That's what the cake said at our siyyum this morning.
Fifth graders are a far cry from the 7ths I taught last year. I used to say, "only kosher at our parties" and they used to bring all sorts of non-hechshered junk food.
Here, I didn't say anything, and a student brought a kosher carrot cake from Whole Foods, with cream cheese frosting that said "Happy End of Shemot." We took a picture with it, and then they brought plates to all the administrators and were wished a "Happy Almost VaEra" in return.
Oh, the joys of students who love to learn for learning's sake.
(And I haven't even mentioned yet the Beshalach-themed music video with my 6th, below...)
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Day Off
It's five days before vacation and I am going crazy.
Mostly because of outside, family stuff that has nothing to do with school. But also because we have a semester to finish, report cards to write, and just a lot going on all around.
First my supervisor said "Everyone gets stressed in December." Then she took one look at my pale face and was like, "Have you taken a day off yet this year?"
Actually, I haven't. I feel like I have, because they schedule meetings and trainings and PD days during my classes, so it seems like I'm never there. But I haven't been sick, nobody's died, and I don't have kids of my own.
She gave me Tuesday off. "As your boss," she said, "I ought to tell you to stay home and write report cards. But as a person, I say this day is a gift, just for you." And then she proceeded to fill out the leave slip for me, over my protests about it being two days before vacation. Because I had told her once about the family responsibilities I have on Sundays, and she knew that I might not actually get my vacation for myself.
I have strict instructions to sleep late, eat kosher takeout, and visit a museum, with no sub-plan writing or report card guilt. And to tell no family member I'm not working, and no one at school I'm not sick.
All last weekend and all day today, all I could think of was this guilty secret. Not because of the day off, which is sweet in itself. I'm so gleeful because the person who gave it to me cares about me, not just as a teacher, but also as me. It's wonderful to know that I work in a place where they think I'm amazing but know that I'm human at the same time. And that care about the person I am being healthy (not just physically) and happy, too, every day of the year.
To be here, I am truly blessed.
Mostly because of outside, family stuff that has nothing to do with school. But also because we have a semester to finish, report cards to write, and just a lot going on all around.
First my supervisor said "Everyone gets stressed in December." Then she took one look at my pale face and was like, "Have you taken a day off yet this year?"
Actually, I haven't. I feel like I have, because they schedule meetings and trainings and PD days during my classes, so it seems like I'm never there. But I haven't been sick, nobody's died, and I don't have kids of my own.
She gave me Tuesday off. "As your boss," she said, "I ought to tell you to stay home and write report cards. But as a person, I say this day is a gift, just for you." And then she proceeded to fill out the leave slip for me, over my protests about it being two days before vacation. Because I had told her once about the family responsibilities I have on Sundays, and she knew that I might not actually get my vacation for myself.
I have strict instructions to sleep late, eat kosher takeout, and visit a museum, with no sub-plan writing or report card guilt. And to tell no family member I'm not working, and no one at school I'm not sick.
All last weekend and all day today, all I could think of was this guilty secret. Not because of the day off, which is sweet in itself. I'm so gleeful because the person who gave it to me cares about me, not just as a teacher, but also as me. It's wonderful to know that I work in a place where they think I'm amazing but know that I'm human at the same time. And that care about the person I am being healthy (not just physically) and happy, too, every day of the year.
To be here, I am truly blessed.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Golden Silence
This is my first time writing since I started school.
I feel bad not sharing my thoughts, but even now, I don't feel like I have anything to say.
Unlike last year, where I was processing and reflecting and shouting to this blog all of my thoughts, dreams and imaginings about the start of the year, this year I feel profound silence in the writing part of my brain.
"ישב בדד וידום, כי נטל עליו"
Quiet. Just quiet.
I'm getting a reputation in my new school as "having ideas as often as the Amidah-- morning, noon and night". I still think and play and dream and imagine what might work better and what doesn't work at all. I even have a mentor this year, whose sessions are like therapy :-). Just this week I started rewriting the MaTok that my school uses into something that resembles standards and benchmarks. And my supervisor likes new things more than I do.
The silence is a different kind of quiet. It's the kind that spells content. Content in the four walls of my school, the kindness of the other teachers. Content and grateful to be in a school where the good things are noticed, where my biggest problem is that I get exercise (my body and my creativity) because I have no computer, where everyone has everyone else's best interests in mind and always are supportive, and where at the end of a long week and a long day of teaching the biggest complaint from my boss is that I didn't smile!
I'm content, and my mind is quiet, because it's only my second year of teaching and that I'm in a place where I can feel successful every day, and where growing and learning (for teachers too) is good and healthy and normal. I see now that this is how it's meant to be, and really, after my big needs like that are met, I feel like there's nothing left to say.
I feel bad not sharing my thoughts, but even now, I don't feel like I have anything to say.
Unlike last year, where I was processing and reflecting and shouting to this blog all of my thoughts, dreams and imaginings about the start of the year, this year I feel profound silence in the writing part of my brain.
"ישב בדד וידום, כי נטל עליו"
Quiet. Just quiet.
I'm getting a reputation in my new school as "having ideas as often as the Amidah-- morning, noon and night". I still think and play and dream and imagine what might work better and what doesn't work at all. I even have a mentor this year, whose sessions are like therapy :-). Just this week I started rewriting the MaTok that my school uses into something that resembles standards and benchmarks. And my supervisor likes new things more than I do.
The silence is a different kind of quiet. It's the kind that spells content. Content in the four walls of my school, the kindness of the other teachers. Content and grateful to be in a school where the good things are noticed, where my biggest problem is that I get exercise (my body and my creativity) because I have no computer, where everyone has everyone else's best interests in mind and always are supportive, and where at the end of a long week and a long day of teaching the biggest complaint from my boss is that I didn't smile!
I'm content, and my mind is quiet, because it's only my second year of teaching and that I'm in a place where I can feel successful every day, and where growing and learning (for teachers too) is good and healthy and normal. I see now that this is how it's meant to be, and really, after my big needs like that are met, I feel like there's nothing left to say.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Beginnings, Again
I'm not really back yet from the summer, in case you were wondering.
This time last year I had already had a week and a half of my first year of teaching, in which I took away a recess, gave two amazing lessons that I didn't plan, helped my class come up with their own rules, and had 5 kids suspended (I'm serious! Go read the archives..). I don't think it could have been any better, or any worse. And I was grateful to my school for having started early enough in August that I taught about 10 Mishna rabbis and 6 mishnayot before Rosh HaShanah even started.
This year I'm starting over, in a new school and a new city, and in a new grade level and a new subject. I am grateful for the renovations that mean I will have enough time to plan, for the three weeks of Pardes and the curriculum I wrote there instead over the whole next year, and for having enough summer time until September to move and to think and dream.
Last year my boss told me, "The first year sucks. You just have to get through it to move on to the second year, which will be much better." Well, the first year was definitely about suckiness, but mostly it was about learning to teach, being touched by wonderful people (adults and students) and the many small or unexpected successes that add up to becoming who you really are. It wasn't all bad. In fact, a tiny part of me fears that I will start to be the boring type of set-in-their-ways teacher that comes with knowing what to expect. Good thing I have all these new-nesses to keep me on my toes.
To those of you who just started, or are about to start, your first year: try a thousand new things, make a million mistakes, and sail ahead on the wings of your love and dedication. Don't let those of us who've done it already spoil the adventure of charting out the unknown and bringing home your own souvenir wisdom.
And to those of you who have done this before, be it once or ten times: Enjoy the ride, and stay in touch!
This time last year I had already had a week and a half of my first year of teaching, in which I took away a recess, gave two amazing lessons that I didn't plan, helped my class come up with their own rules, and had 5 kids suspended (I'm serious! Go read the archives..). I don't think it could have been any better, or any worse. And I was grateful to my school for having started early enough in August that I taught about 10 Mishna rabbis and 6 mishnayot before Rosh HaShanah even started.
This year I'm starting over, in a new school and a new city, and in a new grade level and a new subject. I am grateful for the renovations that mean I will have enough time to plan, for the three weeks of Pardes and the curriculum I wrote there instead over the whole next year, and for having enough summer time until September to move and to think and dream.
Last year my boss told me, "The first year sucks. You just have to get through it to move on to the second year, which will be much better." Well, the first year was definitely about suckiness, but mostly it was about learning to teach, being touched by wonderful people (adults and students) and the many small or unexpected successes that add up to becoming who you really are. It wasn't all bad. In fact, a tiny part of me fears that I will start to be the boring type of set-in-their-ways teacher that comes with knowing what to expect. Good thing I have all these new-nesses to keep me on my toes.
To those of you who just started, or are about to start, your first year: try a thousand new things, make a million mistakes, and sail ahead on the wings of your love and dedication. Don't let those of us who've done it already spoil the adventure of charting out the unknown and bringing home your own souvenir wisdom.
And to those of you who have done this before, be it once or ten times: Enjoy the ride, and stay in touch!
Friday, June 4, 2010
In honor of the last week of school...
Last July I didn’t know what my school would look like. I didn’t know if I would have a classroom, or that I was going to have to decorate it. I didn’t know how to put up bulletin board paper, and I didn’t know how to use the die-cut machine.
Last July I didn’t know what I was going to be called by the students, let alone answer to “Ms. Kaufman.” I didn’t know how to teach Mishna, how to arrange the desks in my classroom, or how to write a syllabus.
Last July I wondered if all my students would hate me for being new, or take advantage of me for looking so young. I thought that the key to success was to pretend to be too strict, even if that wasn’t something I really knew how to do.
Last July I didn’t know how to create a project, write a worksheet, or get students to work in groups. I didn’t know what to say in front of my class, and definitely not what the elusive “teacher’s presence” was.
Last July I didn’t understand how to log in to my new computer system, use a smartboard, grade papers, or enter those grades. I didn’t know how to take attendance, how to bentch on the mike, and I was nervous about having to learn 80 names. I didn’t know anything about middle school tefilla, and I was naïve enough to wonder if they might enjoy it.
Last July I didn’t know what the building blocks of learning were, how to plod through each day of the school year, or how to build a relationship with a whole class at once. I didn’t know what DD was, how to use it, or that it would get me laughed out of class by snotty attitudes and entitlement. I didn’t know what I expected of them, what I wished they could do (though I said I wanted them to reach the stars) or what success for 7th graders was. I didn’t know that good intentions were my gift, or that they would get me through a very dark February.
Last July I hoped that the people I worked with, and worked for, would love me, and knew that I had to be strong every day to give them confidence. I knew that I was reflective, but I didn’t know just how much good it would do me, or that it was a quality not every teacher had.
People back then said it would be challenging, that maybe I couldn’t possibly succeed, and I didn’t know then that I would pass with flying colors. I didn’t know then how hard it would be to succeed when half-truths were breaking me down piece by piece, or that it would be an accomplishment not to quit. I didn’t know then that my real battle would be never losing my faith, or that everyone would think I was strong just for showing up every day and caring enough to do my job.
I never knew then how sad I would feel, despite every hardship, that the year was coming to a close. I never thought that my weaknesses would become strengths so fast, or that there would be other schools, and even people in my school, who would praise them. I never thought that I would ever see the end of the eternity of the school year, let alone that I would wish it would go on forever. I never thought that I would feel so personally proud that I had done nothing more than the best I could do.
And I never thought about this July, where I will start a new year actually feeling like every inch a teacher.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
A Fun One--
Here's a fun one for y'all:
My "lowest" 7th grade class decided to make a video instead of a portfolio for the end of the year. The rough cut ended up being a snapshot not just of what they learned, but of the gusto and creativity with which they learned it. We are still editing, as it will be shown to all the parents at school showcase day, but for now, a celebration of student-centered learning:
Enjoy!
My "lowest" 7th grade class decided to make a video instead of a portfolio for the end of the year. The rough cut ended up being a snapshot not just of what they learned, but of the gusto and creativity with which they learned it. We are still editing, as it will be shown to all the parents at school showcase day, but for now, a celebration of student-centered learning:
Enjoy!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Thank You
At my school, we do something at the end of the week week called "acknowledgments". We go around and reflect on something that each person has done for one of us, or someone else, during the week, and thank that person for their positive participation in our community.
This week, after what feels like a long, hard winter of hard things and often negativity in my world and life, I finally feel like spring has come and I have something to acknowledge.
To my school:
Thank you for letting me leap headfirst into a million different things every day until I learned that my greatest strength is being able to imagine the classroom as a world I can endlessly re-create in the students' image, and for the thousand mistakes I was allowed to gleefully make along the way. Thank you for this year of helping me get from potential to actual teacher, and for knowing that I have awesome people here that continue to watch me grow into my teacher-self and look forward to a future doing great things I haven't dreamed up yet. Maybe it's been really hard to have a first year teacher on board, but I appreciate every day all the learning I've done with you this year."
Amen for all of you too!
This week, after what feels like a long, hard winter of hard things and often negativity in my world and life, I finally feel like spring has come and I have something to acknowledge.
To my school:
Thank you for letting me leap headfirst into a million different things every day until I learned that my greatest strength is being able to imagine the classroom as a world I can endlessly re-create in the students' image, and for the thousand mistakes I was allowed to gleefully make along the way. Thank you for this year of helping me get from potential to actual teacher, and for knowing that I have awesome people here that continue to watch me grow into my teacher-self and look forward to a future doing great things I haven't dreamed up yet. Maybe it's been really hard to have a first year teacher on board, but I appreciate every day all the learning I've done with you this year."
Amen for all of you too!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
I am a teacher
And that is why I am sitting, at 6:30 pm on a rainy weeknight, and trying unsuccessfully to bake matzah in my sandwich maker.
My kinesthetic learners in my lowest level class complained that we haven't done anything "hands-on" for a while. (They're right--as long as you don't count the Purim movies we made two weeks ago, the bracha posters all over the school that we drew the week before, and the Ta'anit midterm shoebox dioramas of Mishna ceremonies from two weeks before that. But who's counting?)
Couple that with a model seder that was just cut and now won't have food, the teacher who has done it for the last million years going away conveniently that week, and the idea of the people in charge to make Mishna more important by having a Roman-themed event sometime this year, and you have it.
My Do-It-Yourself Mishna Model Symposium Seder-like Thing. lol.
Obviously they ate back in Mishna times (they were Jewish, y'know) and we've been talking all year about how their daily life was different from ours.
So when we read the Mishna about the seder plate, and they asked if we could make our own Mishna matzah, charoset and chazeret, I said I would try to find a way. That was before I knew the kitchen would have long since been cleaned, supplies put away, and we were totally on our own. Hence the sandwich maker.
What I've learned in the last (precisely) 18 minutes:
1. Flour and water (iced tea, actually, since it will be erev Pesach) together have no taste, even without the cardboard corrugations.
2. What comes out is rubbery, and only like a laffa if you mix in a huge dash of imagination.
3. Chummus definitely helps.
4. A sandwich maker cooks just like the 'tannur' we say at the donkey-riding kibbutz two years ago. Well, almost.
5. Mixing flour and water takes 30 seconds. So actually 18 minutes is a huge amount of time unless you're making enough matzah to feed a house full of starving Korban Pesach-eaters. Which I will be in 2 weeks with 50 7th graders who aren't getting lunch that day.
6. This is not the first time I've learned by cooking, but I am thinking really hard the whole time about how to teach that way. (And how to do this with a whole class with no one getting burned.)
7. That matzah is the least of my Mishna seder worries. Because now I'm on to fabricating a Korban Pesach.
7pm, and my roommate wants to know when I'm going to be done making a nightmare out of the kitchen. I tell her it's better to set off the smoke alarm in our home than in my classroom.
Yup, I've totally morphed into a teacher.
My kinesthetic learners in my lowest level class complained that we haven't done anything "hands-on" for a while. (They're right--as long as you don't count the Purim movies we made two weeks ago, the bracha posters all over the school that we drew the week before, and the Ta'anit midterm shoebox dioramas of Mishna ceremonies from two weeks before that. But who's counting?)
Couple that with a model seder that was just cut and now won't have food, the teacher who has done it for the last million years going away conveniently that week, and the idea of the people in charge to make Mishna more important by having a Roman-themed event sometime this year, and you have it.
My Do-It-Yourself Mishna Model Symposium Seder-like Thing. lol.
Obviously they ate back in Mishna times (they were Jewish, y'know) and we've been talking all year about how their daily life was different from ours.
So when we read the Mishna about the seder plate, and they asked if we could make our own Mishna matzah, charoset and chazeret, I said I would try to find a way. That was before I knew the kitchen would have long since been cleaned, supplies put away, and we were totally on our own. Hence the sandwich maker.
What I've learned in the last (precisely) 18 minutes:
1. Flour and water (iced tea, actually, since it will be erev Pesach) together have no taste, even without the cardboard corrugations.
2. What comes out is rubbery, and only like a laffa if you mix in a huge dash of imagination.
3. Chummus definitely helps.
4. A sandwich maker cooks just like the 'tannur' we say at the donkey-riding kibbutz two years ago. Well, almost.
5. Mixing flour and water takes 30 seconds. So actually 18 minutes is a huge amount of time unless you're making enough matzah to feed a house full of starving Korban Pesach-eaters. Which I will be in 2 weeks with 50 7th graders who aren't getting lunch that day.
6. This is not the first time I've learned by cooking, but I am thinking really hard the whole time about how to teach that way. (And how to do this with a whole class with no one getting burned.)
7. That matzah is the least of my Mishna seder worries. Because now I'm on to fabricating a Korban Pesach.
7pm, and my roommate wants to know when I'm going to be done making a nightmare out of the kitchen. I tell her it's better to set off the smoke alarm in our home than in my classroom.
Yup, I've totally morphed into a teacher.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Finally Done Writing the Midterm
A week of kvetching later, and I'm finally done writing the midterm.
I've been excited about giving assessments before, but this is my first big one. I haven't given a traditional test yet all year. And I certainly haven't given one on more than just the current unit. I've leaned to the side of wanting synthesis, of needing to show them that they can take what they've learned and apply it to something new, that testing isn't just about the Mishna we did in class but about something bigger, something that's teaching them how to think.
That's what I thought, at least, until I got to this test. Now I'm starting to see that teachers give multiple choice and stuff like that for a reason. One part of that might be so that my aide (and my roommate!) can help me grade them during a week in which I also have to write 80 report card comments. But the biggest thing I've seen is that just writing the test has forced me to pull everything I've taught together, and I hope that taking it will make them proud of all the things they've learned this year. I hope they feel powerful in their knowledge, even as I know they will forget it all a minute after they take the test. This time, I'm after the memory of that empowerment, the faith I have that they will remember the day they were awesome enough at Mishna to have taken a comprehensive test like this and remembered everything.
Weird how I've finally fallen into the place of finally understanding true or false and multiple choice.
And wondering why writing a midterm had to be a skill that I learned in the middle of this terribly stressful month of February, and not a skill I learned back in Pardes.
I've been excited about giving assessments before, but this is my first big one. I haven't given a traditional test yet all year. And I certainly haven't given one on more than just the current unit. I've leaned to the side of wanting synthesis, of needing to show them that they can take what they've learned and apply it to something new, that testing isn't just about the Mishna we did in class but about something bigger, something that's teaching them how to think.
That's what I thought, at least, until I got to this test. Now I'm starting to see that teachers give multiple choice and stuff like that for a reason. One part of that might be so that my aide (and my roommate!) can help me grade them during a week in which I also have to write 80 report card comments. But the biggest thing I've seen is that just writing the test has forced me to pull everything I've taught together, and I hope that taking it will make them proud of all the things they've learned this year. I hope they feel powerful in their knowledge, even as I know they will forget it all a minute after they take the test. This time, I'm after the memory of that empowerment, the faith I have that they will remember the day they were awesome enough at Mishna to have taken a comprehensive test like this and remembered everything.
Weird how I've finally fallen into the place of finally understanding true or false and multiple choice.
And wondering why writing a midterm had to be a skill that I learned in the middle of this terribly stressful month of February, and not a skill I learned back in Pardes.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Haven't written in a while...
And I'm still not sure I have anything to report now.
It's still January, finally nearing the end, and I'm boring myself. I'm in that rut that happens when spring hasn't come but everyone's kinda getting sick of winter. In the north, where I'm from, that happened in February, but here it seems to have happened already, with the weather being nice and cruelly awful in turns, and midterms coming only in two weeks even though we've had our 100th day of school last week.
I haven't given a real test all year, and I'm giving one for the midterm (at my director's request). Writing the review sheet is something I'm strangely dreading. I have about enough energy to sit during a free period and make smartboard slides for the next day, but that's about all the planning I've done since I came back, and I have a class for whom I don't even always do that.
I have half my students failing because of missing work I haven't chased them for, we had a meeting with the head of school about the negative school culture, and today I had to kick three kids out of my desk drawer because no, I don't let them rummage through my emergency snack (or pencil) supply.
I give free time at the end of lessons because I don't want to listen to myself talk, I gave a quiz just to stump kids and prove to them they have to take better notes, and in the deadness of January I feel myself becoming the monster of the teacher I most didn't want to be.
I can't remember when was the last time they even successfully worked in partners. And I was the queen of projects.
And I admitted in front of a class today that I don't actually think Mishna's all that important in teh grand scheme of life (though it was in a lecture about respecting others trumping all) because honestly, I'm not so sure right now that it is.
Because the most important thing right now, or the only thing that seems to matter, is hanging on to that lead-line and following it through without falling off until spring.
It's still January, finally nearing the end, and I'm boring myself. I'm in that rut that happens when spring hasn't come but everyone's kinda getting sick of winter. In the north, where I'm from, that happened in February, but here it seems to have happened already, with the weather being nice and cruelly awful in turns, and midterms coming only in two weeks even though we've had our 100th day of school last week.
I haven't given a real test all year, and I'm giving one for the midterm (at my director's request). Writing the review sheet is something I'm strangely dreading. I have about enough energy to sit during a free period and make smartboard slides for the next day, but that's about all the planning I've done since I came back, and I have a class for whom I don't even always do that.
I have half my students failing because of missing work I haven't chased them for, we had a meeting with the head of school about the negative school culture, and today I had to kick three kids out of my desk drawer because no, I don't let them rummage through my emergency snack (or pencil) supply.
I give free time at the end of lessons because I don't want to listen to myself talk, I gave a quiz just to stump kids and prove to them they have to take better notes, and in the deadness of January I feel myself becoming the monster of the teacher I most didn't want to be.
I can't remember when was the last time they even successfully worked in partners. And I was the queen of projects.
And I admitted in front of a class today that I don't actually think Mishna's all that important in teh grand scheme of life (though it was in a lecture about respecting others trumping all) because honestly, I'm not so sure right now that it is.
Because the most important thing right now, or the only thing that seems to matter, is hanging on to that lead-line and following it through without falling off until spring.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Guest Blogger Entry
Courtesy of a fellow Cohort 8er who teaches in NY...
today in class my student asked me 'did this happen' about the story of eliezer and rivka at the well.
i let the other kids be like 'we're never going to know if it happened. it's a question of belief.'
'but sophie, do YOU think it happened'
'i'm not going to answer that right now'
'but it's really important'
'you're distracting from the story'
(i had tried to get them to act out the story, which they were excited about, but excitement + crazy kids = INSANITY and WAY TOO MUCH GIGGLING. oh well)
what i did not do:
a) talk about type scenes (though they brought up moshe and miriam. they meant tziporah but i don't have time to correct every mistake they make and they learn)
b) talk about how it doesn't matter
but really, i hate giggly, disrespectful 9th grade girls (who are also mean. some of them, not all of them). who turn my plans for trying to make learnign fun so they don't have to read all of a really long perek into 'let's laugh at x.'
YES!
today in class my student asked me 'did this happen' about the story of eliezer and rivka at the well.
i let the other kids be like 'we're never going to know if it happened. it's a question of belief.'
'but sophie, do YOU think it happened'
'i'm not going to answer that right now'
'but it's really important'
'you're distracting from the story'
(i had tried to get them to act out the story, which they were excited about, but excitement + crazy kids = INSANITY and WAY TOO MUCH GIGGLING. oh well)
what i did not do:
a) talk about type scenes (though they brought up moshe and miriam. they meant tziporah but i don't have time to correct every mistake they make and they learn)
b) talk about how it doesn't matter
but really, i hate giggly, disrespectful 9th grade girls (who are also mean. some of them, not all of them). who turn my plans for trying to make learnign fun so they don't have to read all of a really long perek into 'let's laugh at x.'
YES!
Monday, January 4, 2010
The First Day Back
Was a dream.
It was like the first day of school again, only better, sweeter, and more chilled. As if the worst was over, the eye of the storm had been reached, and the other side had arrived, but much less scary.
I'm standing at the top of the mountain, looking down at the great expanse of snow reaching out in front of me and knowing that I'm not the only one that can do it. My students can, too.
In the two weeks since we've been gone, my 8th graders have finally stopped hating me, my advisory has made a truce to not be snotty to each other, and the other teachers actually look like people. We even sat and drank tea at lunch, chatting in Hebrew about nothing, not about students.
I don't even care that I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow, that I just got suckered into some weird Tu B'Shvat shuk thing, and that I still have trouble keeping my class quiet for more than 30 seconds. I did dream up some new ideas, but I'm giving myself three weeks for them to percolate, because suddenly I'm not in a rush. I didn't think about school at all for two weeks until yesterday morning, I know I never would have done that in August, and I am proud.
This morning I was not nervous; I knew not only all the students names but their histories, their moms, and what computer games they like. I'm their teacher, they are my students, and they were happy to see me and happy to be back. Some even complimented me on my haircut and let me talk in opening circle about my vacation, not just about theirs. Some difference from that first terrifying day of school.
I am a teacher, and I'm ready to jump off the ski-lift and enjoy every minute of the downhill slope until June.
And that is why we have vacation.
It was like the first day of school again, only better, sweeter, and more chilled. As if the worst was over, the eye of the storm had been reached, and the other side had arrived, but much less scary.
I'm standing at the top of the mountain, looking down at the great expanse of snow reaching out in front of me and knowing that I'm not the only one that can do it. My students can, too.
In the two weeks since we've been gone, my 8th graders have finally stopped hating me, my advisory has made a truce to not be snotty to each other, and the other teachers actually look like people. We even sat and drank tea at lunch, chatting in Hebrew about nothing, not about students.
I don't even care that I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow, that I just got suckered into some weird Tu B'Shvat shuk thing, and that I still have trouble keeping my class quiet for more than 30 seconds. I did dream up some new ideas, but I'm giving myself three weeks for them to percolate, because suddenly I'm not in a rush. I didn't think about school at all for two weeks until yesterday morning, I know I never would have done that in August, and I am proud.
This morning I was not nervous; I knew not only all the students names but their histories, their moms, and what computer games they like. I'm their teacher, they are my students, and they were happy to see me and happy to be back. Some even complimented me on my haircut and let me talk in opening circle about my vacation, not just about theirs. Some difference from that first terrifying day of school.
I am a teacher, and I'm ready to jump off the ski-lift and enjoy every minute of the downhill slope until June.
And that is why we have vacation.
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