Inchworm, inchworm…

Here’s the 4th question for the #ossemooc #innovatorsmindset bloghop series. Thanks, as ever, to Tina Zita for the amazing visuals.


As I let this question bounce around the inside of my brain this week, I was reminded of a song I used to sing to my kids when they were small:

The words that were sticking in my head were: “inchworm, inchworm, measuring the marigolds. Seems to me you’d stop and see how beautiful they are.” But when I went back and listened to the whole thing, I realized that the image of the inchworm, based in his numeric framework, cheerfully reciting his math facts that will probably help him “go far”, was also relevant.

We are, in many ways, caught in the inchworm’s dilemma.

As we begin to shift our practice, to take on the innovator’s traits, to ask our students to be co-learners with us, to genuinely question the status quo, we are still expected to come up with something quantifiable to show growth. Something that can go into a data portal, something that results in improvement on a standardized test, something that can have a numeric result assigned to it to go on a report card. Like the inchworm, that’s the existing language we have to work with, and, as classroom teachers, that’s the language that students and parents and administrators (and on, up the chain) understand and expect to see.

That puts us in a difficult spot, because it’s very difficult to quantify the fact that we’ve begun to look at the marigold’s colour, and where it prefers to grow, and what uses people made of it in the past, and the fact that it’s a native North American plant, and what it might bring to our schoolyard gardens and a whole bunch of other things we’ve found out by letting our students go deep with their learning, and show that learning in myriad different ways. Being able to convey the value of that learning, and the growth involved is going to take a lot of deep conversation and reframing for all of us. It’s not going to be easy, but things that are worth doing rarely are.

One of the biggest things I’m taking away from this book study is that we have to start that conversation – whether it’s having students record their thoughts (digitally or analog) after a learning cycle, and sharing those with parents and colleagues, or being brave enough to ask an administrator to let you try and go without numerical grades for a term and use ongoing descriptive feedback and discussion and metacognition/reflection instead. Otherwise, we stay locked in the inchworm’s limited mindset, trapped by the numbers. (As Alfie Kohn writes here)

This March break, I watched my younger son and his friends use a variety of technologies to communicate with each other, problem solve, and plan excursions.  This amazing group of 12 year olds troubleshot audio problems in a transcontinental Skype call; used a combination of Google Hangouts and texting to set up a detailed cross-city bus excursion involving multiple departure points and destinations; and worked through the bumps that inevitably come when people are taking public transit from all different points. They laughed a lot, helped each other through their frustration, and found and solved real-world problems. Exactly what we want for our students, and one way that we could measure the impact of innovative practice. Are these the skills we’re helping develop?

Inchworm, inchworm….

Other people’s thoughts:

Leigh Cassell

Donna Fry

Tina Zita

Mark Carbone

Amit Mehrotra

Stacey Wallwin

Jennifer Casa-Todd

Peter Cameron

Don’t forget you can add your thoughts to this discussion. Comment on a blog, join the Voxer group, chime in on Twitter, or post your own blog on the topic here:

Let the sparks fly…

What if…?


image: Tina Zita

This is the 3rd question in the bloghop series for the #ossemooc on-line book study of George Couros’ book The #innovatorsmindset. Chapter 7, which marks the end of the second section of the book, ends with a series of “What if…?” questions.

image: Lisa Noble (highlights mine)

image: Lisa Noble(highlights mine)

As you can tell from the highlights in the above image, I’ve been thinking more about some of these questions than others. The risk-taking question is one that I’m particularly interested in, and often, frustrated by.

I know risk-taking is a huge piece of the puzzle for any learner. I also know it’s an extremely difficult one for me. I’m a gifted student who always played “school” very well, but who shied away from anything that I couldn’t do right the first time. It took the patient coaching of my spouse (also a gifted learner, but one who has always been much more open to learning experientially than I am) to convince me, in my 20’s, that it was okay to not be really good at something the first time, and to allow myself to “risk” in order to gain a new skill. Now, I sometimes see that stance of fear reflected in both my students and my own kids. I try really hard to model my “risking” behaviours and talk about my learning process, at least partly because I’d like to save them the grief and missed opportunities my fear caused me.

I see the fear of failure coming from two very different places with my students – those who don’t want to risk because they’ve tried before and the existing school system has made them feel like they can’t succeed; and those who don’t want to risk because they’re afraid of what will happen if they don’t succeed, because that’s not a place they’re willing to go, or have experience with. I’m realizing that my colleagues are probably coming from very similar places, and if we are going to move forward at all, we have to both be willing to name that fear, and address it. Creating an environment in which people feel safe to do that takes us back, as Leigh said in last week’s hangout, to “relationships, relationships, relationships”. Without taking that first risk to trust each other in our professional context, the safety net won’t hold. How we build that net with the diversity of learners and experiences in our school communities is still one of my biggest questions.

how do we create a robust "safety net" to support a culture of "risking" in our learning spaces. credit: flickr user Rob via cc

how do we create a robust “safety net” to support a culture of “risking” in our learning spaces? credit: flickr user Rob via cc

My other “what ifs”?Those tend to be aimed more inward than outward, and I offer them for your reflection. What if I just stopped making excuses for why I haven’t tried an activity I think looks interesting, and just did it? What’s the worst case scenario? And of course, what if we were easier on ourselves when things didn’t go as wonderfully as we thought they would, and what if we were better about sharing those experiences with our peers – the plateau and the ravine, as well as the mountaintop? How might that change the discussion?

Let the sparks fly!

Starting a school…from scratch

Going with the philosophy that late is better than not at all, here’s my contribution to the #ossemooc #innovatorsmindset bloghop. We’ve been reading George Couros’ The Innovator’s Mindset, and this is one of the questions:

bloghop 2

image : Tina Zita

As I reflected on what my “dream school” might look like, I realized that my views have been profoundly influenced by the school community in which I have lived, worked and learned for the past 9 years. Teaching a clientele that reaches opposite ends of the socio-economic spectrum with very little in the middle has confirmed for me that I can’t really help my students move through Bloom’s Taxonomy without making sure that they have the necessities of Maslow’s hierarchy.

I have also realized, much more than I expected, that a great many of my students’ parents are intimidated by the very concept of school, often due to their own negative experience. If my school concept is to succeed, it has to find a way to get past that fear and negativity and be a welcoming space. A genuine community space, offering reasons for both parent and child to want to be there.

Beginning. then, with those physiological basics at the bottom of Maslow’s pyramid – air, water and food.

breakfast program

photo credit: flickr user US Dept of Agriculture via cc

A fully equipped and staffed kitchen, open beyond school hours, that can be used as classroom space, community kitchen (for teaching parents, kids and community members to prepare and share healthy food), breakfast/hot lunch/supper program, or just a space in which to do schoolwork while eating is the cornerstone of my school space. Access to extensive outdoor space, with both structured and unstructured areas, as well as a stream or pond, are my tweak on air and water. Many of my students have nature deficit disorder and regular learning time exploring outside is becoming a necessity.

The next levels of the Maslow pyramid, that delve into mental and emotional well-being, as well as physical, are at the heart of what I’d like to address in my school. As well as meeting physical needs with spaces like an open clothing “swap shop” and regular visits from a team of medical professionals, my school would be equipped to help with emotional needs as well. Intermediate student in crisis, and needing to talk to someone right away? There would be a trained counsellor available. Family needing support to move through a challenging situation? That would be available on site, too. Teachers needing mental/emotional health support – that’s here, too.  In the environment where I teach, many of my colleagues are finding themselves faced with students who need substantially more mental and emotional health support than we are able/trained to give. Having services to address this on-site, as needed, would help us shape a new approach to mental and emotional health support.

Don’t get me wrong – I want bells and whistles, too. Loads of light, flexible learning environments, creation spaces (analog and digital), room to stretch and socialize and laugh and read and curl up and be quiet and make and share and learn! Yes, I want those, too. But I want, at heart, a healthy community to be able to live, love and learn in that space.

What do other people think? Check them out here, and please share a comment, or write your own post:

Paul McGuire

Amit Mehrotra

Patrick Miller

Donna Fry

Leigh Cassell

Stacey Wallwin

Tina Zita

Jennifer Casa-Todd

Joe Caruso

Gary Gruber

Mark Carbone

George Couros

Allison Keskimaki

Anne Shillolo



All that I have, and all that I am…

I don’t know where to start! 20 years ago today, I married Terry Noble. Many of you know that my levels of common sense are sometimes not overwhelmingly high, but they were off the charts when I chose my life partner.

Here’s what I know, after 20 years:

We make each other better – smarter, more grounded, able to take chances in our careers and our learning, better parents, better partners, better friends, and we do it all the time, every day in small and big ways;
We believe in one another – at times, more than each of us believes in ourselves;
We could not be the people we are today without the gifts we have both brought to this relationship.

Terry forces me to think deeply about things, to question why I’m making a particular choice, to stand up for what I believe in, and I strive to do the same for him.

He’s also the first face I want to see in the morning, and the last one I want to see at night.

He is my best friend, my partner, my companion, the best dad I could have ever imagined, and my hero for what he does professionally every day.

“All that I have and all that I am” – I promised these to my husband in our wedding vows on August 19, 1995. I’m still learning and exploring what those encompass everyday.

Thanks, sweet boy. I love you more than you know. Here’s to the next 20.

Feminists in our own House

I’ve shared with many people that an unexpected gift from Twitter to me is the reclaiming of the term “feminist”. I am blessed to have a community of thoughtful people who are willing to talk through the issues of the day, and think about what feminism might mean in 2015. Words matter, and my husband shared his take on this one in this post from his blog.


Feminists in our own House.

via Feminists in our own House.

That guy

This is a post about that guy. You know, that guy.  The one that, if you’re like me, you’ve been thinking about, and probably getting angrier about, over the last couple of weeks. Those are the weeks since the Jian thing hit the fan, and then 2 MP’s got asked to leave the Liberal caucus over allegations of harassment. Yeah, I’m talking about that guy.


credit: krembo1 via cc

So who is that guy? Right now, he doesn’t work in my building, but he’s still in my professional life. He’s the one who doesn’t respect your personal space, who brushes or rubs up against you when you’re doing some silly icebreaker thing, and makes a comment that lets you know it’s not by accident, who leans in a little too close to show you something on the page or the computer, who makes no effort to hide the slow up and down he gives you when you’re introduced. The one who will offer the newest, or the youngest, or the loneliest woman in the room a ride home, and you will all try, by non-verbal communication, to wave her off, because you know that’s not a good idea. He’s the one who comes into your classroom for an observation, or professional learning, and gets much chummier with your female students than they (and you) are comfortable with.

You know, that guy.

We all know him. We give other women in our profession the heads-up about him, and when you tell a colleague a story about an uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in, she knows who you’re talking about before you name him, because she’s heard about him, or experienced the same kind of thing from him. We try and make sure there’s not an empty seat near us at learning events, so we won’t have to sit next to him. We work really hard to make sure our friends know not to be in a small group with him. We know he’s not safe, and we know he makes us and our friends and our colleagues incredibly uncomfortable. And yet, we don’t tell him.

I am not a shrinking violet, by any stretch of the imagination. People think I’m mouthy and pushy and opinionated. I have told women I work with to lay off the inappropriate comments about male co-workers, but I have not done anything about that guy. When he makes me profoundly uncomfortable with a touch or a comment, I may give him the death stare, and get myself out of that space as soon as possible, but I do not say anything to him. And I am ashamed of that, because it gives him license to continue to do what he does. I am also ashamed, because some of us are doing this in contexts where students see us, and we are modeling a power dynamic for them that I work against all the time.

credit: Peter Rukavina via cc

I was listening to Cross-Country check-up on Sunday evening, making dinner, and yelling nasty comments at the radio, as Rex Murphy (really, CBC?) attempted to have a meaningful call-in about sexual harassment. He was astounded at the number of women calling in to say “yes, this happens, yes, this is real, yes, we are STILL dealing with this crap.” He commented repeatedly on one caller who had impressed him with the strength of her personality, and seemed really surprised that this had happened to her. Because why, Rex? Because she doesn’t seem like an easy target?

This happens to all of us, introvert or extrovert, old or young. Part of why it happens is because we have somehow become desensitized and accepted that this is just the way it is. A colleague I talked to said we’ve put up with it for so long, that it doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to change, so why would we be the one to make noise about it, and open ourselves up to shame and embarrassment, because we’re admitting this happened to us.

So this is my turning point. I have decided that I will no longer walk away. I will look that guy in the eye, let him know exactly what he’s done that made me uncomfortable, and ask him not to do it again, to me or anyone else. If you’re as fed up, and frustrated, and tired of being on edge as I am in this context, I’d love it if you’d join me. It’s time.


Let the sparks fly.

More than a meme to me.


My dad, Bert, a few months after diagnosis. I can see the disease in how he holds his mouth, and the thinness of his arms.

It’s been a weird couple of weeks for me, since the ice bucket challenge really took off, because I’m an ALS survivor. If you know anything about this disease, you know that there is no cure. I’m using the term survivor because my dad died of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis 10 years ago. The only survivors of this disease are the family members and friends who offer care, love and support as best they can, advocate for their loved ones with doctors, nurses, bureaucrats and support workers, and watch and weep and wait for the inevitable, horrible death. Most people with ALS die within 2-5 years of their diagnosis, when they are no longer able to breathe or swallow.

The thing about ALS is that it’s a “hard sell” in the charity fundraising market. There are no inspiring survivors – there is no cure. There’s no multi-million dollar industry around it – not a pink ribbon or national school run day anywhere. Those who suffer with it often can’t speak, walk, feed or dress themselves – difficult conditions if you’re trying to advocate. And those conditions also mean that most people, quite naturally, don’t want to see what ALS looks like, as its victims fade away to a shadow of their former selves. 2-3 people die of ALS in Canada every day, according to ALS Canada, compared to much higher numbers for other diseases.

So, it’s a little strange, all of a sudden, to have a freaking hashtag about ALS, and to have people all over the world dumping ice on their heads and challenging others to do the same, to raise money for this disease a lot of people have never heard of. I’ve been trying to dig into why I’m ambivalent about it. I love the amount of money that’s going to ALS charities, and heaven knows we all needed a feel-good story this month, but I wish I was convinced that it meant people were actually learning, and talking, about ALS. A friend’s 9 year old daughter posted her own video after her dad did his, and challenged a few friends to do their own. It was adorable, but it also frustrated me, because the cynical side of me knows that those kids aren’t making donations, or hearing anything about ALS. It just becomes dumping water on our heads, which makes for entertaining video, but doesn’t help find a cause or cure for a disease we’ve been aware of for more than 100 years.

I read a Slate article that suggested that people being more aware of ALS does “precious little good to anybody”, and I would respectfully submit that that’s crap. If this challenge means that more people have an awareness of this disease, and fewer people living with it are laughed at as they try to manoeuvre food to their mouth in food courts or restaurants (as happened to my dad), and friends and family members might not have to do quite as much painful explanation or advocacy, I would be thrilled. Awareness does make a difference, and there is almost no way that I can explain the relief that would come when I told people what my dad was living with, and someone had a sense of what that meant. Someone understood that we were watching my brilliant,frustrating,athletic, impatient,Drama and English teacher dad lose his ability to bicycle, rant, tend his grapes, dance, share his opinions, eat the good food that he so loved, hold my kids, swim, sing… was a gift when someone understood that.

So, please, if you’re taking part in the challenge, take a minute to find out what the first part of that hashtag is all about. If you choose to make a donation, you might want to choose one (like ALS Canada) with a mandate to research, but also to provide care and increase awareness. It’ll help your donation keep making a difference when ALS, inevitably, gets bumped out of the social media spotlight.

Links to check out:
Bo Stern’s blog.: A family member’s perspective on living with ALS.
ALS Canada

Let the sparks fly.