Writer! Runner?

Day 13 of 31 at TWT!

Some of you know that I've been trying to be a runner. Or, if I'm using the same logic that Stacey Shubitz taught us years ago about being writers, I suppose I AM a runner. If a writer is a person who writes (as opposed to a "real" published writer), then a runner is a person who runs, right? And I run three times a week. Not particularly fast, and not particularly far, but I run.

I'm not sure why I can so easily call myself a writer but find it so hard to try on the identity of "runner".

Partly, it feels like I should be good at something in order to own that title. I know I'm good at writing. I've gotten feedback throughout my life that I'm good at writing in a variety of situations, so I know other people also believe I'm good at writing. Therefore, I'm a writer.

I'm not particularly good at running, although I'm not overly bad either. (In fact, I've even gotten encouraging feedback that I run like a runner!) But with running, I feel like I need to achieve some sort of objective accomplishment to claim the title of "runner". If I can run an __-minute mile, I'll be a real runner. If I I can run a 5K someday, I'll be a real runner. Right? Yet, I don't feel like I need to publish a book to call myself a writer. I don't tell myself that because I "only" write blog posts, I'm not a writer. I don't believe there's some sort of objective number of posts per week that I have to write in order to be a writer.

I don't do that with any other title I claim. I don't feel like I'm not a reader if I don't read a certain amount of pages every week. No matter what, I'm a marching band girl, even though the most we've participated in the Alumni Band lately is a couple of parades.

Ultimately, I think the difference is that writing has felt like a piece of my heart for so long that it really is an integral part of who I am. I pretty much can't not write. As long as I can remember, I've kept a notepad by my bed for those times when I wake up in the middle of the night with a burning idea that I JUST HAVE TO WRITE, right then. I often decide to write "just a short post" and find myself coming up for air an hour and a half later, shaking myself back into the real world like I've been in some kind of haze. I've always been a writer.

This running thing is new. It doesn't pull at my heart like writing does. I certainly don't wake up in the middle of the night with a sudden urge to go running! Sometimes, I look ahead and think, "Ugh, I have to run again tomorrow." But even as I think that, I'll flex my muscles and feel a slight pulse, like my legs and arms are saying, "Let's go!" I'll feel a little tightness in my muscles or notice them getting stronger and more defined, and I'll stand up a little straighter and walk with a little more pride, wishing I was wearing a sign that said "I'M A RUNNER NOW!" so everyone could see the small differences I feel. I'll start to feel bogged down with the stress of school and life and my thoughts will shift to, "Oh good, I'm running tomorrow!" as I anticipate that glorious clear-headed floating feeling that's an added bonus to just plain running the knots out.

So I suppose it pulls at my heart, but differently. I have to make myself run... but I sometimes have to make myself write, too! That just means it's hard, not that it's not part of who I am. It's a newer part of who I am, but I watch students become readers and writers in my class every year, and I don't discount their new identities. If I feel moved to write poetry about it, it has absolutely taken hold in my heart.

I write. I am a writer. I run. I am a runner.

Bouncing bee-boppers

Day 10 of 31 at TWT!

"Do you remember what we're going to do today?" It's 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday and a small person has scampered into our room, but I don't quite mind today.

A wider grin slowly creeps across Sweetie's face and she raises her eyebrows in expectation. "Go to the pancake breakfast!"

"That's right! And what will we do at the pancake breakfast?"

"Eat green syrup! With Granddaddy! I love Granddaddy!"

We choose our greenest clothes, bead necklaces, and "bee-boppers", grab warm coats and blankets for the parade, put on Irish songs in the car, and head down to my old middle school. "This was Mommy's school in two ways: Mommy was a student here and a teacher here!" So many memories always hit me when we walk through those doors, but today is really all about family traditions.

Oh boy, green syrup!

The breakfast is put on by the Lion's Club, so there's always a friendly lion!

She loves Irish songs so much I had to download a bunch after the Irish Festival this summer!

"A great big hat!"

What's coming now?

Bagpipes!

"Look, Granddaddy!"

"What was your favorite thing?" "The dragon!!!"

I've loved our town's St. Patrick's celebration for longer than I can remember, but it's so much sweeter to share it with a pair of bouncing bee-boppers on a little blonde head!

Stepping out of the past

Day 9 of 31 at TWT!

"I remember this room!" A cheerful voice from behind my shoulder pulls me out of responding to student work.

Spinning my chair around, I have to blink to make sure my eyes are really seeing what they thought they saw: I am greeted by an almost-ghost: one of my former students from nearly 6 years ago, my first year teaching ELLs. "Oh my gosh! How ARE you?!" His first name pops into my head almost instantly, but I don't want to mess up, and my brain is spinning excessively, so I hold off for a minute as I scan him to figure out what on earth he's doing here.

"I'm working as an interpreter now! I had a meeting here, and I figured I'd stop by!" Taller, skinnier, exuding more confidence and insight than I ever would have imagined back then... but that slightly ornery twinkle is still hiding in the corner of his eye.

I wasn't sure this kid would make it. He was so sweet, but would barely do any work. He failed the last quarter of my class that year, and you have to try pretty darn hard to fail my class. The next fall, I found out he'd moved out of state over the summer, and I figured that was it. Now, here he was, all grown up into a young man with an agency interpreter ID badge around his neck. Did he really make it through high school?

"So you're back around here? I remember you'd moved to Georgia, right? How do you like being back?"

He talks enthusiastically about his interpreter job, then explains that he's been back here for just a few months and just started working at a local restaurant with another of my former students. "She said you come there a lot, so I knew you were still here, and after my meeting, I thought I'd see if you were down here!"

"I'm so glad you stopped in, R.!" I slip in his name now to make sure he knows I remember. How do I gently find out what I really want to know? "So, are you taking classes or anything?"

He sighs. "I actually dropped out of high school down there. I made it to my junior year, but money was tight, and I had to choose between school and work... I chose work. Besides, I was failing. I didn't want to do any schoolwork." Yep, that's the kid I was worried about. "You know, here, I felt like I had teachers pushing me to keep going. But down there, nobody cared. If I wanted to just sit in class and sleep, that was my choice, they told me."

"I'm sorry, R." If he would have stayed here, would we have gotten him through? I'm trying to reconcile that struggling kid with the mature young man standing in front of me. "But you've obviously have made some good choices to get yourself to where you are now!"

"Everything was so expensive there! My brother and I were working two construction jobs, and there still wasn't enough at the end of the month. So I came back here, and now I have my own apartment, and I'm doing mostly medical interpreting. I'm trying to study these manuals with only a 10th-grade education. But I really like it. These people, their stories are always different. The reason they call is the same, but what led to their need is always something different!"

His brother... "That's great! I'm so proud of you! How is G., anyway?"

His smile disappears. "You're not going to like this..." he looks sideways. "He turned into a drug addict. He's got all these tattoos all over now. If you saw him, you wouldn't even recognize him."

I put my hand over my mouth. "Oh, R! I'm so sorry." Out of the two of them, I thought his brother was the one who'd end up being successful. He had his rough spots, but he seemed so much more driven.

"I'm the only one who came back. My mom and everyone else are still down there. It's hard, because I'm alone, but I'm getting along."

My heart is starting to shred itself. That chubby, ornery kid, all grown up by things too hard to bear, doing his very best in spite of it all. One of my colleagues is at the door, waiting to update me on a new student, so I have to say goodbye to this almost-ghost from a past that seems very long ago to me, but probably so much longer ago to him. "I'm so glad you stopped by. You should be so proud of everything you're doing. I'll see you at the restaurant sometime soon!"

The rest of the night, I keep remembering snippets that year: him asking if I liked "kids like [them]",  discovering that "reading a book is just like watching TV", joking and making our class more fun. Me diving into the world of ELL, shocked at how hard our students work just to get by, frustrated by just how daunting this job is, amazed at their resilience through unspeakable challenges, and trying to establish myself as a teacher of readers and writers. I've grown so much as a teacher since then, but some things never change: it's kids like him who are really teaching me.

A million times

Day 7 of 31 at TWT!

Fingers splayed, scrawny arms locked straight and opened wide, straining against her carseat straps, M&M's eyes crinkle as a huge grin displays her perfect teeth. I've just flipped back my seat to reach across and let her out of the car, but instead I find myself climbing into the backseat. Who could resist those outstretched little arms?

"Mmmm, I love you, Mommy! I love you a million times!" she squeals, yanking my neck to smush my head against her face. "I miss you when you're at work!"

"Awww, I love you too, Sweetie! And I miss you when I'm at work!" I pat her soft hair, close my eyes, breathe deeply to capture the scent of watermelon shampoo, and relish her little wriggles as she continues murmuring, "Mmm, I love you!"

Later, as I'm halfway through dinner, the clattering of toy kitchen tools, balls, and musical toys comes to an abrupt halt. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. "Who wants a sticker?"

"Oh, I would love a sticker!" I keep stirring the ground beef that's browning on the stove.

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. A blonde blur presses a crinkly rectangle against my hip. Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. "Who would like another sticker?"

"Oh boy, sure! I love stickers!"

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. (Whoever coined the phrase, "the pitter-patter of little feet" had never met my daughter. She only has one speed, and it does not result in a soft pitter-patter!) Little fingers smooth another rectangle onto my back.

By the time the shepherd's pie is in the oven, I'm a masterpiece of My Little Pony-themed modern art.

"I gave you lots of stickers 'cause you love stickers!" She is so proud to be able to make me happy. I'm so proud that she's so sweet.

Well decorated... I ended up discovering 12 when I peeled them off just now!

"I love you, Mommy! I love you a million times!"

Rising strong anyway

Day 6 of 31 at TWT!

Last night I went running instead of blogging. On purpose. I did not write, on only the 5th day of the March Challenge. I chose not to write.

That's a big deal for me, the ultimate perfectionist. To make a conscious decision to not be perfect. I was perfect for the first 3 Marches I blogged. Then, when I was pregnant with my daughter, I was decidedly not perfect. I just couldn't be, for a variety of reasons, and that was hard. However, I did write 14 posts and ended up feeling proud of myself anyway, because it was much better than not trying at all.

The next March, when she was 10 months old, I somehow managed to be perfect again! I have no idea how I pulled that off! It seems so impossible that I actually didn't remember doing it until I looked at my archives today to see how many posts I'd written the past few Marches. Did I seriously blog for 31 days in a row with a baby while still teaching full-time? I apparently did, because there they all are! (Clearly, that whole year was such a whirlwind that I have no recollection of that accomplishment though, so...)

Then there was last year. We won't even talk about last year. 9 posts total, and none in March. (I also didn't remember that until I looked back at my archives... how did I not even manage to write a single post all month?! How on earth did I talk to my students about writing if I wasn't doing it myself? I mean, I know it was a rough time, but yikes!)

And here we are, in 2018. Could I have written a post last night and pushed myself to write every single day this March? Yes, but I chose balance instead.

To write last night, I would have had to miss out on:

• reading and responding to incredible student slices and sending them out for our staff to read
• spending quality time with Little Sweetie before dinner ("Mommy, can we read this book together? Mommy, can you play with me? Mommy, can we snuggle on the snuggle couch and watch Daniel Tiger? ")
• running (and therefore feeling like SuperGirl!)
• a glorious bubble bath after running
• texting my best friend to support him through a challenge, as he has for me so many times
• snuggling up to Husband to scroll through the photos of Sweetie that my mom posted while we were at work
• enough sleep (honestly, this still didn't even quite happen!)

Could I have written, and missed some of that? Yes. Would it have been worth it? No way.

One of my colleagues loves to say that being elite is being the best version of you. In a discussion after school today, he reminded a group of us again that if you are seriously doing everything you can to be your best, then you are working to be elite. It's not about outside markers of success or how you compare to other people. It's about doing your work relentlessly, to be incrementally better every day, not just in one part of your life, but in all the parts that matter most.

So I'm not perfect this year, but I am doing my absolute best. And that's actually better than when I was perfect.

Right now, my best is to make time for writing every day that I can do it without sacrificing something else essential. To avoid the trap of perfectionism and roll all of my "one little words" from the past few years together: to LOVE hard and stay STRONG, ANYWAY, and to RISE in all areas of my life.

Finding their voices

Day 4 of 31 at TWT! 

"So we can write about anything?" Gears are obviously turning in D.'s head as she stares at her blank heart map.

I grin. "Pretty much! Anything about your life or a topic that's important enough to you that it's part of your life!"

"What about a political topic? Like, there are wars some places that nobody cares about, like Venezuela and Palestine?"

I nod, knowing that even though she lived in Jordan for a longer time, Palestine is closest to her heart. "Of course! This is a chance for you to tell those stories and make your voices heard!"

This year, as my students started brainstorming ideas for the Slice of Life Challenge, I shared a few of my favorite quotes about writing, including this one from Neil Gaiman: "Tell your story. Don't try and tell the stories that other people can tell... But as quickly as you can, start telling the stories only you can tell -- because there will always be better writers than you, there will always be smarter writers than you, but you are the only you."

And wow, have they taken that to heart right away! Often, it takes awhile before anyone writes a truly courageous, serious post, and students are usually reluctant to publish publicly instead of just within our class.

Not this year! Not only do these students have stories truly only they can tell, they are not afraid to share them! S. has followed up her first poignant post about life in Syria (you know, the one that had me sobbing at my desk!) with a riveting cliff-hanger that makes me keep refreshing my feed to see if she's written another post yet. (She's actually drafting it as I write this, but I won't peek until she publishes it!) M. shared his family's memories of the dictatorship in Argentina. D. made her love for Palestine come alive in an alluring description of Jerusalem.

Sometimes it takes days or weeks to get some momentum going for this challenge. Some years, it honestly never really seems to take hold deeply at all, or only a few students really run with it. Many years, I'm excited if one or two students post on the weekends. This weekend, with only two school days of the challenge under their belts, 6 different students have written or drafted a total of 11 posts! The rising tide of student comments from earlier in the semester is still going strong, and a variety of colleagues have left heartfelt words of encouragement, too!

More than any other year, these students are finding their voices. And their voices are incredible.

S.'s reply to my comment on her 1st post... this is why I teach!

D.'s comment to S.'s 2nd post about the war in Syria

S.'s comment to M.'s post about the dictatorship in Argentina

Those who are shocked and incredulous about the Parkland students' gun-reform initiative must not have spent much time getting to know teenagers. Teenagers are resilient, hopeful, determined, and all-around amazing, especially once they realize the power of their own voices. I'm proud and honored to work with them every day, and I'm so excited to go to school tomorrow and encourage them to keep sharing their stories!

(If you'd like to leave comments for my students, please do so! Just don't be scared when they seem to disappear -- I just have to approve them!)

Belief and bravery

Day 3 of 31 at TWT!

"Mrs. M, can you come read this?" H. is staring at a draft on his Chromebook.

"Sure, what's up? Is there a certain part you'd like me to look at?"

"Um..." He hesitantly waves his hand across the whole screen. "I just want you to see if it's ok to post..."

"What?! H?!" I grin incredulously. "Why?! I'm sure it's fine! You're an awesome writer!"

"Well, it's just different than most other things I've written, and I don't know... Maybe it's confusing or something..." His voice trails off.

I peek over his shoulder to scan the first few lines, smiling at the flow of his usual strong, creative voice. Imperfect grammar, as is often the case, but not to the point of distraction or interference with meaning. "You're a good writer. Go ahead and publish it!" I nudge his elbow with mine and circulate back to another part of the room.

Later, as we're transitioning to the next activity, I notice that his Chromebook is still open, with that draft still sitting there. "H! You still didn't publish that? Push that button!"

"I, um..."

His squad leader D. leans across the table, smoothing her hijab. "What's going on?"

"H. is having trouble convincing himself to publish his post."

"You're such a good writer!" she exclaims, eyes lighting up. "Before I knew you [we've only been in these squad groups this semester], when Mrs. M would have us leave comments, I'd always look for your posts first! I don't know why, I mean..." She takes a deep breath, as if momentarily realizing that this is not the kind of thing most high schoolers say to each other, but then plunges ahead. "Your writing is really fun to read!"

He shifts in his seat, then reaches toward his Chromebook. "Really?"

"See?!" I grin at him, then turn to D. with an overflowing heart. I can't believe she just said that! I love these kids, and I love what blogging does for our classroom community. "Thank you for those kind words, D. That was really nice of you."

I open my stance to address the whole class. "You guys don't need me to tell you that your writing is ok. Be brave! Put it out there!" But then I fix my eyes back on H. "But sometimes I'm scared to hit that publish button, too! I still have days that I have to sit and stare at the screen for awhile, take some deep breaths, and talk myself into pushing that button! It's a big deal, sharing your words with the world! But it's also really awesome."