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     I have never been so tired in my life.  I just thought I was tired during all the preparation before school started.  The first week of school sort of freaked me out, but we got settled as we all got to know each other.  Then the personalities started coming out.  And the reading curriculum kicked in.  And I had to generate my own lesson plans that are more specific than anything I have ever had to produce before.  And my Pre-K resource teacher (aka Supervisor) starting dropping in for "observation."  I have started getting to school a half-hour earlier to set up my books and CDs and other lesson resources because as soon as I pick the little darlings up from breakfast I am on task until they are down for nap.  I don't stop talking, walking, snapping, physically and verbally redirecting, high-fiving, smiling, frowning, playing, counting, writing, saying yes, saying no, saying no again, hugging, saying stop, pointing, opening milk cartons, yelling stop, opening juice cartons, screaming stop and silently asking God to deliver me for six and a half hours straight.  And other than Circle Time and Story Time I do not sit down.  You should see my ankles and knees.  They are retaining more water than Lake Okeechobee.

    I will acknowledge right now that I realize I should not be complaining.  Millions of people work harder than I do for more hours per day for less money.  But this is my blog and I reserve the right to whine as I work through my paradigm shift in the midst of physical and mental exhaustion.  I also realize that these are four-year-olds and I should not expect them to have "gotten it" in six short weeks.  

     My tireless cheerleaders and generous donors have kept me going and added new dimensions for Center Time.  This week a friend donated a couple of Bratz styling heads for the girls to do in lieu of the ever-popular Dramatic Play center.  I expected Asly and Alia to be all over them so I was surprised when cousins Jamarion and Aaron laid claim to them.  Those boys did some hair!

     The girls simply cannot be distracted from the fancy dresses and babies.  They are such a hoot!  I allow boys in the kitchen and baby area frequently and my little girls now give them the devil about how babies do not go in the refrigerator!  They drive me up a wall at times, but when they get all dressed up and are clearly having a ball it is hard to get upset with them.

     This is what makes me crazy.  The boys.  There are fourteen of them.  And they all seem to think the Circle Time rug is a football field.  I know.  It doesn't look like a circle so why should they have Circle Time on a square?  It does look more like a football field.  Or even a wrestling ring.  I cannot help that....this is the rug They sent to me.  We have to sit in our square (or quadrado if you please) and participate in direct reading instruction for ten minutes before we do something else.  It's a Rule.  I make it as pleasant as possible.

    This morning my supervisor came in to do some individual student testing.  She was able to observe the rest of the activities going on while doing so...she is an incredibly organized and professional woman who Does Not Play.  I proceeded through the morning and lunchtime as always and then to the playground where she followed the class to observe some more.  I was sweating bullets by then.  She went with us through the hallway for potty time and then back to class for toothbrush time and nap time.  (We have lots of times in our short daily schedule.)  She then helped with a couple of my more stubborn fellows as they could not seem to settle down and nap, finally putting one in my office and one in the storage room, standing between both areas and watching like the hawk checking out our chickens.  While standing there she told me that I have a very bright and challenging group.  She praised what I have been doing so far and offered really helpful suggestions for changes I can make to ease some of the stress.

     I have not ever been trained to teach primary students nor did I get to intern or even observe before I was given a class and a set of expectations.  I have a curriculum, a lesson plan template, a classroom full of manipulatives and centers, a stack of assessments and twenty kids who need to learn how to function in and as a group.  I have three pages of items my principal will need to check off when I get my Big Fat Annual Evaluation.  (They ought to rename that assessment tool "Reasons We Should Continue to Pay This Person.")  And I have a whole book of things my Pre-K supervisor will be looking for in me and my classroom as well as my students each month.  Each month. Yikes.  Is it any wonder I feel stressed and am doing homework every night so I can teach four-year-olds?

     Anyway, it felt good to receive positive feedback after several weeks of feeling like I am not getting anywhere.  I am someone who appreciates criticism when it is constructive.  I listened to everything the lady said to me today and it was all positive. She applauded my efforts and the hard work of my paraprofessional, who, by the way, is a gift from God and a testament to good up-bringing.  She works her fanny off.  Tomorrow we will implement some of the things we learned and observed today and expect positive change.  But tonight I am going to do my homework and hit the hay early.  La maestra es pooped!

Major on Trial

     It all started over a sack full of squirrels.  That is all I knew about why my grandfather was tried and convicted of murder.  My mother recently presented to me an envelope containing all of my grandmother's notes and clippings about the matter.  I have glanced at the headlines and stashed the whole file away for a time when I am rested and have time to dive in head first with no regard for curriculum mapping or lesson planning or formal assessments.  Lately, my leisure reading materials have been replaced by instructional strategy guides and assessment manuals as I settle in to my new teaching position.  Major's story deserves all my attention so that when I retell it I get it right.

     In the meanwhile, I have been thinking about the many facets of my Grandpa Major.  I remember his chuckle.  I don't remember what he chuckled at, but he sure did get a kick out of a lot of things.  This made Grandma Margaret mad most of the time...maybe that is what he thought was funny.  I love this photo of them because they are both smiling at the same time.  Major was a happy man.  One who never met a stranger and could always find something for a stray animal to eat.  One of the two times I ever saw him cry was when one of his baby chicks had an unfortunate encounter with an electric fan.  He loved to observe animals.  I remember being about seven years old when he had a couple of opossums in a trashcan in the garage.  He had attached a broom handle across the top of the can and when I saw them the critters were hanging from it by their tails.

      Grandpa hunted, but not really for sport.  I have heard the tales of the alligator and black bear kills, but those were nuisance animals that had to be exterminated.  Major wasn't one for hanging heads on a wall.  I first saw this bear picture when I was in college and I was surprised because I knew how much he loved animals.  He had been hunting in Smith Creek that day in 1962 with Mr. Wise, of the Wise potato chip company.  I detect a bit of pride in his handsome face, so the exterminator story may prove to be bogus.

     This is my grandpa with a hired hand back in 1948.  They killed this gator down in Smith Creek.  My mother actually remembers when this photo was taken even though she was only three years old.  She said that Major wanted her to get in the picture, too, but she was terrified of the massive lizard.  There didn't seem to be a shortage of guns or big scary critters in Smith Creek so it is no wonder my mother grew to be such a stoic, unshakable woman.

     Here is my uncle Pat with grandpa and that gator.  (My mama was on that truck in the background.) Pat was five years old and had his own little gun.  And would you check out the ax in that lizard's mouth.  They didn't have child-proof latches back then.  The kids were taught that stupid hurts and that you don't go around bothering things that don't belong to you.  My grandparents were strict and taught responsibility and so their children learned to respect authority... and rifles.  My own son's BB gun is on the top shelf in my closet...I am not half the teacher Major was.

     While Grandpa Major was quite the sportsman, he had a creative side as well.  My grandmother was a seamstress, and I am not sure if he had a genuine interest in sewing or if he wanted to show Margaret up, but he made a beautiful dress for my mother.  It was blue velvet with an ivory satin collar.  He also made a white wool cape for my mom and this photo shows her wearing it with the dress in 1950.
     In addition to occasional tailoring, Major was a barber, a ship builder and a security guard for several government agencies in his latter years.  He knew everyone and was related to the rest.  I am looking forward to a weekend not too far down the road in which I can settle into the details of his indictment and trials.  Life in Smith Creek was hard, the people were poor and there was lots of shooting and killing of the local wildlife.  But when I focus on all the things I remember about my grandpa, I find it hard to believe he could be a cold-blooded killer...especially over a few squirrels.