Cheers for the Cuppa, Mate

We did a stint caring for our neighbor's cats while she was in London last week. Although we are happy enough to help out, she always makes sure to bring back a few gifts for us. This morning, as she presented us with a lovely little bag of goodies, she apologized to me.

"I think I may have gotten you the same thing as I did the last time I was in London," she said. "I shopped in some of the same places."

"You got me another catapult?" I asked excitedly. "From the London Catapult Shop?" I teased her.

"We call that shop the British Museum," she laughed, "and no, I did not get you another catapult."

I ended up with a special edition tea and bone china mug from Harrods... can't complain about that.

Illegal Motion

I know that you're not allowed to touch artwork in museums, but I also know that "mobile" means motion, and so when I saw a tiny little Alexander Calder work sitting perfectly still on its pedestal in the Hirshhorn this afternoon, I wanted to see it move. So both the rule-follower and the problem-solver in me stood before the little mobile and blew very gently, watching it twirl and admiring its perfect balance and grace.

"Please don't blow on the artwork," a stern voice interrupted me.

I turned to face it, quizzically.

"I know it doesn't say so," the uniformed guard apologized, "but to preserve the art, we really don't want people doing that."

"Okay," I shrugged.

She lowered her voice. "I've never seen that move until now, though," she told me. "It's amazing. Thanks!"

What Really Matters

Ten years ago my friend Mary shared an activity she did with her students. Well, really it was an assignment for her students' parents. In a million words or less, she asked them, tell me about your child! Well... I know an awesome idea when I see it, and so I sent the same request home. Turns out, parents have a quite a bit to say about their kids: the replies that we received were some of the most heart-warming writing I have ever read.

For many reasons, I have not repeated that activity. Times change, and the focus of education has famously followed. As a teacher I have been pushed and pulled into so many initiatives and requirements that I know I have dropped many valuable things along the way. I guess this parents' homework was one of them.

Back in 2006, electronic communication and the Internet was still catching on, and we asked the parents to do their work on paper. Oh, I'm sure a twig or two gave its life so that our request could be fulfilled, but the upside is that as I was going through my files last week before my new students arrived, I found one stuffed full of letters about kids who are just turning 21, adults themselves now.

Despite several initiatives and requirements scratching at the door, I took the folder and a yearbook over to a table by the window and I looked at each student's picture as I read the words of their parents.

So many of them started the same way:

What can I say about... 
Kaitlyn, 
Philip, 
Rourke, 
Abby, 
Emma, 
Victor, 
Zuhaer, 
Andie
Treat? 

And then continued:

He has natural curiosity
She likes vegetables
He is sweet and happy
I was just sixteen when she was born
He is kind and compassionate
She has a thrill to tell stories
He learns better by doing
As the oldest child, she has a tendency to be bossy


And they ended like this:

Thanks for giving me the chance to tell you about my daughter. 
Please push him-- he needs it! 
I'm not sure if I did my million words, but I tried! My hand is tired!
His dad has been away a lot the last four years to Iraq and Afghanistan. 
He is a little bit Dr. Doolittle's push me-pull me, a little bit monkey.
I want to tell you more about my daughter, but I don't want you to get to bored.
I want the very best for my son. I didn't finish high school, but I hope he will.

Game Changer

I confess that I was dragging a little as I made my way to the front entrance of school this morning:

The beginning of the year is always sooooo hectic; I'm teaching an unfamiliar curriculum; and I don't know these kids yet! Throw in a 5:30 alarm and a 90+ heatwave in September, and there I was, slow-walking it to work.

Still, there is something to be said about being a long-time teacher at a middle school, and I got a bit of a rockstar's welcome, lots of waves and shouts, as I walked by students past and present waiting for the bell to enter the building. Right before I hit the front door, I was hailed by one of the new guys. "Who is your favorite superhero?" he asked breathlessly.

"Gosh," I answered, "that's a really good question. I like Iron Man's attitude, but I feel like the suit is kind of cheating. Is he really a superhero?"

He nodded.

I shrugged. "I guess it's Captain America?"

He beamed. "I can draw him!" he told me. "I'll bring you a picture tomorrow!" And with that, he and his friends headed off to the sixth grade doors.

Me? I kept going toward the main entrance, but there was definitely more oomph in my step.

The Yeas Have it

We spent a good ten minutes this afternoon wrangling the teachers on our sixth grade team into a posed group photo for the school website, but when all was said and done, nobody really liked any of the pics.

"Hey!" said the social studies teacher, "weren't we all here last year?"

There were nods of agreement all around.

"How about we use the same picture?" she proposed.

Problem? Solved.

All's Well

I was busy over-seeing the students in my reading class following written directions to create name tags that communicated essential information about them using symbols when a semi-frantic knock came on the door.

"Have you seen Max?" asked the director counseling.

I nodded. Of course I had. He was one of my homeroom students, and I had met him just a half an hour earlier.

"Do you know where he went?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. The first day of middle school is especially hectic for sixth grade kids and teachers alike. We take special care to make sure that these students who are new to our school know where to go, but it's never a smooth transition that very first time. Teachers stand outside their doors guiding wayward children long after the bell rings. It's not until the hallway is clear that we even enter our rooms.

I looked over my own group of 22 students. I had called the roll and asked if there was anyone who hadn't heard his or her name, and I had even sent one kid next door. Still, I had absentees who may or may not have been at school, but I knew that eventually everyone would get straightened out. But Max was hard of hearing, and so there was a little more concern when he didn't make it to his first period class.

There wasn't much I could do to help, and so I returned to my own class. As students finished their name cards I circulated through, admiring them, and reading the names and the glyphs. "Oh Carolyn, I see your birthday is December 28 and your favorite subject is math! Kylie-- you have one older sibling and have lived in Virginia all your life! Max, you..."

Max! My eyes popped open wide.

"What?!" he asked, alarmed, and rightfully so, because he didn't know he was missing.

"You have an awesome name tag!" I assured him, and then stealthily flagged down an assistant and asked her to inform the counselor that our missing student had been found.

Betwixt and Between

As summer fades to fall my pantry is filled with the bounty of both seasons: apples and nectarines, tomatoes and butternut squash, and savory pumpkin muffins with summer peppers and basil.

The cook in me is inspired!

But the teacher in me goes back to work tomorrow.