Last week had an inauspicious beginning despite it being a week that Jack would come home. Last Monday, I got up early, prepped supper, made a loaf of homemade bread, had us ready to go out the door a bit early - in short, I was playing Superwoman. And then it all fell apart. It was the bitterly cold morning when the predicted high for the day was only 30 degrees and I went out early to start the car and load up my briefcase and Bell's backpack.
Now for city people, we live in an old house built by a tightwad, a man who built this house out of leftover parts from other houses. I walk across the yard to get to the dryer though the washing machine is in the middle of my kitchen. A garage is something fancy people have. That means that warming the car is a must. Somehow, after I started the car, I bumped the door lock - I believe it had something to do with keeping one Jack's bejillion cats out of the car. Of course I didn't realize the doors locked until after the door shut. Panic did not set in - I was sure the spare key was on the rack. Except it wasn't. We don't have a house phone. My cell phone was in the car. Bell still had my iPad in the house, so I messaged Jack Dear, hoping he was still at the trailer in Alva with his iPhone on (he doesn't keep it on much and normally uses his work phone). He did and he also had my spare key. In Alva. Nearly three hours away. It is 7:30. I have a 20 minute drive and need to be at work in 30 minutes. Now panic ensues. Can I take our old decrepit jeep? The one with no heat, no antifreeze, and a nearly flat tire? Nope. I did limp the jeep to Jack's mother's and took her rather unreliable car to work. In the meantime, my car sat, running with heat on full blast and my briefcase inside for three hours, while the man of the house came home with the spare key.
Sounds like the Three Stooges are in charge at my house doesn't it? It all ended up fine. Jack came home, dealt with the cars and the day resolved itself into normalcy, but when your Monday morning starts that way, you just don't do a good job teaching - too much stress, too much insanity. It somehow sets the tone for the week, which turned gray and damp with a cold that seeped into my bones.
Last Wednesday, Bell developed a sore throat. Last Thursday, the chip in the windshield that was supposed to get fixed on Friday turned into a huge crack. By Sunday, Bell had developed a nasty cough. By Monday evening, the snot monster was sleeping propped up in my bed with Breathe Easy oil in the diffuser and Thieves oil rubbed into her chest and feet, dosed with cold medicine. By Tuesdayay, the cough and congestion had reached the point that I was checking for fever and saying, "Just try to make it through the day." Mothers know that when we send our kids to school half sick, we spend the entire day waiting for the phone to ring, for the elementary to demand that we come fetch our germy child. That means we are not one hundred percent focused on our job.
Perhaps that is why it took me until the end of first hour to realize that when second hour's papers came back from the copier, they were short a few copies. Our school building is huge, with the copier far away from my room, but between classes I made it to the copier, which was out of paper. I loaded the paper, but there was a misfeed. After much fuss, I managed to get my copies and had rounded the last corner of halls to my classroom just as the bell rang. I was late for class. The principal was waiting outside my classroom.. This did not bode well. Not well at all. I went in, shut the door and prayed fervently that the boss man was there to observe someone else, though not likely since there are only two other classes past mine in the hall.
My students have a routine everyday - when the bell rings, they are to begin work on their sentence of the day while I take roll and then we start class. The ball had rung and not a single student out of 21 had ther sentence out, much less started working on it. I got them going, roll was taken , but there was much muttering, nitpicking between students and general grumbling in the room. I had to tell several students to focus, to be quiet, and the third time I spoke to one young man, I actually said "shut up." I rarely say that. I just don't, but he was keeping contention stirred up with another
student and had been warned, and I just about was at the end of my rope. I thought so at least.
The day before, we had spent no less than fifty minutes discussing the roll of women in the late 1880s and reading Kate Chopin's "Story of an Hour" and discussing how the story could fit into both realism and naturalism. We dissected that story so thoroughly that I am not sure much more could have been said, I thought they had picked up every nuance, caught how each detail was flavored by the social environment, understood each sliver of irony. Come on, it is a ten minute story and it should have been conquered in a fifty minute lesson.
Not so. I handed out work, about 12 questions, going from simple right up Bloom's levels. Immediately, the uproar started: "I don't get it," "This is too hard," "You didn't explain this part," "These questions don't make sense," ""Help me," "I still don't get this." I saw red. Few things annoy me more than students who start the "I don't get it routine" when they have only spent 30 seconds with a problem. I had dared used words like why, how, what if, consider the historical and social aspects, and worst of all, in yor opinion. As I am saying that I will not just give them the answer and their protests are getting louder, in walks the principal ready to observe me. My students apparently have no brains and are on the verge of mutiny if I ask them to work, it looks like chaos, I was late to class . . .
I did not give them the answer. I asked leading questions, we discussed some more, I redirected with leading questions, I ended up saying things like, "No. You are not thinking. I will not tell you the answer" and we started over again with different leading questions. Three times and twenty minutes later they were mad and pouty, but on the right track. While they worked, I passed out graded papers and make up work, looking over shoulders as the kids worked, stopping and redirecting them to other parts of the story for answers, asking them questions to steer the. In the right direction.
I got a good review, but patience wise, I probably deserved an F. I did not have all my ducks in a row to begin class on time. They don't pay me to fight with the copier between class. They pay me to teach from bell to bell. The galling thing is, days like that are pretty rare. I teach and work hard and most days, I do a good job. maybe I got a good review because the boss knows that I do a good job, maybe he recognized the students had some responsibility to learn and not just me teach. But what if he only gave me a good review because he knows that 35% of my reviews will be comprised of how much growth there is between the 10th and 11th grade test scores, rather than how effectively I taught. I can be the best teacher ever, but I can not force a child to do well on a test, especially when passing said test is not a graduation requirement, it is also hard to show improvement whe the 10th grade pass rate is already something like 97%.
It has just been a beastly two weeks. Wednesday, I was out of school, lugging a sick Bella to the doctor. Yesterday morning I had a migraine and then it was a bit chaotic trying to catch up from being gone. Then I got to spend a good bit of time dealing with a discipline issue. My kids were using the ipads to type last essay of the semester and one child chose to write his in rather nasty language. It wasn't turned in, but left on the Ilad where a student later in the day discovered it. I had to figure out which kid it was, spend some time with the principal deciding what punishments would ensue, just generally deal with the mess. The essay had some legitimate sentences amidst its filthy rambling, but for the most part, drawing penises all over the paper would have been as effective. Let me remind you, my salary and even my job will depends o n this kid's test score. The student won't be allowed to use the ipads anymore which means more work for me since we will be working through a test prep program on them one day a week for the rest of the year. I will have to create something on paper . . . Giving the child a zero really isn't an option - test scores, remember?
This morning, as I type this, I am shaky from lack of sleep. I usually sleep well after a migraine, but not last night. Sometimes the pills I take leave me jittery. Match that with a coughing little girl who had bad dreams and I gave up on sleep at 4:15. It is test day in my room which means no lessons to teach. I will be having lunch with fiends. It is Friday. These are things for which I am seriously thankful. I am ready for this week to be over and for Jack to come home.
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