleigh. We loved reminding each other of the beauty of what was to come. A free iPad, in our hands, in just a few short days. This weekend couldn't come soon enough.
And then, it was here. The bittersweet date: September 11, 2011. I felt guilty being so excited on such a somber day. It's a strange way to commemorate the 10th anniversary of 9/11. However, I can't help feeling a bit giddy about this new tool and the world of opportunities it opens up for my kids and our classroom.
So bright and early this morning, the four of us piled in the car and headed to Raleigh to pick up our new 64 GB babies. The Apple store was opening especially for us at 8:30 am, where we received basic training from the Genius Bar workers. I could hardly contain my excitement, as is evident below:
Now we're back home, all flopped around various parts of the living room, glued to the screens of our new iPads and brainstorming ways to use them in the classroom. It's a scary thought, the fingers of my grimy 12 year olds all over the screen of such a precious, precious piece of technology. But I know it will be a great incentive, and I'm excited to use it to enhance my instruction. If only I could set it down long enough to be productive....
On a more serious note...I'm in the process of planning how to discuss the events of 9/11 with my class tomorrow. It's hard to believe that most of my kids were only 2 or 3 when it happened, and I learned last year that many of them really don't know anything about it except that a few planes flew into a few buildings. Especially since I remember moments from that day so vividly, even though I was only in the 8th grade. I remember hearing the news in Social Studies, and our teacher rushing us over to the science classroom to listen to the radio. I remember the announcement that came on that forbade the teachers from turning on the televisions. I remember being terrified when I heard one of the planes that crashed had left from the Boston airport, because I knew my mom was supposed to fly home that day from Logan International. I remember that all after school activities were cancelled. I remember walking home from the bus stop that day, stopping at the end of our cul-de-sac with tears in my eyes, wondering how such an awful thing could happen on such a beautiful day. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the flowers were still in bloom, but something just didn’t feel right. We found out my mom wouldn’t be able to come home for a few days, and my dad knew we were upset, so he took us out to dinner that night. We sat outside to enjoy the weather, but now I suspect it was also to avoid the televisions that were replaying the sickening footage over and over again. I remember I kept thinking, “Why?”, but no one had answers.
There is so much to talk about, yet I don't even know where to begin. I want to show videos, I want to have discussions, I want them to experience what it felt like to be a part of the events that day in even the smallest of ways. But most importantly, i want them to take it seriously and to be grateful for what we have. It's so easy to talk about September 11th one minute and then forget it ever happened the next, but the truth is it is still very much apart of our country's present. There are still people sacrificing so much for us to be what we are and have what we have. To all of you--thank you a million times over.
A good friend of mine found a website a few years ago that allows you to show your support for our troops by adopting a pen pal and sending a letter to a serviceman or servicewoman once a week (much better than the first program she found, writing to prisoners. A bit sketchy if you ask me.) I "adopted" my first solider from AdoptAPlatoon.org my junior year in college and wrote letters once a week for the length of his deployment. At the end of last school year, I signed up again and have been writing to another soldier once a week for the past few months. If you are looking for a way to show your support, check out the website. If you're worried that you wouldn't know what to say, don't worry, I never know, either. I just write. I update him on what's going on in the United States and in my classroom. I tell the occasional story about a crazy child or a fun adventure. And I always try to remember to say "thank you" in some way, shape, or form. I'm ashamed at how easily I forget all the men and women who have given up so much for us and put their lives on the line everyday. And recently, when I'm feeling frustrated with my job, that letter to Iraq reminds me of how grateful I am for all that I have, and the people that make it possible. All it takes is a stamp and some kind words.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Can I get a "TGIF"?
It’s been a while since I have fully appreciated the sweet relief of a Friday evening.
Last year, it was akin to feeling like the elephant that has been standing on your back all week finally lifted his giant hoof up one tiny yet somehow liberating inch. There was still so much to be done, but the beauty was that nothing had to be done right away. You could come home and collapse on the couch for a solid 20 minutes before you started to feel guilty about not grading that stack of papers that had been looming all week. By January, Fridays were absolutely necessary for preserving sanity. And by May, they became the benchmark by which you measure the rest of the year: “We just need to get to Friday, and then we only have 2 more weeks!” They were that last shred of hope when you felt so close, yet so far, from that glorious last day.
And then there’s summer. When the days of the week really only determine which reruns you catch each night and, for me, how many miles I had to run to keep up with my training schedule. And even then, Friday just meant I was one day closer to my dreaded long run on Sunday.
Today, Friday just felt like the logical next step after four days of long hours and hard work. It was about time. I was tired, both physically and mentally, and it just didn’t seem right to have another weekday. So, Friday swooped in and rescued me. We celebrated the end of the week by ordering pizza, but I think we were all really just too tired to have to cook. I wish I could come up with some clever analogy for my second year, but I’m too tired to think about it. I will say, though, that the elephant hasn’t found me yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.
Coming off of a 10 day mini-vacation (thanks to five, I repeat five days off due to Hurricane Irene and a holiday weekend), this week hit me like a ton of bricks. It was only four school days, but they were the first four days in a row since May, and in a weird way I felt very out of shape. Remembering 100 new names and faces, standing on my feet for 8 hours a day, using both my teacher voice and my teacher stare, keeping children focused and under control despite a ridiculous amount of stimuli and hormones, and molding them to be the “extraordinary” students that I know they can be. I forgot how exhausting it is.
Oh, and hey, in case I wasn’t already tired enough, let’s add another two hours to the day by coaching volleyball. By myself. With 20 girls, 6 volleyballs, and a net that’s 4 inches too short. Thank goodness it’s the sport with the shortest season. As much as I loved playing volleyball, coaching is a different story. In theory, it sounded great. In reality…not so much. Only because I never realized how difficult it is to teach someone how to play a sport, especially when most of those someones aren’t…shall we say, athletically inclined? I get so frustrated, not with the girls, but with the fact that I really don’t know how to explain the appropriate way to set the ball. You just…set it. I don’t know! And running practice with one coach and 20 girls is not easy. Thank goodness it’s middle school and we’re not trying to defend a previous title or anything. Hopefully I’ll eventually be able to find some fun in it. But right now, it’s just one more thing on the list, and one more reason I’m grateful for Friday.
Here’s the great thing. I know it’s only been six days, and maybe I’m crazy for saying this so early. But I love my job so much more than I did even 3 or 4 months ago. It may have something to do with the fact that I’m actually able to do my job right now, as opposed to spending half of each class period dealing with kids fighting or “joaning” or throwing things across the room behind my back (and on the worst days, throwing things AT me). Now that I’ve got it figured out about 1% more than I did last year, it’s so much more enjoyable. I know teaching is one of those careers where you can always get better, and you can never have it figured out, but I’ve definitely got it down a whole lot better than last year.
Have I mentioned how much I love the women I work with? They threw me a surprise birthday party during our planning, complete with snacks, drinks, cake, and ice cream, since we didn’t get to celebrate on my actual birthday grâce à Hurricane Irene. It was nice to have a breather and socialize with someone other than 12 and 13 year olds, and especially sweet that it was in my honor. Any excuse for a party during planning, and the 7th grade team is all over it.
It’s way, way past my bedtime, but some exciting news (more on that later) and an overdose on belgian chocolate wafers have kept me up long enough to get in a new post. Be on the lookout for a post early next week about the 4 new additions coming soon to the Ponderosa (don’t worry, no children or pets involved). Oh, and see below for a few pictures of my updated classroom.
Just some of the supplies from my generous family and friends, organized in my cabinet. The green cube is FULL of stuff, and behind the buckets are stacks and stacks of pencils and pens. Plus stacks of paper above. You all are ridiculous! (PS, I've gotten two more boxes since--thanks Becky and Amanda!)
This poster is currently sitting on the floor, after hours of hard work, because NOTHING sticks to those darn cinderblock walls. Someday i'll get it back up there.
Last year, it was akin to feeling like the elephant that has been standing on your back all week finally lifted his giant hoof up one tiny yet somehow liberating inch. There was still so much to be done, but the beauty was that nothing had to be done right away. You could come home and collapse on the couch for a solid 20 minutes before you started to feel guilty about not grading that stack of papers that had been looming all week. By January, Fridays were absolutely necessary for preserving sanity. And by May, they became the benchmark by which you measure the rest of the year: “We just need to get to Friday, and then we only have 2 more weeks!” They were that last shred of hope when you felt so close, yet so far, from that glorious last day.
And then there’s summer. When the days of the week really only determine which reruns you catch each night and, for me, how many miles I had to run to keep up with my training schedule. And even then, Friday just meant I was one day closer to my dreaded long run on Sunday.
Today, Friday just felt like the logical next step after four days of long hours and hard work. It was about time. I was tired, both physically and mentally, and it just didn’t seem right to have another weekday. So, Friday swooped in and rescued me. We celebrated the end of the week by ordering pizza, but I think we were all really just too tired to have to cook. I wish I could come up with some clever analogy for my second year, but I’m too tired to think about it. I will say, though, that the elephant hasn’t found me yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.
Coming off of a 10 day mini-vacation (thanks to five, I repeat five days off due to Hurricane Irene and a holiday weekend), this week hit me like a ton of bricks. It was only four school days, but they were the first four days in a row since May, and in a weird way I felt very out of shape. Remembering 100 new names and faces, standing on my feet for 8 hours a day, using both my teacher voice and my teacher stare, keeping children focused and under control despite a ridiculous amount of stimuli and hormones, and molding them to be the “extraordinary” students that I know they can be. I forgot how exhausting it is.
Oh, and hey, in case I wasn’t already tired enough, let’s add another two hours to the day by coaching volleyball. By myself. With 20 girls, 6 volleyballs, and a net that’s 4 inches too short. Thank goodness it’s the sport with the shortest season. As much as I loved playing volleyball, coaching is a different story. In theory, it sounded great. In reality…not so much. Only because I never realized how difficult it is to teach someone how to play a sport, especially when most of those someones aren’t…shall we say, athletically inclined? I get so frustrated, not with the girls, but with the fact that I really don’t know how to explain the appropriate way to set the ball. You just…set it. I don’t know! And running practice with one coach and 20 girls is not easy. Thank goodness it’s middle school and we’re not trying to defend a previous title or anything. Hopefully I’ll eventually be able to find some fun in it. But right now, it’s just one more thing on the list, and one more reason I’m grateful for Friday.
Here’s the great thing. I know it’s only been six days, and maybe I’m crazy for saying this so early. But I love my job so much more than I did even 3 or 4 months ago. It may have something to do with the fact that I’m actually able to do my job right now, as opposed to spending half of each class period dealing with kids fighting or “joaning” or throwing things across the room behind my back (and on the worst days, throwing things AT me). Now that I’ve got it figured out about 1% more than I did last year, it’s so much more enjoyable. I know teaching is one of those careers where you can always get better, and you can never have it figured out, but I’ve definitely got it down a whole lot better than last year.
Have I mentioned how much I love the women I work with? They threw me a surprise birthday party during our planning, complete with snacks, drinks, cake, and ice cream, since we didn’t get to celebrate on my actual birthday grâce à Hurricane Irene. It was nice to have a breather and socialize with someone other than 12 and 13 year olds, and especially sweet that it was in my honor. Any excuse for a party during planning, and the 7th grade team is all over it.
It’s way, way past my bedtime, but some exciting news (more on that later) and an overdose on belgian chocolate wafers have kept me up long enough to get in a new post. Be on the lookout for a post early next week about the 4 new additions coming soon to the Ponderosa (don’t worry, no children or pets involved). Oh, and see below for a few pictures of my updated classroom.
Just some of the supplies from my generous family and friends, organized in my cabinet. The green cube is FULL of stuff, and behind the buckets are stacks and stacks of pencils and pens. Plus stacks of paper above. You all are ridiculous! (PS, I've gotten two more boxes since--thanks Becky and Amanda!)
This poster is currently sitting on the floor, after hours of hard work, because NOTHING sticks to those darn cinderblock walls. Someday i'll get it back up there.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Confidence is Key
I know I’m a week late, and I also know I have no excuses since I’ve had so much free time on my hands (that’s a story for another day). But here it is: part one of the first days of school series.
As I was reading my posts from this time last year for some inspiration, I couldn’t help but laugh at how naïve and unsuspecting I was. Those first few days were great—I was on top of the world, and had all the confidence in the world in my kids. But as the year wore on, the days got worse before they got better, and there were certainly days where I wondered what I was doing and how I would ever survive. I was run over by 12 and 13 (and some 14) year olds, and some days I just gave up.
This year, I knew confidence was key. And luckily, as I stood in my position outside the auditorium at 7:25 Thursday morning, watching the kids trail in from the buses, all the nerves I felt in the car that morning were replaced with a surge of energy and confidence. And I got right to work doing what I do best: being bossy.
“Tuck in your uniform. Tuck in your uniform. Thanks for having your uniform tucked in. You’re going to hear it from three more people as you walk by, so you might as well just do it now. Tuck in your uniform.”
I felt established and legitimate. Thirty seconds into the new school year, and I was already laying down the law. Kids recognized me and knew about me, and that automatically gave me a leg up from where I was this time last year. I was no longer the new white lady; I was Miss H…and Miss H don’t play. The other staff members and I were sending the message that this was a new year, and we meant business, beginning with the way you looked when you walked through those doors.
My nerves came back a little as we stood in the auditorium with all of the kids, waiting for our opening day announcements. I realized that these new 7th grade babies were all mine, and I didn’t know anything about a single one of them. And those 8th graders in the middle? They used to be mine, but now they were someone else’s. In some cases, I was relieved. In others, I was sad and jealous of the teacher that would get my sweet, sweet babies. But mostly, I was proud to see them sitting in the spot that was reserved for the “upperclassmen”, proud that I could say I taught them.
Part of the first day announcements is to introduce the staff and call out the homeroom rosters. Each teacher was called to the front, and the students responded with polite applause and the occasional cheer. As I waited for my name, I started to worry that some of my more difficult students from last year would boo me. After all, so many of my students spent so much time last year complaining, rolling their eyes, smacking their lips, harassing me and probably cursing me under their breath when I walked by (and those were my good kids). I had good relationships with a handful of my kids, but I always felt like there was a barrier that I couldn’t break down. By the end of the year, I wasn’t sure how many of my kids I had actually reached.
Our principal began calling the 7th grade team, and I sucked in my breath, ready to walk with my head held high despite the impending humiliation. But when my name was called, I made my way down to the stage to an uproar of cheers and applause from the same babies who had caused me so much heartache just months ago. I didn’t hear a single boo, and the other teachers raised their eyebrows at the ruckus and smiled at me as I took my place at the front. My eyes watered as I fought back tears, swelling with pride at the possibility that maybe, just maybe these kids finally understand how much I just wanted them to succeed last year, and that everything I did, right down to raising my voice and sending kids to the office, was done because I truly believed it was what was best for them.
Or maybe they just “like” me in some superficial, less rewarding way. It’s hard to tell.
Either way, I was incredibly moved and inspired by my kids’ enthusiasm. I knew that on some level, I had had success with my kids from last year, and I could do it again this year. I couldn’t help but think it was exactly what my new babies needed to hear. They were about to learn that Miss H is strict and has really high expectations of her students. But it was good for them to see that strict does not mean unlikable or mean.
Stay tuned for more on strict Miss H. If you don't believe it....well, believe it, 'cause it's true: Miss H don't play.
As I was reading my posts from this time last year for some inspiration, I couldn’t help but laugh at how naïve and unsuspecting I was. Those first few days were great—I was on top of the world, and had all the confidence in the world in my kids. But as the year wore on, the days got worse before they got better, and there were certainly days where I wondered what I was doing and how I would ever survive. I was run over by 12 and 13 (and some 14) year olds, and some days I just gave up.
This year, I knew confidence was key. And luckily, as I stood in my position outside the auditorium at 7:25 Thursday morning, watching the kids trail in from the buses, all the nerves I felt in the car that morning were replaced with a surge of energy and confidence. And I got right to work doing what I do best: being bossy.
“Tuck in your uniform. Tuck in your uniform. Thanks for having your uniform tucked in. You’re going to hear it from three more people as you walk by, so you might as well just do it now. Tuck in your uniform.”
I felt established and legitimate. Thirty seconds into the new school year, and I was already laying down the law. Kids recognized me and knew about me, and that automatically gave me a leg up from where I was this time last year. I was no longer the new white lady; I was Miss H…and Miss H don’t play. The other staff members and I were sending the message that this was a new year, and we meant business, beginning with the way you looked when you walked through those doors.
My nerves came back a little as we stood in the auditorium with all of the kids, waiting for our opening day announcements. I realized that these new 7th grade babies were all mine, and I didn’t know anything about a single one of them. And those 8th graders in the middle? They used to be mine, but now they were someone else’s. In some cases, I was relieved. In others, I was sad and jealous of the teacher that would get my sweet, sweet babies. But mostly, I was proud to see them sitting in the spot that was reserved for the “upperclassmen”, proud that I could say I taught them.
Part of the first day announcements is to introduce the staff and call out the homeroom rosters. Each teacher was called to the front, and the students responded with polite applause and the occasional cheer. As I waited for my name, I started to worry that some of my more difficult students from last year would boo me. After all, so many of my students spent so much time last year complaining, rolling their eyes, smacking their lips, harassing me and probably cursing me under their breath when I walked by (and those were my good kids). I had good relationships with a handful of my kids, but I always felt like there was a barrier that I couldn’t break down. By the end of the year, I wasn’t sure how many of my kids I had actually reached.
Our principal began calling the 7th grade team, and I sucked in my breath, ready to walk with my head held high despite the impending humiliation. But when my name was called, I made my way down to the stage to an uproar of cheers and applause from the same babies who had caused me so much heartache just months ago. I didn’t hear a single boo, and the other teachers raised their eyebrows at the ruckus and smiled at me as I took my place at the front. My eyes watered as I fought back tears, swelling with pride at the possibility that maybe, just maybe these kids finally understand how much I just wanted them to succeed last year, and that everything I did, right down to raising my voice and sending kids to the office, was done because I truly believed it was what was best for them.
Or maybe they just “like” me in some superficial, less rewarding way. It’s hard to tell.
Either way, I was incredibly moved and inspired by my kids’ enthusiasm. I knew that on some level, I had had success with my kids from last year, and I could do it again this year. I couldn’t help but think it was exactly what my new babies needed to hear. They were about to learn that Miss H is strict and has really high expectations of her students. But it was good for them to see that strict does not mean unlikable or mean.
Stay tuned for more on strict Miss H. If you don't believe it....well, believe it, 'cause it's true: Miss H don't play.
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