Month: March 2022

We went to Wakefield this evening for Edwin’s orchestra concert. It was the second orchestra concert of his we’ve been to since COVID. The first one in December was a bit rusty, of course, since they had recently emerged from a year and a half of virtual instruction and practicing.

Tonight’s concert was so sweet. They sounded beautiful and seemed buoyant. Though most students remained masked, their eyes were smiling and their bows were light.

Our family revived a few traditions this time around: my parents joined us for the concert and we took the kids for Sweet Frog afterwards. I usually complain about the exorbitant prices and how it makes so much more sense to buy sundae makings at Giant, but it was worth it this time.

To match student with books for our social issues unit, I first grouped the kids and then had each group come to an agreement on which was their top choice out of several options. I subtly steered certain groups toward books I thought would be good matches for them.

What a happy accident when one boy, who spends a large portion of his time distracting others, found a strong connection with one of the books and convinced his group mates to pick that one.

“This kid has OCD, and so do I!”

“Really? Thanks for sharing that. You’ll have such a valuable perspective to share with your group!”

“Yeah!” he enthusiastically responded.

We began reading the books today, and I sat in with his group for the first few pages. When we read that the main character, who has OCD, was writing a story and wrote the first page over 54 times, he said, “Wow. Mine isn’t that bad.”

As he left class he declared, “This book is the best!”

He’s probably only about 15 pages in, but finding a meaningful connection has set him up for success. Choice does matter.

I introduced “accountable talk” in my classes today to give the students some support in developing their discussion skills. Along with the list of sentences starters, I pointed out the acronym, SLANT, that will help them maintain positive body language in their small group discussions.

S- sit up

L- look at the person

A – act like you care

N – nod your head

T- take turns

We had a few sticking points as we read down the list. For one, many took issue with “act like you care.”

“But what if you DO care? Then you won’t have to act!” one student said.

“That would be great,” I said. “I hope you won’t have to act.”

Another student wondered aloud, “But what if you aren’t a very good actor?”

“Well, I guess all we can do is ask that you try your best. And you may just trick yourself into caring for real.”

The other line that got us off track a bit was “nod your head.” If you’ve ever spent any time in a sixth grade classroom, you would have no trouble picturing the vigorous head bobbing that ensued with that one.

I’m back in the piano studio while Maxine has her group lesson. I’ve been working on the NYT crossword and other word games.

I used to spend two hours here every week for the kids’ lessons since Edwin was three. I would wrap baby Maxine in a blanket and nestle her in a corner so I could read while she napped as Edwin and his fellow toddlers clapped out rhythms and found middle C.

We’ve come here through snow, rushed in from soccer practice, rushed out to go trick-or-treating. We’ve arrived with containers of apple slices and goldfish to take the edge off after school, bearing Christmas gifts with handmade cards for their teacher, overnight bags packed to head to Nana and Pop’s for a sleepover.

I’ve seen these toddlers grow up into high schoolers, heard the boys’ voices drop an octave or two, watched them stroll in swinging car keys, heard them talk about college applications and SATs. It blew my mind that these children could drive here on their own without their parents. I missed my piano mom and dad friends, now that they no longer had to shuttle their kids here.

Now I’m becoming one of those parents. Edwin drives himself here and often drives Maxine or she catches a ride with another parent. So, I’m not in the studio much these days. It’s kind of comforting being here. Not much has changed in 14 years. In fact, now that I really look around, I don’t think anything has changed besides these tall teens who used to be small (and I have a few more wrinkles and gray hairs).

The warm weather nudged me into action today. Winter shields me from feeling a responsibility to work in the garden, but that came to an abrupt end as the temperature shot up this weekend. What used to have a still, cold beauty just looked downright drab and sad.

After changing from a sweatshirt into a tank top, I knocked the cobwebs out of my gardening shoes and slipped on a pair of gardening gloves. I stepped from my cool house onto the warm front porch, windchimes enthusiastically tinkling in the breeze.

Clippers in hand, I cut down all the dead stalks and gathered them into piles. Then I grabbed the rake and dragged mounds of dead leaves together to toss into the green can. After smooshing them down as tight as they would go, I filled up an additional tall brown bag.

After an hour or so of clipping, raking, squishing, and sweeping, I surveyed the front garden with great satisfaction. It looks like early spring now, sprinkled with clusters of violet and pale lavender crocuses, clumps of buttery daffodils, and baby, kelly green leaves of lambs ear among the more mature silvery leaves. The tulip and hyacinth bulbs waiting just underneath the warming soil to burst forth with life will not have to push through the dead to make their debut.

I know we have more than a couple chilly days ahead of us before spring is truly here, but I have officially thrown out the welcome mat.

Maxine, our 14-year-old, has kind of been all ours this weekend. Her two closest friends have been away and her brother has been really busy, so she has been open to spending some time time us.

We’ve made a coffee and bagel run, walked the dog at Dyke Marsh, shopped for groceries, picked out new athletic wear for her (somewhat forced) venture into ultimate frisbee, delivered neighborhood newsletters, and soaked in the hot tub.

She still cuddles. She still tells us about her crushes, fears, and friendship drama. Please let’s sustain this through the peak teen years.

We went our separate ways this evening with vastly different experiences ahead of us.

Edwin gulped down a quick meal of leftover pasta, threw on a black sweater and black dress pants, and ran out the door to drive himself to Langley High School for the first in-person Model UN conference since COVID.

I changed out of my leggings and sweatshirt into a sweater and jeans just in time to greet an old friend at the door. She chatted with Chris and Maxine for a few minutes before we began our brisk walk down to Lebanese Taverna to meet a third friend. We hadn’t all been together since before COVID, and we thoroughly enjoyed updating each other on our lives over wine, good food, and much laughter.

Not long after I left, Chris and Maxine headed out to begin their evening: dinner at District Taco followed by a viewing of Scream 5 at AMC Hoffman Center.

I am happy with my choice.

Last night my son casually asked if he could take today off from 11th grade as a mental health day. He gave a rundown of how uneventful each class would be today. He wasn’t particularly stressed or anything; rather, he indicated, it would simply be the reasonable thing to do.

“No, you have to go to school,” I stated matter-of-factly after his smooth pitch.

“Mom, it makes no sense. Literally nothing will be going on tomorrow.”

“You literally have to go to school.”

He was not happy. When he got home today, he was quite chilly with me. Later, when he asked if he could take the car to school tomorrow since I’d be holding conferences from home, I said I wasn’t sure. He was a pretty big jerk to me this afternoon.

“I was just tired and mad at my day, not at you.”

I have known this child for 17 years, and I am confident he served me up a plate of BS. I told him so. He held firm in his denial, passionately so, but I wasn’t buying it.

He hasn’t yet crumbled, but he’s shown me funny SNL clips, a piano piece he wants to learn, and a cat video starring a kitty that looks just like ours. I guess it’s his way of saying sorry. Maybe a car instead of a school bus is in his future tomorrow…

We just started our social issues book group unit, which is heavily focused on discussion, as the unit title suggests, so I moved the desks back into clusters of four from the more socially-distanced pairs that had all faced the front of the room since the beginning of the school year.

The volume and playfulness immediately shot up. It’s like I gently nudged a roomful of puppies out of their slumber.

I don’t know if it’s just them adjusting to a new configuration or if it flipped the switch back to normalcy, but these kids more closely resemble the sixth graders I’ve known and loved since before the pandemic.

As each group took part in their first discussion of the unit, I made my way around to each table to listen and offer support where needed. One group, the one I used as a fishbowl, was on fire. They were adding on, asking questions, using text evidence, and making connections. Another group was holding their own and using some of the strategies they had seen the fishbowl group use. Another group had already zipped through all the questions before I got to them, so I guided them back to one and had them go a little deeper.

Then there’s the group I will probably spend the most time with: they were splitting their time between giggling and accusing each other of not following directions.

And they were all right there under my nose the whole time.

I feel like I haven’t had much to write about the past few months. I’ve had good runs, as well as fits and starts, over the past couple of years, but I had been in an especially dry spell since my last post on January 11th.

I haven’t felt like saying much lately. I was afraid all I would do is complain about the state of the world, repeat stories I’ve already told, or dump some pretty bland words on the page just so I could see that day on the calendar go from white to blue. Yet, here we are on the very first day of March, the beginning of the Slice of Life Challenge, and I’m in.

I’m up for heightening my awareness of my surroundings so I have something to write about. What birds are hanging around the pond? What thoughts linger in my mind after the students leave my room? Which flowers are starting to push their way through the soil?

The same words of advice I hear when I begin a yoga session aptly apply to sitting down to write my daily post: set your intention. So, what’s my intention? My intention is to let my words lead me out of this funk I’ve fallen into. Examine, reflect, speak. It can only help, right?