tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17228281761200737932024-03-05T03:19:16.969-06:00Letters of MuseWriting to Life's Humdrum, Tantrums, and Fist Pumps.Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.comBlogger224125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-47630141928790376192019-11-30T22:15:00.002-06:002019-11-30T22:26:21.868-06:00Book Review: Know My Name by Chanel Miller<br />
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Absolutely BREATHTAKING. This is the best nonfiction/memoir I have ever read. It punched the air out of me time and time again. No review I write will do this work justice, but I do want to spread the word because this is a book that all men and women should read. Not only is Miller an extraordinary writer, weaving details that propel and connect her narrative, but she also brings to light the injustices of a system that negates sexual assault victims while inexplicably protects assailants of their wrongdoing. <br />
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In this memoir, Chanel Miller reclaims her identify as an inspiring human being, a Chinese American artist/creator, a loving sister/daughter, and a figure of strength and resilience, instead of a victim of sexual assault—or as the media labeled, “unconscious intoxicated woman,”—also known as Emily Doe. In 2015, she was raped by Brock Turner, while unconscious, at a frat party at Stanford University. She woke up in a hospital, and because of her blackout, she had no memory of the assault, and learned of the unspeakable things done to her through the media and during her trial. Miller accounts her entire experience with the attack, from the moment she woke up, through the length of the trial and defendant’s appeal (3 years and 8 months), to related events that took place in the aftermath, as well as details of her life prior to the assault that fully credits her identity. <br />
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Miller addresses the scope of a victim’s experience, from shock, depression, anger, fear, shame, isolation, trauma, and putting one’s life on hold, to a justice system that not only questions the victims’ character, but also protects the perpetrator’s privileged future. <i>[Online commenters] seemed angry that I’d made myself vulnerable, more than the fact that he’d acted on my vulnerability. Drinking is not inherently immoral: a night of heavy drinking calls for Advil and water. But being drunk and raped seemed to call for condemnation. People were confounded that I had failed to protect myself. </i>Many people also believe that <i>[Brock] was a kid, not a criminal. Accomplished, not dangerous. He was the one who lost everything. I was just the nobody it happened to. To further add to the inequity, she writes, Victims are often, automatically, accused of lying. But when a perpetrator is exposed for lying, the stigma doesn’t stick. Why is it that we’re wary of victims making false accusations, but rarely consider how many men have blatantly lied about, downplayed, or manipulated others to cover their own actions?</i> <br />
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At the sentencing, after Chanel read her Victim Impact Statement to the court (which was subsequently published by BuzzFeed and read 18 million times), the judge gave Turner 6 months in jail, which was then reduced to 90 days. Miller recounts, <i>I wonder if, in their eyes, the victim remained stagnant, living forever in that twenty-minute time frame. She remained frozen, while Brock grew more and more multifaceted, his stories unfolding, a spectrum of life and memories opening up around him. He got to be a person. Where was her redemption story? Nobody talked about the things she might go on to do. I had laid my suffering bare, but I lacked a key element. The judge had give Brock something that would never be extended to me: empathy. My pain was never more valuable than his potential. </i><br />
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Miller’s redemption begins when her statement went viral. Her voice spread globally, and people wrote to her from all corners of the world. The statement was then published in major journals, read in Congress, quoted by Hillary Clinton, and responded to from Joe Biden. Her case lead to “a new mandatory prison sentence for those convicted of sexually assaulting an unconscious or intoxicated person and expanded California’s definition of rape.” Additionally, Judge Persky was recalled from his seat. <br />
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But Miller doesn’t stop at her triumph over a guilty verdict for Turner. She gets political. She condemns lewd behavior and misogyny by men in power, such as Trump, Kavanaugh, Weinstein, Nassar, and Cosby. She addresses race and white privilege through Philando Castro’s murder, citing the <i>familiar expectation that a victim be flawless, in order to be worthy of life. Similarly, If punishment is based on potential, privileged people will be given lighter sentences, because if a Hispanic nineteen-year-old working in the kitchen of the fraternity commits the same crime… Does this story end differently?</i> <br />
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Miller sums up beautifully the compassion that must be extended to assaulted women: <i>Victims exist in a society that tells us our purpose is to be an inspiring story. But sometimes the best we can do is tell you we’re still here, and that should be enough. Denying darkness does not bring anyone closer to light. When you hear a story about rape, all the graphic and unsettling details, resist the instinct to turn away; instead look closer, because beneath the gore and the police reports is a whole, beautiful person, looking for ways to be in the world again. </i><br />
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Some people had the audacity to accuse Miller of not penning her Victim Impact Statement herself, because she’s too young and the writing is too “sophisticated.” This book is even more charismatic and stunning than her original statement, because she dug down deep to put her name out there for everyone to know. She relived every detail and pain to rebirth her identity, to heal from the assault, to share her strength: <br />
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<i>I wrote this book because the world can be harsh and terrible and often unforgiving. I wrote because there were times I did not feel like living. I wrote because the court system is slow as a snail, and victims are forced to spend so much time fighting, rather than spending their days creating, drawing, cooking. I wrote to expose the brutality of entitlement, gender violence, and class privilege in our society. But I would be failing you if you walked away from this book untouched by humanity, without seeing what I saw: those thousands of handwritten letters, the green-lipped fish at the bottom of the ocean, the winking court reporter. All the small miracles that sustained me. We may spend half our time wandering around, wondering what we’re even doing here, why it’s worth the effort. But living is an incredible thing, just to have been here, to have felt, if only briefly, the volume and depth of others’ empathy. I wrote, most of all, to tell you I have seen how good the world could be. </i></blockquote>
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I finished the book ugly crying, unable to see the words on the last page, having to reread it multiple times to get every single word in. I am in awe of Chanel’s plight, resilience, and ability to use her voice to lift up those who have been left voiceless and helpless. This should not have been the incident for Miller to write such a remarkable memoir, but beyond coming out to the world as Chanel Miller, this work will make an indelible mark in history to bring to light the oppression of sexual assault victims and a system that perpetuates that very unspeakable violation. But in spite of it all, we can heal: <i>Wait for it. This is the rule of the universe. This is the one thing I know to be true. No matter how awful and long your journey, I can promise you the turn. One day it will lift. </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818;">
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-36839170356807775522018-12-30T10:50:00.000-06:002018-12-30T10:50:12.944-06:00Retreat<br />
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2018 has been a year of shifts, modifications, and new resolutions. Since a very personal and difficult summer, I have made a few deliberate changes and noticed some differences in my thoughts and actions. Faced with stormy weather, one naturally seeks shelter and safety. Maybe stay indoors a bit longer than necessary. Or procure extra protection when heading out. I seem to have become a hermit equipped with a king-sized emergency kit ready for an apocalypse.<br />
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So I <strike>broke up with</strike> unplugged from Facebook. My decade-long love-hate relationship with this social media giant has come to a halt. Sure, it's great to keep up-to-date with faraway friends and see their children growing up over the years; those posts always bring a smile to my face. But in the last few years, the number of posts that I scroll through or avoid has soared. In this volatile political climate, I just cannot be on social media without feeling despair, anger, hopelessness, and that helpless bewilderment of: <i>what year is this?</i> and <i>why do people live with so much hate?</i> Not to even mention the comments. <i>The comments!</i> I cannot read any more comments from any posts of any pages I have liked. <i>Do people use punctuation marks anymore? Do people have any logic, sense, or compassion anymore?</i><br />
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For ten years, I shared about my life. My <strike>dorky</strike> loving peeps, our life's humdrums, tantrums, and fist pumps. I shared my beliefs, my writing, my challenges and struggles, hopes and dreams. I put them out there because I felt a purpose in the sharing, hoping to make others feel less alone and more normal. Wishing to find my tribe, my band of believers and dreamers... when I still believed. When belief was a national goal: Yes, we can! When belief means that you put in your best and you get results. Circumstances over this past summer defied all beliefs. When you feel helpless and hopeless, you feel like your life is reduced to mere digital noise that is no longer relevant. <i>So what if I celebrated my anniversary or took a funny picture? Who the hell cares? What do those thumbs-ups and hearts really mean?</i><br />
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<i>You have 3 new friend requests.</i><br />
<i>You have 5 new friend suggestions.</i><br />
<i>You have 78 new notifications. </i><br />
<i>Do you still want to receive notifications?</i><br />
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Earlier in the year, I hopped on the yoga train (always a bit late to any train, mind you) to remedy my chronic lower back pain. I realized that all of my physical therapy exercises are yoga poses, and I can find good content online to do a variety of stretches and workouts to strengthen the core and increase flexibility. Then I discovered the mind-body-soul connection in yoga practices: when the body feels good, the mind sees clarity, and the soul thrives. It was naturally quite an addicting process; I actually looked forward to the practices every day. The aging me wanted to fix my back. The stressed-out me wanted mental relief. And the overachiever me wanted to get Instagram-worthy photos of me in peaceful yoga poses. Except I am A BLOCK OF CEMENT. So I set a goal. I have a 5-year-plan. I believe that practicing #YogaEveryDamnDay will get me there. Look out, Instagram, in five years!<br />
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<i>Set your intention for the day.</i><br />
<i>Grow a little taller with each inhale, and twist a little more with each exhale. </i><br />
<i>Breathe in the good shit, breathe out the bullshit.</i><br />
<i>The light in me sees and honors the light in you.</i><br />
<i>Namaste. </i><br />
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I have always embraced vulnerability and opening myself to people I can trust. But for the time being, I am choosing to take some time to nurse my injury, to reinforce my core, and snuggle under my security blanket. I've crawled back into my comfort zone to rejuvenate my mind, body, and soul. I am putting my focus and energy into what matters to me most: my wonderful family, my dear students, and me.<br />
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It's truthfully no wonder why I ended up here again. My place of healing, my place for writing. My yoga mat.<br />
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<i>Retreat.</i><br />
<i>Introspection.</i><br />
<i>Restoration.</i><br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-39442936627694932442018-12-29T18:23:00.000-06:002018-12-29T19:48:49.457-06:00Messy(Originally published 12/16/18 on my school blog)<br />
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As the cold weather settled in, and our winter gear inevitably appeared, our school environment became... complicated. After the snowstorm that gifted us an exciting SNOW DAY, the floors by the school entrances perpetually glistened with grimy liquids bestowed to us by snow boots (and snow pants, and stinky wet socks, and soaked gloves). Our lockers then had the joy of being accompanied and lined by winter boots or gym shoes, canvas or plastic bags, and an occasional lonely glove or shoe or boot. In a word, it got "messy."</div>
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It always amazes me that the "mess" somehow disappears by the end of the day. Students actually leave the hallways (mostly) cleared and the classroom (pretty much) the way it was at the start of the day. Only mere traces of their presence ever linger in the form of a lone unstacked chair or a forgotten iPad. Each jacket, hat, backpack, water bottle, lunch box, winter gear bag, and orchestra instruments all magically vanish when the clock strikes at 3 PM. All to be repeated again the next school day. It's a process: perpetual, cyclical, and repetitive. In fact, it's kind of like learning.<br />
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For the past several weeks, students have been engaged in inquiry in both Reading and Social Studies. They selected an area of interest in both subjects and researched in small groups. After I gave students instructions on the projects, I finally declared, "Off you go!" I then stepped back to watch students execute this process--this complex, rich, and messy practice we call learning.<br />
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Groups of students scribbled in their notebooks, argued about what information to keep or exclude, and critiqued each others' researched contents, writing, and neatness. They scattered markers and colored pencils and glue sticks and scissors on the floor and tables and desks. They cut and glued photos, made one too many slides, and forgot headings and titles of books and articles they read. But students also collaborated, organized information, and created a final, glorious product.<br />
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We learned about severe weather topics: tornadoes, hurricanes, blizzards, droughts, and thunderstorms. We also learned about innovations in human exploration in space, deep sea, medicine, environment/conservation, and robotics. Students presented about: The Big Bang Theory, detecting Super-Earths, and black holes; dwarf planets' features, orbits, and discoveries; deep sea robotic probes, missions, and explorers; technology in deep sea exploration, new species discovered, and how deep sea creatures survive; how to reduce air, land, and water pollution; medical robot types, functions, and programs; and computer malware, space robotic arms such as the Canadarm, and various robots that work in factories.<br />
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<i>Amazing, no?</i><br />
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Learning is messy. Working together is messy. But it is also magical. In a few weeks' time, learners became teachers, researchers became experts. They <i>owned</i> that process--that messy, disorganized procedure-- and turned it into something no one can ever take away from them: <i>knowledge</i>. They showed up, cleaned up, and stepped up to (and even exceeded) expectations.<br />
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At the end of 2018, students will head home for winter break with all their belongings (fingers crossed). And they will inevitably leave behind a faint remnant of their attendance in the last 18 weeks: my undeniable pride and joy in their growth and learning.<br />
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<i>Way to show your learning, kiddos!</i><br />
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<i><br /></i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-59262177879785429332018-12-29T18:10:00.000-06:002018-12-29T19:49:54.869-06:00Grand Conversation, Grand Exhaltation(Originally published 9/15/18 on my school blog)<br />
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<i>Sometimes you can measure students' growth with numbers, data points, and graphs. Sometimes you can measure it with words, conversations, and discussions.</i><br />
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Our class has been having Grand Conversations on Fridays each week about our read alouds. It is a form of the Socratic Seminar, where students sit in a circle, do all the talking, one at a time, while I (the teacher) sit outside the circle, and do all the listening. The first time we did this, it lasted less than 10 minutes long, as students still needed to figure out how to talk one at a time, respect each other's voices, be good listeners, and stay on topic. The second time we had a Grand Conversation, there was already visible improvement on sharing ideas, taking turns, and making an effort to be heard.<br />
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Well, last Friday, during our fourth Grand Conversation, a fairy came and sprinkled magic dust on our heads. We have been reading <i>The Tiger Rising</i> by Kate DiCamillo, and just finished a chapter involving a major turning point in the riveting story. Instead of stopping to discuss the chapter during the read aloud, I told the kids that we would save all the talking for the Grand Conversation to take place right afterwards.<br />
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Upon the end of the chapter, we got into our circle, and students were eager to talk. One student began, "I think Sistine is like the tiger in the cage because she feels trapped in the South and wants to leave." <i>I did a little hallelujah with my hands in the air (since I am not supposed to talk).</i><br />
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Next, another student jumped right in and declared, "I think Sistine has a suitcase, too, and she just opened it by showing her emotions and cried and cried." <i>And I allegedly whispered, "My heart just melted a little when you said that" (since I am not supposed to talk).</i><br />
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The conversation bounced around the circle a little more, and another student said, "I think the book is about how everyone has a suitcase." <i>And I nodded like there was no better truth stated in all of the universe (since I am supposed to keep my mouth shut).</i><br />
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Finally, after more words and conversations, a student patiently waited to say, "As you have been reading this book to us more and more and we are really getting into it, I am thinking the lesson is that people should not keep their suitcase closed, and that we should let out our emotions and share them." <i>And I finally could not keep the words from flowing out of my mouth,</i> "OHMYGOODNESS, YOUR CONVERSATION HAS BEEN AMAZING AND I AM SO PROUD OF YOUR INTERPRETATIONS AND IDEAS AND YOU GUYS ARE SO AWESOME AND YOU HAVE COMPLETELY MADE MY DAY!"<br />
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To which a student said, "If you think our talk was so great, maybe you can give us a Golden Claw for it?" To which I jumped up out of my kneeled seat on the floor and (almost) gave the class (multiple) stars on our Giggle Watts Meter (Golden Claws counter) on the whiteboard.<br />
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So. If you are not wowed by these kids' words, it's because you have not read <i>The Tiger Rising</i> and realized all the phenomenal connections that they have made. <i>PLEASE read the book so you can experience this exceptional story to see how amazing my students are. </i> If you <i>are</i> wowed by these kids' words, then you <i>do</i> know the enchantment of reading stories, making interpretations, and growing ideas from them. You <i>do</i> know the magic of lifting stories out of their pages and making significance out of them with our words and our minds. And you <i>do</i> know the extraordinary power of reading and what an incredible experience it is.<br />
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<i>Sometimes you measure students' growth with their words and discussions. </i><br />
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<i>Sometimes you measure it by the sparkle in their eyes and the remarkable words that they say. </i><br />
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<i>Sometimes you measure it with a teacher's fluttering heart and proud, knowing smile. </i><br />
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<i><br /></i><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-47497287192025100452018-07-06T13:42:00.000-05:002018-07-06T13:42:59.895-05:00Circus Act<i><br /></i>
<i>Teaching is a circus clown spinning 25 plates atop long skinny sticks--while hiding her tears behind her painted-on smile--and keeping them going for 10 long months. </i><br />
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I just completed my first four years of coming back to teaching, and here's a little blurb I wrote about becoming newly tenured:<br />
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4 years went by as fast as a blink.<br />
And as slow as if I’VE DIED 4 TIMES.<br />
Getting back to teaching after my decade-long hiatus has been quite the journey.<br />
During this time, I’ve both trusted and questioned my intentions and methods, cherished and detested this relentless profession, and have believed this to be my forever calling and wanted to quit about a thousand times.<br />
The minutia, grind, and transition from class to class and day to day turned into year to year, from newly hired to newly tenured. It feels good that I’ve lasted this long.<br />
I couldn’t have done it without my rock, DH, who understands the powerful vacuum of time that this job bleeds, and my loving DD and DS, who now regularly encourage my wine consumption—a haphazard effect of my day job.<br />
Now I’ll be crawling to the summer finish line.</blockquote>
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In these last four years, I have <strike>nearly died from exhaustion</strike> grown about 194 gray hairs, squeezed out approximately 26 fine lines and crows feet, and gotten fitted with progressive lenses with readers <i>twice</i>. I have spent countless hours emailing parents, planning lessons, assessing skills, and sweating/bleeding/crying my students. But I am still here. Still standing. And still teaching. Why, you ask? Here are my #TopTen reasons why I persist in my circus act of a profession:<br />
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10. <b>Suffer from possessive personality disorder.</b> Aka Mama Hen Syndrome. "<i>My</i> class." "<i>My</i> kids." "He's <i>mine</i>." "She's <i>my</i> student." "They're all <i>my</i> crazies." If I can fit all my students under my flappy wings and herd them from fourth to fifth grade, I would. This type of possessiveness is naturally logistical, nevertheless. When you spend most of your waking hours with children who call your name daily <strike>once too many</strike> and look to you for your <strike>wisdom</strike> guidance and support, it is so easy to make a connection that becomes durable and lasting. The ownership is real. <i>The child that thinks outside the box? Mine. The child that hid inside that cardboard box when the principal walked in? Also mine.</i> #MineMineMine<br />
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9. <b>Tiger parent my own children.</b> <i>Totally kidding</i>. I just read a <i>New York Times</i> article, "<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/22/opinion/sunday/asian-american-tiger-parents.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur" target="_blank">The Last of the Tiger Parents</a>," that so eloquently expresses our sentiments in parenting, even though DH and I are not technically second generation (US born) immigrants, nor did we grow up in "textbook" tiger parenting households. The author strives to “instill the same grit and reverence for learning that our upbringings gave us, but in a happy and supportive home environment.” But having knowledge from educators' perspectives, knowing district curriculum and standards, and giving my kids a behind-the-scenes look at education and teaching definitely light our path to the importance of learning. #IAmTeacherHearMeRoar<br />
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8. <b>Learn from my subjects.</b> No, not the content area subjects that I teach, but <strike>the subjects that I govern</strike> my students. As ironic as that might sound, as I'm supposed to <i>teach</i> my students, a teacher knows that in order to teach, one learns first. I learn about my students in order to teach them effectively, but also learn <i>from</i> my students. Here's a snippet from a few months ago:<br />
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Helping 4th graders through misunderstandings, friendship issues, and reactionary verbiage is daunting, especially when it involves 10 kids in 5 different incidents coming back from PE on a Friday afternoon. But when you give kids the time to talk about their perspectives to one another in private, and you hear them say, “Oh, I understand; I do that when I get upset, too,” “I misunderstood,” “I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” “I accept your apology,” and witness handshakes, you know that the goodness inside of kids is real and the world can be the same. We need to hear each other out and be given the chance to be heard. We take responsibility of our actions and get a chance to right our wrongs. Words are powerful, and action is meaningful.<br />
This is the thing about teaching. <i>I continue to learn from my students and be amazed by the future of our world.</i></blockquote>
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In sum, #TheyMakeMeABetterTeacher<br />
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7. <b>Be a lifelong learner.</b> Just because one teaches the same grade level does not mean that one can just recycle all the content/materials/lesson plans/assessments/activities/newsletters as previous years. <strike>Unfortunately</strike>. Educators continue to seek improvement on methods and strategies to fit the needs of students, no? Each year, our district rolls out new curriculum, resources, and workshops to support teachers and students alike. Students get one-to-one devices? Teachers learn how to teach and assess with them. District implements a new science curriculum? Teachers learn how to teach with the new standards and materials. Students throw you curveballs with questions you don't know how to answer? Teachers toss it right back <i>teaching</i> students how to find the answer. Teachers are made to be always on their toes <strike>or else fall flat on their faces</strike>. #NeverADullMoment<br />
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6. <b>Be ready to laugh with kids. Or cry.</b> Kids say the darnedest things! How about being asked, "I wonder what I'll name my stuffed unicorn? How about 'Horny'?" and trying to keep a straight face? Or me saying "<i>candida</i>" (as in fungal infection) instead of "Splendida" (a book character's name) during a read aloud? Thankfully, fourth graders don't have enough background knowledge to fully wreck me with those, and both moments passed without anyone missing a beat. Whew. More recently:<br />
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Student: I don’t know what happened, but my iPad is at 2%.<br />
Me: Could it be that a fairy came and sucked out all the juice on your iPad without you knowing?<br />
S: Maybe? So how do I catch the fairy?<br />
Me: How about with a Chang Buck (my classroom economy system and payment for using my charger)?<br />
S: (With a big smile) Got it.</blockquote>
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I love fourth graders. #TheyGetSarcasmAndStillHumorMe<br />
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5. <b>Grow readers, writers, mathematicians, scientists, historians, and etymologists. </b>When students consistently use an explicitly instructed reading strategy to increase their comprehension, we celebrate. When youngsters compose narratives, essays, and informational pieces with description and conviction, we sing! When kids solve story problems in multiple ways, we exhale. When pupils design scientific investigations and make claims based on reasons and evidence, we happy-dance. When children make a connection between historical perspectives to today's events, we yelp with glee. When youths understand a new word from recognizing root words and context clues, we jump for joy. We're in the business of growing readers, writers, mathematicians, scientists, historians, and etymologists, and we do the best that we can. But when we grow thinkers, questioners, analyzers, synthesizers, interpreters, problem-solvers, designers, collaborators, builders, creators, and evaluators, we <i>succeed</i>. #WheresTheFertilizer<br />
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4. <b>Foster essential values. </b>What is more important than teaching content areas? Teaching the importance of these values: <i>kindness</i>, <i>gratitude</i>, <i>empathy</i>, and <i>compassion</i>. We discuss, show, and live these words as teachers. We read books such as <i>Wonder</i> by R.J. Palacio and <i>Out of My Mind</i> by Sharon Draper aloud to students and have conversations about abilities and tough choices. We teach social and emotional learning curriculum and think of ways to solve difficult problems. We show one another the best way to be friends, stand up to bullies, and find ways to raise up those who have fallen. We blink back tears as we see children choose to do the <i>right</i> thing over the <i>easy</i> thing. We high five the kids who go out of their way to be kind. We model these every single day of our teaching days. Because being human comes with making good choices, and we #ChooseKind.<br />
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3. <b>Store up good karma. </b>We are all imperfect. I can only wish that my good deeds exceed my poor choices, so may this profession be my salvation. Excuse me as I spin plates for 10 months. <i>10 months!</i> #KeepCalmAndKarmaOn<br />
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2. <b>Build our future. </b>Who is going to figure out the solution to Earth's plastic pollution? Who will alleviate the disastrous effects of global warming? Who will speak up for the underrepresented and the downtrodden, the unnoticed and the underserved, the outcasts and the poor, the underprivileged and the bullied? It is my calling to be a part of the lives of our future leaders, fighters, and humanitarians. Because these children are our future. #TeachThemWellAndLetThemLeadTheWay<br />
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1. <b><strike>Have summers off</strike></b> <b>Revel in student growth. </b>Each school year, there are highs and lows specific to different times of year. Each year, I go to the depths of despair while DH claims that "it was JUST LIKE THIS last year at this time" while I go unconvinced and wallow in further misery. But each year without fail, the triumphant end arrives and I celebrate each student's accomplishments, successes, and definitive growths. Be it formative/summative assessments, anecdotal records, testing data, or student narratives, they make all my blood, sweat, and tears worth every single <strike>vat</strike> <strike>puddle</strike> drop. They make the countless hours spent straightening desks and grading assignments and creating digital tools and caring for live animals and putting out social "fires" and coaching skits and wrestling with copy machines ALL WORTHWHILE. #LeapsAndBounds<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why I Teach</td></tr>
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Well, this clown finished her act and safely disengaged all the plates from their sticks without any shattered pieces or cracked edges. <Cue drumbeats and applause>. There might even be a real smile behind that painted-on one now, since the precious plates went home to their parents for the summer. The clown herself isn't quite sure if these reasons are convincing enough as to why she continues to teach, but she may have needed to write this as <i>proof</i> that there are <strike>good enough</strike> sure-fire reasons to continue doing what she does, especially during her times of "professional" despair.<br />
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<Final bow>.<br />
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<Lights out>.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-60915912331552148372018-07-02T20:58:00.000-05:002018-07-02T20:58:34.302-05:00Family Summer Writing<i><br /></i>
<i>What's it like to have a teacher for a mom?</i><br />
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Well, <i>this</i> is what it's like on summer break:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our handy-dandy dry-erase board</td></tr>
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"Home study" is a thing in our home. "Do I have to do it now?" is also a thing asked in our home. So we devised a schedule where We-the-Parents can just refer to the Home Study Board.<br />
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Like good teaching and learning practices advise, this schedule was co-created based on content and goals. We listed the subjects that need to be reviewed or completed over the summer and thought of activities to complete for each. The kiddos then made their own schedules, spacing out activities and workload. They're off the hook on weekends, and work can be made up if needed.<br />
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Furthermore, so that We-Parents are a part of this Summer Home Study, I suggested that we all commit to writing as a family. Each month of the summer, we will each compose a piece to be published at the end of June, July, and August, where we will hold a celebration of sharing our work with one another. Fortunately, my peeps accepted my proposal and we decided to write an opinion piece for June, an informational piece for July, and a narrative piece for August. (Hello, Common Core!)<br />
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And so DS took the initiative to meme this process:<br />
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<i>Can you tell that he is actively soliciting for sympathy?</i><br />
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But truth be told, I had an ulterior motive for this family writing activity. For the good of the whole, we will all engage in the process of writing and sharing our words with each other to practice and learn. But for selfish reasons, this was my way of ensuring that I actually publish a few posts here. I cannot believe that I let 2017 slide without nary a single post. <i>Shame on me. </i><br />
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As a result of all this radio silence, I have almost forgotten how to use Blogger to post my blogs! Getting reacquainted was necessary and scary to say the least. But I also decided to update the look of my blog. It is now set on a "dynamic view." If you hover over the upper left corner next to the down arrow, you will be able to change the layout of this blog (Classic, Flipcard, Magazine, Mosaic, Sidebar, Snapshot, and Timeslide). My favorite view is Magazine. <i>Just sayin'</i>.<br />
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Well, I hope my clever scheming is fruitful and I actually produce! Thank you for visiting and coming along on our summer writing ride with us!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-31049846097973732672016-06-13T23:58:00.000-05:002016-06-14T11:11:22.583-05:00Aristotle and Dante<br />
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Sometimes you fall in love with a book so fiercely, utterly, and deeply.<br />
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The words that are twinkling into your eyes and into your brain sparkle in all its glittery glory as your heart inhales and sighs. Halts and dances. Heals and bleeds. The words sweep you into the comfort of your pajamas and the familiarity of your fears. They spell out emotions you thought you were too young or too old to have. They make you feel airy. Effervescent.<br />
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You might even become a little unreasonable. You resent the fact that these are <i>fictional</i> characters, because you want them to be <i>real</i> people. You want to laugh with Ari and cry with Dante. You want to tell them to breathe in the sunshine yet soak in the rain. You want to hold them. You want to be their best friend.<br />
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You cannot come to terms with the feeling of the moment you read the last sentence in the book, because the joy it brings is immense, but the emptiness of completion is unbearable. You move into Phase Book Hangover. And now you remember how you've forgotten the experience of loss in the closing of a book.<br />
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Then you need a replacement high. You search and scour high and low to find a book just as good, because everything else will be boring. They call the writing poetic prose; you call it an intoxicating elixir.<br />
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Finally, when you're ready, you will file the memories of this book, these characters, into a little compartment in your hard drive, and call upon it whenever it rains, someone cries, or you see a face that looks like a young Aristotle or an old Dante. Then you will remember how you were once in love with a book.<br />
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Fiercely, utterly, and deeply.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-42661896930206096232015-12-31T20:14:00.000-06:002015-12-31T20:14:49.105-06:00A Look Back: 2015<br />
How did 2015 end already? I knew 2015 was going to be a good year. I have a thing for odd numbers, especially ones that involve fives. You know, midpoint, middle, highs. But it came and went and now we're all a year older, we've all completed another year's worth of traditions, and we will raises our glasses to the new year. But I'm not quite ready yet.<br />
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I've written very little this year. Part of me is sad about it, and another part of me has reconciled with the fact that priorities have been rearranged and it is what it is. But today, maybe because I have had many extra hours of sleep over winter break, or that I've checked off many to-dos on my list, or maybe because I just realized that it's the last day of 2015, inspiration came knocking on my fingertips and I thought I'd bid farewell to 2015 with a blog post. Here's a look back at 2015 with a #TopTen post.<br />
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10. <b>Fast, faster, fastest.</b> We've gotten into a great routine when it comes to holiday decorating. This is our eighth year at it in this home, and we've become <i>pros</i>. We pick out a tree, DH lugs it home and puts it up. I string the lights and the kiddos put up the ornaments. We play Christmas music while this happens. This year was our fastest completion from beginning to end. Not one tangled string of lights or broken ornament. No tree trunk too large to fit into the tree holder so we'd have to saw it off by hand and spend half an hour taking turns doing so. No waiting for snow to thaw from the tree because there was a blizzard on the day of purchase. It was perfect. #WillThisGoDownInHistory?<br />
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9. <b>Pain, pain, and more pain.</b> This is the year where Aging regularly showed her ugly face. Not remembering your own age is one thing (that started the year I turned 40), but when one's body is afflicted with constant pain, one knows one's getting old. This year I was "forced" to stop running--something I had begun to enjoy because it helped me relieve stress and get fit--because of knee pain. Not only was I diagnosed with osteoarthritis, I also had a fall late in the summer that made my lower back go into <i>everlasting spasm</i>. #IFeelLikeAnOldLady<br />
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8. <b>Brain, brain, and less brain. </b>This one is serious. Things are coming out of my mouth without my brain's proper evaluation. I can read the Smartboard out loud and substitute words like no other. Students <i>take pride </i>in correcting my mistakes. I often have to give them the <a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2014/06/expunge.html" target="_blank">"Mrs. Brain's Chang is Full" speech</a> by Fridays. In fact, I ran into a parent over the holidays and she told me that her son wasn't sure about something I said, because "that Mrs. Chang can be a little overwhelmed by Fridays; she says things that don't make any sense..." <i>Yeah</i>. That Mrs. Chang just really needed some sleep. #FacePalm<br />
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7. <b>Reclusive, reclusive, and more reclusive.</b> I've been feeling like a recluse this entire year. Little time for social media, writing/blogging, or seeing friends. I skipped the work holiday party this year (too tired and [insert jazz hands] reclusive). I've even contemplated quitting Facebook altogether. It's a good thing I have peeps at home who listen to me rant about my day and keep me sane with conversations. #ThankGoodnessForFamily<br />
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6. <b>Time, time, and less time. </b>All those things I used to be able to do, like write? No time for it. I haven't touched yarn and needles for years. That closet that still needs to be cleaned out? Still needs to be. When I do have time these days, I choose sleep. #TeachingIsATimeVacuum<br />
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5. <b>Work, work, and more work. </b>Many people ask me if my second year returning to teaching has gotten better. Well, the answer is yes and no. Yes, because the first year is always the hardest, and this year I can tweak what I learned last year to make things better. No, because <i>twenty.nine.students</i>. That's a lot of bodies just to fit inside a classroom, to fit on the floor for read alouds, to fit in a line to get ready to leave the classroom. It's a lot of papers to grade, report cards to write, and conferences to prepare. Just, <i>a lot.</i> #TheNeverEndingClassList<br />
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4. <b>Wine, wine, and more wine.</b> I probably have recycled more wine bottles this year than any other years in my life. Which means I <i>consumed</i> them all. Because I love me some Pinot Noir. So this year I found my favorite wine made by my favorite singer: The Dreaming Tree Pinot Noir. The corners of my lips are turned up just typing this. And also, <i>they</i> say it's okay to <a href="http://www.entrepreneur.com/article/254523?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+entrepreneur%2Flatest+%28Entrepreneur%29" target="_blank">drink more wine</a>. #Cheers<br />
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3. <b>Cook, bake, and more eats. </b>Binging is the name of this game. I've been on a cooking/baking/eating binge because of one comment from DD: "It used to be a treat to go out to eat; now it's a treat to eat dishes you make." How did she ever get so smart? One tiny comment made this mama go into a frenzy of cooking/baking/eating her favorites. A list was made, and items were checked off. Lots of happy faces and tummies all around. Like I always say, "Enjoy it now, and until the next break!" #MakingAListAndCheckingItTwice<br />
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2. <b>Books, books, and more books. </b>I hadn't realized how much I read until Goodreads sent me <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/year_in_books/2015/17711984-sandra" target="_blank">"My Year in Books 2015.</a>" Not bad at all. At least if needed, I can inspire my students to love to read by example. #7,300PagesAndCounting<br />
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1. <b>Shoes, shoes, and more comfortable shoes.</b> I've acquired a few pairs of Birkenstocks this year, cuz they say they're good for your feet and I've decided to be good to mine. They really work wonders. I've got a summer Gizeh pair, a winter shearling pair, and a year-round clog pair. I love them. But I really didn't choose shoes as my number one for 2015. Rather, it's that I am feeling more and more comfortable <i>in my shoes as a teacher</i>. I'm molding my own soles, like they say in Birkenstockinese. I've found my style, my walk, and my gait for my Teaching Shoes. It's a wonderful feeling. It doesn't mean that my feet don't ever get tired or don't need to be just "bare" every now and then, but they seem to have found a comfy home while they are "working." #LifelongLearnerAndBirkenstocker<br />
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So that's my 2015. You're thinking next year might not be so good for me since it's an even numbered year. Well, I've got it covered. I'm turning an odd number of age in years. And three is my favorite number. So it's all good.<br />
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And I guess now I'm ready.<br />
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Welcome, 2016!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-1872569680560017222015-07-29T11:26:00.000-05:002015-07-30T17:56:48.363-05:00Roller Coaster(#FirstYearTeachingChronicles Part 2)<br>
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On a roller coaster, there are formidable drops, anxiety-ridden slow climbs, and many surprising twists and turns along the way. There's also a lot of screaming, holding on for dear life, and wondering why I am on this godforsaken thing in the first place. But as there is a beginning and an end, I know that I'll be able to plant my two feet on the solid ground in 2.8 minutes. As of today, I have currently been grounded for 7.5 weeks, having gotten off a roller coaster that lasted 9.5 months. You see, my first year of teaching was <i>so much</i> like that of a roller coaster ride.<br>
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A few months into teaching after 11 <strike>glorious childrearing</strike> years off, a friend shared this <a href="http://schools.nyc.gov/NR/rdonlyres/579730CB-F854-407F-96FE-C9B4EE68699A/42352/phasesoffirstyeargraphpdf1.pdf" target="_blank">image</a> with me after I had confessed how incredibly overwhelmed I had been.<br>
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First, I laughed. Then, I cried. This graph was so freakin' accurate. If you did a quick calculation, I saw this at a depth of despair, at about the end of November. Truthfully, the course of my ride had been a tiny bit different than this graph. I had reached rock bottom at the end of October, on Halloween. And the upturn had actually started somewhere by December. It went something like this:<br>
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<b>August</b><br>
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I was elated to be given the opportunity to return to my pre-children profession at, of all places, my own kiddos' school, where I am familiar with teachers and school happenings. I was excited and nervous to meet the kids and their parents. I was worried about learning the curriculum and teaching it well. I was scared about not being "good enough" for these fourth graders because I was new. But I knew my heart was in the right place and that I was going to give it my all, as not to forsake this class of students who depended on me for an entire year's learning and growth.<br>
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I am responsible for all of these kids. I have to do things <i>right</i>.<br>
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<b>September</b><br>
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I braved through a beginning of the year marked with many scheduled testings and initial school events. I asked a lot of questions and returned kind help and advice from my colleagues with the most, shall I say, adorable deer-in-headlights looks? In reading lessons, the kids stared at me, ready to learn, with expressions of "okay, <i>teach me.</i>" And I sat there, gesturing and talking, really hoping that I <i>looked like I knew what I was doing.</i> I soon realized that classroom management was going to be far different than what I am used to at home as a mom managing her own two children. <i>How is it only September?</i><br>
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This was also when DH stepped up and took over all household matters and became <strike>a single dad</strike> my superhero. He negotiated to work from home to help out with the chores and the kiddos. I became a shadow that appeared at random times, armored with my infamous deer-in-headlights look as I showed up for meals and came up for air.<br>
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<b>October</b><br>
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Routines were starting to sink in. Kids were settling into their new year in school. I, on the other hand, began to fret about all the new things I had to do: cut, glue, read, staple, highlight, recycle, toss, erase, sort, pile, devise, organize, remember, print, copy, pass out, count, file, correct, record, plan, time, mark, study, execute, say, remind, email, type, redo, attend, write, encourage, discipline, change, grade, note, absorb, process, show, demonstrate, return, checkout, put on hold, pair, model, decide, answer, conference, and still eat and sleep and see <i>my</i> children and DH. By the end of the month, I was at an all-time low, physically, mentally, and emotionally. If you had just as simply as <i>looked</i> at me, I was at risk of shattering into a million little pieces. On Halloween, the school had class parties, and I "teachered" the best I could and barely made it through the day.<br>
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I dressed as Captain Nobody for Halloween because I had just read aloud the book to the class. Ironic, because inside I felt like a <i>nobody</i>. And DH was the superhero that took me aside and gave me The Talk that began my turnaround for the rest of the school year.<br>
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<b>November</b><br>
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<i>Deep, deep breath.</i> I decided to be myself and trust my instincts. I had to be comfortable with my decisions, so I should not try to be someone I'm not. The kids really knew my expectations by now, and there was learning taking place. <i>Huh</i>. Besides, I just had to make it till the end of the month and there would be FIVE DAYS OFF IN A ROW! Just before break, the students wrote thank-you notes to their peers. And I <i>thanked the heavens</i> there would be a much needed break to spend with family, food, and a <i>lot</i> of wine.<br>
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<b>December</b><br>
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We read <i>The Birchbark House</i> and the kids surprised me with their enthusiasm. A memorable highlight of the year was their spontaneous clapping when I finished reading the last sentence of the book. They were noticing character developments, making connections, asking tough questions, and drawing conclusions based on text evidence. We studied legends, tall tales, and pourquoi tales. We read about explorers and "went deep sea diving" to explore sunken ships. We had our school holiday musical, Pajama Day, a pizza party, and the month was over faster than I could say WINTER BREAK.<br>
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Recharge. Replenish. Rejuvenate. And two weeks turned into three because SNOW/COLD DAYS! During this break, I ate and slept and read. Over 1,000 pages of gripping, haunting words, unspeakable circumstances, and tear-jerking moments. The best way to teach a love for reading is to love reading myself, no?<br>
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<b>January</b><br>
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Refreshed, we returned to school as the world was literally frozen outside. We dove into reading nonfiction texts and writing essays (personal, persuasive, and literary). We learned about fractions and electricity/magnetism. I felt prepared. I timed lessons better and I gauged student needs with more accuracy. I anticipated. I plan-B-ed. I pulled things out of the magic hat with more ease. Three weeks passed and the month was done.<br>
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<b>February</b><br>
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We began talking about PARCC, the dreaded new state testing that aligns with Common Core Standards. Teachers met, discussed, and planned to help students perform as well as they could on this mandated assessment. I actually witnessed students use their newly learned knowledge to attack the practice tests. I realized that my deer-in-headlights look hadn't shown up in a while. I became aware that I even though I was still spending <i>all my waking moments</i> working, my body was used to the hours and I <i>just did it.</i> There was always Friday/Saturday if I work hard and long enough, right? And I actually finished my lunch for once. I took this pic as proof to show DH. And it only took how many months?<br>
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<b>March</b><br>
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This month began with the craziness of rearranging our schedules to accommodate 5 days of PARCC testing, and ended with parent-teacher conferences right before spring break. I took a HUGE breath <inhale>, dove deep, and came up for air when it was time for a 10 day break. <GASP!><br>
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<b>April</b><br>
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We came back to school after spring break and all the teachers told me how fast these last two months would fly by. <i>Really?</i> In class, my kids were writing <i>an inquiry paper,</i> you guys! Each child wrote a four-chapter information book on The American Revolution. There were essays and narrative stories. There was research and revision. There was peer editing and illustrations. There was so much work and learning going on that our room was filled with vigor and drive. We were working to finish off the year with an inquiry project. It was going to be amazing--for the first time, I felt it.<br>
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<b>May</b><br>
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This month began with 3 more days of end-of-the-year PARCC testing, yet again. It also wrapped up the year with other assessments, where when I finally looked at the scores and graphs, I saw the progress my students had made. The gains and growth were remarkable, and were undoubtedly positive results of their hard work and perseverance. This same group of kids that I didn't know what-the-heck-to-do with back in August are now <i>my kids--</i>no no, not just anyone's--but <i>mine</i>. <Snap, snap, snap.> <i>Mine</i>.<br>
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I was feeling all kinds of goodness on Success Night when we presented our inquiry projects on different perspectives (children, women, African Americans, and soldiers) during the American Revolution. The kids proudly showed their parents their writing and poster boards. It was a night--no, <i>a year--</i>to be celebrated.<br>
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<b>June</b><br>
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Because of the 5 cold days we had in the winter, we had to go another week of school into June. Just as well. It was a week of fun. Pizza party, field day, and A-Minute-to-Win-It class competitions. Saying goodbye to this special class was bittersweet on the one hand. On the other, I was looking forward to sleeping and eating again.<br>
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<b>July</b><br>
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I signed on to this blog and started writing again. (The only writing I had done all year was modeling for writing lessons and book reviews on Goodreads.) Because the best way to grow writers is to keep writing myself, <i>amiright?</i><br>
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***<br>
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The roller coaster has come to a complete stop. It is time to disembark. No doubt the next ride will be just as momentous, though hopefully not as much a shock to my system. At least I'll know that initial death plunge isn't bottomless. The amount of learning that took place in this old body of mine this year was tremendous. Now I just have to remember everything I've learned to make next year easier.<br>
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*Gets in another roller coaster line.*<br>
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You know how they say that the more you use your brain, the slower it ages? Well, at this rate, I'm getting younger by the days.<br>
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<br><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-52563447355266013022015-07-15T20:05:00.000-05:002015-07-15T20:05:31.502-05:00Full Circle<div style="text-align: left;">
(#FirstYearTeachingChronicles Part 1)<br />
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At birth, we enter the world bare and naked;<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 2014</td></tr>
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Unadorned, imperfect;<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empty walls</td></tr>
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Unsettled, out of place.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random furniture</td></tr>
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Some say we exit the world taking nothing with us,</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 2015</td></tr>
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Except for our skin...</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After 8 hours of cleaning and packing the classroom for summer</td></tr>
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And bones.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SbTxd-Ol6cc/VaaL6o5MvbI/AAAAAAAAFOA/4u6ZoyZRmLA/s1600/IMG_9271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SbTxd-Ol6cc/VaaL6o5MvbI/AAAAAAAAFOA/4u6ZoyZRmLA/s400/IMG_9271.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With every speck of a year's learning sent away</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Others say we take with us an abundance of Experiences and Lessons, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-05YbPd7swB0/VaaNOYy99oI/AAAAAAAAFOY/lJid1ek0XDE/s1600/IMG_8224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-05YbPd7swB0/VaaNOYy99oI/AAAAAAAAFOY/lJid1ek0XDE/s400/IMG_8224.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice and Note anchor charts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
From the beginning of the Journey,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QeIURAyTw2A/VaaNOmAHLTI/AAAAAAAAFOc/0BKck8oWT8Y/s1600/IMG_8276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QeIURAyTw2A/VaaNOmAHLTI/AAAAAAAAFOc/0BKck8oWT8Y/s400/IMG_8276.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genre study of legends, pourquoi tales, tall tales, and folktales</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To the end.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-HPDvZ79RUwmUNpCDdJwEq3lkGkALj4LFxdmCX2g26KCQI5-YRY7LqbX1lf8mJEiv5nbHFaoYlTDPfG9VTnl0WXStLmhJeJ9NxPKIbB2C9JmQq4rDh3_VfOOqSsF7H0uQLC7M3eSgSQ/s1600/IMG_8509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-HPDvZ79RUwmUNpCDdJwEq3lkGkALj4LFxdmCX2g26KCQI5-YRY7LqbX1lf8mJEiv5nbHFaoYlTDPfG9VTnl0WXStLmhJeJ9NxPKIbB2C9JmQq4rDh3_VfOOqSsF7H0uQLC7M3eSgSQ/s400/IMG_8509.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expository nonfiction reading unit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I might add to that, some Smiles,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx49cgPPn-UHqV4xcZ18ucyfexoXwHWaYM2e09Ue3fc7dzeIajNqyjFhm-jSlF38BPQbiLxHkmu2Wj0x7QxuCCcrokwx7AqBucyUeOIWKuMO5Uth87PbK4tp929WNHHZXgHiY_UBF39s/s1600/IMG_8278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDx49cgPPn-UHqV4xcZ18ucyfexoXwHWaYM2e09Ue3fc7dzeIajNqyjFhm-jSlF38BPQbiLxHkmu2Wj0x7QxuCCcrokwx7AqBucyUeOIWKuMO5Uth87PbK4tp929WNHHZXgHiY_UBF39s/s400/IMG_8278.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pajama Day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Lots of DANCING!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sUIg1-gFIvc/VabmLcad2WI/AAAAAAAAFPw/K2KF186Oz_0/s1600/IMG_9264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sUIg1-gFIvc/VabmLcad2WI/AAAAAAAAFPw/K2KF186Oz_0/s400/IMG_9264.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classroom brain breaks, aka Just Dance videos</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
And some Lifetime Achievement Milestones, forever ours to keep.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c-zygOSAHac/VaaN-jUlT_I/AAAAAAAAFO4/xKwkCJpW0k8/s1600/IMG_9181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c-zygOSAHac/VaaN-jUlT_I/AAAAAAAAFO4/xKwkCJpW0k8/s400/IMG_9181.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End-of-school-year American Revolution Unit featured at Success Night</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We come full circle, but not to an End. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E_SfCZ_id2A/VaaPCZ1iNUI/AAAAAAAAFPA/JLQvjVKFMfY/s1600/IMG_9274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E_SfCZ_id2A/VaaPCZ1iNUI/AAAAAAAAFPA/JLQvjVKFMfY/s400/IMG_9274.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End-of-year flowers from a lovely family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
For it is another New Beginning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V3boAfp4xlU/VablzYWdWtI/AAAAAAAAFPo/6GYXfB7fmdE/s1600/IMG_9269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V3boAfp4xlU/VablzYWdWtI/AAAAAAAAFPo/6GYXfB7fmdE/s400/IMG_9269.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least I keep the same room and same grade level!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
And the possibilities are endless.<br />
<br />
<br />
Once the gears start churning again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-34913037494176466422015-07-08T19:54:00.000-05:002015-07-08T19:55:55.255-05:00Recovery<br />
With each week and month (and now, year) that passed without a new post here, I felt the unease of drifting farther away from the one thing I truly love to do. The one thing that is shelter for my soul, canvas for my paint, and overflow from my cup. How could I have abandoned this love for so long? The answer has to do with my inability to multitask and my compulsive dive into an all-or-nothing commitment.<br />
<br />
<br />
Instead of becoming the long-term substitute for DS' first grade teacher last fall, over the summer I was offered a bona-fide full-time fourth grade teaching position at my kids' school--something that I had hoped for but didn't know if I would ever have the opportunity to acquire. Acquire I did. And deep, deep down I dove.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zDV4lbuwffU/VZ2VWHvgU2I/AAAAAAAAFMc/fUuXRbkCDFs/s1600/IMG_7897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zDV4lbuwffU/VZ2VWHvgU2I/AAAAAAAAFMc/fUuXRbkCDFs/s320/IMG_7897.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I knew that it was going to be an incredibly difficult feat. I had to learn a brand new curriculum <i>to teach it</i>. I had to learn students, colleagues, and administration. I had to learn how to balance work and family. I had to learn about learning. So I decided to give it my all.<br />
<br />
<br />
Which meant here, even the cricket chirps quieted. <i>Because they were dying from starvation</i>. I went for months without ever a visit, while all sorts of spam comments piled up. At one point, when I tired of all the spam notification and came to delete them, I was so out of shape that I inadvertently deleted a hundred "real" comments. I was able to rescue the reader comments, but not my own. So long, comments.<br />
<br />
<br />
If there's one thing I really learned about teaching, it is the absolute fact that a teacher's work is <i>never done.</i> <i>There is always more work to do. </i>Always.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<br />
I wanted to write a post explaining why I'd been away for so long. But that felt redundant since I wasn't going to be able keep up any writing during the school year. Any time I had a free moment, I just defaulted to my next-most-relished activity: reading (all intake and no output required). Since reading is one of the most important ingredients to writing, no?<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6pc1Sq-cDzU/VZ2xGDmimxI/AAAAAAAAFM8/ops_NFfUhKc/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-07-08%2Bat%2B6.22.23%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6pc1Sq-cDzU/VZ2xGDmimxI/AAAAAAAAFM8/ops_NFfUhKc/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-07-08%2Bat%2B6.22.23%2BPM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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Back when I happily announced my new job, I was overwhelmed with congratulatory love. One Dear Friend said, "How lucky for your students to have you to teach them writing!" It was a very flattering comment, but one that unsettled me quite a bit. Just because I <i>like</i> to write doesn't mean I <i>know</i> a thing about teaching others how to write. I write what comes to mind, in an order that makes sense to me, with words that communicate my feelings, to an audience that hopefully understands. How does one teach another how to achieve that? <i>I had no idea.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Studying Lucy Calkins to teach her curriculum of reading and writing was probably one of the hardest things (among many) I had to do last school year. There was a method, a recipe, if you will, to teaching the different units of writing. So I did my job the best that I could--I studied her ways and I taught them. There is still a lot more to learn, to improve, and to reflect on in order to better teach writing. But I came away feeling that many of my students enjoyed the writing process and owned their successes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.heinemann.com/shared/covers/9780325047126.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.heinemann.com/shared/covers/9780325047126.png" /></a></div>
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Like the students who began fourth grade writing a huge block of words and ended by writing five paragraph essays. Or the students who began writing at home <i>on their own time</i>. Or the students who named each part of an essay as I highlighted and color-coded them on the Smartboard: <i>hook</i>, <i>thesis</i>, <i>reason</i>, <i>evidence</i>, <i>transition words</i>, and <i>counterclaim</i>. And the student who, at the end of the year, stated with absolute certainty aloud to the class, "For once in my life, I wish there was more writing time."<br />
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<br />
And for the umpteenth time in <i>my</i> life, I<i> </i>wish there was more writing time. Friends would say, <i>You've got to get back to writing this summer</i>. And I'd say, <i>Yeah, I should</i>. Once I spend a week getting a mental break and unwinding from this hardest-year-of-my-life. Once I get a <i>real</i> mental break unwinding from that week. Once I bake and cook all the things the kiddos have ordered. Once I get back from vacation. Once I finish reading all the books on my to-read list. Once.<br />
<br />
<br />
This morning I read a list of <a href="http://writerscircle.com/2013/09/quotes-to-combat-writers-block.html?utm_source=social&utm_medium=twc&utm_campaign=combat-writers-block&utm_term=20150708" target="_blank">quotes</a> from writers about "writer's block." Margaret Atwood said, "If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word." Maybe I have completed all the Onces. Maybe I have succumbed to imperfection. Maybe I just wanted to write. Today.<br />
<br />
<br />
Today, I fed the crickets. I may even shoo them away once in a while.<br />
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<br />
But one thing I do know for sure is:<br />
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<br />
<i>This blog will live on.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i></i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoSupBUnAf0ANUWvqCTB_hJcNpLVdXoloB_Uw72aWGJogwCEWkcU26zq3EVZ9e8HcSACFjBSjzovqyjttfM8lPNQ21HpOFC0qjDn8KymWUqw5FqhHo4bf3N3AAM5qKrHXvmmm59usi6Q/s640/blogger-image--1880715920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJoSupBUnAf0ANUWvqCTB_hJcNpLVdXoloB_Uw72aWGJogwCEWkcU26zq3EVZ9e8HcSACFjBSjzovqyjttfM8lPNQ21HpOFC0qjDn8KymWUqw5FqhHo4bf3N3AAM5qKrHXvmmm59usi6Q/s320/blogger-image--1880715920.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
If I haven't forgotten how to publish this thing.<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-28492027667563206472014-07-20T09:37:00.000-05:002014-07-21T12:52:49.649-05:00Stars<br />
A couple of years ago--well, precisely 4 years ago--I took DD to see<i> Ramona and Beezus</i> on the big screen. I remember walking out of the theater with <i>all the feels</i>. You see, I had read <i>Beezus and Ramona,</i> by Beverly Cleary, to DD the summer after her kindergarten year. Then she proceeded to read the rest of the 8-book series on her own over the next year. The movie was not a cinematic masterpiece, by any means; it was rather a girly, feel-good movie that appealed to a small, mostly young and feminine part of the population. But it got to me, because it was the first movie that I had watched alone with DD.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PPG9dblTRNQ/U8rcRPoNSZI/AAAAAAAAE-Y/DJwWBZy-s-0/s1600/IMG_7652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PPG9dblTRNQ/U8rcRPoNSZI/AAAAAAAAE-Y/DJwWBZy-s-0/s1600/IMG_7652.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
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I remember feeling excited and calling it a Mother-Daughter Movie Date. We settled in with our popcorn and beverage, and watched the characters laugh, cry, falter, grow, and triumph on the big screen. I laughed and cried (can't help it--I'm a sentimental schmuck) and my heart swelled, willingly accepting the spot-on manipulations of Hollywood and its cheese. It didn't matter, because inside that dark, cavernous theater, I felt like a little girl all over again. I curled up my feet and munched on popcorn, much like the little seven-year-old next to me. <i>My</i> little girl.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/90/Ramona_and_Beezus_Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/9/90/Ramona_and_Beezus_Poster.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramona_and_Beezus" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div>
Fast forward four years.<br />
<br />
<br />
Two months ago, I had finally relented and gave the book <i>The Fault in Our Stars</i> to DD. She is a voracious reader, and is constantly seeking new books to read. I read this wildly popular John Green book earlier this year, and I noted that it was recommended for grade 9 and above. Probably because it's a love story, about cancer and dying, and portrays some tender, intimate moments between young adults. But it wasn't so much the themes of dying and sex that held me back from letting DD read this. (Okay, well, it was, to a degree.) It was more that she hadn't reached the adolescent stage of developing romantic relationships or experienced the emotions of falling in love. <i>I wasn't sure how much she would get out of reading this book.</i><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51JXXb2vpDL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51JXXb2vpDL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Fault-Stars-John-Green/dp/0525478817" target="_blank">Amazon</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
But I had it on my Kindle and she was asking for a new book. <i>Again. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
So I decided to let her have a go. She could always read it again later and may be able to relate to it on a deeper level. Not surprisingly, she really liked the book, and we talked about many aspects of it afterwards, just so I'm sure she didn't have any questions about the intimate moments or about cancer and dying.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yesterday, we had another Mother-Daughter Movie Date.<br />
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<br />
This time, some things remained the same, and some things were different.<br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/22/Fault_in_our_stars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/22/Fault_in_our_stars.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fault_in_Our_Stars_(film)" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
We got our popcorn and beverage, watched a few movie trailers of dystopian books that we/I have read (namely, <i>The Giver</i> and <i>The Maze Runner</i>, and they both looked good--I sense more Mother-Daughter Movie Dates soon), and began watching the movie. Halfway through, I leaned over and said to DD, "Um, get ready for my waterfall, cuz it's <i>coming</i>." She chuckled and handed me a wad of popcorn napkins. I gave one back to her, just in case.<br />
<br />
<br />
Then I cried my ugly cry during the second half of the movie.<br />
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<br />
Because Hazel Grace and her big, huge watery eyes. Augustus Waters and his dashing, boyish smile. <i>Oh. My. Heart.</i><br />
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<br />
I cried the feels of my forty-some-odd years of life experience on love and loss thus far and what is to come. I cried for the journey that lies ahead for DD--what love and loss she will come to know and live. I cried for the meaningless injustice of cancer--the lives it took and what Life have been robbed of those that are left behind. I cried for the privilege of having been able to love and having been loved. I cried for the fortune of my blessed, rich life.<br />
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<br />
<i>That pathetic wad of napkins had no chance.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I knew that this was another one of my very special moments shared with DD, even though it was just the two of us <i>watching</i> a movie. And when Hazel and her mom embraced after a heart-to-heart shouting match, my mama bear heart exploded and I cursed at the wad of wet napkins--unrecognizable because it had been torn into mushy pieces many times over--too weak to handle the weight casted upon these fragile apron strings.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xCYYwrmsrf4/U8s8Mes9FWI/AAAAAAAAE-w/U5bW4Mvt8WU/s1600/IMG_7655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xCYYwrmsrf4/U8s8Mes9FWI/AAAAAAAAE-w/U5bW4Mvt8WU/s1600/IMG_7655.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
After the movie, I thought back to the time DD and I watched <i>Ramona and Beezus</i>, when her defined cheekbones were still masked under her round, bouncy cheeks--when she was just a young tendril unfurling and reaching for anchor. Now, she is a woman child, about to fully grasp and support her Self, on the cusp of adolescence, teetering between a girlhood of silly giggles and a young adulthood of delicate modesty.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Oh, how Time slays me.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
As for DD, who watched the movie with a book critic's eye, used her age-appropriate analytical brain rather than the cognitive emotional brain of an older adolescent. My little girl, who claimed that she <i>almost</i> cried, didn't need that single napkin after all. Like I said, she's not quite there yet. But she will be. She's just starting out and there's a long road of feels ahead. And if she's anything like her mama, one day, she will cry Niagara Falls, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
But I know that some things will <i>never</i> change, even when the movie titles do. We'll always have our movie dates, and there will always be movies that stand out for us. Most importantly, no matter how tall she gets or how mature she becomes, she'll still be my little girl and my Star upon shiny Stars.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<Sniff>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-24525054355761306622014-07-11T16:55:00.002-05:002014-07-11T20:49:18.097-05:00Three<br />
Summer school is over and my summer has officially begun. Like a little kid who has all the time in the world and no obligations whatsoever, I've been indulging in Summer Bliss.<br />
<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, I've been busy in the kitchen. I've reacquainted myself with my oven, oven mitts, measuring cups and spoons, stand mixer, stove, cookware, and the pantry, and I even have fresh ingredients in the fridge and from <strike>the backyard</strike> The Farm to work with.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bliss<i>,</i> I tell ya. <i>Bliss</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Today I will share three recipes with you (because <i>three</i> is my favorite number). Three recipes that only require <i>three ingredients</i> each. It doesn't get any easier, but you'll also be surprised at how good they are with only three ingredients.<br />
<br />
<br />
First up, if you have these three things in your pantry, you are ready to make healthful <b>Banana Oatmeal Cookies</b>:<br />
<ul>
<li>bananas</li>
<li>oatmeal</li>
<li>chocolate chips</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9vnBgVJ8Tfi-5cyNc_6-VLaF5o-TX95C3hv-o7xxDfN6jvnqV8rYHmDoJtFvQIz-JMatQRUTmXGlTiBywOg6IA66GtsSi4mxDTMFXKm5MfVL9v26BAfAzkVnMi7pysHCtr9llxfK-jY/s1600/IMG_7553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9vnBgVJ8Tfi-5cyNc_6-VLaF5o-TX95C3hv-o7xxDfN6jvnqV8rYHmDoJtFvQIz-JMatQRUTmXGlTiBywOg6IA66GtsSi4mxDTMFXKm5MfVL9v26BAfAzkVnMi7pysHCtr9llxfK-jY/s1600/IMG_7553.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb8pZ-vWPFQ/U8BMvHNJQyI/AAAAAAAAE8I/JRGK00wQSQo/s1600/IMG_7554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fb8pZ-vWPFQ/U8BMvHNJQyI/AAAAAAAAE8I/JRGK00wQSQo/s1600/IMG_7554.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
All you need to do in three easy steps:<br />
<ol>
<li>Mash up 2 <strike>dead</strike> ripe bananas, add a cup of oatmeal, and stir in a 1/4 cup of chocolate chips. </li>
<li>Drop by spoonfuls on a GREASED cookie sheet or a Silpat. </li>
<li>Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until slightly browned. </li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
If YOU can't help YOURSELF and eat all 15 cookies in one day (<i>ahem),</i> YOU will have eaten 2 bananas, a cup of oatmeal, and a handful of chocolate chips. How healthful are YOU?<br />
<br />
<br />
(I got this recipe originally from a friend who shared this <a href="http://www.theburlapbag.com/2012/07/2-ingredient-cookies-plus-the-mix-ins-of-your-choice/" target="_blank">post</a> on Facebook, and I've made it as many times as I've had dead bananas falling off my banana stand.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Next up is <b>Blueberry Coconut Ice Cream</b>. All you need is:<br />
<ul>
<li>coconut milk (full fat version)</li>
<li>blueberries (fresh or frozen)</li>
<li>agave syrup</li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9yM4Q7BlNxE/U8BPAtR1UlI/AAAAAAAAE8w/YqKGb0iUP4M/s1600/IMG_7558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9yM4Q7BlNxE/U8BPAtR1UlI/AAAAAAAAE8w/YqKGb0iUP4M/s1600/IMG_7558.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
To make (again, in three easy steps):<br />
<ol>
<li>Blend 2 cans of coconut milk, 3 cups of blueberries, and 1/4 cup of agave syrup in a blender. </li>
<li>Churn mixture in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's directions. </li>
<li>Freeze for a few hours and voila! </li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QGaZe_kqySI/U8BPB6P5J0I/AAAAAAAAE9A/D8y3nnJn294/s1600/IMG_7561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QGaZe_kqySI/U8BPB6P5J0I/AAAAAAAAE9A/D8y3nnJn294/s1600/IMG_7561.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And because I had some extra mixture, and I COULDN'T WAIT for all the freezing hours, I got a quick version in my Zoku slushy maker. And it tastes like <i>summer on the beach.</i> And I <i>love</i> the beautiful purple color studded with seeds. It is high in antioxidants, naturally sweet, and best of all, lactose-free! My kind of ice cream!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z4mUL9SyCUM/U8BPAmhKNYI/AAAAAAAAE84/i-c6xDuN7jc/s1600/IMG_7559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z4mUL9SyCUM/U8BPAmhKNYI/AAAAAAAAE84/i-c6xDuN7jc/s1600/IMG_7559.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBii8Tu3ru2cfofdbx8iWu3p03AE34zRvCmFZD_q9pzKHLfTvZ6h4IsvNCtVyWP4OGgE6obT2yAD5N-ugstxis7qlgfFIEdVGrmZLrYRiKSq98UzaQhMgF1AWvm-2ZRJWYt43x2-5F4ds/s1600/IMG_7560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBii8Tu3ru2cfofdbx8iWu3p03AE34zRvCmFZD_q9pzKHLfTvZ6h4IsvNCtVyWP4OGgE6obT2yAD5N-ugstxis7qlgfFIEdVGrmZLrYRiKSq98UzaQhMgF1AWvm-2ZRJWYt43x2-5F4ds/s1600/IMG_7560.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
(This recipe is a hybrid of many homemade ice cream recipes online. A trial-and-error success, if you will.)<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, my third recipe is named <b>Summer Bliss</b>, and these are the three ingredients:<br />
<ul>
<li>bake/cook</li>
<li>read/write</li>
<li>eat/sleep</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Procedures:</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Make a Playlist named "Summer Bliss" with ingredients.</li>
<li>Press "shuffle".</li>
<li>Press "repeat".</li>
</ol>
</div>
<br />
Because right now, EVERYDAY IS FRIDAY.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-86725920817273602682014-06-30T20:48:00.001-05:002014-06-30T20:48:30.162-05:00Expunge<br />
How often do you mean to say one thing but something else entirely different comes out of your mouth? Better yet, how often do you mean to say A but say B and don't even realize it?<br />
<br />
<br />
DH is notorious for the latter. He can have an entire conversation with you about one thing but actually mean another thing. Without even batting an eye. Cuz he doesn't even know what he did. Sometimes I wonder how he fares at work, speaking law lingo and having a major brain fart. <i>Without knowing he did. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DH: Put your shoes on. It's hot today, so just put on your flippers.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: Um, you mean <em>flip flops?</em></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Nine out of ten times, he'll miss these two terms:<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DS: Can I have dessert now?</strong><br />
<strong>DH: Sure, you can have a Dum Dum. Go pick a popsicle flavor.</strong><br />
<strong>DS: You mean <em>lollipop.</em></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Conversely,<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DH: It's good day for a lollipop. Go get one from the freezer.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: <em>Popsicle!</em></strong><br />
<em></em><br />
<br />
How about...<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DH: After dinner, we can go to Baskin Robbins to look at books.</strong><br />
<strong>Me: Um, Baskin Robbins to have ice cream or <em>Barnes and Noble</em> to look at books?</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Or...<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DH: Mama made lots of pancakes for your birthday party. You can have one now.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: <i>Cupcakes,</i> daddy, CUPCAKES!</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Nowadays, whenever Daddy commits a Word Crime, the kiddos all scream about the List--the compilation of his crossed brain-to-speech wires. <i>The one that will give birth to a blog post.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Me: I think we're out of tomato sauce!</strong><br />
<strong>DH: Look in the upper cabinets. There may be some potato sauce up there.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: <em>Tomato sauce!</em> Mama, <em>put that on the list!</em></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
However, the apples don't fall too far from the tree. <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DH: Which fruit would you like to eat?</strong><br />
<strong>DS: I'm not sure. I'm depending on apples or strawberries.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: Um, you mean <em>deciding</em> <i>between</i>?</strong> <br />
<br />
<br />
Even Miss Word Police slips up once in a while! During a conversation where Daddy was telling about his new favorite music artist, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stromae" target="_blank">Stromae</a>, which is a syllabic inversion (<i>ha!</i>) of the word, <em>maestro</em>, this happened:<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DD: Where's his name from again? The word <em>maestro</em>? Wait, isn't that a kind of soup?</strong><br />
<strong>DH: Uh, no. That's <em>minestrone.</em></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Yep, it happens even to the best of us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>DD: What's your favorite kind of pasta? Mine's penne.</strong><br />
<strong>DH: Yes, we <i>know</i>. I like all pastas except for angel hair pasta. It's too skinny.</strong><br />
<strong>Me: Yes, we <i>know</i>. That'd be why I never buy angel fish pasta.</strong><br />
<strong>DD: ANGEL FISH? <em>Angel hair!</em></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Yep, this is another example of my inheritance of DH's disorders via <a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2014/02/disorder.html" target="_blank">environmental institutionalization</a>. Except sometimes it goes outside the home, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Student: Mrs. Chang, why is that word misspelled on the board?</strong><br />
<strong>Me: Because it's Friday and Mrs. Brain's Chang is full.</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Uh, they knew what I meant. <br />
<br />
<br />
Because<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>Me: You kids hurry up and put on your <em>flippers</em>! We're going to the Y!</strong><br />
<br />
<br />
See? There's a good reason why we four peas belong in one Crazy Pod.<br />
<br />
<br />
In our defense, DH was just talking about the process of <em>brain expunging.</em> We are getting on in age, to the point where when our brains have reached a maximum level of content storage, old things have to be expunged before new ones can enter. DH was telling me how he has to go review some files from a couple of years back in order to do some work for a current client. Because he had already expunged old contents to fit in new ones.<br />
<br />
<br />
I can totally relate. On my elliptical machine, I must concentrate really hard to do everything I need to do. I need to tighten my abs or else my lower back will ache the next day. I need to keep flexing and releasing my right hand on the handle bar or else my fingers will fall asleep 10 minutes into my run. I have to keep wiggling my left toes or else they will fall asleep in the last 10 minutes of my run. <i>Right hand, left toes, abs. </i><i>Right hand, left toes, abs.</i> Let's just say that the percentage of time that I can keep all three up simultaneously is only about a measly 10. The rest of the time my brain is <i>too full</i> cuz I'm either enjoying the music (too much), wondering how much time is left, or worrying about how my right fingers and left toes will be falling asleep. <br />
<br />
<br />
So, EXPUNGE, rinse, and repeat.<br />
<br />
<br />
But speaking of old age, this happened <em>eighteen</em> long years ago:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bW_PgyzPTYY/U7IEqdew-eI/AAAAAAAAE7c/lakFE9MiKsY/s1600/IMG_7430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bW_PgyzPTYY/U7IEqdew-eI/AAAAAAAAE7c/lakFE9MiKsY/s1600/IMG_7430.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
18 years and we're still on our way to becoming gray and wrinkly together. Oh wait, he's gray and I'm wrinkly ALREADY. I guess that means we <em>still</em> complement each other <em>pretty well.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<br />
And we'll probably have a lot more expunging to do when we're <i>both</i> gray and wrinkly. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-78071059722941110012014-06-16T20:27:00.001-05:002014-06-16T20:27:47.926-05:00"Mine, Mine, Mine"<br />
Week One of Summer School, DONE.<br />
<br />
<br />
And I lived to tell!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_FD889vIAKQ/U54kL6dvV5I/AAAAAAAAE7E/s0dTEHlTCiM/s1600/IMG_7222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_FD889vIAKQ/U54kL6dvV5I/AAAAAAAAE7E/s0dTEHlTCiM/s1600/IMG_7222.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The weekend before summer school began, I was a nervous wreck. It was all about not knowing what to expect. Sure, I was expecting incoming third graders, but I knew very little about the students' levels, compatibility, habits, and backgrounds. I <i>did</i> know a handful of kids from our school, which helped a bit, and I was excited to have them in my class.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's been a while since I've done a #TopTen, so here's my list of the Top Ten Things I Learned from the first week of teaching summer school:<br />
<br />
<br />
10. <b>It gets easier.</b> If the Sunday night before summer school was a total blank slate, then by Monday after school, the slate was 80% filled already. By the end of the first week, I've pretty much GOT THIS. And I just met a new student on Friday who is joining us on Monday, but even that's no biggie now.<br />
<br />
<br />
9. <b>Planning.</b> I realized that I was trying to squeeze way too much into a 4-hour day, so I swiped a few lessons or simply pushed them back into the days ahead. The thing about summer school is that it is pretty much up to the teachers what to teach, so I tried my darnedest to find appropriate, common core standard-aligned, and interesting materials to teach. It's like pulling things out of thin air if you ask me. But I've got my resources (teachers and internet), and <i>I thank them very much.</i> Last week I was planning day by day. This week, I'm pretty much all set.<br />
<br />
<br />
8. <b>Kids need to move.</b> When I student-taught back in the days, my cooperating teacher did daily exercises with her class. The kids loved it and always looked forward to it. Now, we have a sleuth of technology for everything, so instead of simple squats and leg lifts, we now have YouTube. We've been doing the Sid Shuffle for days, and the kids are enamored with it. Three minutes is all it takes!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/uMuJxd2Gpxo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
7. <b>Daily Read-Aloud.</b> We are reading the book, <i>The World According to Humphrey</i>, a chapter a day. It is about a classroom pet hamster named Humphrey, told from his point of view. I am surprised at how much I'm enjoying reading this to the kids, as I do my squeaky impersonation of Humphrey while the kids LAUGH-LAUGH-LAUGH at me. And I am surprised at how well-behaved the kids are during the readings. They do crack up whenever Humphrey talks about his "poo," though, as one would expect from goofy 8-year-olds.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nE2O54IfRk/U53epbUGhMI/AAAAAAAAE6M/I4K500Ufmtg/s1600/humphrey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1nE2O54IfRk/U53epbUGhMI/AAAAAAAAE6M/I4K500Ufmtg/s1600/humphrey.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/World-According-Humphrey-Betty-Birney/dp/0142403520" target="_blank">Go to amazon.com</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
6. <b>Nostalgia.</b> I did these Pasta Art Butterfly Life Cycle with my first class of second graders 15 years ago. So of course I wasn't going to give up the chance of doing it again with these summer school kids! First we read nonfiction texts on life cycles, compared life cycles of salamanders, frogs, and butterflies, and then concluded the lesson with the Pasta Art Butterfly Life Cycle. I colored the pasta shapes the night before (ditalini, rotini, shells, and bow tie) in half-alcohol-half-water and food coloring, and the kids used them to create a life cycle of egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, and butterfly. This isn't a rare or extraordinary project by any means, but it's one very close to my heart. <i>And</i> it's colorful and informative, no?<br />
<br />
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5. <b>"How many more minutes?"</b> And always followed by the words, "until recess." (In summer school, the most popular question is <i>not</i> "Can I go to the nurse?") At which time I just produce my most innocent look, break into my my biggest smile, and say, "I have no idea!"<br />
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4. <b>Encouragement. </b>A little encouragement goes a long way. Finding something positive--however minor or trivial--to say to kids really makes a big difference. It's hard to do for some kids who aren't apt to finish their work or follow directions, but I believe that <i>the students most difficult to say positive things to are the ones who need it the most.</i><br />
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3. <b>"Mine."</b> I haven't been able to say this for a while, but this is <i>my</i> class and these are <i>my</i> students. Their well-being is my responsibility. Their achievement is my pride. And their laughter is my smile. Just take it from these seagulls from <i>Finding Nemo</i>:<br />
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2. <b>Reward.</b> I grew up immersed in the Confucian mindset of humility; the proper Asian way of responding to compliments is to deny them (confidence-boosting much?). But I've also lived in this culture long enough to have learned to simply say "thank you" when someone says something nice to me. I've had several compliments come my way since summer school started, from students and parents alike. It's just a wonderful feeling to know that my effort is paying off. Coincidentally, I've also learned that my perfectionist instincts prove to be no more than superfluous, time-wasting feats that can be quite unnecessary. But baby steps. At least I have the luxury of time to waste this summer <blush>.<br />
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1. <b>That this is SO my thing.</b> It's taken some time to get back into the act of teaching--standing in front of kids and presenting academic materials. But now I find it inexplicably comforting to be in a classroom full of kids, to be the facilitator of learning, the setter of examples, and the mother hen of these wide-eyed children. Don't get me wrong--it's not all always easy; there are excruciating times, challenging kids, and moments where my blood pressure is in danger zone. But among these little (most-of-the-time) kindred spirits, it's really <i>my</i> privilege. Especially when I'm given the gifts of smiles, achievements, and flowers.<br />
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One week down, two-and-a-half more to go.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-68646045813740456902014-06-04T13:27:00.001-05:002014-06-04T22:26:46.223-05:00Slipping<i>My hands are gripping tightly on a rope, and I feel the rope slipping. My mind anticipates each slip and prepares for the sharp pain of rope burn that accompanies it. </i><br />
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You see, these are screen shots of my substitute teaching calendar beginning from April 28 to June 5, 2014. Blue squares are the days I worked. White squares are weekends/holidays, and gray squares are days I took off (one for chaperoning a field trip with DS, and one for a coffee/lunch date with my bloggy friends, <a href="http://deepestworth.com/" target="_blank">Shannon</a> and <a href="http://www.agracefull-life.com/" target="_blank">Kari</a>). Today is June 4. Tomorrow is the last day of school. </div>
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And summer school starts NEXT MONDAY. (I can't even <i>think</i> about all the things I still have to DO!)</div>
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Every year, the month of May is one of sheer madness. We have two birthdays, Mother's Day, violin concert and recitals, year-end school performances and events, and all the regularly scheduled activities LIKE BREATHING AND SLEEPING. </div>
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<i>In attempt to avoid rope burns, I grip tighter. A slipping rope would definitely cause pain.</i></div>
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Within eight days, DD turned eleven and graduated from her Elementary School. It is almost strange to see her feet nearly clearing the foot of her bed when I wake her in the mornings. <i>Who is this giant child I'm looking at?</i> Her feet are ginormous, legs long, fingers slender and delicate, cheeks twice the size of the ones I used to zerbert. Yet there she is, sleeping like a baby, so peacefully. I stare a few moments before continuing the hustle and bustle of the day, yanking her out of bed, again racing against the clock. </div>
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For her birthday bedroom surprise this year, I went with lights <a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2014/03/little.html" target="_blank">again</a>, except these ones have beautiful mini lanterns on them. They have been hiding in my closet for a few months, and I couldn't wait to put them in her room. But now that "birthday room surprise" is a <i>thing</i> in our family, it was not so much a surprise for her than a "wow, it's pretty!" Which is good enough for me.</div>
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Now that she is months away from middle school, we wanted to update her "girly" room with something more practical as she gets older. If you remember from last year's birthday room surprise, she still had her play kitchen, a birthday present from her auntie from when she turned two. </div>
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That kitchen had been loved and cherished, and now has come full circle and found a new home--living with the gifter's children: my nieces. It will continue to be blessed with little hands cooking with wooden food items and plastic plates and cups. </div>
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DH found a really nice desk/hutch that matches the white of her bedroom furniture. The entire desk weighed over 200 pounds, and I'll leave it to your imagination how we got the two pieces upstairs to her room. Think: PIVOT-shouting-matches, dripping sweat, overexerted fingers, arms, lower backs, and a snickery DS who watched the entire spectacle without having to flex a muscle. </div>
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<i>1, 2, 3, GO! </i></div>
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<i>1, 2, 3, PULL! </i></div>
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<i>1, 2, 3, <GRUNT>!</i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ax9V_zELO9Y/U49N7z1D_nI/AAAAAAAAE2M/qIUhDuIvGTc/s1600/IMG_7139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ax9V_zELO9Y/U49N7z1D_nI/AAAAAAAAE2M/qIUhDuIvGTc/s1600/IMG_7139.JPG" height="200" width="199" /></a>Two days ago, the kiddos' school had its Fifth Grade Farewell. Being the sentimental schmuck that I am, I had fully expected to be weepy. I drove to the event with a bouquet sitting in the passenger's seat, thinking about how those flowers represent all of the six years DD spent at the school and everything she has accomplished there. <i>Where are my tissues? </i></div>
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What I didn't expect was to be overcome with joyful emotions looking at <i>all</i> the fifth graders, because I have taught--at one time or another (and some more than others)--almost every single one of the students walking in the processional of the ceremony. Many made eye contact with me and smiled or said hello. I was so very proud of them all. To see them dressed up, <i>not</i> acting goofy, and embracing the celebration <i>for them</i> made me incredibly happy. </div>
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DD wore her floral dress, a ladies' size 4, you guys! She played with the orchestra and recited a part of her poem. She received an award for Leadership, sang "Today is the Day," and walked the recessional. And then, she graduated from grade school. Proud Parenting Moment, I tell ya!</div>
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<i>A sudden burst of strength surprises me. I shift and readjust my grip. </i></div>
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Throughout this crazy month and the few leading up to it, I've felt like I've been slipping. Slipping from household chores, slipping from mommy duties, slipping from sanity. Which is understandable seeing those calendar pictures up there. But what was scary was the fact that I felt less and less inclined to write. I'd have thoughts about possible posts, but never having the time or wherewithal to write them. As time passed, those posts just seemed to slip away. I didn't know how to feel about that. <i>Should I be okay with it? Should I not? </i></div>
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But I do know that I shouldn't force myself to do anything. Least of all, make myself miserable.</div>
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And the answer came to me today. My first day off since FOREVER ago, I've been incredibly productive. I've put the kids on the bus, been on the elliptical for a great workout, run a load of laundry, and written an overdue, three-posts-in-one blog post. And now it's clear as day: when I can, I do. </div>
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When Life throws me a day off, I do what makes me happiest: write, edit, and publish.</div>
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<i>I settle in my stance. I hold my grip. With newfound power, I pull. Life is a tug-of-war, vacillating between slips and tugs. </i></div>
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And, occasionally, <i>pivots.</i></div>
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I came upstairs last night and saw this:</div>
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And I know that all is good in the world, and all of our tugs and pulls, slips and rope burns are <i>all worth the fight.</i></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-70598255994538263242014-05-17T23:42:00.000-05:002014-05-17T23:42:03.797-05:00Chapter<br />
If my life were a book, I would be ending a chapter and beginning a new one.<br />
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Sunday will be my last day of teaching my Chinese Toddler Class. After five semesters and a great many children and parents, I say goodbye to a very rewarding Chapter of my life.<br />
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My little two- and three-year-olds have filled my Sundays with song and dance, laughter, stories, crafts, games, and intangible fun. Each time a lesson ends, I feel an incredible teaching high. We've gotten our routine down so nicely that the kids and parents go through each lesson like a well-oiled machine--gears turning and syphons pumping--ever without a hitch. But in order to have everything go smoothly, a lot of preparation is required. And time has not been on my side these days.<br />
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I'll always remember a few wonderful moments over the last few years. Last year we played a game during a lesson on Clothing. I had asked the children to take off one shoe and randomly put it somewhere in the classroom. Then all the children went shoe hunting for someone else's shoe, and we tried to find its owner by practicing saying our color words. It was all good until two of my youngest kids (still age two at the time) began to cry <i>great, huge drops of tears.</i> Because they weren't allowed to pick their own shoes. This year I brought colorful pairs of socks to play this game instead. No tears this time--lesson learned.<br />
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Each week, we always start the class by singing a Welcome Song to the tune of Frere Jacques: "Ni hao, lao shi. Ni hao, xiao peng you..." which translates to "Hello, teacher. Hello, children..." And one little girl has always--and still continues to--insist on calling me Ni Hao Lao Shi. As if my last name is Ni Hao. <i>Why, hello, Mrs. Hello!</i> It always brings a smile to my face when she greets me. One time this little girl got defensive because another child took a prop of mine. She immediately said to the child, "Give it back! It's Ni Hao Lao Shi's." I couldn't stop giggling at the possessive use of my new name, complete with the "apostrophe and s"!<br />
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And then there's the time when a child happily shared what was on his underwear (superhero character) during story time; or when I heard a child tell me how to say something in Chinese for the very first time; or the time when we made flowers for Mother's Day and I asked a child to tell his mom "wo ai ni" (I love you) and he did it immediately even without knowing what the heck he was saying; or the time when I came back from our <a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2014/03/up.html" target="_blank">Toronto</a> trip, having missed two classes in a row, and a child said to me, "I really missed you!" (in Chinese!). Yes, these are the moments I will <i>never, ever</i> forget.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chinese New Year Celebration Performance</td></tr>
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As for why I made this decision to stop teaching Chinese school: last month, the principal of my kids' school asked me if I would be interested in teaching summer school. <i>Would I ever be!?</i> Of course I'd jump at the chance to do something for a school at which I have been comfortably substitute teaching for over a year now. The class is for incoming third-graders in reading, writing, and math. It will be four hours a day for four weeks. What better way to get a good feel for teaching my own class than a short-term, laid-back, summer class with a classroom full of my own kids? How lucky am I that this opportunity came knocking on my door? <i>Huzzah! </i><br />
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A few weeks later, DS's (first grade) teacher, who is expecting her second child in July, asked me if I would like to take her maternity leave assignment in the fall, which covers from the start of school until November, or January (if she can combine two leaves). I couldn't even hold back from smiling ear-to-ear before she had finished asking. What an incredible opportunity--again! To be able to ease into a classroom from the start of the school year, have help from a teacher with curriculum planning, and experience having my own class during the regular school year for a couple of months! And, and, <i>and,</i> since I have been the go-to sub for our school's kindergarten teachers, I already know the incoming students for next fall. <i>I felt like the teaching gods were tossing me gold.</i><br />
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After receiving these two wonderful news, I was feeling <i>all</i> the feels: excitement, trepidation, nervousness, gratitude, and, occasionally, a "I've-got-this." I was also afraid to tell people for a little while cuz I didn't want to jinx anything.<br />
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And now they are definitely official. So.<br />
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Do you remember my <a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2012/05/dear-zero-sum.html" target="_blank">Zero-Sum</a> Theory of Life? The "you win some, you lose some" theory? The "you have some good, you get some bad, and it all evens out" rule? Well, I started to wait for the other shoe to drop. Two great news must mean something terrible might happen to even things out.<br />
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And... <i>Bam!</i> ROOT CANAL.<br />
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As if that wasn't bad enough, <i>Ba-Bam!</i> STREP THROAT.<br />
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Well, that about sums it up. Zero-Sum. We're now <i>even.</i><br />
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And if you're laughing at my crazy theory, I will make one more attempt to convince you why my theory holds true and <i>it all evens out</i>:<br />
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At the start of this school year, a first grader asked me how I know DS having heard other children say we know each other. I said to him cleverly that DS and I have the same last name, and asked how he thinks we're related. He replied, "You're his grandma?" <i>Ouch.</i><br />
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But!<br />
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A few weeks ago, a classroom full of 7th graders swore up and down that I appear no older than 25. <i>For reals.</i><br />
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<i>Ba-da-bing!</i><br />
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Zero Sum.<br />
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And so, for me, a chapter ends and a new one beings. With much anticipation, I begin another journey in my professional life. And as necessary as it is to move on from Sundays at Chinese School, I'll <i>always</i> cherish my most special name, Ni Hao Lao Shi.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-89720583004715620632014-05-06T09:51:00.001-05:002014-05-06T09:51:26.616-05:00Tagged<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Last week, I was tagged by Lisa of </span><a href="http://expandng.com/" target="_blank">Expandng</a><span id="goog_1399542892"></span><span id="goog_1399542893"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="background-color: white;"> to join the </span><i style="background-color: white;">Blog Author Tour</i><span style="background-color: white;">, where bloggers share details of their writing process. Though I have written about this topic a few times in the past, (on </span><a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2013/07/dear-writing.html" target="_blank">why I love to write</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">, my </span><a href="http://studio30plus.com/profiles/blogs/blogging-anxiety-101" target="_blank">blogging anxieties</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"></span><span style="background-color: white;">, and my </span><a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2014/01/high.html" target="_blank">writing process</a>), <span style="background-color: white;">I know that introspection and reevaluation always help one grow, especially in the area of writing. Here are the four questions to answer:</span></span><br />
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<b>What am I working on?</b></div>
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Lately, I've been working on just having some <i>time</i> to sit down to write. I hang my head in shame when I look at the number of posts I've published in April. I'll save you the time to find it on the right sidebar: ONE. I have surrendered to my busy teaching and mothering schedules of late. It's a reality and I simply cannot add more hours to the day. I hate that I have to put this blog on the back burner, but I'm dealing and adjusting to these changes with grace and style.<br />
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<i>You know, like the composure Monica Geller would display if her hands and feet were tied as she watched her friends cook in her kitchen with her "fancy guest" towels.</i></div>
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Otherwise, I sneak little bits of time during the busy days and nights to <i>think</i> about topics for future posts. The typing part of the writing is only a portion of the entire process, so getting a mental picture or a few bullet points in my head is very helpful. I'm also mindful of taking pictures of everyday life that can somehow find their ways to posts later. It's always nice to have a stash of photos I can use to illustrate a setting or sentiment.<br />
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<i>Like the way I can prove to you that my workouts are still going strong, yay!</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I am always working on <i>learning new things </i>for this blog. I have just made slight changes to the blog template for a newer, fresher look. Over time, I have learned how to make a custom blog header, how to embed video and audio files, photo slide shows, and drawings. See below for my newest self-taught skill: creating and inserting my first-ever pie chart! </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">How does my work differ from others of its genre?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This blog is none other than a <i>personal blog</i>. It is a place where I share my thoughts as a mother, teacher, and writer. I'm not sure that it actually differs from other personal blogs, but I write to make each post more meaningful than a diary entry or a list of "what we did." Each post might begin with something that "we did," but it generally becomes more relevant than "that thing we did." This is not a public diary, and I'm sure readers would be more interested in an idea or issue that they can identify with than be forced to read what we did over the weekend. Although little tidbits of what we did over the weekend might sometimes add a little pinch of spice to the ordinary<i>...</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And in case you were wondering what we did over the weekend... Someone had a birthday celebration at a lovely Sunday brunch. She didn't even mind turning forty-one!</i></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why do I write what I do?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are a few reasons why I write the things I do. I write to:</span></div>
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<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Capture memories</b>. I'm taking snapshots of moments in my life. It's definitely interesting to go back and see what was going on with the kiddos or what was going through my mind at any certain point. It's an ongoing memory book, if you will.</span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Write</b>. Real writers write often. This blog keeps me going even if my schedule tries to interfere. </span></li>
<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Share and know that we are not alone</b>. It is my intent to share some of my parenting mishaps or triumphs, introspective self-discoveries or revelations, and the congested streaming of words gushing through my head. <i>If you read any of it, I would be happy. If you laughed at any of my tomfoolery, I would be elated. If you were able to relate to any of my experiences, I would be jubilant. </i></span></li>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">How does my writing process work?</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's the breakdown for each blog post I write:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I cannot even begin to tell you how long it takes me to complete one post. Because you would surely think I'm <i>nuts</i>. I waste way too much time on editing, fretting over the post, and my social media vice. I am incapable of staying within limits of sensible proofreading time. I venture so far beyond the Wall that I risk being slaughtered by Wildlings or White Walkers. But I digress...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there you have it. Another exciting edition of my writing escapades. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Read about Lisa's </span><a href="http://expandng.com/2014/04/my-writing-process/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank" wrc_done="true">writing process</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="wrc_icon wrc0" rating="{"icon":"grey0-16.png","rating":0,"weight":0,"flags":{"shopping":null,"social":null,"news":null,"it":null,"corporate":null,"pornography":null,"violence":null,"gambling":null,"drugs":null,"illegal":null}}"></span> and see how her blog evolved from a parenting blog to a family photography blog. Another blogger friend, Shannon from <a href="http://www.deepestworth.com/" target="_blank">Deepest Worth</a>, also </span>participated in this <a href="http://www.deepestworth.com/2014/04/how-i-write/" target="_blank">writing exercise</a> last week<span style="font-family: inherit;">. I enjoyed reading both of their posts and </span>finally<span style="font-family: inherit;"> had the time to write my own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'd now like to invite two more of my blogger friends to join in on sharing their writing processes: </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Janna of </span><a href="http://jannatwrites.wordpress.com/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">JannaTWrites</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> and Imelda of </span><a href="http://mywordwall.wordpress.com/" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">My Word Wall</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. I met both of these writers from a prompt-writing community. Janna is an amazing writer of short fiction as well as longer pieces in series. Imelda is a brilliant photographer and poet. I would love to see how their creative processes work! (No obligations, ladies, but it would be fun!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now that I've written one post this month, May cannot <i>possibly</i> be worse than April, right? </span><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-16079921453659296252014-04-15T19:39:00.000-05:002014-04-16T15:44:58.782-05:00Multitasking<br>
One important skill on the resumes of all moms is the talent of multitasking.<br>
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We've all been there: change a baby's diaper while using one foot to knock away the garbage that your preschooler just dug out the trash can. Or answer a phone call with the most pleasant voice while giving the death stare to your child gesturing, <i>Don't you dare!</i> Or unload groceries, a sleeping child, and spilled Cheerios from the car while remembering to feed the turtle and put the load of wash into the dryer as you pass them. Except your now-awake child is going through the groceries and spilling more Cheerios on the kitchen floor. You wake up in the middle of the night remembering that you forgot to feed the turtle, and you wake up in the morning to find semi-wet "clean" clothes in the washer.<br>
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I find multitasking a burden borne of necessity. One does not do it because it's fun. One does it because <i>too many things to get done.</i> It is done out of desperation and survival.<br>
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Sure, it's fun to boast one's ability to multitask because <i>moms rock.</i> Sure, it's also fun to tease DH's multitasking ability because he cannot be on the phone <i>and </i>hear all the words <i>coming out of my mouth. </i><br>
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But you know what the truth is? <i>I am really not very good at multitasking. </i>Everything I do requires methodical planning and compulsive orderliness. (I know--I am my own detriment, and I see it in my poor DS everyday.)<br>
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I cannot have food cooking on the stove and still have things to prep on the cutting board; everything must be prepped before anything goes into the pan. Giada cooks and cuts at the same time, easily. The last time I aspired to be like Giada, food ended up on the floor.<br>
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I cannot do a whole lot while listening to music. My brain is wired so that the combination of music and reading or writing actually makes <i>white noise.</i> Sure, I listen to the radio in the car, but you know what I really hear when I'm driving to find a new place? <i>White noise.</i> Which might also be why I never know the lyrics to songs; they're usually just tunes and words like "<i>ceiling can hold-ers.</i>"<br>
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I cannot hear my children talking <i>at</i> me while I'm reading. Again, white noise.<br>
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One thing I <i>can </i>do at the same time (woo-hoo!) is stir the liquid in that pot on the stove with my right hand and scroll through social media updates on my phone with my left thumb. Hold your applause, because <i>too many things to get done. </i><br>
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And it seems that the older I get, the more white noise I am hearing these days. Age is not very forgiving when it comes to demanding tasks such as taking notes from the violin teacher while playing Word Feud on my phone at the same time.<br>
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But now that Winter has passed and Spring has arrived (except the hiccup of an inch and a half of snow blanketing the ground this morning), I have had the energy and urge to get movin' again. When your forty-year-old body is inactive for a period of time, well, let's face it, it gets rusty. When your skin is so saggy because there's nothing underneath to support it, it's time to get shaped up!<br>
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Let me tell you about my requirements for working out: 1) It must take the least amount of time from getting ready to workout to working out. 2) It must have the luxury of heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. 3) It must be safe so this old body has no chance of hurting itself. 4) It must allow me to do something else other than just the workout. <<i>Gasp!</i> Did I just <i>demand </i>to be able to multitask? <i>Yes, I did!></i><br>
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I have an elliptical machine in my room. It meets all the requirements. I roll out of bed and can begin working out within 5 minutes (minimal travel time). No one sees me with sheet wrinkles on my face and bedhead hair (no grooming required). There are handlebars to hold on to so I cannot fall <strike>off</strike> (safe for the knees <i>and </i>old folk). And I can watch TV or listen to music while running on it (multitasking haven). <i>Whoopee!</i><br>
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Because I used to watch TV as an exercise companion, I'd DVR a season's worth of <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> and watch an episode each time I worked out. Except I'd end up sobbing uncontrollably halfway through the workout and forget about actually having to run. To know how well that worked out, let's just say that I haven't kept up with <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> for a couple of seasons.<br>
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So this time, I plugged in my earbuds and turned up the music. Picture me: running rhythmically to my upbeat music.<br>
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WITH MY EYES CLOSED.<br>
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Cuz I'm still sleepy. And I won't fall off. And I get to really enjoy my music and hear the lyrics.<br>
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And when I open my eyes again when the album's over, my goodness, I've run forty minutes and <strike>enjoyed</strike> tolerated every minute of it and it's over! And I didn't even have to cry or check to <i>see how much longer?!</i> Win-win!<br>
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This is absolutely Multitasking For The Win! Semi-conscious exercising while enjoying music and <i>hearing all the words!</i><br>
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But don't let this post fool ya.<br>
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In the classroom, I know <i>exactly</i> which students are out in the restroom, drinking water, or at the nurse's office.<br>
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All while I'm passing out papers, herding a few stragglers to get started on their work, and teaching a lesson on how to be effective multitaskers.<br>
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<i>Ba-bam!</i><br>
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<br><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-66730242070128985862014-03-30T23:00:00.001-05:002014-03-30T23:00:54.267-05:00UPWhat's <b>UP</b>?<br />
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Spring break is officially over in T minus a few hours. This is how ours went down, er, I mean, held <b>UP</b>.<br />
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We drove <b>UP </b>to Toronto, Canada and had a family destination reunion. A first visit for all (eleven) of us, and we were much excited to leave behind the mundane for a change of scenery (and currency).<br />
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First and foremost, Toronto is known for its delectable ethnic foods, especially of the Chinese variety. We Yelped the local restaurants and made our tummies super happy. The first place we went to had a beautiful wooden ceiling to go along with the Chinese cuisine. But the dim sum restaurant we went to had hanging chandeliers and giant French paintings on the walls. It was as if the decor justified hiking <b>UP </b>the pricing because French gold-trimmed teapots made better Chinese tea. Nevertheless, we ate <b>UP </b>all the food, sighed in complacence, and stared <b>UP </b>at the ceiling.<br />
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As the dutiful tourists that we were, we visited the CN Tower. We went <b>UP </b>and looked at the view of the lake and city. We walked on glass floors and shook on wobbly knees. We studied the height of all famous skyscrapers in the world and sized them all <b>UP</b>.<br />
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We also visited Ripley's Aquarium, which we all very much enjoyed. Visitors walked <i>through </i>ginormous aquariums, watching fish of all sorts swim above our heads. Look <b>UP</b>! There's a stingray smiling at us, and a shark showing off all his teeth.<br />
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For a week, I had the luxury to stay <b>UP </b>and read. I finished off two books and started on a third. What a total treat that was! I even had my coveted booze accompany me while reading--Kahlua, straight <b>UP</b>!<br />
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For this trip, we rented a home to accommodate the lot of us. One requirement <b>UP </b>on our list was free wifi. Well, let's just say that I shook my fist <b>UP </b>at the wifi gods in pitiful desperation because our connection was spotty at best. It's one thing to want to be disconnected while away on vacation, but it's another story when I <i>can't</i> access the internet when I <i>need</i> to. It totally left me all roiled <b>UP</b>. I will never look at wifi connection the same way again. I am home now and I'm whispering sweet nothings to my beloved wifi. <i>I have missed you so!</i><br />
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In addition to yummy foods, we drank <b>UP </b>on my Taiwanese bubble milk tea and Hong Kong milk tea/coffee combo. The bubble milk tea was one of the best I've ever had, apparently a number one brand in Taiwan. The Hong Kong milk tea/coffee combo is from an award-winning cafe, known for its tea and coffee. These beverages are so good that I'd be willing to give <b>UP </b>a meal for each drink. They pretty much made <b>UP </b>for the lack of access to good coffee everyday while traveling.<br />
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Lastly, as we were so close, we visited Niagara Falls. The water was not as magnificent as I had imagined it to be, but that is because water flow is reduced by half over the winter season as compared to the summer. There were large, frozen boulders at the bottom of the fall that completely blocked the view to watch the waterfall from an underground tunnel from behind. I guess it wasn't meant to be this time. We did get to look <b>UP </b>at the fall, and stand <b>UP </b>above the fall to see its grandeur. The naturally occurring turquoise colors were beautiful. The moisture and mist at the bottom of the fall were mesmerizing. I just wish it hadn't been so cold and dreary!<br />
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Alas, spring break had to end. We had to pack <b>UP</b>, say goodbye, and drive home. None of us are looking forward to getting <b>UP </b>Monday morning and facing reality again. </div>
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But there is one awesome thing to come back to (other than the comfort of our own home and beds): the weather is finally starting to look <b>UP</b>! We will be in the high 60s tomorrow, and believe it or not, all the snow in our yard has melted and I see my tulips sprouting! Woo hoo! It is AMAZING what a little warmth and sunshine can do for the soul! </div>
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Now that spring break is over, Spring must finally be here?! </div>
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Your time is <b>UP</b>, Winter! Ta-ta! Farewell! Goodbye! </div>
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I hope you have/had a wonderful spring break, too! What did <i>you </i>do <b>UP </b>in your neck of the woods?</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-38597543164635783302014-03-21T08:56:00.000-05:002014-03-21T08:56:54.375-05:00Little<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My Little Guy just turned seven.<br />
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My quiet, no-nonsense, highly orderly and deliberate child by day, and silly, goofy, and rambunctious kid by night.<br />
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The child uses a timer when he reads. All because he has to log his reading minutes daily for school. <i>Should I even go on? </i>He even stops the timer if he needs to go to the bathroom in between. He doesn't believe us when we tell him he doesn't have to be that precise.<br />
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The boy needs a chill pill. Because by-the-books is how he rolls.<br />
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When he gets in a silly mood, he will spew out a string of Chinese phrases--all of the inappropriate type (learned from listening to his often-frustrated mama muttering under her breath)--in a thick, tongue-challenged American accent. We, as his parents, naturally try to hold in our laughter and act appalled. I say, <i>You mean I send you to Chinese school and all the Chinese you speak are these? </i>DS, not missing one single beat, recites numbers from one to ten, in Chinese, in the most perfect intonation one has ever heard.<br />
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That goof.<br />
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They say birth order makes a difference. The youngest of the family comes with a list of behavioral generalizations. As much as we try to stay away from conforming to birth order stereotypes, I still have a hard time letting go of the fact that he's small<i>.</i> Not just the youngest small, but <i>little.</i> DD was always on the high end of the chart for weight and height. DS turned out to be on the low end. He's perfectly healthy; he just has a small frame and stature. He's actually saved us a lot of money since he outgrows his clothes at a much slower pace than DD did.<br />
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To me, he always looks younger than he is. He's shorter than most kids in his class. He can wear his shoes forever before needing bigger ones. Even the Tooth Fairy hasn't paid a visit yet--not even once! How can having all his baby teeth in an ear-to-ear grin not make him look <i>little?</i><br />
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DD is tall for her age, and seeing her among her peers makes me feel less concerned about others picking on her. DS, on the other hand, is usually "looking up" at his friends. Being the worrier that I am, I wonder if he needs to work harder to be noticed. Or if he must do more than others to stand out in a crowd.<br />
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A parent worries. Whether the worries are warranted or not.<br />
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You might remember that we ran out of breath preparing for DD's last <b><a href="http://www.letters-of-muse.com/2013/05/dear-ten.html" target="_blank">birthday morning surprise</a></b>. Well, I wanted nothing to do with latex and hyperventilation anymore, so for DS's surprise, we strung lights all around his room for an <i>evening </i>surprise. As he stomped upstairs in objection of violin practice, he opened his door to find his room showered with glowing lights. His face turned from utter spite to boyish wonder, all in a matter of split seconds.<br />
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We got ya, bud!<br />
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My Little Guy is working his rank up in Tae Kwon Do. For his birthday, DH and I decided to get him a belt display rack. We all look forward to filling up this rack with colored belts as we and he gain more confidence throughout this learning process. I need visuals, you know, for knowing that my little one will not be picked on.<br />
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This rack is as much for me as it is for him.<br />
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Six was the year he finally found comfort in his own bed. It was the year he had the maturity to be introspective about his difficulties during transitions and actively attempted to improve in that area. At six, his smile was an even blend of a contemplative reserve, a trusting gaze, and a radiating beam. I look forward to see what Seven will bring.<br />
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If nothing else, hopefully a visit from the Tooth Fairy, at the very least.<br />
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Today, I picked him up from school and he unabashedly proclaimed to me in the school parking lot, as if stating an absolute, unmistakeable truth, "Mama, I love you like <i>crazy.</i>"<br />
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My heart melted into slobbery goo. But not before I said, "You know I'm totally going to blog that, right?"<br />
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Happy Seven, my Little Guy!<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-89308481102259346212014-03-11T16:00:00.001-05:002014-03-11T16:00:23.677-05:00Be<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Do you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?</b></i><br />
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I was a little girl who rode the waves of an ocean, drifting, not knowing where I'd end up, but not fighting where the currents took me. I washed ashore here, there. I weathered storms and bathed in calm. And in order to survive, I placed my trust in the palms of grownups all around me.<br />
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Some of those palms took my confidence and forgot they even had it. Some were not able to do much with it. But some took it and nurtured that trust. I learned how to be more selective later in life, but I never withheld the pleasure of sharing a little of me with the people that came into my life.
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I was a crazy child who put a staple in her thumb because I wondered how it would feel to have a thin, sharp piece of metal pierce my skin. As the blood came gushing out, I was stunned by the searing pain and learned that a staple does not belong in the flesh. I played inside a clothe dryer often because it was strangely comforting; I felt like I was being cradled inside the dark, confining rotating drum with a slow, pendulum-like swing.<br />
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Then I went to school. There, I learned about the world in a safer manner (without bleeding, the risk of electrical shock, or perpetuating an emotional deficit), and consistency became my new cradle. I could count on seeing my teacher's smile everyday. I could engage with my peers. I looked forward to the challenges of grades and competition.<br />
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I loved and respected my teachers, and I was always eager to please them. And the first time I ever wanted to <i>be</i> something ("when I grow up") was in my kindergarten classroom, as I watched my teacher gesture, teach, and lead the children with ease and poise. I thought, <i>One day, that's what I will do, too.</i><br />
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As I grew older, the World told me to be many different things. <i>A journalist,</i> one voice said. <i>A doctor, </i>another whispered. <i>It's a respectable profession and you'd make a good living.</i> The World told me to go to school and get degrees; get married and have children; buy a house and have a job. I did all of these things, and this is what I found out:<br />
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I learned that I wasn't cut out for medical school, but being a pediatrician wasn't the only way to work with children. I learned that I have much love for the humanities--a philosophy that brings people together through culture and the arts. I learned that children are kindred spirits and that working with them would teach me how to be a better person and parent. I learned that having my own children solidified how I feel about each and every child being a precious miracle, and that parenting and teaching unquestionably go hand in hand.<br />
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I remember who I was before the World told me what to be. I was a girl searching for anchors, and I found them in my teachers, who always provided a safe physical and emotional space for me to grow and reach. They were the grownups that--even in the short span of nine months at a time--treasured me and fulfilled my needs. I was a girl that wanted to parent the way she wasn't parented. I wanted to be a mother and have children of my own to love absolutely and unconditionally; to raise to be kind human beings; and to hopefully send out into the world to <i>be </i>their own.<br />
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Now, <i>I</i> open my palm to children and take their Gifts in confidence.<br />
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Now, it's <i>not </i>"who I want to be."<br />
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Now, I <i>am.</i><br />
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<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-11262777401770899282014-02-26T15:46:00.000-06:002014-02-26T15:46:34.526-06:00EncouragingI don't always do the right things as a parent.<br />
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I don't always ask the kids to set the table. I don't ask them to take out the trash. I don't have a chore list that they must check off every day or week. I don't hold back from doing things for them instead of helping them become more independent.<br />
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I don't expect them to be at the top of the class. I don't demand straight As. I don't ask them to read more minutes than the school's minimum. I don't make them do their homework before having screen time.<br />
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I don't speak enough Chinese to them. I don't enter them in music competitions. I don't always put them in summer enrichment camps outside of school.<br />
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I don't always have a great selection of clean, folded clothes for them to choose from each morning. I don't always turn in permission slips and school dues on time. I have even forgotten to pick the kids up on an early release day. I don't always empty out DD's Take Home folder and check her school work.<br />
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One day in late January, after DD's accordion folder was so overfilled with take-home work that I was embarrassed to look through it, I looked through it. I came across a worksheet that seemed like a New Year Resolution question/answer sheet. But instead of "resolutions," they were more fill-in-the-blanks for what one wants to do in different areas in 2014. Examples: A new skill I'd like to learn; A place I'd like to visit; A new food I'd like to try. It looked interesting, so I read on in detail.<br />
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And then I came to one that made my heart skip a beat. I had to read it again and again to make sure I was reading it right.<br />
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A person I hope to be more like: </blockquote>
And her answer:<br />
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<i>My mom because she's encouraging. </i></blockquote>
I read it over and over to make sure that I read the prompt correctly and the answer correctly. I deciphered her irregular cursive strokes to make sure it said <i>mom.</i> And <i>encouraging.</i> And reread <i>A person I hope to be more like.</i><br />
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<i>Then this lump began to grow in my throat and my eyes started to blink faster. </i><br />
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This Johnny-come-lately mom had to tell her daughter how touched she was reading this response, um, only a few weeks late. Then this skeptical mom had to ask her daughter if she wrote that answer because she couldn't think of anyone else to write about.<br />
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DD was gracious enough not to be offended by that question.<br />
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Perhaps I seem a little too surprised and overjoyed to read something like this. It seemed sort of no-big-deal to DD. But I am a sentimental schmuck. And a MOM. <br />
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<i>The-child-came-out-of-my-uterus-</i>HOW.CAN.I.NOT.BE?<br />
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Encouraging. You know what else is encouraging? That DD's words have turned around to encourage <i>me,</i> a parent who seems to actually be doing <i>something </i>right.<br />
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<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-53853405150675963732014-02-21T09:46:00.000-06:002014-02-21T09:46:16.172-06:00Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just finished an almost-800 page book, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Goldfinch-Donna-Tartt/dp/0316055433/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392870570&sr=1-1&keywords=the+goldfinch" target="_blank"><b>The Goldfinch</b></a>,</i> by Donna Tartt. It has been described as a literary piece that comes only half a dozen times in a decade. It is said to be "Dickensian," "sweeping," and "a masterpiece." Numerous essays and reviews have been written about this novel that took twelve years to write.<br />
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I will not attempt to write about this book because I cannot do it justice, as other readers/reviewers <b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/lettersofmuse/posts/10151979082396365" target="_blank">have</a></b>. But it did inspire me to think about a particular topic. The novel begins with the protagonist, Theo, telling us how he lost his mother in a tragic accident at age 13. This loss, so overpowering, comes through in his way of grieving her: "I miss her so much I wanted to die: a hard, physical longing, like a craving for air underwater." Over the years, he'd dream of her constantly, but<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"...only as absence, not presence: a breeze blowing through a just-vacated house, her handwriting on a notepad, the smell of her perfume, streets in strange lost towns where I knew she'd been walking only a moment before but had just vanished, a shadow moving away against a sunstruck wall. Sometimes I spotted her in a crowd, or in a taxicab pulling away, and these glimpses of her I treasured despite the fact that I was never able to catch up with her."</blockquote>
First, these images made me ache for Theo's heart. Then, they made me think about my own dreams, many of them recurring: those fleeting sightings of objects or ideas just beyond my grasp; momentary flashes of emotions lasting only seconds; and the unearthing of feelings that have been buried for decades.<br />
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I remember, as far back as age 6 or 7, having the Falling dream. Though I've never "fallen" from considerable height ever in my life, these dreams seem <i>so real.</i> All the elements of falling--the gravitational pull yanking me downward, the acceleration of my fall through thin air, and the panic flooding my entire body--are as palpable as being face-to-face with my Demise. Except I never hit the ground; I wake up instead. That Moment never happens, yet over and over, I wake, stunned, gasping, and bewildered at the authenticity of that chilling sensation.<br />
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There's also the Chasing dream. There's danger behind me, and I'm running for my life. Except my legs and arms can only move v e r y s l o w l y. Yet the person chasing me is still running in real time. I just can't run any faster (to save my life). It's as if a film editor accidentally superimposed a slow-mo action scene over a real-time scene. It toys with one's perspectives.<br />
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Thankfully, the frequency of these two types of dreams have decreased over the years.<br />
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What I have been having more in the recent years is the Facial Distortion dream. Hair falling out by the handfuls. Teeth of odd sizes or colors appearing in improbable places in my mouth. Ginormous zits sprouting where they don't belong. Being unable to remove my over-sized contact lenses from my strangely minuscule eyeballs. Yep, the <i>really weird stuff.</i> I'm either really vain or an overachieving hypochondriac.<br />
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Every now and then, I still get the Relive-the-Pain dream. Complete reenactments of childhood memories, like scenes from a familiar play, conjuring--with great artistry and precision--feelings of guilt, shame, and blame in me. I can be a child, an adult, or my current age in the dream, but all the raw feelings of my child-self still come flooding back. The mind remembers things in obscure ways: experiences from way back and deep down still pop up when one least expects them.<br />
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On a lighter note, I also occasionally have the Rejection-by-DH dream, whereupon I wake up mad at him because in my dream he had turned his back on me and walked away. I'm not sure how this gets into my head since that has never happened in real life. Like, ever. The poor guy wakes up facing an angry wife with a temper tantrum.<br />
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I've been told that I have a dramatic flair for defending (what I "think" is) reality.<br />
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Finally, there's the Just-Out-of-Grasp dream. Mouth-watering Peking duck on the table and <i>poof!</i> it's gone cuz I'm lying in my bed and there's no duck in it with me. Or the one where I'm about to get some sort of major recognition in front of a large crowd, and that glorious moment <i>pops </i>like a pin-pricked balloon because <i>oh, I just woke up.</i> I find myself in bed with no applause or glory. Only darkness and disappointment.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So close, yet so far away. Always </i><i>a moment too soon, or a second too late. </i><br />
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<br />
No doubt dreams are subconscious expressions of one's fears and anxieties, as well as ultimate desires and yearnings, as in Theo's case. Which makes me wonder: why don't we have more pleasant and happy dreams? I cannot think of one dream where I felt warm and happy, complacent and relaxed. (Okay, well, I did have the Baby-Moving-in-My-Belly dream, where I felt overjoyed re-experiencing the feeling of carrying a baby. But that happy feeling soon turned into an OMG-I-CanNOT-Be-Pregnant anxiety <i>and the happiness is all gone.</i>)<br />
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So, do we not have more positive dreams or do we only remember the negative ones? Is it because of our conscious suppression of negative thoughts during the day that land them in our subconscious dreaming in the night?<br />
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<br />
If Theo could control his dreams, he wouldn't be chasing his mother's absence. If I had my way, I would spend less time being a nervous wreck <i>in my sleep.</i><br />
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And eat lots of Peking duck.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1722828176120073793.post-87843702934873132122014-02-11T09:00:00.001-06:002014-02-11T09:00:49.189-06:00(Dis)Order<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of our most prized possessions is our collection of books. Ever since college, DH and I never hesitated to buy (albeit used) textbooks and books for pleasure reading (as opposed to renting or borrowing them). Even as starving college students, we'd forego new clothes and sometimes food, but paid for our books and kept them. Twenty plus years of books (except one box of lost books from our cross-country move, which, in fact, contained many of my Norton Anthologies, sigh) means there are bookshelves in every room in our house.<br />
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And they all possess a very special trait: <i>proper alignment.</i><br />
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Each book is aligned exactly the same distance from the edge of the bookshelf as another. All the books are flushed against an imaginary line about an inch into the shelf.<br />
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I realized DH had a compulsion for such (dis)order, among others, early on. I'd have a friend over who borrowed a book, and DH would know exactly which book it was with one glance on his bookshelf. That tiny little gap left between the neighbors of the missing book or the unevenness of any cluster of books would be all the clue he needed to know which book is gone.<br />
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This behavior was so amusing to me that there <i>may </i>have been occasions where every few books or so <i>got </i>pushed in all the way in to the back of the shelf. Cuz there'd be some serious reaction from <strike>a dorky mate</strike> the Love of My Life. Until I realized that I was the only one that thought it was funny. He really detested out-of-place books. And <i>anyone </i>who caused such disarray of his beloved books and bookshelves.<br />
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So the playfulness (on my part) got old and I quit teasing DH. But soon enough, the kiddos came along. Young DD learned very early on how quirky Daddy can be whenever his books were "disturbed." Years later, when DS was mobile and explored the bookshelves, DD would be quick to advise her baby brother not to touch the books. Of course, DS would always give a devilish look to his Daddy, push in a handful of books, and bust out a hearty belly laugh.<br />
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Even though he tortured his poor Daddy back then, look who's inherited the Orderly genes now.<br />
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It's also not a wonder why DS is our go-to person when we cannot find something in the house.<br />
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Over the years, I began to find things from which I craved order. Things that were lined up, symmetrical, or uniform appeared pleasing to my eyes and comforting to my mind. Straight edges and right angles gave me a sense of precision and security. Not that I didn't like creative and spontaneous brush strokes or freehand lines, but without the reference of a grid, I wouldn't be able to appreciate the genius of unstructured designs.<br />
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Which is why I utterly obsess over the art of knitting. The rows upon rows of perfect stitches is total joy for my eyes.<br />
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The process is methodical, yet can be creative based upon a set of basic stitches to make new designs. The final product is a piece of art, because each and every stitch is placed intentionally and perfectly to yield a pattern.<br />
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It is also probably why I love to to bake, as the precision in measurement is an integral part of the probability of a successful outcome. But with a basic recipe of stock ingredients, one can still exercise imagination and ingenuity by substituting or adding new ingredients. Again, chaos among order, creativity among structure.<br />
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Interestingly, DD has no signs of such compulsions whatsoever. She may have had some as a little girl, but all evidence points to the fact that she's outgrown it--she just does not need all her ducks lined up in a row. She is by no means very messy or totally disorganized, but she'd be the last person to find something in this house. In fact, she could be looking for something staring right at her and she'd declare--with absolute certainty--its non-existence. I'd say that she got more share of my genes in that department.<br />
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However.<br />
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Just the other day, I watched a child walk by a wall-to-wall bookshelf and push in books by the handful WITH.EACH.STRIDE. Every length of hair on my body stood up, and I tried, achingly, to hide the horrified look on my face. No one else in the room even noticed or had one ounce of reaction.<br />
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This is a fine example of nature versus nurture.<br />
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I've inherited DH's compulsion via <i>environmental institutionalization.</i><br />
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We are a hopeless bunch.<br />
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Except maybe for DD.<br />
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<i>Run, Daughter, run!</i><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><p> © copyright 2011-2019 – All rights reserved </p>
<a href=”http://www.letters-of-muse.com“>Letters of Muse</a></div>Sandrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16187306461239093068noreply@blogger.com14