Soapbox: The Way I see Things

Slice of Life Day 3: Are You Stuck?

There I sat with my fourth-graders today, in the last class of a heckedy-peg sort of day. Together, we were composing stories inspired by the work of Leo Lionni. The room was quiet, save cello music and scattered tapping of keys.

At one point, I saw a student across the room from me. He wasn’t typing, and he had…a certain look on his face. I called his name and asked, “Are you thinking? Or are you stuck?” He assured me he was just thinking, and we both drifted back into our own reverie.

Several minutes later, I must have had a similar look on my face because a separate student said to me, across the room, “Are you thinking? Or are you stuck?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a little bit of both? I’m trying to work out my beginning.”

He nodded, satisfied with my answer, and returned to his work. But…how much do I love that he was paying attention? How much do I love that he adopted the language of self-advocacy? How much do I love that he’s doing what writers in a community DO?

It was a hopeful end to a tricky day.

And, if you’re interested in what I was working on, here’s the passage I worked on, complete with the crowdsourcing request for my students:

Slice of Life Day 2: Today…

…started with a jolt, with an alarm that buzzed me awake a half an hour early, dogs licking my elbows and a back still in revolt from…I don’t know…doing puzzles wrong?…that brought me, creaking, cracking, out of my pajamas and to the shower, then back into DIFFERENT pajamas for a pajama day at school that I’m forever paranoid I’ll get wrong, showing up to school in flannels when everyone else looks normal and I’m the oddball, straight into the car and to my doctor’s appointment, where I feel the uncontrollable urge to explain to everyone I see that no, I’m not a gal who just goes to the doctor in pajamas, I’m a PROFESSIONAL for God’s sake, and this is part of my JOB, only to wait an insane amount of time for a doctor who’s somehow running over a half an hour behind for a 7:15 appointment (riddle me that, Batman), only to be given a shot in the arm (if only it were figurative) before I’m sent on my way to school, white-knuckled and praying I’ll get there in some semblance of timeliness, right as students are getting ready for the day and I can breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve made it in plenty of time to get ready for my students, who, thankfully, have shown up ready to work and have fun, as evidenced by their earnest storytelling here, surrounded by their adoring fans:

Slice of Life Day 1: What Slice of Life Does

There I sat, cursor blinking, wondering what on earth I have to write about today, struggling to shut out distraction. I close extra tabs on my browser, shut my bedroom door, and pray for inspiration. But wait! My inbox tab shows I have a new message. Better click it. (See? I TOLD you I’m prone to distraction.)

It’s my weekly update from poet James A. Pearson (go follow him!). I’m a fan of his work, and his words today couldn’t have come at a better time:

What Spring Does

Some winters
are so long
you can forget
what spring does

until it does it.

–From my book, The Wilderness That Bears Your Name

And it hit me – oh! – the monthly Slice of Life Challenge. It’s another sign of spring! In that spirit, I offer a poem.

What Slice of Life Does
(after James A. Pearson)

Over the years, my sons and I
(anxious for an end
to winter)
begin our search
for Signs Of Spring:

tiny green shoots
that certain bird’s call
buds at ends of branches

and we’d find them on walks
or I’d be brought them
in fists or pockets or bunches
or (lately) photos on a phone

and it had me thinking
to the start of March,
the yearly challenge to mark
days upon days upon days:

Behold! a new
sign of spring!

a renewal of vows
to my love for writing
and those who write,
a commitment made
kept
honored
cherished
like blossoms in a bowl
gathered in joy
and displayed
for all to see.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Dear Mrs. Levin

Picture of an envelope inviting students to write notes

Sometimes, kids at school reach out to me. Some give me puzzles to do, others ask me to buy Girl Scout Cookies or read their stories. This time, a student wrote an email that broke my heart, just a little. I found them in the hallway yesterday and told them I need time to think about all the beautiful and thoughtful questions they asked before responding back.

But I still feel the need to acknowledge their words. I’m carrying this kid with me. Perhaps you recognize either yourself or another kid here. My hope is, next week, I’ll have a poem to offer in response.

Dear Mrs. Levin,

you say education
is about getting the right questions
and not the right answers
but
then
why does my mom
get mad at me
for getting my math problems wrong?

because
she is smart
and I think I am smart
but I’m not
smart like her

she says
smart people can do ANYTHING
they want,
that they deserve good things in the world
and I have a choice:
to be someone important like a judge
and make lots of money
or
just be a clerk at a store

she asks
who do I want to be?

and
I want to be smart,
I want to make money
and do all the things my mom tells me
smart people
like her
do with their lives

but whatif
if have right questions
and not any right answers?
Can ANYONE ever have
the right questions
if they NEVER
have any right answers?

Slice of Life Tuesday: It’s Not Terrible

Last year was a turning point for me. As a teacher, I decided to give up much of my work outside of school in exchange for a deeper, fuller presence with my students. I pledged to bring less of my job home with me so that I could apply more of myself during the day.

So how’s it working out?

I’ve put my most earnest energy into students, both mine and the kids all around me. And it’s coming back. In spades.

Friday was a snow (cold) day, and I woke up to an email from a student who was so excited about Winnie-The-Pooh’s 100th birthday on the 24th that she wrote a “lost chapter” detailing what happened to Roo (who, in real life, was lost in an apple orchard).

Image of a story on a computer screen — One of my favorite parts is where Pooh wants to ring Piglet’s doorbell but he doesn’t have one. Hilarity ensues.

And then there were my fourth graders, who are fully engrossed in our “give-it-a-go” writing. They’ve found writing they want to emulate, and they’re working to emulate it:

photo of a notebook with descriptive writing in it — The intent was to write description using comparisons. I’d say they did a pretty fine job!

And this morning, I walked through the hallway right as students were coming in. I heard, “Mrs. Levin! We have something for you!” On Friday’s day off, two of my students got together and made honey cookies in honor of (yep, you guessed it) Winnie-The-Pooh’s birthday. What an amazing start to my day.

photo of two cookies — The answer is yes, I ate these instead of the yogurt I packed for breakfast. I mean…wouldn’t YOU?

Then there were my fifth graders today, when I let them loose on independent study of various topics related to language study. Am I not-so-secretly pleased that today was the day the principal swung by to see what goes on in our classroom, and that she saw, up close and personal, a group of kids excited and eager to follow their curiosity? You BETCHA. I’ll also say it was a great problem to have when the kids had so many requests for further research they had to keep track of it on the white board.

photo of a request list on a white board — Yes, these are fifth graders. And yes, it’s possible for them to get excited about stuff like this.

That doesn’t even count…
-the line of kids who want to create their own word puzzles to post outside my door
-the “regulars” around school who take me up on my “free hugs” button
-the second-graders who recognize the symbolic freedom of birds in flight

So if you ask me, I’ll continue to do what I do. I’ll continue to invest myself fully and thoroughly in my students. I’ll continue to learn alongside and from them, as well as I can, as long as I can.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Winter Poem

On Winter (or: A Reflection on Motherhood / Teaching / Living During Impossibly Nightmarish Times with Overwhelming Expectations, Creeping Existential Dread and Growing Isolation)*

Winter’s in a bad mood.
She’s crabby
and blustery
and just wants everyone out of her way,
Don’t try her,
even if you think
you’re prepared.
You’re not.
I mean, you can if you want.
Gather your coat
those long undies
your boots
the softie gloves, hat, scarf, earmuffs.
Steel yourself
but honey, I warned you.
Winter is tired.
January is heavy, and hard, and
she’s carried the whole thing.
And her reward is February.
All of it.
Don’t ask about March.
She’s had it up to here, and
she’s not playing games.
So maybe your best bet
with your “but winter’s so COLD”
and your “why can’t it be SPRING already”
is to keep those complaints quiet
before she blows ’em
right back in ya.

*For all of the women who, like me, feel like they can’t keep themselves together, and like me, have felt they’re the only ones who feel frayed and unsettled. We’re not alone.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Remember

So. Last night. I’m on my way to book club, walking the quarter mile from my house to a local restaurant. It’s almost seven, right when we’re supposed to start, and I’m trying to get there by the skin of my teeth. Come to think of it, I’m trying to do everything by the skin of my teeth lately. I barely make it to school each morning by the regular hour, despite having my bags packed and my clothes set out. I race to get to bed at a decent hour, wondering where the time has gone. I’m making to-do lists early and often, only to get very little of it done.

7:00 hits. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a peek, and there’s a reminder for me:

Remember

Oh. Yes. That. Last week, I set an intention with “remember” as my One Little Word. I even set a weekly reminder for it on my phone. And I have to say, the message comes through loud and clear. It’s time for me to remember…

I might be overwhelmed, but I’m not alone.
My energy and motivation always go through ebbs and flows, and it’s wise to follow their patterns.
I don’t like being patient with myself, but it sure does help matters.
I may feel like I’m swimming through Jell-O, but I’m doing what I can, when I can, how I can.

With that in mind, I’ll set my writing aside for tonight. I’ll play a word game or two. I’ll have myself a little old bedtime snack. I’ll hunker down with a book until my eyes droop. And tomorrow, I hope that same grace comes along with me.

Slice of Life Tuesday: OLW 2026

It’s the first Slice of Life Tuesday for the year, and that means it’s time to think about my One Little Word for 2026.

I’ll come right out and say it: this year’s word is REMEMBER.

Okay, so I’m being a little tongue-in-cheek because I invariably forget about my word by the time February rolls around. (I can’t be the only one…can I?)

But remember, to me, brings together a whole set of threads I’ve been trying to collect for a while.

Remember my focus, my purpose, as I take on new tasks.
Remember what I enjoy doing, and do it.
Remember the commitments I make to myself.

This all sounds super-simple. It’s just one word, and only three things to do with it. But like I often tell my students, simple and easy are very different things. So I will strive for the simple, knowing it might not be easy. Heck, just even remembering to think about my OLW will be enough of a challenge.

That’s where technology will come into play. Yes, I’m putting a reminder on my phone for each Monday night. Yes, that reminder comes just in time to get myself together for Tuesday Slice of Life. Clever, eh?

How will I do with this year’s One Little Word? Time will tell. Time will tell…

Screen shot with a reminder that reads, "Remember." — See? Every Monday my phone will gently set me on my path…

Slice of Life Tuesday: Family Story

Last week, I shared how fun it was to write with my students online. I can’t wait for later this month when we reunite!

I also promised I’d share my writing. I chose the prompt of writing a family story that’s often told, and I was surprised by the way it chose to present itself.

As I mentioned last week, stories in my family are what someone might kindly call “a team effort,” begun by one person but elaborated upon by all with questions, challenges, fabrications, fact checks, detours, and embellishments. It’s rare that someone gets to finish their own sentence.

That’s where I got the idea to craft this story script-style. No, it’s not a verbatim conversation, just the imagining of how these things often go. I had enough fun with it that I might even consider adding other “scripts” to the collection. Here goes:

THE TALE OF THE POOP-SPLOSION: An epic memory, told in collaboration

Ben: There’s always the poop-splosion story.

Sam: Oh, God.

Ben: What? It’s funny.

Sam: (rolls eyes, but is secretly proud)

Mom: There we were, at our first Galumbeck family reunion since Sammy was born.

Ben: I had already been to one, right?

Mom: Yeah.

Dad: Was that the year of the cicadas?

Mom: I think it was. You couldn’t walk anywhere without them underfoot. And one day – where were we, even?

Dad: Were we in Northern Virginia, or had we already driven down to Porstmouth?

Mom: I can’t remember. This was also the only time Sam got to meet your Grandma Sadye and Grandma Beatty.

Sam: I actually MET them?

Mom: Yeah. They loved you. I remember when we brought you to meet Grandma Sadye. You had the most adorable overalls with dogs on them.

Ben: So you remember what Sam wore to meet Grandma Sadye, but not where the poop-splosion happened?

Mom: Well, to be fair, we took pictures of Sam meeting Grandma Sadye. The other, not so much.

Sam: Why not? That would’ve been AWESOME.

Mom: We were…otherwise occupied.

Ben: Well, keep going then.

Mom: So there we were in the rental car. Sam had a wet diaper, and we wanted to change him. Steve, do you remember why we were still in the car? Were we parked, or were we trying to change him on the fly as we drove?

Dad: (shrugs) I don’t know.

Ben: But you remember the dog overalls.

Mom: Hey now.

Ben: I’m just saying…

Mom: I think we were parked, but I don’t remember where. And for whatever reason, it was easier just to change Sammy in the car. So I was in the back seat, and I propped him up on the center console, and I got the next diaper ready to switch out. I pulled away the dirty diaper –

Sam: And BOOM.

Mom: Boom. You were just waiting to let ‘er rip.

Ben: The poop was everywhere! All over you and the car!

Mom: Yep. Somehow it missed you, you lucky stiff.

Dad: I was definitely glad to be in the front seat.

Mom: (still shuddering) Yes. Yes, you were. And it took a long while to get that rental car ship-shape again.

Ben: I love that story. It’s almost as good as –

Sam: Don’t say it.

Ben: Come on, you know we have to mention –

Sam: No. We. Don’t.

Ben: The POOP DECK STORY.

Sam: (buries face in hands)

Slice of Life Tuesday: Writing Group!

This summer, I took a chance and asked my 4th- and 5th-grade students if any of them wanted to keep writing over the summer. They could informally write and share their work with me, become a pen pal, or participate in an online writing group. I was surprised at how many of them wanted the opportunity!

This past Thursday, my online group met. What a great time we had! We started with small talk, then I shared a few prompts if anyone needed a push. The bulk of the time was spent writing – myself included. I played work music for the group and we got moving.

Screen shot from a Google Meet — Screenshot of the group. Smiles all around! You’ll also note that I’m under water, thanks to some crowdsourced tech tips.

We spent the last few minutes reporting out and answering questions about our work. One person wrote a poem, two of us responded to a prompt, and everyone else worked on a fictional story.

As for my writing, I responded to the prompt: “Retell a family story.” I wasn’t sure which story to tell, or how it would come out. I just knew that I wanted to capture the way family stories were told, with both my current family, and my family of origin.

Basically, stories in my family do not get told by one person, who gets to hold the stage while others sit rapt. No, stories in my family are what someone might kindly call “a team effort,” begun by one person but elaborated upon by all with questions, challenges, fabrications, fact checks, and embellishments. It’s rare that someone gets to finish their own sentence.

So while I set out to craft a narrative, what actually came out was a script. I’ll save that for next week (today’s post is long enough), but suffice it to say I had as much fun writing it as my family has telling it!