“So, what are kindergarteners capable of learning? For this question, we turn to psychologist Benjamin Bloom. In the 1950s, he led a team of researchers to create a cognitive learning guide, which shows at what stage children can understand various concepts. Each level is based on the one in front of it, similar to a staircase. The levels of learning are:
Level 1: Knowledge. The child has already been taught a concept and just needs to remember it. For example, after he learns about measuring time he can repeat that a week has seven days.
Level 2: Comprehension. The child understands what the concept means. She can tell you in her own words why keeping track of time through weeks is important.
Level 3: Application. The child can come up with examples of how the concept can be used. He realizes that when he marks seven days off a calendar, a week has passed.
Level 4: Analysis. The child can break down each idea and think of it in ways that weren’t introduced. At this level your child can figure out what something does. She now understands that she can count down weeks until her birthday.
Level 5: Synthesis. The child can apply the concept to new situations. For example, he may start counting down weeks because he knows he has to return a library book in three weeks…”
http://www.education.com/magazine/article/How_child_thinks_kindergarteners/
So sweet. I have a bunch of little scratchy-throat, frog students after they all passed along a cold while on their field trip.
I did individual speech tests today with over 90 STUDENTS. It’s boring and dull and repetitive, but actually kind of sweet. They’re nervous and shaky to sit so close to Ms. A with her foreignness and tall nose. But I enjoy asking them how they’re doing (Fine. Thank you.) and patting them on the back before I start.
Today’s speech test went like this:
“The test has two parts (I hold up two fingers so they can understand):
First is reading. Second is speaking.”
Then they read sentences, match pictures and I ask them a few questions.
Now multiply that by 90 for the students I did today, and add the five other classes I have on Monday, and that amounts to… about 240 back pats, “Fine, thank you”’s, and little frog voices.
I love my job ^^
There’s definitely something in the air, sunlight, or alignment of moon and stars that is making my students go NUTS lately!
Class leaders are talking over teachers, turning around to chat with friends, and even habitually quiet students are distracted.
Simple explanation: they have midterm exams and their 6th grade field trip to Gyeongju coming up, so they have a lot to look forward to in the next couple of weeks.
But who knows. I’m just exhausted.
5th grade, Chapter 3 is about health and sickness.
Everyday, I repeat the same vocab over and over:
SICK, sick! The students repeat.
THROW UP, throw up!
FEVER, fever!
This morning, my coteacher, Mrs. B, asked if I’d understood the homeroom teachers’ conversation about a new student, 미나. They were speaking quickly in Korean, so I told her I hadn’t followed it well.
“Did you hear the teachers talking about 미나 yesterday?”
“No, why?”
“The house she’s living in, it’s not her family’s. Her mother died.”
“Really??” I asked.
“Her mom had a— how do you say, 발작?” She paused to search online for the word in English.
“Seizure. Her mom had a seizure and 미나 called the ambulance and went together with her. And so, she was with her mom on the way to the hospital when she died.”
I was silent.
“Her aunt— no, who is it? Her father’s brother— her uncle offered to let her move in with them to their apartment here. She’s not so close with them, but she didn’t want to stay at her old home. But she said yes! Because she was so lonely. But do you know, her father stayed at the house because of his job.” Mrs. B paused at the end of the story.
“So,” she concluded. “We should be extra nice to 미나, and not talk about her family.”
Today in class, I watched 미나’s face as we repeated the vocab, over and over:
CUT, cut!
SICK, sick!
HOSPITAL, hospital!
I noticed a small, green vial holding a few drops of liquid hanging around a fifth grade boy’s neck.
I leaned over to ask him what it was. He paused for a few moments, trying to find the English word.
“Smells good. For your body.”
“Oh,” I said. “Perfume?” He nodded.
“Whose is it, yours?” He shook his head.
“Grandmother.”
