7:00 The Show Begins

So I have been taking in the inspirations and ideas that have been posted each morning on TWT, and thought tonight would be a good night to just snapshot an actual moment in time. . . Tonight my daughter was off to her place in the show while I waited, listened, & watched backstage. . . 

Tap dancer tap tap tap taps by then stops, shuffle shuffle goes her shoes, and keeps walking.  Girl in red leaps by and then she leaps legs long again.  Boys horse play, one pulls the fake knee to the groin, they all laugh. Little one by my feet has reappeared. . . to check on her stuffed dog propped against the table leg, and talks to him lovingly.   Bongos beat on a bench seat .  Boys eat. . .apples and gummies. "Ooohhh. She's totally breaking the rules again" says a mom as she b lines across the crowded cafeteria. Puppy girl is back whoops she caught me smiling at her.  Girl donning fluorescents and black rides piggyback on the purple sequined girl.  Those little leopards are still walking about purposefully. Pink poofs practice spinning, one smiling one serious.  Boys run. Tapity tapitty shuffle step shuffle step.  Another mom says,"The show has started now. . ." her voice trails off into the din.

Excitement Built by Girls

We bustled into to the buzzing room, dancers everywhere, an organized chaos now familiar. Quickly scanned the room for familiar friends and bright pink tutus and zoned into place.  I unpacked the costume while my little girl checked in with friends, then we sped to the changing area, jostled our way in to the crowded space, and jiggled out of streetwear into foo foo and frills.  We squeaked our way back out stepping and squeezing over and around, till we reached the open stretch then zipped back to a holding pattern of giggling girls, gripping and hugging hands.  They chant and "Jump!  Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!" delighted, dancing circles a  glimmering serpent grows hand by hand and speeds up with slips, squeals, hugs. Then, they hear their call.  Suddenly serious they step forward hand and hand, side by side, a synchronous bloom of pink, ready to dance.

Besties begin the chant!

Bedtime and Ramona the Brave and Me

I hearded the boys to their room where J turned on his light to read about a crochet stitch he wanted to try, and C snuggled into his quilt, just his head poking out. . . I grumble good naturedly about the mess, hold up a pair of underwear J swears, "They're clean mom!" and I toss them and tell him, "You check."  He laughes, and replies "They smell like laundry detergent!" as they fly into the open drawer.  Trying not to let their room drive me crazy, I settle onto the unofficial reader's pillow on the floor between the two beds, open up Ramona the Brave to "Owl Trouble" and read.

When the class pulled out paper bags to decorate as owls, I felt zapped by Ramona, such a connection! Was I that girl?  Oh, how it drove me crazy when another child copied and the teacher didn't notice, or worse. . .PRaised their work!  I grew up with Ramona, though I scarecly recall reading her books as a child, in that age of "no tattletales", "no copycats" teachers who never seemed to notice me, unless it was for something I didn't do. . .The one time I recall being noticed for doing something a teacher liked, it somehow felt just as humiliating.  I read the chapter tweaking my voice to sound a little dumber than Susan might have deserved, but I don't care for copycats either, I am with Ramona on this one for sure!  If I was brave enough that day, I may have thrown my owl away too. . .Ok. I was a bit too timid to really be Ramona.  I read on to the end, and when Ramona looked in her new mirror of her new room. . . "Ramona thought of herself as the kind of girl everyone should like, but this girl. . ."  Sigh, there I am again.

I lie here on my kids floor a split second I am, 6 with that mean teacher who didn 't seem to care about what was right as much as she wanted to avoid tattletalers and copycats.  Pressure built, when she yelled at me for writing on my desk, only it wasn't me, our desks got switched.  I actually ran like Ramona out of school, my six year old self screamed "I hate you"and I ran.  Why did school have to feel so hard back then?  Is it still this hard for our kids?  I know, if I listen to the stories my boys tell, it is.  It is just as hard, but usually for other reasons, teachers have come a long way.

I scanned and reached around for the bookmark, but it had strangely disappeared.  The page was already folded over, J read this chapter already.  So I placed the book into the old school desk that C tucks with books and stuff.  I stood, stretched than leaned against C's bed to scratch every inch of C's back, just like he likes, then gave J a shoulder rub, he was engrossed in that crochet stitch and wouldn't notice anything else right now.  Saying "Goodnight! Sleep Well."  I flicked off the overhead light, C smiled and I headed for the stairs, still thinking about Ramona, and me.

A Story about a Fairy Dust Morning

There must have been a squall, but all I could think was, "It's a fairy dust morning, fairy dust morning, fairy dust morning. . . "  Repeating the words like a mantra I rushed to find the pants my husband was looking for and set them on a chair where he would see them.  I hauled the boys' sheets down to the laundry, flump, slam, click, glug, whoosh, and bustled upstairs with another basket.  Repeating in my mind, "It's a fairy dust morning. . ." while noise of a family filled weekend morning faded into the background of my consciousness.  I grabbed my notebook, my pen, and slipped to the window to watch, to wait, and to write.

The poem came quickly. . .

Fairy dust morning

Silver sun sneaking through pine boughs

Sprinkling sparkles

Sun kissed saplings

Criss crossing

cold swirls twinkling among the trees

Across the yard

A gift

A poem

A fairy dust morning

Then, I was reminded of another day.  It was a day a lot like this one, but without the clutter of children and chores to distract me.  Long ago, with a backpack tucked with pencils and square slips of paper, a water bottle and wool blanket.  It had been ages since I had sketched, but I was prepared.  I entered the woods. . .

It was slow walking through the snow past the old stone chimney standing sentry.  I took a moment to acknowlege, a silent nod, and keep on, this spot is too close to the road, to travelers, to the real world.  I crossed a little bridge over a brook.  The light, wondrous in the woods today, a luminous dappling on snow and ice covered branches, rocks and half rotten logs.  It was a quiet walk, snow crunching softly, loosened by the sun, beneath my feet and only snowfleas unsettled on the surface to keep me company.  I stopped to marvel at how quickly they danced on cold crystals.  Knowing I could not capture their magic with my pencil, I moved further up a knoll, I would know when the place was right. . .

Then there it was, a welcoming log frozen into the snow, a patch of sun warming this glorious spot surrounded by nothing. . . but forest.  All was quiet while I settled onto the warm wool and leaned against the log, pencils, paper ready, I took a sip of icy water and just looked all around me, at everything, and I waited.  Light glittered, illuminating ice traced branches, and the world seemed to shimmer magically around me as I disappeared, still.  This is the spot.  Soon the winter birds come in fluttering and flitting like sprites, a squirrel chattered back, tail twitching a few trees away.  I am forgotten.

They are here in this enchanted place.  Twinkling sparks of light on limbs and crystals of snow that surround me.  I can feel their gift and begin to slide my pencil around a square of paper tentatively at first.  Then intuition guides me.  I sketch the magic of a quiet morning in the forest where snowfleas dance and sprites and fairies leave precious gifts.  I sketch light, and line and a love of this moment, in hopes that I can wrap them gently and take them home to treasure.  

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the glistening frost slowly gave way, snowfleas no longer danced, and I had sketched my fill for the morn.  I rolled up my wool and tucked into my pack and smiled a thank you to the magical ones who shared a gift with me today.  Then I walked taller out of the woods, off the knoll, across the brook, past the old stone chimney standing sentry.  Back to the road I walk, toward travelers, the real world, and home. . .

Yes.  This was another one of those days.  A fairy dust morning, a fairy dust morning, a fairy dust morning. . .They left me a gift enchanted with magic.  I am wrapping it up here to pass along to you.

The memories of that morning are attatched carefully to pink paper, bound loosely with smooth ribbon, placed in a basket of other lovelies for safe keeping

  

Fairy Dust Morning- Poem

Slice of Life Day 17



I have a story about this day, but have a nasty stomach bug and can't sit up long enough to type it in, hopefully tomorrow.

Fairy dust morning
Silver sun sneaking through pine boughs
Sprinkling sparkles
Sun kissed saplings
Criss crossing
cold swirls twinkling among the trees
Across the yard
A gift
A poem
A fairy dust morning

Day 16- Growing Slices

Slice of life post # 16, wow! second half has begun, Today I decided to write about the ways I noticed my kids (my own and from school) suddenly seemed more grown up this week.  

This weekend I sat rocking in the sun with a cup of tea, spiced chai with a dash of milk, steaming in my hand. I was home on sick duty, while my husband and oldest were out.  Charlie was sleeping again, Lila was coloring and singing while watching PBS, and I had this quiet space, on a sunny in the house day, to reflect.  I realized there were several moments this week when I noticed one of "my" kids doing something they hadn't done before and I ticked off a list in my head.

• Lila, 5 put her own pony holder in her hair working hard with her fingers to keep it from tangling, and it was "all by myself" not "selth".  I sighed when I heard it, another babyism gone by the way of forward growth.
• M, 3 jumped with 2 feet at the same time and when I reminded him to share the dinosaurs with friends he didn't scream "no!", he said "ok."  
• Ch, 9.5 had a stomach bug and never once called me in the middle of the night even though he was up several times.  
• J, 11 stayed at Aunt and Uncles without his brother for the first time.  
• S, 4 opened her milk carton by herself after trying and trying.  
• Ca, 4 ish joked  and talked with me every day this week instead of looking at me silently.  
• H, put on his coat without waiting and asking for unneeded help.  
• B let me help her without stubborn refusal. 
• K focused on making letters out of playdough for a loooong time.  
• Jr 4 learned to catch a ball really well and throw it back to me.  
• M, G, and L solved their own problem at recess, all I had to do was ask, "what could you change?"
• Ja, 4 I sang a line or two from "Sweet Baby James" and James said to me in good natured exasperation, "Miss Amy I'm not a baby" 

Gazing at the way the sun almost shines through some of the thick waxy leaves of the plant nearby, an idea dawns, these kiddos are growing up as I sit and type, and go about my day in many various ways.  I am concious, it is not a new idea, but that moment of being fully aware when it happens tingles my skin. . .and these are just the very small moments I saw!  "Imagine the moments I may have missed!" my voice in my head exclaims.  Then I envision how these small moments will continue to grow.   My fantasy, in this moment, is that this is a slice full of mini slices waiting to grow into full sized slices.  Each individual will multiply into several, many tightly bound wedges full of juice, full of flavor, bound with fibers, a seed here or there, round and full. . .

A "Freshman Project" Remembers

I was the "Freshman Project."  I had the misfortune fo being assigned to a high school lunch period bare of my usual friends.  For weeks, I dreaded midday and the prospect of walking into a room filled with unfamiliar faces and full tables. . . till I met B.  She took me in, after confering with her friends, tablemates, fellow juniors, and it was not long before I was affably being referred to as their "Freshman Project".  They joked with me about it daily, as it was a 'risk' to take in a Freshman.  One friend cautioned, "What if you do something foolish to draw attention to our table?"  We seemed to share the same goal of staying off the radar of tormenters and bullies and anyone who might cause us grief, so the arrangement worked out.  They even taught me where the safe bathroom was, after I unknowingly caused a raukous walking into the "smoking room" and one of them saved my butt, with a casual, "She's cool. . ."

B was the one though who really befriended me.  I think they all did, but she is the one who would call me up, she had a mission her favorite shampoo is on sale at Caldor's, or her Dad would like some icecream.  Sometimes we would just hang out at her house.  She lived at the other end of my street in an old farmhouse like the kind I can imagine in a painting nestled among maple trees with the sun dappling its white symetrical facade with one big door in the middle that noone ever used.  I loved going there, parking my bike next to her dad's station wagon in the yard, I would head toward the kitchen door that opened into the past.  Her mom was always in the kitchen where a huge cast iron, wood burning cookstove dominated the right side of the room.  Cookware hung overhead from iron hooks.  Wide wooden beams above and creaky floorboards beneath our feet embraced us while we talked, surrounded by shelves of cookbooks, nic knacks, and the history of an old house.

As the year went on we spent more time together, driving through Hamp, listening to music with the windows down, (and heat on if it was chilly), and laughing about the sights in the college town.  We went to the beach, she was always good at gathering a group of people together, and always always to get an icecream for her Dad, (us too of course).  Sometimes we would just "hang out" and listen to music, Madonna, Elton John and Chicago were some of our favorites.  She dreamed of getting married one day to the sound of Chicago, maybe "You're the meaning in my life. . . ", while the sun shone through the metal blinds in her room with her very tall old bed, with a rolling chest below, and all the paraphanalia of a teenage girl of the 80's.  This Freshman Project was even invited to a New Year's Eve of music, laughter, and George Carlin imitations, (which won't be repeated  on such a wholesome blog as this!)

We remained friends after she graduated high school two years later.  She would call when she was home from college.  I even made a few treks up to her college dorm.  Boys began to get in the way, monopolize our time.  She wrote me letters when i went off to school, but I was terrible at melding my two lives and keeping up with both while doing schoolwork.  I had a dreadful boyfriend at the time, and wish I had talked to her about him.  I am sure she would've said he wasn't worth it, and it could have saved me a troublesome two years.  But instead, I just faded away from the hometown and street that brought us together, and didn't look back.  Only, I did look back, and do look back, and think to myself about what became of an old friend.  I even thought of inviting her to my own wedding, it was not really big, but we promised we would be there for each other one day.  It was so long ago. . .I worried she wouldn't remember. . . Still sometimes I wonder still if she ever thinks about the Freshman Project.

Friday or the Sun?

Is it just because it is Friday afternoon?  Or has the sun steadily crept high enough, stretched the days and strengthened long enough to reach into our house and shake us awake and pull us out of the darkness of a long cold winter?  We are a family of five and lately this house has been shadowed by a subtly increasing change in dispositions, that has left us all cross, and crabby.  Bickering boys and a grumpy girl picking and pestering, imapatient and impertinent.  At each other, not with each other.  Not just the children, if I am honest, each and every one of us has been submersed in a season of suffering.

Today, in that blinding second, like when the sun bursts over the lake on a clear morning, there was a sudden and undeniable shift of techtonic proportions in our whole family.  Smiles and silliness replaced sullen and snippy for our ride home today as the kids inexplicably investigated the contents of their backpacks to delicious delight, that only a combination of clean underwear. . . "Underwear?!!", month old candy, and clods of clay could seemingly arouse.  At dinner, C once again resembled a relaxed and happy child we recalled from some distant past.  His genuine smile was wide and reaching all the way to his eyebrows crooked with charm. J and L were giggling geese, goofing around and getting along superbly.  L and I danced then Daddy played.  I did yoga to the blaring sound of old CD's, Alabama and Aaron Tippin, spun by my number two son, and laughter from the livingroom. . .first time for everything.  My little girl wiggled beneath my downward dog and squealed "Hug me!"  and I did.

It is Friday.  The sun is high.  The sap will surely run tomorrow after a long cold winter.  Spring is on it's way and it already stopped at our house for a while sprinkle some cheer and good faith.

Late Bloomer: A Map, An Idea, A Thank You!

I have a heavy black artist notebook with thick, clean white pages where I write ideas, beginnings, thoughts and such.  Today I began drawing a map of my childhood home and surroundings, and it occurred to me,. . 

"I think I might have been a late bloomer."  The world was small for me, for a long time.  In some ways it still is. I knew then and probably still know now, how to keep it that way when I need to.  As a child I built a home in my closet with pillows and dixie cups of life saver flavored water, butter rum was my favorite.  I liked to rock in the alcove with a good book.  I built forts with my brother out of couch cushions and an autumn colored afghan.  Even at school, one of my happiest memories was when my desk was scrunched over by the bookshelf with a friend or two, and a notebook to hide behind.  Even as we got older I stayed nearby for my big college disaster, small college success, while my brother trekked back and forth across the country.

As a little girl, I rarely ventured from our yard lined with tall spruce and hedgerows on either side.  Our backyard was home to enormous lilacs hugging our house, a swingset and a little red sandbox with a wavy, white roof, my grampa built. Out front a narrow sidewalk looped from a larger one along the road to our door and connected to our driveway.  One of the two patches of green was punctuated by the single large maple tree.  I spent my days peddaling around our circle of sidewalk, hanging upside down, or swinging on our purple pipe framed swingset, watching the clouds go by.  As we got older, my brother headed for the woods behind us, across the neighbor's field, to ride dirtbike or head to his friend's house by way of the crow.  I read, watched television, or enjoyed sun and swimming.  I even climbed the maple tree. . .eventually.  Still, my brother roamed, I held the fort.

In time I ventured by bicycle further and further till I realized I could bike to a friend's house across town, and still live.  But it wasn't till I was in college or later, when I had one of those realizations, like when a child realizes how tiny the "giant" riding horse toy from her childhood really is.  I took a walk one day, a familiar route down my street, where I biked often, but when I got to the place where the sidewalk ends, the place where I usually turn into a little maze of a neighborhood and backtrack home, I kept walking.  It was no surprise where the road would lead.  I had been that way too many times to count, by car, by schoolbus, even by bicycle to that friend across town. I had never walked it though, always imagining in my mind it would take the whole day to make the circle back to a main road, the far end of  Main Street, then through town past the library, the grocery, Town Hall, the bank on the corner, over the bridge and back up the near end of my Street.  So I walked that day and in just half an hour I reached the library, and in 15 more minutes I was home!  I wondered to myself then, how did I live here all my life and never know the library, my town, was just a short walk away?

As I sit here now, I think of Roald Dahl's Matilda, and the litte girl who walked to the library at age 4? or 3? and I laugh at myself a little.  I wonder if I just didn't have the need to escape like Matilda did, or perhaps it was just my way of keeping my world small for all those years? Maybe I was just a late bloomer.  Far away lands are still not really on my to do list, though they are on my reading list.  My brother is off on another adventure beginning a new career in a new state.  I am still within 40-50 miles of Home. I am highly trained in early literacy, but still learning how to write.  My town is small, but it really would take several hours to walk to the library from my house even by way of the crow.  My children will never walk to school from home.  Despite all this my world is bigger than before and I am reminded of this as I read  the words of other teachers who write, and slicers who slice.  I am reminded of this as I continue to grow, out into the world with you all. Thank you!

Another Morning

Rippling river
Mist swirls . . .wisps
frosty branches glisten
dawning lustrous lucence
out of the grey
Banks, boulders
bear snow blankets
disregard me
I pass by

Headache

A dull throb is washing over my head. . . again.  I drive silently in the chaos that is my children, cramped in a car, afterschool.  We bump up the muddy driveway with a splash.  I close my eyes for a moment when I shut off the Jeep. Inside supper is on the stove, husband stirring a sauce hears my tone of voice, "Mom doesn't sound happy."  "They were good." I say, "but my head is killing me."  After hanging up my coat I perch on the stool and try to listen, but soon retreat to the couch.  The pillow, tucked just right is a relief.  I drape my arm acrossed my forehead, the pressure of it seems to soothe.  Soon the voices of my family fade away, like the radio when I am busy, I don't hear their words can't focus on them, but the sound is a comfort. . . 

A Sweet Tradition

The unusually severe cold has the season beginning a bit later than usual this year.  The birds of spring began singing two weeks ago.  There is still snow, yet the sun is higher in the sky, and we no longer eat dinner in the dark.  The trees know it is time, the sap is in them, but the clouds and cold are slowing the process.  So we set up and wait, for the sun to do it's handywork. The boys come in with cheeks flush and red ears of genuinely tired children after carrying buckets and covers clanging along roadsides and through groves most of this first warmish day.

Charlie is relaxed, without a hint of the anxiety that often travels just beneath his skin and in the creases in his forehead lately.  His smile genuine and relaxed, and eyes bright and blue today.  He is confident this year, taller, stronger, and he knows the routine.  When his Uncle asks him to grab him a fitting or spigot, he knows to pull a handful from the pail and fill his pocket.  He has heard the stories, threads and tales and now he is a part of that, and Joey too, both joking and working with the rest as if they'de been setting buckets longer than they have lived, it's in their blood.

For generations, grandparents, aunts and uncles, parents, brothers and cousins, generations of our family have looked forward to the first hint of spring that usually arrives weeks before the apple blossoms, robins or even the crocus known to poke itself up through a snowcover.  Great grands gathered pails of sap on a route through the woods with a team of horses, and boiled sap with babies sleeping snug and warm below the arch till the wee hours of the night as they tended to the art of syrup making.

It is a busy season that keeps our minds off the dingy snow and cheerless muck that many lament this time of year.  Quiet plunking will fade to silent bucket filling drops and clouds of smoke and sweet will billow from the sugar house.  When I open the door I know I will be met with a smooth sweet smell of maple.  The warm syrup will fill my tongue with an, almost, buttery sweetness, and candy will melt in my mouth.  I picture Lila this year perched on the brown stool beside her Auntie and on her knees, stretched to watch the turning of the candy machine and filling of the molds.  My sugar princess lives for maple candy.

When the business of sap collecting and syrup making is done the sun will be stronger, heating no-sleeved arms and coaxing buds out of branches.  My children will be filled with stories old and new.  They will be intertwined in them more tightly than the year before and the generations of our family will continue weaving the tradition of Sugaring.  For now though. . .we wait.

I am so happy that after the fire a Phoenix rose from the ashes in the form of a community.  (March 22, 2015). this sweet tradition will continue!!  

Day 9: Poem of my morning

Wind bites cheeks, noses
Sun behind,
steps in shadows
little hand in mine
we sing

Flip Side: Children's Behavior

As a parent, it can be a huge relief when we send our kids off to spend time with someone else, and upon their return we find that they actually have been listening to everything we have been telling them for the last 5, 9, 11 years or so.  If you are a parent you know what I mean.  Our boys cannot seem to make it through a day, hour, sometimes minute without making a rude noise or comment or starting or perpetuating a petty argument, or blowout fight lately.  Then, we send them to my brother in law, and he raves, "Those kids were awesome!  They were polite, they worked hard, it was so much fun to have them around!"  My husband and I haven't seen their awesome side in maybe a month now, so it is with mixed feelings that we receive this news. --Ok. . . they do hear us.  But, why the heck don't they hear us. . . for US!!!

A similar situation occured today at a kid party that my daughter was invited to at a local bowling alley, but a bit different.  It was my husband who reported to me two weeks ago, "Wow!  She was so independent.  She said to me, 'Dad, I am going to find my friends now.' and off she went.  I watched her the whole way chatting with people she knew till she found her friends at the other end of the room."  So today, I figured, "We are golden" . . . If you know kids well, you know this was my first mistake.  So we arrive at the alley, and my daughter has somehow transformed into. . . da.  . da. . da. . . VELCRO girl!  She will not stop hanging off my arm or whining (who knows what, over the loud music)  And after spending the last two weeks of animated anticipation of this event she tells me, "I just want to be with YOU mommy!"  Sigh...

Both of these scenarios have a common thread of a child acting one way with a particular person, or setting, and another way with someone else.  And to sew this thread into my thoughts on teaching, I think it is somewhat common for this fact of life with children to go overlooked by teachers or other school staff.  I know that when my oldest son was struggling with behavior issues at his old school, the principal looked at us his parents as somehow creators of his misbehavior.  I took him to task for this by reading Ross Greene's words from Lost at School at a team meeting (or two)  I don't have the book in front of me now, but the idea came from a couple pages near the beginning that pshawed common assumptions that people make about kids who misbehave, one of those was that the parents were not teaching them the right way to behave.

On the other side of the fabric, my second son behaves fabulously at school, he is a great student, he is helpful to everyone and respectful to adults.  When, at conference time I mention difficulties at home, the teacher gives that look without words, "couldn't be, what are you doing at home?"  What I hear is that my son, "Is out of the 50's and behaves how children used to behave."  At home though, every little thing that he "let ride" at school, he saves up for us.  He is an anxious, worried, sometimes hateful mess of a kid, who takes all his frustrations out on his family.

It is exhausting whether you are parenting one of these kids or teaching them.  But wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone stopped looking at children's behaviors and misbehaviors as some kind of static, predictable, all or nothing thing and realize that there are so many, many variables that affect how children behave with different people, in different settings, and at various times or days.  I think it would go a long way toward parents and teachers collaborating as a team of support for children and each other, and that can only work to improve the learning experience.

Bring a Spark

I am exhausted.  I just about fell asleep reading to the boys, which never happens, tonight.  I don't feel like I should be so tired, so I am frustrated.  I lolled through 30 minutes of yoga for today, and just peeled myself off my mat to come sit in front of the too brilliant screen of my computer.  The thoughts I had earlier in the day, jotted in my notebook nearby, feel like jibberish right now.  I am not motivated, maybe tomorrow they will make sense. . .  So, to further delay my writing, I upload a photo of said notebook, but then since it takes longer than I expected, my brain begins to defog and I start to think about what I was planning to write tonight, and as always I look for connections, new ways to make sense of things.

Tonight's tired is not your ordinary run of the mill tired.  It is that kind of exhausted feeling I get when someone has sucked the life out of me.  I was wondering about the sociology of the middle child earlier tonight and pondering whether something about his place in our family is influencing his behavior lately, because he has been draining all of us here at home with his unprecedented drama in the last few weeks.  I notice that same phrase, "suck life out", is in my notebook,  but it is in regards to teaching. In my transition from stay at home mom back into the school environment I have noticed some of the teachers I have met bring an amazing life to teaching, while others seem to suck the life out of the school.  Maybe the profession sucked it out of them first and they just morph into a human black hole, whatever the case, it is tiresome.

Over the past couple years I have met some amazing teachers in different districts around us.  Some of them bring sparks to their teaching.  My son's third grade teacher excitedly shared an idea she came up with one day for writing, and raved about her fellow team teachers who she has connected with this year, unlike any other year.  "It's so motivating!"  I know that working with the right people makes a huge difference, because I have shared the comaraderie of a school community all working for a common cause.  I have also worked where it feels like keeping a positive mindset is the hardest part of the job, because whereever I turn there's someone complaining, or griping, or going about the job of teaching as if it is a chore and not a gift.   They ask, "Is is Friday yet?" on Tuesday, and not so secretly wish for certain children to be out that day, everyday.  That is the kind of environment that burns lots of fuel for little results, and sucks the life out of people who want to love the job.

I know I want to work in a place where teachers are sparklers who bring light and fun to life.  Where teachers raise eyebrows, tap fingers together and joke, "This problem is Evil!  There is a trick!"  I want to work with people whose infatuation with books fills their classroom and their teaching, overflowing into everything.  I want to work where kids flock around the teacher on the way out to dismissal as she while she plays word games with them right up to the last minute.  I seek laughter and love of children, respectful and replenishing comraderie, coffee or a coke for a coworker.  I hope to be recharged, not drained by school and staff. . .and family ;)  I hope to bring a spark of my own.

  

Alligator Girls at Home and School

M asked me to "Play Dough" with her today, so I sat and began to knead the sticky blue dough.  I rolled a snake and told her I was making my name letter and before I finished, M shouted "A!"  She began pushing letter cutters into little piles of dough, and saying their names.  Then "What do they say?" she asked.  We talked about the sounds while I made A things to go with my A.  She recocognized my Apple, but wasn't too sure about the ant.  Then she noticed, "Alligator!!"  I wasn't actually sure she would know what an alligator was, then I realized as she talks to me more and more, she knows quite a bit that I might not know about if I didn't sit down with her today or at times like this throughout the year. Lately she has reverted to lots of squeaking, which made me particularly greatful for this time with her, and letters, and words and her amazing imagination.
Just a few hours later I was sitting in my own car with my own daughter listening to her sing, all the way home, about a little "alligator"--a window sticky type toy one of the boys came home with recently to her resembled an alligator.  Just a bit of it went like this. . .

 "Oh little alligator look at that.  Little little alligator isn't that a fact.  Little alligatorrrrrr.  You know its time for bed, little lizard.  It's time for bed little lizards.  Time for you to go to bed, little alligator.  You're so stickyyyyyyy. We're going to put you togetherrrrrrrr, like this.  We're going to put you to sleep little alligator, don't sleep upside down, it's not good for animals, It's not good for youuuu." - this was just a tiny piece of a 15 minute song with a pretty little meandering tune.

I felt like I wanted to write about these two girls, because we shared alligators and time today.  I also just began to think about these two girls and about individual needs.  M exasperates some (children and adults alike) with her squeaking sounds while she plays, while she listens, while she waits.   My own daughter's teacher has seen my girl sing much in the same way, though she is still at circle time, she is likely to sing her way through the rest of the day just as M squeaks.  But I am sure that fewer people find the singing disturbing.  I have never been told, "You need to encourage her to talk, not sing"  I know there are good reasons to encourage M to use her words, but I wonder if sometimes she isn't just singing in another language.

What's in the Arrival?

Some cars have been lined up out front for ten minutes or so outside preschool when the first of us opens the door to a blast of frigid air and begins the bustle to unbelt children from vehicles and bring them into the building.  K is the first to arrive eyes mostly closed, runny nosed and silent.  I greet him with a big hug and say "good morning K how are you buddy?"  I talk him up till I get a hint of a smile then L and H arrive.  L is smiling today, no tears.  H is in his head today, like most days, and I wonder what he thinks about in there.  C sneaks in behind me and gives me a poke and a big smile.  His silly side has been shining for a few weeks now and I enjoy it more than his super shy side.  H slides in to line in smirky silence eyes watchful.
Then M toddles in, tears streaming, and screaming "Noooo!  Noooo!", "Mommy!  Cat Hat! Noooo!"  I get down to his level and say hello, which is promptly met with more screaming.  Best that we move, I take his hand and we walk to a less crowded spot.  Soothing doesn't really work.  I tell him he sounds angry in a matter of fact tone, "I see you didn't want to leave your books in the car today.  You will see them later."  More crying and yelling, when he really doesn't like what I am saying he directs his gaze and scream at me, so I tell him, "No yelling at Ms Amy, that's not nice." at first he replies with another scream, he is more upset than usual today.  So I calmly repeat, "You are angry, but no more yelling."  "ok" he says then asks for a tissue, and we continue down the hall.  "Ms Rosie has cereal or cinnamon pretzels today, what would you like?"  M replies "CE-real!! Yah!"  and I know the day is improving already. 

Summer Sets

Beach at the lake was empty but for my kids and I.  They cast sand to watch it sprinkle across the top of the water, and tossed stones trying to make them skip, and sometimes they did.  Shoes all off and pants rolled up the warm sand on top gave way to cold when I dug my toes and fingers down under.  It is what I do though, while the kids play, during those rare moments all three are happy at the same time. I don't want them to really know I am watching them as I sift pebbles of sand through my fingers like tiny memories stored only at this beach.

Squinting through the late day sun slung low through the pines, I am really trying to soak up their summer. They know how to live like summer, all the time!  They just keep living it till the snow falls. I feel like I can only grasp at it when it is here, so I try not to notice that the smell of smoke curling from a nearby chimney has replaced the waft of sunscreen, and a sprinkle of leaves has replaced the people usually scattered across the beach, the way my kids don't notice.  All the while the sun in sinking furtherout of sight, the last ray slowly disappearing at the far end of beach.  Then we run kicking up sand and laughing, one last jump in the lake. . ..  Whooo.... cold!!!  before we go.  

Waiting Room

It was a too warm, trying to look cheery, room with too many chairs and magazines, no windows, and us.  My husband, my mom, my dad, was my step dad there? or was he sick?  Any other time it might have been awkward, but right now it was good to have mom and dad in the same room.  We chatted like life was normal, how is school going for the boys?  What is Auntie up to these days?  Magazines are everywhere.  How do people read?  I am too busy pushing away negative, worry thoughts, and only allowing positive outcomes to appear, but not too positive or too far in the future, don't want to jinx anything.

My head felt stuffy from breaking down earlier.  The whole week I was calm, making routine out of staring at walls, feeding my baby, and waiting.  Peace and calm were my middle name, till everyone arrived, then overwhelmed with seeing my boys just 3 and 4 for the first time since the day the Doctor sent us here, and noticing the tears welled in the grownups, the first tear rolled and that was it.  I am sorry for that.  I wanted the boys to see everything was ok, everything would be ok. . .damn.

Next thing I knew, they rolled my smiling two month old into the OR and left us, me puffy eyed, in a too warm room, waiting.  I think I found some water.  We tickered away the time somehow, I have no idea how, till the phone rang.  The sign said to answer it, but it was for someone else, I didn't even notice anyone else was waiting.  Eventually we got our call.  It went well, they got it all out, they think and sent it along to see what it is, was, the unspoken C word hung in the air.  We left the waiting room still waiting.  Now to sit by the too still baby, hooked to tubes and wires was it days or just one long one?

The week was surreal.  The boys were back to school right after.  Back to normal.  Back to routine.  Only a few knew we spent the Christmas holiday week willing our 2 month old baby to be ok. The prayers and pushing away of negative thoughts brought our baby home healthy, minus one kidney, and healing.  Another week went by and the Oncologist said "So nice to meet you, and I don't ever want to see you again." to our baby girl.  Worth the wait.

Thunderstruck

day 2




It was one of those Fourth of July afternoons when thunderclouds scattered from town to town, beach to beach taunting would be revelers with foreboding over the fate of the evening fireworks displays.  My family was at the coast that day, kids from 4-40, enjoying salt and sun followed by dinner at our favorite seafood joint.  After filling ourselves with fried seafood and slaw we headed back to the beach.

Inland storms rumbled quiet, distant, among the sounds of the train a couple miles off and the whale of a siren. . . .somewhere.  Waves lapped the shore and we walked and ran along the open expanse of beach revealed by the receding waves of tide and people.  Summer sun hung low between distant clouds and the horizon as we ventured further down the beach, blown with the warm sea air like confetti, rolling, sticking, flying.  Little sand angels, names carved enormous, stacks of stones, foot prints, seaguls and us, trailing along on a summer evening.  The sound of the surf lulled us, all unaware as the rumble of storms and darkness crept manacingly closer.

Soothed by the sea, I was startled to look up to see an inky blackness, a gnarled hand, an arm stretched out reaching. . . "for what?" my mind thought.  Right overhead!  It felt monstrous as if it would snatch us up and pull us out to sea and we all ran.  A dozen feet like drumfire over the packed sand.  Thunder.  Clouds rolled, black ropes reaching their tangled mass out to sea.   Thunder.  Wind whipped sand and people, running for cover.  Thunder.  We scrambled into relative safety of our van to ride out the storm.  Thunder, Lightening, Truckloads of rain rolled right over us, while we waited and laughed, catching our breath.

After what seemed like hours, crowded in with a car full of kids hoping still for fireworks, we ventured back out tentatively with a few others who had huddled in the parking lot.  That storm passed our stretch of beach leaving us for the sea.  Another lingered out over the point at the north tip of the crescent.  Our beach cradled inland began to fill, and soon all around us a circle of sparklers, roman candles, and fiery flowers lit up the beach for miles around.   Out to sea now, one storm still flashed while storms to the north clattered, and danced with light as if joining our celebration of freedom.

(Slice of Life Challenge- March) "Morning Routine"

Yesterday I managed to let the kids get ready to leave for school without hounding (ie: yelling at) them each and every step of the way.  Instead, I stepped back and watched my 5, 9, and almost 11 year old put on boots and warm coats, then gather backpacks and snow pants for their day.  I am so used to feeling like I have to push them through the morning routine that this little act of stepping back felt like the first hint of thaw after a long cold winter, like the day I walked out my door and heard eves dripping and the long two toned call "teeeeeeeeeeee tooooooooooo" of the chickadee who had been silent for months.

As soon as the kids begin piling into the car the banter and verbal nonsense began to fly.  Lila screaches at a pitch only to be described as "five year old girl screach".  It doesn't even seem to matter what the commotion is about this time. . .again. . .The monotony of the moment is punctuated dully by the familiar crackling of studded tires turning over and over on our icy driveway and fading onto the dirt road where pale morning light exists, despite the sun still trapped behind the mountain.

After we cross one little intersection, it isn't far to go through a blink of an intersection, a tunnel of trees, past the large house and barn where, just beyond the silo, the field opens up.  The top of the hill is lower here then at our own house, so the sun is already washing it's way warmly through the trees across the snow covered field and bathing the munching cattle in new light.  At this point, I tell my kids, "Look at what a beautiful morning it is!"

Kids and Friends

This post was going to be about little girls, but I realized this week, after listening to my middle guy growling about a problem with his friend, that I really need to include boys too because navigating friendship is hard for everyone.  The event that kicked off my rambling mind on this subject was a birthday party for my daughter's best friend from preschool.  Party anticipation was high in the week or so before the party.  Lot's of  "I can't wait. . . " among the friends who see each other every day at school.

When party day arrived the actual event was a mix of girls that included people the birthday girl doesn't see everyday.  As you might predict, the girl who is seldom seen was the object of the birthday girl's attention. Though that is probably pretty normal behavior, it became a bit hard to swallow when my daughter came crying to me because her best friend just told her "I don't want to play with you."  Alas, upon hearing our dilemma, a nearby mom redirected her own daughter to include mine in play.  Whew!  (awesome! thank you!)

The not so awesome part came when we gathered for a group picture.  A little girl sat next to my daughter and lamented, "Let's not sit next to insert birthday girl's name." the tension among grownups thickened then.  I wanted in the worst way to intervene in a way that would help, but not knowing the full situation I wasn't sure how to proceed.  I know that particular little girl tends to be of the more unfiltered variety and that she had no idea she was suddenly under scrutiny of a dozen or so parents, and I suspected (and was confirmed by my little girl) that she suffered the same fate, being told by the birthday girl "I am not going to play with you."  Nonetheless judgement filled the air faster than smoke fills the room when I forget to open the damper on the chimney.  I really dislike that darned "judgement" sneaking in through cracks and crevices whenever grownups disagree on how to hand hard stuff.

Picture time was soon over, and we were off to have food and cake in another room where my girl and unfiltered girl sat with birthday girl only to have birthday girl move to a different table.  The jilted friends made the most of it and the other mom and I sat with them, because everyone else kept a safe distance at another table or the other end of our table.  This was one party I couldn't wait for the end of!  Oy!  Now I don't, I repeat don't want to make this an attack on parenting, but I do have to say if you actually hear a child say a mean thing in front of lots of people. . . she is probably not the actual mean girl! You all remember what ASSUME stands for! To me this was a classic case like those that have been confounding the socially awkward or unaware children of our world for ages. When people buy in, it encourages bullying and a lack of empathy toward those who most need understanding or even to see and hear how empathy should look. . . see and hear over and over and over, cause it's just hard for some kids to figure out how to show it.  I spent the whole ride home pondering what I could have said, but alas "could've, should've, would've"

So then fast forward to a recent event with my son.  He keeps on the straight and narrow path at school, keeps his cool (except apparently when mom is in volunteering).  He is well liked, very personable, and enjoys helping his friends.  He seems to be paired up with one friend quite a bit this year, and he talks about helping this guy out a lot, keeping him on track and explaining things he doesn't understand.  The road gets bumpy some days when this guy pesters my son or teases him.  While I was in the room last week my guy had a bit of a blowout when his friend teased him about writing a letter to a 'girl'.  "My sister!" could be heard throughout the room, soon the class was on alert, why was C so upset?   At this point I am hoping the snow day was a long enough cool down period, because my boy can hold on to some serious anger, I am going to remind him that alienating his pesky friend (or encouraging other friends to dislike him) is not the right thing to do, even though it might feel good out of anger, but this is a bit of a washed out area in the sand for me because if I push too hard he will think I am taking sides- yes he will.  So I am thinking, How do we teach our kiddos to set boundaries for themselves without the need to be mean about it?

Back to my little girl in the car this week, she was crabbier than usual with me after school one day, and I decided to try a little Ross Greene on her.  "You seem to be upset about something and I don't think it is just that I took a different road home, what's up?"  Worked like a charm, she spilled her little guts and told me how her BF (yes the very same one and only) wanted to do a puzzle together, but she (daughter) wanted to do the puzzle herself so she told BF "no".  Now she was worried that BF went to another part of the room looking upset.  So we talked about how it is ok to say no, but that it is important to try to do it in a kind way. All by her five year old self, she came with a next time solution and seemed satisfied with the prospect of talking to BF next time at school to be sure all is still well with their friendship.  I think every day that this little girl was given to me to teach me all those wise things that little old souls know.  Love that girl.   

Eleven things you may not know about me

There has been a game? going around facebook, I was given the number 11, so here are 11 things you may not know about me:

1. Sometimes I think it would be great to live in a world where speaking wasn't required, then I realize I would miss listening to children talk. . . 
2. I was a cheerleader in HS. this was highly classified info, till an old classmate spilled the beans to my husband's best friend a few years ago ;-0
3. I was socially clueless in HS, and on and on 
4. ya know the odd guy in HS with facial hair and who was kicked out (often) for fighting. . .he considered me a friend because I smiled and said hi to him every day. He was actually a nice guy.
5. Having Joey was the most powerful experience in my life. I remember the day I realized that he had become a year old sumo wrestler on breast milk alone!
5. 2nd most powerful experience was managing to keep really regular yoga practice for over a year- felt like I could kick ass and take numbers 
6. I really miss YOGAAAAAA!!!
7. I taught aerobics through college, (not as great as YOGA) :-)
8. After being straight A honor student in HS I flunked out of UMASS and went on to study art at local CC, now I have AS, BA, and MA (don't give up peeps! find your path)
9. Ever since my Dad took me to see Scott Prior's art work I have been obsessed with noticing "light", Ferry beach, Maine has the most amazing mid day light I have ever seen. . .
10. I still think true "girl" friends are hard to find and baffling to keep---thank God for Sisters in Law---they are stuck with me!!
11. I have lived with my best friend for 22 years and we have been married for 17.

From Stating my philosophy to Identifying the Questions that Guide Me

New teachers have been asked for generations to identify our own personal philosophy on education in order to guide our teaching and inform our decisionmaking.  Now that I am reentering the teaching proffession after years as a parent I have evolved from making statements to asking questions.  I feel like questions are more forgiving to change, more flexible by nature, and lead to more questions, and perhaps more answers than statements can allow.

I used to say:

• I want to create a safe environment for learning.
• I intend to meet the needs of different learners.
• I will teach children using the arts to build bridges.
• I will make learning fun.
• I will plan interdisciplinary units of study.

This year I revisit my philosophy in the form of questions that guide me, because as each day passess, with each child I meet or each book I read, I bring new answers to the table.  I do the best I can with what I know right now and that will never be the same from one minute, day, week, or year to the next.  My philosophy should reflect that and be reflected in the questions I choose to ask:

• How do I meet the needs of a range of students and teach them to move themselves forward?
• How do I create an environment that reduces or at least equalizes the stress that learning situations can create for some kids?
• How do I talk to children in a way that models and encourages respect, thinking, growth, and movement toward independence?
• What questions can I ask all of my students so that each child, regardless of skill level, can see, hear, feel, and model what it means to be a "thinker"?
• How do I find and use childrens' strengths to navigate rough terrain (ie. the hard stuff)?
• How do I change the mindset of children, families, coworkers and myself to a mindset of success for all our children?
• How can the questions I ask myself and my students create an atmosphere that maximizes growth and potential?  What are those questions?  How do they work?  Where do I apply them?

This is just the beginning really, a work in progress.

Power of Positive in Education and Life

Almost five years ago, my new baby girl, (two months old) was admitted to the hospital between Christmas and New Year's for a weeklong stay of wondering, wishing, and praying that the mysterious tumorous mass in her tiny abdomen was just some benign oddity of cell division gone wild, or pretty much anything else besides what so many minds thought it might be.

During that week, I hardly talked to anyone.  I didn't want to hear the worries of others, because I was way too busy pushing any negative thoughts out of my mind and I didn't want to be responsible for struggling against anyone elses negative thoughts on top of that.  For days it was mostly just me and her and an irregular parade of doctors, nurses, and almost doctors, so it was easy in a way to just focus on her little old soul of a baby self and all the prayers and positive thoughts so many people sent our way and I let the rest go.  Importantly, I felt like if I protected myself and my baby from the negative words, there was a chance, a little bitty chance, that they would not become a reality.

That plan almost worked till my actual people showed up the day she was headed to the operating room and the mere sight of them all made all that holding and pushing away feel impossible.  Down came the weight and tears and fears like a wool blanket, heavy and scratchy, hot and uncomfortable and there was no shoving it off.

When the news came to us that the "unknown mass" really was benign we just kept asking. . "You mean benign, as in not cancerous? Are you sure?  Are you really sure?  You mean we really won't be getting well acquainted with the oncologist who has already been in to meet our dear, sweet baby girl?  You mean it is the ‘ok to tell our people’ kind of sure? . ." 

Once home it often felt as if we had suffered through a nightmare and awoke with all the world still as it was, having no idea that we had dreamt this crazy, surreal, horrific thing.  Acquaintances or parents from our boys' school asked "How was your Christmas break?", My thought bubble:  "Well actually we spent the week in a whirlwind of Doctors, Nurses, a variety of ineffective blood pressure cuffs, a tumor that weighed almost as much as my baby and topped it off with a happy ending/ beginning the new year, how was your's?"

It wasn't long after that my oldest kiddo began showing some serious difficulties in school, and looking back on that year, I realize that when it comes to positive thinking, I am a sprinter.  With intent focus and solitude I could carry a mountain of doubt and worry for days, never allowing those negative thoughts to penetrate my mind and heart.  Unfortunately, the long haul is a different story.  That year of kindergarten, the negativity was persistent for the long haul.  It was here at home and flooding from the school and it persisted through the middle of third grade. There was no escaping the weight of it all, because it built up slowly over time with hardly a notice, like a pile of leaves that is light as air in the fall, but damned if you can lift them off the lawn come mud season.  As a result I became aware of how susceptible my son was/is to the negativity of others, and of course through our children we come to understand ourselves.   How easy it is to slide back into that complaining, discontented angry mindset when surrounded by the like.

Today, I was thinking about an important discussion lead by a principal I respect.  Staff was asked to consider what measures we take as people, educators and a school to create a positive environment for ourselves to work in and for our children to learn in, and what kinds of things hinder our efforts to keep a positive mindset.  The answers were many, as you can imagine, but common themes recurred.  Feeling that one must carry the weight of the negativity of others was definitely a hindrance, as was feeling unheard or unappreciated. Feeling like a welcome member of the learning community alternately was key to well being, as was the use of humor, and a feeling of understanding from others.

 It occurs to me now that there will never be a complete lack of frustrations in the world of education.  (A revelation, I know! :))  Really though, some schools are struggling with a mountain of negativity traveling into the schools on the backs of educators who are feeling unheard, disrespected, and overworked.  Staffs where a simple "hello", a word of welcome, or any form of helpfulness are foregone only to be buried under the weight of a critical eye, harsh word, or blatant lack of trust.  I know for my self, I cannot sustain a positive attitude under such long haul conditions, when each morning begins with a new version of “What is wrong with this place. . .”  I am a sprinter, or actually a walker who stops for water breaks often ;-)  My drink of choice is a friendly greeting, a word of appreciation, or a request for help from another (which is high complement really, to be trusted to carry some weight for another). 

    

My wish is that all administrators from the Superintendents  and school committee on down, could see, or would look at the Mountains of negativity forming on the shoulders of the teachers and support staff in many schools, because this is important to acknowledge.  Like it or not those mountains slowly or sometimes not so slowly erode and the only place for them to land in school is on the students or each other.  I wish they would see the way that the slide of many mountains near each other can be catastrophic to educating our children.  Running a marathon with no one cheering you on, or handing you water?  I don’t think it can be done.

Sometimes, simply acknowledging a heavy load is enough to lighten it.  Notice those for the good  they contribute, the hard work they put in and help them see the positive impact of their work.  Remind them of the small accomplishments, the baby steps, that make educating our children worth their effort.  Help us all to see the babies within the children, tweens and teens.  Help us see them because they need our care, compassion, wisdom, and respect and humor in tact in order to learn from us.  They need us to feel positive that we can teach them.  Remember that holding off one’s negative thoughts is hard work and holding back the negativity rolling off of many is nearly impossible, it is a marathon with no water.  Imagine being at the bottom of that mountain.  Begin with one positive thought.  Today I am posting a statement for my colleagues, "You do hard things.  Thank you."  tomorrow I will post another. . .

A Look at: "Deciding to Teach Them All"

One of the most enjoyable things about the courses I have been taking recently, besides getting to converse with other educators and soon to be educators, is the variety of articles and reading materials that we are required to read.  One of those articles is called “Deciding to teach them All”  by Carol Ann Tomlinson.  The article is about one teacher's decision to move from teaching at a school for children with IQ's of 140+, and her return to a regular ed classroom.  At the heart of this article is differentiation and excellence for all. From this article I chose a word, a phrase and a paragraph that spoke to me.

I found the Tomlinson article to be inspiring and thought provoking overall, beginning with the first page, second to last paragraph, where I will look at the word, “adaptations”.   I chose this word because I think it is an important one to consider as a teacher and because it applies to both my chosen phrase and paragraph as well.  Who do I expect to do the adapting in my class?. . .(or even in my family?)  For me I feel like the thing that has helped me develop my skills working with children, particularly challenging ones (either behaviorally, or academically), is that I have accepted that it is my role to do the adapting to the greatest extent possible, just as the teacher in this article accepted that she would need to make adaptations when moving to a new kind of class.  I am aware that not all teachers feel this way, or perhaps they share that view to some extent on a continuum.  I know that my oldest son struggled at our small school, where the expectation largely seemed to be that he needed to change, something, anything, everything in order to succeed there or receive positive feedback.  That may seem a harsh interpretation, but if we truly think about how very often we require children to bend in a school setting to begin with and then multiply that by a million for how that feels for struggling, emotionally fragile or at risk students.  For my son to succeed in school, I found an environment that first adapted to his needs, that had to happen first before he could work on some of the adaptations he needs to make to create success in school and overall in life.  This experience has inspired me to adapt my thinking and my teaching, to learn as much as I can to supply myself with the tools necessary to create a learning environment with a growing level of differentiation and understanding of diverse learners.

The phrase I picked up on was, “’excellence’ devoid of challenge and sweat” in the last paragraph pg. 3. I love that she points out the crippling effect of letting kids coast along without true challenge or thinking work.  If we are truly to seek equity and excellence, we must allow, enable, challenge (ie. Teach) all our children.  My second grader was placed in a group of 3^rd and 4^th graders this year to work on a special math project for the school.  It had purpose, it was hands on and he was working with his cognitive peers measuring areas to determine how much garden space the school had available, and thus how much room each class would have for planting.  He was so incredibly proud, he about bubbled over telling anyone who would listen about his privilege.  It was the single most positive academic experience he had encountered so far and it took moving him to an Innovation School to make it happen for him.  I agree with her decision to move to her new position as a way “to ensure that a maximum number of students see themselves as worthy of wrestling with ideas and issues, just as adults do.”  I think it is important to remember that the best teaching ideas and innovations for the brightest of the bright will benefit ALL kids.  (of course realizing the added structure and support for struggling learners) This is for me about adapting my teaching for kids who are at the high end as well as the low end.  It is about adapting my thinking to include great expectations and outcomes for children all across the bell.  This is the kind of teaching I will strive for when I finally get my own classroom once again.

I chose this paragraph, second to last paragraph on pg. 4.

“If we reframe the questions that we ask, a tectonic shift might occur in how we make decisions on behalf of academically diverse learners.  Not, What labels? But , What interests and needs?  Not, what deficits?  But,  What strengths?  Not, how do we remediate?  (or even How do we enrich the standard curriculum?) but How do we maximize access to the richest possible curriculum and instruction?  Not, How do we motivate? But What would it take to tap the motivation already within this learner?  Not, Which kind of setting? But, What circumstances maximize the student’s 
full possibilities? 

I loved this paragraph.  I felt it truly summed up the article and what children need teachers to be asking.  I discovered how useless labels feel, after trying to find the right one to fit my oldest son, only to find that didn’t really help teachers help him.  His new school doesn’t use labels.  I started reading Ross Green and Mel Levine to find the lagging skills that were in the way of his learning.  Strengths are crucial to keep in mind, they are the root, the seed, the sprout of a source of confidence and further learning and growth.  “Richest possible curriculum and instruction?”. . . life and the world is the Richest, how can we bring that to our classrooms?  That is how we tap into the motivation already within this learner! J  Once again, the idea of adapting, “what circumstances” can I the teacher create, to “maximize the student’s full possibilities?”  This paragraph will be posted on the cover of my planning folder every year, on my door, on my steering wheel.  It is something I want to keep in mind as often as possible while teaching and planning.

Of course then I read the last question on Page 4 and immediately wanted to choose this one as the most important as well, because it has to be considered.  “What can we do to support educators in developing the skill and the will to teach for each learner’s equity of access to excellence?”  This is what every community, school comittee, administration should be asking themselves and their teachers.  I can see a parallel between children needing to wrestle with real ideas and teachers being given the autonomy to wrestle with real teaching issues as opposed to imposed issues of rotation of new curriculum every few years, or teaching steered by a higher power, testing, administrative decisions and so on.  Educators need to have opportunities to develop the skill.  Teachers all begin with will to teach, just as children begin with a will to learn.  Another question is how do we best make decisions that can sustain that will, and encourage it’s growth?

Nurturing Introverts in an Extroverted World

Nurturing Introverts in an Extroverted World

This week I came across this article "Embracing Introversion:  Ways to Stimulate Reserved Students
 in the Classroom" 
 (go ahead and take time to read it- but don't forget to come back :-) 
 It is a subject I feel strongly about, maybe moreso as I get a little older and more comfortable in my
 introverted skin.  Plus the article has reminded me to get back to reading Susan Cain's book, the one
 collecting dust on my nightstand, Quiet:  The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking.
  I will let you know when I finish. 

It is common for teachers to be trained and expected to encourage cooperation and the new buzzword, "collaboration" in their classrooms.  I have been known to use them myself because I know that learning to work together is a skill they will likely need on some level in the future.  However, I am uncomfortable for the introverts in a classroom where the teacher insists on frequent and almost constant talking and collaboration.  I found myself in this situation at one point in my life's adventures and I was not in a position to suggest any changes.  I found it sad, as the children who seemed to me to be hiding behind their own skin, were all but invisible to this teacher.  This statement sums up some of my own frustrations in middle school "the introvert may be pushed out as the extroverts of the group dominate the conversation even if their thinking is not on target."

One of the most interesting tidbits from this article comes from Cain's book and the idea that shyness and introversion are two different things.  Where shyness is a painful experience that tends to hold a person back, introversion has more to do with a person's style of processing information and how they "re-energize".  A shy person may be introverted or extroverted, and an introverted person may be shy or not.  This is something I have reflected on a lot in recent years.  I truly am an introvert in need of time and space for thinking, reflecting, restoring. . .  I am a bit shy too, but I can turn on the extrovert occasionally, or even regularly as a teacher.  I know that my self reflection can be seen through my growing understandings of how children learn, behave, and develop.  I have learned to be a participator in discussions, though I still give myself time to listen and think first.

Three main tips, time, space, and "asynchronous learning opportunities".  Give them time.  I can see this as giving a child a heads up about something they will be called on to talk about in discussion, providing partner or smaller group opportunities rather than all large group, and allowing other more natural forms of expression as often as possible.

Give them space.  I can recall a time in 6th grade when I just screamed at a student sitting behind me.  He was making constant noise, bumping my chair and my desk at every opportunity, just simply 'driving me crazy'.  I was a quiet, well behaved student otherwise.  Frankly I didn't say much at all, most of the time.  I think of the cramped rows of most classrooms I grew up in, with little space or opportunity to disengage from the group and know that my own classroom, will be different, because I know about needing space.  At home when I was pregnant with my third child, we expanded our house a bit.  It wasn't the obligatory extra bedroom, nursery, or a playroom for the kids, though.  It was to enclose a porch (lots of windows, air, and nature) that is just a little out of hearing range from the rest of the family fray.  It was the best decision we ever made for this introverted mom who sometimes needs a little space.

It has taken me a minute to wrap my brain around the third suggestion "Asynchronous Learning Opportunities" in this context.  Asynchronous to me brings to me a varied level of development in different areas of one person.  The article suggests online opportunities for collaboration, which provide collaboration and alone time all in one.  I know people are leary of allowing children too much tech time, letting introverts hide behind the screen, but I can relate to the idea that sitting at the computer is a cathartic, and enjoyable means of self expression, and a fairly safe way to participate in group discussions that I sometimes wish was around when I was growing up.  

So, I am off.  I will continue reading Susan Cain's book and pondering the best ways to meet the needs of diverse learners, family members, and myself.

Summer Social Time

When I was a kid, I dreaded the weeklong camp experience most of the time.  I was never particularly fast to make friends and spent most of the week either trying to figure out how to fit in, or trying to pretend I didn't want to.  I was caught between the dream of wanting to have friends and the reality, most other kids and their various unpredictable ways drove me nuts!

So on the tails of that experience, I have my own children and the understanding that they should have opportunities for social interaction outside our family sphere.  The predicament is that I am highly aware of the challenges of trying to create summer friendships as a kid.  Vacation friendships are always hit or miss, and it always seems my kids find the "perfect companion" the day before we head home.

We haven't tried camp, but we go to the same vacation destination each year where a core group of regulars reside.  This poses it's own set of challenges when you have a core group of kids roaming the beach and neighborhood like their own little island, where parents seem to live in their own parallel world until something goes wildly wrong.  This week, that was a bunch of kids tormenting and repeatedly pantsing another child while simultaneously having a rock throwing 'war'.  My guess is this is not what my son's teachers had in mind when they recommended social interaction over the summer.  Yet at other times, moments of harmony occur around looking for turtles in the bog, explaining how to tie a fly, or the all American backyard baseball game.

So here I am straddling the helicopter parent vs. keep your child out of harms way with as little interference as possible line.  Glad that at least one boy had the sense to walk away from a bad situation, greatful neither child was involved in the commotion, I am left uneasy.  I would hope one day they would have the courage to speak out against bullying behavior, or what I am sure some parents think of as "boys will be boys" that got a little out of hand.  I think standing up to a group of ten boys you don't see often or know well is a bit much to ask of an 8 & a 10 year old.  Right now though, I am just happy they came out unharmed and a little wiser.

Like Riding a Bike

It has been so long since I posted, I feel like I fell off my bike and am afraid to get back on.  In response to that feeling I am just going to start typing here directly in this blog, (no draft 1, draft 2, final draft), hit publish and hope for the best!!  I feel like I need to just dive in, the way I have had to since summer vacation began just one week ago.  It never occured to me, when I went back to work this school year, that I would feel like  I had fallen off the parenting bike once summer came along plopping at home once again with all three of my children.  That sounds a bit drastic perhaps, because I didn't really crash at parenting during the school year, but now that summer is here I definitely have had to rediscover my balance with new summer routines.

We are all adjusting to less structured time and renegotiating our boundaries.  With the school behind them for two months or so, home, library and the world are now our classrooms (says Teacher Mom).  Social emotional goals for my kids are being reestablished within the framework of family.  Limits on computer and tablet time were first on my list for boundary setting.  After a daylong 'cleanse' (no tech devices for the day), which began with half a day of whining and pleading, my boys finally got together and actually started playing, inventing, and creating like the good ol days.  Yesterday, they even worked together on a story, (should I mention it is called "A Time to Kill"  and is about the Blue team and Red team kicking each other in the "nuts". . .  It's early in the summer yet, give me a little time. . .)

Of course the thing that I struggle with the most is how to balance my own time.  Do I sit and enjoy coffee and read blog posts in the morning? do Yoga?  do Dishes?  Do I fold laundry or play hide and seek?  Do I only go in the pool for the soul purpose of providing a hanging post for my 4 year old or do I establish "float time"?  (4 year old swims in her floaty while mom floats on the tube in the warm sun)  Do I let the boys bring their tech devices to the library while the 4 year old and I participate in preschool storytime so all hell doesn't break loose and I have to haul all their sorry butts out of there. . . again.  Heck YES!!!  But then I insist they find new reading material for the week when I can supervise.

So here I am starting out week 2 of summer vaca and restoring balance to my family bicycle.  I am establishing little routines for my family for the summer like squeaking yoga in during "Daniel Tiger", swimming in the morning, and reading time in the afternoon, an art project here and there.  We are again talking about the "Golden Rule" and that it is about stopping the bird poop instead of spreading it.  (If a bird poops on our head (someone hurts us or makes us upset) we have a choice of being nasty to that person or others because we are upset (essentially spreading the poop).  Or we can choose to stop the poop in it's tracks and only pass along goodness, friendliness, and love.  Not the most pretty analogy, but I think my boys understood the Golden Rule for the first time ever, or at least laughed trying. . .

Just as an endnote, I wanted to pass along this tidbit for those of you helping your kids establish summer routines.  A Reading Specialist I met this year told her students (so I am telling you) to read over the summer in an intersting way.  She said, "If you want to stay at your present reading level, Read 6 books over the summer.  For every book after that you can increase your reading level for the Fall."  Even at one book a week that sounds pretty good and gives your kids and you a tangible goal for the summer.