Multitasking

As they worked on the latest drafts of their writing assignments, I put a list of resources for the students on the board. I inventoried the four exemplary pieces of writing they had, the how-to mini-lessons, and the section of the text which showed the proper format for friendly letters. The last item was me, their teacher, and I took a moment as I went over the list to remind them that I hoped they would view me in that way, as a resource, an expert in writing and literature, there to help them become better writers and readers. "When I have to spend my time telling you not to poke the kid next to you, you're wasting a valuable resource," I said. "You're treating me more like a babysitter than a teacher."

There were some nods, a couple of shrugs, and a few blank stares, but one student looked very confused. "But wait..." he started, "can't you do both?"

A Look Inside

Once again, the novelty of GoogleDocs amuses me. I got an email this evening that a student had shared an assignment that's been missing for a while, and so I clicked over to see what he had done. To my surprise, when I opened the document, he was still composing it, and I watched as the third paragraph appeared at an excruciating slow pace.

It revealed quite a bit about his writing process, though. He is a distracted kid-- it's hard for him to get started on an assignment and hard to sustain his attention. He also embraces any sidetrack he can while attempting to complete a task; sharpening a pencil, getting a tissue, throwing away a piece of paper, all become top priorities.

I know that's why he shared the document with me before he was done; it was a way to avoid actually doing any writing. As I monitored his composition, I also noticed that he was a stickler about spelling. If something was misspelled, he would sometimes go back to it within a word or two, which indicated that he had to be re-reading a lot, but most often, he would try to fix it right away.

I watched in fascination as he typed stratigys, and then stratageys, and then stratigeys, until finally, unable to stand it any longer, I placed my cursor on the word and fixed it myself. An instant message popped up a second later thanking me. I replied with encouragement, "You're doing great! Keep going!" but told him I was signing off and would check in later. It had taken him two minutes to type a single word, and I just couldn't watch anymore.

Later I imagined what it would be like for someone observing me as I write. I'm sure it would be maddening in its own way. Writing is hard, and the only thing that makes it easier is to stick with it. How do you teach that?

Planning Ahead

I have a particular student who keeps borrowing books from me and leaving them elsewhere in the school. He's lucky that other teachers and students return them to my room, but he's always surprised when I have them and a little hurt when I hesitate to place them in his care again. Today he wanted to borrow six books at once. To be honest, I sympathize with his ambition and his desire for dibs on certain titles: I always have a stack of books by my bedside, on my desk, or in the "good" bookcase, which I'm informally reserving for the near future. Whether I actually read them or not, for now, I want them near at hand. They are, however, my books.

Still, this student was undaunted by my unwillingness to simply hand over all the books he wanted. "Can I have that one when I finish this one?" and here, he looked around in confusion for the one he had left by the pencil sharpener.

"Yes," I said, handing him the lost volume.

"And can I have the other one when I'm done with that?" he inquired anxiously.

"Yes," I answered.

He looked longingly at the stack he had assembled. "What about next year? When I'm in seventh grade can I still borrow your books?"

"Yes," I told him.

"And what about you?" he asked. "Will you come to seventh grade, too?"

Sometimes, Nothing Else Will Do

We did some holiday baking this weekend, and once again the notion of "veganizing" traditional favorites was a prime topic of consideration. My favorite cookie is the Russian Teacake, AKA the Mexican Wedding Cake. It is basically a shortbread with pecans stirred in, rolled into balls before baking, and covered with confectioners sugar after. Although it was easy to create a vegan version of this particular cookie, I did not love the result. The texture was lighter and crisper, which admittedly some might prefer, but I missed the buttery flavor, and the mouth feel was a little slickery to my palate.

I don't eat a lot of sweets, and we are fortunate enough that there's no need for eating anything that we don't like, especially something like a cookie which is not the most healthful of foods. If it's not good, and it's not good for you, then really? What's the point?

I plan to make another batch, with butter, tomorrow.

That's Why

In the midst of every regular and holiday errand we hoped to do this weekend, today brought one other item on our lengthy to-do list: we were scheduled to put in our last work day for the community garden at 9 AM.

It wasn't until I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 this morning with my mental tiller still turning up all the anxiety gardening dreams from the night before that I realized I'd been dreading the work day. I really like having the garden, and I'm totally on board with the community aspect of the proposition, but in reality, my interaction with many of the other gardeners in the place has been less than pleasant.

In addition to the over-bearing, passive-aggressive woman in the next plot, during the growing season every week or so brings a scolding email directed to all of us. Someone is leaving the water on, not cleaning the common tools properly, failing to secure the gate, trampling other gardens, or pinching produce. I suspected that today's work session, like the others I've attended, would be loosely organized with everyone expected to "pitch in" but with no clear objective about what should be accomplished before we could leave with a clear conscience.

And so it was that I headed off for the garden with a sigh and a bit of a knot in my stomach, but the day was so bright, the air so crisp, the sun just warm enough, that none of that mattered, and in the end, I was simply happy to work outside for an hour.

A Bad Case of the Elevens

A student who is usually quite pleasant and polite has seemed a little out of sorts this week. All the sighing, eye-rolling, and teeth sucking came to a boiling point today when in response to my gentle redirection she shrugged and walked away with an exasperated, "Whatever!"

I called her to the doorway to address the issue privately, and as I spoke, she literally craned her neck to turn her head as far from me as possible, refusing to respond to any of my questions. At last I was able to break through her silence, but only after I asked her what I had done to make her behave this way.

Nothing!" she said dismissively. "This is not about you!"

Once that figurative two by four made contact, I asked her what was bothering her. She turned away again. "Is it at school?" I asked.

She shook her head, but then changed her mind. "Kind of," she said.

"Do you want to talk to the counselor?" I suggested, but when she paused, I asked if she wanted to tell me what it was.

It turns out that she is having trouble with her former best friend. Their relationship is changing in middle school, and they have been arguing a lot. There was an incident on the bus recently that she found very upsetting, so much so, that she was having a hard time focusing on her class work.

I listened, and then I told her I was sorry she was going through all that, and I promised I would set up an appointment for her with the counselor. She smiled sadly and went back into the room to finish her assignment.

Here Under the Sun

You know how it is. You get to the age where you've been around a while and nothing seems new. That's right. You're jaded. It happens in areas of your life where you used to be so engaged; topics that once seemed endlessly fascinating are now mostly satisfying in a different, kind of familiar way. So familiar in fact, that there may even be a touch of contempt in your unquestionable competency. Even so, you once loved what you do with all your heart, and you still love it now, even if the passion has faded.

All of this true for me just the other night when I heard another foodie being interviewed on the radio about some "new" even "unheard of" cooking technique. I listened with mild interest as the reporter touted "an amazing time-saving trick" to peel garlic, all the while dismissing the piece in my head as just another layman's astonishment at the handiwork of a professional.

Bang the head of garlic to separate the cloves.
Yep. Got that.  

Take the cloves and place them in a stainless steel bowl.
Still thinking I have a pretty good idea where this is going.

Turn another bowl over the first and shake it like hell.
What?!? This is where I really start paying attention.

Open it up and all the cloves will be perfectly peeled.
Huh? You've gotta be kidding!

Of course I put it the test immediately, and I must confess that I was verrrrrry impressed. This method works like a charm. But hey, who really needs to peel garlic a head at a time?

No need to worry. I figured out how to modify it for a clove or two.

Yawn.