Tag: first grade

Liebchens

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales3 Comments

My dear friend, Hippie, recently bequeathed a lovely blog award to me.  Okay, it really wasn’t that recently and I’m shamefully overdue in passing it along.  Truly my tardiness is inversely proportional to how touched I am to receive the Liebster Award.  The Liebster Award is an award for blogs tipping the scales at under 200 followers.  That’s Pedals and Pencils for sure, an intimate space where I write about my little ones and some of my biggish adventures.

Liebster is German for ‘dear’ or beloved.  Liebster makes me think of  liebchen, a term of endearment my mom occasionally let slip from her lips when I was a kid.  Liebchen means “little love”.  My mom lavished pet names upon her children, but most often the term she used for me was Pumpkin Doodle, a name I fondly bestow upon my little ones.  So on the occasion that I was called Liebchen, I’d let the beauty of the word sink down deep.  It sounded so elegant and when she said it to me, I filled with the warmth of my mother’s love.

Daily life teaching my little ones is filled with little things.  I sit in little chairs.  I hold little hands.  I hug little bodies.  I wipe little tears.

Our classroom meetings consist of milestones that feel very big at the ripe old age of six.  We celebrate lost teeth and first home runs and mastering the complexities of shoe tying.  We talk about riding sans training wheels, sleeping in the top bunk without falling off and we ponder the potential inside a brand new box of crayons.

I love my time with my little ones, my little loves.  This year I’ve had to go to bat for them in ways I never thought I’d have to.  I’m happy to kick the dirt off my cleats and step up to the plate, but because I speak out for my little ones, my job has become increasingly difficult.

Fortunately, I walk in the footsteps of great educators who taught with passion and inspired me with their legacy.  Doing what is right is so often incongruent with doing what is expected.

I have the good fortune of being friends with a teacher who continues to be reflective in her practice in the face of the push for one size fits all education, a woman who seeks out creativity in a time of standardized testing.  It’s my pleasure to introduce you to that friend today.  Her name is Lynn and her blog inspires me in a time when I’m sorely in need of encouragement to learn more, do better and be fearless in my pursuit of meaningful instruction.  This particular post, Watering the Grass, resonated with me at the beginning of the year.  It continues to remind me to approach each day expecting great things of myself and of my liebchens.

Moments from the Pumpkin Patch

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales9 Comments

Today I made my annual trek to the pumpkin patch with 26 giddy six-year-olds in tow.  Not to mention their parents and a smattering of younger siblings.  The weather was perfect, sunny without a drop of rain.  The sky was so blue, it can only be described as piercing.  We had a great day watching pig races, bouncing in the bounce house, picking pumpkins, firing corn cannons and just enjoying the pleasure of being outside together.  Here are some of the best lines from the day:

1) On the bus ride to the pumpkin patch, two little ones in the seat behind me were singing “Old MacDonald” and decided to make up a verse about pumpkins that went like this:

Little girl: “Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.  And on his farm he had a pumpkin, E-I-E-I-O.  With a…with a…what kind of noise do pumpkins make?”

Little boy: “Ummmm, BOOM BOOM?”

Little girl: “Yeah, that’s a good one.  Let’s sing it.”

Both: “With a BOOM BOOM here and a BOOM BOOM there, here a BOOM, there a BOOM, everywhere a BOOM BOOM.  Old MacDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.”

Then they high-fived their musical genius.  Boom, boom indeed.

2) Also on the bus ride over, I sat near one of my autistic little ones.  He was a little uneasy.

Little One: “I feel scared in my heart.”

Me: “What are you scared of.”

Little One: “I’ve never been to a farm before.”

Me: “Do you remember all the things we talked about seeing?”

Little One: “Yes, but I’m still scared in my heart.”

Me: “It’s okay to be nervous about something new.”

Little One: “Will you stay with me?”

Me: “The whole time.”

Little One: “Until I’m old?”

Me: “How about until you go home on the bus this afternoon?”

Little One: “Okay.  But I’ll miss you when I’m old.”

Me: “Me, too.”

I’m pretty sure I will miss this little one long before I’m old.

3) While walking by the goat house where the goats where children were using a hand crank to send a conveyor belt of food to the goats, one of my little ones was deep in thought.

Little One: “Mrs. McCauley, what are those goats doing?”

Me: “Eating the food those children are sending up to them.”

Little One: “What do you think the goats are thinking?”

Me: “I’m not sure.  What do you think they’re thinking?”

Little One: “I think they’re thinking ‘Mmmm, room service is niiice.'”

Room service is niiice, even in the form of grain shuttled up in a cup on a conveyor belt.

4) All week long we’ve been studying how pumpkins grow and my little ones were especially interested in learning that only the female pumpkin plants produce pumpkins.  I’d showed them how to look under the yellow flowers to see if the plants were male or female.  Out in the pumpkin patch I heard a little one explaining it to his dad like this:

Little One: “Dad, this one is a girl pumpkin plant.”

Dad: “Plants aren’t boys and girls.  They’re just plants.”

Little One: “Nuh-uh, Mrs. McCauley read us a book about how to tell if they’re boys or girls and this one has a baby pumpkin growing under the flower.  That means the bees visited a boy pumpkin flower and got yellow pollen on their legs and brought it over to the girl flower so she could make a baby pumpkin.  Then this baby pumpkin will grow up to be a mommy or daddy pumpkin and it will make a flower and everything will start all over again.”

Dad: “Really?”

Little One: “Really.  But the sad part is that the pumpkins die, but don’t cry because their seeds go back to live in the Earth to make new pumpkins.  So, it’s sorta like they come back to life.  It’s like a secret pumpkin super-power.”

I just love how their minds work.  And I agree, returning to life after dying is an awesome secret pumpkin super-power.

5) Back at school we parked our pumpkins on the nametags on our desks.  Also on our nametags are clear cups of pumpkin seeds that we took scooped out of a pumpkin and planted a couple of weeks ago.  The seeds are starting to send roots down and grow root hairs.  When we got back to class, a Little One put her pumpkin on her desk and squealed when she saw one of the seeds in her cup.

Little One: “Look, Mrs. McCauley, it’s taking off its seed coat.”

Me: “That’s awesome.  Can you see the seed leaves yet?”

Little One: “Yep, they’re coming out to hug the mommy pumpkin I picked.”

Me: “I bet your seed leaves will be poking out of the soil when we come back to school on Monday.”

Little One: “Should I leave the mommy pumpkin here to help them?”

Me: “No, I don’t think so because pumpkin seeds know how grow all by themselves.”

Little One: “Wow, pumpkin sprouts are really smart.”

I’m pretty lucky because I’ve got 26 of my own smart little sprouts.

What It Means to Give

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Letters, Teacher Tales3 Comments
Image courtesy of flickrhivemind.com

Dear Little One,

Today the girls stepped in the classroom, twirling in fancy dresses.  The boys showed off their stiff, spiky, gelled haircuts.  It was Picture Day and, Little One, I have to admit I was surprised when you showed up with your thick, black hair cut short.  Your hair was so long and gorgeous.  Your new haircut frames your face and your deep, brown eyes stand out even more than before.

During Morning News, I commented that your haircut looked great and, Little One, your response stole my heart.  You looked at me, with eyes so pure, so earnest, and said,

“I gave my hair away.”

I felt my jaw drop as the words sunk in.

“I gave my hair away.”

This baffled the other kids sitting on the rug with you.  Their questions came rapid-fire.

“What?!?”

“You gave your hair away?”

“Who did you give it to?”

“Why did you give it away?”

“What do you mean you gave your hair away???”

I motioned you to the front of the rug to explain.  With a grin that stretched across your entire face you told how your mom braided your hair after school yesterday and then a hairdresser cut it off.  You gave your thick, shiny braid to the hairdresser.

As you spoke, the class stared at you, 25 sets of eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.  You continued, explaining that your braid of hair would now be made into a wig for a sick child who didn’t have any hair.

I hugged you tight and told you that you’d given a beautiful gift.  One of your friends summed it up even better when she said, “I think that was the best gift you ever could give.”

She’s right, Little One.  I know you loved your long hair, but you love helping others even more.  That is your gift to the world.  You give, even when giving requires sacrifice.

Every time I see your pixie cut, I’ll remember the day you gave away your beautiful braid. I’ll remember the day you taught me what it means to really give.

Love,

Your Teacher

Return to Me

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales6 Comments

Today, in the sweltering heat of bus duty, I had one of the best moments of my teaching career.  As I stood corralling kids in the bus line and stopping kindergarteners from throwing their backpacks at each other, a young woman tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned as she said, “Mrs. McCauley, do you remember me?  I used to be in your first grade class.”

Of course I remembered her.  I knew her the second she said my name.  I knew her eyes.  I knew her voice, quiet and strong.  I knew the tip of her shy smile.

I often dream of former students, children who lived nightmarish lives and found refuge at school, safe in our classroom.  I dream of little ones who lived with monsters, horrid monsters who were careful to never leave a thread of evidence for me to report, but leave me still with a sick pit in my stomach.  I dream of little ones who one day just up and moved, never to be seen again.  They visit me in the sacred space of night, these lost children.

My lost children.

As I stood by the bus area, looking at this beautiful young woman, I hugged her, probably too tightly, and peppered her with questions.  How are you?  What are you doing now?  Are you going to school?  Are you working?

She is the same sweet six-year-old I taught eleven years ago.  She’s the darling girl who I hugged hundreds of times, her head resting on my shoulder as her little hands gripped my neck.  She is the same girl who fell in love with reading.  She’s the same girl who used to light up the room with her giggle.

She told me about her life and how, at the age of 17, she has removed herself from her monster.  She tutors her peers.  She’ll graduate this year.  She’s college bound.

She’s strong.

And beautiful.

And courageous.

And kind.

And introspective.

And smart.

She is the woman I always knew she could be.

She’s the little girl who filled my heart so many years ago and she is the young woman who made it overflow today.

Tonight when my lost children tiptoe into my sleep, I will think of her.  She’s given me renewed hope that my other lost children have grown into strong and courageous adults.

And in the solitude of night I will fall asleep hoping that maybe, just maybe, they too will someday return to me.

Best Year Yet: The Yin

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Teacher Tales4 Comments

My second day of school began at 3:30am, perhaps the unholiest of all sleeping hours to be awake.  I laid in bed willing myself to go back to sleep, telling myself I was going to need my energy to keep up with my new little ones, but the millions of little tasks that I had ahead of me began to romp and play in my brain.  After laying in bed for an hour, I clomped out to the couch and started on my To Do List.

As I worked in the quiet of my house and watched the moon change guards with the sun, I couldn’t help but think of Jim Burke’s tweet from a few weeks ago.  Ever since I read it, it’s been resting deep in a pocket of my belly, a place reserved for meaty ideas that need time to digest.

That’s the mindset I’ve had the last couple of weeks.  Just what if this is my best year yet?  This thought also has a little brother that tags along, poking at me.  What am I doing to make it the best year yet?

My first day of school was a great one and even though I’d woken at 3:30, I was determined to make my second day equally great.  I wasn’t willing to concede my best teaching year yet to a pesky bout of insomnia.

At school, I started in on my list of things to do, setting a birthday crown on a little girl’s desk and relishing the rarity that is alone time in my classroom.  Then my happy little ones trooped in from morning recess.  The room buzzed with parents and kids getting settled in for the day.

The birthday girl and her mom were one of the first to arrive.  Nodding to the food allergy sign on my door, I asked if she was going to send in birthday treats for the class.  The mom explained that they were poor, that there would be no birthday treats, no birthday party and very few presents.  I understood.  Single moms have it rough and I patted her on the arm.  Then the Birthday Girl spoke up.  She looked up at me from underneath her head of white blonde hair and said,  “We’re going to have a special day just spending time together.”  Be still my beating heart, I love this little girl.  She gets it.  She so gets it.  I smiled at her and asked if she’d like her mom to help her put her birthday crown on.  This little one’s jaw just about came unhinged.  “You made me a birthday crown?”  Her voice lifted into a squeak.  I pointed to her desk.  She clapped and rushed over, her mom following close behind.  A minute later, while I talked with another mom, I felt her hugging the backs of my legs.  It was a tight squeeze, so tight that I could feel her lips moving against my pants as I heard a very muffled, “Thank you for my crown, Mrs. McCauley.”  Later that day, when I asked about her life goals now that she’s six, she told me she wanted to learn how to do a cartwheel and learn to fly, not in an airplane, but really fly.  My heart puddled on the spot.

Best Year Yet: Flying high.

As parents said goodbye to their kids, one of my little boys, a husky guy with a heart of gold, was in tears at the prospect of saying goodbye to his dad.  I reassured him that today was going to be a good day and I hugged him for a few minutes.  He cried on my shoulder while his dad hurried off to work.  A few minutes later he was fine.

Best Year Yet: A little damp on the shoulders, but none the worse for wear.

The parents left and we got started on our day.  We counted our hot lunches, sang the Good Morning Song and said the Flag Salute.  Just as we finished “and justice for all” a sleepy faced, pale little guy, who sits right in front of me on the carpet, turned a whiter shade of pale.  Uh-oh.  I know that look.  I’ve seen that look too many times before.  The next few seconds felt like slow motion as I twisted out of the firing zone, and Lord have mercy, that kid let fly and puked all over the spot where I was just sitting.  He missed me by about an inch as I grabbed a trash can and held it under his chin.  Another kid’s mom was working in the hallway and she popped her head in at that moment and I passed my sick little guy to her and she ushered him to the nurse.

Best Year Yet: Nimble and vomit free

We had a great day together, reading, writing, graphing, and laughing hysterically during Author’s Chair at a story one of my little guys is writing about a koala bear who goes to school.  Koala Kid is going to be a ton of fun to write with.  Before I knew it, it was time to have our closing meeting and say our goodbyes for the day.

At our closing class meeting, one of my little guys, a darling little boy who happens to have autism, raised his hand and said, “Mrs. McCauley, I love you so much I want to buy you a limousine!”  I’m already tickled by how his mind works.  I told him I loved him a lot, too.

Best Year Yet: Riding in style

My little ones gathered their backpacks and I held onto the hands of my bus riders as we navigated the parents bustling in and out of the hallway.  I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I turned and saw the father of the kid who was crying that morning.  “Thank you for helping my son this morning.  I appreciated it.”  I stood there blinking.  A parent just thanked me.  Like out loud.  And sincerely.  Holy cats, was I dreaming?  I shook my head back to the present, “My pleasure.  He’s a great kid and we had a really good day.”  The two of them left and I held a little tighter to the hands of my bus riders as we wove through a maze of people.  Koala Kid’s mom stopped me and asked if her son had already left the classroom.  I assured her that she’d just missed him by a few seconds.  I walked my bus riders to their bus line and just as I turned to go back to my classroom, Koala Kid got in the bus line.  He explained to me that his mom wasn’t where she said she’d be and that he took the bus home all last year so he thought he’d take it home today.  I took his hand and was just starting to lead him to his mom when she caught up with us.  I braced myself, ready for her to blame me because he was in the wrong place.  Instead she said, “Oh, thank you for helping me find him.  I was late because I couldn’t find a parking spot.  I’m sorry.  He rode the bus home all last year, so that’s why he got in the bus line, but this year I get to stay at home so I’ll pick him up.  Thanks again for finding him.”  The three of us had a chat about where he will meet his mom each day and I walked back to my classroom.  Two parents thanking me in the span of 10 minutes?  Surely I was dreaming.

Best Year Yet: Surreally happening

Back in my classroom, a former parent was waiting for me with Simpson University bag in her hands.  Our school is doing a big push for university preparedness and we have a College Shirt day coming up.  I don’t have a shirt from my alma mater, but this mom works there, so when I bumped into her the day before, I’d asked if she had a shirt I could borrow and maybe some letterhead or something I could use for the bulletin board I was supposed to make to display my degrees.  This mom did so much better than that.  She came with a bag full of stuff she’d bought from the university store.  There was a t-shirt, a pennant, a stuffed mascot, stickers, folders, etc.  I thanked her and asked how much I needed to pay her.  Nothing, she said.  I insisted again.  She refused saying that the university had donated the items because they wanted to be publicly represented by people like me.

Best Year Yet: All decked out in free swag

A couple of minutes after the Simpson mom left, one of my little ones from last year popped her head in to see if I needed any help.  This little one was a challenge last year, as was her mother, both of them questioning my every decision.  I love this little one, but I did not love being her teacher.  But this year, I’m no longer her teacher, meaning I get to enjoy her in small doses.  I had a few tasks she for her and as we worked, we chatted about her summer and second grade so far.  She showed me the teeth she’d lost and we laughed at misadventures at the waterslide park.  Half an hour later, her jobs were finished and she bounced back to the after school program.  I was truly glad to see her and grateful for her help.

Best Year Yet: Still going strong

As I walked to my car, I checked my e-mail and there in my inbox was a notification that I’d won a huge basket of school supplies from Rose Art.  I’d put my business card in their drawing at BlogHer, but I never thought I’d win.  I never win anything, let alone something as useful as school supplies.  I mean, just look at that basket!  I walked to my car with a little more of a spring in my step.

Best Year Yet: Duh-winning!

After school, I met up with a friend to see her new house and walk her dog.  This friend had a couple of tough years and as we chatted down the streets of her new neighborhood, I heard a lilt of happiness in her voice.  Her new house fits her, like a reflection of all her best parts.  We walked and talked and it was just so apparent that she’d found herself again.  I watched her wrangling her huge dog on a leash, and caught her smiling just as the sun hit her face.  It was a beautiful moment and I have a feeling she’s in store for a lot of them this year.

Best Year Yet: Progressing beautifully

As I was leaving her house, That Laura called to see if I had time to stop for frozen yogurt.  When don’t I have time for frozen yogurt?  Because everything was going my way, the yogurt shop had my favorite flavor, of course.  We let the cool yogurt slide down our throats, a blessed relief from the 104 degree heat that day.  As we slurped our yogurt down, I told That Laura about my amazing day.  One of That Laura’s best qualities is that she is genuinely happy when good things happen to other people.

Best Year Yet: Tastier than Ever

Back at home, Terry and I spent a quiet evening together, filling each other in on the day.  We read our books and just hung around the house, a perfect ending to my day.  In bed that night as I waited for sleep to find me, I replayed the day again in my head.  It was filled to the brim with sweetness, like if one more lovely thing had occurred, I  would have overflowed.  And maybe that’s the key to making this year the best one yet: not only being open to receiving the grace and generosity of others, but seeking out opportunities to be gracious and generous to those I encounter.

Best Year Yet: Definitely.

Stay tuned for Part 2, The Yang.