Slice of Life 2026: 9 of 31- A Book Giveaway

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

On Saturday morning, I arrived at the Lansing Convention Center, excited and ready to present at the Michigan Reading Association Conference. Way back when, when I'd agreed to head to Lansing, March 7 felt like a long way away. Time is like that. 

I'd promised myself that I'd remember to take pictures. I didn't do a very good job, and this is the only one I took. When I thought about it more, I realized that I have always presented with other people. We take pictures of the group of us together. It was strange to present by myself. 

Throughout the presentation, I worried about the time. An hour goes by fast when you're trying to fit everything in, and you know there's too much for the number of minutes. Again time is like that. It takes forever when you're waiting for something special to happen, and it flies by when there aren't enough minutes. How is that one minute is the same amount of time regardless of what is happening? 

Since I knew that my new book would not be available to purchase at the conference, I brought a copy with me. After I finished the session, a few people stayed to ask questions and talk about practices. One woman pulled up a picture of her 3 year-old daughter. 

"What do I say to her teacher?" the one whose name I wish I knew asked. 

The teacher had sent a picture of several children hard at work tracing sight words. 

This woman's daughter held a pen in a fist grip. "She has no idea what she's writing," the woman said. "I wish there was more fun happening."

We talked about how hard it can be to be an educator and send your children to school. Of course, there are things you'd do differently or that you wished weren't happening, and yes, tracing words before a grip is mastered could be one of those wish-they-weren't-doings. 

"Your daughter will be fine," I said. "She has you." 

But we both expressed some worries for some of the children who don't have a knowledgeable parent. 

"What can I say to her?" she asked. "Without coming across as the parent who knows everything."

I'd brought one copy of our book, and on an impulse, I handed it to her. 

"Take this," I said. "Tell her you were at a conference, and the presenter gave you a book, and you're sharing it. All true. Maybe she'll find ideas that will benefit your daughter and also other children in the class."

"You're giving this to me?" she asked. 

"I am," I said. 

She gave me a hug and headed off to lunch. Maybe someday I'll know her name.  

Slice of Life 2026: 8 of 31- An Almost Fall

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

After a sweaty game of pickleball, Julia and I ducked into the ladies room for a quick hand washing. I'd borrowed a demo paddle, and you never know who might have been using it before. (Another potential slice.)

As we left the bathroom, I pulled the door open, just as someone on the other side was going to push it. When I tell you that the result was almost calamitous, I'm not exaggerating. 

The woman was looking anywhere but forward as she went to push the door open, and there was no door to push open. Have you ever done that? Gone to push something that you thought was there and had nothing there? It's that feeling of thinking there's another step at the bottom or the staircase... 

Luckily for her, I was watching her, and I leaned in as she fell into me. 

"Oh," she said. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying any attention."

Julia and I had a good laugh as we left the club. 

"There's my slice," I said. "It even has a remote moral of paying attention and being present."

And, it's safe to say that the dangers of pickleball extend beyond the court! 

Slice of Life 2026: 7 of 31- The Trouble With Cleaning

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

I am fairly certain that my daughters will sit around a table one day and talk about their mother. They might talk about the Slice of Life. They might talk about my chocolate chip cookies and struggles to follow recipes. They will definitely talk about my cleaning tendencies and my propensity for throwing away still-necessary items and papers. 

Every now and then, I enter a bit of a cleaning frenzy. Usually it's because we're having guests or we're going on vacation. Feel free to pass judgement. If you come to my house for dinner, you're likely to enter a house that is misrepresenting its usual state of cleanliness. 

Nearby friends are hosting a 60th birthday this weekend, and since out-of-town friends are attending the said party, our guest quarters has gotten the nod. That's awesome, except that the current bedroom that is available for guests shares a bathroom with a current resident. Generally, I steer clear of the resident's bathroom. #notmyterritory. Every now and then, I'll need to borrow a tweezers or a spritz of perfume (okay, that's not really a borrow), and I'm impressed at the number of products. Sephora giveaways receive close attention in families of four girls. 

I didn't think it was fair to ask the non-hosting daughter to deep-clean her bathroom because not-her-guests would be sharing the space on Saturday night, so I carved out cleaning time. Once I start, it's hard to stop. I cleared counters and shelves, scrubbed and wiped, and okay, I might have even tossed some almost-empty bottles. (How many drops can you squeeze out of an already over-squeezed bottle?)

You're likely to read a rendition of this story from Clare because later that evening, she commented on my post. 

I opted to continue the conversation in a more personal space. She wasn't home, so our text conversation went like this: 

And this morning, you'll all be happy to know that her bathroom is clean, and she was right about the receipt.

I fished it out for her, and it's ready for returns! 

Maybe one day, I'll do better with my impulsive cleaning and tossing. 
 

Slice of Life 2026: 6 of 31- FORTY-ONE

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

"If you want to listen to an interesting parent conversation, you're welcome to be i my office when I'm meeting with this parent," I said to Cecily, my youngest daughter. (The one who is only sort of slicing this year since the three sisters ahead of her have set quite an example. This will be another slice one day.) 

Cecily is in the final semester of her BA/MA program to become a teacher, and she's going to be a good one. Every now and then, I have things to share with her, and this conversation would be a good one. (Please know that the parent was aware of the onlooking)

I tutor D. for 30 minutes every other week on Zoom, and he is the topic of the conversation. That is THIRTY minutes every OTHER week on ZOOM. And I haven't been doing it long. I'm sharing this information because this child is one HIGHLY teachable child. He's in third grade, he loves dinosaurs, and he is fascinated by the history of football. He loves writing, but worries that he doesn't know when to capitalize letters and also that b's and d's look so much alike. 

Last week, his mom sent me his weekend news story that he'd done in school. Her text said something along the lines of what we need to focus on improving. She sent me the pictures of his two pages of writing. For the sake of this post, I have counted the approximate number of words on his handwritten piece. Ninety. Of those ninety words, the teacher had corrected, in red pen, 41 of them. FORTY-ONE. 

FORTY-ONE.

What a lot of work for that teacher. And yeah, I have so many questions about this. 

But, before I ask some of them, let me tell you about what he has done well. 

• Focused on a moment-- it was about picking out new glasses (Glasses was spelled as "glases" and it was corrected several times.)
• Included snippets of conversation between him and his dad. (Dad was spelled DaD, a strategy D. uses so that he doesn't confuse his b's and d's. It was corrected several times.)
• Named a specific place that was next to the glasses (glases) store. (Whole Foods Market was written as whoul food's marcit, so it had several corrections.)
• Used conjunctions and complex sentences to express ideas and different decisions. (Those were crossed off.)
• Spelled several tricky words correctly including: said, could, weekend, looked, asked, any (Those weren't corrected.)
• Formed all his letters neatly, on the line, and across the page so that the work was highly legible. 

So no, he didn't spell store with an "e" at the end, and his apostrophe was in the wrong place when he wrote "didn't", but I could see a LOT of skill in this piece, skills his mom didn't see until we talked, and skills that D. didn't see. 

Please know that I am ALL for teaching spelling. And I am also for celebrating the courage of young writers and the amazing stories they have to tell. 

After the conversation, Cecily and I talked. 

"That mom was really worried," Cecily said. "It must have been hard to see so many marks on the page."

Teachers have so much power. So much power to render sleepless nights and germinate deep concern. And so much power to inspire and nurture the storytellers in their worlds. 

Slice of Life 2026: 5 of 31- March 4 is a Command

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

Words and language intrigue me. Years ago, someone mentioned to me how much they love March 4 because it is the only day of the year that is a command. (Apologies to readers since I write posts a day ahead! You can pretend that today is March 4 and think about the command in spirit.) Ever since learning about the dual meaning of the date, I've made it my business to do things on March 4... maybe give myself a nudge that I might not give myself on other days. 

So, today I: 

• Followed up on emails I sent several weeks ago.
• Called the friend back from a few days ago. 
• Checked in with another friend. 
• Finished and submit a presentation that is due on Friday. 
• Shared a couple of things on social media. 

For whatever reason, these tasks have been looming for me. I'm a list-maker, and I love to cross things off. These tasks are the ones that have kept those lists around. Or they've been the tasks that keep showing up on lists. 

Today is March 4. I'm getting &*^%$^ done. 

Slice of Life 2026: 4 of 31- A Nostalgic Moment

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

I was already percolating a post about last night's shuttle ride when I read Jess Carey's post about ambushed moments, and then I knew I should write about the ride. 

When we got to the designated shuttle pick-up place, so did many other people. When the first shuttle pulled in, there was predictable jockeying and maneuvering to try and get on. (Perhaps more defendable than usual since it was late and many of us were coming in from warm places and Connecticut was... cold!) Garth and I opted out of the elbowing and waited for the next one. And then the next one. 

As I pointed out to him, "There's no rush. Clare's getting the car." 

The stakes were lower for us when it came to getting the car because our adult daughter had landed serendipitously fifteen minutes ahead of us, gotten her bag, and was on her way to claim the car with a photograph of the ticket I'd sent her way. (You may very well read about this moment in time on Clare's blog.)

Garth and I lucked out when the third shuttle pulled up right in front of us, and we were able to get seats while others continued the who's-getting-on game in the line. A family caught my eye and my concern. It was eleven, so late for me, and really late for the two little girls in matching pajama pants and messy ponytails. 

Please let them get on this shuttle, I said out loud. 

If they don't get on, I'm getting off, I didn't say out loud. I wasn't sure how I'd be able to make that happen or if it would be worth it since there were four of them and only two of us. (I'd have made Garth get off, too.)

Luckily, they were the last people on, With only two available seats, the dad wrapped one arm around each girl, and scooped them into his lap, one of each knee. Since they were directly across from me, I could watch them lean into him, lean on each other, and squeeze their plush stuffed animals. 

"Good kids," I said, and Mom smiled. 

I almost said, but didn't have to, to cherish those moments, those feet that didn't quite touch the shuttle floor, those toothless smiles. And I also thought, how lucky am I? My daughter flew in just ahead of us and is claiming the car and driving home with us, and she would probably remember moments like those. Just with a couple of extra daughters. 

In Jess's post, she shares Tracey's comment that every age gets better and better, and, mostly, it has. Every now and then, though, like Jess, a nostalgic moment sneaks in. Matching pajamas, toothless smiles, and sleep-mussed ponytails can do that for me. 

Slice of Life 2026: 3 of 31- Fighting the Gray

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

Larkin sent me a funny text last week:

Part of me wanting to respond with a denial. 

What makes you think I've started greying, Larkin? 

My hair is still natural. 

Why, just a few days ago. 

Another part of me wanted to ask about her spelling of that word. Isn't it "graying"?  A quick google search led to the answer that either spelling is acceptable, but one is more English and the other is more common in England, Canada, and Australia. 

And one more part of me was worried. Larkin's closing in on thirty. Has she found a gray (yes, gray with an "a") hair? Redheads are notorious for early graying. 

I gave her a call, and don't worry. The colorless culprit was not from Larkin's head. Apparently, one of her friends is in danger of several sprouting from the one she'd plucked. 

What I will tell her when she needs it, and to all of you who are reading this and DO need it, I've just discovered WOW hair color. Am I the last graying person to know that there's a product to touch up roots when you've pushed the time in between hair salon visits a little too far? 

For some of you, perhaps this slice is worth the read.