Oh poop.

All of my friends know... I don't talk about poop or anything relating to poop.  It's a no-no.  I swear like a sailor and could probably make a foul-mouthed pirate blush, but poop talk is not in my comfort zone.  For the sake of the blog, I have taken the bull by the horns approach, but in my everyday life it's just another story.  Who I am as the writer in my mind and who I am as a person in real life are two totally separate things.

In my class, we use the American Sign Language sign for the letter R as a way of asking permission for the restroom.  The middle finger laces over the pointer finger and I know that someone has to go.  There's no talking about it, because the bathroom is private.  I don't let kids use the bathroom during a lesson, unless it's a total emergency and then I tell them not to even ask.  Just get up and go.  An emergency means that you are going to wet your pants and since A) I don't want to scar any kids for life with utter humiliation and B) I hate a smelly mess, I allow for the "emergency clause."  

Surprisingly, there has been very little abuse of the emergency clause.  I think this is also in part to our regularly scheduled bathroom break before lunch.  Yea!  Happy day... see how I don't have to talk about the bathroom, even though I'm surrounded by 8 year olds all day, every day, five days a week?!?!

That is, until today, when Lukas decided to get out of his seat and whisper in my ear.

I have to poop.

Huh?

I have to poop.

Okay.  Go.

I don't have to pee.  I have to poop.

Ummm, are you okay, Lukas?  

Yeah.  I just have to poop.

(Oh. My. God.  Please don't say it again. Please don't say it again. Brain, be still, stop panicking.  It's just a word.  Smile gently.)  Okay, so go use the restroom now.

I did not get it.  Why did this kid have to tell me that he was going to poop?  First of all, let me just say that I didn't know if Lukas could speak English for the first 4 weeks of school.  And mostly, that was just because he barely spoke at all.  When he finally did start talking, it was about rocks, then about legos, then about his parents divorce, and now, poop.  

Kids will never cease to amaze me.  I know that there is something up with that, but I just can't figure out what it is.  Does he not go away from home?  Was that like a big deal or something?  Was he confiding a secret to me?  Was he just trying to freak me out?  

What the fucking shit is that damn poop talk about?  It's freakin' me out...

Ms. Milky is M & M

At the initial parent meeting, I warned them all about my propensity to rap.  

I kind of think that I'm Eminem.

There were a lot of smiles and a few chuckles when I confessed this, but it turned into full blown laughter and I knew that I had the parents hooked after my demonstration.  I broke out into a little bit of my self-penned "Dime Rhyme" and the "Rollin' Multiples" song that I borrowed from KIPP.  

Done... I made them believers.  Just.  Like.  That.  

The kiddos eyes got really big.  Is this really gonna be my teacher?  

That was when I knew that this year was going to be different.  That I was finally going to get to do what I do.  That I could finally be the teacher that I have always wanted to be.  

Until this year, I lived in a lot of fear that I wasn't a very good teacher.  That I sucked actually.  That didn't have control of my class and that I didn't know what I was doing with curriculum.  

In actuality, I have been a good to an excellent teacher.  A new teacher who was unsure of herself at times, a teacher who wasn't supported at others, and even a teacher who was bullied, picked on, and harassed.  In those latter times, I was filled with self-doubt and worry.  I let my lack of confidence undermine my abilities and esteem.  

I decided that this year I would take risks.  That I would allow myself to fail and try again.  That I would try something new.  That if something made sense that I would give it a go.  That I would do the things that I was passionate about and that I would have fun doing them.  

I love to rhyme.  I love to rap.  So I decided I would rap and rhyme in class a lot.  I know that kids learn to read by being read to, so I decided to 1) buy a whole lot of on-level books for my classroom 2) read them onto cds 3) create a system for my students to listen to the books on cd and read the books at the same time.  I developed an organizational template for writing and a pre-writing system that accompanies it along with a system for developing voice so that my students can begin to write in ways that make sense right away.  

And it's working!  I kind of can't believe it.  I'm not exactly sure why, but the things that we are doing are helping them to think on their own.  

They are reading.  They are thinking.  They are beginning to write.  

I am not afraid that I am a terrible teacher anymore.  I am exhausted.  I am having fun.  I feel more light of heart.  I am not looking over my shoulder waiting for an administrator to tell me that it's not enough.  Maybe that will happen later.  I don't know.  But so far, so good, and that's good enough for me right now.

Here's an example of one of my classroom raps for your entertainment:

The Dime Rhyme

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

Penny, nickel, quarter, dime!

It's small, ridged, and flat 

So we put it in the back!

1, 5, 25, that's fine!

10s the magic number when we're talkin' 'bout dimes!

A nickel is fatter and wider than a dime

Cause size don't matter this time!

I got my mind on my money 

And my money on my dime!

I gotta double up my nickels 

To make one dime!

I got my mind on my money

And my money on my dime!

Only One Thing on the Menu? Gasp!

Salad.  Baked potato with cheese.  Or beef and cheese nachos.

Those are your choices today.

I say something along those lines every morning to my 2nd graders before taking their lunch count.  Today I was met with a chorus of groans and moans.  I put two fingers up (our classroom quiet signal) then I pressed them to my lips (my personal sign for "seriously get quiet").

I waited for the class to settle into their chairs and look in my direction.  I scanned the room and raised my eyebrows, impregnating my pause for dramatic effect.

When I was your age, we only had one thing on the menu.

Michael clutched his chest and gasped for air.

Ohhhh!  That's hurtful!

All the other students nodded in agreement.

That's hurtful. (They echoed.)

I trotted over to my desk with a massive grin on my face.  I jotted the exchange down in my notebook, so I wouldn't forget it.  Always a follower, Michael had bounded out of his seat and was looking over my shoulder at what I had written.

You think I'm funny.

Then he smiled.

Yes, I think you're funny.

Michael walked back to seat still clutching his little heart.  (And mine.)