One Word at a Time

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...