I’m a fan of the 6-word memoir form. Thanks to Britt, for reminding me how much fun it is to play with! Check out the post that inspired me by clicking this link.
A good day starts with chai
Kid performers make me so proud
Extra plan time? Please and THANKS!
Half days mean a long lunch
Time to plan, time to collaborate
Stick a fork in me. DONE!
Dog snuggles, snack time, mindless TV
Today, I took advantage of a rare day of light classes and meetings to work with a fellow colleague (co-conspirator?) to develop poetry units for a couple of grade levels. Sure, we knew we needed to use the Common Core Standards as the basis for content, but c’mon. It’s POETRY. We want our units centered around these ideas:
– it’s FUN to play with language!
– poetry is meant to be read aloud
– we can build literary analysis through meaningful responses and feedback to one another
Short list, tall order.
Boy, was I grateful I had my fellow colleague (partner-in-crime?) along for the ride. I’m the Google-Earth-big-picture-pie-in-the-sky-big-dreams planner, and she is the nuts-and-bolts-how-is-this-going-to-work-and-does-it-do-what-it-needs-to-do planner. Together, we settled ourselves in to work out our approach to planning. I think we might be on to something kids will enjoy learning, and teachers might enjoy teaching. I guess you could say my fellow colleague (aider and abettor?) found our rhythm (rhyme, simile, metaphor…).
Funny thing our work today comes hot on the heels of me talking about how powerful collaboration is for my students. Go figure that the universe is out there doing her thing, reminding me yet again to live how I teach…
Earlier today, I posted an article to Two Wring Teachers on “crowdsourcing” as a tool for story building and revision.
When I read the post to my fourth grade students (the subject of my article) I could see their nods and smiles as confirmation that, together, we did a GREAT THING. Even my most rugged individualists conceded their work wouldn’t have been the same quality of they hadn’t relied on other minds.
I count that as an absolute, total, 100%, holy-cow-time-for-a-high-five WIN.
I also had some inspiration for our cover.
Whatif we named our book after A Color of His Own, Leo Lionni’s tale of friendship and belonging?
And whatif the cover were visual evidence of our learning, both about Leo Lionni and about the power of collective effort?
Folks, I give you…OUR COVER REVEAL:
I don’t enjoy writing fiction.
THERE. I said it.
There are times, though, that I need to pull something together, especially when I’m demonstrating a process with my students. (You’ll see that process in the Wednesday, March 6 post on TWT…just as a shameless plug!)
My students are crafting stories in the style of Leo Lionni, using crowdsourced ideas and suggestions to improve their work.
Below is my work-in-progress. I’m about 60% of my way through the story, so I thought I’d share it with you here. Who knows? I may even end up finishing it at some point. If so, you bet I’ll post again!
Once there was a small brown hop-toad named George. He lived in his own little nook, tucked away in the crack of a concrete step by the patio door of a small, quiet, suburban house. Usually, nobody ever noticed George, and that was how he liked it.
George liked to stay in his nook, listening to the sounds of the squirrels, chipmunks and birds all around him. All day long he would hear them chirping and arguing with each other over this or that: a good nesting spot, a buried acorn, or the best place to keep an eye out for predators.
And the main reason why George liked to stay in his nook? Because George was not the kind of hop-toad who liked to be noticed. Somehow, whenever he ventured his way out from the step, somebody would notice him. Maybe it was the people who lived in the house and would shout, “Look! A toad!” Or perhaps it was the dogs, forever sniffing and prying and poking with their stinky dog breath.
One day, George heard a commotion outside his hidey-hole in the patio. Now, George was shy, but he was also curious. He plopped right to the edge of his entrance, where he saw – of all things! – another small brown hop-toad! She was smaller, browner, and even hoppier than George. And she looked scared and confused as all of the animals circled around.
“Hey! Who’s that?” a squirrel shouted.
“Looks like someone new,” chirped the cardinal from her spot on the backyard fence.
“She better not steal any of my food!” responded the squirrel.
“You mean MY food?” the chipmunk scoffed. The squirrel rolled her eyes.
“Tell me about it,” said the cardinal. “I have my wings full trying to fend off the bluejays. I don’t need any more competition around here.”
“Oh, come on,” said the squirrel. “We all know you -” but the squirrel never finished her sentence. All the animals went quiet as they heard the familiar thump-thump-thump of paws on the deck from the other side of the house.
“DOGS!” their terrified stares seemed to say. “Let’s get OUT of here!” went the silent command. The squirrel, chipmunk and birds left, leaving the new little hop-toad standing all alone in the middle of the patio.
George watched as the dogs sniffed the air, caught the scent of a newcomer, and slowly tracked their way to the patio.
“Who’s THIS?” they growled, circling the toad. “Smells like someone new.” More sniffing, a little growling. “Smells like a new toy.”
What will happen to the little hop-toad? When will George learn that stepping outside his little step is sometimes the best step? Will they live hoppily ever after? Tune in…eh, whenever I wind up finishing…
You could say I’ve been preoccupied lately. Still, one thing that connects and reconnects me with the natural world, is the watch for signs of spring each year. Crocuses and newly-green shoots stop me in my tracks, green shoots call to me from barely-thawed ground, and the smell of rain in the air brings me hope. Today, I chanced to hear one of my favorite sounds on my afternoon commute.
There,
at the
red stoplight,
driver’s window
cracked to let in air,
I
picked up
a sound, strange
at first because
it has been a year
Spring
peepers,
signature-
croaking their call
to me: remember!
Look
at the
sky! Listen
to the world! Please.
Keep Wonder close.
Lilahdog and Winnie (also known as Pooh Bear)
Thanks to Britt for today’s inspiration. Come for the cool post, stay for the insightful thoughts!
This post in 5-4-3-2-1
5 things that made me smile today
* My dog Winnie (who was afraid of our other dog Lilah upon first meeting her) nudging her sister outside to run around and play.
* A gorgeous day outside, warm enough to open up the house and let some air in
* A lazy, lazy morning
* Cheese and crackers
* A sweet text from one of my sons
4 words to describe my week ahead
* Long
* Complicated
* Hopeful
* Slower
3 plans for next weekend
* I’d like to bake some hamentaschen. The holiday Purim isn’t for another few weeks, but I’m visiting my son at college and can’t come empty-handed!
* Meal plans, grocery shopping, meal prep. Ev. Er. Y. Week. End.
* Zoom with my mama and sisters – been going strong since COVID!
2 things I learned / relearned this past week
* I’m beyond lucky to have amazing humans in my life. And I can never tell them how I feel enough times.
* I learn, relearn, and keep relearning to be patient with myself. (I’m guessing this lesson takes a few more “repetitions to mastery.”)
1 goal for the week ahead
* I just need to take each day and each moment as it comes, and pull myself out of “busy brain” when my thoughts run away. Totally doable, right?
I love Yiddish. The vocabulary captures an emotional flavor that English just doesn’t have the kishkes for.
Take the title of today’s post, for instance. I’m feeling all sorts of tumbled-up ways…mish-mosh is the perfect description. Basically, I’m an everything bagel today.
I’m in awe and wonder at the beautiful weather today, awe and wonder at miraculous signs of spring everywhere around me. I’m in awe and wonder that the sun has the chutzpah to shine on the day I mourn a close friend, gone too soon.
I’m farklemt that Being a Grownup means Doing Hard Things, like the burden of participating in a funeral service. Full of nachas to recognize that burden for what it really is: the honor of experiencing a deep, abiding friendship. A heart sad and full, all at the same time.
All of which is to say, I’d rather be a mish-mosh than a plain bagel any day. Now pass the cream cheese, I need a nosh…
Happy Slice of Life Day! (Do you think Congress would make it a national holiday?)
I love the Slice of Life challenge. Writing and sharing for a full month: it takes a bravery and persistence I’m never quite sure I have when I pull up to my keyboard each March.
Certainly, I have a lot of reasons to pass up the opportunity: I’m tired, there’s too much going on, school is bananas…LIFE.
Yet here I am, back at it for another year. What keeps me going?
Write on, my friends! Let’s make this a wonderful March.
Ever since joining up with the Two Writing Teachers community, I have a really enjoyed the “One Little Word” posts that I see each January. As someone who doesn’t really believe in New Year’s resolutions, I find it comforting to commemorate the transition to a new year by setting a simple intention.
Last year, I chose quiet as my word. In that post, I wrote all about how my one little word often changes throughout the year, as life brings me in one direction or another. And honestly, had I really been focused on it, I probably would have changed my word a couple of times. Or at least…I don’t know. Maybe I’d have focused on it more?
But here’s the thing. Last year, at least January through June, had me over my head. So many of the things I enjoy, such as daily writing during March’s Slice of Life Challenge, or even my daily workouts, just fell to the side as I managed one thing after the next.
And you know what? I kind of feel sorry for last year‘s one little word. Quiet. I don’t think I ever gave that idea enough time to sink in. I don’t think I offered myself enough moments of quiet, or peace, or meditation. I don’t believe I allowed myself enough chances to think about things beyond my customary rituals of listing, planning, and mental problem-solving.
So this year, I’m going to give it another go.
Quiet.
I’m hoping to find myself more time to be still, to create space physically, mentally, and spiritually.
And you? What’s your One Little Word? I’d love to know!
A little while ago, I started a teacher writing circle at school. I had a friend join me, which was a relief. I was a bit worried I’d be out there on my lonesome, just me and the snacks I brought.
We both decided we wanted a prompt, and I happened upon an idea I’d done before. It’s a series of sentence starters that reveal an autobiography of sorts. I thought it might cool to compare my entry to what I wrote last time. Here goes!
I was born lickety-split, showing up for this world in the delivery room while my dad parked the car. Guess I was ready for this world. Hopefully it was ready for me?
I adore my sweet, sweet dogs Lilah and Winnie. It’s deeply encouraging to coming home to someone so happy to see me. Lilah is new to the karmic ride: young and dumb in the most charming sense. Winnie’s had a few go-arounds. You can tell there’s wisdom behind those eyes.
I bought a new book for my class (really, for myself) last week. It’s an adaptation of Beowulf that’s composed as a graphic novel. It gave me the delightful problem of reading an amazing book but having no one to talk about it with. It’s going straight into my “class read-aloud” pile!
I have a hard time handling traffic, especially when I’m anxious about getting somewhere. From my shoulders to my knuckles, and despite my best effort, my irritation crackles and sparks.
I never want to burn out of teaching. I’ve come dangerously close a couple of times, but I fear not knowing when it’s my time to walk away.
One of my talents is picking the exact right .gif to text to a friend or family member. What’s that about a picture being worth a thousand words? Or, at least…a thousand giggles?
When I was 40, I was amazed by how much I knew. So much about my worldview clicked and solidified. And then a friend, hearing my musings, said, “Yeah…just wait ’til 50.” Friends, I’m here to tell her she’s absolutely RIGHT. And I absolutely expect 60 to follow suit. (70? 80?)
My favorite place shifts and changes. Deep in the woods? By the beach, toes anchored in sand? Fortified by a snuggly blanket with a book? On the miniature golf course with my guys? I guess it’s wherever I feel peace, joy, or fulfillment.
I can still hear my brother’s laugh. I miss that guy.
I dated a few klunkers in my time. I don’t recommend the experience.
I gave up ice hockey after trying it for a while. Flying on the ice was liberating. But I was a terrible skater, and it felt frustrating to know how much better I was on feet than on skates. I’d like to think I did my teammates a favor.
I once had the need for people to like me, especially at the expense of my own self-image. Now (perhaps thanks to that “turning 50” stuff above), I figure I’ll just be myself and let folks decide for themselves. If they like me, great. If they don’t want what I’m selling, it’s not mine to own.
I am an early riser. If you had told me in high school that I’d be the kind of gal to pop out of bed at the crack of dawn, I would have laughed. But here I am, poppin’ and crackin’ – literally – in the early morning.
I want to find a balance between self-acceptance and self-improvement. Has anyone figured that out? Let me know. I’ll pay you a WHOLE DOLLAR for it.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things