Day 3 of the Slice of Life Challenge. And folks, I guess they don’t call this month MARCH for no reason. Get up, get moving, KEEP moving, lather, rinse, repeat. Because, as many of you know, Life likes to work that way.
So I’ll leave you with a couple of images from my latest walk: SIGNS of SPRING. I hope you find them as delightful and fortifying as I did.
Until later, my friends.
Whoo! Day two of the Slice of Life Challenge. Stick with me on this one. I promise this post has some fun in store.
When you have a group of squirrelly fourth-graders on a beautiful spring day,
And you have them for two full hours’ worth of literacy studio,
And you know that some of them have the wormies and squirmies and the like,
And you know that a movement break is more than called for,
And you reach into your improv game bag-o-tricks,
And you pull out a fun one called “Yes, let’s!”
And you tell the kids to start walking around until someone shouts a crazy suggestion,
And you tell them the proper response is to shout “Yes, let’s!” and then begin doing that thing,
And it so happens that all eighteen of you wind up on the floor crawling like babies,
And your evaluator comes in, unbeknownst to you, for an informal observation, do you freak out, apologize, and pretend nothing happened? Or do you thank the universe for its impeccable timing, dust your knees, herd everyone back to their spots and return to business as usual?
Those of you who know me can probably guess that 1) I have no pride, so 2) I figured it was a pretty accurate snapshot of how things go.
Of course, the subversive rabble-rouser in me maybe wished she had caught the conga line:
Hooray for the Slice of Life Challenge! This is year 4 for me – which is pretty tough to believe. I’m maybe a little proud of myself for sticking with it. Now…this is a year where life is a little…googly-eyed, shall we say. So, I’m not confident I’ll make it every day. I’ll sure give it a shot, though!
Today in class, I taught my fourth-graders about forced association: the act of putting together concepts or objects that have NO BUSINESS being connected.
Today’s prompt: How is a teacher like a fishing pole?
Usually, I get the standard array of blank stares and concrete responses (“ummm…they’re both kind of tall…?”).
Not this year. This year, the kids walked in ready for abstract. They came in ready to conquer CLEVER. And they did not disappoint. I’ll let their work speak for itself.
Each year, I have my students craft forced association poems, where they pull together a poem that’s written about one thing…but it’s really about another.
We start by thinking of places or things (usually in nature) important to us: that one lilac bush, the park we love to play at, a favorite tree. Then, we think of the people important to us.
The title of the poem is the person we’re thinking about, but nothing in the poem mentions them – an invitation to our readers to make the leap into metaphor.
Whenever I sit down to craft in this fashion, I’m continually amazed by my train of thought. I start to list ideas, and then BOOM! I’m surprised by a new insight that’s made itself clear to me. It’s also fun to watch the kids in their prewriting phase as they do the same.
Here’s my contribution for the day.
The irises in my yard
were gifted to me,
bulbs planted years ago
without a plan:
a vague arrangement
plopped into earth
with a trowel,
some water,
and hope.
Ever since, they’ve spread
across the garden,
rhizomes rooting,
stretching,
leaves messy and full.
I don’t know whether to be
bothered
by the chaos or
grateful
for the bounty.
Late in spring,
after crocuses and
forsythia and
hyacinth and
lilac and
peony,
I wait…wait…wait…
And when I’m not paying attention,
(it’s always when I’m not looking)
the iris will bloom:
showy, stunning, emerging
with too-big heads
that need support
to stay stable and upright.
I’m lucky.
I’ve got plants
a girl can take care of –
not fussy ones
demanding
weeding and
pruning and
oversight and
piddling with.
No,
give me greenery
that finds its own way,
survives the rough stuff,
returns year after year
through its own strength.
I love teaching units more than once. I get do-overs! Each year, my kids teach me more about how they learn, how best to reach them. And lucky me, I don’t even have to wait until the following year! Working at two schools, with two sets of kids, I get two tries for each lesson.
I observe, make notes, and iterate for next time. Was my lesson a “klunker?” I’ll apologize to my kids and try again. Did we take a detour that turned out great? Better believe I’ll include it, for real, next time.
Today was round one of guiding my kids through a poetry project. We used Margaret Wise Brown’s The Important Book and let our work go from there. I’m not going to lie. My fourth-graders came up with some pretty insightful stuff!
Here’s what I wrote alongside them:
The important thing about cars is that they move.
They are big, and fast, and sometimes noisy,
And when we’re not paying attention
We find ourselves in the wrong places,
And they carry us
And our luggage,
They play host
To our meals
And our car-radio concerts
And our fights
And our road-trip memories,
And they give us room for
THOSE talks,
The kind
Best had with
Eyes on the road,
Hands on the wheel,
Closeness made bearable
Through the space of open road.
But the important thing about cars is that they move.
There I was, waiting for my students. We had thirty minutes for our Friday lesson, down to twenty-five after a long-running assembly. Down to twenty so kids could prepare for a half-day early dismissal.
Not much time.
Still, I wanted the lesson to be a reflection on their allegorical picture book reading. I thought through ways we might review the work different groups had done: class discussion? Rotate around with conversation at each poster? With fifteen kids already hyped up from an assembly and antsy for an early bell, I wasn’t so sure those talks would go smoothly. (Why hello, Understatement. How have you been?)
Cue the silent conversation. It’s one of my very, very favorite strategies. Basically, there are posters / prompts all around the room. Kids each get a pen and they circulate, writing responses, questions and comments. We visit and revisit posters, creating and responding to others’ thoughts as we see fit. Only rule? No talking at all. Every shared word comes out through our writing utensils. (Psst…got some quieter kids? This one is GREAT for folks who have a tough time getting words in edgewise. It also forces more verbal kiddos to consider and reflect before responding…)
I hadn’t done silent conversations, really, since before COVID. And boy oh boy did I miss them! These kids had never done them with me, and their energy and enthusiasm was through the roof! By the end of our time together, they were disappointed they couldn’t spend longer, and eager for the next time we could engage together.
But don’t take my word for it. I’ll let their thoughtful, insightful work speak for themselves:
*Yes, I know that Dr. Seuss can be…somewhat problematic. Don’t worry. We’ll be having a conversation about what we do when an author or artist we love comes with…a little extra to think about…
Thanks to Two Writing Teachers, for sponsoring the weekly Slice of Life Challenge!
Each new year, members of the Slice of Life teaching and writing community traditionally write a post focusing on “One Little Word.” I enjoy the process of sifting through, taking stock, and figuring out where I might land. I enjoy it almost as much as I like to read other folks’ OLW posts. It’s fascinating to get a front-row seat to another writer’s thought process.
Sometimes, my One Little Word is powerful and resonant enough to last me the whole year. More often than not, it changes as life shifts around and through me. This, I think, will be one of those years.
First of all, let me just say how grateful I am to have friends who will ask me how I’m doing, and who know when I’m giving a pat answer or blowing smoke. For the love of all that’s right and good, if you have a person in your life who sees past your fluff, KEEP THEM.
I had three such interactions in the last week or so, and each time, I was asked, “How are you?” Meaning: “How are you…for REAL?”
Hmm.
Honestly, friends, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I’m still not.
That says something.
Right now, there’s a lot of noise, both in my personal life and in my professional life. There’s always something to do, something to worry about, something to take care of. And that’s not new to me. I’m used to it, quite frankly. It’s become my standard operating mode. So what’s the difference right now?
Thing is, my brain and I haven’t spent much quiet time together lately, and I’m feeling those ripples. Perhaps what I need, right now, is the time and the opportunity for focus. That’s completely separate from the time I need to set aside to just get. stuff. DONE. I’m talking about taking moments for introspection, time to just…THINK.
So my One Little Word for now, for however long I might need it?
Quiet.
One of the best gifts I can give myself right now is time to listen to that busy brain of mine. Let it tell me what it needs to say. Let it run through the litany of stuff it’s cycling through. Let it wear itself out a little bit. That way, when it’s time to respond with a little self-talk, it has the space to feel more at ease, to quiet itself down, just a touch.
Life itself might not be quieting down. At least, I don’t expect it to. But I can claim moments of peace and reflection for myself. And when I do, another One Little Word will be waiting in the wings and ready to take its turn.
You know that show, “Chopped?” It’s the one where four professional chefs compete against each other using mystery ingredients from a basket. It’s a test of skill and creativity.
It ALSO happened to be the source of one of my most genius moments in parenting. You see, my boys watched that show and loved it as much as I did.
Lo and behold, our family “Chopped” was born. Just like the game show, we would host a three-round competition spanning appetizers, main courses and desserts. Each course involved a “mystery basket” of 3-4 ingredients that everyone would have to synthesize into their own dish. My sons and I would take turns pulling mystery ingredients out of the fridge and pantry.* We’d give ourselves 20 minutes to prepare our dish, and we’d taste and judge our handiwork after each course. Each round would have its own winner, and we’d crown a champion of the day. It was, in my own humble estimation, a pretty crafty way to get rid of a bunch of leftovers from the fridge.
It’s also a pretty crafty metaphor for writing:
1. You’ve got to work with what you have.
2. People can work with the same prompt and be wildly different.
3. Sometimes you have a bunch of fun.
4. Sometimes it’s a flaming mess.
5. It’s a LOT of pressure.
6. But pretty satisfying nonetheless.
*My husband wisely recused himself from the game, most likely because he would have beaten the pants off us every time. That, and the fact that he has standards for what he will put into his mouth-hole.
Thanks, as always, to the folks at Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life.
Give ’em a peek!
Oh, WordPress. There you are again, with a prompt for the day. This time, it’s “Do you have a favorite place you’ve visited? Where is it?”
So let’s get real. As a teacher of writing, I find it very clear that WordPress’s prompt people know that adults are the ones pondering this theme. Were I a third grader with this question, this blog post would read:
Yes. The Beach.
But since I’m a grown human who very well knows that the subtext of the prompt is, “and please do tell the world about it,” I suppose I’ll add a touch of elaboration.
But just a touch.
Picking a favorite place to be is like picking a favorite book. Or a favorite song. Or a favorite student. There are too many to name, and giving voice to a single one isn’t fair to the rest of them.
Still, there’s probably a theme to the places I feel happiest. There’s sun, and sand, and air, and water, and a feeling that the heaviness of life is buoyed somewhat. It’s the sand between my toes, the breath-stealing shock of a cold wave that takes me by surprise, the feeling of the sun’s warmth and the ambient noise soaking in as I lie facedown on a towel, and the recognition that I’m in this particular space because I was able to achieve some degree of separation between Life and Moments to Breathe.
There are worse things.
Did you know that WordPress gives you a prompt when you start a new post? I certainly didn’t. I just kind of glossed over whatever print was under “add title” and took it from there without ever actually reading the text. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I’ll leave that up to you and your ever-so-active imagination.
So…does that prompt change every day? Every week? Is it a set of prompts that rotates every so often? Will AI recognize if I actually post on that subject and try to get me to write on other stuff? If I drafted another post today, would it give me the same prompt or a different one? Do other people get the same prompts I do?
Well, friends, there’s only one reason why I noticed and read the prompt today. It’s because between all of the avenues and corners of my life, I have been swimming in words, in wordcraft, in wordsmithing, in articulation of all manners of things. Some of you followers may have noticed that I’ve been a little…spotty in my posting. Yeah. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, either.
Anyway, the reason I noticed and read the prompt today was because I had spent a solid two minutes staring at a blank screen, wondering what on earth I was going to post about today. Nothing seemed…worthy. Or, at least, nothing seemed like it was worth going INTO for just one post. I’ve got everything I can write about, but I’ve digested none of it so far. Who knows? Maybe that’s the purpose of writing more often…so that I CAN articulate it more.
But the prompt (and yes, I’ll have to check on it tomorrow) from today is…”Give five things you are good at.”
Only five? I could have more fun with this than FIVE. So here goes. I’m good at:
Making granola.
Leaving cabinet doors open in the kitchen.
Scratching my dogs where they like it best.
Achieving a perfectly-sharp pencil.
Quoting from my favorite movie.
Doing handstands.
Making my students stand on their own two feet.
Removing shoes without untying them.
Falling asleep.
Getting my husband to pick the restaurant we go to.
Telling people why I’m a member of their fan club.
Punning around.
Hugs.
Messing around with numbers in my head.
Getting to the heart of things.
Picking the right Flair pen for the job.
Making lists.
Gratuitous pic of this week’s birthday girl
Soapbox: The Way I see Things