Back to School

10:20AM is Independent Reading time for the Busy Bees 1st graders. This is my favorite part of Leo’s 3 hour & 35 minute school day. Okay, so it is not a fully independent exercise but I doubt that Leo’s teacher expects all of her students to sit still and read diligently…on their own. So I am happy to be involved in Leo’s semi-independent reading and feel not guilty about it. In fact, our shared reading time reveals to me how much I have missed over the years due my over-commitment to my job.

I was a full time teacher for 15 years. I began as an early college English teacher, then a first-year writing lecturer, dipped my toe into the murky waters of graduate level teaching at a private college, returned to the somewhat schizophrenic yet wondrous early college world and then ended up as a high school ELA/Humanities teacher before resigning in October 2020. At the end of the day, I feel as though I served communities of learners and did a good job as a teacher but with each passing year, I seemed to move further and further away from my supposed dream of teaching Caribbean Literature & Critical Whiteness Theory at the college level. I was not able to publish and so colleges & universities passed over my CV.

When the pandemic descended upon the planet, amidst its grayness and gloom, I found clarity. I was struggling to keep up with my fully online work responsibilities, ineffective in supporting my own children in their (scattered) virtual learning, scrambling to attend to the safety & needs of my elderly parents, and failing to begin (or end) the day without a scowl. Dishes piled up in the sink & laundry piled up in the bins (triggering OCD rashes). It was all too much but the New Yorker in me just kept trying to move along at a quick pace and “complete tasks.” And so I realized that I had to let go of my job. I prioritized my family and myself. I am proud of that and have my partner (the sole breadwinner for now) to thank.

But back to semi-independent reading…

Leo recently completed a reading assessment and did remarkably well. I sat well out of view of the webcam and was like a smiling statue. After reading a book about a tadpole who was about to turn into a frog and breaking down his philosophy on the impending transformation of the little green creature, Leo smiled his somewhat toothless smile and asked how he did. The teacher declared that he is reading a book that a third grader would get to read. She said that either his Kindergarten reading rating was “off” (or perhaps “miscalculated” - sigh) or he had made tremendous progress with his reading over the summer (Could it be that my required daily reading had an impact?). She recommended Level L & M books and made the appropriate adjustment to Leo’s Raz Kids settings. After he logged off the session, I gave Leo a big hug and a kiss and tickled the bottoms of his feet (couldn’t resist).

Level M - Mama Roadrunner

Leo likes to read in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And I see this as one of the few perks of at-home school. I am one of those parents who put her babies in their cribs in their own rooms at an early age. Snuggle time in bed is considered “a treat.” And so the reading in mom and dad’s “big bed” is viewed as something special. Of course, a couple of minutes are spent negotiating the way in which reading in the big bed is to occur (feel free to roll your eyes at me at this point).

“So Leo, before we read the book, I need to you to sit up straight against the headboard, ok?”

“Okay mom, but I want to be under the covers.”

“Okay, peanut.”

“Can you read 2 pages and I read 1?”

“How about this. You read 1 page and I read 1 page.”

“Deal!”

I like this deal because I know that if we are reading a particularly good book (meaning for Leo, that it is funny, meaning to me that it is informative), he ends up reading 2-3 pages at a time without realizing it!

This morning’s book (which I selected, as it was the first of Adima’s old “take-home-books” that was labeled, Level M) was entitled, The Roadrunners.

Okay, so this book was really for me, I feel. Leo seemed mildly amused by the narrative but me being the eternally critically conscious thinker (and dare I say, writer?), immediately began reading into things…Those roadrunners on the cover — they were looking right at me and continued to stare me down from several pages. Mama - you a roadrunner!

Here is a poetic sampling of quotes about Mother Roadrunner from the story:

“Mother Roadrunner…likes to run. She doesn’t fly well…” (2)

“Mother Roadrunner always runs wherever she goes!” (4)

“Lizards are fast. But Mother Roadrunner is faster.” (6)

Here is a sampling of what is stated about Father Roadrunner & his partnership with Mother Roadrunner:

“Father Roadrunner stays in the nest while [Mother Roadrunner] is gone. He protects the eggs…” (8)

“Mother and Father Roadrunner take turns guarding the nest…” (8)

“Mother and Father Roadrunner protect the babies…and bring the babies food. They keep the babies safe and warm in their nest…” (14)

So, after reading this book, I felt that Roadrunner vibe. I mean, although I currently live in Jersey, I’ve always been a New Yorker. Born & raised. An eternal commuter. On the move. Get out of my way. I take the fast lane on the escalator and avoid the subway elevators even when carrying super heavy bags or when “very” pregnant (and New Yorkers know why). But truth be told, I don’t think I am that kind of bird anymore. Not working for pay has me finally heeding the wise words my mother-in-law likes to tell my kids when they are all over the place: “Slow your roll.” I am not sure what kind of bird I am turning into but I do like the mother/father roadrunner energy, that natural shared commitment to the nest & its precious contents. But I certainly am tired of running and I’m ready to fly.

What’s your weather today?

Student Teacher: Leo, what is your weather today?

Leo: I’m feeling rainbowy.

Student Teacher: Would you like to share why?

Leo: Yes.

Student Teacher: Great.

Leo: I’m feeling rainbowy because my mom’s cold is gone.

Student Teacher: That’s awesome.

[Mom: It certainly is.]

Being Proactive

My mom recently found some old photos & papers as she was going through boxes in the garage. One was my 1st grade class picture. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Stern whose demeanor was nothing close to what her last name might imply. She was kind, soft-spoken, patient. In any event, I cannot recall much more about that school year. But I know that I certainly did not learn the word that Leo got introduced to fairly early in his virtual first grade experience: proactive.

After defining the word for the class, Leo’s teacher asked for students to think of how they can be proactive in their lives. Leo’s contribution: “I can be proactive by planning to help someone.” One of his classmates: “I can be proactive by staying calm and resting in the car on the way to go camping.” Another little friend: “I can remind my sisters to clean their rooms…”

In fact, the word proactive has become part of the regular discourse of the class to the point where Leo took it a bit too far, going off mute on morning to mention to the teacher: “Remember to be proactive!”, as she was attempting to multitask.

But I give thanks for the choice words that my son is being exposed to because we now weave them into our common speech at home. And the impact of that vocabulary building extends beyond simple knowledge of the word to productive and assertive action.

Thanks for Sharing

One of the many great things about Leo’s virtual classroom space is that the students get to feel like they are still part of an environment despite the fact that they are not all occupying the same physical space. The kids take turns with specific “class jobs” that include responsibilities like: the breath leader, the fishbowl trainer, the host leader, and the weather leader.

My personal favorite is the host leader, who is put in charge of the very important job of encouraging all of his or her classmates as they share the weather that they are feeling. There is something so soothing about hearing little voices (some more enthusiastic than others) repeatedly stating, “thanks for sharing” — no matter what the young person has said. “I’m feeling cloudy because…well, I don’t know why.” Thanks for sharing. “I’m feeling snowy because it’s going to snow today.” Thanks for sharing. “I don’t want to share”…Thanks for sharing.

Bird Calls

(Early in the morning)

Leo: Why does that bird keep making that sound?

Mom: He is trying to get another bird’s attention so he will have company.

Leo: It isn’t working. Why isn’t it working? There are a lot of birds in the sky.

Mom: He has to be patient.

(Late in the morning)

Leo: Mom, why is that bird still singing?

Mom: He’s still calling for someone. He is hoping to attract a bird who will love him.

Leo: Well, he should have found someone by now.

New Word of the Day: Torpor

I learned a new word with Leo today during reading. Shhh, don’t tell him I didn’t exactly know what it meant.

Torpor. Torpor in a sentence: “Bears go in a state of torpor, not hibernation.” Can you guess what it means? Well, either way, I was deceived! Bears do not hibernate. What else did they lie to me about?

Thanks for Sharing…in April

Question of the Morning: Would you rather have a pet bird or a pet horse?

Leo’s Response: “I’m feeling sunny.”

Yep, it’s that time of the year. Apparently, Leo was on auto-pilot, providing an inaccurate boiler-plate response to the default question. This is what happens when my mom is downstairs, fixing the egg for her son (and herself). This is what happens when I am not sitting right next to him. When I am not hovering. This is what happens after a child has been made to endure virtual school for 8 months.

I try not to feel guilty. I try not to make him feel guilty. I can’t feel hopeful about his return to physical school tomorrow because that instinctive fear, that protective mechanism of the mother, kicks in. I worry. His mask won’t stay on the whole time. What if he is that one child who will not be all right, who will be vulnerable? What if sending him is a mistake? All I know is that having him here, at home, at his little desk, in his swivel chair, in front of a screen — it feels wrong.

After getting a replay of what happened, I smile at Leo and ask him: “What would you prefer? A pet bird or a pet horse?”

Leo’s Response: “I don’t know… both are a lot of work.”

The Walk

It happened. I knew it would but was hoping I had another year or so. This morning, Leo told me and OG that he wanted to walk to school by himself, that he felt he could do it. Mind you, it had only been a week since he had returned to the school building for in-person learning.

My husband and I exchanged a look. Then we both started to talk at the same time. “Not yet, bud.” “Not yet, peanut.” Leo’s face dropped so I did some quick damage control. “How about you walk ahead of me on the way today. That was you can practice.” He smiled, revealing the lopsided big tooth that seemed to have grown in overnight, and all was well again.

But as we made our way down the driveway, he slipped his hand into mine and as we turned onto the sidewalk, it started:

“Hey mom, now is the perfect time to tel you about Lunar Client.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. You see, Lunar Client is…(insert long soliloquy that I was kinda over my head and as a result, beyond my recollection)”.

I really did try to listen but all I could concentrate on was how good it felt to have his little hand in mine.