The Usual Chaos

My seventh grade math teacher told me to wear all black the first day of school, even the first week.   To tie my hair into a high, severe knot. She advised me to invest in faux librarian glasses – the ones with the pointy corners - to make me look more serious. I was not to laugh or smile. I was to be stern. I could do it. I don’t think she knew me very well!   Or, she saw already that I have absolutely no poker face and am prone to constant smiling, boisterous laughter, and snark. There was no hope for me to be serious. Fortunately, not only am I not able to be that bland and monochromatic for a day or a week, but I also realize that I shouldn’t be. I don’t want students to see me as a robot or machine or ice queen. They should see me as real. Because that’s the way I see them. Real. Honest (sometimes frighteningly so). Kind. Hilarious. Struggling. Depressed. Mine. High school students are people first. And, they are growing people. There is a prevalent atti...

Dear English III, Thank you for your recent letters.  I cannot express how much I enjoy reading your honesty, your kindness, and your requests.  I sincerely appreciate that you were willing to share your thoughts and ideas with me.  Thank you. To begin, I am thrilled by the number of you who are ready to read!  Some of you are regular readers, some relieved to return to reading, others highly reluctant.  Either way, you seem happy to have the daily moment to indulge and pick up some of that "free homework" stuff I've been telling you about.  Not only does this make my teacher heart happy, but it makes me excited about all the stories we can share and styles we can learn from this semester!  It also reminds me to read faster so I can get to your suggestions! Additionally, I am impressed by your revisions.  You used some strong, interesting words to begin with.  Then, when it seemed it couldn't improve, you crossed your first thought out ...

A few days ago, I walked into a conversation between my 9 year old, Ian, and my 6 year old, Emily.   "School is EPIC, Ian!" "Emily, I know that.  That's not what I'm talking about!" I also do not know what they were talking about, but I was astounded by how it was not even questioned that school is an incredible place to be!  They were so casual, and it was obvious that school could be nothing other than cool. They do go to a remarkable school, Degan Elementary.  They can't wait for Eagle Shuffle and Club Fridays, and they adore their teachers.  Adore them. So what happens when they advance to high school?  Will my babies lose that love?  Will school decline in epicness?  The thought makes me sad.  But I see it.  I see it in my juniors who are distracted by the drama of life - the real kind like working to help the family survive or caring for an ill parent or worrying about their own health.  I see my tutoring kids who fe...

I've seen it today.  The noses buried in pages of a fantasy land, an adventurous journey, or a love-struck moment.  The pens spewing ink and words and life so fast that clocks seem to skip.  The heads, sideways-cocked, thinking.  And thinking.  And thinking.  The wheels really are turning. It's been workshop week in English III.  Students are revising an argumentative research essay over - of course- censorship and books!  They asked interesting questions and searched for answers.  Passion grew in them as if almost cancerous, consuming. Secondly, students are writing from their hearts.  The additional writing piece is a personal one.  They are free to select their intended emotion they want to convey.  They are free to select the angle - one book, all books, censorship in general, themselves as readers.  And, they are free to select the form.  Thus far, we have letters, speeches, narratives, editorials, poems, Twitt...

I've been writing since summer 2014.  Again.  I wrote in late high school, bits of college, and remnants of early adulthood.  Then, alas, life happened.  Really, mostly, kids.  It was the game changer they said it would be.  Then, I heard Penny Kittle.  Another game changer.  She spoke to my soul and articulated all the ideas and emotions and convictions floating helplessly in my head and heart for so long.  Now, because of her, I write again. Since, there have been countless times when I am struck by the urge to put words down.  To somehow describe the indescribable.  Occasionally, I have written something I kinda liked!  Other pieces I have repeatedly returned to with despair.  Trying to write the words fitting for the love of my life, for example, has not yet worked out.  More tears than words seem to flow, especially when combined with thoughts of our children.  Those words are stuck in the revision process...