Tales From the School Yard: Chalk Spacescapes

I recently got a project funded on Donors Choose, and within a week, my new art materials were pouring in...including some chalk pastels, which arrived just in time for this week's lessons.

My middle school kids would never admit it, but they do rather like trying new things, and the chalks have been a hit this week (you know your lesson plan is a win when a 7th grade boy walks in and says, "This is cool!!"). Yesterday, I made them follow along with a couple of videos that showed them how to use chalks and do some cool blending techniques, but today, I let them loose with black construction paper and a few sample ideas I found on the internet.

They took it from there. : )

This one is mine. Not finished!

Blending

I'll take more pictures as they finish, and I have plans to hang them around the school for everyone to enjoy.

The Story(bot) of My Life

A couple of months ago, I was searching for songs about the body--specifically how the heart and lungs work--for my first graders, who were learning about the body in their unit of inquiry. I came across some really great videos by something called Storybots...and I haven't stopped watching them yet.

It turns out the Storybots have a huge arsenal of videos about a lot of subjects--a song for each letter of the alphabet, songs about transportation (which is what my first graders are learning about now), classic kids songs sung in robot voices. You'd think they'd be super-annoying, but...they're not. I love them just as much as my kids do.

And my kids el-oh-vee-ee LOVE them. In a big way.

Even the fourth and fifth graders.

Turns out the Storybots also have a series of hip-hop style songs about dinosaurs, and the solar system.

Amazing. 

I've found that not only are they fun and educational (the fifth graders are actually learning about the solar system right now, so they've seen the five solar system songs), they're also a great bargaining chip when the kids are getting silly during VAPA time. "Oh, hey," I'll say, "I was hoping we'd have a few minutes at the end to watch some Storybots, but we're wasting time."

Works every time.

Today, a colleague who was covering for a fourth grade teacher came in at the end of that class' VAPA time to find me collecting the paintings they had made while the kids sat, engrossed by "I'm So Hot" (the sun's song). I could hear chuckles coming from her. "This is adorable!!" she stage-whispered to me as I packed up my belongings.

"You have no idea!" I whispered back. "They have a song for everything!" And they really do--but what I love most is that they resonate across grade levels. My kinders can learn about emotions, while the fourth and fifth graders can rap along (and they already know most of the words) to the solar system and dinosaur songs. 

I'm growing rather fond of these sweet little robots. 

Tales From the School Yard -- Paper Airplanes

Friday was a rough day.

See, I love my job, and it's a really good place to be, but that doesn't mean there won't be days where I want to throw my hands in the air, scream, and run out of there. Friday happened to be one of those days. I'll live.

By the time we started our afternoon faculty meeting, I was ready to escape for my weekend...but meetings must be attended.

Fortunately, I work at a school where all meetings are started with Good Things (people share something good that is happening) and where fun activities are sometimes thrown into the mix to keep us awake and building relationships among ourselves.

On Friday, we threw paper airplanes.

Each of us made a simple airplane, and wrote two facts about ourselves on it. And then, 25 teachers ran around the room, throwing paper airplanes, picking them up off the ground, throwing again, for a bout five minutes. It was a circus, and all of us were laughing with pure exhilaration. Even teachers need to play, you know.

My facts were, as pictured:

1. I taught in England for a year in 2004-2005
2. I lost 90 pounds from February 2009 to September 2012.

The teacher who had my airplane guessed me on his first try--he knew I'd lived in England--but very few people knew the second fact. I got a lot of "Oh, wow!" and admiring head nods. 

But the best part was those few moments of uninhibited play time. We needed that, and I don't think we really knew that we did. I love working at a school that recognizes this, and recognizes our need for Good Things, and Affirmations. Teaching is hard work--the planning, the grading, the worrying, the wrangling. Rough days happen, and Friday morning was certainly rough for me.

It was good to get a chance to just play.

Affirmations

The week before I started my new job, I attended a three-day training called Capturing Kids' Hearts. The premise is simple:

"If you have a child's heart, you have his head."

I admit that at first I figured it would be three days of "Oh, God, do I really need this?!" But I was pleasantly surprised. The program, thoroughly adopted by my school district, is excellent. It calls for treating children like human beings.  A novel thought, eh?

Some of the pieces of the program that my school is very big on using are creating social contracts with students, so we all agree on how everyone--teacher, student, class visitors--behaves in the classroom. Another component is personally greeting each student at the door with a handshake.

But the best parts are the Good Things, and Affirmations.

We use this model in our staff meetings, so today, we started with Good Things--it can be as simple as "my daughter is coming to visit this weekend!" We clap for our colleague who shared, and we feel happy for them. It starts a meeting off on a friendly foot.

And we use affirmations every time someone presents in a meeting, because it's very true that everyone--young, old, in between--needs to be affirmed once in a while.

Today, our staff meeting centered around the elementary grades presenting their new Units of Inquiry (we are in International Baccalaureate candidate school, and the learning style of I.B. centers around the idea of inquiry and a world-view approach to learning) for the others. It's a great way to share what is going on in the school, to get ideas for improving each unit, and for affirming the hard work of all teachers.

Today, I asked my boss if I could share. It's not expected of me, because I am an electives teacher, but because what I do backs up the themes of the units of inquiry, I wanted to show my new colleagues that I am doing my best to support what they are teaching while still addressing the music standards.

It's funny--I can stand in front of a room full of middle school students and act like a clown with no problem whatsoever, but presenting a lesson I put time into to my colleagues was so nerve-wracking!

But I soldiered through. I showed everyone my 2nd Grade lesson for the week. They've been learning about maps in social studies--that's the central idea of their current unit--so I started by talking about maps a bit and asking them, "Did you know we can make maps for music?"

I played Kangaroo from Saint-Saens' "Carnival of the Animals" while showing them a listening map that some clever soul made and posted on the internet for me to shamelessly steal. Then I told them we would be travelling to the West Indies, and showed a video of steel drum music. We learned the song "Tingalayo," and used the Boomwhackers to play the associated chords for the song.

Everyone seemed to love it, but the best part were the following affirmations I received after:

1. "I like your world music approach. It's very I.B."

and

2. "Our kids get so excited when you walk in the room." This was accompanied by a lot of head nods and "Oh yes" and "Uh-huh" all over the room.

It felt great to be acknowledged as someone who is contributing to the education of these students, even though I only see most of them once a week. I was blushing as I gathered my laptop up and returned to my seat.

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you've probably noticed that I'm hugely passionate about what I do. I am a teacher. I am an artist. I feel blessed to have the opportunity to mix these two callings into a career, and after the last six years, believe me, I don't take this new opportunity for granted.

So I've jumped into this with all of my energy and all of the love I have for the arts, because that is the only way I know how to do this. To see it pay off, not only in the appreciation I received today from my colleagues, but in my students' excitement for their weekly VAPA session, is a humbling and beautiful feeling.

Boomwhacked

I've decided that someday, when I write my memoirs, I'm going to name the book Boomwhacked: The Story of a Music Teacher.

A couple of weeks ago, I ordered Boomwhackers for my teaching pleasure. They arrived last week, to much excitement and fanfare in the Bat Cave of the Cooper house (my parents were indifferent). I knew my kids would OMG LOVE these things.

See, Boomwhackers are meant to be whacked. They're almost indestructable (though they have to be "tuned" once in a while by being rolled back into a nice round shape). They are pitched...and they have solfege names on them. I've been teaching solfege of late. These Boomwhackers are pretty much perfect.

This week, I debuted them, with much secrecy and fanfare. I would enter each classroom with the canvas laundry bag I bought for hauling them around. It never fails. Someone always notices that bag, and immediately, young voices pop up. "What's in the bag?!"

"I don't know!" I reply with a smile. "We'll have to wait and see."

I like to draw out the suspense a little...okay, a lot. And when I finally show them what is in the bag...

"Do you think I brought my laundry to school?"

"Noooooo!!!"

"You're right. That would be silly."

...they're so excited, they can hardly stand it. It's safe to say--and please, pardon the pun--that the Boomwhackers are a huge hit.

Bonus: they're not hideously loud, either. They make a kind of dull, thunk sound.

So after the long list of expectations has been gone through--don't hit your head, someone else's head, don't put your mouth on them because eww germs, and please, no sword fighting, either--the Boomwhackers are handed out, and the barely-controled chaos ensues. I've managed to get third graders playing "Oh, Susanna" with decent accuracy this week, and other grade levels playing slightly easier tunes.

And my quest to become The Funnest Teacher In This School is progressing very nicely, indeed.

More Tales From the School Yard

My days fly by. I'm busy, I use my voice a lot (talking, singing, etc.), and I collapse in bed each night...and I'm so, so satisfied.

Here's some Tales From the School Yard.

Hominids

With my Monday-through-Thursday middle school VAPA class, I'm quite content to give them a project to work on, and not spend a lot of time talking at them. They don't want to listen to a lecture on art or music--they want to make something. We only have thirty-five minutes in the class period, so it's best for me to give quick instructions, show them where the supplies are, and let them loose.

I let them talk as they work. Middle school kids need that social interaction, and as long as the noise level is reasonable and they're talking about safe topics, I'm happy. Every once in a while, I hear snippets of what they're talking about...and often, those snippets make me laugh.

Take today, as I listened in on some 6th grade boys talking about...hominids. Hey! They know what a hominid is!

Then...

"Ms. Cooper, are you an ancient hominid?"

I chuckled softly to myself. "Yes."

"No she's not!! She's a modern hominid!"

"No, I'm ancient. Truly ancient."

The discussion went on without me, and quickly became a debate about whether humans and apes are related. There was one kid who seemed particularly adamant that we are not, in fact, apes.

"Ms. Cooper," he asked. "Do you believe we're related to apes?"

Well, yes, I do, but I'm not about to get into a religious debate with a student. I evaded the question deftly and quickly...and listened as the boys at that table continued the discussion. The second it started sounding like more "argument" than "debate," I piped in.

"Guys...why don't we discuss something else, that's not likely to make everyone argue and get angry? Like...how 'bout them Niners against Pittsburgh?"

Well, that got them off and running.


HUGS!!!!

One thing that's sweet and adorable about the elementary set is that when they love a teacher, they really LOVE that teacher. I joke that I feel like Ms. America walking through the school--waving, smiling, responding to the greetings of children as I pass through. There are times I walk down a hallway with a ukulele strapped to my back, a laptop under one arm, and a hand to my lips, reminding a squirming class that they're supposed to be quiet in the hallways as they go to lunch, not yelling, "HI MS. COOPER!!!" at the top of their lungs.

It's not uncommon to be navigating a crowded hallway at the end of the day, arms loaded, and get bombarded by two or three hugs in a row (if one kid does it, it's monkey-see-monkey-do for the next kid in line) that keep me from making forward progress. It makes me smile. I'm glad the kids are enjoying their classes with me.

That said, they really need to stop coming up behind me at my desk in the library, and hug-bombing me!


Bat Woman

As a feminist, I strive to present my students with a world view that promotes equality among all people, and tolerance for views other than their own. It's tricky with the young set. I'm unable to stand in front of a room full of middle school kids and say, "I'm a feminist!" Most don't really even know what feminism entails.

So I lead by example as much as possible.

Last week, a 6th grade boy commented that the girls in his class were better at drawing. "That's what they do. They don't do sports and stuff."

"Wait a minute!" I replied. "Ladies, how many of you play sports?"

Some hands went up, complete with those exasperated eye-rolls (directed at the boys) that are so perfected by preteens.

"See? Girls do sports. Hey, your VAPA teacher runs half marathons. Do you know how many miles that is?"

"Thirteen?"

"Point one. Thirteen-point-one. That point-one makes a difference."

"It's only..what, 150 meters?"

"Yeah, but when you get to mile 13, you are not done. You still have to run that extra 150 meters."

I got some nods and grudging preteen respect for that one. Then I looked at the boys and said, "Plus, I can dead lift one hundred pounds."

"YOU CAN?!"

"Yeah, what, did you think I'm not athletic? Humph." (I was totally playing up my indignation.)

I got a big high-five from one kid at this. And hopefully I showed the boys that girls can be just as athletic and awesome as they can.

Tales From the School Yard

It's only Wednesday, and Monday was a holiday. But yesterday was just weird, and today was pretty good.

Stolen

When I got to work yesterday, fresh off a three-day weekend, but also slightly worn-out from a developing fall cold, I unlocked the library and walked over to my desk, as I do every morning. There are four of us who have desks in the library, and of the four of us, I'm the early bird, morning-person-type. So it was me who first noticed something amiss.

Like the fact that all three drawers on my desk were open slightly.

Look, if you bother reading this blog, you know a few things about me--namely that I'm one of those neat-freak types who can't sleep if the closet door is even slightly open. I don't leave my desk drawers open when I leave for the weekend.

Still, it took a moment for the warning bells to go off in my head. I blame the cold meds.

But they did go off, and I did pull open that shallow desk drawer, where I had locked my school-issue laptop (the brand-new HP with touch screen, yes) over the weekend.

It was gone.

Damnit!

It turns out someone broke into the library through a faulty window, and took my laptop, and two others from another desk. The other teacher and I, as well as Mrs. Principal, all feel somewhat violated, that someone broke into our school, and took our stuff. I didn't have anything sensitive on that computer, but I did have a lot of lesson plans on it (yes, I backed them up, but STILL). And I use that computer in all lessons, so yesterday, I had to completely reconfigure my lesson plans at the very last minute. That really pissed me off.

Sacramento County Sheriff sent a CSI dude out to dust the two desks, but no usable prints were found. Of course, the room was full of middle school students when he came, so rumors started flying, and later I faced a barrage of questions. "DID YOUR COMPUTER GET STOLEN?" "Yes." "IS IT TRUE THEY TOOK ALL THE CHROMEBOOKS FROM ONE OF THE CARTS?!" "No. Don't spread that one." "ARE YOU IN TROUBLE?" "Sigh. Of course not."

High drama, indeed.


Matchmaker, Matchmaker

As if that start to my day wasn't odd enough, the kindergarten class I meet with on Tuesdays had a sub. He was a perfectly nice man, but a little odd, and a little bit prone to interrupting. Without my computer, and with my voice already tired from the cold, I opted to throw in a CD that goes with a book I bought last week and introduce my wee charges to Saint-Saens' wonderful "Carnival of the Animals."

Mr. Sub thought this was wonderful--I know, because he told me so, in the middle of the CD's reading of one of the poems.

Mr. Sub likes the song about the swan best--I know, because he made a point of telling me...and then complaining when I didn't play it because we were running out of time (and by now, I wanted to get out of there right at 9:15, not a second later).

Mr. Sub has a son that used to be in a famous locally-based rock band. I know, because he made a point of telling me while I was packing up my things to bolt.

Mr. Sub has another son, who needs a wife--I know, because Mr. Sub gave me a pointed look and said, "I'm trying to find him a wife."

"Oh!" I said in reply. "Well, thank you, kindergarten! You were GREAT listeners today! Bye-bye!!"


Connections

This morning, as I walked out to cross the street for another kindergarten class, I passed a school bus, where a gaggle of kids were unloading backpacks and lunch boxes from underneath the bus. The driver, a tall, white-haired man, was supervising, but as I walked by, he looked right at me and said, "Ms. Cooper, right?"

"Yes!" I looked harder. "Oh, my gosh! Elverta!!"

Turns out it was John, the former bus driver/custodian from my very first teaching job in Elverta. He recognized me! He drives my charges to school!

What makes this even more amazing is that one of the board of directors for my school district is the husband of my boss from that Elverta job. In my first year of teaching, I went to Italy with a bunch of colleagues, including Dianne (my boss) and Bruce (the board member).

Both the Elverta job and this one are K-8 jobs, too. Though damn, am I much better at it these days. Experience and such.


Symbols

Yesterday, one of my students in the 7th/8th grade daily VAPA class turned in a drawing with a Nazi flag on it.

Sigh.

As I told a friend later, I'm not entirely sure he understood how and why this is offensive. I vented to my duck ladies that I wasn't sure just what to say to this kid--and Maayan, dear Maayan, who is Jewish, replied, "I could say a few things."

I was initially at a loss as to what to do--go to an administrator? The homeroom teacher? Write up a violation slip? All of these seemed extreme; but I also couldn't let this pass. So today, I sat my VAPA class down and said, "I need to take care of some housekeeping..."

When I mentioned that someone--"I'm not naming names or pointing fingers"--had drawn the Nazi flag yesterday, a few giggles arose from the guilty party and his two buddies.

"I don't think this is funny."

The laughter stopped.

"Here's why it's not funny..."

I went into a brief but emphatic explanation of just why the Nazi flag, and the swastika symbol in general, are offensive to many people. I told them, "From here on out, any artwork turned in to me with these symbols will receive a zero." Inevitably, a hand went up...this is middle school, after all.

"But...wasn't the swastika originally a Buddhist symbol?"

"Yes, and possibly Native American as well. But what happened is that one group of people ruined that symbol by making it represent something really terrible, and millions of people were killed under it. That's an example of one group of people ruining something for the rest of us."

No arguments. The student just nodded his head.

I told them that last night, I spoke to my friend, who is Jewish, who can feel physically ill when she sees swastikas and Nazi symbols, because she knows people who were affected by the Holocaust. I told them, "She said she'd know exactly what to say to anyone who thinks drawing these symbols as a joke is funny, or okay."

You could hear a pin drop.

"Do you all see where I'm coming from?"

Everyone nodded and said, "Yes."

"Do you all agree that swastikas and Nazi flags have no place on our work in here?"

Same response.

Sometimes, I get it right.

Untitled

I was trying to come up with a clever title for this post, but everything came up sounding either really, really trite, or as though I was making light of the subject at hand, and I certainly am not. So, Untitled it is.

At my new school, I have a somewhat diverse group of students I'm working with. I'm in the unique position in that I teach almost every student in the school--and middle school students I don't teach right now, I will in coming trimesters as things rotate. It's a great place to be--I get to know a lot of students and learn about the various backgrounds they come from.

The largest population of my school is students from Russian and Ukrainian families, but we have a growing population of students from the surrounding area who are Fijian. We even have a Fijian paraeducator who teaches the language in the After School Program, which I think is wonderful.

Though it seems like most of the school is Eastern European in a big way, the other cultures blend in very well and for the most part, the school moves along in good harmony...as much harmony as you can get on a hot afternoon with a roomful of nine-year-olds who are so over the school day, that is. Let's face it, kids get cranky, and it really doesn't matter who's on the receiving end of the cranky attitude. They don't discriminate--at least not that I have witnessed.

But adults do.

Today, I went into a colleague's room to set up for her kids' music time. They were at recess, so the room was quiet, and my colleague--who I shall call Mrs. Tired--approached me as I rolled my cart up to the front of the room.

"I have to warn you..."

This never bodes well.

She told me about a boy in her class. "You haven't met him yet. He's been suspended six times already this year."

"Six times?!" This is only the fourth week of school.

"Yes. He's very difficult. He will push your buttons and find ways to make you angry."

Of course, at this point, I'm already feeling tired. You mean I have 45 minutes of this ahead of me? What's he going to do, throw recorders at people's heads? But then she added something else about him.

"He's African American, you know."

.
.
.

...So?

I didn't say it out loud. Maybe if I were bolder, more willing to rock the boat, I would have. I just raised my eyebrows and said, "Okay." That's the best I could do this time--a non-committal "okay" with a hint of, "Does it matter?" in my voice.

I've seen it before. Black students are more likely to be disciplined for stuff white kids get away with. Black students are more often suspended or expelled. Black students are looked upon as troublemakers and "difficult," when in reality, they're only doing what their white, Asian, Latino, and other counterparts are doing--being kids.

I took a deep breath, and told her, "Well, I've got this."

The students returned from recess while I had a very fast, very stern talking-to in my head: Do not let this teacher's views of this child affect you. You have not met this child. You have a blank slate with him.

He was the last to return from recess. He sauntered into the room, and looked straight at me. I imagine he was wondering, "Well, what can I expect from this one?" He couldn't be expecting good things. I decided to prove him wrong.

.

.

.

Here's what I found out:

1. This kid is wiggly.
2. This kid needs attention.
3. This kid is almost desperate to help out...to the point where he can go a little overboard.

Here's what I already knew:

1. All kids his age (nine years old) are wiggly. Hell, I'm wiggly.
2. All kids need attention.
3. All kids really want to help out...and often get to the point where they can go a little overboard.


The point is, I didn't have a problem with him. He had one or two moments where I had to gently remind him to sit down in his chair. Other kids in the class had to have recorders taken away because they wouldn't stop playing when I was talking. Not this boy. He was trying so hard to behave.

Does that mean he hasn't been difficult with his teacher? Of course not. I'm sure they've gone round and round. But I wonder if maybe, she doesn't react in a way that makes him react, causing a chain of negative reactions that snowball until the kid is throwing crayons and getting suspended. I'm not in that classroom--except for the 45 minutes each week I visit to wreak havoc with silly songs and shrill recorders--but I saw behaviors from other kids in that room that were far more annoying than anything I witnessed from him.

There was no special treatment. He was reminded a time or two to stay focused on the lesson, rather than getting silly. But I also allowed him to help me collect the recorders at the end of class, and he bustled around the room with the box, neatly gathering instruments from his classmates and carefully putting them away.

I just wonder. A lot.

I don't write this post to pat myself on the back or glorify myself as a teacher. Far from it. I was just so bothered by his teacher's "He's African American, you know?" so much because well, no. I didn't know until you told me. If you hadn't told me, I would never have known he was a "problem child." Thank God I handed him a blank slate when he walked in...or my time there today might have been really miserable.

We must stop doing this. We must stop assuming that the black child is up to no good--or the black adult. The prejudices we hold against others--not just African Americans but Latinos, Asians, and everyone else--are based on untruth, and they are dangerous to a whole segment of the population.

Swimming Along

Twice this week, my new boss has told me, "We are so excited to have you here."

The first time was on Wednesday, as I wheeled my cart (I've been loosely calling it Meg's Mobile Music in my head) across the street to the church where our kindergarten classes have been meeting. The whole school is in the middle of some growing pains, and the addition of several portables in January will be welcome for everyone, including Yours Truly, who will have a sparkling, beautiful portable all to herself.

But for now, I wheel my noisy cart, which on Wednesday had a tambourine clattering loudly, and I grinned sheepishly at Mrs. Principal as I approached. "I'm the noisy teacher!" I said, as she smiled back at me.

We got chatting for a few minutes, as parents dropped the tiny kinders off for their second week of school. I told her how on Monday, I got my first random student hug, and how it reminded me just how much I love this age group. Of course, I loved my high school students, too--and I was extremely fortunate to have some truly marvelous kids--but there is nothing quite like having a small kid hug you as you wheel your cart down the hallway. It's not terribly convenient, of course, to be hugged mid-walk, but it's sweet. I'm only two weeks in, and the kids love the music teacher.

Yesterday, as I finalized a few details with Mrs. Principal before meeting my Friday Band class for the first time, she mentioned again how excited she is. The day before, she had been in a principal meeting for the district, and a couple of other principals were lamenting that they haven't had any luck finding music teachers. "I sat there thinking, 'Oooh, I'm so lucky!! I've got a great one!' and then I felt bad, because I couldn't share it!"

It feels good to get the praise so early, and I do, indeed, like the school so far. I like what I'm doing--it's a great mix of grade levels, and I've got enough variety in the lesson planning between grade levels that I'll really only do each lesson 2-3 times. Some grade levels have two classes, some have three.

I also have a lot of freedom in my planning, because I'm incorporating the themes the classroom teachers are using. Fourth grade is learning about sound waves, so I've had my head together with the teachers to find ways I can supplement what they're doing during my time with the kids. We're talking about having them build simple instruments, and for an art component, I'm going to have them draw sound waves.

The third grade is talking about California Native Americans, so I will have them listen to some sample songs that I bought on Amazon, and we will look at pictures of rock paintings by the Chumash tribe, and discuss what the symbols meant. Each student will get a coloring page (hilariously, there exists a coloring page of a rock) and they will be encouraged to draw some of the symbols that have meaning to them on their rock.

This is just a sample of what I'm doing. I find that my forty-five minute VAPA periods fly by, and I rarely sit (except, this week, to read "The Remarkable Farkle McBride" to my younger classes--an old favorite of mine, by the brilliant John Lithgow). My prep period flies by, too, as I sit at my desk in the library working on the brand-new (touch screen!!) laptop I was issued this week, listening to Pandora through my earbuds, pausing it occasionally to listen to a sample of a children's song on YouTube or Songs For Teaching.

Of course, these busy days have me exhausted each night, but there's nothing wrong with that. I'm still getting my workouts in, and I'm satisfied by what I do. I'm truly lucky to be able to make a living doing something I love.

Haiku

Job is going well
The kids are adorable
I am exhausted.

Full

As I set out for a walk this morning, something amazing occurred to me:

I have a full-time job.

Oh, of course, I realized this weeks ago, when the position was offered and accepted. The papers were signed, and it was all laid out there--full-time salary, full-time benefits coverage. I bragged to my friend Matt yesterday that I'll be paying a whopping $35 per month out-of-pocket to have full vision, dental and medical coverage.

So yeah, I've been aware of the fact that I have a full-time job now. But today, it actually sunk in, to the point where I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes as I think back over the last five years and everything I have lived through, learned from, and survived.

When I lost my job in Stockton, at the end of the 2009-2010 school year, I knew I was in for a very uncertain roller coaster ride. The economy was terrible, music education job postings were few and far between, and though I have other credentials, the hiring pool was flooded with people with far more experience than I had, looking for those same jobs. I dutifully signed up for unemployment benefits, hoping I'd only need them for a month or two.

Instead, I needed them for two full years.

It's hard, when you have as much pride as I do--and I have considerable amounts of it, to be sure--to tell people, "Oh, well, I'm currently unemployed." People don't know how to respond, so I was always quick to reassure them that I'm not a total loser. "Oh, you know, I'm a music teacher in a bad economy." I'd get a relieved look and a big nod of the head. "Of course. That's totally acceptable. You're not a bum." They never said that, but that's what I got from the responses.

The first year, I stayed in my apartment in Stockton, despite an offer to move in with my parents. In retrospect, I'm glad I had that year of surviving on $1,800 a month. I learned about budgeting in a big way. I gave up shopping for fun stuff, eating out, pretty much everything. A dirt-cheap gym membership ($29 per year) and some help from my parents (the occasional $200 check so I could buy new running shoes, help with paying for service on my car) kept me afloat, and kept my workout routine alive.

In 2011, I started the spring-and-summer job application game all over again. Again, it yielded nothing. I was tired of only surviving, so I moved in with Mom and Dad again. At this point, it wasn't a blow to my pride. I needed to use my money for other things besides $1,000 a month in rent. Without massive expenses every month, I learned to save. If unemployment taught me anything, it's how to refrain from wasting my money on stuff I don't really need or want. I'm not entirely frugal, really, but I've gotten very good at really examining that cute blouse and thinking, "Eh...I'm not in love with it," while hanging it back on the rack.

When I was hired to teach a three-week summer program in 2012, I cried. I sat here at my desk, staring at the email offer, and sobbed over a three-week job offer, because it was the first employment offer I had received in over four years, since I took the Stockton job I would eventually lose. After two years of hopeless searching, someone thought I was a good bet. That job led to my job at Brookfield, a 20% position (one day a week) that yielded me $800 a month. I picked up a ton of private music students at Fusion Elite. Then Granite Bay happened, and suddenly, I was making even more money. I worked my ass off to make that work for me--and it did, for a while. Then it didn't. Faced with more uncertainty this spring and into the summer, I started applying for every job I could find on Ed-Join.

The difference between this time and 2010 is that the economy has recovered. The arts are coming back. No Child Left Behind is left behind (thank God) and the M in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics) has shifted itself over a bit to become STEAM...with an A for Arts. I applied for a ton of jobs. I got a lot of interviews.

It was disheartening at first, not getting job offers, but I know enough about the education game to know that often, there's already a desired candidate, but interviews are given out to keep things "fair" and legal. It's not personal. I may even be really liked by the interview panel. That doesn't mean the job is mine.

But then...it was mine. My new boss is excited to have me, and to start the very first arts program at the school. And here I am, just under two weeks from starting at a new school, but this time, as a full-time member of the staff. I'm sitting here, almost crying, because once again, this ship did not sink. It hobbled on, it got itself fixed, and here I am. Oh, and I run half marathons, too.

So there, world. Knock me down, I'll just get up.

I've mentioned before that I'm staying with Mom and Dad for another year--it makes a lot of sense to me to continue saving money, and to explore the idea of buying next year instead of renting. I'm going to keep training with Matt--one, to help me readjust to working out at the end of the work day, rather than before, but also because I like working out with Matt (he's fun!) and I can afford it again. Should Rosie Pro need replacing, I'm in a position to get a decent car loan and make monthly car payments.

Of course, I'm going to work my hiney off to do well at my job, and I will not take it for granted. If unemployment taught me mad budgeting skills, it also taught me that my chosen career field is not always the easiest to navigate. But damn, I do love it. I'm good at it.

And once again, I'm full-time.

ACK!!!

It's a good ACK!!! Well, at least it's not a life-is-terrible ACK!!!

So, last week, I set up my test date for the personal trainer certification exam. I decided on Tuesday, July 28. Tonight, one week out, I Googled, "How hard is the NASM CPT test?" The top post in response was a blog entry by a woman who took over four hundred (four hundred!!!!) note cards worth of notes, and the test was still pretty daunting for her. I have...far fewer than that.

Look, everyone is different, and one person's obsessive note-taking is another person's absorbing and reciting to themselves over and over again. I'm not entirely sure that endless note cards would help me, as I'd just have to flip through them all to find what I'm looking for, which would frustrate me and up the stress level.

What I've been trying to do is take the information I'm learning and apply it to real situations so that I can truly remember it. For example, in trying to memorize the muscles of the lower leg and their primary functions last night, I would say, "Anterior Tibialis," while pointing to my very own Anterior Tibialis (it's a muscle on the anterior--front--of the tibia bone). "Function: dorsiflexion of the foot," said while lifting my toes off the floor and bringing my foot into a dorsiflexed position. A note card won't necessarily help me memorize the information, but speaking it and moving it will.

(I'm such a musical type. Look me, all kinesthetic and stuff.)

Still...it suddenly occurred to me that I have one week to really get on board with this exam prep, and a sudden panic took hold. I quickly reset my test date for next Friday (those extra few days give me huge piece of mind) and now I'm setting out to really plan my studying out to optimize my time...because, you see, taking this test isn't the only Big Thing I have right now.

Yesterday, my new boss called. Mrs. Principal must have really liked my interview, because the day after, she had someone checking my references. She's excited to have me on board, and I'm excited to be on board. Today, I met up with her at the school and got a look at what my teaching schedule will look like. My primary focus is middle school, but I will see each K-5 class once a week, as well. I will have some prep time in the day, and for the first few months, I'll be a travelin' music teacher...until my shiny new portable classroom is installed around December/January. Woohoo!! I'll be excited to move in.

But for now, I'm up to my eyeballs in thoughts and ideas for that--and school starts in a mere three weeks. It looks like I might be doing some instrumental instruction with the middle school students, which is hugely exciting.

Between trying to pass the CPT exam and getting ready for a new school year, my brain is on a slight overload right now. I know I can do it all, but of course, it's also easy to worry a little. What keeps me sane is having a plan, so the To Do List gets updated and just looking at it and crossing off all the little things makes me feel better.

So by the end of July, I'll be a Certified Personal Trainer and Music Teacher all in one petite, slightly-harried brunette package. Which means I need to wrap up this post and go point at various muscles on my body.

The Next Step

In very happy news, today I signed the paperwork for my first full-time job since I was laid off from Stockton Unified in 2010. It has been a long haul for music education and this music educator in particular.

I spent the summer of 2010 frantically applying for every music job, getting a few interviews, but quickly realizing that I was one of many out-of-work music teachers in a state where music education was being cut right and left. This led to two years of complete unemployment, a brief foray into the idea of selling insurance for a duck (not something that worked for me). I was thrilled beyond belief in 2012 to be hired to teach a summer program, where I used music to help a large group of exchange students from China improve their English.

Being hired somewhere led to getting hired elsewhere, and soon I was teaching one day a week at a tiny private school in Sacramento. This was great fun--adorable kids, lovely colleagues--but also not enough hours to live on (and the owners were a little shady). But fortunately, Granite Bay came along, and, of course, I've spent the last two years there. The first year I was on a 33% (of full time) contract; the second year, 50%. I did okay, because I'm living with Mom and Dad, but it wasn't enough to truly make a living. Still, I would have stayed and tried to grow it, but the choice, alas, was removed from me.

So here I am. I have been applying for jobs since March and interviewing since mid-May. The job-hunting process is not for the thin-skinned, and by Monday of this week, after a lot of "it was nice to meet you but we hired someone else," I was ready to book an appointment to get the word REJECT tattooed across my forehead.

Except that I knew one school--which I interviewed for last week--was in the process of checking my references, which is always a great sign. When I left the interview, I felt I'd come across as an asshole, actually, but I guess they liked something in me. The school is a K-8 charter school with an enrollment of 446 (according to last year's stats on the Department of Education web site). It has about 83% of kids on free or reduced lunch, and about 66% of the population is classified as English-Language Learners. The overwhelming majority of the ELL students have Russian as their home language. According to the data, last year there were three suspensions total, and no expulsions. I like those odds--it means that the school has high behavior standards in place, which are met.

Then again, my part in this will be easier. I've never met a classroom full of kindergartners that didn't want to come to music class.

I have already fielded one "congratulations even though I think charter schools are awful" comment on Facebook. Well, thank you for that...and believe me, I don't think this particular school is guilty of many of the bad sides to the charter school phenomenon (i.e. weeding out "non-desirable" learners). This school is publicly funded and held accountable for student learning, like any other school. It just so happens it has a little more freedom in how it teaches.

Most importantly, it has never had an arts program, but they really want one! The principal let me know they are eager to have one, and in a few months, a few portable classrooms will be arriving, and I will have use of one. It will be a room-to-room deal until then but I've done that before and I'm adaptable. Especially knowing I will have a room of my own to decorate and lots of space without student desks, so we can move around the room. I will also have full charge of building the curriculum, which is exciting to me. The position is VAPA (visual and performing arts), and I need to sit down with the principal to get the full scope of whether she wants me to incorporate some art projects into the music end of things. I will happily do so, as well as incorporating movement and dance, which goes hand-in-hand with music, and I wouldn't mind putting on a musical at some point, and, of course, a winter program and a spring program.

I'm excited for the possibilities. Teaching music means creative lesson planning, active lessons (my FitBit will love this!) and I know that working with the K-8 set is something I love.

Even better, I'll be back on a full-time salary, with the full-time benefits that go with that. I've already done the math and realized I will only pay $35 a month out-of-pocket for my health, vision and dental. I get to stay with Kaiser (pretty standard, most schools seem to offer Kaiser as an option). For now, I'm going to stay on at Mom and Dad's, for a few reasons. For one thing, I'm comfortable here and they don't mind having me, which takes away from the stress of finding a place to live and then moving into it in the two months before I start the new job. For another, I can continue to focus on socking money into my savings, which I've been doing on a part-time salary, and can do more of on a full salary. I'm also looking at the possibility of getting a new car. I love my RoPro, but she's 12 years old, nearing 160,000 miles, and I'm reluctant to take longer trips in here, which limits my adventures.

Besides, all that savings means that by the time I do move out, I can really look at buying a condo, instead of renting an apartment, and wouldn't that be ideal?

Possibilities. :)

All I have to do is take another step forward.

Validation

It helps, leaving Granite Bay, to know that while my boss wanted someone else in the job, my students and their families will miss me.

It doesn't change the situation, but it helps. 

Here's a sample of what people have said.

Mother of a senior, whose daughter has sung with Sacramento Children's Chorus:

Richard and I really enjoyed the choir-band concert last night...

I am really sorry to hear that you're not returning to GBHS.  You've really allowed Jacqueline to spread her wings and develop more of her talent.  It's been so good for  her!  Also, the Choir seems to have gotten bigger, and it's great to hear them doing A Capella pieces, and more innovative numbers rather than playing it safe. Loved the Beatles theme at the Guitar concert, and the medley last night.   Thank you for all your creativity, hard work and dedication.

...

Again, thank you so much for all you've done and let’s stay in touch.

Her daughter:

Dear Cooper,

You have been such a wonderful choir teacher. You have such a beautiful, kind spirit. Keep that, no matter what people say. I'll miss you so much in Davis next year. Thank you for everything.


From a father of a freshman, who was reluctant to join choir:

I'm sorry to hear you're moving on from GBHS

As Tate was reluctant at first about taking choir class.....Now that we fast forward to the end of the year I wanted to let you know that not only did Tate enjoy your class more then any other class he took this year....You personally made a huge difference in Tate and his integration as a new student into the school by developing friendships in your class.

You're a great teacher, you communicate extremely well with the parents and more importantly do a fantastic job with your students!

We wish you the best!

Random bits from the kids in a card they gave me:

You helped me like singing more. --Tom (he was SO reluctant to be in choir when he joined.)

Ms. Cooper, I will miss you so very much. Because of you, I love music even more. You are my first cohir teacher and you have inspired me to become a better musician. You are so kind and funny and I hope life will take you to more wonderful things. I will miss you so much. Thank you for everything. --Miracle

Hey Mrs. [sic] Cooper, I just wanted to say that I'm glad I had you as a teacher this year. Because of you, this was my favorite class this year. I'll miss you! --Maliha (a lovely girl, very quiet. I didn't realize she loved choir this much!)

In Summer

Ahh, Summer. That glorious time of year when people with teaching credentials take a deep breath, relax and...

Whoa. No. I'm so not built to sit in a hammock all day.

I look at this time of year as a time to keep working--just on other projects. My "day job" is at rest for now (though this year, of course, I'm looking for a new day job to replace being Choir Director at GBHS), so I have to have ways to occupy my time. For 2015, I have a list:

1. Up the intensity of my workouts. 
2. NOT showering at the gym--Hallelujah!!!
3. Start running again after about a month off. 
4. Reinstate some swimming into my life (IF I can get in the pool; those aqua aerobics ladies are territorial, and they're vicious).
5. Get a personal trainer certification.
6. Make more goodies for my Etsy shop. 

The certification will be the most work-intensive. I plan to start today, by going to the local library. I could, of course, study at home, but I find that there are too many distractions--the TV going in the living room, Millie wanting my attention, a refrigerator about 30 feet from my desk...so to the library I shall go, armed with my laptop, my brick of a text book, and earbuds. 

Of course, there will be some time for relaxing and fun. I have a stack of books that aren't going to read themselves, and some fun upcoming plans. Just in this month, I'm having tea with Summer in San Francisco, and later in the month, we're going to a Ben Folds concert in Santa Rosa, spending the night there, and visiting the Charles Schulz Museum the next day. 

There will be drinks with friends and hopefully a fun day out here and there with Meghan or Sarah. 

It's not imperative that I start training for my next half right away, but I want to get back into the longer runs again. They just feel good, and it's a nice way to spend a Sunday morning. 

(Who AM I these days?!?)

I have two job interviews next week, and the possibility for more is always there. Sometimes a school calls the day before and asks, "Can you come tomorrow?" It's not the most convenient thing, but I make it work. 

Summer will fly by--it always does. I'm confident that I will have something lined up by August. In the mean time, my "summer job" begins, and I'm eager to get started. 

Changes

It's hard to miss the tree right outside the choir room. In the fall, it makes that oh-so-gradual change from summer green to a brilliant, fiery red. This year, I documented its changes on Instagram, taking pics whenever I noticed any major changes.

.

I started to think of it as the Choir Room Tree. It could just as well be the Band Room Tree, but it's just a little bit closer to my door. And I know my friend and colleague Lynn is not Instagramming the tree like I am.

---

I've always rolled pretty well with change. How many times have I moved in my adult life, started over, had a new adventure? Elverta. England. Washington. Antioch. Stockton. Lincoln and the nearly four years I've been here.

Winter this year was pretty stressful--more so than I let on here, or on any of the social media I'm attached to. I was under evaluation from a new boss. Mr. Principal, the one who hired me, loved me, but he retired at the end of my first year at the Large Suburban High School, and a new principal took over, just in time for that crucial year which decides if I stay or if I go. Mrs. Principal was more particular, more terrifying, but we have had a good, congenial relationship. She suggested things I didn't necessarily agree with, but I changed my approach to show her I am open to trying new things. She appreciated it.

I rolled with it.

The Choir Room Tree got ready for winter. I enjoyed a crazy December, then returned in January to finish the evaluation cycle.

I thought this was it. I thought I'd found the place where I would stay, establish something good. I had already started digging, planting. I did establish something good. But it's not to be mine to see grow.

I found out at the end of February. The deadline for these things is March 15th. Mrs. Principal was so bloody nice about it, except for telling me I'm "not the right fit." She assured me I'm a good teacher. She wrote me a very good letter of recommendation. "Her students adore her." Damn right they do, and the feeling is mutual. How am I the wrong fit?

It's hard to feel like a good teacher. It's hard to feel good about anything when you've put so much heart, so much effort, into something only to be told you won't get to keep it.

I wanted to pull back, but that's easier said than done. My kids are fantastic, and they deserve the best of me, every day. So after a week of licking my wounds, I dusted off and started working my ass off again. I didn't tell them--I couldn't. My last three months with them wouldn't be covered by storm clouds. The more I realized this, the more fun I had. With the pressures of evaluation behind me, and the outcome decided, I could just relax and enjoy working with my kids.

Imagine that.

---

Spring came early. It usually does, around here.  I knew that even as I watched the Choir Room Tree change weekly, my own life would change, again.

It's easy to feel heartbroken. It's easy to wish. What's hard is to look at that tree and know it will continue to cycle through the seasons without me...as will the kids who walk in and out of that nearby choir room.

There will be new kids. I know that every time I make a new step in my life, it leads to something better. I've told my family and friends that perhaps losing this job, being made to leave the Large Suburban High School, is the kick in the ass I need to find something full-time. Let's face it, growing the job at this school to full-time wasn't going to happen soon. I need to take care of myself financially. Dad suggested I go full-time somewhere, stay on at home for a bit, and think about buying a new car. RoPro is 12 years old. It's nice to see possibilities, to make bigger plans.

But it doesn't make it easy to leave. Not this school. On my last teaching day in Antioch, I watched the clock click to release time. The bell rang. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Two very difficult, stressful years were finished, just like that. I won't feel that way here. Packing my personal belongings will be a tedious task. I hate the thought of leaving.

I took my kids to Anaheim, enjoying every minute because I won't be the person to take them next year. One evening, I crowded around a tiny table with a bunch of my girls, talking and laughing and munching on chicken and fries. I spilled ranch dressing on my lap and they all laughed at me as I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them. I sat there and thought, "I'm the right teacher for these kids!! Why can't I stay?!" At times, the unfairness of it all hit me full in the face. I won't deny feeling angry at Mrs. Principal. Of course I've been angry.

---

And so begins The Process. First it's necessary to check Ed-join daily. All the good teaching jobs are posted there, and it's easy to click-click-click-apply. Then came the interviews. Four in the first week--two on the same day. Offers of more. The rejections came, too.

I wear my interview clothes, sweat profusely, fidget a little. I feel like an absolute asshole, but somehow, I guess I come across as charming and articulate. I leave, thinking that the interview panel must be shaking their heads, thinking, "Who was that impostor?!" I suppose it's not that bad, but we are our own worst critics, right?

Emotions course through me every day. Hope that I'll get a job. Fear that I will end up substitute teaching. Sadness at seeing my friends tell me on Facebook that "my kids" are so lucky to have me. I know! Why do I have to leave them?! Anger. Frustration. Bittersweet joy at knowing my choir is going to have a great Spring Concert. Joy as I spend time with them in class, making great music, connecting with them. Rolling my eyes at them (and they at me). When you have a good rapport with your students, there's nothing like it.

Meanwhile, the tree has its summer leaves on.

---

Concert week was hell. Hell. I woke up with a cold on Sunday, and felt pretty rough most of the week. The kids knew, but I still couldn't talk about it without feeling like I'd burst into tears.

We gave a great concert. I had given them my favorite song, "Somewhere Only We Know," to close the set, and they nailed it. It's the kind of song that doesn't need conducting, so I wasn't on stage with them for this one, but rather down on the floor, just keeping time. As the last chord faded away, I put both hands to my heart and grinned up at them. I wanted to laugh from sheer pride, and weep for the heartbreak. I just smiled.

I hope they got the message.

When my choir president gave me flowers, she told the audience how much she and her peers love the variety of music I give them. How much fun choir has been. I know Mrs. Principal was in the audience, and I can't help but hope she squirmed in discomfort. "Not the right fit," my ass.

As the choir kids started dismantling the risers, and the band kids hauled chairs and stands out, my colleague, Lynn, and I crossed paths on the stage. She hugged me. "They sounded good," she said. A high compliment from Lynn. "Thank you," I replied...and in my head, "I know."

---

The choir room tree is at full summer leaf, shading the area in front of the room. It's not the only thing that has changed. My portion of the office is bare, stripped of my Keane posters and personal pictures. My large Snoopy doll has come home. All that remains are the Grizzly Pride posters and some mostly-empty bookcases, ready for someone else to fill.

On Facebook, my profile now lists me as the Former Choir Director at Granite Bay High School. I still don't know where I'm going to land--but the interviews are rolling in. In the meantime, I'm going to start studying for my personal trainer certification--maybe if I need to fall back on that, it will be an option for me. But I'm confident that something will happen for me in music education. I haven't put this much time, and heart, and effort, into what I do to just quit when the chips are down. I haven't found the lasting gig yet, but I will.

My parents were out of town for the concert, so I sent them a long, detailed email about it, and how proud I was. Dad's response, was simple: "Was happy to hear how well concert went. We are proud of you and feel the success of your choir is because of you."

Thank you, Dad.

Everyone who knows me knows just what I've put into the last two years. I promise that every time I talked about what I do, here on the blog, or on Facebook, it's never embellished. My enthusiasm and that of my kids was real. I've spent two years looking around that room, telling myself, "This is mine." That's why it's so baffling that this one didn't work out.

"My" tree is the one to the left in this picture.

---

I take a certain "in your face" pride at knowing that my two senior girls who are singing at graduation picked "Somewhere Only We Know" to audition with. Would they have chosen it if I hadn't taught it to the class? It's unlikely. Mrs. Principal was on the committee that chose the singers for graduation, and she did not know we were doing that song in class...until the concert last week. Perhaps it's childish--okay, it's very childish--but I rather hope she squirmed a little when choir performed it, thinking, "Oh...and two girls love this song and this teacher so much they want to sing this at graduation."

She probably didn't. But it gives me some small comfort to think she might have.

---

They gave me a pitch pipe.

On the day of our final, my kids made me open a gift they'd bought me in front of the whole class. After all the times I've dropped my old pitch pipe, and after it failed to produce an "F" for me at the Spring Concert, prompting a massive eye roll from me and a giggle from my formally-attired choir, they decided I really ought to have a new one. I'll never use it without thinking of them.

And so, I'm finished. My grades are submitted, and my keys are turned in. My personal effects have been removed to my storage unit.

Surprisingly, this week, I'm not quite as sad. I'm still a little angry, but I suppose I'm starting to sort out all of the emotions. I'm starting to see the possibilities.

Mostly, I'm just really ready for my summer vacation. Weeks stretch ahead with not much, and I'm looking forward to getting back to running after a few weeks off. Half Marathon Number Three is on the books for November. I'm getting excited to crack open NASM's Essentials of Personal Fitness Training. The summer fruits and veggies are coming out, and my friend Meghan is suggesting a day trip to Monterey. I have concert tickets for Ben Folds with Summer, and a trip to the Charles Schulz Museum planned.

Maybe this isn't so much a setback as it is an opportunity. I grew a lot at Granite Bay, and damn, did I enjoy it there. I'm not a big believer in God and fate--I don't think there's some outside force making me keep searching in life. Rather, I think this is a sucky situation brought on by a school administrator who wants her people in the jobs, and I can either curl up in a ball and let it defeat me, or shake my fist at the sky and say, "Nope. I'm not losing myself to this one." I choose the latter; that's just how I am.

---

Writing this blog post has taken a few months. I started with the tree because I had to write something (or not blog at all), and I just wasn't ready to make it all public. I've had an image to maintain in front of my kids--yes, they're still, and always, "my kids"--one of professionalism, grace, and dignity. They may suspect what is going on. In fact, I'm sure they do. There was no surprise; they've seen this happen before, with their previous choir teacher.

So I've typed a section here, a section there. I took a few more pictures of my tree. I've come to terms.

I find myself ready to click the "Publish" button, and yet, reluctant. My leaving is official--the papers are signed, everyone knows, and yet, it seems like posting it here makes it Real.

But I owe it to myself to publish this, because in the end, it's just one more Wild and Absolutely True Adventure of Meg. A really good one, with a bittersweet ending. With last week's concert, I feel like I'm going out on top.

And yet...I keep typing, instead of clicking that orange button.

So...here goes.

Twelve Hours at Disneyland

I posted a little ride recap on Saturday morning, but since then, I haven't had time to post anything about the rest of our tour weekend to Anaheim. I'll just say right now that I'm glad we went in later on Saturday; we had a leisurely morning to relax that way--well, I did. I woke up well before I had to, so while my students slept in, I had a cup of tea and played around on my laptop. It was glorious.

Saturday was entirely reserved for Disney fun. We left the hotel a little after 10:00, waded through parking traffic, and at one point, I heard a panicked voice from behind me.

"Ms. Cooper! Susie forgot her ticket!"

Sigh.

"Don't worry, we'll get her in the park!"

And we did. I had to buy her a $150 one-day park-hopper pass, but I can get reimbursed for that and the alternative was leaving her outside. Not gonna happen.

After that, we all scattered to the four winds. I went to California Adventure, so here's a ride recap from my morning there.

The Little Mermaid Undersea Adventure

This is a so-called "dark ride," which means it's mostly dark, and it's also slow-moving. You ride in a sea-shell buggy on a track through various animatronic scenes from The Little Mermaid, complete, of course, with the soundtrack of the best songs. It was really cute and well-done, much like It's a Small World except far more modern and a slightly less-annoying soundtrack.

Merry Medlies Swings

I love those huge carnival swing rides, which is what this one is. The wait was short (as is the ride), but I do love to soar like that. There's nothing particularly special about this ride compared to any other swing ride.

The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror

As a rule, I am not a fan of sudden drop rides, but I had been on this one before and know that it's not one big drop. Plus, the whole thing is done with great effect, and it's quite thrilling. The best part is when the "elevator" pauses and a huge window opens, affording riders a view of Disneyland that you just can't get anywhere else in either park.

Plus, our "porter" who helped us load into the ride was both creepy and hilarious--obviously having a great time with his job, crooking his finger at us to come aboard and making the teenage girls in front of me in line giggle like crazy. He took advantage of this by getting even more spooky/silly, and that's just what is so great about Disney cast members--they help make the experience even better.

This was actually my last ride. It started to rain for a while, so I mostly darted around from one dry spot to the next, trying to share tiny spaces with lots of other dampened strangers. I had a cup of hot chocolate. When the rain let up, I was over standing in long lines, and figured it was best if I find a show or two to watch.

This led me back to California Adventure, were first I attended a Frozen Sing-Along, complete with the main characters along for the fun. Next, I saw a production of Aladdin, which was wonderful, too.

At the end of Aladdin, I checked my phone and found a missed call and voice mail from about three minutes earlier. The area code was Anaheim, so I listened to the message. Sure enough, it was a cast member. I had a pair of twin boys along on this trip--they're both really great kids, but they're a wee bit on the young side of 14 and they need a little bit of extra care and reminding sometimes. Turns out, they had left their bag on the Disney train--with their cell phone in it--and then they had been separated from each other. Twin A was now upset, with no way to find or get a hold of his brother, and the cast member had seen him and offered her support. I called her back and said, "I'm in California Adventure, but I'm on my way!"

So I booked it--not running, but a fast power-walk--from Hollywoodland in California Adventure to the Mickey and Walt statue in Disneyland, weaving among people and strollers and gaggles of teenagers. When I got to the statue, I saw Twin A sitting forlornly, with the wonderful cast member, a lady named Julie, and a security cast member with him. I got the whole story, and asked them where we might look for a lost shopping bag and a lost twin brother. They suggested the train station on Main Street and the City Hall, as well. I thanked them profusely for them helping Twin A reach me, and for comforting him, and with huge smiles, they were off. So Twin A and I set off down Main Street to the train station, where, lo and behold, the bag had been returned with the phone. We went back to the statue then, as the boys had agreed to meet there if they got separated. After about 10 minutes, I said to Twin A, "You stay here, in case Twin B comes along. I have a hunch I should check City Hall."

So off I went again, actually preferring the power-walk over sitting and waiting. When I reached City Hall, I saw a familiar pair of shoes from the doorway. Sure enough, there was Twin B, red-eyed and sitting on a bench, with another cast member and the same security card who'd helped Twin A!

"Twin B! I'm so glad to see you. I know where Twin A is, and we found your bag and your phone." There were huge smiles from the two cast members, a lot of profuse thanking from me, and a very quiet, "Thank you for helping me find my brother..." from Twin B.

With that, we were off, back to the statue, where Twin A waited anxiously. I caught his eye and did a "Ta Da!!!" gesture.

These boys are funny, in that they're not particularly boisterous or prone to showing emotion. There were no loud greetings, no huge smiles. Twin B simply sat down next to Twin A and lowered his head to his brother's shoulder, while Twin A repeated his brothers words of a few minutes before: "Thank you for helping me find my brother..."

By now, we had about an hour til we had to meet everyone else, so I left them to have some more fun, and went off in search of a few final souvenirs, a treat, and dinner. While waiting to order, I felt a pair of hands land on my shoulders--it was a group of my girls, so I ended up cramming together with them at a table and eating dinner, talking about our adventures, updating them on the twins (I had sent out a group text asking them to be on the lookout for Twin B) and realizing just how much I enjoy these kids. They have their moments, but they really are just nice kids.

By the time we left, we were all dragging and exhausted. Everyone had a great time overall, however, and aside from the twins' mini-crisis, there weren't any problems.

Still, it's good to be home. : )

Diplomacy 101

I remember an in-class assignment in one of my earlier credential classes. It seemed silly at the time, to spend part of my evening making up "nice" ways to inform a parent that their kid needs to start using deodorant (yes, that was one of the prompts), but in retrospect, it was a fantastic way to introduce the whole idea of diplomacy in teaching. You can't just call a parent and say, "Your kid stinks, buy some deodorant." You're dealing with a human being who presumably adores his/her kid, and may not know that the child who smells fresh as they leave the house in the morning, by midday smells like a locker room. Tact, compassion and discretion are good traits to have.

My dad, a former Air Force Officer, has found himself in various positions of leadership over the years--not just in the Air Force, but when working at the State Department of Education, or as President of the Band Boosters when I was in high school. He has told me of times when someone has excitedly brought forth an idea in a meeting--an idea that was never going to work, for whatever reason. But Dad has learned that you never just shoot someone's idea down. The risk there is that you alienate that person, and they will no longer want to help your cause. Instead, you tell them their idea has validity, and open up a group discussion of the pros and cons. Pretty soon, it becomes obvious to everyone that the cons outweigh the pros, but one very important outcome has been achieved: you have made that person, and others, understand that their ideas are valued and welcomed, worthy of your time and consideration.

In my career, I've taken these lessons to heart, and always tried to approach students and parents alike with diplomacy and tact. Of course, every once in a while a student will suggest something in the spirit of being silly and I will grin and say, "That's...a big NO." We all laugh and move on. But when it comes to the important things--especially performance feedback--I believe in a trick I learned all those years ago in one of those many evening credential classes:

Compliment first, then give constructive feedback.

This is why you'll hear me tell my choir, "Good--we just hit all of those notes we've been struggling with. The harmonies are coming together and altos, you held your part against the sopranos without wavering. Now, what we need to work on is phrasing and expression. Here's what we need to do..."

There are, of course, times where things are just rough from the start, and the kids know it. So I stop them and we all just laugh and agree that this particular attempt was terrible, let's try it again. We discuss what made it not work--maybe people weren't ready or paying attention. Maybe I cued them wrong. Then we fix it.

All of this is a background to why I was upset yesterday when I took two of my girls to perform at a solo/small ensemble festival at Sac State. Each singer was judged by a single adjudicator, an older woman who rubbed me the wrong way from the moment my first singer stepped up on the stage.

This student had chosen "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Miserables as her song, and it was perfect for her particular voice. She's a mezzo soprano, so it showed off the strongest part of her range. The long phrases challenged her to work on support and breathing through her massive nerves. This particular student has a history of being afraid to take risks like this, and I was so proud of her for volunteering to do this, working so hard on her song, and following through. I was almost buzzing with excited nerves for her as she walked up on the stage and handed a copy of her music to the adjudicator.

And this woman immediately said, "I can't give you full marks--this is a pop song. Didn't you know that you don't sing pop music at festivals?" My student was flustered, so I chimed in from my seat in the audience. "She didn't. And neither did I. This one is on me." The judge looked my way and asked, "Well, didn't the festival information tell you that?"

"No. It didn't." I know my eyes challenged her to say more. Since when is a Broadway song inappropriate at a festival? She wisely shut up.

So poor M. She was already incredibly nervous, and this, before she even got a chance to open her mouth and sing. As I sat there fuming at the judge and worrying for my student, M. started her song, looking at her accompanist (a wonderful parent who volunteered to play for her). A few bars into the song, the judge snapped at her, "turn towards me."

M.'s performance certainly wasn't her best, and she knew it. But like a pro, she soldiered through it and kept her emotions in check throughout. Each singer had a mini-clinic with the adjudicator after singing, and this one started off in fine form by telling M. she needed to revisit all basic singing techniques.

Way to go, Judge Asshole. Tell a 17-year-old she has the wrong song, watch her nerves triple right before your eyes, and then refuse to take that into consideration while listening to her sing. Follow it all up with a nice heaping helping of "you don't really know how to sing" (I assure you, this young woman can sing, especially when she's not being treated like a puppy that peed on the carpet) and then end the session with a big smile and an attitude of "you're so welcome, little girl, I'm glad I could help you."

M. left the room in tears. Fortunately, she had a couple of friends with her, and the mother who accompanied her, and me, telling her that she did a great job, that we were proud of her. We all agreed that the judge was rude. Still, I felt so bad that she put herself out there, doing one of these festivals for the first time, only to have the judge be so awful to her.

I understand that this judge is completely unaware of who this young woman is, what her background is, or how she will take all of that criticism straight to heart, and see it as a reflection of herself, rather than of the judge. But I'm not inclined to excuse her--anyone who works with kids knows that each one is a human being who deserves to be treated with respect, dignity, and compassion. All people--young or adult--need to be treated with diplomacy and dignity.

What I saw yesterday was a respected area singing teacher treat both of my girls with a complete lack of both. She didn't seem to understand or care that the first thing that happens to many singers when they are nervous is a decline in breath control. It happens to me when I'm nervous singing for people. It's something we work through as singers, and we develop ways to get around it when singing in frightening situations.

I have a lot of respect for people who have been teaching singing longer than I have, but in this case, I left with none. I certainly didn't learn any new tricks from listening to her talk to my girls, and indeed, her time with them only served to reinforce my belief that tact goes a long way in teaching.

In Which the Teacher Learns

I started my teaching career believing I could change the world, and make it better, through giving the gift of music to kids. While I've had a few harsh lessons along the way, I still believe this, though I've learned that real life is not "Stand and Deliver" and I am not a perfect teacher.

I'd love to think that my mere presence in a troubled child's life can bring good things, but I've learned over the years that I have to fight to influence kids--they're human beings like anyone else and they have minds of their own; those minds are often shaped by outside forces long before I arrive on the scene, and no amount of "but I think you're wonderful" can truly quiet the demons in their heads who tell them they're worthless.

Still, I keep soldiering forward. I do it for the kids who don't really need me, but who just enjoy singing. I do it for the kids who might only get one smile directed their way in the day--from me. I maintain my patience, I fake massive amounts of energy when I'm at my most exhausted, and I truly, absolutely, love what I do.

That doesn't mean my job is easy.

Yesterday was one of those days that called on all of the inner coping skills I can muster; there is no on-the-job-stress quite like seeing a student you care about in major distress. I can't/won't go into major details here. I value the privacy of all students, so while I'll share the funny moments and the anecdotes on this blog, I won't share everything.

But suffice to say that yesterday, I took actions on behalf of two students--one known to me, the other unknown--to ensure their safety. The result of this was for my student, one I've known for a year-and-a-half now, go through a terrifying situation she's seen before: sobbing, pleading, and handcuffed to protect her from herself. Yes, handcuffed.

I wanted to hug her. I wanted to cry. What I did do was sit on the floor next to her, a hand on her shoe, trying to talk to her calmly. At one point, I reached up to pull a lock of hair back that had gotten stuck to her mouth as she cried inconsolably. Mostly, however, I just sat there, not knowing what to do...because I'm human. I'm not a teacher in a movie. And real life is ugly sometimes.

It's ugly far too often for some kids.

Somehow, I manage to maintain some hope and optimism in the face of some of the things I have seen in this career...career? Let's call it what it is: a calling. A calling I've never been able to ignore, not through two years of total unemployment and all the career changes I considered. Everything led me straight back to teaching, and perhaps the simple fact that I am a human being, complete with flaws and compassion and hope and sometimes no idea what to do next...perhaps that is just what makes me good at what I do.

I've gotten very good at compartmentalizing, so the stresses of yesterday are tucked neatly in their box, and I'm able to relax and enjoy my weekend. I have no idea what Monday will bring, but I hope things will be looking up for my student.

And the Winner Is...

I didn't watch the Grammys this year, but of course, it was hard to escape the brouhaha that erupted on Monday morning, as the internet argued over Kanye West's remarks following the show. If you've been trapped under a rock since the weekend, Beck won Album of the Year over the likes of Beyonce and Sam Smith. Kanye accused the Grammy voters of "disrespecting artistry" and maintained that Beck ought to hand the Grammy over to Beyonce.

My Facebook and Twitter feeds have been pretty interesting; on the one hand, I have a lot of musically-inclined friends (being a musician for thirty years will do that) who basically wanted to tell Kanye to sit down, shut up, and let Beck have his moment. After all, if you're going by "artistry," it's fair to point out that any given song on Beck's "Morning Phase" had one writer--Beck--while any given song on Beyonce's self-titled album had several writers. Beck plays several instruments, Beyonce none. The arguments go on and on.

On the other hand, I have friends who are not musicians, but who are music fans and very involved in the feminist blogging scene, and they point out that to recognize an album that wasn't Beck's absolute best album in his long list of albums over Beyonce's strongest album to date is clearly misogyny and perhaps even racist. Look, they have been writing...we reward the white guy for putting out his not-best album over the woman putting out her best album.

I don't necessarily see it that way. The musical side of me sees it as, "Well, Beck's sixth-best album is still a better work of art than Beyonce's best-ever." I believe that's how most of the Grammy voters must have voted (or, as pointed out in this article, which I read to my choir today, it could be that Beck's album resonated more with a crowd of aging voters who grew up listening to Bob Dylan). And obviously, this opinion is entirely objective. Keep in mind that I've been drinking the "this is what good music sounds like" Kool-Aid since I was seven years old, and before that, I was raised by parents who listened to the likes of Peter, Paul & Mary, John Denver, John Stewart, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Dolly Parton...the list goes on and on. Note that none of these artists sound a thing like Beyonce.

I make no secret of the fact that my attitude towards most popular music these days is to tolerate it at best, openly loathe it at worst. For every "Happy" by Pharrell I buy on iTunes because it makes great commute-time listening, I buy at least 10 other songs that don't get radio play on any stations in the Sacramento area.

But enough about my opinions. What I really set out to write on this post was how I took this debate to my choir class today, and how awesome it was as my class opened up and shared their opinions.

Of course, the first question was, "Who is Beck?" I sang "I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me..." and got a roomful of nods and "Ohhhh, yeah." I pointed out that that particular song is 20 years old, and that I was in high school when it was on the charts, wearing mom jeans and a lot of flannel.

I started out by reading the above article to them; then I played "Pretty Hurts" off of Beyonce's album and "Morning" from Beck's, both YouTube videos that show the lyrics on the screen. I chose "Pretty Hurts" because it is very meaningful to a lot of girls and women ("what's in your head, it doesn't matter...") and "Morning" because the lyrics are very poetic and sad.

The ensuing conversation was enlightening. About half the class seemed to think Beyonce deserved Album of the Year, and the other half believed Beck rightly won. The most common theme in their arguments was "Beyonce is more culturally relevant right now...most of us don't even know who Beck is!" and "I appreciate that Beck is the one writing all of the music, and putting so much of his soul into it."

The best part was that the conversation stayed incredibly respectful and kids with differing opinions even acknowledged some agreement with those who were opposite them. It was truly a discussion, not an argument. It was never heated, simply passionate, because these kids love music. At the end of it all, we came to a class consensus that the question really isn't "Who is the better artist?" but rather, "What are the Grammys really there to reward--current cultural relevance, or true musical artistry?" I think we all agreed, in the end, that the award is almost pointless, because it will always boil down to personal preferences of the voters--and those preferences, as I mentioned above and one student cleverly pointed out on her own, are based on a lifetime of experience, and what kind of music we are exposed to on a regular basis from the time we are young. "That's why I like Journey and Chicago," she said. "My parents listen to that stuff all the time, and have since I was little."

What I originally intended to spend maybe 15 minutes on ended up taking 45 minutes--and no one minded. The time had flown by, with hands flying up to add to the conversation more and more--even from kids who don't always speak up in class. So if anything, instead of deriding Kanye West for his comments, maybe I ought to thank him, for giving me fodder for an excellent choir conversation that made my kids think about how they judge music.

So thank you, Kanye.