Mrvaudrey

Author: mrvaudrey

  • Pancakes

    A few times a month, I’ll make peanut butter pancakes for the kids.

    Today, I realized that I know what I need to make pancakes, and if the Betty Crocker cookbook was stolen or lost, I could probably get pretty close. If I go a bit over or under the 1 cup of flour, it’s no big deal, but I’ve had baked goods with too much of one ingredient, and it’s a real bummer.

    Now, I’m unwilling to give my kids a mouthful of chaulky pancakes, so I use the cookbook every time,B since I am scared of making a mistake and the resulting fallout.

    Have you ever had a student say, “I don’t get it,” unsure of where to start? Or they do one or two steps correct, but want some assurance before proceeding?

    I sure have. Like they can’t recall if it’s 1/4 teaspoon of baking soda or of baking powder?

    There’s no point here, just a connection that was too long for a tweet.

    Here’s what I’m still wondering:

    • How can we better get students to differentiate between low-stakes and high-stakes?
    • Should we have high-stakes stuffB at all?
    • B What is the math-class equivalent of tossing a botched bowl of ingredients and starting over?

    ~Matt “Betty Crocker” Vaudrey

  • 3Act Math for Kinder

    Yesterday, Mary and I co-taught a lesson with 3-Act Math to her class of 19 Kindergarteners at Oak Mesa Elementary.

     

    Last month, she sat next to me at CUE as Amanda Haughs showcased a fistful of accessible ways to change math instruction. Mary was quietly scribbling notes the whole time and… I’m not sure who nudged whom, but we picked yesterday for co-teaching a lesson that Mary found on Graham Fletcher’s K-5 repository of 3-act math lessons.

    During our chat, we opted not to use the handout I built with some other K-5 teachers, and you’ll see why.

    Act One – The Hook

    Fabela: Friends, this is Mr. Matt* and he’s going to do math time with us today!
    Kids: [stare vacantly]
    Vaudrey: Boys and girls, I have a video to show you, and here it is.

    Vaudrey: [whispering] Whisper to your neighbor what you’re thinking right now.
    Kids: There were eggs and they fell out and she opened the door and it’s probably too full in there do you think that’s his house how old is she I bet that’s his daughter.
    Vaudrey: Fold your hands and look at me. Now I’m going to show you the video again, and this time, I want you to think of one thing you notice and one thing you wonder.
    Fabela: Wonder meansB a question that you have, like “What about…?” or “How many…?”

    [Show video again]
    Vaudrey: Tell your neighbor; what do you notice and what do you wonder?
    Fabela: “Notice” is something that you see.
    [Kids chatter]
    Vaudrey: Raise your hand, please; what do you notice and what do you wonder?

    Mary wrote down the Notices and Wonders as students shared them, sometimes helping them to craft their sentences.

    Damon: Um.. I think that the eggs felled out of the fridge because they were on the edge and there was too much stuff in there and when she opened they felled out.
    Fabela: Thank you, Damon. It sounds like you wonder if the fridge was full, so I’ll write that up here.
    Vaudrey: [after a while] Boys and girls, I notice that a lot of us are wondering how many eggs broke, show me a thumbs-up if you’re wondering that, too. [All thumbs up, of course] Okay, how many eggs could fit in that carton if it were totally full?

    Kids immediately began to guess huger numbers than their neighbors. “Ten! Fifteen! Thirty! A hundwed!”

    Vaudrey: Let’s count together [pause the video and point to the screen] One, two, … twelve! Ohhhh, so the most eggs that could have broken would be?
    Kids: [silence]
    Vaudrey: Twelve, right? If all the eggs broke, then all twelve would be broken!
    Kids: [silence]
    Vaudrey: Okay, what if … um…
    Fabela: Boys and girls, what number shows us when we have nothing?
    Kids: Zero!
    Fabela: Right! So if no eggs broke, we can show that with a zero!

    Fabela: Okay, boys and girls, I’m going to close my eyes and count to twenty. When I open them, I want everyone at their desk with their whiteboard out and a marker and… what else?
    Kids: A smile!
    Fabela: Ready? One… two….
    [Kids scurry to their desks]
    Fabela: …eleven… I think we’re ready… twelve… thirteenfourteenfifteensixteenseventeeneighteennineteentwenty! [uncovers her eyes] Oh, look at everyone ready to learn, I love it!

    During this time, I rolled the chart paper easel to the front of the room and stood ready to point at my “barbell” number line. This is where my secondary-focused-brain forgot for a moment that we were in a Kinder class. We spent the next four minutes getting the mini-boards to be horizontal, not vertical (“Hold up your hand and show me vertical… horizontal… vertical… horizontal… make your paper horizontal”) and still 20% of the class struggled. Then three more minutes to get the “barbell” written with 0 and 12 in the boxes.

    This stuff takes time and we secondary teachers don’t give K-5 enough credit for how much “decoding directions and following them” is a skill, taught like anything else.

    Thank you, Elementary teachers; I didn’t realize my middle schoolers had to learn which way is horizontal. It was also a struggle to get students to realize what the midline represents (between 0 and 12), but Mary came to my rescue.

    Okay, so several minutes later, all kids are in their seats with the barbell on their mini-boards and a star on the number line, labeled with their guess for How Many Eggs Broke?

    Claudia: [distraught] What if I can’t draw a star?
    Vaudrey: That’s fine, honey. Draw a circle, then.

    Vaudrey: Now, boys and girls, I have something to show you.

    Kids: [silence]
    Fabela: Let’s read this sentence together. Ready, go.
    Kids: THERE. WERE. NINE. EGGS. IN. THE. crrrtahhhn TO. BEGIN.
    Fabela: Wow, I’m impressed so many of you knew this word. Everybody sayB carton.
    Kids: CARTON
    Vaudrey: Wow, guess what? My guess was 10 and that’s too big now, right? Because there were nine eggs in the carton, so there’s no way that 10 could have broken. If theyB all broke, how many would that be?
    Kids: [silence]

    I forget exactly how Mary saved me here. It happened so often, I started to lose track. There was almost a language barrier between the way I asked questions and the way Mary did. Eventually, we got to this image:

    This led to a great discussion about whether four eggs had broken or five.

    Vaudrey: Paul, can you come show me where you see five broken eggs?

    Dori: No! I think those are the same egg! [Dori draws a big oval around the two pieces]

    One of my favorite parts of messy math is wrangling a common answer. With six-year-olds, Mary and I had to give the final word, which felt weird, sinceB arriving together at an answer with consensus is one of the fun parts of three-act math.

    Anyway, we drew another line/star/circle on our barbells to represent five broken eggs, and then we had a snack of Goldfish on the carpet.

    We’re open to ideas here: what’s a good way to wrap a lesson for Kinder? What could we have done next?

     

    ~Matt “I prefer Mr. Vaudrey but forgot to tell Mary that and it’s fine” Vaudrey

  • Differentiation and Risk

    Hey, Ashley!

    Thanks for sharing those links, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to get around to reading them. I’m somewhere over Phoenix on my way to Detroit, so I have some down time. And Southwest Airlines internet is just fast enough to load those pages and write this back to you.

    a cartoon person scowls at the laptop screen.
    “No, it’s fine. I’m not in a hurry.”

    I’m so glad that b even sequestered on a remote island in the Pacific b you’re able to make time to develop yourself professionally. Those two articles pair very well together and tackle a tough issue in education. No doubt, you have some strong feelings on Differentiation after your years teaching on a military base in Guam.

    Yours is theB extremeB case, where students are several grade levels behind in basic skills, but are sitting next to students who’ve attended private school and are test-hungry. Even with less than 30 kids in a class, your scenario was destined to be a challenge that only the most-experienced and most-supported teachers should tackle.

    And you’re in Guam in a department by yourself.

    A person standing on a beach by themselves
    This is how I imagine your staff meetings look.

    So… you and I have both been in departments at public schools, so I think you’ll get my meaning here: EdWeek’s first editorial bB Differentiation Doesn’t WorkB b reads like the grumpy teacher in the department who’s complaining about “these kids.” Sure, her concerns are real and her experience is valuable and it’s fine to vent sometimes, but come on. Grump, grump, grump, then no suggestions for an alternative or improvement?

    Ugh. That’s draining.

    a PASS stamp

    The response from Carol Ann Tomlinson (who I thinkB I’ve seen present at some conference somewhere or I’ve read her book or something) resonates with me far more. Even the title bB Differentiation Does, in Fact, Work b was kindly redirecting negativity toward action, which I’ve done in my department meetings about a million times.

    And here’s my favorite part:

    For many reasons, students in lower-track classes don’t achieve as well as they do in heterogeneous settings. Those classes tend to be taught by newer or less engaged teachers. The quality of curriculum and instruction is less robust than in most heterogeneous settings. The intellectual climate in tracked classes is further damped by students who know they are siloed because adults consider them to be less able than many of their peersband they respond accordingly.

     

    Yep; that’sB exactly my experience teaching GATE, General, and Concepts classes. Notably, the years where I worked hardest on including all students were the years I taught Concepts; I knew that these students wereB already grouped in what Tomlinson calls a “pedagogy of poverty,” and if I wanted to change their situation, I first had to change their attitude about math class.

    Even the images for each article are perfect:

    left image: teacher seated at a desk, behind her reads "Now Serving Number 15". Right: students at desks, but with ladders connecting them. A dark-skinned student is climbing the ladder to a higher desk. Both images by Chris Wetzel

    Ashley, you’ve read my book, so you won’t be surprised by my interest in grabbing students’ attention and attitude with interesting, low-risk stuff first, then leveling up the rigor until we’re at (or close to) grade level. AndB that can only happen if your students like you and want to please you.

    The Math Intervention teacher at one of my schools had thisB exact concern yesterday, as we met to plan my class takeover on Tuesday. “The fourth grade teachers want me to teach the standards, not just basic skills.” Thankfully, she saw what Tomlinson believes:

    Second, a related but separate body of research indicates that teachers who believe firmly in the untapped capacity of each learner, and thus set out to demonstrate to students that by working hard and working smart they can achieve impressive goals, get far better results than teachers who believe some students are smart, others are not, and little can be done to change that. It’s difficult to grow brains and help students develop growth mindsets in remedial contexts.

    Oh, baby. The phrase “teachers who believe firmly in the untapped capacity of each learner” gets me so excited. I may have to jog around Midway Airport during my layover.

    Ashley, keep it up. It’s hard, but worth it.

    ~Matt “Brain-crush on Carol Ann” Vaudrey

     

  • To Airica

    To Airica Yanez of Moreno Valley USD:

    Someone asked recently about co-teaching models. I figured now was a good time to describe (publicly) the year of teaching when I grew the most, and I have you to thank for pushing me to grow as an educator.

    Maybe it was our social chemistry, maybe it was the life-stage of teaching for me as I was beginning to get comfortable with a few hundred lessons I’d taught. It was 2012, and I was leaving the GATE cluster (Gifted and Talented students who travel together, class to class) and joining the RSP cluster (students with IEPs who travel together, class to class). The Mullet Ratio was my first real jump into weird lessons that worked well, and I continued to try weird ways to get my students to understand math, to varying success. (Ugh. Like the Kool-Aid lesson for Percent Mixture problems.)

    You, Airica, did exactly what friends do; you started by just being friendly and helpful, asking how you could best support students with needs. In a school heavily populated with grumpy teachers who taught in silos, we quickly realized our camaraderie, and you began to ask me pointed questions:

    • How doB you think Myles did on that topic?
    • What would you do differently if Bayley (visual impairment) was here at school today?
    • Do you think it was helpful having me teach the second example problem?
    • What’s the point of students taking notes?
    A woman shrugs, as if to say, "Pff! I never thought about it before!"
    “Uh… I.. um…”

    I was thrilled. Prior to that school, I’d worked at a charter school in a vacuum, and any professional growth had to be home-cooked.* And suddenly, I have a fantastic meal served up, just like that? It was a delight.

    Around that time, our relationship shifted, and I became aware that you were just as qualified as me, plus you had loads of current research and best practices on pedagogy and learning. As the co-teacher in my classroom, you were (gasp) an additional teacher! What a huge benefit for those students and for me!

    We worked hard to have equal footing and equal authority. As Mrs. Jara from Fairfield, Connecticut said:

    He sees me as an equal. He doesn’t see me as a helper or a teacher’s aide. We have that healthy balance.

    And soon, you were more blunt with your assessment. “Hey, my kids got totally lost today, and you’ll need to do something differently tomorrow.”

    Leslie Knope earnestly thanking someone

    I wish, Airica, that I would have paid more attention to the research that was present online even then. You were an expert teacher; had I known I would soon be leaving the classroom to work as a coach, I would have experimented with more methods. There was a conference that I attended where someone mentioned the four methods of co-teaching. I came back super-jazzed, only to find that you’d be working on a different cluster next year and we couldn’t collaborate any more. Things went… okay, and I left the classroom in March of that year.

    I also wish we would have invited you to team planning; your knowledge on how to serve our most vulnerable population could have made the rest of the RSP cluster teachers better at our job. That was a missed opportunity on our part.

    Most of all, I wish I hadn’t used the term “your kids.”

    They were allB our kids.

    Airica, thanks for making me a better teacher.

     

    ~Matt “Vaudrey” Vaudrey

     

    *Cough… *chef analogy* cough…

  • We’re The Same

    On a Tuesday in April last year, I meandered into Ms. V’s class, just to hang out. She called on volunteers and non-volunteers, encouraged group work, spoke in a fair, respectful tone, and was generally an excellent teacher for the entire 53 minutes.

    Later, when we discussed it, she mentioned, “Ugh. I’m sorry you had to see that; it was not a good day.”

    When I countered with, “That was better than most of my great days when I was a classroom teacher,” she dismissed my comment.

    Then this week, I asked if she’d help me talk through some education ideas. Our chat went so well that I asked if she’d be willing to present on the idea at a local conference.

    She gasped. “I’d be honored. I might cry right now.”

    In the moment, I botched my response, so here’s what I should have said:

    Ms. V, I’m so excited to share these education ideas with other people, and I know that if both of us co-create this idea, then it will be even better than me doing it alone. You’ve made passing remarks to me being a “math celebrity” or whatever, but you have just as many great ideas to share as I do, and probably more.

    My ideas aren’t more valuable than yours, just because there’s a book with my name on it. Ideas gain value when they’re affirmed by other people, and I want to amplify your ideas so they can be affirmed, shared, and valued.

    Further, the core of you and I is remarkably similar. We both value students’ whole selves and care deeply for the pre-adults in our care. We both value collaboration and sharing and get frustrated when our peers give anything less than their best. We both try to become a little bit better each day, even if it means more work.

    You and I aren’t different. We’re the same.

    My teammate John has the below tweet and this blog post to extend the idea.

    ~Matt “Unpolished” Vaudrey

    UPDATE: Thankfully, she agreed to work with me, and we’re already chewing through some ideas on making math class a more patient place for problem-solving. Stay tuned.

  • Pattern Play Pedagogy

     

    A month ago, I wrote about my comfort with my daughter doing something imperfectly. An update happened this week that I want to share with you:

    Link to Amazon

     

    Pickle’s birthday was last month, and she was gifted (along with lots of glitter and pink crap) the box of wooden blocks* seen above from my friend Patricia. This week, she asked to play.

    Math Teacher Daddy immediately asked, “What do you want to do first?” and hid all the cards. Pickle opted to dump all the blocks out and reassemble them into shapes on her own. I did the dishes while she did that, becauseB unsupervised play is a great way to explore. Then she asked to try a card.

    Pickle arranging right trapezoids in the frame, but oriented so they look correct from her perspective, but not a perfect match.

    Do you see what I saw immediately?

    I sat next to her as she began to stack blocks in the frame. Being an adult, I have no issue translating abstractions into their concrete selves. Pickle is 5.1 years old, and didn’t notice that the slanty part was supposed to be viewable from the top, not the side. Note the yellow blocks below.

    Pickle has arranged about half the card, but the 45-degree angles aren't visible from the top.

    This took forever. This was our first time playing, and I wanted to touch the blocks, to arrange them into patterns, and to try and find a new way to pattern them. Sitting next to a child andB not interfering as they explore is really hard, and as soon as I start moving them around, she’ll follow my lead. So far, she’s directing the play, and that’s important to note, because of what happened next.

    My wife (as I’ve mentioned before) had plenty of success in the traditional math class, but is slowly coming around to my philosophy of the modern classroom with multiple and varied means to mastery. She joined us in the kitchen when Pickle was 1/3 of the way done with her first card.

    “Honey, use the green one next.”
    “Turn it over.”
    “You should put the yellow ones together first.”

    My … lovely and helpful bride was taking Pickle’s proverbial hand and leading her down a paved path. I want Pickle bushwhacking in the brush and finding her own way.

    Pickle and I smiling at the camera.

    After Mommy implicitlyB suggested that Pickle should shoot for perfection on the first try, Pickle began to get frustrated and didn’t want to place a block if it didn’t match the card, which she couldn’t really read anyway. She pushed the frame away and said, “It’s too hard.”

    I glared at my wife, who immediately realized what she’d done. Confidence and fun were lost, so I had to restore both, and quickly. “Pickle, I have an idea. How about we do some together? Hand me that pink one.”

    Some in the audience will note that our board doesn’t lookB exactly like the card, to which I say, “Yep! Shush.” Because look how proud that kid is.

    I don’t need perfection yet, because enjoyment of the task is more important. We immediately dove into another card.

    We built the bottom half first, but when I attempted to spin the box so we couldB keep the bottom half as our focus, Pickle resisted. Okay. Fine; you’re the boss. Then on to a third card.

    Our third card prompted this phrase form Pickle, which comforted me.

    I know how these ones go together because I saw how to do the other one.

    Then I asked, “Do you want to stop for now?” and Pickle said yes. So we congratulated ourselves as we packed up the pieces. “Wow, honey; you did three cards on your first try? Do you feel proud?”

    Of course she said, “Yeah!” whether or not she actually felt it. That’s a path I’m happy to pave: she knows the correct answer to my leading question is “yes!”

    And b as expected b someone on Twitter says it better than I:

    Think about your own classroom. How quick are you to jump in and pave a path for students to quickly reach perfection? Sure, they’ll reach the answer quickly, but that’s mostly because they followed you. How will they do on an assessment once you’re not leading them? Or when there is no path at all?

    Tasks like Pattern Play and the Appetizers found here allow for students to build Number Sense by bushwhacking and using whatever means necessary to reach the goal, and along the way, they’ll build skills and strategies that make the going easier.

    Some might say they’re stomping their own paths.

     

    ~Matt “The Green Slanties” Vaudrey
    UPDATE 14 November 2017: We played again last night and found an interesting situation:

    *I called the blocks “right trapezoids” when I first opened the box. Neither my wife nor Pickle were amused, and both insisted they were just blocks.

  • Jack of All Trades, Master of One

     

    There’s not much for me to offer the field of Education.

    This isn’t a call for affirmation or compliments; I’m not looking for commentary below to list the things I do well.

    What I mean is this:

     

     

    The field of Education is vast and encompasses a lot of disparate b yet related b topics. At any education conference, one can find strands where colleagues will speak about:

    • Equity and Access
    • Educational Technology
    • Leadership
    • Effective Coaching
    • Classroom Management
    • Online/Blended Learning
    • STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics)
    • STEAM (Science, Technology, Engineering,B Art, and Mathematics)
    • STREAM (Science, Technology, Reading,B Engineering,B Art, and Mathematics)
    • HAMSTER (Humanities,B Art, Mathematics…)*

    You get the idea; there’s a lot of sub-fields in which people are fixated, enthused, or even experts.

    In most of those fields, I’m a novice. And here’s the thing I realized twice today;

    Academic achievement b how well students perform on tests b holds very little appeal to me.

    First, after the Tech Committee meeting this morning, I was hanging out with a couple leadership-types talking about school setups. They were both emphatic that teacher microphone systems areB proven to raise student achievement.

     

    “Boys and girls, take out your pencils!”
    image:pixabay

     

    I remained mostly quiet, only pointing out that b even in the video we saw b the teacher used the microphone sparingly, only during the lecture. Most of the time, it was turned off as she meandered the class and talked to students.

    For me, I didn’t care about the studies, I didn’t like the way a teacher microphone made me feel. It separates my voice from the student voices, and it’s important to me that they feel free to share.

    Later, when I had gotten home and had time to look through the resources on a Twitter-stream from that morning, I found myself staring apathetically at the studies supporting a focus onB content expertise when naming teachers as “highly-trained.” I wasB even mumbling to myself:

    Okay, there’s research. Whatever; I still don’t like it.

    If you’re interested in super-wordy-and-thus-readable-online slides about highly effective teacher preparedness programs, here are copiously well-researched slides from Linda Darling-Hammond. That’s what got me thinking this morning, and not just because the study found that one-shot trainings didn’t improve teacher effectiveness.

     

    Instead of reading math manuals, pedagogy treatises, and doctoral research on the most effective ways to teach [some topic], I’ve leaned into what I do best, which is building a class culture where teachers enjoy teaching and students enjoy learning, and vice versa.

     

    image: starmanseries

     

    Now, to be clear, I still seek to learn more about topics outside my immediate interest, and I greatly respect people like the aforementioned Stanford professor who has published a dozen books and over 300 articles in pursuit of effective practices.

    What I mean is…

    You’ve heard the phrase “Jack of all trades,” referring to someone who knows a little about a bunch. Some etymologists think the phrase continues:

    Jack of all trades,
    master of none,
    though oftentimes better
    than master of one.

    We can’t be fluent in everything.
    We can’t return from a conference and implement everything we learned.
    We can’t earn a Master’s or Doctoral degree and apply every bit of research we’ve read or studied.

    There aren’t enough hours in the day to be an expert in everything.

    So I chose to focus my efforts, not on academic achievement, but on building motivated learners.

    “Vaudrey… you’re aware that yourB job is to teach, right?”

    Yes. And I think I have been.

    Students will almostB definitelyB forget how to factor a trinomial, graph a linear expression, or add fractions with unlike denominators. I know this because my wife (who was an obnoxiously excellent student in school) has no idea how to do any of those things.

    And has forgotten a lot of her times tables.

    But my wife is interested in finding more efficient ways to solve problems, down to learn new skills, and perseveres when her life gets hard.B Those are the skills she uses as an adult, andB those are the skills that I want my students to practice in class.

    Have I sacrificed academic achievement to build better citizens? Probably.

    And I care deeply about training the next generation of citizens to be confident, motivated problem-solvers and risk-takers. My strongest muscle is classroom culture, so I’m blogging, speaking, and interested mostly in that.

     

     

    But that other stuff at the top of this page is important, too.

    ~Matt “the HAMSTER” Vaudrey*

     

    *Joke stolen from Cathy Seeley

  • Looming Obsolescence

    “This technology stuff is really… it’s quite a learning curve.”

     

    Sandra1 called our office with a few weird Chromebook occurrences, so Patrick and I went to her class. After 20 minutes of troubleshooting (as she guided her students in silent reading), she came over as we were packing up to leave.

    I smiled and asked, “What else can I do for you?”

    She put her hands on her hips and shook her head as she said the pink phrase at the top of this page. “LIke… these kids, they just don’t know how toB write anymore. Looka this.”

    She jogged across the class and grabbed a small composition book. She flipped through it as she trotted back, before opening it and saying, “See?”

    (Artist’s rendering)
    image: Wikimedia

    Patrick and I looked at the moderately legible sentences on a page. “And… this is lower than usual for your class?” I asked.

    “Oh,B way lower!” Sandra raised her eyebrows. “I’m not sure if I want to refer half of these kids for OT2, but aB bunch of them just have such poor handwriting. I’ve seen a decline in penmanship in recent years, and this class is the worst so far.”

    “And penmanship is important to you?” I asked. In situations like this, I find that getting the other person to keep talking is always the best move. They will reveal more about their feelings, which is what happened here.

    “I mean… it’s a problem, because how will they perform without computers? Think of all those people in Florida with Hurricane Irma: they can’t type on a computer if the flood knocked out all the power! Kids these days can’t even write a letter!” Sandra seemed to notice that she was raising her voice, so she took a breath. “It’s just… they spend so much time on computers b and they have for years now b I don’t know if it’s the right thing. Like… what are they giving up to be good at typing? ThereB is such a thing as too much technology.”

    “I agree,” I said, as soon as she paused. “There isB definitely such a thing as too much technology. And, Sandra, it sounds like you’re asking the right questions and trying to prepare your students for 5th grade and for whatever comes next. Let’s talk again in a week or so and see how you’re doing. High five!”

    As Patrick and I drove back to the office, we discussed the conversation and realized a couple things:

    1.) Sandra is closer to the end of her career than to the beginning, and she’s scared that she’ll send poorly prepared students on to 5th grade b students that can’t write a letter or don’t have good penmanship. Sandra’s concern for her students has been b and still is b a noble one.

    2.) I travelled a lot this summer, and veteran teachers across the U.S. murmured to me some version of Sandra’s fear:

    The classroom is changing, and I don’t know if I can keep up.

    The video above scares the hell out of some teachers. At the very least, it makes us wonder, “Hmm…

    If students can use apps like this to find answers, what kind of problems should I be giving in class?”

    Twenty-five years ago, there were no Chromebooks, no iPads, no online math practice apps, and teachers like Sandra learned to teach well in a classroom where she had total control over students’ behavior and students’ access to information.

    Now only one of those is true, and all teachers must adjust to beingB one of several sources of information.

    image: Geograph.ie

    Veteran teachers like Sandra have built a castle of pedagogy and are now watching as odd-looking foundations for new towers are being poured in the classroom next door.

    image: Pixabay

    The excellent pedagogies of the future look only slightly similar to the practices of many teachers who were once deemed “excellent.” Teachers like Sandra who were proud of their castle are watching as more and more focus is being paid to the weird-looking building next door.

    image: Pixabay

    I’d feel some fear, too, if I were in that situation. My very identity, my castle that I’ve worked hard to construct, is waning in value. Why doesn’t the principal come into my room as often anymore? These workshops seem further and further out of reach. What is a “single sign-on?” We aren’t teaching cursive anymore?

    That fear of looming obsolescence must be addressed before Sandra will care about any app or program or device.

    ~Matt “Install a brewery in that castle, then everyone wins” Vaudrey

     

    UPDATE: 19 September 2017B We sat together in a training for the new English textbook, and she had this to say:

    I donbt like feeling incompetent and with this (points to the new ELA textbook), I feel like Ibm not b& Ibm just totally overwhelmed. Everybody else seems to be doing fine! Itbs like Ibm the only one whobs struggling. Ibm not the type of person who can just do the minimum and be like, bUgh. I did it.b
    *sigh* I want to do a good job. Everybody else has the skills to do this stuff and I’m just worried that I don’t have the skills to teach effectively…. that’s it! I’m worried I don’t have the skills to teach effectively.

    We ended with some positive self-talk and right-sizing (“Do you really think you’re theB only one in that room with questions? It seems like you’re just the only one brave enough to ask a question.”) but we have more work to do to alleviate the fear.

     

    1. Not her real name.b)
    2. Occupational Therapy – when a specialist works with a kid on physical skills, like fine motor for penmanship.b)

     

  • Aminals

    If you follow my escapades on Twitter, you know that I have a 4.9-year-old daughter named Pickle. (Seen here, age 2.7)

    If you follow our escapades closely, you know that we love to play Tiny Polka Dot, Chess, and iPad games. Pickle is especially talkative and, from a young age, narrates her life with annoying regularity and precision.

    Today, in fact, she declared b no less than nine times b that she is a little scared to try ice skating but wants to try it anyway and can we go this week?

    It’s been above 105B0 all week.

    (That’s 40B0 Celsius).

    For one with such an astounding vocabulary, she still pronounces her tiny paintings as “aminals” every time. She hasn’t correctly said, “animals” even once in herB entire life.

    Now, if you’re a parent, you know that this is developmentally appropriate and she’s still doing fine. She knows her letters, a few sight words, and her numbers to 40 and can count by tens to 100.

    Unrelated, she has a math teacher father.

    If you aren’t a parent b many of our family and friends are non-parents b you may feel compelled to correct her and say, “No, honey. It’s AN-ih-mals.”

    And I would tell you to hush.

    Related story: in the classroom, I recently let some third graders add 32 in a row 25 times.

    This is the mathematical equivalent of letting my daughter say, “Aminals.”B It’s… effective, I suppose, but there’s a far better way, one that’s more accepted and more efficient.

    Here’s why I didn’t correct nine-year-old Anthony or my 4.9-year-old daughter (a phrase my mom told me years ago):

    Just be supportive; let the rest of the world tell them, “no.”

    My daughter won’t graduate high school still referring to the “aminal” kingdom in her science class, just like Anthony will learn about multiplication next year, and he might even think about Krispy Kreme Me, where multiplication would have beenB so much faster than the method that he used.

    Eventually, the rest of the world will let them know a more effective way.

    As the teacher in both those scenarios, I can choose if I want to be supportive or corrective. That choice is present in every interaction, and if you follow the ongoingB Pickle and Daddy chess tournament, you’ll see which side I take.

    ~Matt “Interesting, can you say more about that?” Vaudrey

  • Jasper or Learning is Hard

    Earlier this year, my department adopted a new data-tool. It generates lovely reports that teachers and principals can use to understand numbers and stuff.

     

    It’s also super-complicated and the forum is fairly sparse. My search for support also took me to YouTube, which was equally fruitless.

    image of a graveyard
    “Wow. Last uploadB in 2011, huh?”

    I found myself grumbling as I attempted to wrangle it into a form I understand:

    This is stupid.
    I don’t need this.
    My life has been great before this system; how is this going to make it better?

    But I stuck with it; my director expects me to learn how to use it, and that’s enough reason for me. Also, I’m aware that a positive mental attitude will make this more likely to stick.

    After a couple hours, I realized:

    This is how some teachers feel in every tech workshop I do.

    Who cares about Google?
    My class is just fine without Desmos.
    Students don’t complain now, so why should I learn about Haiku?

     

    After lunch, I had another epiphany:

    This is also how some students view math class.

    Who cares about completing the square?
    I have basketball practice later, I can’t focus on fractions.
    I have an A already; why should I care about periodic functions?

    Learning is hard. It’s your attitude that dictates your success.

    Change your attitude, stick with it, and the learning will come.

     

    ~Matt “This still ain’t much fun, but I’m pressing through” Vaudrey