First Day on the New Feet?

I was on the ground before I realized I was falling. 

Landing on my left elbow and knee, I rolled over onto my back and sat up. "I'm okay!" I said, without really knowing if it were true. It was only then I saw the runner and biker who had stopped to help, looking on with concern. 

"Really?" asked the biker doubtfully.

"Really," I assured him.

Heidi and Lucy had been a few paces ahead of me, but they were back by my side now, freeing the good Samaritans from any further obligation.

"What happened?" Heidi asked.

I had been walking purposefully along into mile 3 of a 5 1/2 mile jaunt on the W&OD trail. Crossing a bridge, I pulled my sunglasses off and dug in my pocket for my phone to snap a photo. Evidently that was a couple of tasks too many, because my right foot slipped off the side of the asphalt trail, and I rolled my ankle. 

Now, still sitting on the ground, I could feel my ankle begin to throb and probably swell. I reached for my Ray-Ban Wayfarers, but they had been snapped in half at the bridge of the nose in my fall.

It was then, when I knew that I was okay, but I saw the damage to my shades, that I considered how bad such a fall might have been. My elbow, my knee, my ankle-- any of them could have been broken instead of bruised. 

As it was, I made the decision to walk it off, knowing that there were lots of family and friends who would have come to my aid in a matter of minute. Instead I headed home, breathing through the ache and taking the next 2 1/2 miles one step at a time.

Keeping It Simple, Students

"I think one of the boys at my table ate my Hershey Kiss," a student whispered to me this morning."

"Why do you think so?" I replied, looking at her two classmates who seemed the picture of engagement as they watched an animated short film and collaborated to diagram its plot.

"I was working on my plot chart," she reported, "and when I looked up from my iPad the kiss was gone! The weird thing is that there was a little ball of foil in its place-- the wrapper."

"But you didn't see anyone come over?" I asked.

"No," she shook her head in confusion.

"Go ask the guys nicely if they saw anyone," I suggested, and I watched as she went over. 

I observed them remove their ear buds, heard her ask very politely if they had seen anything, and saw them shake their heads. 

"I just ate mine," one told her, gesturing at the tiny slip of paper in front of him.

"I had a Jolly Rancher," said the other. 

My teacher sense tingled, telling me they were being truthful. I surveyed the scene again and walked over. "Where's the wrapper from your candy?" I asked the guy who had the chocolate.

He flushed and pointed across the table to the foil ball by the first student's seat, then elbowed his partner. "He threw it!" 

"Sorry," the other kid confessed.

Their story added up: one Kiss, one wrapper, one plume of paper. I looked at the original student. "Are you sure you didn't put your candy away somewhere?"

She frowned and jammed her hands thoughtfully into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. Her eyes widened, and a moment later she pulled out a little silver-wrapped drop of chocolate. "Oops," she said and returned to her seat.

Doing My Homework

When the daily challenge on Friday involved voluntarily singing a song of their choice, in addition to "Happy Birthday," "The ABCs," and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," I heard 3 renditions of "We Don't Talk about Bruno" (no no no) from Encanto.

"I still haven't seen that movie!" I told one duo after they sang their hearts out.

"Oh you have to!" one of them said. "It's soooooooo good!"

The same student checked in with me before she left for the day. "What are you watching this weekend?" she prompted.

"Uh... Encanto?" I replied.

"Yessssssssss!"

So I dutifully streamed the newest Disney movie this morning, and I confess that I was not disappointed. The animation was gorgeous and the music was amazing. I can't wait to tell my student that I did my assignment, plus? As I watched, I mentally completed a plot diagram in my head, because you can never have too many examples ready!

A Pinch

This morning I had a few baking projects going at once. They were multistep recipes, and it seemed to make sense to skip from one to another while this one was resting, that one was rising, the one over there was soaking, and the other was in the oven. But when it came time to put the sandwich bread in its earthenware bowl to rise, the dough tasted a little flat to me. This was my new favorite sourdough, and I knew it was off, but why?

Years ago I heard a folk tale about a vain king who asks his daughters how much they love him. 

"More than all my gold and jewels," the oldest replies.

"More than all my beaus and pretty dresses," the middle daughter tells him.

His youngest pauses before answering. "I love you like the salt in my bread," she says, "no more and no less."

The king is offended by this answer, and he banishes his daughter, ordering her to leave the palace the next morning. That night, the princess sneaks down to the kitchen, and asks the cook to leave the salt out of her father's bread. 

After his first bite at breakfast the next morning, the king summons the cook to his dining table and demands to know what is wrong with the bread. "Your highness, it has no salt," he is informed, and he understands the lesson immediately.

That's what was wrong with my bread, too. In my multitasking, I had forgotten to add the salt. Fortunately, I was able to knead in some flaky sea salt and salvage the loaf, grateful for the reminder about love. 

His Hero

There was a soft warm breeze blowing on our walk over to get Lucy from the dog sitter this evening. 63 degrees in March is always a gift, but with snow and sleet predicted for tomorrow morning, this weather seemed extra worthy of appreciation. Three little kids were playing where our path bridged a gully with a tiny stream. Their parents were nowhere in sight, as they scampered up and down the embankment and back and forth to their scooters. 

A boy of no more than 5 almost bumped into me as he hopped onto the walkway. "Hey!" I said as he stood before me in one welly and one bright white sock. "What happened to your other boot?"

He skidded to a stop and looked at his feet, then spun around and headed back to the creek where a wee black and yellow rubber boot poked out of the mud.

"Wait!" I called after him. "Better let your sister get it." I nodded at a girl in a little bit older who was already tromping her way down the bank. She plucked the boot from the muck and presented it grandly to her brother perched on a miniature boulder above her.

He sat down and replaced the errant boot, ready to play some more.

So Many Rodents, So Little Time

The kids were still focused on the mouse situation today. Even though I assured them there had been no more sightings, "Are you kidding? He got one look at how many of you guys were here and he probably moved to the next state!" they persisted in talking about it. 

"Maybe he's under there?"

"Maybe he'll come out if we're quiet."

"Don't turn out the lights for the SMART Board! The mouse might come out."

Fortunately, the question of the day allowed them to process a little bit more. Who is your favorite fictional rodent? I asked, and after we talked about Remy and Despereaux and Jerry and Mickey and Ralph S. and Stuart Little and Bernard and Miss Bianca and Chip and Dale and Fievel and Alvin and Simon and Theodore and Mrs. Frisbee and Jaq and Gus Gus and the capybara in Encanto, and what made them such great characters, and how they could create such memorable characters themselves as we embark on our fiction unit, I think we may have finally been done. 

Eek

A student raised his hand when I was in the middle of instruction this morning. "I just saw a mouse," he reported.

I was neither alarmed nor surprised. After the last bus has departed for the day, I have seen a critter run with stealth along the baseboard as I work at my desk in the quiet of the afternoon. Long ago, I learned to store any food in the metal cabinets and drawers of my desk, because they are inaccessible and impossible to chew through. Because there is nothing to encourage a mouse to stay for long, I don't worry about seeing one passing through. 

I know I'm in the minority, though, and the custodians routinely answer calls to catch and kill mice in classrooms. It's as it should be, I suppose, because in addition to being vermin and all, mice can be a huge distraction in a classroom. 

This morning, though, I was very surprised at how calm my class remained. Maybe it was my attitude that set the tone, but although one student did tuck her feet up onto her chair, where they stayed for the rest of the class, there was no screaming or running either away or toward the creature. 

There was a lot of conversation though. 

"Can we name him?"
"Let's call him Mickey!"
"No! Let's call him Jerry."
"Yeah! Jerry! Who votes for Jerry?"

And so Jerry it was.

Unfortunately, Jerry's reputation preceded him the rest of the day. "Is it true there's a mouse in here?" someone asked at the beginning of every class. 

"Maybe," I would shrug, trying to keep things business as usual. "He won't bother us, though."

That approach had more success in some groups than others.

"I heard his name was Jerry. Where's Tom?" quipped one student.

Where indeed?