Impulsive Much?

I was at an IEP meeting yesterday for one of our students. In discussing her educational needs with the dad, her teacher mentioned that sometimes this particular student is unaware that she is talking out loud. The teacher gave an example of a time when she had redirected this student by specifically referencing what the girl had said and the student looked at the teacher in awe.

"How do you know that?" she asked her teacher. "Can you read my mind?"

Today at my team meeting, I had a similar experience. This was our last meeting of the year, and I was glad that the counselor could join us. Still, every person there had a million things on their to-do list, and one of us had to be downstairs in the gym in five minutes to play in the student-teacher basketball game.

I did my best to expedite the meeting, but when it came time for the counselor to talk, she offered a great activity to any teacher who had some time in these next two days. "I can't come to every class," she said, "But I'll come to the first one and do my spiel, and then you can take it from there."

Conversation followed, and the word "spiel" (pronounced "shpeel") was repeated over and over again like proverbial fingernails on the chalkboard as the science teacher and the counselor negotiated the implementation of this (very worthy) activity.

"Please don't say "spiel" anymore!" a voice interrupted, and in the surprised silence that followed, I realized it was mine. I had actually said it out loud.

"Spiel," said the counselor, "spiel, spiel, spiel!"

"So," added the science teacher, "when you come tomorrow to give your spiel..." she looked at me, "I'll listen carefully, so I can give the same spiel."

"If you don't like my spiel," the counselor answered, "then feel free to come up with your own spiel."

They continued unmercifully, and by the end of the meeting, we were all laughing hysterically.

Mascot

At our school, each of the grade-level teams has an animal name. Until last year, there were two teams for each grade-- the Dolphins and the Tigers, the Penguins and the Otters, and the Eagles and the Gators. Because our enrollment is growing, we knew last June that there would be three sixth grade teams. Of course, the teachers on the new team got to choose the name, but I was full of ideas, too. Well, mostly I wanted them to be called the Rays, because the team leader's last name was Ray, and in the end, they did choose the Stingrays as their name.

This year, the opportunity bumps up to seventh grade, where I have little to no influence. As such, I haven't given it much thought. Then, at lunch today, a few sixth graders were waiting for sign language club to begin in my room and I engaged them in conversation as we waited for the sponsors.

"So, what team do you guys want for next year?" I asked.

"Penguins!" several called.

"Otters!" many of the others shouted.

"Wait! Isn't there going to be a new team?" someone asked, but that's not what I heard.

I heard, "Isn't there going to be a Gnu team?" and all of a sudden, I had an opinion.

One of the teachers I regularly eat lunch with is going to teach science on that team next year. "Hey!" I barreled into the lunch room. I know just what your team should be called. "The Gnus!" I took a piece of chalk and wrote G-N-U on the board. "Get it?"

"I do now," she said, unimpressed.

Still, I persisted. "C'mon!" I said. "You'll always have good Gnus!"

"We'll always have bad Gnus, too," she laughed.

"What? Are you saying that no Gnus are good Gnus?" I asked.

And so we continued, amusing ourselves until the bell rang. Truthfully? I am not hopeful, but there's always next year, when the eighth grade will get a gnu team, too.

Get Out the White Shoes

As big movie fans, we have really been looking forward to this year's crop of summer films. We are partial to the Marvel Universe, so Iron Man 3 was definitely at the top of our list as the season approached, but May 3 just seemed tooooooo early for a classic summer blockbuster, so we skipped the crowds and decided to wait.

Since then, things have been pretty busy, and the movies have been a luxury we haven't had much time to afford. This afternoon, though, seemed like a perfect opportunity to head to the theater. The weather was warm and there is only one week to go before vacation,  so Iron Man 3 it was.

We were not disappointed. Welcome, Summer.

Population 1

As a blog writer I get a particular little thrill whenever I'm on this or that site or page and I see that they have a link to their blog. Just this morning I enviously read a few posts on Living the Dream @ Deer Run authored by the proprietors of a vegan, oceanfront bed and breakfast on Big Pine Key in Florida. It does seem aptly titled.

Also this morning I ran across a link to a blog by a former student of mine. Ben was in sixth grade in 1999 and I was eager to read his writing again. I was a little disappointed to find that the latest entry was dated 2009. There were some beautiful pictures of New Mexico, though.

Ben's blog made me wonder what will happen to all the millions of sites that people have started with the desire to express themselves to a wider, many times unknown, audience. Over the last couple of years, I've come to think of them as ghost blogs and sometimes, rather than be disappointed, I explore them for clues about what may have happened to their authors.

Some writers formally end their blogs; Vegan Dad eloquently called it quits on January 3, as did Patrick, on Duck Fat and Politics, after he was elected to local office. (Patrick is back now and blogging from Vermont, something I wouldn't have known if I weren't researching this post. Yay, Patrick!)

I couldn't say for sure, but it seems like most bloggers just stop. Maybe the itch has been scratched, maybe the scratch has taken a different form, or maybe the itch has been re-prioritized, but in my imagination? They all think that they will get back to it soon, perhaps tomorrow or maybe next week, but then time passes, and weeks turn into months, months to years, and they just haven't posted. Soon there are tumbleweeds blowing down main street, right past that saloon door squeaking mournfully in the wind.

See ya tomorrow!

Last Friday Night...

...before summer break officially begins!

(Sorry if you were expecting something more racy to go along with the Katy Perry reference.)

Throttle Up

Before we left for our trip this morning there was an announcement reminding all teachers to have their emergency procedures folder updated and handy. It was code for There's a possibility of a tornado. 

"Wouldn't that be ironic if a tornado hit the school and we were all okay because we went on the field trip?" I laughed as we pulled out of the parking lot.

Gallows humor prevailed as our brand-new charter coaches glided into the gathering storm. Five minutes from our destination, the sky became literally as dark as dusk, and thunder rumbled in the not very distant distance. Another teacher turned to me as lightening flashed. "I'm guessing no zip line?" he asked.

"No, but there might be a zap line," I answered.

Torrential rain followed, but it was mercifully brief and only a drizzle by the time we disembarked. The kids dashed to the cover of a white-tented deck that was quite obviously used for weddings. Our guides were prepared, though, and led the group through a couple of fun games. Still, as our 100 students roamed the area, challenging each other and pounding their fists to their palms, another of my colleagues came up to me. "They paid forty-five dollars to play rock-paper-scissors in a tent in Maryland?" she asked.

I laughed and shrugged. "Well, if you put it that way..." I raised my eyebrows, but just then one of the camp leaders announced that the storm had passed, the thunder was through, and adventures awaited.

And he was telling the truth. Despite the fact that our school system back home was pondering whether or not to close early, for the next 2 1/2 hours the kids had a blast, and they even got to ride the zap line.

Over the Rainbow

As if the end of the year is not stressful enough, tomorrow, the day of our team's big outdoor field trip, they are predicting EXTREME weather. Allow me to quote from the forecast:

Ingredients are coming together for a possible large outbreak of severe thunderstorms in the area Thursday, capable of producing damaging winds, multiple tornadoes, and flash flooding.

A complex of violent thunderstorms, some tornadic, may or may not coalesce into a derecho sometime this afternoon or evening. Late this afternoon and overnight some severe storms are possible as well, but Thursday’s severe weather risk is particularly serious.

To which the school system put out the following alert:

The National Weather Service has forecast severe weather in our area through Thursday. The forecast includes the possibility of thunderstorms and high winds. We are actively watching weather reports to stay up-to-date.

If an alert is given at any time during the day, schools and transportation will respond accordingly to ensure student safety. Schools may hold walkers if warranted until conditions improve.

If there is any change in operations or transportation due to the weather, families will be notified through School Talk.

As a result of all of these predictions, I spent the afternoon talking to stakeholders-- administration, adventure park, charter bus company, teachers, and parents, trying to figure out the best course of action. Around 5:30 I got a call from the AP telling me the ed center left it up to us to decide in the morning. "We'll put out a message to families advising them to have the students dress appropriately," she said.

"Good idea," I answered. "How about, 'Pack your ruby slippers kids! The field trip is a go!'?"

Benefits of Age

"How do you do that?" A young colleague pointed at the interactive white board in my room. It was displaying the TV signal of our morning announcements.

I was only too eager to explain. "You need a VCR," I started. "You know, the old kind with a TV tuner in it."

She looked at me quizzically, and then waved a hand like such a thing as that was an impossibility.

Still I pressed on helpfully. "Remember when we all used to program our VCRs to tape our favorite shows? I had that one left over from then."

I laughed and she laughed politely, too.

"Well," she shrugged, "I do remember hearing about that, but I certainly never did it myself. Thank you anyway!"

Cue Gene Kelly

Once your garden's in, you have a whole different perspective on the weather.

Growing

We finally got our vegetable garden in this weekend. What with the weird cold weather, then the weird warm weather, and other personal and professional commitments and demands, we're a bit late this year. Still, I'm hopeful that those little tomato, pepper, and squash plants that were just a few months ago only tiny seeds in the palm of my hand will thrive, despite how fragile they looked all spread out, mulched, and caged.

Before we left tonight, I was weeding out the perennial garden. We put our annual herbs in there, too, and as I pulled to clear a space for them, a little plant with fringed leaves caught my eye. It was cilantro that had reseeded itself from last year. Choked by this weed and that, it was four inches tall and looking good.

I'll take that as a positive sign.

Centurions

Today is the 100th day of the writing challenge I posed to my students on March 1. There are 8 kids left standing, and without exception, their final posts have been tributes to the experience. They have made me proud.

Here are a few of their unprompted reflections on completing the challenge:

I am a Centurion. With a capital C! I am disappointed that I have to end this challenge; it has taught me so much and I will never forget it. I doubted it at first, but I have no doubt in my mind now. I feel like a better writer; but there is something else I learned about myself too. I might take longer, but I can write just as well as anyone. If I try I can.

And

Today I have written for 100 days straight without missing a single day. I remember in the beginning I thought I was going to fail, but I never gave up, I at least tried. Well at the end, to my surprise I did it, I just needed some courage and confidence. This taught me a really good lesson, to give it a try instead of deciding from the beginning if I could do it or couldn't do it. This challenge was really helpful for me, because now I am a better writer which is the number one prize I wanted to earn this year. It was the first goal I wrote in TA in September. THANK YOU MS. S. FOR MAKING THESE CHALLENGES. This has really inspired me, to keep writing every day and thank god there are 2 more bonus days. This isn't the end I will keep writing until Ms. S. stops posting. THANK YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!! IT HAS BEEN A GREAT EXPERIENCE WITH YOU THIS YEAR, WE WILL TRULY MISS YOU. I WISH YOU COULD MOVE WITH US TO 7TH GRADE!

And

Today, as we know is the last day of the challenge. Many have failed, but others (like me) have triumphed and become centurion. This end is supposed to be happy, but it is not.I am glad that it is over, but am also so so sad to see the challenge go because you can write about whatever you want (within reason). Take the words from Robert Frost:

"I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere, ages hence. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all of the difference."

And now, I want everyone to have a beautiful flash back of the times of the challenge as we say farewell to it.

Puddle Jumping

It was a stormy day here today. The remnants of Tropical Storm Andrea pushed up the eastern seaboard spreading gray skies and warm wind and rain. In between classes and meetings I watched the weather through my window: birds beat through sheets of rain to land on swaying targets of bent branches. By the time I left the building, the worst of it was over-- the unrelenting flat iron sky had given way to huge leaden clouds and there was little more than a spatter falling. On my way home, though, I witnessed the aftermath of two head-on collisions, and the streets were still treacherous, rainbow-slick in the center and deep puddles in the gutters. Stopped at a light, a bright movement caught my eye and I turned to see red boots, bare legs, and a silver splash as a little boy of perhaps six made the best of this dreary day.

Consultation

A parent scheduled a meeting with me today to discuss her daughter's reading progress. Before we sat down, I reviewed all the test scores we had and considered them in terms of Piaget's stages of development and the Institute of Reading Development's stages, too. I compared that information to my own observations of this student since September, both academic and social.

All the data fit together to create a profile of that particular student which answered her mom's questions, and after the meeting I actually felt like the professional I am-- someone with expertise in her field called upon to provide insight and guidance.

Opposite Extremes

Our students took one of their state standardized tests today. In a group of 21, one kid finished all 60 questions in 20 minutes without using his scrap paper once, submitted his online work without permission, and then laid his head on the desk and went to sleep, and one kid took an hour on question number one.

Can we agree that neither of these strategies represents a healthy approach to demonstrating learning?

Certificates of Achievement

The counselors at our school cycle through with the kids, so we sixth grade teachers only get to work with each counselor every three years. This year we've had the most experienced of the three, and also someone who happens to be a personal friend. I always like working with her, because I know she does a great job.

This is the fourth time around for the two of us, and today we did an activity that we came up with six years ago. Because students are forever getting (or not getting) certificates of achievement in this or that area that they may or may not appreciate, today we let the kids give out the awards. Students can have as many blank certificates as they'd like to fill out in recognition of some accomplishment of one of their peers.

We met with 100 kids today, but guess how many certificates we gave out in the awards ceremonies at the end of each class?

Over 500.

Usually whenever papers are distributed in school there are a few left behind in the classroom or the hallways. Today?

Not one.

How Sweet the Sound

Today was prize day in my class. As a small token and incentive, I provide little gadgets, school supplies, or candy, and then any student who successfully completes the monthly writing challenge gets to sign up for a prize. It's fun, but I always make them repeat our mantra: "The real prize is having written so much."

Today one of the rewards was a little compass carabiner, and Grace seemed delighted when she won it. "Did you know I'm always getting lost?" she asked. "This is really going to help."

I couldn't resist. "That's amazing, Grace. You once were lost, but now you're found!"

Post PostHunt Post

My nephew and I tackled a yearly challenge today. We went downtown for the sixth annual Washington Post PostHunt. Treat was 12 when we did the very first hunt together, and over time he's gotten even smarter, even if he is a little ironic at times. Since he's going to college this fall, I was glad to have the chance to continue our tradition.

When I picked him up, I asked Treat what his goal for the day was. "I want to win, of course," he laughed.

"Me, too," I answered, "but I'll be happy if we correctly solve all five of the puzzles."

"I guess we've never actually done that, have we?" he replied. "Okay. Let's do that."

It was a really good day-- We stopped at my favorite sandwich place to grab lunch on the way, and the hot humid weather we have had this week gave way to a warm, breezy overcast day, and although there were a few sprinkles, the violent storms that are predicted for our area held off.

This year the hunt turned out to be pretty easy-- we met my goal and solved all five of the first round puzzles with an hour to go, and so we relaxed on a bench in the courtyard of the Reagan building trying to decipher what the clues we had found might mean in the second stage of the game.

When we returned to the main stage to hear the final hint, we were actually in it for a minute; we knew what the next step was supposed to be and completed it before being totally lost. Even so, when we admitted defeat and called it for the year, neither of us cared. We left for home satisfied after a fun day.

"Let's do this again next year," Treat said as he climbed out of the car, with only a trace of irony in his voice.

"Oh, we will," I told him. "We will."

First Responders

Since Heidi has been vegan, I've tried a few, shall we say, questionable, recipes. Well, I guess they are only really questionable in the sense that I would never have considered them before there was a vegan to feed around here.

Oh, sure, a few have been BINGO!s, and those have become some of our staple meals, but that mushroom paprikash was not one of them, neither was the mac and "cheez" (okay, the quotation marks should have been a clue), and those baked donuts were a definite never again.

Some cooks have a rule to strictly adhere to the recipe when at first they try it, and having worked in a commercial kitchen, I know where they're coming from. Most professionals test and tweak a dish as many times as they need to before it makes their menu, but where does that leave the home cook?

When Heidi was a little girl, her grandmother always had the same advice for anyone who didn't like their food: Put a little butter and salt on it and it'll be fine. These days we have a twist on her wisdom. We add tomato sauce and toss a salad if we're unsure.

Tonight I'm cooking a version of Cajun dirty rice that includes eggplant. The recipe seemed pretty good, but when I tasted it as I went along, I became a bit concerned. It's in the oven as I type, and we'll see how it turns out, but you can bet the sauce and salad are standing by.

Formative Experiences

With holidays, field trips, and professional development, I must say that it's been a mighty long week for what was technically a short week.

A quick glance out the window tonight and it is no secret that the solstice is only three weeks away. At 7:30, there are blue skies illuminated by a warm, slanting sun. We're having a heat wave, too, so this day seems much more like a day in July than the last day of May.

When I was a little girl, bedtime was at 7:30, no matter the season. We had no air conditioning, so on warm nights such as this, we shucked our pajamas in favor of white cotton briefs and, in my case, a sleeveless undershirt with scalloped straps and tiny bow at the bottom of the neck line.

Back then, it felt like such a terrible loss to go to bed when there seemed to be so much left of the day-- who knew what fun and adventure we might be missing? My mother turned the bed spread down, but I can still remember my regret as I slipped between the cool, smooth sheets and laid my head on the pillow.

On some level? I'm sure that's the only reason I'm awake right now.

Role Reversal

I spent the day in a teaching workshop today, and it's fair to say that my brain is mush. It wasn't that the information wasn't valuable, it was just a lot, and there's six more hours tomorrow.

I'm exhausted! How do those kids do it every day?

Industrial Food

As part of our annual water-testing field trip, the students do a physical survey of a near-by creek located in a well-used park. One of the observations they are asked to make is to describe how the land surrounding the waterway is currently being used. Is it agricultural? Urban? Forest? Industrial?

"What's "industrial"?" one of the kids wanted to know.

"It's like a factory," the counselor told him, and then trying to be helpful, she added, "Are there any factories around here?"

He gave it some thought. "How about the Cheesecake Factory?" he suggested.

Solution

One of my students finished his assignment a little early the other day, and as he turned it in to me, he asked, "Can I solve your Rubik's cube?"

The popularity of the cubes I have on my desk has taken me back 30 years. Students are constantly asking to have a go at those brightly colored objects. They just want to hold them in their hands and twist and turn them randomly, hoping for a miracle. I can hardly criticize them-- wasn't it I who bought that Powerball ticket just the other day?

At any rate, I shrugged and tossed this guy one of the cubes. I've found them to be excellent incentives for encouraging kids to finish their work.

In retrospect, I should have been tipped off by this particular student's choice of verbs, for it was less than two minutes later that he handed me a cube with six perfect faces. Certainly I gasped, and I know I clapped in delight, because

it

was

really

cool!

Sea Change

I have never been a countdown person.

25 days to go!

Then there's That

I've written before about the young woman I used to be mentor to when she was in sixth grade. I stay in touch with her mostly through social media, and it amuses me sometimes that at 22 her brain is still as quirky as it was half her life ago.

Today she posted a photo of a dead squirrel lying bloodied on the pavement. I cringed when I saw it, wondering what possessed her to share such a gruesome image. I noticed that another of her friends had the same reaction.

"Why????" the friend commented.

"Hit by a car," my former student replied.

Benediction

I'm not a hugger, but I hugged my cousin tight tonight before we put her on a train for Florida, and I wiped more than a few tears as we walked back to our car, too.

When my brother and sister and I were children we said our prayers together every night. After the Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary, and Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, we would end by saying, God bless Mommy and Daddy, Tracey, Billy, and Courtney, Grandma and Granddaddy, Aunt Harriett and Uncle Jim, Jimmy and Bobby, Aunt Sis and Uncle Tom, Sandy and Mike, Elaine and Mike, Kelly and Tom, and all my aunts and uncles, cousins and friends. 

Many of the people on that list are gone, and we've been blessed by many more to add, but even today, saying those names has an elemental effect on me-- like repeating a nursery rhyme or a song that I have known all my life. It even soothes me when I wake in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep, because those folks are my original family.

Godspeed, Elaine.

Post History

The history teacher on my team retired at the end of March. A mid-year departure is unusual and can be disruptive, but we and the kids have almost reestablished what seems like a regular routine without our Ms. C. Even so, her name came up in my class today.

"Oh, Ms. C.," I sighed dramatically to indicate how much I missed her still.

"Yeah," one smart aleck kid replied, "you can tell us how you really feel."

I put on a hurt face. "No," I said, "I do miss her. In fact, Ms. C. just texted me the other day--"

"Wait!" another student interrupted. "Ms. C. Knows how to text????"

Conspiracy

There comes a halcyon time in every school year when it seems that everyone, students and teachers alike, is at their best-- firing on all cylinders, on a streak, in the groove, click click clicking along, whatever, but that time is not this.

Close to June all sorts of fatigue set in. All those monthly Monday holidays and week-long breaks are things of the past, and high stakes testing is where it's at. Everyone's a short timer, and If you're a kid, it seems like once your "big" test is over, it's hard to believe that there could possibly be anything important left to do, and yet there we are for a month or more, day after day, with valuable lessons and assignments, all of which are expected to be completed. Really.

While presenting a particular challenge to teachers, such circumstances also seem to take a toll on the morale and judgment of some sixth graders. Why just today in our voluntary after-school study hall, the teacher in charge uncovered a conspiracy. Several students tried to distract her with requests for help so that another kid could steal an extra snack.

Their integrity for a bag of cheese crackers seemed like a good trade. 28 days to go.

Heard in Sixth Grade

First student: I always thought avalanche was a vegetable... something related to an avocado, maybe?

Second student: Avocado? Ewwwww!

Ooh! Ooh! I Know This One

Tonight in the grocery store I was approached by a woman of perhaps my age or a little bit older. We were in the international food section and she held a bottle of soy sauce in her hand. "Excuse me," she said with a slight accent, "do you know what kelp is?"

Those who know me know that I love questions I know the answer to. "It's seaweed!" I told her as if I were a contestant on a game show. 

She seemed to interpret my enthusiasm as expertise, and she handed me the bottle, pointing to the tiny print that listed the ingredients. "I'm vegetarian," she explained. "Is there any fish or pig skin in there?"

The pig skin threw me off a bit, but I was game to answer the second round questions. Unfortunately, when I looked down, I  found I couldn't read the bottle. No matter. "Can I borrow your glasses?" I asked, pointing to the reading specs on her nose.

We laughed, and then she handed them to me, because she wanted to know, and I took them, because I wanted to tell her.

Confused Face

Twice today I heard a student react to mildly negative news in the following way, "Awww, sad face."

The exchanges went like this:

Me: Andrew move your seat.

Andrew: Awww, sad face.

And later,

Me: we'll probably show that movie next year.

Student: I won't be here next year. Awww, sad face.

What is up with that?

Dystopian Non-fiction

If you are familiar with adolescent literature at all, then you know that dystopian fiction is just as hot as vampires and all their other paranormal kin. The psychology behind both of these trends has been well-explored: most have a classic, if exaggerated, individual against society conflict that helps clarify what their adolescent readers are likely facing in their own development. There are some analysts, though, that consider these books as warnings.

Tonight on Sixty Minutes I saw a segment on a North Korean prison camp. I had heard of the book, Escape from Camp 14, before. Written by Washington Post reporter Blaine Hardin, it tells the tale of Shin In Geun, a man who was born in the eponymous prison camp and who, against all odds, escaped at the age of 23. Still, I had never stopped to consider what such a life would really be like. 

Growing up in that camp, Shin had no concept of any other world. Everything that any prisoner had came from the guards; there was never any opportunity for one person to give something to another. Love was unheard of, and to this day, Shin admits it is not an emotion he understands. He was conceived as the result of a reward his parents earned. By working hard, they were allowed to be "married" Ina union arranged by the camp administration. Their relationship did not include cohabitation or even raising their children together, however.

In the camp hunger was so pervasive that the prisoners routinely ate insects and rats. Public executions were common, and Shin considered them a welcome break in his routine. Children born in the camp had no idea that the earth was round, much less what else the world had to offer beyond the electrified fence.

And the tale goes on, as riveting and horrifying as any dystopian novel I have ever read. Except it's not fiction. So what do we do with that?

Validation

"How do you like to eat your kimchi?" The woman at the farmer's market asked as she dished up my purchase.

"Lately, I've been making a kimchi fried rice with a fried egg on top," I told her.

"That's my favorite way to have it, too," she smiled and handed me my bag.

Phew!

Good Times

It's profile unit time in my English class. (For a description of this fun assignment, I invite you to click here.) Because of the way the activity is structured, in a couple of classes one student has to interview me. After our first conversation, the student journalist must choose an angle to focus on. This year, one student has chosen to write about the fact that before I became a teacher, I was a chef.

Today, he slipped me a sheet of paper with a few additional question about my former life as a caterer. When were you a caterer? Did you run your own business? What was the best and the worst day you ever had as a caterer?

Later, alone at my desk, I picked up a pen to answer his inquiry. The third question took some thinking. I could recall plenty of nice parties I had worked, but when I was catering on my own, nothing too bad went down. I considered a few of the late nights I put in, and then one memory flooded back. 

Two frozen turkeys needed to thaw quickly, and I didn't have the sink space so I dropped them into the bath tub and ran some cold water. Downstairs, I continued my prep. A little while later, my mom and sister returned from the theater with a friend. As we stood and chatted, the patter of what sounded like rain drops sounded from the dining room. Within moments, water poured from the woodwork and a huge bladder formed on the ceiling. We watched helplessly as it swelled to the size of a cow's udder before bursting like a giant water balloon, drenching half the room.

Long story short? The turkeys had plugged the drain and the tub was overflowing. There was an inch of water on the bathroom floor by the time I shut the tap off, and the only place it had to go was downstairs.

 I'd say that was a pretty bad day.

Purse Strings of Tomorrow

As I mentioned the other day, my students have been composing essays on the topic, Your school has some extra money. They could spend it on sports equipment, computers, the cafeteria, or something else. What do you think the money should be used for?


Now that all their writing pieces are in, here's a round-up of what they thought we should get:

Cafeteria improvements 14
Computers 9
Sports Equipment 5

Those were suggested in the prompt, the other popular ideas were:

Enhanced security 7
Outdoor classroom 4
Video games 3
Pool 3
Anti-bullying device 3
Student shushers 3
Rooftop garden/cafe3
Smart boards 2
Robots 2
Student lounge 2
Magic Hogwarts-style school 2

But an interesting thing about this year, was that we had the most unrepeated ideas, ever.

Better playground with tree houses
Baseball team
Skateboard ramp
Beanbag chairs and clipboards to replace the desks
Better science lab
Fishing pond
Nutella vending machines
Library improvements
More trade books in classroom libraries
Dance lab
More individualized instruction
Theater renovation
Painting the outside of our building
Making our school a certified green building
Underground aquarium
Candy room
Softer toilet paper
More tissues in the classrooms

I think most of those ideas are pretty good. I guess this generation can take over in 30 years or so.

Tempus Fugit

A few days ago one of my students knocked over a bottle of water onto my desk calendar. We mopped it right up, but I knew the blotter would never be the same. The once perfectly flat rectangle of cheerful blue, yellow, and white was crinkling before our eyes, and keeping it would mean spending the next seven months compulsively sweeping my forearm across the page to flatten it back out. still, I couldn't be upset with the student; she had been leaning over earnestly to ask me a creative question about her writing, and how could I ever discourage that?

Strangely enough, this was actually the second time this year that such a calamity befell my day-by-day planner. Every other year, my desk calendar has lasted the entire 12 months it was meant to, but a couple of months ago another student spilled my coffee, again, in heedless pursuit of some truth about the lesson that day.  That time, as this, I ordered a replacement online, and the newest version was delivered today.

After I unceremoniously ripped through the first four months of 2013 and discarded them in the recycling, I set my new blotter on the desk and proceeded to copy my upcoming appointments and events from the old water- logged one. It didn't take me long to realize that this year, while not ending next week like they are in, say, Atlanta, is still rapidly drawing to a close. Oh, there is a lot, okay, too much, still to do, but this was the first time I could see the high noon summer-solstice sun shining from the end of the tunnel, and I was surprised to find that I wasn't gleeful in the least. All I could think about was how much I would miss these sloppy, passionate kids.

Writing Sample

My students completed their end-of-the-year writing sample today. The prompt was a familiar one for me: Your school has some extra money. They could spend it on sports equipment, computers, the cafeteria, or something else. What do you think the money should be used for?

My philosophy has always been that if I teach my students to be good writers, they will be able to write good essays, but over the years, I've read a lot of essays about sports equipment, computers, and cafeteria food. I've also read many about game rooms, student lounges, and pools. The majority of them have been well-written, if a little dry. I guess there's something about the format that students find uninspiring.

Even so, I have also read lots of terrific pieces too. Probably the best one ever was a very convincing argument in favor of zombie-proofing our building; it had me in stitches, no pun intended. I've also read essays on why we need more Kleenex, a proposal to repaint our building brick-by-brick, and even a tongue-in-cheek proposition to replace all the teachers with robots.

Today, however, there were two writing pieces that can be nothing else than heartbreaking signs of the times. One student wrote about how we should invest all our money in enhancing the security of our building. His opening line? "We've all heard about the tragedy at Newtown," and his closing was, "In a peaceful world we wouldn't need these things, but now we do."

The other student wrote a fanciful essay all about constructing a huge shelter under the gym where all of us could go in case of any natural disaster or human threats. We would have bunk beds, walkie talkies, classrooms, and food to last us at least two years.

Maybe a student game room wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Work in Progress

Sometimes the administration requires kids to attend Tolerance Club. It's not so much a punishment as an opportunity to raise their awareness... that's how we spin it, anyway.

Today one such boy attended our meeting. As our activity, we were showing the students the "Implicit Association Test." Housed at Harvard,  

"The Implicit Association Test (IAT) measures attitudes and beliefs that people may be unwilling or unable to report. The IAT may be especially interesting if it shows that you have an implicit attitude that you did not know about. For example, you may believe that women and men should be equally associated with science, but your automatic associations could show that you (like many others) associate men with science more than you associate women with science"

We like to say it reveals a bias for rather than a bias against, but it usually shows some sort of bias. Some of the tests available now are age, race, disability, sexuality, and weight. So the kid who was required to attend the meeting is clicking through and he gets to the end where his results are revealed. "I don't know what this means," he calls out, waving one of the adults over.

She looked at the screen. "Hmmm... that means that you have a bias toward people who are thin over people who are heavy."

"Well, duh!" he answered.

What to Let Go

It's a cliche to say so, but family events are always a combination of joy and stress. My immediate family had a particularly wonderful weekend this one past; we were all together, and we enjoyed each others company every second we could wring from the two days we spent.

But there were other relatives who could not say the same. "I just have to cut her off," both women said separately about the other, her mother, her daughter. 

"There comes a time after so many years when you just can't take another disappointment," said one.

The other echoed her words but substituted "insult" for "disappointment."

And it has been many years, over 25. After all that time, or perhaps because of it, they are both so locked in their anger and pain that anyone near them can see that it would be a blessing if they actually could let them go. Unfortunately, it's equally clear that they haven't, for while they have cut each other out of their lives, refusing to interact despite being a few feet apart, the anger and pain remain.

As Buddha said, Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

So Far Yet So Close

I was surprised when I heard that one of the bride's closest cousins would not be at the wedding because she was doing a semester abroad in Spain. Her parents, sisters, and brother seemed a little disappointed to not have her there at the rehearsal dinner last night, even as they explained to all who asked what a great opportunity it was and what as fabulous time she was having. Today at the ceremony I was two rows back from the family. As her brother held up his smart phone throughout the proceedings, I assumed he was making a video recording. That is until he swung his arm forward to catch the action at the front of the chapel. As the couple exchanged their vows, I saw the face of a young woman watching intently from his screen. It was, of course, his sister joining the festivities via Skype. 

Suite Life

My whole family is in Charlottesville for a wedding  this weekend. At the last minute, we decided to upgrade our room to a suite so that my cousin could stay with us and my mom. What a great idea! We've all been hanging out in the living room, and then we bought a couple bottles of wine and some fancy snacks. There's even a two-burner stove, and believe me, friends, if we were just staying one extra day, I'd be throwing a dinner party!

TAW

It's teacher appreciation week and this year my students have been very thoughtful. On Monday I got flowers and candy; yesterday one nice girl baked cookies, and today someone added to my flower arrangement, another presented me with a gift card, and then I got what will probably be a once-in-a-career gift. A cheese souffle.

Seriously.

Now that's appreciation.

Pizza Culpa

"Where's our pizza?" I growled over my stomach. "I'm starving!"

So hungry in fact was I that I picked up the phone without hesitation and dialed. (Those who know me will immediately recognize the significance of this gesture.) When a polite voice answered, I did my best to curb my crankiness. "I placed an online delivery order an hour and a half ago and I was just wondering where it was," I whined [slightly, very slightly].

She took my name. "We have that as an online pick-up order," she informed me sympathetically, and I realized with horror that the mistake was all mine. But before I could even let out the gigantic sigh that filled my lungs all the way down to my diaphragm she added, "Would you like us to remake it and deliver it as soon as possible?"

"That would be great," I whimpered [slightly, very slightly].

Please hurry up pizza.

Springcasm

With itchy eyes and scratchy throat, and amidst the prediction of billions of cicadas about to emerge and outnumber us humans 60 to 1, I swept another eight ounces of woven weeds and muck from the eaves of the porch this evening.

Ahhh, spring! What other joys might the season bring?

Darwin's Agent

There's a robin who has been trying to build a nest in the eaves of our porch for several weeks. We have a rule that once there are eggs in a nest, the bird family gets to stay until the babies fledge, but a bird's nest in that small space is a mess and a nuisance to everyone; I don't believe the birds really like having two humans, a dog, and a cat so near by. They just don't know it yet because the weather's been so yucky.

As such, we practice a form of avian contraception around here, knocking the sticks and grass down every day before anything gets established. Even so, this particular robin has shown considerable perseverance, returning day after day with blade after blade of dry grass. Until yesterday, I watched the mess she was making from the comfort of the living room, but early May is a good time to clean up the deck and start hardening off my seedlings, so I grabbed a pair of gloves, a broom, a roll of paper towels, and some 409 spray.

It was kind of gross out there; clumps of mud and strands of grass littered the area. The Adirondack chair in the corner looked as if had been shat upon by a billion birds, not just the one, and the cushion was a total loss-- first item into the garbage bag. Still I cleaned on, and it wasn't too long before the porch was a welcoming area of agriculture and relaxation.

This morning? That damn robin was back. I let the cat out there and chased her away personally several times, but I knew we would be knocking a nest down this evening.

When I got home tonight, though, I was unprepared however for the sheer amount of debris that was on that chair. It was covered in an entire range of miniature mountains of muck. Of one thing I was sure: no bird could possibly excrete so much in so little time. Had she have brought her whole freakin' flock for robin's revenge? Calling Alfred Hitchcock...

Turns out that when the soil is wet, as ours has been, female robins begin their nests. In addition to the obvious grass and twigs, beakful by beakful, they also carry approximately half a pound (half a pound!) of mud from the ground to the construction site. It takes your average robin hundreds of visits to build her nest, and we just happened to have one sloppy mud-bearer who dropped more on the chair than she placed in the eaves.

Of course all her hard work is gone now, swept away with the flick of a broom. I do feel a little bit guilty, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that, surely, natural selection is on my side.

And there it Is

We have a nice strawberry bed in our garden. When I first put the plants in two years ago, all the literature I read suggested not picking the fruit until the second year in order to help strengthen the plants and their subsequent crops.

I thought that was the dumbest idea ever, and I would have picked every single berry from those vines last year except that they all rotted on the ground side before they completely ripened. Having been forced into following the directions, my next dilemma was how to keep my berries from doing that every year.

The answer? Why, it's in the name. Straw. You're supposed to mulch the plants with straw, or even better, pine straw, and then the STRAWberries can ripen on a soft little bed. I did that today, and I have high hopes for lots of berries in June.

Be Still My Vintage Heart

I heard yesterday that starting next week and continuing into the next season, Patty Duke and Meredith Baxter are going to play a long-committed lesbian couple on Glee.

Let me animate my reaction to this news about a couple of my childhood icons:

spit take
slide whistle
jaw drops to the floor
boing boing sound
eyes pop out
goofy grin

If Only

I think I've mentioned how the writing club kids like to give each other prompts when we meet. I'm sure part of the appeal is being allowed to write on the white board, and most of the time the assignments are so silly that it is kind of challenging to get anything on paper in the 5-10 minutes we allow. (But... I guess our students might say the same thing for many of the tasks we set for them.)

Really, though-- Write about pandas and turtle cup cakes? The Bermuda triangle, without pickles? Using the words, "before", "daffodil", "cocoa puffs", "converse" and "soccer"? You see what I mean, but let me tell you, those kids put out some crazy good writing on that kind of dare.

Yesterday, though, someone posted the following challenge: Write three paragraphs arguing against standardized tests, and it wasn't either one of us teachers.

Trying to remain neutral, I asked the assembled students what their objections to these tests were. "I'll scribe," I volunteered. "You talk."

"They're not fun!" someone started, rather predictably.

"It's boring," another student added.

We adults shrugged sympathetically. "What else?" I asked.

"Well," one kid started earnestly, "all that review cuts away from learning new things."

"And they create a lot of stress!" the girl to his right chimed in.

"Stress? Why? None of you guys are going to fail," I said, because it was true.

"All those signs everywhere about how many days until the test can really freak you out," she told me. "And what about the announcements?" she continued.

"SOL Boot Camp! SOL Boot Camp" they all started to chant.

"What is that even about?" she asked.

"One of our teachers told us that how we do can affect the economy," a boy said. "Test scores impact property values."

"One of your teachers told you that?" I repeated, a little incredulously.

"He was just being honest," the student answered, "but the tests aren't a fair way to evaluate you guys either. I mean you can't control how every single student is going to do on them, right?"

More shrugs from the teachers.

"Okay. Do we have enough?" asked the student who had posed the prompt. "Let's write a letter to the school board and get rid of these tests!"

We Run

I had my poet friend in for his 5th annual visit with my classes today. The activity he led us through was a fitting end to the National Poetry month challenge we just finished on Tuesday. He had the kids up and moving around, finding and re-finding their "tribes," and then did a fun writing exercise based on Tim Seible's poem Renegade. The poem repeats the words we run, we run like... and is a very accessible model for writers to experiment with. The lesson was good enough to repeat with writing club this afternoon.

Here is a collaborative poem composed of some of the images we came up with through out the day:

we run
we run like the moon escaping the sun
like a bloody nose
like deserts to water
we run like a murderer escaping the police
like dust into the vacuum
we run like this poem goes on
like echoes in a cave
like a home-run ball over the wall
we run like yesterday is tomorrow
like the words you didn't mean to say
like rain on water
we run
we run like cleats on the turf
like cockroaches in the kitchen light
like a cat chasing a laser pointer
we run
we run like we are both chasing and escaping something
we run like the caboose after the train
we run like ghost crabs in the moonlight
we run
we run like we are late for the bus
run like it's the last day of school
we hear the bell and we run

Been There

We're expecting some sort of cicada activity around here this spring. The details are a little murky, because our big, big, big seventeen year brood, Brood X, was here in 2004, and so they won't be back until 2021. This year's brood is Brood II, also a 17-year brood, but usually not as populous as X in these parts.

Personally, I am unconcerned about the potential plague. I know from experience that these bugs don't bother me, but the same cannot be said for my students. In 2004, they were three, and any locust recall they might have is blurry at best.

All they know is that some time in the next few weeks, those critters are crawling out, and just the chance of any significant number of two inch flying green bugs (with red eyes!!!) is freaking them out.

Measurable Objectives?

Part of being a school which implements the International Baccalaureate Middle Years Programme is identifying a student each month who exemplifies one of the learner profile traits that the IB MYP has prescribed.

Full Disclosure: I am not a fan of the IB MYP, and I believe that character education is best conducted at home or in context, and I also agree with Alfie Kohn that awards are more effective in reinforcing the authority of those who grant them than for praising those we intend to commend or encouraging their peers to be more successful. BUT, A few years ago, in an attempt to make these monthly recognitions more meaningful for the students, our team implemented a peer nomination form. The teachers still made the final designation, but it was based on what the kids wrote.

Has the process improved since then? It's hard to say. Many 11-year-olds are still inclined to nominate their friends, if not the person sitting next to them at the moment they are offered the opportunity. They are kids, after all, and they don't fully understand their role in the process, but teaching them that is part of what we do.

Often, we adults are tempted to dismiss their nominations for those very reasons, and in the interest of time and efficiency, we want to designate a student ourselves. Then, too, we feel compelled to take into consideration the demographics of just who is winning these awards. Are there too many girls? Too few minority kids?

In the end, it seems like the objective, if there ever was one, is lost. A name is read on the announcements, a certificate is granted, a photo is posted on the school web site, and then we all move on to the hundreds of other things that occupy our days.