Slice of Life 2022: 4 of 31- The Realistic Fiction Tale of a Cat-Loving Snowman

 

 It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

I kneel down next to Emily.

What are you working on, I ask.

She explains her shapes to me, and through her explanation, they begin to make sense. 

I nod and smile as she describes building a snowman.

Then I turn the page of her three-page booklet, hoping

that she’d be able to tell me about what happened once the snowman was built. 

What will happen on this page? I ask. 

Emily stares. She shrugs. She waits. 

What could happen? I persist. 

I play with my cat, Emily says, a slight question in her voice. 

I hope that she can’t see me bite my lip as contemplate my next teaching move.

The kindergarten True Stories unit is in full swing, but Emily’s been having

a tough time with a sequence of events. 

How does the cat relate to the snowman, I ask, still contemplating my next move. 

Do I get a new packet? Do I work on verbal rehearsal of a recent recess-related event?

Do I backtrack to a single piece of paper and a one-page story?

My brain is spinning when Emily begins her explanation. 

The snowman is coming inside, she says, to meet my cat. And then… she turns to the third page… he’s going into the kitchen to meet my mom. 

I smile, and I tell Emily that I can’t wait to read this story. 

So much for a true story! I can’t wait to see what that cat thinks of a snowy playmate!

Slice of Life 2022: 3 of 31- A True-to-her-word Kindergartner's Commitment to NOT WRITE AT ALL

  It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

“I don’t like writing,” B. told me as I walked into her kindergarten class, “and I’m not writing anything today.”

For a quick moment, I wished I had a mask on since it’s easier to hide my facial response when you can’t see much of my face, and I’m probably out of practice for keeping a poker face. 

B. was true to her word, and for the entire writing period, she made it her business to roll on the floor, moan in the corner, and crumple her papers. I tried kindness. (Utter rejection.) I tried distraction. (Complete failure). I tried ignoring. (Textbook escalation.)

“Has this been going on all day?” I asked her teacher. The last time I’d been in the classroom was two days ago, and B. had been tricky to jump start but once she got going, her writing was probably the strongest in the room. She suffers from the perfectionist syndrome which is a tough diagnosis for a five year-old writer.

“Off and on,” her teacher responded. 

Again, I wished for my mask to hide my facial expression.

When writing ended, the class headed for art, and B. was in the corner somewhere between moaning and wailing. Literally. And it had been almost the entire half hour. 

I struggled with the “right” approach. What would I want for my own child? What was going on that made it worth a full out mind loss before lunch? What did the circles under her eyes suggest about what else could be going on? What behaviors would I reinforce with kindness and attention? How did I want this to end? 

After completing my self-talking q and a session, I went with the eat an elephant one bite at a time approach. 

“You want to get to art,” I said, “ and the first thing that has to happen is the top has to get put on the pen.”

Once the cap was on the pen, I asked for one shoe at a time to go on her feet, and then her smock. When new tears started over having the wrong smock, I told her to go ahead and get a different one. That must have surprised her as a response because she herself didn’t have much of one. She walked over and switched her smock. 

At the end of it all, she walked to art as if nothing had happened. I'm not sure if this change in mood reassured me or concerned me even more.

And later, she came to my room and worked on a special project– yes, it was writing related!-- with me, and was much more receptive and productive. I chose not to point out that she was breaking her pledge of not writing today.

Maybe tomorrow, that pledge will be a distant memory.

Slice of Life 2022: 2 of 31- Hoping For a "Better" Word

 It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

For a couple of weeks, I’ve talked about Wordle with the teacher in the room next to my office. Yesterday, I finally got to show him and the students the daily Wordle. (For those of you who play regularly, this was on Monday, and the word was choke. This is not a Wordle spoiler for anyone since that day has come and gone!) The students loved it! In fact, they all loved it so much that Frank had me give a couple more examples on chart paper. Please know that it’s tricky to mark the codes accurately, but they all got the hang of it. We even pulled up Quordle and solved that puzzle together! Frank was sold, he was in, he was going to do Wordle with his kids every day…

And then today happened. Again, I don’t know how many of you readers are Wordle regulars, but Tuesday’s Wordle was rupee– not a usual part of the fifth-grade vernacular. Through the wall that divides his classroom and my office, I heard the excitement in his voice as he pulled up the daily Wordle. Since I’d already played, I was worried. 

I left my desk and stood in his doorway. 

“How’s it going?” I asked. 

They had the R at the end of the word, as well as a P and a U. A couple of the kids who play at home were offering to give a clue. 

“You might want to take them up on that,” I said. 

Frank gave a nod, and even with the clue that the word had two E’s, the kids were stumped. 

Eventually, they solved it, and it was more a mathematical or logical exercise than a word exercise, but I left them researching what a rupee is. 

I’m hoping for a more fifth-grader friendly word for tomorrow!

Slice of Life 2022- 1 of 31: Remembering and Starting Off the Month

 

It's March, and March means the Slice of Life Story Challenge. All are welcome to join the challenge of noticing and writing about the moments of daily life that are stories.

In the peace of my kitchen, I turn off the news, and instead, I think about how to write my first post for 2022. For inspiration, I return to previous March 1 posts, as this will be my tenth year. I don’t have to go far back to realize how my slicing has documented important moments in my life and aspects of me. 

Last year on March 1, 2021, our youngest daughter left for her three-month long gap year program. She was supposed to be a freshman in college, but with everything going on in the world, she decided to wait a year before heading to school, and I am glad she did. 

It was funny to contrast my first post of 2020 because that post was also focused on Cecily, but it was about preparing for her to know where she’d be going to college and it was oblivious to the changes that were closing in on all of us. March of 2020 was a fascinating time to be slicing every day, and rereading the reactions and reflections is a little traumatic– I had no clue what was coming our way and how long it would last! 

In 2019, I posted 31 things about me. Although interesting to read and mostly still true today– I still wish I could speak another language, play the guitar, and touch my forehead to the ground while sitting with my legs wide and I’m only a little closer to any of those goals after a lot of potential practicing time– I have pledged off posts like that one. I try hard to make my posts push my narrative skills, and keep to the challenge of coming up with a slice of my daily life. This one, although reflective, is still me sitting here at the kitchen counter, fingers on the keyboard, contemplating my ten years of daily slicing throughout March. 

In 2018, my post was exactly a slice, and it was again focused on Cecily. She has really gotten a lot of first-post airtime over the last few years. In 2018, she was close to driving, as opposed to 2022 when she is closing out her teen years. I was lamenting losing the intimate moments of driving her around, and I still miss those. Today as I sit on the eve of March 1, I’m probably closer to Cecily than I was when she was a regular occupant in my passenger seat, even though she is no longer sharing a nightly roof. 

Slicing doesn’t overwhelm me in 2022. With our four daughters busy with their own lives, my life has more time than it has in the past, and even if it didn’t, I know that I make time for what matters to me. Over the ten years, slicing has made me a more reflective person, challenging me to slow down and pay attention to events that may have otherwise drifted or even whizzed right by. I slow down in March, and I notice and savor and re-experience important moments. 

I’m happy to be here, and I’m looking forward to the connections and reconnections the month will bring.

Slice of Life: Making Sense

 On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

"I have to do this for every sentence?" N. said, his forehead wrinkled. While I miss seeing whole faces, the emotions people can communicate through the space between their nose bridges and hairlines is impressive. 

"You do," I said. "Every sentence."

I was teaching N. a protocol for using talk to text. While I recognize the value of speaking thoughts and ideas, I also see the disasters of unplanned and garbled output. If he gets good at one sentence at a time, I'd open it up to two or three, but I wasn't going to tell him that yet. 

He couldn't see me smile as he repeated his next sentence twice, then a third time with punctuation, and then record it. 

He continued the process, and the next few sentences came out perfectly. When he played his piece back for himself, he was smiling, too. 

"It makes sense," he said. 

"Yeah," I said. I laughed out loud, so there was no missing my smile for N. "It makes a lot of sense."

One Little Word 2022: Changing Up the Intention

The irony of my blog's name and my One Little Word for 2022 is not lost on me. I've had this blog for a while now, and when I was trying to think of names for it, the Nike slogan inspired me. Just Do It is a phrase that has inspired me throughout many challenges. Just Write, Melanie seemed like a great mantra for getting my fingers going on the keyboard. 

But what if I'd gone with Write, Melanie instead? Somehow that one doesn't have the same cadence. Or, does it sound more emphatic? More assertive? 

Over the last several years, I've chosen words for the intention of paying attention to them, of living with them, of having them guide me. My first word ever, present, remains my favorite, mostly because of its multiple meanings. Since living with that word in 2014, I've worked to become a better gift-giver (inspired by present as a noun), I've tried to be more engaging in presentations, and I've nudged myself-- though still working on it-- to pay more attention to who I'm sitting with and what I'm doing. Other words have become part of my emotional fabric, as well, inspiring me to be braver, more appreciative, and kinder to both myself and others. But, maybe it's just as important to be less of something as it is to be always reaching for more. 

When I initially contemplated eliminating a word for 2022 as my One Little Word intention, it was because I realized that there was an element of arrogance in what I was saying when I use the word just. "You just..." seemed to undermine the effort someone was putting into learning or trying something new. And then, when I googled to see if anyone else had taken issue with the use of "just", I came across this post,  pointing out the hedging quality of using it. In addition to thinking about words to eradicate or minimize, throughout 2021, I've found myself weeding out what I don't prioritize. Earlier tonight, I had a conversation with close friends about how the pandemic has inspired me to think about risks the way I think about food. What is worth having, and what isn't? Some risks aren't worth taking. Likewise, some words aren't worth using, and may even be damaging or undermining. 

This year, in 2022, a year that I'd like to be different than the last couple, I've decided to try something different with my One Little Word. Instead of taking on a word I want to live with, I'm going to take on a word I want to live more or less without. I like the word 'just' as an adjective, and I'll use it to reach for fairness and equity, but as an adverb, I will be working just to just eliminate it. (See what I did there? If you read the Byrdie post, you'll recognize the confidence that rises without that four-letter j-word compromising the intention.) No more "just calling to say hi", no more "just checking in", no more "just one more thing." And definitely no more "you just do ___." 

So, for 2022, I'm changing up my practice. Instead of leading with a word, I'll be working on eliminating one, or at least paying attention to and lessening its use. Wish me luck!

Slice of Life: A Memory For the Long Run

    On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

When I was in college, I managed the men's lacrosse team. How that began is another story for another time, but during the years, I was there, the team was good. My first year as manager was the most memorable, and the season ended in the last 30 seconds of the national championship when Johns Hopkins scored the winning goal against us. My most vivid memory of my three years of managing remains the captains leading the team to stand below the fan section, tears streaming down their faces, clapping in appreciation for all of the students, families, and friends who had been there. 

I shared that memory with my daughter, Julia, as her Division 3 soccer team prepared for the national semifinal which was last Friday in Greensboro, North Carolina. Circumstances and COVID have led to Julia being a three-year captain of the team, along with one of her best friends. "Whatever happens," I said, "you and Emily are the team leaders. Everyone who is there could remember how you react, win or lose, for a long, long time."

I couldn't tell what Julia internalized from what I said, but I do know that she thinks deeply about her leadership and the legacy she is leaving. When the final whistle blew at the end of the game with her team losing 1-0, she couldn't have made me prouder. The team circled, arms around each other, supporting each other.

 As the cheering section continued to clap in support of a history-making season, Julia and Emily led the line toward the bleachers and clapped back. There were tears, for sure, and hopefully, as the days pass and the disappointment of losing lessens, there will be pride for an incredible career and an epic run. 

The lacrosse final was in 1987, almost thirty-five years ago. I hope that the memory of my girl leading the team in appreciation-- despite the tears-- will be with me thirty-five years from now. It's a memory that I will carry with me for as long as I can.