4 is for 40 Minutes on the Treadmill

I try to go to the gym regularly; in fact I was there today. Whenever I go, my routine is to spend about 40 or 45 minutes doing cardio, and then I lift weights. It can get boring, even with music or movies to distract me. One of the things I do in the first part of my workout is walk on the treadmill. It's not very strenuous, so I have two options if I want to kick it up a notch: go faster or go higher. In "real life" I love to hike, so my choice in that situation is to raise the incline, or to climb as I walk. One of the handy things about working out on a machine is the stat screen: it will tell you your speed, your distance, your calories, and also your elevation. When I walk, I like to imagine that I am climbing one of the mountains in Acadia National Park in Maine. I go there every summer to hike, and the rest of the year I read the trail maps like favorite poems or post cards from the old me to the now me. So on the treadmill I watch for every foot I climb: 284? Flying Mountain. 520? That's the Beehive. 681 is Acadia, and 839 is Beech. 1373 is Sargent, the second highest mountain on the island.

Well, OK,  I can't climb Sargent in 40 minutes... yet!

Life Lesson: Everything prepares you for something. Find out what!

7 is for Heads Up 7 Up

Did you ever play this game in school? The teacher chooses seven kids to begin, and the rest of the class puts their heads down (they are supposed to close their eyes, too) and one of their thumbs up. In fact, the teacher says, "Heads down, thumbs up!" to begin each round. The chosen seven roam the room; they must surreptitiously tap someone on the head and return to the front. Once tapped, your thumb goes down. When all seven kids are back in front, the teacher asks the seven who were tapped to stand. Now they must guess who tapped them, and if they are correct, they take the tapper's place in the next round.

Okay:

What...
is...
the...
point...
of...
THAT...
game!?

I ask both as a teacher and a former kid.

Here are my kid questions first: Doesn't it seem like the teacher always picks her favorites to begin? Then, those kids usually just pick their friends, right? Seriously, some kids never get to play.  Next, people cheat and peek at the shoes going by to try and figure out who tapped them, don't they? Finally, even if someone guesses right, the tapper can always lie-- nobody's keeping track. What's up with that?

Here is my teacher question about this game: What is the objective here? (It can be very loose, I don't care, just give me a hint what you were thinking.) Why do we play this game?

Life Lesson: Question authority.

5 is for 5th Grade

My fifth grade teacher's name was Mrs. Nallin. I liked her well enough, mostly because she liked me, I think. She was pretty old then, older than I am now, with teased-up bleached-blond hair and reading glasses that made her eyes look huge. You could see her mouth wrinkles clearly when she frowned. She was old school, very stern and very strict, and she definitely had her favorites. Not surprisingly, she seemed to favor the kids who did their homework and followed her directions. Let me tell you, friends, that was definitely me.

Life was pretty easy in her class if she liked you; there was a lot of praise and positivity. The same could not be said for the other kids. Oh, I'm sure there was a middle ground between her pets and her peeves somewhere, but I have no idea who was in it. I do know the person who was her least favorite that year, though. It was Eddie Bubble-head. Well, that's what she called him. His real name was Eddie something else with a B.  He was always in trouble for something, but as far as I can remember his number one crime was not knowing his multiplication tables.

Mrs. Nallin had a wheel posted on the closet door. It was divided into twelve segments, with the numbers 1-12 written in each. In the center was a circle, and next to the wheel was an envelope with twelve numbered disks. There was also a pointer. The activity varied. At times Mrs. Nallin would place a number in the center of the wheel and as a class we would stand and recite the multiplication fact as she wielded the pointer like a sword. Faster and faster we would go, sometimes in numerical order and other times at random, spewing products in unison, beautiful in our precision.

Other times it was an individual trial, and alone you stood, pointer in hand, delivering the multiplication facts to the class. One was a joke; two? A breeze. Three was a bit harder, and four could be tricky. Five was an oasis-- who didn't know those? Six, seven, eight, and nine were respectably tough. Ten was ridiculously easy, and eleven and twelve were for the pros.

I was good at it. Eddie was not.

Could that have been the difference between being the golden girl and being the bad boy?

Yep. Pretty sure it was.

Last I heard, Eddie was a very successful businessman.

Life Lesson: Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. It's what you do with them that counts.

3 is for 3 Day Weekend and 3 More Weeks

Traditionally Memorial Day marks the beginning of summer, but around here, not so much. Because of our opening date in September (Labor Day really does mark the end of summer for us), we'll still have more than three weeks left when we return to school on Tuesday. I'm not complaining-- I'm not in any rush to say good-bye to my students. Even though I'll see most of them next year, it won't ever be the same again. How could it be? Spending 180 days working so closely is an intense experience and when it's over, it's over. I'll be their "old teacher" and they'll be my "former students."

Sure, we've had some ups and downs, and some days have been way better than others, but in general, it's been a great year. So, while I'm enjoying my three days off, I'm thinking about school, too, and I'm looking forward to three more weeks with some really amazing people.

Life Lesson: Enjoy it while it lasts.

J is for Jersey Girl

From the time I was 4 until I was 13 my family lived in New Jersey. Personally, I was very happy there, and I had a lot of pride in my state. In middle school I joined a history club called the Jerseymen, and we even went to a convention in Atlantic City where I was elected Lieutenant Governor for Burlington County. A few months later, my family moved to Saudi Arabia, and I had to resign my office.

In Saudi, my brother and sister and I went to an international school with kids from all over the world. There were kids from all over the United States, too, and it was there that I met my first Texan. We were actually pretty good friends, best friends, really, so you can imagine my surprise the first time we ever talked about how great our homes in the States were. "New Jersey?" she sniffed. "What could possibly be good about New Jersey?" And then she laughed before she continued. "Now, Texas..." and blah, blah, blah, she was off on how much bigger and better everything was in Texas.


"New Jersey is just as good as Texas!" I insisted, "If not better!"

"Ha!" she answered. "Let's see. We have Houston." She looked at me like, top that.

"Well, we have... um, we have... well Philadelphia and New York are close by."

"They don't count. We have the Alamo."

"We have Atlantic City?"

""OK," she shrugged. "We have blue bonnets."

"We have blueberries. New Jersey is the Garden State."

"Who cares? We have Dallas."

"We have the Pine Barrens," I said, "AND the Jersey Devil!" It was my turn to look triumphant.

"What are those?" she said. "Wait, it doesn't even matter, because nobody outside of New Jersey even cares." She laughed at her own joke and then looked at me, her best friend. Her expression became kinder. "Oh cheer up!" she said and threw her arm around my shoulders. "Nobody here even cares if you're from New Jersey!"

But I cared.

Life Lesson: Pride doesn't have to come at the expense of someone else.

K is for Kansas

The Wizard of Oz has long been one of my favorite movies. When I was little it was only on TV once a year, and for my brother and sister and me that night was a very special occasion. It was almost like a holiday. All day long we waited in anticipation; we drew pictures of our favorite characters and acted out our favorite scenes. That night, we were allowed to stay up late and have popcorn and soda when it was on.

I liked the Scarecrow best; the lion and the Wizard really annoyed me. I thought Toto was the bravest, and the flying monkeys were super creepy. Of course the witch was... terrifying!  I had nightmares about that scene where Dorothy sees Auntie Em in the crystal ball and right as she's trying to talk to her the image changes to the Wicked Witch of the West. Eeeeeeeeee!!!

Most of all, I loved the part where the movie turns from black and white to color, and I remember when I "got it" and understood that by doing that the film makers were communicating something important about the difference between Oz and Kansas. Even so, I was never sad when it turned back. There was always something comforting about those warm shades of grey.

Life Lesson: (What else?) There's no place like home.

I is for In the Weeds

The end of the school year seems hectic to everyone. Students feel pressured to prepare and do well on standardized tests, teachers feel that deadline, too, and the change in everybody's schedules makes things feel a little off balance. In the food business, there's an expression for being waaaaay behind in your work. When that happens, you're in the weeds.

Every other job I've ever had besides teaching has been food-related: Before I was a teacher, I worked as a professional cook, and before that I waited tables, and before that I was a student manager in my college cafeteria, and before that I had kitchen duty in high school. So you could say that I know what it's like to be in the weeds.

In addition to my regular planning, teaching, and grading, I have a lot to do in the next 29 days-- meetings, unit plans, observations, field trips, team activities, and lit mags all need to be checked off my lengthy list. Wait! What's that I see all around me? Yep... it's definitely the weeds.

Life Lesson: The view is worth the climb.