Category Archives: Slice of Life

#sol16 March 2 A slice of untouched tea

March 2, 2016Family, Slice of Lifeonathought

I am participating in the March Slice of Life Challenge: A slice a day for all of March. You should do it too! Thank you, Two Writing Teachers! Readers, check out their site, and start slicing!

I snuggled the kids until everyone was peacefully asleep. I made some tea, opened my notes from today’s Jennifer Serravallo conference and started to dig in. I wondered which part of the day I would slice: Funny travel stories? Dinner jokes? Gems that came up in my notes from the amazing learning? (I mean, Jennifer Serravallo, folks!)

Ideas started to form.

And then the coughing started.

So sometimes a slice is just that – an interrupted brainstorm, an untouched mug of tea, an open laptop, and a coughing child. . . because when your 6 year old is recently diagnosed with asthma, the coughing is even less fun than normal. There is only so much waiting you can do — waiting and listening to that cough cough cough — before you make your slicing excuses and head upstairs to check on the breathing, to stop the coughing.

Slices of Valentine’s Season

February 16, 2016Family, Reflections on teaching, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

Valentine’s Day has never been my favorite holiday. I can take it or leave it. I don’t need overpriced roses, a giant teddy bear or a big heart of chocolate.

For as long as I’ve been a teacher, I’ve turned Valentine’s Day into a celebration of affirmations and appreciations. It’s a tradition that my kids’ school does in every classroom, and I’ve mostly stolen it from them. Every student writes to every other student: A true compliment, affirmation, or message of appreciation. Every year my students are nervous. They don’t believe they will be able to say something nice about everyone in the class. They don’t believe people will have nice things to say about them. Every year they are wrong. Every year it is a wonderful day of school: We pass out affirmations, read them and celebrate how amazing we all are.

I love watching my own kids create their Valentine’s every year too. In kindergarten all of the work is done in school, but by the time kids are in second or third grade, some must be done at home. Especially if you are working slowly at school, like certain 9 year olds I know… H was concerned because he wanted each affirmation to be special. It was a flashback to last year, which was the first year he agonized over each shape.

Last year, H’s friend who liked cheese got his Valentine affirmation written on a 3-D wedge of cheese crafted from construction paper. This year he made a miniature version of one friend, a detailed picture of Spongebob farting for a classmate that loves Spongebob and humor. There was a mustache, balloons, a finger trap and more. Each classmate was thoroughly thought about before H decided what shape, picture and decoration should go on his creation. He had already written the actual affirmations at school. (Thank Goodness.) Each time I tried to convince him that it would go more quickly if we just cut out some hearts, he would respond with frustrated concern, “I don’t want some kids to get boring ones. That would just hurt their feelings.” I so appreciated the creativity and kindness behind his mission. But the amount of hours spent, construction paper dropped on the floor, and tears over making things perfect was maybe a bit much for my personal stress-level!

My big kids celebrated Valentine’s Day on Thursday, and that night I listened as they read their affirmations from their classmates.

“You are so helpful.”

“I always picture you as a scientist when you grow up.”

“You are humorous and kind”

“You are great pal to hang around with”

My daughter even wrote heartfelt affirmations for her brothers, who drive her crazy most days.

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“Maybe Valentine’s Day is one of my favorite days.” I thought for a moment, as my heart gave a little tug, “Maybe I have time to write affirmations for my students.” I reminded myself that not only did I not have time… I’m also not their teacher any more!

Checking in on Facebook, I was met with a Facebook memory from last year’s Valentine’s Affirmation Party Eve.

That was a little heart-tugging too, but I got over it. “It’s nice to not have to write 50 love poems this year,” I told myself.

My first meeting at school on Friday was with a teacher who used to teach at my kids’ school and was my daughter’s teacher. I noticed her morning message was about their Valentine’s Day party and affirmations. I was wistful, but okay.

I headed over to the middle school, where I found a book with my name on it on the lost and found table. When I walked into my old classroom to put the book away, I found my students passing out compliments, with construction paper hearts at their tables. I still may have been okay, if the kids didn’t shout hello… if one of the boys hadn’t jumped up and given me a hug… if another hadn’t said, “Wait! I have something for you!” as he ran out to his locker to get me a box of chocolates.

If not for the hug and the box of chocolates, I might not have gone back to my office to cry.

Maybe Valentine’s Day is more important to me than I thought. It is one of the touchstones of each school year. Years ago, I tried to explain this idea to an intern. I wanted her to understand that a school year has an ebb and flow, and know that there are certain benchmarks, like seasons to the energy of both teaching and learning. This year, leaving the classroom in January, I am reflecting on that ebb and flow. Certain seasons, like Valentine’s, I miss. However there are some I won’t be shedding tears over this year. (Can you say PSSAs?)

What season of teaching do you love?

A slice of The Fools

February 2, 2016Family, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

If you were here with me, in my little corner office,

you might expect it to be a quiet little writing spot. Oh, but you’d be mistaken.

Since sitting down to write my slice (which was going to be about choice in reading), an entire band has assembled. We have banjo, djembe, voice (complete with microphone) and crazy 6 year old either bothering everyone or using the makeshift drum.

I think this started after dinner when the kids were inventorying our musical instruments. Fast forward to my writing session, and suddenly I was overhearing this:

“Who wants to be banjo?”

“I’m the leader.”

“No you’re not. I start it! “

“That is not a weapon. We will not treat musical instruments like that.” (That’s Mr. Thought chiming in.)

“Shhhhh… We’re going to have a concert.”

“Everyone be quiet! Our performance area is in here. Oh mommy’s in here. “

“That’s the office.” (Mr. Thought again.)

“Shhhhhhh”

“Stop shushing.”

“Guys! Everyone on stage!”

“What should I play? The Drum?”

“No, I’m the drum.”

“What am I?”

“You’re the trumpet.”

“What? I don’t even know how to play the trumpet.”

“Well, then just try your best.”

“Only one instrument per person!”

“Daddy – you get the drum.”

“Shouldn’t Daddy get the banjo?”

You may wonder why we have all of these musical instruments. Since the only one any one of us knows how plays is the piano.

Way back in college I bought Mr. Thought a Djembe, which he used to play some.

A few years ago, I bought Mr. Thought a banjo. Banjo lessons are on his to do list.

There’s also a trumpet and a flute, part of an odd assortment of things my parents keep bringing over to our house now that we’ve moved.

The lights are dimming… I think the show is about to begin.

L starts us off, on her microphone — a birthday gift a few years ago… nice and loud, as birthday gifts often are. “….Let me just remind you that we haven’t practiced at all. In fact, we haven’t ever picked up these instruments…”

Mr. Thought interrupts. “Can you mention that your guitarist hasn’t ever learned to play guitar?”

“You mean banjo?” I chime in.

Mr Thought doesn’t miss a beat (pun intended). “Can you mention that your banjo player has never played the ukulele?…

L continues, “Introducing, “The Fools!”

The music begins. And my banjo playing husband sternly reminds, “H! The drums should not be the dominant sound. They should be more of a background sound.”

Happy Tuesday from my Fools to you. 🙂

A slice of anxiety

January 26, 2016Family, Pets, Slice of Lifeworryonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

You may remember this story of my worry over a bat. Ugh. Read that to get into my head a bit.

Saturday: I’m taking it easy, trying to get over this stupid cold when I decide to do a little yoga. There I am practicing cat tuck when BAM!

A small, cylindrical, brown…dropping? And another one… And another one. I groan, I vacuum, and then quick as a whip I google — all. the. kinds. of. poop. I determine that it’s mouse (not rat – phew.) and stop and read a bit about the deer mouse. Oh no. Don’t ever read about the deer mouse. I realize I shouldn’t have vacuumed it if it is a deer mouse. I ask my husband about 100 times if he thinks it was a deer mouse dropping. I find another one, I compare it. It isn’t pointy…so…it must be a house mouse. Still not good but better. Vacuuming house mouse poop is not as fatal… I ask my husband again if he thinks it could be deer mouse. We do, after all live near a lot of trees. (“No. It isn’t.” He says, again. He’s so patient with me, really. Then, “Stop googling.” Then, “Put your phone down.”) I start to feel anxious.

I wonder why our cats haven’t alerted us to this mouse problem. I wonder if the previous owners of our house had mice. I wonder if it is possibly something that the kids dragged in on the bottom of their shoes that I am constantly telling them not to wear in the house. I call my mom. She tells me to relax, that I’m going to make myself insane. I try to forget about it, but realize we are going to have to figure this out soon…I try to tell the cats to go find the mice!

Waking up Sunday morning, I decide that we need to search the house for more droppings. Mr. Thought has the idea that if it isn’t under the couch, it is probably just some sort of oddly shaped dirt from shoes. I hope it isn’t under the couch. We lift the couch to search.

There they are: 2 pieces. We find 2 or 3 more in the kitchen. We take a picture. I google. I am surprisingly relieved at first thought when I realize it more closely matches the cockroach poop. (“Stop googling horrible gross things on your phone!” Mr. Thought is not so patient any more. Who could blame him?) I google cockroaches, and we search cabinets, and corners and floors. Nothing. We search for the name of the pest company that did our old house’s pest inspection. I email the picture and a brief note to the tune of “Hi – We are settling into our new house, yada yada yada. Help! I think we have cockroaches! Please look at this crazy picture and come to our house asap!”

I start to search the dining room. I can’t believe this is my Sunday. I want to read my book. I want to not be thinking about how horrible it will be if we all get a disease from a sick mouse, or how I’m never going to be able to turn off the light for fear of cockroaches.

The pest guy emails back, “It looks like a mouse – in this weather they like to come in. I can come Tuesday to take a look.”

I continue to search the dining room. I find another one. This one is a little bigger. That’s when it dawns on me.

A week ago.

A birthday party.

Ten 6 year olds, and

a tray of cookies…with

sprinkles.

I’ll wait for you to finish laughing at me.

I’ll let you imagine how I still need to be convinced. You can picture us, on our search for more sprinkles, the whole family on our hands and knees…how my 9 year old uses the scientific method to convince me. You should know that I still vacuum everything, and wash down all the floors. I still look around the next few days just to make sure. And of course, I have to email the pest guy back… “So, this is embarrassing because I’m pretty sure it was actually chocolate sprinkles from my 6 year old’s birthday party. I’ll let you know if anything changes…”

Moral of the story? Vacuum the whole house after a party — don’t wait for the next weekend. (Duh.) And maybe listen to your mom when she tells you to stop freaking yourself out. (Double Duh.)

Mr. Thought took pictures of the cookies at the grocery story for further proof. No more “droppings” have been found in the house. The case of the deadly sprinkle poop is over.

Knock on wood.

A Slice out of the Comfort Zone

January 12, 2016Reflections on coaching, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

Yesterday was my first day “on the job” as an instructional coach. After a meeting, a few emails, and a stop at one of my schools, I headed over to the PIIC conference and spent the rest of the day with over 100 Instructional Coaches. Talk about a first day! Surrounded by people who actually know what they are doing was wonderful of course — and I also found myself going “meta.” I kept thinking about what I was thinking — what it felt like to be new. Honestly before this year I had never even heard of PIIC. Walking into the conference I had no idea what to expect, and I paid attention as my brain took it all in. When is the last time you were in a totally new situation with all new people? It doesn’t happen to me very often. If I’m in a new situation, I usually try to bring a friend. Or, I research it a lot so I know what to expect. But if I think about it – the last totally new situation I was in was when I started taking yoga last year. I just don’t do it very often… because it’s scary! When you are new, you walk in and you think everyone else knows… knows each other, knows the content, knows better. Sometimes one or all of those assumptions are correct, and sometimes none of them are.

I noticed my brain as I sat at my assigned table with all new people. I was trying to take it all in, frame my brain to this culture and its norms and inside jokes. I held my breath and hoped not to be “voluntold” to answer a question because my brain was still working to catch up with the “new.” After the introduction, I stayed for “Coaching 101,” while the rest of my district colleagues went off to their choice sessions. I was at a table full of people who were at their first PIIC conference too, but they had much experience as instructional coaches. On each table was a picture of a vehicle, and we were asked what it represented in terms of instructional coaching. I laughed at what was sure to be the first of many conversations where my voice would be quiet and non-essential! When my turn came to share, I simply said “Well, that car looks new! I’m new too. This is my first day.”

I said a variation of that many times over the course of the day. The response was generally astonished delight. “How lucky to start at this conference!” and “Nothing like throwing you into the fire!” were common answers. (Also, “Don’t expect snacks like this every day on the job!”)

This morning it occurred to me that this has happened before! Soon after getting my first job and finding out I would be teaching second grade, I was sent to a conference with a 2 other second grade teachers – a conference all about second grade! I had no idea what I was getting into then… and that was a great year. So, there’s hope!

When I walked into the conference today the quote on the screen was appropriate:

“Your comfort zone is a place where you keep yourself in a self-illusion; nothing can grow there. Your potentiality can grow only when you can think and grow out of that zone.” – Rashedur Ryan Rahman.

Well, nobody could say I’m in my comfort zone this week!

A Slice of … What’s a Coach?

December 15, 2015Reflections on coaching, Reflections on teaching, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

I haven’t started my job yet, but many people are asking me what I’ll be doing as an Instructional Coach. After I told my students that I would be leaving to go be an Instructional Coach, they had the same question.

So I asked them to think of coaches they’ve had. “What do your coaches do?

“Yell at us!” a few students said, in their ever-present ability to help me refine my questioning.

“Okay. Think about one of your favorite coaches. What kinds of things do they do?

The answers… they made me wish I were in front of a piece of chart paper or my computer, instead of sitting on the rug in the circle.

“My coach pushes us to practice.”

“Supports us during our game.”

“Coaches play with us.”

“Let us play new games. My coach thinks that playing other games actually helps us with our game.”

“Coaches are there for you.”

I think my 6th graders’ tips are good ones to start me off as I start to learn my new role!

A slice of Thanks

November 24, 2015Reflections on teaching, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here.

A day that starts with this anonymous note on the board is sure to have some good in it.

I stole an idea from The Hands Free Revolution facebook page for writing today. We talk a lot about how writing is power, but today I told the kids that I think writing is a gift too. We talked about gratitude, and about how sometimes it’s easier to write something from the heart than to say it. I shared the sentence starters with the class and they started writing notes to the people they wanted to thank and appreciate over their Thanksgiving break. I wanted to read everyone’s thank you’s because man, they must be beautiful. But, they are private, so I didn’t.

Later, a student touched a nerve with yet another out of turn comment, and I breathed mindfully. We spoke in private, where I told my truth — that I was starting to feel hurt by the constant sarcastic jokes today. At the end of the day, he handed me a rolled up note, and said “This is for later.”

Before I read the note, I wanted to cry about the kindness of it. After I read it, I wanted to share it with you. But, it’s is private, so I won’t.

I hope you have the chance to thank someone this week. It really is a wonderful way to brighten their day.

Sentence Starters we used from The Hands Free Revolution

• I’ll never forget when you …

• I appreciate how you …

• I’m sorry that sometimes I …

• What I love most about you is …

• I have you to thank for …

• Five words to describe you are:

• Our family wouldn’t be the same without your …

A Slice of “1 Page then 2.”

November 17, 2015Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here

George Bailey’s impassioned speech at the end of It’s A Wonderful Life keeps playing in my head, only it’s me, crying “Please! I want to write again! I want to read again! I want to run again!”

Moving has been, continues to be all consuming. . . In its first-world way.

The slices have been, continue to be everywhere…Snapshots of

leaving and crying

arriving and smiling

boxing and unboxing

Taking three days out of the classroom last week means I’m still catching up.

What I want to do is write and read and go on a run. Luckily, last month I read Donalyn Miller’s piece, Fallow Fields. I’m fairly sure she didn’t mean this… this days on end of life-is-too-busy-I-can’t-sit-and-read-or-write-plus-my-books-are-still-packed. But, her piece helps me feel less guilty.

On Monday I confessed to my class. I said, “I’ve been so busy. I’m living out of boxes. I had to pack up my books, and my digital library loan ended right in the middle of my last book. I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been reading. I haven’t been running. How many of you have ever had a break between books where it’s hard to pick up the next book?” So many kids raised their hands, some with guilty expressions.

I told them (and myself) that readers and writers and runners take breaks sometimes — and that even super strong readers can have trouble getting back to it. Then I asked them for help. “How am I going to start again? I can’t pick up a book and read it all right now. I can’t go run a 5K, it’s been too long!”

A student raised his hand and told me advice he learned from his gym teacher. He thinks it could go for anything. “Just start slowly. Read one page one day, and then two the next.”

Brilliant advice. He’s totally right. I told my class that this was one of the extra benefits of being a teacher: A whole room full of advisors and people to cheer you on as you try to reach your goals.

So tonight, I’m taking his advice: 1 slice at a time.

A Slice of Letting Go

September 22, 2015Family, Slice of Lifechoices, Slice of Lifeonathought

This is part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life. Find out more, and join in here!

Home. It’s where the heart is. Home is where your family is. It’s certainly not the big box you keep all your furniture in, right?

Let go. This is my mantra these days, as we have gotten our house ready to sell.

I said it to myself as I boxed up, threw out, gave away stuff. I said it as we staged the house, making it look like we would never in a million years leave legos all over the floor, or crumbs on the counter, or clutter on the dining room table, or laundry in the washer.

Let go. I said it as I stood outside in my green backyard next to my apple tree, painting the last of a few doors that needed to be finished. I repeated it as I looked at the view of mountains and blue sky.

I say it each time I ask my husband to remind me why we decided to move. (We need more space, it’s time to move closer to my school, it’s good for the kids in the long run, it’s best for our family. Repeat after me; We need more space, it’s time to move closer to my school, it’s good for the kids in the long run, it’s best for our family…)

Let go: As we turned on all the lights, put never-used white towels on hooks, never-used tablecloth on the table, never-used throw pillows, for showings and open houses; and as we took all those things off again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, each time we ushered kids out of the house.

I remind myself to let go when I tell L that, “Moving is hard. And, we can do hard things.” I also remind myself that deciding to move when your daughter is 12 is maybe not the best decision.

Let go: As we initialed 20 times accepting an offer.

Now I sit in my dining room. It’s pleasant. It’s clean. There’s no clutter. (Well, a little has crept back on shelves and the coffee table, corners…. if you know where to look, to be honest) Our personal pictures are packed away from the staging, and Mr. Thought tells me this is good. We are slowly letting go of this being our home.

So I work to let go. I focus on the positives.We finally made the decision to move after years of debate, and we followed through! We had a fast sale! (Well, knock on wood… still lots of hoops to jump through, t’s to cross, i’s to dot…) We are blessed with the chance to get a house that fits our family better! A new young couple gets to start their life in this great house, in this wonderful neighborhood! It feels good to think about their excitement.

But, I still tear up when I talk about it, and it’s still hard for me to think about this not being our home.

A Slice of people watching: Middle Son Edition

July 7, 2015Family, Slice of Life, TeachersWritechildhood, Slice of Life, TeachersWriteonathought

. . . and. . .

Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers. Head over there for info and links to more Slicing! Today’s slice inspired by today’s prompt on #TeachersWrite

I’m driving and my attention is on the road, but with three kids in the backseat, my rearview mirror glances award me more than a road view. I’m watching you. You are joking with your sister and brother. I hear you. Your laughter is a delight. You are funny, but your words quickly become cutting. I don’t know why. Your little brother is growing a thick skin. I give you reminders to be kind, and tell you to stop. And then I watch as you decide to put your hands out your window. All I see is your hands raised to the sky, and I know that feeling: the air pushing on you, the wind so loud. Your hair is blowing from your face, and I wonder what is happening in your mind. I’m hoping you are feeling peaceful with the white noise, and the chance to let go of impulse control and just breathe. The next time I glance back you have a water bottle hanging out of the window too, and you are experimenting with drops. They are falling out of the bottle directly into the car. You have invented a misting air conditioner, and nobody else in the backseat seems to mind. I wonder about the water since I can’t see it leaving the bottle, but I can see it on your face and hair, and I can hear your brother and sister laugh as you say “Our own rainstorm!” I’m proud of myself. I smile at your antics, and your joy. Checking myself, I don’t feel an urge to have you stop.

We turn down the road that leads to the coffee shop, and suddenly your brother and sister complain loudly, “Ugh!” and “He dumped the rest of his slushy out the window!” and “It’s all over the car!”

I’m annoyed, and I’m sure the drive through barista thought it was weird, but that’s okay. I decided that it’s no big deal. My annoyance is easily forgotten if I just picture you: hands out the window, hair blowing in the breeze.