Today we had an assembly for the Battle of the Books. One of the teams from my class was representing the whole 5th grade, so I was pretty proud. It was in the morning. We went first thing, got the kids settled on the floor in straight lines, and then I sat in an uncomfortable folding chair off to the side of my class where I could cast glaring looks at unruly children.
The assembly was about to begin, and I had my eye on Adam. He had something in his hands that looked like Silly Putty, but frankly, I didn't care much as it kept him fairly quiet and his hands busy. However, he was having a pretty good time showing it to kids around him. So I got his attention.
I gave him one of those teacher looks. "Adam," I said. And I pointed to a spot right next to me at my feet. "Do you want to sit here?"
Now, I fully expected him to say, "No." Then, I was going to follow that up with a comment like, "Then turn around and be quiet!"
But Adam did not follow this script. He looked at the spot I pointed to at my feet, looked at me, gave me a smile and said, "Sure!" He got up and came over and sat down at my feet. He was my buddy for the whole assembly.
It was supposed to be a threat.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
TMI
This is an email I got today from a parent of mine who volunteers in my room every Friday afternoon:
Well I won’t be there this Friday I have a Dr. appt. at 1:50. I got really sick Sunday(stomach) and couldn’t move and did not go to work Mon. I bloated up gassy and a whole lot of pain in my right side of my stomach. I either have to get my gull bladder out or hysterectomy or I don’t know. They did test on me and I will get the results Friday.
"Bloated up gassy?" Can we say, "Too Much Information?"
Well I won’t be there this Friday I have a Dr. appt. at 1:50. I got really sick Sunday(stomach) and couldn’t move and did not go to work Mon. I bloated up gassy and a whole lot of pain in my right side of my stomach. I either have to get my gull bladder out or hysterectomy or I don’t know. They did test on me and I will get the results Friday.
"Bloated up gassy?" Can we say, "Too Much Information?"
Monday, May 24, 2010
Tears in the Afternoon
As indicated in my last post, Carl was in tears twice on Friday. Here's the incident that escalated into tears in the afternoon:
Carl was absent on Thursday. I had handed out a Revolutionary War research project that was meant to keep my fifth graders busy until the last day of school. The students don't need to know that I have to get my final grades in long before the project is due...Don't tell.
Anyway, Friday morning as kids came into the room and got settled, I see Carl with his nose in a book. The Revolutionary War Project packet is sitting, untouched, in front of him. "Carl," I said, "On your desk is a Revolutionary War Research Project that I handed out yesterday. Read through it, and if you have questions, ask Ramon." Then I got busy, and promptly forgot all about Carl and the research project.
That afternoon, for the last 1.5 hours of the day, I gave the class time to work on their research project. The packet consists of three sections: Maps and Pictures, Written Work, and Creative Use of the Imagination. Depending on what final score the kids are going for, they must complete a certain amount of activities from each of the three sections. The most activities they have to complete would be nine total activities from the packet. There are about six activities to choose from in each section. It's really a straight forward packet, with each activity explained.
But Carl brings the packet up to me. "I don't get it," he says. I'm thinking that is a pretty generalized statement...what exactly doesn't he get? The directions are clear. The rules clearly state how many activities he needs complete for different grades. The activities are clearly written in English...What on earth doesn't he "get?" Plus, after his little rhombus problem from the morning, I'm not feeling very patient with Mr. Carl at that point.
"I just don't get it. The whole thing," Carl said, his eyes filling up with tears. I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. "Carl," I said. "Is there a specific thing with the directions you are having trouble understanding?"
"I just don't get it," he replied...Grrr....He is taxing my patience. I was trying so hard to remain calm. Carl does have attention deficit disorder (not hyper, too, thank goodness), so I try to cut him some slack. "What's a T-chart?" he asks. Now, yes, on Thursday when I handed out the packet, that was one of the many activities that we discussed, as I didn't think they'd understand a T-chart (I should probably change that activity...note to self). So I explained that particular activity to Carl, who then asked me what was the French and Indian War?
"Carl, that is what you are supposed to find out. That is why it is called research. We have books in the room. We have library books, social studies books, and three sets of encyclopedias to use for research."
"What's an encyclopedia?" Carl asks. He really isn't stupid. I just am not sure what his problem is, but my patience is running out. "Carl," I said. "I think you are getting overwhelmed with this assignment. Take this packet home tonight and show it to your mom. She will help you get organized and make a plan of activities to complete. For now, choose just one activity to work on here in class."
About five minutes later he comes up to me. "What is a musket," he asks. Now, I KNOW that there are at least two activities that involve finding out what a musket is. Carl, it appears, wants me to tell him. "Carl, did you even try looking in a book?"
I tell you, I was done with Carl. Perhaps he should be homeschooled, then he'd get the one-on-one he craves. But in my class of 26, I don't have time to hold Carl's hand. I sent his mom an email. Let her figure it out. She created this ultra-dependant boy. But I told his mom in the email that 6th grade is all about research projects, so he'd better figure it out.
Carl was absent on Thursday. I had handed out a Revolutionary War research project that was meant to keep my fifth graders busy until the last day of school. The students don't need to know that I have to get my final grades in long before the project is due...Don't tell.
Anyway, Friday morning as kids came into the room and got settled, I see Carl with his nose in a book. The Revolutionary War Project packet is sitting, untouched, in front of him. "Carl," I said, "On your desk is a Revolutionary War Research Project that I handed out yesterday. Read through it, and if you have questions, ask Ramon." Then I got busy, and promptly forgot all about Carl and the research project.
That afternoon, for the last 1.5 hours of the day, I gave the class time to work on their research project. The packet consists of three sections: Maps and Pictures, Written Work, and Creative Use of the Imagination. Depending on what final score the kids are going for, they must complete a certain amount of activities from each of the three sections. The most activities they have to complete would be nine total activities from the packet. There are about six activities to choose from in each section. It's really a straight forward packet, with each activity explained.
But Carl brings the packet up to me. "I don't get it," he says. I'm thinking that is a pretty generalized statement...what exactly doesn't he get? The directions are clear. The rules clearly state how many activities he needs complete for different grades. The activities are clearly written in English...What on earth doesn't he "get?" Plus, after his little rhombus problem from the morning, I'm not feeling very patient with Mr. Carl at that point.
"I just don't get it. The whole thing," Carl said, his eyes filling up with tears. I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. "Carl," I said. "Is there a specific thing with the directions you are having trouble understanding?"
"I just don't get it," he replied...Grrr....He is taxing my patience. I was trying so hard to remain calm. Carl does have attention deficit disorder (not hyper, too, thank goodness), so I try to cut him some slack. "What's a T-chart?" he asks. Now, yes, on Thursday when I handed out the packet, that was one of the many activities that we discussed, as I didn't think they'd understand a T-chart (I should probably change that activity...note to self). So I explained that particular activity to Carl, who then asked me what was the French and Indian War?
"Carl, that is what you are supposed to find out. That is why it is called research. We have books in the room. We have library books, social studies books, and three sets of encyclopedias to use for research."
"What's an encyclopedia?" Carl asks. He really isn't stupid. I just am not sure what his problem is, but my patience is running out. "Carl," I said. "I think you are getting overwhelmed with this assignment. Take this packet home tonight and show it to your mom. She will help you get organized and make a plan of activities to complete. For now, choose just one activity to work on here in class."
About five minutes later he comes up to me. "What is a musket," he asks. Now, I KNOW that there are at least two activities that involve finding out what a musket is. Carl, it appears, wants me to tell him. "Carl, did you even try looking in a book?"
I tell you, I was done with Carl. Perhaps he should be homeschooled, then he'd get the one-on-one he craves. But in my class of 26, I don't have time to hold Carl's hand. I sent his mom an email. Let her figure it out. She created this ultra-dependant boy. But I told his mom in the email that 6th grade is all about research projects, so he'd better figure it out.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Countdown Has Begun
There are 19 days left of school, and I shall be happy to send a few kids away!
*Carl is the youngest of two or three kids in his family, and he is babied. A few weeks ago he threw a crying fit in the hallway, because he forgot to grab his practice record sheet when he left for band. He came back to the class to get it, but I wasn't there and had locked the door. I had the audacity to actually use my planning time to run off work instead of waiting in my classroom in case any student needed me...When Carl was unsuccessful at convincing any other teacher to let him into the room to get what he needed, he apparently had an emotional breakdown in the hallway, dissolving into tears. C'mon, buddy-you are almost a 6th grader! And you are crying over this? It's May, and I think that by now grabbing your practice sheet should be automatic. You screwed up. Deal with it.
Then on Friday he actually threw two crying/sulking fits. The first one happened in the morning. I handed back geometry tests, and Carl did poorly, getting less than 70%. One of the questions he missed was one where he was to simply draw a rhombus with no right angles. He correctly drew the shape, as he found the shape on his math template and traced it. That was acceptable. But then he added measurements to the sides of the shape. He made one set of parallel sides measure 1 foot. He made the other set of parallel sides measure 2 feet. Therefore, it was no longer a rhombus. A rhombus has four equal sides. I checked the problem wrong, indicating that his shape was correct, but that the measurements he added then made his answer incorrect. He brought his test up to me.
"Why is this wrong?" he asked. I pointed out exactly what I had already explained on his paper. "But you said my shape is right," he continued to argue.
"Yes," I replied. "But the measurements you included are not correct for a rhombus. A rhombus has 4 equal sides. Your measurements show you inteded the sides to not be equal. It shows me that you do not understand what a rhombus is."
"But I didn't have to put measurements. That was doing extra!" he said. He wanted to be rewarded for that, apparently.
"Sorry. You shouldn't have added the measurements. They are wrong for a rhombus. Your answer is wrong."
"I can erase the measurements," Carl persisted.
"No. The test is over. I have corrected it. Your answer was wrong. You cannot change your answer," I said.
So Carl, who sits in the front row, pouted and scowled at me all morning long. Then it was lunchtime. I took them to lunch, but then called Carl outside. He reluctantly came out.
"Carl, you are on ASB. What is your position?" I asked.
"I'm the treasurer," he replied.
"And are you planning on running for ASB next year?" I inquired further, thinking please, oh please say yes...
"Yes," he answered. SCORE!
"Well," I said, "You need to get a recommendation from your teacher, or have you forgotten? I'll tell you one thing, an ASB officer must be responsible, reliable, and have a great attitude. Not someone who argues with the teacher, and then pouts, scowls, and cries when he doesn't get what he wants. Think about that." I walked away.
And you know what? I will not recommend him. He's babied by his mother, and the teacher he had for the last two years before me babied him. He needs to grow up.
*Carl is the youngest of two or three kids in his family, and he is babied. A few weeks ago he threw a crying fit in the hallway, because he forgot to grab his practice record sheet when he left for band. He came back to the class to get it, but I wasn't there and had locked the door. I had the audacity to actually use my planning time to run off work instead of waiting in my classroom in case any student needed me...When Carl was unsuccessful at convincing any other teacher to let him into the room to get what he needed, he apparently had an emotional breakdown in the hallway, dissolving into tears. C'mon, buddy-you are almost a 6th grader! And you are crying over this? It's May, and I think that by now grabbing your practice sheet should be automatic. You screwed up. Deal with it.
Then on Friday he actually threw two crying/sulking fits. The first one happened in the morning. I handed back geometry tests, and Carl did poorly, getting less than 70%. One of the questions he missed was one where he was to simply draw a rhombus with no right angles. He correctly drew the shape, as he found the shape on his math template and traced it. That was acceptable. But then he added measurements to the sides of the shape. He made one set of parallel sides measure 1 foot. He made the other set of parallel sides measure 2 feet. Therefore, it was no longer a rhombus. A rhombus has four equal sides. I checked the problem wrong, indicating that his shape was correct, but that the measurements he added then made his answer incorrect. He brought his test up to me.
"Why is this wrong?" he asked. I pointed out exactly what I had already explained on his paper. "But you said my shape is right," he continued to argue.
"Yes," I replied. "But the measurements you included are not correct for a rhombus. A rhombus has 4 equal sides. Your measurements show you inteded the sides to not be equal. It shows me that you do not understand what a rhombus is."
"But I didn't have to put measurements. That was doing extra!" he said. He wanted to be rewarded for that, apparently.
"Sorry. You shouldn't have added the measurements. They are wrong for a rhombus. Your answer is wrong."
"I can erase the measurements," Carl persisted.
"No. The test is over. I have corrected it. Your answer was wrong. You cannot change your answer," I said.
So Carl, who sits in the front row, pouted and scowled at me all morning long. Then it was lunchtime. I took them to lunch, but then called Carl outside. He reluctantly came out.
"Carl, you are on ASB. What is your position?" I asked.
"I'm the treasurer," he replied.
"And are you planning on running for ASB next year?" I inquired further, thinking please, oh please say yes...
"Yes," he answered. SCORE!
"Well," I said, "You need to get a recommendation from your teacher, or have you forgotten? I'll tell you one thing, an ASB officer must be responsible, reliable, and have a great attitude. Not someone who argues with the teacher, and then pouts, scowls, and cries when he doesn't get what he wants. Think about that." I walked away.
And you know what? I will not recommend him. He's babied by his mother, and the teacher he had for the last two years before me babied him. He needs to grow up.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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