Depending on When You Met Me

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a pigtailed girl, nicknamed Motormouth, who loved people and would talk to anyone about anything, forever.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a tall third grader sitting in the back of the classroom at a messy desk, pulling sheets of glue off my hands, making fingernails out of tape, talking, and being reprimanded for not paying attention.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a fifth grader excited to be wearing her first pair of discount (but real) Jordache jeans, who left school with a "stomach ache" when the popular kids, who I'd hoped would notice me teased me instead.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a seventh grader who discovered that the smart kids were nicer than the popular kids (who didn't like me anyway), who transformed overnight from a mediocre student sneaking her mother's purple eyeshadow to an argyle vest-wearing straight A student (still sneaking her mother's eyeshadow).

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a flute playing, high-strung, people-pleasing teenager, sitting in the back of AP classes frantically calculating and recalculating my average after every assignment.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been an unlikely sorority girl, living in cheap off-campus housing in upstate New York, dressed in purple, and happily singing my heart out as I walked arm-in-arm across campus with my sisters.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a recent college graduate living in London, commuting on The Tube to a primary school in the East End, with no idea of how to teach my adorably uniformed students.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been six months older, traveling solo across Europe by train, sleeping in hostels, meeting people and seeing sights I had only read about.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a new teacher living in Massachusetts, loving my job and spending so many hours at school that the evening custodian told me to get a life. 

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a new wife, giving myself daily fertility injections and praying every month to see a plus sign that seemed like it would never come.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a new mother of twins, with a baby on each hip, living in a world of diapers, bottles, and baby naps, and loving every messy minute.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been a MOM - a carpool driving, Girl Scout leading, chorus watching, basketball cheering, substitute teaching, dinner cooking, bedtime story reading MOM.

Depending on when you met me, I might have been an old new teacher, rediscovering my career, and learning to balance parenthood and teaching.

Depending on when you meet me, I might be someone I can only now imagine.

Writing about Writing

This summer I have been pretending to be a writer. At least, that's what it feels like. (I can hear my writing friends telling me that as long as I am writing, I am a writer, and I understand that, but Imposter Syndrome is real.) I used to consider myself a writer when I was a teen, writing about teen angst, or a twenty-something writing about young adult angst, but somewhere along the line I stopped writing, and when I did, I stopped thinking of myself as a writer. 

Anyway, titles aside, this summer I am working on my writing. I have been trying to cultivate a daily habit of writing, and to try a few different genres. Blogging is my favorite so far, mostly because I have a lot of thoughts and opinions, and it's nice to have somewhere to put them. I also enjoy writing in verse - something that I had forgotten that I like, but rediscovered while teaching poetry last spring. I have made exactly one attempt at fiction, and that was years ago. The story had a good beginning, but eventually I got stuck. I was writing beyond my experience and hadn't learned to use research to fill in the blanks. Fiction just seems hard to me (which is why I am in awe of the people who create the fictional worlds that I love to enter - Honestly, I'm a total fangirl when it comes to authors - it's almost embarrassing.)

One thing that I noticed when I joined a writing group was that writing on a schedule takes practice. During the first few sessions I spent a lot of time staring off into space, just thinking. Sometimes I felt totally blank, and all I could think about was the fact that I couldn't think of anything to write! I couldn't make myself choose a topic just because it was time - I had to wait for one to arrive. With a few weeks' practice it's definitely getting easier, although I do still spend a lot of time staring off into space, looking for the right words, or listening for where the idea is taking me.

I also noticed that I spend a lot more time in my head now that I'm writing. Since I'm always looking for things to write about I spend more time being quiet and listening to my thoughts instead of always drowning them out with outside entertainment.

The acceptance of my writing group has been wonderful. On the first day, I expected people to talk about finishing their manuscripts, and some do, but others talk about notebooking, writing poetry, or even writing letters. No form of writing is less valued than another. Anything goes, and every accomplishment is celebrated. Still, even with this very accepting group, I still haven't had the courage to ask for feedback. As much as I want to hear what people think, I'm also not quite ready to know yet. 

Throughout this experience, I have been thinking about my students, and how much I am really asking of them. I wonder if I am giving them what they need to feel like successful writers. How often do I demand that they write about a topic that I choose, or rush them to choose a topic on my schedule? How often do I look at a student who is staring off into space and say, "Keep going!" and how would I feel if someone said that to me while I was writing?  I wonder if I have ever really given a class time to sit silently with their thoughts. Would they know how to do it? How do you teach that? 

There's a lot to think about.

Reflections on Teaching During a Pandemic, Lesson 1 - Remember to have Fun!

There's a thing that I do (which I wonder if all teachers do) that I want to stop doing. Have you ever been having a fun or silly moment with your class, when everyone is happy, enjoying themselves... having fun, and someone walks into the classroom? It can be an administrator, a specialist, or another teacher. What do you do? My first impulse is always to explain. I jump up (sometimes literally) and explain what's happening and why we're all having fun. Only, sometimes it feels less like an explanation and more like an excuse. Isn't that crazy? My class is happy and enjoying each other, and somewhere deep inside I feel like I need to excuse it. Sometime in my early days of teaching, or probably even before that, I got the idea that every minute of school should be productive. Everyone should be accountable for learning at all times, and every action should be linked to a standard. As if that's what it means to be a good teacher. 

The very first thing I realized during remote learning last fall was that if the kids didn't want to be there, nothing else would matter. This was very true in online learning, when kids could literally turn off their camera and/or walk away, but isn't it true in the classroom too? How much of my job, as an elementary teacher is to create a love of learning? We always talk about creating lifelong learners, but what does that mean? It means that kids should want to be at school, which means that they need to associate school with fun - with belonging and warmth and safety... and fun. I saw a quote recently that compared students' enjoyment of school in first grade with their test scores at age 16! I haven't been able to find the quote again, or the study, so maybe it was only "internet true", but it makes sense, doesn't it? A child who loves going to school will be engaged. They will take risks, and they will learn. That, in turn, will help them to enjoy school more as they get older, creating a positive cycle. It reminds me of the statistics about reading to young children even before they understand the books, creating a love of reading which grows from the association with love and warmth. If students have positive associations with school, shouldn't that also carry over? Not that I think test scores, now or in the future, are the real reason to bring fun into school. I'm a realist, and I know that they matter, but what are we really doing here? We are educating children. People. Future leaders, and teachers, and citizens. Shouldn't we teach them to lead with joy? To make life fun? 

So, what does this look like? For me it starts with creating a community. I want my students to know each other and to trust each other. By having fun together, creating class traditions, having inside jokes and things that are just "ours" we create a kind of a social safety net. Students have a soft place to land when things get difficult, which means they can take risks and help each other grow. I imagine the definition of fun is as different for every classroom as it is for every individual. For me, it will include singing, dancing, playing games, being silly, poking fun at myself, and a lot of laughing. It will also involve doing whatever my students think is fun (with limits, of course). For example, this year, my second grade class loved doing splits. We had a few budding gymnasts who liked to show what they could do, first on video meetings and then in the classroom, and the fad spread throughout the class. Soon our morning greetings included a "splits greeting" in which each student would do a split as they greeted the next student, who then did the same, and so on. It took forever, but boy was it fun. Not everyone could do a split, but by the end of the year everyone at least tried, and when they did, their classmates cheered and clapped and laughed at the silly, agonized faces they made. They even challenged the assistant principal, who came in and tried her best at doing splits with them. For the entire spring, every picture I took featured students in splits. It was a little thing that had nothing to do with standards or plans, but it was ours, and it helped create a community and a feeling that helped kids to thrive. 

My goal, going forward, is not only to continue to look for, and embrace the fun, but to resist the urge to make excuses for it. Instead, when someone enters my classroom, I'll try to remember to celebrate and invite them to join in, even if it means encouraging them to do a split!

Independence Day?

On Sunday we dropped Maggie off at camp. This was one of the events planned for last summer that got delayed by Covid. It is a new camp for her, and she went without a friend, which is a first, and also kind of a surprising choice for my introverted girl. But, it's an art camp, and she'll be doing activities like watercolor, role-playing, acting, drawing, and Asian cuisine, which she chose herself. It should be right up her alley, and will hopefully be filled with like-minded kids for her to connect with. 

In other years, when we have dropped the girls off at camp, we have gone with them to the cabin, helped to make their beds, and gotten at least a glimpse of the other kids and their parents. We have walked around, met some counselors, and gotten a general feel for the place. 

Now, in the era of Covid, all of that has changed. Along with lists of what to pack and not pack, and millions of forms to fill out, we received our drop off instructions last week. Not only were we not to walk them to their rooms and help make their beds (I'm really ok with that part), but parents weren't even allowed to get out of the car - at all. We pulled up, they asked her name, then she got out and counselors came over and unloaded the back of the car. (Also, not sad about being unable to carry her massive pile of can't-live-withouts). And then, with no ceremony at all, the director told us that we could leave. It was over in minutes, maybe even seconds. 

As he said we were good to go, I looked back to see Maggie checking in. She was in her carefully chosen outfit, complete with her bucket hat, and was talking to a couple of counselors, and she looked understandably nervous. We hadn't even said goodbye. I didn't know if she knew that we would be leaving already or not, but I didn't want her to turn around and see us gone. I know that she was there to be independent,  but at that moment the line between independent and alone felt a little blurred to me, so I did probably the most embarrassing teen mom thing I could do, and called out to her. She looked surprised but not unhappy to run over to the car so that I could hug her goodbye. Or if she was, she humored me, at least. 

Now, she is in New Hampshire, hopefully living her best life, and I check the schedule at various points in the day to see what she's up to. Unlike other camps that post pictures every evening, this one waits until the end of the session to post them all, so there's no daily feeling of connection like I had with her other camp. The idea is to prevent parents from having the expectation of seeing their child every day, and from worrying if their child doesn't look ecstatic in every photo. I get it. But I'd really still like a peek! Every once in a while her sister will ask me what I think she's doing, if I think she's having fun, or even if I think she likes the food. I don't know the answers, and of course I won't until I eventually get what is sure to be a brief letter. But I try to imagine anyway, picturing her meeting new people and learning new things that I have no connection to. It's weird. I know it's exactly how it's supposed to be, but it still feels weird. 

I guess camp is a lesson in independence for both of us. 

Mask on... Mask off?

The numbers are rising. 
Even in Massachusetts, where most people are vaccinated or want to be,
They're still rising.
The Delta Variant is spreading. 
For now, they're saying that vaccinated people aren't at risk,
Or at least that the risk is small,
And I believe it. 
I think.

I was so happy to be living in a post-Covid world 
If only for a couple of weeks.
Two weeks ago I went into a store without a mask for the first time.
Free and easy
Not even thinking about Covid.

But today our family decided to wear masks again. 
Just in case.
I don't want this to change our lives again.
But we're vaccinated,
so it won't.
Right?

Part of me thinks we should do everything we can
now
In case Delta becomes something else.
Something worse.

Part of me wants to bury my head in the sand

and pretend it isn't happening 
or that it's happening somewhere else.
And mostly, it is.

Probably, we're safe.
But I'll wear a mask 
in stores and crowds.
Just in case.

Car Talk

This has been a busy parenting week, which, when you're the parent of 14 year-old twins with vastly different interests, means that it has been a busy driving week.  

I may be an outlier in this, but I love driving my kids around. I like the conversations that happen on the way to and from activities. On the way there I often find out about worries, fears, and frustrations.  As hard as it can be to not be able to help, I know that I am so fortunate to be there for those conversations. I am so glad to be let in, because I know that my place as confidante probably won't last forever. Even now it's a door that seems to open and close at random. I want to be ready to go through it whenever it is opened for me.

The way home from activities is a very different energy. There is usually more adrenaline. I hear more about the nuts and bolts of the day. This is the time when I get to hear about who they hung out with, what funny or annoying things happened during the day, crushes, friendships, annoying adults, and who is being nice... or not. At the end of the day, the stress is often lower, and many problems seem farther away. The door is often wide open - especially if I am smart enough to listen quietly without injecting too many of my own opinions or asking too many direct questions. I'm getting better at this - most of the time.

When the girls are in the car together they seem easier with each other. They can laugh, joke, and even tease each other without worry that anyone will get offended or stomp off. We take turns choosing music, and they gang up on me about my choices. They talk to each other in ways I don't usually see at home. I feel like I get to witness different aspects of their relationship. Even on days when the chosen entertainment is Driving Mom Crazy, and it makes me grumpy and annoyed, a voice inside my head reminds me to enjoy this. Remember it.

Because they are 14. In two years they will be 16. Soon after that they will be driving. I wonder what that will look like. How will it feel when they are driving themselves, each other, and friends to their games and rehearsals and activities? Will it be, as some parents have described, so nice not to have to be driving everywhere? Honestly, I don't think it will. I could be wrong, though. It may be like any other developmental stage - I'll fear it and worry about it, but by the time it comes maybe I'll know that they're ready. Maybe I'll celebrate the change. Maybe. 

But not yet. For now, I'll keep my car keys handy.

Reflections on Teaching During a Pandemic, Part 1: So, How was your year?

It sounds cliche to say that this was a year unlike any other, but it really was. Teachers, administrators and families were stretched to their limits. I'm extremely thankful that my experience wasn't terrible. In fact, in a lot of ways this was one of my most rewarding years of teaching, although also one of the hardest. There are a few factors that affected my year, some positively, some negatively, and some both: I was teaching a new grade, several grades removed from what I had taught the previous year. It was my second year at a new school, and due to the grade change, I was working with a completely new group of people. I have an extraordinarily supportive principal who trusts her teachers. I shared the year with a patient, helpful paraprofessional. I had a remarkably kind group of second graders, whose parents were mainly supportive and encouraging. I also had a family and doctor pressuring me to stay home due to being in a higher risk category for Covid 19, a husband and two teenagers also working at home, and, like everyone else, was living in a world where information and rules seemed to be changing almost daily.

Looking back, the beginning of the year reminds me of the kind of reality show where a person is only given the most basic supplies to survive. Starting the year fully remote, in a new grade forced and allowed me to consider what was most important to me. There would be no cute bulletin boards, and I wouldn't be pulling from last year's planbook. I needed to make decisions about where to spend my energy, so I quickly decided three things. First, if the kids didn't want to be there, nothing else was going to matter. Second, the day needed to feel as much like "real school" as possible. And third, I needed to introduce books, and fast. I started planning, watching You Tube videos on every kind of technology that might be helpful, and searching things like, "Responsive Classroom and Remote Teaching" and "How to create a classroom community virtually". It was scary and exciting to learn so much in a short time. It was also oddly freeing.

My first real taste of how different the year would be came with a parent phone call. It was memorable because I barely got through introducing myself before this poor parent, who I had never met, burst into tears. She was feeling terrified and hopeless, and doubted that she would ever be able to get through this year with her child. As a single, working parent, she didn't see how she would ever be able to keep her child online and help them while also working from home. We talked for an hour and came up with a plan that she was at least okay with. It wouldn't be my last such conversation, but it was an important one. It was another sign that this year could not just be business as usual, and also that the parents and I would have to be be a team like we had never been before. I have a saying that I always use with my students: "Flexibility is the key to life." I realized then just how true that would be. The night before the first day of school I sent my families an email. The gist of which was that none of us has done this before. We don't know how it will go, but we are all doing our best. I promised that I would make mistakes, but I also promised to always do my best for their children, and to work with them, as a team. That email set the tone for my relationships with those families that lasted until the very last day of school. 

When planning the first days, I focused on Morning Meeting and Read Aloud. Morning meeting lived up to its name in that for the first few weeks it took all morning. It was full of getting-to-know-you activities, calendar activities, games, movement, sharing, and review woven together. Importantly, it was FUN! We ended each day with "Cozy Read Aloud" -  a time when we could take advantage of being at home, choose a comfy spot, grab a pillow or stuffed animal, and cuddle up to listen to a chapter book. It quickly became the students' favorite time of day. We even had whole families joining in to listen. One day, as I was reading,  I realized that my well-loved copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe was missing a page. As I started to scramble to find the book online, a parent jumped in to say that she had been reading along, and offered to read the missing page from her book. Honestly, it was pretty magical. Cozy read aloud was my absolute favorite part of remote learning. 

So, I had the bookends of the day, and just needed to figure out everything else. You Tube saved my life. I learned everything I could about different forms of technology from watching videos made by other teachers. I wasted plenty of time going down rabbit holes of information that I would never use. I also watched entire math and writing lessons, then used jamboard to make slides so that I could re-create the lessons the following day. Seesaw and Google slides quickly became the center of everything. They were the board, the classroom, the finished basket, and the schedule. Eventually each student had a daily Seesaw folder with a page for each subject and places to post pictures or videos of their work. I developed a routine where each evening I would start by checking though each student's folder. Then I would set up a new one for the following day. It took time, and my family got used to seeing me with my laptop during family movie nights, but it kept the days running smoothly.

A key moment in the year was when we learned how to use breakout rooms, and more importantly when I trusted the students to be in breakout rooms on their own. This felt like a big jump, but one day I just tried it. I broke the class into small groups, sent them to their breakout rooms, then I cycled through the groups like a crazy person. I was in and out of each room so many times that day that it's a wonder they got anything done! Like anything else, that got easier with time, and the kids loved it! They got to read with partners on Epic, work on math, confer over writing, play games, and sometimes even just work independently together. They asked for it constantly and didn't care what they were doing. They were just SO HAPPY to be with their friends. We all agreed that it made remote school feel like real school. I continued popping in and out of rooms whenever we used them, but at a much less frantic pace. I also quickly learned which students were completely self-sufficient, which ones would fool around if they were together, who would sit there silently if they didn't have an outgoing partner, and which students worked best with my assistant in the group with them. They learned to work together, and also to look busy as soon as they heard the sound that alerted them to my arrival in the group. I didn't mind some off-task time, since many of them had been without much natural peer interaction for months. They needed it! I just had to learn the nuances of how to pair them up and keep things moving along. In short, it was just like setting up any group work in the classroom. It felt natural and real. No wonder we all loved it.

Things moved along, more or less smoothly through the fall and into winter. We got into a rhythm. We all got comfortable. And then we learned that everything was going to change because hybrid was coming. This was scary for me personally. Covid was still running rampant, we still didn't have a vaccine, and my doctor and my husband still didn't want me returning to the classroom. I thought it would be the end for me. I was terrified that I would have to quit mid-year, probably ruining my chances of another job in this district, or maybe anywhere, and worse...that I would have to abandon my kids. It was one of the scariest points in the year for me. Thankfully, my principal came to the rescue. She thought outside the box and advocated for me to be able to teach from home, even while some of my students were at school. Still fortunate to have been paired with an amazing paraprofessional, I was able to embark on what would be the most challenging and frustrating part of the year. Hybrid teaching.

The way hybrid teaching worked for me was this: I stayed home. My aide was in the classroom, and I was projected up onto the screen like the Max Hedron of second grade. Approximately 1/3 of my class stayed fully remote, so with the other students divided into two cohorts, I had about 2/3 of the class "with me" at home with 1/3 in school at any given time. I tried to keep our days as consistent as I could. It was challenging  though, because it was hard to see or hear the kids in the classroom well. I went from being able to see every facial expression on screen as I taught, to seeing the kids at a distance, and barely being able to hear some of them at all. Not to mention that it really affected my control issues. I wasn't there. My kids were at school, and I - wasn't - there - with - them. It was someone else who answered their questions and got them band aids and dealt with recess issues. I felt incredibly fortunate that the person who was there with them was amazing. She took wonderful care of them and worked so hard. She was also a rock for me when I was struck by self-doubt or frustration. Still, I looked forward to the days when I would see each group at home and reconnect with them. And Wednesdays, when we were all at home, were my favorites. We were together, and it was such a relief every week. 

This time period was also the loneliest part of the year for me. I was doubting myself constantly, feeling guilty for not being able to be there physically for my students, feeling like I wasn't doing anything well, and unsure if anyone was learning anything. I worried about what was going to come next, and always feared that there would come a point when I would have to make a choice between my health and family's wishes and my job. The stress level was pretty high. 

Then two important things happened. The first was that I reached out to my friends in the building and admitted that I was feeling lonely. I found out that I wasn't alone, that everyone was stressed out too, and that I wasn't exactly missing out on a lot of together time by not being at school, since everyone was still pretty separated due to Covid restrictions. Also, nobody felt like they were doing their best teaching this year. Just connecting made a big difference. The second important thing was that the vaccine started to seem like a real possibility - and one that might come sooner than expected. It seemed like there might be a light at the end of the tunnel. Enter March and April. The date for my first shot was March 17th. The date for full return for nearly all students was April 5th. I decided that I was going back with my kids. I knew I wouldn't be "fully" vaccinated yet, but I decided not to care. I didn't ask my doctor and I didn't ask my family. I just told everyone, "I'm going back."

 It was scary and strange at first. It was The First Day of School in April, but with kids I already knew, some of whom had been in that classroom for months. It was weird, but after about a week it started to feel normal to be there. And so refreshing! I didn't realize how isolated I had felt until I had the chance to pass people in the hallway and say hi, even ask about their weekend! I also finally got to really know my new teaching team. Turns out they're nice and funny and fun to work with!  Just the joy of walking into someone's room, sharing ideas, asking questions, and connecting was a gift. I had forgotten how nice it was to work with other people in person. Things that I had always taken for granted felt like privileges. 

And, of course there were the kids. We were all just so happy to be together, and they stuck with me as we navigated yet another new way of learning. April became a strange mixture of back-to-school and getting ready for spring. At first we had a couple who stayed remote, and I did feel a little guilty that I may not have been as focused on them as I was on the people in front of me, but they were patient and forgiving, and by the end of the month they had joined us. 

In-person school during Covid had its own challenges. Seven year-olds aren't great at personal space during normal times. Teaching in a classroom where all of the desks were spaced out and facing forward felt odd at first, but we adjusted. There were also some remnants of remote teaching. One interesting difference was that, after a year of computer time, my students loved worksheet packets. Now, I am not a teacher who likes to give worksheet packets. I usually go to great lengths to avoid worksheet packets. But, especially in the beginning, these kids treated them like gifts. They were SO EXCITED to do worksheet packets! That was actually really helpful as we were learning about keeping distance, and it gave me opportunities to work with individuals or small groups, but it was just another example of how this year was changing everything. The next big change came when the state said that kids could share materials. Suddenly games and group activities were back on the table. Another move towards normal. School started to feel more like normal school in a normal year. We relaxed again.

Then, before we knew it, it was the end of the year. It felt strange, like we were ending the year in October or November. It seemed like we had just gotten there and already we were thinking about summer. This was tough for some kids. Some started acting out or getting anxious. Some worried that they were going back to the year without their friends. It changed the end-of-year focus from celebrating summer, to one where we were processing a huge range of feelings. Meanwhile, I was having my usual May/June freak-out, where I worried that they hadn't learned enough, that we hadn't done enough, and that the third grade teachers would be shocked by how little we had covered. Meeting with other teaching teams helped with that. Again, there was the realization that nobody felt like they were sending kids forward who were as ready for the next grade as they usually were. We discussed the fact that every grade would have to adjust and meet their new students wherever they are. 

And then, it was done. Just like that, the 20-21 school year was over. What did I learn from it all? A lot. I'm still putting that together in my mind, but when I do it will be part 2.

The Turtle

                                                    

 Every summer our family grows. Not with humans, but with animals. This year is no different. Aside from the four people living at our address, there are currently turtles, woodchucks (my husband's adorable nemesis), a family of four skunks, which we recently discovered living in our rock wall (also super cute if you don't get too close), many birds, and large clan of baby and adult rabbits. There are other animals around, of course, but these are the ones who we interact with daily. I'll often hear an animated conversation going on, only to find  my husband scolding orioles for taking hummingbird food or yelling at woodchucks for digging in the garden, and my daughter never passes by one of the baby bunnies without telling it that she loves it. 

Yesterday afternoon, my husband had an argument with a turtle. Although I usually take the animals' side when he lectures them about eating his berries or messing up the mulch in the flowerbeds, I could see his point this time, since the turtle was clearly being reckless. When we first saw it, we were on our way to the grocery store, and it was headed towards the road at a pretty good speed. We stopped our car at the end of the driveway, got out, and attempted to explain the issue to the turtle and redirect it. It wasn't thrilled and made several attempts to get around us towards the road, but eventually let us herd it down the hill and away from danger. 

An hour or so later, we cautiously turned into the driveway, and scanned the area and road for the turtle - smooshed or otherwise. I checked the road first, relieved to see that it had followed our advice and stayed safe. But just as I announced the all clear, my husband called out, "Nope! Look!" There was our turtle friend. Safe from the road, but sitting right in the middle of the driveway, on a curve, just daring a delivery driver (or minivan driver) to run it over. 

So, once again we got out of the car. Once again, Mike tried to reason with it. If it is possible for turtles to roll their eyes, I'm pretty sure this one did. But, with what I assume was an annoyed sigh, it eventually let itself be herded once again - this time towards the stream where it belongs. 

A Pandemic Poem

 A Pandemic Poem

Before the pandemic
we bustled along
Busy, moving, hurried.
Before the pandemic
we saw friends, 
went to games,
went to work,
hugged,
wondered what it would be like
if there was a pandemic.

I wondered.
I imagined. 
I was wrong.

A pandemic isn't exciting
like a blizzard.
It isn't dramatic
like a hurricane...
If you're lucky.

We were lucky
so the pandemic was just
an absence.
an absence of friends,
an absence of sports, 
an absence of school, 
an absence of schedules, 
an absence of movement.
And eventually
            an absence of Back-to-School
                and family holidays
                        and travel
                                and predictability
                                        and security
                                                and confidence.

After the pandemic
(is it after?)
absences became additions.
You-cans became You-really-shoulds
and even You-musts.
You must go to school.
You must go to work.
You must start seeing friends
    and going to stores
        and talking face-to-face
            (without masks)
                and hugging.

Eventually
You-musts start to feel like You-cans.
But that takes time
and patience
and practice.

After the pandemic

My Very First Blog Post

 I am starting a blog. Well, obviously.

I decided to try this as a place to work on my writing. I'm hopeful that it will also relieve my Facebook friends from having to read my many thoughts, and maybe it will even help me sleep at night. Am I asking too much? Probably. 

I am planning to write about the things I care most about. My kids (and husband, but parenting is generally easier for me to write about than wife-ing), teaching, reading, random thoughts, and, occasionally,  current events. However, I may try to keep this part of my life free from politics. While that is very important to me, it is also exhausting. So for now I'll try to set it aside. We'll see.

For now, I guess I really don't know what I'll end up writing about. I'll have to see which direction my keyboard takes me. I'm sure it will be rough in the beginning, and that someday when I'm an expert blogger I'll look back on my early posts and cringe, but I'm not going to think about that too much. I'm just going to write.