tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10896373374120505962024-03-13T10:25:42.279-04:00I hablo espanglishTeaching and Learning in Spanish and EnglishJenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.comBlogger494125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-812214613331025252023-03-31T21:08:00.003-04:002023-03-31T21:39:50.713-04:0062 pestañas<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6ga-0qOio26VALCNyL270oZ-90veprhpaYYQOq7Xpl78f1N_JfrL4TjgsN9GsABR48tDEc2luCazzaJ-IBAYcD1_Nq-HISbxONd5epXDzHVQkRQ66zDSQlxkz9q-FdCQ_FZ6DCjxKwoQaKYbSaUpJqovlKzLsbGea4aqh95g5XvlrQa9scT_LoUUJw/s960/MultiFri.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6ga-0qOio26VALCNyL270oZ-90veprhpaYYQOq7Xpl78f1N_JfrL4TjgsN9GsABR48tDEc2luCazzaJ-IBAYcD1_Nq-HISbxONd5epXDzHVQkRQ66zDSQlxkz9q-FdCQ_FZ6DCjxKwoQaKYbSaUpJqovlKzLsbGea4aqh95g5XvlrQa9scT_LoUUJw/w200-h150/MultiFri.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We write in our other languages on Fridays!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RCwklimklKZpyx8sh9nfBxO4B65tMEfb7qMAHvJMR8O9GBazHT-5XKZ5R-FPsosb-cVcc8AT3fesZ9wZSCqFRXABPX-9NnvifHr742qLuh58hGbYHA-bIAYFU704HWO8b3SQb8HNUqwg2A9E6M3W2R8HNj3XIwXF656AhT-mR707yGbmVA8LyvIPvQ/s201/slicelogo.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RCwklimklKZpyx8sh9nfBxO4B65tMEfb7qMAHvJMR8O9GBazHT-5XKZ5R-FPsosb-cVcc8AT3fesZ9wZSCqFRXABPX-9NnvifHr742qLuh58hGbYHA-bIAYFU704HWO8b3SQb8HNUqwg2A9E6M3W2R8HNj3XIwXF656AhT-mR707yGbmVA8LyvIPvQ/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/31/day-31-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 31 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>El último día de marzo. El treinta y uno. El último día del desafío. <i>¿Qué escribiré hoy?</i></p><p>Me siento un poco raro porque no escribí cada día. Tomé un descanso de ocho días durante la semana de las vacaciones de primavera, y aunque <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/prefix-power.html" target="_blank">estoy contenta con esa decisión</a>, me hace sentir un poco fuera de lugar hoy. No llevo conmigo ese sentido de ímpetu, de orgullo, de celebración. Por eso, no escribiré ni una reflexión ni una entrada de festejo, aunque sí estoy satisfecha con mi experiencia durante este desafío y las 23 entradas que he escrito. </p><p>Tampoco quiero escribir un cuento corto de algo que me pasó hoy. <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/idea-waterfall.html" target="_blank">No me faltan ideas posibles</a>: </p><p>Podría escribir del almuerzo especial cuando me reuní con mi hija mayor y mi esposo para comer juntos un camión de tacos en la escuela de la hija (que se encuentra al lado de la mía), y le introduje a ella a la riqueza del agua de jamaica, que a ella le gustó tanto que se lo tragó por completo y tuve que comprar otro para mí. (- ¡Es el mejor almuerzo que nunca! - proclamó ella varias veces.) </p><p>Y podría escribir de nuestra noche de película, cuando vimos <i>Tinker Bell: Secret of the Wings</i> y las dos hijitas se conmovieron tanto cuando Tinker Bell y su hermana recién descubierta tuvieron que separarse que casi no podíamos continuar con la película. (- ¡No quiero separarme de Sis nunca! - gritó Arco Iris, brincando de una esquina al otro antes de esconder su rostro en mi regazo.)</p><p>O podría escribir de mi orgullo y regocijo cada viernes cuando veo <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/magical-words.html" target="_blank">la participación de varias personas en MultiLit Friday</a>, y sé con certeza que he hecho algo especial, he marcado para siempre esta comunidad y las experiencias de estas personas, porque <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/creo-en-mi.html" target="_blank">tuve la valentía de preguntar </a>si podríamos ofrecer esta oportunidad de afirmar y honrar el multilingüismo cada semana.</p><p>Pero, no sé por qué, no me apetece por completo ninguna de estas ideas. Entonces, sin saber qué escribiré, abro mi ordenador. (¿el español de España otra vez, se notan? jaja) Abro Chrome, con mis pestañas tras pestañas de planes y actividades para mis estudiantes. Intento no mirar al trabajo que me queda, que me sobra, y abro otra ventana con mi cuenta personal. </p><p>La ventana se abre en blanco. Sin pensar, abro Gmail y Blogger. Creo una entrada nueva, y, cómo no puedo decidir qué escribir, abro Two Writing Teachers. <i>Quizás visitaré a las otras personas que han escrito algo para MultiFri, y escribiré una entrada sobre la alegría de leer sus entradas</i>... me digo... cuando, de repente, me doy cuenta: <i>¡MIS PESTAÑAS!</i> </p><p>¡<i>Ya debo tener abierto Two Writing Teachers en mis pestañas! ¡Y todas las entradas interesantes que quiero leer un día de estos!</i> Me apresuro al historial, antes de que se limpie. </p><p><i>Historial...</i> busco rápidamente con los ojos la colección de pestañas... 62 pestañas. <i>¡Allí está!</i> Antes de hacer clic, miro dos veces. <i>¡¿62 pestañas?! ¡¿Sesenta. y . dos. pestañas?! ¡¿SESENTA. Y DOS?! ?¿Realmente he dejado abierto sesenta y dos pestañas abiertas? </i>Sé que tres son Gmail, Blogger, y Two Writing Teachers. Pero todas las demás son las entradas muy interesantes que he encontrado en la colección de enlaces cada día de marzo, y que me han sobrado después de visitar los tres que más he querido leer, dejando las otras por otro día - cuando tenga más tiempo-. <i> ¿Realmente he dejado pendiente 59 entradas para leer otro día, en mi optimismo eternal? </i>Me río, casi a carcajadas. Sabía que tenía unas cuantas entradas que quería leer... pero... ¿sesenta y dos? Entrecierro los ojos y examino las pestañas. Además de las tres al principio, he dejado también mi blog con la entrada de ayer publicada, y al final, encuentro el tesauro. Pero, sí, las otras 57 son las entradas muy interesantes que leeré un día de estos. Me río otra vez. Cincuenta y siete entradas abiertas que me han sobrado después de dejar comentarios en tres entradas cada día de los veintidós que he escrito antes de hoy. </p><p>Quiero calcular. Al menos 3 entradas leídos cada día (sé que a veces leí cuatro), por 22 días... son al menos 66 entradas de las que ya me he disfrutado... ¡y todavía me sobran 57! ¡Casi igual! ¡Me tomaría otro mes para leerlas, en vez de un día! Una carcajada sí me escapa ahora. </p><p>Entonces, si no he dejado un comentario para ti en una entrada particularmente interesante, hay una posibilidad bastante buena que tu entrada se encuentra entre mis muchísimas pestañas. No sé si acabaré leyendo todas o si algún día decidiré darme por vencida y cerrarlas, pero sé una cosa con certeza: me encanta esta comunidad. </p><p>Me encanta escribir con Uds. Me encanta leer lo que han escrito. Me encanta echar un vistazo a sus vidas y presentarles la mía. Me encanta notar las estrategias de escritura que han utilizado y jugar con las palabras, experimentado con lo que aprendido y dándome el reto de mejorar un poco cada vez que escribo.</p><p> Y sobre todo, me encanta el apoyo y la amistad que he encontrado con Uds. </p><p>¡Feliz fin de marzo! ¡Feliz día final! Feliz Multi-Lit Friday. Les veo los martes, <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/visiting-neighbors.html" target="_blank">vecinos</a>, les prometo este año. </p><p><i>(¡Mira, he escrito una celebración y una reflexión, después de todo!)</i></p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-11867857922908809822023-03-30T20:45:00.011-04:002023-03-30T20:54:17.883-04:00Salamander stories<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-miWAZ1n-gxl2pyI0AhQDEnKQC51DFcH0L9-b_DsL8GYeGlmChqmduVXXQ7k5zfT1uK_V0xK_6O6mHLkp6ZIfB0ED8oNQ9ws8MloF039ZkmPCDFZV3TC31MS_CNTRz5r0xNgl8ApTfom5_obS4GA3wtHzcjRZqwbTwBINJFtf9ncqIuo3YNU9fSkYw/s201/slicelogo.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-miWAZ1n-gxl2pyI0AhQDEnKQC51DFcH0L9-b_DsL8GYeGlmChqmduVXXQ7k5zfT1uK_V0xK_6O6mHLkp6ZIfB0ED8oNQ9ws8MloF039ZkmPCDFZV3TC31MS_CNTRz5r0xNgl8ApTfom5_obS4GA3wtHzcjRZqwbTwBINJFtf9ncqIuo3YNU9fSkYw/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/30/day-30-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 30 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"... and we got to TOUCH a salamander! We had to put water on one finger with a magic spray bottle!" Rainbow Girl gestures wildly, eyes bright and wide, in full story-telling mode. Her declarative tone of voice almost matches the grand reading voice she always uses when reciting books she's memorized, but with slightly more pep to it. "My teacher... the worker... the teacher..." she pauses, not quite sure how to describe the person leading the MetroPark program, then dives back in at full speed. "... told me they don't have teeth, so they can't hurt us!" She leans forward with a big grin, crinkling her eyes and curling her shoulders inward. <div><br /></div><div>"Wow! That sounds really special!" I lean across the corner of the kitchen table and kiss her on the cheek. "What did it feel like?"</div><div><p>"Slimy!" She sits bolt upright in her chair. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51f3Kqe_LJYRNG6VazHOrJZfRGTgKsQp8_FfrmPefXA742zd5qz1Q5Gn4LEfZ-8ZrUGmi9obB0-5dfzDU9E3x0mW4bnQYcMn76cd-HKAzhD_QmDz1J48gfBOXypL-Y_8xBpWsqg9eduRwri7eQBn0f8ayDfldw54jNjyt9tnPHpi8jBbSbu4CByaUqw/s1334/IMG_3961.PNG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1334" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51f3Kqe_LJYRNG6VazHOrJZfRGTgKsQp8_FfrmPefXA742zd5qz1Q5Gn4LEfZ-8ZrUGmi9obB0-5dfzDU9E3x0mW4bnQYcMn76cd-HKAzhD_QmDz1J48gfBOXypL-Y_8xBpWsqg9eduRwri7eQBn0f8ayDfldw54jNjyt9tnPHpi8jBbSbu4CByaUqw/s320/IMG_3961.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">touching the salamander! (picture from our nanny)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>"And what did you learn about salamanders?"</p><p>"Hmmm," she taps her pointer finger on her chin repeatedly in the exaggerated "thinking" gesture that she's developed over the past few months. We're not sure where it came from, but it's hysterical. "They have bones!" she announces with rather more excitement than I'd expect from that fact. "Like us!!!"</p><p>"Ohh," Husband, Sis, and I grin at each other across our plates of spaghetti. "Cool!"</p><p>"AND we MADE a salamander!" </p><p>Sis grabs the paper pile in front of her. "Ooh, is this it? Hi, Sally!"</p><p>"NOOOO!" Rainbow Girl screeches. "HIS NAME IS CUTEY!!!" She snatches the paper and cradles them in her arms. </p><p>"He's a little shy," she coos. She pats the paper salamander and starts sliding him inside the 3D paper log that was under him. "He's going to bed!" she informs us, slipping him almost all the way into the log before dipping her head down to gently kiss his green paper head. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-QP_hVLMZ1TDhKJt9-4HhReD1VD2snUwZnR6hSjsc7AiAxn0wtDlsPc1VA-5kkDw7adnvgEaQCkqlyumcASz1riCcOpWw9Lih-HHGEZ81kQ8wysO84vHG9MgzzD1V4Axt2W-6MayEhZ070g5e5cbrrcXlMXaYFzBad44zYa_tKJ9KjxRyZ8cbJW4g/s4032/IMG_3989.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-QP_hVLMZ1TDhKJt9-4HhReD1VD2snUwZnR6hSjsc7AiAxn0wtDlsPc1VA-5kkDw7adnvgEaQCkqlyumcASz1riCcOpWw9Lih-HHGEZ81kQ8wysO84vHG9MgzzD1V4Axt2W-6MayEhZ070g5e5cbrrcXlMXaYFzBad44zYa_tKJ9KjxRyZ8cbJW4g/s320/IMG_3989.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sliding Cutey into his log</td></tr></tbody></table><p>"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to slee-ee-ee-ee-eeeeep," she softly croons to the tune of Brahm's lullaby. "Go to sleep, close your eyes, go to slee-ee-ee-ee-eeeeep!" She tenderly pats the paper log.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0sSTPonGI8VLhkunn2oSqtim8SHBnVKehIj22z9-5uAlYq8kz8N6mdKeYjReCYjH4SvSiwnE5aa-RJxJY2DaOOOsGtgDkgOQDNTXCJ53j3IE5r22Q0kdNdMN8HR6JAabiHsSZoXEs4IZsZb6UffJQ3ixubJ3h9ETmIpZFw2vTwpfb0OcEpvj3o1RjA/s988/IMG_4019.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="723" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0sSTPonGI8VLhkunn2oSqtim8SHBnVKehIj22z9-5uAlYq8kz8N6mdKeYjReCYjH4SvSiwnE5aa-RJxJY2DaOOOsGtgDkgOQDNTXCJ53j3IE5r22Q0kdNdMN8HR6JAabiHsSZoXEs4IZsZb6UffJQ3ixubJ3h9ETmIpZFw2vTwpfb0OcEpvj3o1RjA/s320/IMG_4019.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">singing him to sleep! <3</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Abruptly, she announces, "You can touch him, but you have to get your finger wet. Here's some Magic Spray!" She brings his log to the couch and directs each of us, pumping her tiny finger to squirt us with an imaginary spray bottle. "One finger!" She slides him partway out of the log, tapping him with her dainty finger to show us how. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95ZXd6kMlOyY74tpYy8hZrhZXzD1RBfoNrZasTWwFtkboH-OKV5bCsktbvBksZJW9291BAyQnXAvRVF6SuxuHBxm2Draivn4NJyD6ZKn_zyZraOqN4tmM8Glf8jFOek30PJ4TME3j2p15zMi4AAFgSd_6lKfeKCNpxCLpuR045KRswnLp42LGw63IjQ/s4032/IMG_3999.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95ZXd6kMlOyY74tpYy8hZrhZXzD1RBfoNrZasTWwFtkboH-OKV5bCsktbvBksZJW9291BAyQnXAvRVF6SuxuHBxm2Draivn4NJyD6ZKn_zyZraOqN4tmM8Glf8jFOek30PJ4TME3j2p15zMi4AAFgSd_6lKfeKCNpxCLpuR045KRswnLp42LGw63IjQ/s320/IMG_3999.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my turn!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A few minutes later, it's time for bed. Cutey and his log have to come up and participate in the whole bedtime routine, of course. She and Sis brush their teeth with "sala-paste", and then Cutey gets his own turns reading pages from <i>Llama Llama, Red Pajama </i>in her toddler bed. She makes him crawl out of the log to read his pages, then tucks him back in when he's finished.</p><p>"Can he stay with me???" she pleads, blue eyes large, when she's had her bedtime sips of water.</p><p>"You might smush and wrinkle him if he slept with you," I contend, "but he could sleep beside your bed, with giant Minnie Mouse!" </p><p>She carefully chooses a place for him on the floor, but then decides that he needs to fly and rock with us. This is my first time rocking with a paper friend, but after rocking, she finally does settle him back in the spot she chose beside her bed, leaning down with one arm to pat him like she often does with Minnie. </p><p>"Meemaw and Granddaddy will be SO SURPRISED to see a PAPER SALAMANDER tomorrow!" she proclaims, wiggling with excitement.</p></div>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-62592521908783221792023-03-29T20:52:00.000-04:002023-03-29T20:52:18.659-04:00Slices of this day<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_cbEEY-RwnKytYuRLuFosIthpYpYWtFXs-sxZsE-6fMimkgHdFKw8cpOQRumUZkP8Q5ItmuD6cRT0pEUukIkblEqNch-6ivYbY_q5IP3q2T7KlvjJ27s4lSXAH7q-1un7mRYrry5_Vs6jRtiMqF4vQLBqRW5-RCFfRikZ7H3cBF-7wxf-bbQLASyYg/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR_cbEEY-RwnKytYuRLuFosIthpYpYWtFXs-sxZsE-6fMimkgHdFKw8cpOQRumUZkP8Q5ItmuD6cRT0pEUukIkblEqNch-6ivYbY_q5IP3q2T7KlvjJ27s4lSXAH7q-1un7mRYrry5_Vs6jRtiMqF4vQLBqRW5-RCFfRikZ7H3cBF-7wxf-bbQLASyYg/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/29/day-29-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 29 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>One of my favorite parts of the Slice of Life community is being inspired by other writers. Whether it's a unique craft move, a new format, or a story idea I connect to, I love discovering ways to improve as a writer, notice-r, thinker, and liver of life. </p><p>A couple of days ago, I enjoyed Sherri's post, "<a href="https://sherrisslice.wordpress.com/2023/03/27/sol-23-on-this-day-27/" target="_blank">On This Day</a>". It was so much fun to see her dive back into her past writing to catch glimpses of her life, on one certain date, over the years she's been blogging. It was striking to consider the enormity of time passing, the differences in life moments and writing ideas from year to year, and the accomplishment of participating in this challenge for years. Immediately, I was excited to dive back into my own past slices across time and see what I might find!</p><p>11 years ago, I was nearing the end of my very first March Challenge, after slicing on Tuesdays for about 6 months prior. On March 29, I wrote <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2012/03/los-profesores-aqui.html" target="_blank">the 3rd post in a series about a particular EL student</a>, and when I first re-read this post, I couldn't figure out which student I had written about, because I thought I was teaching EL at the time, but the story didn't match any students I remembered from my years at the first building I taught EL. Suddenly, I realized that this story was written back when I was still a Spanish teacher, and I got to help out with EL students at one of my schools for one period. <i>This was truly a lifetime ago.</i> Right away, I rocketed through a time tunnel, and I could see this student perfectly. Her whole story came rushing back to me. Little did I know then that she was just the first of so many incredible EL students with inspiring resilience that I would have the pleasure of learning with, learning from, and yes, teaching. What an amazing girl. </p><p>10 years ago, it was Spanish Friday, and <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2013/03/viernes-santo-las-procesiones.html" target="_blank">I remembered watching the Good Friday processions in Spain</a> years before. Now, I was teaching high school EL for the first year.</p><p>5 years ago, I skipped writing on this day, but the day before, I (ironically) wrote about <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2018/03/wrestling-with-writing.html" target="_blank">writing when it's hard</a>, and the day after, I wrote <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2018/03/esperando-sin-saber.html" target="_blank">another Spanish Friday post about the processions</a>. Now, I was an experienced EL teacher and a mom of 1, recovering from a year with two pregnancy losses and praying for a rainbow baby.</p><p>Last year, I wrote about <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2022/03/going-to-afghanistan.html" target="_blank">spending time with the Afghan refugee family</a> we met as part of our district's collaboration with a local refugee resettlement agency. Now, I was a mom of 2, living through a pandemic, teaching middle school EL for the first year after having taken a year off to keep my girls safe and healthy, and back to fully slicing every day in March.</p><p>This year, after having chosen to <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/prefix-power.html" target="_blank">take a break</a> from writing during my spring break, I'm enjoying the last few days of the challenge and looking forward to presenting the classroom challenge to my students. For the first time, I've gotten several colleagues to slice with me, and I happily churned away this afternoon pulling together my favorite resources for them to use if they decide to try the April challenge with their students. On my wrist, <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/woven-together.html" target="_blank">my new bracelet</a> reminds me how sweet my girls are and how much I love them.</p><p>So many slices. And on them, cherished comments from <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/visiting-neighbors.html" target="_blank">blogging friends old and new</a>. Such drastic change, and yet so many common threads. I love to teach. I love language. I love writing, even though it's hard. I love this slicing community. I love making a difference. And I love my family.</p><p>I can't wait to see what next year will bring.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-88061395866820857522023-03-28T20:41:00.001-04:002023-03-28T20:41:25.072-04:00Woven together<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaM_rSEDMkH0qm-w7c9i425oqAWxHwE10l2mUv3i8A89iXstlFqobM1QgJRy_xVfsNTivtj2hMgiCZhZxgrT7ksiwlUDD-3rFBvacrOfqkC6CThxMsGT_2AAdntwFvjsKcK81SI3uRSDP-mpK2xtbPGU9wq2xn6_-BXnRToB4TCLgSix9zTPy-nvZFw/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUaM_rSEDMkH0qm-w7c9i425oqAWxHwE10l2mUv3i8A89iXstlFqobM1QgJRy_xVfsNTivtj2hMgiCZhZxgrT7ksiwlUDD-3rFBvacrOfqkC6CThxMsGT_2AAdntwFvjsKcK81SI3uRSDP-mpK2xtbPGU9wq2xn6_-BXnRToB4TCLgSix9zTPy-nvZFw/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 28 of 31 at TWT!</td></tr></tbody></table>"How did I do last night?" Rainbow Girl, nestled in my arms, looks up at me expectantly. </p><p>"I was just going to tell you how great you did!" I make sure my voice is extra enthusiastic. "You talked for just a little bit, and then you went right to sleep!" (Lately, she's been talking and playing in her bed for over an hour after we put her down, and we've been trying to get it back down to a more reasonable amount of time.) I gently lay her in her toddler bed and pull up her covers around her. Leaning closer, I loud-whisper, "I think your new Mama-love bracelet helped!"</p><p>She nods vigorously, pulling her wrist up to her face and wrapping her other arm around it. "It kissed me! The Mama-love bracelet kissed me in the night! And hugggggged me!" Her big eyes crinkle in the duskiness. "And I kissed and hugged it!" She smushes her wrist against her cheek and squeezes it with her other arm. </p><p>Her eyes fly open wide and she half-sits up. "Can I kiss yourrrrs?"</p><p>"Of course! I would love that, Sweetie Pie!" I pat her head.</p><p>Moonlight glints off the tiny bronze heart bead as I extend my wrist towards her face, and I remember how she'd pointed out the shine yesterday afternoon when I surprised her and Sis with these matching bracelets. ("The heart is GOLD! It will SHINE in the dark!") Her tiny hands grasp my arm and tug it against her as she sweetly smooches my bracelet over and over. </p><p>"Mama love!" she sighs, and I slowly back my way out of her room after one last huggle, waving the "I love you" hand sign and blowing kisses like every night.</p><p>As I close her door, I glance at the pink strands on my wrist, just as I did often throughout school today. I picture the way she squealed and kissed her bracelet as soon as I pulled them out of the bag after school yesterday, the way she keeps announcing, "It's waterproof! Coo-wohl, right?" every time she washed her hands, and the way she carefully pulled up her sleeve just enough for the bracelet to peek out at bedtime. I remember her big sister happily declaring, "These bracelets are perfect, Mommy!" after school today. </p><p>I bought them so the girls would feel connected to me and each other through the last couple of months of school after spring break, but I'm sure feeling the magic in mine too. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Hearts sometimes apart</p><p style="text-align: center;">but always connected still,</p><p style="text-align: center;"> woven together.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Ba5DOrv4eFua-iiXv912GPWgtmYwroul9JcbCIKMFnJlx0nHKBH90lhWvT08cQ4wtJHxYNQD6M7FlbiCP2XR7h7SnYKkrjH-Hv4GSVvpMhyRdnbyRSCN8qKsrxtw8ArE4ox2s2e7GRb7ldHY3LrrJvQFuSiPIHTqs1vael7I2_Kb-nWHMETQ7UADLg/s691/IMG_0288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="691" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Ba5DOrv4eFua-iiXv912GPWgtmYwroul9JcbCIKMFnJlx0nHKBH90lhWvT08cQ4wtJHxYNQD6M7FlbiCP2XR7h7SnYKkrjH-Hv4GSVvpMhyRdnbyRSCN8qKsrxtw8ArE4ox2s2e7GRb7ldHY3LrrJvQFuSiPIHTqs1vael7I2_Kb-nWHMETQ7UADLg/s320/IMG_0288.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><3 <3 <3</td></tr></tbody></table>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-49070801120503753082023-03-27T20:49:00.004-04:002023-03-27T20:52:12.032-04:00Constructing a dance with language<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadT6eMqGxzS-R6elQb73QtbEd6wpYVYg7j39U6erUHydvylL4alr0PbkMr51AkqQSDW2doqATm0FJy54f50zoq59gU1o3KXbvT53DPUtEhAJra153a4byhJ4OMVkoQs2YIQegfuJJ0U7mT__cesyiwllWOJCBwpq6c9igQgFBUo2F2sGXYTjtB99BXg/s201/slicelogo.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadT6eMqGxzS-R6elQb73QtbEd6wpYVYg7j39U6erUHydvylL4alr0PbkMr51AkqQSDW2doqATm0FJy54f50zoq59gU1o3KXbvT53DPUtEhAJra153a4byhJ4OMVkoQs2YIQegfuJJ0U7mT__cesyiwllWOJCBwpq6c9igQgFBUo2F2sGXYTjtB99BXg/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 27 of 31 at TWT!</td></tr></tbody></table>"I'm a dancer! Will you be my audient?" Rainbow Girl's sweet little voice pipes up cheerfully to my husband as she hop-prances around the room. <p></p><p><i>Did she say "audient"?</i> I grin and lean closer. Husband starts explaining that he needs to get to work. </p><p>She tip-toe bounces over to me. "Mommy! Will YOU be an audient?" </p><p><i>She did! She said "audient!" And she even said "an" before it.</i> The language nerd in me is fascinated. At 4, she can read letters and is starting to try to sound out simple words, but of course she's never read the word "audience", only heard it. <i>She must imagine it as "audients", and knowing that an audience is a group of lots of people, she must've have concluded that 1 person watching someone do something is an "audient"! </i></p><p>I imagine more Lego-like building blocks just like <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/prefix-power.html" target="_blank">the prefixes I wrote about yesterday</a>: "Audients" = many - snap - "audient" = 1! A creative little builder with words, just like with her blocks and Magna-Tiles. <i>Wow. That is some truly brilliant language construction.</i></p><p>In front of me, she begins to twirl, leap, and kick, mixing imitations of her big sister's Irish dance moves with her own dainty whirls and swoops. And I, the <b>audient</b>, lean forward, rapt, trying to freeze this moment as she dances her way into the sweet girl she's becoming, one creatively constructed word at a time.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL49Hzd6Hy6mzEAMNGkG8M7Va57321Ualg3JeLojYO5RgyWYEvy16Y206UkczqaFS6KZ1nfh0cTh-hM99CuQRaOEHbzCHSrToq-3xmBZA29KCo5uPewvtDBvnMKjXeLSIvZ5NA9tKv3iaSMuI6DR74IGigc16uJiaY-UjgLXQSM5h4j76z0DX01vkJsQ/s2770/image%203.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2770" data-original-width="2078" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL49Hzd6Hy6mzEAMNGkG8M7Va57321Ualg3JeLojYO5RgyWYEvy16Y206UkczqaFS6KZ1nfh0cTh-hM99CuQRaOEHbzCHSrToq-3xmBZA29KCo5uPewvtDBvnMKjXeLSIvZ5NA9tKv3iaSMuI6DR74IGigc16uJiaY-UjgLXQSM5h4j76z0DX01vkJsQ/s320/image%203.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wouldn't you like to be an "audient" for this moment? <3</td></tr></tbody></table>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-22680331848789871152023-03-26T20:18:00.003-04:002023-03-26T20:18:24.888-04:00Prefix power<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggTQLds3vBKmbeMOJdx4eFyIL2--6JW8G0GzAX_TydCuqH-04LrvNKbIhVJDmk8RSLejNSG0N7D4qml6j5mZuQM49c0AcBrSauQLzxgLsdEzGElcg9oB6fCpRYsBKy8AtOw6y5DdK6eSIkhLjPlqKkHLHLhm_oXVeVyU4ONduF5voiiz7lpKUWkxrhEw/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggTQLds3vBKmbeMOJdx4eFyIL2--6JW8G0GzAX_TydCuqH-04LrvNKbIhVJDmk8RSLejNSG0N7D4qml6j5mZuQM49c0AcBrSauQLzxgLsdEzGElcg9oB6fCpRYsBKy8AtOw6y5DdK6eSIkhLjPlqKkHLHLhm_oXVeVyU4ONduF5voiiz7lpKUWkxrhEw/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 26 of 31 at TWT!</td></tr></tbody></table><i>What's today's date, anyway?! </i></p><p>I check my watch, recalling how many times I've asked myself the same question. </p><p>Just like those other moments throughout the week, I feel a slight twinge of emotion when I remember that if I'd chosen to keep writing every day, I'd certainly know what the date was, and I'd be feeling that unique, lung-and-heart-filling exhilaration-replacing-exhaustion pride of a runner pounding into the last lap or rounding the last corner. </p><p>I can't quite find the right word for whatever emotion it is that has come to me in these twinges. </p><p>It's not guilt or regret; I've felt completely at peace throughout spring break with my choice to take a break from writing during this break from school. Even though I love to write, my brain and heart were nudging me to disconnect during spring break, and I'm filled with a deep sense of calm about my decision to not touch my laptop for the past 8 days.</p><p>It's not disappointment or defeat; I've completed the full challenge so many years now that I don't feel I have anything to prove to myself, especially because this break was a choice, not a matter of missing days because I couldn't write. </p><p>It's not even quite a feeling of missing out; the timing of the break was perfect because I built up such great momentum for the first 17 days, and I know I can dip right back in to finish with a good stretch of 6 more in a row that will allow me to feel that rhythm of daily writing, commenting, and connecting. I even kept thinking like a writer in my 8 days "away", noticing potential slices and thinking about how I'd capture certain details, purposefully taking the kinds of photos I'd include in a slice.</p><p>It's more of a sense of disconnection, which, despite its many negative connotations, is not an entirely negative word. A little twinge of disconnection each time I realized I didn't know the date, knowing this community was still going, still writing, still commenting and connecting, without me. A much milder jolt of the surreal disconnection I felt when we'd visit Rainbow Girl in the NICU and time would just stop for us, although we knew the world was still going on outside. (That's a whole other post - or series of posts - on its own!) </p><p>Though I didn't have that word in mind specifically, I suppose disconnection is really what I was going for when I decided last Saturday to just not write for the duration of my spring break: a real break. As much as I love to write, thinking about opening my laptop felt like a slippery slope to thinking about school, and as much as I love teaching, it felt right to disconnect from school during this break. No laptop, no writing, no reading school books or blogs or articles. No Girl Scout work either. Just a happier version of our NICU bubble: special family fun time for nine whole days. (Rainbow Girl, who is just starting to understand time, finally understood last week that spring break was going to be nine days of having me and Sis at home, and kept track of which day we were on throughout the break!)</p><p>This break feels like a demonstration of the power of prefixes: it's so easy to add and remove these small word parts to completely change the meaning. And having participated in the SOLSC for so many years, I feel so comfortable in the power of this experience and this community that it really felt that easy to customize this year's experience: to add, remove, and change a few letters around the central element of this challenge: connection. </p><p>CONNECT with my writing life and friends new and old for 17 days in a row.</p><p>DISconnect for 8 days to connect with my family and the heart of my self, to rest, and to recharge.</p><p>RE-connect now, on the eve of returning to school, for 6 more days of writing and community. </p><p>Like a row of Legos, Magna-tiles, or snapping blocks: click, connect, snap apart, rebuild. </p><p>It fits just right.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-80676837857093762422023-03-17T21:24:00.000-04:002023-03-17T21:24:08.867-04:00Recuerdos verdes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2mGBPOpit43BQeGcT4pySLlge7sGei2NjP4coqmDo0y6EBnlHt9682JpXLhlc8bistMqIo5yC1-TBD2_RqvHpKYyf2Ss6EnIGxgbLRrwaqZEqjOKGuZpf9Yoiss3RlVhm7FmfMz5f5Htv7XYIXFHDehiPjNWr9v2vJrVIpRh2fkd65vQWjE4xGg9og/s960/MultiFri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2mGBPOpit43BQeGcT4pySLlge7sGei2NjP4coqmDo0y6EBnlHt9682JpXLhlc8bistMqIo5yC1-TBD2_RqvHpKYyf2Ss6EnIGxgbLRrwaqZEqjOKGuZpf9Yoiss3RlVhm7FmfMz5f5Htv7XYIXFHDehiPjNWr9v2vJrVIpRh2fkd65vQWjE4xGg9og/w200-h150/MultiFri.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We write in our other languages on Fridays! </td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hwNFJLOh4XbeKcuo4__jMGfCtgLxYE922udLf_8ujRDVQYFldieA_3xkHDhZ54dyEJHw-OII5kOaXkB7IHwd4TmAAGpmRq4r0XFsHaCGdOmj5Eu4bqNGGQEdLVaNa4RS8Puh7xYYC4S54EmtNe6-FUz8Sup-xw79Y4ZoDncJxaJRiZRHChU35IxNEw/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1hwNFJLOh4XbeKcuo4__jMGfCtgLxYE922udLf_8ujRDVQYFldieA_3xkHDhZ54dyEJHw-OII5kOaXkB7IHwd4TmAAGpmRq4r0XFsHaCGdOmj5Eu4bqNGGQEdLVaNa4RS8Puh7xYYC4S54EmtNe6-FUz8Sup-xw79Y4ZoDncJxaJRiZRHChU35IxNEw/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 17 of 31 at TWT!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>"<span style="font-family: courier;">Hoy tienes recuerdos...</span>" Estoy emocionada para hacer clic. Me encanta la herramienta "Recuerdos" y el hecho que varias aplicaciones en mi móvil (¿Uds. han notado que yo estudiaba en España? A mis estudiantes hispanohablantes siempre les parece raro mi uso de móvil, jeje.) me presentan fotos adorables del pasado cada día. Cada día, empiezo o termino el día viendo las fotos seleccionadas como recuerdos en las aplicaciones de Fotos y AmazonPhotos. Con frecuencia, comparto unas fotos en Facebook sólo porque quiero verlas como recuerdo en los años que vienen. Cuando no se me olvide, guardo tres fotos cada día en la aplicación HappyFeed para verlas más tarde también, especialmente porque tengo un widget con aleatorio de ellas de forma grande en la pantalla de inicio. </p><p>Como día festivo, tengo muchísimos recuerdos para ver hoy. Me sonrío mientras deslizo mi dedo hacia arriba:</p><p>Hace 12 años: Vestidas de rojo, mi mejor amiga de la universidad (quien se convirtió en mi "hermana pequeña") y yo desayunamos con <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2014/03/irish-roots.html" target="_blank">panqueques con jarabe verde con mi familia antes del desfile</a> de San Patricio de mi cuidad, en <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2012/03/very-green-tradition.html" target="_blank">una tradición de muchos años</a>. </p><p>Hace 11 años: Mi esposo y yo, con camisas verdes debajo de nuestras camisas rojas de Ohio State, nos sonreímos en Pittsburgh con una cancha de baloncesto al fondo. Antes, habíamos tocado nuestros instrumentos en un bar lleno de aficionados Buckeyes, como parte de un grupo de exalumnos de la banda de marcha. Recuerdo ese día como la primera (y única, hasta ahora) vez que escribí mi blog post un día antes y lo programé para publicar en el día correcto, para que sólo tenía que pegar el enlace en TwoWritingTeachers en ese día tan ocupado. </p><p>Hace 8 años: He escrito una noticia que aprobé la prueba de tolerancia a la glucosa de tres horas, en mi embarazo con Sweetie, después de pasar todo el día antes <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2015/03/by-my-side.html" target="_blank">enferma</a>.</p><p>Hace 5 años: Cenamos con Sweetie en un restaurante nuevo (que ahora no existe) con ropa verde, leche verde, y un espectáculo de danza irlandesa, después de una mañana típica de <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2018/03/bouncing-bee-boppers.html" target="_blank">jarabe verde y el desfile</a>. </p><p>Hace 4 años: Ahora somos cuatro en casa, y nuestra bebé del arco iris descansa en mis brazos mientras todos, vestidos de verde, intentamos atrapar copos de nieve con las lenguas, cocinamos un postre verde, y descasamos juntos en casa. </p><p>Hace 3 años: Escribo que tuve éxito en el primer día cuidando a las hijas durante el día y preparando lecciones en casa para mis estudiantes hasta las diez de la noche (jaja, esa hora resultó ser temprano por esos meses) al principio de la pandemia. Ah, ¡qué optimista era! No sabía que <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2020/03/circle.html" target="_blank">no volvería a ver a esos estudiantes nunca</a>, ni trabajar en esa escuela jamás. No sabía que tres años después, todavía estaríamos intentando esquivar ese virus maldito.</p><p>Hace 2 años: Durante nuestro año en casa, Sweetie se sonríe mientras Rainbow Girl llora porque no quería posar para una foto. Pero consigo unas fotos adorables después cuando se abrazan jugando al aire libre durante un paseo en bici, y Sweetie captura su primer duende irlandés en <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/looking-for-leprechauns.html" target="_blank">la primera trampa que construyó</a>. También habíamos <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/another-first-time.html" target="_blank">visitado el zoológico para la primera vez</a> desde el inicio de la pandemia, una visita tan especial que escribí <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/flippy-floppy-fun-new-friends.html" target="_blank">varias entradas</a> sobre la alegría y <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/never-had-it-before.html" target="_blank">la emoción de Rainbow Girl</a>, <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/pandemic-girl.html" target="_blank">la niña que creció con la pandemia</a>. </p><p>El año pasado: Llevando una mascarilla de unicornios y el uniforme de su escuela de danza irlandesa, Sweetie baila en dos espectáculos para los eventos de San Patricio de nuestra ciudad. Rainbow Girl la imita, intentando bailar también mientras miramos a Sweetie y sus compañeros. Sweetie, la mejor hermana mayor del mundo, <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2022/03/irish-i-love-you.html" target="_blank">lanza un señal de mano especial</a> hacia Rainbow Girl mientras baila. Las chicas atrapan un duende adicional. </p><p>Tantos recuerdos, tantos trozos de mi vida guardados en fotos y palabras. </p><p>Hoy, las niñas han capturado los duendes irlandeses nuevos con sus trampas mejoradas. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zXTpFVDXHN5NDoyOgR3_CeS6ecghsZDlBspxAAFUb9mg6eQOaZRVSKMjrmQcX5N8AhoglJif9ntlLIm3mkApAo7ivoGzkfadBIkHAjmDcrd8w7YovWWnKS6dMUWbkAJUmj_IjKFH8gOTyU6QlAPtkZMo8gqYQBZ9YOQLza0ZZ7htCSCW3rzKyG0uiw/s4032/IMG_2726.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zXTpFVDXHN5NDoyOgR3_CeS6ecghsZDlBspxAAFUb9mg6eQOaZRVSKMjrmQcX5N8AhoglJif9ntlLIm3mkApAo7ivoGzkfadBIkHAjmDcrd8w7YovWWnKS6dMUWbkAJUmj_IjKFH8gOTyU6QlAPtkZMo8gqYQBZ9YOQLza0ZZ7htCSCW3rzKyG0uiw/s320/IMG_2726.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><p>Imagínense qué aparecerá en nuestros recuerdos en los años que vienen.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-29102243678200613132023-03-16T20:52:00.001-04:002023-03-16T20:52:17.117-04:00How to believe<p> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH5pJNo9tAxUHZEeshnEcqFotF9eBOa8rm5e2Hfipb4I6rH9ViPvN8tFu767L4ZLKgV0CZPREg4Nm915n9SIqRPFm5ihHDRu-mkYNBTFOKbuaakMbaCdaz9DdVNZQxdXN1P5WJvf1EGXgyaUmDF7O8vDJEWuI5vFj5IKxyjS0Z5XoYfNikxWrVUl6sYQ/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH5pJNo9tAxUHZEeshnEcqFotF9eBOa8rm5e2Hfipb4I6rH9ViPvN8tFu767L4ZLKgV0CZPREg4Nm915n9SIqRPFm5ihHDRu-mkYNBTFOKbuaakMbaCdaz9DdVNZQxdXN1P5WJvf1EGXgyaUmDF7O8vDJEWuI5vFj5IKxyjS0Z5XoYfNikxWrVUl6sYQ/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/16/day-16-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 16 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>The room is spinning.</p><p><i>"Hold my hand and fly..."</i></p><p>Well, I'm spinning, in the room, which means that the room will soon start spinning too. A "lights-off party" where we play the girls' favorite songs on our bluetooth speaker in the dark, sometimes with light-up wands or our mini-dance cube, has become an almost-nightly request in our house in recent weeks.</p><p><i>"I will be alright if you stay by my side..."</i></p><p>Rainbow Girl's comfortable weight hangs in my arms as dusky shadows stretch across the gray carpet. Gently, I sweep her up and down a little, shuffling and spinning slowwwwwly since her belly is full of Shamrock Shake. Her big blue eyes gaze up into mine, and her face brightens with an adoring just-for-me smile. If I could freeze time, this might be a moment I'd pick. Instead, I breathe it in, soaking up every sweet detail of the love curled in my arms. </p><p>"<i>...because you showed me / how to believe..</i>." I'm struck by the magic of dancing with her to this song from a Tinkerbell movie on the night before St. Patrick's Day, when both girls firmly believe not only that Tinkerbell and her fairy friends are real, but that leprechauns are going to frolic around our house tonight while we all sleep. </p><p>Plastic gold coins are strewn through the house to attract the leprechauns. Sweetie spent the last several minutes explaining her elaborate system for "distracting" them as long as possible with hard-to-find coins, in order to get them to stay at our house until daylight strikes, trapping them in one of her ornate, never-quite-finished <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/looking-for-leprechauns.html" target="_blank">leprechaun traps</a>. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPmW17zJdrniokcFbbRX-d3eygEm1ki6InPRsIFve8r8xZ8n_kTYYQjw_8OHzDelJ98x4ODBlpf6odepAyWtIo0Pqb_imNnS65FHlvq6gx4sSEIY4W2qNYwcKZ7M5m77mpD5Se1b0tXNo59hp09CK5FgD3zbbd7IN6yX2dD-Eb3HWNMnQEUte8I19bw/s4032/IMG_2701.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkPmW17zJdrniokcFbbRX-d3eygEm1ki6InPRsIFve8r8xZ8n_kTYYQjw_8OHzDelJ98x4ODBlpf6odepAyWtIo0Pqb_imNnS65FHlvq6gx4sSEIY4W2qNYwcKZ7M5m77mpD5Se1b0tXNo59hp09CK5FgD3zbbd7IN6yX2dD-Eb3HWNMnQEUte8I19bw/w300-h400/IMG_2701.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I were a leprechaun, I'd come to stay, wouldn't you? She even put activities inside!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I smile down at Rainbow Girl in my arms and Sweetie across the room as we twirl and glide in the almost-darkness, and I can almost see the magic they see: a world filled with flitting fairies and sneaky leprechauns, where a glittering unicorn just might be hiding in the nearby woods. Where Santa and the Easter Bunny know just what they've been wishing for, and <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/surprise-magic.html" target="_blank">snowmen come to life to play at night</a>.</p><p>They see a world full of magic. I know it's a world filled with love, and I'm so grateful they've taught me how to believe again. </p><p><i>"Spring and summer / love and laughter / we'll live happily ever after..."</i></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GGYULhcIi_s" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-66353086449800213812023-03-15T21:12:00.004-04:002023-03-15T21:12:42.076-04:00You don't know?!<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVS-RhB3gi5xjMjojWEdRDIzcMO1aM_1t2_NZlhWRoItaHk7oXTiC5GifU96FBihI6vI4AqBYZFrQOVLn_FMbq1jTrXr-Dy2ewQVweLIEeNQJE5FEBnL1UIKR8HTD9K8p8WWxjUOclMKse1LBjKl1UJufOVuFZnaj3xoLB0A54-PQGBf-sjeksM1wcEQ/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVS-RhB3gi5xjMjojWEdRDIzcMO1aM_1t2_NZlhWRoItaHk7oXTiC5GifU96FBihI6vI4AqBYZFrQOVLn_FMbq1jTrXr-Dy2ewQVweLIEeNQJE5FEBnL1UIKR8HTD9K8p8WWxjUOclMKse1LBjKl1UJufOVuFZnaj3xoLB0A54-PQGBf-sjeksM1wcEQ/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/15/day-15-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 15 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"Do you know 'zelenka'?" My Ukrainian student blinks his blue eyes in his characteristic deadpan, almost-ornery way. His casually inquiring tone doesn't give me any clues about what he's asking. I work with him 1-on-1 for a period each day (and then another period where other students also join us), which gives our time together an unusually laid-back atmosphere, with more room than usual for random chitchat. From all our time together, I can guess that he wants to know if I'm familiar with either a video game or something Ukrainian, and this word sounds pretty Russian.</p><p>"Ummm... I know zeloni!" I grin sideways at him, remembering my attempts to learn colors in Russian while playing Uno with the Russian speakers at my morning school. "Is it something green?" </p><p>"Not zeloni!" He grins back. "Zelenka!"</p><p>"Um, no..." I shrug. </p><p>He pulls his hand up from under the table to show me the finger he scraped a couple days ago when he hit his hand against a table at home while playing VR (a story that made both of us cackle when he told me, despite the injury). </p><p>It's a good thing I'm wearing a mask, because I can't keep my mouth from dropping open as wide as it can go. All the way down his hurt finger, EVERY. BIT. OF. OPEN. WOUND. IS. GREEN.</p><p>BRIGHT. GREEN.</p><p>SO, SO, SO GREEN.</p><p>GREEN, GREEN, GREEN, GREEN, GREEN.</p><p>My teacher-mom brain freaks out. <i>Did he COLOR his OPEN WOUNDS with MARKER?!?!?! </i><i>A 6th grader should know better than that!!!</i><i> It's going to get all infected!!!!</i></p><p>"Y!!!!!! WHAT DID YOU...??????" I screech, leaning forward and slapping my hands against the kidney table. </p><p>Those bright blue eyes fly open wide. His eyebrows arch and his blond hair flops as he sits up straight in an astonishment that matches my own. "You don't know Zelenka?!?!"</p><p>Our mutual astonishment hangs in the air for a moment. </p><p>"It's medicine!" he proclaims, then repeats, his voice still rising with surprise, "You don't know?"</p><p>I lean forward to look at his finger more closely, and realize that, shockingly bright green color aside, whatever it is has stained his skin with a consistency similar to iodine. I vaguely think I remember that people put iodine on wounds, sometimes, maybe. "Nnnoo," I sputter. "I don't know this medicine!"</p><p>"It's help..." he pauses, then reaches for his Chromebook, pushes the dictation button on Google Translate, and rattles off an adept phrase in Russian. Google Translate spits out "when a wound is festering". </p><p>"So when you are hurt, you put this green medicine on, and it helps your skin heal?" I rub my own finger where his is scraped up. My brain still feels like it wants to explode at the sight of such a brilliant green color on his injured finger. I smile. "I was right though, right? Zelenka, zeloni; it's green!" I'm very proud that I actually guess the meaning of a Russian word with one of the approximately 10 Russian words I've managed to learn this year.</p><p>"Yes! But... you don't know?!" He's incredulous that I've apparently been deprived of this medicine my entire life. </p><p>"No!" I lean in. <i>Is this shockingly green medicine truly that commonplace in Ukraine? Does it really work?</i> I'm dying to know more. "How do you put it on? Does it squeeze from a tube or drip from a bottle?" I try to act out those actions. The way his skin is stained really reminds me of iodine, so I predict it comes from a bottle with a dropper, and I'm hoping he'll Google the package so my stunned brain can verify that this is, for real, an actual medicine. </p><p>"It's bottle." He bows his head slightly to say "zelenka" into the Chromebook, copies the Russian text (he likes that way better than trying to use the Russian keyboard), and pastes the word into Google. The screen fills with images of little green bottles reminiscent of iodine bottles, just like I'd predicted.</p><p>He glances sideways at me, then repeats, "You don't know?" as if, when I saw the bottle, surely I'd recognize it. </p><p>"No, I don't know this!" I giggle. "Thank you for teaching me!" </p><p>He throws his head back in an uncharacteristically wide-mouthed laugh. </p><p>We move on to practicing narrative elements with a picture book, but my mind flashes back to about a week ago, when he'd asked if I knew a different Russian word, <i><a href="https://luntik.fandom.com/wiki/Moonzy" target="_blank">Luntik</a></i>, which turned out to be a beloved Russian children's tv show. Just like with zelenka, he'd Googled the name, found pictures of the main character (a very adorable pinkish creature), and been absolutely blown away that I'd never heard of it. </p><p>When I get home, I tell Husband about that shockingly green substance, Google "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brilliant_green_(dye)" target="_blank">zelenka medicine</a>", and learn that it is truly a common remedy in that part of the world. </p><p>One of my favorite things about teaching ELs is how much I learn from them about the world, and one of the most profound experiences of interacting with someone from another culture are moments like this, when we both realize that something we absolutely held as "normal" is not as universal as we'd thought: that for each of us, our everyday, regular "slices of life" are so much more unique than we realize.</p><p>I remember my host mom in Spain cooking EVERYthing (including, to my repeated dismay, our breakfast toast) in olive oil, and trying to tell me that peanut butter was unhealthy (after my roommate and I scoured our supermarket up and down, past rows of Nutella, before finally finding 1 small jar of peanut butter on the Mexican / international shelf). I remember a girl on our Universidad Complutense de Madrid intramural volleyball team (cheer: "¡Fiesta! ¡Sangria! ¡Historia y Geografía!") asking if cheerleaders were really real. </p><p>It's easy to think about the BIG things that are different from country to country or region to region. But what about all those little moments you grew up internalizing as "normal"? Your typical snack. Your favorite childhood tv show. What your mom puts on your boo-boos. How your mom makes toast. </p><p>Just imagine all the things you. don't. know. </p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-12064709639993708972023-03-14T20:41:00.001-04:002023-03-14T20:45:58.050-04:00Laughing list<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVu9N-I97Wj0giG0rzZKeJD1GUSzJOmJDuxFrdREWlrz1B7MUZP_IWS5RDgJapgFjw2Q6FbdP0r_lInyQmNMBZe1PS-N5lInRDzbk6Dp3CekeTxzF52QZDviJxSwmAg26ufSMebj3s8UA1Mno517R2qTjX8fdfpdeuQYnPhPrXc2_vGm5ZEvXmm4vQw/s201/slicelogo.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVu9N-I97Wj0giG0rzZKeJD1GUSzJOmJDuxFrdREWlrz1B7MUZP_IWS5RDgJapgFjw2Q6FbdP0r_lInyQmNMBZe1PS-N5lInRDzbk6Dp3CekeTxzF52QZDviJxSwmAg26ufSMebj3s8UA1Mno517R2qTjX8fdfpdeuQYnPhPrXc2_vGm5ZEvXmm4vQw/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/14/day-14-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day π of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"<span style="font-family: courier;">When you're married to an engineer on Pi Day, this is what happens to the store list!</span>" <p></p><p>Before I look closely at the picture my mom has texted, I'm already giggling. My dad's grocery store lists are famous in our family for the many dad-jokes (they're called that for a reason, right?!) he writes to himself each week. </p><p>Growing up, I always loved glancing at the battered memo cube note resting as I'd walk by the kitchen counter, just to see what jokes Daddy had left for himself so far. </p><p>Scrawled in his characteristic all-caps engineer handwriting would be well-loved abbreviations, dad-jokes, and misspellings-that-might-be-jokes-or-just-real-engineer-misspellings:</p><p>CHZ-ITS</p><p>P-ZA</p><p>YO! GERT</p><p>CLEAN-NECKS</p><p>I have always imagined him nose-laughing to himself as he writes them and then again as he walks through the store, crossing items off on top of his towering pile of coupons. </p><p>So it's no surprise when the picture in my mom's text shows "pot pies" in her handwriting, with an "x" through the word "pies", corrected to "π's" in my dad's handwriting. </p><p>Pot π's. Of course. I can just see him, gleefully crossing out my mom's word and triumphantly replacing it with the pi symbol, just to entertain himself (while probably hoping she'd notice). </p><p>Giggling, I instinctively scrutinize the rest of the photo and notice a line in his bold uppercase that reads "P'CHS / P'AIRS / D'STICKS". </p><p><i>Does he really think "pears" is spelled "pairs?" Or is that part of the joke? </i>I giggle again. <i>Clearly that apostrophe is a joke, and Drumstick ice cream bars have nothing to do with peaches or pears, so he must've only added that on this line to make it funnier! </i>I shake my head and smile. </p><p>I can just see him, crinkling his eyes and emitting those characteristic short sniff-bursts to himself as fellow shoppers wonder what's funny about his shopping list. </p><p>I'm sure an added benefit is that he knows my mom will smile when she's adding items to the list, but if there's one thing that's clear from how much he laughs at his own jokes, my dad is a big believer in making yourself laugh. It's one of the things I love most about him: whether it's a silly store list or the "trash man" song he sings (to the tune of "Batman") while running around the house to take each room's small trash cans out on trash night, he makes life more fun. </p><p>Nobody else would be able to decipher his list if they wanted to help buy groceries, but I'm sure nobody is as happy on a mundane trip to the store either. If you want a little more joy in your life, just consider adding some "CLEAN-NECKS" to your list the next time you're running low on facial tissues!</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-64239917094425736392023-03-13T20:45:00.007-04:002023-03-13T20:45:52.071-04:00Stillness and squeals<table 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/AVvXsEi8Gaku5_NVEyN-MSu6UR0UZg4KoY-wvHwyN2g33N0H5NzNoAheU0QcrTK3WmG9mw8PRe5g4HrrsZIRKC5eP4vUWIu8r31mOGKr-2x_E-7Zq2r_Fo5K_ndmE2oY5wK0fmexrNl76GwNHiRPmVduQ5ADjnADNjArbYu8I_tfvEbc8866ChSFEjn3GqEeog/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Gaku5_NVEyN-MSu6UR0UZg4KoY-wvHwyN2g33N0H5NzNoAheU0QcrTK3WmG9mw8PRe5g4HrrsZIRKC5eP4vUWIu8r31mOGKr-2x_E-7Zq2r_Fo5K_ndmE2oY5wK0fmexrNl76GwNHiRPmVduQ5ADjnADNjArbYu8I_tfvEbc8866ChSFEjn3GqEeog/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/13/day-13-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 13 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>The world outside is blurry,<p></p><p>grainy,</p><p>an almost-fog.</p><p>I squint: </p><p>Are the windows smeary?</p><p>No! A whirling white whips across the world. </p><p>Flurries fall, dance, and dive. </p><p><br /></p><p>A squeal: "Can we play in it?!?!"</p><p>Not today.</p><p>Just a lacy layer, </p><p>fragile flakes settling gently.</p><p>But...</p><p><br /></p><p>"Can we stick out our tongues?!"<br /></p><p>Of course!</p><p><br /></p><p>We clamber outside, mouths open wide.</p><p>Dazzling,</p><p>delicate, </p><p>floating flakes </p><p>descend</p><p>in a silence so profound it seems to absorb sound. </p><p><br /></p><p>The white world is somehow softer, </p><p>slower,</p><p>tranquil, </p><p>more gentle.</p><p><br /></p><p>If your eyes follow a flake, </p><p>the descent</p><p>feels</p><p>dizzying... yet peaceful.</p><p>Both fast and slow against the winter-gray sky.</p><p><br /></p><p>Tongues are wiggling, ready. </p><p>"I got one!" small voices shriek.</p><p>Subtle spots of coldness spread into wet drops.</p><p>Giggles break the placid stillness. </p><p><br /></p><p>Blue eyes crinkle as they meet mine,</p><p>flailing legs and arms squeeze in delight. </p><p>Giggles grow into chortles and cackles, </p><p>joy overpowers serenity.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbb5pePik3Io6zcYQ5bS07Di4pRAvk3sDoYmYLtcBT-XVtgJJFiKUB9Z8PxZgvZ6i0r72rjGgODZtJlQeUwGXouP43f62Ky-AI66TGChE9QxWQw2ntTSheaEs6nsjQlRaiAuGo5bK7KMO3ZEj_jIex09M4n64Fa34fo6xgPl-pnUz9MecJlCoB8Tz9jA/s4032/IMG_0759.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbb5pePik3Io6zcYQ5bS07Di4pRAvk3sDoYmYLtcBT-XVtgJJFiKUB9Z8PxZgvZ6i0r72rjGgODZtJlQeUwGXouP43f62Ky-AI66TGChE9QxWQw2ntTSheaEs6nsjQlRaiAuGo5bK7KMO3ZEj_jIex09M4n64Fa34fo6xgPl-pnUz9MecJlCoB8Tz9jA/s320/IMG_0759.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-14286796212381727612023-03-12T20:43:00.001-04:002023-03-12T20:43:22.451-04:00Surprise magic<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6SVSETLBxO1wrCW7jTGkUQG_GLEyXwiZUV8gS9tkAU4x2eLxemCGz1uEQOXfkUWAPSdAeKKtZEsQawXTl9z4KduvY9ipA-FosClAcUP2p3yRDalqbXt6tPVj0KBC4Fk3guYPyzJHkwq5Nd75k0Tmi4idRrLVGn4N5i9jFVeHxs2ICfbOvNYyfSBxtQ/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6SVSETLBxO1wrCW7jTGkUQG_GLEyXwiZUV8gS9tkAU4x2eLxemCGz1uEQOXfkUWAPSdAeKKtZEsQawXTl9z4KduvY9ipA-FosClAcUP2p3yRDalqbXt6tPVj0KBC4Fk3guYPyzJHkwq5Nd75k0Tmi4idRrLVGn4N5i9jFVeHxs2ICfbOvNYyfSBxtQ/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/12/day-12-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 12 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>Clatter! Bam! Rustle. </p><p>I'm about to groggily tell Rainbow Girl to stop messing with our blinds when she screeches, "SNOW!!!"</p><p>"What?" I force my eyes open. She's pulled our honeycomb blinds above her head and her whole body is pressed against the window. </p><p>"CAN WE PLAY IN IT?!" Her voice rises to a squeal.</p><p>"I don't know if there's enough to play in..." I remember seeing a chance of snow overnight, but I figured it would just be a few flurries.</p><p>"THERE IS! IT'S ALL WHITE!!!" Sweetie scampers over to join her at the window. </p><p>I reluctantly break my cocoon of flannel sheets and raise myself up on an elbow. My view is blurry without my glasses, but the porch roof does appear to be covered in a significant amount of white.<i> I love snow, but I really wanted to sleep in today.</i> "Is the grass covered?" </p><p>"YEAH! It's poking up a little, but it's mostly covered!!!" Sweetie declares triumphantly.</p><p>I sit up farther and start to pull myself out of bed. The street is black, but otherwise, the world is dusted in fluffy white powder. This is only our 3rd snow this year, and while the last one stayed for more than a week of building huge snow forts and snowmen, it was way back in early January. "Ok, let's eat breakfast, so we can play!"</p><p>"YAY!!!!" The girls peel themselves off the window and dart down the hall. </p><p>By the time we finally get going, get all our layers on, and get outside, the gentle layer of snow is aready melting fast. But it's there! </p><p>We scurry up our small hill and fly down on Sleddy and Sir Sleddy (as our orange and green sleds have been christened this winter, respectively). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEJPVU0tOfZmI_VwTDlw7fW-XuOmsSxv2cw7tOhBAfypa4HmPjbHB913QtzWa6F1FF6uqcbosN7NHA6YFY_u5vIRuye-L-e_QfLFC0N4MJLGcGKBFqNfIbE7IIMfg_t1I3SeHiuVPwk3aU55oDqsn70yI6iWntKy4bo_x0TeI2N4lFHfrzPvBFgsF2A/s4032/IMG_2467.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEJPVU0tOfZmI_VwTDlw7fW-XuOmsSxv2cw7tOhBAfypa4HmPjbHB913QtzWa6F1FF6uqcbosN7NHA6YFY_u5vIRuye-L-e_QfLFC0N4MJLGcGKBFqNfIbE7IIMfg_t1I3SeHiuVPwk3aU55oDqsn70yI6iWntKy4bo_x0TeI2N4lFHfrzPvBFgsF2A/s320/IMG_2467.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love when Sis helps her get started on Sleddy!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We scoop up snowballs and lob them at each other. The girls use Sleddy and Sir Sleddy to fortify the swing set for a proper snowball fight.</p><p>They fling themselves on the ground and flail their arms to make very wet, rather green snow angels. </p><p>"Who wants to help me make a tiny, melty snowman?" I call. </p><p>They scamper over, and we roll three very globby balls to stick together. </p><p>"He needs arms!" Sweetie squeals, and they race up the hill towards the woods to grab sticks, nearly sliding back down on the slippery, mushy snow. They gently place the sticks in his body, and Sweetie pushes two rocks on his face for eyes. </p><p>"What should we name him?" I ask. </p><p>"Cutey!!!" Rainbow Girl declares. </p><p>"Aw, Cutey is a nice name!"</p><p>She trots off to the deck, where the snow is not as melty, and begins patting down a slab. "I'm gonna make him a bed!" She gets slightly upset when she tries to pick up the bed and can't, but I'm able to get my mittens mostly under it, breaking it only a little, and smash it back together. I hand it to her, and she carries it over to him, setting it gently beside him. </p><p>"Ooh, he'll love sleeping in that!" </p><p>"Yeah!" Sweetie declares. "He's magic!" She firmly believes that the book <i>Snowmen at Night</i> (given to us by one of her teachers a few years ago) is non-fiction, and that's fine with us. We're going to keep all the magic alive as long as we can. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqA5BUoUpf0_NMCBTZH_4cx7WB_DjPqxscJi2TugnzKo6-2g36PNT_XFDwwKl-zJKwpaaiwzGETQ6OYWj5SIDTM3s3zlUpEFIllWIASH3Ntjo1kuva66tZe_efAW9XJc4RSXHzdZcWBq-zpkfXY5h2ChleBWh72-jNjiNsXxI-F4pWPSqlAPm_cgqGw/s4032/IMG_2490.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXqA5BUoUpf0_NMCBTZH_4cx7WB_DjPqxscJi2TugnzKo6-2g36PNT_XFDwwKl-zJKwpaaiwzGETQ6OYWj5SIDTM3s3zlUpEFIllWIASH3Ntjo1kuva66tZe_efAW9XJc4RSXHzdZcWBq-zpkfXY5h2ChleBWh72-jNjiNsXxI-F4pWPSqlAPm_cgqGw/s320/IMG_2490.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainbow Girl showing Cutey his "bed" before putting it down beside him. <3</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Next, the girls make up a game where they smush snow-globs onto sticks to create imaginary roasted marshmallows. Rainbow Girl feeds her marshmallows to Sleddy, while Sweetie strives to create a marshmallow so giant that she has to get a second stick to hold it up. </p><p>When we've enjoyed almost all the remaining snow-mush, we get ready to head inside for some hot chocolate and lunch. "Do you want to give Cutey a goodbye pat?" I ask Rainbow Girl. </p><p>She pads over to him and tenderly pats him on the head with a pink mitten, then bends down and kisses the top of his head. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq5b5sMc2lM9Niz1Iy8P4CVH6uj4S8vrqWko_63rMhZbFKfJncyBTubhRQ1iDkDiGp6w8EPNTLdZbHDxPnWRgfS7bAO1R5fcFpjo3hd4WqyzNjjvCsakdgI65ZgD5yxhSFN8D3S30GtJGgUboIBcxaKYt3NXEcVSh3n95Ey2dWjGqVh7TJGOZUr7mmg/s4032/IMG_2528.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRq5b5sMc2lM9Niz1Iy8P4CVH6uj4S8vrqWko_63rMhZbFKfJncyBTubhRQ1iDkDiGp6w8EPNTLdZbHDxPnWRgfS7bAO1R5fcFpjo3hd4WqyzNjjvCsakdgI65ZgD5yxhSFN8D3S30GtJGgUboIBcxaKYt3NXEcVSh3n95Ey2dWjGqVh7TJGOZUr7mmg/w150-h200/IMG_2528.HEIC" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSyigSenThIQHOxaCV78VO9kEq8608j8-FRByaHIKgOt86I4QPgCx5b3gCCzaPaw_PlZlghewpAE-CRmenCsXLPkfLTNizhL7Qc_6RQOurPFEIi9eL6xLQRtLqmPOQZZ8CWRIGZLAET6qCj5Udf5Vgox7FUDeT5I3pzKTGMugRMS6wIv3eGJIqn9n1w/s4032/IMG_2529.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSyigSenThIQHOxaCV78VO9kEq8608j8-FRByaHIKgOt86I4QPgCx5b3gCCzaPaw_PlZlghewpAE-CRmenCsXLPkfLTNizhL7Qc_6RQOurPFEIi9eL6xLQRtLqmPOQZZ8CWRIGZLAET6qCj5Udf5Vgox7FUDeT5I3pzKTGMugRMS6wIv3eGJIqn9n1w/w150-h200/IMG_2529.HEIC" width="150" /></a></div><p>There will be other mornings to sleep in. It's better to catch this magic while we can.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-86303713209141311462023-03-11T20:56:00.001-05:002023-03-11T20:56:15.663-05:00Dreams down the road<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIR0F5N0cy0GT51zlV4DSJSPU8wKflENUAhWPKh3wWgdV_KELOMEi_ZKtN5qf7-dZZW_6SkOIgBzsRW710l1alMTIlB7A-x2P_oxxUREDRQQJsYzMwMJUWWvAKF1pw7fgGvSc1QrGGoMSevMrjO1fJ0TFabMvbWv3vrsDsQNxGKvGsk9doGamPzGz5WA/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIR0F5N0cy0GT51zlV4DSJSPU8wKflENUAhWPKh3wWgdV_KELOMEi_ZKtN5qf7-dZZW_6SkOIgBzsRW710l1alMTIlB7A-x2P_oxxUREDRQQJsYzMwMJUWWvAKF1pw7fgGvSc1QrGGoMSevMrjO1fJ0TFabMvbWv3vrsDsQNxGKvGsk9doGamPzGz5WA/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/11/day-11-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 11 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"A hat! Meemaw, look! I see a big hat!" Rainbow Girl has been quietly bundled in her seat, buried in a blanket, but now that the parade is finally approaching us, she's piping up with excited narration. </p><p>"Do you think Daddy could wear that hat?" my mom replies.</p><p>"Noooo!!! That's a balloon hat, Meemaw!" she cackles from underneath the Nemo hat that used to belong to her big sister. </p><p>I remember her sister a few years ago in that same hat, <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2018/03/bouncing-bee-boppers.html" target="_blank">pointing out the same sights and sounds with the same cheerful observations</a>. Now, Sis is somewhere up the road, clad in her Irish dance school's parade sweats, dancing down the street with her friends. </p><p>"I hope I get a Cowtail!" Rainbow Girl declares, peering ahead for candy buckets and bags. The parade participants grin and giggle as they toss candy onto her lap: a little mountain of huddled blanket with an adorable head peeking out. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCJNpUHhkppD5fCwM8M_IOld7J0ES479Fmu-h3GKZgjK674V-lcrw8n90xR5DAKLfe9lwajzT2afw2BmuzxBX_EZEZwNlLtKXksWno6ma7wN-ftOgFVzKoJfRixG-63z0kf1CwtH8rRCKQDJo6eeuSrMJFYSWNQ5luURZitlTzCzpNclIKbc4OoOJig/s4032/IMG_2371.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTCJNpUHhkppD5fCwM8M_IOld7J0ES479Fmu-h3GKZgjK674V-lcrw8n90xR5DAKLfe9lwajzT2afw2BmuzxBX_EZEZwNlLtKXksWno6ma7wN-ftOgFVzKoJfRixG-63z0kf1CwtH8rRCKQDJo6eeuSrMJFYSWNQ5luURZitlTzCzpNclIKbc4OoOJig/s320/IMG_2371.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>"Are there gonna be the stilt walkers? Where's the stilt walkers?"</p><p>Suddenly, we hear the strains of Irish music and catch glimpses of green sweat jackets. "Look! Sis is coming! Let's look for Sis!"</p><p>Dancers bounce and glide back and forth across the street, scissoring this way and that in their "sevens" reel step. I remember seeing Sis learn her sevens back and forth across our living room when her classes were on Zoom, and now she's doing it down the same street where I walked with my Daisy friends and marched with my high school band.</p><p>It's almost dizzying to try to find Sweetie's blonde hair and pink mask in the sea of dancers weaving among each other. Finally, I spot her pink mask and blonde hair, eyes crinkled in her biggest smile as her pointed toes cross and hop. </p><p>"Sis!!!! Sis!!!" we all yell, waving wildly.</p><p>Her eyes widen, she breaks free of her fellow dancers' hands, and she dashes over to us, blue eyes aglow with joy. She gives Rainbow Girl a big high five, just like she'd declared in the van that she wanted to, then scampers back into formation, blonde hair flying. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileSUK9YefUpgPThkunhqapV7h-43haabM0eImB1Zg-SwNbcQwRdECtbyJ1wyKXEydGMF_rlQHaucPteputnMbxGauLbE5El1moTRqUKga4gRFasB3NXcSeglVdasZonDaYbWyZzw26yeA9cDM0SoMjHy7Krxcas0zdYnIeQkXbXjxbFKAsQAdUCj2UA/s3666/IMG_2377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2750" data-original-width="3666" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEileSUK9YefUpgPThkunhqapV7h-43haabM0eImB1Zg-SwNbcQwRdECtbyJ1wyKXEydGMF_rlQHaucPteputnMbxGauLbE5El1moTRqUKga4gRFasB3NXcSeglVdasZonDaYbWyZzw26yeA9cDM0SoMjHy7Krxcas0zdYnIeQkXbXjxbFKAsQAdUCj2UA/s320/IMG_2377.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"When I'm dancing in the parade, I'll come give you a high five!" she'd promised Rainbow Girl before we dropped her off at the parade starting area. We'd tried to explain that she might not be able to do that, but she made it happen!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Grabbing her friends' hands again and resuming her sevens, she cranes her neck around to keep gazing back at us, eyes still crinkled in that characteristic smile that I'm so known for. She looks ecstatic.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZhkj477UgQB4VzlYetK_VDNhGnRtOogpN7oRq6bGjGl80PhMRCQ1QDJOEnCGx-32320Y8WphPa11VtL5qaPKevOcGcqGl8XFKrE3ETjZ-89W7pN60MIj9A6aJxw7cVfPkn3skkObg5U92JzByhFrf8qkTVNvBLPSOCa0L3EItjq-1Gq3Rlss3R5c-w/s2178/IMG_2379.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1633" data-original-width="2178" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZhkj477UgQB4VzlYetK_VDNhGnRtOogpN7oRq6bGjGl80PhMRCQ1QDJOEnCGx-32320Y8WphPa11VtL5qaPKevOcGcqGl8XFKrE3ETjZ-89W7pN60MIj9A6aJxw7cVfPkn3skkObg5U92JzByhFrf8qkTVNvBLPSOCa0L3EItjq-1Gq3Rlss3R5c-w/w400-h300/IMG_2379.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /> The stilt performers come striding by, and we marvel at their coordination. "There they are!" Rainbow Girl squeals. Sis meets us back at our seats, and the last marching band plays "Hang on Sloopy," a song they both love. Rainbow Girl screeches with delight.<p></p><p>"I'm probably going to end up being in more parades than you, Mommy!" Sis declares afterwards, as Rainbow Girl clutches her little fist around the Cowtail candy she did indeed get. </p><p>"That's true!" I smile, and whisper to Husband to swing by McDonald's like my parents always did for me. <i>All those years of marching band in high school and college, but she's already performing at 7 years old!</i> <i>Aside from that year our Girl Scout troop walked, I was just watching parades at this age!</i></p><p>"Who wants Shamrock Shakes after the parade?" I turn to the back seat. </p><p>"MEEEEE!" They both yell in chorus. "SHAMROCK SHAKES!" </p><p>It'll be so much fun to see what dreams keep coming true down this road.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-88398420201784225532023-03-10T20:44:00.000-05:002023-03-10T20:44:19.275-05:00Lo hice, lo estoy haciendo, lo haré<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DC9YhEmLCV63dDpS9OrPU2iZrPmocseic3HblSFxOvKzn92xuFjOmHM2TmXhQSloM1rQAe8qPv3b3LZQHNs9bGmxTGLnWE_f-6Q2cecGHYPVYkDbF3StbBmGsSGU778aw_Yxanv7u2Ehv_2vcrCHu9IFw0Qn4awerBzmw_aEG5Lo_tN0qS01DmjqjA/s960/MultiFri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DC9YhEmLCV63dDpS9OrPU2iZrPmocseic3HblSFxOvKzn92xuFjOmHM2TmXhQSloM1rQAe8qPv3b3LZQHNs9bGmxTGLnWE_f-6Q2cecGHYPVYkDbF3StbBmGsSGU778aw_Yxanv7u2Ehv_2vcrCHu9IFw0Qn4awerBzmw_aEG5Lo_tN0qS01DmjqjA/w200-h150/MultiFri.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Fridays, we write in our other languages!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSf0_yxQtkeucXkyQlGkKvf_93fcOSIBtE3RSLk-HW0oLgL7b6eATDIdcdVoq8H-2CPLzzHgU-aMRaQabaeaMvW-WY4zRGhU-Hsf4x31X1LmpsuDMy1iKRVBED0oNFtAWGR6ZAUPUTwvK-CY95HExeNssc_oc8y0NMBxKxUhF67Fd9Fr9Yx8_cP4Yiwg/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSf0_yxQtkeucXkyQlGkKvf_93fcOSIBtE3RSLk-HW0oLgL7b6eATDIdcdVoq8H-2CPLzzHgU-aMRaQabaeaMvW-WY4zRGhU-Hsf4x31X1LmpsuDMy1iKRVBED0oNFtAWGR6ZAUPUTwvK-CY95HExeNssc_oc8y0NMBxKxUhF67Fd9Fr9Yx8_cP4Yiwg/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/10/day-10-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 10 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>¡Ya estamos en el décimo día! Es casi imposible creer. Hace unas semanas, no sabía si podía participar este año. ¿De veras podía encontrar (mejor, crear) el tiempo para escribir al final de estos días tan llenos? ¿Me quedaría fuerza (mental o física) para escribir después de, por fin, acostar a mis hijas y sentarme en el sofá? Casi no me podía imaginarlo.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pero quería hacerlo. Recordaba la emoción de escribir, el ánimo que me daba dejar volar mis palabras por los dedos, la alegría de pintar una escena con palabras, la claridad mental de buscar, darme cuenta de, y guardar los momentos pequeños de mi vida. Quería hacerlo otra vez. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me acordaba del entusiasmo de leer los comentarios de los otros escritores, tanto los amigos como los desconocidos. Sí, quería hacerlo. </div><div><br /></div><div>Y además, quería pedir a mis colegas que me acompañaren. Quería que ellos conocieran el poder de esta experiencia y esta comunidad, y quería inspirarles a quizás traer la experiencia a sus estudiantes también. Quería formar parte de un grupo de colegas escritores. </div><div><br /></div><div>Entonces lo hice. Rellené el formulario para participar, hablé con mis colegas, y me dediqué a escribir por las tardes en esta hora preciada antes de acostarme.<i> Está bien perder unos días</i>, me dije. <i>Cada día que escribo es un día más de lo que habría escrito sin el reto.</i> Anticipaba perder las fuerzas, quedarme sin tiempo, quedarme sin ideas. <i>Quizás escribiré tres o cuatro días a la semana.</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>Pero ya estamos en el décimo día, y no sabía qué escribir hoy... ¡no por una falta de ideas, sino por una sobra de ideas, por <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/idea-waterfall.html" target="_blank">una cascada de ideas</a>! (Y, si soy honesta, porque no me convine escribir unos en español: algunos por ser tan difíciles escribir en español, y otros porque quiero escribir conversaciones que tomaron lugar en inglés, y me siento raro traducir algo que pasó en inglés al español... entonces estos ideas guardo por otro día.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Ya escribí por nueve días. Estoy un poco más cansada de lo habitual, pero sobrevivo. Estoy escribiendo en el décimo día. Y no quiero parar, ni modo. No quiero perder ni un día. Tengo demasiadas historias para contar, demasiados recuerdos para guardar. Me gusta demasiado el sentido de vivir como escritora. Seguiré escribiendo. </div><div><br /></div><div>Imagínense: </div><div>casi no lo intenté. </div><div><br /></div><div>Y ahora lo hice, lo estoy haciendo, lo haré. </div>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-3658335274788145122023-03-09T20:56:00.005-05:002023-03-09T20:59:02.334-05:00One of those days<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FYIjgaBJPNdXU5R84mhtb-4jqpIg1xHDDHjYBmBUVf4oWvwtojmu2z8CUxDT6swUyJV3WdRgCovrV86CHxli3II1dNG2PP9ivCQ-HRwxVXQ0o7Y8Ror9CUSiJWr_CmbSfL-oAsS80uGD4fi0haqoH-3PIp3kRcxmsuZa5PVnTjDMdJfM8MusoaXU_Q/s201/slicelogo.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FYIjgaBJPNdXU5R84mhtb-4jqpIg1xHDDHjYBmBUVf4oWvwtojmu2z8CUxDT6swUyJV3WdRgCovrV86CHxli3II1dNG2PP9ivCQ-HRwxVXQ0o7Y8Ror9CUSiJWr_CmbSfL-oAsS80uGD4fi0haqoH-3PIp3kRcxmsuZa5PVnTjDMdJfM8MusoaXU_Q/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/09/day-9-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 9 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>Did you ever have one of those days that just unfolds like a 47-car pile-up? When everything that could possibly go wrong (and even some things you thought couldn't go wrong!) absolutely does? Your very own <i>Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day</i>, just like Alexander's?<p></p><p>That's what today felt like. (Although, now that I've caught my breath, I must admit there will still plenty of good moments sprinkled in... they just got overpowered, like small oases hidden in a vast desert.)</p><p>It was just one thing after another. By dinnertime, I felt like a small leaf that had been battered down the pavement by gusts of wind. </p><p>But as I rocked Rainbow Girl in her room, singing <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/theres-no-better-thing-to-do.html" target="_blank">our special song</a>, all those bumps faded away. As always, I kissed her hair and patted her back. Suddenly, her little hand started sliding across my arm.</p><p> "Look, Mommy!" she whispered, looking up to gaze into my eyes. "I'm patting you!"</p><p>"Thank you, Sweetie Pie!" I whispered back, the last bits of tension flowing away. </p><p>"I love love love love love you!" she cooed. "You're the very best Mommy!"</p><p>"I try so hard, Sweetie Pie!" I sighed. "Do you know how much I love you?"</p><p>She grinned expectantly. </p><p>"Lots and lots and lots and lots and lots!" I nuzzled her shoulder and tickled her face with my nose as I often do at bedtime, eliciting delighted squeals. </p><p>"I love YOU lots an' lots an' lots an' lots an' lots!" she nuzzled my nose and buried her face in my shoulder right back, still giggling. </p><p>And just like that, it's one of those days to be grateful for: an Excellent, Wonderful, So-Good, Very Nice Day. </p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-12709152209990589072023-03-08T20:52:00.003-05:002023-03-08T20:52:37.008-05:00When I look at this<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGoi9bpIQsvzxaY2zmeZvCPI-xf5PgxuQmguaePL7vV43hkwJqSHvT1KWXKjfx3jrmj9wSkqNC_u5V-U4yozn6bk__oKkpY3G1WWIJIWYf7M4Ls4EKIGEZtBQvS8AtdGVCSkOE36UgYPM2yzT-qjSLQXenpQskI9Fs1ksyl_a_P-pJDNVwMMnjPWUgg/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGoi9bpIQsvzxaY2zmeZvCPI-xf5PgxuQmguaePL7vV43hkwJqSHvT1KWXKjfx3jrmj9wSkqNC_u5V-U4yozn6bk__oKkpY3G1WWIJIWYf7M4Ls4EKIGEZtBQvS8AtdGVCSkOE36UgYPM2yzT-qjSLQXenpQskI9Fs1ksyl_a_P-pJDNVwMMnjPWUgg/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/08/day-8-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 8 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>I'm standing in my doorway overlooking the sea of 8th graders at class change, feeling like a piece of coral buffeted by strong currents and (very) large fish (with very large backpacks!), when I feel the gentle buzz on my wrist. There's still a couple minutes before class starts, so I pull my arm up and sneak a peek: it's a text from our nanny with a picture. </p><p>Quickly, I tap and scroll down, glad that my new watch lets me take a quick look without pulling out my phone. It's a piece of construction paper covered in colored dots, with a message below: "<span style="font-family: courier;">Rainbow Girl said 'when I look at this, I see my mommy because I love her!'</span>"</p><p>My heart feels as if it's flying up out of my chest, through the ceiling, out of my school, and down the street to our house just across the neighborhood to give my sweet Mama's girl a hug. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qlibxnF9Fd2Trc1K8cy4-qFG6oJqUuwcID_uFgZjKo5Qi-XiQPrLWvnSD_a_l3R1jWHpo3x-gmb-bavoIjpfFWDft0kRhuQzn130fHO_JWLfKF3x-t7QLLZHtBl5CJdAgwkqhlENbgL_pVlhs5TREC4IqoHypNmUHf-5f8bMiU-37XhoWQTS93lXsQ/s837/IMG_2171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="618" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qlibxnF9Fd2Trc1K8cy4-qFG6oJqUuwcID_uFgZjKo5Qi-XiQPrLWvnSD_a_l3R1jWHpo3x-gmb-bavoIjpfFWDft0kRhuQzn130fHO_JWLfKF3x-t7QLLZHtBl5CJdAgwkqhlENbgL_pVlhs5TREC4IqoHypNmUHf-5f8bMiU-37XhoWQTS93lXsQ/s320/IMG_2171.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><p>My students walk in, and I greet them by name. We read together, play a speaking game together, and write together. We laugh together, and I really enjoy my time with them. One does his best work of probably the entire school year, and I end the day by telling him over and over how proud I am of him.</p><p>But when the bell rings, I can't wait to get home to see my sweetie pie who loves me so much that she saw me in a craft of colored dots she made. There's a new text from the nanny: "She made special love cards for everyone in her family! <3" </p><p>She's asleep when Sis and I get home, but in just a few minutes, the door to her room slowly creaks open. She timidly peeks out, and her eyes crinkle into her brightest smile when she sees me. "Mama!" she coos down, peering through the banister of the great room "bridge". </p><p>"Mia said you were thinking of Mama today when you looked at your craft!" </p><p>She nods silently but sweetly, still a little groggy, a long braid sliding up and down her shoulder. </p><p>"I was thinking of you too!" I blow a kiss upstairs as I wash my hands. "And she said you made some love cards for everyone in our family?"</p><p>"Yeah!!!" Her excitement gets her skipping and yelling. "For you! And there's one for you, Sissy!" She points enthusiastically down at her big sister. "And Daddy! And grandparents too!" She's frolicking in the upstairs hallway now, bouncing as I scurry up the stairs. </p><p>"I can't wait to see them!" I scoop her up and give her a kiss. Her tiny arms wrap around me and she snuggles her little head into my shoulder as I carry her back downstairs. </p><p>At the bottom, she wriggles down my hip and scampers over to the kitchen table, grabbing a pile of light blue papers. "I think I remember which one is yours!" </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfVEZnnS-xAuwBGAHYOEWie1VEPsjkwWMAMz8xraB52grvhuvrVQf3Sb3cgbiRam2E-_F9iFG0KZqp1n52AZjVjL6PYmQBh5N6zb8zwj7JXBuVjijiphEGIyJJfZqkq-B4yC5DEpBQrU6gGw2oUeLj4Ve0EQh-ZoZ7QBFykkq8--9PB5P04e7N1zrOw/s4032/IMG_2210.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfVEZnnS-xAuwBGAHYOEWie1VEPsjkwWMAMz8xraB52grvhuvrVQf3Sb3cgbiRam2E-_F9iFG0KZqp1n52AZjVjL6PYmQBh5N6zb8zwj7JXBuVjijiphEGIyJJfZqkq-B4yC5DEpBQrU6gGw2oUeLj4Ve0EQh-ZoZ7QBFykkq8--9PB5P04e7N1zrOw/s320/IMG_2210.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much love! <3</td></tr></tbody></table><p>She digs through the pile. "Happy Love Day!" she declares as she hands mine to me, and I wonder if they watched that episode of Daniel Tiger or read the book today.</p><p>"And LOOK! Sissy! This is YOURS!" </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fE9YAceYVRc2D25U5w4AFscJ3bGq8myT3AEc-q64lNVlQD2OqxHCplAHbyozAUqNAvSGXIKW94hSQ8JVU7ZXgteV4xT0-GdpEcvv7-cABPJ91ZKLd1qCeA77_dmQ10o5hdd5Vh11hrislLmKCIIy5QzdpLnRtqei2Ao4Sj0rDZQe8SO0DbbJH25DDQ/s4032/IMG_2183.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fE9YAceYVRc2D25U5w4AFscJ3bGq8myT3AEc-q64lNVlQD2OqxHCplAHbyozAUqNAvSGXIKW94hSQ8JVU7ZXgteV4xT0-GdpEcvv7-cABPJ91ZKLd1qCeA77_dmQ10o5hdd5Vh11hrislLmKCIIy5QzdpLnRtqei2Ao4Sj0rDZQe8SO0DbbJH25DDQ/s320/IMG_2183.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's upside down, but you can see where she wrote the letters of her name (top left)!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>She waves another paper at her big sis, who pulls her into a hug, and croons, "You wrote your name!!! I love it! Thank you, Sweetie Pie!"</p><p>Next, she adds a drawing of "our family" to my page, declaring first that the dots will be our sidewalk, then deciding instead that we're resting on cloud pillows. I can't wait to take it to school and hang it in my classroom, knowing that "when I look at this, I['ll] see [her]. Because I love her." <3</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrjHxhP6RFRWYSegVhW8I-GoJnRGY7G9ESg6JUg6cE_TNDSYwutxwwc0PRIVCqbi6QkdZq7x4pyijHPYLlUsZs-6GSJHcHkRjGlz4Cyn1_l3Bv1BNQdavS40r6W0yOAaAGUQkmQdE99_mYlZJ5UQ7-2Z_db_lbVP1Q72kXUr8KROaJN9ro7YcxBRXLw/s4032/IMG_2209.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrjHxhP6RFRWYSegVhW8I-GoJnRGY7G9ESg6JUg6cE_TNDSYwutxwwc0PRIVCqbi6QkdZq7x4pyijHPYLlUsZs-6GSJHcHkRjGlz4Cyn1_l3Bv1BNQdavS40r6W0yOAaAGUQkmQdE99_mYlZJ5UQ7-2Z_db_lbVP1Q72kXUr8KROaJN9ro7YcxBRXLw/w400-h300/IMG_2209.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My finished "love card"! <3 Don't you love the way she draws people with all their little appendages sticking out??? </td></tr></tbody></table>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-92199734673839821662023-03-07T20:28:00.006-05:002023-03-07T20:29:46.549-05:00What sisters make<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavl2WRH5lUwklvYDZLhgS5RAqQwkFarG0INpy0XfAq5DJOxvVXmuArf-KiWDCLLgNnwk2Uy5ibPVltTIG3Qh6unKGHVeRf4s0JirFEm4rEuVk1-h946v0VXcNUOsVhR1KXEyav8Joy_gPa4UDEHe2WDrYnijDp647PBm2EzZeM19O49ZbbrLOeJSUhg/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavl2WRH5lUwklvYDZLhgS5RAqQwkFarG0INpy0XfAq5DJOxvVXmuArf-KiWDCLLgNnwk2Uy5ibPVltTIG3Qh6unKGHVeRf4s0JirFEm4rEuVk1-h946v0VXcNUOsVhR1KXEyav8Joy_gPa4UDEHe2WDrYnijDp647PBm2EzZeM19O49ZbbrLOeJSUhg/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/07/day-7-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 7 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>As soon as the narrow back hallway from my school to Sweetie's school opens up into the wide brightness of her cafeteria, I spot her blonde hair and pink mask bouncing towards me. I'm excited to talk to her about the author visit they had today, but then I notice something multicolored in her hand. </p><p>"It's my puffmobile!" she declares. "We built them today, but I haven't tested it out yet! My friend's went really far though!" </p><p>I'm about to ask what a puffmobile even is when I notice her little sister's name on it. And a rainbow. And, as I look more closely, a bunny (her sister's favorite animal). "You decorated it for Rainbow Girl?!"</p><p>"It's a sisters' puffmobile!" she announces proudly. "One side is for her and one side is for me! Her side has a rainbow and a bunny, and my side has a sunshine and a unicorn! And I wrote 'sisters are the best of friends' on it!"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPL4CJ7Q7biKs9QUz0NdIyRkFXkTnvc9uDno3lM7Av2LMeEzaT73giaZze31IercSioOvUk7CsXwTgyxj1TO7skr8--TsJdur6yjxxU6VvX9VnRSepTkIFyKGt_VNaqA_WbOg6CBvaAnWQNzlrcMEhqsKV82-FNs2i1eTv5WF3bAWHII2eBPbLrF7Zw/s4032/IMG_2134.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdPL4CJ7Q7biKs9QUz0NdIyRkFXkTnvc9uDno3lM7Av2LMeEzaT73giaZze31IercSioOvUk7CsXwTgyxj1TO7skr8--TsJdur6yjxxU6VvX9VnRSepTkIFyKGt_VNaqA_WbOg6CBvaAnWQNzlrcMEhqsKV82-FNs2i1eTv5WF3bAWHII2eBPbLrF7Zw/w240-h320/IMG_2134.HEIC" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8oVtad7ALyvpnKiY5qG97D2m1Va2c8OI1EU1kbYIq9Tc-IzYKrFjaGqXaUjCjNt2TXzl1HL04LmNmDvFeR1qyAlgEzio0MpIkZAo4d2Xrxk7DwGt_P7SYga2FROh6XywDBB0MVt1MPwMaHHk-kY6CZyGhID7xpmL0H9SdvYnSC9IAOUbOLwhLZzedg/s4032/IMG_2135.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8oVtad7ALyvpnKiY5qG97D2m1Va2c8OI1EU1kbYIq9Tc-IzYKrFjaGqXaUjCjNt2TXzl1HL04LmNmDvFeR1qyAlgEzio0MpIkZAo4d2Xrxk7DwGt_P7SYga2FROh6XywDBB0MVt1MPwMaHHk-kY6CZyGhID7xpmL0H9SdvYnSC9IAOUbOLwhLZzedg/w240-h320/IMG_2135.HEIC" width="240" /></a><br /></div><p>So much love, at school, when her sister wasn't even with her! Such careful detail to show what's special about each of them! My heart is soaring. I imagine her hunched over her desk, surrounded by her classmates and the hubbub of school, working so hard to think about her little sister's favorite things and to make this special representation of their love for each other, completely unprompted. "I love it, Sweetie! She'll love it so much! I can't wait for her to see it when you get home!"</p><p>Sisters really do make the best of friends, just like the words on a shirt I bought her when she became a big sister. I love that's she's internalized that phrase, and that they both live it every day. </p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-76481076738892586442023-03-06T20:40:00.003-05:002023-03-06T20:45:58.303-05:00Idea waterfall<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSoHIGmADMP1ADJ3w4TLy9o6CRQfUXpgZqDZ95OjPLZ04NGNYIt0j0iuK0DdABhoR12VIbaUxMJ0vnqEN3ozjzlt-orUWDJnueWuwymvauyVEdCY_zEMjDMDgJ0-Ps0nMYsrk44FBYENJKu0ae-nBJm_4EY9Ujf3-VtPBV-vaFfRdZBgs42m0iGFzpA/s201/slicelogo.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSoHIGmADMP1ADJ3w4TLy9o6CRQfUXpgZqDZ95OjPLZ04NGNYIt0j0iuK0DdABhoR12VIbaUxMJ0vnqEN3ozjzlt-orUWDJnueWuwymvauyVEdCY_zEMjDMDgJ0-Ps0nMYsrk44FBYENJKu0ae-nBJm_4EY9Ujf3-VtPBV-vaFfRdZBgs42m0iGFzpA/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/06/day-6-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 6 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"... because it's March and I have to..."<p></p><p>"Write a story every day?!" Sweetie interrupts me, jumping up and down.</p><p>"That's right!" <i>Did she remember from last year? I don't think I've mentioned it much yet this year!</i></p><p>"But, how do you think of something to write about EVERY DAY???? I can nehhhhhver think of anything to write about!" she moans. </p><p>"I look for writing ideas all day! Like, at first, I was going to write about baking 'nana bread, but then <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/sweet-exchange.html" target="_blank">the ice cream truck came</a>! So now I get to save the 'nana bread story for another day, and I'm already ahead on ideas!" I grin. We're only 5 days into March, and I already had so many days with multiple possible slices that I probably have enough writing ideas to get me through the next week! </p><p>My writing brain feels like <a href="https://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2023/03/wonder.html" target="_blank">that waterfall we visited on Saturday</a>; story ideas are just spilling over, churning and tumbling over each other as they flood over the normal riverbanks. <i>How have I gone a whole year without writing? I have so many stories to capture! </i>Unbidden, a list starts flowing through my brain: <i>when I took my students outside, and when that kid from Ukraine surprised me, and when I introduced the Girl Scouts to the bearded dragon, and...</i></p><p>"How could you write a WHOLE STORY about 'nana bread?" she wrinkles her nose. "It took like two seconds!"</p><p>"I slow it down with lots of small details, like Rainbow Girl looking for the ingredients."</p><p>"Mrs. C is always wanting us to add details," she grumbles. </p><p>"Details make your story come alive!" I nod. "I also add dialogue. Do you know what dialogue is?"</p><p>She shakes her head. </p><p>"Dialogue is when you make the people in the story talk to each other. A small story idea is actually the best, because it gives me room to add so many little details and moments of dialogue that give my readers a movie in their minds!"</p><p>"Oh, I like to add that in my pictures!" She brightens for a second, then complains, "but Mrs. C. says we shouldn't draw so many pictures anymore."</p><p>"Well, you're learning so much about writing that now you can start to give your readers pictures with your words! So instead of putting your dialogue into the pictures, you can add it in with your words, and you can add other details to, to help your readers see the pictures in their minds! When I write my story about making 'nana bread, I'll show you how I slow that moment down and turn it into a mind movie for my readers! I can show you some of my other stories too!" </p><p>It makes me sad that she doesn't yet love writing like I do, but I hope I can help her love it more by showing her what a part of my life it is. She's already gotten more interested than she was last year, sometimes writing in the various journals she's gotten, so I want to capture this momentum. If I let my idea waterfall flow over her, maybe she'll soon have one of her own!</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-77220753786139516382023-03-05T20:10:00.001-05:002023-03-05T20:10:21.899-05:00Sweet exchange<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsY0NBMptkkJuWLrHvJrrIGtoii9G7SPBGtdk305_5OI4tqjvvHHach3QlrvIx8_wSN8BBiAIiH-saDttw1AHAvut7QHB1mJaytnQ7B0zs8WLRxHP6pivCStOt_54gjc0kNtYzB1m07IfEB8KD5-rZaQioXTR8oGDkbFUXHPy78aX8kgIyn18Va_iEJA/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsY0NBMptkkJuWLrHvJrrIGtoii9G7SPBGtdk305_5OI4tqjvvHHach3QlrvIx8_wSN8BBiAIiH-saDttw1AHAvut7QHB1mJaytnQ7B0zs8WLRxHP6pivCStOt_54gjc0kNtYzB1m07IfEB8KD5-rZaQioXTR8oGDkbFUXHPy78aX8kgIyn18Va_iEJA/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/05/day-5-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 5 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding! The doorbell rings wildly. </p><p><i>Silly geese! I'm almost ready!</i> I roll my eyes, knowing that on the porch, one or both of my daughters is pushing their pointer finger(s) repeatedly on the doorbell button while playing outside with my husband. <i>I told them I'd be out in just a minute!</i></p><p>Then, I hear it. </p><p>The faint tinkling of cheesy canned music. </p><p>Do-do-do-do-do-do-dooo-do, do-do-do-do-do-do-doooo-do...</p><p>THE ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!!!</p><p>THAT'S why they rang the doorbell! </p><p>I spring into action, almost falling down in my attempt to pull on my shoes while leaping across the room while sprinting towards the stairs. I skid to a halt in the downstairs hallway to grab Sweetie's Brownie sash and the boxes of cookies we just sorted out for Mr. Ray today, grinning as I remember a few weeks ago when he so kindly bought from us. </p><p style="text-align: center;">--</p><p>It had been another gorgeous, sunny, unseasonably warm day for February in Ohio. Sweetie and I had been out delivering the first round of Girl Scout cookies to our neighbors when we'd heard that same magic sound: that tinkly music that only means one thing. She'd sprinted down the sidewalk of the street we were walking down, but we hadn't needed to hurry: so many neighbors were excited to have a February visit from the ice cream truck that we had to wait our turn! </p><p>Since we are one of his best customers, he knew we weren't at our house, and we'd explained that we were out delivering cookies, as I frantically texted my husband, "ICE CREAM TRUCK! WE'LL TELL HIM TO STOP AT YOU!"</p><p>"I don't suppose you have any extras?" he'd said with a slow smile.</p><p>"We can get some! There's another round of sales!" Sweetie was bouncing with the double excitement of the ice cream truck and a possible cookie sale. </p><p>"Oh, well then show me what you have!" He reached out his window, and she handed him her clipboard.</p><p><i>OMG, are we really selling cookies to the ice cream man?!</i> I thought this had to be one of the most unique sales in the history of Girl Scouts. "You can just write, Mr. Ray, ice cream truck!" I clarified to make sure he didn't feel like he had to give us his phone number or address. </p><p>He laughed his deep laugh. "Yeah, yeah, okay. So I'll take some of them coconut ones, and... hmm, what are those? Lemon?" He asked us questions and ordered 4 boxes while exchanging money and ice cream bars with our neighbors, then got me my usual Creamsicle and took Sweetie's order for a cotton candy pop. "You just save those cookies for me and we'll see how the weather goes, ok?"</p><p>"Make sure you stop at our house now!" I told him. "Her little sister is still asleep, but her dad will get her something to eat later!"</p><p>"A Tweetie Bird!" Sweetie chimed in. </p><p>"Of course, of course!" Mr. Ray grinned. </p><p>"ICE CREAM TRUCK COMING NOW! Sis says to get Rainbow a Tweetie Bird bar!" I texted Husband.</p><p>We waved at Mr. Ray, and he honked as he headed down the street. "It's like we traded!" she squealed. "We got ice cream and he's getting cookies!" She skipped and pranced back to the part of the sidewalk where we'd left our cookie delivery cart, and we opened our packages, savoring the sweetness of tangy ice cream bars while warm sun rays gently trick us into believing it wasn't February. </p><p style="text-align: center;">--</p><p>Now, just a few weeks later, it's almost as warm, and the sun is shining just as bright. I burst through the front door, Brownie sash and cookies in hand. Rainbow Girl is galloping around the driveway with her unicorn bubble blower. When she sees me, she screeches, "MOMMY! THE ICE CREAM TRUCK!" She hops up and down, pointing down the street. Then, a little more calmly, she adds, "He's playing my favorite song!" and beams her sweetest smile. </p><p>"I know!" I giggle as Sweetie comes careening around the corner of the house with an identical bubble blower. "Good thing we sorted out his cookies today! I guess we didn't have to save them for long!"</p><p>Mr. Ray slows to a stop as he approaches our house. "Come here, little Brownie!" he calls up the driveway, and Sweetie skips up to his truck, proudly holding out his cookies. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVEvq3MqxOd-hV5dZlP5C9JP6mJvG7E45D6PeZ74DBkMM2AvFa6cbPH_U3-Q6UF9ZhoKjVVgMOkh73KeQ_OSs2rcI77YqfNVAtsV8mFieNWac2VypniCj243Gv-LC2JdM81BmVZoNINp6G7PTlKP8ow5n8do4QqMXFoxQH2-IwYp_znXoTms5e7N7Tg/s4032/IMG_1938.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVEvq3MqxOd-hV5dZlP5C9JP6mJvG7E45D6PeZ74DBkMM2AvFa6cbPH_U3-Q6UF9ZhoKjVVgMOkh73KeQ_OSs2rcI77YqfNVAtsV8mFieNWac2VypniCj243Gv-LC2JdM81BmVZoNINp6G7PTlKP8ow5n8do4QqMXFoxQH2-IwYp_znXoTms5e7N7Tg/s320/IMG_1938.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><3</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our ice cream is sweet, but having such a friendly ice cream man is even sweeter!</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-78113705804243100282023-03-04T20:22:00.008-05:002023-03-04T20:24:21.885-05:00Wonder<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0P2aWeI1HH3kgWTvm8eMwY3IAiEbm5MQJrzsmGPHRIJhnV_fVb3Udk5OIxyAKmjBvYItPBS31HBPT7fLHwug0UIrvZT43h9iEL0MfjNu6eU_mHoSWsFbe9PJ72KoYkBnYNznpo1rCfGke4s6W1zrywXowKCwHkfiGm-1_85FJaxGKgys7CLomc0q9A/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0P2aWeI1HH3kgWTvm8eMwY3IAiEbm5MQJrzsmGPHRIJhnV_fVb3Udk5OIxyAKmjBvYItPBS31HBPT7fLHwug0UIrvZT43h9iEL0MfjNu6eU_mHoSWsFbe9PJ72KoYkBnYNznpo1rCfGke4s6W1zrywXowKCwHkfiGm-1_85FJaxGKgys7CLomc0q9A/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/04/day-4-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 4 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>"WHOA. Look at the river!" Sweetie shoots up straight in her car seat, arm pointing out the window. On both sides of our local dam, water is absolutely gushing across what are normally the riverbanks, forming two extra waterfalls cascading into where the river normally begins. </p><p>"Oh yeah, with all the rain we've had, it's really rushing! Do you want to eat dinner by the waterfall?"</p><p>"YEAH!" Both girls pause their Shamrock Shake sipping to yell in unison, so we pull into the small park that looks out onto the dam. </p><p>"Why is the water SO brown?"<br /></p><p>"Look how it's rushing!"</p><p>"Why are there separate waterfalls?"</p><p>In between bites of chicken nuggets and green minty swigs, they pepper us with questions and commentary as the sun goes down. </p><p>It's getting duskier, and they're doing well on their dinners. I really want them to really experience the unique scene. "Do you want to get out of the van and walk down to see the water up close?"</p><p>"YEAH!!!" they chorus again, wriggling to unbuckle their seatbelts. As soon as we open the doors, the rumble of the water fills the air. </p><p>Rainbow Girl huddles against me as Sweetie skips and scampers ahead on the path. "It's sooo loud!"</p><p>"That's right! That's why I wanted to get out, so you could really see and hear its power!"</p><p>"Will it still be like this in the morning?" Rainbow Girl, always trying to figure out how the world works, coos in my ear.</p><p>"Hmm, I'm not sure. It might not be this big in the morning, but it might be. I don't know how long it will stay huge like this! Do you want to get down and stand next to Sis?"</p><p>"Yeah! Yeah!" She squirms down from my hip and hop-scurries over to the railed overlook. As she flashes a big smile at me over her shoulder, her mouth is moving and I can vaguely hear some happy squeals, but the rushing water overpowers her words. </p><p>"I see! It's amazing, isn't it?" I grin, sure that she can't hear me either. She bounces and wiggles while Sis stands still beside her, mesmerized. Brown water turns white as it churns and pours over the dam, filling our ears with a monotonous pounding. I'm not sure which is more incredible: the power of the water or the magic of seeing the wonders of the world through their eyes. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aLBbgE9Wn9bYB6JG0Q2CHQU5aSkwm63olKcX7nVEvsUpOtbfAF7jqBMUWyPQuQe6s2q07BlykAqk162g5b9vkya6fDJdIfSWXmM8q6YFVCbXeTN-6IcD0gO09u9_Pzo-L-3YRgxoaLDT7rxfb_cxayP5dqVQHWU4JkFcAdgugP5PRh5wI83Ib8k2HA/s4032/IMG_1840.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aLBbgE9Wn9bYB6JG0Q2CHQU5aSkwm63olKcX7nVEvsUpOtbfAF7jqBMUWyPQuQe6s2q07BlykAqk162g5b9vkya6fDJdIfSWXmM8q6YFVCbXeTN-6IcD0gO09u9_Pzo-L-3YRgxoaLDT7rxfb_cxayP5dqVQHWU4JkFcAdgugP5PRh5wI83Ib8k2HA/w400-h300/IMG_1840.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow!</td></tr></tbody></table>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-57178541507538997122023-03-03T21:16:00.001-05:002023-03-03T21:16:08.732-05:00Esa vieja canción<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6HHZgpoWWqrSklt3IhwRfBrzcYcLP4s4mXQ-H3Rit2wEaWcf4CdULdQ3QDI1TsaPZTJmPAaasUIQWcjQjRXQW7l4VNQcFQYc0YTBCmbKNPUZuzFsG8mnXytz4ZPgLqAP7HEkzsq2AFpulO-rG8C7NXBZAlHKIipa9olcishyajFT2qNMt1X3o6brsw/s960/MultiFri.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6HHZgpoWWqrSklt3IhwRfBrzcYcLP4s4mXQ-H3Rit2wEaWcf4CdULdQ3QDI1TsaPZTJmPAaasUIQWcjQjRXQW7l4VNQcFQYc0YTBCmbKNPUZuzFsG8mnXytz4ZPgLqAP7HEkzsq2AFpulO-rG8C7NXBZAlHKIipa9olcishyajFT2qNMt1X3o6brsw/w200-h150/MultiFri.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Fridays, we write in our other languages!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OmhHt-0yFN5T6abmkK8qKWPKsWxq64iQf1TJ5kKTu7P5mA9EmOr0XAMxRJ4O9OM5AgHLAWwXCaBolWCoarnASionZDleoHp0V03SR3Gc0nYHNz3NiX5iQl_6dVKdQTGNy_xEYqwS8HIulnpIxM9_beJvYd2DQVEs62_8BdyiGOQB2HYkXACPopDXkw/s201/slicelogo.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OmhHt-0yFN5T6abmkK8qKWPKsWxq64iQf1TJ5kKTu7P5mA9EmOr0XAMxRJ4O9OM5AgHLAWwXCaBolWCoarnASionZDleoHp0V03SR3Gc0nYHNz3NiX5iQl_6dVKdQTGNy_xEYqwS8HIulnpIxM9_beJvYd2DQVEs62_8BdyiGOQB2HYkXACPopDXkw/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/03/day-3-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 3 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><i>Duuu du du, da da da duu duu duu duu... </i>Los primeros compases de guitarra me suenan tan familiares que me siento como me he sido sacudida, despertada de repente. Los pensamientos errantes desvanecen de inmediato, y con una claridad inesperada, en solo un momento, he viajado dieciocho años en el pasado. </p><p><i>- Toca esa vieja canción... -</i> Estoy sentando en un autobús rojo, típico de Madrid.</p><p>- <i>... que un día bailé con mi nena...</i> - Llevo mis audífonos amarillos puestos, la cuerda serpenteando hasta mi bolsa azul, donde tengo escondido mi tocadiscos Walkman. Mantengo un brazo sobre la bolsa aunque la tengo sobre el regazo, y sostengo la correa en una mano siempre, como toda la gente en Madrid, con cuidado a los ladrones. </p><p>- .<i>..Rómpeme el corazón...</i> - ¡RÓMPEME EL CORAZÓN...! Es casi imposible no cantar junta con esa canción, con su letra repetida y su melodía tan emotivo. La silla cómoda de mi Honda Odyssey desaparece y puedo sentir el banco duro y resbaladizo del autobús. Ahora no estoy en camino al trabajo. Viajo a una clase universitaria, o quizás al centro, a Callao, para dar un paseo por la Puerta del Sol y la Plaza Mayor.</p><p>Me sacudo y aclaro la cabeza, agarrando bien el volante. <i>Soy yo, ahora, en los EEUU. </i>Me río: ¡<i>a mis hijas y mis estudiantes les parecería una anciana si les dijera mis memorias de escuchar música en discos compactos!</i> Recuerdo como aún entonces, hace tantos años, cuando era tan joven, la nostalgia emotiva de esa canción siempre me conmovió. Ahora, años después, me sorprende su poder para transportarme al pasado con tanta fuerza. </p><p>- ... <i>Y el día que muera ponedme una vela</i>... - Me da pausa. No recuerdo cómo me enteré, creo que había estado recorriendo Facebook, pero hace solo pocos meses supe que había muerto el cantador, Pau, hace unos años. A mí me encantaban sus canciones desde que mi tío, sin saber ni una palabra de español, me compró su primer disco mientras estudiaba español en la escuela secundaria. Recuerdo que me sentía muy especial que mi tío había intentado comprarme algo que me interesara aunque no podía ni entenderlo. Luego compré más discos de Jarabe de Palo, y casi siempre llevaba al menos uno conmigo en mi bolsa callejera durante mis meses de estudio en España. - .<i>..Rómpeme el corazón...</i></p><p>El poder de la música. El poder de la poesía. El poder de los recuerdos. <i>- Toca esa vieja canción...</i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/g072Rdq0UfI" title="YouTube video player" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">la canción: ¡que la disfruten!</div>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-68924247404688038582023-03-02T20:42:00.000-05:002023-03-02T20:42:14.536-05:00Visiting the neighbors<p> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCSRVc1AMhbx0h9RGF1dd-NSmZB0ACLBN6Qpq1tgjZIjbyM4x7rzE6lTcXndI5chvUhKGCCYK0QM9h10022AnvFXcLADqbZ21PU6YCew4Fi5LZpzf8E3ZvvFxdc8n71nFR9jHJNadYSuQs9jqq7XAxq6THgNRIepj88LxW686ysmo4pByy_Yp0cXK_w/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCSRVc1AMhbx0h9RGF1dd-NSmZB0ACLBN6Qpq1tgjZIjbyM4x7rzE6lTcXndI5chvUhKGCCYK0QM9h10022AnvFXcLADqbZ21PU6YCew4Fi5LZpzf8E3ZvvFxdc8n71nFR9jHJNadYSuQs9jqq7XAxq6THgNRIepj88LxW686ysmo4pByy_Yp0cXK_w/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/02/day-2-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 2 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table>It's March! It's March! It's March!</p><p>Although I always mean to get back to Tuesday slicing, another year has somehow escaped me. But getting back into my blogging routine feels like coming home after too long away: a slight sense of wonder mixed with a comforting familiarity. Opening a new draft is like settling into my favorite spot on the couch. </p><p>I scroll through the link-ups as if I'm strolling through a small town full of neighbors on their porches: </p><p><i>Oh look, it's <a href="https://seekingsix.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Beth</a>! I remember when <a href="https://portable-teacher.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">LeeAnn</a> introduced us! </i>"Hi, Beth!"</p><p><i>There's <a href="https://thehumblebumblebees.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kristen</a>! So glad she moved into the neighborhood this year! It's so special to have a friend from school here now! </i>"So glad you're here, Kristen!"</p><p>"<a href="https://raisealithuman.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Stacey</a>, it's so good to see you! I hope your sweet kids are doing well!"</p><p><i>And there's <a href="https://justyouravgteach.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Christen</a>! We just met each other at a few meetings this year, but I'm excited to get to know her better now that she's here too! "</i>Welcome to the neighborhood, Christen!"</p><p><i>And I thought I'd missed <a href="https://attemptingpresence.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Rachel,</a> but there she is now! It's so fun to see her at school and here! </i>"See you tomorrow morning, Rachel!"</p><p><i><a href="https://lcinmo.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">elsie</a>'s not here, too bad. She's probably out on one of her typical walks, snapping beautiful pictures to create her phoetry. I miss her. </i></p><p><i>And things just haven't been the same since <a href="https://www.teacherdance.org/" target="_blank">Linda</a> moved out. She was so encouraging when I first moved in! At least we can still keep up with each other on Facebook!</i></p><p><i>But OMG, look, there's <a href="https://deb-day.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Deb</a>!!! </i>"Deb!!! Deb!!! Hiiiiii!!!" (frantic hand-waving) <i>I haven't seen her in so long! I miss that sweet dog, Chloe, who used to sit with her. I don't really know her new dog, Sophie, much, but I can't wait to learn more about her!</i></p><p><i>And look, so many new neighbors! <a href="https://mariasmomentos.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Maria</a> seems nice, and she speaks Spanish and Spanglish just like me! </i>"Bienvenida, María!"</p><p><i>And there's <a href="https://secretlifeofapinayteacher.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Alyssa</a>, who already taught me something new right on her first day! </i>"Welcome, Alyssa! Thank you for teaching us what a Pinay is!"</p><p>I circle back to wait on my own front porch, checking my email way-too-often to see who stops by to visit me. <i>Oh yay! It's LeeAnn! I'll have to visit her tomorrow! I just love learning about her classroom.</i></p><p>It's so good to be home. </p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-58194534229318219132023-03-01T21:05:00.000-05:002023-03-01T21:05:03.851-05:00My rear view<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZB4z80vDXmQILAotwZ8Ew_3rwphidpBHbxI3Vd06KZx8B7H0B552SGp6muMBPGKI2gKILHjUTK5DfaPPxJ8lBJRODDF7AjU9MNCqnGE4yUBacMeNSxwNvSHiaOBEvNyAv7yviPlAox-heaP62JN7Bm0d0dRtjaElWzFb66pbdsSck0NPHLOvdJL85XQ/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZB4z80vDXmQILAotwZ8Ew_3rwphidpBHbxI3Vd06KZx8B7H0B552SGp6muMBPGKI2gKILHjUTK5DfaPPxJ8lBJRODDF7AjU9MNCqnGE4yUBacMeNSxwNvSHiaOBEvNyAv7yviPlAox-heaP62JN7Bm0d0dRtjaElWzFb66pbdsSck0NPHLOvdJL85XQ/w200-h191/slicelogo.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2023/03/01/day-1-of-the-march-solsc-sol23/" target="_blank">Day 1 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table> "I love riding on the back of your bike!" Rainbow Girl chirps as I wriggle the bike seat straps over her head and pop on her pink flowered helmet. </p><p>I twist myself back to face the front of my bike, grab the handlebars firmly, and glance to see her sweet smile in the rearview mirror as I push a foot against the pedal. </p><p>"It's like it's just you and me and Sis," she sighs contentedly behind me.</p><p>My eyes widen to take in the clear blue sky that stretches in front of us, beckoning us up the long hill out of our neighborhood. My lungs expand to gulp deep breaths of spring-sweet fresh air. The world seems to simultaneously stretch out infinitely far around us and shrink to freeze us in our own moving bubble as we soar up the hill and into the meadow, leaving behind the chatter of kids playing and neighbors exchanging small talk. <i>Just you and me and Sis.</i> I watch her big sister pedaling mightily in front of me, blonde hair flying past her waist, then peek at the rearview mirror to the little sweetie pie. <i>She's right.</i> Time stands still in our gliding bubble, just us darting down the path, gently floating into each wider scene for just a moment and then zipping past. </p><p>The straight path begins to swing and wind. </p><p>The sun turns more deeply gold each minute.</p><p>Insects whirr. </p><p>Birds twitter and warble.</p><p>Around one bend, chorus frogs hum and trill. </p><p>"I love riding bikes with you!" Sis whips her head around to call back to us, then churns her legs faster again. </p><p>"I love riding bikes with you too!" I call forward, then sneak another glimpse of Rainbow in the mirror. Blue eyes wide, brown hair blowing, dainty hands gripping the front bar of her seat delicately. Someday, too soon, she'll be out in front on her own bike, little legs churning right beside her big sister. This bike ride merges with all our past bike rides in my head, and I feel her baby feet pushing against my back, her baby voice saying "<a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/wee-bike.html" target="_blank">weeeee</a>!" the whole way, her toddler voice sing-songing "<a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/2021/03/over-in-meadow.html" target="_blank">Over in the Meadow</a>" behind me. </p><p>"I want to have a pink bike!" she pipes up suddenly. </p><p>"Yeah, you can have a pink bike someday!" I reply. I can almost see her out in front of me. She'll be so cute. They'll be so cute together. </p><p>But first, I'm going to soak up every moment of her little voice in my ear and her wiggles behind me. Because these moments in my rear view mirror will one day be behind us.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsD0lvoYAojsueYmZunXXjzpaBnEworev2d-Hk8gpv2JIorwX23ecFj3s9S1vj_grPYHSoI3a1Hq9NmFU9OWuiDcAZ4ESq7hlWUg4kprgOTnv78tQwfEdjPx25_3uoVBalza2i_nohF-mwNYzTUrBihsJeWL7nopfHMVMA1kv8KaYGXZ77UMCaK1sQFA/s3088/IMG_1748.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsD0lvoYAojsueYmZunXXjzpaBnEworev2d-Hk8gpv2JIorwX23ecFj3s9S1vj_grPYHSoI3a1Hq9NmFU9OWuiDcAZ4ESq7hlWUg4kprgOTnv78tQwfEdjPx25_3uoVBalza2i_nohF-mwNYzTUrBihsJeWL7nopfHMVMA1kv8KaYGXZ77UMCaK1sQFA/w300-h400/IMG_1748.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><3</td></tr></tbody></table>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-79976490083291334762022-03-31T21:07:00.001-04:002022-03-31T21:07:16.246-04:00New words, new connections<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eRnPpcxld6fNOq-VrSxSHL1IvKpiOTRm5jciOeD3BBSPQDE3iwpcKNuwtBWTaYqcXmHXPy-QIsCQ79exC2SAirmdVUmLCXkUfhlGbjvi5ElYjPuR4kO7mIZzvRBLVXptZmpt_ePyVimS_BQBK0k8NSI_jybI1P7zoVEydMMpMKPfW_oFhQdsgedWjQ/s201/slicelogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eRnPpcxld6fNOq-VrSxSHL1IvKpiOTRm5jciOeD3BBSPQDE3iwpcKNuwtBWTaYqcXmHXPy-QIsCQ79exC2SAirmdVUmLCXkUfhlGbjvi5ElYjPuR4kO7mIZzvRBLVXptZmpt_ePyVimS_BQBK0k8NSI_jybI1P7zoVEydMMpMKPfW_oFhQdsgedWjQ/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2022/03/31/day-31-of-the-march-solsc-sol22/" target="_blank">Day 31 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />When I pull into a parking place, the 12 year old shyly waves out their front window and I laugh as the 3 year old starts jumping up and down. Someone opens the door and I put my hand over my heart, grinning. "Salam Alaikum!" </p><p>"Hello ma'am!" "Salam!" "Hello!"</p><p>I take off my shoes and settle on the couch, knowing that hot tea and a plate of nuts and dates is coming. It's familiar and cozy. "The other day, <a href="http://ihabloespanglish.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my 3 year old said she wanted to go to Afghanistan again sometime</a>!" </p><p>The oldest son interrupts me and they all shake their heads. "Oh no, not go to Afghanistan!"</p><p>I giggle. "She meant coming here! She loves visiting your family!" </p><p>They laugh, eyes wide. "Ohhhh, THIS Afghanistan! Yes!" </p><p>We all laugh together, and I think back to my first time visiting them. It might as well have been a real trip to Afghanistan! I'm so used to working with my EL students from around the world at school, but a visit to the apartment of a family I'd never met, from a culture I was not familiar with, was a whole different exprerience.</p><p>-</p><p><i>Salam alaikum. Name man Jennifer ast. Salam alaikum. Name man Jennifer ast.</i> Noticing too late that I was sweating, I turned down the car heater despite the frigid temperatures outside. <i>Don't point with the finger; use a whole hand. Take off my shoes. Eat anything they offer. Salam alaikum. Name man Jennifer ast. </i>I'd spent most of the morning studying the Afghan cultural information and <a href="https://www.17-minute-world-languages.com/en/dari/" target="_blank">Dari phrases</a> included in our Welcome Team materials, and I didn't want to forget it all on the drive across town to meet the family! I tried to remind myself who all the family members were too, but I found I'd already forgotten most of the unfamiliar names from our spreadsheet. </p><p>I took a few deep breaths as I pulled up to the address and put on my mask. Curtains at the front window swung around and some curious faces peered out above a couch. <i>Salam alaikum. Name man Jennifer ast. </i></p><p>Grabbing the bags of masks and kids' art supplies, I started to knock tentatively when the door swung open.</p><p>"Salam alaikum!" I put my hand over my heart just as I'd practiced. </p><p>Their faces lit up as their hands went over their hearts too. "Salam alaikum!" "Salam!" "Hello!" </p><p>"Please, ma'am, sit." They motioned to the couch with open hands and I sat. </p><p>"Name..." Now I wasn't sure if I remembered it right. "...man... Jennifer... ast...?"</p><p>"OHHH! You speak Dari?!?!" Their eyes flew open wide. </p><p>"Oh, no, just a little," I held up pinched fingers, "for you!" </p><p>"Oh, very good! Very good!" So many wide smiles and bright eyes. </p><p>"Look, tomorrow is a special American holiday about love. I brought crafts!" I started digging out craft supplies that were snatched by small fingers before I could even finish explaining. Suddenly, I looked down at my feet. <i>Oh no, I forgot to take off my shoes!</i> I scrambled back to the doorway to shed them on the doormat. </p><p>Digging back in the bag, I found Sweetie's example Valentine card. "Here, my daughter made this for you!" I showed them a picture of Sweetie and pointed back at the card. "This is what we can make together!" </p><p>"Ohhhh, beautiful!" "Very good!" They crowded around as the dad, who knows the most English, exclaimed, "She write 'I love you!'"</p><p>"Yes! It's a holiday about love and friends!" </p><p>He put his hands over his heart. "Oh, beautiful!" </p><p>The 12 year old and 6 year old immediately dove into the supplies and started making their own cards, then handed them to me. "For your daughter!" they declared proudly.</p><p>They asked their dad to write their names on their cards, and as he streaked the smooth lines of Dari across, he asked "Your daughter name?" When I told him, he wrote it in Dari too, then painstakingly formed the English letters "i lov you" in the middle. </p><p>"You are CRIS volunteer?" the dad asked as the kids colored and cut.</p><p>"Yes, I'm a teacher with some of the other volunteers you've met before."<br /></p><p>"Ohhh teacher, very good! In Afghanistan, my job is help American soldiers. We love Americans, very nice. So we come here with SIV. I am so..." He paused, searching for a word, then just put both hands over his heart with gratitude shining in his eyes, "... to America for bring my family here."</p><p>Suddenly, the door swung open again and their cousin, who has lived in America for several years, entered. "Salam alaikum!" I put my hand over my heart again, and she smiled. </p><p>In the flurry of Dari and pointing at me and the cards that ensued, I could clearly catch that they were explaining that I'd spoken to them in Dari and brought the craft supplies. "I love you!" popped up interspersed with Dari as the dad proudly pointed to the card Sweetie had made for them. </p><p>By the time I left several hours later, there was a whole pile of cards to take home to my girls, and my whole family was invited for a special meal the next night. "Tascha kor! Tascha kor!" Thank you was certainly the most important phrase to learn when spending time with this amazingly sweet family.</p>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1089637337412050596.post-25689693937798360782022-03-30T20:19:00.003-04:002022-03-30T20:26:10.908-04:00When we're together<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gigiwPri_yH-K5zoMacfILBF-bePKcJm4_TysVLsq9DUxT97riLNZ17RmJgMCgFltJ0b5s17efVMLWoTNVnIotGb8kyWgF7tQC3tj0PV4vGXMnVFjYjtKDvI0HaZrfwpJbtjphbAI5fyzSRQdMG0p6UHSfFWYe0pN5ARkpuXfOJ9lHHcZLcSBQYx7g/s201/slicelogo.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="192" data-original-width="201" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gigiwPri_yH-K5zoMacfILBF-bePKcJm4_TysVLsq9DUxT97riLNZ17RmJgMCgFltJ0b5s17efVMLWoTNVnIotGb8kyWgF7tQC3tj0PV4vGXMnVFjYjtKDvI0HaZrfwpJbtjphbAI5fyzSRQdMG0p6UHSfFWYe0pN5ARkpuXfOJ9lHHcZLcSBQYx7g/s1600/slicelogo.png" width="201" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://twowritingteachers.org/2022/03/30/day-30-of-the-march-solsc-sol22/" target="_blank">Day 30 of 31 at TWT</a>!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> "Maybe this is a new family tradition!" I lean forward at my two sweet girls as they share a shamrock seat and nibble chicken nuggets from a flower table. The not-quite-setting sun casts a golden glow on their faces as an astonishingly warm breeze tosses their soft hair (one blonde, one brown). <div><p></p><p>"A tradition?!" Rainbow Girl's eyes light up. "Like Olaf and Anna and Elsa at Christmas?" </p><p>"That's right!" I giggle. "A tradition is just something that we like to do again and again!" I scoop refreshing Frosty into my mouth. And I think we really like eating Wendy's at this playground!" </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfe7RG3K_CPWRuOBQrQaijex_OmpBKHlpBo0oXf6QE3Tam1QtfuNOy2M58ViR0aB9tj1S8cKiqbvYd1u8cvvIL9u71CvEVvKEg-oWfhjwTU9NMp14UtddRWWvaOEopfR5pGTCwUq9XRxLGapmj0o-z969Ps5HY1yl7ZYBY1_QJ8Gx841A8oBrZ-TfnQ/s4032/IMG_9138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfe7RG3K_CPWRuOBQrQaijex_OmpBKHlpBo0oXf6QE3Tam1QtfuNOy2M58ViR0aB9tj1S8cKiqbvYd1u8cvvIL9u71CvEVvKEg-oWfhjwTU9NMp14UtddRWWvaOEopfR5pGTCwUq9XRxLGapmj0o-z969Ps5HY1yl7ZYBY1_QJ8Gx841A8oBrZ-TfnQ/w300-h400/IMG_9138.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><3 <3</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Sweetie plants a kiss on her little sister's head and they both laugh. When they finish eating, they scamper off to play some more on the unique structures; Rainbow heads for the gigantic outdoor xylophones while her big sis uses brute arm strength to hang-climb up some inclined parallel bars, then turns around to sit on top of them and slide back down again. Sweetie climbs the large dirt mound with an embedded slide while Rainbow floppily runs to the mini city, clambering onto the red fire truck climbing structure and running in and out of the little buildings, pretending to buy items at the market and take them home to the little house.</p><p>I just breathe the spring air in and out. It smells like hope. While we had flurries of snow just a few days ago, this Spring Break day is a hint that summer isn't far away at all. </p><p>One of our new favorite songs from that Frozen Christmas special that Rainbow was thinking of pops into my head. "When we're together, it's a holiday every night... when we're together, it's my favorite time of year!"</p><p><br /></p><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0JTjU_Y8dno" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe></div>JenniferMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09603450967368808356noreply@blogger.com4