Slice of Life 2022: 31 of 31- Last day reflections

 It's the last of March which means the last day of the Slice of Life Story Challenge, hosted at Two Writing Teachers. Join us on Tuesdays to slice and comment. All are welcome.

Throughout this whole month, for the last thirty days, with one exception when I wrote a six-word story about having nothing to write about, I have written my slice in the late afternoon or evening, and I have posted it the next morning. I may have had a few restless nights when I posted some time between midnight and five because it seemed more productive than flipping my pillow over and over. 

This morning, I am beginning this final slice of the month in the morning, and I know that I will return to it over the course of the day to add and revise, to try to get the words and the feelings right. Since this has been my eleventh March of slicing, I knew I'd finish, and I knew I'd build connections, and I knew life would feel a little different throughout the month. Somehow, I forget about the letdown that happens for me on April 1. 

I love connecting with you, even if I don't comment as faithfully as I wish I would or have in the past. 

I love thinking about what my slice will be throughout the day. 

I love mentioning the Challenge to other people and watching them process and then consider doing it one day. 

But there's more that I love about the month. 

I love that it helps me live a little more intentionally, with a little more time for pausing, and a little more time to consider and reconsider the events of the day. 

I love that it provides me glimpses into the lives of other people in far off places or into the daily joy, struggles, and reflections of other people down the hall or a phone call away. 

I love that it reminds me how hard it is to write on command without much to say that seems important or worthy, even when I have a strong command of the keyboard, spelling, and sentence structure. 

This morning, my slice has taken me less time than I thought it would, maybe because the reflections are so clear. As I say annually, I will write on Tuesdays, and I historically become sloppy about them. This year, I will try to do better to keep up, nudging myself to find a slice over the course of a week. How does that feel harder than finding one every day? There's such truth in the power of habits. 

Happy March 31, everyone. May you come up with a great April Fools Day prank for a loved one, and, if I don't see you live some time soon (and some of you I will!) I'll see you on Tuesdays, as well as on March 1, 2023! 

Slice of Life 2022: 30 of 31- Thinking about brick and straw houses

 t's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

One of my favorites second-grade teachers stopped into my office this afternoon. 

"I never see you anymore," she said, and I agreed. 

We covered a lot of personal life for the first few minutes, and I have to say that her baby girl is one of the cutest babies I've ever seen. She offered some kindergarten teaching tips because she started her career as a rock-star kindergarten teacher before moving from grade to grade, and I have met my match in a kindergarten class. Then we started talking about her current writing classroom. She and her team are doing a quick foray into fairy tale writing before moving on to their opinion writing unit, which is focused on writing about reading. 

"You want to be provocative," I said. " I could even come in and we could be theatrical."

We had some good laughs, envisioning the students' reactions if I came in and debated Jabari's bravery in Jabari Jumps. Yes, he gets a lot of credit for jumping off that diving board, but he was scared to to it, and instead of being true to himself, he caved to all of the pressure around him. Is that true bravery? I could argue that... Mercy Watson's mother is one of my favorite characters to question in front of adoring second-graders because was she really that responsible of a parent? I could argue that, and I could provide (and have provided) plenty of text evidence. 

Our favorite one that we landed on ended up being the first of the three little pigs, especially since they are deep into fairy tales. (Yes, I know that's a third-grade thing, but our district has kept it in second grade. That's another post...) One of her students is on a point system, and his goal is to get ten points a day. By his afternoon music class, he'd already earned his ten points, so he didn't participate. When asked why, he was very clear that he had already earned his points for the day, so there was no need. Tough to argue that line of thinking for a kid who doesn't like music and doesn't have intrinsic motivation yet. 

"I think he could relate to the first little pig," Hayley said. "I think he might really get into this."

As we talked about that first little pig, we thought about his brilliance. He didn't need to work hard at building his house because someone else was taking care of that for him and would welcome him in if he got into trouble. Why work harder than he had to? Why do more than was required? That first little pig had a happy outcome even though he had built his house of straw! 

As we thought about it more and laughed about it harder, we recognized that we both have plenty of people in our lives who metaphorically build straw houses and come hang out in our metaphorical brick ones. A lot more to think about when it comes to those three little pigs! 

Slice of Life 2022: 29 of 31- What would I want besides a bench?

   It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

As I walked through the school library, the library media specialist, Susan, was busy shelving books that had been left on the bench in the library. 

"When I retire," she said, "if that day ever comes, I do not want--"

She paused and for a moment, I had time to try to guess what she was going to say. A book? A plaque? 

"A bench," she said, finishing her sentence. 

As I walked back to my office, I contemplated her wish-- or rather, her non-wish. I have a feeling that a lot of students leave books on one of the benches in the library, so it's a bench that's not used for the purpose one might think, but there's a part of me that likes the idea of a bench. Unlike the wreath that gathers dust and commemorates someone and unlike the pictures and plaques, the bench has a purpose and offers some comfort, potentially.

When my father died, we installed a bench at his fishing club. It's not a place where I can easily go since it requires a membership and it's an hour-long drive, but I like to think about people sitting on that bench and maybe having known my dad and maybe remembering a laugh they might have had with him. He had a lot of laughs at that club, tipping rowboats, sneaking a swig of bourbon, comparing catches of the day. I've never thought hard about what I'd want commemoratively, but Susan got me thinking. 

The practical me's first question is what's the budget? Ideally, I'd like a scholarship for someone who values literacy. I'll have to think about the specific component of literacy, but it would have to relate to writing. Yes, a scholarship or an award for someone who values written expression. And if there's a smaller budget? Still something literary, I think. A book, probably a picture book, and one that brings joy to readers, as much joy to as many readers as possible.

So no, probably not a bench, although I want to explore her statement a little more. Maybe tomorrow I'll ask Susan more about her aversion to a bench.   

Slice of Life 2022: 28 of 31- A six-word story

   It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

Slice today? 

Nope. 

Tired! 

Sorry.

Tomorrow...

Slice of Life 2022: 27 of 31- Asking for a friend...

   It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

Following someone around unfamiliar roads, especially when said someone is also unfamiliar with those roads offers opportunities to consider many metaphors.

We were supposed to leave the house at 8 for my nephew's 9 am tennis match, but, as  often happens when large groups are trying to coordinate departure times, we started slightly behind schedule. After just a couple of minutes into the ride from our airbnb house to the tennis complex, my brother, leading in his rental car, signaled and u-turned. I, with my mother in the passenger seat of my mother's car, followed. 

Not too much farther along, he signaled again, this time turning into into a neighborhood and wending his way through some quiet streets. I, with my mother wondering out loud why we were on said streets, followed. 

We emerged on what seemed to be the same road we'd been on before the neighborhood tour, and I considered asking my mother to pull up my own google maps, but decided against it. Instead, I followed. 

On a semi-state highway, carved and wound through New York rocky mountains, my brother stepped on the gas. I glanced at my mother, a speed-limit follower, and one to fret over speed, but I pressed my foot down on the gas. Yep, I continued to follow. 

Because the tennis match was against Army at West Point, there was a security check as we approached. Two signs indicated the lanes for entry. I didn't read them; I followed.

John's reverse lights went on, and his head came out of the driver's window. I read his lips and the sign. We were in the line for authorized entries, not the line for visitors. I backed up, let John shift into the correct lane, and...you guessed it, continued to follow. 

We had several more challenges before arriving well past 9 and catching the last point of George's first tennis match, including the wrong security gate, a long and slow-moving clearance check, and a few more u-turns -- any one of those last three challenges could have been a slice of life, especially the line to present special forms and id's to people behind the glass in a lower-level room with no cell service. 

What if George had only had one match (he didn't-- there were two more, and we saw plenty of tennis...), and I followed compliantly without really knowing where we were going, without looking around at my own environmental guideposts, and without ever taking charge and setting up my own navigation? 

Asking for some (school-aged) friends...

Slice of Life 2022: 26 of 31- A nostalgic ride

  It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

My mother arrived at my house at exactly 4:45, the time I'd said we'd leave. We were heading to West Point to spend the weekend with my brother John and his family, here on the east coast to watch one of his sons play college tennis. When the schedule came out months ago, I promised my mom I'd bring her to matches that were in driving distance. The end of March has seemed like light years away, but here we are. 

It didn't take long for the ride to become nostalgic. 

"This was Jack's stomping grounds," my mother said, as we wound our way along Route 44. 

Dad had loved fly fishing. He'd started when my brother fell in love with the sport in fourth grade, long before the rest of the world knew much about it. The two of them attended classes and went on trips together, and my father became one of the early members of Limestone, a fishing club in the northwest corner of Connecticut. 

As we drove through town, my mother pointed out the Berkshire Country Store. 

"That's where he used to get his pies," Mom said. 

Dad loved to bring home pies. The berry pies were tightly wrapped in saran wrap, and he'd happily cut into one on the night after a fishing day. Then, the pies mostly sat on the counter with a sliver or a bite taken for a week or so before their retirement. My youngest brother goes to the fishing club every now and then and sometimes brings home a commemorative pie, but they don't taste the same. 

Later in the drive, we passed through Sharon, CT. 

"Do you remember meeting Tippy here for theater?" Mom asked. Tippy was my dad's mom. "Did you ever come with us?"

If I did, I didn't remember, but Mom did, and she talked more about meeting her in-laws in Sharon, a relatively half-way spot between our house and Poughkeepsie, where they lived. 

As we continued our foray along 44, Mom talked about their decision to move to Connecticut, despite his love of Dutchess County. I never knew that Dad had been offered a job in Poughkeepsie, but they'd turned it down and chosen Connecticut instead. 

"He loved Dutchess County," my mother said. 

I wondered if he still would. As we sat at dinner, my sister-in-law, who also grew up in upstate New York, talked about how different it was and how much struggle she'd noticed as she had driven around earlier in the day. 

The five of us-- my brother, his wife, his youngest son, my mother, and I had a beautiful dinner overlooking the Hudson. 

"I'm getting this," my mother said quietly, but emphatically to my brother. 

Later, back at the airbnb house, my mother and I were sharing a bed. I was reading a few last slices before sleep, and when I shut down the computer, I thanked her for dinner. 

"My pleasure," she said. "That's what Dad used to say."

My pleasure. 

Slice of Life 2022: 25 of 31- A not-good call

  It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

By 8:00, I started glancing at the clock. Not obsessively, and not with great concern, but with that nagging, back-of -the-brain worry that mothers sometimes get. 

Cecily should be through Pittsfield by now. 

A little later...

She should be on the highway by now. 

A little later...

Could she have made through Albany? Possibly if there wasn't much traffic...I'm hoping.

By 9, I started checking my phone for a text. Ceciiy's great about letting me know when she reaches her destination. She knows I worry. I don't need much. Just the quick I'm here. 

A meeting distracted me, and for an hour, that back-of-brain voice left me alone. But when I checked my phone, there still was no text. Cecily's class started at 10:15, and it was 10:10. She'd left with plenty of time to make it to class on time. Could she still be driving? 

Yes, I'd be that mother who checks in with the first text. You there yet? I write quickly and send. 

Oh, yes, sorry...the initial response. 

And then, a little while later... Let me know when you can talk. 

Now, I know from past experience that Let me know when you can talk is a loaded text. I was in a PD session--leading the PD session, in fact. Could it wait on Cecily's end? If she had to talk at that moment, she'd write something a little different, or she'd call. I let her know I'd be a while, and she gave me the friendly kk. 

PD finished, and I headed to a spot in the building where I could get some signal. I called her, and she answered. (Sort of an unusual phenomenon, these days... all four of my daughters make fun of me for leaving them voicemails as they remind me that they can tell I called and they'll call when they can.)

"What's going on?" I asked in a (perhaps purposeful) upbeat voice. 

"Don't sound so happy, Mom," Cecily said. "This isn't a good call."

Those moments of wondering what it could be last longer than they probably are as I scrolled through the possible disasters that could be the culprit for a not-good call. She was on campus and talking, so no car crash... maybe a fender bender...a roommate issue?...a failed test...she couldn't take it anymore... friends weren't speaking to her... 

"I got a ticket," she said, ending my suspense. 

Is it terrible that relief washed over me? I can deal with a ticket. 

As she told me all about being pulled over and shaking too hard to open the glove box and the cop not being nice at all and driving the speed limit the rest of the way to campus (she was WELL above it if he clocked her correctly), I remembered my tickets. While I wouldn't say that I'm Mario Andretti as my father once suggested, I've had my share of pull-overs, and the first couple of times I shook from head to toe. 

"I'll pay for it," she finished. 

"And maybe slow down a l little," I said. 

We hung up with a laugh. 

Slice of Life 2022: 24 of 31- Punctuation, six-word stories, and many good laughs

   It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

One of my favorite parts of my job is working with teachers, and today, one of the hot topics was conventions. 

"Six word stories is a great way to teach the power of conventions," I said. 

Within seconds the teachers were hot on the google trail for six-word stories. 

"These are super sad," one teacher said. 

"They can be," I agreed.

"Or pretty risqué," another teacher commented. 

"They can be," I laughed. "But there are also some great ones for kids, any you'll be amazed at what kids can come up with." 

After some more laughs, revelations, and attempts at six-word stories, I moved them along to talk about the power of punctuation in the middle of a sentence. 

We had fun doing it together, I wrote on the chart paper.

"It's a six-word story," one teacher pointed out. 

Truth: that was totally unintentional, as was the fairly R-rated version of it then emerged once I started playing around with the punctuation...

We...had fun doing it together!

We had fun...doing it together!

We had fun? Doing it together! 

I was on a roll, until...

We had fun! Doing it! Together! 

My eyes got wide, I'm sure, and we all burst out laughing! 

"I did not mean that," I said, which was the total truth. 

Nothing like a good laugh, and they will remember the power of conventions and six-word stories! 

Slice of Life 2022: 23 of 31- Command strips to the rescue!

     It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

K needs an easel, I wrote to the principal and the building LAC. I also wrote about how much one would cost ($300-$400) but emphasized how important it is to have one. 

For several weeks now, I've been going into that classroom and bringing my own chart paper and sticking it or taping it on to the bulletin board. There's an easel in there, but it has no hooks, which meant that I couldn't hang a pad. Many of you might be understanding what I mean and nodding along in agreement. 

K. has an easel, the LAC emailed back. It just needs hooks. 

Perfect, the principal emailed back. 

Hooks, huh. Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't I think of that a long time ago? When I told my husband that I really wanted a hook in the shower so that I wouldn't have to open the door and get cold without a towel, he figured it out right away and he was able to install a hook into tiles! Why couldn't I figure out how to get hooks that could stick to the whiteboard side of an easel and hold a pad of chart paper? 

Because a small part of my job responsibilities currently includes supplying teachers with all that they need for science (please don't ask me much more about this!), I had to make a quick run to Walmarts to purchase some 16 ounce cups with lids. (Remember: don't ask me more about this!) Walmarts did not have cups with lids, but I had the district credit card in my pocket, and Walmarts did have Command hooks that are specially designed for holding heavy things. I bought two of them. 

K. was working at her desk when I walked in with my two Command hooks. 

"You can ignore me," I said, and she did. 

I got to work on that easel, sticking those hooks exactly as the directions explained in exactly the right places to hold a pad of chart paper. 

And now, I wish I'd taken a picture of my beautiful chart hanging from the easel on those hooks that cost a whole lot less than a new easel. But trust me when I tell you, it was the perfect solution. 

Thank you to the LAC for reminding me that there are other ways to solve a problem and shame on me for taking SO long to get those hooks stuck on there and that chart pad hanging! 

Slice of Life 2022: 22 of 31- The joy of older children

    It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

Checkout was 10 am this morning. By 9:55, the five of us had packed up, taken a walk, enjoyed coffee, made breakfast, and some of us had even taken a shower. When the cleaning person arrived at 10:10, we were all sitting in the chairs outside reading our books. The owner of the Airbnb had said it was no problem if we wanted to take chairs and towels to the beach, so we figured it would also be fine to sit in the outdoor living area and read, as long as all remnants of us were out of the house. 

“You’re all reading?” Kat, the cleaning person, asked. 

Kat had greeted us on Saturday morning when we arrived, and now she was set to transition the place for the next group of renters. 

Five of us looked up from our books. Not our phones. Not our iPads. Our paperback books. 

“I haven’t seen a family all sit together and read,” she laughed. “I love this.”

I loved it too. Years ago, traveling with four daughters was a lot of work, involving careful packing of high-interest activities that didn’t take up too much room in a travel bag. Now, traveling with all of them, some of them, or one of them is a joy. They love to walk, explore, read, eat, and relax in the same ways and at the same pace I do. 

I can’t wait for our next adventure. 

Slice of Life 2022: 21 of 31- The revelations of a remembered dream

   It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

Five am. Sunday morning. Sleep? Maybe...

This six-word story, if you can call it that since maybe it's more of a dilemma, began my morning yesterday. In an unusual turn of events, I did end up going back to sleep which is another slice for a different day, and I awoke from that two-hour unexpected and unusual siesta with clear recollections of a dream. 

In my dream, I was hosting a party for my friend, Debbie. She was leaving town. In my dream, I invited my high school friends who Debbie doesn't know, but I'm sure she'd like. In my dream, my mother offered to host the party, and I said yes, and then Debbie said that our friend Laura was going to host the party, and I said yes, and then I didn't tell anyone. Somehow, everyone knew to show up at my mother's house, although Debbie showed up to with the intent to pick me up and was very upset that I hadn't told her about the change. In my dream, there were hundreds of people-- people I hadn't seen in years. (Thank you, Covid.) Somehow, my high school friends didn't get the at-my-mother's memo so my daughters were in charge of hosting them at our house with the food my husband and I had bought with money we had counted out at the register, emptying our pockets of spare change. At the party, my husband and my mother were working together to make food and serve the throngs of people, and I was trying obsessively and unsuccessfully to find a phone to call and tell Laura that no one was coming to her house after crying and apologizing to Debbie for forgetting to communicate that key detail to her and Laura. 

Wow. How much can one good dream reveal? And in such a relatively short period of time?!?!

"You need a therapist," my daughter said when I relayed the events in the morning. 

"Maybe," I said, "but I do recognize the issues."

"A therapist would help you deal with the issues," she said. 

Perhaps...

But then what would I dream about? 

Slice of Life 2022: 20 of 31- Wordle, quordle, nerdle, worldle...

      It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

"What are you up to?" I asked M, as I walked into her classroom. 

She and her grade-level colleague, A, had been going through their data and planning some small groups and other interventions during the afternoon planning time. For a couple of weeks, I'd been trying to get M. hooked on Wordle. Whenever I tried, she was about to make a phone call, getting ready for a meeting, having an email that had to be written thirty seconds earlier. 

For most people, I'd probably have given up. My thoughts might go something like this: Okay, fine. I have something fun to teach you, and you keep putting me off, and I'm done with trying to bring joy to your room when you're putting up so many roadblocks... (I'm not proud of those thoughts, but I'm being honest, here. It's March SOL!) 

It's different with M, though. I know she loves joy, and I know she gets carried away, and I know that she worries about fitting everything in, but still... I also know she LOVE words and language and any sort of game that involves them. 

"I bet this is a perfect time to learn Wordle," I said. "It'll take less than five minutes."

"I love Wordle!" A said. 

"I did not pay her," I said.

Without any more nudging, M pulled up Wordle on her computer, and the grid appeared on the Smartboard. (Truth that I didn't tell her: I had already solved it earlier in the morning!)

I coached her through the first couple of guesses, and in classic M fashion, she cheered and whooped as green squares appeared. And when she got saute on her fourth guess, she did a happy dance. Literally. All three of us were laughing. 

"I want to do another one," she said. (Classic response from a brand new Wordle player.)

"You can't," I said. "You only get one a day. It's a way to manage the obsessive people. But..."

"But what?"

"There's Quordle."

Without any hesitation, M pulled up Quordle, and the three of us solved it. That one was more authentic for me, as I hadn't done it in the morning. We had more victory dances. Full out dances. A mentioned Nerdle, the math version that I've been avoiding. The next thing I knew, the three of us were laughing our way through Nerdle, and I left them trying out Worldle. 

It all took a lot more than five minutes. And it led to a lot of laughter. 

But M can't wait to introduce these games to students on Monday. And I can't wait to hear the joy across the hall.