Skip to main content

#AcDecState2016

What will you do if they make it?
Cry.
What will do you do if they medal?
Cry.
What will you do if they break the record?
Cry.

They did it.

They studied and memorized and quizzed.
They met and worked and practiced.
They rehearsed
     ... to walls, in cars, for peers, on time.

Together.

We traveled to places near.
We negotiated about eating.
We ate and ate and ate.
We LAUGHED.
We sang in voices high and loud and
We danced awkward dances.
We ate gummy bears.

Their words...

A little light
Abhorrent
Cacophony
Dank
Shawshank
And then I came into the picture!
A band.
Ultimate party song.
Angels.

They did it.

I told them I was proud.
I told them how amazing and witty and fun they are.
I told them they are warriors.
But I didn't cry.

Now, I cry.

Exhausted, fulfilled, overwhelmed,
I sink into my couch and my emotions
and the tears stream.

 They did it.

They really did.


Comments

  1. Congrats on the AcDec2016 but I still want you to be tested for PETs. (Not Performance Enhancing Drugs but Performance Enhancing TEACHING!!!!) hahahah

    I am still pretty sure you are on PETs because you get more done in one day than I get done in 1 week!!!

    Congrats!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

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