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

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

Where's The Magic?

Where is the magic going to be?

I keep stewing over that question as I anticipate Beckett’s kindergarten year in front of the computer screen.

I’m grateful for the decisions that were made, but carpet read-alouds, science experiments, and math centers don’t happen over a screen or behind shields or six feet apart.

So where is the magic going to be?

I asked that same question four years ago as I took a trip to study some of the most magical children’s books from my childhood.

Prince Edward Island, where I discovered the island that inspired L.M. Montgomery‘s Anne of Green Gables, my childhood kindred spirit. New Hampshire, where I visited the H.A. and Margret Rey Curious George Museum; and the Morgan Hill Bookstore where I met the late Tomie dePaola. Boston, where I floated through the Public Garden like McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings and E.B. White’s Trumpet of the Swan. Concord, where I toured Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House of Little Women. Amherst, where I celebrated the art of illustration at the Carle Museum. Springfield, where I played with Yertle the Turtle with Beckett and studied Theodor Geisel at the Seuss Museum and Sculpture Garden. New York City, where I dined at the Plaza for an “Eloise” tea, searched for Stuart Little in Central Park, gorged on a Harry Potter-themed pasta dinner in Williamsburg and retraced my steps for Knuffle Bunny in Park Slope. Only to land back in Greensboro, where I somehow did not collapse in disappointment from my experience.

This trip reminded me of something that serves me so well today as I prepare for this next phase of Covid-life. The magic is everywhere. These authors exemplified adventure, mischief, courage, heartache and joy, and they did it from their own imperfect lives. These authors lived through wars, pandemics, loss, abandonment, rejection and they still brought us the magic. They gave it to us through a curious monkey, a hungry caterpillar, a six-year-old girl at the Plaza, a cat with a striped hat, a good witch in Italy and an orphaned boy who learns he’s a wizard. When the trip was over I didn’t collapse in disappointment, but I was reminded that there’s always room to bring the magic.

Color-Coded Schedules and Curious Monkeys

I went into quarantine-school strong. Sure, I dropped the initial cathartic f-bomb when I learned school would be closed months, but then I pivoted quickly. Armed with years of solid teaching experience, some okayish classroom management (never was my thing), and a pretty good grasp on what Beckett needed to know before kindergarten. Let’s call it what it was...smug.

Just look at that color-coded schedule. Whole-child, am I right?

Here we are 8 weeks into this nonsense, and let’s just say that schedule isn’t curling at the edges because I’ve been referring to it so much. It hasn’t been touched since week two, and I’m okay with that.

None of us have been through this before, and the schedule stopped feeling right. Most days are truly just this constant dance of figuring out what the next best thing is for us to do. Where are we on screen time? It’s time for something creative. Whoa, the energy level in this house is untenable. It’s time for a scooter ride around the block. How many bowls of pretzels has he eaten today? Snack #8 should probably be an apple. Pajamas all day again? Sure, why not?

Through this uncharted experience, I’m reminded of the Reys, the authors of Curious George. I learned through Louise Borden’s children’s book The Journey That Saved Curious George: The True Wartime Escape of Margaret and H.A. Rey, that these German-born Jews escaped Paris on a homemade bicycle two days before Paris fell to the Third Reich. They escaped via Spain, Portugal, and Brazil with nothing but their travel papers, the money the bank would let them withdraw, and a manuscript for a children’s book about a monkey. They landed in the United States, where they lived out their lives as trail-blazing children’s book writers.

We are living through pretty darn scary times. Let’s remember that we are doing the best we can, perhaps just the next right thing. The Reys were plucked out of their romantic lives as writers and artists in Paris. They emerged from a hellish experience with a book about a monkey. Perhaps if we just resign to the chaos and do our absolute best to stay safe, we’ll end up with our own versions of homemade bicycles and revolutionary manuscripts.

Creating Something Beautiful

 “In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf…”

In a 2019 video released by Penguin Random House, Eric Carle said, “Children need hope. You, little insignificant caterpillar, can grow up into a beautiful butterfly and fly into the world with your talent. Will I ever be able to do that? Yes, you will. I think that is the appeal of that book.”

Amidst the fear and turmoil of the world right now, amidst the isolation and limitation and disconnect, let’s hold on to a piece of this hope that Carle gives us through this insignificant bug that turns into a butterfly. Let’s both remember and show our children that we can still find something so beautiful and become something so beautiful with what we have right now.

Also, let’s show solidarity with caterpillar that some days we’re going to eat green leaves and fresh fruits, and some days we’re going to eat twelve kinds of junk food… It’s all about balance.

Check out the pictures for an Eric Carle inspired activity you can do with your kids at home.