Slice of Life: A Game of Catch

   On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I walked down the hall this afternoon to check my mailbox, and I overheard an interaction between a teacher and a student. The kind that sometimes happens at the end of the day, maybe more often toward the end of the week than  on a Tuesday. The kind that happens when a student says or does one more thing than frayed teacher nerves can handle. I didn't mean to hear or listen. I just did. 

When I walked back toward my office, a student-- my guess was the nerve-frayer-- was in the hall bouncing a tennis ball against the wall. I stopped and tossed it back and forth with him. I'm not sure I should have. Was it positive reinforcement for bad behavior? Maybe. But he's a kid I've watched move through the grades worrying teachers. 

We kept tossing the ball back and forth, and he was impressed with the different ways I could catch. He's a wide receiver on the football team, and I think he's pretty good, so his compliments meant something. Catching's important to him. He's been in trouble a lot with his dad, so he was worried about the call home that his teacher had promised before she had him leave class and hang out in the hallway. We talked about whether he might be in less trouble if he broke the news to his dad before the phone rang. He thought maybe. 

Tonight I'm thinking about him. Tomorrow, I'll check in. 

Slice of Life: Solidcore Newbies

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

Late this afternoon, I texted Betsy and Sharyl, wondering if either of them had gotten sorer as the day progressed. (I had.) My daughters have spent the day chuckling at my reports of sore hamstrings, buttocks, traps, abs, and obliques. Yep, the ground has seemed a lot farther away today than it usually does. 

"That's Solidcore for you," one of them remarked. 

Right. 

After months of talking about it, my colleagues and I went to our first class together on Sunday afternoon. To be fair, I've gone a few times with said daughters, but going with experienced chaperones and going with other novices are two different things, even when the class is touted as an introductory one. 

The first challenge was registering. We got through that. (To be honest, I kept expecting one of them to find an excuse to back out. Talking about doing this was very different than actually doing it.) 

Challenge 2: The three of us arrived at the studio, and they cheered me on as I found the door code in a string of texts. Done. 

And Challenge 3: Then, entering the code in order to get into the locked studio door. I'm proud to report that I pushed the door open before the girl behind the desk made it over to let us in, but it was a close call. 

Note: There had already been a lot of challenges, and the class hadn't started... 

We navigated our way into the room and commandeered three-- what do you call them?-- machines? stations? reformers? (torture devices???)---

The music came on, Emily the instructor welcomed us, and we were on our way to completing our 50-minute class, along with thirteen other Solidcore newbies. 

Since I was the instigator, I was relieved that the overall consensus was positive as we walked to the car after class. And yes, we're going back. But maybe not tomorrow since today, I'm still a little sore to the touch. 

Slice of Life: Hoping to Remain Anonymous

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I'm always happy to meet with teachers and talk about writing. I am not as happy to navigate the parking lots any of the elementary schools at drop-off time. Usually I park strategically when I have before-school meetings, but I forgot about that wise strategy yesterday morning. Yes, I've been at this work for several (okay, maybe more than several) years, but it was my first before-school meeting this year, and I was catching up with a friend when I pulled into the school. Those are two good excuses. 

In any case, it could have been that every child in the school was a drop-off yesterday morning, so backing out of my parking spot involved people walking behind me, cars pulling along between them, and an occasional car trying to snake by the line of child-dropping-off-mobiles. Not a good combination. I quarter-inched out, checking my rear-view mirror, the back-up camera, and swiveling all the way around, as well, until I finally had room to pull forward and not knick the car next to me. Going forward felt much safer, until... 

As I concentrated on not hitting any stray pedestrians, I didn't pay attention to the bus that was crossing my path to head to the bus drop-off on the other side of the school. In any other driving situation, the right of way was mine, so I was surprised at his left turn in front of me, his (very) loud and long horn directed at me, and his angry hand gestures that continued even after I mouthed and demonstrated a sincere apology. I'm hoping the children on the bus weren't also surprised at the words their driver may have uttered. 

I'm still waiting for one of those bus riders to approach me in a hallway! Hopefully, I'll make it through the week, and that dumb car driver will maintain anonymity. 

Slice of Life: A New Project

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

Last week, I started a new knitting project. Usually, I'm pretty good with interpreting directions. Usually, I can envision how the piece should look. Usually, I cast on and get started... 

This new project did NOT follow my "usuallys". 

For my first try, I cast on, recognizing exactly where Jojo, the designer, was describing. But, I did not have the stitch markers she called for. No problem, Jojo, I thought to myself. I know what pearls and knits look like. I don't need those markers. 

Turns out I did. 

For my second try, I cast on, added the markers, and thought I understood how to wrap and turn from the youtube video I watched several times. And I watched another video on how to do end end-of-row cast-on. I completed a few rows, but it did not look the way I knew it should, and the numbers weren't coming out right. Knitting is a mathematical activity. 

For my third try---yes... my THIRD try... I called for help. My neighbor, Ellyn, is my go-to person for putting completed projects together. She's always said to call her if I have questions, and I've always been good at figuring things out. For my third try, Ellyn stood by as my knitting coach. 

Together, the two of us deciphered Jojo's directions, and Ellyn went home, but even then, the numbers were off. So yes, I pulled it all out YET AGAIN, and started over. 

My fourth take is well on its way.

An experienced knitter may spot a mistake, but I'm not telling where it is, and no one will spot it in the finished project. 

Life lessons always emerge from knitting projects-- it's incredible to make something where you have literally touched every single stitch, and it's an activity that always helps me justify car rides, TV shows, or sitting around, especially important this year since my one little word is time. 

Hoping there will be no more needs to rip and start again! 

Slice of Life: Making Coffee From Hay

   On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

During the summer, I share a home near the beach with my husband's brother and his family. Sharing a home with ten other people (and usually more because lots of guests cycle in and out) poses challenges. This morning three of us gathered in the kitchen waiting our turn for the coffee maker. 

"This coffee maker is tough to predict," Paul announced as he denounced his coffee. 

I was next. The water bin was almost empty... and so was the coffee bean compartment. 

His wife cracked up as I filled the water and the beans. "Paul thinks it's like Rumpelstiltskin," she said. "Gold from hay and coffee from air."

My coffee was fine, and so was Paul's when he redid his with water and beans. 

Slice of Life: A Rotten Apple (Experience)

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

I thought it would be an easy appointment at the Genius Bar. My daughter left her Airpod case on the plane last Thursday night, and she needed a replacement. Since I had a mall return, I offered to take care of that purchase. 

The (very) young-looking tech support, Sean, worried me when he tried to help. 

"These are two different Airpods," he said. "One is first generation, and one is second generation."

"They're pretty new," I countered. "We bought them here within the last month. And there's not really any way my daughter could have mixed them up."

I texted her to make sure.

"I'm feeling a little accused here," I said. "The two airpods that are here with me now are the SAME two airpods we walked out with on June 25, so it seems like the error is the fault of Apple."

Long story short... They charged me $100 for the replacement case and another $89 for a matching Airpod for me to bring her a match. After over an hour, I did not have any more time to spend there if I wanted to get home (an hour away) and send Julia back to medical school with a functional Airpod, something she needs to have in order to listen to her lectures. I voiced my story opinion annoyance fury WRATH as professionally and calmly as I could both at the store to Sean, Jordan the Manager, and a couple of on-line Apple people I called as I drove home. 

"I don't want to hear that you understand my frustration," I heard myself say, "but that doesn't solve the issue of this costing me $89 more than it should have." 

"You'll have to go back to the store," Josh the on-line supervisor said on repeat. 

And yes, we'll have to go back to the store, because the case and Airpod they sent me home with was STILL the incorrect one. (I honestly can't make this up.)

My blood pressure is rising, even as I write this post. Maybe tomorrow I'll chuckle at it. And hopefully someone reading this will chuckle... For now, I'll contemplate my next move in what has been so far, a rotten Apple experience. 

Slice of Life: A Seal's seaside stroll

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

"Is that a seal?" Amy asked. 

The three of us were sitting on the beach enjoying the inconsistent warmth of a late May afternoon. I swiveled my head toward the ocean, just in time to see the seal's head duck under the rolling waves. 

Along the beach, distant dots of people continued with their conversations and castles, oblivious to the quiet creature lolling through the water along the strip of gentle sea that exists just before waves begin to break. Maybe the seal was curious about the human activity along the stretch of sand. Maybe the seal had a destination or a friend to meet. In any case, he or she surfaced again and again before disappearing into the deeper waters. 

We don't often see seals along the Rhode Island shore, and I'm not thrilled to have them showing up since they are food for sharks. 

However, in that moment, tucked into the weekend when we welcome summer, planning and preparing for all of its possibilities, we found fun watching the seal stroll the shore as if it also was welcoming summer along with us. 

Slice of Life: Friends Who Love Books...

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

Over the weekend, I reconnected with friends from college. There were six of us, two of whom I see and talk to regularly and two of whom I saw for the first time back in October after a very long stretch, but I hadn't seen one of my friends, Stephanie, in over thirty years. HOW am I that old? 

We finished a long lunch full of laughs, stories, and even wine, and then we headed out to poke into some shops. The first shop we went in: Bank Street Books, one of my favorite independent book stores. 

Stephanie, unbeknownst to me, had returned to the working world after her banking career and kid-raising as a library media specialist. The two of us beelined for the children's section, sharing favorite authors and picture books. I've been remiss at keeping up with new releases, and my summer TBR list grew! When we returned to the adult section, the other four had talked to the visiting author and gotten books signed for themselves. Everyone was passing around favorite recent reads.

Tom Lake? Just finished it. Liked it, didn't love it.

Heaven and Earth Grocery Store? Everyone in my book group was divided. Some loved it, some not. I couldn't keep track of all the characters. 

The Frozen River? You've GOT to read that one! 

James? We'll be talking about that one! Let me know when you finish it. 

These snippets of conversations and reviews are only a sampling. Could I be more appreciative to have these women both in and back in my life? 

Slice of Life: What I Do With My Time

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

As my youngest daughter closes in on her 22nd birthday, I can't help but remember the event that changed my life that happened 10 days before she was born. May 17, 2002. My father was on crutches due to his recent hip replacement. (Hip replacements have come a long way.) Since some prankster had smashed the mailbox with a baseball bat, my brother, a doctor, was in my parents' basement fixing it. Sometimes, control is a tough thing to give up, and my father couldn't, so he decided to head downstairs to supervise. Except he started with his foot instead of his crutch and went headfirst down the flight to a cement floor. Even now, the faint bloodstain is there if you know where to look. We all spent the summer supporting his TBI rehabilitation. And he spent the rest of his life-- 17 years-- with significant and life-altering conditions. 

My husband is now exactly the age my father was when he fell, and this crossroads has impacted me. My word for 2024 is time. It's been a powerful one so far, nudging me to think about what I do with my time and how I plan for the future, nudging me to live with heightened awareness of how quickly time passes and how easy it is to think I'll do something someday-- and then not do it. 

During an on-line PD session this afternoon, one of the participants came on early, and was writing and working as I welcomed her in. She apologized for multi-tasking, and I complimented her use of the extra few minutes. Then, we talked about time and how much we can both do given the luxury of a few extra minutes. 

Funny how I can do so much in such short spurts of time-- and 22 years ago feels like it just happened... and like it was centuries ago. 

Slice of Life: Revisiting the Possibility of No

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

 

"Yes," I said. 

"Sure, I can do that," I said. 

"No problem," I said. "I can get it done."

This afternoon, I received a text from someone, and without explicitly reminding me, she reminded me of a long-standing responsibility I have to get something other than those referenced in the first three responses of this slice. Could she see my reaction to the text through the distance between our phones? Thankfully, the world of technology hasn't figured out how to teleport a reaction from a textee to a texter. Therefore, I had the luxury of figuring out my response. Should I fess up that it was good she reminded me (even though technically she hadn't...) or should I pretend and play along that I would NEVER forget a long-standing responsibility?

I don't know why it's so hard for me to lie-- misrepresent?!?-- I just can't. I know, I know...that's a good thing. 

Maybe I need to rethink the three responses and give "No, I really can't" a try. Or maybe it's almost June and time to refill my tank. My One Little Word for 2024 is time, and I really am trying to be aware of how I spend it. Really, I am. 

Slice of Life 2024: 31 of 31- Time well spent

 It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

 

Last night was a big event in our house. We live in Connecticut, and we had an important double-header to watch! Some of you may have gotten to know Clare over the month, and she was sitting next to me on the sofa. During a commercial, she opened her computer and was typing like crazy. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

"Slicing," she answered. 

Of course she was. We had just had an interaction that we had agreed was totally sliceworthy. By the end of the commercial break (okay, maybe a couple of commercial breaks), she had posted her capture of the family scene, outing me once again (she's done that a few times over the month) for losing my patience while giving directions. (Important backstory: I've been in healing mode, and sometimes it's harder to tell people how to do things than it is to do it myself. It's the control thing I work to manage...another post one day.) After telling the pizza-making team multiple times to cut the dough and having them question me, I added an expletive to the direction. Sometimes expletives are necessary. Clare had a loaded squirt gun next to her for barking dog management, and she squirted...me!

One of the aspects I love about slicing in life is living life over again. Moments, possibly fleeting and forgettable, bask in the spotlight of a slice, captured in this community. Family interactions wind with reflections and even future conversations, securing higher probability of permanent memories, a probability that seems like it's becoming less and less probable as I feel more and more forgetful. 

My One Little Word for 2024 is time, and so far it's been a good one. I've loved the time I've spent writing my slices this year. I've loved reading other people's slices, and I will make time to read what I've written in past years to fill the void I'll feel tomorrow when I wake up and don't reach for my computer and the Two Writing Teachers tab. 

Thank you to all of you who have been part of my community this month. Every slice and comment feel like time well spent. 

Slice of Life 2024: 30 of 31- Hugs Hurt

 

   It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

 

My mom and I went to the mall together yesterday on a quest for some fresh clothes for Julia. As we walked toward Madewell, we spotted a good friend of my mom's, a woman I've grown up knowing. My mom and Mrs. F. walk weekly, so seeing her wasn't a hug-worthy event for the two of them, but Mrs. F. came at me for a hug. She caught herself, though, even before I flinched and backed away. 

"Oh wait," she said. "I can't hug you. You're hurt."

I placed both hands on her shoulders, giving her the hug that makes me okay these days, and I thanked her. 

Tracy's post about hugs  was one I loved this month, and when I read it, I increased my awareness and generosity with hugs. But my hugging capacity came to a screeching halt on March 19 when I had a melanoma removed from my back. The cut was a lot larger than I expected, more painful than I expected, and has taken more energy to recover from than I expected, but I'm getting there. Maybe today, I'll try a little exercise... 

My incision site is also completely out of view. 

Over these eleven days, I've been struck (both meanings of that word purposely intended) a number of times at how many times people in my world go to touch me. A tap on the shoulder...(please don't.) A pat on the back...(Still trauma-inducing!) An oncoming hug... (I'm sorry- I just can't.) I have found myself dodging and avoiding, wincing and flinching at the threat of any potential touch. On many occasions, I have tried, without getting into a long explanation about my health, to explain my touch aversion. 

I know I'll continue to heal, and I'll return to my hugful ways, but for now, hugs hurt. As a natural hugger, I've spent time thinking about hugs and all the different types of huggers in my life. No doubt there are invisible injuries others might have that make hugging uncomfortable or even painful. I don't know what I don't see. And for some, the explanation could run deeper and be more painful than mine. 

Slice of Life 2024: 29 of 31- I got stung (Actually I didn't...)

   It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

 

I don't remember exactly what I had on my first guess, but it was enough. Maybe one yellow, one green. Second guess: going fine. And then somehow I missed that my fourth letter was in the right place. (How the *&^%$ did I miss that?!?!)

When I got to my sixth guess, there were two choices left. I'm still stinging, even as I write this 48 hours later. I guessed stunt and not stung. And just like that, my two hundred and something streak is over. As Larkin wrote in the family group where we all report our daily scores and I had to report my fail: NOOOOOO!

I've read other articles and analyses about the power of Wordle, and I agree with almost all of them. A little bit of dopamine: yes. Not a time sponge: yes. You're going to fail one day: NOOOOOO! 

Okay, yes. And even a little publicly since the family knows, as well as anyone reading this. 

A life lesson here for sure. And some things to analyze. 

I could have cheated. There are daily hints. I accept hints for Spelling Bee. I've been known to accept hints for Connections. Sometimes I'll ask my husband if this is a word when it comes to Wordle, but that's a different level of hints and cheating. 

Maybe I should have cheated. I can't believe my streak now stands at 2. 

Maybe by next March, I'll be in the three hundreds. 

Slice of Life 2024: 28 of 31- The Power of Creating

  It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

  

K., a new teacher in our district emailed me a couple of weeks ago asking for fairy tale exemplars since she was beginning the unit. I was a little embarrassed that I didn't have any to send her way, and I've been making it a mission to make sure I collect some this year and get them scanned and into a folder for future use. 

This morning, I checked in on K. 

"How are the fairy tales going?" I asked as students were trickling in. 

K's class is one of those purposeful places where kids know their routines, they get themselves settled, and they begin their morning work. 

"They're going well," K. said in her typically understated kind of way. "Q., bring over your green folder." 

Q. brought over the folder and pulled out her story about Wooferella. Wooferella was one of the most engaging, cohesive, well-elaborated adapted fairy tales I've seen from a second-grader. Sometimes I wish my face and my eyes weren't as revealing of my thoughts as they are, but in this instance, my emotional transparency worked in all of our favors. 

"E. can you show Mrs. Meehan your adapted fairy tale?"

E. was thrilled to pull out her story about the Waffleman who had similar, but different, adventures as a gingerbread man you might know. If I had said create a perfect exemplar fairy tale adaptation, E.'s was pretty close. 

As the students continued to arrive, K. asked them to start their own morning meeting (which they did), and we talked a little about what she's been doing that has made the kids so successful. She talked about a few of her recent lessons and pointed to her interactive bulletin board where kids could take the charts they needed and return them when they're done. I've shared these types of bulletin boards on blogs, in my books, and on staff newsletters, but I've never worked one on one or in a PD session with K. 

"Who taught you to teach writing like this?" I asked. 

She smiled and shrugged. 

"I'm serious," I persisted. "There are lessons, but the ones you're describing."

She explained that she and the students got bored because they were doing everything in the lessons, so she focused in on craft moves and other "fun stuff."

Finally, she reflected that in her old district, there hadn't been a writing curriculum, so she had to create it herself. That helped her understand a lot of it more. 

She had to create it herself. 

That helped her understand it more. 

I don't need to write about this interaction in order to remember it, and it's an interaction that I will remember and reflect on for a while. Deep, deep respect and gratitude for K. 

Slice of Life 2024: 27 of 31- High Lanterns

  It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

  

I loved Jess Carey's post today about holding the lantern high. When I first started reading it, I was ready to text her and connect about Tom Lake since I finished the book over the weekend. But her post wasn't really about the book at all. Instead it is more about mentors and leaders and nurturers... those people in our lives who figuratively hold the lanterns high, providing safe pathways but only if we're looking up, maybe even higher than our comfort zone. 

There are a couple of school leaders who I admire because they hold high lanterns for teachers, and I sent the post to one of them. She wrote back right away. "I can name the lanterns in my life." As I thought about her response, I thought about what a powerful discussion it could be with teachers in the building about who are or have been their lanterns, what made them effective, and how they can be lanterns. I'm sure there is more that could be woven into that sort of a discussion. 

Throughout the day, I've thought about the people who have held lanterns for me in my life. My first principal was a powerful one. He asked hard questions. He posed authentic wonders. He celebrated. He appreciated, even admired, vulnerability. He made it safe to take risks. I cried in his office. The work was hard, and the learning curve was steep. 

Professionally, he was the best lantern holder I've ever had. I can't go back and create lantern holders in later parts of my career, but Jess's post has me thinking about how I can be a better lantern holder for teachers in my reach. Am I holding my lantern high enough? How can I lead better and, like my first principal did, keep the path safe but purposeful? How do I balance the height of the lantern with the stability of the ground? How do I pay enough attention to the people I'm with in order to adjust the height. 

And maybe, the most important question for me at this stage in my life is how do I coach/nudge/remind my four daughters to find and cherish lantern holders in their lives?

It's late now, and it's been a busy day, so I haven't gotten to think about all of this as much as I want to. Writing will help me to continue processing. Maybe a daughter will read this and we'll talk about it as well. Maybe someone else will bring it up to think about. Much gratitude to Jess for inspiring me to return to Ann Patchett's powerful dedication to Kate DiCamillo. 

Slice of Life 2024: 26 of 31- Whack-a-Mole in Writing Workshop

 It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

  

Doesn't writing class sometimes feel like a game of Whack-a-Mole? A third-grade teacher was out today, and I subbed in. A slice of life within the writing workshop went something like this:

Sure, T., I can show you a few cool tricks for how to write a conclusion. 

B. are you getting started? 

Yes, E., you can go to the bathroom.

Here's one way you can connect the beginning to the end, T. Here's...

S. I'm not sure why you're sharpening the pencil. I gave you a pen to use last week so you wouldn't have to spend so long getting the perfect point in the middle of a thought. 

B. Is there a problem with the chromebook? You should be writing by now. 

T., here's another way you can connect the beginning to the end. 

What do you mean you don't have a topic, C., we set you up with one last week and it was all planned out. 

S. could you work hard to do your oral rehearsal at a volume that is a little lower? 

T., here are two other strategies you can use in a conclusion. 

Okay, I might be exaggerating, and at the end of the workshop when I had to dash to another school, students were all writing, and the sub was (rightfully) amazed at how much kids had gotten done and what they were righting, but man, sometimes the work involved in getting those writers going warrants a big cup of coffee or a stuffed animal prize like the ones you win after a round of successful Whack-a-Mole. 

Slice of Life 2024: 25 of 31- A couple insights before the end of the month

It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

  

Every year, slicing has led me to insights about writing, and I think if I curated my March 31 posts over the years, I could integrate many of my ideas. This year feels different than previous years have felt. This year, three of my four daughters have been participating. Over the years, I have developed relationships with many slicers. However, slicing with people I already know and and love has offered me windows into their daily worlds, insights into their hopes and dreams, and admiration of their writing abilities. 

My conversation with Julia, daughter #2, really got me thinking. "Larkin is such a good writer," Julia said as we talked on the phone. "She's so naturally talented and funny and good at expressing herself."

Insight #1 that I shared with Julia: Larkin is not a strong writer because she is naturally good at it. She's been slicing every March since she was 15, and she writes almost every day for her work. Yes, she was a strong writer in kindergarten, but she has worked really hard at her craft. Dave Burgess, the author of Teach Like a Pirate gave a keynote years ago, and his message has stayed with me. One of the most offensive thing people could say to him was that "It's so easy for you." His point was that this comment devalues all the work he's done to make it look easy.

Julia also shared that sometimes she reads Larkin's posts after she's written her own, and she feels inferior. What an important point to consider as I work with children every day, and I don't know that I will ever consider the fragile egos of children enough. 

Insight #2 that I thought about after our conversation: Yes, it IS hard to see, feel, and be inferior to other writers, and YES, there are all different levels of writers in classrooms and in the world. And ALSO, very few writers think they're as good as they are. If I didn't share my writing until I felt like it was the cream of the crop, I'd NEVER share my writing. No matter how many posts I write, how many books I publish, and how many positive reviews I receive, I feel vulnerable and insecure about how my work measures up. I remember years ago when I brought children to visit Patricia MacLachlan, and one child read a passage from one of her books to her. She placed her hand over her heart and said, "Oh my goodness, I wrote that?" Even a Newbery Award winner is surprised by her own writing. 

If you are reading this, thank you. Thank you for being an audience, and a part of this amazing community. 

Slice of Life 2024: 24 of 31- The perfect cupcake and the snake

 

 It's March, and March is for slicing.  Anyone is welcome to join us through Two Writing Teachers, slicing, sharing, and commenting on other slices! 

  

  

Yesterday's post is the prequel to my work with M. 

______________________________________

Over the next fifteen minutes, M. proved to be one of the most complicated writers I've worked with. Those duck feet I mentioned in my first post? They were working double-time. 

I set up three pages for her, reaching into my bag of tricks for paper with only about 8 lines per page.

 Beginning: Polly makes cupcakes and there's too much frosting.

Middle:  Too little frosting

End: Just the right amount

We talked through the story a number of times, me trying to keep it simple, M. trying to complicate the plot but then forgetting what she'd thought of, planned, and said. Finally, she had a fairly clear sense of beginning, middle, and end. I handed her a pen I love, pointed to the top left corner of the first line, and suggested she start. She found the word "one" on a classroom chart, and she worked to copy it, line and curve, by line and curve. Not really letter by letter. She wrote "day" on her own, making the "a" in a way I've not seen before. 

"How do I spell Polly?" M. wanted to know. 

I went through the strategies I have to get kids to write the sounds they hear. M. got all four sounds, but fell apart when her e at the end (not a y, and that was ok with me for the time being) was going the wrong direction. At least with a little reassurance, M. could pull herself together almost as quickly as she could fall apart. 

My next realization was that, while M. had a fair amount of phonemic awareness, she had almost zero concept of spacing. Therefore, even when her letters matched the words she was trying to write, deciphering her message was an enormous challenge because spaces between words were non-existent. Furthermore, she did a lot of forgetting where she was so the writing sample contained many repeated words, adding to the challenge of understanding her overall message. She was a complete and thorough case study of all the cognitive work that written expression involves. 

We went back and forth, and she wrote more and more. When she wanted to involve a snake in the story, I went along with it, and in the final scene, Polly and the snake enjoyed perfect cupcakes together. I have no idea where the snake fit in, but the kid was writing, and she was approximating a little more spacing between her words. 

To honor the work she put in in order to get her ideas onto the page, I did something I almost never do, co-writing with her. I wrote a sentence, and then I passed it to her. We went back and forth until the story was (relatively) complete. 

And then, both in the spirit of my own curiosity and in order to motivate her, I pulled out my computer and an AI tool I've been piloting. 

***Leah Koch gets the credit for this idea, as she shared it when Sarah Valter, she, and I presented about AI in Colorado. We wrote about some of the ways we've been using AI for writing instruction in a mini-series. *****

M. and I hadn't written much, so it took me only a minute or two to type her piece into the "Paste Text" box, and then 

We waited as the system concocted the story, and I was super worried about what the snake was going to look like, but the end product was almost as good as the third cupcake-- you can check it out here, if you're curious... 

One of the things about M. that I am learning is that she has very childish reactions and also very adultish reactions. She actually did start crying while she watched her story with self-proclaimed tears of joy. 

The best part was that when I walked in the next day, M. had another story about Polly ready to work on, and she told ME that she was going to be working hard on her spacing. 

Please know that there is a LOT of work and worry that remains, but this was a fun piece in the story to be part of.