This He Believes

"Turning point!" the social studies teacher read off the slide on the screen in my room. "We should collaborate! I'm talking about turning points too, as in the Battle of Saratoga was the turning point of the Revolutionary War."

"We are talking about personal turning points," I told him, "times that changed the way the students thought."

He read some more of the slide. It had prompts to help the kids identify those moments. "Why Santa Clause?" he asked. " Is it because they didn't get what they wanted?"

"More like a time when they realized that they had been fooled and maybe there wasn't really any magic in the world," I said.

He shook his head. "See, I never believed in that stuff. I was the kid who ruined it for others from Kindergarten on."

"What do you think that says about you?" I asked him.

"More about my parents than me," he answered. "They were like, We bought you this stuff because we worked hard and earned the money."

"So it was kind of a lesson about taking care of yourself and not relying on other people to give you what you want?"

"Definitely," he said. "No imaginary fat guy in a red suit was going to get credit for that. You don't work? You don't eat."

"That shaped you, right?" I asked.

"You know it," he said.

"Well you are ready to write your essay!"

Language Barrier

One of my students stopped by this morning to ask me a question about her English grade. I was right in the middle of something and my homeroom students were coming in, so I recommended she speak to me when she came to our class later in the day.

"Ask me in English," I told her.

She looked confused and repeated her question.

"I promise I will answer you when you ask me in English," I said.

She repeated her question again.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her. "What did I just tell you?"

"You said to ask you in English," she answered, "but I am asking in English."

It took me a minute, but then I started to laugh. "I mean English the class, not English the language!"

"Oh..." she said. "Well that makes more sense!"

My Day Today

re·treat

rəˈtrēt/

verb

verb: retreat; 3rd person present: retreats; past tense: retreated; past participle: retreated; gerund or present participle: retreating

1. 1.

   (of an army) withdraw from enemy forces as a result of their superior power or after a defeat.

   "the French retreated in disarray"

   synonyms:

   withdraw, retire, draw back, pull back/out, fall back, give way, give ground, beat a retreat, beat a hasty retreat "the army retreated"

   antonyms:

   advance

   • move back or withdraw.

     "it becomes so hot that the lizards retreat into the shade"

     synonyms:

     go out, ebb, recede, fall, go down, wane "the tide was retreating"

   • withdraw to a quiet or secluded place.

     "after the funeral he retreated to the shore"
   • change one's decisions, plans, or attitude, as a result of criticism from others.

     "his proposals were clearly unreasonable and he was soon forced to retreat"

     synonyms:

     change one's mind, change one's plans; More

   • (of shares of stock) decline in value.

     "shares retreated 32 points to 653 points"
   • CHESS

     move (a piece) back from a forward or threatened position on the board.

noun

noun: retreat; plural noun: retreats

1. 1.

   an act of moving back or withdrawing.

   "a speedy retreat"

   synonyms:

   withdrawal, pulling back "the retreat of the army"

   • an act of changing one's decisions, plans, or attitude, especially as a result of criticism from others.

     "the unions made a retreat from their earlier position"

     synonyms:

     about-face, U-turn;  informalone-eighty "the president's retreat"

   • a decline in the value of shares of stock.
2. 2.

   a signal for a military force to withdraw.

   "the bugle sounded a retreat"

   • a military musical ceremony carried out at sunset, originating in the playing of drums and bugles to tell soldiers to return to camp for the night.
3. 3.

   a quiet or secluded place in which one can rest and relax.

   "their mountain retreat in New Hampshire"

   synonyms:

   refuge, haven, sanctuary; More

   • a period of seclusion for the purposes of prayer and meditation.

     "the bishop is away on his annual retreat"

     synonyms:

     seclusion, withdrawal, retirement, solitude, isolation, sanctuary "a period of retreat from the world"

Origin

late Middle English: from Old French retret (noun), retraiter (verb), from Latin retrahere ‘pull back’ (see retract).

In Like

I wanted to love The Shape of Water, but I didn't. Since it was inconsistently touching and charming, and it had that amazing water droplet on the bus window scene, we can still be friends, as long as it leaves the rest of the cats alone.

Bone Appetit!

I was flipping through Rachel Ray's magazine the other day, when my cousin asked me a question.

"Have you tried the dog food in there?" she wondered. "It's supposed to be very healthy."

"Uh..." I hesitated, confused. "The dog food? Me? Personally?"

For a moment she was confused, too, but then she laughed. "No! Rachel has a dog food!"

"Oh!" I laughed, too. "No."

"Wow!" she said. "You must be tired!"

Budget Buster

What you get when you go to a big box warehouse store *just* to see if they have a deal on a pair of leggings:

3 English cucumbers
1 large clamshell of Campari tomatoes
1 pound of cheddar
1 pound of swiss
3 jars of tomato sauce
a rotisserie chicken
a pair of sneakers
a giant bottle of shampoo
and

3!

pairs
of
leggings

Origins

This time for my intervention period I have the advanced learners. Each morning twenty four of the brightest kids on the team pack into my room to learn about etymology. It is a much different vibe from my last two little book groups.

For example this morning they were busily creating electronic flash cards to learn some Greek and Latin roots. "Why does spir mean breathe?" one student asked. "How is that related to the word spirit?"

"Well," I answered, "it's the non-physical part of you, as insubstantial but as essential as your breath."

Her eyes widened. "Wow!" she said. "Mind. Blown. This is really cool stuff!"

I totally agree.

Colluding Colluders

Poor little Tibby in the cone went to get her stitches out and came home still in the cone and with a ten day supply of antibiotics.

Dang! Heidi and I said to each other, if ever we were vigilant with pet in "recovery collar" it was with Tibby.

Could one of your other pets be cleaning her incision? the vet wondered.

No way! we replied. Untie the collar, sure, but actually lick her belly? Not a chance.

And yet, as unlikely as it seemed, yesterday Heidi caught Tibby, head in cone,  peacefully reclining on her back in the easy chair while Lucy ever-so-gently slobbered all over the infected incision.

Doh! Maybe they all should be wearing cones.

The Secret Life of Printers

Years ago we named our team printer "Christine" after the car in Stephen King's novel of the same name. Christine the printer was temperamental in some of the same ways, favoring me when it came to her somewhat capricious performance, just as the car showed fierce loyalty to Arnie.

When other teachers got error messages, I got fast, clean copies. When Christine jammed, which became increasingly common, I could usually fix her in a jiffy. Perhaps it helped that she was located in my classroom, and maybe it was that the irritation of constant interruptions never bothered me much, but although I put in many help desk tickets for attention to Christine over the years, I was never frustrated by the printer situation.

Oh, she was never murderous, although there were many who wanted to beat on her, but then again, I was never threatened in her presence either. Who can say what she might have done to protect me?

And now, we'll never know. After 10 years of inconsistent service, Christine was unceremoniously replaced this afternoon while I was at a meeting. The new printer seems nice-- much smaller and faster and quieter and hopefully more reliable to all who use it-- but I have to confess to a bit of twinge when I walked in and found Christine had left the building.

Tough Love

I have a student this year who is openly struggling with her family's mixed acceptance of her sexuality. At 11, she identifies as gay, and the response at home has been mixed. The issue is complicated by the fact that her biological dad is estranged from the family, and she has had no contact with him for several years. Even though she is pretty sure he would reject her even more than he already has, she longs to come out to him.

Emotionally, all of that would be a very full plate for anyone, never mind such a young person, and my heart goes out to her. But it's tough for me, as a teacher, when time and again, she uses her struggle as the reason she is doing zero school work. She has a lot of support from adults at our school, but she has never reached out to me personally. Last week, I kept her for lunch detention so she could complete a few assignments.

Right away, there were some tears. "You don't understand!" she said.

I raised my eyebrow and listened with sympathy.

"I think I do understand," I told her, "and I'm really sorry that you are having such a hard time." I paused and made eye contact. "But I also know that gay people can get their work done."

Perfect Combo

Movie in the morning and hike in the afternoon?

Yes, please!

Consider my Sunday complete.

Ingredients

One of our good friends has the sweetest dog you will ever meet. Lady was rescued from West Virginia and arrived with one eye, buck shot in her leg, fleas, and heart worm. Over the years she has been The best of buddies to both of our dogs— idolizing Isabel and then passing on the lessons she learned from her to our new puppy, Lucy.

In addition to all her nicknames, Ladybug, Bug, and Buggy, Heidi also likes to call her Nanny, because of the good care she has shown Lucy. When conversations turn to Lady, there is often a lot of speculation about her heritage. She is jet black, sleek and squat, with floppy, fringy ears and strange wisps growing from her belly. She has a square head with that one deep-set eye, a fireplug shaped body and skinny little legs.

Is she Pitty? Rottie? Chow? She must have a little Lab, but that fringe? Is she Setter? Borzoi? Terrier?

Well, perhaps all our speculation will be satisfied shortly, because Lady’s owner Lauren’s Birthday is this week, and we got her a dog DNA kit. I confess that I am really excited; it is seriously like a gift to us all. I just can’t wait to see the results, and at last to know the recipe for one sweet puppy. 

The End

Part of the deal between me and my boys book group was that we would choose a book none of us had read and read it together. I liked the opportunity that our pact gave me to react as I read aloud-- I often asked questions and made predictions as we went, and the boys could see the model of how a pretty good reader interacts with a text in real time.

This morning when we gathered for our last session though, I had to make a confession. "Guys," I started as I poured the hot chocolate, "I have to be honest. I read to the end of the book yesterday."

They were a little outraged, but the cocoa made it somewhat better. "I know, I know," I said, "but let me tell you why I did it. I was afraid I was going to cry at the end, and I wanted to be prepared."

"Oh no!" cried one. "Are you prepared?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, "but I'm really glad I know what's coming."

With that, they were silent, until they, too, knew what was coming.

And, yes, there were a few tears.

Situation Well in Hand

Even in sixth grade, some kids have

total
meltdowns
at school.

So this morning when I heard high-pitched screaming down the hall and around the corner, I wasn't alarmed, but I knew I should investigate. I had only taken a few steps when I heard the principal's calm voice trying to talk the banshee down. I stopped and listened; I couldn't see them, but I could clearly hear the exchange.

"Get out of my face!" the student cried.

"I'm all the way over here," the principal said evenly, "far away from your face."

The student continued his outburst, though, getting so worked up that at last he dropped his voice to a menacing growl. "I will find you!" he threatened in words he had clearly heard elsewhere. "You'll see! If it's the last thing I do, I'll find you."

"And it won't be hard, either," the principal replied. "My office is right over there, and I'm here every day."

Tantrum?
Over.

Undercover

Because of the parking situation at our school, many mornings I find myself bobbing along in a stream of middle schoolers on the quarter mile journey from car to building. I'm not super tall; I carry a backpack and a lunch bag; I wear jeans to school almost every day. That pretty much makes me invisible, and as such, I am often witness to unadulterated kid culture.

Sometimes I intervene, Drop the snow and walk away!

Sometimes I initiate conversation: Evan! Look how tall you are! I probably won't even recognize you the next time I see you!

And sometimes I just listen: I was processing what she said all night. I am still processing. It seems like all I do is process, process, process!

I feel you, kid.

Escape Artist

The text from our dog walker came a little after noon today:

My girlfriend got out of her cone. She won't talk to me now because I put it back on.

TIBBY!

When You Know It

Sun was gleaming off the frozen Potomac this morning as I took an early morning drive up the parkway. I practically had the road to myself because of the federal holiday, and the monuments and bridges were splendid, pristine against the wintery blue sky. Sometimes it's easy to take such grandeur for granted, to forget that we live in one of the world's most iconic cities, but not on a morning like this.

I Sleep All Night, and I Work All Day

I learned years ago that when the temperatures fall into the teens, it makes splitting wood amazingly easy. It takes little more than a firm rap with a hatchet to make logs leap apart as if they were held together with springs. If I had to, I would guess it has something to do with whatever water is inside them being frozen, but I don't really care, because it is incredibly satisfying to split pretty substantial pieces of wood into elegant lengths of kindling.

The same principle applies to sticks and branches, and so gathering tinder around our house has been kind of fun the last few frigid weeks. In fact, it has put me in touch with my inner lumberjack.

"You know what I really want?" I asked my brother this morning at brunch.

He shook his head with interest.

"A chainsaw!" I told him.

He laughed. "Why?"

"There's a lot of trees and fallen branches in the woods across the way," I said. "I just want to chain saw it up and then split it for firewood. The woods would look better, and I think it would be very pleasing to do the job."

"Okay, Crazy," he said. "Don't you think you have enough to do already?"

I think I could fit it in.

Puppy Party

Lucy was on from the moment she arrived at the party. Her friend, Theo, was turning 1, and so 5 dogs and their 8 people crowded into our neighbor's small condo. There was wine and beer and Arnold Pawmer's to drink, and pupperoni pockets, pawpocorn, pawstachios, and pups in blankets to snack on. Midway through, we sang "Happy Birthday" and all the dogs were treated to a pumpkin-peanut butter cake with yogurt frosting.

As festive as it was, I stood awkwardly in the corner, struggling to make small talk with the humans. But Lucy? She was the belle of the ball. Initiating play by carrying toys from dog to dog, wrestling and wagging with them and perkily attending to their owners as well, that doggy smile never left her face.

"Her teeth are so white!" one of the other guests said.

"That's because they're still new!" I answered.

Imperfect

We're running out of time in my boy's reading group, and so the kids have to read a chapter on their own every night so we can finish the book. The deal is if they do it and remember their copy of the book, they get a snack. In the last few days, roughly half of them have earned the reward.

"Guys!" I said this morning to the other six, "what's going on?"

"I don't care about the snack," answered one. "I only like it when you read to us."

"Thank you," I said. "In a perfect world," I continued, "we would have time for me to read the whole book out loud, but with the snow and weather delays, we don't have time for that."

"In a perfect world," one of the other boys said in his snarkiest tone, "we wouldn't be at school at all."

"You know you don't mean that!" I said. "You love it when I read to you!"

I was teasing, but he was quite earnest when he amended his remark. "In a perfect world, we would have this class all day!"

Aw, shucks.

Little Friday

I'm not a big partier, so perhaps I can be forgiven for only just hearing that Thursday has a nickname. Even without going out, I see how it makes sense: the promise of time off just one day away makes many things seem not just possible, but even do-able. In fact, I just worked until 5:30, came home and spent an hour and a half in the kitchen not only cooking dinner, but also cleaning and prepping for the weekend ahead which starts in 19 hours and change.

But now it's late, and I'm tired.

TGILF!

Cold Is as Cold Does

Usually, when the temperature is below 32 degrees,  the kids at our school are encouraged to come inside as they arrive to wait in the warm building for the beginning of the day. After a couple of weeks of weather in the teens, though, this morning was a balmy 30, and hundreds of students waited for the bell outside with open coats. Whether preoccupied with their devices, chatting with friends, or playing football and basketball, they were apparently not bothered by the sub-freezing temperature, and tomorrow? When it hits 50? Some will even wear shorts.

And I might leave my mittens at home.

Frame of Mind

There have been about 80 school days so far this year, and as I spent the day moving from table to table, sitting with the kids, and helping them with their essay revisions or online grammar practice, I realized that I kinda like this group! We have adjusted nicely to each other's personalities and expectations, and even the most annoying of us is hardly more than a tad aggravating.

Oh, it might be the extra hours of sleep I got this morning because of the black ice talking, or it could be the predicted 60 degree weather at the end of the week that has warmed my heart, but I prefer to think the remaining 100 days are going to be lovely!

Get off the Pot!

Word came down around 10 AM that school was closing early due to the predicted sleet and ice. And the students...

lost
their
minds!

No matter that the sun was still shining and we were still in session for another 2 1/2 hours; very little was accomplished.

Oh, well. There's always tomorrow. Unless the icy conditions prevail and we have a delay.

Sunday No Funday

55 years in, and guess what? I am still a procrastinator.

As a teacher, I've kind of been able to work around it, since I make the deadlines and all. Of course, there are quarter grades to be submitted, but again, I have a lot of control over those details. But now and again, that old devil comes back to bother me, and that is how I spent my day on the couch updating the online course I'm teaching that starts tomorrow.

Oh, I've known that, since our district has switched Learning Management Systems this year, some serious revision would be required, but man! I just wasn't feeling it. Until today, when the painful reality was quite present.

But, it's done! Which really? Is a huge improvement. I mean, I never even considered pulling an all nighter.

In Sync

We had a little family dinner tonight in honor of what would have been my dad's 83rd birthday and my sister-in-law's mom, Judy's 81st. Although they never met, I dare say the two of them would have relished the festivities had they been here-- the food was simple and a little old school, prepared with a few of their favorites in mind, and we drank a toast to each before digging in.

Afterwards we enjoyed coffee and dessert by the fireplace and played one of the Christmas games. Think n Sync consists of a box of cards, each with a general category and four more specific questions. For example, Vegetables: Name an orange vegetable, Name a vegetable you put in salad, and so forth. The challenge is, after a countdown of 3, 2, 1, to say the exact same thing as your partner does.

It's a simple concept, but surprisingly revealing and a little profound when it comes to thought process, strategies, social skills, and relationships. Should you say what you think, or what you think your partner thinks, or what you think your partner thinks you think? Do spouses have an advantage? What about siblings? Parents and kids? Cousins? If so, is that fair? If not, does that mean something?

Oh, our game was rather low stakes; we didn't even keep score, and that was probably a good idea, because everyone had fun, no matter what ridiculous answer their partner gave. I think Bob and Judy would have gotten a kick out of it, too.

Happy Birthday, guys!

Polar Vortex Indeed

I like to think of myself as a person who is not bothered by the cold, one who dresses appropriately and then heads out, undaunted, (gleeful, even) into the elements.

Which is exactly what I did this morning to go to school-- I was all bundled up in wool socks, boots, jeans, turtleneck, fleece-lined flannel shirt, scarf, heavy coat, gloves, and even sunglasses to protect my eyes from the icy wind and glare. BUT, in the walk from the remote parking lot to the building, the howling wind froze my ears and nose and cheeks, figuratively, and the coffee on the top of my cup lid literally.

Whoa.

Snow, Sun, and Moon

When we woke to the unlikely news of a snow day this morning, I knew just what to do (after going back to sleep for a couple of hours).

The first to rise at 7:30, I completed the morning chores and then looked up a recipe for Sally Lunn, a yeast bread enriched with eggs and butter that my mom used to make for us on snow days. In no time at all, the sticky dough was turned into the big aqua Corningware bowl (aka the popcorn bowl) and rising on the back of the stove.

As I waited, I read the bottom of the recipe that addressed its origin. Sally Lunn is either English or French, it said, which was news to me, because I recall visiting the tavern in Bath which claims to be the first place the bread was baked. There it is said that Sally Lunn was a Huguenot fleeing the intolerant Catholic French regime who landed in Bath and made her living baking and selling bread on the street.

This particular recipe had another theory, though. It seems that "Sally Lunn" may not be a person at all, but rather an Anglicized version of "soleil et lune" or sun and moon, which refers to the shape and golden color of the bread.

Either way? It's a good story, and an excellent slice of bread, particularly with butter and hot tea.

On the Sly

A couple of rowdy boys were nudging each other and pointing to an iPad during class. "What are you guys up to?" I asked.

"We're just looking at something about the book I'm reading," answered the most mischievous one in an innocent voice.

"Really?" I said. "Let me see."

He flipped his iPad around to show a beautiful photograph of a fox. "It's my screensaver," he informed me. "I was asking him if he liked this one, or this one," he paused and hit the home button to show his wallpaper, which was another super-cute picture of a fox. Both seemed a little out of character for this tough guy.

"Did you put those on there because of Pax?" I asked him, naming the book that happens to have a fox as the title character which we are reading together in my boys' group

"No!" he shrugged, "I just like foxes." Then his voice softened. "They're so cute."

"Since when?" I demanded.

"Okay, since Pax," he admitted.

"That's awesome!" I said. "And I agree. They are adorable!"

Teachable Moment

"Son of a bitch!" a boy I didn't know swore loudly when confronted with a locked door across the hall.

I tapped sternly on the window. He looked at me hopefully and came to the door. I grabbed my keys. "What do you need Cussy Cusser?" I asked.

He looked confused, but then his cheeks brightened. "That wasn't me!" he said. "But I need to get into that classroom-- my phone's in there!"

"Then you're going to need to own up to what you said," I told him, jingling my keys.

"I said, Dang it!" he tried.

"That's not what I heard," I said.

He stood uncertainly.

"What I heard started with, Son of..." I prompted him helpfully.

"Well, usually I say Son of a mother!" he replied.

"Maybe," I answered, "but not this time."

"Oh, okay!" he said in desperation. "I said it, I said it, okay? And I shouldn't talk that way in school, I know!"

 "How are we going to make sure it doesn't happen again?" I asked as I opened the door.

"It won't!" he assured me. "This was way too much trouble."

Unfortunately, his phone was not in there. "Oh sh--" he stopped and looked at me. "oot!" he finished.

"Nice save," I said. "Maybe your phone's in the office."

We May Be Hazardous to Your Health

"I'm going to have to be the mean nurse and ask some of you to go," the very sweet nurse in my cousin's ICU room told us this afternoon. She looked meaningfully at me, Heidi, and my Aunt Harriett, who were having a very animated conversation indeed. "His blood pressure is up and it's just too stimulating in here."

"That's okay," I hugged my aunt. "We have to run anyway." And to the nurse I said, "No worries! Believe it or not, everywhere we go they tell us we're too stimulating!"

"Yeah," Heidi added, "it must be because we're teachers. Stimulating is our job!"