High School SAT scores

Oh spring. It comes with so much promise and then becomes such a time over multitasking that it's very hard to stay on track with any projects started before Pesach.

Well, today on this Memorial day weekend I returned to my Marie Kondo work for the first really good chunk of time in a while. I'm up to the stage of getting rid of papers, and our office floor has been covered for months now with all of my files, letters, papers etc. from old school work, to bills, to drafts of my writing, letters and more.

This is just a sampling.
There is more, so much more!

It's been very slow going. While I've put in a few minutes here and there I feel like I have an emotionally easy enough time sorting through old medical things or bills, but when it comes to the more personal things I'm not sure what to do. Today I opened a bag of old letters from all different people in my life. All of them -- all of them -- felt painful in some way. I suppose at least in part it's because these letters are from my college years when I was scared about the future, unsure of where I was going, that these are hard to look at. I read a few, then couldn't take it anymore, but decided at least for now to to keep them. These are part of my history and I haven't decided yet whether I need to let this history go, or if I need the story available to be retold. Just don't know.

Then I found a file of my old SAT scores, report cards etc. I went to show some of it to U. Maybe it's partly because I was sharing it that I had the reaction that I did. I flipped through page after page of reports from teachers I had, both those I liked and those I didn't like, and classes that I was good at and classes that were hard. Sure, the ones I liked best had the drop down comment, "talented", but there were comments too about incomplete work, not following directions, poor test scores even on a take-home test and finally I just started to cry. Reading these little slips I started to feel the crushing pressure of all these adults judging me according to what they wanted from me and they were things that didn't show who I was. The only reports that felt safe were from band class and writing class. But physics, math, even Spanish and AP English, I wasn't what they wanted to be.

Since becoming a teacher I have always reflected back on myself as having been a pretty good student. I wasn't labeled with a disability. I didn't misbehave (much). Yes, I was stubborn, but usually the teachers I think of fondly thought past that. So it's taken an act of imagination to see what it might be like for children that really really struggle in school.

Now, though, I see that I was being judged and that so many people saw me not living to my potential or, maybe more accurately, not living up to theirs. In this report card writing season I'm now seeing my own relationships with students in a new light. The judgement we put on them is very very powerful.

The good news for myself is that as I've gone through my files I've found some good things too. I love my letters of recommendation, cards from people I know love me and results of some of my most recent work in adulthood. What a relief to be an adult now and too feel OK with whom I am and what I do. What a relief to not having to be figuring out who I am from scratch anymore.

So the professional question to leave this with... how can we as teachers and parents make our children and students feel appreciated the way I do from those good letters and not crushed with the judgement I felt in my report cards. 

Autumn Mindfulness

I wrote in Summer Mindfulness about a class I took this summer on mindfulness for educators. I also wrote about my struggles incorporating mindfulness into the classroom. Here's an update as the year progresses.

As someone with my own life-saving, pain-easing, anxiety-reducing, compassion-and-calm-producing yoga and meditation practice, I have always wanted to bring my practice to others, especially children, but often get waylaid. When I taught in a large elementary school classroom I used to try a little yoga or breathing with my students now and then, but when the schedule was frantic and I didn't see others reinforcing this work, I usually gave up pretty quickly. My best, most committed year, was the one in which I created Moment That Matters. It was a moment set aside in the day that could be used for any number of things. Sometimes I taught a yoga pose or led a short self-talk moment -- "I can do this!" -- or even just a class phone call home to a child who was sick. That year I had an assistant who loved I was doing this. That was a great reinforcement, even still I eventually started glossing through the time quickly or skipped the Moment altogether.

This year, partly inspired by the mindfulness class and partly by new circumstances, I'm determined to try yet again. As I have for the past three years, I am teaching in a resource room setting rather than a large classroom. My office/classroom used to be joined with someone else's. It was a very comfortable room and I loved the time I spent collaborating with the teacher who shared the room. However, there was a lot of movement in and out of the room either by her students or other teachers coming to get books that were stored there. So I suppose I must have lost confidence in the importance of that little bit of peace I was trying to bring into my students' academic day.

This year my office/classroom was moved. My old space was needed for first grade and my new one is actually joined to one of the Second Grade classes I serve. However,  it's a space I never initially would have chosen. Some years ago it was the back of the gym. Later a wall was built to incorporate it as a storage area into a classroom. Now the storage has been removed from the area and it is my office. There is no window or regular air circulation, so I've brought into the space everything I can to make it comfortable. (Mind you, interior decorating has never been a strength of mine.)

As you enter, you pass through a magical curtain instead of a door. It feels as though you are entering a sacred or secret space. My principal choose a calming blue paint that now covers two of the four walls. I have an air purifier which both clears the air and provides white noise to block out the sound from the adjoining classroom. Finally I have put to use an aromatherapy diffuser that I've had for years but never really did much good in larger spaces. I have a collection of oils that my students help me choose from for the room. Every now and then students in the adjoining classroom say, "I'm getting hungry for cookies. Where is that peppermint smell coming from?!"

For each of my daily 6 classes, the first thing I list on the board's agenda is "chime." The children are reminded by a poster I have on the wall, "When you hear the chime, show you are ready by sitting tall and breathing slow, quiet and relaxing breaths." Even the students who giggle over his follow the directions and will remind me if somehow I skip that step.

Partly inspired by a meeting I had with a psychologist of one of my more anxious students, I also add in some self-talk. So I might say, "Today while I ring the chime, think to yourself, 'I've got this!'" Other phrases I might use are, "My brain is so good at learning," and for one of my more distracted groups, "I am ready to learn something new."

Last week we had a lockdown drill. The 20 kids who use the room that adjoins mine came into the space with me and my two more anxious students. Since we knew to expect this drill, we worked together first to move the tables and chairs out of the way. (This gave ownership of the room and the situation to those students.) Then when the class came in I asked the class teachers if I might use the time to read quietly to the students. Right away out came Mindful Monkey, Happy Panda. The children were silent and absorbed it all.

Even when the drill was over they were happy to sit to the end of the book and followed my lead when I closed my eyes at the end and said, "Right now I'm kneeling on this hard floor, I'm sweating because it's so crowded in here and it's pretty uncomfortable, but I'm also breathing gently and telling myself that in this moment, I'm really OK."

I got a note from the parent of one of those anxious children noted above. The child came home and quoted to the mother from the book about how to stay in the present moment. Her mother has been trying to teach her this skill and was grateful I reinforced it.

I've got this.

Welcome To Our Sukkah!

These first two days of Sukkot were packed and I want to write about two things that happened. In this post I'll tell about the sukkah hop. I'll use another post for the other thing.

So in our shul there is an annual sukkah hop. It used to consist of hoards of children bombarding one sukkah after another, swooping up candy, and leaders pleading with them to say thank you and try not to break anything. At least, that's what I hear.

Read more »

Farm Visit

On Wednesday the first and second graders took a field trip to Green Meadows Farm. It was a special treat for many reasons, one was that since I teach Second and Naomi is in First, it was a rare opportunity to take a trip with her. So yesterday I attended as a parent more than as a teacher.

It had a very big impact on me. The Farm is basically a giant petting zoo and the kids were allowed to not only pet, but even pick up animals like goats, rabbits and full-grown chickens. Even growing up in Corvallis, Oregon and bringing in the eggs from our chickens, I never had held one before. (In fact, I don't think I held one yesterday either, but I did pet a few.) We also petted pigs, emus, horses, cows, puppies and kittens.

It was stunning to watch the reactions both of the children and the adults. Many of the children were a little afraid, although by the end of the day most were willing to go into the pens and touch everything. Some of the adults are terrified to go near anything which made me very very sad. The idea that the connection to animals had never existed or had been severed over time is heart-breaking to me.

Further, I realize that everyone that was with us that day readily eats meat without making the connection. In fact, a child asked as we were actually milking a cow, "Is this Kosher?" On one hand that made me sad, that anyone would want to eat this creature with whom we were interacting. On the other, isn't that exactly how it used to be here and is in other places? Children knew the animals they would eat some day. They excepted the cycle of life and then participated.

I think that the older I get, the more sensitive I become, and so even if it's natural, I am hesitant to participate in this cycle. However, what hurts the most when I consider meat eating, is the thought people do so without connection to where the animals come from and without any idea or acceptance that there may be a sadness involved. In fact, people revel in how much they can choose not to care about animals. ("Oh no, I only avoid red meat for health reasons.") Why this can be attractive stuns me. Don't we want to be around others who have compassion?

I realize this all, ironically, makes me difficult to be around, and it's not an easy way to feel either. I want to just revel in the joy of what I saw without thinking about how lovely those animals were and what will happen to them in a matter of a few short months or years.

Cheese

The other day ND climbed into bed with us.

U. said, "Climb between us and you can be the cheese in our sandwich."

ND: I need to put my legs on top of yours because the cheese usually sticks out of the sandwich a little.

U: OK, but you should be quiet now. Right now you're acting like chatter cheese.

Me: It would be better if you were shush cheese.

ND: But I have to make a lot of noise because I'm yell-ow cheese.

Phone Call

I had to do parent-teacher conferences today. In the middle of a break my cell. phone rings with U's number, but it was ND on the line.

"Hi."

"Hi. How are you?"

"At Chuck E. Cheese I got a loose tooth."

Right on schedule, a bottom front tooth for a 6 year old. I kind of felt, though, that when I came home a  full-fledged adult would be waiting for me. Some of these landmarks feel huge.

Pissed

In the past few months my own life has been great, but there is plenty else wrong.

In Hurricane Sandy, children's lives were washed away.

There was a brief but terrifying war in Israel.

On my daughter's birthday, a seventh grader in the school where I work died from cancer after several long years fighting it.

And now this unfathomable school shooting in CT.

It all makes my rabbi friend's fairly young death from pancreatic cancer in September seem like a walk in the park.

When you read a siddur, prayers are carefully written out in a gentle and awe-filled way as if afraid to step on G-d's toes.

I'm past that right now.

G-d... can you please just make the bad shit stop?

Hurricane Sandy Final installment

In Hurricane Sandy Part 14 I mentioned an article I was writing. Here it is.

Hurricane Sandy Part 15

I haven't posted since Thursday, but that does not mean that the Sandy aftermath is over for us.

I've written a draft of an article in detail about my experience teaching with minimal materials and notice on Thursday. I hope to have that revised, finished and published soon so I can link to it. I also would like to write a second article about Friday. Teaching once again with almost nothing this time was an elevating
Read more »

Hurricane Sandy Part 11 - ND's interpretations

In regard to a phone line down outside, I said "Whenever you see anything like that, it could be a power line and you can never touch it."

ND: Yeah, only the police can touch it. Not even them. The in charge police guy maybe.


In regard to a picture of people walking down a flooded street.

ND: They didn't know it would be like that? That's why they didn't bring their swimsuits?

Making a Difference

Tonight I had some friends over to celebrate my 9 year remission anniversary. (That's one-fourth of my life that I've been a survivor.) Somehow I'm connecting it very strongly to the loss of my mentor, Michael this year and I spoke about him to my friends.

Throughout the night we talked about many things and it kept coming up again and again, the idea of people who had made a difference in our lives, often by a single interaction among many. I keep feeling like the work I want to do in healing the world will not happen through teaching. But maybe I've been wrong. Two of the friends there tonight are my friends because I taught their daughters and made a difference to them directly. I've sometimes been thinking I want to get out of the school environment because it is so intense, rushed and stressful in many ways, but maybe I'm needed there to help kids navigate it. Also, I care more about emotional landscape and survival than I do about teaching reading and writing. But maybe that's the very reason I need to continue.

I've just been published at the PLP network where I wrote about my childhood and compared it to contemporary suburban NJ childhoods. Maybe taking the question and knowledge I have of my ideal world, and taking it with me when I enter the world in front of me, can provide some small amount of respite or change or possibility to the children who enter the room to work with me each day. And maybe writing about this reflection can make a difference to others further away.

Maybe I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing and don't need to worry about it so much.

Penance

When I was in elementary school I remember driving back for several hours from a week away at a camp with my classmates, probably in Eastern Oregon. I don't know who was driving the car, but I do remember singing really loud and getting my friends to sing too. "Stop! In the name of_____" and instead of love we would insert anything we felt like -- popcorn, stop sign, Honda. We did this for a very very very long time.

Today was ND's last day of school. She was very excited and managed to sing "Dovid Melekh Yisroel" at the top of her lungs from the moment we left our driveway at 7:30 to the time we arrived in the school parking lot just around 8.

It's not a complete penance, but it's the beginning, I suppose. I don't know if it makes things too uneven if I say I actually rather enjoyed the experience in a twisted and masochistic sort of way.

Tiger Run

ND took place in the Tiger Run today, a new feature of the Tenafly 5K run/dog walk etc. It was the first time they ever did a Tiger Run and the people running it looked a bit panicked as they tried to direct a few hundred 3, 4, and 5 year olds when and where to stand, run and so on. When her group was called to run the 75 yards, U had the foresight to go to the finish line. They blew the whistle and ND took off running, darting around to find her Dad. By the time she'd found him she must have suddenly realized she'd actually just done the race. The whole thing took about 5 minutes from start to finish. ND was so proud, though, to have participated and she's been looking forward to it for a few weeks since we first heard we could do it.

I would have liked to do have done the 5K walk with her in a stroller, but we had piano class at that time. Go ahead and think of the poor musician kid inside with a violin and looking out the window at the other kids playing ball.

It's all good though. After the race ND enjoyed the moon bounce, pony ride and some time in the playground.

Piano debut

ND's debut piano recital.

Caps For Sale!

Our Purim costume:

This year most people with young children recognized me right away.

In Time For ND's birthday

I'd love to write about the actual details of her birthday when I get some time, but meanwhile, here's a link to an article of mine that was published today. The website belongs to a doula friend of mine who asked if I could contribute an article with reflections on ND's birth. I didn't mean to finish the process with her right on this date, but I guess birth is on my mind near the birthday!

The Nature Of Thanksgiving

So ND -- who turns 5 in a few weeks -- commented that since Thanksgiving is a holiday, we will probably be reading Torah that day. I said that no, not really. Well, we do read Torah on Thursdays, but not because it's Thanksgiving. It's not a Jewish holiday, I explained.

She thought about this awhile and about an hour later determined that if Thanksgiving is not a Jewish holiday, then "Non-Jews read Torah on Thanksgiving."

Oatmeal

In the hopes of inspiring ND to wake up early enough to help me make it, I asked, "Do you want oatmeal this morning?"

"No, I want to sleep in until my birthday." (Dec. 6)

I told her she'd miss a visit from Saba and Savta this week and the Thanksgiving Day Parade at the end of the month.

Farms Instead

We were supposed to spend Chol Hamoed in Waltham, MA visiting my friend and her new baby born on September 11.

Alas, I've had a nasty cold.

So yesterday we went to a local garden store and its petting zoo. Today we went to Depiero's -- petting zoo, hay maze, hayride with pumpkin picking and all.

Inspiration and Agony

A friend of mine recently got a job with Teva and has been ecstatic since. On Yom Kippur he told me about a transformative experience he had davening Shacharit with a leader in the woods. He wrote a lovely blog post about it.

I listened as he told me about this and found myself exclaiming internally, "Oh oh oh! You've never davened shacharit in the woods before? Oh, how sad!!!! Oh, you know now about the light inside us all that comes from G-d... you hadn't had that before either?" I am so happy for him to have discovered this and feel a simultaneous plummeting inside me as I'm realizing just how few have ever even touched this. It feels as natural as water to me. I grew up in Corvallis, OR with nature and incense and touchy-feely Jews who loved Judaism for its connection to life itself and not just to text or walled-up inside shuls. To me this is what it is.

Over the years my day-to-day view of Judaism has changed, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse, but that connection between nature and the soul and Torah are already inside me. It makes me so sad when it's obscured by materialism or simply by the devoted black hat suited culture that is passionate about G-d but disconnected from land and sometimes from their children because they don't always know how to connect their spirits together. What torture to imagine that it's not for so many people who want that connection so badly, sometimes without even knowing it.

Before this friend told me this story, we were sharing how grateful we both are to have jobs in where we know we daily engage in passions of our life that make a difference in the world. But there's a piece of me that still feels something is missing, a potential connection isn't meeting. Is this just the norm that comes of not being able to do all I want all at once -- change the lives of children while still writing and meditating and being present in my own free time and being a fun mother too. Or is it a gap I need to heal? I don't get to teach spirituality. I teach reading, writing, math and how to be a citizen from a child's perspective. The passion of teaching comes through connecting with children and families, particularly when there are barriers to overcome just as social or behavioral differences.

That's just it... I love connection. I'm connecting with them, sometimes helping them connect to each other, but are we connecting to G-d? Am I connecting all the parts of me, are we connecting all to each other, to nature, to our inner spirits? Or must the writer and meditator parts of me be reserved for different times.

In short, am I doing everything to the best of my abilities exactly as I should be? Or someday should I do it a little differently... the writer, meditating environmentalist teacher of behaviorally challenged children...

who loves to just sit and be alone sometimes in the woods.

And who already does that sometimes, returning to see the perfection in the present exactly as it is right now.