Data Collection

 

“Hola, Beckett. I miss you. How are you?”

Those were the first words I heard when Beckett logged on to his school-issued Chromebook last week for his mid-year assessment. 

I immediately felt this relief from tension I had not noticed I was carrying. 

Poor kid with this high strung teacher mom. 

I had been so worried for him about this test. Beckett has had seven days of face-to-face school. He has a super loud baby brother that distracts him from his sight words. He’s a six-year-old learning in Spanish without classmates or unifix cubes or monkey bars.

So this test quickly brought up some old resentments I had from my time as a public school teacher. Why does the state think test results are reliable with limited face-to-face time, social isolation and heavily-compromised teaching practices from virtual learning? Why do they think test results are valid through Google Meet from their parent’s office or the least-loud corner of the kid’s house? 

That had been so heavy on my mind as we read The Big Test by Julie Danneberg this week. It chronicles the challenge of teacher, Mrs. Sarah Jane Hartwell, as she prepares her students for their end-of-grade standardized test. She was feeling “really, really good” about her student’s readiness. But during test preparation, her students, one by one, develop fears that ruin their recess and anxieties that make them want to escape to the nurse’s office. Realizing what was happening, she surprises them with a celebration to prepare their hearts, as well. She realizes the most important part of their test preparation is that they also feel “really, really good.”

So, when I heard those first eight words: “Hola, Beckett. I miss you. How are you?” I was  immediately reminded that even though she is collecting the data that she’s mandated to collect, she knows the data that matters. I seriously needed that reminder, too. 

This year, she has to test them through that computer screen with timers they can’t see and measures they don’t understand, because the state told her so. 

What’s most important though, is that she makes her students feel good, really, really good. She reminded me of the data that matters.

#juliedanneberg #standardizedtesting

If It Fits

We were driving down the road last weekend and saw a group of women leaving the beach. Dressed in winter gear, hats with poms and fur-lined hoods on down coats — they were probably on some girl’s winter get-away, bailing on a walk for hot coffee and paperbacks after discovering the brutal beach wind. 

I was unfazed until I heard my six-year-old say, “Maybe I can marry one of those girls back there.” It was all I could do not to spit-take my coffee from laughter. “Buddy, you’ve got a long time before you need to think about marrying someone.” 

“I know,” he said, “But I want to keep an eye out so I’ll know when the time comes.” 

As we drifted into silence and my smirk faded, I realized he’s got a plan for his life already, and it matches what he sees his dad and I doing. Which is sweet, if that’s what he wants and needs. My fear, though, is that he thinks there is a story he has to follow. 

Then it hit me, of course he thinks there’s one story...Despite our best pre-Covid efforts, our world is now curbside pick-up and squares on a computer screen. His family is all he sees.

In light of the world’s brokenness and desperate need for unity, I can’t help but wonder about the harm caused by our kid’s limited exposure right now to the many vibrant walks of life out there. 

This was on my mind when we read Alma and How She Got her Name, Juana Martinez Neal’s Caldecott Honor. Neal tells the story of a little girl named Alma Sofia Esperanza Jose Pura Candela. Alma complains to her daddy that her name never fits on her paper. He responds by saying, “Let me tell you the story of your name. Then you decide if it fits.” He tells her about her namesakes, of complex lives filled with books, dreams of travel, faith, art and activism. She sees herself in each of them, and it inspires her to create her own story.

So for today, we’ll read them lots of books and tell them lots of stories... Then, when Covid allows, we’ll incorporate our communities and travel back in. Like Alma’s daddy, we’ll offer them lots of stories, so when their time comes, they can decide for themselves if it fits.

#juanamartinezneal

#almaandhowshegothername

We Don't Need Raincoats

When I was a teacher I would cringe on rainy days when that one sassy student pranced in with their umbrella. Yet, the umbrella never ceased to make an appearance, and it was always brought by the Ramona Quimby of the class. 

Those things were cumbersome, held up the class every time, and were undoubtedly left somewhere during the day, their absence only discovered when the kid needed it most. 

Raincoats, please, people. 

Naturally, my own boys both love umbrellas. In fact, they think any percentage of rain is enough to carry that ridiculous contraption with them.

But, this past week, thanks to Amy June Bates, I’ve had a change of heart towards umbrellas.

This change of heart came when Beckett and I read her beautiful picture book, The Big Umbrella, about a personified red umbrella. The umbrella is kind and welcoming and loves to help. The umbrella is spacious and nondiscriminatory in its ability to provide shelter. It covers the ballerinas and the basketball players, the human and the four-legged, the children and the elderly, those in wheelchairs and those walking on two feet. Everyone is covered by this umbrella.

I love this concept because it illustrated to Beckett, though perhaps just in allegory, that we don’t just need raincoats, because raincoats only cover one person. 

In an interview about this book, Amy June Bates said, “I wish I could have an image of the last page that included all the different faces of everyone [under the umbrella]. Because we all belong there.”

The Big Umbrella rightfully showed my little white boy, and reminded me, that our first job is to make sure that no one is getting rained on. I can’t help but wonder whether the events of this last week..hell, this last year...might have been different if we had just all been taught a long, long time ago to make sure that no one was left out in the rain. 

Wait...were we taught that?

I know that I am going to miss the mark on a lot of things as a parent. But, my boys are going to know that they don’t just need raincoats. They need to open their umbrellas.

#amyjunebates

#storybooksbythesea

Bates quote from: https://twowritingteachers.org/2018/02/19/a-conversation-with-amy-june-bates-juniper-bates/

Interview by Stacey Shubitz

Not A Fan

 

Beckett is not a fan of bike riding.

He’s a fan of a lot of things, just not bike riding. In fact, he’s a fan of most things, so when he’s not, we wonder. While I’m not losing sleep over his bike gathering dust, I sure do wish it wasn’t. 

But I think I might know why. He doesn’t have a street full of kids flying by our house to catch up to. He doesn’t have an older brother that’s trying to flee him.

I kind of lament that, not the bike riding specifically, but the fact that 2020 really didn’t require him to keep up with anyone. 

I’m not saying I want him to be a follower or peer pressured or envious. What I am saying is, we don’t make progress on our own, and this past year created a lot of opportunities to be on our own. I don’t think change happens until we look around and say, “I want that, and I need to learn how.” 

This past week we read Gaia Cornwall’s fantastic book Jabari Jumps. I started reflecting on how important it is to have people around you that give you a little nudge.

Jabari is a little boy that has completed swim lessons and is ready to conquer the diving board. When his turn comes he stalls, needing to stretch, or contemplate his big move, or take a little rest from climbing halfway up the ladder. Eventually, Jabari decides that perhaps jumping off the diving board is a better task for tomorrow. 

Jabari’s dad gently says, “Sometimes if I feel a little scared, I take a deep breath and tell myself I am ready. And you know what? Sometimes it stops feeling scary and feels like a little surprise.”

Jabari follows his dad’s advice and surprises himself with an epic first jump.

I think two things are super important here. 1) I don’t think the diving board would have been appealing without other kids experiencing the thrill of hurling themselves off of a bouncing metal plank into the water. 2) I don’t think he would have jumped in without his dad’s nudge.

So, I hope 2021 brings us back together. I hope 2021 brings us opportunities that catch our eye and make us wonder if we can, too. Most of all, I hope 2021 brings us people that remind us we’re ready, we just need to take a deep breath and jump.

#jabarijumps

#storybooksbythesea

Welcome

Hi, I'm Kaitlin.

And I speak in children’s literature. I wish I could say it’s because I’m a mommy of two little boys or a childhood educator, but I’m pretty sure it’s always been what makes my heart beat a little faster. It’s my love language, my coping language, my reminder to be bolder than I want to be, my reminder to be more magical than I want to be. I love some Brene Brown and Glennon Doyle, but in my moments of fear, anxiety, sadness and joy, it’s Eric Carle and Jacqueline Woodson and Beverly Cleary that bring the tears to my eyes. They are the ones that help me muster up the bigger, braver, wiser versions of myself.

 

Children’s literature speaks to the fears, hopes and concerns we have as children that I don’t believe change as we grow up. Fear of losing those we love, of change, being alone, of not getting what we want or what we think we’ve earned.

 

So, I’m going to share my contemplations on children’s literature for parenthood...and adulthood. Maybe you will feel motivated to go pick up that dusty version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar to reread to your kids, or maybe you will feel motivated to see how you can extend The Lorax to a day of environmentalism with your 10-year-old. If nothing else, I hope you’ll be reminded of how you felt reading these books when you were tucked under the covers with your parents as a child or sitting on the carpet listening to your teacher. And more than that, I hope you’ll remember that a piece of those books got you where you are today, and that’s something to hold on to.