Stressed and Unstressed

So, we were talking about accented and unaccented syllables this morning in my word study class (I know! The things English teachers do for fun on Saturday, right?), when the instructor gave an example about how regional accents can influence speech inflection.

"I'm from Florida," she told us, "and I love tacos. Down there we pronounce the name of the fast food chain as Taco Bell, emphasis on the last syllable."

The class nodded, and I could see several students frowning and mouthing the words. I listened carefully as she continued.

"Up here," she said, "most people say Ta-co Bell, emphasis on the first syllable."

We didn't get it, or at least, we didn't hear it.

I tried pronouncing it that way quietly. "Taco Bell, Taco Bell, Taco Bell," I whispered to myself, and then I stopped.

"Oh! It rhymes with Pachelbel!" I said out loud. "Like the Canon!"

That Witch!

The boys in my latest intervention reading group are unanimous: Harry Potter is awesome!

Five weeks ago they had their doubts, but after a few read-alouds and read-alongs, they were begging to take the books home and read ahead. "I can't believe how good it is!" one guy told me. "I always thought it would be boring or bad, but it's not!" 

And so in celebration of finishing the first book in the series as well as the fact that Chamber of Secrets now has a waiting list at our school library, we agreed to watch the movie together. Even though many of them had seen some or all of it before, twelve twelve-year-old boys sat mesmerized (but not silent, oh... never silent) in front of the big screen today munching on cheese crackers and discussing every detail that had been changed for the film version. 

Oh, they loved the movie-- almost every part was someone's favorite part. "Those kids are just about your age," I told them, unnecessarily, because it was so obvious. Entering middle school isn't quite like starting at Hogwarts, but I could completely relate to the amount of shepherding the young wizards required in their new school, as well as the mixture of doubt and delight with which they approached their fresh independence.

And yet, this all-boy audience disappointed me just a little. They were very vocal about how much they disliked Hermione. 

"She's so bossy!"

"She thinks she knows everything!"

"She's so stuck-up!"

And while it's true that in addition to that overly-eager hand-raise, Hermione does her share of sighing and eye-rolling at Ron and Harry's mishaps, I just couldn't see it their way. 

"Hermione is smart and hard-working," I told them. "She's also a really good friend to Harry and Ron. I think she's awesome!"

"Well, yeah," one guy told me, "once she calms down."

Fluke

My mother will tell you that I am one of the worst procrastinators on the planet, and I can't really argue with her. Both of us have indelible memories of books and papers scattered across her dining table, a rented electric typewriter the centerpiece of all that chaos, as I pulled all-nighter after all-nighter trying to get my final grad school papers done and turned in on time.

I still remember her sigh a couple of years later when she stopped by my place one afternoon to find me still in my pajamas and surrounded by childrens' books at my own dining room table, desperately hammering out a unit plan that was due that evening for one my education classes. "I guess some things never change," she said as she shook her head.

What can I say? I need a deadline. Being a teacher has worked out beautifully for me, because in addition to the never-ending stream of work, there are hard deadlines built into every day. Lord help the teacher who is unprepared for those 25 kids to come streaming in the door. It only has to happen once before you learn the lesson that an hour of preparation is well worth 45 minutes without unnecessary chaos. (At least that's what I've heard!)

That's why I was surprised at myself this afternoon as I worked steadily on an assignment I have coming due for a class I'm taking for recertification points and credit through the local extension of our state university. Of course, my desk was cluttered with a sift of textbooks and student work samples as I pounded away at my laptop. BUT... the paper is almost done, and heavens!

It's not due until Saturday morning.

Hey, Mom! Maybe there's hope for me yet!

The Struggle Is Real

After a couple of weeks of reviewing the elements of fiction and planning for their own stories, my students were finally ready to get a draft on paper this morning. "Look at all your notes and talk to your writing partner for a few minutes before you get started," I suggested.

The room was fizzing and burbling with last-minute plans and ideas, and I circulated from pair to pair checking in on their conversations. I zeroed in on a couple of boys talking intensely. One was frowning, and he made eye contact with me as I headed over.

"What if your character doesn't really have a conflict?" he asked. "What if everything is just fine?"

I tilted my head, considering all the lessons of the previous weeks and wondering how he could have missed the essential information that ALL STORIES HAVE A CONFLICT!

His partner beat me to the answer, though. "No problem, no story, Dude," he said. "Ya gotta have one."

The other boy nodded and shrugged. "Well okay, then, I'll just mess up his life a little bit."

Between

The persistent rapping of sleet and frozen rain against my windows last night made it hard to sleep soundly, but in the darkness before dawn, a couple of inches of slush along with the promise of a bit more to come gave us the snow day we had been waiting for. Oh, it was too sloppy outside for any snowmen or sleds, but when at last the gray skies cleared, the clean up was pretty easy. Growing restless of Netflix by the fireside, at about 4:30 this afternoon I pulled on a pair of boots and headed out to get some fresh air. It was hard not to contrast the sights of this day to the last winter storm we had just over a year ago. Then the sharp cold air was filled with flumes of powder as my dog scampered through sparkling blanket of snow. Today I walked alone past frozen cherry blossoms and bent daffodils, glad to have the time off, but looking forward to warmer days.

Will It or Won't It?

There's a blizzard a-comin!

To Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston... But we live in Washington, DC, which, after a snow-less winter, is right on the snow-rain line of this miraculous March event.

And it is also where we live in fear of the disappointing epitaph of the oncoming weather:

The reports of our snowstorm have been gravely exaggerated.

Apologies to Mark Twain! (Excuse me while I turn my PJs inside out and flush an ice cube down the drain.)

A Great Escape

Knowing how sharp-witted I consider myself, my older nephews considerately got me a gift certificate to a local "escape room" for Christmas. I'm almost as antisocial as I am wiley, however, plus I know a good team when I see one, and so I invited both of them and their parents to accompany us on our big adventure today.

For those who are unfamiliar, "An escape room is a physical adventure game in which players are locked in a room and have to use elements of the room to solve a series of puzzles and escape within a set time limit, or having completed a mission." (Thank you, Wikipedia!)

And so for 45 minutes this afternoon the six of us scoured an office designed to belong to Professor Moriarty of Sherlock Holmes fame, discovering and interpreting all sorts of perplexing items and baffling clues. In the end we escaped, but not without the assistance of our steward, Sarah, and an extra few minutes. "At first you guys were doing so well I thought you had our guide book," she told us, but then..." she trailed off, kind of like we had once we hit our first big block.

Even so, back on the street and off to a late lunch a little while later, all we could talk about was what we had learned and how much better we would be next time. Look out Escape Room! We're coming back!

P.S. One thing we could not escape was that most onerous day of the year when when one whole hour is ripped unceremoniously from our weekend. Boo! DST!