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I am not going to lie, I was dreading this week at school. My class is tough to engage and they are done. I feel like my bag of tricks has been turned over and the last crumbs have been licked clean. This morning I walked in with a complete sense of aversion to trying to engage them in the same formulaic language arts curriculum that I have been trying to engage them in all year. Read a story. Work on vocabulary. Cite text evidence. I decided to do something different. I went into the resource room and looked for a chapter book had that enough copies for all my students, was fifth grade appropriate and could be read in a school day with some hustle. Frindle by Andrew Clement looked like it met my requirements, but I had never read it. I looked over the first chapter, and decided it would work. I told my class we were going to read a book in a day.

My class moaned and groaned, but when I stopped after the first chapter and gave them a challenge that tied in with the chapter and set the timer for eight minutes, they were all in. I came up with activities as we read, probably not perfect planning, but on the fly worked for this. The day sped by and we finished the book at 2:30, half an hour before the end of day.

After the students left for the end of the day, I met with my principal for my end of the year meeting. My students actually had more than expected growth in math and reading. Shock of all shocks. I feel good about it, but also feel like I have worked my butt off to get here.

Tomorrow night we will celebrate our fifth grade graduation. I don’t know what life has in store for these kids. I would love to get a graduation announcement from all of them when they reach high school. I would come watch them play ball or cheer for their first jobs. Probably though, I will never see some of them again. But no matter what, I will never forget these kids. Some days have felt like a battle, but today I tasted a bit of victory.

I left work in tears yesterday. On the drive home, I tried to breathe and look at the scenery and get in a better headspace. I stopped off at Home Depot and my truck stalled. I couldn’t get it going and a guy came over and helped move it out of the way. I called for help and I sat there in the cab of the truck waiting, tears running down my face.

As I was sitting there wondering if I should apply for a job at Home Depot, a woman came up to my window and asked me if I was okay. I told her that I was having a bad day. She told me that it was her birthday and her son took her to buy flowers. She touched my arm and told me that she hoped my day got better. She was wearing a pink blouse and it reminded me of my mother. And it made me smile, because I had been wishing I could just call my mom. I told her that I was sure things would get better.

The truck DID start this morning and I headed off to work, trying to be positive. I listen to this inane radio show every morning and sometimes can feel my brain cells shrinking with the pure banality of it. But sometimes, there’s just enough SOMETHING that keeps me listening. Today they read off a list of simple pleasures. It was so sweet that it inspired one of my own.

1. Iris blooming.

2. Sitting on the steps of my front porch with a cup of tea in my hands.

3. When someone at the grocery store offers to let me go ahead in line.

4. When I run into old students and they light up.

5. Opening up a new can of paint and seeing the color so clean and smooth.

6. Talking to my girlfriends on the phone.

7. A song coming on the radio that I love.

8. Big furry bumblebees in the honeysuckle.

9. Honeysuckle.

I realized that my list is endless. So I am sitting in the truck that got me to work. I have my list in my mind and I am ready to face whatever the day has in store for me

I went to Albuquerque, New Mexico to watch my daughter graduate from college. I think she walked in the ceremony more for me, than herself. I am proud of her. Going to college in the midst of a pandemic added extra challenges, but she stuck with it and I guess I wanted to see her wear the gown and watch her walk on the stage and get the diploma. But I realized that when I got there and she was showing me her new house that the ceremony was just another thing to be stressed about for her. Maybe what I should have said was, “Hey, I am super proud of you and how would you like to celebrate?”

Anyway, she walked in the ceremony and we had a celebratory dinner and I headed back home. I was getting close to Santa Fe and the car in front of me switched lanes and I saw the tire. Not just debris, but a big solid tire. I swerved to the right to avoid it, but then I heard a hit and really nothing after that. It was like being caught in the vortex of a storm. I thought that we were going to die.

The car stopped though. Smoke was coming up from somewhere and James was telling me to get out of the car because of the smoke. I stumbled out. The car was far off the highway, inches from a concrete retaining wall. I was shaky and trembly and felt punched all over. I sat on the retaining wall and looked at my foot. It was bleeding. I don’t know how that happened.

At some point in the midst of the emergency vehicles and the police and the questions, I noticed the cars going by in one lane, slowly, like they do when there is an accident. They were looking at me. I looked around and took in the mountains and desert and breathtaking landscape and took a deep inhale. I was okay. James was okay. The car even could be okay. Maybe. Not sure about that yet.

The whole time I was sitting there on the side of the road and in the rental car on the way home and even now as I write this, I am replaying the night I lost my mom and dad. The shock and numbness are stealing over my senses. I think of my own kids and then put on the brakes because I just can’t let my mind go there. It’s not doing great things for my PTSD.

Sometimes I hate that I look for the silver lining. I have heard it called toxic positivity, but I guess the only way I can make sense of things is to try and see the lesson. There was a tire in the road. I tried to go around, but it didn’t work out so well. But that doesn’t mean the journey is over. It just means another direction has presented itself.

So now what? Well, kudos to my girl for graduating. I am proud of her strength and resilience. I can’t wait to see where the journey takes her. And grateful that I am still here to be part of the ride.

When I started working at Park View last fall, I needed a school t-shirt because the staff wears them on Mondays. There was a pile of old designs to choose from. I picked out a couple and my teammate gave me some that she said didn’t fit her anymore. One was an aqua shirt with a llama that read, “fast llama club.” I had no idea what that meant. I thought the school mascot was a cub.

I saw a book on my classroom shelf about llama training and realized that it must be some sort of classroom management thing. I took the book home with me, but it took me a long time to get through it with all the other million things I have had to learn this year. There is an analogy that teachers are like llamas in the grass and students are like hunting, stalking tigers, so do you want to be a fast llama, or a slow one? The book speaks more deeply about relationships with students and implementing systems to build trust and success.

Last week when I was gone, one of my students got suspended. She was mouthy with another teacher. It might have been just one of “those last straw” moments because this kid is HARD. Well, anyway she returned today and I heard her say, “Ms. Taylor is mad at me, I bet. She didn’t even say hi to me.” So I went over and gave her a hug, which she was not expecting and said something super gushy and over the top to welcome her into the room. She laughed and so did the rest of the class. And it was the first time that I realized that she really did care what I thought about her. It honestly felt like winning a gold medal at some impossible event

After the kids left at the end of the day, I started painting a mural on a retaining wall in the playground. I have looked at the bare cement all year and imagined what could go up there that would make the cracked, rusted wall look better. I originally thought about bear cubs, but when I put the first stroke on the wall, I realized that llamas would be a great beginning.

I worked on the wall for three hours and only got one llama done. But it’s fine because tomorrow is another day. On the drive home, the sun was setting and the mountains were breathtaking. I realized how calm I felt, like wide open to all the beauty. Painting on a big, old concrete canvas is THE thing that I could do every day for free. It feeds my soul. I don’t know if I will finish the wall before the end of the year, but I hope to leave a vista of color and imagination for all the students to come.

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Teaching the Great Depression to my fifth grade class will not go down as the Great Disaster, but it was an eye opener. First off, I spent a lot of time thinking about my delivery and my activities and went in Monday with enthusiasm and excitement. My kids showed up Monday with…less. I started them off with a dice game that guided them through a simulation of financial realities of the 1930’s. I forgot that it had math. My students don’t love math. Okay, let’s be real. Most of them hate math. Some of them are still struggling with subtraction. No one above my pay grade wants to believe that ten year olds are struggling with basic math facts, but my students are struggling with survival math. And Great Depression math was survival math. A factory job paid forty dollars a month, rent was thirty and rats got into the flour, kids need shoes, and maybe some food would be nice. I literally had to help every kid with every math equation for the seven months of the simulation. This DOES NOT work in my room. My students can’t handle themselves if the work is too hard. I always overestimate EASY. Even with calculators, kids have to know what numbers and operations to input. But we got through it, and they could see how hard it was to have enough money to get through basic things. I was wondering if any would make the leap to modern day times and how paychecks still work the same way, but no one did.

Next came a webquest about the Great Depression. Basically the kids were supposed to go to a very specific history site and look for answers to questions. Here are some misconceptions about technology and kids. Just because they have grown up with technology, doesn’t mean they know how to use it. Finding specific information on a website still requires being able to read and locate the right areas of text and the ability to discern what the question is asking. I used a very good source that uses a nice, readable font and big headings and pictures, but the reading level was too advanced for probably sixty to seventy percent of the kids. I had them in partners, but the web quest was too long. I can’t make a kid who has only run a fifty yard dash do a marathon, but I gave it my all. I was exhausted at the end of the day, and didn’t even know if I could give it another go. The kids wanted to know if they could play silent ball.

On Tuesday, I had an escape room planned. I bought the plans on teachers pay teachers, so I can’t take credit for the idea. But it was cool. The kids had to decode information using cryptograms and other puzzles to learn facts about the Great Depression and then put the facts together to unlock a code. The instructions said that the activity should take an hour. It took three hours for my most on task kids to get through it, the other kids, all day. No one had ever seen a cryptogram before. I had to teach them how to make guesses about letter choices and to look at the letters already there for clues. Once they got the cryptogram, the other puzzles were easier and it was kind of cool to actually see them working together to figure out what the text said. I heard one boy say, “You have to read the paragraph and you will find out information in the words for the clues.” It was the prize that kept them working though. When the kids solved all the puzzles in the “escape” room they got a prize. The prize was a bag of Takis. I didn’t even know what Takis were before I met these kids. Now I know that Takis are the highest form of currency.

When the escape room was complete, I had a bunch of cardboard scraps and wall paper samples and some tinfoil and I had the kids build Hooverville and make some signs with facts about the Great Depression. One kid did ask why. The same boy that figured out that reading the paragraphs helped with the answers told her, “Because it was a way to represent what was happening during that time. We could write a paragraph or build shit. What would you rather do?” Then three kids said, “POTTY MOUTH! DON”T CUSS! Miss (that’s me) has sensitive ears.” Their actual representation of Hooverville did look like ramshackle housing that would blow down in an actual gust of a breeze. But their facts were legitimate and a couple of the girls came up with an idea of putting paper underneath the whole settlement and making a time line, so it actually turned out better than I thought.

Here is the magic that happened: On Wednesday, I gave them a quiz. It was a quiz where I project the questions on the screen and they answer on their computers. The class average was 95. They have NEVER once scored as a class in the nineties or eighties or seventies this entire year on any unit in the entire literature book.

I wanted them to learn about FDR and the WPA because a lot of items in Pueblo were built with WPA money including the bandshell at Mineral Palace Park and the old stone buildings, the bear pits, and Monkey Island at City Park, but in the opening discussion of FDR, someone made the connection that there were no TV’s. So someone asked if there were movies. And I said, “Oh yeah, in fact some of the greatest movies were made in the thirties–like The Wizard of OZ.” Blank stares. I said, “You know? The Wizard of OZ? The wicked witch of the East? The yellow brick road? Toto? There’s no place like home?” They started shaking their heads. No. They had never seen the Wizard of Oz. Not one of them. So I said, “Well, Disney came out with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in the thirties.” None of them had seen that either. Although they sort of knew about it. One kid said he knew one of the dwarf guys was called Grumpy because his grandpa called him Grumpy in the morning. Then they wanted to know if we could watch The Wizard of OZ. I wasn’t prepared for that, but instead of doing FDR, I picked a movie, or a book for them look up and do a slide show presentation for the rest of the class. One girl actually asked if she could do Dorthea Lange because she remembered that photographers got paid to take pictures of the Dust Bowl and the farmers. Then the kids stood in front of the class and presented their slide shows. It really was sort of incredible. They listened to each other. They clapped. They wanted to do well. I stood on the sidelines watching them, wondering if was I in the poppy field having a dream.

I am not at school finishing up the Depression unit. I am getting my stitches out of my hand from the skin cancer surgery. I left the last passage in the literature book about Music During the Great Depression. Maybe having more background knowledge and being excited about the topic will help the kids not be jackwagons for the sub. Or not.

My time with this class is growing short. I have learned a lot from them. Like about Takis and what’s bussin’ and cap. Mostly, I have learned about resilience and showing up and trying again even if I don’t think I can do it one more day. Maybe that’s why this Great Depression thing has been so symbolic for me. It’s been bad, but I have faith it can be better. I want to be FDR, not Hoover.

I have spent a lot of time in the last few years listening to other educators talk about what kids DON’T know. It shocks me everyday, but kids DO know things, they are just different than what we as educators expect them to know. Kids can and do want to learn, but some of them have been so beat down at ten years old that they have the armor of a porcupine. I don’t know a lot of strategies for teaching porcupines, but I’ve learned a few things. And I know that under all those quills is a pretty soft, fragile center. I’m glad that I’m finally getting a glimpse.

This image began my literature unit this week. I asked my students what they could tell me about the photo. Here were some of the responses: It’s the Great Starvation! It’s a picture of the 1980’s. My grandma watches that on TV. It’s about enslavement. Yeah, it’s the Great Enslavement. I scribbled all their responses down ready for a quick laugh later.

But then I started thinking more deeply about their misconceptions. I have known people in my life time that experienced the Great Depression. My students probably have not. I understand how the Great Depression happened and the impact that it had on our country and isn’t it my job to teach them why this event was so important? So I started researching how to teach this era. I found a cool video clip, and a game and I have a great idea about how to build a model Hooverville. Monopoly was invented during the Great Depression and it would be fun to play for a class activity. I thought about dressing up and maybe putting together a slide show of some of the things that were built during the relief projects. My ideas are endless.

However, it has been a week. I feel like a cop not a teacher. Stop. Listen. Open your book to page 366. 366. 366. Turn the page. Where is your pencil? Is that a good choice? Inside voices? Find your seat. Page 366 for the ninety-seventh time. The cheating, stealing, bullying, vaping. Yea, fifth graders vaping. It is freaking exhausting and it makes me not want to do anything fun or creative. It makes me want to call in sick and stay under the covers all day.

My arm pit is on fire. Ever since the breast cancer, when I am run down, or a little sick, my arm pit will throb. My incision on my hand from last week’s surgery is healing, but I had another lesion taken out this week. This time in my mouth. So I am a little worried. I have had three lesions in six months and I am not sure how to turn it off. Not sure I can. I can’t help but wonder how stress is impacting my health. Is this my body’s way of pushing me to another path?

I am not sure about any of that. I do know I have a long weekend to relax and let my wounds heal. But this also happened to be the night of school district elementary show reception. Even though, an evening of children is the last thing I wanted, I decided to drop by the show. I watched one of my fifth graders stand proudly by her art. Her mom thanked me and took a photo. Then a kindergarten girl came and her grandmother could not be more proud that her baby got best of show. A lot of people stopped by the Park View panel and exclaimed over our art. It was a great way to end a tough week.

Even if it is crazy, I will probably try to bring some sort of hands on creative version of the Great Depression to my class. And with nineteen days left, it might be my last stab at an idea that works. After all, the Great Depression is a great example of strength, determination, and hard work. Maybe a little creative thinking is the ticket to a strong finish. Or maybe it will be a complete flop and I will call it the Great Disaster. If I have learned anything this year, it is that turning off my imagination and instinct for creating is impossible.

My little skin lesion turned into a pretty big deal. I felt like I was in Silence of the Lambs, watching my skin being carefully cut and lifted off my body. There was enough tissue to make a flesh bracelet. I didn’t say any of that to the surgeon. I wasn’t sure he’d appreciate my humor. It never fails; I think of the funniest stuff in the most inappropriate moments.

To be honest, the incision hurts like hell. I had a little pity party and wished that my mom would make me pancakes and bring them to me in bed. I told my son that he was going to have to be functional and help me. He gave me a terrified stare, like he’d never be able to pull off functional. But then he brought me breakfast and Harry Potter. He said, “reading about a boy wizard with a dark lord trying to kill him is bound to make you feel better. ”

I uncovered the wound by myself and followed the instructions for care. I really needed another hand for the tape, but I didn’t ask Shayne again. I have a quota of how many terrified looks I can take in a day. I am back in bed with my arm elevated on a pillow. Like a princess. When this heals, I’ll probably have a scar worthy of a story. I just wish it was a better story.

Mondays have been hell all year. My students go home for their three day weekend and return to school like it is a brand new experience. They have bags of chips they sneak into their desks. Today I threw away an entire bag of gummy bears that had fallen out of someone’s desk. One girl today brought a damn remote control car and actually took it out of her backpack to do what with, I have no idea. During our language arts lesson, another girl interrupted my reading to ask me what I did for Easter. I almost cried. She hasn’t been to school in over a week; she reads like a first grader; and she isn’t even pretending to be engaged in what I am trying to teach. Then during math, some kid told me that he wasn’t doing math because x and y coordinates were college math. He said he might do his work for fries from McDonald’s. By the time the bell rang, I wondered if I had the stamina for the rest of the year.

When I got home, I noticed that my son had not done the yard work I had asked him to do. He was asleep on the couch and the garbage was still overflowing, plus he had opened the last can of La Croix. I asked him why he hadn’t done any of the chores. He said, “Chores?” And then he said that the voices were tormenting him. I didn’t even respond. I went for a bike ride.

When I got home from my ride I fell asleep and had a dream that McDonald’s was sponsoring a writing contest about first visits. I woke up all freaked out that I hadn’t preread tomorrow’s reading assignment and I am unprepared to make it engaging and then I started thinking about my dream and what if McDonald’s did really want stories about America’s memories of visiting the Golden Arches for the first time. That would kind of be fun.

More than going to McDonald’s my first time, what I remember is when McDonald’s was built in my hometown. There was a little Mexican restaurant in the spot that was torn down to make the parking lot for McD’s. My dad liked Maria’s and was irritated that a good restaurant was disappearing for a hamburger joint. When McDonald’s finally opened, the line stretched out the door and down the sidewalk for more than a week. My family didn’t join the crowds, but everyone at school was talking about going to McDonald’s. Kids at school were wearing plastic green “watches” with Ronald McDonald’s face. The face popped open to reveal a compartment. My friend put her pencil sharpener in hers. I never wanted anything more.

When my mom finally did take us to McDonald’s, the lobby was still packed with people. My brother and I sat in the main dining room on a little table under a big plastic tree with a face and fake apple pies hanging from the leaves. There was big mural on the wall with 3d figures of the French Fry guys, and the Hamburgler, Grimace, and Ronald McDonald. I remember wanting to touch the characters on the wall. But I sat at the kid’s table, waiting for my mom to ease through the crowd and bring my 35 cent cheeseburger. I was completely enchanted.

I wasted a lot of time tonight thinking about how McDonald’s was always kind of backdrop of my life, even if the food was always something I could take or leave. My sixth grade teacher gave out coupons for fries and drinks for reading goals. I’d hang out there in high school with my friends after dances. My friend, Mary Ann and I spent an entire summer collecting the 4×4 vehicles in the Happy Meals and doing our chemistry homework in our junior year. My kids played in Playplaces while I worked on my master degree work and McDonald’s was always a go to pit stop on road trips because of clean, safe bathrooms. And even though, I haven’t had a hamburger there in decades, McDonals’s is definitely a hallmark in my life. I wonder if they still give coupons to teachers. Maybe my students really would work for fries? Huh. Maybe it is worth a try?