How Not To Start Math Class in the Fall

My girls started school yesterday. Fourth and second grade. No idea how that happened! IMAG0343_1_1

Today, on the second day of school, each kid had her first day of math, which she spent taking a math test. By their descriptions, the tests were typical, elementary school, beginning-of-year-diagnostics: lots of questions, a whole random collection of content, multiple choice. Each child was told:

  • There will be no talking.
  • You may not work together.
  • I can not help you.

I’m sure the district or school requires this test be given. I’m sure the curriculum starts out with this beginning-of-year-assessment. I’m not criticizing the individual teachers here.

But I don’t get this tradition. NOT ONE BIT.

Teachers have two different dominant needs at the start of a school year:

  1. Teachers need to set a tone and a climate for mathematics. They need to build community and trust and relationships and an atmosphere conducive to collaboration and risk taking and inquiry and learning. They need to establish routines and expectations.
  2. Teachers need to begin gathering useful formative assessment about their new students so they can plan effectively.

The stock beginning-of-year-assessments fail on both counts. I think the ways they fail the first one are obvious. The key word in the second point is useful. On day one, I really don’t care if my students know the vocabulary word for a five-sided polygon, can tell time to the half hour, and can calculate perimeter accurately. I’d much rather know how they attack a worthy problem, how they work with one another, and how they feel about the subject of mathematics. I am much more interested in the mathematical practice standards than the content standards in the fall.

There are many wonderful ways to kick off math. I’ll say it again to give room for a second collection: there are many wonderful ways to kick off math. You can do math autobiographies. You can do Talking Points and tackle some math myths. You can establish essential routines as efficiently as possible and then launch into a great problem. You can teach expectations in a mathy way. You can get kids counting or solving or working or playing a game or talking about math and observe how they work together and how they think. You can ask questions and listen in. You can get to know them.

Above all else, you can make it clear what math class will feel like this year. And please tell me it won’t feel like this:

  • There will be no talking.
  • You may not work together.
  • I can not help you.

 

Twitter Math Camp Keynote

I was honored to be one of the keynotes for this year’s Twitter Math Camp (#TMC16). For those of you who are unfamiliar, TMC is a conference organized by (secondary) math teachers for math teachers, and it is a truly remarkable and inspiring thing. I have a lot to process about my time here and what I learned. I hope to find time to blog about it. For the moment, I wanted to post the talk and slides somewhere. This seemed like a friendly spot. I’d love to hear your thoughts, especially if you disagree with me. We have so much to learn together.

Video: “What Do We Have to Learn From Each Other?”

Slides (high quality): Zager TMC16 keynote Minneapolis

Slides (lower res): Zager TMC16 keynote Minneapolis smaller file size

Postscript. David Butler blogged about the Lunes of Alhazen and this talk and what it all means to both of us. Please check it out. It’s beautiful.

Extending the Book Experience?

By now you’ve probably heard about ShadowCon, the mini-conference hosted by Zak Champagne, Mike Flynn, and Dan Meyer. One of the governing principles of ShadowCon is that the organizers want to “extend the conference experience.” To this end, talks are videoed and put on a website where people can watch them and have conversations with other people, including the person who gave the talk. The session doesn’t live and die in a convention center in another city, but goes back home with attendees and connects to their work in schools.

I was thinking about ShadowCon the other day, and then about books. Which got me wondering, what would it mean to extend the book experience? In the interests of disclosure, I’ll tell you I’m asking that question as both an author and a publisher. I want to experiment with ways to increase interaction and discussion around books so 1) it’s a better reading experience for readers, and 2) authors would get smarter because they’d listen to people’s reactions and stories and perspective about what they wrote.

I’m starting to mull over ways to use my own book as a test case. I already have lots of online additional content to share. 13 blog posts–one for each chapter–are sitting in my drafts folder, waiting for me to press publish when we get close to book publication date. These blogs are full of videos and articles and resources and related blogs and all kinds of good stuff. But what I’m wondering about is how to turn those blogs into two-way spaces, where I share content, yes, but I also hear from readers. If someone reads something in the book and tries it in a classroom, I’d love to know about it. I’d love to hear what worked and didn’t. I’d love to give feedback, if desired, and get feedback (always desired).

So I’m hoping you can help me think about how to do that? When we read books, we usually don’t have access to the author. What I’m wondering is how could access to the author enrich the experience of reading a book? If I open up a forum (here or elsewhere) and make it so readers can talk to each other and to me, and I’d both moderate and be an active participant in the conversation, how would that deepen and extend the experience for all of us?

This internet thing is pretty marvelous, and I have come to treasure the ethos we have in the Math Twitter Blog-o-Sphere (#MTBoS). At the same time, books are marvelous. I love them. I love the thoughtfulness, the depth, the level of argumentation, the pace, the quality.

I wonder how to bring what I love about books to the MTBoS? And what I love about the MTBoS to books?

If you feel like sharing ideas, I’d be much obliged. If you could talk to an author during and after reading a book, what would that do for you? How would you like to do that? Comments sections, webinars, uploading video and discussing it, book clubs? Other ideas?

 

 

Straight but Wiggled

I visited a first grade last week, and the teacher asked me to take over an already-in-progress Which One Doesn’t Belong? (#wodb) conversation with a small group. She’d chosen this image, shape 2 from Mary Bourassa at wodb.ca.

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I’d heard the last couple of comments, and noticed kids were referring to these shapes rectangle, square, diamond, and pentagon. I know that children are usually describing shape and orientation when they use the word diamond, so the first thing I did was turn the page 45° to see what would happen.

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Abby said, “Now you turned the gray one into a diamond and the white one into a square.” The other kids nodded their agreement.

I have learned so much about this moment from Christopher Danielson. In his brilliant book, Which One Doesn’t Belong? A Teacher’s Guidehe digs into the mathematics of diamonds and rhombuses, children’s informal and formal language, and how we might teach in a moment like this. My favorite sentence, which is pinned above my desk at work:

I have come to understand that talking about this difference is more important than defining it away.

Earlier in my career, I would have been tempted to define it away. With Christopher on my shoulder, I engaged the kids in a #diamondchat instead. I drew a quick #wodb with a rhombus, a kite, a diamond-cut gem, and a baseball diamond. I asked, Which of these shapes are diamonds? We played around with the word and I learned a lot about their thinking. Mario looked unsettled and said, “Now I’m not so sure what a diamond is.” He turned to me and asked, “What’s a diamond? Which one is right?”

I said, “I don’t know. It’s up to you.”

The kids gasped.

I smiled and went on, “Diamond is a great word. We can use it to talk to each other so people understand what we mean. But it doesn’t have a strict definition in math, like some other words do. For example, the word ‘square’ has a meaning in mathematics, and we can all agree on that meaning. But diamond isn’t like that. Its meaning is really up to you and what you’re talking about. If you think this is a diamond, it’s a diamond.”

Students liked this idea.

It was time to move on to a new #wodb, so I looked through the ones the teacher had printed out, and went for something different:

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This one is from Cathy Yenca. It produced the desired effect right away:

Rianna: “I thought we were talking about math! Why’d you put this up! There are no letters in math!”

Mario: “Well, I guess you could think about them as shapes. Like U doesn’t belong because it has two lines and then a curvy handle thing at the bottom. And A doesn’t belong because it has an inside space. And T doesn’t belong because it’s the only one made out of 2 straight lines…”

Abby interrupted, “T only has 1 straight line.”

This one caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

She gestured up-and-down with her hand and said, “That’s a straight line, and then it has a bar across the top.”

I asked, “How many straight lines does the N have?”

Abby: “Two.”

“What about now?”

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Abby: “Now the N doesn’t have any straight lines.”

“What about the T now that it’s turned?”

“It still has one straight line, but now it’s that one.” She pointed to the now-vertical part of the T.

I pulled out a marker. “Is this a straight line?”

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Abby: “It’s pretty close.”

“Right. Pretty close. Pretend I’d made it perfect.”

“Then yeah, it’s a straight line.”

“What about this one?”

“That’s a laying-down line.”

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What about this one?

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“That’s straight but wiggled.”

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Oh man. How awesome is that?

The kids started arguing, in the best sense of the word.

Willy: “I don’t think that’s straight. Straight means it doesn’t have any wiggles or curves.”

Julie: “No, straight means it goes up and down. It doesn’t matter if it’s curved.”

Those were the clear terms of the debate. So now what do I do? I have Christopher on my shoulder still.

I have come to understand that talking about this difference is more important than defining it away.

I also have the knowledge that defining it away isn’t going to convince Abby or Julie or Mario. They might say “OK” to please the teacher, but I’m not going to change any minds that way.

At the same time, my mind is reeling, wondering how we use this word “straight” informally? Why have kids inferred that straight means up-and-down?

“Kids, line up in a straight line.”

“Sit up straight.”

“That picture is crooked. Can you straighten it?”

“Put the books on the shelf so they’re straight.”

In our everyday language, we sometimes do use “straight” to mean upright or vertical or aligned. I didn’t think of all these examples on the spot, but in the moment, I was confident I would think of them later. In the moment, I knew Abby had a good reason for her argument, based on her lived experience, even if I hadn’t figured it out yet. That faith in her sense-making matters a lot in this interaction. Her understanding of “straight” isn’t wrong; it’s incomplete. My job is to help her layer in nuance and context to her understanding of “straight,” so she knows what it means in an informal sense and what it means in geometry.

With the kids, I told them it might help us communicate if we added a few other words to the mix. I asked if they knew the words vertical or horizontal? They did, Abby included. They were able to correctly match the lines to the word.

Abby said, “I think there should be more words for lines.”

“Like what?”

“Like, vertiwiggle. That would be up-and-down and wiggled. And horizontawiggle for lying-down lines that are wiggly.”

This was the moment to stop pressing. That much I knew.

By coining these new words, Abby had let me know she was now thinking about two different attributes at the same time: the orientation and the wiggliness. I wasn’t about to resolve that complexity or define it away. I wanted her to think about it. I’ll check in with her next time and see what she thinks.

The classroom teacher said her mind was blown by this conversation. She had the whole class join us, and I erased the board. I used a straightedge and drew only the straight, vertical line. The whole class agreed it was straight.

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I drew the straight, horizontal line, and asked if it was a straight line. All hands went up, even Abby’s. I looked at her and said, “Tell me what you’re thinking now.”

“I’m thinking that, even if it’s lying down, it’s still a straight line.”

Interesting.

I drew the diagonal line. Now about half the hands went up. I called on a student who said it wasn’t a straight line:

“Well, it’s almost a straight line, but it’s slanted.” Lots of nods at this.

Nate said, “I don’t think it matters if it’s slanted. Straight means it’s not curved. That line is straight.”

Emma said, “No, straight means it goes like this.” She gestured up and down.

There were lots of furrowed brows.

I drew the squiggly lines and asked who thought they were straight. A few hands went up. Abby raised her hand halfway, then put it down. She said, “I made up a new word for that kind of line. It’s vertiwiggly.”

The class laughed. I smiled and capped my marker. Time was up.

The teacher wants me to come back Monday and pick this up again. So, where should I go from here?

Whatever I do, I’m in no rush to define this loveliness away.

 

 

Ignite!

I gave my first Ignite! talk in San Francisco. I was super honored to be asked, especially given what a Math Forum fangirl I am. The lineup was AMAZING. I hope you’ll watch all the talks.

An Ignite! talk has a unique format: 5 minutes, 20 slides, 15 seconds per slide. The slides auto-advance whether you’re ready or not. Ten of us presented in an hour.

In my mind, I wanted to really nail this talk. I wanted to script it and practice it and polish it and rehearse it for a month so I could give it in my sleep. In my real life, I had so much work piled up between the time I finished my book and the time I set sail for San Francisco that I didn’t get to start drafting the talk until seven days before I was to give it and I hardly had time to practice during conference week.

I found the process of choosing a topic interesting. I gave a pretty political talk at ShadowCon last year, and decided to go for something more substantive this time. I chose to talk about the last big chapter in my book. It’s the biggest chapter, actually, which makes it a strange choice for a 5-minute talk. But it’s my favorite, (shh! don’t tell the other chapters), and I liked the challenge of seeing if I could get the framework into 5 minutes, even if I couldn’t even start on the classroom stories and specifics.

I learned that 15 seconds is enough time for me to say 3 sentences. I tightened my script until I was pretty happy with every word. I started practicing in the odd 5 minutes here or there in my hotel room in San Francisco. Everything was smooth with the script in my hand. Then the night before Ignite!, my awesome roommate, Jenny Jorgensen, made me put the script down and give the talk to her, and the shit hit the fan. It was a hot mess.

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I always say that the first time you give a talk to an audience is like cooking your first pancake. This analogy comes from Scott Hamilton talking about ice skating in the 80s. I wish I could find the reference, but I’ve looked and failed. I swear, he said it on TV and it stuck with me. No matter how much you’ve practiced, there’s nothing like getting out in front of the crowd to make you realize where you need to turn up the heat or thin the batter. Practicing in front of Jenny made me realize I was about to give a first pancake to 1,000 people. Not my favorite feeling.

The morning of the Ignite!, my dear friends Graham Fletcher and Kristin Gray met me in at 7:30 in an empty room to let me screw it up in front of them a few times so I’d give a second pancake to 1,000 people. I felt better after. Not great, not confident, but better. Mostly, I felt lucky to have Graham, Kristin, and Jenny as friends. Such support.

I think there are two plausible ways to do an Ignite! One is to script it out and then practice the hell out of it until you really do know it cold. The other is to bullet point it and have it feel a little more improvisational.

What I did this time was find the no-man’s land in the middle. I scripted it out enough that I lost the normal, extemporaneous flexibility I have to change my words and keep going. When I said the wrong word, what was happening in my mind was, “No! I decided to say dispute here, not debate!” I was tied too tightly to my script. But I didn’t have the time to practice enough to deliver the smooth performance I would have liked.

I’m not sure if there will be a next time. The main thing I noticed in San Francisco was how relaxed and happy I was the next day, in a normal 60-minute session. I could walk around, check in on people, add tangents, be funny, go with the flow. I never would have thought 60 minutes would feel long and relaxed, but compared to a 5-minute Ignite!, it was joyful. I felt so much more in my element. I’m really more of a long-form girl.

I am grateful for the opportunity, though. It pushed my skills as a presenter and forced me to tighten up my thinking. I learned a lot. Mostly, I learned to always have a turn-and-talk or something for the crowd to read at slide 3 so I can take a drink of water when my inevitable cotton mouth shows up. That’s the one thing I can count on.

Well, that and my friends.

Talking Math in Ghirardelli Square

My stellar week of NCSM/NCTM fun ended with my family flying to San Francisco for a weeklong holiday. We started out at the Embarcadero, and ended up in Ghirardelli Square. We were sitting on a bench, eating our hot fudge sundaes, when my husband, Sam, started talking about the sale on big bags of Squares® inside.

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He said he’d worked out the math, and big bags came out to about three Squares® per dollar. He was thinking about picking up a bag to take back to his office. I thought about grabbing one for Stenhouse, and one for my school. Conversation moved on. Eventually we all fell quiet.

Several minutes later, I was people-watching when my first grader, Daphne, asked, “Is it possible to break ten into three equal pieces?”

I asked why she was asking. (I do this often.)

“This is a question I have a lot. Like, today, when I wanted to buy my new doll, Olivia, it was some amount of money for three of them, and I wondered how much it would be for one of them, because I only wanted one.”

I was a little slow on the uptake. Long conference week. I sat there, blinking, for a minute. And then I said, “Oh! You’re asking about the chocolate, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Because Daddy said they’re three for a dollar. What if you only wanted to buy one of them? How much would that be?”

“I see. But you didn’t ask if you could break a dollar into three equal parts. You asked if you could break ten into three equal parts. Where’d the ten come from?”

“Well, you know how there are ten 10s in 100?”

“I do.”

“It’s basically the same thing. Like, 6 + 4 = 10, and 60 + 40 = 100.”

I asked where the 100 came from.

“The 100 is because there are 100 pennies in a dollar. So if I figure it out for 10, then I’ll be able to figure it out for 100, because it’s basically the same thing.”

This is where I stopped her for a second so we could high-five. I mean, holy use of mathematical structure, Batman.

Daphne went on, “What I really need are ten things. Oh, rocks! Perfect!”

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Daphne worked with the rocks for a long time. She was thinking hard. I kept her sister quiet, which is the challenge in moments like this.

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Daphne finally said, “I don’t think I can make three equal pieces with rocks, because I can’t break this last rock apart. It works out to 3 + 3 + 4 or 3 + 3 + 3 + 1. I need a piece of paper to show you.” She grabbed the envelope I had in my bag.

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“See? It doesn’t work because I can’t break this rock! I can’t cut rocks into thirds.”

I asked, “What if they were crackers or cookies instead?”

“Then I could break up the last piece into three equal pieces. Then they’d each have three whole ones and one-third.”

“What do you mean, one-third?”

“Well, a third is one of three equal pieces.”

“What if you have three pieces, but they’re different sizes?”

“Then they’re not thirds. They’re just three chunks. I learned this from listening to you and Maya talk, by the way.”

Hmm. +1 for older sisters.

I asked, “So what do you think they do if they want to sell one piece of chocolate? How much should it be?”

She said, “With money, I should be able to to break it up. I can make change for the dollar. So I have 100 cents. So, 30 + 30 + 30 is 90, and that leaves 10 more…”

At this moment, she leapt up. “Wait! It’s the same thing again! It’s going to go on forever! With 100, it was 30 + 30 + 30 with 10 left. With 10, it’s 3 + 3 + 3 with 1 left. I can split up that 1 into three pieces, but there’s going to be a piece left. That one extra piece MAKES IT GO ON FOREVER! There’s always going to be an extra piece! Three, three, three!”

I happened to have a conference schwag calculator in my bag, and she got to see 100 ÷ 3.

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“So how much should one piece of chocolate cost?”

“One-third of a dollar.”

“How much is that?”

“About 33 cents. If they charge 33¢, they get pretty close to a dollar.”

“How close?”

“Well, three chocolates would be 33 + 33 + 33, so 30 + 30 + 30 is 90, and 3 + 3 + 3 is 9, so that’s 99¢.”

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I just spent a week thinking about the teaching and learning of mathematics with all kinds of amazing people. So much of the conversation is about how we can create the conditions so students do what Daphne did here:

  • She noticed math in the world around her, and wondered about it.
  • She posed an original (to her) mathematical question.
  • She used structure to think about that question (in this case, the structure of place value).
  • She used the strategy of solving a simpler problem.
  • She looked for patterns and regularity.
  • She stuck with her problem when it was hard for her.
  • She used tools, representations, and models.
  • She decontextualized and recontextualized the problem.
  • She reasoned and justified.

I mean, she was all over the SMPs, right? And naturally, too. I wasn’t pushing any math at that moment, believe me. I was sitting there like a lump, very tired and very happy to be with my family. But I’ve done things at other times. Namely, I’ve made it clear to Daphne that math belongs to her. That her ideas are valuable. That I’m interested in them. That math involves asking questions. That she can figure things out for herself. That she owns the results of her investigations. That math is all around her. That she is a mathematician.

It’s paying off. Now, if only she can hold on to all of that.

 

NCSM/NCTM 2016

NCSM:

Monday, 1:30 – 2:30, OCC 210/211.

“I’m Not Really a Math Person”: Coaching Anxious Elementary Teachers

NCSM Oakland 2016 slides

 

NCTM:

Friday, 9:30 – 10:30, Ignite! Moscone 134.

Going Beyond Groupwork: Teaching Students to be Mathematical Colleagues.

Video

 

Saturday, 8:00 – 9:00 Moscone 3003 and then 9:30 – 10:30 Moscone West 2nd floor cove 1.

How do they relate? Teaching Students to Make Mathematical Connections

Zager NCTM SF 2016 presentation

 

My Manuscript, By the Numbers

Yesterday, I turned in the manuscript for Becoming the Math Teacher You Wish You’d Had: Ideas and Strategies from Vibrant Classrooms. This is a math education blog, so I’ll mathematicize this process.

581 manuscript pages, 208 figures.

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13 chapters.

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These 13 chapters.

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Observations of more than 40 highly recommended teachers to find my 4 anchors of this book: Heidi Fessenden, Jennifer Clerkin Muhammad, Deborah Nichols, and Shawn Towle. Enough observations of those teachers to make my hard drive look like this.

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(And those are just the observations I kept because they were book-worthy.)

6 libraries in my regular rotation. Support your libraries, people.

15,611 tweets. I joined the Math Twitter Blog-o-Sphere halfway through. I have no idea how I wrote the first half without it.

So many new friends. I’m not counting that one because, well, I’m not a jerk! Not everything important should be mathematized, after all. Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful.

There are the numbers that are technically countable but feel countless to me:

  • The emails, texts, and phone calls with my incredible editor, Toby Gordon. Oh man. Really big number.
  • Revision. I saw David Sedaris live and he prefaced a story by saying, “This is draft number 16.” Fantastic. I didn’t keep track like that because of the way I revise partial drafts. I’m no writing god like David Sedaris, but it was a lot.
  • Milligrams of caffeine. Don’t get me started.

Then there are the numbers I’d like to forget, but were part of this story:

  • 4 tumors.
  • 0 lymph nodes!
  • 4 cycles of chemotherapy.
  • 2 major surgeries, 1 minor one still waiting for me.
  • 262 doses so far from the 3,650 doses of Tamoxifen I’ll take.

This has been quite a journey.

I started this project in the fall of 2011. It grew, and grew, and grew in scope until I turned in this massive manuscript in February of 2016. For the last several months, everyone’s been waiting on me to finish. For the next several months, the team takes over. I get a front row seat and can’t wait to watch the manuscript go through editing, copy editing, typesetting, interior and exterior design, and production. My colleagues at Stenhouse will transform these efiles and manuscript pages into a beautiful, visual experience for the reader. It will be a big book with a lot of figures, and it will take time. Think fall of 2016.

Of course I’m excited to have this book in my hands. For now, I’m pretty excited to have held it in this form.

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My Criteria for Fact-Based Apps

Disclaimer: I do not work for any edtech companies and I have no desire to work for any edtech companies. I have no skin in this game. I make absolutely no money off any apps and plan on keeping it that way. This disclaimer means I have nothing to disclaim and you are getting my straight-up opinion here. 

People often ask me what apps I can recommend for multiplication and division fact fluency. This question usually puts me in a tough position because, while eventual automaticity matters, I care about building conceptual understanding of these operations. My buddy Graham Fletcher recently described one path the progression of multiplication can take in this outstanding video. As Graham points, out, let’s not rush past all that great work!

And yet the requests come. This week, I fielded one from a teacher I needed to answer, so I threw the question out to twitter to see what’s new on the market. I’ve been looking around since, and the big money math fact app world is enough to send me into despair. It’s almost all awful. As I looked at them, I noticed I use three baseline criteria, and I’m unwilling to compromise on any of them:

  1. No time pressure. In some apps, there is a giant timer counting down. Or you have to answer before the sun sets. Or the context is such that the whole experience feels like an anxiety nightmare.

    These screen shots came from the Arcademics game “Meteor Multiplication.” They’re basically embedding flash cards in the great Atari game of my youth, “Asteroids.” Except now, blasting asteroids isn’t fun. Now, if I can’t think of my facts fast enough while the meteors close in on me, I feel like I’ll be crushed to death. I know my facts. I found it hard to think when facing impending doom. This isn’t surprising. Studies like the one from Ashcraft and Moore have shown that:

    “Overall, math anxiety causes an “affective drop,” a decline in performance when math is performed under timed, high-stakes conditions, both in laboratory tests as well as in educational settings. This means that math achievement and proficiency scores for math-anxious individuals are underestimates of true ability. The primary cognitive impact of math anxiety is on working memory, particularly problematic given the important role working memory plays in math performance.”

    I don’t have math anxiety, but many of our students and teachers do, and timed drill is a leading cause. My 1st-grade daughter’s classmates told me they have stomachaches from the “Speed Round” in Addimals. Under no circumstances will I recommend any apps that involve time pressure or speed rounds. This criterion strikes the vast majority of apps because the premise of so many of them is that speed races are “fun.”

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    Source: http://www.arcademics.com/games/
  2. Conceptual Basis for the Operations. I don’t want to see naked number drills, especially not for 3rd graders. Flashcards embedded in silly or glitzy contexts are still flashcards. I want to see mathematical models like arrays, groups, hundreds charts, and number lines. Most of the apps put their money into developing exciting or humorous graphics to lure in customers, but what kind of mathematical sense does this make?

    This screenshot is from SumDog’s Junk Pile, where the answers to math problems inexplicably turn into trash piled up in a junkyard. In this example, my correct answer to 80 – 10 turned into garbage. I mean, I’m trying not to be too sensitive here, but what kind of message does it send when we turn math into garbage? Literally! The first question I answered turned into a toilet bowl.

  3. Mistakes Must Be Handled Productively. The first thing I do when I trial a game is I make mistakes on purpose to see what will happen. The overwhelming majority of apps give some form of a Family-Feud-style giant red X. Sometimes with flames, molten lava, or puffs of smoke, because I guess the X is too subtle?
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    Source: http://www.specialeducationadvisor.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/next-dollar-up-3.jpg

    I’d estimate that, 9 times out of 10, most apps just move to the next problem after a mistake. The kids don’t get to figure out where they went wrong, don’t get to learn from the mistake, and don’t get to try again. Talk about missed opportunities. And then there’s the way mistakes affect scores and the endless parade of stickers, stars, and tokens in these games. Screen Shot 2016-01-04 at 9.28.22 PM

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    Source: http://www.arcademics.com/games/tractor-multiplication/tractor-multiplication.html

    In this game, we played tug-of-war in tractors, because I guess that’s a thing. Anyway, it was a race. In the second round, we did some tandem tractoring where I was partnered with a stranger on the internet and we raced two computers. I was Player977, and I answered 35 questions/minute. That’s a much faster rate than we can ever expect students to recall facts, even with automaticity. I made one mistake on purpose and guess what? We lost. I can’t tell if I lost because of the one mistake, or I lost because my internet-anonymous partner, Player807, needed a little more time to answer. Am I supposed to think of Player807 as deadweight? I mean, come on. However I slice it, I lost through some algorithm that only counts speed and correct answers and discounts mistakes as bad. Little surprise that most of these app web pages have correct answer counters, like McDonald’s does for burgers.

So what apps can I recommend? The list is painfully short. One program rises right to the top. Dreambox is my preferred app, without a doubt, by a mile, far and away from the others. Students have plenty of time to think. Cathy Fosnot’s landscapes are built right into the structure of the app, so students are often working on a variety of interrelated ideas and models. For example, Daphne is in 1st grade, and she’s working with rekenreks, number lines, and tens frames.

The modeling is just off the hook. I took these screenshots while Maya (3rd grade) was working in a context for place value. She needed to think of 4 different ways to pack 703 objects among cases of 100, boxes of 10, and loose 1s.

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Given the poor conceptual underpinning of my kids’ curriculum, I sprang for dreambox at home, so I get to peek over Maya and Daphne’s shoulders now and then as they play. When they make a mistake, the response is, “Oops. Something doesn’t seem quite right.” The kids are expected to try again. If they’re stumped, the app supplies really good support, layered in like a teacher would.

This is straight talk. My kids love dreambox and ask to play regularly. I’m down with it because, on top of it nailing all three of my criteria, the story contexts are fun – pirate ships, dinosaur fossil excavations, amusement parks – and the messaging about math is aces from both equity and growth mindset vantage points.

What else is out there? I’ve heard good things about Wuzzit Trouble from Keith Devlin. I haven’t tried it myself, though. I plan on giving it a go.

h/ts to John Golden and Paula Krieg for pointing me toward Bunny Times this week: It’s actually free. It isn’t as glitzy as the other apps and doesn’t produce teacher reports or have a dashboard. It’s also focused singularly on multiplication using arrays. But, my friends, the math is right.

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They build in some nice decomposition work as the problems get bigger, so kids start to build foundational understanding of the distributive property.

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Over time, a fog rolls in, which discourages counting by ones.

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And check this out. Look what happens when you make a mistake.

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You see that feedback? See that carrot there? And do you see that lovely sign, right in the foreground? The one that says, “TRY AGAIN?” So we did.

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I wondered what Maya would think of this app. She adored it, and I watched her do some really good thinking. For example, she’s still a big fan of doubling. At the beginning of her bunny time, she’d think about a problem like 8 x 12 as 2 x 12 = 24, 24 x 2 = 48, 48 x 2 = 96. After some time with the bunnies, I saw her solve 8 x 12 with (8 x 10) + (8 x 2). That’s a nice development. She started thinking strategically about breaking the dimensions into smaller numbers, using more 5s and 10s and place value-based thinking.

So, I was saved from my despair by the lovely design at dreambox and the solid math of the bunnies.

My message to most app makers? Try again.

Clarification, Jan 5 2016. 

I think I need to clear something up. Dreambox and the Bunny Times aren’t comparable. Dreambox is a full program. Soup to nuts, as they say, A huge K-8 progression, thoughtfully organized and designed, that develops both understanding AND fluency, together. That’s why I like it so much. And, I’m sorry to say, that’s why its pricepoint is much higher.

The Bunny Times has nothing like the scope or scale of dreambox. It’s not trying to be more than it is. It’s an app tightly focused on one part of developing multiplication. But when they decided how to structure it, I think they did a nice job thinking it through.

And they met my criteria of no time pressure, a conceptual basis, and handling mistakes productively.

I personally think that’s not a high bar. I mean, those three criteria are my bare minimum. That’s why it’s stunning that so few apps clear it.

People have been tossing apps my way all day both on twitter and in the comments. I’m happy to take a look. But I’m telling you right now, if it has time pressure, no emphasis on understanding, or poor handling of mistakes, it gets a fail from me.

Clarification #2 Jan 7 2016

Looking through comments and twitter conversation about this blog, it seems there are two things I didn’t make nearly clear enough.

  1. This list is not exhaustive. I certainly didn’t try everything out there. I shared dreamBox and Bunny Times as two examples at two price points and two scopes that meet the criteria I outlined. And I shared that I’ve purchased dreamBox at home because I think it’s great.
  2. Lots of people have been asking about other factors and attributes about games, apps, subscriptions, programs, etc. This is a great question and the main thing I want to clarify. There are lots of other characteristics I look for when evaluating games and apps. Here’s a partial list, the best brain dump I could do before caffeine this morning:

Is the game engaging? Do kids like it? Are they motivated to use it? Does it encourage students to interact with each other? Does it help build mathematical intuition and sense-making through things like prediction, estimation, revision, reflection? Do students get multiple iterations to solve until they decide they’re satisfied and pleased? Does it reduce barriers to entry? Does it break down or contribute to stereotypes about who can and can’t do math (students of color, multilingual students, students with disabilities, gender)? Is the mathematics it addresses important? Does it contribute to societal myths about what mathematics is, or unseat them? Does it adapt to students’ performance? Does it yield useful formative assessment for teachers (not just “data”)? Do the problems have any openness (beginning, middle, end) or is it all answer-getting? Do students get to write? Are there options for student creativity and initiative? How are the graphics? Is there mathematical beauty and delight? Do the kids ever get to choose among representations and models or create representations and models themselves, or is everything provided? Do the kids decide their strategy or do they execute what the program chooses? Does it portray mathematics as inherently interesting, or something that needs to be dressed up in gimmicks and rewards?

If you’re wondering what program could possibly do all that well, I’ll send you to teacher.desmos.com. Have a look around. Enjoy.

But here’s the deal. In this particular blog, I wasn’t trying to list all the things I consider. I was trying to give my 3 non-negotiables. As I said above, I won’t compromise on any of them. I don’t actually care how great the graphics are, how good the teacher reports are, or how many people tell me “but kids like it!” if the program has time pressure, no conceptual basis, and handles mistakes negatively. 

That’s what I meant by baseline criteria. If an app meets those three criteria, then I’ll look at the rest. But when I first look at an app, these are my three questions:

  1. Is there time pressure?
  2. Is it conceptual?
  3. How does it handle mistakes?

 

Update July 11 2016

Thanks to Julie Wright and Dan Meyer for recommending Sumaze! Super strong. Thumbs up. And free!

Counting Circles Variant: Tens and Ones

Last week I was hanging out in a kindergarten during Counting Collections. It was amazing and beautiful. Afterwards, the kindergarten teacher, Becky Wright, and I were talking about the challenge of switching from counting by tens to counting by ones. These three students will give you a sense of what happens at the transition.

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“10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74.”
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“10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 51, 52, 53. But these 3 each have 3.”
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“10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 100.”

We’ve all been thinking about what might help students get more comfortable switching back and forth between counting by tens and counting by ones. Today, Becky and I were talking with Debbie Nichols, who teaches 1st and 2nd grade. Together, we landed on the idea of passing out 10s and 1s – connected sticks of ten cubes and single cubes, base 10 rods and units, etc. – and then having a counting circle.

In kindergarten in the late fall/winter, Becky would have the kids holding tens positioned at the beginning of the circle. As kids counted around, adding what they have, they’d keep a running total of the cubes. So a count with 20 kids might sound like “10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83” if the first 7 kids were holding 10s and the rest had 1s.

What about having one of the kids with tens switch places with one of the kids with ones?  Now the count might be, “10, 20, 30, 40, 41, 51, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 81, 82, 83.” Ooh!

Or, what about going around the other way, starting with the ones and ending with the tens? “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 23, 33, 43, 53, 63, 73, 83.” Hard!

With 1st and 2nd graders, Debbie wanted to pass out tens and ones at random. Her kids came back from recess and we gave it a go right away:

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As kids counted around, Debbie kept track by pointing on the hundreds chart. After one count around, we found we had 77 cubes.

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The kids asked if we could count around the other way – counterclockwise instead of clockwise – and we had a great discussion about whether we would still land on 77 or not. I suggested Deb keep track of the running total by tracing its path on the hundreds chart, using a different color for each count:

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We tried clockwise and counterclockwise. We tried rearranging the kids by switching every third spot. For our last count, everyone stood up and traded cubes with somebody else.

What do you notice? What do you wonder?

Some of the kids’ claims:

“It will always be 77 unless we add some cubes or take some away.”

“It doesn’t matter what order we add in. It will always work out the same!”

There’s so much potential here.

Debbie’s planning to do the same thing with dimes and pennies on a different day. And, of course, we could give older kids multiples of ten and/or multiples of one.

After doing it just four times, we noticed an increasing smoothness for some of the kids. They were noticing that they’d either move over or down on the hundreds chart.

I’m excited to see what other versions we might come up with. Have an idea? Please put it in the comments!

And let me know if you’ve read about this idea somewhere else. Happy to cite it if we reinvented the wheel.