Outer Child

A friend texted last night to see if we were going to the farmer's market today so that he and his wife and their little boy might meet us there. At 10 a.m. on a beautiful October Saturday, the place was hopping, and the five of us chatted amiably and slowly explored the market. As we strolled, four-year-old Charlie loved everything, especially the mini donuts, pumpkins, and free samples of apples and cider. 

"It's great that he's having such a good time!" Heidi said. "It kind of reminds me of how awesome it is here."

"Kids are good for that," his mom agreed. "They notice so much and they really appreciate it."

"That's right!" his dad laughed. "Charlie can make just walking down the sidewalk fun!"

A Little Help

Weeks ago I saw an announcement that two of my favorite authors, Ann Patchett and Kate DiCamillo would be appearing together at the Library of Congress. Tickets were free, but reservations were required, so I jumped online and made mine. 

What I didn't realize at the time was that this event would be the night before student-led conferences, a day that still ties me up in knots, even after so many years. When I left school yesterday at 5:00, I knew that the trouble and traffic I might encounter on my way from here to there was daunting enough that, with regret, I decided to skip the appearance.

And I was still sorry to have missed the conversation this morning when I checked my email during a break in conferences. Imagine my delight, then, when one of the newsletters I subscribe to had a link to the recording of the evening. 

I got to spend most of my free time today listening to the two authors banter and offer advice and counsel on reading, writing, and living. It was fun to hang out with a couple of funny, talented and wise ladies, and it made the day just that much easier.

SOS

What's that metaphor about turning an ocean liner?

President Obama used it in 2016 to explain a truth about governing a big democratic society. "You turn the wheel slowly, and the big ship pivots." His point was that change has to be incremental and far-sighted so that in time, a slight change, with forward momentum, will result in a very different destination than holding the course. His secondary point was that veering too sharply could upset or even capsize such a large ship.

I thought of that metaphor yesterday when a few people at our school tried to organize all 1000+ of us into a human display of the word Unity, for National Anti-Bullying Day. The concept is admirable and cool, but the execution was chaotic. The first news of this event was sent after school the day before, ensuring that many staff members would not know anything about it until the morning of the activity. 

The whole thing was hastily planned and poorly coordinated, resulting in 1,000 folks standing around outside, unclear of what we should be doing. My group was literally told to move six feet to the left by one person, and not 2 minutes later, six feet to the right by another person, while a third person waved wildly for us to stand still.

The whole thing was a mess, which resulted in the loss of 45 minutes of instructional time (from first period only) and illustrated what most sensible folks might presume: you can't be spontaneous when you're dealing with 1,000 middle school students, especially if you don't loop their teachers in first.

Sorry We're Open

Today on the morning announcements a colleague promised that the families of any student who needed to have their photo taken on Picture Make Up and Retake Day would be notified by "close of business" tomorrow. The turn of phrase seemed so out of place for a school that it made me laugh out loud. 

I thought about the concept of COB again a little while ago, as I sat here at home grading essays, posting class announcements, reviewing conference slides, and catching up on other paperwork with impending deadlines. It was after 6:30 when I finally closed all my school-related windows and turned my attention to other things. I'm not an exception at all when it comes to teacher work hours, so I had to wonder: 

Just what time is that notification going out?

Popping the Question

It's the season of fundraisers, and in the last week, I have personally been approached by Boy Scouts, cheerleaders, band musicians, and/or their parents, all with the offer of popcorn. Although the product is relatively new, the solicitation is not: over the years I have purchased dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, bushels of grapefruit and oranges, yards of pine swag, and dozens of donuts. 

Tonight the young scout who solicited for his troop had several varieties of popcorn and other snacks. His mom is a friend and a former neighbor, and we have known this kid since his birth (which I wrote about here.) I had to admire his sales pitch. 

"Would you like to buy some popcorn?" he started. "Well," he shrugged, "it's really more of a donation, and the popcorn is a thank you. The prices are pretty high."

I laughed at his honesty. "Sure," I said. "What do I have to do?"

"First," he answered, "do you have any money? Because you're going to have to pay for your order."

Aaaah Waaah

It's Monday morning, and everyone is feeling a bit sluggish in homeroom, but still? There are things to be done. 

So I make a management decision (one of the 1,500 the average teacher makes per day-- think on that a moment) to move our class circle discussion outside. Now, in my experience (this was just the most recent of the 8 million or more decisions I have statistically made in my career), most kidsmin school love to go outside, and at first, this group of 17 did not break that mold. 

However, once we get out there, that chill in the air balanced by the morning sun shining right in their eyes has several students reconsidering this turn of events. Sitting on the cold pavement and answering such questions as, "When was the last time you learned something hard? How did I make you feel?" only adds to their displeasure.

Oh, I know enough not to give in to silly complaints from tweens right away, but I also know enough to cut an activity short when it's not working. "That's it!" I tell them brightly when we finish the second to last questions, biting my tongue not to add, "You big, fat babies!" 

And as we all stand up and head back to the dreary comfort of the building, I turn once more to face that golden October sun and fill my lungs with the crisp morning air, before swiping my badge to open the door.

Fair Trade

Heidi's phone buzzed at 10 am. "Lauren wants to know if we're going to the farmers market," she reported. It's an informal Sunday morning tradition for the three of us to walk up there with the dogs and get our fruit, veggies, and eggs for the week.

I sighed. "I'm tempted, but I have so much school stuff to do. I also have bread in the oven, so I wouldn't even be able to go for another half hour." 

Reluctantly, I decided to pass. "Will you ask her to pick up some spinach for us, if she goes?" I requested.

The response was quick. "LOL! I was going to ask you the same-- I'm too busy too!" She added that she might be able to talk her fiance, AJ,  into going, but she wasn't hopeful.

About an hour later the doorbell rang and when I answered, AJ stood there with a big bag spinach. "Thanks!" I told him. "Hang on a sec-- I have a loaf of bread for you and Lauren." 

A minute later, I handed over the still-warm sourdough boule. "How much do I owe you for the spinach?" I asked.

"Just the bread," he answered. "Gotta love our barter economy! Who needs cash around here?"