Author: Amanda Potts

I'm a high school English teacher in Ottawa, Ontario. I read, write, walk & take a LOT of pictures. Sometimes my kids let me write about them. I use this space to think and write about teaching and living.

Kindness #SOLC26 31/31

I’ve written about my “chaos class” several times this month. First, when faced with my exasperated declaration, “fine, you choose what we study!” they shocked me by choosing Romeo & Juliet. Then, there were several incidents of bullying which led to me giving them a very serious dressing down. Then we had March Break (and let me tell you, we needed it). 

When we returned from break, I knew I had to have my “strict teacher” persona firmly at the fore for a little while so that the students didn’t think their appalling pre-break behaviour was acceptable. I hate the strict teacher persona and find it exhausting, but I did it: I made sure every cell phone was in a backpack, every notebook on a notebook, every tardy explained or excused. The strictness was necessary, but it wasn’t going to be enough. “Strict teacher” gets compliance, but a truly effective class has more; we needed engagement. (I mean, if I am 100% honest, then yes, with this class at least a little compliance would be nice because the class needs to function, but I also hope that they will be engaged.) Engagement, however, requires some vulnerability, which means being able to trust that we won’t be mocked, which in turn means it’s hard to learn in a room with even one bully – and we have more than one.

My being strict might stop the bullying I could see, but it wasn’t going to change anything once my back was turned. I needed more. I needed kindness – not mine: theirs.

****

When we were little, no matter how often we fought, the punishment that united my sisters and me against our parents was “ten nice things.” All three of us hated it. It was the worst. It went like this: if we were really really awful to one another – especially in the car – then our mother would stop everything and make us say ten nice things to one another. Ten! TEN! Worse, after three or four rounds of “I like your hair. I like your shoes” she would tell us it couldn’t be anything physical, which left us having to say at least six things we actually liked about the other person. It was awful. And it worked every time: by the end, we would be super mad at our mother and kind of ok with our sister. My mother was not dumb.

****

When I was teaching at a very small school in Washington DC, the Dean of Faculty once split us into groups of four or five teachers and gave each group an enormous stack of sticky notes. One teacher sat in the centre while others wrote compliments on the sticky notes for a few minutes. Then, we read the sticky notes out loud and stuck them onto the teacher in the centre of the group. It was awkward and a little cheesy, and listening to our colleagues compliment us made each one of us a little emotional. I saved my sticky notes for years; I know others did the same.

****

Punishment? Compliments? I wanted my students to dig deep and find something nice to say about each of their peers – and I wanted each person in the classroom to feel valued. I needed them to practice kindness until they felt it. 

I got out the sticky notes. On Day 1, I put five names on the board. Everyone had to write nice things on the stickies. I wrote, too. The notes could be anonymous, but I reviewed every note as it was handed to me. One student wrote “You have a nice smile” five times. I told them to start over. One student wrote “You are nice.” I asked for specificity. One student wrote “You are perfect in class” – an obvious lie – I told them that lying was as unkind as writing something mean because “it shows you can’t be bothered to think of something true.” Eventually, everyone finished. I gave the stacks of kind words to the five students as the rest of us began to work. Each student read through their notes. One girl, well liked and clever, whispered to me “this feels really good” and then slipped the post-its quietly into her purse. One boy read only a few of his, then immediately tucked them away. After class, I saw him in the hallway, alone, reading through the notes.

On Day 2, both the bullied and the bully’s names were on the board. I did not require the bullied student to write to the bully, but I did require the bully to write to everyone. I read every note, paying particular attention to those going to the bullied student. I returned a few for improvements, but I was impressed by how many students wrote truly kind and thoughtful notes to their ostracized peer; he wasn’t as alone as I had feared. Again I handed out the stack of post-its as we started an activity. Once most students were working, I glanced around at the students who had received the notes. The student on the receiving end of the bullying was furtively wiping tears from his eyes. I made my way over to him to ask if he was ok. “No one has ever said anything this nice to me before,” he whispered. He spent much of the rest of class arranging and rearranging the notes in his notebook. 

We’ll be done with this activity tomorrow. By then, everyone will have received a stack of kindness from their peers. I was feeling so good about this that I let down my guard a little today, and immediately phones came out and people talked so much during the balcony scene that I had to pause the video. They’re still the same kids. Still, I hope that some of them are just a little kinder than they were two weeks ago. 

And hey, if they start picking on each other again, I might just channel my mother: after all, my sisters and I had to say ten nice things to each other far more than once before it really stuck – and now we’re good friends.

PS – I saved this one for the last day of March not only because it’s ongoing but also because every year this month of writing challenges me to look closely and seek good things to share; and every year the kindness of others’ posts and comments buoys me. Community and kindness are hallmarks of this March challenge – now in my classroom, too.

Vocabulary #SOLC26 30/31

A “graduated” from our reading class last semester after our screeners consistently showed that he was now reading at least at a grade 7 level – probably closer to grade 8. Given that he is in grade 9 and that he had been placed in our reading class because he wasn’t reading well, this was good news. 

One of his favourite things in class was watching and discussing the daily news. Each class started with CNN10, and each day he took a contrarian point of view and challenged our thinking. He loved being pushed to think beyond his own perspective, and he loved learning new “fancy” vocabulary words. 

This is why I had to smile when he saw me in the hallway last week – the first time in over a month – and immediately said, “I still remember the words!” 

“Like what?” I asked.

“Like consensus,” he began, even as the crowd of students pulled us towards our separate destinations, “and proximity and… and…” He was still thinking, still searching for words he learned months ago, “… and brazen!” he shouted triumphantly. “BYE, MISS!”

“BYE!” I shouted back, even though it’s not very teacherly. And I smiled as I walked into the classroom to start the next class. Sometimes students really do remember what we teach. Sometimes they do.

Community Curriculum Building #SOLC26 29/31

My mind keeps going back to Sherri’s post from earlier this month. In it, she quotes abolitionist organizer Mariame Kaba who says, “Knowing who to be mad at truly is praxis.” Sherri follows this quote with a number of questions we might consider when we think about our anger. In my comment I suggested that I should put them on a poster and have them next to my desk. 

After venting my spleen yesterday about the frustrations of teaching with no textbooks and little content guidance, I started thinking about Kaba’s statement again: who should I be mad at truly? Whether or not I should be mad at them, I realized that I’ve been targeting my anger at “the system” or, more to the point, “the government” and then joining in the chorus of cries about intentionally underfunding education. 

And look, probably “the government” should be providing more money and guidance here, but Jessica’s comment on my post reminded me that the opposite of no guidance can be far too much guidance. Very few teachers appreciate mandated programs – and sometimes these programs can be harmful (think of the mandated programs that did not use research-based ideas for teaching reading; think of the mandated programs now that only use part of the research). Glenda reminded me that even lists of suggested titles can function to place some ideologies over others. While I know these things, it was good to be reminded again that the solution to these problems is not easy. Lisa reminded me that this isn’t just happening in one place or at one school level.

I thought about these things on the way to the gym and, later, while I planned this week’s classes. My brain circled back to this as I texted my student teacher and then walked the dog. Eventually, I went back to Sherri’s post to re-read the questions she had posed as she thought about Kaba.

What is this about?
What’s at stake?
Who is involved and impacted? In which ways?
How am I contributing to this issue?
What is my role?
Who is harmed? By whom?

My brain noodled away over dinner. My ah-ha moment came when I realized that every time I’ve written about school this month, people have commented on the strength of our school community. They’re right: we have a great community. I also deeply value community, and one of my goals as a teacher is helping students feel confident about participating in society to the extent that they choose. These questions ask me to use my anger and frustration not to pull away from others, but to be in relationship with them.

Community, at its best, builds. I am contributing to the issue right now by pretending that I have no agency. And, while I cannot allocate more funds to education or create a curriculum coordinator position at the school board, I can still change my contribution to the issue. So… once March is over, my next challenge will be to reach out to English Dept Heads at high schools in my board and begin a spreadsheet that shows what we are currently teaching at various grade levels. I will ask if others want to coordinate to create a sort of internal what/ when/ why of texts we teach. I can share my criteria for choosing texts and see what others use. We can pool our knowledge to create flexible lists of texts that respond to students from all of our schools. I can use my frustration to make change. And if we, the teachers, create this content, we might be able to create something that is both useful and flexible.

The worst that happens is that it doesn’t work. The best that happens is that community – this writing community, the community of friends and colleagues who commented on my post, the community of teachers around me – creates something that serves students more effectively and helps teachers feel empowered and less alone. There is potential power in this; I’m pretty excited.

Is the textbook dead? #SOLC26 28/31

The first I hear of his plan is when he pops in to pick up something he has printed for a class, and I ask how his classes are going. I haven’t seen him in a few days, but that’s not surprising: he’s a new teacher with a full load of courses, and I know that’s tough. Still, he cheerily tells me all is well, then, in passing says, “So, about Hamlet: I think I’m just going to sort of, you know, touch on the main points and cover it in two weeks. You ok with that?”

I am not.

I have many layered reactions to his casual statement, but I also need to help another teacher set up for our provincial Literacy Test and then set up my own classroom, so I defer the conversation, suggesting that we meet soon. For the next few days, I consider what I want to say.

Nothing in our curriculum tells us to teach Hamlet. In fact, we have no required texts at any grade level. Our school board has not endorsed or purchased any French textbook series – or any textbooks at all. Instead, we are given the freedom to choose what to teach as long as we assess students based on the provincial curriculum. 

For some teachers, this is a dream. Complete freedom? Entirely up to the teacher? Wow! What respect! What trust! Imagine being able to meet your students where they are, being able to respond to the needs and interests of the students in the classroom. We could address bias head-on! We could re-shape what we teach! It sounds amazing, and I truly agreed with this perspective for a long time, but recently, I’ve been reconsidering this supposed freedom. 

A few weeks ago, the Toronto Star ran this article (with a clearly AI generated image that already betrays their bias).

The article – which is behind a paywall, so I can no longer access it or share it here – begins by weighing the pros and cons of paper textbooks (hint: they’re expensive and hard to update), but a) it seems to assume that we are possibly using electronic textbooks (we are not) and b) then quickly shifts to noting that, without textbooks, no one really knows what any one class is learning. There’s no continuity from classroom to classroom much less from year to year. In my experience, this is true – and it’s only the tip of the iceberg. 

Let’s start with French instruction as an example. I do not currently teach French, but I did for many years, and it’s a required course through grade 9 in Ontario. In grade 9, most high schools have a mix of students from several different middle schools. What did they learn last year? No one knows. With no textbooks and no clear year-to-year expectations, teachers are left to figure out what their students already know and what to teach them next. If we’re lucky, each school has a scope-and-sequence – but the only requirement to follow that is collegiality. If a middle school has more than one French teacher, the students from one school may arrive with different knowledge. Some years, I taught students who had studied animals, family members, colours and daily routine every year for four or five years. What should I teach next? Whatever I felt like.

Imagine, however, that a miracle occurs and the students all begin with a similar level of knowledge. Now, the teacher needs to a) decide what to teach next and b) create all the practice activities to help that learning occur. Every single one. No textbooks help guide this choice. A new teacher might find a mentor and get some guidance; AI might make worksheet creation a little easier – but really, the teacher is responsible for determining what comes next and how to teach it. 

I don’t want to shock anyone, but there’s good research available about effective language teaching. In fact, (some) textbooks even use that research. And there are reasonable resources available for teachers to use to support their students – but when the school boards stop buying these resources, individual teachers are left to create them over and over on their own – or to purchase them from other teachers online. School boards save money; teachers pay. And that’s just French. 

Where I teach, the science, math and geography textbooks are old, and there is no money for updated sets. I suppose we could offer students online textbooks, as the article suggested, but our board generally doesn’t approve subscription services (often required for these textbooks), and even if it did, not all of our students have access to Chromebooks or computers.

Luckily, English departments can just, you know, teach books. Right now, what limits our instruction is a) the books in our book rooms and b) what we, as teachers, have read. Unfortunately, because no books are required or recommended by our province or our school board, every bookroom has different books available. A teacher in their first few years of teaching who is still bouncing from school to school (standard in our board), may have to teach different books every semester, even if they are teaching the same grade level. What if they’ve never read that book before? Well, they’d better get reading. This explains why the young teacher I was speaking with just taught grade 12 students three short stories that my own children read in grade 8. There are *millions* of short stories out there, but to teach them you have to know about them. Instead teachers are left adrift, thinking not about how to teach certain texts or themes but rather what to teach. And, of course, the richer the school community, the more comprehensive the book room – which leads to an entirely different set of inequities.

Still, I don’t want to pretend we have no money: many years my school gets some money to purchase books that “reflect the students’ lived experiences.” This sounds great but is actually quite complicated. For example, I’m a department head, age 54 and an avid reader. For as long as I’ve been keeping track (and yes, that predates the internet), I’ve read an average of about a book a week. For the past ten or so years, I’ve read about 100 books a year – age along puts me literally thousands of books over a teacher who is twenty years younger than I am, if they read the same amount. Not to mention that I have my own reading preferences (no horror, thank you very much) and no one buys my books (well, except the public library – hooray for public libraries!) or pays me for my reading time. Every time our school has money, I am left to sift through titles to find books that are the right reading level, age range, length, topic and “lived experience.” Plus, of course, I need to find books that other teachers will actually teach. There’s no list of suggested books or set of criteria to help me with these decisions. I’m on my own, trying to determine what books students at our school should have available to study in their classes. What is students’ “lived experience” in a school where 60% of students speak a language other than English at home? where nearly 30% are new to Canada? How about in a school that both has the highest housing insecurity in the board AND encompasses several wealthy neighbourhoods? Whose lived experiences do I prioritize? What stories should we offer? (Fear not: I’ve developed my own criteria.) And, when I do make the decisions I am asked to make, I am left open to the attacks the article discusses: I can be vilified as a teacher activist who is deciding what students should learn based on my own priorities.

Let’s go back to the young teacher who has just told me that he plans to teach Hamlet in two weeks. He has been teaching for nearly seven months. This semester he has his first grade 12 English class – along with two other new classes to teach. The curriculum doesn’t require Hamlet, but, then again, it doesn’t require anything. We have some beat up old copies of Hamlet (donated to us from the richer school down the street), and he’s read Hamlet so he’s at least a little familiar with it. Has he read the other texts we have available? Probably not. Brother, The Book of Negroes, and Washington Black are all good books, but even though he’s deeply committed to equity, they’re not books he’s prepared to teach. And the school year doesn’t slow down.

Two days after that moment at the copier, we sit down to chat. I ask what his goals are for the two week unit (he sees it as a bridge, a moment when the students encounter hard text and realize they can make sense of it with some effort); I ask why he chose Hamlet (he wants to give them something hard AND something that will provide them with a toehold into a cultural dialogue they might not have encountered yet; he wants them to be proud of their understanding); I ask why two weeks (he has big plans because he is young and enthusiastic – I envy the students in his class who have a teacher with this energy) and who his students are and what he wants them to get out of the class and the text and… we talk for nearly 30 precious minutes. In the end, he realizes that Hamlet probably isn’t a two-week text for 12th graders. We make a different plan. It’s imperfect, and I will have to ask other (richer) schools for copies of the (still *extremely* traditional) book he’s chosen, but it’s more doable.

Meanwhile, every other grade 12 English class in the school will study Hamlet. Some of our students will read three of Shakespeare’s plays before they graduate; others will read none. Some of them will read books that, apparently, reflect their “lived experiences”; some will read all classics. Despite our departments’ best efforts, in French, some students will learn colours and animals again, and in English, some will read the same short story they read in middle school. Throughout the school, teachers will try to piece together what their students know, should know, need to know… then we will stay up late creating worksheets and handouts and slide shows that we used to get from a (deeply imperfect) textbook. Some of us will do the calculations and spend our own money on information other (tired) teachers have created.

Sometime in May, the board will tell the principals then the principals will tell the teachers that our biggest expenditure is on photocopying. We will be chided and told to be more aware and to print only what we need and to offer more things online. But no one will buy any textbooks. Apparently it’s saving the province money.

Birthday Cows #SOLC26 27/31

Ok, hear me out on this: when I started participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge years ago, I didn’t think things through to their inevitable end. I just started writing. But I’ve been at this for 8 years now, and every year March 27 arrives – and every year that day is my spouse’s birthday – which means that every year I have to decide if I’m going to write about him. 

He’s pretty wonderful, so the issue is never if he’s worth writing about (he is!); the issue is if I’ll embarrass him by writing about him (I will). He’s not big into birthday celebrations, and for the first few years I didn’t mention his birthday at all; my writing and his birthday did not need to occupy the same space, even if they occurred on the same day. But he is impossible to buy gifts for (today he picked up his own birthday cake and his own bottle of bourbon as well as a board game he’d been waiting for – how on earth do I buy a gift for someone like that?), so instead I’m going to share one little story to let you know the kind of human who has my heart.

18 years ago, when I was pregnant with our oldest, someone gave me the book The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy. It was full of great advice and funny anecdotes and I loved it. Andre, read it, too, because he was intrigued by the idea of reading what women might say to each other about pregnancy. Somewhere in the book, she talks about how it’s a terrible idea to moo at a pregnant woman. How did this come up in her life? I have forgotten. It was funny and silly and made me giggle which made Andre want to see what I found amusing. Now 18 years later, I occasionally come downstairs and find something like this in the kitchen:

Why is there a wooden cow on top of the coffee container in front of the vitamins? Because 18 years ago, this made me giggle. So now we have a wooden cow – and a stuffed cow, in case you’re wondering – and a cow mug. And when I’m least expecting it – for example, on the morning of his birthday, Andre might decide that he needs to moo at me. Probably while I’m drinking my tea. And even 18 years later I will start to giggle – and he will somehow think that this is a birthday present to him. Because that is the person I married.

Happy Birthday, my love.

Birthday Cows #SOLC26 27/31

Ok, hear me out on this: years ago, when I started participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge years ago, I didn’t think things through to their inevitable end. I just started writing. But I’ve been at this for 8 years now, and every year, March 27 arrives – and every year that day is my spouse’s birthday – which means that every year I have to decide if I’m going to write about him. 

He’s pretty wonderful, so the issue is never if he’s worth writing about (he is!); the issue is if I’ll embarrass him by writing about him (I will). He’s not big into birthday celebrations, and for several years I didn’t mention his birthday at all; my writing and his birthday did not need to occupy the same space, even if they occurred on the same day. But he is impossible to buy gifts for (today he picked up his own birthday cake and his own bottle of bourbon as well as a board game he’d been waiting for – how on earth do I buy a gift for someone like that?), so instead I’m going to share one little story to let you know the kind of human who has my heart.

18 years ago, when I was pregnant with our oldest, someone gave me the book The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy. It was full of great advice and funny anecdotes and I loved it. Andre, read it, too, because he was intrigued by the idea of reading what women might say to each other. Somewhere in the book, she talks about how it’s a terrible idea to moo at a pregnant woman. How did this come up in her life? I have forgotten. It was funny and silly and made me giggle which made Andre want to see what I found amusing. Now 18 years later, I occasionally come downstairs and find something like this in the kitchen:

Why is there a wooden cow on top of the coffee container in front of the vitamins? Because 18 years ago, this made me giggle. So now we have a wooden cow – and a stuffed cow, in case you’re wondering – and a cow mug. And when I’m least expecting it – for example, on the morning of his birthday, Andre might decide that he needs to moo at me. Probably while I’m drinking my tea. And even 18 years later I will start to giggle – and he will somehow think that this is a birthday present to him. Because that is the person I married.

Happy Birthday, my love.

Truth-telling #SOLC26 26/31

The older I get, the more I enjoy meeting caregivers at conference night. (We used to call them parent-teacher conferences, but “caregiver” makes more sense – tonight I met a host parent/ guardian, several parents and an uncle – and also a very cute younger brother, but he was not a caregiver.) I especially enjoy when students come with their caregivers and we can chat together about how things are going. I love opening with compliments and watching people’s faces light up. I love asking the students to talk about what they’ve learned. I love learning more about each student and seeing how they interact with those who love them. Sure, it’s exhausting to do all of this after a full day of teaching – and with a full day of teaching ahead – but it’s usually worth it.

As you can see, however, my enjoyment is predicated upon compliments and discussions of learning – but not every student is making the kind of progress that will move them towards their goals. If things aren’t going particularly well, I am usually a fan of the compliment sandwich: good thing, slip in the complicated bit, good thing. This plays to my predilections: I have a penchant for looking for the good in people, especially if those people happen to be in my classroom. Still, I knew that my last conference tonight was going to be different: I needed to tell the parents the truth that their hard-working, loveable child needs extra support.

When I was younger, I probably would have danced around this issue a bit more, but I’ve been doing this for too long to fool myself. I’ve read this child’s school records and seen their progress through old report cards. This year, I’ve been working with them since September, tracking their reading fluency and comprehension: they started well below grade level and they’re not catching up in the way that I had hoped. I’ve sat with the student’s work for a long time, wondering what I can offer to support them. I can’t figure it out. The student is hard-working and enthusiastic, well liked by teachers and resilient enough to have overcome some of the bullying they endured in middle school. They play sports and have friends…but the truth is that I don’t see how a regular classroom with a regular number of students can support the growth they need. I’ve made suggestions along the way, of course, but tonight I had to tell the truth.

I could have spent the whole conference telling their caregiver how wonderful they are, and as the conference continued I kept coming back to that idea, but I reminded myself both before and during the meeting that the best thing I could offer was the truth. So, while I softened the data with phrases like “just a snapshot” and “may need more time” I still shared the data. When the student proudly pulled out their notebook to show their growth in writing – and they have grown! – I complimented the increase in volume, then took a deep breath and pointed out the spelling and grammar that made it almost incomprehensible. I did the same as I shared the books the student has been reading – far far below grade level.

Looking in the eyes of the people who have raised this child and telling them that they need more help than I can give them was hard. I felt sadness and a little shame – why can’t I fix this? Have I worked hard enough, tried enough strategies, offered enough support? I know that I have truly given this child everything I can in the confines of the classroom, but my heart only barely believed that when I sat in the conference.

Still, I told the truth – and then the real miracle occurred: their caregiver nodded and said “thank you.” And then, with the student as part of the discussion, we started talking about specific strategies that they could use at home. The caregiver took notes. The student seemed genuinely excited about strategies that might work. I was able to talk about ways to measure growth and outcomes. We agreed to try something, then speak again in a few weeks to see if things are progressing. I felt the same thing I often feel in the conferences I love: a sense of community. Here we were, teacher, caregiver, student, working together to set a goal and work towards it. And look, none of us are expecting miracles, but a little truth-telling might at least have set us all on a path towards improvement rather than stagnation.

After that conference ended, I chatted for a while with a colleague and let my brain and my heart settle. I hope that in the end the family went home feeling the same sense of community that I did. I hope that we can work together to help this child become a stronger reader because that is something they desire. And I know that with each conference like this, I become a little better at telling truths.

Drivel #SOLC26 25/31

I need to write. Yesterday I only posted a picture. I mean, it was a good picture, but a picture nonetheless, which is only sort of a slice of life – though now that I’m thinking about it, a daily picture as a slice of life would be interesting, too. But that’s not this challenge, so today I have to write. It’s March 25. Only six days left in this challenge. I’m not going to stop now.

It’s just that last night I was so tired that I fell asleep right after work and  slept for 12 hours – even though March Break just ended two days ago, so technically I should be refreshed. And today I could have done the same, but that seemed  a bit over the top, so I’ve made myself stay awake, eyes at half mast.

It’s just that today was busy at school because we’re running the Literacy Test – which is always oddly confusing despite arriving at predictable intervals and being largely the same every time. And Wednesdays my student teacher is at school and I like to, you know, actually spend some time with her so she learns stuff.

It’s just that today is the chaos class, and even though they’re *much* better after our pre-March Break – ahem – discussion, they still require a lot of attention in order to make it through a full class with any sort of learning.

It’s just that after school the dog wanted an extra long walk because the weather is getting nice, and Mr. 15 needed an extra kick-in-the-pants to finish his work because, well, he’s 15, and my spouse needed extra support because his work is tough right now. 

It’s just that yesterday was a Heads Meeting and tomorrow is Teacher-Caregiver Conferences and it seems that there is always so much to do, even though I swear my to-do list gets longer every day. When do teachers mark student work? I no longer know.

At any rate, this may be drivel but it is written – and written is at least something. Maybe tomorrow I will write something better – but not tonight.

Planner Love #SOLC26 23/31

I honestly don’t know how anyone teaches without a planner of some sort. Schools function in a series of intermeshing cycles – like gears of different sizes that each need to keep moving in order for the whole system to function. School days must sync with the weeks and the months and the rhythm of a semester and school year and calendar year. Then there’s the cycles within the class itself and, in high school, the four year cycle from entry to graduation. It gets complex.

On top of that, I teach four classes on a schedule that alternates daily between AB CD/ BA DC. Two of those classes meet every day in the morning; two meet every other day in the afternoon. One of the every day classes, Reading Skills, is a team-taught ongoing class with somewhat open enrollment: students “graduate” from the class when their reading skills are equivalent to learning needs. The other is a 12th grade University prep English class. The two afternoon classes are both grade 9 English, so I have to keep track of which class ended where.

This is why I need my trusty planner. For years I used the Happy Planner Teacher Planner & I loved it. The pages turn easily and there’s plenty of space for notes and lessons. But it was pretty cutesy and increasingly expensive and eventually I wanted something new. Then I discovered the Clever Fox Planner and fell hopelessly in love. It has an area called “schedule of school events” where I can see exactly what the whole school year will bring. When my colleague asked today when our comments are due for midterm, I flipped it open and – boom! – April 20. When is graduation? Got it? Retirement parties? On it. I can look at months or weeks and keep track of whose parents I’ve contacted. And I can take notes in meetings and find the notes again. Oh, and there are ribbon page markers – and have I mentioned the stickers? I get an inordinate amount of pleasure from putting in all the stickers. 

Here, let me take you on a tour of my amazing planner:

Mostly, though the planner holds some of the information that used to clog my brain. I know where we stopped watching Romeo and Juliet (down to the minute!) and what page we got to Long Way Down. I remember the new words we learned in Reading and have some idea how units will unfold in grade 12. I can see upcoming meetings and force my brain to coordinate school things and non-school things instead of double-booking. Offloading that into one place where I can find it brings me a measure of peace – and heaven knows I need as much of that as I can get. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t know how anyone teaches without a planner.