March is going
out
like a lion
this year
and I’m not talking about the weather
Two weeks ago someone asked me
What’s your weather?
and I said, it feels like a
storm
is brewing.
So maybe my new job
should be
fortune teller
My crystal ball tells you whether
your life will be this or that
Today at TJ Maxx
we saw a card
you are the teacher the world needs
it said and we had to decide
whether to laugh or cry
Whether your weather
is outside or in
lamb or lion
we can only choose to
March on
6-word
Saturday goes quickly, thankful for Sunday
Haiku
Chore filled Saturday
Clean house, cold dog walk, Target
Mind full of unknowns
Limerick
There once was a mid career teacher
Who wondered what decisions would reach her
So much had been discussed
She didn’t know what to trust
Since trust was no longer her best feature
Rispetto
Friday night, Saturday on the horizon
Expectations for accomplishments, no less!
Then Saturday dawns, reality flies in
Do only priorities – no extra stress!
It’s the weekend, you know you deserve to chill
If you don’t take time to rest, you’ll soon get ill
Vacuum, laundry? Sure. But, big projects can wait
You need to rest, and wonder about your fate
Naani
I wander the book aisle
Stare at the titles
Wonder
Which books will I read to my class next year?
I am exhausted…
There’s a glass stuck in my garbage disposal
but MacGyver doesn’t live here, and I
have other things to do
like figure out my future, and I
don’t have time to worry about
the themes that I see here, and I
hope that somehow, sleep
will makes things clearer!
I am thinking about my first year
I taught second-grade
in an old school building that looked like it was from a picture book
On the morning of the first day,
I straightened pencil boxes
one more time
on the desks I had placed precisely
I took a picture of the busses lined up outside, right before the kids got off
I knew so little about second-grade
Didn’t know what I
didn’t know about
teaching,
kids,
instructional strategies. . .
the paper cutter
(That year, I would go on to cut my own shirt more than one time on the paper cutter)
I wish I remembered how I learned their names
What books we read
The moment I realized they were
mine.
Maybe it was
when I typed their names on my first
class list
when the last student filed in and we had our first morning meeting
the first time I said “my class,” to explain
“I didn’t do that with my class yet.”
“My class had extra recess.”
“Oh, you know my class!”
But sometime after I got the call that I had a job
and months before I sobbed on the last day of school,
those were
my
second-graders
I know, I know
in a school – they are
all
Our
kids
I know this – I have hundreds of kids in my schools that are
Ours
and I love them
And, when you share a classroom with kids
every day,
know what math they are ready for next,
which kids to put in which small group,
who needs extra reminders or reassurances, or a special whiteboard marker
what book to hand them from your library
what they did over the weekend,
their hopes and dreams
and trials
it’s okay if you think
my
kids
My first year
my kids
were
chatty, sure –
(I’d soon find out that most of my classes were chatty – the one constant being me. . . )
my kids were
funny
sweet
hard-working
good sports —
watching me fumble through
my
first year
I was in fifth-grade
the year I got
headaches every day
couldn’t get my homework done
still couldn’t spell
or do my math facts quickly
but, I could read!
I read Stephen King for my book report
my teacher didn’t believe me
Called me to his desk, covered the title on my project and raised his eyebrows, saying
“What was your book called again?”
“The Eyes of the Dragon” I said
He looked skeptical
I think that’s the year I learned
that trust and respect are
two-way streets
or should be
Oh, and that some people are jerks
I remember his name –
That teacher who didn’t
Know me
Didn’t believe I had headaches
Didn’t believe I couldn’t concentrate on my test with his radio on
(Can you imagine?)
Didn’t believe I could read that book
I remember his name, but I won’t name him
I will give him the
benefit of the doubt
and of time
Maybe he was trying his best
Maybe he was having a hard year
Maybe he was someone’s favorite teacher
He certainly taught me a lot about teaching
– the what not to do
Plus, it’s easy to give grace to a jerk
if they are probably already gone
from this world…
Fifth-grade was a long, long time ago.
My friend gave me one of those mini printers and this weekend I played with it, trying the roll of sticker paper it has.
Did you hear me? I can make stickers! Of anything!
Here’s one I made of my dog:
Right away I started thinking about ways I could use it at school. I am sure there are ways I could use it as a coach, but I keep thinking about ways I’d use it back in the classroom. Imagine making conferring artifacts – quick pictures of anchor charts, notes we took together, or even a graphic organizer template. Maybe I could print pictures of student work to add to a small display. Have you seen those mini art galleries? I could use it to label things, of course. I could even make a quick positive note home and stick it to a student’s backpack! I feel like the possibilities are endless.
In my personal life, I am using it to print out funny memes and quotes and add them to a notebook. What is it that makes making a sticker, even with torn edges so special and fun?
I could start to print out funny things and stick them on my kids’ snacks. Or funny reminders stuck to random places.
There’s something very important that you need to know if you are on the fence about getting yourself a mini printer with sticker paper. Listen carefully. You might not realize this, but, if you get a text or email that makes you angry, it actually becomes kind of cute printed out all tiny.
I might have to buy more sticker paper rolls.
A sunny Sunday
might remind you that
even a
short
walk in the crisp air
surrounded by blue sky and
trees still winter-brown
near the cold water
is like a breath of
spring
it
won’t
be winter forever
it won’t
and most importantly,
even teenagers
need
to skip rocks
Freshman year of college I had a required math class
Math 100
it was probably called
Ugh, math
I probably said
I can’t do math
I recall
it was an overview
all the math I should have understood in high school
algorithms, graphs, formulas…
explained, connected, practiced in some magical way
to make sense
or maybe I was finally ready to learn
In third grade, I crossed the hall
for my math class
full of timed tests
and feeling dumb because
I can’t do math
I recall
timers and disappointment
things I should have memorized
but didn’t, couldn’t
turning my paper over to draw pictures and count
6×9 equaled 6 dots drawn 9 times
Always on the first row every time
the timer beeped
Sophomore year of college I started my
math emphasis
a special program for teachers who loved math
and me
I can’t do math
I recall
3 hours every Tuesday night for 3 years
learning about conceptual math
an entire semester on one problem about pretzels and lemonade
I still got confused, lost in the step, turning myself in math circles
one night the professor asked me to share my thinking and I said
no
I had been honest on my application:
I was horrible at math. I’m worried about teaching math. I need to be a better math teacher for math students like me
But 3 hours a week x 3 years equaled understanding that
it’s okay to be confused, math is more than memorizing,
and turning my paper over to draw 6 dots 9 times meant
I actually could do math!
Student teaching in sixth grade
advanced math
full of sixth-graders
with more math smarts than I will ever have
I recall
I got really good at questioning
listening, and saying things like
pretend I don’t understand. How would you explain your thinking to me?
which honestly, is a
damn good math talk prompt
Decades later, I have taught
a lot
of students
that they
can
do the math
(even if they have to turn their paper over,
draw some dots
and count)
“It’s a unique week,” was a joke my ex and I used to make
after we realized that
every
week
was a “unique week”
where he was too busy with work
to do anything else
Red flags anyone?
And this is certainly
a unique
week
note: a unique “week” can be a week, a day, a month, a year, a decade, a life…
I’ve written
during
unique
weeks before
I’ve written exhausted when
my kids took turns with fevers and staying home from school
and only wanting to sleep by my side
I’ve written frustrated when
school made me angry with standardized tests and standardized curriculum and standardized decisions
I’ve written devastated when
My friend was sick, and when she was dying
and a lot when I miss her
I’ve written burnt out when
There was a world-wide pandemic, when I had already been at my computer for 12 hours straight
I’ve written heartbroken when
I was betrayed, and when my marriage was ending
and a lot when it was over
If you need to
write
during a
unique
week
I have some tips:
If you
can
just write the truth
If you need to keep it
confidential,
protect yourself, your students, someone you love,
not get fired…
Well then you might need to
Write in
metaphor
or
in poetry
or
in old stories that mean
new things
Write about something
that is really
something else
There’s power there
Or, write about how you wish you could
write about
the unique
week
but
can’t
You need to
just write
One night not long ago, I thought I heard a gentle knock on the door.
It was pretty late for a knock on the door, and I really hoped I was just hearing things. But, I heard it again, so I took a deep breath, summoned my courage and went to check it out. I reassured myself that it wasn’t a loud panicked knock.
As soon as I rounded the corner, I realized who it was. This was no scary night time problem! (Phew!)
It was just my cat, Talula, playing fetch with herself by throwing her favorite toy down the steps, retrieving it, walking back up the steps, and throwing it again. She’s a quiet cat so all you hear of her game is the bounce, bounce, bounce of the ball.
Which sounds a lot like a gentle knock, knock, knock on the door.
I remembered that this happened before, when the kids and I were playing a game in the dining room and thought someone was knocking on the door.
That was the first time we heard her do it, we set up a camera and caught her playing her clever game. Now we hear it every day, and know exactly what she’s doing.
She’s always loved to play fetch. Her favorite toy used to be a curled up pipe cleaner. Now, it’s a fun ball with a tail that she got for Christmas, and had to re-stock recently. I do wonder how many of those toys might be lost under my couch.
I know I find them on and at the bottom of the steps every day.
Often as I’m settling into bed I hear that bounce, bounce, bounce on the steps.
There’s something so sweet about it. She has a favorite toy, loves to play fetch, and can seemingly entertain herself!
There’s something so sad about it. I hope she likes to play alone, now that she’s the only cat.
She seems more personable — can you say that about a cat? She seems more… catable… now that she’s the only cat.
I hope she isn’t lonely, now that she’s the only cat.
I thinks she’s happy, now that she’s the only cat. When the dog is not around, she’s chatty, playful and snuggly, and she asks me to play fetch with her more. (Maybe she doesn’t want to make him feel bad since she is so much better at fetch than he is.)
Last night as I was settling in for bed, I heard the bound, bounce bounce. A minute later I looked down and saw my invitation.
If you’ve ever had a cat friend, you know this is no light request. You don’t deny those big cat eyes!
I threw it for her, and was surprised when I saw her across the room taking a rest instead of requesting more of her favorite game.
But a few minutes later I heard the bounce, bounce, bounce once again.
It’s a sweet sound to fall asleep to.
Talula
I hope she likes to play alone
She’s more personable on her own —
More playful, snuggly when the dog’s not home
I hope she’s not lonely, being alone
the musings of a high school science teacher
Tales of a Doc student's readings
erratic thoughts too loud for lines
Small slices of my life, in one place!
Celebrating the Randomness of Life
On a Thought 