One Word at a Time

Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring . . . "He's not answering. He's such a deep sleeper, he probably won't wake up." Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring . . . "Maybe try FaceTiming him," Emily suggested.  "It will make a different noise, and maybe that will wake him up." Bring bring, bring bring, bring bring . . . "I'm going to pull off the highway.  I don't like that sound - I just know it isn't right - so I'll pull off and turn it off and let it sit for a little bit.  Maybe that will help.  But keep trying.  Maybe through Facebook?  Can't you call through there now?" As the signal light blinked on and off, the silence was noticeable.  Where, five minutes earlier, you could hear the sound of two voices trying to sing along to Mariah Carey's anthem, All I Want for Christmas Is You, now there was nothing.  All ears were tuned to the engine and the noise it was making. "That definitely doesn't soun...

To me, this is about restraint. When I was a baby, there was no such thing as restraint!  When I loved something, I screeched, grabbed, scooted, kissed - I was completely overtaken by my love and wanted to tell the world.  My heart was literally on the outside of my body, reminding me of the term "wear your heart on your sleeve." Over time, restraint was a learned skill.  Somehow, through direct teaching or modeled behavior, I learned to "control" my emotions. When I saw something I liked, it was no longer "appropriate" to screech, grab, kiss. I still felt the same rush of emotion and joy - but it was half inside and half outside - still a smile, a laugh, a hug. Now, as an adult, restraint is a part of everything.  I shouldn't laugh too loud or too long, I shouldn't hold too hard, squeeze too tight.  Often we are reminded of something we love by a comment, a smell, an image.  And as we grow older, the amount of things we love, and ca...

Early Saturday afternoon posted on the doors, both front and back were words I never thought I'd write. I won't quote them directly for they were many and many but here was the gist. 'Many things bring us together Tonight, it's bacon and beer But more importantly, friendship. We believe in the 1st Amendment Opinions are often shared loud and proud But tonight, the political kind are off the table. Please come in and join us Grab a beer, eat some bacon Remember what is bringing us together.' The sign came down the next day having done its job, for the time being anyway. I'm holding my friends in my heart I'm holding my neighbors in my heart I'm holding the world in my heart. It beats on We'll beat on Together.

blue -  /blo͞o / - adjective 1.  of a color intermediate between green and violet, as of the sky or sea on a sunny day. 2. informal  (of a person or mood) melancholy, sad, or depressed. The first makes me think of your eyes.  I look at the sky today and it is such a strong hue.  Your eyes were your most prominent feature, that blue standing out against your white hair and pale skin.  Those eyes.  I am pretty sure they even actually twinkled every now and again, when you were being fresh or sassy, as you were prone to be. The second is how I feel today - melancholy that you are gone, sadness that you were in pain.  You were so strong, you were so brave, you were so stubborn.  The doctors and nurses and social workers said they had never seen anyone stay so strong faced with so much.  We know you were hurting.  We know you were ready to see all of your angels - Uncle Kenny, your son Kenny, and your great-grandson Cohen - and...

Can you think of ten reasons that you love someone in your life?  Can you think of twenty?  How about fifty? Nine years ago, we spent the day bowling (my grandfather's favorite past-time) and then to dinner at his favorite restaurant.  When we all gathered for dessert, I pulled my cousins into the next room.  I handed them their "script" and walked them through how we would proceed from there. They joked, calling me teacher, but this was important to me.  It had been my idea, my creation, and I wanted it to be perfect. My cousins and I stood in front of my grandfather, eighty years young. We each took turns reading from the "book" - a book of reasons why we loved him, why he was special to us, how he had impacted our life. Now, my grandfather is a cryer.  My mom and her siblings inherited it from him.  And a few of us grandchildren from our parents.  Let's just say there were very few dry eyes in the room. After the tears had dried, cake h...

1) Comments mean everything.  They mean you're heard, your words have value, and other people care. 2) Keeping a physical notebook was hard.  I did much better when ideas came to me and I started a new blog post and saved it as a draft. 3) Time can be hard to find.  I did better when I set a 30 minute timer for myself for writing and a 30 minute timer for commenting, at separate times of the day. 4) I like writing narratives - which makes me laugh, because I hated writing growing up.  My most fun posts were ones where I told stories - with dialogue, or descriptions, or characters. 5) It makes me happy when my writing makes people feel, not necessarily think.  I thought I would enjoy most the posts that were thought provoking or topics I felt strongly about - but I enjoyed the ones where I tried to make people laugh, or smile, or sigh. I appreciate everyone who took the time to read the words that are carrying me through my life.  I am looking ...

"Hi, Mom.  Can I call you back in a minute?" I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder.  She often calls in the morning on her way to work, but she must have left earlier than me today.  I struggled to grab all of my bags (why do I need a lunch bag, a computer bag, AND a work bag?!?) without dropping my phone. "Where are you?  Are you okay?"  I could hear the panic in her voice. I stopped what I was doing and focused on making my words clear. "Mom, I'm fine.  I'm home.  I haven't left for work yet." "There is a bad accident in town.  The car looked like yours, so I got nervous." "No, it wasn't me.  I'm still home, but I'm just getting ready to leave." While I couldn't hear her sigh, I could picture her shoulders dropping and her pulse slowing. "I just wanted to make sure it wasn't you." "Thanks for calling to check on me.  I'll see you later tonight." ...

(This is going to be a very ramble-y post since I just got back from Paint Nite and I have so many ideas in my head!) A few coworkers and I decided to do a Paint Nite.  For those who haven't heard of them, here's a rundown.  An artist chooses a painting and walks you step by step through creating that painting - which colors, which brushes, which strokes, etc.  Usually they are held at a bar or restaurant, so drinks can be had. I've never felt more of an understanding of how our children feel learning every day. Some of us came in with experience - others had none.  Some of us were good at mixing colors - others good at certain strokes.  Some of us could keep up - others needed more time.  Some of us talked and chatted - others retreated to a quiet, introverted world.  Some of us were ok with mistakes - others had to redo, repeat, retry, repair. Each of us felt comfortable enough to take the risk of painting - because there was no higher expect...

Zooooooom. Skittles gets a running start and flies onto the carpet.  She lands in the middle, sliding across the floor like she's on her own magic carpet.  The ride abruptly stops when it hits the end of the tile and, nonchalantly, she saunters away like she didn't just take a magic carpet ride. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Skittles is a little stressed today.  Loud noises.  Windows closed.  Mom and Dad brought strangers into the house.  Dad smells like dirt - she remembers the scent on Dad's shoes from a long time ago.  She makes her way over to the carpet and let's loose, giving her claws, legs, and back a stretch. Purr, purr, purr. Skittles has just eaten dinner.  Her tummy is full and it is time to relax.  She can't believe Mom and Dad make her work sooo hard and wait sooo long to be fed.  She steps over to the carpet, making sure no one is around to make any noise or scare her off.  She lays down on the carpet - rolls o...

"Scratch scratch." "Scratch scratch." Ashley looks towards the direction of the sound, and a smile stretches across her face. The Easter Bunny is scratching at the screen door. But this isn't any old Easter Bunny. No, most Easter Bunny heads aren't made out of a paper bag, with floppy paper ears and uneven holes in the eyes so he doesn't fall walking up the stairs.  This Easter Bunny is decked out in an immediately recognizable pastel plaid shirt, clean pressed khakis, and white sneakers. Ashley opens the door.  "Happy Easter Grampie!" ~~~~~~~ "CHRIS, I found one of yours!  It's over there.  No, look closer to the rock.  Not that rock.  You're getting warmer . . . warmer . . . you're burning up!" Ashley shouted. "I found it!," Chris exclaims, tossing the bright pink plastic egg into his Easter Basket. Jenna and Brett aren't too far behind.  As the two youngest, they're often rushed thro...

London Has Fallen. I know it's just a movie. I actually like action movies. I enjoy the thrill, the good vs bad dichotomy. And I enjoyed the first movie. And don't get me wrong, I enjoyed this movie too. But a part of my brain and my heart ached watching it this time. Brussels has fallen. Paris has fallen. Too many have fallen. They never showed the innocent. They never showed the public. Death and destruction were ignored (unless you were bad or good) to move the plot line along. I know this.  I've watched enough action movies to know that gets too deep into the emotional side of things and you'll lose your target audience . But perhaps emotion is what we need. We need to see what this type of violence and destruction leads to. We need to see the faces of fear,  children making sense of the awful in front of them. If all we see is buildings and smoke, how will we be moved to change?

Last night when I was thinking about my day off, I had plans of grandeur.  I'd clean my house!  I'd do my laundry! I'd take a trip to Costco to stock up on some things! I'd drop my soon-to-be-overdue books at the library! Here's how my day off actually went . . . 930 Woke up. I was "stuck" in bed - a cat between my legs and a cat tucked into my side - so I was content to go nowhere.  I spent some time catching up with my digital world - Facebook,  Twitter, email, weather, Blogger, Timehop.  Got a text from a friend . . . 1145 My friend had tired of texting me, so she called. We spent 90 minutes venting about work, frustrated for the same and different reasons. I gratefully accepted a hot cup of coffee from my husband when he got home from work, after telling me to stop talking about work on my day off! 1200 My hubby and I discussed our upcoming schedules. I was making sure he remembered all the social engagements that we have coming up, as he tends to ...

"Thorough preparation makes its own luck." - Joe Poyer "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." - Benjamin Franklin "Don't expect success, prepare for it." - Anonymous "I'd rather be prepared for nothing than unprepared for something." -Anonymous I made my own lesson plan book when I was teaching - that was about three inches thick.  My sub plans were usually eight pages long.  My conference notes were filled to the brim with evidence and data and observations.  Before meetings, I reread notes and readings to make sure I am prepared. So last year, when I was asked to coordinate state testing at a new school, I accepted the challenge.  The year before had been a disaster - lots of riled up staff and students, disorganization, and a drawn out testing window. I pledged to make it all run smoothly! I spent hours organizing, preparing, researching, practicing, creating - all so my teachers would be impacted in the smallest wa...

All day long, I think of my life in slices. Slices of time, slices of feelings, that, put together, make up my whole day and my whole life. Today, however, I realized how many slices of other people's lives  I am witness to every day. I started paying attention - and quickly found myself captivated.  (You might say I was being nosy, but I didn't do anything except overhear what was said in public!) Here are the slices I witnessed today. "The Bachelor was quite a ride this season, wasn't it?" :  This must be a yearly ritual, one they probably share with people they are close to. How fun it is to share in an interest and have it to talk about at work the next day!  Reminds me of when my coworkers and I watched The Office and talked about it every Friday morning before work. Watched a woman going into the dry cleaners with a huge pile of clothes : She must have a job or a lifestyle that requires lots of dry cleaning.  Or did she go somewhere fancy this we...

My husband loves the dark. When I first moved in with him, I took a good hard look at his condo.  The shades were always drawn.  His room was painted a deep red.  There were few lights around beside the overhead ones.  Over time, I came to realize that my husband loves the dark. This is one of the many areas where we are true opposites.  He likes spices and lots of flavors - I like simple, solid flavors.  He likes mixing his food - I like mine separated, thank you very much.  He likes getting his hands dirty - I'll wash mine a few times more.  He likes mornings - I like nights.  His pillow is rock hard - mine is goose down feathers.  He likes sleeping, ahem, scarcely dressed - I wear thirty layers. So after a long day today and an emotional night (more on this later) I was expecting a dark house, like every other night that I come home after he's already gone to sleep. Instead, I drove into the driveway and the porch light was o...

What do you have hanging above your fireplace?  A family portrait? Perhaps a photograph of a family member who has passed.  Maybe you have a shelf of figurines, chosen to fit the personality of your family. I bet you don't have a tricycle. No, we aren't cyclists, or even bike enthusiasts, really.  Said bicycle is really a red metal tricycle, flattened to become a wall hanging.  I never thought it odd as a child - it was just there, as much as any other picture, collage, or wall hanging was.  But eventually, I wondered what the heck was up with the bike. Over the years, my brother and I have questioned it, but my mother always said that she just liked it.  It became a joke between us.  Why is there a bike on the wall?  How the heck would anyone ride it?   So, a few years ago when my parents were packing up our childhood home, my brother and I joked that the bike was going to meet its demise during the move.  My mother too...

Glug, glug, glug. I looked up from my computer to see my cat, Sydney, with his face shoved in my water glass. He's been there for a while. Every few minutes, he pulls his face out, looks at me, licks his lips, and back in his head goes. I know his water bowl is full - I can hear it bubbling from the other room. I can't imagine this way of drinking water is more comfortable than drinking out of a bowl.  He doesn't have to travel very far - his water bowl is only ten feet away. I'd say this is just an eccentricity of Sydney's - but his sister, Skittles, does it too. And so does every other cat I've ever met. So, of course, I asked Google - because the Internet can answer a lot of questions. But - No, he doesn't dislike his water bowl - I see him drink out of it all the time. No, he isn't dehydrated. No, my cats don't fight over the water bowl, making him uncomfortable drinking out of it. ...

Where did I learn to keep my cool? My blood runs hot - I can thank my Italian Nonni for raising me in that way. My voice is strong - I can thank my parents for setting the expectation that I use my voice for good. My passion lives deep - I can thank my grandparents, my parents, my brother for sharing their passions with me. So where did I learn to keep my cool? From the soccer field, where losing your cool resulted in fouls, poor choices, and possible penalties. From staff meetings, where teachers lost their cool and butted heads, all for the good of the children, and the principal moderated and facilitated. From class, where students say things they don't mean, and you know reacting will just make the problem worse, so you stay on your path. Learning to keep my cool didn't happen overnight. I've reacted in the classroom, when students say mean things. I've reacted at work, when I've gotten frustrated with a situation. I've reac...

In real life, we don't always have warning signs when trouble is coming. Oh, we might know there's a possibility of it. But there aren't clues, like there are in books, or music changes, like there are in movies. Sometimes, in real life, a call, or an e-mail, or a text comes through - "Hey. Can you call me really quick please" - and you just know. Something not good is happening. That feeling in the pit of your stomach comes to life. Trouble came.  I dealt with it, tried to get back to work, but that feeling doesn't always go away quickly.  I tried to remind myself that trouble doesn't stay - it isn't permanent - and you're better off if you share your troubles, rather than try to deal with them on your own.

"It's here! It's here!" I exclaimed to the silence of my car. The slightly open mailbox was my first clue as I pulled into the driveway. As soon as my car was in park, I pulled out my phone to see if I received the notification of delivery. Delivery confirmed, I quickened my pace and jumped out of the car, a 'ding, ding, ding' reminding me that my keys were still in the ignition.  I grabbed them, slammed the door, and trotted across the street. There, in the patient black mailbox, it lay, wrapped with the rest of the mail.  I flipped past bills, newspapers, even a card from my in-laws was tossed aside to get to this package. On a whim a few nights ago, I bit the bullet and ordered one  My husband, father, mother, mother-in-law - heck, I think my grandmother even has one.  In my effort to live my "one word", healthy, I thought this was an appropriate step.  When it came across in my Groupon feed for a second time, I was sunk. The fact that...

The time has come. It's time to spread their wings, test out their strength, follow their own path. They'll use their parents' guidance, of course, and they'll still need them for food, for shelter. But it's time for their first real venture into the real world. You may thing I'm speaking of the baby birds you see in the tree outside your window.  You wouldn't be wrong.  But the "baby birds" I'm talking about are my eighth graders. ~*~ The high school guidance counselors, seemingly out of place in our middle school, have found a home this week in the library. Sitting in front of them over the course of the day are our 8th graders and their parents. They're meeting about next year, about freshman year, about what courses they'll take and what to expect. Watching my former students take this step is always fun. I can only see them from a distance, of course, but it is a time of reflection. Look how tall she's gotten. Look ...

Look outside the window and everything is new. New          grass          flowers          babies          colors Look outside the window and everything is old. Old                          leaves                gardens            trees Outside the window. life death green brown new old Your windows hold life and death, growth and destruction, youth and age. Spring holds endless possibility after a season of hiding, a season of dying, a season of hibernating. Embrace the new, but respect the old.  Celebrate what's growing, but acknowledge what's gone.

Isn't it funny how something simple, something you think will be over and done with just-like-that, can turn into something that changes your life? Four summers ago, one of my co-workers offered me the opportunity to attend a week-long professional development session over the summer, free of charge.  What prompted her to think of and offer it to me, I'm not sure - I've never asked.  But I attended - and it completely changed the way I thought about teaching and learning. By nature I am a reflective person, and, if possible, an even more reflective teacher. So having my ideas about teaching and learning challenged so early on in my teaching career was an amazing thing. I was able to solidify and give words to so many things that I knew and felt about teaching - about independence, discovery, and hands-on learning. Four years later, after being given the opportunity to run  the professional development sessions rather than just attend them, I can say that my ideas ...

I can procrastinate with the best of them. What I should have done today: Gone to the grocery store. Made a dessert or appetizer for my meeting tomorrow. Worked on the materials for the presentation I'm giving Wednesday. Cleaned my house. Eaten three meals. Gone outside for fresh air and exercise. What I did instead: Napped. Washed one load of laundry. Ate a roll of Thin Mints. Watched reruns of Leverage. Opened the windows by the couch so I could feel the sun and breeze. Some days are better than others. Every time this happens, I get mad at myself and swear I won't be like this again. I'll get things accomplished. No excuses. No procrastinating. Sigh. Someday.

I was traveling from my house, located in a rural town in south central Connecticut, through Hartford, towards a town south of Boston.  Ninety minutes on the road, in the morning, with nothing but my thoughts and the radio to keep me company. As I drove, I watched the scenery change. From fields soaking up the springtime sun, to buildings shining in the early morning light, to suburban houses, slowly waking with the rising sun. The drive changed, too, as I left Connecticut and entered Massachusetts.  There were tolls, more drivers, faster speeds, less exits. I've done this drive a ton of times, alone and with others, so it all was familiar. But it got me thinking (ninety minutes in the car will do that). About how much we have to adapt in our everyday lives. Just driving several towns over, the change is enormous. Colors of signs change, where and how things are identified change. Even the way the roads are laid out change. Every day we have to adapt.  Whether it is ...

There are two afternoons a week when I am home alone. My husband works his second job and doesn't get home until 7, so I have two hours, two whole hours, of being in the house by myself. Why are they glorious? I can concentrate on me during those two hours. My reading. My eating. My writing. My being. When we are home together, it is about Us. Us eating. Us watching. Us being. But when I am home alone, I can focus on me. My needs. My wants. Up until recently, my husband hasn't understood my need for alone time. He grew up with parents and grandparents that are. never. alone. His grandparents had nine children, so the children were never alone. He is one of thirty-two grandchildren, so he was never alone. He learned to function "alone" in the midst of a whole group, which is an amazing trait that I struggle with every time we are together with the whole clan. I grew up so differently. It was just me and my brother with my parents. My extended family was mu...

Two and a half years ago, my colleagues began the process of accreditation. They held up a bright, fluorescent light and shone it into every nook and cranny of the school. They peered into a full-length, magnified mirror and studied every aspect of common practices. Instruction. Environment. Leadership. Mindset. Habits. They met, they interviewed, they wrote reports, they discussed, they reflected, they laughed, and they worried. They argued, and voted, and came together as a whole to truly study themselves. Over the course of the last four days, they've opened the doors of the school and the classroom to a group of outside educators. Those educators held up that same bright light, but with new eyes. They peered into that mirror, with different perspectives. Meetings were held, interviews were given, observations were completed, students were shadowed. As the days passed, the questions grew. Will they see what we see? Will they see our struggles, our challenges, o...

After two nights in a row of terrible sleep, I've been dealing all day with The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop. The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop is under my left eye.  I could see it in the mirror as I was putting on mascara this morning.  I could feel it as I was driving to work. Sitting in an Accreditation meeting, I tried my best to ignore The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop while I dutifully answered questions about my position and the state of technology integration at my school, eye contact kept short so no one would notice. Sitting in a Curriculum meeting, I did my best to pretend The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop wasn't making the vision out of my left eye a little wonky. Eating lunch, I pretended like I usually eat with my knuckles pressed under my eye, trying to calm The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop. A few times, I've thought The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop is gone.  Sometimes, it feels like The-Twitch-That-Won't-Stop has moved to my right arm.   B...

Medi cine:   a compound or preparation used for the treatment or prevention of disease, especially a drug or drugs taken by mouth. Today required a lot of medicine.   All-day curriculum meetings will do that to you. I am usually the baker for these all-day meetings.  There's just something about being stuck in a room, for upwards of eight hours, that just requires something out of the norm, something sweet, to push us through.  Especially after a lunch that often leaves us feeling full, sleepy, and unmotivated.   So I pull from my vast collection of recipes or my Pinterest recipe board and whip something up the night before. Oreo Truffles. Raspberry Bars. Salted Caramel Brownie Bites.  Mmmmm. Friday afternoon, I called to my colleagues as they left that meeting.  "Check your e-mail this weekend!  I'll send a few ideas out for treats, let me know which you'd like!"   All Friday afternoon, my brain was reviewing the...

When you first meet my husband, you'd never guess he is a gardener.  He is a tough guy, a personal trainer, a veteran.  But you get him outside, with his hands in dirt, and he is one happy guy. When we moved from a condo to our house on an acre of former farmland, he started small.  A few tomato plants, a few berry plants, and some cucumbers.  That was three years ago. Now, you look out on our backyard, and there's a huge rectangular garden.  He grows everything from corn, to squash, to cucumbers, to blackberries.  He cans, and jars, and pickles, and we have a ton of food dried or frozen. The first weekend of March is when he starts his planting.  So I overlook the soil on the counter and the kitchen floor.  I overlook that my porch is now plant central.  Because over the next few months, I will watch him care for those plants like he is caring for children.  I will reap the benefits - fresh blackberries for breakfast, ...

They can't make you go to school on a Sunday,  can they? Several people have asked me that question when I mentioned that I was heading into school this afternoon.  We are going through a self-study, and the committee is here to observe the school this week.  They arrived today, and there was a welcoming "meet-and-greet" this afternoon. No one is evaluating whether I was there or not.  There won't be a commendation letter or a write-up about whether I showed up or not.  Truly, in the big picture, it didn't matter whether I showed up or not.  And with a raging chest cold, I considered not going.  Staying home.  In my PJs. But my colleagues know I was there.  My principals know I was there.  The parents and students know I was there.  And I know I was there. No, they can't make you go to school on a Sunday.  But when you are dedicated to your craft, dedicated to the people you work with, and dedicated to improv...