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!"

For Goodness' Sake

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

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

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

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

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

Fraught

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

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

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

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

Surely You Are Mistaken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as my map app tried to tell me.

Long May You Run

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

With big grins, they waved a computer at me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something for Everyone

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

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

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

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

Inspiration is Where You Find It

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

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

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

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

It Was Personal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, it did," she agreed.

Home Base

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

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

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

Picture Day

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

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

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

When Dreams Come True

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

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

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

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

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

Imagination Station

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Know Thyself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professional Learning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone onscreen nodded sympathetically. 

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

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

Quiet on the Set

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

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

Still Plain

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

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

"What was that?" gasped a student.

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

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

"Really?" I replied. "Let's see." 

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

"Plain folks!" some kids correctly pointed out.

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

Game Winning

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

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

One for the W column, for sure.

It's On Again

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

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

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

What Else Would it Be?

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

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

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

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

The Best Medecine

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody Wants That

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

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

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

For sure.

Uncomfortable Privilege

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Batting 1000 on 500s

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

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

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

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

Sliding Forward

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

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

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

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

Adventure Planning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Legend?

I was cooking dinner when my phone buzzed.

AND what I didn't say?

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

Banking It

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

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

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

A Long Way Around

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

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

"Water," I answered.

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

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

"Almost," I admitted.

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

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