Slice of Life 2018- 3 of 31

For the month of March, I am participating in the Eleventh Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge. That means that I am writing every day for the month of March in the good company of the Two Writing Teachers community. 

For some of those who haven't heard, we had some high winds in Connecticut yesterday. Midday, my husband texted to let me know we lost power. Okay--we have a generator, so we function, but there are a few things we can't do like laundry, the internet, and baking. Later, on my way home, I was supposed to stop and get steak tips to grill. I'll be a good wife, I thought to myself. It's raining and windy. Who wants to grill? I'll get lasagna instead so we can cook inside.  I was almost home when I realized that heating up the lasagna would not be possible. Sigh. 

And then, I went to turn on to our street. I was ready for coffee and a bathroom, so I was particularly annoyed to see a road closure sign and a utility person on the road. 

"Where is the tree down?" I asked. "This is my street."

He explained where it was, and yep, it was inconveniently between the corner and my house. I turned around to drive the twenty minute route around to the other side of the street. 

By the time I got to turn on my street, I really needed that bathroom. I was two driveways from home when more blue lights appeared. Another tree. Down on the OTHER side of my driveway. 

Sometimes getting home is harder than you might think!

Since I couldn't get home and one of my daughters wanted to come home for dinner from college (she's about a half hour away) I headed toward her. As long as I sat still, I could make it until I could use her bathroom.

She was happy, it was great to spend car time with her, and when we got to our street, one of the trees was cut up enough to make it to our driveway. 

Happy Day 3!

Slice of Life 2018: 2 of 31

For the month of March, I am participating in the Eleventh Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge. That means that I am writing every day for the month of March in the good company of the Two Writing Teachers community. 

Every now and then, we get those messages--a phone call, a text, a message--that rattle us. This morning, one of the teachers I've been working with handed me a piece of paper--an email from a parent who was upset with an interaction I'd had with her child the day before. I was surprised--usually I have a sense if a child feels bad about anything I've said, and I can fix that feeling before the end of the class. I honestly had no idea that this child had been upset, but as I read the email, I could see how the child had misinterpreted my words, relayed the story to her parents, and created a concerned and angry situation. 

I called the parent, and fortunately, she was home. I explained the situation, validated her daughter's interpretation, and apologized for the series of events. My job is to inspire students to love writing and not discourage them. 

The parent was lovely and grateful, and I hope the interactions in their home are more positive tonight. It was an important reminder for me, though, of the power of my words and the impact of my responses. Students have so much pride in their writing, and as a writer myself, I should remember and respect how fragile and vulnerable we can feel as others read and react to it.

 Haim Ginott's powerful quote was on my desk when I was in the classroom.

“I’ve come to a frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my personal approach that creates the climate. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or dehumanized.”

Maybe I need to revisit it!

Happy Slicing!

Slice of Life 2018: 1 of 31

For the month of March, I am participating in the Eleventh Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge. That means that I am writing every day for the month of March in the good company of the Two Writing Teachers community. 

I feel like on the first day of the SOLSC, I should be writing something more introductory, but I've decided to begin with just a typical slice--here's to thirty more of them!

As I waited in my car for my daughter to emerge from her high school play rehearsal, one of my favorite teachers headed out of the building. I rolled down my window and we said hello. He asked how the other girls were, and then he said, "You must be ready for Cecily to start driving so you don't have to do this pick up thing anymore."

His words caught me by surprise. Maybe because she is small, maybe because she's my youngest of four, I don't think about the fact that Cecily will turn sixteen in May. That's soon. Yes, it takes a few months to get a license in Connecticut, but even still. That's soon. 

"No," I said. "I'll miss it. Some of my favorite conversations happen with that little girl sitting in the passenger seat next to me."

He has two children who are much younger. He nodded. "I get it," he said. 

Yep, I'll miss it. 

Happy first day of slicing to all!

Slice of Life- A few games of Candyland

On Tuesdays, the community of Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Join the incredible community by writing a snippet of life, or even join with just a comment or two. Everyone is welcome!

“Do you know how to play Candyland?” I asked Bo.

He shook his head. He had no idea what I was talking about.

I pulled the taped together box out of the closet. The cards were tattered, some of them fraying and some of them torn. That didn’t matter.

Bo chose the blue playing piece, and I set up the red one. Then I picked a card. The first card he picked was the gingerbread boy. For those of you who remember Candyland, you’ll breathe a sigh of relief with me since it’s MUCH better to draw that card at the beginning of the game than toward the end when you are close to winning.

Bo picked up on the idea quickly. His fine motor skills haven’t quite caught up with his cognitive skills, and I laughed to myself when he picked up two or three cards, looked them over, heard he could only have one card per turn, and slyly selected the double card. He did this several times, even giggling at his strategy.

While his wins were not entirely fair and square, Bo got to the end of the pathway before I did three times in a row. He had a knack for choosing the lollipop card, and he developed a great winning dance.

I have to say that for three games in a row, it felt great to play Candyland with a three year-old, away from news, emails, tweets, and any other adultish topics. If you have a similar chance, take it!

Happy Slicing,

Slice of LIfe: When the Ski Boot Fits...

On Tuesdays, the community of Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Join the incredible community by writing a snippet of life, or even join with just a comment or two. Everyone is welcome!

I have to say that so far, my One Little Word for 2017 has been a good one. Brave was a relatively easy decision for me this year, and it has nudged me to take risks in certain parts of my life, push a little harder in other areas, and even find myself having more fun. 

Over the weekend, we visited my brother in southern Vermont. I had sworn off skiing--my equipment is old, my gear is outdated, and so many of my friends have gotten such serious injuries that it was an easy goodbye for me. However, on Sunday, it was almost 50 degrees at Mount Snow, and there was a TON of snow. 

My youngest daughter is not a huge fan of skiing, so after lunch, she declared that she'd rather work on the puzzle. 

"What size are your boots?" I asked, to everyone's, including my own, surprise. 

I tried them on, and they fit. Not the most comfortable footgear ever, but doable. 

"You're going to ski?" Clare asked. Just a few days earlier, she had suggested that my disinterest in skiing was indicative of my diminishing capacity for fun. Not want I wanted to hear as my fiftieth birthday looms in the less than a year away horizon. 

I ended up taking a few runs, taking over her gear, attire, and lift ticket, and disproving Clare's suggestion that I was no longer as fun as I used to be. 

Standing on top of the mountain, not having skied in several years, I was definitely nervous, but pushed myself to be brave (although there wasn't a lot of choice let in the situation!). We all had fun, even Cecily who was home working on the puzzle. Maybe that's a reward for being brave.

Happy Writing,

Slice of Life: Weather Revised Our Plans

On Tuesdays, the community of Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Join the incredible community by writing a snippet of life, or even join with just a comment or two. Everyone is welcome!

You'd think that with all the technology that's available, I'd do a better job at documenting some of my life, but alas, for the most part, I am left with just words. Last week, weather dictated a lot of my life, and actually it dictated some much needed slowing down. On Thursday, here is what my deck looked like:

We had a well-warranted snow day, made extra fun by good friends who were staying with us while their floors were being refinished. This meant games, cooking, and lots of laughs on a day that mandated slowing down. 

I was scheduled to fly to Virginia to visit one of my daughters on Friday morning, and I was relieved when that flight took off from Bradley--many flights were canceled on both Thursday and Friday. Even though Virginia was chilly, there was plenty of green grass and even an opportunity to take a beautiful hike at the popular Humpback Rocks. One of the best parts of the hike was following Lisa Keeler who I've gotten to know because of this slicing community--that's another whole slice, and one both of us have written about before! Another great part of the hike was enjoying the views with my daughter, Lisa, and her daughter Claire. 

Weather kept revising the game plans, as another storm hit Connecticut on Sunday. My husband called on Saturday to suggest changing my flight from Sunday night to Monday morning. He wins the good thinking prize since my original flight, set to get me home at around midnight, was canceled. I took a 6 am flight out of Charlottesville on Monday morning, planning to make it to work on time since there was a school delay, but that plan was foiled as well. My connecting flight was canceled, too, so I didn't make it home until Monday afternoon. Another personal day was crossed off my tally, but that's okay. We all had more time together on Sunday, and even though six hours was a little longer than I'd normally choose to wait in an airport, I had a good book, a lot to write, and plenty of memories to keep me smiling. 

Happy Writing,

Slice of Life: Phoebe's last day

On Tuesdays, the community of Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Join the incredible community by writing a snippet of life, or even join with just a comment or two. Everyone is welcome!

Last night, I drove my mother and her dog to the vet. "I know it's the right decision," she said from the back seat where she held Phoebe. It was. I envy dogs the privilege of being able to end life just before it gets too miserable, and Phoebe had reached that point. 

Phoebe came into our lives just after my father fell down the stairs and sustained a traumatic brain injury that changed all of us. She'd been with us for all fourteen years of my father's struggles, and then some. Maybe part of the challenges she always had to be a good dog--and she had plenty, may she rest in peace--were because she lived through such a long struggle that had nothing to do with her except for being the backdrop of her existence. Throughout Phoebe's life, we lived with constant fear and anxiety. Sometimes those feelings were tidal waves--my father did a lot of falling that involved blood and ambulances and emergency rooms, as well as his regular blood checks that were stressful as well. But most of the time the fear and anxiety were undercurrents that waxed and waned below the surface of our daily lives. 

As we drove home, just the two of us, we talked more about my dad than about the dog."It's so hard to remember all the good things," she said. I know exactly what she means. My father was an amazing dad, and it's hard to push aside the more recent and more painful memories of him. Driving home last night on the dark wet roads, we reminded each other of smilier (I made up that word) times. Of his crazy hat collection, his propensity for learning new things, his books and magazine articles, his generous and thoughtful gifts, his passion for practical jokes and for laughing.

Maybe, in some strange way, without Phoebe, it will be easier for us to access the times we'd rather remember.

My OLW for 2017 is brave. It would have been easier for me to write about an interaction with a student yesterday, but being brave means being vulnerable and writing more about what matters. I have plenty of time and space to write about Noah. Today is about Phoebe and Dad.

All good things,