Every Day Another Story

"I really like reading your blog," my aunt told me today. "I like knowing what's going on, but I really like the stories about the kids."

She spent her career in education and retired from a middle school, and so I especially valued her appreciation.

"You know it's been so long since I retired," she continued, "that I forget how nutty they can be sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I replied. "You have been retired a while!"

Sorry, Wrong Number

It was just last night in writing group that Mary and I were griping about the parking situation at our school since they built in elementary school in the former parking lot. Now we have assigned spaces in the underground garage beneath the school, but there aren't enough for everyone, and there is no visitor parking, either. Ellen and Leah were appropriately appalled, even though we had to admit it hadn't been much of a problem. "But it could be!" we agreed.

And not 10 hours later when I sleepily pulled into the garage and rounded the pillars to my assigned spot, it was. Another car was there, and although there were several open spaces, I knew that taking one could set off a chain reaction. Fortunately? I remembered that Mary was out today, and she had mentioned her space number in the conversation that night before.

Once I was safely parked in 243, I went over to my assigned place, 231. The car there had an official hangtag, but the number? Was 234. Three spots to the right, and next to a column, just like mine.

231, 234, 243-- aye yi yi! What an unnecessarily stressful way to start my Friday.

No Resolution

Every time we teach the fiction unit, I vow to write something along with the students. After all, we make it seem so easy-- just create a character, figure out what he or she wants, throw some obstacles in the way, identify the turning point when something essential changes that allows that conflict to be resolved, and wrap.it.up!

And to be completely honest, as creative and elastic as their brains are, the process really works for them. The stories they write are funny, touching, suspenseful, and wise. But as for me? I can't do it. I can't think of a good character, or imagine an original problem, or even fathom a solution, except for this one: Tracey wants to write a story, but...

Let me know if you can find the turning point!

Too Thick

There was a brief moment last night when, after the school board canceled school for Super Tuesday, we thought we might have an extra day off, too. After all, snow days have been few and far between this year, and they are built into our schedule. It was not to be however, for not 15 minutes later we all received an email about a professional development commitment.

I was disappointed, but I understood; the message included an apology for the short notice and acknowledgement of our hard work. In fact they had me until I read the part that said As lifelong learners, we hope you will see this as an opportunity to participate in professional development that will expand your knowledge and skills in how you teach your students.

Because rather than encouraging? That was just patronizing.

Inspiring Writers One Cup at a Time

I didn't exactly have a plan when the 10 students in my new intervention period walked in at 8 AM this morning. Sure, I knew I wanted them to write-- they are the kids that my evaluation goal is based on this year-- and I thought that encouraging them at this stage in the writing challenge might jump start them to do all 100 days, but beyond that? Let's say I was planning to rely on my motivational teacher personality.

But when they were in front of me, still a little sleepy from the early hour (even though it is our regular time), I sensed that I was going to need a little more than time and encouragement to light a fire under these guys. "Welcome to..." I started, and paused. "Welcome to... the writing cafe!" I said, and turned the lights a little lower.  "My goal for you is that each one of you will write 100 days before the year over."

I saw a few skeptical looks so I continued quickly. "Here you will have space and time to write." I clicked on my Bluetooth speaker and pushed play on a light jazz list and scanned the group. "And refreshments! What's a cafe without food and drinks? How about some hot chocolate?"

Heads nodded; iPads were unlocked, and fingers tapped the screens.

"I love it here all ready," one girl whispered as the writing began.

It's On!

I introduced the 9th Annual 100 Day Writing Challenge to my students today. As I have for the last 4012 days, I'll be writing daily with them. This year I have also decided to challenge myself to do a couple other tasks, that are not quite so routine, for the 100 days from March 1 through June 8.

For me? My daily diligence will be writing, posting a selfie, and doing 100 sit-ups and 10 minutes of meditation. As I told my students today-- I am going to turn these flabs into abs and this stressing into luminescing.

The pep talk must have been somewhat effective-- I've got at least 40 kids in for the writing challenge, and another two girls who are going to do 100 days of push-ups.

Let's go!

Haute Meal

After Heidi's surgery the recommended diet was low fat and high fiber. Plus, she was concerned about keeping her weight down in the weeks of inactivity, and so we settled on oatmeal for breakfast. The cereal we had in the pantry was a can of steel-cut oats from Scotland, and after a couple hearty, filling, and delicious morning meals under 200 calories, I was hooked.

The next oats we bought were organic from Whole Foods and then, in a pinch, we purchased a discount brand. It was oatmeal for goodness sakes! What could it possibly matter? Perhaps it was the snob in me (or as I prefer to think, my refined palate), but those breakfast bowls seemed somewhat lacking. Less nutty? A little more gummy? Starchy rather than toothsome?

Wondering if it was my imagination was driving me nuts, so yesterday I resolved to figure it out. On our weekend grocery run we bought Irish steel-cut and one of America's top brands, too. This morning I prepared all three identically and presented them to Heidi in numbered ramekins so that we could do a taste test.

Of course, I knew which was which, and so I must acknowledge my bias, but Heidi did not. Her preference? Irish one, Bob's two, and Target? Number three. But were the differences enough to cover the price points-- twice and three times as much for the preferred brand? For both of us, it was a NO. And so in good conscience, we can put oatmeal on the regular grocery list.

What a relief!

(Apologies to my brother for two posts in a row with puns!)

Doo Pennants

We hadn't been on the trail very long this afternoon when Lucy pooped. Since it was an in-and-out hike, rather than walk three miles with a bag of poop, we deposited it near a tree and vowed to collect it upon our return. The same thing happened twice again with other dogs we were with, and as much as I enjoyed our time in the woods, remembering to pick up the poop and pack it out weighed on me. In fact, I counted the bridges to the crossway on the path that I knew we would come back to so that we would be sure to find it again, and even then, as I walked I wished that there was a way to more clearly flag the bags as well as our intention to return to them. Little neon pennants came to mind, the type that utility companies use. Those and a sharpie would do the trick. Would other people buy them? I wondered. If I sold them, what could they be called?

First Couple

One of the best commercials my students made this year was also a breakthrough of sorts.

The product was called the Lint-A-Way and was described as "a chargeable, fast, voice-activated and extremely powerful lint remover that cleans away any level of lint in seconds." The ad starts with an aggravated guy trying unsuccessfully to remove the lint from a pillow with a regular brush.

Next it cut to another guy who says, "Honey I have to go to work in three minutes! There's lint all over my tie!"

Then it cuts back to the first guy, still working on the pillow, who replies, "Honey, I can't! I'm trying to clean off the lint with this lint roller and it's not working!"

Yes! In a first, the commercial featured a same sex couple, played by a couple of typical sixth grade boys! And even more incredible, to me, was that not a single kid who saw the commercial even mentioned the choice. In fact? They didn't even react.

Mind.
Blown.

Oh, and I'll take one of those lint-a-ways. My wife would love it.

Leaders of Tomorrow Today

In observance of Presidents Day, I gave my students a writing prompt that asked them to consider what issues they would focus on if they were president.

I couldn't have been more impressed by the thoughtful and carefully reasoned replies they posted to our class discussion board. The two top issues were immigration reform and climate change, followed closely by gun violence, homelessness, education, and health care.

They may seem like self-involved, TikTok-obsessed Tweens, but they have a lot of heart and the brains to express their opinions in a civilized way. It gives me plenty of hope that the prevailing poison of our present political atmosphere will pass.

The View from Up There

I was hoping to catch one last glimpse of my mom's building as we took off from the MSP airport early this afternoon. The wind was from the north, and the plane took off in the right direction to allow such a view, but before we were in the sightline we banked sharply to the east. I sighed, but rather than feeling disappointed I heard a little inner voice, that sounded a lot like my mom, saying Don't look back.

And so I turned my thoughts toward home.

Unelated

Go.

through.

everything?

Check.

Pack?
Check.

Contract realtor?

Check.

Move to hotel?

Check.

Recycle computer? 

Check.

Dispose of hazardous waste?

Check.

See Mom's friends for one last drink or meal?

Check.

Cancel cable and return equipment?
Check.

Sell car?

Check.

The checklist is complete, and we are heading home tomorrow.

So why don't we feel better?

Reach

We went through every drawer and cabinet in my mom's place one more time yesterday to make sure we hadn't missed anything we wanted or needed. We sorted through pictures and papers organizing them into keep, shred, and recycle. But it wasn't as systematic as it might sound. We also wandered in and out of my mom's closets trying on familiar and unfamiliar garments, sat numbly on the couch, and Courtney and I went swimming, and Bill and I had our nails done.

It was somewhere in the middle of all that when Courtney realized she had misplaced her iPad. To further complicate the matter, the speakers on her device were recently damaged and so it was impossible to even play the lost sound alert. "I'm sure it will turn up," I told her, even though we had scoured the apartment. "If we don't find it, the packers will."

And it was resigned to that fact that we went to bed. This morning we all rose early, knowing that the crew was coming by nine. My sister, though, rose with uncharacteristic verve. "I dreamed where my iPad is!" she told us. "It's in the recycling dumpster."

"I'm ready for the mission!" I said.

"We need the step stool from Mom's closet," she said, "and a phone to FaceTime it so it will light up."

"Wow, you really have thought this through," I marveled, and it was true. She had been up in the middle of the night, but too prudent to go dumpster diving alone at that hour, so she did the next best thing: made a plan.

We both dressed Ninja-style in tights and black tops, and armed with step stool and phone headed down to the basement of the building to find. that. iPad!

And we did! It took a minimum of chucking a few cans and bottles and some of our own rejected documents, before Courtney lifted her iPad victoriously over her head. "Thank you, Mommy!" she said, and we both knew it was so.

For the Soul

What to eat on the last night you will ever spend in your mother's home?

We never even considered that question as we moved through our day: sorting, packing, and disposing of my mom's possession before the company that we hired to do the heavy lifting on that task knocks on our door tomorrow morning at nine. Then, we will pack up our things and leave them to their work, letting go of the majority of my mother's things forever.

And yet, it was impulsive hunger that prompted me to scoop the rotisserie chicken from its hot case yesterday and simply the presence of chicken broth and pasta in the pantry that had me simmering the carcass all afternoon until it became obvious that the meal we should share tonight?

Was chicken soup.

Relative Temperature

"What's the weather going to be like in Minnesota?" my friend Mary asked yesterday.

"I don't even know," I answered and pulled out my phone to check. "Some cold, some not so cold," I reported. "Tomorrow it's going to be 35."

"I think it's supposed to be cold everywhere," she told me.

"But that's the warm weather!" I said.

Not Feeling It

I always say there are three days I kind of hate to be a middle school teacher: Valentines Day, St. Patrick's Day, and April Fool's Day. On those silly, minor holidays, the tweens that I teach just

lose.
their.
minds.

I understand their enthusiasm: the festivities of those days are social and peer-centered, and they give the kids a chance to start celebrating independently of their families. It's almost a rite of passage.

And yet...

Because it is so novel an experience, the kids are not good at regulating their excitement and they do ridiculous things.

For example this Valentine's Day morning a student in my homeroom asked me to hold her bag of chocolate bars, treats she had brought for her friends and teachers, while she went to her locker. I took the bag without hesitation, happy to help. "Don't let anything happen to them!" she told me handing the candy over. "Don't let anybody take them, and do not eat them!"

I gave her my best as if look.

She tapped my nose. "Or you'll be fired!" she warned me, and literally spun on her heel to make way to her locker.

Making Progress

A former student stopped by my room right after school today. "Can I have a lollipop?" the now 7th grader asked.

"What have you done to earn it?" I asked him in return.

"Uh," he paused. "I haven't been sent to the office all year. That's good for me."

I agreed that it was. "How about English?" I said. "How are you doing in there?"

"Fine, I think," he shrugged.

"What are you learning?" I continued.

"Conjunctions? And poetry?" He sounded uncertain. "What are you guys doing?" He smiled, deftly shifting the focus of our conversation.

"We're doing the commercials," I told him, and he smiled even wider, because that is a popular project and students universally love and remember it. "What was your commercial about?" I asked, because I honestly could not recall.

He launched into a long description of what it was, and what the team wanted to do, and why it wasn't as good as they hoped, and how he was absent for a day during the production, and they never really got back on track.

"Let's watch it right now," I said, and pulled it up. It was 20 seconds of shenanigans, loosely addressing the uses of their imaginary product, but to him? It was a time capsule, and he told me in detail what they had been trying to achieve and why they had fallen short. It was quite an insightful analysis and reflection.

"I loved that project!" he said. "Even though we could do a way better job now."

"I'm so glad," I replied. "Would you like a lollipop?"

Modal Students

We were in a workshop targeting strategies for teaching English Language Learners when the instructor brought up the term modal verbs.

"Do you know what they are?" she asked.

Given that the words would, might, and could had been highlighted on the previous slide, I guessed that they were some kind of auxiliary verb, and indeed they were. A modal verb is an auxiliary verb that expresses necessity or possibility. English modal verbs include must, shall, will, should, would, can, could, may, and might.

"Your students might not know those words and how they affect the meaning of a sentence," the presenter continued. "For example, they may not know the difference between I might do my homework and I will do my homework."

"Oh," I whispered to my colleague. "Several of them definitely don't know that!"

We laughed.

"But it's not really a language issue, is it?" she said.

Made for Walkin'

"I like your boots!" the salesman at the upscale kitchen place told me when I walked in the door. "I just," he paused, "like the way they look."

"Thank you!" I answered, flattered. "They are super comfortable, too."

"Well, there you go," he winked and shook his head appreciatively. "I'm Riley, if you need anything," he added.

"That guy liked my boots!" I told Heidi later.

"I heard that," she said. "It's a good strategy for a salesperson to give you a compliment."

"Or maybe he really like my boots?" I said, somewhat deflated.

"Maybe," she replied, but she didn't sound convinced.

That's Not Funny, Alexa

In an effort to add novelty to our class routine, the commercial of the day today was not an advertisement at all, but rather a Saturday Night Live parody commercial. The choice offered the opportunity to talk a little about "parody" an upper level language arts term. The faux product was Amazon Echo Silver, an edition of the smart speaker with Alexa made especially for seniors. The Echo Silver had such features as answering to any name even remotely close to Alexa, being able to find misplaced objects, and a special uh-huh mode to respond to long-winded stories.

I thought the piece was funny, and I enjoyed it all five times I watched it, but the kids were not quite as amused as I. Perhaps it was a combination of don't get it and get it but don't care that accounted for their lukewarm reception, but there were few giggles and grins from anyone under 25.

The response in my last class of the day was the same as the other four, except that after the parody discussion, as I was giving directions for the remainder of our time, there was a distinct uh-huh every time I paused.

At least they were paying attention!

Dogtopia

Someone in the family got to go to the park with her friends, then take a 3 mile run-walk, then go to her favorite class, and then spend the evening with her cousin.

I'd say it's a good day to be Lucy!

Planning Ahead

It was a cheerless crew of three that blinked the movie theater darkness away in the bright early afternoon light. It had been Emily's preference to go to the movies early and have the rest of the day free, and so she, Heidi, and I had arrived a little before ten a.m. to catch the first show of the day of the Oscar-nominated documentary shorts, and the tales of children in war zones (Kabul and East St. Louis), children refugees in Sweden who are victims of Resignation Syndrome, children trapped by their obedience and drowned on a capsizing ferry in South Korea, and former young refugees finding new refuge in ballroom dancing, had left we three teachers somber and a bit doleful.

"Good thinking to come early, Emily," Heidi said. "Because now?" she continued. "We have the rest day of the to recover!

Back-up Plan

I hadn't been to the gym in a week or so when I headed down there after school yesterday. A little chest congestion at the beginning of the week made me consider it a good idea to give myself a rest, but I was feeling pretty good as I pushed through the glass doors and scanned my membership key tag.

Back in the locker room I quickly shed my rain coat and boots and unzipped my gym bag. Pulling on my tights and t-shirt, I reached first for my socks and then my sneakers, but standing there in my stocking feet, it quickly became evident to me that I had not packed my shoes. Extra socks and my orthotics? Yes. But shoes, nope. I cursed my distracted, aging brain, sat down on the bench, and sighed.

It seemed like such a waste to literally be all ready to run and then turn around and go home. The last time I had been to the gym, my earbuds had died, and so I quietly sang to myself as I ran. It wasn't ideal, but I made it work. I reached in and found a pair of compression socks in my bag. Could I? Should I? Why not? I changed into the slightly more supportive socks, snapped the padlock on the locker closed, and padded out into the gym.

The treadmill was not as soft and bouncy as I imagined it, but it was fine, and I promised myself I would stop if it seemed harmful or somehow dangerous to run in my socks. Tucking my earbuds in, I hit play on my phone and punched go on the treadmill. Maybe it was the rest, but I had a great run! My big toes did chafe a bit at the end, and there are blisters there today, but I might have to look into some of those barefoot running shoes, at least just to keep in my gym bag!

Nomageddon

A heavy storm with lots of moisture has moved in from the south on its way up the coast. Up to three inches of rain is predicted, and it was on that soggy scene that several of my colleagues and I gazed out on this afternoon as we worked during our planning time.

"What a gloomy day," someone sighed, and the rest of us frowned in agreement.

"It's supposed to rain all night," I added, "a real soaker."

"And just think," someone else chimed in, "if it were15 degrees cooler..."

"We'd be talking feet of snow!" the first teacher finished the thought.

"Feet!" I said. "Feet!"

Oh, February! How you disappoint.

Working Some Magic

I proudly showed my little mouse to the students in my intervention class today, and I was not prepared for what happened. One of them asked for the pattern and some supplies, and in the 30 minutes we had, he made his own little brown mouse. The other boys took the mouse and the gadget that was supposed to be the trap, and figured out a way to cleverly snap up the mouse in the trap, no special effects needed.

I was amazed, and the kids in my other classes were impressed, too. "Can you make us a wizard hat?" one of the groups asked.

Hmmmm.

I Made It

The commercial unit is a nice break for the students, but it's a nice break for the teachers, too. Creating a silly product from a bunch of gadgets and producing a commercial to sell it is fun for kids and encourages them to be both creative and playful. As for me, I like to play during the unit, too.

Circulating from group to group, trying the product, and helping out with slogans, and props gives me a chance to show my own silly, creative side. So this morning when a group was using a tape dispenser to play the part of a mouse in the trap they were imagining from their gadget, I turned to my arts and crafts supplies, which are extensive after 26 years in the same room. A little brown felt, some pipe cleaners, facial tissue stuffing, and a stapler yielded an unsatisfactory product, a little on the abstract, lumpy side.

But I was not to be deterred.

When the next class was working just fine without me, I searched up a pattern for a little felt mouse. Digging through my desk drawers, I found some straight pins and a needle and thread. Over the course of the day I was able to cut out a few felt pieces here and there, but it was when the last bell of the day rang that I was able to sit at my desk and start my little project.

Threading the needle? Was a little challenging, but once that was done, I began whipstitching away, even as my colleagues and I discussed the specifics of revising our rubric into one that was aligned with the IB. I took a brief break to attend an IEP meeting, but was back at my desk piecing and sewing when one of my teammates came in.

"May I ask what you're doing?" she inquired.

"I'm making a mouse!" I answered.

"May I ask why?" she continued.

I paused. "Well," I said, "right now? It's therapy!"

Just the Highlights

I can't say that I was too interested in watching the Super Bowl last evening, but professional concerns demanded that I be familiar with the commercials. Not to worry, though-- they are all available online and few of them suffer from being out of context.

So today I was able to confidently start all my classes with the reliable and engaging hook Who watched the game last night? followed by What was your favorite ad? From there we talked a little about persuasive techniques, reviewing what we had learned last week and setting the stage for the activities of the day. What I wasn't prepared for was any discussion of the halftime show, which came up in all of my morning classes.

And when a colleague mentioned it again at lunch, I finally just went over to the computer and pulled up the show on the SmartBoard in my room. The four of us munched and marveled at Shakira and JLo-- women not too far from our own ages who really put on an amazing show.

Who needs a Super Bowl party?

Scheduling Conflict

Every year, when we put away our Christmas decorations and return to work, our cold, dark winter mornings and evenings are lit by the glow of knowing that when the weekend comes we will meet my brother, and sister-in-law, and as many nephews as are around to see a movie and go out for a nice meal. We gather on those January and February Saturdays and Sundays to get ready for the Oscars. It's our tradition to see as many of the nominated performances and films as we can, and then go away for a long weekend together to shop, beach comb, cook, eat, drink and bet on the awards. It's like a little holiday that bridges winter into spring and gives us an excuse to spend some extra time together.

This year, instead of being in late February or even March, the Academy Awards are being presented next weekend, and in addition to making it really hard to see all the nominated movies and performances, the timing has made it impossible for us to have our annual weekend away.

Why, Oscars, why? 

Learn by Hearing

When it comes to learning styles, I am primarily an auditory learner with a strong visual learning aptitude as well. Fortunately for me, traditional instruction was heavy on both, and so school was never really a problem for me.

I am so auditory, though, that often times I can remember exactly where I was when I heard something of note. For example, last summer we were on our way home from staying with my mom for a month, driving in stop-and-go traffic through Chicago, its iconic skyline to our left when I snapped on the radio to listen to All Things Considered. Michelle Martin was interviewing a guy who had made a short animated film about a black dad who struggled but learned how to do his daughter's hair. Their conversation about "Hair Love" was interesting to me on several levels-- I like animated shorts, black hair is emblematic of cultural and political issues, as is a dad of any race caring for his daughter.

When the lights went down in the theater this afternoon and the first movie of the Oscar-nominated Animated Shorts came on, for a moment I was back on the Ryan Expressway with the late August sun shining off Lake Michigan to the east, feeling cautiously optimistic: my mom was recovering in rehab, and the new school year was only a couple of days away.

I returned to the present moment as the story unfolded on the screen, and when it was revealed that the little girl's mom was being treated for cancer, which was part of the reason why the hair style was so important to both daughter and dad, I couldn't help weeping, both for their heartache and mine.