Mysterious Mouse

I opened my eyes this morning and spied something odd on the floor. I poked my spouse. "Did you give the cats some kind of hyper-realistic mouse toy last night?" I asked.

The answer was no, and so that really was a dead mouse on the carpet. As I examined its lifeless body, gathering the energy to rise and dispose of it, I remembered one of our cats jumping excitedly on the bed the night before, leaping from one of us to the other. I had given her a dismissive pat and shooed her away so that I could slumber on.

I saw the same cat, Tibby, looking now upon the dead mouse from the bathroom with what I took as a satisfied expression. Just then, her partner, Milo, approached from the other side of the bed. He literally jumped straight up in the air when he saw the mouse and made a hasty retreat. In a moment he prowled carefully closer to sniff the poor thing. Milo kept looking from the mouse to Tibby, clearly asking her how this could possibly have happened.

I'd like to know the same thing! We've lived in our house for 25 years, and this is only the second mouse we've ever seen. Always having a cat or two might explain how we keep the place rodent-free, but where did this dumb mouse come from? How did it get in? Should we be concerned that there will be others?

Only Tibby knows, and she's not talking.

Let It Be

On this beautiful Saturday afternoon, we took a long walk with the dog and our route took us through a schoolyard playground. There, we saw a group of five elementary-aged school children in deep conversation. Two girls sat on a tree stump while three boys jostled and bickered around them. 

At last, the biggest boy made a proclamation. "There's only one solution," he told the group solemnly. "James-- give me a wedgie!"

My eyes widened and the teacher in me was reflexively ready to intervene. I could tell that Heidi felt the same way, but she shook her head. "There's only one solution," she said. "Keep walking!"

Not Lost in Translation

Today was student-led conference day at our middle school, and so I spent the day facilitating conversations between sixth graders and their parents concerning grades, study skills, and school involvement. For the most part, I love this model-- it empowers and engages students to consider their learning and begin to take responsibility for it. 

In theory, I am present only to clarify, answer questions, and offer a teacher's perspective on what the students report, but in practice, I must also call the language line when a parent needs an interpreter, and that's where the model gets a little clunky. The person on the other end of the line can't see the slide deck that the students have prepared to guide their presentation, and sometimes they can't hear the students either, especially if the kid is soft-spoken. Together we have to chunk the conversation so that they can keep the parent caught up with what we are saying.

Even so, most of the interpreters I have worked with have done the job with patience and grace, and it's worth a little awkwardness to be able to get someone on the phone whenever we need it. And today, I had a very human moment with one of the folks on the line. A student was explaining to his dad why he sometimes struggles to work successfully in groups. 

"People are always talking to me," he said, and sat back as if that cleared it all up.

I raised my eyebrows. "They're just talking to you?" I pushed back. "While you sit there silently?"

Perhaps it was my tone of voice, but the interpreter snorted and laughed before she translated my question. Then she apologized. No worries, though. She couldn't see it, but the kid and his dad were laughing, too.

Study Skills

My sixth-graders collectively bombed a recent vocabulary test, and their poor performance had me scratching my head because they have done pretty well on similar assessments in the past. The vocabulary lessons are structured to allow students to uncover the definitions of prefixes, suffixes, and affixes. There is also ample opportunity for them to apply the information to both familiar and unfamiliar words, but when it comes down to it, there is a necessary element of memorization.

As such, these kids had access to several online study tools, including slide decks, practice quizzes, and games, some of which we did together in class. Still, the results were disappointing, and reviewing and reteaching were necessary. It occurred to me while planning that maybe we should set the devices aside and go old school. Each student got 9 cards, one for each suffix, and then they consulted their notebooks to find the verified definition. After that, they quizzed themselves and a partner, played matching and concentration, moving, viewing, reading, and hearing the information on those flashcards until they were ready for a retake.

Which? Many of them aced and all of them improved upon their former grade. After celebrating our group victory, I addressed the class."You know what we just did to prepare for the test?" I asked and there were nods all around. "That's called 'studying'!"

Plus ça Change

"Leadership team looked at the survey results and we decided that every student will have a binder next year," our team leader informed us at our weekly meeting today. "Dividers for all seven subjects AND a paper agenda," she continued.

Her report was met with silence; everyone present agreed that, even in this oh-so-digital age, a binder is a good organizational tool for students. The agenda? Not so much, but we can work with it. 

"They're forming a committee," she laughed, "to formalize the binder expectations. In case anyone feels strongly enough to join."

There were no takers, but the offer reminded me of something. Our school building is 50 years old. Having spent my entire career there, I am rather fond of the sprawling old brick fortress it is, but I am a minority. Many others have good reason to wish that our district will finally earmark the funds to tear the place down and start again. 

From the mice in the ceiling, to the lack of windows and ventilation, the leaks, the mold, the foundation repairs, the place is showing its age, but when I first started, it was still a sprightly structure of just 20, one of the newer buildings in the system. Ten years later, when the place turned thirty, we created a time capsule to commemorate the event. Each team was asked to choose or create an artifact that would show the world thirty years in the future what middle school was like in the early years of the new millenium.

Our sixth grade team? Put together the best binder you could ever imagine! Surely this will be a thing of the past, we thought. But twenty years later, despite iPads and smart panels and mobile phones in every pocket, here we are talking about the same things. 

And? Unless something huge changes, when they open that time capsule our artifact is going to get a great big yawn. Except, it is a really great binder-- there is that!

The Devil You Don't Know

Over the weekend my brother and I were talking about the tricks of time. He will be 60 in a month. "It seems crazy," he said, "that 60 years before I was born was 1904! That has always seemed so long ago, but now I have 60 years of memory myself."

Perhaps I was subconsciously thinking of that conversation when today I asked, as a warm-up question, if the sixth graders in my class would rather live 100 years in the future or 100 years in the past. 

I'm not sure what I expected, probably an attraction to the future and its promise of new technology. To be sure, a lot of kids mentioned just that-- new games, no question, and some are actually holding out for flying cars (although they quite clearly specified that theirs will be electric). 

What I did not anticipate were the many students who chose the future because of our racist past. "Look at me," said one girl in a head scarf, "people probably would not like me or trust me." 

Others were familiar enough with history to know that they wanted to avoid both the Great Depression and World War II. And one boy had a very personal reason for his choice. "They never could have cured my cancer back then," he told me matter-of-factly.

I was surprised that not a single kid expressed concern about the challenges of the future, like climate change, the end of democracy, pandemics, or war. "We'll figure it out," shrugged one.

I'd like to think they will.

Not Even Close

I read somewhere that today, the Monday after DST begins, is National Napping Day, which makes sense, even though I'm not really a napper. I do hate Daylight Savings Time, though, as almost anyone who knows me can verify.

This year, I didn't even have to go to work today. Many of my friends congratulated me on having the luck to be out of town for a family gathering on the shortest weekend of the year. "Maybe when you get back on Tuesday, losing an hour won't bother you at all," they said.

I was skeptical.

And as it turns out, staying up late playing games with your nephews because your body thinks it's an hour earlier, and then getting up to pack the rental house, load the car, drive home, unload the car, unpack, and then sit down to catch up on schoolwork is not really an ideal way to ease into the time change.

In fact, I almost took a nap.