And here’s one on empathy for students. How did Mojo’s feelings change after talking to Mya, the newspaper reporter? How did Mojo respond when Katie couldn’t remember her lines? How do you think this made Katie feel? Did yelling help Katie? Why or why not? When Bruce took Mojo to the secret door, what was the magic password? What do you think happened to Mojo? Do you think he will be able to save the play?
What was the problem with Moose and Bear? Did Moose and Bear express empathy? How did Moose and Bear respond to Rabbit & Raccoon? How did Rabbit & Raccoon feel? How did Rabbit & Raccoon respond to not being allowed to cross the bridge? Do you feel the outcome would have been different for Rabbit & Raccoon if Moose and Bear would have expressed empathy? How did Rabbit & Raccoon show empathy for each other towards the end?
1. What was the problem that the two characters were facing? 2. What did they do when they both wanted the blanket? 3. Why did ripping the blanket apart not work for them? 4. How did cooperation help make their problem better?
1. What was the goal that Maria was trying to achieve? What was she struggling with to achieve that goal? 2. How did cooperation help Maria achieve her goal? 3. How are cooperation and teamwork the same? 4. Do you think they will be able to build an even taller tower next time? Why?
Tricia Lott Williford, Writer and AuthorLike Page March 19 at 4:59 AM The Sadness is Real: An Open Letter to the Teachers
“What’s keeping you awake at night?” A friend of mine asks this question when she wants to get the to the heart of what’s on the minds of the people she loves. The worries that keep us awake at night can point to the core of who we are.
What’s on my mind tonight? The teachers. It’s 3:00 in the morning, and I can’t get you out of my mind.
You didn’t plan on this. And let’s be honest: teachers are planners. This is one giant curveball.
You were gearing up for spring break – that’s all the time off you needed. One week off, and then you had plans to head into the homestretch of the school year, the weeks we’ve all been waiting for. The most fun units that you save for springtime. The sentimental traditions. The finish lines. That last stretch where your team rounds third base and heads for home plate.
And now this, the closure that was one week, then two, and now four, probably eight, but who really knows?
I taught kindergarten and third grade, and the thought of someone taking my kiddos away from me in those last weeks? Well, it has me awake tonight, feeling so very sad for you.
I would have worried for the kids who were hungry – for food, yes, but also for soul care. For eye contact. For morning hugs and high-fives and secret handshakes. There’s so much you can learn by looking at your students, by the way they slump over their desk during a spelling test and the way they hold the book too close or too tight when they’re in the reading corner. You have spent months, weeks, days, and a million moments with them. Your heartstrings are tied to them, and now your heart feels stretched in so many directions that it’s frayed down the middle.
A kindergarten teacher I know lined her kiddos up for the “last day,” and one of her students said, “Well, I hope I see you again.” Oh, bless it all. That’s too much. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
In beginning literacy, we teach them that every good story has a beginning, middle, and an end… but your ending just got interrupted.
I get you, teachers.
In a week’s time, you’ve gone from being overlooked and underpaid, to now finally being recognized as some of the most important players who keep our world spinning. You’re the glitter and the glue.
And I hear you saying, “Right. We knew that, actually. Now can everybody just follow directions so we can get this virus under control and I can have my students back? We’ve got work to do.”
I hear you, teachers. I get you.
You can call it work, but really it’s love.
You had more loving to do this year, and you thought you had more time.
I can’t fix it for you. But I know a thing or two about grief, and there’s a lot to be said for naming what is sad and letting it be sad. So I can sit in the space with you, I can lie awake at night with you on my mind, and I can get up to tell you this: the grief is real and valid and yours.
Grief means you loved well.
Thank you for loving our kids this hard, this much, this well.
So I sat here the last few days reading about the growing problem with this Coronavirus, listening to both sides of the story from people saying, “Oh, it’s no big deal” all the way up to people freaking out like it’s the end of the world and everyone is going to die. I have read things online, watched videos, reviewed statistics and even garnered my own what-if scenarios. One thing remains a constant though. It doesn’t matter who you are, the “class” you’re defined as or even the color of your skin. If you’re going to get it, you’re going to get it; it’s just a matter of time. What you do with that time defines you and those you come in contact with. Everyone is out there saying cover your cough, wash your hands, spray your commonly touched items like doorknobs and handles. I can agree with this especially if you or people you interact with daily are immunocompromised, at a higher risk for developing complications due to infection or you have small children whose immune systems could be easily compromised by something to this extent. I have read of schools closing, workplaces shuttering doors, travel restrictions, online school vs traditional, and many other facets of self-contained quarantine. I would also agree that the general media has a responsibility for correct reporting and accurate information, which when blown out of proportion, leads to shortages of goods, which we are experiencing nationwide today. I’m still wondering how they have toilet paper available for sale in China? Back to the premise. Years ago when the Ebola virus and H1N1 came out, people began to wake up and realize there were shortages at that time as well, however, too little too late for some. What’s troubling is the extent some of these pictures on social media have shown people going to in order to horde supplies such as bleach, water, toilet paper, disinfectant, and other sanitary supplies. Personally, I learned long ago that these items you buy in bulk; you start with 2 and when one is gone, you replace the other. Always have 2 on hand at all times and you will never run out. You can live on the 4-6 square rule with toilet paper and it lasts a lot longer than slinging the roll. Anyways, in closing, there are a lot of people out there who need a sufficiently larger quantity of items than you may require. Buy responsibly and considerably. If you have to buy 4 packs of 40 rolls of toilet paper at one trip to the membership warehouse, you are overbuying; you need 2 at most. 3 cups of bleach go a long way in a 5-gallon bucket of water. Ask any kid who has been a dishwasher at a mom and pop restaurant. If you can’t get your butt clean with 2-3 swipes of 4-6 sheets of toilet paper, maybe consider investing in baby wipes. They are smaller, more foldable and do a better job of cleaning than dry toilet paper. And lastly, quit shopping for masks at Home Depot and Lowes and such places. Respiratory masks are designed for specific uses and scenarios. That $10.00 box of 500 dust masks isn’t going to do shit for you except smell funny when you breathe through your nose. Cough into your elbow, wash your hands after touching things and before eating, bathe regularly, and wear clean clothes. And stay away from the clinics and emergency rooms unless you 110% HAVE to be there. I don’t need you going there in a panic when you aren’t sick and then you end up getting sick and get me sick later on. Use common sense, education, and discipline. Quit spreading fear and anxiety and start spreading education, assistance, and compassion.
Momentary Lapse Of Sanity 