Living the Dream

At the end of the quarter there are always students scrambling to finish or catch up on assignments. For sixth graders, managing expectations and grades from as many as nine different teachers is a new and often confusing task, so I try to be available after school for any kids who are willing to stay. It's never as many as probably should stay, but it's a handful every afternoon.

Today there were three girls working on completing their write notebooks so I could check and grade them. Well, two of them were working; the other one was talking more than writing, a habit that contributed heavily to her need to be there at all. Even so, she is a funny and engaging conversationalist, and it's hard to ignore her chatter.

"What's harder" she asked the other day when she was working on her unit reflection, "being a teacher, or being a parent?"

"Good question!" my colleague said. "I guess it depends on the day."

The student nodded thoughtfully and turned to me. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I don't have any children."

"What!" she responded, appraising me through the lens of this new information. "Do you live alone?"

"No," I answered.

She nodded knowingly. "You have a cat, right?"

Choosing not to be offended, I laughed. "Nope!" I told her. "I have two! And a dog."

"I want your life!" she said.

"Then finish your reflection, and get started on your plot chart," I advised her. 

Time's Arrow

One of my students brought in her kindergarten yearbook today. It was fun to see the old pictures of some of the kids I teach now and marvel at how much they've grown up in the last six years. What made it even more of a bonus was that I've been teaching at my school long enough that I knew lots of kids from every grade, K-5, in that yearbook, and it was very entertaining looking through and picking them out with my current students.

In that spirit, I pulled out my collection of the ID cards we get from the school photo company every year. A perk of the contract, they serve no practical need, and so I have all of mine, dating back to 1993, stored away in the top drawer of my desk.

I was touched at how eager the students were to look through all of them, comparing my hair and my clothes year by year, but it was the comment of Mr. 7-11, from yesterday's post, that really hit home.

"Wow!" he said, looking from me to all the tiny images of me spread across the desk. "This job really ages you!"

Put it in Writing

I have a student who is definitely a verbal processor. He can barely write without talking, and this morning was one of those times. "I'm writing my slice of life!" he announced.

"Try to do it quietly," I suggested. Fortunately, most of the other kids in the group are used to him, and they usually tune him out.

"I'm writing about my morning!" he persisted cheerfully. "I was almost late today, because I woke up at 7:11!"

Most of the other students stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to him. I could see the confusion and amusement on their faces as they tried to make sense of this surprising information.

"Too many slurpees last night?" I asked.

"No! I meant the time!" he replied.

I nodded.

Everyone else went back to their work.

The Good Ship Forsythia

The forsythia is blooming this week. Offering as they do that first magical burst of color in the drab late winter landscape, these bright yellow flowers on otherwise bare branches are hard to miss. When their blooms subside to plain green leaves, forsythia may become anonymous shrubbery to most, but not to me.

When my brother and sister and I were kids, one whole side of our house was lined with forsythia, and there was just enough room between the bushes and the wall for three little children to squeeze into. Near the middle of the hedgerow, the space widened into a tiny enclosed bower, which we called our clubhouse. We played for hours there, weaving in and out of leafy fairy-door openings, inventing all sorts of games that involved imaginary perils and daring escapes.

We took turns maneuvering that one flexible branch that was our control stick for both the seafaring and space-traveling ship our clubhouse could become whenever the situation required it. Get us out of here! we would cry, and our ship would zoom us away from any danger.

This morning, as I walked the dog, I peered into the spray of yellow flowers lining the hill behind our house, looking for a bit of space where three kids might hide, but there was no sanctuary in this forsythia. Even so, I reached in and grasped a branch, running my hand up and down the pebbled texture I didn't know I remembered so well. Get us out of here! I thought.

But it didn't work, so I continued on foot.

My Partner My Foe

We had no real plans for our Saturday evening when my adult nephew texted to invite us to game night. He was making pizza, his brother was bringing some beer, and his girlfriend was coming over after work. My brother made a salad, and we brought a bottle of Italian red and dessert. The NCAA tournament was on mute, and the dogs wrestled as the six of us matched wits playing a couple rounds each of Think 'n Sync and Listography.

Both games are an interesting mesh of competition and cooperation, requiring players to think outside themselves and imagine what their opponent/partner might be considering as each determines the "best" answer. Such empathetic competition can be an oxymoron hard to wrap your brain around, but lucky for us, we're all connected already.

Rabbit Hole

I wanted to replace the toilet paper holder,
so I took the old one off the wall.

The new one was a different size,
so I went through the leftover paint to find a match,
so I could touch up the wall.

There were a bunch paint cans that we no longer needed,
so I pulled them out from the cupboard and packed them up to be recycled.

The recycling place was closing soon,
so we hopped in the car to get over there.

We didn't make it on time,
so we ran some other errands instead.

Back at home, I realized I didn't have any spackling,
so I couldn't patch the wall before I painted.

My project was on hold,
so I sighed and closed the bathroom door until tomorrow.

The Perfect Bracket

Oh March Madness!

Right now, I don't have a single loss on my NCAA tournament bracket, but I don't have a single win either, because this year I never got around to filling one out.

Let's just say I follow college basketball from afar; both my brother and mom are really into it: he on the men's side, and she has seasons tickets to the Lady Gophers, so I hear things. For example, I knew that two of my alma maters had made it to the big dance. Sure, ODU was a 14th seed and Colgate a 15th, but until the final horn blows, anything is possible, right?

Even so, I can't say I'm upset that in the last 24 hours both teams have been eliminated. My friend Mary reminded me this morning that I took a graduate course through UVa extension a couple of years ago. So, yeah, I could root for them; they're my brother's team, too.

Plus... it wouldn't bust my bracket at all.