Are we there yet?

The days feel interminably long. The nights pass too quickly. Before I know it, it's 8:30 pm, and I haven't eaten dinner or done anything more productive than read a chapter of my book or change the channel to a new show. Everyone is getting sick, and no one feels like getting out of bed to go to work. It can only mean one thing...

Winter Break is almost here.

My advisory partner and I have challenged our homeroom students to read 2 books before winter break because the reading teacher expressed concern that they were the only class that would not be on grade level by the end of the year. We don't want anyone else to know, though, so we refer to it as "scuba diving" when other teachers or students are around. We put a sticker on their desk when they've "caught a fish", and they get to decorate a fish to put on the board when they've met their two book goal. As excited as I am to see my babies reading, this means two things. One, I also have to read 2 books and two, I have to continue to "sell" the importance and excitement of what they are doing. Both energy and time are lacking, and it's making this a difficult challenge for me.

There's nothing like an unexpected sweet note from a student to lift my spirits from the abyss that is the-weeks-before-winter-break.

"Dear Moma bear,

People never tell you how great you are. Well I am telling you that your the best teacher ever (sh don't tell anyone). I hope you acomplish your goal of 2 books. I was wanting to let you know you do feel like a momma bear to me! Here is a list of things I like about you. Smart, funny, pretty and much more. Thanks for teaching me.

Love your baby bear"

Thank you, sweet girl, for reminding me why I do this job, right in the middle of a season when it feels so thankless and exhausting.

Fall Break, Part 1

I’m aware the Fall Break was almost two months ago, and that interest in my adventures has probably waned at this point. Selfishly, though, I like to have a record of events to look back on, so bear with me as I recap Part 1.

I'm not exactly sure at what age I first started to feel like an "adult", but there have been several moments where I knew I had ventured into the long-awaited and much-feared land of adulthood.

Renting a car was one of those moments. Not only because I managed to get myself to the off-site rental car location without calling my parents, but because I had a slew of worries and anxieties that only an adult would have:

Does my insurance cover this? Do I need additional insurance? Does the rental car guy think I'm 12? Does he think I'm crazy for asking all of these questions? Am I supposed to tip him? Is it possible to lock the keys in the car? Is it just me or is that guy driving really close to me? Oh no, is he SWERVING INTO MY LANE?! (He wasn't; I was paranoid.)

Not to mention I felt like I had fallen into the generational gap when the Enterprise man told me I didn’t need keys to drive the car. It was a keyless ignition, and the car started with just the press of a button. It was like the scene in Baby Mama, when Amy Pohler is struggling to figure out the “space car”.

I happened to have two week days off for Fall Break, so I decided to use one of them to visit my old students and coworkers, since I literally pass through the town on the drive from Raleigh to Richmond. I didn't want to be "that teacher", though, that comes back in the middle of the day, walks the halls, and distracts students from their work. So instead, I committed to a whole day of volunteering in a new TFA corps member's classroom, who also happens to teach my old babies. I had heard she was struggling, and I remembered those days oh-so-clearly, so I was excited to both observe her teach and teach my own lesson to model for her.

I could barely contain my excitement on the hour drive to Enfield. I had very strategically planned to arrive Thursday after school so that I could catch up with my teacher friends first. I walked in the back entrance like I always did, and the long hallway that stretched in front of me brought back a rush of memories. Before I had time to reminisce, though, I was running down the hallway to greet my old co-workers, trying not to cry or knock anyone over. I spent the next hour getting the latest gossip, meeting new teachers, and talking a little bit about my life in Nashville. I ended up seeing a group of students who had stayed after for various sports practices, and it made me even more excited about the next day.

Walking in to school on Friday gave me butterflies. I knew the kids would be excited to see me, but I also wondered if they would still show me respect. I worried that they would feel like I had abandoned them and that they would act out in defiance. I approached my old classroom with a mix of anxiety, apprehension, and genuine enthusiasm.

That Friday was one of my best teaching days at Enfield, and I had only scraps of a lesson plan, a handful of lame jokes, and a few new cheers to get them excited about class. The celebrity effect worked in my favor; it certainly played a large role in keeping (most) children in their seats and attentive. But it became very clear how much I have learned in just a few shorts months at my new school.

Leaving my babies was hard. It was even harder to find out just a few days ago that their current teacher is no longer at the school. This didn’t surprise me after my few interactions with her and some conversation with my old principal, but it hit me right in the heart. These babies that had worked so hard last year, had grown so much, and had even started to like math, were being failed by adults again. It’s not their fault, but they will suffer the consequences.

I won’t lie – for more than a split second, I thought about quitting my job and going to be with my old babies. They could easily replace me here, and it’s nearly impossible to find willing and capable teachers to work in a small town like Enfield halfway through the year. And then my adult brain started kicking in – you have a job, new babies, a mortgage, and a life in Nashville. As desperately as I wanted to be there for my EMS kids, I knew that it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought.

I wish there was a happy ending to this story. I guess all I can do is pray that there will be. Hopefully, another teacher steps into the job who can love those babies like they deserve to be loved, and teach them like they deserve to be taught.

Fall Break, Part 2

No, you didn't miss a post. And yes, I'm about a month and a half late. I've been trying to write for weeks now, but the days I have the time I don't have the capacity. So backtrack with me a bit, will you, as I reminisce about Fall Break mere days after Thanksgiving Break and just a few weeks from Winter Break. My four-day weekend for fall break happened to coincide with the wedding of great friend. For years, I have referred to my closest friends from high school as "the girls", but those simple words could never describe just how important these particular girls are to me. This year will be our 10th annual Christmas party, which means we've known each other since the days of braces, Backstreet Boys CD releases, and instant messenger. My love for "the girls" could fill an entire blog, but the short of it is we've been through a lot individually and as a group, and ten years and ten cities later, we are still close friends. The third "girls" wedding was one of the highlights of my break, not only because all nine of us were finally reunited, but because we got to watch Kourtney marry her best friend.

My goal for the weekend, post-Enfield, was to see as many of the girls as much as possible, since I live so far way now and it's rare that we are all together. Eight of the nine of us spent Saturday afternoon hanging out with the bride and her family at a low-key cookout, then met up with the bridesmaids that night for a quick drink. It was great to be together again, with the addition of boyfriends and husbands, and it only built up the anticipation for the following day.

Sunday was an absolutely gorgeous fall day, a perfect day for a wedding. And we looked pretty nice, too :)

We arrived at the outdoor venue and were greeted by the bride and her bridesmaids from the second-floor window of the bridal suite. As always, Kourt looked calm and collected, and you could tell even from hundreds of feet and two stories away that she was stunning. I had seen her dress the day before, but it always looks a million times more gorgeous on the glowing bride, and I couldn't wait for her to walk down the aisle.

The ceremony was intimate and incredibly beautiful. Kourt's sister has an amazing voice, and her version of Jason Mraz's "I Won't Give Up" fit the occasion perfectly. I couldn't get over how calm and content the bride looked the whole time, like this was exactly where she was supposed to be. It's what you hope every bride is thinking on their wedding day, but Kourt's calm confidence was incredible.

The rest of the night was spent celebrating the couple with hilarious toasts and absolutely delicious food...I'm pretty sure we all went back for seconds. Oh, and the dance floor. Must I even mention the dance floor? Even Jenna, who is recovering from a broken ankle and was sporting a boot, spent most of the night dancing (we may have hassled the deejay a bit to play a few of our favorite songs, ahem, MMMbop).

It's always bittersweet to come back from a long weekend (90% bitter, 10% sweet). It's hard to leave behind the people I love the most, and it's a tough transition back to 4:30 am wake up calls and being responsible for your own meals (can't I have catered food for every meal?). But it's also nice to get back to a routine, have my own space, and get back to the work and the job that I love.

Hopefully part 1 of Fall Break is coming soon...

Everybody's working for the weekend....

My first year of teaching was a perpetual countdown. Every Monday morning, my roommates and I would greet each other over breakfast with, "Only 5 more days until the weekend!", and continued our countdown until Friday. We even purchased a wall calendar for the sole purpose of being able to physically cross off days leading up to major holidays, breaks, and self-created "mental health days".

My second year, we welcomed a new roommate who brought a refreshing perspective to the breakfast table every Monday morning: "Only 4 more days of waking up early this week!"

She fit right in.

As exhausting and challenging as the week was, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty for always "working for the weekend". Many times I asked myself, "Is this what I'm working for - the weekend?" It's often what it felt like. I don't remember if I shared this concern through a blog or if it came up in conversation, but I do remember that my dad was the one who eased my mind about it. "Everybody works for the weekend, Court."

He told me that even though he likes his job and the people he works with, he still always looks forward to the weekend. And for some reason, knowing that my hard-working, honest, and genuine father feels the same way made all the difference in the world. Thanks, Dad.

Now in my third year of teaching, I know exactly why we work for the weekends. They are well-deserved. They are brimming with possibility. They are restorative. They are just plain glorious.

I've had some of the best weekends I can remember in the past month or so. My birthday weekend was rather underwhelming, but it was long and restful and fine for my 24th year. I celebrated with a few friends with dinner, margaritas, and gourmet ice cream, after treating myself to spur-of-the-moment haircut (one of my favorite things).

The following weekend, my parents came to visit for the first time since they moved me in. My dad had carefully mapped out a list of things to do and places to eat, and we kicked off the weekend with a delicious breakfast at an East Nashville restaurant that I didn't even know existed. A mere mile from my apartment, it's a quaint one-room cafe, with a friendly staff and specialty dishes, including the banana and nutella french-toast-wrapped-in-pancakes that Dad ordered. That evening, we visited the Nashville classic Bluebird Cafe for live music and drinks, and I was completely blown away by the talent that is tucked into every pocket of Music City.

After a visit to a local cupcake shop Sunday morning, we walked the 0.9 mile to LP field, where we watched Tom Brady and the Patriots breeze past the Tennessee Titans. My first-ever NFL game, and hopefully not my last! It was a beautiful Indian summer day, and I woke up Monday morning with sunburn and a renewed soul for the week ahead.

The next weekend, a co-worker and I went back to the Bluebird Cafe to see Josh Kelley, a pop-turned-country artist who is the true definition of an "entertainer". Hilarious and incredibly talented, it was well worth standing in line for 30 minutes and sitting at the bar rather than one of the reserved table seats. We sat next to an established songwriter and her husband, chatting about her experiences writing for Reba and JoDee Messina and traveling back and forth between LA and Nashville to continue her work. How cool?

Last weekend, a group of us from work drove 30 minutes out to Arrington Vineyards, the winery owned by Brooks of Brooks & Dunn. The gorgeous cabin hosts a free wine-tasting and a wine shop, where you can buy your libations for the evening. There is a tent with live music, and the beautiful grounds are speckled with wooden picnic tables that are open to anyone. We snagged a table, laid out a spread of snacks, passed around a bottle of Arrington wine, and enjoyed a night of conversation that had nothing to do with work.

Saturday night, a couple of co-workers and I went to a local East Nashville coffee shop to see more live music, followed by a gourmet ice cream and a cocktail at a local restaurant. I truly felt like an "East Nashvillian" that night, as I discovered some of the hidden treasures of my new town.

As I'm settling into my new job and my new city, carving out routines and making new friends, it's becoming more and more obvious why I work for the weekends. I love my kids, and on a good day I love my job, but we need a break. Our lives can't revolve around work, or we lose ourselves and our sanity. The weekend is my time to recharge and re-energize, to take a break and to do something for me. I no longer feel guilty about looking forward to weekends, because I've seen just how vital they are to maintaining my sanity and to preparing me for the week ahead.

This weekend's activities require a post of their own, so be on the lookout.

Happy Hour

Thank goodness for like-minded co-workers. Although there are only a few, at least there are people I can commiserate with about the current state of my life. Or lack thereof.

Out of 15 teachers, only five of us have previous teaching experience elsewhere, four of whom were TFA corps members in highly dysfunctional school districts. The four of us tend to stick together, sending sarcastic emails throughout the day, exchanging knowing looks from across the teacher workroom, and sharing stories of how we have most recently been patronized by another staff member. At the beginning of each week, one of us sends out an email with "things to look forward to", including gym dates and weekend plans. Our new coping mechanism: Wednesday night happy hour.

This is not our first happy hour, but it's our first with just the four of us, and it was nice to have the freedom to say whatever we wanted, without fear of it getting back to someone else. My friend Ashley and I even changed into jeans in an attempt to be "normal" people after hours.

Besides the impressive spread we created, we also had an incredible view:

While most of the conversation revolved around school (let's be honest- what else do we have to talk about? It's all we do!), we did manage to change the subject several times. Go us!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

My best friend from the Corps forwarded me this article, and I couldn't help but share it, because so much of it hits home. I'm not sure it's quite as simple as he makes it sound, but I agree with the general idea of the article. This may not be of interest to anyone but other teachers, but it's food for thought.

Silent Support

I've been waiting to write again until I had something worth writing about. A sudden change of heart that renewed my hopes and reaffirmed my purpose here in Nashville. A story or two that would move you to have faith in me, in my kids, and in this crazy school that is currently owning my life.

I've got nothing.

In some ways, things have gotten better. Although I'm pretty sure by better, I really just mean I've adjusted. I'm still working 12+ hour days. Last Thursday, I was at school from 5:30 am to 9:00 pm. Working. Copying. Grading. Trying to stay awake. Nonsense.

My official bus-unloading duties don't begin until 7:20 am, but I started getting to school two hours early when I discovered the silence and stillness that awaits me before most of my coworkers are even awake. Originally, it was a way for me to appear as though I was not letting the crazy workload engulf me. I was able to leave everyday at least by 5:30 pm, if not earlier, while most of the other teachers had to stay late and make copies, grade papers, etc. They thought I was just super efficient; in reality, I was trudging out of bed at 4:45 to take advantage of the quiet building and open copiers.

Two things have happened to change this.

First, other people started to get to work earlier and earlier, encroaching on my peaceful space and crowding the copier before anyone is even truly awake enough to operate it properly. This morning, someone even beat me to work. Panic is rising in my chest as I type this. It's supposed to be my time, my space, my brilliant idea to get to work early so I don't have to stay late.

Oh wait, and then there's the second thing. The fact that the workload has caught up with me, and I can no longer leave early. I still get to work at 5:30, but now I'm not leaving until at least 6. If not later. By the time I get home I'm so exhausted and brain dead that I can't get anything productive done. I can barely get myself up off the couch long enough to cook dinner or do the dishes. But because of this, I only get more behind and have to stay later at work. It's a vicious cycle.

But I'm determined to beat it.

I'm not sure how or when, but I will figure out a system. I will not let this job take over my entire life. Because you do not have to sacrifice your personal life to be a great teacher.

I'll let you know when I figure it out. For now...I could use some silent support. Just hover both hands above your keyboard and wiggle your fingers at your screen. That's a sign we teach our kids for a variety of circumstances, including when a classmate is struggling and needs a little encouragement. That's me, riding the struggle bus. So send that silent support my way.

It happened.

I had my first "moment" about 30 minutes ago.

I had just hung up the phone with my parents. Just minutes before, I got an unsettling call from the bank about my loan for the condo, and of course wanted to tell them because I needed an "adult's" interpretation of the implications (I guess I'm technically an "adult", but as soon as someone starts talking about money in amounts larger than $100, I turn it over to the expert, my dad).

Right before that phone call, I was talking to the TFA teacher who is inheriting my EMS babies this year. It was open house tonight, and she met some of those sweet babies for the first time. Every time she read a name from her list, I felt a bit like those annoying seagulls in the movie Finding Nemo. All I wanted to shout was "Mine! Mine! Mine!" Those are my babies.

I got carried away telling her how S. is brilliant but sloppy and has no control over his own limbs; J. has huge dreams of going to college at Duke, and she deserves to get there; M. is a sneaky little rascal, watch him with those playing cards.

As I was sharing my insight and sometimes completely irrelevant stories about the kids, the new teacher nonchalantly interjected with some of the conversations she had that night. Words that rocked my world.

She told me my kids came bouncing into her room (my old room!) with genuine excitement about math. She said they told her that I was the first teacher that actually taught them math and broke it down so that they could understand it. They told her excitedly about the activities that we used to do that they loved.

The teacher was telling me all this with hopes of acquiring my resources. She wanted to know what I did to build such a positive rapport with them, because she told me it was very clear that I got through to them.

She had absolutely no idea how much those words meant to me.

After the combination of those three phone calls, I lost it.

To be honest, I've been having a tough time getting adjusted to my new job, for reasons that I probably shouldn't post about in a public forum, but eventually will anyways (with the appropriate amount of discretion). The challenges I'm facing are on the opposite end of the spectrum from the ones I faced previously, but they feel so much less rewarding. I said it before, but I've had my moments where I wondered why I even left EMS to begin with. I've always been able to step back and remember why, but after tonight, I've found myself back in a place of doubt. And at the same time, a place of incredible certainty.

I know I would have always wondered "What if" if I hadn't taken this job, so I don't regret it. But after hearing about my kids tonight, that fire was lit in my soul again to fight for them. To love them. And I began to wonder how I could have abandoned them. I feel certain that I made a difference for many of those kids. Not in a "oh, I'm so great, look at me, I changed lives" kind of way. In a "I'm so incredibly proud of how dang hard those babies worked, and I know I pushed them just the right amount" kind of way. I know I made them work harder than they've worked before, but I also know that they can see and articulate that it paid off. And I couldn't be prouder of them for that. They actually like math. They aren't afraid of it. They are excited about it. Those are huge wins. We did it as a team, we did it when no one thought we could, and we did it with very little resources. Those words from the new teacher were a reminder of all of those things.

Now, I have unlimited resources, unlimited support, and a town full of people who believe in our cause, but I feel like a first year teacher again. Because I came from a school that operated on a very different set of systems (re: no systems), there is a huge learning curve, and the presumption that I don't know what I'm doing. My teaching and management styles are different from the expectation, both of which are perceived as inferior. Being new to the school is perceived as synonymous to being new to the profession, which is incredibly frustrating after fighting my way through my first two years.

Don't get me wrong. I'm am very quickly growing attached to these new sweet babies. My advisory class (aka homeroom) reminds me a lot of my honors babies from last year, even though they aren't technically "honors" kids. I appreciate all of the systems that are in place, because they allow me to really focus on teaching, and I have a blast doing my job. But there are things that I don't agree with, that I'm having a hard time adjusting to, that are making me miss my old school, my old staff, my old babies.

I'm not worried, though. I've come such a long way these past few years, and I say it all the time, but one of the biggest lessons I've learned is about perspective. It changes everything. So right now, I'm just remembering that things were not always warm and fuzzy at EMS, and there was a reason I sought out a new job. And that if nothing else, this is a learning experience and is making me even more aware of what I want and don't want in a job. I'm grateful for the doors that have been opened and am looking forward to where this year takes me.

Every vote counts!

I think it's very clear by now that the school in which I began my teaching career has a special place in my heart. The staff and the students have shaped who I am as "Miss H", and I miss them dearly. To say it was a difficult two years would be an understatement, but I would never, ever take a minute of it back. It shaped me professionally and personally in so many ways, and I learned more lessons than I taught.

Part of the challenges facing a school like my old school is the obvious lack of resources. It's a burden that falls on both the administration and the teachers, and one that can affect the quality of education provided to the kids. I was lucky enough to have generous family and friends (you all!) to donate supplies for my classroom my second year, and my kids never went without the essentials. But I vividly remember my principal scrambling for pencils on testing day and running out of copy paper at the end of the school year. Our textbooks were over 10 years old, and there were barely enough for a class set. Our art teacher had to borrow markers from me, the math teacher. It shouldn't be that way.

As if Target wasn't already my favorite store, another reason to love them. They are giving away up to $10,000 to schools across the country, and all we have to do is vote. You can vote once a week, and after a certain number of votes, a school earns Target gift cards. My old school is on the list, and all it takes is the click of a button. Want to help? Simply click here, then click "Vote". That's it. My sweet babies are one step closer to getting the resources they deserve.

Thanks for all your support!

Twas the night before school....

I know I should be sleeping. I know 5:00 is going to come to early, and I'm going to wish I had gone to bed hours earlier. Luckily, I already have the coffee maker loaded with grounds, pancakes in the fridge, and my clothes laid out. Because tomorrow is a big day.

Tomorrow is THE day.

The first day of school.

Ahh!

I can't believe it's here. After weeks of sessions, planning, role playing (yes, we pretended to be kids and ran through just about every scenario possible), more planning, more sessions, and even more planning....the day has arrived!

This is technically my 20th "first day of school" since kindergarten (when you think about it that way...I sound old!). As a student, every year felt a little different, yet strangely similar. I don't remember much about elementary and middle school, but I'm sure there was a healthy mix of nerves and excitement, as I clearly remember from high school and even college. But my two first-days-of-school as a teacher were a whole new level of emotion. I'm not sure I could ever put into words how I felt those first days, but I do remember this. As much excitement as there was, especially my second year, there was also a tiny sense of dread at the pit of my stomach. My first year: what if a kid curses me out on the first day? What if all of my kids are defiant and refuse to do anything I tell them? What if there's a fight in my room? (All of which happened at some point over the course of the year.) My second year: What if none of my kids want to learn? What if they think my jokes are lame? What if I can't get them to where they need to be by the end of the year? What if there's one kid who ruins it for the rest? There was an ever-present uneasiness that stayed with me even in my second year, when I was truly in charge of my classroom and my babies worked hard for me. Because at the end of the day, there was little support outside my four walls, and my kids took advantage of the lack of systems and discipline, as any kid would.

Desipte all of that, I found myself especially nostalgic for my old school today, as they started professional development and we prepared for our first day with kids. I miss the women I work with, I miss my principal, I miss the freedom I had to run my own classroom, and I miss having planning periods where we did nothing but socialize. And of course, I miss my sweet, sweet babies.

Much like when I first joined TFA, there have definitely been moments when I've wondered if I've made the right choice. This job is so much harder than my last job in so many ways. The expectations are ridiculously high for students, which means they are that much higher for staff. The hours are long, we work weekends, and there is always more to be done. Not to mention I still feel like I've abandoned my kids and a community that I fell in love with. My chest tightens every time I think about my volleyball girls, my honors babies, and my fellow teachers. My heart hurts when I think that someone might write my babies off as incapable of learning, and that I'm not there to fight for them. Oh, I have my days.

But then I remember that dread that I had every morning as I walked into school. Everyday was so unpredictable- with kids, with adults, with the district. I had no support, and although I grew leaps and bounds from my first year of teaching, no one was pushing me to be better. I was left to my own devices, because I wasn't a priority. Other teachers "needed" more guidance, so it was up to me to figure it out. In my second year of teaching. I needed support, I needed coaching, and I needed to be held accountable. This move was the best for me professionally, and I know it was the right thing to do.

Now, here I am, the night before my first day at my new school, and I feel not even one tiny ounce of anxiety. Maybe it will come when I wake up, or when I pull up to school, or when I see the buses outside the building, but I know for sure there will not be any dread in the pit of my stomach. I have never felt so prepared for something in my whole life. All the hours we've spent training, planning, and pretending to be misbehaving children have been worth it. I can go into tomorrow with peace of mind. I can walk into school feeling confident in myself and my teammates. I can breathe easy.

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 (of my teaching career): Accepted to Teach For America; begin hellacious 10-week training period to pursue my teaching career

Chapter 2: First year of teaching. And I thought Institute was hard...

Chapter 3: Second year of teaching. Whole new ball game. Bring it, babies.

Chapter 4: Third year of teaching, first year of teaching in a charter school. World officially rocked. And school hasn't even started yet.

While my parents helped make sure my physical transition to Tennessee was as smooth and comfortable as possible, nothing could have prepared me for the transition into my new job. Not even a 10-day European vacation (more on that in a later post).

I cannot even begin to explain how intense my new school is. It is simplfy off the charts. In a good way. But in a way that requires quite an adjustment on my part, coming from a place where no one had their act together and children got away with everything.

On my first day, I walked into our meeting space (one of the 5th grade classrooms), greeted by the energetic faces and voices of my new coworkers. I was 6 days late because of my trip across the pond, but no one seemed to care. They didn't resent me or treat me any differently, even though they had been working 10 hour days while I was running around Italy, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland.

On my desk was a 2 inch binder, filled with our professional development materials, tabs labeled by my thoughtful neighbor. We know how I feel about organized binders.

From my first few minutes in the meeting, it was clear that the team not only respects each other as professionals, but loves each other as a family. They enjoy each other's company, joke with each other, and work hard with and for each other and the kids.

That has remained the case these past 10 days or so. Our official workday is from 7 am - 5pm, but most of us are here before 7 and almost everyone stays past 5. And no one goes home empty handed. We all take our computers, plans, etc. with us and work even more. We work Saturdays at least 9 -3, but again most of us are here before and long after that. Simply put, we work our butts off. But it is so much more purposeful this year than the past two I've had. We have plan after plan after plan due, and while the deadlines nearly kill me, they set me and my students up to be successful before they ever even walk through our doors. I already have a vision document, a year long calendar, an outline of my entire curriculum (with the breakdown of knowledge, skills, and activities for each of my 40+ objectives), a Unit Plan, a Unit Assessment, 2 comprehensive exams, and a week of lesson plans. And I'm sure I'm still forgetting something. It hasn't been the most fun process, but it is necessary and so worth it. I have never felt so supported in my two years of teaching as I have these past ten days.

It is incredibly, incredibly challenging, though, to maintain a personal life, similar to my first year teaching. Luckily, I already love the people I work with. There are 12 or so of us, all under the age of 30, all very friendly and outgoing. Last week we did happy hour, and we're on our way to another one tonight. We have staff lunches on Fridays, where the school provides food and we sit around and just be for an hour. Todya we shared stories about our most embarrassing childhood injuries (riding my bike into the back of an 18 wheeler) and our favorite books (Harry Potter and anything Sophie Kinsella). In the process, I discovered 2 other girls who love One Tree Hill as much as I do, and learned a little more about all of my coworkers. But I'm having a hard time balancing my life here with my life outside of Nashville. I've been horrible at calling people, even though I think of at least one new person a day that I want to catch up with. The hardest part is, this pace is going to keep up all year long, so if I don't find a way to balance it now, it's only going to get harder.

So much more to tell, but my brain is fried today. Ready for a drink and some laughter (although we spent a large part of today laughing during team lunch and at various ridiculous things that have happened at sessions). More later (hopefully soon!).

All settled in

Two weeks with no internet is enough to drive a girl crazy. Currently, Panera and I are pretty tight. In the two weeks that I've been in Nashville, I think I've eaten at a Panera at least 10 times--mainly because I've needed to use the internet, but also because it provides a sort of comfort away from home. I love that every location looks almost exactly the same, with only a few differences in the layout of the particular franchise. I always know what to expect.

So far, Nashville is fantastic, besides the unbearable heat. One of my friends from college and her husband live in a suburb about 25 minutes away, so I've seen them multiple times for dinner dates, movie dates, a crafternoon, and even a trip to the lake. Seeing familiar faces regularly has also helped ease the transition.

The first week I spent here, I was staying in a hotel and spending the days working at my new school. I'm helping to develop the curriculum for 6th grade math since it's the first year it will be taught at this school. Last weekend, my parents came in to town to help me move into my new place, and this week is really my only "down" week before work starts again.

Pictures from my new place are below. I have to say, all of the decorating credit goes to my mother, and the building credit goes to both my mom and my dad. Mom did an amazing job picking out a color scheme that used what I already had (purple dining room chairs) and the backdrop that my condo provides (concrete floors, stainless steel appliances, espresso cabinets). And dad was a champ, spending many hours putting together at least a half a dozen pieces of furniture. I could never, ever have done it without my parents' help, and it definitely would not looked even a fraction of as great as it does.

It's a one-bedroom, 1.5 bath condo with space for a laundry room and a walk-in closet. And so far, I have loved every single minute of having my own place and living by myself. I absolutely loved my roommates in Roanoke Rapids, and miss them dearly. But I really appreciate having my own space and only having to worry about ME! It will be a nice escape after spending all day in a classroom with students or in meetings with other teachers. The only thing I don't have a picture of is the view from the rooftop terrace. My unit is on the second floor, and the view is nothing special, but if you go up to the 5th floor, there is a public rooftop terrace that has an amazing view of the Nashville skyline. I'm exactly 1 mile from school and 1 mile from downtown Nashville...doesn't get much better than that!

The on

Hope to have some visitors soon!

"Final" Results

Notice "final" is in quotations, because technically the data is still preliminary.

At our staff meeting before we departed last week, we were presented with our test results that included our retest scores. Only a handful of kids passed the math test the second time around, so I was feeling a little discouraged. My principal had already told me that we had pretty much broken even with our scores from last year, which is good considering our kids came to us a lot lower this year, but to outsiders it looks like we've made no progress. But I was holding my breath to see how 7th grade math did overall, and how we compared to the other tested subjects in the school. Because let's be honest, we're all a little competitive, and I had been telling my kids all year long we'd have the highest scores in the school.

Well, guess what?

WE DID! As far as we know, 7th grade math had 66% proficiency - the highest in the school by 11%! For a school whose composite proficiency is usually around 40%, this is pretty big news. We were also the ONLY subject to surpass the district expectations, and one of two subjects to meet HIGH GROWTH. 84% of 7th graders made at least some growth, and 5 out of every 6 made HIGH GROWTH. I cannot even tell you how proud I am of my babies. We worked hard, and it shows.

Here's the discouraging part. Our district harps all day long about wanting to see student achievement. They want passing test scores, they want students who are ready for the next grade level. But then my babies do it - they blow the previous scores out of the water, and they pass the district's goal for them, and nothing is done to celebrate them. I feel like I've been a one-person cheerleading squad all year long. No one congratulates them or acknowledges them for their hard work. I'm beginning to sound like a broken record with my constant affirmation and praise - can I get some back up please? These kids will never learn to value educational success if they aren't even simply acknowledged when they achieve it. And we can't just expect it from students who have a history of struggling. If there's one thing I've learned these past two years, it's that we have got to make students believe they can do it, and them encourage them the whole way. If they've never done it before, why would they believe they can do it now? Because I am telling them they will, and I'm the best math teacher they could have (I'm the only math teacher they could have - shhh!).

It worked, didn't it?

The hardest part is saying goodbye

It's been a crazy week. Seven days ago, I was finishing my last day at Enfield with some of my favorite people in the whole world. And I thought saying goodbye to my kids was hard....

After an emotional weekend, I danced, yes danced my way into work on Monday. Part of me thinks I was just avoiding the reality that in just three days, I'd have to say goodbye to some of my favorite people in the world. Nevertheless, Justin Bieber was blaring on my Smart Board, Starbucks was flowing through my veins, and life was good. For two days, the other teachers and I worked, cleaned, laughed, reminisced, and worked a little more. But as Wednesday approached, I started to feel a bit of dread in my stomach. I wasn't ready for it to end quite yet. I never imagined how attached I would become to this school, this staff, and this community two years ago.

I still remember my first day ever at the school. My then-principal met my roommate and I at the front door and the first thing she said was, "Welcome home." I never imagined that a place 100 miles away from the only home I had ever known would actually start to feel like just that: home. From the first day, my fellow teachers made me feel not only like a part of the team, but like family. Despite our obvious differences, they have become some of my best friends these past two years. Most of our time together was spent in common planning sessions, meetings, in the lunchroom, or debriefing the day at the bus ramp after school. But the occasional sports event or dinner out allowed us to really let loose and enjoy each other's company outside of work. While other teams at school struggled to communicate and in some cases even to tolerate each other, our team turned into a family. We had our differences and we hit some rough patches, but by the end of the year we were closer than ever. There were many mornings, especially my first year, that I simply did not want to go to work. And then I remembered that going to work meant hanging out with 4 or 5 of my friends (in between classes of course). Sure, I could have survived my two years without them. But I never would have felt so much a part of the school, and I never would have enjoyed my job as much as I did. And especially the ladies on my team this year--I never would have had as much success with my kids as I did. We were an incredibly strong team, disciplining our kids with consistency, holding high expectations across the board, and working together to make the best decisions for everyone. Many a day did they sacrifice their class time to give me more minutes in my tested subject, and I am convinced that every little minute contributed to the success we saw at the end of the year. I am so thankful for the women I worked most closely with--they are beautiful, hilarious, and inspiring.

And that's just MY team. There are so many other people at school that made my two years unforgettable. Our principal this year is amazing. She works her butt off for the kids, her team, and the community. She has endured so much criticism from the district and the state, yet she stays positive when it matters. She is frank and real; she is not afraid to admit when she makes mistakes, but she also recognizes when others aren't working to their potential. Her faith in our kids is what continued to inspire me even when it felt hopeless, and I am forever grateful to have worked with and for her for the past year. Our assistant principal, guidance counselor, drop out prevention officer - all of them - hysterical and fun and so welcoming.

Needless to say, our last teacher work day was a tough day. Everything was a "last", so I found myself choking back tears all day. The last time I'd make the drive to school, the last time I'd walk down the hallway, the last time I'd turn on my Smart Board, etc. etc. Dramatic, I know, but I wanted to savor every moment. I wrote letters to each of the women I worked most closely with, and cried reading a few that had been written to me. In the afternoon, the whole staff had lunch together in the cafeteria, and it was easy to forget what was coming as we laughed together over grilled chicken, corn, green beans, and pie.

As we headed back to our rooms, I started to panic internally. Was I really saying goodbye to these women, this staff, this school? When I walked out the door today, was I really not coming back? I was overwhelmed, and retreated to my empty classroom to hide. The other teachers were busy laughing and celebrating the beginning of summer, but I was sitting at my stool, trying to hold it together. And then...the flood gates broke. I don't know what triggered it, but I absolutely lost it. All the teachers were congregating in the 7th grade hallway (that's how awesome we are--everyone wants to be part of our team), so one by one they started to notice my meltdown and tried to console me. Naturally, that only made it worse, and my body was shaking with sobs. I know they probably thought I was crazy- after all, I was the one choosing to leave, and I was moving to a fun new city with a great new job. But what they don't understand is just how much I love them. How much they made me feel at home, and how much I appreciate the way they accepted me from day one. They shaped me as a teacher, and in some ways even as a person. I am forever indebted to the teachers and staff.

I know these past few posts have been a little bit less than uplifting, but it's important for me to remember what I was thinking and feeling in my last days at my first school. I promise the next post will be filled with some good news :)

Moving

There's plenty for me to say right now, and not enough time. I'm currently in Knoxville, TN visiting with a friend from high school before I make the last leg of the trip to Nashville. I did the first six hours yesterday after a quick stop in Richmond to pack up a few more things, and stayed the night in Knoxville to break up the trip. I'll be spending the majority of the week in a hotel in Nashville before mom and dad come help me get settled in. The goal is to get some work done at my new school since I'll be missing some professional development time for my trip to Europe (less than 3 weeks away!). Look for updates to come soon!

Lessons in Love

Weeks ago, as the regular school year was winding down and the beginning of testing was near, the days couldn't pass quickly enough. We began a countdown on the kitchen wall calendar after we returned from spring break, and 39 days felt like an eternity. My kids were starting to slip into summer mode, and to be honest so was I. I was ready to move on - a new job in a new city awaited me on the other side, it was just a matter of surviving. As we crossed the days off on our calendar each night, my roommates and I excitedly discussed how different our lives would be when that last day finally came and went. In my head I was planning my outfit for the last day of school, not because I cared how I looked, but because I wanted to ensure that I would be able to do celebratory cartwheels and high kicks down the hallways after we watched the last of the buses pull away. I imagined breathing a huge sigh of relief and feeling a 1,000 pound weight lifted off my shoulders, and clinking glasses with some of my TFA friends as we shared stories that reminded us why were leaving.

What I did not expect was to be standing in a parking lot, simultaneously passing out report cards and wiping tears from my eyes as I hugged my babies for the last time.

I went back and forth in my mind about whether I would tell my kids that I wasn't coming back next year. On one hand, I didn't want them to feel abandoned when they came back to school and I wasn't there. And maybe a little part of me was afraid some of my kids would just shrug it off, when it felt like such a big deal to me. But on the other, people leave all the time, and I didn't want to make a big deal about something that they probably already expected. Eventually, I decided to only tell my homeroom. We had spent so much time together, especially during testing and retesting that they had really become "my" babies, and needed them to know how proud I was of everything we had accomplished this year. I told them our last morning together and gave them all my cell phone number so they would be able to reach me whenever. It was hard (there may have been a few tears shed by yours truly), and the kids seemed sad, but the excitement of what was to come that day kept us all distracted.

We spent the day at Kings Dominion, a reward for the students who had either passed both tests or made significant growth from last year's scores. A testament to the transitional phase that is middle school, our kids were relieved to find out they didn't have to walk around with their assigned chaperone all day, yet were surprisingly excited when they ran into us as they roamed the park. Too "grown" to hang out with us, but still young enough to wave enthusiastically and brag about the ride they just rode as we crossed paths. They got a kick out of seeing us in line for a roller coaster, shocked that their usually strict teachers enjoyed a little adventure. I started to feel little pangs of sadness as I felt them already slipping away from me, but I was having too much fun to really feel the weight of it all. The weather was perfect, the lines were short, and the company was fantastic. Even though we were all exhausted by the time we headed home, the bus buzzed with an unmistakeable energy.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, the reality hit me. In just a few minutes, these children that I had fallen in love with would be headed home for the summer, and these babies would no longer be "mine". Although it's really me who is leaving, I had to stand there and watch them walk away, my heart breaking 20 or 30 times over as parents came in waves to collect their children. I always said I would never cry in front of children, but I couldn't fight back the tears as one by one they came to me to get their report cards and give me one last hug.

Some students were especially difficult to say goodbye to. KG, my smart-aleck (and very verbally gifted) baby girl who used to hate math and shut down on any attempt to push her past her comfort zone. The same baby girl who scoffed at her classmates' immaturity and cried out of the frustration of not fitting in. She has truly come out of her shell because our team of teachers loved on her when she felt alone and on the outside. She passed her math test with flying colors, and has a new appreciation for the subject that she once despised. JG, one of my volleyball girls for whom math came easily, and who has big dreams of playing basketball at Duke (while maintaining good grades, of course). DS, a quick-tempered young man who was a pain in the butt for every teacher except for me (theories include his love of math and his love of white women). He slept through every other class, but was one of my hardest working students. I was his school momma; he would do anything for me, and I was often the only one that could get him to come down from one of his fits of rage (he also passed BOTH of his tests advanced). KM and MC, two of my sweet baby boys who complimented how nice I looked and told me they loved me almost every day. JG, another trouble-maker who no one else could stand but who was an angel in my room (and also passed BOTH tests advanced). Seeing their faces, knowing how far they had come and how much I loved them, made me physically hurt somewhere deep in my heart.

I know some of you may think I'm crazy for being this upset over leaving, especially after some of the stories you've heard and the many times I've lamented about how awful it can be. And to be honest, there are some children that I am ready to be free from. Quite a few, in fact. But my homeroom babies...they are the loves of my life. They are the reason I looked forward to going to school, even when it was hard. They are the reason I got up in the morning when the day before had been a complete disaster. I couldn't wait to see their faces and answer their questions and challenge them in new ways.

These babies are beautiful, y'all. They are sweet, kind, generous, and helpful. They are playful like kids should be, and they keep me laughing all day long. But they also know when it's time to get down to business, and they are eager to grow and learn. I call them my "babies" because they are still like children in so many ways, seeking approval from the adults they trust and being respectful and obedient when they know you care. And they are as bright as any other seventh grade class in any other city or state. They aren't perfect. We had our share of moments where I was disappointed in their behavior or the way they treated one another. They are still kids, after all. But I would never have traded my babies for another group. Ever.

It may sound like I don't love my other children, and I assure you that's not the case. There are so many kids in the other classes that I love and will miss and that worked hard all year long. But the dynamic of this class and the culture we built was unstoppable, and led us to huge success. They let me be the best teacher I could be, and I am forever grateful for the way that they worked hard to make me proud.

I'm not just sad because I'm saying goodbye to such an incredible group of children. I'm sad because I'm scared. Scared that they will get trapped in the cycle that defines their communities. Scared that no one will push them as hard as I did or love them the way I do. Scared that their realities will overshadow their potential. Scared because I know that I will no longer be able to fight for them and so much is out of my control. They are so deserving of a great education, a bright future, and a happy ending, but they have so many odds stacked against them. So many things to overcome before they can even have half of the experiences that I've had. It's not fair.

I cried all the way home from school yesterday, cried as I recounted the story to my roommates, and have cried three times today thinking about it all. I never, ever thought it would feel like this, but in a way I'm glad it does. It means I've learned lessons in love so deep that I cannot separate myself from them. And isn't that the point of life--to love deeply?

The results are in...

It's been a long few weeks of testing, remediation, and retesting, and the results are finally in. But let me back up.

Two weeks ago, my babies geared up for the biggest three days of the school year: end-of-grade testing. They spent a day taking reading and two days taking math (with a calculator and without a calculator). I expected to be much more excited for my kids this year than last year, because overall they worked so much harder than my kids last year. However, as the day got closer, I realized that they had also had so much more to overcome. They came to me after having substitute teacher after substitute teacher in their math classroom as 6th graders. As a whole, they were lower than my the group my first year, and I was scared. Many of them busted their butts all year, and they would certainly show growth, but would it be enough to pass the test?

Unfortunately, for many of my kids, it wasn't enough. The day the results came back, our instructional coach told me it didn't look good. I was sick to my stomach; how would I tell my kids that they didn't do as well as we had hoped? Soon after my principal came down the hallway, the scores in her hands and a tired look on her face. Three of my four classes had less than a 50% pass rate. So many kids that I thought had a chance at passing missed the mark by just a few points. We had been so excited to bask in the glory of our success, that we had never imagined anything else.

Overall, 7th grade math had the highest pass rate in the school out of 7 tested areas, followed closely behind by 8th grade math (my babies from last year and my roommate's current class). After retesting, we even made it into the 60% range for proficiency, which is a pretty big deal for a school whose composite is usually about 40%. But it just didn't feel like enough. I felt discouraged, like all of our hard work had led us nowhere. And then God opened my eyes to some bright spots that truly made me proud.

A few days after receiving the results, our school's transformational coach pulled me aside after school. She is hired by the state to help our principal turn the school around, and while we don't always see eye to eye, her opinion does matter to me. I was nervous when she called me into her office, expecting her to say that she was disappointed by the numbers she saw for my classes. But instead, she began gushing in her sweet southern accent about how wonderful my scores were. I was confused; had she looked at the wrong papers? I told her I was a bit discouraged by the percentages, and that I had expected higher. She informed me that she hadn't even paid attention to the percentages; she had been focusing on growth, and my kids had grown significantly from last year. She pulled up the spreadsheet on her computer, and I was dumbfounded.

My eyes ran across the "Total points growth" column quickly, and my heart raced as I read: 5 points; 8 points; 12 points; 17 points; 10 points; 22 points....my kids had come so far from last year. While we don't really know what is "normal" in terms of growth, the goal for my kids was 7 points, and what we were seeing was amazing. All four of my classes averaged at least 7 points growth, with one class averaging 10 points growth. AVERAGING. That means there were several students in each class with well above 7 and 10 points growth. Even if they hadn't passed, they were significantly closer to being on grade-level than they were last year. I left her office beaming, grateful for a new perspective that reaffirmed my faith in both my kids and myself.

I consider all of my classes to be success stories. Knowing how hard they worked, how bad they wanted it, and how much they grew, there's no question in my mind that we were successful in so many ways. But I've got a real success story that makes me prouder than I ever thought possible. My homeroom rocked it. I mean, ROCKED it, y'all. They had 96% pass rate- all but ONE student passed, and the one student who didn't pass came to me less than 2 months ago, with hardly any basic math knowledge. And because she came so late in the year her score technically doesn't count. This means if we're being technical, we had a 100% pass rate! It gets better. Last year, this same group of 6th grade students had only 2 students pass advanced. This year, we had 10, count them, 10 students pass advanced! But wait! There's more! There are 5 major goals in 7th grade math, and my homeroom babies were at least 7 percentage points above the state average in ALL FIVE GOALS. In one goal, they were 16 points above the state average. These are students in a school that normally performs significantly below every other school in the state. And my babies blew the state average out of the water. I do understand that these students are naturally gifted at math. In fact, many of them managed to pass last year, even without a math teacher. So you may say that they didn't need me. But what I love the most is the last statistic that proves that we worked hard together, and that what we did together mattered. Even though they were already high-performing, they still averaged over 8 points growth as a class. I had students that passed last year grow 10, 12, even 14 points in my class. That is HUGE.

Although these last days are long, some of the best moments of the year are seeing the faces of the kids who have never passed an EOG before when you tell them their passing score. Hands down one of my favorite 30 minutes of this school year was announcing the news to my homeroom that we had the highest pass rate in the school, and watching the kids take off running around the room when they got their scores. Those moments make it all worth it.

The Time Has Come...

Today was our first official day of EOG testing. The kids took the reading test. We spent FOUR HOURS in complete silence, then an additional two and a half hours being barely productive. I can't blame the kids for not wanting to do any work after the test, but we still have two more days of math to get ready for! I'm getting incredibly nervous and excited. Of course I keep wondering what else I should have done to make sure my students are fully prepared. Did we practice the formulas enough? Do they all know how to use the calculators correctly? Will they remember to double-check their work? It's out of my control, now, because tomorrow morning is The Day. Game Day, as I call it. Good news: I have 3 special ed kids that took the modified math test early, and all three of them passed--one even passed advanced! Let's hope for the same results with the rest of the 7th grade. Wish us luck!

The past two weeks have been rough. It's been a battle to get out bed everyday.

About two months ago, we had an incident with two students in one of the 7th grade classrooms. It started out as a playful exchange, and eventually led to a boy picking up a chair and hitting a girl over the head with it, gashing her eyebrow and causing utter chaos before 8 in the morning. He was a student who had come mid-year, and had been a behavior issue since day one. In fact, he had been kicked out of his previous school for fighting, yet we still allowed him to come to our school. Problem number 1,392 with our county.

He was immediately put out of school and within days was a candidate for long-term suspension. Then one day, I saw his name removed from my roster, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. From day one, he was nothing but disrespectful and disruptive. He created a scene in class, and then laughed when he was disciplined. He talked back, refused to do work, slept, and had half of the seventh grade girls fighting over him. This incident was just the icing on the cake. The girl's parents pressed charges against him, and we thought for sure we were done dealing with this child.

Keyword: thought.

One day after school, our assistant principal was having a casual conversation with one of our team members, and he told her that the boy's trial had been held that day. Apparently, after hearing his case, the judge ordered this kid back to school immediately. She said no one could prove he was a threat to the school, and instead gave him probation and community service. No one could prove he was a threat to the school? Didn't he prove that when he picked up a chair and knocked a girl upside the face with it? He even claimed to have "blacked out" from anger. That's not dangerous?

When I heard the news, I felt sick to my stomach. This kid was going to waltz right back into school with a smirk on his face, and the kids were going to worship him. He would destroy the dynamic of a class I had worked so hard to repair. He would corrupt my innocent babies.

The school didn't have a say in the matter. The judge ordered it, so it was to be done. He was not allowed to come back until the principal had met with the superintendent, and the child, parent and probation officer met with the principal. This bought us 3 terror-free days, but eventually The Day rolled around when his name was placed back on my roster, and I thought I might throw up.

Before he was allowed back in class, we met with our school leaders and went over his behavior contract. It was basically a restatement of all of the rules and policies that ALL of our students must follow, but in a format that would spell it out very clearly for everyone involved. The contract required us to first make contact with the parent, then the probation officer, then disciplinary action. When asked my thoughts on the behavior contract, I couldn't respond with anything except, "I'm so angry that we are even in the position that I cannot think clearly."

Two weeks into his return, the child has broken 10 of his 11 expectations. So what happens? We have another meeting, this time with his father. The principal reminds him that he is not upholding his contract, and that the next offense will mean suspension. But shouldn't it be too late for that? Shouldn't he have been gone the first time he broke his contract?

Reason #275 why I can't stay here. These kids and their parents are not held accountable for anything. Everything is the teacher's fault, the school's fault, the principal's fault. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of working my butt off, only to be told I could be doing more, I should be doing more, that I'm failing my kids. That it's not fair to them. That I'm not good enough. I'm done.

21 days.

Thoughts on Testing

As I pace around the classroom, monitoring my students while they take the practice EOG, I can't help but replay the conversation my roommate and I had this morning while we went through the monotony of our daily routine. Pack lunch. Eat breakfast. Pour coffee. Announce countdown (22 days). Etc. etc. We were entertianing our favorite topic of the moment: life after TFA. The light at the end of the tunnel. Freedom. Independence Day. Get the point? Although both of us are transitioning into charter school jobs, where the hours are longer and the work is even more demanding, we are both moving to populous cities where there are people our age, people who aren't teachers,and some hope for a semi-formal existence (happy hour, anyone?).

We were talking about the schools in Chicago, where my roommate is headed (two reasons to visit now). While our students haven't even started state testing yet, the Chicago charter schools have been finished for nearly two months. I was immediately taken aback by this, and I proceeded to blurt out the question that has been haunting me all morning:

"So what have they been doing for the past two months?"

It's not necessarily the question itself that bothers me. In fact, I think most people woudl have a simliar initial reaction. What bothers me is precisely that. We've been conditioned to believe that our children's education revolves around a state test. That success is measured by their answers to 50 multiple choice questions. And that once the test is over, learning loses its focus.

When I say "we", I'm referring to our entire country. I know my circumstances are extreme. I'm working in a low-income, low-performing district where test scores are the scarlet letter that taint a school's reputation. The only hope of polishing that tarnished reputation is to raise test scores, and to do it quickly. so maybe the emphasis on standardized testing ins't as noticeable in the district where you were from or where you currently live. It has most likely become an expectation, a norm, an unspoken rule. Children pass, and they pass not only with proficiency but with fluency. They are promoted to the next grade level with advanced skills, not the bare minimum.

As soon as I asked that ridiculous question this morning, I felt embarrassed. What do they do after the state test? They probably have the opportunity to encourage creative thinking, to assign projects that allow students to delve into a topic that sparks their individual curiosities. They probably spend time learning about things that shape children as citizens, and not just students. I imagine kids actually get to fully engage in the science and social studies curricula, two subjects that are full of important and fascinating material but are often neglected because they are not tested.

Those students probably don't fear the standardized tests the way ours do. They probably don't have to be threatened with retention or bribed with an end-of-year field trip. Their teachers probably don't pray every night for them to pass the test the way that I do. I bet they are happier, healthier, more well-rounded children.

I know this is just the tip of the iceberg. I know I'm inexperienced, and that there are benefits to standardized testing. I know it's a complex, age-old problem that a second-year teacher isn't going to solve. But hey, this is my blog, and I'm just sharing my thoughts. What are yours?

Drum roll please...

* Written on Tuesday, April 10th but technical difficulties prevented me from posting earlier.

Two great offers. Two great schools. Yet the decision wasn’t difficult.


I think I made it more difficult than it needed to be. I was waiting for the same kind of peace God gave me when I was making my decision senior year about whether to join Teach For America or go abroad. I assumed I’d hear that same quiet voice, whispering either “Henderson” or “Nashville” with a gentle confidence. But God had a different MO this time. Instead of one moment of clarity, He blessed me with a string of reassuring experiences that ultimately gave me confidence in my final decision. I couldn’t see them all right away, but as I weighed my options, it became clear the direction in which He was leading me.
So, I’ll finish teaching in my current Eastern North Carolina school on June 14th, and pack my bags shortly after to move to……..drum roll please….






NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE!


I went into my interview with Henderson on Friday praying that I wouldn’t like it, that I wouldn’t get offered the job, or that there would be some glaring reason to turn down the job if it was offered to me. None of those things happened. I liked the school, I was offered the job, and there really wasn’t a giant red flag in the way. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would always wonder, “What if?” if I didn’t take the Nashville job. I already know what it’s like to live in rural North Carolina—boring, lonely, and sometimes even soul-crushing. It’s time for something different, something exciting, and as my roommate said, something life-changing.


I officially accepted the offer yesterday, after over a week of waiting. And this time, not waiting on God. Waiting on the school leader to come back from Spring Break. Immediately after leaving my interview with Henderson last Friday, I was about 85% sure I wanted to take the Nashville job. I spent the next few days “sleeping on it”, and each day I only found myself more excited about the opportunity. By Monday, Dad had booked us plane tickets to start apartment hunting in May, and I was anxiously awaiting the weekend so I could talk to the principal and officially accept the job. The week felt epically long, as I was also waiting for the beginning of our spring break. But finally, I was able to catch up with the principal, ask a few more questions, and express my interest in joining the team.


This week just keeps getting better—I’m currently sitting in a hotel room in Raleigh, watching the Celtics, eating Famous Amos cookies and packing for my trip to CHICAGO to see my sister tomorrow. I should be lesson planning so I’ll be ahead of the game when I get back, but I’m enjoying this whole break thing way too much to care right now. I have a feeling that these last two months of school will be incredibly difficult, knowing what’s ahead. Good thing I love my kids.

More details on the Nashville job coming up soon. I can’t wait to talk all about how incredible this school is, and what I’m most looking forward to leaving behind.

The Journey Continues

I spent the next two weeks furiously lesson planning for my own babies, Henderson babies, and Nashville babies, on top of trying to pull together a last-minute field trip. It was a crazy two weeks, and in the stress of it all, I began to doubt my decision. I know now it was a reaction to the stress and not a reflection of my true feelings, but at the time I was so consumed by "stuff" I had to do that I was ready to give up. There was one particular moment when I sat down in front of my roommate and said, "I can't do it."

My flight was booked for a Sunday-Monday visit to the school in Nashville. A "visit" also includes teaching a sample lesson, and I was terrified. Come visit me in my element, in my own classroom, and I have no fears. I love having visitors, especially since (for the most part) my kids love showing off for visitors. But throw me into a situation with so many unknowns and, well....watch me squirm. I spent my days working at school, then hours a night working on my sample lesson, stressing over how to make it perfect. Long story short, the Friday before I was supposed to leave for Nashville, my objective changed and my lesson was no longer relevant. For about 15 seconds, I was frustrated and felt defeated. And then I realized, hey, this means they'll have to cut me some slack, since they only gave me 2 days to plan a lesson! Even though I felt a little nervous about the sudden change, I couldn't shake the feeling that this would actually somehow benefit me.

I left for Nashville early Sunday morning, and one of my good friends from college and her husband picked me up at the airport. We spent the afternoon seeing the city--eating at a local restaurant, walking their new puppy around Centennial Park, and taking the grand tour of downtown. They were even sweet enough to run me to Target to get a few last minute supplies that I could not take on the plane. That evening, I met the principal, one of the math teachers, and the director of operations in East Nashville, right near the school, for dinner. I was nervous and a bit out of my element, but I enjoyed the conversation and a chance to meet some of the team members before my sample lesson the next day.

Monday morning, I took a cab over to the school and prepared for the day. From the moment I entered the school building, i was overwhelmed with excitement and awe. It's a small building, with only 4 classrooms, but it was warm and efficient. It was obvious from first glance that everything was incredibly organized. What I saw the rest of the time I was there only confirmed the awesomeness of the school.

I started the morning observing their advisory time, which is a chance for students to eat breakfast, get their stuff organized, and turn in their homework from the previous night. I was shocked by how self-sufficient the kids were, and how they monitored their own behavior with little direction from the teachers. By 8:10, I was on stage. My first run through of the lesson went horribly--I totally misjudged how long it would take me to teach the lesson, and the kids only had a few minutes to practice the skills on their own. The principal offered me some very honest and very constructive criticism, allowed me some time to reflect, and then asked me to go back in and teach it again to the next group. I felt much more confident the second time around, both with her guidance and my own reflections, and did a million times better. I got positive feedback from the principal, but it was hard to tell if I redeemed myself enough to be in the running. I spent the rest of the day observing other teachers and the procedures of the school, and by 12:00 was back in a cab on my way to the airport. I had fallen in love with the school and the kids, but I wasn't convinced that I had done enough to prove that I was up for the job.

That Friday, a colleague and I took 26 kids to NCCU and UNC Chapel Hill for a field trip. We had an absolute blast, and it was a beautiful day...a great way to round out a very busy week. The weekend came, and I was back to planning for my second sample lesson. The principal from Henderson was coming out to observe me on Tuesday, and then I was teaching out at Henderson on Friday. Another busy week ahead, another restless weekend.

Tuesday came and went quickly. I felt great about my observation - my kids were on point, as they usually are when they see a visitor they can impress, and a little bump in the schedule only gave me a chance to prove that I am flexible and can work under pressure. The principal left me a note complementing our classroom culture and my teaching personality/flexibility, and I knew I had done much better than my lesson in Nashville.

Wednesday afternoon, as I was driving home from work, I got a call from a 615 phone number. Immediately my heart jumped - Nashville! I answered the phone only to hear the principal from the charter school tell me she had spoken to my references, they confirmed what she thought about me from my interview, and she was hoping that I would join the team at their school. As soon as I hung up the phone, I screamed at the top of my lungs. I had a job - in Nashville! - if I wanted it. I was not "stuck" anymore. But I still had another interview to worry about.

Friday came around, and the process at Henderson was similar. Teaching a lesson, feedback from the principal, teaching another lesson, then observing. At the end of the school day, I had what would be considered a formal interview, except that it took place at Denny's, so I would say it was a bit more informal. After the questions he asked me, I wasn't convinced that I was what he was looking for (something I've learned through this process--interviewing is NOT my strength. I spend a lot of time talking in circles and trying to spit my words out). But on our drive back to the school, I mentioned that I had another offer on the table, and the mood shifted. When we settled back into his "office", he offered me the job on the spot.

Both positions that I've been offered are for 6th grade math. I would be a founding teacher at both. The salary of one is about $10,000 more than the other. One is in rural North Carolina, the other is in the heart of Nashville. Both are most if not all TFA alum and current corps members. Both have incredible school leaders that both challenge and support their staff to be the best they can be.

That means a decision is in order.....

Stay tuned.

Journey to Next Year

I tend to make a lot of spontaneous decisions in the month of February. February is when I secretly applied to Randolph-Macon six years ago, not telling friends or family because I knew I wouldn’t end up there anyways (ha). February is when I submitted my Teach For America application four years later, after only having discovered the program a month before. And this February, I submitted yet another life-changing application when I emailed my resume to 2 new open positions.

Sometime in early February, right around the time of a discouraging staff meeting that involved condescending comments from our superintendent, I hit a point where I literally said aloud, “I don’t know if I can do this another year.” It came out of nowhere. I remember speaking those words to a colleague, and subsequently hiding the feeling of shock as I heard myself say it. She casually shrugged it off as part of our daily venting routine, and I didn’t say anything else. It had caught me off guard. If you had asked me even a month earlier, fresh off of winter break, I would have said that I would be back for my third year, just like I had planned since joining TFA. I had even signed my letter of intent to return. But over the next few days after that staff meeting, I felt this itch to start considering other options. My roommate as in the process of looking at charter schools in Chicago, and I thought, “Why not?” I didn’t know much about charter schools, but what I did know sounded infinitely more appealing than another year in this county. A county where there is no support or respect for teachers. A county with issues that are constantly swept under the rug, all in the name of politics.

After an especially brutal day at school, I was scrolling through my email when I came across a job posting for a charter school in Nashville. I had seen the posting several times before, and had thought about how cool it would be to 1) work at a charter school and 2) live in Nashville, but the disappointment of that particular day motivated me to actually investigate the situation. Currently in its first year with only a 5th grade class, the school is 100% TFA or TFA alum and is looking for a team of founding 6th grade teachers. That same night, I started updating my resume and filling out the application.

The more I researched and worked on the application, the more I could taste freedom. I began to imagine life outside of this tiny town and a school where I saw no progress and no enthusiasm. I poured my heart and soul into that application, desperately wanting to join a team of like-minded teachers in an environment where learning was truly valued. Three weeks later, I submitted my resume and application, and just a day later, received an email asking me to set up a phone interview with the school leader. I was so unprepared, and felt like the interview went horribly. But before I hung up the phone, the school leader asked me to come out to Nashville to visit the school and teach a sample lesson, all expenses paid. Terrified and ecstatic, I agreed.

After finishing my application to the Nashville school, I realized that I truly wanted out of this town. And what if the Nashville job didn’t work out? Here I was, getting my hopes set on freedom, and it wasn’t a sure thing. I knew I needed to start looking elsewhere, in case the first job didn’t work out. My next turn: a 2-year old charter school in Henderson, North Carolina. I had visited Henderson before; in fact, it had been the source of inspiration for my classroom this year. I saw children who were from families and communities just like my students, but instead of being unruly, ungrateful, and unmotivated, they were respectful, hardworking, and eager. Every hand was in the air to answer a question. Every mouth was closed while the teacher was teaching. Every bottom was in a seat, every nose in a book….at lunch. I left feeling excited for a chance to bring that same level of discipline and engagement to my classroom. And I did, and it lasted for about twenty seconds. Okay, maybe a couple of weeks. Maybe even a few months. But my kids lost their steam, and I lost my will to enforce it, especially knowing that no other classrooms were enforcing the same things. Anyways, an email from the school inspired me to submit my application, and I received a phone call shortly after, asking to set up an observation and a visit to the school to teach a sample lesson. Jackpot.

I’ll leave you there for now, since it’s already been an epic entry.

Black Ruffly Suit Jacket

I can't wait to take this suit jacket off. It's not uncomfortable, it's just not really me. It was a spur-of-the-moment and probably a rather impractical purchase, an $8 investment that was 80% off and too cute to pass up. Standing at the cash register, I had no idea when I'd wear it. Too dressy for school, it would be an unnatural shift from my usual cardigan-and-slacks routine. Too business-like for a night out and, let's be honest, how often do I have those anyway? Alas, Black Ruffly Suit Jacket has sat untouched in my closet for months.

Until today.

Today, Black Ruffly Suit Jacket made her debut for an occasion that I never thought would come this soon: a job interview.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, if you haven't heard yet, or this post wasn't enough to make you infer such a thing - I'm looking for other jobs.

Let me be clear. "Looking for other jobs" is not the same as "leaving my job". Obviously I'm considering it, but my mind is not made up, even after an incredible visit to a school that left me in awe, adoration, and maybe even a little jealous.

In the middle of updating my resume, filling out applications, interviewing, sample teaching and teaching my own babies, I'm trying to do something I've never been really great at. I'm trying to listen for God.

Ultimately, my goal is to do what God calls me to do. Do I know what that is right now? Absolutely, it's teaching right where I am. I have felt sure of that every day for almost the past two years. Do I know what He'll be calling me to do in 3 months? Nope, haven't a clue. Doors are opening that i never even knew existed, or never cared to explore. It's not a coincidence that these opportunities are arising, although I'm not convinced that all signs point to leave. Maybe this is just an opportunity to learn from some really great schools and bring those lessons back to my school. Maybe its an opportunity to grow professionally, or light a fire under my butt for MY kids and their community. Or maybe it is my time to leave...I dont know yet. The hardest parts are listening and waiting, especially when the world puts deadlines on you. Don't they know that I'm waiting on the Official Thumbs Up? How rude.

More on the job interview to come. I can't wait to gush about the amazing school I visited, but it's late and i have to be prepared for my crazy children tomorrow.

Good news...

Our field trip was approved!

We leave next Friday at 8:00 from the school to visit NCCU and UNC Chapel Hill. We've got some exciting things on the agenda, including a campus tour of both schools, a panel with alum of NCCU/UNC, a visit to the UNC dining hall for lunch (imagine how much our children will FREAK OUT when they see all their options), a show at the Planetarium, and a potential visit to the Carolina Basketball Museum. I am so excited I can't stand it.

Still a lot of planning to do, but it will be so worth it. I've created some math problems for the students to complete that relate to the field trip, and we'll have them develop some questions for the panel as well. Can't wait to see the excitement on their faces as we pull up to and explore the college campuses.

"Bad" Teacher

I'm not a special education teacher, but I can relate to much of this teacher's story.

That's pretty much what it's felt like this past year and a half. In my case, it's positive feedback from my principal, instructional coach, and TFA advisor, and then hear from my superintendent and everyone else in Central Office that nothing productive is happening at our school. That our students aren't learning. That we aren't doing enough.

I also saw this picture on facebook today:



Preach it, sister.

Alright, I'll get off my high horse now.

Field (Trip) of Dreams

A few months ago, I got a series of emails about a field trip grant funded by Fidelity Investments. I mentioned it in passing to our AVID elective teacher when we were at the conference in Florida, but let’s face it, life happened, as it always does, and I forgot about it. Until I got an email about a week before the grant application was due, sweetly reminding me about the opportunity, and cluing me in to the fact that no one had applied yet. The AVID teacher had already been working on the grant, per the recommendation of another TFA teacher at our school, so we were able to get our application in the day of the deadline.

After over a month of waiting, we finally got the email last week that we had been awarded a fully-funded field trip to visit two universities with 40 of our top seventh grade students! Our trip will take us to North Carolina Central University, a Historically Black University in Durham (and the alma mater of several of the staff members at our school), as well as UNC Chapel Hill. It may not sound like a big deal, but these kids do NOT go on field trips, and many of them will have very few opportunities to go to a major college campus without an opportunity like this. We are beyond excited, and although the planning process adds one (or two or five) more things to our plates, it will be worth it. We haven’t told the kids yet because we have to get the trip approved by Central Office, but we are hoping there won’t be any objections since it is fully-funded and is an amazing opportunity for our kids. Fingers crossed, I’ll update as soon as we know (well, probably not as soon as we know, considering my track record).