It's a strange start to the semester, in many ways. This year's election has been surreal; we all swim through its constant downward spiral as if waiting to wake up from a dream, and there are still more than two months to go. Our retreat weekend with the incoming students has been moved up so that we're leaving tomorrow -- after only one class with them. And although I have worked steadily all summer, producing a journal article and 2/3 of a book, I still feel like I napped my way through these three months.
But here we are. Cady Gray has started grade 7 (accelerated math, we love you!), and Archer is warily wading into grade 10 (AP Physics, Algebra II and Programming woo-hoo, AP World History and Pre-AP English, not sure yet). A new batch of Honors students has landed in my class, and will be anxiously trying to keep their heads above water as they learn to navigate Blackboard and post their first assignments. I have two new teaching assistants and two new thesis students to mentor. And I'm on the search committee for our new dean, while at the same time the university searches for a new president.
It doesn't all happen at once, that's the saving grace. Except when it does. Which are the times I feel like nobody's got their hand on the regulator. More than anything I hate the feeling of a bunch of things, even little things, going wrong at once -- I start to get squirrelly when even one of those things happens, like something breaking around the house, as some primal part of my psyche whispers "this is how it begins."
That's because more than anything I like it when things are going right, when everything's under control, when there are no clouds on the horizon. Yesterday I listened to PJ Vogt, co-host of the podcast Reply All, describe how his mom obsesses about the health and well-being of everyone in her extended family. The only time she's truly relaxed and able to enjoy herself, Vogt said, was when everyone is gathered for a holiday or a reunion. That's when she can directly surveill the entire brood. No one is off falling ill or getting into an accident. Everyone's OK.
I don't have a worrying problem at this level, but I do have an addiction to security and safety. It's a trait that serves me well occasionally (saving money), but more often leads me to forgo even small risks or, worse, steer my children away from them for my peace of mind. Letting them go to camp this year was big in that regard. Maybe I can keep on taking those next steps toward their independence and my mental health.
They both had a great time at camp, by the way. Archer's favorite was all-you-can-eat meals at the cafeteria; CG's was the friends she made. You don't know how teary-eyed that last bit makes me, still, a month later.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Sunday, October 13, 2013
One voice
Yesterday was our seventeenth wedding anniversary. I got Noel a new phone. He got me (in addition to some book that hasn't appeared yet, but hey, I'm not going to be the first to bring it up) a day alone with my daughter while he went along with Archer to the All-Region Choir tryouts.
I sang in choirs throughout my childhood. But I never competed for a spot in any of these mass choirs. My elementary school didn't have a choir or an orchestra, and my secondary school didn't participate in whatever organization oversees these things. So this whole world of honor choirs and orchestras and bands and cheer squads and who knows what all is completely new to me.
I do know the choir world well, though. I know the music and the rehearsals and the participants. And I was hopeful, when we chose Archer's electives for this seventh grade year, that he would get into it. He is fascinated by the technical side of music -- notation, theory, structure -- and he has perfect pitch. I didn't know if he'd like the process of learning, rehearsing, and performing. But his teacher (who also leads the music programs at our church) says that he's a classroom leader, grasping the music quickly and helping others to get it and stay on track.
Noel followed the school bus up to Clarksville on Saturday, and stayed with Archer while waiting for his group to be called and to make their way in stages back to the audition rooms. It was hard for us to imagine what Archer would do with the long, long of waiting. I'm still nervous about sending him off into unstructured situations, where there's no one around who can keep an eye on him. He almost certainly would handled it fine. Without some firsthand experience of the setup, though, there was no way for us to know that.
It's reportedly unusual for first-timers to make the grade in these auditions. When I asked Archer to rate his performance, he reported that he would give it a 98%. For the last couple of weeks, he's been telling us about the pieces they chose, what key they're in, how many vocal parts, their suggested tempo in beats per minute, the song structure. He seems positive about the whole experience. I wouldn't be at all disappointed if choir became one of his things, like it was always one of mine.
I sang in choirs throughout my childhood. But I never competed for a spot in any of these mass choirs. My elementary school didn't have a choir or an orchestra, and my secondary school didn't participate in whatever organization oversees these things. So this whole world of honor choirs and orchestras and bands and cheer squads and who knows what all is completely new to me.
I do know the choir world well, though. I know the music and the rehearsals and the participants. And I was hopeful, when we chose Archer's electives for this seventh grade year, that he would get into it. He is fascinated by the technical side of music -- notation, theory, structure -- and he has perfect pitch. I didn't know if he'd like the process of learning, rehearsing, and performing. But his teacher (who also leads the music programs at our church) says that he's a classroom leader, grasping the music quickly and helping others to get it and stay on track.
Noel followed the school bus up to Clarksville on Saturday, and stayed with Archer while waiting for his group to be called and to make their way in stages back to the audition rooms. It was hard for us to imagine what Archer would do with the long, long of waiting. I'm still nervous about sending him off into unstructured situations, where there's no one around who can keep an eye on him. He almost certainly would handled it fine. Without some firsthand experience of the setup, though, there was no way for us to know that.
It's reportedly unusual for first-timers to make the grade in these auditions. When I asked Archer to rate his performance, he reported that he would give it a 98%. For the last couple of weeks, he's been telling us about the pieces they chose, what key they're in, how many vocal parts, their suggested tempo in beats per minute, the song structure. He seems positive about the whole experience. I wouldn't be at all disappointed if choir became one of his things, like it was always one of mine.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Two ends of the spectrum
Tomorrow Archer's school is going on a field trip to Wild River Country, a water park in Little Rock. Noel often goes with him on school outings, but this one is especially important. Archer's not a strong swimmer, is highly nervous and sensitive about getting splashed, and freaks out if his head goes underwater. Not only does he need help, but he needs to be protected from his peers who might goad him into dangerous situations or tease him for his lack of ability.
But our usual way of handling this -- send Noel with him for the day -- has been foiled by a couple of time-sensitive assignments. Noel has a phone interview mid-morning tomorrow, and is flying out to New York mid-afternoon. As a chaperone, he's out.
Last week when we were on our way to dinner in the car, Noel explained to Archer that he wouldn't be able to go, and we discussed the options. Archer absorbed the conversation. Then he explained to us how he felt, and he did it this way:
"There are two ends to the situation. If you don't let me go on the trip, I'll fall off the negative end. If I do get to go, I'll fall off the positive end."
That was a cryptic way to put it. My first reaction was to ask: Ends of what? "Happiness?" I guessed. Archer paused for a long time. "Maybe," he said. I hadn't quite gotten it right.
"Well, I can go with you, big man," I offered. That seemed to be the right answer. He relaxed and said "Okay," the way he does, with finality and agreement. When he says "Okay" with that inflection, it means: "That sets the world in a configuration that makes sense to me. I can work within the world that creates."
Thinking about the strange "two ends" analogy he had proffered, I finally came to an understanding of what he might have meant. I think he was saying that either outcome held dangers and anxieties for him. He wanted to go to the water park, but he didn't want to be there without one of us. In a way, unless we were there to catch him on the positive end, there was no way for him to avoid disaster.
So I'll be there. And as Archer grows and is expected by his schools and friends to be more independent, we'll have to listen carefully to find out where the ends of his spectrum are, and to make sure he feels confident he won't fall off either way.
But our usual way of handling this -- send Noel with him for the day -- has been foiled by a couple of time-sensitive assignments. Noel has a phone interview mid-morning tomorrow, and is flying out to New York mid-afternoon. As a chaperone, he's out.
Last week when we were on our way to dinner in the car, Noel explained to Archer that he wouldn't be able to go, and we discussed the options. Archer absorbed the conversation. Then he explained to us how he felt, and he did it this way:
"There are two ends to the situation. If you don't let me go on the trip, I'll fall off the negative end. If I do get to go, I'll fall off the positive end."
That was a cryptic way to put it. My first reaction was to ask: Ends of what? "Happiness?" I guessed. Archer paused for a long time. "Maybe," he said. I hadn't quite gotten it right.
"Well, I can go with you, big man," I offered. That seemed to be the right answer. He relaxed and said "Okay," the way he does, with finality and agreement. When he says "Okay" with that inflection, it means: "That sets the world in a configuration that makes sense to me. I can work within the world that creates."
Thinking about the strange "two ends" analogy he had proffered, I finally came to an understanding of what he might have meant. I think he was saying that either outcome held dangers and anxieties for him. He wanted to go to the water park, but he didn't want to be there without one of us. In a way, unless we were there to catch him on the positive end, there was no way for him to avoid disaster.
So I'll be there. And as Archer grows and is expected by his schools and friends to be more independent, we'll have to listen carefully to find out where the ends of his spectrum are, and to make sure he feels confident he won't fall off either way.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Body and mind
While driving Cady Gray to her school today, I was the recipient of an excited discourse from the back seat about P.E. She loves to play games and dash about, in school or out. Anytime she's moving from room to room, she not only does so at a run, but also throws in random leaps and dance moves. It's a unique, syncopated rhythm.
As she was telling me how excited she was to have P.E. today, I responded with my pleasure in seeing her enjoy all kinds of movement. Not only major physical exercise, but also the fine movements of her hands that make beautiful origami for me, and those that twist yarn into crocheted hearts and knit snowflowers.
So much of what I find rewarding these days has to do with the movement of our physical bodies in the world. To run, to measure, to cut, to stitch, to knit, to walk, to wind, to embrace. It's quite a change from the first four decades of my life, which were all about the mind. And now when I look at my students sitting in class, doing their best to be disembodied as if that's what fulfilling their potential is obviously about, I wonder. Are they better integrated than I was at their age? Do they accept and understand and embrace their future as moving, working bodies, not just hosts for the dance of ideas?
I hope they won't wait as long as I did to learn the potential of my hands, my muscles, my senses. It is a shame that as we grow up, those topics are more and more segregated into classes like P.E. or art, away from the training of the mind which is thought to be purer the less it is connected to movements in space.
As she was telling me how excited she was to have P.E. today, I responded with my pleasure in seeing her enjoy all kinds of movement. Not only major physical exercise, but also the fine movements of her hands that make beautiful origami for me, and those that twist yarn into crocheted hearts and knit snowflowers.
So much of what I find rewarding these days has to do with the movement of our physical bodies in the world. To run, to measure, to cut, to stitch, to knit, to walk, to wind, to embrace. It's quite a change from the first four decades of my life, which were all about the mind. And now when I look at my students sitting in class, doing their best to be disembodied as if that's what fulfilling their potential is obviously about, I wonder. Are they better integrated than I was at their age? Do they accept and understand and embrace their future as moving, working bodies, not just hosts for the dance of ideas?
I hope they won't wait as long as I did to learn the potential of my hands, my muscles, my senses. It is a shame that as we grow up, those topics are more and more segregated into classes like P.E. or art, away from the training of the mind which is thought to be purer the less it is connected to movements in space.
Friday, January 13, 2012
First place
When we met Archer's GT teacher (who is also the Quiz Bowl coach) before this school year, we talked to her about his fourth grade experience with Quiz Bowl. You'll remember that in his first tournament, his team earned the top seed then won their bracket. Ms. Haynes let us know that very few fifth graders make her team, and that she tries to field the best teams possible rather than making sure everybody gets time at the buzzer.
So last fall when tryouts were held for the team, we were thrilled that he earned a spot. As they held practices before Christmas break, we hung on Archer's description of his performance, hoping that he'd perform well enough to get some playing time.
Today was the tournament, and while Noel attended the full day of games, I followed along via his tweets. Long story short -- not only did Archer play in every game, becoming part of a three-person first string by the end of the day, but once again his team went to lunch as the top seed having won all the morning's games, and swept on to the championship in the afternoon.
Like any parent with a child in competition, the first thing I want is for Archer to have a chance to compete. Second, I want him to contribute to his team. Third, I want his team to have some success -- to get a win or two. And finally, after all that, making it deep into the elimination rounds and maybe even taking home a trophy would be a cherry on top. You want there to be something positive you can reinforce about the experience of competing -- something you can build on.
Two tournaments, two championships. It's time for us to stop hoping for encouraging outcomes and start planning for a long-delayed lesson in losing gracefully.
So last fall when tryouts were held for the team, we were thrilled that he earned a spot. As they held practices before Christmas break, we hung on Archer's description of his performance, hoping that he'd perform well enough to get some playing time.
Today was the tournament, and while Noel attended the full day of games, I followed along via his tweets. Long story short -- not only did Archer play in every game, becoming part of a three-person first string by the end of the day, but once again his team went to lunch as the top seed having won all the morning's games, and swept on to the championship in the afternoon.
Like any parent with a child in competition, the first thing I want is for Archer to have a chance to compete. Second, I want him to contribute to his team. Third, I want his team to have some success -- to get a win or two. And finally, after all that, making it deep into the elimination rounds and maybe even taking home a trophy would be a cherry on top. You want there to be something positive you can reinforce about the experience of competing -- something you can build on.
Two tournaments, two championships. It's time for us to stop hoping for encouraging outcomes and start planning for a long-delayed lesson in losing gracefully.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A big day
Both kids had a lot to look forward to when the day began. Archer was excited about his first practice with the Newz Brain competition in his GT class, and about his team's first game in a kickball tournament that will play out over the next few weeks. Cady Gray, as is her wont, shared Archer's anticipation of his intermediate school activities, and added to them music class at her school ("I know it's not special, but I like it!" she told me) and her grandparents' arrival for the weekend.
When I picked them up today, I wanted to hear about how all those much-anticipated events had worked out. Archer told me that his team won 6-1, helped along the way by a 3-run homer. He came up to bat twice and grounded out both times, and played right field where he said few balls came his way. But he's far more excited about remaining in the winners bracket than disappointed about not contributing to the team. I had already had an update on Newz Brain via a note from the GT teacher; the practice quiz they used was from several months ago and the questions were entirely unfamiliar. Archer said the questions were "wild and wacky" (a phrase I'm sure he got from his teacher), and that his team only got 35%, which was about average for all the teams. Again, there was no disappointment in this result; as I might have guessed, he's more focused on the mechanics of the game, including a timer and scoring.
I found out later in the day how much all of this excitement affected Cady Gray. We went to an open house at her school, and her teacher met us at the door with news of how much she had been talking about all these events. The grandparents, the kickball game -- the teacher knew about all of it. And when I picked Cady Gray up from school, her first question was whether his team had won the game. When Archer said that they did, she cheered.
It's one of her most agreeable traits -- sharing in others' happiness, not needing to be the center of attention all the time. Sure, she loves to be noticed and to be in the middle of things, and she gets perturbed when marginalized. But she sees participating in the conversation and energy around events where she's not the protagonist as fulfilling, fun, and worthwhile. I'm always struck by the generosity of that impulse. And I hope she keeps it.
When I picked them up today, I wanted to hear about how all those much-anticipated events had worked out. Archer told me that his team won 6-1, helped along the way by a 3-run homer. He came up to bat twice and grounded out both times, and played right field where he said few balls came his way. But he's far more excited about remaining in the winners bracket than disappointed about not contributing to the team. I had already had an update on Newz Brain via a note from the GT teacher; the practice quiz they used was from several months ago and the questions were entirely unfamiliar. Archer said the questions were "wild and wacky" (a phrase I'm sure he got from his teacher), and that his team only got 35%, which was about average for all the teams. Again, there was no disappointment in this result; as I might have guessed, he's more focused on the mechanics of the game, including a timer and scoring.
I found out later in the day how much all of this excitement affected Cady Gray. We went to an open house at her school, and her teacher met us at the door with news of how much she had been talking about all these events. The grandparents, the kickball game -- the teacher knew about all of it. And when I picked Cady Gray up from school, her first question was whether his team had won the game. When Archer said that they did, she cheered.
It's one of her most agreeable traits -- sharing in others' happiness, not needing to be the center of attention all the time. Sure, she loves to be noticed and to be in the middle of things, and she gets perturbed when marginalized. But she sees participating in the conversation and energy around events where she's not the protagonist as fulfilling, fun, and worthwhile. I'm always struck by the generosity of that impulse. And I hope she keeps it.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Level up
No matter how long we've had to see it coming, the start of a new school year for the kids always blindsides us. Suddenly they are a year older, a grade higher. We can deny it no longer. Our society's institutions insist that we face it.
Starting tomorrow, Archer is in fifth grade, and in a new school -- intermediate school. We have to drive him out to the west side of town and leave him in this huge place with an entirely new procedure. He changes classes, has A days and B days with different schedules, and of course will be surrounded by strangers. My hope is that a few of the people from his gifted group in fourth grade will be on the same or similar class schedule and will help him out from room to room. But despite the anxiety of the first days, there's no doubt that Archer will take to a complex rotating schedule. I suspect what he does and when, and how it changes based on the day of the week, are all we'll hear about pretty soon.
As for Cady Gray, no worries -- she's a veteran at her elementary school, where she has two more years after this one. But that doesn't mean dropping her off is going to be a piece of cake. For one thing, I have to do it while Noel is shepherding Archer into his new routine. For another, it's second grade. I don't like facing the fact of my daughter growing up.
That's the real difficulty of the first day of school tomorrow. They level up, and we watch with a sinking feeling mixed with our pride. A new grade, a new year, and age six and nine -- wonderful as they were -- are in the rearview mirror.
Starting tomorrow, Archer is in fifth grade, and in a new school -- intermediate school. We have to drive him out to the west side of town and leave him in this huge place with an entirely new procedure. He changes classes, has A days and B days with different schedules, and of course will be surrounded by strangers. My hope is that a few of the people from his gifted group in fourth grade will be on the same or similar class schedule and will help him out from room to room. But despite the anxiety of the first days, there's no doubt that Archer will take to a complex rotating schedule. I suspect what he does and when, and how it changes based on the day of the week, are all we'll hear about pretty soon.
As for Cady Gray, no worries -- she's a veteran at her elementary school, where she has two more years after this one. But that doesn't mean dropping her off is going to be a piece of cake. For one thing, I have to do it while Noel is shepherding Archer into his new routine. For another, it's second grade. I don't like facing the fact of my daughter growing up.
That's the real difficulty of the first day of school tomorrow. They level up, and we watch with a sinking feeling mixed with our pride. A new grade, a new year, and age six and nine -- wonderful as they were -- are in the rearview mirror.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Leaving childhood behind
A few weeks ago Archer had a scrape on his side that required a bandaid. It's not easy getting him to accept one; some early experiences where they hurt coming off have made him leery. But we got it on him.
After a bath a few days later, we asked whether he still had the bandaid on or whether it had come off. "I took it off," he informed us, and then immediately made sure we heard an important point of clarification. "Oh, and I have something to tell you," he said, using his standard conversation-starting formula. "You gave me a Spider-Man bandaid. I think I'm big enough to use regular bandaids now."
It was the first time I can remember him expressing awareness of growing out of some plaything or theme. Especially striking was the way he put it -- very much in the vein of "I'm too old for that baby stuff," just as any kid at a sufficiently advanced stage of development might say.
Archer will be in fifth grade this coming school year. Yesterday we had a long and fruitful conversation with the GT specialist at his new intermediate school. Afterward we felt much better that he would be able to adapt to the strange environment. It will take time, and there may be bumps. But some of his traits and tendencies will be helpful, like his obsession with schedules, frameworks, instructions, and step-by-step processes.
What remains to be seen is how he will adapt to the increasingly complex social world of the tweener years. Rare occurrences like Archer's sensitivity to appropriate bandaid designs make me think that he's finally begun to take some notice of distinctions that are key to these years' intense identity formation imperatives. I know he'll have a long way to go; my only hope is that other kids allow him the space to get there at his own pace.
After a bath a few days later, we asked whether he still had the bandaid on or whether it had come off. "I took it off," he informed us, and then immediately made sure we heard an important point of clarification. "Oh, and I have something to tell you," he said, using his standard conversation-starting formula. "You gave me a Spider-Man bandaid. I think I'm big enough to use regular bandaids now."
It was the first time I can remember him expressing awareness of growing out of some plaything or theme. Especially striking was the way he put it -- very much in the vein of "I'm too old for that baby stuff," just as any kid at a sufficiently advanced stage of development might say.
Archer will be in fifth grade this coming school year. Yesterday we had a long and fruitful conversation with the GT specialist at his new intermediate school. Afterward we felt much better that he would be able to adapt to the strange environment. It will take time, and there may be bumps. But some of his traits and tendencies will be helpful, like his obsession with schedules, frameworks, instructions, and step-by-step processes.
What remains to be seen is how he will adapt to the increasingly complex social world of the tweener years. Rare occurrences like Archer's sensitivity to appropriate bandaid designs make me think that he's finally begun to take some notice of distinctions that are key to these years' intense identity formation imperatives. I know he'll have a long way to go; my only hope is that other kids allow him the space to get there at his own pace.
Friday, June 3, 2011
We are the champions
Today Archer competed in his first Quiz Bowl tournament with others in his fourth grade Pinnacle group. They've had some practice in class, but live competition is always different. My hope was simply that he would answer some questions, contribute to his team, and win at least one game before the elimination rounds in the afternoon.
Schools did not field teams. Instead, students were assigned to teams once they got to the tournament. Archer ended up on a team of students he didn't know, like everyone else in the tournament. Two brackets were formed with eight teams each, made up of five students who competed four at a time.
The competition had been rescheduled from last week because the high school students and teachers who act as judges, timers, and coaches were unavailable on the original date. The usual perils of a volunteer-run operation pertained -- folks had varying levels of ability and professionalism. Lengthy second-round games caused all the remaining rounds to be cut by half. Noel, who spent the whole day at the tournament, experienced some of the frustration of the sports parent anxious that the game be administered fairly. But of course we appreciate the efforts of everyone to make it a great day for the contestants.
And what a day it was for Archer! His teammates named him captain of Team Kangaroo (Noel told me that when the question of who should be captain was raised, everybody pointed at Archer). His team dominated the early rounds that determined seeding for the elimination portion, resulting in a number 1 seed. Only one of his team's games was still competitive entering the last round (that one was won on the last question); all the others were decided before the last round began due to Team Kangeroo's insurmountable lead. Archer was the king of math computation questions, but also rolled through categories on baseball team names and forming plurals. Best of all, as captain he was very good at asking his teammates for their input during the non-buzzer rounds. In the end his team won their bracket and got to stand on the dais while "We Are The Champions" played. Archer grinned, waved, and pumped his fist like he was on top of the world.
We were thrilled that he experienced such success the first time playing outside of his school. One of the high schoolers serving as coach for another team remarked to Noel that Archer would be a monster player in a few years. I can certainly see how that might be the case. He has some strengths already under his belt; doing well will motivate him to seek expertise in other areas.
It was interesting and a little heartbreaking to see him among the other kids, so clearly different and out of place among their conversations and horseplay, spinning and humming to himself, having to make an effort to stay focused and moderate his impulses, prefacing his answers with "I think the answer is ..." and "I'm just going to say ..." instead of blurting out words or phrases like his teammates. But what can happen with a competition like this is that he can gain the respect of others for a special skill, and others might want him included in what they do because of it. That's the start to a connection, a social group. As long as something like that exists for him, he will continue to grow in the areas where he experiences the biggest challenges. And there will be the potential for friends, for kids who will assist and protect him in the jungles of the school system, something that gives me hope.
Schools did not field teams. Instead, students were assigned to teams once they got to the tournament. Archer ended up on a team of students he didn't know, like everyone else in the tournament. Two brackets were formed with eight teams each, made up of five students who competed four at a time.
The competition had been rescheduled from last week because the high school students and teachers who act as judges, timers, and coaches were unavailable on the original date. The usual perils of a volunteer-run operation pertained -- folks had varying levels of ability and professionalism. Lengthy second-round games caused all the remaining rounds to be cut by half. Noel, who spent the whole day at the tournament, experienced some of the frustration of the sports parent anxious that the game be administered fairly. But of course we appreciate the efforts of everyone to make it a great day for the contestants.
And what a day it was for Archer! His teammates named him captain of Team Kangaroo (Noel told me that when the question of who should be captain was raised, everybody pointed at Archer). His team dominated the early rounds that determined seeding for the elimination portion, resulting in a number 1 seed. Only one of his team's games was still competitive entering the last round (that one was won on the last question); all the others were decided before the last round began due to Team Kangeroo's insurmountable lead. Archer was the king of math computation questions, but also rolled through categories on baseball team names and forming plurals. Best of all, as captain he was very good at asking his teammates for their input during the non-buzzer rounds. In the end his team won their bracket and got to stand on the dais while "We Are The Champions" played. Archer grinned, waved, and pumped his fist like he was on top of the world.
We were thrilled that he experienced such success the first time playing outside of his school. One of the high schoolers serving as coach for another team remarked to Noel that Archer would be a monster player in a few years. I can certainly see how that might be the case. He has some strengths already under his belt; doing well will motivate him to seek expertise in other areas.
It was interesting and a little heartbreaking to see him among the other kids, so clearly different and out of place among their conversations and horseplay, spinning and humming to himself, having to make an effort to stay focused and moderate his impulses, prefacing his answers with "I think the answer is ..." and "I'm just going to say ..." instead of blurting out words or phrases like his teammates. But what can happen with a competition like this is that he can gain the respect of others for a special skill, and others might want him included in what they do because of it. That's the start to a connection, a social group. As long as something like that exists for him, he will continue to grow in the areas where he experiences the biggest challenges. And there will be the potential for friends, for kids who will assist and protect him in the jungles of the school system, something that gives me hope.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Farewell, fourth grade
There are only a few days left in Archer's fourth-grade year -- and therefore in his whole elementary school career. Next year he heads off to middle school (a foreign concept to me; my elementary education went through sixth grade, at which point we immediately went into junior high).
I asked a few weeks ago for ideas for teacher gifts. What I decided on were bookmarks I could make out of leftover sock yarn, and little crochet baskets suitable to sit on a desk and corral post-its, stickers, and the like.
I gave all the special subject teachers (art, music, PE) gifts at Christmastime. So I think I'll be sending these gifts to the administrators -- principal, assistant principal, etc. -- as well as the classroom teachers.
Time is running out. Tomorrow Archer will get at least one award in the end-of-year ceremony (a note was sent home alerting us). Soon he will be done with this school that has served us so well for five full years, headed out into a new adventure. I know my little gifts are inadequate to express how much we owe to the school and its personnel. But I hope they will be accepted in the spirit of our gratitude.
I asked a few weeks ago for ideas for teacher gifts. What I decided on were bookmarks I could make out of leftover sock yarn, and little crochet baskets suitable to sit on a desk and corral post-its, stickers, and the like.
I gave all the special subject teachers (art, music, PE) gifts at Christmastime. So I think I'll be sending these gifts to the administrators -- principal, assistant principal, etc. -- as well as the classroom teachers.
Time is running out. Tomorrow Archer will get at least one award in the end-of-year ceremony (a note was sent home alerting us). Soon he will be done with this school that has served us so well for five full years, headed out into a new adventure. I know my little gifts are inadequate to express how much we owe to the school and its personnel. But I hope they will be accepted in the spirit of our gratitude.
Monday, April 11, 2011
High stakes
It's the week of the Arkansas Benchmark tests in Archer's grade level, and that makes it the climax of the school year. For months the students have been doing practice items, being reminded to number their answers and not to go outside the box and show their work and fill in the bubble completely. And when the week is over -- four solid days of not being able to do anything but follow directions and check their work -- the fourth grade will essentially be over, even though there will still be almost two months left on the academic calendar.
We don't worry too much about Archer being able to perform well on these things. He did really well last year, and the structure of them seems to be comforting and comfortable to him. When much is expected of him, he tends to rise to the occasion.
Say what you will about high-stakes testing, what bothers me the most is how much wasted time it leaves at the end of the year. There is a long list of field trips, carnival days, and so forth in the school newsletter, but that still leaves days and days and days where I suspect everyone will be herded into the cafetorium for a movie. If they're going to make up a week of snow days on top of it all, I wish they'd find a way to make the most of it.
We don't worry too much about Archer being able to perform well on these things. He did really well last year, and the structure of them seems to be comforting and comfortable to him. When much is expected of him, he tends to rise to the occasion.
Say what you will about high-stakes testing, what bothers me the most is how much wasted time it leaves at the end of the year. There is a long list of field trips, carnival days, and so forth in the school newsletter, but that still leaves days and days and days where I suspect everyone will be herded into the cafetorium for a movie. If they're going to make up a week of snow days on top of it all, I wish they'd find a way to make the most of it.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
That face I'm making is "pride"
It was a big day for the eldest Murray child. He was asked by his school to be its representative student at the monthly school board meeting. A short bio was placed in the board agenda, and Archer was given the chance to address the board for one minute.
Over the weekend I gave him the following prompts to help him compose his speech:
The speech he wrote in response is completely original -- if you know Archer at all, that should be obvious. He loves standing up there and delivering it, though. Several of his teachers came to support him.
I'm really proud of my boy!
I’m Archer Murray, a math whiz. I am usually polite to others-even teachers-because I don’t want them to get mad at me. I like my school because you can get G.A.G.S (good as gold stickers) in many ways. If you follow directions/rules, you earn one G.A.G.S. You can also earn an A.G.A (art gallery award) by having your painting in the school art gallery. But there are special reasons for earning G.A.G.S, too, such as cleaning the classroom! I usually help my teachers my starting up and shutting down the computers. I sometimes file papers into students’ cubbies. And I also help Mrs. Ennis by fixing other students’ presentation problems! My goal is to get straight A’s on my report card. My school helps me earn that goal by detailing the lessons. Thank you!
Over the weekend I gave him the following prompts to help him compose his speech:
1. Introduce yourself and give some details about yourself.
2. What do you like about your school? Give details.
3. How do you help your teachers? Give details.
4. What are your goals? How has your school helped you achieve them?
Total time for speech: 1 minute!
The speech he wrote in response is completely original -- if you know Archer at all, that should be obvious. He loves standing up there and delivering it, though. Several of his teachers came to support him.
I'm really proud of my boy!
School board speech
I’m Archer Murray, a math whiz. I am usually polite to others-even teachers-because I don’t want them to get mad at me. I like my school because you can get G.A.G.S (good as gold stickers) in many ways. If you follow directions/rules, you earn one G.A.G.S. You can also earn an A.G.A (art gallery award) by having your painting in the school art gallery. But there are special reasons for earning G.A.G.S, too, such as cleaning the classroom! I usually help my teachers my starting up and shutting down the computers. I sometimes file papers into students’ cubbies. And I also help Mrs. Ennis by fixing other students’ presentation problems! My goal is to get straight A’s on my report card. My school helps me earn that goal by detailing the lessons. Thank you!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Book order day
I've always been a sucker for Scholastic Books. As a kid I circled everything about football (especially my beloved Oakland Raiders) and animals that appeared in the newsprint catalogs. My parents indulged my every book-buying request, and I can still remember the thrill of my teacher handing me a huge pile of shrink-wrapped paperbacks with my order form taped to the top. Heaven.
Now as a mother, I've tried to carry on that tradition, ordering large numbers of books from the fliers and harboring a secret pride when Archer or Cady Gray let me know that their orders were the biggest in the class. They get books -- and I will always be happy to give them any book they desire -- and their teacher gets books. Win-win, right?
But there's a new wrinkle this year. Cady Gray's teacher is sending home the standard kindergarten-first grade level catalog (Seesaw, I think it is). And the books are simply too elementary for her. Even the small section of beginning chapter books is stuff she read last year. What she really wants are the graphic novels and cartoon-illustrated books in Archer's fourth grade Arrow catalog.
No problem on one level -- Archer's book orders have been about 1/3 Cady Gray books for at least a couple of years. But this is the first time I looked through Cady Gray's catalog and saw absolutely nothing that she would enjoy. She's left picture books and easy readers behind, and that's what Scholastic is offering through her teacher.
And I feel terrible because I don't want Cady Gray to get nothing when her teacher passes out the book orders. I don't want her classroom to miss out on the free books they gets when I order.
Maybe I should order a few things and give them away? But of course I already have plenty of books she's outgrown that we already need to give away. Does anybody have a solution for this dilemma?
Now as a mother, I've tried to carry on that tradition, ordering large numbers of books from the fliers and harboring a secret pride when Archer or Cady Gray let me know that their orders were the biggest in the class. They get books -- and I will always be happy to give them any book they desire -- and their teacher gets books. Win-win, right?
But there's a new wrinkle this year. Cady Gray's teacher is sending home the standard kindergarten-first grade level catalog (Seesaw, I think it is). And the books are simply too elementary for her. Even the small section of beginning chapter books is stuff she read last year. What she really wants are the graphic novels and cartoon-illustrated books in Archer's fourth grade Arrow catalog.
No problem on one level -- Archer's book orders have been about 1/3 Cady Gray books for at least a couple of years. But this is the first time I looked through Cady Gray's catalog and saw absolutely nothing that she would enjoy. She's left picture books and easy readers behind, and that's what Scholastic is offering through her teacher.
And I feel terrible because I don't want Cady Gray to get nothing when her teacher passes out the book orders. I don't want her classroom to miss out on the free books they gets when I order.
Maybe I should order a few things and give them away? But of course I already have plenty of books she's outgrown that we already need to give away. Does anybody have a solution for this dilemma?
Saturday, August 21, 2010
My Autobiography
I've been working hard on some of these recent blog posts. So it's a relief to me that the kids are back in school and likely to bring home some written work I can post, giving me a break. Here's my first lazy blog post of the new academic year: Archer's "My Autobiography" worksheet.
My name is Archer.
I am 9 years old.
I was born on 8/19/2001 in the Conway Reg Med Ctr.
I have 0 brothers and 1 sisters.
I have 0 pets.
My hobby is creating board games such as New Monopoly.
My favorite color is red.
My favorite food is carrots.
I know how to play Pay Day and fast walk.
My best friend is Charlee Burnside.
When I grow up I plan to become a mathematician.
My name is Archer.
I am 9 years old.
I was born on 8/19/2001 in the Conway Reg Med Ctr.
I have 0 brothers and 1 sisters.
I have 0 pets.
My hobby is creating board games such as New Monopoly.
My favorite color is red.
My favorite food is carrots.
I know how to play Pay Day and fast walk.
My best friend is Charlee Burnside.
When I grow up I plan to become a mathematician.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The wizard of Menlo Park
When I was Archer's age, I spent hours reading the stories in the Childcraft supplements to our bookshelf of World Book Encyclopedias. One of those stories was about the young Thomas Alva Edison saving a child on the railroad tracks while he was working in a telegraph office. Others that I will never forget until the day I die involved the invention of the ice cream cone, the hot dog, and the safety pin.
Today Archer gave a Powerpoint presentation on Thomas Alva Edison. He did a fantastic job, presenting a rather quirky (and occasionally dubious) collection of facts, while enunciating clearly, making clarifying asides, and even cracking a couple of jokes. Here's a very brief, impressionistic video that gives you an idea of what it was like to be there.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Dancin' machine
Tonight we went to Archer and Cady Gray's school for their Fall Festival fundraiser. Hot dogs were eaten, chip & dip recipes from all the grade levels were sampled and evaluated, bingo was played and cakes were walked.
The kindergarten teachers had the most ... aggressive ... dip sales operation. The idea was that you were supposed to sample all the dips and vote with a donation for the one you liked the best. Under a blue awning, the kindergarten teachers wore the local high school's football uniforms and did organized cheers.
Just as we were finishing up our food and getting ready to head out to the carnival games, the kindergarten tent fired up a boom box with a dance tune. I'm sure I had heard it before, but it was a little under my vintage. Something about stepping this way, sliding this way, jumping back and forth, then clapclapclapclapclap.
Cady Gray and Archer dropped everything and started dancing. They jumped in the aisles. They slid and stepped in front of people trying to navigate to tables with plates full of chili. They clapped like their lives depended on it. No matter how many times we tried to herd them out of the traffic lanes, they jumped right back into the open spaces as soon as the amplified voice told them to.
If the Pied Piper needed an updated tune, this would be it. Completely irresistible to our children, I tell you. The beat pounded and the voice commanded, and they were helpless to do anything other than dance.
The kindergarten teachers had the most ... aggressive ... dip sales operation. The idea was that you were supposed to sample all the dips and vote with a donation for the one you liked the best. Under a blue awning, the kindergarten teachers wore the local high school's football uniforms and did organized cheers.
Just as we were finishing up our food and getting ready to head out to the carnival games, the kindergarten tent fired up a boom box with a dance tune. I'm sure I had heard it before, but it was a little under my vintage. Something about stepping this way, sliding this way, jumping back and forth, then clapclapclapclapclap.
Cady Gray and Archer dropped everything and started dancing. They jumped in the aisles. They slid and stepped in front of people trying to navigate to tables with plates full of chili. They clapped like their lives depended on it. No matter how many times we tried to herd them out of the traffic lanes, they jumped right back into the open spaces as soon as the amplified voice told them to.
If the Pied Piper needed an updated tune, this would be it. Completely irresistible to our children, I tell you. The beat pounded and the voice commanded, and they were helpless to do anything other than dance.
Monday, October 12, 2009
So good to me
What makes a perfect pumpkin?
It's a question asked in many a fall-themed children's book. And one that comes up anytime a kindergarten class takes a field trip to a pumpkin patch.
There was an article in the local paper today about the difficulties pumpkin-patch operators encounter trying to turn a profit. At this time of year, it's hard to imagine that the pumpkineers aren't raking it in; all you have to do, it seems, is plant a half-acre and then sit back and collect money from the school buses that will start lining up at your gate before they've even sprouted. But I guess there's quite a bit to it -- you need to press some sorghum, map out a hayride, invest in some petting-zoo animals. The article stated that if the crop is bad, as it's been the last couple of years, you have to buy pumpkins wholesale to plump out your patch. That cuts into the margin, I'm sure.
Like most parents, I have some definite pumpkin preferences. I'm not sure what the point of a small pumpkin would be, since I don't like pumpkin to eat and am unlikely to make a pie. The bigger, the better, as far as I'm concerned -- easier to carve, more impressive on the doorstep.
I didn't get to accompany Cady Gray on her pumpkin patch field trip today. What with Noel in Chicago and me with the usual work responsibilities, there was no one who could subtly push her in the direction of jack-o-lantern-sized gourds. So she came home with a perfectly Cady Gray-sized pumpkin, just about exactly the volume of her head. It's gorgeously round, pleasingly proportioned, classically sectioned. I have no idea what to do with it, but sitting on our kitchen table, it's a lovely evocation of the misty, chilly weather that's taken hold, and a signal of the rapidly fleeing year.
It's a question asked in many a fall-themed children's book. And one that comes up anytime a kindergarten class takes a field trip to a pumpkin patch.
There was an article in the local paper today about the difficulties pumpkin-patch operators encounter trying to turn a profit. At this time of year, it's hard to imagine that the pumpkineers aren't raking it in; all you have to do, it seems, is plant a half-acre and then sit back and collect money from the school buses that will start lining up at your gate before they've even sprouted. But I guess there's quite a bit to it -- you need to press some sorghum, map out a hayride, invest in some petting-zoo animals. The article stated that if the crop is bad, as it's been the last couple of years, you have to buy pumpkins wholesale to plump out your patch. That cuts into the margin, I'm sure.
Like most parents, I have some definite pumpkin preferences. I'm not sure what the point of a small pumpkin would be, since I don't like pumpkin to eat and am unlikely to make a pie. The bigger, the better, as far as I'm concerned -- easier to carve, more impressive on the doorstep.
I didn't get to accompany Cady Gray on her pumpkin patch field trip today. What with Noel in Chicago and me with the usual work responsibilities, there was no one who could subtly push her in the direction of jack-o-lantern-sized gourds. So she came home with a perfectly Cady Gray-sized pumpkin, just about exactly the volume of her head. It's gorgeously round, pleasingly proportioned, classically sectioned. I have no idea what to do with it, but sitting on our kitchen table, it's a lovely evocation of the misty, chilly weather that's taken hold, and a signal of the rapidly fleeing year.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
It's my disguise
Today's post about little luxuries for the general head region is at Toxophily.
This week we've been dealing with plumbing and with Archer's memory. With regard to the former, a failing pipe meant we were looking at a week's worth of torn-up floor. With regard to the latter, we were trying various strategies to help him remember the increasingly complex responsibilities of third grade (returning library books, bringing home homework). Today, suddenly, both situations resolved for the moment: the plumbers took a less invasive approach and were done in a day, and Archer came home with a completed checksheet and all his materials. Right now, life is sweet.
This week we've been dealing with plumbing and with Archer's memory. With regard to the former, a failing pipe meant we were looking at a week's worth of torn-up floor. With regard to the latter, we were trying various strategies to help him remember the increasingly complex responsibilities of third grade (returning library books, bringing home homework). Today, suddenly, both situations resolved for the moment: the plumbers took a less invasive approach and were done in a day, and Archer came home with a completed checksheet and all his materials. Right now, life is sweet.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Spelling sentences, third grade version
I haven't had much creative work to post from Archer's third grade classroom so far this year. From what we hear, it's mostly been about multiplication tables and U.S. presidents. But finally yesterday Archer brought home a sheet of sentences he wrote with his spelling words. (His teacher wrote "Good use of creativity!" encouragingly at the top.)
chew: "Chew your food."
flew: Devin has flew 'fore. [The "be" in the last word is erased and replaced with an apostrophe; the teacher circled it and wrote a question mark.]
grew: The plant's roots are growing.
shoot: Will you shoot a basket or not?
noon: We eat lunch at noon, and that's true.
new: The opposite of old is new (that's easy!) [Teacher's note: Good!]
loose: Is the cat loose?
dune: There is a dune that's uniquely shaped in the desert.
choose: Do you choose coins or Stars?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Whew
I'm new to the performance anxiety commonly felt by parents. So far the evaluations of my children's prowess have been fairly low stakes. Sure, we let out a gentle sigh of relief when the report card shows excellent all the way across, but we expect no less from our academically talented and mostly well-behaved children.
Starting in third grade, though, the "everybody gets a trophy day" egalitarianism practiced by the elementary school in regard to the Gifted & Talented program (GT) comes to an abrupt end, and students are tested to see whether or not they qualify for this special training in problem-solving and creativity. We received a notice a few weeks ago that if we wished, we could nominate Archer for the program; this nomination would trigger standardized testing using the SAT-10. In most cases, only students scoring in the highest percentile on the test would be accepted to participate in GT.
Archer's been focused on GT since viewing the PowerPoint presentations created by its students during the last school year; you may remember that he came right home and made his own version. We knew that he wanted to go, but couldn't help feeling the odd sensation of almost not wanting to mention it to him in case ... in case he didn't make it. In the end our conviction that he would benefit from GT overcame our worries about this first possible instance of disappointment or failure, and we nominated him and gave permission for the testing. Then came the anxious quizzing after the testing happened about how he thought he did.
Today we got the letter informing us that he'd been accepted. And my relief and happiness surprised me. When I was a kid, I took all these advanced programs as my natural due, and I imagined that my parents did, too. But I really didn't know if Archer's deficits might interfere with the testing, and therefore if he would make the grade. Holding the notice of his acceptance, I felt not only proud but also ... unclenched. There, he made it over that first hurdle; the next one might be easier, I thought.
I suppose I need to accept that parenting is going to be a long series of these tests and evaluations and gateways, open and closed, for the foreseeable future. I think my reaction means that I need to guard against over-emphasizing their significance, for me and for my kids.
Starting in third grade, though, the "everybody gets a trophy day" egalitarianism practiced by the elementary school in regard to the Gifted & Talented program (GT) comes to an abrupt end, and students are tested to see whether or not they qualify for this special training in problem-solving and creativity. We received a notice a few weeks ago that if we wished, we could nominate Archer for the program; this nomination would trigger standardized testing using the SAT-10. In most cases, only students scoring in the highest percentile on the test would be accepted to participate in GT.
Archer's been focused on GT since viewing the PowerPoint presentations created by its students during the last school year; you may remember that he came right home and made his own version. We knew that he wanted to go, but couldn't help feeling the odd sensation of almost not wanting to mention it to him in case ... in case he didn't make it. In the end our conviction that he would benefit from GT overcame our worries about this first possible instance of disappointment or failure, and we nominated him and gave permission for the testing. Then came the anxious quizzing after the testing happened about how he thought he did.
Today we got the letter informing us that he'd been accepted. And my relief and happiness surprised me. When I was a kid, I took all these advanced programs as my natural due, and I imagined that my parents did, too. But I really didn't know if Archer's deficits might interfere with the testing, and therefore if he would make the grade. Holding the notice of his acceptance, I felt not only proud but also ... unclenched. There, he made it over that first hurdle; the next one might be easier, I thought.
I suppose I need to accept that parenting is going to be a long series of these tests and evaluations and gateways, open and closed, for the foreseeable future. I think my reaction means that I need to guard against over-emphasizing their significance, for me and for my kids.
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