Wolf?

"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," was the last thing the paramedic said as he and two of his colleagues, three firefighters, and a police officer left our house tonight. For the first time in my life, I had actually dialed the digits that summon such help. Heidi was hypoglycemic and alternating between combative and unresponsive. She had fallen twice, and I had already made good on my threat of using "the big shot". There hadn't been any improvement, though, and frankly, I was scared.

A tear slid down my nose as I pressed those three buttons and heard that iconic answer: 911-- what's your emergency?

My voice trembled as I explained the situation, and we were still on the phone when I heard the sirens wailing. With a start, I realized they were on the way to our door.

Fortunately by the time they got here, Heidi was a little better, and within five minutes, I was able to call from the landing outside the bedroom that what they were seeing was just her regular oppositional personality, not necessarily the low blood sugar. They left without treating her, and as the seven of them tromped down the stairs, I'm sure that my cheeks burned with a little embarrassment. It was a struggle not to second-guess my decision to make the call. I thanked them all for their help, and on his way out the door one of the paramedics stopped.

"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," he said.

Mixed Message

Last weekend we went to see the documentary I Am,  made by Tom Shadyac, the director of such silly movies as Ace Ventura, The Nutty Professor, and Bruce Almighty. After a life-changing injury, he decided to interview an array of spiritual and intellectual leaders and pose the question of what is wrong with our world today.

I knew from the trailer that the movie had an uplifting message about the fundamental interdependence of us all, and I was looking forward to seeing it. Arriving at the theater a little early, because we had been lucky to find on-street parking downtown, we had our choice of seats, so we picked a couple in the center. I relaxed and waited for the film to start, and over the next few minutes several more people came, but the place was by no means full when the lights went down. Just at that moment, a really big guy entered the theater and, despite all the other open seats, came and sat right next to me.

All of a sudden, my whole experience was a lot less comfortable; I was physically crowded and kind of irritated. There was another seat on the other side of Heidi, and she suggested I just scoot over. I squirmed as I considered the idea, wondering what the guy would think if I moved-- it would obviously be because he sat there. I thought, too, about the premise of the movie we were about to see-- that we were all connected on some level, and I tried to reconcile my strong desire for personal space with that idea.

In the end? I moved. The movie was good: thought-provoking and uplifting, but I left the theater a little bummed, weighed down by my inability to overcome my discomfort at sitting a bit too close to another human being.

Borrowed Words

As the 2011 SOLSC draws to an end, I'm going to share what one of my students wrote today:

Well it's March 31 which means this is the last Slice of Life Post. This was a really fun thing to do. I wish we could do this again. I really enjoyed it and I am going to miss it because now I won't know how [much] fun everybody had during their day. I always loved coming on here and telling everyone about my day, it can get all the problems I am having now and make them go away. This was the only place where I could let all my problems GO! I hope everyone also liked this activity. This is one thing I will never forget about my 6th grade year. 

Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for sponsoring such an inspiring activity.

Spoiler Alert

The other day my students were talking about their independent reading books in small groups. It's a weekly assignment, but right now, it seems like there are a lot of kids reading The Hunger Games and its sequels, and all of them are in different places, which makes it a little challenging for them to have these discussions without spoiling the plot for someone else. In one of my classes I looked up to find a student pacing back and forth next to his table with his fingers in his ears. At first, I was alarmed, but when I went over there, the group explained that he just didn't want to hear anything about what was coming next in the book.

Later in the day, someone asked me about the narrative voice of the series. "It's written in first person," I said. "The main character, Katniss Everdeen, is telling the story in all three books."

"Thanks a lot!" a little girl snapped, "Now I know she doesn't die!"

I laughed and to throw her off I said, "Oh no-- she tells the third one from beyond the grave." And then I made spooky ghost noises.

"Thanks a lot," she said again. "Now you've really ruined it!"

Since it was clear I couldn't win, and I kind of wanted to mess with her and keep her guessing, too, I continued. "But that's not all! She's a zombie in the second one!"

"Oh she is not!" the student insisted. "I saw the last line of the book. She takes Peeta's hand."

"Yeah, his cold, dead, severed hand!" I said triumphantly.

"Oh, now I don't even know what to think! I'm just going to finish the book," she scoffed.

"You do that," I told her. "You do that."

(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)

Program Evaluation

My teaching was observed for the second time in as many weeks today. Our district is conducting a program evaluation and the results are submitted and compiled without identifying the teacher, so I will never receive any formal feedback on my lesson, my instruction, or my interaction with my students today.

The observations are carried out by independent contractors who are trained to use a rubric, and when they are through, consultants will use their data to construct a report on the overall quality of teaching in our school system. As it happens, many of the assessors are retired teachers and administrators, and I know the person who observed me today rather well. She used to be a language arts specialist at one of the other middle schools in the county.

My philosophy on any kind of evaluation is to do what I would do otherwise, thus giving an accurate picture of my practice and then to accept any feedback as constructive, and that is what I did today, even though there would be no feedback. My students continued working on final drafts of their fiction as well as composing and commenting on slice of life stories. I edited, conferred, and advised as they worked.

As she was leaving the room my observer paused. "It's great to see the students writing," she told me. "I can't say I've seen too much of that lately."

I was shocked. "Really?"

"Well," she shrugged, "I'm only there for one class, but..." she trailed off. "Thanks for doing what you're doing," she finished.

(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)

New Toy

I'm composing this on my brand new iPad. The other day I mentioned to my students that I had this gadget on order, and I was surprised by their enthusiasm. "Will you bring it to school?" somebody wondered.

"Can I touch it?" another girl asked.

My answers were yes and yes. The oldest of three, I'm a really good sharer; plus, what fun is a new toy if you keep it all to yourself? The students seemed beside themselves in delight, and one even posted about our conversation on her slice that evening--

Just in case we really needed reminding that technology is supremely engaging to kids.

(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.) 

Preparing for the Future

Today, I finally found the time to deal with all the greens from my vegetable share. The CSA farmer who provides our locally grown produce plants a wide variety of greens every winter. Just this week alone we had English cress, new star mustard, tender leaf mustard, and Chinese thick-stemmed mustard. Left from last week, I had napini, two kinds of kale, and a bunch of spicy arugula.

Sometimes, I cook to showcase the individuality of a particular green, but today I did what I always do when I'm inundated: I got out the ten quart stock pot, boiled some lightly-salted water, and dumped them all in. Four minutes later the leaves floated to the top like tiny emerald dishrags. The window by the sink clouded with steam as I drained them and then shocked them in ice water. Once they were cool, I lifted them from their icy bath and back into the colander, leaving behind the last of the gritty sand that had given them life.

The most labor intensive step came next. Working in batches small enough to fit my hands, I squeezed the water from them and tossed around 10 compact green balls to my cutting board. After that it was a rough chop chop with the chef's knife and into a zipper bag-- one pound and fifteen ounces of green goodness bound for the freezer and some future meal. 

As I worked, I was reminded of a wonderful poem by Todd Boss: (Be sure to check out his very cool project, Motion Poems.)

Were I to Wring a Rag

--no matter how much
muscle I might have   

mustered—my mother   

was like to come along   

behind, reach around   

me to take it up again   

from where I’d left it,   

lift it back into my line   

of vision and in one   

practiced motion from   

that strangle in her bare   

hands and thin air work   

a second miraculous   

stream of silver dishwash   

into the day’s last gleam . . .

~Todd Boss

(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)