So what?

Sometimes when you are good at something or enjoy working with a certain kind of student, you don't show your cards right away because you really just want to keep going with the status quo. For instance, you can play the piano or maybe speak another language or even have good tech skills. If people found out they would ask you to fix their computers or interpret for them or even accompany a Christmas musical (all true-life experiences for me). This leaves very little time for your actual job. I have always enjoyed working with students who were labeled Behavior Disordered (I'm dating myself here because that diagnosis doesn't even exist anymore), are on the Autism Spectrum, and the Emotionally Disturbed. I haven't ever told anyone that specifically, but they always find out. Here's how it usually happens. Something doesn't pass my "So What?" test, and my principal witnesses it (how's that for a lead? I know it left you wondering).

Several years ago I had a student who was totally awesome. The class would be working along, and he would bust out with a little Bon Jovi or Warrant. The boy could sing and of course I love all those songs (being a child of the 80's and all). He couldn't get a thought down on paper to save his life, and we worked through it (thank the Lord for an Alphasmart). He also knew when he needed something to help him concentrate, and was really good about using whatever was in the room to make necessary modifications. One day, he came in with "a party in his brain" (this term was given to me last year by a different friend, but it is so specific I use it all the time). We were going to start the morning with silent reading. He asked me if he could sit anywhere and I said yes. I went over to conference with another student, and when I looked back over, he was gone (or so I thought). He had gone over to the coat rack, so I strolled over and called his name quietly. He responded, "Under here." He had piled all the bookbags on top of himself and was reading. At that moment I could have made him move, but I didn't because "so what?" He was reading, no one was being hurt or disrupted so it didn't pass the test.

About that time, my RGP (Really Great Principal) came into the room to make an announcement. She got everyone's attention, and about that time pop! out of the backpacks came my friend. She continued to tell us whatever it was all the while looking at me with question marks in her eyes. When she was done speaking, I simply said, "It didn't pass the so what test." She nodded her head and I saw the look of recognition come across her face (you know the one that says, "I know where I'll put such and such, next year"). That day I know I sealed my fate as a go-to for inclusion students. I wouldn't have it any other way (plus life is boring in a classroom if no one puts up an umbrella every time it rains outside).

Repeat after me...

My body is calm
My body is calm
My mouth is quiet
My mouth is quiet
I have a good idea
I have a good idea
I'm going to write
I'm going to write


Every day, I gather my young friends on the carpet (the person who invented the pie shaped carpet must have been some sort of genius, btw). We have a precious hour for writing time, so we get right to it. I do a read aloud and model the skill we are working on. Then I send them to their tables to write. I have found that the transition from shared writing to writing on your own in a journal can be a toughie (especially for young friends at the beginning of the school year). So, to make things a bit more on-tasky, I do a silent countdown from 10 (using only my fingers, not my voice) while they move to their seats. Once there, they get out their writing notebooks and I start the writing words (My body is calm...). My voice is calm and if they repeat it back to me all yelly (think 1,2,3 eyes on me...tone) we start again until their voices are calm too. It really gets their little minds right to do the job at hand. Then I set the timer for 15 minutes of silent writing. During this time, I am writing as well (it's the whole, "Never ask anyone to do what you wouldn't do yourself" principle. When the timer goes off, they may continue to write (because who really finishes in fifteen minutes?) or read silently. Then I start my conferences. They just haven't caught on that I will definitely conference you, if you are reading at the end of the silent 15. Sometimes, I use my writing as a Mentor text. Sometimes, I revisit the mini-lesson book.

I know I have said this before, but it is absolutely my favorite time of the day.

I hope the monkeys don't remember this

when they are considering what to do about their dad and me and the nursing home. What has me genuinely worried about the twilight of my life? Four words: Really. Scary. Roller coaster.

This weekend we took a mini vacay to a tourist town only two hours from our house. Said town has a theme park, so we decided to go. It would be fun. We got up early, got stuck in traffic on the way (seriously, the Garmin said it would take 4 minutes, but it took 34 instead), then started our day of fun. First we went on the log ride (trying to ease the monkeys into the "hey you two are big kids/tall enough now" rides). Then, we made our way to a ride called Powder Keg. I knew it was a roller coaster. But, the sign said the kindergartner was tall enough, so how bad could it be? I did not, however, consider that the whole wait in line area was about explosives and that may have something to do with the ride. While you are waiting, you can't see the coaster nor can you hear any screaming (so again, it must not be scary).

We made it to the front of the line and boarded. There is no shoulder harness only a thing that comes across your lap while the seat comes up between your legs. No big deal. After the rudimentary check of seat belts, our train made its way out of the station...really slowly. I got a little nervous when I looked over and saw a zigzag of tracks, but then I didn't see a giant hill to climb to gain speed and put the jitters out of my mind. The Cubscout was next to me, and he didn't look nervous at all. In an effort not to alarm him, I remained calm. Then our train was lifted up on some sort of elevator to the tracks. I thought...ok? Then there was a series of three beeps. Apparently, this is some sort of launch sequence because on the third beep, our train shot out of the start (this is where I started screaming). There was no easing in by climbing a hill (while you marveled at how high you were/tried to find where you parked). When the ride started, it started. I was terrified and concerned for both monkeys. I was so scared, how must they feel? The ride finally slowed down from Mach 3 (we were headed up a traditional roller coaster climb) long enough for me to look over and ask the Cubscout if he was doing ok. He looked at me with a shocked expression and before he could answer the car was up at the top of the hill ready to plummet down another bazillion stories at a 90 degree angle. As we came around the corner, I yelled, "Just hang on!"

After what felt like an eternity of loops, drops, curves and general speed the ride came to a stop. I was so scared during the ride, I got the giggles after. I looked at the Cubscout and he still had the same expression on his face as at the top of the hill. When we got back into the station and off the ride the Cubscout said, "Not cool, Mom." and the kindergartner said, "My lips hurt from going like this." as she made a silent scream face. So, pretty much they were traumatized. I only hope the saying, "In 20 years no one will remember what you said or did, but they will remember how you made them feel." does not hold true for this experience. Somehow I think they will both tell the story of how their mom and dad scared them to pieces by making them ride that one roller coaster as they sign the papers turning us over to the "retirement center."