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.