Middle School: where 'special' is not a noun.

I am feeling nostalgic, reading through some old posts about my school.  The highs and the lows, the good and the bad, things I'd forgotten and things I'll never forget.  Last week, I interviewed for, and was hired for, a middle school librarian job.  I accepted.  I told my principal about it on Friday afternoon, our last day of school, but he had already spoken to my new principal, so he knew before I had a chance to tell him.
We didn't say much, as I think we were both just weary. Tired of the fighting, tired of dealing with one another, tired of being disappointed in each other.  It has been a long school year, and things that happened back in the fall seem like they were a million years ago.  That incident in September faded away, and that child and I had a wonderful year together.  Then the afternoon in October/November, when I saw a teacher do something inappropriate, reported it, and then she resigned. I had a hard time coming to terms with that. The specialists had a meeting in December with our principal regarding our concerns, and that was difficult.  Then, in late February, he and I had that huge blowup.
More recently, I had an incident with a classroom teacher who was treating another specialist rudely.  I was reprimanded in an email from the principal that I promptly deleted.  The only part of what happened with that teacher that I feel even remotely bad about is that it occurred within earshot of students.  The rest of it felt completely justified.
What feels strange is that this year felt like the best year with my students that I've ever had.  We did really meaningful lessons and read great books and just generally enjoyed each other's company and time together.  As always, they made me laugh every day (my favorite part of teaching). I rarely raised my voice and only wrote one referral this whole year.  The kids were happy, I was happy teaching them, but on the administrative front, every step seemed insurmountable.
Teaching on a cart for 3 weeks was completely ridiculous, and I was resentful that I was the only specialist (except for the computer lab teacher) evicted from my space.  She and I are the only two specialists regularly correlating with the grade level curriculum, and we're the ones kicked out of our rooms.  Where is the justice?!?!
So many little things have happened, so slowly, that have made me miserable at this school.  I didn't want to leave just to leave, but I have to admit that there is a little bit of that in my decision.  I will learn to love middle schoolers, and I already love the new library and principal.  Change is good, and I look forward to learning new stuff, reading new literature, designing new lessons, and getting good at something different.

I really identified with that story of the frog in the pot of boiling water.  Things had gotten so bad so slowly that I hardly noticed.  But over the past five or so years, my job has gotten more difficult, I've had less support from administration, more strain with colleagues, and a greater "us vs. them" mentality. It was time to take myself out of that pot before I boiled to death, metaphorically speaking. Middle school will be entirely different, and while I am mentally up for the challenge, I am still quite nervous about it.  The quote in the title comes from my sister, a middle school teacher; I think I will learn to appreciate it more and more every day in my new job.
I dread having to pack up my office and clear out all the crap I've accumulated in the past 9 years.  Ugh... I have no boxes, no big plan, but it has to get done.  I would like to be finished at my current school by Thursday, have a nice long weekend, and move into my new digs the last week of June.  That is my plan.  I'll report back on how it actually goes.

Transfer

So.  I put in for a transfer.  I am now dreading going to school, as I'm sure my principal will not be happy.  Two weeks ago, we had a h-u-g-e falling out.  HUGE. And although we worked through it and are "okay," I still went through with submitting the transfer intent.  I had threatened to do it during our blowup, and the more I thought about it, the more it seems like something I should at least look into.

I know that the grass is not always greener, so I will not transfer just to leave my current school.  But if something opens up that sounds better than what I have, I will have to think long and hard.

Thoughts in my mind:
1.  I've been at my current school for 9 years.  That's the most years I've ever worked at one place.
2.  I started the library at my current school--it will be hard to leave.
3.  We have 900 students--it's a LOT of management.
4.  The specialist team at my school is not particularly strong.
5.  I do have very, very dear friends at my school.
6.  Two schools in my district have "double classes"--two classes at the same time.  This is definitely not greener grass to me. This is babysitting.
7.  I think I should work with a needier population.
8.  I'd like to work for someone who is not a micro-manager.
9.  I'd like to work somewhere that I am valued for how I help teachers teach their curriculum.

I have more.  It's just too late for me to think of them all.  But I'll be back, mulling this over some more.

Day 6: Soul-crushing

I am so tired of this schedule.  I just don't think I can bear it much longer.  Every night at dinner, I am asked how my day went.  And for five days in a row, I say, "Just like yesterday...Just like yesterday..."  It's true--my day is EXACTLY the same for six school days in a row.  This always spans a weekend, and depending on the number of days in a week, sometimes two weekends.  It is interminable. And so. so. depressing.

I'm in a bad place right now.  My principal always talks to us about all the good we're doing, and how we can say we're just one little bolt riveter on the ship (it's a big, long analogy), or we can say that we build boats that carry our soldiers as they fight for our freedom.  So I can say that I'm a lowly, elementary librarian teaching the same damn thing six days in a row or I can say that I help grow children.

So I really try to keep this in mind: it's not my lessons that matter so much.  It's what the kids learn about themselves and the world around them that matters.  Except today, when I was teaching a fifth grade class.  For quite literally the 18th time, I was teaching the same lesson with the book Mirror, Mirror, which is on our state awards list.  Last rotation, I read it to them, and this time, they were performing one of the poems with a partner.

In all the classes, I talked about what it would look like when they were performing and what it would look like when they were in the audience.  One of the things we discussed, without incident in 17 classes of third, fourth, and fifth graders, was appropriate clapping.  A little chuckle and trying out of inappropriate clapping. Then back on track doing it appropriately.

Except this one fifth grade class.  One of the boys insisted on clapping with his palms cupped together.  As I tried to explain to him that this kind of clapping would not be appropriate at a poetry reading, he just kept doing it.  Once he told me he forgot, once he just shrugged, and when I said that I'd have to write a referral, he said, "for what?! Clapping?" When I asked if it would matter more if he were to get a referral for it, he said, "Not from you."

A referral for clapping does sound ridiculous.  But it wouldn't have been for clapping--it would've been for defiance.  During checkout time, this boy and two friends (for reasons unrelated to the clapping)  and I had a little sitdown.  It was there that he said, "I HATE YOU! EVERYBODY HATES YOU! THEY HATE COMING HERE!"

Woah.  Nothing like hearing that to make you question what you do every day.  I know that this boy has a lot of issues, and a lot of anger.  Things happened in his young life that should not ever happen to a child. Even though I know all this, his words still bother me.

His teacher came in around that time and I told her what happened--not the whole thing about the clapping, just what the boy said to me.  She acknowledged that he does say things to adults that are hurtful. (true)  And she also reminded him that he often feels this way and says these things when adults hold him to high standards. (very true)

So what do I do?  Lower my standards? Not expect as much from the kids?  Or the kids who come with all kinds of baggage? I just don't know.  But today I feel like I just cannot keep doing this schedule, this monotonous-same-thing-every-day-schedule for another. single. minute.