Slow Down

Our family of five is often in a rush, often running behind schedule, and yesterday was no exception. In a typical fashion, we darted about the house as we packed up for our road trip. Ten-year-old watched the almost-two-year-old while we threw items haphazardly into suitcases and jammed jogger stroller, port-a-crib, and sports equipment into the trunk. When we finally made it into the car, my husband said, "I don't think we're going to make it on time."

The idea of missing our son's first event of the day prompted me today something I'd been keeping to myself for years. "Well, you don't drive fast enough," was my catty reply. Obviously, he wasn't pleased with my proclamation, but I certainly noticed when he started passing people in traffic. It was a break-through of sorts: I revealed a long-held source of frustration, and he responded by putting his foot on the gas.

Guess what happened as we cruised down Rt. 301? He spotted the cruiser at the crossroads up ahead, but it was too late; the radar had already revealed his speed, so the sirens squealed, and we pulled over. He got his first ticket in 19 years.

In the end, we made it in time to see our boy row the last leg of the race, so nothing was lost...except my ability to complain about my husband's driving speed ever again.

Summing it Up

I fell asleep before clicking on "publish post" last night as I deliberated over my title. I wasn't just dozing, where I could have brightened for a moment to return to my task. It was the sort of asleep that prompted my husband to close my laptop for me and pull up the covers. At the moment, I had a sliver of sense when I blinked at the clock to see it was after midnight. No problem, I thought, I'm done with my slice. I didn't realize I was wrong until this morning.

In my defense, I'll point out that in addition to wrapping up a hands-on project before the break, we closed out the day by feeding eight rowers spaghetti and meatballs before we had packed for a regatta in Delaware. We're just about to hit the road now--a good reason for posting during daylight hours. 

This just about sums up this year's Slice of Life Challenge. Between the student slices I was reading, planning and grading, and of course the long list of other daily responsibilities, many of them illustrated in this month's posts, it's funny I didn't fall into an even deeper sleep along the way.

I'm glad I took on the challenge this year, and I'm even happier that my students participated. I always love reading the posts of my good friends. And I'm also glad it's March 31st.

Collaboration Is the Key

Newspaper projects were due on this last day before Spring Break, so instead of playing games or watching a movie, as they were in other parts of the building, my kids were formatting their handwritten articles onto large pieces of construction paper. They passed glue sticks, gave suggestions, redirected each other when someone was distracted; it was the sort of focused and collaborative work that I wish would happen every day. Each individual was responsible for five contributions, including fact-based reporting, opinion pieces, and "extra features" like horoscopes, comic strips, or classifieds. Most students had their contributions, either large or small in scale. They encouraged those who were short some pieces. They found clever ways to fill white-space, one that incorporated glitter, and another showed a poll they took minutes before when they visited each table. "Do you like cupcakes or pie?" Every group finished a newspaper, save a couple who have minor pieces to glue in to designated spots when we return. Some are expansive, multi-page publications, and some are displayed on two sides of a poster, but every student played an active role.

We have about 12 weeks left of our school year, and I'm flexible about what and how I will teach my students as we wrap up our time together. I want them to continue writing, of course, and I have a novel unit planned, but whatever and however I teach them, I want them to be as engaged as they were creating their newspapers this week.

Building a Nest

A crinkly piece of plastic flew by me this afternoon as I walked up my driveway. This streamer-shaped plastic took me by surprise because it was rattling and frantic, almost as if it were alive. My son and I followed it to the front yard, alarmed and entertained, where we found it already woven into the branches inside one of our azalea bushes. Surely, it had to be attached to something alive.

"There it is," he said, pointing into the shrub. A little bird hopped about, agitated by the situation. Was it injured? No, I checked his legs and wings. Then, in a split second, he bit the plastic with his beak and he flew out between us, a fluttering tendril behind him. He headed straight for the neighbor's car and hid there while we looked on, wondering where he was headed.

Next, he made a break for it, though his flight was hampered by his cargo. He did not soar, but he flew like I fly in dreams, in frustrated fits and spurts. Still, he made it up to the second story window of a neighboring house, right through a narrow crack beneath the shutter. I've never noticed this shutter before, but I noticed today the cracking paint, and especially the threads of dried grass, shimmering tinsel, and shreds of newspaper peeking out of both sides.

She didn't seem pleased that we were an audience to her tough trip home today, but I feel lucky to get a glimpse of her world. What kind of home has she built in there? Is she preparing to lay her eggs? Will we see her carrying worms and other tasty treasures to her baby birds the next time we see her?

There Ain't No Bugs on Me

Within the first few minutes of first mod today, I was expounding on something terrifically important, of course, when I heard a scuffle, some mumbling, a rumble of something to my left. I could have sworn one of my students whispered to himself as he craned his neck toward the ground, but I chose to ignore if in favor of the brilliance I had to share before groups began working on their projects. The distraction persisted.

"Can I help you?" I asked, turning to the one whose body was nearly curling itself under the desk.

"It's a millipede." He replied.

With that profound declaration, the class was thrilled to have something so special join our classroom. A few jumped from their seats to get a good look. Others turned to each other to share bug stories. I bent down to get a good look. I like bugs, and their presence was not a nuisance. He could have stayed as long as he liked, if it were up to me, but when several shouted their solution, "Squish him!" and "Step on it!" I intervened with a tissue, gently lifted him from the floor, and escorted him to the shrubs in front of the school.

At least two students posted about the incident for today's Slice of Life, so I appreciate this chance to offer my own perspective on the story.

Writing Unplugged

Small groups are working together in class this week to publish newspapers. I've traditionally taken a low-tech approach to this project, where kids write final drafts on strips of adding machine tape that they cut into pieces, pasting columns up and down their poster paper under headlines and around pictures.

Access to computers in my school is very limited, and I prefer to sign them out when students are working on more substantial, independent pieces like memoirs or short stories. Sure, if kids worked on Macbooks, they'd create glossy and colorful publications, but I'll be cynical and say that they probably wouldn't have fewer errors and the quality of writing wouldn't be any better. It might even be worse. Kids are kids, plain and simple. They type quickly. They'd rather fool with font color and size than make revisions and edits to their writing. This newspaper project, however, requires that kids slow down a bit. They usually write more neatly than they've written all year--partly due to the novelty of the long, curly paper--mainly because they can only rely on their own devices to create something legible and correct for their readers. The turnover for writing pieces is quick, not unlike a real-life journalist. They plan, compose, re-read, revise, share, revise again, and unroll that paper for a final draft. During this time, my conferences have been more valuable than any I've had all year. Why? Because for every other writing assignment, I was too busy trouble-shooting the technology for students new to the various tools.

The newspapers they'll create will not be perfect. They're a little wrinkly from the glue, some of the handwriting slants a bit (despite my advice to put lined paper in back), and the columns are certainly not as even as they would be on Microsoft Publisher. But their leads grab the readers' attention, they distinguish between facts and opinions, they use quotes to improve the reliability of the stories, and their paragraph breaks make sense...at least a lot of them do.

I could make a strong case for more access to laptops any time, but for this project, I prefer to keep technology out of it.

Windy Day for a Wild Child

The wind roared in my ears this afternoon, and I was only comfortable when I was standing under the direct rays of the sun. This didn't stop my twenty-month-old from embracing every outside moment he could get before and after dinner. At times he stood still, his yellow hair flying around his round cheeks, as he accepted the praise of the waving branches around him. Most other moments, he was running down the sidewalk, throwing still-green helicopters, just blown off the branches above, applauding his own skills with a found stick. His dad and one brother drove up, and he rejoiced. He was not disappointed as they both chased him until they were rolling on the grass of our neighbor'ss lawn.

I can be quiet, and I enjoy peace and solitude. Wild weather like this can feel like entertaining a crowd of friends. I can appreciate its value, its fun, but it wears me out. My little one, however, was born an extrovert, and today, this weather was helping him to celebrate yet another beautiful day on this  great earth.

Holy Day, No Obligation

Today felt holy, but not in the conventional sense of the word. I took my baby for a run and we stopped to talk to ducks and barked at dogs along the way. My husband and I mapped out our week ahead as he made breakfast sandwiches for our three boys. I met my mother and sister for lunch and a movie and even managed to catch up on some major family developments--we shared a "chocolate bomb", and yes, that's a c for chocolate. I thanked my dad for modeling patience and love, something I'm still developing as a parent. My oldest son and I talked about Lord of the Flies and how it applies to modern politics and his own views on human nature. I watched Cupcake Wars with my middle son mad we developed our own challenge for our upcoming vacation.

I didn't have to do any of what I listed. I didn't finish the laundry this weekend, and I left some email unanswered. My students' memoirs aren't yet graded. I didn't go to church. Still, at the end of this day, I am feeling very blessed.

A Day Worth Repeating

One of my students recently posted a slice about the movie, Groundhog Day, in which the main character becomes trapped in one single day that repeats again and again. I like variety as much as the next girl--it's a good thing, since my life offers much of that--but today was one of those days I'd like to give another go. It wasn't perfect, but even the mistakes offered plenty of potential. It started with a race on the river and ended with a race upstairs to bed. A hike in the woods, yard work, errands, gym, naps, and enchiladas were also a part of what ended up being a rainy day, weather that made being inside feel quite cozy. And I wouldn't mind doing it again.

On Second Thought

After a couple of sessions focused on selecting our top dogs for the Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament, I've had a change of heart. First of all, it is a game entirely based on chance. If anyone thinks they have a strategy at winning, aren't they just ignoring the facts of the game? Kids compete with each other constantly in contests of speed, knowledge, and wit. Rock, paper, scissors is a game for everyone. Also due to the game's simplicity, I witnessed a beautiful thing among my students: They didn't need me. I was present, of course, but aside from my occasional comment or question, I was mainly enjoying their presence. They were the ones running the show. When establishing rules and procedures, they brought a couple of students from another homeroom to share what worked for them, demonstrating respect for each other and camaraderie. A couple of my kids organized the bracket on the board. Several kids decorated the margins with spirited doodles. Everyone participated. In rapid face-offs, everyone else huddled around with a level of engagement teachers only dream of capturing in their classrooms. We have two finalists and one equally happy alternate. There were no sore losers. It was just fun.

There's certainly much wisdom in Kohn's No Contest, but a rousing game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, was probably not high on his list of concerns.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

My team's homeroom classes are about to embark on some March Madness in the shape of a RPS tournament. I'm due to send two representatives out to compete against other champions in neighboring classrooms. It involves a bracket, of course, which the kids are coordinating 100%.

Years ago, I was on a team that competed in a similar fashion, but the game was Challenge 24. More recently, we've engaged our kids in annual Academic Bowl competitions, complete with trivia questions and buzzers. I was always proud to be a teacher on the victorious team, time after time. It goes against my approach in the classroom--my educational philosophy is mainly focused on personal growth. But to see the kids' alert attention to "who's best", I'm reminded that a lot of them are paying attention to the subtle (and not so subtle) cues that we give...that they give each other. 

Contests are a big part of our culture. Awards are a major goal in any field. However, I'll borrow a page from my dog-walking friend and fan of Alfie Kohn. About his book, No Contest, "[Contests] do not motivate us to do our best (in fact, the reason our workplaces and schools are in trouble is that they value competitiveness instead of excellence.) Rather than building character, competition sabotages self-esteem and ruins relationships. It even warps recreation by turning the playing field into a battlefield." Of course, the trouble is that on the immediate surface, plenty of kids appear to thrive on contests. They want to win fabulous prizes. They want to be the best. What about the other kids?

Meanwhile, I'm as much a part of my culture as the kids. I like to win, too, and I'll be rooting for my own kids all the way to the final four and beyond.

Anything else?

Two of my sons and I sat in the office of a homeopathic doctor today. It's allergy season, which is a good time for a constitutional remedy, but for anyone who's familiar with this approach to medicine, it never results in a quick prescription for Zyrtec. It means we answer a lot of questions, and not many of them have to do with runny noses or itchy eyes.

I try to be an observant mother, and I do my best to offer any insights I have into my boys when I'm sitting there in her office. At what time of day is he at his best? Does he prefer hot or cold? Is he thirsty? Still, whenever I feel I've offered the most precise details, she allows a beat or two of silence and follows with one more question, "Anything else?"

The funny part is that I usually say, "No, I think that's it." Again, she allows some silence to fall between us as she records more notes or refers to a book. And then I remember to mention one more thing.

"Anything else?" She asks again, until I'm sure there's nothing else. As if that is ever the case.

Just the "Facts", Ma'am

My students are right about to begin creating their own "news"papers tomorrow, so they pitched ideas for what themes they'd like to focus on in small committees. I suppose I could make them report the true facts of news in their school or town, just as real-live journalists do, but I enjoy the sixth grade imagination too much, so instead I'm asking them to pretend to be real-live journalists as they report on phony news in the style of today's newspapers.

As my students prepare to create Onion-style newspapers, whether their news and special features focus on sports, animals, celebrities, fashion, or even mythical creatures, I expect these kiddos to stretch the truth and flat-out lie in some cases, in order to create entertaining reading material for their classmates. Am I encouraging another Stephen Glass, known for falsifying news in a competitive writing field? It's notable to some, that his next chosen career is in law. Next up, I'll expose them to Mark Twain, who was run out of town for making stuff up and calling it truth.

I'll let my students know what happens to writers who lie and pretend like they don't, but for now, I want them to write and enjoy it along the way. Is that so wrong?

Good Sport

The kick-off for my birthday this morning was a run with my oldest; the baby came along for a free ride in the jogger stroller. It wasn't very long ago that my running buddy was in the stroller himself. Then he was big enough for a scooter, and we'd head out on the bike trail so that I could run (and walk) right along with him, my hand on his back as a support when he braved the hills. Next, he learned to ride a two-wheeler. He'd zoom on ahead, but stop to wait as I sprinted to keep up. I'd still grab those handles with him when the incline increased, and we'd push on to the top together. This morning, we ran side-by-side on one of the hillier trails of Teacher Town. We huffed our way up and down those hills together. Instead of my hand on his back, he put a hand on the stroller handle to push it for me.

When our destination came within sight, I said, "Let's sprint to the end."

"Nah," he said, but then he picked up the pace and sprinted on ahead. There was no way I'd catch up to him, his longer legs achieve a much broader stride then mine. As long as we were headed toward the same place, I was fine.

Sipping on Kool-aid

When I told some friends the other night that my oldest is rowing this spring, one remarked that the sport is like a cult. Well, after today's event, the first race (but not regatta)of the season, I'm ready to sign in blood, and I haven't even lifted an oar. It might have been the crisp air that reached us on the deck of the boat house, the way the kids respected the ritual of the boat, the lowering, the lifting, and of course the rowing in unison across the water's surface under the grand arches of Key Bridge. The coach let parents know that crew is the ultimate team sport, and I thought of the countless lessons my can learn by operating on a in a group where every role is necessary. Today, when the ice-cold, refreshing, strawberry Kool-aid was passed around, I drank it down and asked for seconds.

Separate and Equally Loved

I've got a problem with people who think that the middle child gets the shaft. I'm the middle child, and I happen to know I'm the favorite, so take that, believers in birth order characteristics. (Okay, feel free to interpret that statement as one suffering from middle child syndrome, if you must.) As a mother, I have absolutely no favorites. In fact, I could post in a three day rotation of odes to each of my three boys because my love for each of them would inspire years of writing if I thought an audience would care to read it. But my hunch is that the best audience for that adoration is my sons, and since they only occasionally read my Teacher Town posts over my shoulder, I will save my over-the-moon love letters for their baby books.

Meanwhile, I can't help but capture this evening with my son in the middle. The baby was snug in his bed by 7:30 p.m; my oldest was off devouring spaghetti and meatballs in preparation for his first regatta tomorrow; my husband, a wine guy, was pouring at a wine shop. My ten-year-old and I sat down to our own dinner on this quiet Friday evening, and we covered a wide range of topics, including tests, friends, substitute teachers, pre-school fire drills, baby vultures,  and even bullying. At one point he told me someone in his class called a classmate a "poop face". The same kid "must be close with the principal because he gets sent to his office at least once a week". This extended to my questions about fifth graders, who by his interpretation, need to be watched. As he ate his final meatball, he said, "You're really bulldozing my social life." I took note of both the warning and the use of figurative language. All was well when he gave me a tour of two elaborate Lego constructions and he bulldozed my own sense of good vs. evil by asking me which side would defeat the other. I'm usually wrong about such things, but I think that's part of the experience. He just seems to enjoy having the time to set me straight.

Whachya got there?

We're about half-way through this month's writing challenge, and I can already say I'm a believer. For those of my students who have taken on the daily (or almost daily) challenge, it's clear that the regular practice of writing is as nourishing as brown rice, as spicy as a taco, and as sweet as a mango. I'm getting to know those students on a level I wasn't able to reach before. They seem to appreciate the replies I post, but it also gives us more to talk about in person. For all of this, I can thank my good friend who walks her dog.

Meanwhile, with sixteen days left to go, I see some lag in the writing ideas department, and I'm also keeping an eye on the kids who are about to fall behind on the required 10 slices for the month. I can relate to any sort of writing lethargy that occurs. Each minute of the day is packed full of tasks I "have" to do, and when I finally get a chance to write...I got nuthin'. In an effort to inspire my students, I created a Wordle, not unlike the graphic Two Writing Teachers posted to inspire us that included words like, "dreams, captured conversations, shoes, etc." I posted it in the "pocket" of our on-line writing community.

To introduce it, I asked the kids, "Do you ever find stuff in your pocket?" My items certainly represent my life: paper clips, pony-tail holders, hall passes, and Lego body parts. Their replies ranged from the ordinary to the bizarre (this is sixth grade, after all): lint, pennies, crumbled dollar bills that had already gone through the wash, their uncle's credit card, and a half-eaten sandwich. And as they happily shared their own pocket discoveries, I was reminded that these kiddos barely need my help. They are carrying their ideas around with them all the time.

Trust Me

Our school focuses on character education in homeroom, and today we were talking about the importance of being trustworthy. I passed out different scenarios, and since this group loves to perform so much, they broke into pairs and dramatized the scenes so that we, the audience, could determine how the breakdown of trust affected anyone involved. The first scene showed a guy who fell asleep on the job, leaving a store open to burglary. That one was fun for them to act out, but not all that applicable to their own lives. The next one showed a babysitter who decided to gossip on the phone while little Tommy scribbled on the walls and ate crayons. It was this one that opened up all sorts of stories of babysitters. There was the one who put a Capri-sun pouch in the microwave, throwing sparks everywhere. Another one started a game of hide-and-seek, but never went to look for the kids, which reminded another child of an uncle, not a babysitter, who accidentally burned his little sister's ear with his cigarette butt. It sure is challenging to talk about strong character when they're all surrounded by such questionable behavior. But then there was the one who convinced him that eating broccoli was cool; obviously, this babysitter was his hero. Perhaps there's hope in this wild world, after all.

Breaking News

Today was the start of a journalism unit in my class, and the activity I planned to get their minds in the right place was for groups to perform "live on the scene" broadcasts of fictional events centered around a prop they pulled from a bag. I collected items from around the house this morning: an ice cream scooper, a stuffed bat, a glove with little pink pigs on the ends of each finger, binoculars, and an old-fashioned empty coke bottle. The directions were simple: Answer the six big questions, the 5 Ws and how.

It was hilarious to see how reporting news came so naturally to many of them as they held the microphone out to the various witnesses on the scene. I heard a wide range of accents, saw expressive body language, and each story was unique. News, for my students, included scientific discoveries, natural disaster, crimes in the community, as well as bizarre malformations (born with pigs on hand). On several occasions, I was amazed to hear the voices of some of my quietest students broadcast their news with the confidence of Katie Couric.

I call my unit "Power of the Press", but I underestimated how empowered they'd feel when they got a chance to spread some news of their own.

March Madness

We had a late dinner tonight, on account of one of my son's hockey games, and a much-needed trip to grocery store that I neglected yesterday due to the fine weather. Because we were tired, we didn't care to move the newspaper off the table, so instead of forcing dinner-time conversation, our attention veered toward the brackets pictured inside the sports section.

I was raised by a basketball fan. My dad would take me to Georgetown games when Patrick Ewing was a star. He takes my sons, now. And the good news is that they've developed an understanding and appreciation of the game, more than I ever did. Tonight, the three of them (husband included) gave me their take on this year's tournament, but I couldn't keep up.

It may be due to my own March Madness happening right here online. Anyone else with me on this? Since my students started posting (several daily and many regularly) slices of their lives, I've been doing my best to comment on each of their slices (I know I'm not alone on this one). Some represent what a slice was meant to be, others are trying to pound out some words in an attempt to "win a fabulous prize". All of the posts seem worthwhile for my kiddos as they grow as writers. Meanwhile, I'm bleary eyed with all of the reading and typing.

I must have been mad when I said "yes" to this.