#SOL16 Day 31 Here's To Us

Back on March 1, I wrote about the bridge we were stepping on as we crossed from March to April in this month of daily writing. Today, on the downhill, we now easily trot the last steps to the other side, the place we've been journeying to all this month, the bridge itself full of discoveries and adventures. 

I found myself saying, "I haven't been reading much because of the blogging challenge this month", thinking about all the novels, chapter books, and picture books still on my TBR list. But, I caught myself after saying this, realizing I've been reading so much: so many moving, funny, surprising, brave slices. The reading and the writing have changed me- perhaps invisible to most, but the stories, poems, and posts I've read and written have changed me for good. (Nod to "Wicked.")

So, Slicers, this is my poem, celebrating us. We did it. A badge of honor that always belongs to us!

Here's To Us

Here's to us.
Here's to the late night typers,
The early morning risers,
The mid-day sketchers.
Here's to writing,
no matter what
time of day.
Here's to making the commitment
and following through.

Here's to us.
The times the ideas flowed
like a rushing river
and the times the ideas
dried up, like a raisin in the sun.
Here's to showing up,
and writing, 
somehow finding ideas to fill 
the glaring white screen.

Here's to us.
The ones who walk
through life, eyes open
knowing the moment to capture
is a blink away,
Finding significance
in a blade of grass,
and the yellow fuzz of a dandelion.
Catching moments,
saving stories.

Here's to us.
The times we pressed "publish" 
when we knew it was revealing,
The times we were honest,
The times we were brave,
The times we took a risk.
The times we worried
 we said too much
or maybe not enough
but published anyway.

Here's to us. 
Who teach from a place
of authenticity,
Who don't require of students
what we won't try ourselves.
Who know writing isn't
really about rubrics and grades
but communicating and creating,
Who know writing is life-work.
Here's to us who've 
walked the walk 
each day
in March.

Here's to us.
A community of strangers
who now are like friends,
Across oceans, 
across continents,
Connected by words,
Woven together,
each voice a thread,
in a colorful tapestry.
What we created
one March
we can be proud of always.

It's been a privilege
reading your words.
Here's to you.
Here's to us. 

#SOL16 Day 30 To My Pregnant Friend

Dear Friend Having a Baby,

It filled my heart with happiness when you slid the sonogram picture across the diner table, your way of sharing the amazing news with me. I know this baby was a dream that wasn't easy to come by, as my first baby was  also "the dream that I'd been chasing" to quote Martina McBride. When you want a baby of your own, it is a wanting like no other. It is a deep yearning and a worried question mark about what the future will bring. For me, getting the news that I would be a mom came from a doctor's office voicemail on my cell phone, which I listened to, disbelieving, in the closet in my kindergarten classroom. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. 

Being pregnant is a unique season in your life. For me, I eagerly counted the weeks, noted how the baby changed from a poppyseed to a blueberry to an orange to eventually a melon. I read all the books. I kept the pregnancy journal. I eagerly anticipated doctor's appointments and sonograms. People love a pregnant person and the attention was fun. When I was pregnant, I wrote letters to the baby and washed all his clothes and read him stories, while rubbing my stomach. The waiting was so hard and I impatiently counted the days.

My first lesson as a new mom came moments after Alex was born. Expect the unexpected. The relief I felt that labor had stopped was quickly replaced by alarm that doctors and nurses were rushing into the room and my baby was surrounded by them on a table, across from my bed. My doctor continued attending to me, but what was the matter with my baby? The nurse came to me and explained he was "stunned." The cord tightened around his neck during the last push and he was initially unresponsive but was doing better each moment. After a few minutes, they finally let me hold him. He was so calm and beautiful and the second they placed him in my arms, I had the feeling of, "Yes, of course it's you" as if we'd known each other for a lifetime. Alex had to spend a few days in the NICU, and the first time I visited him in there and called his name, the nurses remarked at how he turned his head...he knew me, too.

Being a mom is full of moments of certainty and confusion, love and fear, and always the worry. You only want to do right by this little person you helped create, but there are times you will get it wrong. Times you say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and feel like you are screwing up. You will be tired and sometimes even a little resentful. Your greatest and weakest moments as a human will all come to you on your path as a mom.

But oh, the snuggles. The cozy baby smell, the feeling of warmth and all encompassing love, will carry you through the sleepless nights when you really don't want to get up yet again. The drooly smile, the chubby outstretched arms, reaching for you, the star in his universe, will fill a part of your soul you didn't know needed filling. A baby changes every single thing about your life, most especially you.

You will get a lot of advice. I won't give you any. This mom thing is hard and we all have to find our own way. We all do. Your little boy is growing inside you each day and before you know it, he will be here, your son but your sun, too- the center of your world. I can't wait to meet him.

Love,

Your Friend

#SOL16 Day 29 Elections

"I think you should run for President of the Student Government," he told me, his warm brown eyes holding mine. 

Sophomore year in college, E. was my crush. I looked for his car whenever I drove onto campus, and when I saw it parked in the familiar spot, my heart would beat faster knowing he was around and I might bump into him. Molloy was totally a commuter college at the time, but E. worked on campus in the fitness center and often parked near it. He was older than me, although I didn't exactly know how much older. He was a social work major and had that kind, caring heart that goes along with that job. My crush was totally unrequited.

But, here he sat across from me, imploring me to run for President of the MSG. I was sophomore class co-president and the current Vice President was slated to run, unopposed, for President, which was usually how elections worked at Molloy. No one ran against anyone else. People floated into positions of power and promptly did.. not much. If I were to run for President, it would be shocking. Well, at least among the 10 current members of the Student Government.

E. explained he thought I would make positive changes, and he would help me with my campaign. The guy I dreamed about was asking me to run for President, believed in ME as a person who would do a good job?! Could I really say no?

I recall going out to lunch with him, to a local Chinese restaurant, several times to discuss campaign ideas and strategies. I would waltz in late to one of my communications classes, so unlike me, but lunch with E. was too irresistible, and I found it hard to cut it short to get back in time. For my campaign, I color coordinated my posters and I made pins for people to wear. (Did anyone wear one? I don't remember now, but somehow doubt it.) On the day of the election, E. helped decorate my Saturn with signs and the color-coordinated balloons. I had lots of flyers and a table where I sat with my information. My campaign included many ideas on ways to get students more involved in campus life. I spelled out several specific ideas. My opponent didn't name any ideas and based her slogan on the popular commercial "Gotta Go To Mo's" (substitute "go" for "vote"). 

The day of the election, there was some funny business with ballots being handed out to the baseball team. I'll never know for sure, but I suspect there ws some cheating. When I got the phone call, after all the ballots were counted, I just knew I lost, and I had. These were the days before text messages, so I think I emailed E. to tell him the news. I felt so awful that I had let him down.

He reassured me I hadn't. I ran a good campaign and gave it my best try. It wasn't to be. I stepped away from Student Government after that. I probably never would have run without E.'s encouragement and that remains the best part of my memory of running for office. 

#SOL16 Day 28 Dinosaurs on Easter

On Easter morning,
Alex sits across the kitchen table
Dark lashes framing 
big blue eyes,
Expressive
as he explains 
a meteor killed the dinosaurs,
even the babies
who just hatched.

I say, "No one knows for sure"
"Maybe it happened fast"
Don't want to think of eggs
hatching into a world
where they were doomed
from the very start.

It's Easter and we 
don't go to church.
The kids won't sit
they are too little,
but maybe we should,
because Easter is more 
than chocolate rabbits
and toys.

Maybe church can help me

Explain to Alex

The unexplainable.

In a world of meteors
and doomed baby dinosaurs
and bombs exploding 
in every corner of the world
and guns killing first graders
and their teachers,
We need to believe
that there is so much more
than what we see.

Easter reminds us

The saddest part 

Of the story 

Is never really

The end.

#SOL16 Day 27 #DigiLit Sunday TRUST

Thank you to Margaret Simon for another week of #DigiLit Sunday. Visit Margaret's site to link up your post this week on TRUST. 


When I taught kindergarten, some of my colleagues always told the students what topic to write about. The whole class would be writing about animals today, or the weather. They felt that students would not know how to pick an idea and it was better to have an idea ready for them. 

I never assigned topics. We would brainstorm how to think of your own idea for writing, with charts made mostly of pictures for them to reference if they got stuck. Because I trusted my 5 year old writers had ideas and believed they could pick a topic, they always did. We had struggles in writing workshop, for sure, but one of the struggles was never picking a topic. They could always do it. 

Trust goes hand-in-hand with risk-taking and security. You have to feel secure that if you fall, you will have a soft place to land. When you know that failing won't be the end of you, you are more willing to take risks, more able to learn. You trust that it will be okay, in the end, regardless of the outcome. 

Becoming a connected educator and looking for ways to incorporate technology and digital tools requires trust on the part of the teacher. You have to trust that you have something to say and are worthy to contribute to the global conversation around teaching and learning. You have to trust your voice. You have to believe that digital tools enhance thinking and learning and that they flatten classroom walls. You have to trust that students will be better for the opportunities to collaborate with others from all corners of the world. You have to have faith that learning takes time and you won't be a master of everything digital all in one day. You also need to recognize that once you've mastered something tech-related, something new will replace it. Technology is ever-changing and the goal can't be to master a particular tool, but rather to look for tools that can provide opportunities for creativity, communication, and collaboration. 

Just as students need to trust their teachers in order to be risk-takers, teachers need to trust their administrators and colleagues in order to have genuine conversations that move thinking and learning forward. A climate of fear and anxiety does not promote trust, and therefore holds everyone back. Trust can be built when teachers feel appreciated and recognized for their strengths. When all stakeholders have a real voice, trust grows and progress can happen.

One of my favorite Billy Joel songs is "Matter of Trust." Billy sings, "You can't go the distance, with too much resistance." Today, on Easter Sunday, may we have more trust than resistance, more safe places to land, more faith, more understanding, and more hope that the world can indeed be a more loving place.

#SOL16 Day 26 Weighty Matters

My first memory of shame about my weight was sitting on the white-tissue paper covered table in the pediatrician's office at a well exam. Could I have been 6? The nurse and my mother were having a conversation in the hallway and my older sister took it upon herself to let me know the nurse was telling Mom I weighed too much. I remember the feeling of shame and embarrassment. I think I cried. It wouldn't be the last time tears where shed over my weight. 

I was always chubby, from the start, aside from my very average, slightly small birth weight of 6 pounds. Family legend has it that I ate my pastina with two hands. My second birthday reveals me in a a bathing suit, extra flesh squeezing out the sides, wearing a crown and holding a fork. I was a kid who enjoyed, thoroughly, food and loved eating plain slice of American cheese and dishes of my Grandma's pasta. I was also a sedentary kid, who loved sitting with my toys, reading books, coloring and disliked sports and outdoor play. It was a recipe for disaster, I suppose. 

My first Weight Watchers meeting was at 8 years old. I hated going. I was the only kid there. I also hated that my mom had to cut the elastic on the sleeves of my dresses because they left horrible red welts on my upper arm. I hated that I had to wear "pretty plus" jeans from Sears, because I didn't see anything "pretty" about being a plus. I hated that my thin older sister needed to drink creamy Carnation instant breakfast to gain weight and I was stuck with diet Alba shakes. My cookies were rationed out, leaving me desperate for more, where she had as much as she liked. When I went to the diner as a kid, I was encouraged to get the diet plate, which was a bun-less burger with cottage cheese. (I feel rage just thinking about cottage cheese now.) 

No eating disorders, but eating out of the sight of others became something I definitely did. Sneaking a treat when no one was around to tell me not to. There would be comments or disappointment if I ate the "bad" food but I desired it so much. It's a habit I still can't shake. 

When you are overweight, you learn to make comparisons. I would wonder if I was the fattest girl in the class. I was the 3rd or 4th fattest most of the time. By the summer between 7th and 8th grade, I was sad enough about the way I looked to try dieting again. My mother and I attended a program called "New You" and I lost about 25 pounds, which made a big difference. My 8th grade year I was lighter and more confident, but as high school went on, weight crept back on. I started college 30 pounds heavier. After my sophomore year in college, I worked with a nutritionist who had dolls all over her office. Everywhere. She advised me to cut all carbohydrates and the weight dropped fast. 25 pounds or so, gone, but not for long because carbohydrates are my frenemy. 

I left college with the weight back on and my first years of teaching did nothing to improve the situation. I was stressed and exhausted and lonely and the weight came on. When one of my friends was getting married and I had to be measured for a bridesmaids dress, I was utterly humiliated when it was loudly announced I had to pay extra for a larger dress. I came home and cried hysterical, sad, shameful tears to my mother, deciding then and there that I would do whatever it takes to lose weight. I rejoined Weight Watchers and lost weight. When I went back to try on the dress, it was so big, they gave it to another bridesmaid who put on weight and gave me the smaller size. It was right around this time I met my husband, when I was at this lower weight, with new-found confidence.

But you know how it goes. The longer we dated, the more comfortable I was, the less I worried about my weight. By the time we got engaged, I had put on a good 20 pounds. Cue the wedding weight worry. I consulted a nutritionist again (this one didn't have dolls) and I paid a lot of money to show her my journal each week. I lost weight. The prettiest I ever felt, aside from my wedding day, was my wedding shower. I wore a white dress and black boots and my hair was blown out straight. I felt so good in my own skin.

It is 7 years later, 2 children later, and if I am honest with myself, I am 50 pounds more than I was in that picture. I've tried working with yet another nutritionist and lost weight, but then got pregnant with Megan. Since that time, my soul just absolutely revolts at the idea of dieting. Counting points makes me shudder. Writing down what I eat feels annoying. I gave Shakeology a try last June but within 2 hours of drinking it, became horribly sick to my stomach in my classroom, throwing up in the garbage can in front of 20 third graders, probably ensuring that their memory of me is the puking teacher. I was sick the entire day. Shakeology did not agree with me at all. I see friends looking absolutely transformed and swearing by it, but sadly, something in it was poison for me.

The thing is, I'm tired of worrying about my weight. I'm tired of feeling like less of a person based on the fact that I really enjoy treats and chocolate. I'm done with crazy diets and daily deprivation. Yet. I'm 36 and the weight makes me look older, makes me feel older. I can't keep up with my children when they run away from me, which is scary. I would like to feel good about myself, not just my heart and my mind, but my body, too. I'd like to make my family proud and be vibrant and healthy. The weight holds me back.

Tonight, I bought a Fitbit. I figure it's a start. I'm not eligible for blogging prizes this month since I'm part of the co-author team at Two Writing Teachers, but I wanted to get myself some reward for this effort of daily writing. I thought the Fitbit was a good choice because I will have more time each day, when March ends, to add activity and movement. It feels like a positive thing to do for health and fitness, not like punishment, not like cottage cheese next to a bun-less burger when all you want is the curly fries dipped in ketchup. 

Michelle Haseltine bravely talked about her soft spot yesterday, the thing that hurts the most, your most vulnerable area. For me, it is my weight. It is feeling never good enough, like a failure, like a big, fat loser without self-control. Feeling like I will never slay this chubby dragon who would really rather have chocolate chip cookies and sit with a good book then eat a salad and exercise. 

But, maybe, it is time to start a new story in my head and heart, one that doesn't end with me failing yet again. Here's to lots of steps, counted on my Fitbit, in a new direction. 

#SOL16 Day 25 The Gift of a Grandma

Dear Grandma, 

Happy 90th Birthday, your first in Heaven. If you were still here with us, we would surely be having a special celebration Friday and this weekend. Sometimes I still can't believe you are gone. I still think of you in your cozy house, sitting in your pink rocking chair facing the afternoon sun, listening to the radio. Or sitting on your front porch in  your white rocker, or talking on the phone to Mom or Judy, or cooking sauce in the kitchen. Sometimes I still want to pick up the phone and dial that familiar number that I dialed for years, hear your "Hiya Kath" at the other end of the line. 

It's your birthday, and this year there is no pocketbook to buy for you, or spring nightgown, or nails and toes gift certificate. There are no birthday cards to write out. Yet I still feel like I want to give you a gift. My gift will be to thank you for all the gifts you gave to me in the 36 years and change that we knew each other. 

Thank you for the gift of my mother. You and Grandy raised a kind, generous, fun, intelligent daughter. Your example helped her grow and she become the most supportive and loving mother, and now an exceedingly patient Naya to her three grandchildren. Watching the relationship between you two taught me about the unbreakable bond between mothers and daughters. Even in the last days of your life, my mother was able to be with you with love and devotion, making those final days as peaceful and comforting as possible. 

Thank you for the gift of story. You used to tell Christine and I made up tales of "Good Gertie", "Bad Betsy" and "Sweet Sally." Those stories you shared inspired us to try to write our own versions! Well, Christine did that and I wanted to be just like her, too, so I started writing my own picture books about the adventures of Gertie, Betsy and Sally. As I got older, I loved hearing you tell stories from when you were growing up, a teenager, when you met Grandy, your early days as a young mom, and what life was like when you moved to Tennessee.  

Thank you for the "hotel" sleepovers, the dinners out and the dinners you made me every Wednesday when I was a new (exhausted) teacher. You always made my favorite salad, with feta cheese and little cranberries, and then the rest of the dinner would be completely delicious too. Pork chops, sauerkraut, and apples; orzos, feta and peas; shrimp and pasta....each week was better than the last. Cozy time on your couch with "The Match Game" reruns or "Seinfeld" reruns passed the time and was so relaxing and restorative. You always packed up leftovers for me, and in time, for Mike, too. 

Thank you for listening, always listening, and offering wisdom when I needed it. Thank you for always, resolutely, being on my side. Thank you for all the laughs. Thank you for being a loving and adoring "GG" to Will, Alex, and Megan, rocking them on your chair and singing, "Let's all sing like the birdies sing...tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet" when they were little babies.  Thank you for your positive outlook, for carrying on, for making holidays and Sunday dinners special with your fussing and your cooking and your love for all of us. 

Grandma, you were such a gift to me. Such a strong, loving presence my whole life through. Thinking of you now, is like thinking of a warm hug. You were cups of tea and cookies to me, chicken soup for my soul. You were adorable musical Christmas teddy bears, placed lovingly on my Christmas tree. You gave me so many gifts through the years that meant so much, but you, yourself, were the greatest gift. 

I miss you so. I hope you are surrounded by light and love.

Happy Birthday, my Grandma.