That sinking feeling: My science inquiry project about quicksand

My students are currently working in the Land & Water science kit.  They have been learning about groundwater, absorption, runoff, stream patterns, and rain.  They have big tubs of different types of soil components and they add water.

Really we have just learning about the world around us by making, and playing with, mud each day (how is this not the best profession ever?).

This adding of water to clay and sand got me to thinking about quicksand.  It seemed like a fun thing to play with and it tied in nicely with the whole land and water theme.  I have always wondered if the weight and size of a person made a difference in how fast they sunk in quicksand (there's a sleight chance I may have watched too many jungle explorer movies, or played a few too many games of Pitfall as a kid).  Does the small, wiry scientist sink just as fast as the hulking, neck-less poacher?
 
In order to set up an experiment to find this out I would need some quicksand.  Apparently, in the scientific world, we do our experiments about quicksand using Gooblex.  It's a corn-starch and water mix, also known as a "non-Newtonian fluid", that behaves just like quicksand; quick movements meet fierce resistance, while slow movements are allowed.  I decided to make some in order to see if it would both be doable by my students, and serve our quicksand needs.

  I mixed 16oz of cornstarch with 2 cups of water (green food coloring optional).  The whole thing only took about ten minutes, so it met my time criteria, and it seemingly will work for my quicksand tests.  Even if you don't want to do the science, it's pretty weird stuff and fun to make.

Now that I knew I had a viable quicksand, I could form a question for the kids to explore.  I'm still working of this part, so bear with me, but here's my idea so far:

Question:
Does the size, weight, and shape of an object affect how fast it will sink in quicksand?

My plan is to have the kids make their "quicksand" in a 500ml container (the ones we are using are approx. 5" across and 8" tall).  They can then use masking tape to mark a point 3" below the top line of their "quicksand".  I am thinking that if we use the same size and shape objects (our fixed variable) of different weights (changed variable), we can chart the data on a table like this:

From there we can alter the fixed and changed variables to see the effects of size and shape. 

I may need to shorten this to simply being about weight.  Making the "quicksand" and conducting this first phase of the experiment would be a full days lesson in itself.  The "non-Newtonian" fluid doesn't last overnight, I checked.  The water and corn starch separate from one another and the water evaporates, leaving a hard crusty substance behind.

Well, there it is so far.  I will keep you updated on changes and progress.  Let me know what you think, or if you have any ideas.

Learning to lead

Now that I am back in my main placement, I have been looking back at my time in my Dyad and have noticed some differences about how the kids are learning.

The kids at my main school are fantastic at group work.  They seem to really enjoy doing collaborative tasks.  I have seen these kids on many occasions lead their own own group work.  I believe this is a function of having been given this responsibility throughout the years in their schooling.  With only one teacher in the room, this has been an imperative that they can function on their own.

However, I have also seen these same kids very reluctant to drop this independence and raise their hands to ask for help when they are unsure of something.  It is great that they have been given the sense of empowerment that they can do things on their own without the teachers help at all times, but it almost seems to me that they will attempt to struggle on through until I see them stuck and come to help, when they could ask sooner.

Back at my Dyad placement school, things were quite the reverse.  It was a parent cooperative, and there were always adults around to help the kids.  The kids were used to having help at their disposal and were quick to ask for it.  They often did so before they thoroughly attempted to solve a problem on their own.

The main thing that stuck out for me between the two classrooms, as far as the kids go, was the lack of ability of my Dyad kids to function in a group on their own.  My cooperating teacher and I talked about it.  I wonder if the fact that the parent volunteers run all of the small group activities has taken away some of their ability to lead themselves.  It is harder for them to do because they have never had to learn how.

I'm not sure if I feel that one way is better than another, but it's interesting to see how the different school models may be affecting how kids learn.

This made me happy

I invested a lot of time in creating my Thematic Mini Unit.  Man did I ever.  But pouring so much of my imagination and creativity into the project produced something that was fun to read, but boring as all get out to look at.  Writing can be like that sometimes.  Black and white text just isn't visually stimulating.

So I loaded up the Thematic Unit section into Tagxedo.  It's like Wordle, but with lot's of fun shapes.  Here's what came up.  It's a satisfying visual for all my hard work.  I may have even smiled a bit.

It's like heartbreak & puppies.

I moved on from my Dyad placement kids this past week.  It sucks.  It's like losing 25 tiny little adorable friends, and it hurts.

Is this what it will be like every year?  Unless you are in a looped classroom, in which case you get a one year reprieve followed by twice the pain and heartache the next.  Now I know how those who foster puppies must feel: you welcome a bunch of sweet, innocent, little creatures into your life.  You nurture them, and teach them, and watch them grow and mature, then you give them an awkward hug or pat on the shoulder as they walk away from you forever.

To be fair, it was me doing the walking away this time, but the feeling is still the same.  I was wondering how I would feel when this day came.  I have talked with other educators about it, and they have told me it is a difficult part of the profession.  It's a tough feeling.  The only way I have to describe it is that it reminds me of that gut-wrenching feeling of stark panic I get when my mind flash-forwards 16 years and I hear my about-to-graduate-high-school son springing on me his epiphany to "skip college and live in South America", his time-table for return: unknown.

Not that the image of my son (quite strapping at that age, btw) tromping around the wilds of the Amazon frightens me, it is the sense of loss that tears at my heart.  We will be pouring so much of ourselves into these students of ours, it's painful to think about them moving on from us.

I was okay when I parted from my main placement kids the first time around.  I think deep down I knew I would be coming back.  It was easy to be that stolid, rock of a teacher.  After this experience with my 3rd graders, knowing them for only a short time, I begin to question if I will be able to keep up that facade when forced to say goodbye to my fifth graders.  They will be my first true classroom.  I will be spending so many wonderful upcoming days with them, getting to know them so well, helping them to reach for greater heights.

But that's the point isn't it;  in order for them to go after that brilliant future we have been painstakingly preparing them for, we have to let them go.

Manipulation

I've been on this math manipulative kick lately.

Funny thing is, I used to hate them.  I am a product of numbers-only curriculum.  Most of us probably are.  If we didn't get a math concept as kids, we did 100 more problems until we did.  If we still didn't get it, the teacher explained it louder in hopes that we would.  Naturally I was skeptical of any little toy, widget, or cog that was supposed to explain math.  I knew math as a series of numbers and rules; rigid, strict and to be followed without fail.

Flash forward, like, 50 years.  I get how to do that old-skool math, but I am falling in love with those silly little plastic strips and poker chips.  As you all know, my adult self is All About The Process.  I love the idea of getting my hands "dirty" while learning, and want to share this with my students.  I will do this with those in my classroom.  I want them to actively act like mathematicians while doing math.  Manipulatives give me a way to get them elbow deep in mathematics.

That's right; Mr. K's kids will literally be up to their elbows in math.  Getting physical with our numbers.  Kinesthetic cognition at it's finest.

Numbers aren't what math is all about for me anymore.  Sure, they get the short term job done, but in the long run I feel like I have run into problems because just knowing the numbers and rules have let me down.  At some point they fall short.  I was never taught to seek out those patterns that I could transfer over to suit my needs.  Inevitably you end up stuck and your "rules" falter.  There is nowhere for you to go but discourageville.

Discourageville is a sad and dirty little place that I don't want my students visiting.

If by shifting around poker chips for an hour kids can unlock the mystery of a function of mathematics, then it is time well spent.  Yet, from my observations, those poor little cubes and slats and cards only seem to see that light of day when a child is struggling.  I don't get this.  It seems a natural progression to use them to introduce elements of math in order to show concepts, then move onto the numbers.

Why only bring them in to try to "save a child" when their early use could have prevented the crisis in the first place?

Can we get some tech up in here?

I attended my first parent-teacher conference today.  It was pretty cool.

Since I really have no idea how to run one of those things, it was nice to get some ideas on how I can structure the 20 minutes, what student artifacts to use, what to say, and what to ask.

Actually, the superintendent of the district was in my first set parents.  Not that it really mattered, being as I was just observing, but still.  He commented that his daughter "really seemed to be enjoying school this year, but that she had said something about not liking the intern", then he gave me a wry smile and chuckled.  Even knowing he was joking, I still almost peed my pants.

The experience of the conferences was great, but it got me thinking - with all of the technology we have available, why do we need to schedule a meeting to see our student's parents?  Samples of the kid's work could be available online, and any concerns about that work could be voiced by email, Skype, text, cell, etc.

If the whole point of the meetings, as it looked to me, was to see samples of work and use it to talk about strengths or what needs work, then it could have been done in another, more efficient way.  Through technology it could also have happened much sooner, rather than waiting several months into the school year to have an in-depth progress report.

But how would we balance that with the benefit of face to face communication?  I certainly don't want the impersonal robot conference from my earlier post, but we have far, far too much digital assistance at our disposal to be doing things the same old way.

Thoughts?

Overwhelmed & underwater

Blogging seems to have lost all of it's joy for me.

I try to think of deep and thought provoking, or clever and witty things to say about my experiences.  I know they are there, I build upon them almost everyday, but I cannot dredge them up from underneath the layer of mind-numbing coursework-related silt that sits on top of them.

Above said silt runs a fast moving stream of being a husband to a wife I never see (ships passing in the night) and a father to a 2 1/2 year old child with a severe CHD, for whom I will gladly sacrifice writing a lesson plan in order to have a fabulously deejayed dance party, or rush emergency vehicles to every crisis he can imagine.

Whereas I used to work ahead, I am now struggling to barely get by.  Sacrificing reading for one class in order to find time to do work for another.  Being acceptable when I want to be great.

There are now becoming times when I wonder if I can keep this up.  Can I really do this?  I feel overwhelmed and am struggling to tread water in my metaphorical river - trying not to slip underneath the surface.  Sometimes you all see me sigh deeply.  More than anything it is to remind myself I am still breathing and not underwater yet.

I know from speaking with others that many of us are feeling the same way (perhaps no where near as dramatic, but the same nonetheless).  Situations may be slightly different, but we are still at that same murky point.

In a recent reading I found a passage that has reminded me of why I am going through all of this struggle now, and why I will continue to struggle on in the future.  Of why it's worth all of the trials and frustration to become an educator.

Because being a teacher is what I was meant to do, and it's the best job ever.  

It's certainly not a cure-all, but the following words have given me a measure of composure and courage with which to carry on.  I hope they can do the same for anyone else out there who is in need.  Keep up the good fight.

"Sometimes I am totally baffled at the idea that I get paid to read great books with kids; help them write poetry (poetry, I tell you!); benefit from their honest, funny, youthful outlook every day; and then go to bed knowing I've at least approached doing something meaningful in the world. There are approximately two-and-a-half professions like that on the entire planet."

-Dina Strasser