This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
My therapist insists I’m not lazy But she hasn’t seen my corner cabinet
It’s been organized, I swear But the Tupperware – which is actually Chinese Food containers mostly – It just falls wherever it wants, also do you expect me to lift the smaller ones to put the larger ones underneath every time?
It’s a Lazy Susan cabinet which what the heck lazy is in it’s name I wonder what Susan’s therapist thinks about that
This morning every morning when I walked into the kitchen, I saw Lazy Susan had swung open Not only does she drop my lids into her abyss She also can’t stay closed to save her life
Or maybe I didn’t close her last night
And I wondered if my cabinet is trying to teach me something like patience or patience adjacent like perseverance determination or maybe not to keep all the Chinese Food leftover containers or maybe to stop overthinking, you’re thinking
Don’t get me started on my bottom drawer The baking drawer Where cocoa powder spilled I think a year ago Luckily, I don’t have time for baking anymore
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Years ago when I was a coach, a first-grade teacher told me she loved moving to first grade from the upper grades once her own kids were older.
She had an eloquent way of explaining it, and I don’t want to misquote her… but it had something to do with how primary kids still show you how they love you and need you and think you’re great.
Teenagers…well… not so much.
Living by myself with my two amazing teenagers is something.
Wow.
Thank goodness I go to school every day with 6,7 and 8 year olds who draw me pictures, want me to tell them stories, and to listen to all the parts of their day. My students more often than not think I have the right answer. They even laugh at my jokes and love my songs!
I’ll say it again, every day 19 kids laugh at my jokes, love my songs, and learn from the things I teach them.
And then I go home.
If you ever need to knock someone’s self-worth, self-confidence, self-esteem down several pegs, I recommend having them become a single-mom to a few teenage boys.
Most days I’m reminded in multiple ways from a few of my most favorite people, that I’m not funny, not cool, not smart, not right, and that in fact, I’m ruining their otherwise fine day in some way.
I’d love to pivot here and tell you about the good parts to. I’d love to tell you how when we had our recent power outage those very same teenage boys helped change smoke detector batteries, find flashlights and take the dog out in the dark-no-street-lights-no-porch-lights-no-house-lights night. But, this is no place to write about the nice times.
Instead, I’ll have you imagine that power outage, and how one of the only flashlights I could find was my old headlamp. So I wore it around the house, as I tried to make sure we were doing all the things we needed to do, and taking care of all the things we needed to take care of.
“Why are you acting so crazy about this?” One teenager kept asking me.
“It’s not that deep.” I was reminded.
And my favorite…
“Why do you have that on your head? You look like a f!@#ing angler fish.”
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
I can’t stop thinking about this comment I saw – let it go, I know but This curriculum coach I don’t even know wrote something I must be misunderstanding in a facebook group I don’t even like and like what is going on with teaching, right? She said, and I quote, “Our goal is… not asking students to write but showing them how.” and now I’d say I don’t have the words but I actually have a lot of words for cowards who don’t know what they are talking about but tell people what to do who let ships sink saying they believe in something that isn’t true who put kids last last! explaining how their misguided data is skewed
On the other hand I’m glad that the goal isn’t for students to write that would be like, so, like, hard to fit in I’ve got worksheets to cover Skills to explain calls for my kids to respond to in unison not to mention the grammar and fill in the blanks my days are packed, man just like those assessments
Don’t tell anyone that I um secretly teach kids who write poetry just when they speak they make stories with blocks, legos, and play run mini book making factories throughout the day my underground workshop is hard to fit in but it’s kinda my job to keep teaching even when cowards on Facebook spew official advice luckily it’s not really my job anymore to pretend to be nice
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
I forgot to wish As I watched The wishing star Shooting star Fireball Streak across the sky
My slow brain wondered What is that? Is that a shooting star? A bright ball of glow Green tail, almost neon Came so close to the horizon I was sure I’d see an explosion of light Hear a boom
But it just Stopped Ended silently I was so struck by the magic I forgot to use it A shame because I could use a wish (or two)
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol25. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
I’m not going to romanticize teaching Because Today, like every day there was someone picking their nose Yesterday someone sneezed after the last bell, and as it ran down their face, they tried to use their fingers to wipe it away It’s not just the snot It’s not Today I had to remind them again that when I talk it means I have something I want them to, you know, hear, that I don’t want them to just look like they are listening, I want them to listen So the long and short of it is I am not here to tell you it’s all roses It’s not
But —
We talked about my laugh lines today, if you’ve ever written personal essays with 7 year olds, and used your own self portrait as an example, you will probably understand. “How do we get laugh lines?” they asked me. “How long does it take?” An anxious boy asked me what he could do to get laugh lines like mine and I said Smile as much as you can So he smiled
Yesterday I asked what a big prize could be and someone said Another year of second grade
Today after my big talk where I explicitly taught how to listen and ask clarifying questions, they listened and you should have heard those clarifying questions!
Later at recess, I put on my too big, too long, very warm winter coat.
A student walked over to me and said “Ms. Gabriel? Why do you look like a fluffy marshmallow?“
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Today I will write a poem about my second graders. It will not be a lament for Wisconsin It will not be an allusion to another second grader calling 911. But rather my second grader Walking into our classroom to tell me about her sweater. It had foxes and snow and little bits of glitter. She smiled from dimple to dimple about that sweater. But rather about my second graders – Two boys counting their STAR tickets quietly while we waited for them so we could do the Pledge of Allegiance. (You know the one.) But rather about my second graders wearing hats made from roll paper as they performed Snowflake Bently. But rather about my second graders giving me an early birthday gift of beautiful pages they wrote and drew for me with crayons. Their words a beautiful combination of the spelling they have learned and the still perfect misspellings. But rather about my second grader standing on top of a pile of playground logs at recess, telling us “From where I am, I see 7 snowmen being built!” But rather about my second grader looking over at the lollipops I was quickly sorting “Boy that looks like fun,” he said. If I weren’t doing this, I’d sure like to help you sort those.” But rather about my second graders gathered on the rug to hear a story, lined up to go home, saying goodbye with a hug, handshake or high-five. But rather about my second graders. The ones I spend my days with are amazing, brilliant humans. Little kids who did not yet need to call 911 to report gunshots.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
We’ve been trying to practice transitioning from morning recess to writing with a little writing warm up.
Our notebooks are supposed to be on our desks before we even go out to recess, a pencil too.
“Or a pen!” My second-graders like to remind me every time I say the word pencil. Choices are important.
Today I asked them to write “In December, I am…” at the top of their page, and then to draw 3 things they are doing in December.
“I don’t know what I am in December.” Someone said to another teacher working with them later.
Me neither, buddy. Me neither.
But I drew my examples. I labeled them with captions:
In December I am reading books every day. In December I am walking Finn in the freezing, freezing cold. In December I am sitting, resting near the candlelight.
I thought to myself how funny it is that teaching writing is both telling the truth and lying at the same time.
In December I am reading books every day, yes. I am trying for at least a picture book a day this month at school. Plus, we are trying to finish Wild Robot. Two days in, and I’m doing great! 4 books already, and Wild Robot time too. But I haven’t sat on my couch and read a book for me in a very, very long time.
In December I am walking Finn in the freezing, freezing cold, yes. But not as much as I should. He’s antsy, I’m busy. It’s freezing, freezing cold out there.
In December I am sitting, resting near the candlelight. If you can call my artificial Christmas tree, pre-strung with LED lights, “candlelight.” But, I didn’t want to make my example about a specific holiday. Sometimes I do light a candle… but, do you count it as resting if you are working near the Christmas tree?
It’s storytelling time in second-grade. We are reading and writing imaginative stories, asking “What lessons can we learn from the characters in stories.”
Today I asked the kids what story they love.
“I don’t know what story specifically,” my favorite answer began, “I just know I love beautiful stories.”
Me too, buddy. Me too.
We warmed up in math with a problem to do on the number line. If I am 47 this month, and the other second-grade teacher is 26, what is the difference in our ages? I made the problem up, the number line work is solid. But it doesn’t mean I loved the answer.
“21!” They figured out.
“And that’s how old I am!” My student teacher said.
Tonight I made myself stop making my “What lessons can we learn from characters?” chart, and start packing up to go home. It was dark, late, my animals needed dinner, and I had not been successful drawing a stick figure squirrel character for the Snow Thief character’s lesson.
“The kids will do a much better job drawing the characters sketches,” I reminded myself. “Why was I taking that away from them anyway?”
I walked toward my classroom door, made sure I had everything I needed. I was ready to turn off all my little lamps with my remote. I’m so proud about remembering to do that every day.
I had to pause as I passed the Storyteller Fireplace. Our bear was sitting, waiting for tomorrow’s stories I guess.
“Goodnight Fireplace, goodnight bear.” I thought.
And then I wondered why I wasn’t stopping to take pictures of all the things in my classroom so I could go home and write a book called “Goodnight Classroom.”
Which I guess would make me the quiet old lady, whispering, “hush.”
If I’m the character in this story, I so hope there is a different lesson I might learn from my day.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
My friend Mardi died four and a half years ago or so, but she was in my dream last night. She doesn’t show up in my dreams a lot anymore, but it’s always so nice to see her.
She was late to a picnic full of teachers I worked with long ago.
That should have been my first indicator that this was a trick of the mind. She would have never been late in real life.
“It’s raining.” She said when she arrived
“Really?” I asked and she showed me how her dress had sprinkles of water, and the back of it was wet from accidentally sitting in a puddle.
Another indication that this was not a real event. Mardi wouldn’t sit in a puddle. This was a woman who had a white winter coat that she always kept clean.
We sat and chatted and I told her I how I changed my desk configuration to try to help my class focus.
This is actually true in real life. Just yesterday after school I rearranged my desks. We’ll see if it makes an impact.
“I mean, I had everyone facing each other, and then I kept reminding them to stop talking. That’s on me.” I said.
She laughed in agreement.
Then I told her how I have to have another lunch bunch for kids to finish their missing work.
I must have been teaching sixth-grade in this dream.
“They really can’t get work done in the loud cafeteria,” I explained. “But if they come here I feel bad that they don’t get a lunch.”
She gave me one of her classic looks.
For this, I am so grateful for my dream. I miss that Mardi look.
“Just have them eat their lunch and then come back to do their missing work,” she said. She reminded me that it’s okay to keep my expectations high.
How she did this with a look and a sentence might sound like it is only in a dream. But, real-life Mardi could say a lot with a look and a sentence.
I wish that dream picnic could have lasted longer, but my alarm was loud, and the picnic and support session was over in a flash.
I don’t need a dream interpretation website for this one. It was lovely for Mardi to visit me in my dream to give me some teaching advice and encouragement.
It’s not her fault that it makes me cry to remember her dream visit.
Knowing her, she knows my tears are mostly because I miss her. And just a teensy bit because I only get an instructional coach in my dreams.
This slice is part of the Slice of Life on Two Writing Teachers! #sol24. I’m slicing on as many Tuesdays as I can. I hope you’ll join me.
Finally out to our second recess, the air chilly and the sun warm, I take a deep breath.
There’s no time to do all the things, and I find myself rushing through so much all day long.
Even though I know rushing doesn’t help. Even though I know that slowing down is the only way to get more done. Even though I know it doesn’t serve any of the students I serve.
We don’t need more binders of must dos or more scripts, I think. We need more pauses. The line between a perky pace and a frantic one is too small to measure already. The less we do each day, the better the day. And somehow, the more we learn. I know there is research about this, but I also see it every day.
Usually we live a few “If you give a mouse a cookie” books each day. They start with “If your teacher takes attendance one minute later than usual…” or maybe “If morning meeting starts 3 minutes late and you have to practice coming to the circle quietly a few times …”
Today we had an “If you are ready to start math 2 minutes late, you will have to talk about it. If you have to talk about it, you will start math 5 minutes late but your teacher will still want to have all the math, so you will be getting ready for recess 5 minutes late. If you are getting ready for recess 5 minutes late, some of your friends will hurry but others will not and you will be 10 minutes late to recess. If you are 10 minutes late to recess, you won’t have time to have all 15 minutes of recess.”
I’m not saying it is as fun of a story as the Mouse and the cookie.
I watch the kids outside, running and chasing and smiling in that chilly warm sun and turn around to one of my kids who is fixing her sweatshirt.
“I love recess because…” she says as she pulls her sweatshirt over her short sleeves, “because you can meet more of the kids and also because you can have fun!”
On a Thought 