Back-up Plan

I hadn't been to the gym in a week or so when I headed down there after school yesterday. A little chest congestion at the beginning of the week made me consider it a good idea to give myself a rest, but I was feeling pretty good as I pushed through the glass doors and scanned my membership key tag.

Back in the locker room I quickly shed my rain coat and boots and unzipped my gym bag. Pulling on my tights and t-shirt, I reached first for my socks and then my sneakers, but standing there in my stocking feet, it quickly became evident to me that I had not packed my shoes. Extra socks and my orthotics? Yes. But shoes, nope. I cursed my distracted, aging brain, sat down on the bench, and sighed.

It seemed like such a waste to literally be all ready to run and then turn around and go home. The last time I had been to the gym, my earbuds had died, and so I quietly sang to myself as I ran. It wasn't ideal, but I made it work. I reached in and found a pair of compression socks in my bag. Could I? Should I? Why not? I changed into the slightly more supportive socks, snapped the padlock on the locker closed, and padded out into the gym.

The treadmill was not as soft and bouncy as I imagined it, but it was fine, and I promised myself I would stop if it seemed harmful or somehow dangerous to run in my socks. Tucking my earbuds in, I hit play on my phone and punched go on the treadmill. Maybe it was the rest, but I had a great run! My big toes did chafe a bit at the end, and there are blisters there today, but I might have to look into some of those barefoot running shoes, at least just to keep in my gym bag!

Nomageddon

A heavy storm with lots of moisture has moved in from the south on its way up the coast. Up to three inches of rain is predicted, and it was on that soggy scene that several of my colleagues and I gazed out on this afternoon as we worked during our planning time.

"What a gloomy day," someone sighed, and the rest of us frowned in agreement.

"It's supposed to rain all night," I added, "a real soaker."

"And just think," someone else chimed in, "if it were15 degrees cooler..."

"We'd be talking feet of snow!" the first teacher finished the thought.

"Feet!" I said. "Feet!"

Oh, February! How you disappoint.

Working Some Magic

I proudly showed my little mouse to the students in my intervention class today, and I was not prepared for what happened. One of them asked for the pattern and some supplies, and in the 30 minutes we had, he made his own little brown mouse. The other boys took the mouse and the gadget that was supposed to be the trap, and figured out a way to cleverly snap up the mouse in the trap, no special effects needed.

I was amazed, and the kids in my other classes were impressed, too. "Can you make us a wizard hat?" one of the groups asked.

Hmmmm.

I Made It

The commercial unit is a nice break for the students, but it's a nice break for the teachers, too. Creating a silly product from a bunch of gadgets and producing a commercial to sell it is fun for kids and encourages them to be both creative and playful. As for me, I like to play during the unit, too.

Circulating from group to group, trying the product, and helping out with slogans, and props gives me a chance to show my own silly, creative side. So this morning when a group was using a tape dispenser to play the part of a mouse in the trap they were imagining from their gadget, I turned to my arts and crafts supplies, which are extensive after 26 years in the same room. A little brown felt, some pipe cleaners, facial tissue stuffing, and a stapler yielded an unsatisfactory product, a little on the abstract, lumpy side.

But I was not to be deterred.

When the next class was working just fine without me, I searched up a pattern for a little felt mouse. Digging through my desk drawers, I found some straight pins and a needle and thread. Over the course of the day I was able to cut out a few felt pieces here and there, but it was when the last bell of the day rang that I was able to sit at my desk and start my little project.

Threading the needle? Was a little challenging, but once that was done, I began whipstitching away, even as my colleagues and I discussed the specifics of revising our rubric into one that was aligned with the IB. I took a brief break to attend an IEP meeting, but was back at my desk piecing and sewing when one of my teammates came in.

"May I ask what you're doing?" she inquired.

"I'm making a mouse!" I answered.

"May I ask why?" she continued.

I paused. "Well," I said, "right now? It's therapy!"

Just the Highlights

I can't say that I was too interested in watching the Super Bowl last evening, but professional concerns demanded that I be familiar with the commercials. Not to worry, though-- they are all available online and few of them suffer from being out of context.

So today I was able to confidently start all my classes with the reliable and engaging hook Who watched the game last night? followed by What was your favorite ad? From there we talked a little about persuasive techniques, reviewing what we had learned last week and setting the stage for the activities of the day. What I wasn't prepared for was any discussion of the halftime show, which came up in all of my morning classes.

And when a colleague mentioned it again at lunch, I finally just went over to the computer and pulled up the show on the SmartBoard in my room. The four of us munched and marveled at Shakira and JLo-- women not too far from our own ages who really put on an amazing show.

Who needs a Super Bowl party?

Scheduling Conflict

Every year, when we put away our Christmas decorations and return to work, our cold, dark winter mornings and evenings are lit by the glow of knowing that when the weekend comes we will meet my brother, and sister-in-law, and as many nephews as are around to see a movie and go out for a nice meal. We gather on those January and February Saturdays and Sundays to get ready for the Oscars. It's our tradition to see as many of the nominated performances and films as we can, and then go away for a long weekend together to shop, beach comb, cook, eat, drink and bet on the awards. It's like a little holiday that bridges winter into spring and gives us an excuse to spend some extra time together.

This year, instead of being in late February or even March, the Academy Awards are being presented next weekend, and in addition to making it really hard to see all the nominated movies and performances, the timing has made it impossible for us to have our annual weekend away.

Why, Oscars, why? 

Learn by Hearing

When it comes to learning styles, I am primarily an auditory learner with a strong visual learning aptitude as well. Fortunately for me, traditional instruction was heavy on both, and so school was never really a problem for me.

I am so auditory, though, that often times I can remember exactly where I was when I heard something of note. For example, last summer we were on our way home from staying with my mom for a month, driving in stop-and-go traffic through Chicago, its iconic skyline to our left when I snapped on the radio to listen to All Things Considered. Michelle Martin was interviewing a guy who had made a short animated film about a black dad who struggled but learned how to do his daughter's hair. Their conversation about "Hair Love" was interesting to me on several levels-- I like animated shorts, black hair is emblematic of cultural and political issues, as is a dad of any race caring for his daughter.

When the lights went down in the theater this afternoon and the first movie of the Oscar-nominated Animated Shorts came on, for a moment I was back on the Ryan Expressway with the late August sun shining off Lake Michigan to the east, feeling cautiously optimistic: my mom was recovering in rehab, and the new school year was only a couple of days away.

I returned to the present moment as the story unfolded on the screen, and when it was revealed that the little girl's mom was being treated for cancer, which was part of the reason why the hair style was so important to both daughter and dad, I couldn't help weeping, both for their heartache and mine.