Monthly Archives: July 2020

A Slice of what I’ll miss

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Slice of LIfe

Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers (Even though I’m a day late…) 

What I’ll miss wearing a mask to school 

Smiling. It’s my biggest coaching move. 
The smile changes, but it always means something. 

To teachers, I smile to say, 
“Good morning.” 
“I’ll see you soon!” 
“Can I help?”
“I know.” 
“I get it.” 
“You got this.”
“It’s hard, but we can do hard things.”
“I’m here.” 

I smile to say, 
“These kids! They’re amazing!”
I smile to say, 
“These kids! Can you believe it?”

I smile to say, 
“I know you’re not ready now, but maybe one day soon, we can collaborate.”
“I promise I’m nice.” 

I smile to say, 
“Look! Another meeting!” 

I smile to say, 
“Wow. This day!” 

I smile to say, 
“It’s okay.”
“We’re in this together.” 

Smiling. It’s my biggest coaching move. 
The smile changes, but it always means something. 

To students, I smile to say, 
“Good morning.” 
“I saw you trip, but it’s okay.” 
“Are you ready for math?”
“Oops, you dropped your breakfast!”
“That’s a beautiful headband.”

I smile to say, 
“I know you just got in trouble, but your day is going to get better.” 
"Your joke was funny even if nobody heard it."

I smile to say, 
“These teachers! They’re amazing! How lucky are you?”
I smile to say, 
“These teachers! Can you believe us, asking you to do this crazy stuff?”

I smile to say, 
“Give it a try!”
“Put the pencil to the paper, you’re going to write!”
“Keep reading.”
“Do you mind if I interrupt your reading to chat a bit?”
“I promise I’m nice.” 
“You’ve got this.” 
“It’s hard, but we can do hard things.”
"I'm here."

I smile to say, 
“Wow. This day!” 

I smile to say, 
“It’s okay.”
“We’re in this together.” 

I’ll still smile. 
I can’t help it, even under a mask. 
But it won’t matter. 
Nobody will see it. 

A Slice from the Porch (with a Pooch!)

Pets, Slice of Life
Slice of LIfe

Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers

Up and bark and run and down. Repeat.

My dog won’t stop with the crazy barking tonight. I mean, the other dogs up the street won’t stop either, I think they started it. But it doesn’t matter. Every time someone walks by, or a bird lands too close, or someone is walking their dog on our street, or he thinks maybe a chipmunk is under the bush, Finnegan jumps off of his chair to leap into the yard and bark.

“He’s on a lead!” I yell. Mostly because I accidentally bought a clear lead. And invisible leads don’t instill much confidence in passerbys.

Maybe the dogs up the street are a bad influence.

Maybe I’m a bad dog mom.

Maybe he’s tired. He started with a new trainer today, and he had to learn new rules.

I’m annoyed, but I think there is probably a metaphor for life somewhere here: on my porch with my dog. (A porch pooch!)

I’m sure there’s meaning here because now that I’ve written it all out he has jumped back on his chair, given me a few weighty sighs, looked at me with droopy puppy dog eyes and he might, just might be falling asleep.