A Day at the Beach

It was a cold day here at the beach, 31 degrees when we woke up, but the winds that were gusting from the west all day yesterday had subsided, allowing the weak November sun to warm us ever so slightly. We decided to seize the opportunity and all five of us bundled up and, along with the two dogs, piled into the station wagon and headed to Cape Henlopen State Park. 

When we parked at the first lookout tower, the one that visitors are allowed to climb, a young doe and a fawn were feeding on the scrubby grass. They were unconcerned by us, and out of deference to them, we left the dogs in the car for this bit of our adventure, and trooped up the spiral stairs, the clanging of our feet on the metal steps echoing off the the bricks as we climbed. 

When at last we made it to the top of the 75-foot structure, the 360 view was worth the climb. With only the deep blue sky above us, we could see the tops of even the tallest Loblolly pines growing in the sandy soil to our west, and beyond the dunes to the east there was the little light house at the point of Cape Henlopen where the Delaware Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean.

Our next stop was at the beach access at Herring Point, and we walked south along the shore which seemed scrubbed clean. Last year at this time, our first walk on the beach turned up dead sharks and cormorants, tiny sand dollars, a feisty little crab, and a handful of sea glass, but this time there was only a sparse collection of broken shells and pebbles. Even so, sheltered from rising the wind as we were, we walked a couple miles on the beach as the dogs ran and swam. We did come across a couple of live horseshoe crabs, one scuttling slowly toward the sea, and the other somersaulting in the breaking surf, using that spiny tail as first a vaulting pole and then a rudder.

As we turned back towards our car and home, a couple of huge container ships sailed lazily south on the horizon, on their way to who knows where.

Mind the Rules

It's a family getaway, and so for us? That means playing games! So far on this trip our games have been mostly been trivia related, which is no coincidence, because the restaurant across the street is hosting a trivia night tomorrow, and the five of us are in training. 

Conveniently, the rental house came with a pub-style trivia game, and we have played a few rounds while cooking and after dinner. Our average hovers in the 7th percentile, a solid pass on the SOLs, and a score we're hoping would be locally competitive.

We also have another Q and A game called Mind the Gap, which has four sets of trivia questions based on the four recent generations, Boomer, Gen X, Millennial, and Gen Z. Last night, despite its rules and design, we played the game as individuals, an approach which was not entirely unsuccessful, although it did provide a few moments of unintended hilarity. At one point, I was trying to hum the theme song from a popular 80s sitcom when I dissolved into laughter.

"Can you hum and laugh at the same time?" my brother teased.

I tried unsuccessfully to get myself under control. "No," I gasped, "no, I cannot." I held my breath for a minute. "But I can laugh and pee my pants at the same time! I'd just rather not."

This evening? We played in teams.

Special Occasion

Lately, as I stand outside my classroom each morning, I've noticed an increase in the number of kids wearing pajama pants to school. These days, fuzzy fleece and flannel in fun florals, plaids and patterns, emojis and cartoon characters are a common sight in school.

As for me, it's a rare occasion that I leave the house in my pajamas, but this morning we were busy getting organized and packing for the beach from the time we got up. When 9 am rolled around and the dog needed to go out, I pulled on my warm white buffalo plaid jacket over my red buffalo plaid pjs and leashed her up. 

Imagine my surprise as I rounded the corner of our quiet complex and ran into one of my students and her mom. "Oop," I laughed, "you caught me walking the dog in my pajamas." In truth, I knew that her best friend from elementary school lived in our neighborhood, but the encounter was still unexpected.

"I need a cozy outfit like that to walk our dog," her mom told me graciously.

The next folks I met were a neighbor, who is also a teacher, and her kids. "You look nice and warm on this cold morning!" she said.

"I used to have a just shirt like that," her son pointed to my pants.

She's an elementary school teacher, so I said, "I don't know about your students, but in middle school they are wearing pajamas on the regular. Soon, there won't be any point in having pajama day!" 

"Maybe we should change it to wear regular clothes to school day," she laughed.

No Need

 "We need lip stuff," Heidi told me yesterday on the way to school. "It's getting colder and I can't find any."

Rather than answer directly, I told her about an essay by Ann Patchett I had just read called "My Year of No Shopping". In it, Patchett writes, My first few months of no shopping were full of gleeful discoveries. I ran out of lip balm early on and before making a decision about whether lip balm constituted a need, I looked in my desk drawers and coat pockets. I found five lip balms.

"We probably have a bunch of lip balm all over the house," I laughed. "I can't remember the last time I actually finished one, can you?"

Heidi shrugged, unconvinced. Perhaps she sensed that I was considering a year of no shopping myself and was bracing for it, or maybe she was just thinking we should buy some damn lip balm.

I thought of our conversation this afternoon after a day spent in my warm and dry classroom. My lips were stinging a bit, and I knew I needed to be mindful not to lick them into an angry, red mess. After the last of the kids had headed off for PE and electives, I opened the top drawer of my desk, certain I had some chapstick in there. 

Did I ever! I hit the jackpot with three little pots of our favorite lip balm as well as a couple of sticks of peppermint. I guess we won't be shopping for lip stuff after all!

This Is Not Going to Be Easy

Two students stayed after school with me today, one by choice and the other by coercion. The one who chose to stay retook a test and improved his grade from a C to an A. The other moped and refused to work despite the expectations of his parents and the cajoling and offers of support from me. 

"No one can make you do your work," I acknowledged at one point in our conversation, "but wouldn't it feel better if you did?"

In the end he turned in the incomplete (but well-written) narrative he had, and I called it a win, since he complained about the effort of tapping his screen the entire time.

This kid has been on the team's radar since day one of the school year. "I think he might be my future favorite," I have joked with my colleagues at lunch, even after told me how much he hated my class. Maybe? I thought today when he left without saying good-bye, he's not a problem to be solved, but just a kid to accept for who he is.

The Oven Ordeal, Finis

 The technician arrived shortly after I did. He seemed very professional and quite competent, and I gave him the pre-shipped parts that had arrived earlier in the week then sat down to wait. I heard the whirr of his drill as he opened the back of the stove, and then a melodic beeping that I recognized as my oven in working order.

"Is it fixed already?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes," he said. "It was only a loose wire ribbon. Have you had anyone else out to look at it?"

"No," I answered honestly, omitting the truth of my tinkering.

"Well, it's fixed," he shrugged and then went on his way. 

I was happy enough to have the oven working that I resolved to give myself some grace. I had, after all, almost, repaired it. I considered giving the extended warranty company some grace, too, even after all the screw ups. 

Just then, my phone rang. "This is Company X," an urgent voice reported. "I got your message about the stove, and I'm returning your call."

"Someone was already here," I told him. "He fixed it."

"Another company came?" he replied in relief. "Okay then," and he hung up.

Seriously, WTF? 

I put my phone in my pocket and turned the oven on. It was definitely time to bake something.

Ask Me Again Later

I always say a good seating chart is among the most effective of classroom management tools, at least in 6th grade. Combining personalities and academic strengths in an engaging, but not overly socially stimulating, way can make a class both fun and functional. 

In general, I think I have knack for effective grouping; whether it's from experience or intuition or a combination of both, I can't say. Even so, I do have my rare failures, and first period yesterday was definitely one of them. 

Rather than the subdued quiet that usually follows a seating change as the students get acclimated to their new group, the class came in raucous and stayed that way despite several sharp redirections from me, and eventually only buckling down under threat of losing their brain break. 

In between the wrangling and the warnings, I stepped over to my desk and scribbled a reminder to try again before our next class. One of the students followed me to fetch her iPad which was charging nearby. "Are we your favorite class?" she asked with a giddy grin.

"Sometimes," I answered, and it was true.

But not that day.