A Teachable Moment?

Last Thursday began like any other day. Except it didn't. Not at all.

At approximately 7:45 in the morning, I opened my eyes, grabbed my phone and nearly threw it across the room. 7:45? How could this be possible? My students start filing into the classroom at precisely 7:35 every morning!

And here it was, 7:45, with me still in bed. Instantly, I felt sick. By the time I was running for the bathroom to start throwing myself together, my phone was ringing.



A coworker wondering the same thing I was, "What on earth is going on?"

I eventually made it to school, still shaking from anxiety and adrenaline. My entire body throbbed with the dread of facing my students. What could I possibly say to them?

"Sorry guys, I was asleep while you were sitting here wondering where I was."

After taking a minute to calm my frazzled nerves, I called my coworker's room and had her send my class to me.

I took a sip of coffee and stood at the door, waiting. It was only a few minutes before I heard them bubbling up the steps and headed toward me.

Show time!

With a winning smile I greeted them, gave out hugs and high-fives, and told them to grab their writing journals and meet me on the rug. I politely smiled through all the questions about where I had been.

Once we made it to the floor with journals and pencils in hand, I sat down and asked the question burning in everyone's mind -- "So, let's hear it. What could have possibly kept me from being here with you this morning?"

The answers started out simple: I forgot it was a school day, I had a flat tire, I got caught up reading and forgot the time.

"Oh c'mon," I laughed, "No aliens? No mystery? What a boring morning I must have had. Certainly something crazy must have happened to keep me away from you."

I saw the lightbulbs go on above their little heads.

"A fire! Your house caught on fire and you had to save your dog!"
"Someone padlocked you into your house!"
"Aliens captured your family and you had to save them!"

And on and on and on we went... until I stood up, went to the board, and wrote this:

I told them they had 10 minutes to write anything they wanted to explain my tardiness, and suggested this would be a fabulous time to go nuts with figurative language. With that, I turned our music on, started a timer, and began to pace the room.

At the halfway mark, I heard groans -- they had too much to write and not enough time!

When the timer went off, I had to practically pull still scribbling students from their seats.  But it was time to share, and everyone wanted in on the action.

We laughed our way through the next 21 explanations for my late morning, our personal favorite including my untimely parachuting into a warzone and abysmal attempt at shooting my way out of the chaos (I shot at everything I saw, but missed every shot!). In one story my car broke down, so I rode a turtle to school. In another, I found a secret portal in my closet and sped away to a new world. In still another, I was a part of a high speed chase!

By the time we finished reading, we had to head out the door for P.E. and the poor kids never did find out the real story of my out of sync morning. But I have to say -- their versions were much more exciting! And an excellent opportunity to play with figurative language and revision.

Thankfully, my epic teacher fail was saved by their imagination and fantastic writing skills -- a teachable moment, after all.

slice of life tuesday: and we're off!

This morning I rushed up the stairs to my classroom, eager to begin the day. It didn't matter that I was a few minutes later than I planned or that I was dangerously close to losing the juggling match with my latte, cellphone, and room key. It didn't matter that the lumpy, oversized bag slung over my shoulder was banging against my hip with each bound towards my room.

I had to get to class.

Rounding the corner I found one of my favorite early birds waiting by my door. She practically bubbled over with giggles when she saw me.

"You're here! We can write! Are you ready?!"

With a quick hug, I stumbled into the room, tossed my cache of goods into a corner of the room, and fell onto the floor with my journal and a pencil.

"Ready," I grinned.

As we opened our notebooks and started comparing ideas, three of my students from last year walked in, waving their journals at me. Without waiting, they grabbed a chair or a spot on the rug and opened their notebooks.

And a few more friends trickled in... and a few more, until there were 10 of us gathered around the room, talking about characters and plots and plans as we wrote and shared and laughed.

I glanced up at the clock to find we'd already spent 25 minutes together. Our time was almost up. Students began filing into my room, preparing for our day. I had to smile as they came in. We had talked about today; I had warned them to be respectful of the writers when they arrived.

They took a few steps into the room, stopped short, nodded as if they had just remembered something important, and silently put their things into their lockers and got to work.

My crew of NaNoWriMo warriors said goodbye and promised to be back tomorrow. We exchanged a few hugs and of course I was obliged to read some of their work before they left. They left, it seems, walking a littler taller than when they came in. All through the rest of the day I heard chatter of novels and listened to the sound of passion taking root.

And tomorrow, I get to do it all over again. Who knows, this may just begin a year long writing club. I can't think of any better way to start each day.

nanowrimo: ready to write

NaNoWriMo is right around the corner, and I find my creative wheels spinning as I rev up for this year's challenge. Last year, I brought my class into the mix by spending November teaching about story development as we worked together to finish our own novels. The energy in the room was contagious -- kids from all over the campus wanted to know more about what we were doing.

So this year I've decided to open my doors to more students. Instead of writing our novels during class time, I'm hosting a before school club just for NaNoWriMo's Young Writer's Program. Every day in November, students are invited to come write from the time school doors open until 5 minutes before the bell rings. This will give us roughly 30 minutes of writing time every day.

I've passed out flyers, given information to be posted on our school FaceBook page, and created a short video teaser that our librarian is showing to all her 4th and 5th grade classes this week. I've visited as many of my students from last year as I could track down and pumped them full of info and excitement as I can. Several of them say they will be there.

I don't know who will show up at my door on November 1st. If I'm lucky, I'll have a classroom crowded with little bodies lying all over the room creating their own stories. My dream version has so many kids show up that we have to overtake the library for our 30 day journey. Of course, I may see just a sprinkling of kids from one day to the next. Either way, the amount of kids that come to write doesn't really matter. Whoever is there is meant to be there, and we will spend our mornings writing, sharing, laughing, and sometimes banging our heads on stories that move more slowly than we like.

I have ideas to try a write-in for the area and a special event for all our writer's to have a reading when we're done. And we can't forget an after-party on December 1!

Regardless of the number of participants or events we celebrate throughout the month, I'll be there writing along side them.

November can't get here soon enough.

A different sort of Valentine

"Happy Valentine's Day!" we shout to the kiddos, tossing heart shaped boxes filled with chocolates and other sugar-laden tidbits into their eager hands.

The morning is filled with chocolate, chocolate, and oh, let's see, what else was there?  Yes, yes, that's right -- chocolate!  The husband is alternating swigs from his Monster (yep, that's right, I totally put a Monster in his bag 'o goodies!) and tossing whole Ferrero Rocher candies (worst.candy.ever.) into his happy mouth.  The littles are busy giggling and trading candy Toy Story figures and chocolate Tinkerbell crisps.  The bigs are, of course, snarfling down their own stash, grumbling with a mock-alpha dog growl whenever anyone comes to close.  It's a happy day.

Oh, but wait, as if the chocolate-drenched chocolatelyness of the day wasn't enough, the kids then decided to have a pizza making hoedown in the kitchen, so the house now smells of delicious cheese and bread.

Chocolate.  Cheese.  Bread.  The air is saturated with the savory sweetness of the day.

And what am I eating, you may ask?  Oh, you know, turkey breast... egg whites... protein powder... the usual.

Honestly.  I deserve a freaking purple heart of foodie will power.

Whatever.  I'm going to go brew some chocolate tea and pretend it's hot cocoa.  Better yet, I may throw it in the face of any of the chocolate-dazed coma-drooling fools in my house.

Happy Valentine's Day, dear reader.  Enjoy some chocolate for me.  Then send me haiku about how awesome it was.  Perhaps I'll send you some chocolate tea, too.

You Win Some...

A few weeks ago I decided that I was definitely, no matter what, come what may, taking January 27 off from work.  One of my best friends was having surgery, Uno and Dos had half days at school, and I really need to go have my last name changed all official-like.  Lots to do, perfect day to miss work without guilt.  A done deal.

This past week, I realized that this was just not going to happen.  Serious work issues, then multiple coworkers out sick, one at the hospital with her son.  My team needed me.  My class needed me.  I just couldn't miss.  I could just figure out another time for the official name stuff, find rides home for the boys, and my friend was surrounded by family so I could check up with her later.  Ok.  Fine.  Work was going to win, this time.

I woke up nice-and-mind-jarringly-awake at 7:45 this morning. Seven! Forty! Five!  OH, what a great start to the day.  I leaped out of bed, ran and banged on the boys doors, and like any decent Drill Sergeant, began barking out orders.  I grabbed my phone, called the school, and informed them I was running, oh, an hour late.  They swiftly informed me there was no one to cover my class, due to all our specialists being needed for testing today.  Awesome.  That meant one thing -- my principal would be with my class until I got there.

At approximately 8:05, we ran from the house and jumped in the truck, me hoping against all odds that I could still, at the very least, save the boys from being late because I am an idiot.  Dos was my first delivery, one full minute before he was supposed to be in class. Good luck, kid, I think, as I tear off en route to Uno's school.

I'm beginning to feel a little better, knowing I have plenty of time as I round the corner to the high school, when I spot the police car sitting in the median.  Nutburgers, I think, knowing my time has run out.  My inspection is expired, and seriously, I know it's not difficult to renew, but, as stated earlier, I am an idiot, and I just haven't taken care of it.  Now, any other day, I think I may have scooted past him unnoticed.  But oh no, not today.  I drive past, and he does a slow turn around, lights blaring, and I sigh, pull over, and tell Uno, since we're sitting right in front of his school, to hop out and get to class.  He shakes his head, says, "This is not your day," and ambles off to class.

Tears are already forming.  I cannot stand being pulled over.  I hate this reaction, this stupid dumb-girl overspill of emotion, but, there it is.  The officer comes up, talks about my inspection, and all I can do is nod and cry.  Insurance card, he asks?  Well, sure.  Oh... but... no.  I haven't put then new one in the truck, so I'm sitting with an impotent slip of paper that does me no good.  More tears.  He hands me two citations for being, what was it?  OH yes, an idiot.  And I'm free to go to work, now sobbing, because, I don't know, maybe I should have just taken the stupid day off from work and none of this would have happened to begin with!

Arriving at work, I get my dumb girly emotions in check, walk-run to my classroom as fast as I can, thinking, Okay, my kids know the routine.  They do the same thing every morning, they've got this covered.  I am going to walk in and they are going to be pleasantly hard at work, just like they do every morning.  I have taught them self-reliance.

Except, I haven't.  One of the specialists is in my room (Score! My principal didn't have to come to my class!) and my kids are noisy, wandering the room, confused.  I breeze in, asking what they are working on.  They stare at me, wide-eyed.  They do not know.  I ask what we normally do each morning, and they tell me.  Then a massive OOOHHHH from the little darlings, and they rush to get started as I unload my packmule assortment of bags I carry in each morning and the day gets started without much ado.  I thank the specialist, and off we run.  We have things to learn, thank-you-very-much.

Fifteen minutes into our morning work, my principal steps in. (Can I take back my earlier pronouncement of AWESOME, please?) She was, in fact, in my room earlier, and the kids told her all about the things we are working on, and oh, by the way, when you have a second could you please email me with a time we could meet today?  And then she was gone.

No "we must chat about your kick-butt teaching strategies" or "I can't believe you left your class hanging and lets discuss how irresponsible you are".  Just -- email me, goodbye.

Thankfully, the meeting was not a scolding for my idiocy, but a necessary discussion of things to come.  Thankfully, the rest of my day was fairly easy.  And most of all, thankfully, my amazing husband showed up at 1:00, handed me my rings that we had send off to the jeweler to have soldered together, and asked for my keys, as he was taking the truck to be inspected.  He hugged me, talked to my class, gave me his big "I love you" smile, and he was gone.

And just like always, I felt immediately better.  How is it that just being in the presence of one person can have such a calming effect on me?  As nice as it would be for me to learn some of my own self-calming techniques, if I could bottle what he does to me, I would be a freaking billionaire.

I ended my evening by taking some dinner to my friend in the hospital with her son, calling my other friend that had surgery today and making sure she was well taken care of, calling my mom and telling her about the coin drive I organized for the relief fund to Haiti, and soaking in a hot bath.

So all in all?  Not a bad day.  Not bad at all.  Sometimes, in the climax of all the turmoil that surrounds me, when I am freaking smooth out, as I am prone to do, I really need to just take a step back and remember how blessed I am.  My children are healthy, my husband is amazing, my class is growing daily, and I am much stronger than I give myself credit for.

And with that, I believe sleep is in order.  Must remember to set my alarm clock...

Not My Best Moment

Yesterday, I drove through a roadblock.

I wish this were a beautiful or simply witty analogy for a major milestone of my growth, reflecting the majesty of my awesome spiritual/emotional/blahblahblah progress.

Sadly, it is what it is.  I. Drove. Through. A. Road. Block.

But in my defense?  It was a really horrible day!  The evidence speaks for itself:

1. I woke up late.  I refused to tear my lazy butt out of bed, because I don't seem to think I need to go to sleep until after midnight.  This caused me to flood the house in a wake of chaos and frustration, driven by my own self-loathing brain rattling cry of, "Way to go, Ms. Responsibility.  Even your CHILDREN were ready to go before you.  Like you couldn't have forced yourself out of bed 10 minutes earlier?  What kind of mom are you?"
2. Therefore, I left my breakfast on the kitchen counter, which I had stayed up til midnight lovingly baking for myself the night before (yes, I can lovingly bake things for myself!).  My delicious and nutritious egg & spinach muffins were most certainly devoured by my giant horse of a chocolate lab within minutes of my truck backing out of the driveway. Stupid, mouth-breathing, hairy beast.
3. On the way to drop the boys off, I frantically began a mad search for my classroom key, which is always --yes, always, I don't make mistakes, duh-- sitting in the center console of the truck.  No keys.  Nokeys.nokeys.nokeys, and this topped off by items 1 and 2, threw me into a panic.  I was already late, so by the time I got to school, there would probably be kids waiting at my door, which AWESOMELY, I would be unable to open.  Splendid.
4. Because my leadership abilities refuse to stay hidden, I am currently the team lead for my grade level.  I email all my happy teammates with important tidbits for the week, which, within minutes, is being replied to with the news that I am giving them bad information, and my plan for the week won't really work because, oh, in case you had forgotten Kelly, you are a moron.  Gotta love the self-talk that spirals downward until you are sitting in a pool of sticky black ink, praying for the last swell of oxygen to leave your sad, angry, little body.
5. Prepped my kids for the writing test they would have to undergo the following day, which always makes me feel a little like a bloodsucking muckity-muck, because the way in which we force them to write seems to have the express ability to turn them all into one massive UniAuthor with several sucktopus tentacles waving about haphazardly as they die, ever so slowly.  I spend every day attempting to keep their inner-writer alive and not suck their creativity away.  Testing days are painful for me.  And them.  So by the end of the day, I'm on high-alert, red-flag, ABANDON SHIP OR DIE mode.  And I flee from the building just as fast as my feet can carry me.

Reader, you may be looking at this list thinking, "Really?  REALLY?  This is what got you all out of sorts?  When people are homeless and dying and don't have clean water and and and..."

To be honest, I think it, too.  Nonetheless.  Yes.  That is what had me all out of sorts.  Bite me.

So I pick up Dos, and we're chatting away and I'm trying to get home as fast as I can because a) if I don't get the chili cooking right now dammit, then we will all die, and b) Amanda Palmer is about to have a webcast, and since she is marrying my favourite author EVER, I figure I should know more about her.  I don't know.  It seemed important at the time.

The roads around the boy's school are currently torn to shreds with road construction, so I follow a detour sign onto a side street, which leads to a bloody roadblock with no freaking way out but to turn around, and no way to turn around due to all the damn cars lined up on both sides of the streets.  Also, as I am sitting there, staring angrily at the barricades, breathing deeply, two more cars pull up behind me.

I throw the truck into reverse, begin to back up, only to watch the driver of the SUV behind me stare vacantly in my direction, and stay put.  I slam on the brake.  I stare, seeing nothing.  I sigh.  I look at Dos.  He looks at me.  I stare some more, watching cars drive down the road in the direction I need to go, on the other side of the barricades.

I throw the truck into drive, drop an F-bomb in front of my child (MOM OF THE YEAR, HOLLA!), and weave through the barricades, a group of construction workers gaping wide-eyed at me, as I listen to the somewhat satisfying kathump-kathump-kathump of road blockades dying beneath my tires.

And then I went home.

And started my chili.

And watched Amanda Palmer.

And waited for the police to show up at my door, arresting me for things like civil misconduct and property destruction and public display of moronic behavior.

Thankfully, I think the only jail time I'll be doing is the guilt-infused cell I seem to keep myself locked in.  I wonder which is worse: imprisoned behind metal bars, or locked in behind years of self-amassed guilt? At least when your jail sentence is over, the gates open up and let you out.  With the guilt?  I've never managed to find the gate.