I've been a teacher for a long darn time and over the years teacher evaluations have changed significantly. It used to be the principal came to see you, looked at your lesson plans, wrote some things about you and then you signed it. It worked pretty well; until you realized that there were teachers getting these kinds of evaluations that had no business being in a school building, let alone teaching in one. So we came up with a new set of criteria and had a rubric created just for that. You get points from 1-4 and then a few comments. Worked, but yet again there were some who still didn't belong in the teaching field.
This brings me to the new teacher evaluation system. Let me say, for the record, that I have nothing against evaluating teachers and their efficacy in the classroom. However, in my opinion, this one isn't any better than the others and maybe a worse one. Beginning this year, we are being asked to set goals for our students, teach them, test them midway through, teach some more, then do final testing. (Don't get me started on having to have the final assessment done 6 weeks before the year is over!) So in the beginning of the year we pre-assessed our students and created our goals. Of course we were fresh off our summer break and full of energy and optimism, so we set our goals nice and high for our kids. Why set them so high? I'm glad you asked. We were told to reach for the best and as long as we show progress of any sort it would be a win. So we set our goals and began our year.
By the time we got to the mid year assessment it was pretty obvious about how things were going. A few students take their work seriously, they study, and they try extremely hard. The rest can't be bothered to do anything, let alone bring their materials to class each day. I am now being graded on how well the students who only come to school half the time, students who refuse to study or do homework, and students who come from horrible living conditions do on their assessments. My bright eyed enthusiasm keeps trying to poke through and there are days when I just KNOW my students are going to get it and show the world what they know. Then I wake up and realize that many of these kids don't care and I can't make them care. So now I'll be evaluated on my efficacy as a teacher when I have no way of controlling what they do when they leave here at 345 each day. I also know that it doesn't matter how great a teacher is, or how exciting their lessons are, or how many of the "new" tricks of the trade are applied, if the child doesn't do their part, nothing the teacher can do will make a bit of difference on a test.
So now I'm left thinking that I understand why teachers bring themselves to jeopardize their career by cheating when it comes to high stakes testing. I would never do it, but as one who has never had a bad evaluation, I can see why they do it and I feel for them. I guess this is just the latest innovation and it will be gone in a few years with something newer and better. But in the mean time, I can only hope that my students can show the world what I've taught them in a 50 questions test.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
I can't hide in the bathroom forever...or Why I want to stay at work today
There are days in one's life when you really want to just hide away from everyone so you can have some peace and quiet. For me that usually means, going home from work and hiding in the bathroom for a half hour. (Thank goodness we have two bathrooms.) This is the only place where I do not have someone wanting my attention.
During the day I get very little time where I don't have someone in my classroom either needing my help, giving me help, or rehashing the morning / afternoon classes and issues. I truly love my job and can't see myself doing anything else, but man sometimes I need a break from the human race. I used to have the 30 minute drive to and from work where I could be all alone. I could ignore my phone, no one in the car to talk to and the radio as loud as I wanted and singing as horribly as I could. That changed two years ago when my oldest son became a student at my school rather than going to his home school. I love that I get to spend more one on one time with him each day, but car rides aren't as quiet as they used to be. Then in the afternoons when I get home I have my other son waiting to talk to me, show me his latest creation on Minecraft, and ask if he can go outside, or go find his friends, or stay up late..or anyone of another hundred questions. Mind you, this is all before I get through the door completely. My mother lives with us and she spends the days all alone until the kids come home, so she's ready for me to give her some adult conversation that does not include "can I" or "I want". I love my family and I do enjoy their company. But there are days where I would like to go sit in a quiet place and read my FaceBook in peace, or read a chapter in the book I've been reading for six months, or just sit and not have to think about anything. Thus, the reason I hide in the bathroom.
I can't stay there forever, so on days like today I find a reason to sit at my desk and do "work". I might not get anything accomplished, but that's OK because I'm not hiding in the bathroom...yet.
During the day I get very little time where I don't have someone in my classroom either needing my help, giving me help, or rehashing the morning / afternoon classes and issues. I truly love my job and can't see myself doing anything else, but man sometimes I need a break from the human race. I used to have the 30 minute drive to and from work where I could be all alone. I could ignore my phone, no one in the car to talk to and the radio as loud as I wanted and singing as horribly as I could. That changed two years ago when my oldest son became a student at my school rather than going to his home school. I love that I get to spend more one on one time with him each day, but car rides aren't as quiet as they used to be. Then in the afternoons when I get home I have my other son waiting to talk to me, show me his latest creation on Minecraft, and ask if he can go outside, or go find his friends, or stay up late..or anyone of another hundred questions. Mind you, this is all before I get through the door completely. My mother lives with us and she spends the days all alone until the kids come home, so she's ready for me to give her some adult conversation that does not include "can I" or "I want". I love my family and I do enjoy their company. But there are days where I would like to go sit in a quiet place and read my FaceBook in peace, or read a chapter in the book I've been reading for six months, or just sit and not have to think about anything. Thus, the reason I hide in the bathroom.
I can't stay there forever, so on days like today I find a reason to sit at my desk and do "work". I might not get anything accomplished, but that's OK because I'm not hiding in the bathroom...yet.
Monday, April 22, 2013
What the Easter bunny left me in 2000
Tomorrow marks the day 13 years ago when I gave birth to my oldest son. He wasn't a planned baby but he sure was a wanted baby. My plan for his birth was to be admitted to the hospital the day he was due (May 15th), get hooked up to an epidural and look stunning after he was born. You know the kind you see on tv, not a hair out of place, make up done, and fashionable jammies. It was all planned out. Or so I thought.
Two days before he was born, Good Friday of that year) my beloved grandfather passed away. He had done his best to live in order to see his first great grandbaby. Unfortunately, his body had other plans. So that Saturday we spent the day returning medical equipment, going to the funeral home, and laughing about the good times. My uncle had a watering hole that he visited quite frequently, and when he came home that Saturday afternoon, he had with him a giant sandwich platter with all the fixings. Apparently the lovely people at his hangout had heard about his father's passing and had called him to come pick up this tray of food. So that Saturday night as we sat making ourselves eat something we discussed what our plans for Easter Sunday would be. My plan was to get up whenever I woke up and go out and cut the grass. Luckily, we had a riding mower and my doc had already signed off that it was fine for me to ride it.
Easter morning dawns and I tell my mom how I had dreamed about a pain in my belly all night long. Right at the top of my stomach and I remember dreaming that it was incredibly painful. I didn't feel in pain at that time, so I knew it was just a dream, so I headed out to cut the grass. I had probably taken two trips around the yard when I hit one of those spots in the yard that you probably shouldn't take the lawn mower into. The jolt from "little" bump caused my son to kick me in the bladder and we all know what happens when a baby kicks you in the bladder. I figured I'd be showering after I finished the lawn so I ignored it. I took one more trip around the yard and I'll be darned if I didn't land in the exact same spot with another pretty good jolt. This time, however, the mower said it wasn't moving out of this hole until I got someone to move it for me. Figuring, I might as well empty my bladder, seeing as how my son loved having his feet pushed into it, I headed into the house to take care of business. However, what I found was a gusher of blood.
I tried not to panic when I called the OB/GYN, she told me that it was probably nothing so not to worry about it. I told her I was worried and that I wanted to be checked because it was a lot of blood. She told me to go to the hospital and have them look at me, but that she was sure that it wasn't anything major. Boy was she wrong. I showered, the little voice in my head told me I might not get a shower for a couple of days so I better do it now, and headed out to the hospital. The nurses had heard from my doc and weren't expecting me to be having too many problems.
It was Easter Sunday so the nurses were all in their festive scrub shirts and one was wearing bunny ears. They made me feel so relaxed until they saw what I was seeing. They laid me on my side, told me don't move and then went to call the doc. I showed up at the hospital at about 1 in the afternoon. I spend the rest of the day bleeding profusely, until the doc showed up. At 7 pm. I was furious, I was worried about my baby, and I was ready to choke the doc. Again she is nonchalant about the whole thing. Oh there's nothing wrong, just a bit of blood. The nurse told me that I was hemorrhaging. Finally, the dumbass doctor decided to break my water and let my body do the rest.
My body refused to let her break the water, then my son's heart rate started dropping and they couldn't get it back up. Now she is in a hurry and they rush me off to the OR. Where, at 10:13pm, my little guy was born. Instead of pink, he was blue, he didn't cry, and all I could hear was the sound of the doctor and nurses saying "come one little guy breathe". I panicked of course and was given a whole lotta Versed. My son was blue for 17 minutes. The neonatologist could not get the breathing tube in him, his APGAR was a 1 (he had a heart beat), and he was bleeding at the cord site.
I later found out that he had lost 40% of his blood volume, my placenta had not only ruptured from me, but had torn loose from him as well. Had the idiot left me another hour or two my baby would have died and I wouldn't have been much better off.
I didn't get to see my sweet baby until he was 12 hours old because of my spinal from the C-section. During that time I had been told that he would most likely end up at the children's hospital, and that I should be prepared for him to be deaf, blind, mentally retarded, and have cerebral palsy. Nothing like hearing all that stuff and never having laid eyes on the baby. When I saw him in the NICU, I cried because he was so beautiful, all 5lbs 5oz of him.
Today he is a very smart 13 year old who's only difficulties are that he is ADHD and has Asperger's syndrome. Otherwise, he is perfectly normal young man. I am not religious, but I believe that my grandfather died those two days earlier because he knew my son needed a helping hand to make it end to this world. I thank my grandfather every year on my son's birthday because he made sure that my Easter basket was complete and that I did not leave that hospital with an empty basket.
Two days before he was born, Good Friday of that year) my beloved grandfather passed away. He had done his best to live in order to see his first great grandbaby. Unfortunately, his body had other plans. So that Saturday we spent the day returning medical equipment, going to the funeral home, and laughing about the good times. My uncle had a watering hole that he visited quite frequently, and when he came home that Saturday afternoon, he had with him a giant sandwich platter with all the fixings. Apparently the lovely people at his hangout had heard about his father's passing and had called him to come pick up this tray of food. So that Saturday night as we sat making ourselves eat something we discussed what our plans for Easter Sunday would be. My plan was to get up whenever I woke up and go out and cut the grass. Luckily, we had a riding mower and my doc had already signed off that it was fine for me to ride it.
Easter morning dawns and I tell my mom how I had dreamed about a pain in my belly all night long. Right at the top of my stomach and I remember dreaming that it was incredibly painful. I didn't feel in pain at that time, so I knew it was just a dream, so I headed out to cut the grass. I had probably taken two trips around the yard when I hit one of those spots in the yard that you probably shouldn't take the lawn mower into. The jolt from "little" bump caused my son to kick me in the bladder and we all know what happens when a baby kicks you in the bladder. I figured I'd be showering after I finished the lawn so I ignored it. I took one more trip around the yard and I'll be darned if I didn't land in the exact same spot with another pretty good jolt. This time, however, the mower said it wasn't moving out of this hole until I got someone to move it for me. Figuring, I might as well empty my bladder, seeing as how my son loved having his feet pushed into it, I headed into the house to take care of business. However, what I found was a gusher of blood.
I tried not to panic when I called the OB/GYN, she told me that it was probably nothing so not to worry about it. I told her I was worried and that I wanted to be checked because it was a lot of blood. She told me to go to the hospital and have them look at me, but that she was sure that it wasn't anything major. Boy was she wrong. I showered, the little voice in my head told me I might not get a shower for a couple of days so I better do it now, and headed out to the hospital. The nurses had heard from my doc and weren't expecting me to be having too many problems.
It was Easter Sunday so the nurses were all in their festive scrub shirts and one was wearing bunny ears. They made me feel so relaxed until they saw what I was seeing. They laid me on my side, told me don't move and then went to call the doc. I showed up at the hospital at about 1 in the afternoon. I spend the rest of the day bleeding profusely, until the doc showed up. At 7 pm. I was furious, I was worried about my baby, and I was ready to choke the doc. Again she is nonchalant about the whole thing. Oh there's nothing wrong, just a bit of blood. The nurse told me that I was hemorrhaging. Finally, the dumbass doctor decided to break my water and let my body do the rest.
My body refused to let her break the water, then my son's heart rate started dropping and they couldn't get it back up. Now she is in a hurry and they rush me off to the OR. Where, at 10:13pm, my little guy was born. Instead of pink, he was blue, he didn't cry, and all I could hear was the sound of the doctor and nurses saying "come one little guy breathe". I panicked of course and was given a whole lotta Versed. My son was blue for 17 minutes. The neonatologist could not get the breathing tube in him, his APGAR was a 1 (he had a heart beat), and he was bleeding at the cord site.
I later found out that he had lost 40% of his blood volume, my placenta had not only ruptured from me, but had torn loose from him as well. Had the idiot left me another hour or two my baby would have died and I wouldn't have been much better off.
I didn't get to see my sweet baby until he was 12 hours old because of my spinal from the C-section. During that time I had been told that he would most likely end up at the children's hospital, and that I should be prepared for him to be deaf, blind, mentally retarded, and have cerebral palsy. Nothing like hearing all that stuff and never having laid eyes on the baby. When I saw him in the NICU, I cried because he was so beautiful, all 5lbs 5oz of him.
Today he is a very smart 13 year old who's only difficulties are that he is ADHD and has Asperger's syndrome. Otherwise, he is perfectly normal young man. I am not religious, but I believe that my grandfather died those two days earlier because he knew my son needed a helping hand to make it end to this world. I thank my grandfather every year on my son's birthday because he made sure that my Easter basket was complete and that I did not leave that hospital with an empty basket.
Friday, April 19, 2013
You know that little voice in your head that you talk to occasionally? Well I have one that never seems to shut up; so I've decided to try this blogging thing. Maybe if I can get words out of my head, the little voice will shut up.
I guess I should start with a little background on myself. I am an over 40 mom, a 20 year special education teacher, as well as a daughter and a girlfriend. Although not necessarily in that order. I have two sons who alternately drive me crazy and make me extremely proud to be their mother. The oldest is almost 13 and in the 7th grade. He has a form Autism and has made parenting a challenge at times, but I wouldn't change him for the world. Ok, well maybe I would like him to be like other people with Autism who prefer things to be completely neat and organized. He prefers to live in a world with all of his things in piles around him. *sigh* I hate having to burrow through his piles to find him in the morning to wake him up. My youngest is almost 9 and he too has a mild form of Autism. He did, however, get the neat and organized part of the diagnosis. You leave a light on, he turns it off. You walk through a store and he re shelves and organizes the displays. I guess beggars can't be choosers. I begged for children and I got the ones that needed me, but some days I question the wisdom of the fates.
I've always had a little bit of a writer that wanted to get out of me but I could never figure out how to do it the right way. In high school and college I loved writing papers (if they were topics I enjoyed) and writing letters to friends and family. My idea of a letter was one I could send to everyone, you know, a form a letter. Alas, I couldn't just write a boring letter about how wonderful I am and all of the exciting things I do, because then I would be writing fiction instead of non-fiction. So each letter I wrote had a theme to it. One time I wrote one that was based on a soap opera, complete with commercials for feminine hygiene products. Another time I wrote completely in third person as if I had a narrator telling the story of my life. I thought my friends would hate them, they loved them and couldn't wait for the next installment. Then my 2nd year teaching I decided I wanted to write a novel. I had the basics figured out and started writing. I made the mistake of showing it to a librarian at the school where I worked, let's just say after that critique I gave up writing. So here I am now, attempting this whole blogging thing....
The Little Voice in my head is telling me I've rambled enough.
I've always had a little bit of a writer that wanted to get out of me but I could never figure out how to do it the right way. In high school and college I loved writing papers (if they were topics I enjoyed) and writing letters to friends and family. My idea of a letter was one I could send to everyone, you know, a form a letter. Alas, I couldn't just write a boring letter about how wonderful I am and all of the exciting things I do, because then I would be writing fiction instead of non-fiction. So each letter I wrote had a theme to it. One time I wrote one that was based on a soap opera, complete with commercials for feminine hygiene products. Another time I wrote completely in third person as if I had a narrator telling the story of my life. I thought my friends would hate them, they loved them and couldn't wait for the next installment. Then my 2nd year teaching I decided I wanted to write a novel. I had the basics figured out and started writing. I made the mistake of showing it to a librarian at the school where I worked, let's just say after that critique I gave up writing. So here I am now, attempting this whole blogging thing....
The Little Voice in my head is telling me I've rambled enough.
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