Jolly Holiday

As part of the daily writing challenge I offer my students I usually add a fun fact about the day to inspire them. For example, March 18 is National Awkward Moments Day, and as we all can probably attest, awkward moments make good writing topics. March 24? Harry Houdini's birthday, and a possible writing topic was a time someone escaped from something. Students are not limited to these prompts by any means, but the suggestion can throw a lifeline to a young writer without a ready idea. 

Sometimes I tie the extra, fun challenge to the day, or have our warm-up question relate to it somehow. Any of these activities might also have ties to the mentor text we may be using or the brain break in the middle of our block, as well. I do my best to keep things fun and relevant.

As I was planning the lesson for today, though, all the pieces really fell into place. In case you weren't aware, March 31 is National Tater Day. Before I even knew about that, the model text I planned to share was Potato Pants. Of course the question of the day had to be What's your favorite way to eat potatoes? and the extra challenge? Do the Mashed Potato (video instructions and music provided).

The spud-themed day was a hit, full of spirited debate about fries vs tots, laughter at the antics of the main character in Potato Pants, and toe twisting to the 1962 classic by Dee Dee Sharp. (We also got some writing done!)

Even so, the kids had a couple of ideas to make the day even better. "We should eat potato chips!" suggested one.

"And our brain break should be to play Hot Potato!" added another.

"Yes and yes!" I said.

Thank goodness National Tater Day comes every year!

3 Ds and All Ears

I lost my patience with a sixth grader today. 

That may sound routine, but for those of us who have committed our careers to the tweens and early teens, patience, along with empathy and a sense of humor, is one of our sharpest tools. I could tell you my side of the story-- give you evidence that she was unquestionably disruptive, disrespectful, and defiant, and I could use the testimony of my colleagues to support my observations. I could also describe how productive the class was in her absence, once they recovered from witnessing our interaction. 

All of those things would support my claim that I was justified in my response, but I know I wasn't. 

And when I spoke to her after class did she initially deny knowing what she had done wrong? Yep. Was she eventually backed into admitting her mistakes by my teacher logic? Yep again. But when, frustrated and angry, she told me that I never listen to her side of the story, I had to admit to myself that she probably had a point.

I like to think that I give a lot of grace to my students, even more so now, considering what I assume these kids have been through in the last 2 years, but maybe it's time to stop making assumptions, and start listening.

A Snow Covered Hill

I've always loved the song Landslide for its simple truth:

Time makes you bolder.
Even children get older,
and I'm getting older, too.

But time is a little warpy when you teach the same grade for nearly 30 years. The kids stay the same age, and it kind of feels like you do, too. 

Oh, sure, the kids you know (and love) personally grow older, and there are always those former students who you run into out in the community, at least the ones you can recognize despite how much they've changed. Those experiences help adjust the rearview a little.

Even so, I'm at a stage in my personal life where the children are older, but not to the point where they have children of their own, so it's been a while since someone handed me a 3-week old baby. But yesterday? That changed when we went over to visit neighbors and meet their new daughter, Olivia. Oh, I could have held her for hours-- watching her stretch and yawn and blink, smelling that soft powder and sour milk, rocking her, and patting her soft diapered bottom. 

Yep, still miraculous.

Check Your Surroundings

I pride myself on my parallel parking prowess. In fact, one of my jokey retirement job ideas used to be to buy a Segway and roll around DC parking cars in tight spaces for a nominal 5 dollar fee. I'd have an app of course, and when my business took off, I'd leverage my infrastructure, sell my start-up, and retire from my retirement. 

That's why I didn't hesitate at all when I saw that left-hand spot on the town green in Leonardtown. I pulled right up next to the pick-up ahead, cut the wheel, lined up my right taillight with the front head light of the car behind me, and hit the gas gently, but decisively. You can't imagine the twist in my stomach when I heard the sickening scrape of metal on metal. I cussed, braked, and looked ahead to assess the situation. 

It was only then that I noticed that the tailgate of the pick-up was lowered and out of my line of vision. When I eased into the space and hopped out to assess the damage, I saw that I had gashed the top front left panel of my car, sundering it from the lower panel and caving in the wheel-well trim. 

With a carful of hungry folks ready to have lunch and a fun afternoon on their weekend at the beach, I tried to shrug it off and look at the bright side: no one was hurt, the car was drivable, the truck was undamaged. Still, every time clouds covered the late March sun, I shivered in the chill, wishing for a do-over.

Scarcity

From the outside, the grocery store looked very appealing. "Fine Food and Pharmacy" read the banner, and smaller signs touted "Local Seafood" "Butcher" "Family-owned" "Chef-inspired Menus" "Ethically-sourced coffee". Since we just needed a few things for dinner, we decided to stop instead of driving the extra miles to the big new chain grocery down the road.

When the sliding glass doors whooshed open, the produce and prepared food department were literally deserted. In the hot food and deli section, all the cases and steam tables were empty and the lights were turned off. Many of the bins and baskets were empty in produce, too, but for single bunches of shriveled parsley and yellowed broccoli crowns. There were zero lemons and limes, so we moved slowly into the store to check out the meat and seafood. Those counters, too, were closed and their cases empty. A few wrapped trays of meat and fish were in the refrigerated cases, but the selection was not wide. We found some beef tenderloin on sale and a few frozen lamb chops, though.

This scene repeated itself as we rolled our cart up and down the aisles. Perhaps 30 percent of the shelves were stocked: no bread, but they had slider rolls, no rice, but they had arborio rice, no french fries, but they had tater tots, and no milk, but they had chocolate almond milk. 

In this way, we were able to check off most of the items on our list, but as we did so we saw, maybe? Four other shoppers and not a single employee until we went to the self-check, which was the only cash-out open. 

I am not a chatty person by any means, but beyond the expected pleasantries, I just had to ask, "How come your grocery store doesn't have any food?"

"Trucks not comin'," she answered tersely and did not speak to me again until I passed her with my bag. "Have a wonderful day," she said mechanically as the exit doors slid open and we left the store, wondering what in the world was happening back there.

Compressed

We have a lot of vacationing to do in 60 hours, and so after a walk on the beach, a hearty breakfast, a run to the local seafood market and Buzzy's General Store, (not to mention a trial run of the industrial oyster-opener) the six of us piled into the Subaru, which only seats five. 

With a pillow from one of the chairs on the screened porch, Bill made himself comfortable in the way back, even grabbing a nap on the 35-minute ride to Leonardtown. There we ate a delicious lunch (after an unfortunate parking incident of which I prefer not to speak), and set out to retrace our fun shopping trip from 2018. 

We found that many of the local businesses we had enjoyed had either moved or succumbed to the COVID economy, but we also browsed a new and used book store, an art coop gallery, an artisanal chocolate shop, and a maker's market for local entrepreneurs, housed in an old warehouse. Then it was back into the station wagon and on to a tiny strip mall for groceries and booze. 

Back at home, Treat and I dumped out the 300-piece jigsaw puzzle I had purchased, confident that we could complete it before we had to pack up, and an hour later, the image of Edward Gorey's Dancing Cats was all together on the coffee table. Then it was on to dinner and other pursuits. Never a dull moment, because there aren't many moments to spare.

Hit or Miss

It's always the kitchen first for me when settling into a vacation rental. Open all the cabinets and drawers, check out the tools and provisions, unpack the cooler, find some pantry space, put the groceries away. That's how it started tonight, too, at our weekend beach house in Southern Maryland. We pulled in about 6:30, unloaded the car, and then hit the beach for a quick walk before dark. Once back in the house, I stationed myself in the kitchen ready to get organized and make dinner. 

The first thing I noticed was that the pots and pans were scattered across two cabinets and several shelves in the tall pantry. Pots and their lids were asunder; mixing bowls were here and there, and three colanders were in three separate locations. This would never do! I spent the next 20 minutes reuniting the stand mixer with its bowl and attachments, stacking stock pots and skillets on the lazy susan in the corner cabinet, and nesting a set of casserole dishes and their glass lids in a low cupboard along with some serving bowls and platters. 

At the same time, I put a pot of chicken stock on to simmer, chopped some veggies and rotisserie chicken, and cooked some pasta for the soup we would have for dinner. By the time the rest of our group arrived, it seemed like the kitchen was ship shape and ready for all the cooking that we would we do this weekend.

When the soup was ready, I pulled six bowls down from the cabinet and reached into the cutlery drawer for some spoons. There were only five, and we were a party of six! Unbelieving of this turn of events, we scoured the kitchen, turning up a couple of curious unidentifiable implements, but not another spoon. 

"Who has a stand mixer, crock pot, and this thing," I gestured at a sturdy cast aluminum device with a lever and suction cups, "but not a single teaspoon?"

"I'll eat my soup with a measuring cup and fork," volunteered my brother, and ridiculous as it sounds, that is what happened.

Accountability

 The yogi who leads my morning exercise and meditation session imparted three rules:

Always be kind

Never speak ill of others

Never speak ill of yourself

These precepts have been in the back of mind for a couple weeks, and the other day, when my homeroom kids were bickering irritably in the early morning, I stepped to my chalkboard and wrote the three of them boldly, white on black.

"These are rules I have for myself," I told them, "and I'm writing them here because I hope you will help me follow them."

I read each out loud and explained what it meant.

"Can you help me?" I asked. "Will you let me know if I'm forgetting one of them?"

They nodded. 

"Should we follow them, too?" asked someone.

"I wish you would!" I answered. "Especially when you're in here. Maybe we can remind each other."

It was only a few hours later that I saw that same student smack one of his peers on the back of the neck during the change of classes. I motioned him over to where I stood in the hallway. "Why did you do that?"

"He did it to me first," he said.

"But it's against the first rule," I pointed out. 

"I think it's going to be really hard to follow them when other people are mean," he replied thoughtfully.

"I know!" I told him. "I'm going to keep trying, though! Are you?"

He waggled his head from shoulder to shoulder in indecision. "I will," he said finally.

"I'm so glad!" I replied. "And if you figure out any tricks, make sure you tell me!"

Wacky Wednesday

I've been digging deep and scraping the bottom of the barrel to find fun and engaging bonus challenges that are also quick. Today was "Wacky Wednesday," and the challenge for those who posted their writing was to go to a linked list and pick one of the activities to do during class. 

1. Wink at the person next to you. Make sure they see you. Then give them the chin nod. 
2. Raise your hand, and when the teacher calls on you say, “I always thought broccoli was tiny little trees.”
3. Sing everything you say for 5 minutes. 
4.  Draw a picture of a monkey and hold it up to yourself. Ask someone if they see the resemblance. 
5. When storytime is over, tell the people at your table that you cried when you found out Pluto was not a planet. Explain why you were so emotional. 
6. Pretend to be a robot for at least 5 minutes. 
7. Start swatting at an imaginary fly. Ask, “Does anyone else see that thing? It’s humongous!” 
8. Have a conversation with your pencil. Pretend it is talking back to you. 
9. Finish everything you say with “Hold the pickles!” for at least 5 minutes. 
10. Raise your hand and when you are called on, say, “Yeeee Haw! Giddyup!” then gallop around your table and neigh like a horse. 
11. Be silent and act like a mime trapped in a box for 2 minutes. 
12. Talk in an English accent for at least 5 minutes. 
13. Stand up and pretend that you’re snowboarding. 
14. Whenever anyone talks to you, tip your imaginary hat and say, “Top ‘o the mornin to ya!” 
15. Ask the person next to you, “Are you okay?” at least 6 times, but not right in row. 
16. When the bell rings for dismissal, do the chicken dance.

The rules were strict-- it couldn't be while I was teaching, and they couldn't explain why or what they were doing. What followed was a hilarious day-- it's been a while since I laughed so much in school. It was especially funny at the beginning of each class when many of the students had no idea what was happening.

At first, some of the kids were hesitant about the concept, even though the challenge is always optional and voluntary. In fact a couple of students wrote about the challenge before they even got to class.

"I just read the list of wacky acts and I’m not doing any of them. I dan’t care about the prize. I don’t want to do any of those things. Ever. So I have nothing else to say."

"Today’s challenge sounds super fun. The only problem is that I feel like it would cause too many extra distractions. I think a lot of people are going to be be disrupting the class and trying to explain why they’re doing it. Anyway, despite distractions, I hope this will be fun."

I understood their reservations, but I've spent all year building classroom community, and I made sure it felt safe for anyone who wanted to take a risk and do something wacky.

I'm happy to report that student #1 had a very earnest conversation with her pencil, laughing the whole time, and student #2 really under estimated my classroom management. Everything was a little looser than usual, but nothing I couldn't put back together, and kids who hadn't written hurried to get theirs done, and their classmates who needed to move got the opportunity. 

At the end of the day, all the instruction was delivered, all the assignments were complete, and everyone walked out of the room in a pretty good mood, hold the pickles.

Moving the Needle

The other day I was chatting with a colleague who moved from 6th grade to 8th grade this year. She was telling me about preparing her students for their recent standardized writing test. "They told me they had never been taught how to write an essay," she sighed. 

I laughed, because "We never learned this!" is a common refrain in classrooms everywhere.

My co-worker laughed, too. "I told them that I knew that was wrong, because I had literally taught them that myself 2 years ago."

I thought of our conversation yesterday, when my homeroom students were taking yet another survey about their social-emotional learning.

"What does this question even mean?" a students asked.

I walked over to help. How confident are you that you will remember what you learned in your current classes, next year? I read out loud. "It means, how sure are you that you're going to remember what you learned in sixth grade when you get to seventh grade."

"Oh," he scoffed. "Nothing. I won't remember anything."

"Really?" I tilted my head. "Are you sure?"

"100 percent," he said. "I never remember anything I learn, ever."

"Didn't you tell me last week that you learned about setting when you were in 3rd grade?" I asked. "And so you knew the answers to the questions in class."

"Oh, yeah," he shrugged.

"What about math?" another student asked. "You know a lot more math than you did in elementary school."

"Of course I do," he said.

"Don't you think that's because you remember what you learned?" I prompted.

"Maybe," he admitted, and moved his tick mark from Not at all confident to Slightly confident.

This Ain't Horseshoes

The bonus challenge today was to "Ask me a trivia question, please." (I made sure to add the 'please' since it is National Common Courtesy Day.) 

You might have guessed, but I love trivia. (Heck, who am I kidding? I just love answering questions! This teacher thing is a pretty good fit that way.) 

And the questions started coming early. "What year did the United States start?" asked the first student in the door.

"1776," I replied.

"Dang!" he said. "You knew it!"

"You still get the prize!" I assured him. "You don't have to stump me."

"What year was this school built?" asked the next student.

"1971!" I answered confidently.

She shrugged. "I guess so."

"Wait! You don't know the answer?" I said.

"No," she shrugged again, choosing her Jolly Rancher, "but you do." 

Just then, a third inquisitor entered the room. "How many championships did Michael Jordan win when he played for the Chicago Bulls?"

"Good one," I said thoughtfully, thinking back over the last 38 years. "I don't know. Five?"

'Maybe," he replied.

"Don't you know?" I asked him incredulously, even though the same thing had just happened.

He shook his head. I had to admit that my directions had not specified knowing the answer. Nor had they been clear about whether or not you had to stump me.

"Hey Siri!" I called over my shoulder at my iPad. "How many championships did Michael Jordan win with the Bulls?"

That weird round purple graphic contracted and expanded. "Michael Jordan won six championships with the Chicago Bulls," Siri intoned. 

The student looked at me impressed. "You were so close!" 

"Yeah, but not close enough,"  I sighed.

Equinox

Yesterday it was gloriously warm, this morning it was cool and sunny, this afternoon it is blustery and cold, windows open, windows closed, heat back on. 

Dig out your flip flops and fire up the grill, pull on your hoodie and set some soup to simmer, unfurl the fleece throw and lay a fire on the hearth. 

Open with the daffodils, shine with the morning dew, bend with the willows in the wind. 

Spring will come as it will: 

There is no denying the vivid green of the tiny leaves on the trees, the pinking of the redbud branches, the cherry blossoms unfolding to their peak. 

Saturday Morning Clouds

The last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday morning was a 3 and 1/2 hour professional learning session, but there I was in front of my lap top at 9 AM, joining a Zoom call. At first, there were only 3 other participants, and I sighed as I considered all the extra participation that might be necessary with such a small cadre of fellow learners. 

As it was, the group only expanded to 8, but I was glad to see a name I recognized; a former student teacher I had worked with was on the call, too. We texted back and forth a bit as the session went on (the virtual equivalent of passing notes), evaluating the activities and gossiping about the guy who left the breakout room when we suggested that he be our spokesperson. 

The time went by as quickly as a workshop on Saturday morning can, and I came away with a few new additions to my teaching tool box. One of them, WordSift.org, creates word clouds of text so that teachers can actually see the most prevalent terms in an article or passage and then front-load or scaffold them for English language learners. The site also suggests images and other resource that instructors can use to help with teaching the vocabulary.

I love anything with a word cloud! I texted to my friend, and spent the next few minutes copying and pasting entries from my blog. (Don't worry! I was listening, too.)

Shine On

After all the rain yesterday, I was doubtful that our 7:15 engagement would go on, but it did. As the skies cleared and a full moon rose, dusk found eight people and two dogs in the school parking lot just at the top of the hill. 

We were there to honor Ben and Blasket on their birthday, two congenial old fellows who our dog community had recently lost. To do so, someone had brought flying lanterns: hot air balloons made of paper with a wax and cardboard wick that when ignited fills the lanterns with hot air and sends them soaring hundreds of feet into the sky before they are consumed by the flames that make them rise. 

Aside from the rain, I was a little hesitant to participate. Some internet sources described the lanterns as dangerous, and even illegal in 29 states, including our own. Once at our meeting point, I was put a bit at ease by one of the other folks. "I've done this dozens of times," he said, ticking off the names of people he had lost, "it's perfectly safe." The wet weather was also reassuring-- everything was still damp; nothing seemed dry enough to burst into flames.

And so we began assembling the lanterns and lighting the squares. It took a nerve-wracking minute or two of holding a light paper structure with an open flame attached before the warm air filled the ballon and it was able to be tossed aloft to float up and up. 

But when they did take flight, I was unprepared for how moving it was to watch the glowing light drift up and away. Soon there was a line of them stretching toward heaven, tiny orbs shining in the darkness as they flew away into the night, almost as if they knew where to find Ben and Blasket.

Good Times

There are a couple days on the calendar that, as a sixth grade teacher, I have come to dread: Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day. These minor holidays have the tendency to become huge distractions in school, fueled by sugar and misdirected emotions. 

When I was a kid the rule was to either bring a Valentine for everyone or no one. I'm not sure how it goes down in elementary school, but in middle school? Some kids walk away with an armful of candy and gifts from their friends while others go empty-handed, which is obviously disappointing at best and devastating at worst. Our student council even runs a candygram fundraiser where for a dollar kids can send notes and sweets to their friends. 

It's tough to strike the right balance in homeroom as you dole out the deliveries, so this year I forked over fifteen bucks to make sure that every student would have one. "I can't believe I got one!" said one student as I handed him his anonymous Valentine. 

Soon enough, though, they started comparing the handwriting. "All of these in red are pity cards for people who would never get one anyway," concluded the same student a few minutes later. 

"They're actually from me," I confessed. "I wanted you all to have a nice start to the day."

"Told you so," he whispered to the kid next to him, then ate the candy and tossed the note I had composed for him in the recycling bin.

And then just a month later we get St. Patrick's Day? Oof. 

Pity the sixth grader who forgets to wear green or doesn't even own anything green, for they are destined to spend the day getting surreptitiously pinched between classes, their claims of green underwear or socks falling on deft fingers. If they are not given an Irish-themed sticker by some sympathetic teacher then they may draw a shamrock in green marker on their hand or face to ward off the attacks. All day long shades of green are carefully evaluated to determine if they are green enough to pass.

At least that's how the day looms in my memory. Today the sixth graders were relatively restrained in their celebrations and surprisingly forgiving of those not in green. I wondered if my recollections were blown out of proportion, until I did I did a little calculation. Because of weekends, the COVID shut down, and virtual learning, the last time St. Patrick's Day was an in-person school day was 2017. These kids were in first grade then! They never the learned the shenanigans I've come to expect of the day.

If only we could keep it that way!

In Praise of Micro Classes

I'm a teacher who is a supporter of block scheduling for 6th graders. As long as there are movement opportunities, brain breaks, cooperative learning, and plenty of guided practice built in to each session, the extended class time without transitioning from one place to another is efficient and effective. I also like planning once for two days, and I think giving students a chance to take a deep dive into fewer subjects each day helps with learning.

Even so, I confess that I love the early release day schedule, too. On days like today we see everyone for 21 minutes. We can use the time as a catch-up day, or an extension day, or like I did today-- a fast and furious review of concepts. I read out loud The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors; then we had a quick rock, paper, scissors tournament, and next we played a 20 question Kahoot on conflict, and finally the kids filled out a 2 part exit ticket before packing up and heading on their ways.

In 2 hours? I was finished teaching for the day, and I had evidence that my students had learned.

First Day on the New Feet?

I was on the ground before I realized I was falling. 

Landing on my left elbow and knee, I rolled over onto my back and sat up. "I'm okay!" I said, without really knowing if it were true. It was only then I saw the runner and biker who had stopped to help, looking on with concern. 

"Really?" asked the biker doubtfully.

"Really," I assured him.

Heidi and Lucy had been a few paces ahead of me, but they were back by my side now, freeing the good Samaritans from any further obligation.

"What happened?" Heidi asked.

I had been walking purposefully along into mile 3 of a 5 1/2 mile jaunt on the W&OD trail. Crossing a bridge, I pulled my sunglasses off and dug in my pocket for my phone to snap a photo. Evidently that was a couple of tasks too many, because my right foot slipped off the side of the asphalt trail, and I rolled my ankle. 

Now, still sitting on the ground, I could feel my ankle begin to throb and probably swell. I reached for my Ray-Ban Wayfarers, but they had been snapped in half at the bridge of the nose in my fall.

It was then, when I knew that I was okay, but I saw the damage to my shades, that I considered how bad such a fall might have been. My elbow, my knee, my ankle-- any of them could have been broken instead of bruised. 

As it was, I made the decision to walk it off, knowing that there were lots of family and friends who would have come to my aid in a matter of minute. Instead I headed home, breathing through the ache and taking the next 2 1/2 miles one step at a time.

Keeping It Simple, Students

"I think one of the boys at my table ate my Hershey Kiss," a student whispered to me this morning."

"Why do you think so?" I replied, looking at her two classmates who seemed the picture of engagement as they watched an animated short film and collaborated to diagram its plot.

"I was working on my plot chart," she reported, "and when I looked up from my iPad the kiss was gone! The weird thing is that there was a little ball of foil in its place-- the wrapper."

"But you didn't see anyone come over?" I asked.

"No," she shook her head in confusion.

"Go ask the guys nicely if they saw anyone," I suggested, and I watched as she went over. 

I observed them remove their ear buds, heard her ask very politely if they had seen anything, and saw them shake their heads. 

"I just ate mine," one told her, gesturing at the tiny slip of paper in front of him.

"I had a Jolly Rancher," said the other. 

My teacher sense tingled, telling me they were being truthful. I surveyed the scene again and walked over. "Where's the wrapper from your candy?" I asked the guy who had the chocolate.

He flushed and pointed across the table to the foil ball by the first student's seat, then elbowed his partner. "He threw it!" 

"Sorry," the other kid confessed.

Their story added up: one Kiss, one wrapper, one plume of paper. I looked at the original student. "Are you sure you didn't put your candy away somewhere?"

She frowned and jammed her hands thoughtfully into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. Her eyes widened, and a moment later she pulled out a little silver-wrapped drop of chocolate. "Oops," she said and returned to her seat.

Doing My Homework

When the daily challenge on Friday involved voluntarily singing a song of their choice, in addition to "Happy Birthday," "The ABCs," and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," I heard 3 renditions of "We Don't Talk about Bruno" (no no no) from Encanto.

"I still haven't seen that movie!" I told one duo after they sang their hearts out.

"Oh you have to!" one of them said. "It's soooooooo good!"

The same student checked in with me before she left for the day. "What are you watching this weekend?" she prompted.

"Uh... Encanto?" I replied.

"Yessssssssss!"

So I dutifully streamed the newest Disney movie this morning, and I confess that I was not disappointed. The animation was gorgeous and the music was amazing. I can't wait to tell my student that I did my assignment, plus? As I watched, I mentally completed a plot diagram in my head, because you can never have too many examples ready!

A Pinch

This morning I had a few baking projects going at once. They were multistep recipes, and it seemed to make sense to skip from one to another while this one was resting, that one was rising, the one over there was soaking, and the other was in the oven. But when it came time to put the sandwich bread in its earthenware bowl to rise, the dough tasted a little flat to me. This was my new favorite sourdough, and I knew it was off, but why?

Years ago I heard a folk tale about a vain king who asks his daughters how much they love him. 

"More than all my gold and jewels," the oldest replies.

"More than all my beaus and pretty dresses," the middle daughter tells him.

His youngest pauses before answering. "I love you like the salt in my bread," she says, "no more and no less."

The king is offended by this answer, and he banishes his daughter, ordering her to leave the palace the next morning. That night, the princess sneaks down to the kitchen, and asks the cook to leave the salt out of her father's bread. 

After his first bite at breakfast the next morning, the king summons the cook to his dining table and demands to know what is wrong with the bread. "Your highness, it has no salt," he is informed, and he understands the lesson immediately.

That's what was wrong with my bread, too. In my multitasking, I had forgotten to add the salt. Fortunately, I was able to knead in some flaky sea salt and salvage the loaf, grateful for the reminder about love. 

His Hero

There was a soft warm breeze blowing on our walk over to get Lucy from the dog sitter this evening. 63 degrees in March is always a gift, but with snow and sleet predicted for tomorrow morning, this weather seemed extra worthy of appreciation. Three little kids were playing where our path bridged a gully with a tiny stream. Their parents were nowhere in sight, as they scampered up and down the embankment and back and forth to their scooters. 

A boy of no more than 5 almost bumped into me as he hopped onto the walkway. "Hey!" I said as he stood before me in one welly and one bright white sock. "What happened to your other boot?"

He skidded to a stop and looked at his feet, then spun around and headed back to the creek where a wee black and yellow rubber boot poked out of the mud.

"Wait!" I called after him. "Better let your sister get it." I nodded at a girl in a little bit older who was already tromping her way down the bank. She plucked the boot from the muck and presented it grandly to her brother perched on a miniature boulder above her.

He sat down and replaced the errant boot, ready to play some more.

So Many Rodents, So Little Time

The kids were still focused on the mouse situation today. Even though I assured them there had been no more sightings, "Are you kidding? He got one look at how many of you guys were here and he probably moved to the next state!" they persisted in talking about it. 

"Maybe he's under there?"

"Maybe he'll come out if we're quiet."

"Don't turn out the lights for the SMART Board! The mouse might come out."

Fortunately, the question of the day allowed them to process a little bit more. Who is your favorite fictional rodent? I asked, and after we talked about Remy and Despereaux and Jerry and Mickey and Ralph S. and Stuart Little and Bernard and Miss Bianca and Chip and Dale and Fievel and Alvin and Simon and Theodore and Mrs. Frisbee and Jaq and Gus Gus and the capybara in Encanto, and what made them such great characters, and how they could create such memorable characters themselves as we embark on our fiction unit, I think we may have finally been done. 

Eek

A student raised his hand when I was in the middle of instruction this morning. "I just saw a mouse," he reported.

I was neither alarmed nor surprised. After the last bus has departed for the day, I have seen a critter run with stealth along the baseboard as I work at my desk in the quiet of the afternoon. Long ago, I learned to store any food in the metal cabinets and drawers of my desk, because they are inaccessible and impossible to chew through. Because there is nothing to encourage a mouse to stay for long, I don't worry about seeing one passing through. 

I know I'm in the minority, though, and the custodians routinely answer calls to catch and kill mice in classrooms. It's as it should be, I suppose, because in addition to being vermin and all, mice can be a huge distraction in a classroom. 

This morning, though, I was very surprised at how calm my class remained. Maybe it was my attitude that set the tone, but although one student did tuck her feet up onto her chair, where they stayed for the rest of the class, there was no screaming or running either away or toward the creature. 

There was a lot of conversation though. 

"Can we name him?"
"Let's call him Mickey!"
"No! Let's call him Jerry."
"Yeah! Jerry! Who votes for Jerry?"

And so Jerry it was.

Unfortunately, Jerry's reputation preceded him the rest of the day. "Is it true there's a mouse in here?" someone asked at the beginning of every class. 

"Maybe," I would shrug, trying to keep things business as usual. "He won't bother us, though."

That approach had more success in some groups than others.

"I heard his name was Jerry. Where's Tom?" quipped one student.

Where indeed?

On the Scent

Someone had an accident at the dog sitter's today, and that was a big topic of conversation when we picked up Lucy. I appreciate the information: perhaps it was Lucy who has a bad belly; maybe one of the other dogs has something we should look out for. But it was a rather drawn out conversation, more than might be considered polite, considering the topic. 

"Too bad the dogs can't talk," I said lightly. "They probably know who it was."

"They definitely do," she replied. "If they didn't see it, they can smell it." 

I thought about that on the walk home. What would it be like to have such an enhanced sense? I wondered. And why are there no super heroes who can smell really, really well? As far as I could remember? It was really just vampires and werewolves that could do the scent thing.

Just then, a man passed us on the sidewalk walking in the opposite direction. "Whoa!" I said to Heidi. "That guy was drenched in Patchouli!"

"I smelled it, too," she agreed.

And for the next few blocks, as we traced his steps in reverse, I continued to get a whiff of cologne here and there. He was here! my brain told me every few yards, until at last we turned a corner and the scent was gone. 

22

My best from high school texted me last weekend: Do you have any interest in seeing Elton John? He is coming to DC September 24. Wanna house guest?

I checked out the tickets, and they were kind of outrageous for me and my means, but Pauly lives in Colorado, and it's been a while since we have seen each other. After a bit of back and forth, I got us some side view seats in the first tier for a little less than a car payment. Elton John ain't going to be around for ever and neither are we.

In fact, seeing her was one of the items on the 22 for 22 list I made back at the end of December. I got the idea from the Happier podcast by Gretchen Rubin. The concept is to make a list of specific measurable things you would like to accomplish in the year, rather than a more abstract resolution. During the holiday season, anything seems possible, and this particular approach to goal-setting kind of resonated with me. The first thing that popped into my head was to see Pauly this year.

Like so many lists of that kind, my 22 for 22 has languished since January. Hearing from Pauly and the prospect of actually checking something off inspired me to dig it up for review. Turns out? I have made some good progress on at least 6 of the 22 aspirations. I have booked a house in Maine for my family to celebrate my birthday in June, reinstated our Oscar weekend, ordered Hatch chili seeds to grow in my garden, and set a goal to walk the entirety of the Bull Run to Occoquan Trail, 20 miles through history and nature. 

A few others are in the likely category. Traveling internationally could easily be checked off by a trip to see my nephew in Iceland. Have a dinner party? Thanksgiving at the Beach? I think so. In fact, everything on my list still seems well within reach, but no matter what? I won't dwell on what I didn't do. 

I will relish whatever I did.

Theo Gets a Baby

One of Lucy's closest friends, Theo, had a very eventful week, but he didn't appreciate the entirety of it all until today when his folks brought home the new baby. An only dog, he's used to being the center of attention, and when they found out they were expecting, his family's announcement was phrased as "Theo is getting a sister!" 

This week, when there were complications that involved a hospital stay, all the neighbors jumped in to make sure that Theo was well cared for while his people were away, but today was the big day. A video was shared of Olivia sleeping peacefully in her car seat, her parents' excitement clear in their voices. "Are you ready to go home? Are you ready to meet Theo?" 

Once at home, Dad sat with Olivia in a chair, and Mom brought Theo over. He smelled her toes. "Gentle Theo!" they advised. He smelled her eyes. "Gentle Theo!" they repeated. Before they could tell him again, he retreated to the kitchen and laid down by his dish, perhaps still unaware of how profoundly his world has been rocked.

Come On In and Look Around

Before I went to bed on Thursday, I dutifully set up my new lap top and the monitor I purchase in the summer of 2020 on the dining room table, so that I would be at least technically prepared for the 11 student-led conferences I had scheduled for the next day. Our district had sensibly made the decision to do the conferences virtually, and as I sound- and camera-checked the MS Teams feed, I was faced with that familiar decision-- to blur or not to blur the background. 

Last year, I kept the default setting the whole time that we were teaching remotely from home, and as such I got compliments on my lamp and the painting on the wall, as well as suggestions for organizing the desk behind me. Plus? My cats could join the call whenever they were so moved. To be honest, the main decider then was that weird pixilated halo around my head with the alternate backgrounds; it was always too distracting to keep.

This time, as I scrutinized the backdrop I experimented with blurring and other artificial images before just getting out of my chair and tidying up so that I could keep it on default. I also packed up all the winter and Valentines Day gnomes my wife has collected that were in full view on top of our book shelf. 

And as silly as I may have felt then, I knew there had been significant shift away from the days when everything was online, because as I conducted the virtual conferences? I was kind of distracted by looking around at what I could see in the background of every call. Thank goodness I put those gnomes away!

Hey! That's Me

Sometime last week I changed my profile picture on our LMS to my sixth grade school picture. I found it when we were going through family photos at my sister's house a couple weeks ago, and I thought my students might get a kick out of it, if they noticed at all. 

In the photograph, the sixth grade me looks directly into the camera with an amused gap-toothed grin. The shag haircut my mother gave me frames my face and tumbles to the top of the floppy purple collar on the blouse I'm wearing under the bib of my quilted pinafore. I look a little sassy and a lot more confident than I know I was.

I definitely underestimated how much attention kids pay to such things, though, because my new profile was a big topic of conversation in each class. 

"Who is that?" they asked.

"It's me!" I said. "When I was in sixth grade! Can't you tell?"

"Maybe?" they replied.

I honestly didn't expect anyone to say that I hadn't changed in in 49 years, but I was a little dismayed that so many found the photo to be unrecognizable. Maybe it's the masks...

Even so, I forgot all about my picture until yesterday, when I was reading through some discussion board posts. A tiny circle with our profile image stands to the left of our names on anything we post, and there I was right next to one of the student's names. They had copied the picture and used it as their own. If it had been another kid I might have thought they were messing with me, but I have a feeling that this choice was not motivated by mockery or mirth.

Because of conferences today, I haven't had a chance to talk to the student, and I'm kind of glad I have the weekend to think about the conversation. I can't decide exactly what I want to say, because it's kind of flattering, but also a little perturbing.

Thoughts?

A Promising Exposition

At the beginning of each unit we ask our young writers to give us an "on-demand" writing sample of the genre we will be working in, both as a pre-assessment and a baseline that both the students and we will use at the end of the unit when we reflect on their learning. 

Today my sixth graders composed their on-demand fiction pieces, and even though I know how much kids love to write fiction, their sheer glee was both surprising and a little intoxicating. They giggled and whispered as they wrote, and many could not contain their enthusiasm: they were out of their seats begging for readers, either me or their peers.

When I could, I asked them to read an excerpt to me, and their voices were engaged and engaging, funny, dramatic, and true. They wrote tales of injustice, heroism, tragedy, and every day life, and there was fantasy, fairy tale, science fiction, mystery, and a bit mild horror among the mostly realistic fiction. 

And although there is certainly room for growth (it's the largest room in the house!), I was also certain that this was going to be a good unit when I heard one writer eagerly ask his reader, "Do you think it's glorious?" 

Endangered

As I walked out of the school building on my way home this afternoon, I passed 2 colleagues in animated conversation. "There she is!" one of them pointed at me. "You know this whole safety oversight thing started with her!"

I took the comment as a joke and shrugged. "You know it," I replied. "Me and safety got nothing to say to each other."

"No seriously," the other colleague said, "you know I was on the phone the other day and they were telling me that anyone who wants to drive kids on a field trip has to be drug-tested, which I'm okay with," he added parenthetically. "But when they started talking about insurance, I said, 'I have an insurance story for you!'"

I knew what they were talking about then. Years ago, when the safety oversight office was first established, we submitted the paperwork for our annual sixth grade dolphin watching field trip. We had been chartering buses to take us to the coast for years, picnicking on the beach, and then going for a 2 hour cruise. The new office wanted a copy of the boat company's liability policy, and when I contacted the owner, he not only refused to comply, he was offended. "I've been doing business with a handshake all my life," he told me. "I'm not stopping now."

It turned out the guy didn't have insurance, and needless to say, we found another field trip to end the year. And these days? Even before COVID, our field trips were scaled back because of time and resources, and our sixth grade has stayed on campus for the end of the year activity for the last several years.

When people say it was a different time, this is what they mean, which is a little sad, really. As my students prepare for their spring conferences, I've asked them what they are looking forward to in 7th grade. All the field trips, wrote one. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was probably looking backwards on that.

Self Improvement

As I embark on this annual writing ritual, my students are beginning another. Our Sixth Grade 100 Day Writing Challenge has kicked off on March 1 for the last ten years or so. We make it as fun and achievable as possible, with different levels of participation, monthly prizes, daily mini-challenges and shout-outs, and the kids get excited about writing and publishing on the discussion board of our LMS. 

Since I write every day, anyway, I always ask my students to suggest a hundred day challenge for me to complete in solidarity with their struggle. In past years I've done 100 daily sit-ups, meditated for 10 minutes a day, and practiced the ukulele. 

This year the challenge coincided with my six-month dental check-up, and I confess I have not been as conscientious about my tooth care routine as I should be. "I know it's boring," I told my class yesterday, "but I think I should floss every day for 100 days. That would be a good habit to form." 

They were understanding. "That sounds good," said one, "but only if you do THE Floss every day, too."

I laughed and agreed. I've been wanting to learn that dance move for a while now.

This afternoon I was telling my hygienist the story. Not surprisingly, he approved completely. "You'll see!" I told him, "in sixth months I will be tartar free!"

"Okay," he said, "but remember, you're not doing it for me. It's for you, AND your teeth."

"Wow!" I said. "You sound just like a teacher!"