Daily Chromebook Tools for Learning

 Last year our district went 1:1 in 3rd and 4th grade and this year I was forced I had the opportunity to make the move to fourth grade. Yay for opportunities. (It really has been a smooth transition and fourth graders are one of my favorite ages. I just happen to love second grade more.) But back to Chromebooks. Students are issued their own Chromebooks that they are allowed to take home. Knowing this technology is available, I really wanted to implement it in the best way possible. In the past I have sent students to various websites and have seen that as a implementing technology well. Well, it might have been a start but they weren't using all the capabilities available to them, for sure. 

Daily Tools Tools We Use for Learning on Chromebooks

Xtramath is a tool that I've been using for a few years now and I absolutely love. Every day my students log in to xtramath and get a personalized fact practice according to their initial placement. Students start at addition (or whatever you want them to start at) and work their way up to division. Students who are goal driven are motivated to beat their previous days score and to pass each test. It is not an easy test to pass, so we make it a big deal when they pass! It's a quick practice that I use first thing in the morning. I even use it to take attendance in the morning. The teacher report will tell me who completed, what their mastery percentage is, and the percentage they got correct that day. I can even go in to each student and see what they answered for each question that day and how long it took them to answer that question. 

A student report. This gives me a graph of their progress and the specific facts they are too slow on. 

A class report. The green, yellow, and red shapes indicate the percentage correct during that session. The check marks to the side are what I use to take attendance.

Another tool that I have loved this year is Google Forms. I have made several quizzes using Google Forms and it has been a great method for formative assessments.  During our unit on place value I have been using this to assess the 4.NBT 1-3 standards using a Number the Day. Students complete the quiz and then we are able to go through it as a class question by question. Students get the immediate feedback they so desperately need. 

Here is an example of a quiz report. This is a question which includes check boxes to answer. As you can see it tells me that 14 students answered correctly. This tells me that only half of my class got the question correct. Based on the other results I see that I need to work on this question format as they will continue seeing this type of question on other tests. 

Here is an example of a quiz. There are several different question types available. I can even add videos and pictures to the questions and in the feedback section. 

Google Slides has been an invaluable tool for so many learning activities this year. It's primary purpose is to serve as a Digital Journal for my students. I made a template and copied it to each student. During writing time students pull up their digital writing journal and I will sit at my own computer and pull up their journals and give feedback in the speaker notes bar. Students ask me questions in that bar and I will answer them. Students have loved these digital writing journals and their ability to communicate with me in a unique way. They get so excited for me to read their entries and as some students struggle with staying on task, this has been helpful for me to keep them on task. Also, if students have writers block I can go in and give them a couple of ideas to get them started. 

Aside from using them as writing journals, I have also used Google Slides to write questions that students answer. I love that it is saving me paper and that I always have access to their work. No more lost assignments or assignments without names!

An example of digital writing journal. 

These are just a few of my favorite resources. Be on the lookout soon for online resources students use during Guided Reading!

Letter to Myself

I found a letter I wrote to myself on August 11, 2012-The week before school started. I cried reading it. I hope I've done well by my students. Just what I said before I even knew my students remains the same-they're worth it.

Dear Melissa,

You're about to be a legit teacher! Congratulations! Today is your last Saturday before the new school year begins. I anticipate a very busy, yet fulfilling year for you.

I hope you begin to say all your students names correctly. I hope every student feels cared for, appreciated and respected while in your class.

I hope you don't embarrass yourself when it comes to Math and Science. It's entirely possible.

I hope you develop good friendships with your colleagues. I hope you'll be a valuable member of the fourth grade team and to the staff at Fairview.

I hope you blow all the evaluations out of the park. I hope you integrate technology well.

Most of all, I hope you love your students. I hope you'll love them so much it'll hurt to see them struggling. I hope you'll love them so much you'll make every effort to get to know them and their families. I hope you'll love them so much you'll give 100 percent every day.

Remember, even when they're loud, when they don't follow directions, when they get on your nerves, when they don't turn assignments in, when their parents give you a hard time, when they break an expectation, when they don't meet their goals-Remember to love them. Never lose hope for them. Remember they are the future. Love them. Care for them. Respect them. Give them your all-because they're worth it.

May God bless your year,

Melissa

To This Day

I watched this video this morning and it got me to thinking about the things I have carried to this day. 

          Seventh grade.
          2001.
          12 years and half my life ago

I was in art class. In my school P.E. was really basketball practice and if you didn't want to be on the team you took art with the Jr. High boys and the few other girls whose athletic ability was minimal.

I tried playing basketball in grade school. During a tournament we had a substitute coach who believed everyone deserved playing time so he let me in after half time. The moment someone passed me the ball, even though we were on the wrong side of the court, I tossed it to the basket and heard the screams "AIR BALL!" Lucky, though. If I would have made it, it would have been a point for the other team. I liked the other regular coach better. I would rather be cheering from the bench.

Moving on.

On the first day of art class I took a seat at the middle of a long table. Groups of boys formed around me. It was innately clear, in the beginning at least, I was not part of the group. And being quite shy, it took awhile for me to converse with the popular eighth grade boys surrounding me. Yet after several months I believed I had infiltrated the pack and now I was considered a friend.

Until one day. This one day I remember to this day.

It's one of my most vivid memories of that year, with the only trumping memory being that of the 9/11 attacks.

I came in to art and sat at my normal seat. The rest of the class was coming in and on a whim, it seemed, the leader of the pack sat at a different table. This was odd. He started motioning at his friends to come, and sit with him. They followed. I looked around with expression of confusion on my face. I slowly got up, gathered my things, and moved to this new table. Everyone looked at me. The leader of the pack gave me a look of disdain. He got up, and while looking at me said "We can have our table back, now." And the entire group left the table and sat at their normal seats. The art teacher looked at me and laughed.

I sat there with my back to them, working furiously on my art project, silently yelling at myself, "Do. Not. Cry."

This one day I discovered that what I thought was a budding friendship all this time was simply tolerance. A tolerance they can choose to revoke at a moments notice.

It was the lack of character and kindness of Jr. High boys that gave me a complex.

When I went to a new school in the tenth grade, I refused to eat in the cafeteria for days. In my eyes it was a crowded room filled circle shaped tables that were already full with cliques who despised uninvited guests.

To this day when I walk into a crowded room my chest is filled with anxiety.
I find it difficult to trust people.
I despise shallow friendships.

All because some Jr. High boys that lacked integrity and kindness told me, not with words, but with actions

you're pathetic.

you're not likable. 

you're not interesting.

and mostly, you're not welcome. 

But Today this is what I will say:

They
Were
Wrong.

On Single Wide Trailers and Ted E. Bear

My favorite childhood memories come from a home that no one loved but an eight year old boy and his little sister. It was a rinky dinky single wide trailer house. The steps were concrete blocks and the driveway was dirt. The trailer hitch was where we kept our dogs tied up. It was redneck central. And I loved it. We had a pond in our backyard. To the left of us was an old worn down pigless pig pen. At least that's what our parents called it. To the imaginative children who lived in the home, it was a fort. A marvelous fort with chambers where all sorts of adventures were had.

 It was just outside of that home that I got shot in the head with a BB gun. At least that's how I tell the story. My brother has always claimed the BB ricocheted off the mountain dew glass and the trajectory was a 90 degree angle upward to my forehead. In all fairness, it was the little snot of a girl who dared him to shoot with her in directly behind the bull's eye.

 It was right outside that home that I learned to ride my first bike. I learned how to do a back flip on my parents bed. I got my first black eye from a swing set, another injury in which I hold my brother to blame. It was where my brother and I held a cooking show where we demonstrated how to make sandwiches and hot dogs wrapped in cheese. When I wanted to go fishing, I dug for worms in the dirt that was my parents driveway. And it was the house that I felt my first earthquake. Granted, living in Oklahoma in that decrepit trailer, it was probably just the wind.

 Furthermore, it was in this house that I imagined Jesus' coming back to be him knocking on our front door, inviting him in our trailer and watching E.T. with my family until he had to leave to go visit the rest of the families in our church.

 It was also in this house that I hid several weeks worth of first grade homework crumbled in my closet. I played with Barbies and got my first kitchen set. My brother taught me to sing the T.G.I.F. song and yelled at me when I didn't get the words or rhythm right. My brother tried to teach me the identity property of multiplication and was upset when his kindergarten sister was too stupid to understand. It was where my brother and I worked together to make my mother's birthday special by cleaning and making a beautiful happy birthday sign. To me it was like just like the surprise parties from television, when in reality it was nothing more than a picked up living room and a piece of paper with the words "Happy Birthday" misspelled.

Nevertheless, that meager single wide trailer has all my most adored memories.

 My favorite memory of that home involves a special stuffed animal named Ted E. Bear. This was my brother's bear. My brother received this bear from our mother while still in the womb. It was my brothers sidekick on all of his cop and robber adventures. Yet at some point along the way, I decided I deserved ownership of that bear. It may have been simply because it was my brother's and I knew I couldn't have it. Or maybe I envied the affection my brother showed the stuffed animal. Either way, I wanted the bear. We fought and fought over Ted.

 Our mom had just gotten a job at the courthouse. She decided that the only proper way to settle this was to sit us down at the kitchen table one Saturday morning. Each of us were at our spots. I knew exactly which spot was which, because I carved our names into the wood on the back of the chairs. My mom took the end closest to the living room. I took one the side closest to the window, and my brother sat across from me. Our mom had her big early 90's glasses on and a notebook and pen in front of her. The bear was in the center of the table, as it was the reason she brought us there that day.

 We each had a chance to plead our case. We both wanted the bear. I don't know what sort of argument I could have made, considering the bear was not even close to mine. But my mom decided to be fair and gave us joint custody. We both signed the papers and walked away.

 The bear was never really an issue again. In fact, I'm fairly certain I was done with the bear in a week's time. Years later, my brother and I felt we were far removed from our childhood shenanigans. We shared a room at an incredible, huge, brand new home in town. (In all reality, this was a home built seventy years prior, the bathroom didn't work, we shared a room, and the floor plan resembled the trailer home. It was a modest home, but it was the nicest house in which we ever lived.) We sat on our opposite sides of the room, with blue tape that drew a boundary dividing our space equally.

Mr. Ted E. Bear ended up getting thrown back and forth across the enemy line several times. Here I am now, nearly twenty years removed from those treasured family law documents citing joint custody. On that day, it was plain to everyone but me all I wanted was what I knew didn't belong to me.

All I wanted was control. For the past several years I have wanted control of my life. I wanted a degree so that I could have options before me. I wanted to be an adult.

I have options now, and I just want to go back to a life of riding a bike, digging for worms and having adventures in a desolate pig pen. I don't want to make decisions about the trajectory of my life. That's for adults.

But I got my W-4 today and I'm here to tell you, I grew up entirely too fast.

The Part Sheduh

Although Ry is a little small for his age, he has been known to be stronger than he looks. Last week a police officer was called into the school to restrain him. Ry has two sides: a sweet side, and a vicious side. You never know what side of the coin you will get.

Yesterday he was his sweet, innocent seeming self. During structured recess time he came up to me and began an interesting conversation.

"Do you want to see me run?" he asked hopefully. "I'm really fast. The fastest there is."

"Oh, of course, Ry. Do you want me to time you?" I said enthusiastically.

"No. Just stop right there. I'll run to the end of the sidewalk and back. Watch!"

Just then with a look of determination on his face he dashed off as fast as he could in his black puffy coat and blue jeans. He was running with with all his might, at about the pace of a small gorilla. Try as he might, it is doubtful he will win any gold medals for his quick speed. He certainly gets an A for effort, however.

Upon returning I congratulated him on his "quick" adventure.
"Did you see how fast I was?" he asked in a matter of fact manner.
"Yes, Ry. Very fast."
"Yeah, I'm part sheduh." said Ry in a confidant "no questions asked" tone.
"Excuse me, you're part what?"
"Shee duh!"
"Cheetah?" I asked, unsure.
"That's what I said." said Ry in an annoyed tone.
"Oh. How do you figure you are part cheetah?"
"Everyone has an animal inside them. I'm part cheetah."
While I try hard to suppress a laugh, he continued "I'm also part bat, part mountain goat, part dolphin, part elephant." he listed with his fingers.

Ry likes teaching me things, so he went on. "I'm part cheetah because I'm fast."

"Oh." I began with an enlightened tone. "So why are you part bat and mountain goat?"
With his hand movements matching the speed of his voice he answered "part bat because I can hang upside down, part mountain goat because I can climb trees. I'm part elephant because I'm really strong." I nodded, knowingly.

"So what animal is inside you?" He looked up squinting his eyes in the sun with a very wondering look on his face.

Searching my brain for an animal I quickly stated, "rabbit."
"Why?" My brain was swarming. Why did I say rabbit? How am I like a rabbit? Thankfully he quickly interjected "because you like carrots?"
"Yes" I stammered thankfully. With a moment to think I added "I also have a Labrador Retriever inside me, because I'm friendly." He shook his head in an approving manner.

His hands were moving with commanding gestures as he stated "When you get home today, draw a picture." I stared at with a quizzical look trying to decipher where this was going. "If you are good, you're an orangutan. They draw good."

I didn't hold back my smile. "Okay, Ry. I'll let you know."

I drew a picture. I don't think I'm an orangutan.

Shambles

Around fourteen years ago I had a fight with my then best friend, Tawny.

The same night a storm blew through Pocola, Oklahoma, the small town in which I resided.

At the last minute we headed for cover. My dad rushed the family to the middle of the house; there wasn't enough time to head to the outdoor cellar. The next few moments rushed passed as quickly as the wind. Screaming. The taste of insulation. The sound of a door hitting my dad. Wild, rushing wind. And then just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Ryan and I stayed still as my parents quickly scanned the house. Our home, annihilated.

The drive away that night was quiet. I'm sure the panic of "What's next?" was on weighing heavily on my parents' mind. Shameless, by Garth Brooks was my brothers favorite song that year. In the quiet car I started to sing a new rendition- "I'm Homeless!" I'm sure they told me to stop. They wore the truth of that statement much heavier than I.

Sometime that next morning after a nights stay in my estranged grandfathers home, my family decided to move back to McCurtain, Oklahoma. Along with a new town, came a new school.

My mom and I walked down the corridor of Pocola Elementary School and knocked on the door to my third grade classroom. My teacher, Mrs. Oliver entered the dark hallway, said goodbye and gave her condolences. She asked if I'd like to say goodbye to any of my classmates.

Because of a fight I can't remember, I didn't say goodbye to Tawny that day.

And every once in a while I wonder what ever became of her. I wonder if she would even remember me.

I wonder if she held that grudge long enough not to care that I was gone.

Author's Note: Since this post was written in 2010, I found Tawny on Facebook  I sent this post to her in a message. She didn't remember me. But now we're Facebook friends and I feel like a creeper when I look at her photos and read her updates.