Skip to main content

The Inklings?

My New Year's Resolution 2015 was to blog, and I can now officially and publicly declare that it was the first resolution I've actually accomplished in years - maybe even ever! I posted ten whole entries in the last year, and I'm kinda proud of myself! Silly, I know, but it is a big deal to me to be a writing teacher who writes, especially in a space where my students may view my writing. Took me a while to come to this understanding, but I'm here.

Writing a million pages of essays for the Teacher of the Year business (only a slight exaggeration) nudged the teenaged journaler in me awake again. Rather than ink to paper, my fingers comfortably crafted and revised phrases digitally, and the words called to me. Frustrating and thrilling and frightening and curious, writing my heart changed me. And I found in it something that I actually authentically long to do. Mid experience - a conversation, a teachable moment, a hug - I begin crafting paragraphs in my head. The words "I should blog about this" pass through my mind marquee-style. The challenge, of course, is making the time to commit those thoughts to the blog. But now that I know that the payoff is worth it - so very worth it - I'm hooked.

New Year's Resolution 2016 --> to blog weekly with my blogging buddies Fitz and Zuber. Fitz's idea. Says we are "The Inklings." Hey, if it's good enough for Lewis and Tolkien, then I suppose I can handle it! 

Confession, though? 

I'm nervous.

These two dudes are geniuses in the world of American history. They read like retired old ladies in a book club. Their brains are quick and witty and speedier (and younger) than mine. They crunch data and inhale statistics for snack. And, their blogs are awesome. I admire the way they wonder about and question the world and themselves. I giggle at their references and jokes (at least the ones I understand...). And somehow I'm supposed to compete with that?

Nah, it's not a competition. All three of us are educators who thrive on those moments with our students when they "get" it. We love our jobs and enjoy working together. So while I'll remain anxious that I can hang with the "whippersnapper writers," I know I'm gonna love it. And I'm gonna need that support and motivation when the week is busy or tough or just plain seems uninspiring. The dudes will push me. They'll ridicule me if I don't write. To be honest, they'll probably eject me from the club if I don't do my part. So I will.

Watch me.

Here I go. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dude. Be nice.

It's in the air like the scent of burnt popcorn from the teacher workroom fogging the halls. It's on our faces like thick blue cupcake icing that will never, never wash off.  What is it, you ask? The spring slide. The end of the year blues. The how-many-more-days-do-we-have weekly question. Yup, it's that time of year. It happens annually. Spring Break concludes, and it takes all of our patience and enthusiasm with it. Students go off for a week and leave any interest and motivation under the blankets where they slept their break away. We teachers leave our efforts to collaborate and abilities to reason in the pages of our reads and on the beaches of our trips. And there is just never. enough. coffee. Ever. That sad and disappointing part of the spring slide/endofyearblues is that it leaves us snarking at each other and our students. Our patience is minuscule and our tempers are pre-lit. And everyone - everyone - we encounter wears a target gleaming, waiting for our

Mom, the Book Queen

Last year about this time, my momma came to my classroom. She was in town for another shindig, and I talked her into being a guest speaker. She was scared. I was excited! She was worried. I was thrilled! In the end, she was incredible! See, my momma taught me to love reading. I have never, NEVER seen anyone devour a book the way Mom does. My childhood is filled with images of her in the navy recliner, nearby lamp lighting the words she inhaled. She read those dense books with thousands of pages. She read those books with the Fabio-looking guy on the cover, his hair blowing in an imaginary wind, a desperate girl draped on his arm. And she read as many books as she could carry home from the library. Go, Rangers! In summers, Mom took my brother and me to the local library once a week typically. At first, I played in the children's section, listening to read-alouds and puppet shows and wandering between shelves. I made piles of books covered with illustrated dragons and puppy

My Emily

One evening a few weeks ago, my almost 8 year old, Emily, was having a night. The scream, pout, tantrum kind of night. Drama was high, and I was doing my best to remain calm and avoid an explosion of anger or a fit of giggles. I'm about 50/50 when it comes to kid fights. I can never predict if I'll react in yelling or laughing. Anyway, this particular incident dealt with toothbrushing. I have come to believe that brushing one's teeth - at least at elementary age - must be akin to chewing shiny metal thumbtacks. Hearing my children protest, one may conclude that I torture them frequently with the help of Crest and Oral-B. This night was no different. Emily was NOT going to brush her teeth no matter what I suggested. Typically, she puts the paste on her brush, clicks two minutes into the timer, and off she goes. But not that night.  Her protests grew, her voice reaching higher and higher octaves as her eyes bulged and her face sizzled. She slammed her bedroom door. She th