Lost

When I discovered that one of my mittens was missing yesterday as I unloaded my school bags from the car, at first I was confused. I could have sworn that I tossed two mittens into the backseat after carrying them out in an afternoon much warmer than the morning before. I had a clear memory of doing so, but I scoured the interior of my car and all the spaces between it and the front door, and no errant mitten was recovered.

Although it's true that the days when mittens are necessary are numbered, the thought of giving up on a little woolen soldier who had served me so well all winter long was more than galling, and so I hopped back in the car and returned to school, despite the evening traffic. There I checked the area all around my parking space and then retraced my roughly 2000 steps to the building, scanning all the way for my prodigal mitten. When I made it to the door without any luck, I rang the buzzer so I could go in to check my classroom. Still no mitten.

More mystified than dejected, I walked slowly back to my car, past soccer fields, playgrounds, and tennis courts, eyes peeled for a single black marl mitten, alone and abandoned. I never found it.

Oh, I looked again this morning, and I know it will be a long time before I can walk that path without at least a fleeting thought of my mitten. Maybe it's the mystery of such a loss that makes it hard to forget; maybe it's the futility of the search that makes it easy to regret. Maybe that's just the way my brain works, or maybe I am not in the mood to lose anything right now.

Whatever it is? I am having a hard time letting that mitten go.

Taking Off the Training Wheels

I stepped out of my second period class to track down a student's ipad this morning. More and more, my teaching intern has been taking the lead on instruction, and it was a good opportunity for her to solo.

Today's activity was the celebration of the media literacy unit. All of the student commercials were included, film festival-style, into a presentation, and in between students evaluated each other's work using the same instrument we applied to professionally produced ads at the beginning of the unit. 

When I returned to the classroom about 15 minutes into the period, the door was locked and I found that I had left my keys on my desk. I could hear a lot of enthusiasm within, and rather than knocking on the door to interrupt, I peeked through the blinds. It was indeed a celebration-- a proud teacher congratulated happy, engaged students on their hard work and achievement. They didn't need me at all.

Of course I felt a pang, but it was kind of like when I see former sixth graders in the hallway on their way to their 7th and 8th grade classes. I miss them, but I know I was part of the team that helped get them where they are going. 

At those times, we smile and exchange waves or nods and away they go,

but this morning? 

I knocked on the door and joined the party!

On Principle

I set myself up yesterday for an easy post complaining all about Daylight Savings Time today.

Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately?), such a rant failed to materialize for me: I spent a nice day yesterday with friends and family and never really missed the hour. I went to bed relatively early and woke up right away when the alarm went off. I wasn't too tired today, and my students seemed fine, too. Leaving school at my usual too late hour, I was pleased to see that it was still very light out and enjoyed a sunny walk to my car.

Hmm.

Could it have been the meditation on forgiveness I listened to yesterday? Could such a notion extend to an abstract concept like arbitrary time change?

Naaaaah.

I still hate you Daylight Savings Time!

Happens Every Year

There are certain benefits to participating in a writing challenge the same month each year. One of the least obvious, perhaps, is that certain topics are relevant every time. For example, in March there's usually snow and/or signs of spring, and there's always a reflection about a whole month of writing at the end. Since one of the toughest things about daily writing can be finding a good topic, having these baked in ideas is little like a free space in Bingo.

I've noticed it in my students' writing, too. For them, March always means student-led conferences and district assessments for band and orchestra, and, trust me! I read a lot of slices about both of those.

Of course, March also triggers the granddaddy of all rants for many of my students and their teacher, too. For it is in March that we early-risers are needlessly robbed of an hour of sleep and morning sun when DST is imposed on us!

Oh! The injustice of it inspires hundreds of words all raised in a one united complaint, and the only itty-bitty consolation is knowing that not only will our voices be heard and read throughout the blogosphere, but that our writing is done for yet another day.

Winter into Spring

This morning I took a look in the freezer and found a half bag of cranberries and some frozen turkey stock, and given the cold, gray weather and smudges of snow on the ground, it did not seem unseasonable to bake some cranberry-orange muffins and put a pot of turkey-vegetable soup on to simmer.

Tomorrow is predicted to be much warmer. March is changeable like that around here, but even so, winter is definitely waning and spring emerging. So tonight we'll eat the last of the turkey and cranberries until next November. Marie Kondo-style, we'll thank them for their service, and turn our attention to the pea shoots, parsley, and asparagus that are waiting in the fridge with their spark of spring joy.

Red or Not

Long ago someone told me that red was a power color, bold and unforgettable, communicating conviction and authority. I took the information to heart and always chose red whenever I was feeling a little insecure, for example interviews, professional presentations, and especially back to school night. Maybe it was imaginary, but those crimson duds sure did boost my confidence!

A couple of decades later the jitters are mostly gone, and I like to think of my current wardrobe as casually classic: cool and neutral, maybe a little bit hipster. At this time of year I usually wear dark turtlenecks or t-shirts with jeans and a sweater and boots. This morning, though, as I dressed for parent conference day, my hand hovered briefly over the one bright turtleneck I own, bright red, and purchased for Christmas, before landing on the charcoal gray one to its left.

A minute later, I shrugged on my cardigan and headed downstairs for a quick breakfast before packing lunches. Seeing that it was a bit later than I thought, I chose to pack and eat at the same time, resulting in a big spoonful of yogurt landing right on my turtleneck. Dabbing wasn't doing it, and in the interest of time I dashed upstairs to change my shirt. This time the red was my only option, and I quickly pulled it over my head.

Glancing in the mirror I realized that was confident-- confident that I knew my students and I knew my job and confident that today was going to be a good day. Then I zipped up that cardigan one more time and went to work.

Dinner of Champions

After a full day of corralling aspiring filmmakers as they stampeded from one location to the next, jockeying for that perfect camera angle, the shot that would bring their commercial over the finish line, I raced from a special education committee meeting to a consultation with my teaching intern and her university advisor to the first of my student-led conferences and around to the copy machine, before finally entering the homestretch.

Fortunately, we have a plan in place for dinner on days like these. Scrambled eggs with french fries and tossed salad is a quick and satisfying meal that provides us with a little time to relax and all the energy we'll need for another day at the track tomorrow.