Slice of Life Tuesday: The True Meaning of Success

Today was the first day of our state writing test, or STAAR. We've spent nearly 8 months together -- reading, writing, thinking, questioning, reflecting, and more.

They're stronger. More confident. Well-prepared.

They have created a solid craft as writers in the months we have shared.

I'm not worried. My stomach isn't twisted in knots.

This is a strange phenomenon.

By all accounts, I probably should be concerned.

Even though what they have learned is solid, it's possible they haven't grown enough to pass at the state standard. They came to me struggling to learn. They arrived such a short time ago, with low self esteems that often got in the way of their own success -- and this had to be tended to before we could do anything else.

So. We've grown by leaps and bounds. They are proud of their writing -- where once it was difficult to write a coherent sentence, now there are paragraphs of well-thought sentences.

I could not be more proud of them, each and every one. And results from this test won't shake that away.

#Slice 2013: 1 of 31

Indecision. That's where I have been sitting for the last week month or so, trying to decide what I want to say in this first slice, trying to decide if I should write my slices on this blog (as I did last year) or the new teaching blog I've wanted to focus on over at Ninjas with Notebooks, and trying to decide on a plan to get me writing every day -- no excuses!

Well! Nothing like a deadline to make those decisions happen. For the sake of consistency, I'm keeping my slices here. And since the muse is being shy (much thanks to my dusty writing habits, I'm sure!), I'm writing about what's most pressing -- the decision to write, every day, no matter what.

My students already do this. I've watched them bloom from timid to tenacious when it comes to their writing time. Often they beg for more -- more time to write and definitely more time to share. I'm proud of the writers they have become, and the writing yet to be seen.

But I have fallen out of the habit of writing beside them during their morning journaling (free writing) time. I'm too busy catching up, preparing, organizing, doing all those last minute things that seem to sideswipe my days. It's humbling to admit, and embarassing. This is a habit that is not good for them or me.

This week I have reorganized my room and my files in hopes that I can stay on top of it all! After seven months at my new district, on my new campus, with my new learners and coworkers, I feel like I might finally be settling in. (But not settling down!)

It's time to focus on my own craft for a while. I couldn't be more pleased that March is here -- a deadline that came just in time.

Slice of Life: Stop, it's NaNoWriMo Time!

November is definitely my favorite month of the year. Why, you ask? Well...

• It begins one day after Halloween (candy and costumes, guys - c'mon.)
• It's (typically) less than 100 degrees here in sunny Texas
• NaNoWriMo mania means I get to writewritewrite my heart out!
• I get to spend every morning before school writing along side several 4th and 5th grade students -- no grades, no homework, just a bunch of writers with a shared purpose!

This year I used Animoto for the first time to make a video for all 150 students to watch. They were pretty excited!

Make your own photo slideshow at Animoto.

I'm eager to see how many show up on the 29th to learn more! This year I'm starting my club just a few days early to help students flesh out ideas and get the ball rolling. In the meantime, I thought it might be helpful to round up some handy NaNoWriMo apps and sites that will help all us wacky WriMo'ers get the job done!

• Write or Die: I'm a huge fan of both the desktop and iPad version of this writing block killah. The concept is simple: as long as you type, you're fine. Stop typing and the trouble begins! This is a great way to get out some fast writing bursts when you're lacking motivation or need some extra oomph to keep writing.
• Storyist is another great program for writers, available on iPad or Mac. Maybe it's the gadget lover in me, but I fell in love with all the options for organizing various story elements. And if you're a little on the... um, less than organized side, Storyist is a huge help!
• Okay, okay, I know. You want the free stuff. When it comes to free writing apps, there's a long list to choose from. Honestly, I like the extra bells and whistles Storyist provides me, and feel like if I just wanted to write without organization I could use my Notepad. Alternatively, I've seen people use apps like Evernote and Write 2 Lite for on-the-go writing.
• But most importantly, be sure to hang out on the NaNoWriMo forums for tons of advice, tips, and tricks! Being involved in a group of writers makes all the difference when it comes to reaching the finish line at 50,000 (or more!) words.

So what are you doing to prepare for the NaNoWriMo frenzy of writing?

Slice of Life Tuesday: A Manifesto Begins

I've learned a lot in the past six weeks, but mostly, I've (re)learned this:

I believe in a reader’s right to choose.

Strike that, I believe in a child’s right to choose.

I believe in a child’s right to be treated like a person, not a statistic. Not a test grade.

Choose how they learn best.

Choose how they represent their learning.

Choose what they want to read.

Choose how they write.

I believe in choice.

The choice to teach in a way that lines up with your beliefs and meets the needs of your students.

I believe in standing firm on your principles.

I believe in change.

I believe when we offer students the opportunity to be great, they amaze us with their excellence.

I believe teaching is about people, not numbers.

I believe we have lost our way.

I believe there is a way back. 

It is the still, quiet voice muffled beneath scores and paperwork and meetings and data.

The still, quiet voice that -- years ago -- urged you to become a teacher in the first place.

I believe that voice has a right to be heard.

And I believe we each have the strength to push that muffled voice from a whisper to a shout -- not just for ourselves; not for the weary eyes, aching feet, boggled brains and burnt out souls of all the teachers across the nation.

No, not only for them -- for me, for you.

I believe that voice has a right to be heard because our children deserve better.

They deserve rooms rich with conversation, laughter that rings through the halls, amazement in the pure joy of learning -- which, let’s be honest -- has been lost beneath the bubble sheets and reading passages and leveled books that bore would-be readers and scientists and Nobel Peace Prize winners at such extreme levels that we have shut down their minds.

I believe our children have the right to be allowed to learn.

I believe change is necessary.

And I believe change is impossible, unless we listen closely.

Listen closely to that still, quiet voice – the one that insists there is a better way.

Because there is. There is a way beyond boxed curriculum sets and test preparation. Beyond extrinsic rewards for minimal expectations. A way beyond what we have let education become.

And if you’ve forgotten your voice, if the demands placed on you have become so stringent that your passion for learning is barely a smoldering ember – put down your clipboard, leave the stacks of papers behind, push open that door and walk outside.

Seek out the playground.

Seek out the children digging in the dirt.

Seek out the boys on the basketball court and the girls doing cheers all lined up in the grassy field. (And yes, seek out the girls playing soccer and the boys reading beneath a tree.)

Seek out the Kindergarteners asking, asking, always asking for more.

Seek out the loner. The angry one. The kids poking bugs with sticks.

Seek out the wisdom in each child, the delight in their faces, the yearning for knowledge.

Fill your lungs with it. Smile, if just for a moment, remembering why you are doing this in the first place.

And let your still, quiet voice rumble and roar.

And be heard.

For you, for your students, for our nation.

Be heard.

Z: zipline

z

ZIPLINE

In 2005 I was fortunate enough to go on a mission trip to Costa Rica. We spent several days working with kids at a school for the blind and deaf. It was a truly amazing experience. After our work at the school was over, our group headed up to the Monteverde Cloud Forest for a couple of days.

On our final day, we hiked up through the forest to the canopy. The trees were unbelievably huge, towering over us for what seemed like miles. Along the trail to the zipline station (our final destination), I happened across a giant black and orange tarantula, among other strange and new creatures hidden in the foliage. We crossed over rickety bridges and climbed old metal staircases that seemed sewn into the landscape.

But the real treat was the zipline experience. Let’s get real for a moment. I am not a thrill seeker. Soaring through the air while hooked to a thin line of cable was not something I ever planned on doing. When I stepped onto that platform and listened to the clink of metal against metal as my harness became one with the zipline, I nearly hyperventilated.

And with barely a word of instruction, I was shoved off the platform, twirling round and speeding high above the tops of those mile-high trees. At one point, I let go of my death grip on my harness, leaned back and just let my body fly through the air. I think several burbles of laughter escaped my lips, unchecked. Trees and waterfalls and mossy green riverbanks waved hello as I passed by, under a misty grey-blue sky.

All to soon, the ride came to an end. I wrapped my gloved hands around the cable and squeezed with all my might, kicked my feet out in front of me, and pushed off against the large tree that waited at the other side. My friends were there, cheering and laughing and jumping up and down on the platform. We hugged and whooped in that shared excitement that only comes after something amazing accomplished together.

And then, as a group, we all turned and watched and waited, as the next brave friend came hurtling across the sky.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Writing More

It's April, and my students are elbow-deep in their #scriptfrenzy writing. When I announce it's time to work on our scripts, a cheer rumbles through the room. I'm not going to try to hide it: I. Love. This.

Last November, I used Larry Brooks' Story Engineering to help guide me through my NaNoWriMo novel. I've always written from the seat of my pants, but using Brooks' structure helped me to complete my first novel. I am now a firm believer in laying down some structure before wandering into the wilderness of writing a novel -- or anything else, for that matter!

I decided to try out the concepts from Story Engineering with my 4th grade students. I know people generally tend to crinkle their foreheads and turn down their lips when I talk about taking using these really intense, detailed, high-level concepts with my sweet, innocent, just learning the ropes 4th graders, but I have to tell you -- the kids sure seem to love it. How can that be wrong?

I've used the lessons from the NaNoWriMo site before, which includes this handy plot roller coaster:

Taking the kids from this form to words like plot point and inciting incident and midpoint wasn't much of a leap. I'm using reader's theatre scripts along with printouts of screenplays and dramas they are familiar with. We're sitting around discussing the Alice in Wonderland production we saw on a field trip last week, and making it fit into the elements of a drama.

And some of them are whipping out page after page of correctly formatted, interesting scripts.

And some of them come sit with me, and we write an outline for each act and scene, and then they bounce off ready to attack their play again.

And all of them are excited. Each writing more every day.

Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?

SOL Tuesday: WTMNBN, Part 3

This post started here, moved forward here, and has landed rather quietly on the doorstep of today's Slice of Life post. I hadn't intended to share this today, but it seemed to want to be heard. Sometimes, you just have to follow the words home again.

My last WTMNBN post left my story ten years ago, in 2002. I struggled with my self image and my weight for the next 4 years, shedding and gaining the same 20-30 pounds -- as if my body were part of some twisted bungee jumping adventure. Always bouncing around, never stable.

In 2006, my mom flew in from Illinois for a visit.  It was a normal Mom visit -- filled with food, food, and more food. Mom loves the following things more than most things in life: onion dip, M&M's, Coca-Cola, bread & butter, and Taco Bell. Or McDonald's. This sounds cruel, but it isn't intended to be. I love my mom dearly. It's her lifestyle that makes me cringe.

She woke me early in the hours just before dawn on the day she was supposed to return home. She was in tears, her body hunched over, her arms wrapped around her belly. It didn't take long for me to realize this was more than an ordinary stomach ache. As the sun came up, we headed to the hospital.

My mom was rushed into a room that was roughly the size of a walk-in closet. Honestly, there are probably closets out there larger than her room at the hospital. There was nothing on the walls, no counters or cabinets, just stark white floors, walls, and ceilings. A rounded bench jutted out from one wall; as if seat and wall had been molded together from a single piece of Play-doh.

Later, the nurses told us that they had been out of rooms, so my mom was placed on a gurney in their holding room for drunks and other "crazies" that can't be trusted in a normal room. It made for an interesting experience, to say the least.

I watched my mom sleep through the next several hours, only waking to request something to drink or a warmer blanket. She was pale and weak; her face tired, her body slack. I had no idea why she was in so much pain, why her digestive system had blood in it, or what the possible diagnosis would be.

I was scared.

Hospitals have always petrified me. I've spent way too much time in emergency rooms, outpatient clinics, overnight stays -- you name it, I've been there. To this day, every time I walk into any type of medical environment I have to fight back a wave of nausea.

But this was more than my typical hospital-paranoia. I spent hours that day worrying that I might lose my mom.

After 10 hours of sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting and letting my mind wander rampantly through the land of the delirious and back, we found out my mom was suffering from diverticulitis -- a completely treatable disease caused by her years of atrocious eating habits.

I remember a few things vividly from that day:

1. I was angry. Watching her lie on the hospital bed, I envisioned the same situation years into the future -- with my own kids sitting by my bedside. Me, missing out on graduations and weddings and grandchildren -- all because food was more important than family, my own health, or my future.
2. This thought crept around my brain, and refused to leave: every choice we make to eat foods that are from a fast food place, too fatty, or fried... every time we choose to sit on the couch all night instead of being active... every choice we make that favors flavor over fitness -- is also a choice for a long, slow, painful suicide.

I stopped over eating. I stopped indulging in Ben & Jerry's. I stopped drinking soda. Stopped smoking. Stopped the secret McDonald's stops on the way home from class at night. 

I started walking. Every day. I started researching heart healthy, nutrient rich recipes. I started truly taking care of myself, for the first time in my life.

I invested in the art of being me.

By 2008 I was healthier, stronger, and slimmer than I had ever been. My 35 year old body put my 17 year old body to shame.

And I wasn't doing it for vanity. I didn't want the skinniest, prettiest body. I didn't place an emphasis on how attractive I was.

I wanted to live. Plain and simple. For a long, long time.

The measure of my success was found in the energy I had, the laughter I shared with my kids, the ease with which I could run and play outdoors with my nieces and nephews.

If something was known to be unhealthy, I didn't let it near me. It wasn't difficult. I thought of my mom, lying in that terrible hospital room, I looked at my children, who deserved a mom that cared more about them than she did about food.

And I just did it.

It would be a perfect fairy tale if that were the end of my story. It is, after all, a beautiful "happily ever after".

But there's more to this story.

Today just isn't the day to tell it.

Mirror Mirror

When the previews for Mirror Mirror came out, I may have bounced and giggled more than most normal, sane adults.



After all, I have always been a fairy tale girl. Some of my embarrassingly childish favorite movies include Ella Enchanted and Enchanted. No, really. 
So you can imagine my unbridled giddiness upon hearing that Snow White was getting a makeover. I'm a sucker for retold tales.
When the reviews for Mirror Mirror started showing up as less than tantalizing, I was a smidge nervous.
Phrases like "too dumb for adults" and "too twisted for kids" made me worry that Singh had missed the mark. Was it possible that this promising new fairy tale flick wouldn't be able to find a home in my list of girly movie go-to's?
I pushed aside the critics warnings and decided to check it out for myself.
And I couldn't have been more pleased.
Mirror Mirror has everything the spellbound fairy tale enthusiast hopes for: comedy, love, and a bit with a dog. (major props to you if you know which of my non-fairy tale favorites that quote comes from!) Okay, there's really not a dog. Unless you count Julia Robert's character. The Queen is undeniably doggish. But enough about that.
The costuming is outlandish, the visuals are brilliant, and the tension between the characters keeps the story moving along nicely.
Dialogue was the one place I sometimes felt the film landed a trifle on the dull side, but the story itself satisfied the fairy tale girl within.
Once again, I found myself pleased I hadn't crossed a movie off my wishlist due to bad reviews. Now, if only someone will bring Neil Gaiman's wickedly disturbing version of Snow White to life...

The School That Technology Forgot

Today I heard the news for our district's new technology plan. Hold on to your hats, friends, because this one is hard to believe:

1. All teacher laptops to be removed
2. All campuses currently using Mac computers shall have them removed, to be replaced by rented Dell desktops
3. Grades 5 and up will now be allowed to bring in their own technology into the classroom (BYOT?) -- meaning your home home laptops, iPads, whatnot, are finally going to have access to the district Internets (sorry Grade 4 and under - you're on your own!)

I can't even begin to comprehend the thoughts driving this decision or the effects it will have on the students and teachers.

I've been using Macs in the classroom for the past 5 years. The students love them, they're very user friendly, and we absolutely use the software provided on our classroom desktops.

I use my laptop at meeting, training sessions, and at home to do numerous work related tasks.

I was told today that the reason behind the laptop removal is because "teachers only use their laptops to play around on the internet, and that's not a good enough reason to keep them."

The disrespect towards myself and other professionals from this one statement is quite simply -- as Liz Lemmons would say -- a deal breaker.

How do we prepare students for the jobs of the future when we aren't even equipped to handle the technology of today?

At best, it's embarrassing. At worst, it's damaging to students and teachers alike.

And it is definitely guiding my thoughts on who I am as an educator, and where I choose to invest my time.

Musical Montage

When I was little, mom sang me to sleep.

I love my Kelly, oh this is true... I love my Kelly, oh yes I do...


I was raised on a mix of Elvis and The Eagles, with a little Joan Jett and Journey sprinkled in for good measure. These songs were the soundtrack of my life from birth to about eight. I remember singing along in the car as we listened to songs like Hound Dog or Don't Stop Believin'.

I can attach a song to nearly all my childhood memories -- music was always in the background. My dad often hummed along to many favorites, and my mom was a trained quasi-opera star in her own right, so music just didn't know how NOT to follow her around. She's sort of like Snow White, that way.

In fourth grade I remember starting to buy my own music: Michael Jackson, to be exact. And when I couldn't buy the newest tape for my boombox (oh yes, I went there!), I would simply record it off the radio. This was especially helpful when I wanted to learn the lyrics to a new song. Record, play back, stop, play, stop, play, stop, play -- until all the words were safely written in my notebook. And when I wasn't writing down lyrics from the radio, I was writing my own.

By middle school my friends and I listened to Madonna, The Beastie Boys, Tiffany, and Guns N' Roses. Music was my bipolar best friend. Where else could you find these tunes hanging out side by side? Only middle school, my friends.

I distinctly remember crying to Cruel Summer and Groovy Kind of Love when my first boyfriend moved away. No, seriously. I probably even ran into my room, flung myself onto my bed, threw one hand over my forehead, and wept bitterly. I bet Whitney Houston was singing in the background.

Soon after that deluxe moment of sitcom love gone wrong, I was banging my head to the likes of Alice Cooper, Poison, and Def Leppard (why didn't it bother me that their band name was so hideously spelled??) with one group of friends, while also kickin' back with a different group listening to LL Cool Jay, Whitney Houston, and George Michael.

No wonder I was confused.

When I was alone, I had a third set of music that begged for my attention. At night, after my friends cleared my parent-free house, my radio dial always tuned to the same thing.

Classical music.

It started innocently enough. One night, deep into a bout of insomnia, I was storming the radio stations in search for something new. Somehow I landed on one of the only classical music stations in Vegas -- nestled between dozens of rock, hip-hop, and pop stations.

And I was hooked.

What began as random background music to my insomnia became a love of Chopin, Bach, Mozart, and  Mendelssohn.

It became my must-have lullaby, the perfect serenade for late night homework sessions, and quite often -- the soundtrack to my long drives to class for the years I was determined to finish my degree, no matter what.

Even through the years in high school, bebopping around to The Cure, Johnny Gill, Billy Idol, and Sinead O'Conner -- classical was still my closeted musical BFF.

Don't you just want to slap teenage me upside the head and yell, "Yo! Find your own taste! WHO ARE YOU???"

I still rock out to live music whenever I get the chance, beam like a little kid on Christmas morning when I hear Elvis, and pull out some serious white-girl dance moves when any of those classy songs from the 80's and 90's are on.

But in a moment of high stress, when my heart is pounding and I want to just run away and pretend nothing exists? There is nothing like being surrounded by the pulse and energy of swirling emotions that speak to me through classical music.

Oh, and teenage me would be proud -- I've actually found the music that speaks to me (beyond my classical bestie), even though no one I know really cares for it. So when I'm not seeking a Zen moment in the land of harps and violins, I'm happily crooning along with singer/songwriters Joshua Radin, Ingrid Michaelson, The Weepies, Imogen Heap, Schuyler Fisk, and more.

And P!nk. Because let's face it, she's pretty badass.

Writerly Wednesday

I'm really digging these mini-writing updates. They help me be accountable and the feedback I'm getting makes me feel like maybe I'm helping some other secret #nerdywriterclub members start to come out of their shell, too. I'm not gonna lie -- that's a pretty good feeling.

First, here are some of my favorite writerly reads this week:

1. Script Frenzy: this is a no brainer. Since I'm gearing up to write my big screenplay, I'm spending mad online time browsing this site. Lots of helpful tips and forums as busy as the local sports bar on $2 wells night. (p.s. I have a plot!! I know, a lot can change for me in one day, right?) There's also a site for teachers, if you fancy running this month o' madness in your classroom (and you should).
2. Donna Newton's Blog: writer, runner, mother, storm chaser -- this chick can do it all. And when she isn't off living large, she's blogging about nifty writer stuffs, such as contests, workshops, and author interviews. Check her out!
3. Texas Sweethearts (& Scoundrels): 7 authors and illustrators from Texas that write for kids and teens. You can access all the author's websites from here, and I have a weird love of reading author blogs (is this how some people feel about reading People magazine??) so you should definitely give them a visit -- who knows, maybe you'll even find some new books to read!
4. AdvancedFictionWriting.com: Another great site filled to overflowing with tips, tricks, and helpful info. You could spend way too much time here reading about writing, and not actually writing! So I'm linking you straight to my current favorite page -- an article on the "snowflake" method of writing a novel.
5. Writing Excuses: this is a super-rockin' website with podcasts on just about every writing topic you can dream up. The line-up of talent on this blog is pretty spectacular, too. I like to listen when I'm feeling a bit deflated. I hope you'll give it a listen, too!

On my own personal writing front, I'm knee-deep in edits on my picture book. I took the best advice from the 8 critiques I've received and have been able to tighten up my sentence structure, reorder a few lagging moments, and let some unnecessary words take a hike. I'm feeling good about sending it out soon! Once the edits are done, I'm going to work on some of the other titles I have in mind for this character. I think she'd be a character many kids can relate to, and I'd like to submit the first picture book with the promise of other titles to follow. I'm not sure that will help sell the book to a publisher, but I've read it never hurts to show you have other stuff lined up. I'll let you know how it works out -- by next week, I should be working on this stage. Exciting stuff, guys!

And as a little edit to yesterday's floundering post-of-much-whining, I'm pleased to say I've come up with my screenplay idea. It's an idea that I actually had about 5 years ago. I wrote this tiny snippet down and never went back to it, but the main character keeps kicking around in my head lately, so I decided I may as well give him some time in the spotlight. I'll spend the rest of this week fleshing out his character and rubbing the rust off the story details. I'm pretty hyped to share my story with my class, and can't wait to see what they want to work on. I have a feeling April will be a very good month!

So guys -- what about you? What have you been writing this week?

It's Monday! What Are You Reading?

It's Monday, so I'm popping in on Teach Mentor Text's meme. Click the graphic above to join the fun!

Last week I really struggled to get any new books read -- something about finishing 21 narrative report cards, getting ready for this week's STAAR writing test, among other things.

Over the weekend, I started reading The Sister's Grimm: The Fairy Tale Detectives by Michael Buckley.

One of my student's had recommended it, and I can never turn them down! I'm currently on page 153 -- so about halfway done. It's a fast paced read and I can see why my students enjoy it so much. More on that when I finish. My reading goal this week is to finish it by Friday.

I'm also reading Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal.

Since I'm participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April, I'm finding this book to be a huge help! I've been cataloging my own list of possible encyclopedia entries about my life, and plan to use my list to keep me writing throughout April. Regardless of whether or not you're in need of inspiration for a month of alphabetized writing, I highly recommend Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life.

Since my goal is to finish both these weeks by Friday, I'm already browsing my to-read list for my next great read. I've had my eye on The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate.

I fell instantly in love with Home of the Brave, and I'm fiercely devoted to an author once I'm hooked, so this book could be about nearly anything and I'd read it -- but I'm delighted to see that it's something I'm actually happy to read. Now, to get my hands on a copy!

I'm also pining for a good YA book, but nothing sounds quite right just now. I've read a lot of dystopian fiction lately (it's been a favorite genre since I actually WAS a young adult), and I'm feeling a little tired of the same old story lines. It doesn't help that I'm elbow deep in my own dystopian YA novel edits. So maybe something else? Fantasy perhaps? A good mystery?

I'm just not sure -- what do you recommend?

Words That Must Not Be Named (WTMNBN): Part 2

It took me exactly two days to move out after graduating from high school. I was 17 years old. There's a lot of backstory leading to that decision, but that's another story.

Lately, when I look at my own 18-year-old son, I find myself thinking about the day my parents dropped me off at the International Airport in Amsterdam, Holland and waved goodbye as I strolled to my plane. I was moving to Florida where my 24-year-old boyfriend lived. If my kids tried this, I'm pretty sure I'd lock them up and throw away the key -- 100% remorse free. But honestly, that is also another story.

This story isn't about my kids, my parents, or even my decision to move to another continent and live with a man I barely knew.

This story is about the strange journey I've been on with my body in the past 20 years. Twenty. Years. How is that even possible?

Anyway, back to the story.

I was still sporting my fabulous new 130 pound body when I arrived at the tiny airport in Pensacola, Florida.

That summer was amazing and horrible and eye-opening.

It only took a few months for me to realize that my dad could no longer limit the foods I ate.

So I ate.
And ate.
And ate some more.

I actually remember being elated at the freedom I had found -- I could leave the lights on through the whole house, waste as many paper towels as I wanted when cleaning up a spill, and eat macaroni and cheese by the box-full.

I think my choices really proved how totally mature I was, and definitely ready to be in a serious adult relationship.

By the following February -- just eight months later -- I weighed 184 pounds. This number is forever burned in my brain. It's the number I saw when I stepped on the scale to check my weight on the morning of my roadside chapel wedding.

I'm not really sure how it's physically possible to pile on 50 pounds in eight months -- but I do know it involves things like steak lunches, tons of chocolate pie, and a lot of Taco Bell. Oh, and several years of self-loathing mindspeak rattling around in the brain. That'll do it, too.

A month after the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I was elated.

Nine months and another 50 pounds later, my first son was born. He was perfect and beautiful. (He still is, but he'll roll his eyes now if I tell him that.)

I'd love to tell you I spent my first pregnancy bathing in a pool of health and wellness.

But that would be a lie.

I was 19 and had a mean addiction to cupcakes and Coca-Cola.

After Uno was born, I attacked my weight like any normal weight-challenged teenager with a baby.

And so began the ever-fluctuating merry-go-round of gaining, losing, and regaining the same 30 pounds once or twice a year.

When the final seams of my first marriage were finally unraveling, I weighed right around 250 pounds. One of my close friends jokes about this time as my "closet days," saying she never wanted to see "Kelly hiding in the closet" again.

There were many reasons I was hiding. 10 years of living with an emotionally abusive, controlling husband had turned my mind into swiss cheese. And let's be honest -- my self esteem was a joke before I met him; so even mild deterioration was apt to cause some big issues.

When I looked in the mirror, I certainly didn't see anything worth appreciating. I didn't see a human being. I saw a bunch of words meant to keep me down. I've always been a collector of words, but in this case, I'd picked up several that needed to be discarded.

Scarred.
Fat.
Irresponsible.
Useless.
Stupid.
Ugly.

I left my first husband in 2002. Not the words, though. They hung out much longer.

But that's another story.

In Which I'm Proven Wrong, Yet Again

Remember how I promised my kids I would actively seek out publication for some of my writing? (And then threw a big hissy fit, positive it was going to kill me?)

And then got this crazy idea to write a completely new picture book manuscript, and take it through all the steps that lead to having an actual-factual book sitting in the stores? (Also: resulting in hissy fit.)

Yeah. I'm still pondering what on earth I was thinking, but it appears -- and I know this will shock you -- it's not quite as bad as I had imagined it to be...

I've followed the Face Book group Writers Support 4U! for a while now. Mostly I just lurk the posts, feeling sorry for myself -- look at all these writers writing! look at all these writers publishing their work! look at all these writers interacting!


Seriously, yo. I'm not really sure why I even joined if I just wanted to creep up on them Peeping Tom style, and not actually participate.

But last week I finally did more than hit the "like" button on a random post.

I asked about critique groups.

The response was quick and painless, and as a result I'm the newest member of a weekly Skyping writer's group and an online critique site.

The picture book has been critiqued twice on the site so far, with some really great feedback! I've got some ideas on a few changes to perk it up a bit, and both critics left me feeling hopeful about sending it out to publishers.

I also read the manuscript to my class, proving to them that I am, indeed, sticking to my word -- they had the same reaction as my own Littles, which was another plus. Laughed in all the right places, and because we so often critique each other's work, they also let me know what was strong and what needed help! What amazing little writers they are becoming!

This weekend I'll participate in my very first Skype critique group. I expect w(h)ine to be involved. (You didn't think I would give up complaining that easily, did you?)

It's good to be moving forward. New possibilities keep springing to mind. And I'm sort of falling in love with that.

What's Possible in Possibility?

Possibility. That's my one little word for 2012.

It's interesting to me how one word can wrap itself around you and take on a life of its own.

Impossible spells "I'm possible." (We love you, Audrey.)

Dwell in possibility.  (Thank you, Emily.)

LIVE with possibility.

One month ago I felt overwhelmed -- eaten up by -- possibility. The choices and chances in the coming months swirled around me, leaving me feeling lost in the fog -- of possibility.

Now I see it differently. I see the bliss and the blessing in all this possibility. I see adventure and opportunity. I see a life lived out loud. A life worth living.

I decided I needed to track down the root of this word that has become the framework of my year.

Possibility led me to possible, which led me further down the path to the Latin word posse, which means "be able." Following this still further I found that posse and potent both mean "power."

There is also the Latin verb possum (no, not opossum!), meaning "I am able," or "I can."

Follow the etymology around long enough and you'll find your way through the Latin potis (which leads to pote, meaning vessel -- how beautiful is that?) to the Sanskrit word  पति, or páti, which means "lord, master, rule, sovereign."

And what more is possibility, than to dwell in the brilliant truth that each day I get to choose what path to take. To dwell in "I can." To toss out the lists and the schedules and the must-have's and never-do's, and just get on with the business of living.

The words found in possibility are beautifully empowering. I found myself thinking of the words from Invictus by William Ernest Henley; the last stanza in particular:

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul. 

With all these delicious words wandering through my mind, I was reminded of Bob Raczka'a book Lemonade and Other Poems Squeezed From a Single Word. I looked up Andrew Russ, whose work Raczka was inspired by, and found even more words to ponder.

So I decided to give it a try with possibility. After much shifting around of letters and words, I realized it's much more difficult than I thought! But here it is, and here I am, dwelling in possibility:

It's Test-Taking Day!

Each year, same thing: a special meeting to train us to have the wherewithal to undergo the precise measures that must be taken on this very special test-taking day.

Each year, same thing: I wonder what dolt has actually done the things we're being told specifically not to do, unless we'd like to find work in another career path once next school year rolls around. I mean, they wouldn't tell us not to do it unless this had actually happened before, right?

So today, without further delay, I give you a day in the test administering life of my imagined version of the teacher that caused all this ruckus in the first place:

I wake up, squinting against the light coming in through the window.  Light? It mustn't be. The clock registers the amusing truth: it's late. Much later than it should be. I guess I had one too many drinks at Al's Drink Emporium last night. Shrugging, I amble through my morning. Let 'em wait, I always say!


When I reach the school, the halls are buzzing with activity. Kids scrambling to class, teachers milling in the hallways drinking coffee and chatting happily about the big day.


Oh that's right, I think to myself. It's test-taking day! I chuckle to myself at having forgotten this important day, and head to class to make sure my little sweethearts have arrived safely. After tossing a few orders out, I head to the office. Time to pick up our tests!


The halls are quiet now, so I slip into the teacher's lounge and rummage around for the coffee. It seems nobody had time to put on a fresh pot this morning, so I figure it's the least I can do to get one started. Once I have a nice steaming cuppa Joe, I check my mailbox. Empty. I head off to grab those tests.


My assistant principal is waiting for me, test packet in hand, toe tapping. He looks like he barely slept at all last night. 


"You were supposed to pick these up thirty minutes ago!" he glowers, "Hurry back to class! It's test-taking day!"


With a smile and a nod, I grab the tests and am on my way.  Eesh, I think, he sure is testy today. I can't help but chuckle at my little joke. I am so witty!


Back in class, I mumble good morning to the kids and start passing out tests. The sooner we start, the sooner it's over. May as well get going.  I have a list of kids that are supposed to have special accommodations, but I forgot to get the right materials, so I say a little prayer that they'll be okay without them. There's also a huge list of instructions I'm supposed to read, but what the heck -- they've seen this stuff before.


"Let's get this show on the road!" 


Pencils go up, booklets open. Heads snap down and begin reading through endless passages meant to measure their knowledge.


I love test-taking day. A nice full day of peace and quiet! I snap open my phone and check my Face Book page. There's a new comment thread on the latest movie, so I send my thoughts. I glance at the clock. Only two minutes have passed. This is going to be a long day. Good thing I brought along a nice, long book. Taking those few extra minutes to myself this morning is definitely going to pay off.


We're supposed to stand and roam the classroom, monitoring student progress. What a bore! I have a seat behind my desk and flip my laptop open. There's a great shoe sale on Target and I really need to update my Pinterest boards. Surely that will kill some time.


A hand pops up in the air. It's little Suzy.


"What is it?" I ask.


She motions for me to come over.


Great. These kids are always interrupting me! With a long sigh, I walk over to her desk.


"What's the problem?"


She tells me she doesn't understand a word in the passage she's reading. I explain what it means, pat her on the head and walk back to my desk. My good deed for the day. Besides, I feel a little bad that I didn't give her the reading overlay she's supposed to have. Oh well, lesson learned!


The rest of the morning passes fairly quickly. My phone rings a few times, but I silence it each time -- I certainly won't take any phone calls during a test! I have snacks and bottles of water set up in the back of the room, so the kids can get up and serve themselves when they need something. Sometimes they stop and chat a bit, which is a nice break for them, I think.


Just before lunch, I decide to order myself a pizza. All this test-taking business has really made me work up an appetite! When the pizza guy arrives, I tell the kids to leave their tests at their tables and grab their lunches. We sit around the room eating our food. On test-taking day, nobody eats in the lunchroom. Too loud. So we chat quietly, discussing the test and offering advice to each other. It's a real brainstorming session! By the time the kids get back to work, I think they feel pretty excited to finish the test.


It feels too quiet now, so I turn on the radio. Nothing like a little heavy metal to really get those brain juices flowing! A few kids look up in alarm, but once they realize it's just some good old fashioned rock and roll, they quickly get back to work.


I open my purse and grab a bottle of bubblegum pink nail polish. May as well use this time wisely! My nails could really use a new coat of color. I set to work applying the polish to my nails, determined not to notice the two kids in the corner whispering to each other.


Another hour passes and I realize I really need a bathroom break. I don't want to stop the kids in the middle of all their hard work, so I slip quietly out the door and head for the bathroom. I don't really like using the bathroom nearest my room -- the light flickers like I'm in a bad horror film -- so I go down to the next hall. I'll only be gone a minute, so I'm sure the kids will be fine.


By the time I get back to class, a few of the kids are all grouped together looking at each other's tests.


"Whoa, guys! What's going on in here?" I ask, surprised that they aren't still working.


They scramble back to their seats without another word.


Bobby, my very brightest student, informs me that he has finished his test. I grab it up and head back to my desk. He starts drawing pictures to pass the time. I glance over his work and see that although he circled all the answers in his test booklet, he hasn't bubbled in all the answers on his answer document. He's had such a long day of testing, I hate to bother him again. I grab a pencil and fill in the rest of the answers for him. Problem solved!


I realize I can use Bobby to help me out. I call him over and tell him that he's earned the special privilege of Official Test Monitor. I even give him a little badge to wear, made out of construction paper. I am really outdoing myself today!  Bobby spends the rest of the afternoon wandering through the class, keeping everybody in line. I think he really enjoys his new responsibility.


Slowly, all the kids turn in their tests. We're done! I congratulate the kids on their hard work and tell them they can have free time for the rest of the day. Cheers and hoots of celebration ring through the room. I mentally pat myself on the back for being so awesome. And while they're playing, I can give myself that pedicure I've desperately been needing. This is turning out to be one of the best test taking days of all time!


After looking through their work and grading all the tests myself, I hand all the huge bundle of tests and answer sheets to one of my most trustworthy students and ask him to run it down to the office.


Another test taking day successfully completed!

It's Monday! What are you reading?

After reading Laura's post over at Camp Read-a-Lot, I decided to postpone my planned post on possibility (whew, say THAT 3 times fast!) and join the fun over at Teach Mentor Texts for their weekly "It's Monday! What are you reading?" meme.

As I've done since reading Donalyn Miller's The Book Whisperer a couple of years ago, I challenged my kids to join me for a #bookaday goal over Spring Break. Some jumped at the chance, while others set a somewhat smaller goal. Today we checked in, and I was super excited to find that most of my kiddos met or exceeded their goals!

Here's what I read:

1. Lemonade by Bob Raczka
2. Wonderstruck by Brian Selznick
3. Ladybug Girl by David Soman
4. Goodnight World by Willa Perlman
5. Stars by Mary Lyn Ray
6. Ruth and the Green Book by Calvin Alexander Ramsey
7. I Can Hear the Sun by Patricia Polacco
8. When I Was Young and in the Mountains by Cynthia Rylant
9. Tulip Sees America by Cynthia Rylant
10. Write Like This by Kelly Gallagher (started, not finished)
11. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life (started, not finished)

Several of my books were narrative style picture books, since I was amping up to share some great mentor texts with my kids this week. We'll be taking our STAAR writing test next week, so it feels like a good time to munch on some scrumptious words. And I'm just loving Gallagher's Write Like This. His thoughts match my own feelings on what writing should look like in the classroom, and as I was already planning to spend the week revisiting how narrative and expository writing can be written about the same topic but in different ways, much of what I read in his book helped me decide on a new way of presenting the information. Win!

Today I shared Ruth and the Green Book with my students. Before I read the book, we made a list of our purposes for writing, using Gallagher's model. After they had a list of styles such as expressing and reflecting, informing and explaining, and taking a stand and proposing a solution, I passed out sticky notes and asked them to write words and phrases in the story that helped them to determine the author's purpose for writing.

Ruth and the Green Book is an excellent resource as a mentor text! Although the style is narrative, all the students noticed that Ramsey also informs and explains, as we learned many facts about life as an African American in the 1950's and how the Green Book came into existence. Some of my students also felt that the story had elements of the take a stand model as well, since Ruth definitely takes a stand of her own in the story. Wonderful mentor text, and a Bluebonnet choice for 2012-2013, as well! Double win!

After we read, I asked my students to come up with possible prompts for writing that would result in a story like Ruth and the Green Book. They came up with several prompt ideas, including:

• Write about a time you were left out
• A time you felt afraid
• A time someone was mean to you

And more! We made a list and they each chose the one that spoke to them and began writing their own narrative that matched their chosen prompt. An excellent writing day, to say the least.

I'm eager to continue reading Write Like This and start working on my writing plan for next year! It never ceases to amaze me how much a good book can change a life, a day, or even a moment in one person's life. 

Something I Can Still Do

It's 11pm, but I'm hurriedly doing a once-over on the house because we have friends coming over first thing in the morning. My husband and our 15 year old are pilfering the freezer for ice cream, laughing and talking about the trip we're taking tomorrow. I'm sort of half aware of this, but mostly I wondering where my oldest son is right now. He's been at an all day music festival today, and I'm expecting to hear from him soon. Although 18 now, I think I worry more every time he leaves the house. He's not just shooting baskets in the driveway or riding his bike down the street anymore. These days, when he walks out the door he could be headed pretty much anywhere.

My mom-brain hasn't worked out the right neural pathways to deal with this yet.

As I shove too many dishes into my groaning dishwasher, fill it too full of detergent, and ignore the arched eyebrow of my darling husband, my mind wanders to a discussion I overheard earlier tonight. I only picked up bits and pieces of it, but they were talking about a group of teenagers, reckless driving, a death, and possible jail time.

I silently curse myself for allowing these kinds of things to pop into my brain. The faces of Steven and all his friends, being driven around in a big old van by one of Steven's best friends, drifts through my thoughts. I slam a cabinet shut and start scrubbing countertops.

My phone rings, and I must look like an Olympic track and field gold medalist, hurdling past our slumbering dog to answer it.

"Hey Mom, it's me. So... I'm okay, but... the concert was great! But, so, I fell and I'm hurt and there's a lot of blood..."

Neurons fire. Pathways form. Time for my brain to learn how to deal with 18 year old Steven.

"Okay, Steven, just explain what happened."

And he does. A lot of rambling words about racing his friends back to the van, a curb that appeared out of nowhere like the boogey man, causing him to basically launch forward and slide across the pavement for what his friends estimate was a good ten feet.

I breathe. I grab a countertop. I ask more questions.

"Where are you right now?"

"We're still in Grand Prairie, we haven't left yet, so Ryan's going to drive me up to the front of the arena. There's a first aid center there, and we'll have them check me out. There's a lot of blood. There is just a lot of blood."

Yes, I think, my stomach curling in on itself, I believe you have mentioned the blood several times.

I want to teleport myself there. Grand Prairie is a good 30-45 minute drive from us, and I just want to be there in that van with those kids -- with my kid -- and fix this whole situation right now.

"Ok, man. That sounds like a good plan. Go see First Aid and give me a call as soon as you've talked to them."

"All right, Mom. I love you."

And we hang up. Simple. Easy. The kids-become-adults have got the situation under control. There's an unknown amount of blood pouring out of my son's body, but not to worry. Some kid in a First Aid clinic out in the middle of nowhere can treat him and send him on his way, lickety-split.

I look up at my husband, suddenly aware that he and Daegan have stopped kidding around and are staring at me. I give them a short recap of the conversation. Isaac just shakes his head.

I go back to cleaning, to shuffling things around, the way I used to shuffle these boys around from school to soccer practice to birthday parties and home again, when they were younger. It was so much easier then, when I had the illusion that I was in control of their tiny little worlds. Now their world is huge and open and as wide as they can imagine it to be, and I love that the possibilities in front of them are endless.

And I hate it, just a little bit, too.

A second phone call lets me know that he is fine, although the people at the First Aid center only looked at him, didn't treat him. He has some road rash, a little dehydration -- nothing major.

I breathe. I put the phone back down. I calm my mind. I think again of the teenagers affected by the car accident earlier this week. I don't know how people put the pieces back together after something that tragic. I count my blessings.

By the time he walks in the door I'm waiting, first aid kit in hand, ready to help.

Because for now, that is something I can still do for him.

Irish Memories

I grew up with Molly McGuire singing Wild Rover as a backdrop to many a family dinner.

I can still smell the sweet scent of Dad's clay pipe; still see him in his chair, feet propped up on the ottoman, head hidden behind his newspaper, plume of smoke puffing up above him.

I remember my first trip to McGuire's -- how I stared unabashedly at the dollar bills stapled to every inch of the ceiling but averted my eyes from the busty naked statue that serves as their beer tap. I loved listening to my dad tell stories of how he stumbled into this tiny hole in the wall pub years ago, and tried to imagine it as just so -- and not the huge enterprise it had come to be by the time I was there.

St. Patrick's Day at our house meant feasting on corned beef and cabbage, with generous helpings of potatoes and bread on the side. It meant Dad playing all our favorite songs, with my sister and I singing along til we rolled on the floor giggling from The Unicorn Song and The Rattlin' Bog and Seven Drunken Nights. That last song meant an eye roll and shaking head from my mom, who would leave the room, sighing. Looking back, I finally know why. As a child, these were the songs that made me laugh, because they brought my dad to life.

And that wasn't always an easy thing to do.

He bought me my first Molly McGuire CD, my first official McGuire's Irish Pub stein, and many other Irish accoutrement throughout the years.

Being Irish wasn't just something that happened one day a year.

As an adult, I sat by my boys' bedside sleepily whisper-singing Danny Boy and When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. I still sing those songs to myself, and often. They may not have grown up listening to the wild Irish drinking songs that I did, but I like to think I sang a little Irish into their souls, nevertheless.

We still eat corned beef and cabbage, and not just once a year. I still rock out to the Dropkick Murphy's and Flogging Molly, especially in the car when nobody's looking. And every year, on St. Patrick's Day, I wake up giddy and excited, and call my dad to wish him a happy Irish Day. I love the surprise in his voice each year, because really -- who calls to wish someone well on St. Patty's?

But it brings him to life, and it whisks me back to being a child giggling on the floor with my sister, racing to see who could sing The Rattlin' Bog the fastest. And for just a tiny moment, I'm small again, and everything is just right. So I call him, and we chat, and maybe laugh a little.

And it's amazing what an easy thing that is to do.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, friends! Take a moment to enjoy two of my favorite Irish lullabies!

Same Place, Different Service

I'd been to this service center many times before.

Inspections. Oil changes. Air filters.

You know the drill.

Every time I go, it's the same story: pull in, park, and go wait in the office for 1.5 million hours for someone to ask what I need. Eventually, a potbellied old man I have come to think of as the grandfather of the automotive industry will amble over and grunt something along the lines of, "Wutkin we do ya fir?" I briefly explain my need, hand over my keys, and sit back amongst the stacks of old People and Hot Rod magazines. I glance suspiciously at the wrinkled periodicals, wondering how long they have been here; wondering how long I will be here.

Eons later, after my trusty water bottle has long since been emptied but my bladder has not, and my phone battery is near death from overuse, Gramps shuffles back over, hands me they keys, and I'm free.

Today I was prepared. I brought along not one but two drinks, a book, and my iPad. There was no way boredom would strike on this day! This amazing spring day, sandwiched happily between the Ides of March and St. Patrick's Day -- no sir, I was ready today.

I pulled in to the parking lot, kicked the heavy door to my Charger open, and slipped out of my car. Before I even turned to walk towards the office, a young mechanic was jogging my way.

"Hi! What can I do for you today?" He beamed enthusiastically at me, holding his hand out to take my keys.

"Um. I just need an oil change?" I said, obviously confused. This was not the natural order of things.

"Absolutely! I can take care of that for you right now!" And without another word, he slid into the driver seat of my car.

Bewildered, but not altogether unhappy, I began the short walk to the office. Just outside the door, another young mechanic hopped over from the garage.

"Hey there! How can I help you?"

I'm afraid I must admit I just stood there dumbly for a moment. I half-turned, pointed at the car behind me, and looked back at Mechanic 1.

"Oh. My car. That's it. He's changing the oil... already."

"Oh, very good. Go on in and have a seat and I'll come get you when we're done."

Okay, this is just odd, I thought, maybe everyone is just happy it's Friday.

Mechanic 2 opened the door for me and I went into the office to wait. Before I even had a chance to sit down, a third guy waved at me through the window that faces the garage. I pretended I didn't see him. I sat down. I had a book! An iPad! I was prepared for waiting!

But alas, Mechanic 3 sauntered in to say hello.

After a brief chat, and a promise that I really only needed an oil change and I'd be just as happy as could be to wait as long as it took, he left and returned to the garage.

Gramps wandered in from another room, nodded hello with his typical grunt, and began filtering through paperwork at the counter. I knew I could count on Gramps to maintain some normalcy around here.

I opened my book, ready to read.

"We're all done with 'er!"

It was Mechanic 1, grinning at me as he crossed and unfolded his arms, doing what appeared to be some sort of weird dance move. Sort of. Like watching a Great Dane puppy attempt to be graceful.

I paid for the oil change, thanked him for their speedy work, and he gave me back my change. His hand rested on mine a moment too long. I may have sneered. He backed away.

A horn honked, and I realized Mechanic 2 had pulled my car around to the front for me, and was waiting happily at the driver side door.

He held the door for me until I was in, and I slammed the door shut. The windows were down and my hair blew across my face. I lifted a hand to push it back behind my ears, glancing in the rearview mirror as I did.

And then it hit me.

I always forget how insanely different I'm treated with different hair colors. Back to blonde means more attention, and apparently, faster service at the lube shop.