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.