The Decluttered Teacher | Chapter 5: Student Supplies

On to the student supplies zone. In a tenth grade Algebra II class, student supplies may only account for notebook paper and a fistful of protractors. In a senior Art class, these supplies may well need an entire room of their own. Whatever your needs, I suggest grouping like items and making for easy access. Also, it should be noted that “student supplies” account for those supplies that are provided for students in the classroom, not those that students are expected to bring with them to class.

Due to the fact that the school supplies students will need in any given class differ so greatly, I will cover the basics and provide you with some guiding principles.

Guiding priciple uno: Don’t bother trying to have everything. It’s tempting to purchase every knick-knack you run across at Target, that jar of buttons at the antique store, and who can resist a packet of brand new googley eyes? I urge you to abstain from laying in a stock of everything you might need. Instead, let’s primarily worry about collecting the supplies you will need.

Newbies, another important consideration, it is likely you will not stay in the same classroom until you retire/die (not that those dates would coincide in these tumultuous economic times). According to a statistic I just made up, teachers will relocate to a new room an average of once every two years. Double that if they have a lot of stuff! I will re-reference this statistic when we begin sorting Mt. Everest and decide what to keep.

Let’s imagine we are not the decluttered, unfettered, people-over-things educators we strive to be. Go ahead and fire up your imagination. Now picture boxing up all of your classroom possessions (or the possessions of the teacher in the next room, because you know she’s going to ask for help). Now, quadruple the amount of boxes! We always underestimate how many boxes it will take to pack up all of our stuff. Let’s take it a step further. Imagine the conversation with hubby or girlfriend or your children as you try to convince them to come up during your summer break to lend a hand.

You enter with your chin down on your left shoulder, hands folded, knees touching, your eyes following your right foot as it traces circles on the floor. You make brief eye contact with hubby/girlfriend/relative and immediately return gaze to circling foot.

“Umm, I was…wondering…if you’re not tooooo busy….would you mind…helpingmepackupallthestuffinmyroomandmovingitallthewayacrosscampus (gasp) tothatroomthatsmellslikefeetanddespairitshouldn’ttakemorethanacouplehours (gasp) ordaysorweeksiloveyousomuchthanksgoodtalk.”

You exit the room as if you were Harry and company after they realized they were standing right in front of Fluffy, the three-headed dog.

Quick anecdote: the retiring octogenarian to whom I referred at the beginning of this book was not made up. I truly inherited a room stuffed to the brim with …. (what’s a less colorful word for crap?) Imagine the Cave of Wonders from Aladdin, but instead of gold, there was crap. Instead of diamonds, there was crap. Instead of rubies, there was crap. Instead of a magic lamp, there was a Confederate Flag. (Not sure I wanted to make any wishes with that relic). I started cleaning. (You know how in books they put the three little stars and skip a couple lines to show you time has passed…)

[insert picture of Milky Way Galaxy]

Let’s just say that there weren’t enough stars on that rebel flag to do justice to the amount of time that passed. I spent the better part of my youth (OK, two days) culling, sorting, organizing, decluttering, cleaning, and surreptitiously disposing of detritus (that’s the less colorful word I was looking for). The room was finally spotless and ready to be dressed and addressed as a classroom.

This success was to be short-lived. The Friday before school began, I was called into the principal’s office.

“Do you know what this is about?” my principal asked, sad-smiling as administrators do when they have tough news to deliver.

Even though I was pretty sure I knew what it was about, over a decade of public education had had a pavlovian effect on my entering a principal’s office. I was the kid to whom most teachers refer to as Little Johnny. But, I needn’t have worried about being in trouble. The only thing I was guilty of was being the newest teacher in a school that had a low student enrollment that year.

“Our numbers are low, right? I’m being transferred to another campus?” I replied, half-hoping I actually was in trouble.

“Yeah, we just found out. A couple teachers are coming from your new campus to help you gather your stuff,” she relayed kindly.

Thirty minutes and all of my stuff packed into two boxes later, I was on my way to my new campus, my new room, my new decluttering project.

Oh, and some of those teachers still laugh at my two boxes to this day, that is, until they need help moving theirs.

I know this was quite the digression, but our accumulation of stuff not only ends up being our problem, but usually those of our friends, family, colleagues, and loved ones.

Guiding principle dos: Make for easy access. I like to have my supplies readily available for whomever might need them. My students know where the notebook paper, the glue, and the scissors are. Instead of unfurling Bilbo’s map of Middle Earth to locate and unearth these supplies from your Mount Doom (the mountain of stuff in the middle of our room has become Mount Doom instead of Mount Everest for this analogy), our students, substitutes, colleagues, and, most importantly, ourselves are able to quickly find what’s needed, when needed.

It may sound obvious, but sort your supplies. Small tubs work great for this. Color-coordinate them. Throw all the notebook paper into one. Construction paper in another. Chunk all the markers into one. Map pencils. Crayons. Glue sticks. Et al.

I should also make note of organization within each tub. Do not sort the markers by color. Do not subdivide the “Glue” tub into “stick” and “liquid”. I know it sounds like it would make it easier to find the appropriate and desired item, but, in actuality, it will make you that teacher that throws a fit over inconsequential and, likely unavoidable actions of youth. In addition, most prepubescents and adolescents are not overly concerned with our organizational paradigms. But, if it’s easy, makes a bit of sense, and saves more time than it wastes, kids (and us) are more likely to respect it and maintain it.

That’s it. Two guiding principles. Effective and efficient.

A quick parting suggestion: Don’t buy any supplies, yet. Supplies are expensive, money is tight, and there’s no need to waste. Wait until the first week of school is over. Take inventory of your supplies after students have brought in their last-minute supplies and reevaluate. But, before going to the store, ask at the front office if they have any of the supplies you require. Many schools even have programs for under-privileged youth who cannot afford supplies. Check with your school’s Social Worker. And, remember, we are just prepping this zone. Keep in mind, we still have our Mount Everest to sort. There could be many usable/reusable supplies in there. After you have exhausted all of these avenues, buy only what is necessary and will be used.