Monthly Archives: September 2010

>These boys need books. Lots of books.

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>I love teaching reading. Reading is the heart of learning. A child who can read has access to so many worlds, so much fascinating information, so many opportunities, so much fun.

Every year my students span a wide range of reading levels. This year the range is wider than ever, and there are more struggling readers than ever, too. Seven children, all boys, who read at a first grade level.
Fourth graders. Nine- and ten-year-olds who read like the little kids — when they read at all.
I can teach them, work with them every day. Sight words. Phonics. Structure. Basic punctuation and what it means. But in the meantime, they need to read on their own. And therein lies my challenge. I need to help them read, read a lot, and read often. To do that, I need to provide these boys books they can read and books they want to read. Something easy, outrageously easy, and yet something exciting and fun.
I have the structure planned: each of these kiddos will have his own box of books at all times. The box will contain books they can read, books at their level, books that they’ll read when it’s time for them to read on their own. A literacy coach once told me that after students independently read 25 books at their level, they move themselves to the next level. These boys need to read. I know, I’ve already said that. 25 books will sound impossible to them, so I won’t say it out loud. But I will provide books, and they will read, and read, and read.
The only barrier is money. Oh, yeah, money. School budgets are already pared to the bone. To buy more books, first grade reading level but high-interest enough for a fourth grader, will take money. Stimulus funds? Spent well, but spent. Title I Reading funds? Put to good use, believe me. I’ll be at a Title sponsored training tonight.
Grants? Help me out. There’s a local grant group, but they don’t buy books. Bless their heart, they think there are enough books on the shelves, and no one needs more. Shudder. Are there really people who think this way?
Now what? Readers, can you send me to a source for grant money for these kids? A source that will send the money, and soon, so I can buy books and get these guys reading now? Leave it in the comments or email me. Okaybyme at gmail dot com. Please. Let’s give these boys a future. A reading future.

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>Too many tomatoes? Never.

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>It was a classic pantry raid. It started as Truck Tomatoes: tomatoes, diced and cored and peeled, sauteed in olive oil with a little garlic and thyme. Then in true Daisy form, I looked into the refrigerator and started adding random goodies. A little oregano. Peppers, green onions. A small handful of spinach, a little grated zucchini. Two cobs of (already cooked) sweet corn – I could have and probably should have left it at one. Simmered to pieces while I boiled up a little pasta, it was an aromatic sauce that promised to be delicious.

Daughter looked at it with suspicion. “What’s in it? The corn is a little overkill, isn’t it?”
Chuck looked at the stove and the wall and asked, “Who cooked here? A chimpanzee?”

Okay, I admit it. I used a wee bit too much corn. I should have used the bigger pan. If I’d stopped at the basic recipe, the small skillet would have been okay.

Despite their skepticism, they liked it. And yes, if you’re wondering, I did clean the stove myself.

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>Computer Crash – literally

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>It was the second day of school. The bell rang, the kids started to come in.

And then all hell broke loose.
Remember The Cat in the Hat? “Then something went bump. How that bump made us jump!”
This “bump” was more of a crash. I jumped. The first kid in the room jumped. The teachers across the hall jumped and ran in. My desk had collapsed. One leg fell off, tipping the entire desk, and everything, I do mean EVERYTHING slid to the floor.
Everything: including the computer.

Everything: including my coffee.

A friend brought me a 16 oz. Pike’s Place blend, my favorite, later in the morning. Helpdesk red flagged my request for repair, and the tech was out within a week. Don’t tell the library media specialist; her printer didn’t get fixed yet. I had first priority. I guess it pays to be nice to the I.T. people.
The desk is fixed now, and I requisitioned a computer table to lighten the load. Call me paranoid, and you’ll be right, but I’m not, repeat, NOT going through another crash like that. Nope.

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>What do you remember?

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>Short pieces, memories from September 11, 2001

Realizing that if Amigo could read the headline, it was big.
Both kids, then high school sophomore and fourth grader, ran into the house from their school buses calling out “Mom, did you hear what happened?”
My panic reaction of “fill the van with gas before prices jump!” only to find that the entire city had decided to do the same thing was a decision rapidly abandoned. I had half a tank, and in our normal driving habits, that would still last several weeks.
Teachers gathered in the lounge not to talk (we were a friendly, social group), but to watch a TV we’d dragged in. We’d been called in during our first recess of the day, informed of the district decisions on how to handle the situation. School was in code yellow: not in lock-down, but extra security added. We were not allowed to tell our elementary students until the end of the day.
Reactions varied, but life went on. Amigo and Chuck went to a Lions’ Camp weekend for families the following weekend. Chuck was worn out from a week of crazy stress working at the TV station. He needed to get away from media for a few days.
Every house in the neighborhood lit a candle on that Friday, an impromptu vigil spread by Internet communication. La Petite and a friend took their candles for a walk and saw our neighborhood cop with his bagpipes, playing Amazing Grace and pacing, marching a square around the corner.
Five years later, I suggested a journal prompt to my students about their memories of the attack. They remembered nothing. Nothing. They’d been in first grade, six and seven years old, and no one in the class had any recollection of the day the United States found out we were no longer invincible: we were vulnerable to terrorism on our own soil.
I remember the patriotism that followed and the sense of community that spread. But I also remember the knee-jerk reactions, including passing of a law misnamed the Patriot Act that only one senator actually read before voting.
I remember a huge power outage, a blackout in New York City the following summer, when New Yorkers pulled together rather than looted each other.
I remember a color coded warning system, advice to stock up on canned food, plastic, and duct tape in case of nuclear attack. Then we as a country calmed down and lived our lives again.
I remember a neighbor, a Muslim woman, mother of four boys, being harassed and feeling scared to get out of her minivan to fill it with gas. She is still my neighbor, and her boys are now grown up. She and her family are wonderful people – one of her sons knows La Petite.
I remember a vindictive and vocal minister of a very small church getting too much attention for a terrible, narrow minded act of collecting and planning to burn the Muslim holy book, the Koran.
Wait: the last one just happened. Nine years ago we reacted to a tragedy by coming together.
Readers, let’s stay together.

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>Lemongrass Adventures

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>We were walking down Main Street on our usual trek through the Saturday Farmers’ Market when Chuck said “Let’s go back to the booth where we bought the peppers and carrots. She had lemongrass. I want to try it.”

I’ve described our family in Food Network terms: Chuck is more Iron Chef, while I’m more 30 Minute Meals. I’m all about finding a way to create a healthy meal quickly and easily, using local and/or fresh ingredients if possible. The Pantry Raid (Amigo would call it the Garbage Can Recipe) is my specialty. Look through the refrigerator and pantry, pull out a combination of good ingredients, and cook them. I make my way through the Farmers’ Market almost like a grocery store trip: list in hand or in head, picking up basic staples or seasonal specialties I can cook, bake, freeze or can.
Chuck, on the other hand, looks for adventure. He spots the freezer truck parked by the coffeehouse (I spot the coffeehouse, of course). The vendor has trucked in farm-raised alligator, shrimp, mahi-mahi, scallops, and a whole collection of meats and seafood (Amigo asks: is alligator surf or turf?). While I’m heading to the next truck for Wisconsin-grown bison meat, he’ll pick up the alligator.
Last Saturday he bought lemongrass, a traditional Asian ingredient. He’d overheard another shopper asking about it, mulled it over in his head, and decided to stop by on our way back to the car and buy a bunch of the long, green plant. The seller explained how to use it, and Chuck searched the Internet for more detail. He worked it into a soup and a stir-fry that night.
Most of the 18-24 inch stalk is edible. The end bulb gets cut off (I believe it tastes bitter, but I didn’t try it), and the blade operates like a bay leaf – add it to the liquid for flavor and pull it out before serving. There’s a fibrous section near the bulb that can be peeled and pounded with a meat tenderizer for use in stir fries or soups or vegetable mixes. It was good, but we’re not sure if it was worth the effort.
I saw the term “very pungent” in several posts on this grassy herb. We learned that the bunch we bought downtown could last several months. We only needed one or two stalks per recipe. With that in mind, Chuck washed and cut the lemongrass to a size that would fit in a Ziploc freezer bag. We’ll pull it out now and then for a deliciously exotic Pantry Raid or Garbage Can Recipe.

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>Tomato Salsa for Canning

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>My new go-to book is Put ‘Em Up! by Sherri Brooks Vinton. I bought it myself; this is not a sponsored post or a review. I had a lot of tomatoes, but we had to buy the jalapeno peppers. Mine are not growing very quickly – or they’re being eaten by the furry creatures that bounce through the yard. Maybe that’s why the bunny was collapsed under the rain barrel? Never mind. Just kidding.

Heirloom Tomato Salsa
1 cup distilled vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1 Tablespoon salt
3 pounds heirloom tomatoes (any kind – or a combination of types)
1/2 pound onions, diced
1 cup chopped cilantro (optional; I used only 1/4 cup because mine was really potent)
Bring the vinegar, sugar, and salt to a boil in a large nonreactive saucepan. Add the tomatoes, onions, and jalapenos, and return to a boil for 5 minutes. Add the cilantro and remove from the heat.
To preserve:
Either refrigerate (for up to 5 days) or use the hot-water method.
For the boiling water method:
Ladle into clean, hot, half-pint jars, leaving 1/2 inch of headspace. Release trapped air. Wipe the rims clean; center lids on the jars and screw on jar bands. Process for 15 minutes. Turn off heat, remove canner lid, and let jars rest in the water for 5 minutes. Remove jars and set aside for 24 hours. Check seals, then store in a cool, dark place for up to 1 year.
I made these Sunday night, but I didn’t try the results yet. I’m a little concerned it might be too spicy; I used the full 2 jalapeno peppers. I guess I’ll find out soon enough; daughter is home, and she likes spicy salsa.

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>Weekend Pajama Mama

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>It could be a reality show. Really. It’s the actuality on many weekends in my house.

Accomplishments, worthy of air time;

  • Read the entire Sunday newspaper, including sorting the ads and reading the few that mattered.
  • Spent some quality time with a heating pad on my stiff and sore back.
  • Scaled the peak of Mount Washmore and began the descent. That is, finished the majority of the washing and drying and began folding and stashing the clean clothes.
  • Reclaimed the kitchen table. No easy task, this one: it was covered with canning supplies from making salsa last night, a crate of leftover tomatoes, papers from my school and Amigo’s school, bases for two crockpots (the crocks were in the dishwasher and sink), professional membership applications awaiting my checkbook, cloth bags from yesterday’s farmers’ market, and more.
  • Filled and ran the dishwasher.
  • Took out and emptied full compost container.
  • Made breakfast, started coffee, dealt with the daily meds (including claritin and tylenol for the seasonal sinus headache).
  • Charged my cell phone.
  • Labeled and stored salsa made last night.
  • Handled two tedious but important school tasks (cut out felt pieces for white-board erasers, placed computer username/ password stickers on colored index cards) while watching The Muppets Take Manhattan. “Because you share a love so big, I now pronounce you frog and pig.” Priceless.
  • Reclaimed recliner in bedroom, relieving it of its temporary status as repository for clean jeans and t-shirts.
“Okay, Daisy,” says the show’s producer, “So what? A lot of working moms multi-task on weekend mornings. What’s so big about this list?”
“Well, darling,” replies Daisy, “Did you see what’s missing? All of this was accomplished in my pajamas.”
I can’t wait to see what happens on the Labor Day episode.

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>Distracted on Market Day

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>

It was an easy day at the Farmers’ Market. We didn’t buy much this time because we still had a lot in the kitchen and we were going to be busy for several days. The greenish pint containers were full; the berries were already in colanders in the sink when I took the picture. Do you notice something else, though – something that doesn’t usually come home from the Farmers’ Market?

No, I didn’t mean the apple pie. That’s a special treat, but I meant the plastic bags.
Yes. The bags. I was so distracted with the start of school that I forgot the bags. Here they are, right where I left them, waiting patiently to do their job.

Where has my head been lately? Never mind. I know.

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>She needs to read.

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>Every year about this time my blog changes tone slightly. I’m still eco-conscious, I’m still harvesting from the garden and cooking (and this year, canning) the produce. But as August ends and September approaches, Teacher Me moves to the forefront of my mind and my blog.

I’m reading a new resource for teaching reading: Lucy Calkins’ Units of Study in Teaching Reading. The first in the series is A Guide to the Reading Workshop. I’m reading along, and I keep stopping to contemplate. I think, “I should print out this quote to hang by my desk.” Then I read a little more and think, “This might work for (insert child’s name here). And then I begin thinking about specific children, former students, kids I’ve known, and how reading fit into their lives.
One young woman (she’d seen too much in her short life to really be a young girl) was part of a rather transient family. “Korrie” had moved four times; I was her fourth classroom teacher in one school year. I noticed she’s coming back to our school and rejoiced. She’s a difficult student, one with many problem behaviors, and what she needs most is stability. She’s coming back! The same building, same counselors, same rules and expectations, same core group of kids in her grade.
Korrie liked to read. Admit it, she wouldn’t, but once in a while it showed. She had a winning ticket in a prize drawing and she picked a book: a Junie B. Jones book. Easy to read, good quality writing. One day in a guided reading lesson, she admitted she’d read ahead – against advice. Then she looked down at her lap and muttered, “It’s a really good book.” I couldn’t be mad. I couldn’t help smiling, in fact. She tried to stop, but I caught her smiling back.
When I realized this, I made it a goal to get books into her hands. When she lost two library books and didn’t pay the fines, it broke my heart. Of all students, this one really needed the library. I called her dad. He sincerely cared about his daughter and wanted her to succeed in school. He paid for the lost books and promised to look for them. I promised he’d get a refund when (not if) the books turned up, even if it was a year later.
Looking at my class’ reading data showed another item: despite her stubborn attitude and frequent absences, Korrie had made a year’s progress in reading. She was still slightly below grade level, but she was learning. She was progressing.
Despite her chaotic life – an absent mother, frequent moves, very little money, difficulty making friends – this tense and angry ten-year-old could and did read.
I’m making a note to myself: talk to her fifth grade teacher. Let him know that reading is key with Korrie. Maybe, just maybe, we can help her be a child again – through reading.

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