I’m accepting gold stars for making myself go to my canceled, rescheduled, canceled, rescheduled dentist appointment today.

I really didn’t want to go. My day was already a day. Plus it’s a new dentist since my dentist retired and he’s’ nice enough but he’s not my dentist. I mean, he’s my dentist, but he’s not . . . My dentist. Just my new dentist.

My new dentist asked me what I teach, and then he threw me off. He asked me if I was Pennsylvania born and bred, and then, get this, he said “Oh, great! And you’re still working?”

Um. Do I look like I’m retired? How old do you think I am?

It was a long day, that’s all. I might be in my pajamas because it was pajama day at school today, but I’m not retired! It’s the kind of day it’s been. I’m just plain tired.

Speaking of planes.

My son is on one flying to Zurich after being stuck in Philadelphia since yesterday. Then he’s off to Spain.

So maybe I’m a little on edge.

I apologized to my student teacher today, I explained I was feeling the anxiety creep in. He said, “I can tell,” with raised eyebrows.

Cool, cool, cool.

It’s the kind of day it’s been.

But, it was pajama day which I fully support. (Suggestion: Maybe once a week would be appropriate.)

Lucky for me, I got to go to the dentist today, in my pajamas, with my anxiety. That’s sarcastic luck, friends. It’s the kind of day it’s been.

The hygienist, making conversation, as they do, said “Oh when my son, he’s 19 now, a few years ago he convinced me to watch Sweet Magnolias. Have you watched that? It’s a really sweet show about a group of women who are there for each other through all the ups and downs of life. The little town they live in is just full of people looking out for each other.”

I laughed, even though her hands were in my mouth, and she took a break, as they do, so I could respond.

“Well I guess there are different kinds of teenage sons,” I started, “because my 18 year old son, a few years ago, he convinced me to watch Breaking Bad. I feel like that might be the opposite kind of show.”

She asked me if it was a good show, and what it was about. I told her the basics, and then said, “it’s actually a really great show once you get past the episode where they have to get rid of the body with the acid. And you have to be okay with the violence and the drugs and the language.”

“Oh, so just those things to get past?” She said, and we laughed.

I don’t think we talked much after that. It’s the kind of day it’s been.

But, when I was leaving she said, “Breaking Bad? I’m going to try it.” The hygienist in the next room looked out at us and said, “Breaking Bad? Are you corrupting Renee?”

I am. It’s the kind of day it’s been.

Wait until I tell her about Better Call Saul.

The kids are back from special, and it’s our “chill out time.” Soft music plays, the lights are low and everyone does the quiet thing they need to do to get ready for the rest of the day. Some kids are coloring, some are reading, some are resting.

A 7 year old asks me if I want to learn how to make an origami Peter Pan hat he invented. He looks at me with wide expectant eyes.

“Yes. Yes of course I do.”

Yes is the only right answer.

He reaches for the closest paper from my table, a piece of purple from our poetry work. But, I ask him to use orange because every time copies come, there’s more orange paper stuck between the copy sets. We have a lot of orange paper.

He’s fine with orange, but I wonder if I should have offered green. It is Peter Pan, after all.

I have to concentrate to keep up with the directions, but I do it.

“Fold in half.
Fold in half again.
Fold three down in a triangle shape this way.
Fold the other piece down the other way.
Puff it out, and it’s a Peter Pan hat!”

We put our hats on our heads, and pose for a picture.

“What a cool hat you figured out!” I tell him.

He smiles, shakes his head. “The funny thing is, Ms. Gabriel, I just accidentally made this! I wasn’t even trying to make a Peter Pan origami hat!”

Across my table another student looks up and says, “That looks just like the origami boat I know how to make.”

The timer goes off, it’s been 5 minutes already, and now it’s time for math!

March Eve

This blank page will visit me every day next month
tomorrow
and I will remember what my students feel
when they stare at their blank page
so blank

Today we generated ideas for next week’s poetry
and one boy wrote
stuff
stuff
stuff
like he was an advertisement for a tired second-grader
resistant
not to writing but to directions

I wrote a terrible poem today with my class
but they liked it
with smiles and laughter
chatter chatter chatter
which just goes to show you
that the writer often doesn’t know
what the reader will like

In reading today, my student teacher asked
How do you feel when you read?
What emotions do books give you?
I watched as kids wrote the words
calm, happy, funny
I listened to one student say
That doesn’t make any sense, there are no emotions
inside
a book!
Which just goes to show you
that the reader often doesn’t know either

So tomorrow there won’t be school
Saturday
Saturday
Saturday
But I will still feel what my students feel when they
stare at
the
blank
page

and then,
then I will write
stuff

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