Month: March 2021

As I ran along the Potomac River today, which I can get to on foot in about 15 minutes, I let my mind wander through the many memories I’ve made since we moved into our home in 2001:

The balmy April afternoon when we rode the metro downtown with baby Edwin cinched to Chris’s chest in a sling. We were so relieved we didn’t try to navigate a stroller through the throngs of cherry blossom admirers around the tidal basin.

The numerous runs I took heading south on the trail along the river, pushing a sleeping Edwin in the jogger, determined to lose the baby weight and get back in shape.

The frigid January morning in 2009 when we bundled our children up in multiple puffy layers, nestled them into the double stroller, and walked the four miles to the Lincoln Memorial, alongside a gray and white-capped river, to watch Barack Obama’s inauguration on a jumbotron.

That rare, perfect DC summer afternoon, low humidity, puffy clouds, and a cerulean sky when Maxine and I rode the trail-a-bike down to the tidal basin and rented paddle boats. We’d paddle around a while, lay back in the sun and watch the clouds, then paddle around a little more in a meandering, lazy trail.

The hot and sunny afternoon when the four of us stood in the grass between the river and the GW Parkway, waving to thousands of motorcyclists who thundered by on the day before Memorial Day, honoring our nation’s POW’s and MIA’s.

The many paddleboard excursions I made along the river last summer, sometimes the river choppy and slightly threatening, and other times as still as glass.

As all these thoughts flitted through my mind, I began to reach back farther. I grew up with this river. I remember when Air Florida Flight 90 hit the 14th St. Bridge and crashed into the frozen, gray water. I remember riding the school bus from my elementary school in Burke, crossing the river with my brown paper lunch bag and foil-wrapped can of grade soda on my lap.

This river is home to me. I’m not quite sure how to end this without avoiding some terrible cliched metaphor, so I’m going to leave it at this for now.

A friend of mine mentioned this morning that she had afternoon plans that involved biking and beer, and I said, “Hold up. Did you say ‘bike and beer’?”

“Be at my house at 1:30. We’re riding to a brewery in Falls Church.”

I was in. I needed a fun excursion on this bright and sunny day. In between a two-hour Wakefield PTSA meeting, a trip to the grocery store, and my kids’ Zoom piano festival, I scurried around putting air in my tires, packing a bike bag, and making lunch. At 1:27, I hopped on my bike and rode to my friend’s house. Another friend joined us, and we were off on our 14.5 mile ride to Settle Down Brewery in Falls Church.

The sun was bright, and the air was crisp – a little too much bite for the first few miles, but the hill climbs warmed me up soon enough. We followed the bike trail as it ran along roads and creeks, through neighborhoods, and then finally past a cemetery and a pet cemetery. Yes, a pet cemetery; it was tucked back in a little clearing between the woods. One final turn, and we arced into a little strip mall. As soon as I saw the white tent, laughing people, and dogs wearing bandanas, I knew we had reached our destination.

The beer was delicious, the atmosphere welcoming, and the company delightful. A couple hours later, we hopped back on our bikes for the journey home. As the wind whipped through my hair and I carefully veered left around the many walkers and runners on the trail, I realized it was the first day of spring. A bike and brew was the right way to welcome in the new season

My reading groups are going fairly well, apart from the nightmare tech issues in fourth period today, with my breakout rooms dropping kids and glitching out in various manners.

When I drop in to the groups, they’re usually talking, or at least deciding who will talk next. A few groups are lost in conversation (and I have to force myself not to linger too long in those, for they are not the ones who really need me), while others are moving along in fits and starts.

One group, however, is just not working at all. They’re not moved by the story, they can’t think of any engaging questions to ask, and none of them are very comfortable talking. I tried to breathe life into it, but I knew it was a lost cause.

“Okay, guys. How do you feel about the book?”

“Um. It’s okay, I guess.”

“Are you interested in it at all?”

…

“Not really, I guess,” offered one bubble.

“Um, nah,” offered another.

“I guess not,” said the other.

I glanced across the room at my bookshelves, filled with lonely books.

“Hang on.” I grabbed an assortment and did a mini book talk for them. They quickly agreed that Armstrong and Charlie sounded pretty good.

“Okay, I’m dropping them off at your houses after school. Let me just make sure I have your correct addresses.” Them seemed a little surprised; I’m not sure if it was because I can find out where they live in about a minute or that I was willing to drop them off – maybe a combination.

When school was over, I mapped out my route, which started with a northeast shot over to Clarendon, then swung southwest down Walter Reed, and ended near Wakefield HS. I met a gracious mom, who tried to invite me in, a precious poodle jumping up and down on my legs, and a thankful dad waving from the porch.

Now, I just hope they read it and talk about it!

I left for work a little earlier this morning, so I trusted my kids’ alarms to be enough to get them up for virtual school. Since I’ve returned to the building, I’ve been going into Maxine’s room at 7:00, the same time her alarm goes off, to make sure her eyes are open and to say goodbye. Then, she calls me at 7:15, which means she has to descend the stairs to retrieve her phone. I usually just say a quiet goodbye to Edwin, since high school starts later.

I stood in the hallway, about to go into their rooms, but I thought, “It’s 6:50; they need a little more sleep.” As I turned to go down the stairs, steadily falling rain pattered on the skylights outside their doors. The cats yawned and stretched as I put on my coat, and Sasha went around in circles a few times before settling down on her bed. How peaceful. How quiet.

I was so preoccupied with setting up my teaching station and getting ready for today’s book discussion groups, that I didn’t even notice I hadn’t gotten a call from Maxine. It was 7:43. Uh, oh. I called her phone, knowing it was futile. Then I gave Edwin’s phone a try; he actually keeps it in his room. Nothing. I texted the family chain. “Are you kids up? Chris, I don’t think they’re up.” Silence.

I called Chris, who left home right about the same time, and asked him about that device in her room that he likes to give commands through. He’ll say, “Hey, Siri. Tell Maxine it’s time for dinner” or “Tell Maxine if she doesn’t get down here and feed the dog now, that’s a dollar off her allowance.” He can also use the Home app on his phone to adjust her LED lights that run along the tops of her window frames.

“Do you think you can wake her up with that app?” I asked, my finger hovering above the join button on my Teams app.

“Yeah, I think I can.”

It was now out of my hands. My day started, and about 20 minutes later, when I had a second to glance at my phone, a flurry of texts had come in from the kids, assuring me they were up and that Maxine made it to first period on time. Yeah, by the skin of her teeth.

It turns out Chris put on a real light and sound show for her. He played a very upbeat “OK, Go!” song as he went nuts with the dimmer and color controls, all from his desk in his classroom. It’s crazy what we can do remotely, isn’t it?

I had to teach from home today, due to a positive case in one of my classes. The setback was disappointing, but I was well-supported. A few minutes after my first class began and I explained to my students why I was back in my living room, I got a text in the Teams chat from one of our AP’s, kindly letting me know she was monitoring my in-person kids. I couldn’t have asked for a kinder and more upbeat person to make these kids feel comfortable on their second visit to my classroom.

The first class I teach on Wednesdays and Fridays is my easiest; it’s my smallest, and nobody’s needs are much beyond those of a typical sixth grader. The next class, however, is a different story. This is my biggest and has a higher number of kids who are easily distracted and in need of frequent one-on-one attention.

I was relieved when my AP told me the assistant I had worked with for two years would be in my room the rest of the day. As kids’ faces and bubbles began to pop up on my screen, peppering me with questions about why I wasn’t in my classroom, I noticed that the ones in school, two of whom are usually the very last to type a greeting in the chat, were the first this time. Mr. T. was on it. Later in TA, he cheerfully chimed in when our discussion lulled. I had really missed that this year.

What I thought would be a bit of a lonely day turned out to be the opposite. My kids were engaged, and I had two adults I enjoy working with me.

I’ll be back in school tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to seeing kids in person, but I’ll miss the adults.

Hey, there, bright-eyed teacher. So, you think you’re starting to figure out this concurrent dealeo? That’s a nice little gooseneck camera you got there. It’s cute how you can show your classroom to your kids at home. Say, that’s an impressive bucket of wipes. You must kills tons of germs with those. And can I just say, “Wow.” Those plexiglass shields for your in-person kiddos are so. darn. clever. This room just oozes safety.

Yeah, so, here’s the thing. Remember that charming class you wrote about last week? You know, the ones who chatted, joked, and made you feel like a human teacher again? Well, one of those darlings tested positive, and you’re going to need to shut this party down. Go ahead and grab your stuff, and hightail it back to your living room for a few days. Don’t call them; they’ll call you.

When people ask who sent you home, tell them Rona did. Catch ya later, for sure.

March is not easy-going, not like November, when every time you start to get a little weary, another holiday wraps you in a warm, cozy hug. March may start with an M, but it seems light years away from May, who begins to beckon you to beaches, lazy mornings, and endless summer evenings.

March demands that you burn all cylinders until spring break, and then you still have 11 weeks to go after that. March whispers to your friends to hold everyone accountable for doing 15 minutes of core strength a day because we’ve gotten a little lazy over the winter. March reminds you that your yard needs mulching and your car is looking pretty darn dirty, now that the days are longer and the sun reflects more acutely off bird poop and dust.

Who needs to go to bed?

Our deck has seen a busy day.

Shift 1: I drink my coffee on the couch with a blanket across my lap, listening to a woodpecker go to town, high up in the oak tree.

Shift 2: Edwin serves his friend a breakfast of poached eggs and oolong tea. She brings the chia seed pudding.

Shift 3: Sasha dog switches between lounging in the sun and harrumphing at barking dogs in the adjacent back yards.

Shift 4: Maxine procrastinates helping her brother move the woodpile as she scrolls through TikTok.

Shift 5: Max and her friend chat, laugh, and scroll through TikTok. They make plans to walk to Starbuck’s.

Shifts 6-10: Max and her friend return from Starbuck’s, and laugh, chat and scroll; they appear in the kitchen for a moment to collect dinner; they laugh, chat, and scroll some more. I ask her when her friend is going home when she reappears for drinks. “We’re not really sure,” she breezily answers, as she tosses her hair and heads back out to the deck. As I type, I hear their animated voices tossing on the wind, and now that Chris has turned on the outdoor heater for them, I’m not sure the friend is going anywhere anytime soon.

Today I went to the home of close family friends to pick out anything I wanted before they downsize from their four bedroom family home in Burke to a much more manageable flat in Old Town, Alexandria.

These are parents of a friend I’ve had since high school, and I knew this day was coming because she has been trying for several years to get them to move closer to her and into a home that better suits their needs.

Ron and Paula started calling friends a few weeks ago, urging them to come by and take artwork, glassware, Christmas ornaments – anything they weren’t taking with them to this much smaller home. Ron called Thursday evening to remind me to come quick because soon there wouldn’t be much left.

As I walked through their home, I felt strange eyeing their walls, counters, and tables with the intent of taking stuff. Paula walked ahead of me, pointing out water colors, prints, champagne glasses and various other items they’ve collected over the years. A few pieces on the walls remained that they were taking, most notably the painting of The Rolling Stones, with Mick Jagger mid-croon, hair flying, straddling the mic stand.

This is a home that holds many memories for me: the double date prom photos on their deck, my senior year boyfriend’s band playing in their basement, and French and English class study sessions in the den with their daughter.

Fast forward 13 years after high school, and there is Ron, dressed in a tux, offering hors d’oeuvres on a silver tray at my bridal shower. Five years after that, you have the wine cellar Chris built in their basement.

Up until COVID, they hosted Russian Christmas at their home for years, and my parents and sisters and I all went. Since we first began attending, we’ve added three husbands and six children to our group.

I finally snapped out of my revelry so I could choose a few items: a water color of a cafe in Switzerland, a print of a fancy dancing 1920’s couple, and, most impractically, a ceramic champagne bucket with a rim that holds six, stemless champagne glasses that comes with six little matching stands. Paula really seemed to want me to take it. She told me they had seen it on a Rick Steve’s episode. He featured this item he came across in a pottery shop in Reims, France, and, lo and behold, they stumbled upon the same shop when they were there and scooped it up.

When I presented the champagne deal to Chris, he seemed less than enthusiastic. We already have so many pretty but impractical items from my mom, and he rightfully wondered where we would put it. I found a spot and am determined to host a champagne brunch very soon, but we can only invite four other people.

I think Ron and Paula will enjoy their new, more urban lifestyle, but it must be hard to say goodbye to a home with so many memories, not to mention all the things they won’t have room for. They’re just things, but they’re representations of grand adventures, tokens of love from family and friends, and maybe more than a few whimsical purchases.

I sort of had to manage behavior in my classroom today, and it was so much fun.

I had a group of seven in my 4th period. One is a jokester; he wanted to know the penalty for not reading the required chapters for his book group meeting.

“Perhaps jail time?” I responded.

“I’m going to need that in writing. Show me where that’s written,” he quipped.

Another student had a difficult time refraining from answering every question I asked, whether or not I called on him, and even when I said, “Let’s hear from someone at home.”

Another student’s fingers were working way too busily on his iPad to be simply advancing the pages of his ebook.

When a group of four of my in-person kids were tasked with deciding who would lead their next book discussion, they decided to flip a composition book multiple times in the space between their desks. I’m not sure what constituted heads or tails, especially with four possible outcomes, but it seemed to work for them. In normal times, I would’ve asked them to refrain, but I was so happy to see normal kid behavior that I let them proceed.

As all of this played out, a kid at home asked if he could be excused because his cat threw up. So much going on – so simply wonderful.

It’s refreshing to spar with children again, where we can see each other’s faces (partially) and read body language. I assume the thrill will wear off, but I’m really enjoying myself for the time being.