Problem Day, Hell Night

“It takes a village to raise a child.” - African Proverb

I’ve been spoiled two days in a row with evening calls for next day jobs. Again I was to report to a third-grade class, but this time at the Inclusion School, in a classroom I’d worked (and blogged about) once before*.

A friend, who recently moved away, came to visit last night, and I was up much later than I should have. I went to bed after 11PM with a stomachache, and woke up around 4AM because I still wasn’t feeling well. Because I couldn’t fall back to sleep, I rose before my alarm sounded, wishing I could take a coffee IV to work.

I went to the office to sign in, and noticed that the board had eighteen absent teachers. Most were because of staff on assignment or training (apparently there hadn’t been communication to prevent these occurring on the same day), and they didn’t have coverage for all of the teachers. It’s too bad when they don’t coordinate because this was a day that probably every sub in the district was called, and other days my phone is silent.

The teachers remembered me, and I recalled the routine. In fact, I think I may have even subbed the same day of the week because it was the exact same schedule. I cringed when I saw Science, because I didn’t want a repeat of “Slug Paradise”*, but they were doing an indoor experiment – observing rocks and writing their observations. I wasn’t off the hook entirely – I was getting the outdoor recess assignment on a cold winter’s day while another teacher took lunch. At least it was sunny.

After morning work, we met on the rug. This time it was a stand up, singing and moving kind of greeting:

Hello neighbor

What do you say?

It’s gone be

A wonderful day.

Clap your hands

And boogie on down.

Give you a bump

And turn around.

While three teachers and the students participated, I watched, conserving my energy (And my dignity).

The three “problem” students that I remembered from the last time had changed. The girl was now calmer and more focused, though she did have a meltdown during the above greeting. There’s also an autistic child in the class who has a full-time aide, and is frequently pulled out to work with specialists, but he interrupts less than another boy. This boy had as many impulse control problems as I remembered, but now he also acted out for attention, making him harder to handle.

This student’s disruptions were incessant, and teachers used verbal cues, quick reminders, and back touches to remind him. We worked hard to keep his distractions to a minimum, and offered praise when he remembered to raise his hand before blurting out. He even has a reward/consequence chart and “reminders” on his desk. The result was that the class could carry on learning in spite of him.

During Science, this student stood when he wasn’t supposed to, and when the teacher called on him, asking him to describe the rock, he replied, “It looks like granola.” When she asked him to be “more scientific” he couldn’t come up with anything. He constantly called out and often wandered during lessons. His pencils had to be confiscated on a couple of occasions because he kept using them when he wasn’t supposed to. He has a rubber cushion on his chair, but I doubt he’d be any worse without it. He’s also allowed to squeeze a ball during rug meetings, but he kept getting it taken away for throwing it. The boy is intelligent, but has little self-control, so I can’t imagine how he’d do if he weren’t in the Inclusion School.

I spent much of the day watching him, but staying far enough away that he didn’t act out to get my attention. The paraprofessional kept an eye on her autistic student, but also helped the other children. The main teacher ran the classroom, and often stood in front of the room to lead lessons. Then the student intern graded homework, helped with discipline and academics. Four teachers for twenty-students – it takes a village.

When I left the school, I was wiped out from the previous night and spending the day being mentally alert. Then I remembered that I’d be going to Hell Night** at East Coast Grill in Inman Square this evening. A few times a year, almost their entire menu has various stages of heat, on a scale from one to ten peppers. My husband has gone a few times, but I only went once. Ordering from the wimp menu, I could feel them judging me, so this time I vow to be more adventurous***. They make a spaghetti dish so hot that nobody can take more than one or two mouthfuls before they resemble a chili pepper and sit still and silent. If the heat becomes too much, the staff has an antidote – a creamsicle, and when they bring it to you, the staff chants, “Wimp! Wimp! Wimp!”

Yeah, Hell Night will be a breeze.

*http://theresamilstein.blogspot.com/search?q=slug+paradise

**http://www.eastcoastgrill.net/main/hellnight.htm

*** stupid

Slug Paradise

“And she laughed

And she cried

She damn near died

On the day it rained forever”

Song “The Day it Rained Forever” by Eurythmics

I was to report to the Inclusion School again yesterday. I’m beginning to think that High School Science and this Inclusion School have been requesting me. Although it was rainy, I decided to straighten my hair anyway. Rain is my kryptonite, but I told myself that I could keep it covered while I rushed to and from the school, so it should be fine. I had read somewhere regarding a study about curly-haired versus straight-haired people, that curly q’d women were considered flighty compared with their smoother-locked counterparts. Secretly always coveting smooth hair, I got my hair cut into a bob with bangs, and began using a flat iron this past February, hoping I would appear more professional. My own unscientific research has reached an identical conclusion to that of the study.

I put on my chic (in my mind, anyway) gray cap, opened the umbrella, and rushed into the car. On the way, and actually, quite near the school, a Cambridge Public Works truck meandered before me, loudspeakers blaring, “Street Cleaning No Parking on the Even-Numbered Side. You Will Be Tagged and Towed.” I chuckled over the accent – pahking. Then panic hit me – street cleaning! Not only would looking for a spot make me late, but… my hair. As I write this, I am aware of how vain I sound. Luckily for me (and my hair), the school is in a residential location, so I got a spot easily, just a block from the building. If only I could afford to live in that neighborhood.

I entered a quiet, well-organized third-grade classroom, already filled with three instructors: Lead, Shadow for an autistic child, and Student Teacher. I would be filling in for the Special Ed. teacher. Even though I could never get a full-time position here (except for building substitute), because it was only K-5, I enjoyed the time spent in the school; it was bright, with an upbeat staff, and a real commitment to Inclusion.

Two students required their own checklists for staying on task, being quiet, and acting respectful during each subject. The girl did better than the boy, who, after eating two (yes, two, which is 400 calories) sugary Pop Tarts during snack, became out of control during the next class; Math. The girl fell asleep a couple of times during Math, so maybe the boy should’ve shared one of his Pop Tarts with her. It was a slow day for me, going from group-to-group or student-to-student, when help or refocus was required. But after Health at the end of the previous school day, I was happy to have slow, because slow meant easy.

During Science class, a group of outside teachers came in to teach about habitats. One of these mad women announced that we would be going outside to collect specimens, to later be drawn by the students. Didn’t she know it was raining? Not only did she know, but she was ecstatic because it meant that worms would rise to the surface of the soil. So, I tucked my hair into my cap, willing it not to frizz, and we all grudgingly (at least the non-Science teachers) trudged into the rain, to look under rocks and logs for millipedes, rolly pollies, worms, beetles, spiders, and other creepy creatures around the playground. The students enthusiastically scrounged and studied, while the non-scientist adults stepped back, shivering in the damp. The poor Student Teacher hadn’t even brought a coat. When Pop Tart student rolled over a large rock, revealing an army of slugs, the Science teacher declared, “It’s a slug paradise!”

When we returned to the classroom, the students sketched their finds, safely secured in transparent plastic boxes. When the class was finished, the Science teachers promised to release the icky insects back to their habitats outside of the school. Icky is my word.

At lunchtime, the announcements announced that each classroom could decide if they wanted indoor or outdoor recess. Indoors, please say indoors. When the time came, I tucked my hair, which was looking worse for wear, into my cap, and pulled my hood string tight around my face to endure another fifteen-minutes of chill and mist. As the students screeched, chased, hula hooped, and tossed balls around, I couldn’t look at any of the logs or rocks in the same way. Who knew that this city could be crawling with so many bugs? I had thought that was a bonus of city-life; the downside being vermin; mice and rats, which is why we have a cat.

The day went quickly after recess. During the last ten minutes, the students were given free time, and one of the girls used this time to make me a picture of an enormous head of what I think is a bear. She wrote, “To Ms. M” and signed her name. I always give the students a choice of saying Ms. Milstein or Ms. M, since it’s usually just for a day, and since I can’t learn all of their names that quickly, they don’t have to memorize mine. It’s nice to know that even for one day, I could make a positive impact in the kids’ lives.

When I came home, I had a message that I’d be back at the high school for eleventh-grade AP Biology the next day. It was the same cluster of classes I’d already taught twice this year. I knew that in-between walking around and making sure they were working, I’d have time to read and write. And the entire day would be spent indoors.

Jaws and Claws and Junk

“Linus: What's wrong, Charlie Brown?

Charlie Brown: I just got terrible news. The teacher says we're going on a field trip to an art museum; and I have to get an A on my report or I'll fail the whole course.”*

I wound up working in the same classroom two days in a row, but it didn't start off as a two-day gig. The first call came late enough that I had already dressed in casual clothes, and imagining all the productivity ahead of me: banking, cleaning, cooking, critiquing a manuscript, and editing my manuscript based on another writer’s critique.

When I picked up, I heard, “Hello, Theresa. Can you still work today?”

Instead of answering, “Do I have to?” I grudgingly answered, “Yes.”

She said, “I’ll let them know that you’ll be there as close to 7:40 as possible.” Oh good, breathing room.

It was at the Inclusion School; in the same classroom I’ve been in a couple of times**, but for a different teacher. After Monday’s PE assignment gone wrong and the previous Friday’s Math job gone clueless, I decided working with two or three other teachers was just what I needed. Let someone else run the show.

The day was ordinary, so there’s not much to report, which I consider a success, even if it endangers the blog. It is called “Substitute Teacher’s Saga” after all. I graded papers, helped students with their work, and wound up spending a lot of my time with the same student who had impulse control issues. Several kids were coughing, so he kept blurting, “Cough on me! I want to be sick!” He went so far as to run his hands across the floor, in an attempt to pick up some germs. His attention seeking knows no bounds.

The difficult girl was the same, a problem periodically, and then falling asleep in the later morning. In fact, each time I’ve been in the room she’s been resistant to participate in morning meeting and has to “take a break”. This day was no different, with her having a showdown with the student intern. Nobody won.

Later, I brought it up. “I see she’s still having a tough time with the morning transition.”

“I don’t know what to do. I count to five, and she stays there. So I can to five again, but she can’t make a decision about what to do.” (Sounds like permissive parenting.)

“Why don’t you give her a job to do at the rug just before everyone is called over? This way she’ll feel special, and she’ll already be there when it’s time for meeting.”

“That’s a great idea. I’m going to try it.”

I was glad I had a decent suggestion, but was bummed that I wouldn’t be there to see if it worked. Later that day, the special education teacher phoned the lead teacher, who thought she’d still be too sick to come the next day. The intern stared at me almost hungrily, and I suspected I’d be back the next day, even though it meant I’d have to go on a field trip. I’ve chaperoned plenty of field trips, but never as a substitute teacher, and with an Inclusion class, I imagined some potential mishaps.

At 5:57am the next day, I received the call to sub again in the same class. It was chilly and snowy, and we were to walk to the bus, and from the bus at Harvard Square to Harvard Natural History Museum. But once I was at the school for fifteen minutes, Mr. Lack of Impulse Control wasn’t on his bus. (Did he actually make himself sick with his antics?) And the autistic child, who had been doing well (but I didn’t know how he’d behave on a field trip) didn’t come in either. Six teachers for eighteen students seemed more than manageable.

It was time for morning meeting. The intern asked that girl to put a smiley face on the morning message board. Then she sat on the rug as the other students joined her, and was fine. She didn’t refuse to come over. And she didn’t stand like a statue instead of participating in the greeting. Best of all, she didn’t wind up in the “Take a break” chair.

The field trip was one of the easiest I’ve ever been on. With that many teachers, and only two of students periodically displaying erratic behavior, it went off without a hitch. The presentation of “Jaws and Claws” was about predator and prey. The students got to pet a: turtle, frog, and starfish, plus touch shark and frog jaws, along with a clamshell.

Afterwards, we led the students around the stuffed animals areas, which are not the cute and cuddly stuffed animals you can buy in the store. They were once alive, then preserved, and stuffed (“taxidermied”). The animals look just like they did in the wild, except they now have glass eyes and plaster tongues and gums. The museum’s handout is apologetic. “At that time, the best way to study animals was to bring them to a museum. … the large-class collection of specimens is generally a thing of the past.” Preserved for you right here.

I’ve been through these exhibits plenty of times with my children and fifth-grade classes. Not once have the students ever noticed that some certain parts of the anatomy have been left intact. This day, two eight-year-old girls giggled over a well-endowed camel (I’m not exactly sure how he compares with other camels), they told a few friends, who told a few friends. Soon, all classmates were running from animal to animal to check for junk. (Why didn’t the hunters trap, kill and stuff only females?) When particularly interesting privates were found (like on the giraffe), they called their friends over so everyone had a chance to gawk.

If their parents ask what they learned, I fear the answers.

“Sally: don't know why we have to go on field trips. Why can't we stay in school? Why should we bother the outside world? I think field trips were invented by school custodians to get us out of there so they can clean it! Do you know what going on a field trip means? It means we ride about 10,000 miles on a bus and we all get sick!”*

*- “There’s No Time for Love, Charlie Brown” 1973 (TV)

**Here are the previous posts from this classroom:

http://theresamilstein.blogspot.com/2009/10/slug-paradise.html

http://theresamilstein.blogspot.com/2010/01/problem-day-hell-night.html