He Said, She Said

 Last Friday was a long time coming.  Some weeks are definitely longer than others.  Or so it seems. When lunch time finally rolled around, I was more than ready for a break from teaching about capacity, mass, and elapsed time. I'm sure the third graders were feeling the same.   

Lunch arrived, delivered to a COVID approved table outside our doorway in labeled, brown boxes. As directed, the students queued up, automatically three feet apart awaiting me handing them their box of lunch while double-checking that they indeed ordered lunch that morning.  One chocolate milk or two?  Nachos or pancakes? Half of the cuties headed to the Media Center to eat, making sure to tell me they would see me soon.  Goodie!  The other half washed their hands and proceeded to open their brown box lunch and dig in.  

As I stood by the microwave supervising the students who brought their own lunch, a little boy approached me.  

"Can I have a pancake?" I heard him ask as I reminded one little luncher that tin foil definitely does not go in a microwave.  I looked down at him.  I knew for a fact that I had already handed out all the pre-ordered little brown lunch boxes from the hallway table.  There was not another pancake box.  

So, I immediately launched into my diatribe about somebody taking a lunch that they didn't order and now someone was without a lunch.  I reprimanded them on making sure and ordering if they wanted lunch and not taking a lunch if they had not, in fact, raised their little hand when I entered lunch numbers in the computer every morning. *Side note:  we have had this lunch ordering problem happen before.

My soliloquy continued and I made sure to make eye contact with the little ones as they sporked pancakes quickly into their mouths and held tightly to their chocolate milk cartons, no doubt afraid I might come snatch a pancake from them.  

Finally, I wrapped up the monologue all the while thinking of how I might manage to acquire an extra pancake box from someone for the starving little one.  I looked down at him, hoping he knew how seriously I was taking this matter. His eyes were wide (no doubt from the lunch admonishment I had just delivered). He moved his mask away from his mouth so I could see his mouth.

"I said Band-aid," said the little boy and I could clearly hear him this time. 

With that, I bent over, laughing.  I pounded the countertop for extra effect. He joined in although I'm not sure he was thinking any of this was funny.   

"Band-aid?" I laughed.  "Oh my gosh, boys and girls.  I'm sorry.  I thought he asked for a pancake and he was actually asking for a Band-aid."  I continued laughing and several others joined in.  I reached in the cabinet, grabbed a Band-aid and asked the little boy if he would like syrup with it.  That elicited a chuckle from him, which is good, because I'm sure he thought I was absolutely cuckoo at this point.  I'm sure several students were saying to themselves that they were never going to order lunch again to avoid this whole scenario playing out again.

We resumed lunch, all was well with the world.  

Later that afternoon, a student asked for a Band-aid (it's elementary school - it's perfectly normal to give out a lot of Band-aids every day).  

"Did you mean 'pancake'?" I replied.  "You want a pancake?"  

Half the room erupted in laughter - the other half had missed the whole show as they were eating in the Media Center.  Guess you had to be there. 

"From now on," I declared, "Band-aids are known as pancakes in this classroom."

And like all good little third graders, they accepted this without question. 

My only worry  question is: How many other things have I misunderstood due to masks?  

 

It's Lunch Time!

First, let me paint a picture of what lunch looks like in a third grade classroom during COVID.  Twelve students stay in the classroom to eat their lunch at their desk, and the other eleven go to the Media Center to eat.  All of this is needed to keep the little ones six feet apart when they take off their masks and eat their lunch. I'm in charge of the classroom lunchers dispersed throughout our room as they eat and chat.  I'll be honest with you... listening every day to eight and nine year olds having lunch conversations runs the gamut from funny to gross and back again. Sometimes at warp speed.

Although I'm in the room to monitor lunch (and typically sitting 

at my desk checking email or grading papers) I feel my main job is to act as the referee.  I call out reminders of the lunch rules, alert them of time remaining, and also, at times, throw a flag on the play and stop particular conversations from veering off the rails.                                                                                         

Case in point: today's lunch conversation began with everyone declaring their idea of the "grossest food ever".  Sushi and several different vegetables were named and agreed on,  but soon they had moved on to disgusting combinations of food items and when I heard the words "bird poop", I called it and declared, "New Topic!" A familiar change to "reasons younger siblings are so annoying"  took hold with each student trying to top the other with lively stories of their siblings. Ah, to be a fly on the wall in some homes!   

After a bit, I noticed that they were all calling out endings to the sentence starter: "My town is called..."  For example, one little cutie says, "My town is called ice cream because I like ice cream."   Another played along with, "My town is called I have the most annoying brother in the world."  Still another declared, "My town is called supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"  You get the gist.  Most were really just nonsensical words put together that made everyone laugh. The game continued and seemed to be getting louder and sillier with each new participant.  Eventually, one boy jumped to his feet, and waving his arms announced, "My town is called I'm the best at sports and I am funny and great!"  Well.... kudos on the self confidence little guy.  However, we had five minutes left for lunch and I was tiring of their little game so I stood up, turned on my microphone, and declared, "My town is called time to clean up in five minutes and make sure you wash your desk off with an antibacterial wipe and put a book on your desk for IDR." I sat down to a silent room. "And my town can go outside early if they get ready!" 

Someone shouted out, "We've been roasted!"  The room erupted in laughter as the students began cleaning up. Touché little friends - two can play that silly game!  

For more fun, read an earlier post on how teachers are like stand-up comedians:  Two Juice Box Minimum

 

It's Time For Me To Fly

 During COVID, it's so different to be teaching in a classroom.  The students are sitting at desks, socially distanced, wearing masks all day.  In pre-COVID classrooms, students would be sitting at table groups where they can chat, share, and work together throughout the day.  We now make sure kids are at least 3 feet apart, which goes against everything we usually do by grouping kids and helping them learn to work cooperatively.  But - here we are. It's a new challenge for sure.  My classroom consists of neat rows of desks and not much else. Hello 1950.  We've only been back two weeks and it's becoming a little more natural to be sitting apart all day, wearing masks, washing hands and using hand sanitizer throughout the day. I'm even finding that I need to remind students less and less to "pull your mask up over your nose" or "wash your hands".  

It can be a long day without the many social interactions we are used to having in daily learning. Partner work.  Table/group work.  Moving around the classroom freely. Yesterday seemed particularly long so I decided I'd spend some time reading from our current read aloud book and allow the students to just have time to relax, listen, draw and not have to "do anything".   

As I read aloud from the book, using inflection and raising and lowering my voice to dramatically read, I also walked in between all the desks.  Up and down the rows I walked.  Reading.  Walking.  Reading. Walking.   As I walked by one student I couldn't help but notice he had a huge paper airplane sitting on top of the desk.  I paused, looking at his airplane. It was large, consisting of at least three pieces of paper folded expertly.  He looked back at me, holding my gaze until I moved on.   Reading. Walking.  Reading Walking.  Around the room I went.

As I circled back around again by aforementioned student's desk, I noticed now he had TWO large paper airplanes sitting on his desk.  Now, I'll be honest.  Students with paper airplanes on their desk is not something I usually allow, but I'll admit I was intrigued.  It was bold.  It was random. Where were they coming from I wondered?  I made eye contact with the student who nodded towards the airplanes.  

Another lap or two around the classroom and I was wondering what I would see next time I passed this student's desk.  And there it was!  A third, smaller airplane had appeared on his desk lined up with the other two much larger paper airplanes. What in the world?  Was he making them as I walked around? Had he made them before?  Once again, he looked at me when he noticed me looking towards his airplane desk runway.  And this time he kind of raised his eyebrows and I could see his eyes sparkling from the huge smile hidden behind his mask. My eyes twinkled back at him from the huge smile hidden behind my mask.  

 After several more minutes of reading, I headed over for one final drive-by of the student's desk, curiosity getting the best of me and truly wanting to see what I would find next.  As I closed the book and dramatically wrapped up the final sentence in the chapter, I looked down at his desk and the paper airplanes were gone! Nothing was on his desktop. They had disappeared as quickly and as mysteriously as they had appeared. It was like the "Bermuda Triangle Desk".

The student held my gaze as I squatted down by his desk to look inside where he had no doubt stashed the airplanes.  Nothing! A neatly organized desk with no trace of an airplane.

Suddenly, the hectic last minutes of the day had arrived and students began gathering things, packing up, and cleaning up. The "game" was over and not one word had been exchanged. I never did ask the boy about the paper airplanes and I didn't see a trace of them again.   

I think I'll just take this as a good sign that, as the title of this blog suggest, it soon will be time for me to say goodbye and 'fly'. 

It's The Final Countdown

 If there is one thing that is certain, it's that things change.  School is always a place of constant change for a teacher, so I'd like to say that we are (in general) a group of people that can:

1.  Accept change (constantly and suddenly)

2.  Adapt and thrive with change (thanks to teacher friends)

3. Learn to be in a constant state of change (try it - it's fun! Really!)

4. Make it look like we didn't change anything but simply "moved forward" smoothly and without missing a beat  (did I mention teachers are amazing?)

So, when COVID hit a year ago, teachers did what they always do.... adapted to change.  We taught remotely, we learned ten million new things about using technology, often staying up late at night to figure things out or phone a friend to help (often through tears).  We learned to reach out to kids virtually (the first time ever for me) and figured out ZOOM and how to conference with parents via video.  We perfected, "Your mic isn't on" and "Turn your mic off", embedded fun online breaks for kids, and took time to check-in with each student on how they were dealing with the "new" normal.  We moved from remote, to hybrid, and finally, just recently to all day in-person.  We created curriculum and detailed schedules for hybrid, remote, and kept in contact with students quarantined to keep them involved in the classroom learning. We were barely one step ahead of everything going on - all the while making sure our own families were safe and healthy.  It has been exhausting to say the least. 

The biggest change of my life is coming up this year.   I've decided, after twenty-five years to retire.  I've moved my plans up a bit, but I feel the time is right.  I'm ready.  Will I miss the kids?  YES.  Will I miss my teacher friends?  A lot.  Will I miss the daily community of a classroom?  For sure.  Will I miss the learning (for both me and the kids)? Without a doubt.  Will I miss seeing kids learn and discover new things every day? Yeah... it's amazing.   

I'm lucky to have had a great teaching career in a wonderful district.  I've met so many people over the years who have inspired me, helped me, taught me, collaborated with me,  and befriended me.  I have gotten to know hundreds of kids, each unique in their own way that have impacted me in ways I can't begin to explain. 

My plan is to revive my blog for the final fifty days of my career to share my classroom stories.  I want to give to you a window into the fun and inspirational days of a teacher.  If you're new to my blog, check out my earlier posts for some perspective.   

Start this journey with me:   The Final Countdown

#fiftydays