#SOL20 Day 17: To My Loveys

note: I’ve decided to begin each day with a “pep talk” to my kids. I had a different video shot for tomorrow, but this is the one I’m now deciding to go with…

Hi Friends!

We’ve made it past the first part of our e-learning experience. You’ve all logged in, logged on, and you’ve started to complete the assignments you’ve been given.

You’ve crafted story maps for hero’s journeys. You’ve told me what it’s like to move from place to place. You’ve shared your special cozy places for writing. You’ve done some research on Shakespeare and his Globe Theater. You’ve done some writing.

All that is so very nice.

Now. Here’s what I really want from you.

Start talking to each other. Think of your OWN pep talk you’d like to share. Add some comments or thoughts to give feedback to your classmates. Share words of encouragement, or share what worries you right now, or share what’s happening in your days.

Because, my friends, we need each other. I see the way you interact with one another in class. I see the way you joke around with one another, the way you push each other in conversation, the way you validate one another and make each other feel like YES, being smart is a GOOD thing. That we can get super excited about learning and that’s okay. That we can rattle on with silly jokes or science theories or philosophical debates and no one will bat an eye.

Because that’s what we do for each other. And that’s what I don’t want you to miss out on.

So post your thoughts, your ideas, your wishes, your silliness, your encouragement so that we can keep the wonderful community we’ve all grown to love.

Now make like a manicurist and nail it!

#SOL20 Day 16: Not that I’m a Perfectionist

…but I have spent way too many hours combing through and over all of the e-learning resources that I’m posting for my groups.

I want for their experience to be smooth.

I want for them to understand what I’m asking them to do.

I want them to DO it.

And, most importantly, I hope that what I offer allows my loveys to maintain their connection to our class community. I hope that they will see that I miss the PANTS off of them. I hope that they will see that their well-being is, as always, my primary concern.

And now, after fiddling and revising and tweaking and adjusting and checking and rechecking and nitpicking, I am going to release myself from this task. All systems GO.

Ah, who am I kidding? Tomorrow morning I’ll spend another half an hour going through the exact same check…

#SOL20 Day 15: On Uncertainty

She sat, fingers poised above the keyboard, wanting to write – but before the words would come, she had to gather her thoughts from far reaches,

And as she began to funnel words in, out, through, it occurred to her what a risk it was to begin to write:

To face an empty space, a blank future, without of sense of where things were really going or how, knowing that it could turn out well, or turn out poorly, and thinking that she had some control over it all but really, how much,

And it occurred to her that, perhaps, this musing might be metaphor for all things dark and scary,

And that perhaps she should take a deep breath, dive down and spend time exploring those blue-black waters,

But she decided that particular thought would be better served if it were once again tucked back in the drawer for another, more ready, day.

#SOL20 Day 14: The Dog Days of…March?

I love standing in the school hallways at arrival and dismissal time. It’s like a barometer that gives me readings of a different kind of atmosphere.

Yesterday, as the bell rang for our half day early dismissal, the kiddos were released from classes, backpacks full of materials, heads full of instructions. Some even stopped to give me a big fat hug. The mood around me was…inexplicably…summer.

I can’t explain it. Maybe it was the warm weather we’ve been having. Maybe it was anticipation of a week of at-home learning before our spring break. Maybe – and this is my guess – it was the sense that we might be looking at an even longer time away and nobody really knows what that will look like.

We stand face-to-face, staring into the wide-open yawn of time. These days at home are going to feel really long, and even more uncertain. And just like with summer, it is upon us to fill our days well, to bring the sense of structure and predictability that keeps us from breaking loose from our moorings.

None of this truly hit me until today, when I noticed that despite having to report for professional collaboration time on Monday, I had shifted into summer mode. Which, for me, translates into expressing insanely productive energy around the house because I am physically unable to downshift once school ends. In the hours since I have been home, I:

*Cleaned out the playroom
*Set up a home office for myself
*Organized all extra food and supplies onto shelving
*Cooked dinner for my family
*Arranged and began assembling a give-away pile
*Wiped down all kitchen surfaces, switches and door knobs
*Did 3 loads of laundry
*Cleaned out my closet and drawers
*Caught up on school work
*Called my mother (always!)
*Rearranged the living room furniture
*Ordered and assembled materials for at-home workouts
*Inventoried and organized the fridge and freezer

Yes. I have a problem. I can’t help myself. I’m a wind-up toy that just has to run down before I can let things be. My entire family knows that the best thing they can do during the first two weeks of summer is to just. Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.

The trick to being a wind-up toy, of course, is running down without becoming run down. I’m always trying to find that balance.

In the meantime, I’ll be over here organizing files and activities for my students. Or cleaning the oven. Or scrubbing the floors. Or or or…

#SOL20: Find Your Cozy Place And…

Like many teachers across the country, I am eyeball deep in preparations for our district to go online with our learning. Like many teachers, I’m putting an immense amount of time and energy into thinking about how I will preserve the relationships I have with my kiddos while I maintain adequate “social distancing.”

What’s so very hard about the whole situation is that I will just…miss their faces. I will miss the joking around together. I will miss our dismissal dance parties, our musical partner activities, and I will miss the sheer joy and love my kids have for all things learning. I’ve thought about a few ways to maintain those relationships, and I’ve got a few ideas, including:
-Google chats for kids who want to talk about their writing
-Video “pep talks” from me where I share encouraging messages for my young readers and writers
-An open forum for them to post videos, writing they’re proud of, self-made memes and the like

But the one thing that dawned on me today? One thing I’m crazy excited for?

Well….it stretches back probably about two decades to an assignment I used to give to my students. At the start of the year, I would ask my students to scope out their houses for a cozy place to read. Kids came up with all kinds of things: their closets, their beds, under the dining room table…you name it.

Then, once a week, their homework would be FYCPAR:
Find Your Cozy Place And Read.

It was, by far, the most popular homework I have ever assigned. (That, and the Shakespearean insults. But I digress.)

So today, as I was considering how to continue my students’ writing instruction, it hit me.

Ladies, Gentlemen and Non-Binary Friends, I hereby give you:

FIND YOUR COZY PLACE AND WRITE.

I’ve found mine, and I can’t wait until my students show me their hidey-holes, their nooks, their crannies, their soft and safe spaces.

I don’t have to like that I’ll miss my loveys for however long. But I can savor and appreciate the time and space we will create, however we can.

If you need me, you know where I’ll be…

#SOL20 Day 12: Taking a Moment

It seems as though there are fewer and fewer places to hide from the spectre of Coronavirus. Even those of us who set out on a conversation trying to discuss something, anything other than the impending wave, there is no escaping the momentum of what surrounds us.

And so, in the midst of swimming, paddling, gasping for breath, I surface for a gulp of air to bring you something, anything other than the impending wave. Because I am sure I will write about it. Just…not today.

Today, amid all the craziness, this guy on my desk caught my eye.

This…is Ruffus. He’s my buddy. We’ve been together pretty much since my first year of teaching in Loudoun County, Virginia, and he’s followed me across three states, four districts, eight schools, at least fifteen classrooms and twenty-five years of teaching.

We’ve been through all kinds of things together. He’s been my demo dog for math lessons, a companion animal to many students, and he’s been the “talking stick” for countless class meetings and heart-to-heart conversations.

He may be just a tiny six inches long. His fur may be fading, and the paint on his eyes may be chipping away bit by bit, and his belly might be held together with some very amateur stitches in absolutely the wrong color.

But he’s seen so much, and heard so much, and done so much.

I think I’ll keep him around a little while longer.

#SOL20 Day 11 (Bonus): How Bad am I at Grief? (Or…will it always be too soon?)

In my daily blogroll, I came across Laughing Squid’s post about comedian Glen Tickle, whose Netflix special is in tribute to his late brother.

I can picture myself tuning in. I picture my own brother looking on from wherever he is, perhaps laughing along in that laugh I can never unhear, visiting me later on in my dreams to thank me for keeping him around a little longer in my thoughts.

It should be the kind of show I’m into. As a fellow human who lost a brother too soon, as someone who knows that grieving is messy and weird and difficult, I should find comfort and solace in sharing someone else’s experience. I should find a quiet hour and a box of tissues and dig in.

Should.

But as a human who knows that grieving is messy and weird and difficult, I don’t know that I have it in me.

And I’ve hung out long enough with Grief to know that Should has absolutely no business being anywhere in the room.

So it’s possible that I might watch the special, and it’s possible that it might offer solace and validation. It’s also possible I’ll pop in a DVD of Airplane, and think fondly on the guy who would text me random lines from that movie, who had crazy amazing dimples, who reduced everybody’s first names to single syllables, and who left this world way too soon.

Of course I’m serious about that. And don’t call me Shirley.

#SOL20 Day 11: Comin’ Home

Maybe I jinxed it by missing my boy.

But he’s coming home this week for Spring Break.

Aaannd for the forseeable future.

Yes, my son’s college has made the decision to move to online learning starting after Spring Break.

And that boy, the one I’ve been missing, the one I enjoy spending time with, the one it was harder to say goodbye to after Winter Break than at move-in, the one I’ve started to enjoy more texts and phone calls and conversations with, the one I was looking forward to visiting over my own Spring Break, and again on Mom’s Weekend, that one? He’s coming home.

Under my roof.

Indefinitely.

I’m….mostly sure that’s a good thing.

It’s a good thing.

Right?

Right?

#SOL20 Day 10: Better Late…?

You slide into bed, making sure the requisite layers cover you: Comfort. Warmth. Weight. A sense of victory wells up within. You have done it. You have achieved early bedtime.

Until the moment you realize what you didn’t get done.

It had to get done.

Today.

Try as you might to get that pit in your stomach to develop into some kind of ambition, some kind of forward motion, sleep wins out.

Next morning, you spring forth, anxious to get the job done for what it’s worth, praying it will do.

You scramble in, trying to appear collected, knowing you’ve got it coming.

You don’t have to look. You can feel an “I-expected-better-from-you” teacher stare snaking its way around the reddening tips of your ears, your cheeks, your neck.

Gathering your breath, you reach into your backpack. Trembling fingers pull out the crumpled, mottled paper in offering. The reply comes.

“Comments closed.”

Something shifts within, and you are not quite sure whether you feel relief or deeper dread.

You decide on relief. It will have to do.

#SOL20 Day 9: We’ll See What Happens

“We’ll see what happens,” the Wife shrugged as she grabbed her bag and keys.

The Husband looked up. “What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

The Wife lowered her bag and countered, “C’mon. You know that’s how it goes, right? It’s not like we have any control over what actually happens. We jump in, and then…yeah. We’ll see what happens.” She glanced out the window, at the reddening sky, at the dark figures beginning to assemble and approach in the streets below.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second,” the Husband said. “What’s this about we? I’m not leaving this apartment, and I’m not about to have you out there – out in all of that – knowing that something – that anything – could happen.”

“Well,” the Wife chuckled, “it’s not like anything could happen. I’m just saying that we don’t know what will happen. There’s really only one way to find out.”

In silent spaces between people there is often a sound. Listen carefully. You can hear the hum of the world. But in this silence, in this apartment, there grew something different. This sound was rising, thrumming, pulsing. At first it was a single, gentle tone, then it crescendoed and diverged, moment by moment and note by note, until it seemed as though it were a symphony of every instrument, if every instrument could play every note at the same time.

“Are you crazy?” the Husband shouted over the din. “There’s danger out there. Whatever’s out there-“

“Or…WHOever is out there,” the Wife interrupted. The figures out the window seemed more numerous now, and the sound was even louder.

“Whatever’s out there can’t be good,” the Husband added. Just the thought of those dark figures filled him with foreboding.

The Wife considered his words. She actually liked the sound. Yes, there was dissonance, and at first listen it sounds harsh and uncomfortable. But there is also comfort in leaning into that dissonance, of pressing into those close quarters, of getting into the tiny cracks between sounds and pushing into them, only to be pushed back. To her, it was kind of like musical swaddling.

The Wife said, “Whatever’s out there might be good or bad. We don’t know. But this music gives me a good feeling. And I’m up for finding out.”

The sound swelled in the apartment. There was not enough room for all three of them. The Husband and Wife both closed their eyes and leaned: one inward, one outward.