The Usual Chaos

To say that it's been a while since I blogged is an understatement. Looking back at my blogging history, 2018 has been abysmal. Embarrassing. Shameful. Thus far, I've posted a big whole twice. Me, the teacher who preaches how being a writer makes me an improved writing coach. How sad. I've missed it. So much. I often find myself thinking, "Ooh, I could write about that!" ... and then not. Later, as I'm washed with guilt, another idea explodes in my mind, but I still don't write. On a hazy Sunday evening when I find five minutes of solitude, my fingers tingle at the idea of writing... and then I can't remember any of my ideas. What a tragedy. What frustration. Last school year was rough to say the least. I recall not feeling good about it when it all started, and I don't even know why. Near the beginning, I already struggled with relating to a particular group of students, and that simply continued throughout the spring semester. Paperwork p

On Friday, I cried.  I cried when an about-to-graduate-and-go-be-amazing Ac Dec senior gave me a teacher appreciation card. I cried when my principal showered me with embarrassingly excessive praise. And I cried when asked by visiting administrators about my teaching style. Friday, four curriculum administrators from a neighboring district came to watch my class. They wanted to see a workshop style classroom, and so they were invited to mine. With them was my district curriculum supervisor, my inclusion teacher, and me. Seven adults. Maybe 24 kids. An unusual ratio. First, my students read their choice books, and I managed to confer with three different kiddos. Next, they prepared themselves and their thoughts for their fourth book club meeting using the ultimate academic tool, Post-it notes. Then, off we went. Book clubs met and discussed their questions and findings while recording their conversations for me to view and giggle at later (they are always hysterical and enligh

It was late. My husband sat on the couch, finally eating his dinner after a long day at work. I chatted him up from the love seat, sharing the daily details of our kids and home. I told him about the toad my daughter found in the flower bed and how my son actually cleaned a bathroom. Then, the conversation shifted to the #MarchForOurLives, and he asked a serious question. "Do you really think those kids are doing it all? The writing and the planning and stuff?" "Yeah. I really think they are. I think the world is finally seeing teenagers the way we teachers see them every day. It's amazing, right?" It was an important question he asked, one on the minds of so many adults and possibly even other teens at this moment. Are the students from Parkland that eloquent? That energized? That persuasive? Yes. Yes, they are. I'm sure there are many adults assisting them with the logistical aspects of planning the grand scale events they've pulled off. I&#

I'm still feeling it. Aching limbs. Dreamy, wistful staring. Frequent Twitter checking for inspiration. Frantic starting of too many books. Jotting of one more new classroom idea.  It's the NCTE hangover.  I was extremely fortunate enough to attend the National Council of Teachers of English conference in St. Louis this year. It was my third conference and first time to present. I was anxious and nervous, excited and, to be honest, a little bit sweaty, and it was the coolest experience!  The books! The authors! The electric energy of thousands of giddy English teachers! Those teachers are the ones who made presenting a dream, smiling up at me and nodding as I told my stories and shared my students' experiences.  But that wasn't the best thing that happened. The best thing was my friends. This year, I traveled with five colleagues, five amazingly intelligent, hilarious, witty women. We fit together nicely; two awaken before the roosters, two at a "normal&q

I'm in tears. (No surprise to many of you, I know.) "Calculus. Think about calculus" is running through my head. Ridiculous, yeah, but it's what I do when the giant bubble is bursting in my throat, barely holding the dam of emotions at bay. I guess that's what you expect from an English teacher - think about math, and it all goes away! Oops, my secret is out... But why the calculus? Student work. I'm battling the response to my students' words with fuzzy memories of derivatives because I am simply blown away by their work. Remember last week's post ? About my class I just wasn't sure I could reach? This week was a different week. It was also full of extremes. The week brought me to the edge of my tolerance, being stricter than I've been in eons in an effort to minimize disruptions and distractions. After all, I owe it to those in the group who are always on point, always on time, always on. The week saw a kind administrator and an influen

Last Sunday evening, after checking and rechecking my plans for the week, I opened a blog draft and stared at the stark white box. Despite the fact that I have a running list of blogging ideas, nothing happened. Nothing came to me. That urge to write and all its sparkle was missing. I left the tab open - yes, with the 42 other tabs in Chrome that are perpetually open on my Mac. By Wednesday, I closed it. It's Sunday again. I've checked and rechecked my plans, and again, that nagging I-should-blog-but-I'm-not-sure-what-about feeling has returned. Except this time, I do have something on my mind. I just don't know what to do about it yet. This fall, I've got a class that has stumped me. It's a small group of students of varying ages, all hoping to grow as readers and writers. They're quick and clever and witty, and I think I'm gonna like them! Yet, I do not know how to reach them. I talked all the books, and they said, "You sure make 'em s