To My Dear Students on the Last Day of School

 At last, we are here. We have finally made it. No more are the days of teaching you the daily routines, and gone are the mornings that I asked you where I begin writing on the board, and what a sentence ends with. The road has been windy and bumpy, shocking and heart-warming, exhausting and exhilarating, never ending, and yet, not long enough.

When I first met you, I sat seven timid boys on the carpet, and I repeatedly tried not to be sick and lose my breakfast…and then lunch… and then dinner. My four years of Early Childhood and Special Education seemed to have grown legs and hopped right onto the bus that had brought you here. While I had felt prepared and ready to rock the world with my strategies and behavior management skills, I quickly realized that nothing could have prepared me for that first week of school.

But we made it. You learned routines and how to write your name and how to raise your hand, just like most kindergarten students. However, we also learned how to say “yes” and “no,” to go to the bathroom all by ourselves, to ask for help with words and not tears, to feel remorse when our clip went down, and joy when our clip goes back up. We learned that we say, “Good Morning” and to ask, “How are you?” We learned to take deep breaths when we are angry, and we learned how fun it can be to use adjectives and exclamation points.

And as much as I look forward to relaxing this summer, I think just as much about how different life will be when I can’t call you “my kids” anymore. In a way, you’ll always be my kids: you were my first class, you were the students that taught me how to be a teacher. My days as your teacher are over. However, I have a few thoughts that I want you to take with you as you leave my classroom for the last time.

First, I want you to remember to try new things. Remember in October when you were scared of getting into the pool for Adaptive P.E.? It was frightening at first, but by November you would jump in without me! You learned how to share, to be in charge of your classroom job, to try new foods and play new games. Sometimes you needed a helping hand, and sometimes you still do, but you are steadily becoming more comfortable entering unexplored territories. So when someone wants you to try something new, just think about going swimming. Remember to take deep breaths, count to three, and jump right in.

I want you to remember to use your words. You taught me this year that words are a gift that are so easily taken for granted. Most kindergarten classes begin the year with a noisy, boisterous group who are taught there is no talking to your table-mate, in the hall, in the stairwell, during the movie, or in the bathroom. But when you peeked into my classroom, you saw a different picture. You saw teachers using all types of modeling, visual supports, some serious verbal prompting, and just about anything else we could think of to coax you into communicating. I will never forget when each of you asked and answered a question, independently, for the first time. All seven times, I wanted to shout from the rooftops, and I would get teary-eyed as I shared your accomplishment with others. You opened up and let us peek into your mind as you gave your own thoughts and ideas to us. Now it’s the end of the school year, and sometimes instead of asking you to PLEASE quiet down, I smile and observe you yell over each other. Do not forget that you have a voice, and its exciting to hear you use it.

 I want you to remember to hug your mom and dad. You don’t know it yet, but when you are hurt, they hurt. When you cry, they want to cry. When you are happy, they are filled with the purest joy. When you want something, they want to move mountains to make your wants and dreams come true. You don’t know it yet, but they worry and wonder about you every minute of every day. They worry if you’re happy and progressing enough in the present, and they worry about who you will become in the future. Most of all, you don’t know it yet, because you never will, just how much they love you. So hug them, and talk to them, and try not to get frustrated when they can’t always give you what you want. Try to remember that your parents will always, ALWAYS be your biggest advocate, and to give them lots of hugs.

I want you to remember to be yourself.  As Dr. Seuss put it, “There is no one alive that is youer than you.” You don’t know what Autism is or what it means to be on the spectrum. You don’t know yet that people can be cruel and lack the ability to see the greatness in uniqueness, and while sometimes it makes life a little more challenging, your uniqueness is a gift, NOT a disability. You don’t know yet that your little mind is actually a big mind, and it’s a big blessing to us all. You don’t know yet that you are an extraordinary person. All you know is how to be you, and that is all you need to be. I don’t say that because I’m your teacher, I say that because every single day, you have proven it to be true. Every day, you are extraordinary. Be the shining light that you are, and change the world with it.

Finally, here is what I have learned from my seven tiny teachers. I have learned to find beauty in the unexpected; that it is okay to veer from the Big Plan. I have learned to stand firm and do what is right, even when I see others getting by doing what is easy. I have learned to not take your outbursts personally, but to personally investigate what you are trying to express to me. You have taught me that on days where it feels no learning is happening that, not only is it okay, but that it isn’t ever really true. Our favorite days were those when we detoured off the path of preparation, whether for fun or survival, and it is then that we truly grew. You have taught me to put YOU first, not my routine, not test scores, not state standards, or even my teacher reflection. I have learned that when I put you first, all the rest falls right in line. I have learned that THAT is what it means to be a teacher, to not take the easy way or teach to the test, but to make your education about you. Thank you for being my very sweet and dedicated teachers. Thank you for stretching me each day. Thank you for being patient when I had moments of feeling very lost in how to teach you. Thank you for being a joy to teach when I finally figured out what I was doing. Most of all, thank you for being YOU.

Tell Your Students You Love Them

Once upon a time, we were all there: young college students ready to take the world by storm, being lectured by a seasoned professor on their rigid opinion concerning teacher-student relationships. I had about a dozen of those professors in their skirt and pant suits, always using their "teacher voice" when speaking to us, like we were the unruly 6-year-olds we attempted to keep in their square on the carpet during student-teaching. And while I was blessed to have such a variety of educators to shape and guide me, they all said the same things about relationships with students: you are their teacher, not their parent. Not their friend. You can tenderly pat their shoulder. Otherwise, do not touch, tap, hug, kiss, engage. You can hug your niece and tell her you love her. Those students are not your niece.

And we sat. And we listened. Some may have internally rolled their eyes, or, like me, conducted a mental dialog on why we don't just build robots to teach the future of our country. 

Of course, we all know why professors encourage us to act in a manner that seems cold or robotic. Children are imaginative; you never know what they may elaborate. Parents can forget that their beautiful child could exaggerate a story, and parents love their child, so they go into Mama Bear mode and demand a teacher is reprimanded for "hitting" their baby, when all the teacher did was pat the student’s hand as a non-verbal cue to pick up their pencil and write their name. It's not easy  to calm an angry Mama or Papa bear. Even if they don't show it in a loving way, they really love their kid, and  they need to feel confident that their child is safe. And they advocate the way they know how; sometimes that's a calm meeting, and sometimes that's trying to sue. 

I teach in the DC area at a Title 1 school, in an area stricken with homelessness and unemployment. All of our kids receive free breakfast and most receive free or reduced lunch. Some of our kids consume the majority of their food on school property. Some of our kids take leftover breakfast or snack home to their siblings every day. Some of our kids come to us when they need longer pants or a shirt without a hole. They don't spend Saturdays spending their parents' money at the mall, and they don't get a new coat because black and puffy is "so last season." 

I always call them “my kids.” Because they are. As I groggily wash my face in the morning, I wonder if Timmy will remember to wear his hat, because it's going to be a colder than usual day. As I throw together a half decent lunch, I wonder if Tommy got in trouble for going home with a frowny face on his behavior sheet yesterday. As I drive to work, I wonder if Billy will finally write a sentence without crying a bucket of tears, and I wonder if anyone in my class will comprehend the lesson on solids and liquids I'm required to teach them. I get to school, I make copies, I double check that I have my highlighters for students that need to trace letters, my OT gloves for my students that need extra help applying pressure when they write, and look in the pencil cup and see if I need to break more standard length pencils into inch- tall pencils for my babies that can't write with control with regular pencils. I check the snack cabinet for extra boxes of cereal for my kid that only eats cereal 
and chips, no matter how good burgers smell or macaroni tastes. I check the classroom bathroom to make sure we have soap and toilet paper, and remember, not so fondly, the messes we've cleaned in this bathroom as my room staff and I potty trained several students. 

And before I'm ready, my kids roll in. And every morning I try to greet them like I haven't seen them in 5 years. I hug them and ask how they are. I make them look me in the eyes, and I tell them I love them, and I also love when they make good choices, so let’s make this a good day.  As they eat their breakfast in the classroom, I sit with them in a kiddie chair at a table 2 feet off the ground, and I eat my breakfast, too. I ask them what they did last night, if they saw Mommy or Daddy, what they had for dinner the night before, and if they ate anything before they got on the bus. I make sure I turn on the TV as soon as the Morning Announcements begin, and turn it off immediately after, because the blank blue screen sets one of my kid's teeth on edge. Even though his back faces the TV. I don't think any of this stuff matters to them, until I don't do it. If I'm sitting at my desk cutting something out or sending a quick email while the kids eat breakfast, they come over and try to sit on my lap. They whine or stare for a little, or they give me hugs and kisses until I give up. That's how they tell me they love me and that it matters when I'm not there. I hug them back, and I tell them I love them, and I tell them that if they wait until I finish, I will let them read me a story. 

Despite the fact that I teach a self-contained autism kindergarten classroom, I still have what every kindergarten classroom has: a classroom behavior chart. It's Classroom Management 101 to have one of these in your room, but it's still the best trick in the book. The only problem is that it took a while for the behavior chart to work in my little room. My students on the spectrum didn't see at first why it mattered if they clipped down: they broke the rule, did what they wanted to do, clipped down. Big deal. Children with autism struggle with empathy, so it didn't bother them that Mrs. Leidner looked sad, and told them her heart makes a frowny face when they don't make a good choice. Sometimes they laughed when I said that, usually they just stared at me. But I told them that, as soon as they do the right thing, they will clip right back up. And eventually they did. And when they did, I always made sure to make the room erupt: excited cheers, a sticker, a hug, a good job song, and a clip going back up. And at the end of the day, I told them I loved them, I was proud of them, and mommy and daddy would be, too.

I can remember the turning point for each of my kids. It was an ordinary day, and then one of them wasn't following the rules, threw a pencil, or refused to raise their hand. And what was once me asking them to clip down followed by a quiet walk to the clip chart, was suddenly replaced with an explosion of tears and a look on their face like I just told them Santa does not exist. They wailed on their way to the chart, and hung their head as they clipped down. I tried not to smile or laugh. Not because I find their big, fat tears humorous, but because the moment had finally come: they felt a connection with me so strong that it hurt their heart to hurt my heart. That is a BIG DEAL for my little self-contained classroom. Instead of sending them back to their seat, I let them crawl into my lap. I would hold them and they would ask through their tiny sniffles if Mrs. Leidner was mad, and I ask them to look at my face and tell me what they thought. I would tell them I love them, but I don’t love their choice. So let’s fix our face and make a better choice. And when you make a better choice, you can clip back up. And everyone will clap and sing like we’re at the parade.

And now they know. They know that I love them, and that I keep my word. They still clip down, but they know how to fix it. They know they need to show me what making a good choice looks like. And I know they know, because if I forget to tell them to clip up, they remind me. They trust me to keep my word, and they trust they won’t get in trouble to remind me of my word. Because it matters to them that I think they deserve to clip up to “Role Model” or “Star Student.” It matters that I notice them giving their best effort. It matters because they know I love them, so they don’t want to disappoint me. 

I tell them I love them. And I hug them. And if they give me a kiss on the cheek, I don’t tell them that isn’t appropriate for school. Because they love me, and they learned that if you love someone, you hug them and you kiss them and you snuggle them. And at the age of 6, I’m not going to mess with that formula. Because the fact that they see me as a person that deserves their hugs and kisses is a huge deal. Because students with autism can struggle to show affection. That’s not usually their love language. What they feel towards me are legitimate feelings. What was once completing a worksheet to put in my “finished work” tray is now a student shoving a paper in my face with a jumbo grin plastered cheek to cheek. They know their hard work brings me joy, and it brings them joy to know I’m proud. I know they know when I’m stressed or sad, because I get lots of extra hugs on those days. And I cannot put into words how HUGE that is.

So hug them as they get off and on the bus. Tell them you love them when they do something bad, and when they do something good. Sometimes I stop the learning on the carpet, and I tell each student what I love and appreciate about them. They love it. And they pay better attention afterwards. Students knowing you love and you care is the greatest behavior management system. At the end of the day, it beats any clip chart or behavior plan. Tell them you love them, on your hardest day, busiest day, best day, and worst day. It’s deep and it’s real, and my tiny humans know it. 
                        

St. Patrick's Day Fun

We'll take any excuse to have a fun day of learning, coloring and crafting. We took the whole school day to celebrate St. Patrick's Day! Most of my students had never heard of this holiday or knew what a leprechaun was, and thought a shamrock was a flower... so the day was enlightening for all. It can be difficult to get my autism classroom to complete or enjoy writing and cutting activities (due to their underdeveloped pincer grasps and overall motor development), but make it a fun and colorful activity and they are right on board!


Decorating the classroom was the first thing on the list, and my students were ecstatic to walk into a festive classroom this morning:

*Window decals from Target's dollar section

  

 

One of my favorite activities was actually started the day before so that we would have time to complete all the planned activities. The students got to connect paper chains, assemble pots of gold, and add a little sparkle!

  

  

Ms. Wright was our glitter glue expert!

The students were so excited with the final product, and loved seeing them hung from the ceiling! 

We also had a blast writing about what we would do if we were a leprechaun. I got quite the variety of answers from my out-of-the-box-thinkers.

"If I were a leprechaun I would sing like a leprechaun." "...I would count all of my gold."

 

Another fun craft we did was creating wish rainbows! It took awhile for my students to comprehend the idea of being "granted wishes", but we eventually made the connection when a leprechaun was described as Spring's Santa Claus.

  

The students wrote their 6 wishes on each rainbow paper strip.

  

I did not have a chance to snap shots of all the worksheets, but my students practiced word families, rhyming, syllables, and simple addition with St. Patrick's themed activity sheets!

  

And, of course, there is no better way to wrap up a classroom holiday celebration than with PAINT! It is easily one of the most exciting, yet terrifying activities to be done in any kindergarten classroom. However, I try to whip out the acrylics at least once a week. For my population of students, painting isn't just a fun activity, it is also therapeutic and soothing for them, as the texture soothes many of their individual sensory needs.

Modeling how to place wet, sticky hands onto the paper.
 

My assistant teacher, Ms. Bryant being a brave superstar and handling the paint.

"....And we chose to do paint on a day that the schedule was wack why???"

 

Ta-da!

Whew! We made quite the mess, but despite a some tears and a drippy green classroom, we had a great Tuesday celebrating St. Patrick's Day! A fun and messy day= instructional content remembered. Onto the next one!

Happy Dr. Seuss Day!

 Just a recap of some of Room 9's Seuss activities! Due to our "Ice Day", we had to reschedule our Seuss celebration to Tuesday. They had a blast! we read several Seuss stories in preparation for our crafts and activities:

              

Of course, I was nearly as excited as the kids were about the day and it's festivities, so I did not capture photos of all the fun that was had. But here is a little peek at what we did to celebrate the birthday of Dr. Seuss!

I can get my students to write about pretty much anything if a craft is also involved. I was surprised by how many of my students showed no recognition towards The Cat in the Hat characters; they had never heard the story before! It was adorable to see their reactions to the Cat and Thing 1 and Thing 2.

My students who receive OT services get a bit fussy towards obvious fine motor exercises, so it is always important to me to incorporate fun cutting and gluing crafts into daily activities. They loved making their Thing 1 and Thing 2's!

   

Ms. Herbert, a Dedicated Aid to a student in my room, helping with the cutting and pasting.

Writing prompt: If the Cat in the Hat brought Thing 1 and Thing 2 to my house I would..." the responses varied from letting them play with their toys, to kicking them out of the house.

   

Another favorite craft of the day followed the reading of One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. As I revealed the materials for the craft, screams erupted with, "PAINT! IT'S PAINTING!" followed swiftly by, "FISHIES! Are those real fishies or candy fishies, Mrs. Leidner?"

This activity works great with baking soda paint or water-colors, but I chose to just water down washable paint (cost and time effective). I wanted the addition values to be different for each student (to keep them from copying each other's papers), so I made a list of how many fish I gave to each child (the behavior chart was to be put to use if any fish "disappeared", and the extra fish were passed out as snack as a reward for patient students.)

The paint dried fairly quickly, and we used wet glue to attach the fish. The students were completely ecstatic about adding and making a craft with candy!

   

We did several Seuss activities, and enjoyed ending the day munching on fish and describing what green eggs might taste and smell like. What a great day to teach kindergarten!

Focus on the Good

This is what I choose to focus on today, despite it often being a difficult task. In a society completely consumed by attempts to fulfill it's feelings of emptiness that it indulges repeatedly in self-destructive behaviors, it is hard sometimes to see beauty in your surroundings. Sometimes I wonder if the world continues to grow more ugly by the decade, or if I am finally old enough to see the world the way it is. When you're an adolescent, the world looks like a celebrity in People Magazine. It looks like one of those shots a photographer captured where a Kardashian is stuffing her face with pizza, or Mila Kunis left the house without makeup. You think to yourself, "Whoa they look so rough,,,, that's not really how wrinkly and saggy they are, right?" Your image of a flawless goddess has substantially wavered. As you get older, you see more celebrities without makeup, losing their abs, becoming more silicone than flesh, caught cheating, being arrested for DUIs, and before you know it, you see the world for what it really is. A gigantic facade and a hot, hot mess (and in serious need of it's Savior). And it feels tragic.

And yet, if you look really closely, there is always more to it than that. Yes, we do see celebrities making poor life choices. We get stabbed in the back by best friends, we don't get into the college campus that is plastered all over our bedroom wall, we don't get the job or spot on the team we deserve due to "politics", we get blamed for someone else's mistake. But, there are other things we see. We see a dad get a tattoo of his daughter's hearing aid on his head so that she doesn't feel self-conscious from the lingering stares. We see men who dress up as superheros as they clean the windows at Children's Hospital. We see young men and women sacrifice their lives every day to protect our country. We see couples opting to adopt a child with a disability, strangers shoveling each other's sidewalks and driveways, college students passing out free hot dogs at homecoming, churches washing cars for free, choirs and dance troops performing at nursing homes. As a teacher, I can struggle to feel like my job is worth the time it devours, yet teachers get to see so many little acts of kindness and tiny glimpses of how beautiful the world is: students sharing their personal supplies, a friend passing up a snack to his classmate because he mostly eats at school and rarely at home, my barely verbal students comforting each other when their table-mate is in distress, teachers working in their classrooms until the building closes so their students not only learn what they need to know, but learn it the fun way. Teachers who do not make enough money but spend their hard-earned wages on supplies for children that will never earn them Child Tax Credit. I see teachers comforting parents who feel hopeless, reminding single parents that they are not their child's only advocate, and working with the parents who seem like monsters, but deep down they feel that ugliness is the only way to ensure their child gets what they deserve, because that's the only way they know.

I see beauty in my marriage. I see my husband working at a job that does not always excite him or stimulate his mind, but it provides for us (something my job as an educator does not.) I see a man who is the Webster's Dictionary definition of "introvert" lead our church in worship, and let me drag him out of the house. He cleans snow off my car, opens every door for me, carries the heavy groceries up flights of stairs, watches more chick flicks than I'm positive he cares to, listens to me whine and complain, offers advice when I need it, and gives me his shoulder when advice can't help. A young man in today's society that is willing to pass up the typical wild, all-about-me lifestyle most people in their twenties live, is rare. Yet, he made that sacrifice to be devoted to one person. Forever. In sickness and health, for richer or poorer,for better or worse. 

And what often happens when we choose to focus on the good, or witness that random act of kindness, is that we are compelled to pay it forward. As Gandhi pointed out, we wish to be the change, or the good, we want to see in the world. And I would like to think that for every time I was inspired to go out of my way, the way a stranger did for me, I inspired someone else. A stranger gave me their turn on the treadmill while in line at the gym, so I gave a stranger my parking space at the grocery store, and hopefully the trail continues. When a world is as gloomy as ours can be, it's the little things, those random acts of kindness, those moments we choose to see the good, to be the good,to be the change, that can shine so bright and change everything for a person, for a stranger, without us even realizing.

So yeah, there are about a million-and-one reasons to be a grouch toward the world. And a lot of the time, you probably have a right to be. But if you have one, teeny tiny reason to smile, GRAB A HOLD. Be thankful for it. Thank God for it. Share it if you can. It's people like that who make a broken world seem a little less broken. It's people like that who inspire, and do the world a favor without even trying. Be a living example. Every day. Starting today, choose to focus on the good.

                                       

Happy Snow Day,PG County!

Always remember: Pj's inside-out, dance in the shower, ice cubes in the toilet.

Welcome to My Madness

Over the years, I have had people tell me that I should start a blog, or some recording of the lighting-flashes of thoughts I think and words I speak. Honestly, I talk so much that I tend to tune out the sound of my own voice, but apparently the madness of my life prompts me to express dramatic tangents that are a mix of humorous and (somehow) inspiring. So here I am, folks, finally not so lazy that I'm starting this process, but still lazy enough that I am typing from my bed. In the middle of the day.

I'll be the first person to point out that my life can be a bit of a hot, bubbling mess. The year 2014 was by far the most maddening year of my life, just a big ol' blob of beauty, insanity, hair-ripping, glorious, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me-moments. It began with me finishing my last semester of college, which was simultaneously the best and worst semester in the history of ever. Getting hired by PG County in March, graduating in May, saying goodbye to my IUP friends that had become my sisters, moving back to Maryland for good, getting married in June, spending the summer learning to cook for a husband with Crohn's Disease and other food intolerances, starting my first big-girl-job in August as a kindergarten autism-intensive teacher (the job is as hard as it's title is long), being diagnosed with stress-induced allergies and discovering my kidneys are the culprit for my being chronically "under the weather", and attempting to kick teacher-butt in the midst of it all. OH. MY. GOODNESS. The stories I could tell about every single one of these categories go on and on and on and on. Which, apparently, is what many people believe, hence the suggestions to start a blog. 

I don't believe in ranting on Facebook like most people of my generation do. In fact, I refuse to let myself sign up for Twitter, because I already get myself into enough trouble blurting out the "facts of life", observations, and sarcasms that go through my thick skull on a regular basis. I really don't need an outlet to hastily post rash, blunt thoughts that can shock as quickly as I hit "post." On Facebook, there are plenty of people who really don't want or care to hear my opinion on politics (yeah seriously, just don't post that stuff there, Facebook is for stalking and looking at pictures of babies and far-away friends and relatives) or what I think about Fifty Shades of Grey. But if you're on my blog, you made a conscious decision to explore what I have to say. You may not like it, and that's perfectly fine, but you also took a peek to see what I think.

And, quite frankly, it doesn't even matter if no one ever takes a peek, or if after one swift read they never revisit. I am an individual who feels like I just ended a therapy session after a good, long rant. This is just as much for me as it is for anyone else. Of course, I still hope this can service others. I exude passion in most things I do, but I am most passionate about 3 things: my faithful God, my friends and family, and the 7 beautiful and incredible boys I have the honor of teaching. I know I am not the only one out there who cares about these categories, or the only one who benefits from reading what others have to say about these topics. That is, for the majority, what I will be writing about. I am so passionate about these categories, that I can never talk about them enough. So here I am, about to do exactly that.

Welcome to my madness.