From the Assistant Principal
A Day in the Life of an NLPS Teacher
No two days are ever the same. You’ve probably heard this about all kinds of things - parenting, hospital work, even running a small business. And teaching? Teaching is right up there with the best (or worst?) of them. Every day comes with its own surprises. Some might say that it’s part of the attraction, but it also makes the work incredibly demanding.
Over the years, I started assuming that families had a pretty good idea of what a school day involves. That whatever we went through in classrooms was more or less understood. But I’m not so sure anymore. Unless you’ve done the job yourself (or lived with someone who has), it’s hard to fully grasp the rhythm, intensity, and pure number of decisions that go into just a regular day.
The number I’ve heard tossed around is that teachers make roughly 1,500 decisions a day. A conservative estimate, but let’s go with it. That’s about four decisions a minute. Most of them invisible – tiny, split-second calls about tone, timing, pacing, patience, who to check in with, who needs a drink of water, who’s about to cry, who needs more of a challenge, who needs a break. Some decisions fade away quickly, others linger like cigarettes and alcohol at the end of a long night. Some are heavy, some mundane. But together, they fill up a day fast and make for a heavy head each evening.
So, in the spirit of sharing what it’s like - not a special day, not an excursion or dress-up day (or windy or wet) - here’s a regular old Wednesday at Newport Lakes. The 'I' here could be any one of our classroom teachers.
I’m on the clock from 8.36am, but I arrive at school around 8am. It’s Wednesday. Patrick is here for coffee, which makes Wednesday mornings my favourite. A little hello, a quick chat, and the day begins.
I check my emails. There was an incident between two students yesterday that I didn’t know about. A parent emailed last night. I’m glad I didn’t check until now because it would have played in my head all night. I’ll find time today to check in with the student and get back to the parent.
One of my PLT members comes in to question something on the planner. They say some of their students didn’t grasp yesterday’s Maths, so they’re unsure about moving on. We debrief, bring it on down to the essentials, and alter the approach. With our PLT meeting after recess, I suggest they share their wonderings and concerns.
The music is going as I head out to collect my class. With most students I can tell with just a look how they’re feeling - who’s ready and who’s carrying a cloud. Sometimes you notice a student trying to cast no shadow - slipping through unnoticed - and that’s when you know you need to check in. Students also have the chance to tell me if they aren’t in the green 'ready to learn' zone. We’ve taught strategies to move from yellow or blue back into green, but I’m always having to roll with it with regular check-ins.
We start with Literacy. Phonics. Students use whiteboards, I’m collecting information constantly. Feedback, adjustments, quick pivots.
Three students head off to intervention. I make a note to catch them up later. With students coming and going for intervention, music, or appointments, it can feel like half the class is half the world away at any given time.
At recess I catch up with the student from the email. We have a restorative conversation. These moments can feel small but they sometimes slide away into something much bigger; a repaired relationship, a sense of fairness.
After recess, we have our team PLC. An hour of analysing data and planning accordingly. This is where we work to ensure our lessons aren’t just 'okay', but that they build towards the masterplan.
Pick up the students and get right into Maths. Realise that my class didn’t grasp yesterday’s learning either. Adjust. Re-explain. Try again. Teaching means knowing when to stand beside a struggling student - a quiet stand by me moment - and when to push them further.
Lunchtime yard duty. Always lively. Kids dreaming big - some talking about being astronauts, others rock ’n’ roll stars.
The afternoon feels long. Concentration wanes, but we keep going little by little. When the final bell goes, I’m tired but still need to make a couple of phone calls and write up an incident on Compass. By 3.30pm, our whole staff Professional Learning session begins - another chance to talk tonight and put my voice to use. Today it’s whole-school writing moderation. Together we check our judgments, making sure they’re fair and consistent. It’s slow and methodical and draining, but worth it.
And then, around 5:00pm, I leave. That’s the goal these days - to leave on time at least a couple of days a week. To protect energy. To follow the 'right to disconnect', which exists not just in policy but as a reminder: we’re better teachers when we rest.
Some nights I’ll open the laptop again. Some I won’t. There’s always more to do. But I’ve learned to accept that I’m never really 'finished' Just done for the day.
Until tomorrow.
Teaching is not about glamour. The pace can feel supersonic at times – so fast you barely catch your breath – but there’s no shortcut to doing the work well. Some days feel harder than others. But still, when the work is at its best, there’s nothing like it. The best part is knowing the small things - a smile, encouragement, a breakthrough - don’t fade quickly. For children, some of those moments live forever.
And the only way to do it well? To keep showing up, to not look back in anger and to find joy in the small wins.
Mat Williamson
Assistant Principal
(and couldn’t figure out how to fit the word Wonderwall into the article along with the other twenty or so references to Oasis songs… Just a little bit excited for next weekend)