I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March.  You should do it too! Check it out here. Thank you,  Two Writing Teachers! 

15 years ago I took a spring break trip to Florida. My friend and I drove straight down, all 20+ hours in my future father-in-law’s deep blue pontiac. It wasn’t the pontiac I got engaged in, which also belonged to him, but his other pontiac. As we drove, we watched the snow turn to grass, turn to green as we got farther and farther south. We started by taking turns with the driving, switching every 3 or 4 hours.  By the time we were almost there, we were taking 10 minute turns because we were so tired. We ate candy and celebrated each milestone. I especially remember the sunset in Georgia. It was beautiful and I wanted to live there forever. We arrived at my friend’s house early in the morning, and the next day, K took the pontiac and drove the rest of the way down to her Outward Bound location in the Keys. I spent the day relaxing, and the evening planning the upcoming week with my friend, S. In just shy of 3 months, I would be married! Surely this week belonged to me. I had plans of yoga and walks while S was at work, and so much fun when she got home.

Early the next morning, the phone rang and my friend brought it to me. I should remember the words, but I don’t. My fiancé’s father, Al, had died suddenly. I had to come home. That day is a blur. I know my friend’s parents helped me find a flight that didn’t cost $1000. I know that I had to leave a note for K (She was unreachable in the Keys) I left money with the note and implored K to break up the trip with a night in a hotel.

My week was gone – but I don’t remember feeling anything about that- all I knew was that I needed to be home to comfort and mourn with my fiancé and his family. Two planes later, I  arrived in Philadelphia, where my father had driven my fiancé. Hugs and crying  were next and then preparing for the funeral. I’m sure the time was spent in a flurry of activity. My memories continue to be a blur, and the slices come in snapshots. Arriving at the funeral home. Seeing his father in the open casket. Crying. Greeting family and friends. Comforting. Hearing talk about our upcoming wedding and the sad timing. I remember sitting shiva, and listening to stories about Al. Now those stories were something I should have been recording. People were interesting at the shiva. They either knew Al so well that their stories were almost too personal, or they were there but didn’t know him really, so their words were kind, but misplaced. Al was like nobody else I’ve ever met: unique, and in his older years, trying to be kind – which he hadn’t always been as a young father. No matter how wacky he was in life, he was and is missed greatly by his family and friends

We remembered my father-in-law at our wedding shower 2 weeks later, and my husband spoke of him during our wedding ceremony that spring. I feel lucky that I knew him, and it’s strange to think that he never was officially my father-in-law! Stranger still is that he died 15 years ago. 15. Before our wedding, before our children. Luckily his stories are passed on by my husband – and my children know their Grandpa Al through those stories.

I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March.  You should do it too! Check it out here. Thank you,  Two Writing Teachers! 

My 7 year old son is a scientist. He is creative, curious and very focused. Often, he is singularly focused. One of the things he’s been interested in lately is crushing sidewalk chalk. “Because,” as he explained to me, “Once you wet it with water, it will be like paint.” A few days ago he spent some time outside crushing sidewalk chalk with a butter knife. Yesterday he complained that the knife method wasn’t really efficient enough.

“You know what would be perfect? . . .  Can I use the coffee grinder?” he asked.

I try so hard not to say no right away, or without reason, but this seemed like an appropriate time for a “No.”

“Why?”

Sometimes I really have to think of the reasons. “It isn’t really safe, the chalk will make a mess, and it might break the coffee grinder, or at the very least leave a chalk residue on the coffee maker.”

To give him credit, he tried to understand. But, his focus couldn’t get away from the idea that a coffee maker would be the perfect tool for his project. My husband quietly reminded me that we do have an old coffee grinder, and with supervision and clean up rules, it might be okay.

And it was.

Today while I was at school, more chalk powder was made, and water was added.

“Look!” he said to my husband, “You think it looks like it’s all mixed together, but when I poor it out, you can see tiny pieces of each color.”

I love his observations, his ideas, his curiosity and creativity. . . and one day I’ll miss the mess. (Or, so I tell myself.)

I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March.  You should do it too! Check it out here. Thank you,  Two Writing Teachers! 

On my drive to work this morning, as I try desperately to feel warm, I realize that I am noticing my life in “slices.” I watch out the driver’s window as the line of cars drive steadily on: Everyone on a mission. I see the snow – the mounds have shifted farther in from the side of the road. It seems like a foreshadowing of spring.

But, I am cold. This March is a Lioness. My bones are chilled and I can not get warm. I. can. not. get. warm.

I remember second grade. We did a craft about March coming in like a lion, and leaving like a lamb. I don’t know why that project is so vivid for me, but I think the idiom must have felt important. Or else I just liked gluing the cotton ball lambs to my page. This was the same year that I asked my teacher what it was like to be a teacher. I have her response still, framed… but packed away because of our house construction. She said it was fun, and hard work. She said “you need to be ready for the children each day.”

I do need to be ready for my children each day, even this day! So, for the rest of my drive, I go over in my mind the things left on my to do list. I realize I never finished the new seating chart that I told my class I would do. I hope they give me the same lenience I give them on their missing assignments.

Arriving at school, I’m happy not to slip – the ice must really be going away!

My morning goes by with only minimal slice-noticing… Mornings are busy. As I told my students today in response to their asking after math if I had finished the seating chart, “Remember, when you are in math, I’m teaching math!”  But lunchtime and lunch duty seem to scream, “Slice! Slice!” So I try to collect a slice of lunch. But all I can notice is the constant sound. I hear parts of conversations, but my turns around the cafeteria mean that I can’t hear enough to commit the conversation to my memory. I wonder if everyone’s memories of middle school lunch period are as indelible as mine. Maybe it’s the smell of cafeteria food, and the clatter of voices that helps me quickly feel like I have travelled through time to my junior high days. I remember trying to find a table to sit at, trying not to do something stupid. . .  Lunch duty goes by quickly. I talk to students, make plans for taking them outside, and then I’m greeted with March’s Lion again: Outside for recess. I watch as kids slide on the ice that lines the tetherball court, and run round shooting baskets. I listen to the happy yelling, and try not to freeze.

Inside again, I teach,  run a meeting, teach some more and exercise. My school day ends and I can pause again only after a pick up at the babysitter,  dinner, baths, homework with the 10 year old and bedtime for the kids.

Then I sit at my computer. I remember how it feels to be a student – my assignment is due and even though I’ve been thinking about it for so much of the day, I have no idea what I will write.