Underwhelming response

Met with the executive director of our district today. She offered a very sweet apology and assured me I was "valued." Also told me that she knew that "our leadership was totally inadequate." I told her I didn't want to make the meeting about a personality conflict (with the principal) and she said, "This isn't about personality. It's about skill level."

All that was vaguely reassuring, but gets me nothing. They're willing to place me at another school for next year, but now I'm not so sure I want that any more. I started this year thinking that the most important job I could do was to teach...but this year has shown me just how vital good school leadership can be. So, I've dusted off the resume, am looking around...

74% of teachers in low-income schools leave within three years. Never feels great to be a statistic...

The House on Mango Street

Any of you who know me know that Sandra Cisneros is one of my favorite writers and The House on Mango Street is my favorite novel to teach. I've taught it at levels ranging from 4th grade to high school seniors and it's always a hit because I ask my students to write their own personal versions of the novel.

I usually teach the book at the beginning of hte year because what students write gives me a great insight into their lives. For instance, today I learned that Arneshia, who frequently arrives late and sleepy, sleeps in the living room of her apartment. Anthony, of the questionable hygiene and messy braids, hasn't had hot water in months. They heat up some water on the stove and add it to the tub, although, as Anthony noted, "that doesn't really work." My top three students just happen to also be the only ones who haven't moved at all during their elementary years. "I don't remember when we moved into the house on V Street," writes William, "because I was born there. But my mom says she doesn't even remember, it's been so long."

Keep checking for posts from their books...these are always good.

Caterpillar watch

Our schoolyard is a bit overrun with caterpillars. Cute, fat, fuzzy ones, the kind with 'eyes' all down their backs.

The kids are fascinated or repulsed, according to temperment (and gender, to my horror). Jada, who is perfect in every way, asked me if we could bring some in and keep them in a jar. What Jada wants, Jada gets, so we scooped up three of the fat little buggers and made them a ramshackle home in an old sour pickle jar.

After an hour or so, I snuck a peek and felt awful because it looked to me like they had all died. They wouldn't be the first critters to succumb to a bad case of too much ten-year-old lovin'. But what to tell the ten-year-olds?

I should have had more faith. Apparently the caterpillars hadn't died, they had just gone into some sort of temporary hibernation before spinning their cocoon. So cool! So now we have three fuzzy white cocoons living in our pickle jar. The kids check in on them almost hourly. No changes, but they keep looking. I pulled out the magnifying glasses so they could investigate more closely.

Tomorrow we'll read a short article on insect metamorphosis. If our school had a real library, I'd pull out all the books on butterflies and watch the kids dip into those. As it is, a couple of seductively-placed encylopedia articles will have to do...

I love "not teaching" science!