For Goodness' Sake

There was a bit of fracas in Heidi's social skills class today. One of her students was very cranky with another. "Why? What did I do?" asked the offending kid.

"You said there was no Santa!" answered the other student with a snarl.

It was true; he had said that, back in December. 

Even though these students are all in 7th and 8th grade, they have developmental delay in common, and so some of their families still keep the myth of Santa alive. Some obviously do not, though, and there has been some contention simmering for months because of this disagreement as to Santa's existence.

The renewed conversation today agitated one of the other kids so much that he couldn't keep his anger in check. "God dammit!" he exploded. "He is a saint! Everybody knows saints are real!"

Fraught

I decided to give the new CDC masking guidance a spin yesterday at the mall. As we entered I was wearing my mask, but I scanned the crowd intently eying each person walking toward me to see if I could read the overall mask vibe. 

As of Friday, our area is now considered "low risk" according to the new metrics the CDC has adopted. As such, anyone fully vaccinated is not recommended to wear a mask. The crowd was mixed, perhaps 60-40 in favor of masks; more white people than others unmasked, but a fair share of all shoppers were mask-free. 

I tapped Heidi's arm, and with broad gesture unhooked my mask from my ears, folded it, and put it in my pocket, momentarily relieved to be without it in public. But that feeling was short-lived. I couldn't relax, and I was anxious and worried. 

Worried that I was being premature, that the CDC was overly political in its decision-making process, that I was making others uncomfortable, that masks were a small price to pay for avoiding even the slimmest chance of COVID. Any sense of liberation I felt vanished, and I pulled my mask out of my pocket and put it back on.

Surely You Are Mistaken?

 We ran a few errands this afternoon: grocery shopping, dropping donations at the local thrift shop, that sort of thing. When we reached the last item on our list, I punched LL Bean into the map app on my phone to find the fastest route. I was irritated when it returned a location 35 minutes away when our trip should have taken no longer than 10. I x-ed out of the app and started again. 

"Bethesda?" Heidi said, looking over my shoulder. "What?" 

I gave up and entered "Tysons Corner" instead. "We know where it is when we get there," I shrugged, and Heidi agreed.

And it wasn't until we were actually approaching the shopping center that it occurred to me that the store might have closed. It had been many months since last we had ventured to any mall, let alone this enormous, ever-crowded one. Even so, we parked and walked inside, making our way around to where the first LL Bean outside the state of Maine had been since 2001. 

Of course we were confronted by an empty store front. It was only then that I bothered to search the internet to discover that the place was shuttered on January 17. Apparently, retail real estate is at a premium these days: all that shopping online during the pandemic has given consumers a new appreciation for brick and mortar, while subsidies and bail outs have driven bankruptcy down. In short, everybody wants a physical presence, so when Bean negotiated with the mall owners to downsize their huge operation, the two sides couldn't come to terms.

The article said that the company is actively looking for another location in the area, and that for now they are directing customers to their Bethesda location.

Just as my map app tried to tell me.

Long May You Run

I like to think I'm pretty flexible when I'm teaching: interruptions rarely bother me, and teachers, administrators, counselors, and students are usually welcome to come in and out of my classroom as needed. That's why I didn't miss a beat in the directions when a couple of folks from our technology team slipped in this morning. As they made their way over to my desk, I walked that way, too. "What do you guys need?" I asked.

With big grins, they waved a computer at me. 

I must have looked confused. "It's yours!" one explained.

"It's finally here," agreed his colleague.

I saw then that they had a brand new MacBook Air, and it was true that my school computer was a couple years past its replacement date. But I also looked at the set-up I had put in place connecting the old workhorse to an extra monitor and a really old SMART Board. I knew the new computer would, at the very least, require adjustments. 

"I can't have it right now!" I told them wide-eyed. I still had 2 more classes to teach.

"No worries," they reassured me, just sign in and we can configure it for you." 

Regaining my composure, I sat at my desk and began to navigate the slightly unfamiliar device. Then I looked up, gave the students their next directions in my booming teacher voice, grabbed the mouse for the other computer, and clicked over to the next activity. I scanned the new screen, and entered my user name and password again, ticked the Trust button, handed the new laptop over, thanked the tech team, and stood up to continue the lesson.

As promised? My configured MacBook was delivered to me a little while later. I needed to figure out a few things, but it's a pretty nice machine, and I'm enjoying using it right now. Fingers crossed, the transition to my teaching set-up will be seamless, and I'll hand over my old lap top on Monday. 

Before I do, though, I will thank it for its service; it has seen me through a lot in the last five years and change. I have planned hundreds of lessons and graded countless assignments on it, learned how to use our Learning Management System with it, and took it to Minnesota in 2019 when my mom was sick and used it to send my lesson plans while I was away. I posted asynchronous lessons with it every day when we went out for COVID in 2020, and of course I taught all my classes from it, first remotely, and then hybrid, for the entirety of the 20-21 school year. And in addition to all of that, I have probably written close to 2000 blog posts on that keyboard. 

That's a lot of work! At least one of is retiring.

Something for Everyone

I promised snacks for our commercial film festival, but when I went shopping the cost of single-serve bags (enough for 80) seemed a little too dear. What to do? I stood in the snack aisle pondering my options, looking at the sale items and trying to figure out a COVID-safe way to serve them without breaking the bank. 

I remembered how, in college, we used to toss the leftover chips and pretzels together at the end of a party and eat the mix all week. I had done the same thing earlier in the year after my homeroom had brought snacks for the early release movie day. So I tossed popcorn, potato chips, Cheetos, kettle corn, Fritos, and caramel corn into the cart, along with a sleeve of paper cups. 

At school this morning, I mixed them all together in a big bowl, added a scoop, and set one stack of cups and another stack of napkins on the table beside it. As the first students entered the room, their eyes widened. Taking in the big bowl, they called out each ingredient they saw, and eagerly took their seats. Before I cued up the commercials, I filled a cup with the assorted snacks for each of them. As we dimmed the house lights, they were enjoying their snacks, slipping a piece at a time under their masks. 

It was a good solution, festive and frugal at once. And? It was also gluten-free, so everyone could enjoy it together.

Inspiration is Where You Find It

This afternoon I attended the required in-person first aid and CPR training that, since July 1, 2017, teachers in Virginia must have to renew our licenses. It's been at least 40 years since I took the course, and although the basics are the same, a lot of the guidance has changed. So has the equipment; the heavy life-sized mannequins have been replaced with stylized practice figures that consist of little more than a head and torso. They get the job done, though, and they pack neatly into large duffle bags for on-the-road training, despite their distinctly unrealistic appearance.

Even so, when we knelt to demonstrate our resuscitation skills, I heard another participant across the room ask, "Annie are you okay?"

I laughed, because I had forgotten that the old dummies were fondly known as "Resusci Annie", and the second step of CPR practice, checking for response, was always phrased that way. The words also caught my ear, because in the time since I had last heard them, Michael Jackson's single, Smooth Criminal, rose to number 7 on the charts in 1988. The song has a very catchy refrain: "Annie are you okay? Are you okay Annie? Annie are you okay? Are you okay Annie?"

And according to Wikipedia? The lyrics are no coincidence. They were inspired by a first aid course that Michael Jackson took around the time he wrote it. 

It Was Personal

Once we collected our suitcases at the baggage carousel we whooshed through the sliding glass doors and out into a warm Washington evening. Rather than cross to the median and call for a ride share, we did what we have been doing at DCA for years: turned right and got into the cab line. It seemed quicker and at least comparable in price to Uber or Lyft.

The attendant put us in a Virginia taxi as soon as we made it to the front of the quick-moving queue, and we were on our way home in a just a few minutes. The driver did not have any navigation app; it was just an old-fashioned meter, ticking away the miles. He asked us where we were going and what we thought the best way to get there was. Once we were nearing our exit ramp, I gave him more detailed directions to our house. "Oh I know it!" he exclaimed. "There's a 7-11 there."

He was right, and that got him talking. He had come to the US in 1992 and worked in our neighborhood as a delivery driver for a couple years. After that, he became a cab driver in DC for 26 years, but the pandemic and the rise of ride share apps had left him unemployed. Last year he started driving again in Virginia, and with six 12-14 hour days a week, he can support his wife and four children, the oldest of whom is in medical school. 

Throughout the conversation he seemed cheerful, despite the hardships he had endured, marveling more at the passage of time and the change in the area as more and more people have moved here. When we pulled up the hill and into our complex it was dark, and a couple of inconsiderate drivers were blocking the narrow way, one slowly backing into a parking space, and the other rolling down the center of the drive right at us. 

"That guy has his high beams on," our driver reported with some agitation. "That makes it very hard to see if there are any pedestrians. It's also bad for old drivers or very young ones."

We nodded in agreement and with sympathy, because the lights were blinding even in the backseat.

As we rolled slowly past the offending car, our driver hissed. "He's an Uber!" he spat. "Fuck him! What an asshole!" And he rolled down his window and flipped the guy off. 

Our house was just down the way, and his professional demeanor had completely recovered by the time he pulled up and unloaded our bags. The fare was less than our Uber ride to the airport had been, and I tipped him and thanked him.

"Well, that took an ugly turn!" I said to Heidi as he drove away.

"Yeah, it did," she agreed.

Home Base

Our flight from Atlanta made good time; we broke through the rain clouds a few minutes later, and heading north, the ground was soon visible. Our pilot was optimistic, too. "Our flying time will be a quick hour and 15 minutes," he reported. I considered the 10+ hour road trip the same journey would take and whistled softly. 

As promised? The familiar skyline of DC was visible in less than 75 minutes. But we were too high to land, and as the airport receded, I understood that the wind was from the south and we would need to keep going and bank around to follow the river and land. we flew over our house, our school, Bill and Emily's house, and up past Great Falls and even beyond River Bend before we finally turned. 

I had the same view of Arlington as our plane descended, now only 100 feet or so above the buildings in Roslyn, the Iwo Jima and Women in the Military memorials floating by, then the Eternal Flame, Arlington House, the Pentagon, Gravelly Point rushing toward us until that ever-present bump as we touched down. We were still early; so much so that the plane at our gate had not pushed back yet, and so we taxied slowly and then waited on that runway I have been taking off from and landing on all of my life. 

Picture Day

I'm sitting amidst a sea of faces in family photos spanning 115 years, many that I haven't seen in 25 years or so. We are at my sisters going through the trove of pictures we inherited from our mom.

Looking at so many pictures dislimns the passage of time: hours fly by as the eye skips years, decades, centuries; faces long gone seem as familiar and fresh as they did back when the pictures were snapped. What is one to do with so many analog images in this digital age? 

Sift through them, sort them, scan them, split them up, store them, but then what?

When Dreams Come True

I've written before of my most recurring dream, the one where I am at the airport with international travel plans but without my passport. In those dreams I always try to make it back home to get my passport before my flight leaves, but I never make it; something always gets in my way and I either wake up or the dream moves on.

This morning as we rolled our suitcases into the airport on our way to Atlanta, Heidi turned to me and gasped. "I don't have my wallet," she reported, her blue eyes wide over her black K95 mask. "It's in my walking bag, and I didn't bring it."

The Uber that had dropped us off had disappeared into the sea of cars washing their way to and from the curb like waves on the beach. "Should I get a cab and go home to get it?" Heidi asked.

And I didn't even have to think about the answer. "Let's call one of the neighbors and see if they can bring it," I suggested. Heidi got on the phone, and soon someone was on the way with the whole bag, and 15 minutes after that, Heidi had her wallet and we were on our way to the security line. It was a little tighter than I would have liked, but they weren't even boarding our flight when we made it to the gate. Crisis averted.

As we settled into our seats, I raised the shade on my tiny window and looked out over the tarmac, considering how easily we had handled the situation, and I had to wonder if this could possibly be the resolution for my nightmares, too.

Imagination Station

I spend so much time with sixth graders that I sometimes forget how childish their perspectives still are. I do not mean this in a bad way; in fact, it's very endearing. 

Take the commercials they are producing, for example. This year, I made an investment in some costumes. I shopped at the thrift store and online to find an inexpensive lab coat, construction vest, scrubs, a cowboy vest, a velvet vest, a double breasted blazer, a black choir robe, some aprons, a couple of neck ties, and a bunch of hats and glasses to go with them. To me, it gives them a jump start when they are planning their productions, and it's fun for them to try different things on, so they are more engaged in the assignment. For them? It's a whole other level. 

"Look at me! I look like a legit business man, Bro!" said one guy sporting the blazer and tie. 

"You look exactly like Harry Potter!" another student told a girl in the choir robe, round glasses, and pointed hat. "I really can't believe it! And that broom I helped make out of a yard stick, duct tape, and construction paper? Every class has somebody using it in a commercial because they think it is so authentic. 

Yesterday, I paused a group who was recording video at a table in my classroom. They were supposed to be in a house somewhere. "Don't you want to turn the SMART Board off?" I asked. "It kind of ruins the home effect to see our class announcement behind you."

"Oh, yeah!" Good idea!" they agreed.

"What if you drew a window on some chart paper and hung it up there?" I suggested.

They thought that was another great idea, and excitedly drew a window with some curtains. When we put it on the board by their table, and they turned the camera on to see the effect, they were stunned. "I can't believe how good it looks! It's like we're in a real house!"

Except, it really wasn't. I love how their imaginations still fill in all the blanks, though!

Know Thyself

In 2018 the Commonwealth of Virginia added the requirement that all middle school students participate in a career investigations course, and that's what my homeroom students were online doing this morning when one of them called me over. 

"What if someone doesn't have any strengths?" he asked.

"Oh, everyone has some strengths," I answered. 

He nodded, and I stood watching over his shoulder as he began to make his list. Wiggle my ears, he typed. 

I looked at him to see if he was joking, but he really wasn't. "I think maybe you could add some school strengths," I suggested.

"Those I don't have," he shook his head.

"You are really good at participating in class discussions," I said, "and you have a lot of creative answers to questions."

"Maybe you're right," he shrugged. Talking in class, he entered, answering questions, and then he added Raise one eyebrow really high. 

"You need one more, " I told him, and left him alone to continue pondering his strengths.

Professional Learning

I did 3 1/2 hours of required training this afternoon. The session was offered via Zoom, and strangely enough, started 18 minutes before my last class of the day was finished. It worked out for me: my sixth graders were taking a test, and they were more than happy to quietly cooperate in the novel situation of their teacher having to be a student before their very eyes. 

The topic of the course was meeting the needs of English Language Learners, specifically by using Higher Order Thinking Skills when planning questions and activities. It was a good reminder and also an affirmation of many of the strategies I already use. The group was relatively small, only 13, and there were several moments of complete crickets when we were asked to share our thoughts and observations. At those times, I was somewhat uncharacteristically quick to turn my camera on, unmute, and participate. Someone had to, and as I said, I was pretty comfortable with the material.

A mainstay of that type of workshop is always viewing a video of some long ago teacher somewhere instructing a class and then filling out an observation chart noting the strategies you see in the recording and their effectiveness. Sometimes I jot questions as well; even though the teacher can't answer them, I know I'll probably be popped into a breakout room where I can pose them to colleagues should the conversation lag. This time, the video was of a sixth grade science teacher and her class of perhaps eleven years ago. The students were working in groups; they had no personal devices or computers; it was kind of an old school lesson on molecules and polarity.

As we started our debrief, one of the other participants unmuted. "I have to confess," she said, "that that recording was me. I still teach sixth grade science, too."

You could have bought me for a quarter. The group offering the training is a national organization, and there was no reason to think that the teacher was local. When we were asked to offer observations and critique, the silence was even deeper than before. I glanced down at my chart and unmuted. "How were the students grouped?" I asked. "Did you match the level of the questions with the level of the students?"

And we were off! Because when do you ever get to ask real questions about those things? "Would you do anything different?" asked one of the facilitators.

"I wouldn't be videotaped!" the teacher quipped. "No seriously," she continued. "That was a lot of work. The students needed permission, we filmed through lunch, and the editing took a long time."

Everyone onscreen nodded sympathetically. 

"Then? Even though I'm the demonstration for higher order teaching, they made me take this class anyway, because they said it was too long ago to count towards our requirement!"

"Oh look! We're out of time," said the facilitator.

Quiet on the Set

There was a moment today when every single student in my class was off with their group recording their commercials in some quiet corner of the school. I had checked their scripts and planning, and given them the responsibility pep talk and a pass instructing any concerned adult to call me if necessary. So far, all the productions were going very smoothly.

Even so, the quiet of my empty classroom seemed so out of place that I didn't even make it all the way inside before I was off on another loop of filming locations, checking in on my suddenly so independent sixth graders.

Still Plain

In honor of Valentine's Day, the question was What is your favorite candy? and the task was to post a picture and the slogan. It's always been my impression, based on anecdotal evidence, that most kids prefer fruity candy to chocolate, but today that theory was proven incorrect, at least for this group of sixth graders. Kit Kat was an early favorite, and when one student couldn't find the slogan, I burst into song. 

Gimme a break,
gimme a break,
break me off a piece
of that Kit Kat bar.

"What was that?" gasped a student.

"Haven't you guys ever seen that commercial?" I asked.

"Uh, no," the kid replied in a snarky voice. "We're only 11 and 12. That was before our time."

"Really?" I replied. "Let's see." 

A quick internet search revealed that the commercial I was thinking of was produced in 1988. As we watched all sorts of people vigorously belting out the jingle, though, I did notice a silver lining." "Well at least the persuasive technique is obvious!" I told the class.

"Plain folks!" some kids correctly pointed out.

"Plain folks from over 30 years ago!" said the snarky student. " Give me a break!"

Game Winning

Last night we had some neighbors over for dinner and game night. I made vegetable chili and two kinds of quesadillas with all the fixins, and there was salad and corn bread as well. Somebody brought cupcakes and pie, and after dinner we played Left, Right, Center (for dollars! the pot was 24 bucks!) and then divided into teams for a competitive and hilarious game of Guesstures. 

It was a fun evening; seven women and 2 men, from age 33 to 59 and of varying political persuasions, ate, drank (of course!) and played silly games together for 4 hours, and everyone left with a smile and the promise to do it again soon.

One for the W column, for sure.

It's On Again

So much has happened since Early March of 2018 when last we went to Scotland, MD for our annual Oscar weekend. That year Treat drove down from Western Massachusetts, Mom flew in from Minnesota, Kyle took a day off from high school and flew up from Florida, Victor brought his new girlfriend, Emily, and Josh took the weekend off from finishing his senior project. The ten of us spent a windy weekend on the western shore of the Chesapeake. 

One of many highlights was when Emily (prime) and Heidi bought several pairs of leggings at a cute little shop in Leonardtown and everyone wore them to dinner that night. The boys were especially impressed by how comfortable they were. "How is it I've never worn leggings before?" asked Josh. "I think I shall never wear anything else."

Things have changed a lot since then: Victor and Emily are married and living in Iceland, Kyle is a welder, Josh lives in Colorado, there's been a global pandemic, and we miss my mom every day. Four years later, though, we've got a place at the beach in Southern Maryland again for this year's Oscars in late March. And although we will be missing half of our group from 2018, they will certainly be with us in spirit, and as my brother rightly said, "after much disruption high time".

What Else Would it Be?

Since we're in the middle of this media literacy unit and spending so much time focusing on commercials, I asked the young ad execs to post the make of a car they like as well as its slogan. No surprise, but those auto companies have some effective catch phrases, which can be useful models. In addition to Toyota: Let's go places, and Jeep: Go anywhere, do anything, I kind of liked Maserati: Excellence through passion, and of course, Subaru: Confidence in motion.

As for the sixth graders, the most popular car was Tesla, Drive free; one out of seven of the kids chose it, which is pretty good considering the number of car makers out there. A couple of choices that made me laugh were Lightning McQueen from the movie Cars, Kachow, as well as his buddy Mater, I can't fix it, but I can make your horn louder. 

And as if the fact that Tesla was the most popular wasn't enough to remind one how far we have entered the 21st century, 2 students chose the new flying car. "What's their slogan?" I asked.

"I don't know," answered one kid. "I think it might be, It's finally here!" and while I couldn't find independent confirmation of that, it seems just right.

The Best Medecine

I ran into a dear neighbor of ours when I took Lucy out for a walk this evening. She has been battling cancer and working full time, and it's been a while since we caught up. She filled me in on her treatment's progress and woes, and all I could do was lend a sympathetic ear and offer my support. She seemed tired, but resolute, and funny as ever.

"Isn't your birthday coming up?" I asked.

"Yep, next week," she answered brightly. "Do you think I could get some hair?"

"For sure," I nodded, "but you'll have to wait. It's on backorder."

"Right," she laughed. "Supply chain issues."

Nobody Wants That

One of my homeroom students, who is an English language learner, was explaining to me why she couldn't stay after school that afternoon. "I have to go somewhere and I don't want to get laid," she said in a Spanish accent.

My eyes widened and my brows shot up as I tried to process what she was telling me. Then I got it. "In English we say 'be late'," I told her. "You don't want to be late."

"Right," she said, "I don't want that!"

For sure.

Uncomfortable Privilege

On my way to work this morning, I heard a piece on NPR about a proposed law in Florida shielding people from any required training or education that might cause them discomfort because of "race, color, sex, or national origin." The text of the bill specifically mentions inherent racism, privilege, and "adverse treatment to achieve diversity, equity, or inclusion."

But the kicker can be found in this section which makes it unlawful if "an individual should feel discomfort, guilt, anguish, or any other form of psychological distress on account of his or her race, color, sex, or national origin," which basically criminalizes anything that might trigger white fragility.

I mentioned the law to my homeroom during a lesson on Black History Month. 

"That seems wrong," said one student, "but what can we do? We're not in Florida."

"Well," I answered, "some people who disagree strongly enough with the law might boycott Florida."

"But I like Florida!" said another student sadly.

"A lot of people do," I agreed, "but everyone has to follow their conscience."

"Well," he sighed, "at least we still have the Bahamas."

Batting 1000 on 500s

In advance of having foot surgery Heidi proactively ordered herself some jigsaw puzzles to help wile away the time that she would be immobile. If anything at all, we are generally 1000 piece puzzle people-- those seem standard in the sense that they are the ones my family did when we were kids; they are the ones we see most frequently at the vacation homes we rent, and they are the ones that we have done on this recent puzzle kick. 

And yet, when she was shopping, there were a few 500 piece puzzles that looked fun and intriguing. One was on dogs of the world, another was a flower shop with a black lab sitting in the doorway. On Saturday morning, we pulled out Dogs of the World, propped up Heidi's foot on one of the dining room chairs, and started sorting pieces. It was not an easy puzzle, but it was very manageable, and after a fun couple of hours, done.

"I kind of like these 500 piecers," I told Heidi. "They seem to require a much shorter time commitment, but they are still challenging."

The next day we tested the theory and assembled the Wonder & Bloom puzzle. That one only took a few hours as well. I think we may have entered a new phase of this hobby!

Sliding Forward

So, I was telling my neighbor about the whole curling-Cortina conversation I had with my TA, and she told me that if I was serious about curling, she knew of a place where we could go and curl! 

"I think it's kind of like a bowling alley with ice," she said.

"I assume you can rent the shoes then," I noted, "because those are definitely clutch." I laughed. "I'm in! Just tell me where and when!"

Because? If I actually go curling? Can a trip to Cortina be far behind?"

Adventure Planning

 "Does anyone even know the rules of curling?" I asked my homeroom the other day. It was opening ceremonies -11 hours and we were all exploring the Winter Olympics website with the direction that we would each share something of interest after 15 minutes. I discovered that the preliminary rounds of curling had already began. In fact they were going on right then. "What are the brooms for?"

"To sweep the ice so the sliding thing will go where you want it," someone told me.

I clicked on the video feed of the United States versus Norway, and we watched as the athletes aimed their stones and slid them down the ice toward the target area. "What are those shoes?" I asked as their teammate followed the stone along with something that looked like more of a Swiffer than a broom, sometimes polishing the ice ahead, sometimes not. "They can literally walk on ice with them!"

"I think they're like little skis," one of the students suggested.

"Maybe," I said doubtfully as the stone knocked a couple other stones away and people cheered. "It's like Bocce, right?" I noted. "Whoever is closest to the center wins the round, and they score points for all of their stones that are closer than the other teams?" I nodded. "I get it now. It looks kind of fun! With the right shoes, I mean." I walked over to my desk and jotted "curling" on a post-it note.

A little while later we were talking about the things we had noticed, and one student showed us several mascots from past games. "Where are the next Winter Olympics?" I asked. 

A few kids tapped their iPads. "Milano-Cortina?" someone answered.

"Really?" I said. "That's awesome. It is beautiful there!" I went back to my desk and added "Cortina 2026" to my post-it note. Why not? I thought. 

The Legend?

I was cooking dinner when my phone buzzed.

AND what I didn't say?

I did win that t-shirt for trivia on the Alaska cruise!

Banking It

I was making sub plans this afternoon because I'll be out tomorrow. Heidi is having a minor surgery on her foot, and it's my spousal privilege to be there for her. 

Over the years, I've developed a template to make sub plan writing quick and easy: I keep all the old documents and edit them for the next job. That means I have a record of all of my planned absences, and with the exception of my mom's illness, I've been fortunate that, over the last 29 years, they have all been planned. I've accrued myself quite a bit of leave since 1993, knock on wood I never need it. 

For instance, this will be only the third day I've missed this school year, which is pretty good for February. Say what you want, though, about virtual teaching, but last year? I had zero absences. And that's a record.

A Long Way Around

We were talking about the Lunar New Year in homeroom this morning. Most of the sixth graders are tigers, too. It's a fun coincidence that sixth grade is the year when most kids turn 12, and so that year is always their year. "I'm a tiger, too!" I told them in the spirit of connection and community.

"What tiger are you?" asked one particularly savvy celebrant.

"Water," I answered.

"That's this year, too," she noted, and then paused. "But don't they only repeat every 60 years?"

"Wait, what?" another kid interrupted. "Does that mean you're 60?"

"Almost," I admitted.

"I can't believe it!" several students said.

"Me neither," I told them. "Me neither."

The Inner Groundhog

Since tomorrow is Groundhog Day,  I decided to ask the sixth graders to make a prediction. Most were willing, if not eager, to play along, but not all were. "Oh, I can't," said one this afternoon. "I don't celebrate that holiday."

Fortunately, I anticipated gaps in the students' knowledge and understanding of the day, and so I had a short video that detailed its history and traditions. One of the many interesting facts that we discovered was that statistically? The groundhog is only right anywhere from 30-40 percent of the time. A coin toss is more accurate.

Asking a group of sixth graders what they predict has proven to be more accurate as well. By the end of the day, they were evenly split on whether the weather would bring us six more weeks of winter or if, maybe, spring was right around the corner.

Time will tell which half was right, but at least half of them will be right. Take that, Punxsutawney Phil!