on becoming a lifer.

Five spoonfuls of nutella was my dinner last Wednesday.  Target runs are now strategically planned events and I recently went eight months without a haircut.  I bribe my two year old with ice cream so that she stays quiet during my five month old’s nap. This is my life.

Mushy brain makes blog posts that don’t make sense.  And since sleep is most sacred in our household, personal reflection and educator epiphanies have either been suckled out in the form of breast milk, or traded in for a cozy state of fog.  

This brief blogging hiatus, though, has provided clarity on teacher sustainability more than ever before.     

How many “lifer” teachers or school-based educators do you know?  I have more former educator friends than I do current ones and once I hit 30, colleagues viewed me as the experienced one.  

In addition, having kids is an obvious game changer, especially when both parent and teacher roles directly impact the human experience.  

Working in a charter world, I get that burnout is high and lifers are pretty much nonexistent. Traditional public school teachers ask the same question, though.  Can I really do this forever? Will I become that cranky old educator that actually says what we’re all thinking at a staff meeting? Naww- hell no. We want to be wiser one day, not cynical.  

I love teaching.  If these recent months of comfortable chaos have taught me anything, it’s that we have to uphold our own code of conduct to maintain our love of the profession.

So this is my latest (and unapologetic) teacher code of conduct:

1. Teach content and projects that  excite you.  Standards-based teaching and learning is only fair to students, but with that comes freedom to create learning experiences and share knowledge that interests you.  Yeah, you, the teacher, the one the kids trust to educate them with the important stuff in life.  If you love it, the kids will love it.  And if you love it and the kids love it, you can look forward to work each day.  
2. Keep weekends and break time free and clear of school work. Our salary reflects the thirteen weeks of vacation time, so why not utilize it for what it’s designed for...whatever you want it to be.  Committing to this essential rule is the hardest part.  But stick to it.
3. Accept that you won’t be teacher of the year- every year of your career.  There are seasons that allow us to dive deep into the sea of knowledge and Teacher-Tron mode, and seasons where we just can’t.  For me, I had a solid six years of throwing myself at the mercy of the classroom. Students, staff and school events had a hold on me that just wouldn’t let go-until I had to slowly peel myself away, Expo-marker-coated finger by finger.  Trying to be the best and letting the teacher guilt run you, just might eventually kill you.  Or at least kill your love for it all.
4. Lean on colleagues and let them lean on you.  In just one look, teachers can read each other’s minds.  We are united through and through, and building relationships with fellow coworkers creates cultures of trust and interdependence when it’s needed most.  For me, time is the best gift from a friend. With a squishy faced toddler and a scrumptious little baby waiting for me at home sweet home, it’s no surprise that I bolt for the nearest dismissal door at 3:45 daily.  My co-teacher watches over my class if I’m running late from yet another timely baby poop explosion. Volunteering for additional teacher roles is non-existent, and knowing my teacher friends pull overtime for my time-sensitive breast-pumping schedule is something I have to swallow.  This isn’t my time to give time, but doing my best to support colleagues emotionally or however I can allows for me to be happy in this circus show that is my life these days.
5. Find something you love in every kid.  Why does the wild child always have perfect attendance? Maybe it’s one child’s taste in sneakers, or another’s talent for sharpening pencils without shedding shavings on the floor.  Perhaps one’s a talented storyteller. Drawing out the best in your students is a gift, but recognizing what makes them special is necessary. I think if we look forward to seeing our students every day (or at least most days) we are more likely to stay in the game for awhile.  
6. Remember they are your students-not your children.  Yes, we love our students as if they were our own, but they, in fact, are not our own.  Parents need to take responsibility too, and if the parents are absent, then our love and support should be met with care from grandmothers, uncles, pastors and dance coaches.  We are not superheroes and have the right to a life of our own.
7. Educate yourself-Popping over on our preps to observe colleagues, joining free virtual PD’s or applying for funding to attend national professional development seminars can keep us innovative and inspired to keep things spicy.  
8. Find a school that has a curriculum framework. Curriculum framework with freedom is the key.  (Refer back to reason number one above). Ain’t nobody got time to reinvent the wheel, or effectively write a standards aligned curriculum, but we DO want our freedom to teach engaging content in innovative settings.
9. Ignore the test prep mania..  Test prep is a snooze-fest for everyone.  I’ve taught and lead in schools that breathe the word, “data” into every conversation.  Good test scores mean dollars, so understandably, the obsession is real. But since drill and kill methods and teaching to the test don’t actually work, there’s no point in falling prey to the insanity.  Real-world skills practice can be sticky enough to take kids through any testing scenario in life. Your self worth is not determined by your data.
10. Make your kids feel good about themselves. Make them want to go to school.    If not, then why are we doing this?

Creating your own teacher code of conduct can prevent potential burnout and the chance of either going crazy, hating your job or quitting this one-of-a-kind, magical profession.  

Setting boundaries has allowed me to be more creative in planning, inspirational with instruction and, though away from my own family each day.  I’m truly happy to be with my students each day.

Fifteen years in the game and who knows if I’ll be a lifer...but I sure would like to try.

 Power to the teacher!

on post-vacay moods.

I’ve never been a person who says I’m ready to go back.  Routines and structure can fill any part of your life, and the five-day-a-week commitment to the future of America doesn’t stand alone in the daily routine department.  

Smashing fresh avocado and ever-so gently drizzling extra-virgin olive oil over the toasty warm french bread became routine the last ten days.  Waking up to my daughter’s miniature kisses on my arm, lying half asleep until nine and folding laundry directly after our dryer buzzes, not forty-eight hours later, when the wrinkles have taken over, are how things go around here.   

And for this glorious Spring break, the blazing sunshine, coating my basketball belly on the Gulf, gazing at what looks to be a Banana Boat commercial starring my husband and daughter, I’m reminded I chose the right career.  

Vacation time and long weekends and summers off...oh my.

Yet here we are again.  Freedom is over. Trying to ride that last high of vacation and shooing away any thoughts of werk. werk. werk. werk.

Students will return along with us, some craving that structured day with high expectations, predictability and a stimulating social-atmosphere beyond their pesky little sister.  Many though, will be longing for more days of sleeping in and little requirement to think or produce or walk in a straight and silent line to a not-so-homemade school lunch plate.

In the classroom, beach vibes and sunshine come by way of juicy novels or geography and ecosystem studies, but a mental escape isn’t the same as an actual one.  Come Sunday morning before returning from any vacation time-the reluctancy sets in and we all get a little sad.

Admitting the show must go on, and determined to ease back in post-break, I like to cushion up the schedule and prevent culture shock for all thirty-one of us.  This time around, I scheduled a Harlem Renaissance painting workshop with the art teacher and hands-on math-stations sprinkled with some extra, extra-long silent reading and independent writing time.   It’s expected that the Langston Hughes poetry analysis will be like pulling a bunch of fifth grade teeth, but at least I can sandwich it between art, group work and an extra helping of peace and quiet.  

The funny thing is, after break, I’m somewhat rejuvenated to go full speed ahead and pack the daily schedule with enough academic rigor to make my kids head spin.  Reality, though, doesn’t allow for that.

Don’t get me wrong, academic expectations remain high, but I’m not trying to introduce four new learning objectives the day we return.  Ultimately, I aim to welcome a little bit of vacation mode into every learning experience, or at least into small moments each school day.  

Lack of balance in any school day makes both the teacher and the kids crazy, so infusing vacation mode ensures I don’t resign to become a yoga teacher at the end of each week.

Pre-baby and pre-thirties, I thrived on the work hard, play hard mentality-capping out each full-force work day with happy hours, six-mile runs and back-to-back social gatherings.  

With preserving energy as a top priority, I find myself, these days, searching for the most creative methods to integrate vacation-mode into my students learning experiences.  Children need to opportunities to access their “whole selves,” just like we do.

Afternoon naps and never-ending recess still live in the home environment, however, tranquil reading sessions and structured, interactive academic games can make school and work much more enjoyable when vacation highs fade.  

Nothing compares to vacation spent with the people you love.  Being the responsible adults we are, though, and grateful to be in a profession we also love...aiming for balance is key.  

I know every instructional minute counts, which is why jam-packing days with teaching and learning on over-drive is counter-productive and far-from sustainable.  

No one wants to be the educator that counts down the days until the next break on the day we return from vacation.  Planning for balanced routines rather than hoping it just happens could be the first step in bringing more peace to a high pressure profession.  

Power to the teacher! 

on teachers as superheroes. part two.

Do you remember teacher portfolios? 

Approaching final semester, our college of education required student teachers to confidently compile a binder full of sample lesson plans, recommendation letters, student work, our teacher philosophy and anything else to score us that straight outta college first teaching job.

We were sure to impress with our glossy page protectors, chalkboard bordered resumes and scrapbook-style photographs of smiling students covered in mud splatter or finger paint or pretty much anything that screamed “hands-on.”

My husband actually stumbled upon mine in our last move, admiring the one-stop-visual-shop of my career-long accomplishments. Although I don’t dare whip it out for an interview, it’s evolved into a holding place for my journey as an educator, tucked away behind Spring Break 2002 photo albums and old tax files.

As we strolled down memory lane, my crispy portfolio cover sheet read:

I am a teacher. I am a counselor. I am a custodian. I am a nurse. I am a mother and father. I am a detective. I am a nutritionist. I am a police officer. I am a big sister. I am a travel agent.

And so on and so on. Back then, I don’t recall us teachers carrying the title as superhero, but that might’ve made for a catchy portfolio cover page. Maybe Wonder Woman with my face Photo-shopped and a whiteboard marker tucked in my gold-plated forearm shield.

I am not a superhero.

Seven months pregnant, mother of a toddler, full-time teacher, wife, and human being..yes, but not superhero. I do not save lives. I cannot fly. I can barely remember to turn off the faucet these days. My daughter is watching Despicable Me 3 for the thousandth time while I eat Kilwin’s sea-salt fudge slivers off my protruding belly.

I don’t want to be a superhero. I want to be an effective educator. I want to be a good mom and a good wife. I want to have a social life and spend time with my family and friends and travel from time to time. But I do not want to carry the weight of a superhero. 

So can you stop calling me a superhero? You’re making me look bad.

In the classroom, proudly, I wear the Kween’s Crown of High Expectations. Investing time and sweat into promoting student self-motivation and ownership of their poetry, research projects, math investigations and debates is my focus. 

Teaching students to revise and edit their writing, to truly listen and respond to each other during group work and to take plain pleasure in reading takes precedence over warm fuzzy team builders, pep-talks and healthy birthday treat lectures.

Obviously safety comes first. Putting hands on other kids and bullying are not tolerated. Kids cry and confide in me about home stuff. I buy Costco-sized trail mix for those who miss breakfast. We play games during Brain Breaks and we have weekly shout-out rituals where students praise each other for showing good values, such as perseverance and thoughtfulness.

Teachers are educators, not psychologists.

Definitely NOT police officers.

We may be parents, but likely to not more than five children. Doctors train and specialize in medicine and teachers train and specialize in pedagogy.

We can pretend to be superheroes, but I’m pretty sure only superheroes are the ones with special powers. My training and experience, not powers, grant me the skills and passion to teach reading, writing and facilitate critical thinking. I wish my powers could erase poverty, change emotionally-abusive parents and eradicate racism and fear in my students’ lives.

Self-aware and magic-free, I focus on what I can control, and what I’m (mostly) good at...teaching. 

These days, I give this “superhero teacher” narrative the cold shoulder and stay in my lane. Of course I will advocate to hell and back for a kid who needs therapy or specials services, but I am not those special services .
Superheroes save lives. I am not saving kids lives. Providing the tools to have a happy future? Yes. Offering experiences and windows to the world’s possibilities? Yes. Showing and practicing love and perseverance and social responsibility? Yes.

At twenty-two, bright-eyed and ready to take on my first real teaching job, I believed every bit of that interview-ready portfolio cover. That’s what teaching is, right? This is what we signed up for, right?

Umm, maybe for a few years, yeah. Right around twenty-five though, I think we wise up and realize that the ability to be magical is more like a fantasy. We are educators. Don’t call us superheroes.

We are quite satisfied with teaching a kid how to read for the first time.

Power to the teacher!

on struggling.

I was pretty addicted to change in my twenties.  The unknown.

Faraway places, strangers with friend potential, the high of joining a new school community, fresh views, freedom of the past and strengthened long-distance relationships.  

Six times in my twenties, I started over.  Running to-not from, careers,  relationships, and desirable geography, it was more of a thrill than a struggle.  For nine years I did this, chasing the dream, until, once upon a time, it wasn’t so dreamy anymore.

Unexpected circumstances introduced me to Los Angeles, the city of a magical climate, beach, ocean, the mountains and, if you desire it-a nature-inspired lifestyle.  What better environment to “start over” in...fresh food fare and limitless diverse subcultures for any international transplant to get inspired!  Yeah, there was the traffic and the subtle superficiality in some pockets, but Los Angeles was definitely a relationship I wanted to explore further.

In my practically customized fit environment, the struggle, as they say, was real.  Not because of LA, but because of my circumstances. Because of me.   

Mister Trader Joe fed me well though.  Cheap red zin, sea salt dark chocolate and blocks of hard cheese reigned as staples while I rode the highs and lows of my rediscovered solo lifestyle.  This was not tragedy or illness, but it definitely was not happy times.  

As strangers turned into friends and surrogate families, and as I learned from my disconcerting poor decisions (and there were plenty), I gradually rose above the darkness.  Day by day for two years, under that forever sunshine, I was changed.  Harder.  Better.  Faster.  Stronger.  

LA never quite convinced me to buy into “everything happens for a reason,” or “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,”  but in retrospect it did strengthen my core.  

And tonight I find myself back in the City of Angels, far from home but still feeling like home.  Sinking deeper into the hotel-grade, bleach-white, plush duvet, coated with the peering afternoon sunset-ahhhh.  I love this place.   Intermittently, I begin to reflect, as I often, overdo.  

Grapple.  The buzz word of this week’s educators conference.  Grapple.  Let your kids grapple.  Grapple with text.  Grapple with unknown words.  Let’s grapple with this next question.  

Grapple could be the next Grape Snapple flavor.  I like it.  

This new lingo, though, began to irk me a bit.  Grapple means struggle.  Why can’t we just say struggle?  Is struggle a bad word or something?  Who knows, maybe grapple just sounds more refined.  

Despite my resistance to this trendy term in teaching, I can really dig the relevance of grappling in our state of education.  

Experiencing one of the most transitional educator conferences ever, the educational philosophers, the data and fellow teachers across the nation reminded me that the foundation of quality teaching is about being equitable.  

Curriculum and instruction are often presented as distinct from equity and other core values.  Slide after slide of knock-you-in-your face data began to reveal just how interconnected it all really is. Thinking about equity, I was reminded to ask myself, Why do we lower our standards for struggling students?  

I’m guilty of doing it. I mean, I do have high expectations for all students based on their individualized level. Or “where they’re at,”  but is that high standards for all?  My fifth graders should be diving into fifth-grade leveled texts and investigating fifth grade level math and science, or above, but are they all?  Well sometimes.

Leveled text and guided math groups sometimes dominate my daily schedule.  Probably only half of my kids actually read aloud for a significant amount of time per day.  And I admit to trading complexity and rigor for student engagement far too often.  

Fun times equals engagement equals well-behaved students, am I right?

In other words, I often offer easier books, simplified math problems, and overly praised feedback on writing pieces all to satisfy and “build up” my students who consistently perform below grade level on assessments.  They grow and grow, but still continue fall short of meeting the mark.    

This week has got me thinking, would these students still be struggling if I pushed them harder?  And, what are they thinking when they’re given lower level texts than their friends?  What about the “high” kids who see their friends getting easier math problems than them?  What happens there?  Psychologically, even?

And ultimately, why am I so scared of bringing up their frustration levels, in the name of long term growth and learning?  

Don’t get me wrong, as I was reminded this week, scaffolding plays a huge role in all of this.  The difference is, that we can create scaffolds to support kids to access the “hard stuff,” rather than offering below-grade level materials that could put them further and further behind.  

And we don’t want kids to hate school.  We want them to feel safe to make mistakes and comfortable when challenged.  We want them to have options when they graduate and live happy lives full of choices.  

Thinking big picture, even if a fifth grader jumps two grade levels in reading in one year, what does that say if he was at a second grade level to begin with?  Will the child ever catch up?  

Reflection is at the heart of our practice.  Half the time, I contradict my own thoughts fifteen times before I put them out there, and in all honesty, many of my own educational revelations have come from struggle.  

Success stories came from failure.  Gurus, mentors and my teacher comrades offered me tools to get through the struggle and the support to see the light at the end.  Drowning never did me any good, but neither did any hand-holding.  

But, man, am I thankful for my support systems.  

Los Angeles taught me the power of tough love back then, and again now as I engage in this week-long seminar.

Now back in the cozy comfort of my own couch, with my sweet baby girl and awe-inspiring husband, I take a deep breath.  Ahh.  I love this place.  

Power to the teacher!  

For my fellow reading teachers, here is a snippet of food for thought regarding small group instruction and leveled texts.  

Link here!