Four Tens and a One

The children and I have been doing lots of explorations with place value lately, grouping straws with rubber bands, snapping unifix cubes, and then today I threw out some dimes and pennies since we'll be starting money in a few weeks. I've had about all I can take of missing addends--three of them still can't get it in spite of my very best efforts and the help of their classmates--so the money was a welcome change. Funny how the children who struggle with literacy can sometimes pick right up on difficult math concepts. It was that way with missing addends. Alexis is class champ at filling in those missing numbers, yet has the lowest reading level.

I am having a good year. Really, I am. One of the best in a long time. But. . . Some of these children are flat out lazy. That's the only word for it. It is hard, as a teacher, to admit failure to motivate. Very hard. And yet I have failed with a handful this year. They are disorganized, irresponsible. J____ leaves his reading book at home two or three days a week, every week. When the district reading specialist leveled my class last week, he read a level below the minimum level for January. When I saw his score, I was so very irritated with him, I just let him have it. He reads a level above minimum for me, and it is because I absolutely make him do it. He knows when he reads to me he'd better darn sure use every strategy I've taught him because he knows I know he can do it. But the reading specialist said he'd come to an unknown word and just look at her to supply it. After she'd told him a word or two, he thought he'd found a free ride, and he just let her pretty much tell him everything rather than analyze for structure or attend to meaning. So I've doubled up on his reading time this week, and he has such poor habits because he flat out doesn't care. This afternoon, while the children were having snacks, I called him back to the computer to watch me type a letter to his dad about a home reading plan I want them to follow. Then I took him to the book boxes and let him choose two level 12 books to take home in addition to an anthology he's been working on. I put the letter in his folder, and told him to pack his books in his backpack. About 10 minutes later, when I lined them up for the buses, I happened to glance over at his table and I'll be dadgum if those books, all three of them, weren't sitting there in the basket where he'd put them instead of packing them. I will not even say what I said to that child. I am just so very, very weary of being the only one who cares. I need more than a little cooperation from him.

Lizzie was invited to another sorority party today. What am I going to do about this? I thought those were all over, but I see that I was wrong. Friday afternoon, no less. Why in heaven's name don't those mothers want to go home on a Friday afternoon? Why would they choose to do Valentine's Day arts and crafts?

I don't feel at all well. Around noon today, I started getting a really bad headache and it hasn't let up. I think I'm running fever, too. I stopped by the grocery store to buy food, and I didn't even enjoy the produce section, which is usually one of life's greatest pleasures for me. Especially since the produce manager showed me how to open those plastic produce bags. I'm pretty sure I wrote about that here; I recently sat down and did some calculations and found that I'd spent about nine and a half years of my life fighting with those produce bags whereas now, thanks to the produce manager, I simply wet my fingertips on some fruit and those bags open right up for me. I did find some gorgeous pears today, and some nice hearts of Romaine. I bought a bag of shredded cabbage, too, because I've started eating a handful of it on my daily lunch salad. Now that I'm almost four tens and a one, and especially since the cancer scare, I am trying to get nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day. It takes some creativity, let me tell you.

I've been thinking a lot about communication lately. And also miscommunication. You just never know how someone is going to take what you say. Only God, and others who love you, see the intent of the heart. I think sometimes people just decide not to look on the heart. They make the conscious decision to see and hear the worst. That's what I think.

Now if I could talk about hairdressers for a minute or two. Talk about miscommunication. Why do hairdressers never hear what you say? If you say "just a little trim" you could walk out of there not recognizing yourself. I went last week to my hairdresser, and I do love Danita, and told her to take a little more than usual off the length. About an inch and a half. THE LENGTH, I said. THE LENGTH. So why'd she take off an inch and a half all over? I'm putting a photo here, taken today by one of my students, and you can see that the top layers are pretty short. That makes it hard to deal with. I like the layers to be long, because short hair is too high maintenance. When you're four tens and a one (almost) you don't need high maintenance hair.

I am almost finished with a tape series by Luke Johnson on the letters of Paul. Good stuff. I especially like the part about the faith of Jesus.