All my heart

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

Tonight
I was going to write about the Chinese New Year celebration we attended on campus yesterday
and how my daughter was completely enamored
with the friendly dancing lion
while the professors and students were completely enamored
with my daughter
in her silk dress my dad brought her from one of his many recent business trips to China

but just now
as Husband was helping her into her unicorn & rainbow pajama pants,
she suddenly spun around, declaring,
"I'm going to kiss you, Mommy!"

And she did,
leaning over to me with little arms outstretched:
"Mm-muh!"

And then
wrapping those wriggly arms around my head,
big blue eyes staring into mine,
she started running her spindly fingers through my hair.

"I like your hair, Mommy!"
Tiny fingers winding, weaving, and smoothing my frizzy flyaways.
"Your hair is nice!
"Your ponytail is soft, comfy, and sweet!"

Those deep blue pools again:
"I love you! I really love you!"

And now
that's all my heart
and brain
contain.

So you'll have to be content with just a picture
of the little blonde girl who loved a dancing Chinese lion yesterday.

Reflecting and reaching

Monday.

What did you just think of when you heard that word? Sluggishness? Reluctance? Trying to shake yourself out of a fog? Yeah, me too. Until I get to class.

Mondays in my classes, more than any other day, run like a well-oiled machine. Smooth, simple, with gears turning purposefully. Going somewhere.

Every Monday, our warm-up is the "idiom of the week". Idioms are everywhere (Seriously. Have you noticed? Tomorrow, pay attention to all the idiomatic phrases you hear and read, and then imagine not having grown up with them!), they're hard to figure out if you don't just know them, and they can be pretty silly and fun! (Today's was "to sling mud", and an astute student pointed out that it's a lot like "throwing shade" -- they might not know traditional idioms, but ELLs sure don't struggle to pick up slang!) It's a light, non-threatening way to start the week... and I always smile to see one of our past idioms find its way into a student's writing months later!

Every Monday, we also check in about our academic goals. For the past several years, we've used the WOOP framework to set a goal that we want to work on for about a month. Teaching students to proactively realize what obstacles are standing in their way and plan how to overcome those obstacles has been incredibly powerful. Now that we're also using R-factor concepts, the language of default actions vs. disciplined actions has fit in perfectly with this structure.

This student's current goal is about reading, but it just has to be some academic skill. We fill out the top half when setting a new goal, then one row on the bottom every Monday to check in over the next month.

I used to have students share their progress with a partner, but now that I've shifted my class to a "squad" unit format (posts on that coming soon, I promise!), they share with their whole squads, and the conversations are much more powerful. These check-ins only take a few minutes, but their impact is incredible. Students are leaning forward, nodding, reflecting, and encouraging each other as they honestly share about why they are struggling to meet their goals or how they were successful.

And every Monday, we time ourselves reading for exactly 15 minutes, noting our starting and ending page numbers. When the timer goes off, we enter those pages into our reading goals spreadsheets (template 1 / template 2) to set our page goals for the week (based on Penny Kittle's idea from Book Love) and do a little thinking about our reading. I do my own as a model, and it's fascinating to see how my reading speed changes between and even within books and how much more purposeful I am about my reading when I know I have a specific goal.

thinking boxes

page goal (light green & yellow boxes calculate automatically)

Fingers fly on clicking keys and flip gently through book pages in a settled, nearly-silent hum: purposeful, thoughtful, spinning the foundation for a new week of reading. I could sneak out of the classroom and I'm pretty sure almost everyone would just keep typing. On Thursday, we'll check back in to see what progress we've made, but for now, the invitation to push ourselves forward as readers stands open.

Too much routine can be boring, but on Mondays, our routines anchor us and drive us, using reflection, goals, and community to focus on what matters most: reaching toward our best selves, one week at a time.

Named and noticed

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

Head up. Shoulders back. I check my reflection in the tinted windows. Do I look like a runner? Come on, legs! Don't slow down.... Oh gosh. This is hard. Just keep going. Ok.... 1 lap. Focus on this 1 lap. Then another. 1 at a time... Head up. Breathe. Don't let form break down. Another window-reflection-check. Go, legs!... Oh gosh, look at that guy. He's like, a real runner. How many laps is he doing? I wish I could run like that... Last year, I was running a mile in under 9 minutes. When can I run a mile again? People must think I'm so out of shape, running these little bursts of laps with breaks, and my dumb fat belly... Nope. Stop. Look how strong I'm getting! I'm getting so much stronger!... Here we go. Eyes ahead. Head up. Come on.

Then, the sweet-settling cooldown walk: That was hard. Good-hard. Look at me. Sweat-pouring stretches and cool-gulping mouthfuls of water: Yep, just the right kind of good-hard for now. Bounding down the stairs: Way better than sitting at home. Adjusting the seat and pinning the right weight into place: I'm going to get there. Just keep pushing. Furrowed brows, steady weights swinging: Just keep going. Just a little more. Better every day.

"Are you a trained runner?" This gray-haired man's admiring tone jerks my brain out of its workout-sharp, so-clear-it's-almost-empty focus-void.

"Umm?" My eyes briefly dart around to see if he's talking to someone else. "No? Not really?" I ran middle-school track for two years, very slowly, awkwardly, and poorly? I have never excelled at anything athletic in my life, except marching band? I'm just a band girl?  

Clearly, my stammering, startled confusion takes him aback. "I'm not trying to be smart or anything, really! I was just watching how smooth you were running, and I thought, 'Wow, she has to be a trained runner!' You're one of the smoothest runners I've seen around here!"

"Oh! Wow! Um, thanks! I mean, my dad was a runner, and I kind of learned from him. I've been trying really hard! Thank you!"

And just like that, the remaining tendrils of doubt and discouragement release their hold on me. He noticed me, and thought I was doing a good job? He noticed so much that he had to come up and say something, when he doesn't even know me at all? He thinks I'm a real runner?! I feel like I just found out that I'm actually a superhero! 

I guess I could have told him that I was in the OSU Marching Band for 5 years, and that helped me develop an acute awareness of my posture and movements, coupled with the determination to relentlessly analyze my performance and find ways to improve. I could have told him that the R-Factor conversations my favorite new colleague has brought to our school have reinforced that old drive and analysis while also challenging me to examine my focus and self-talk to develop a more positive growth mindset.

Trained runner? No. Trained marcher and thinker? Definitely.

I could have also told him that I only started running seriously a year and a half ago, and that since then I've had to stop completely and start over, twice, due to the hardest personal tragedies I have ever gone through, within less than a year. I could have told him that the past three years have been the most challenging of my life, for way too many different reasons, and that even though the simple difficulty of running gives me power and clarity, I'm also tempted to quit almost every week.

"Runner?" Not if you mean a competitive athlete who's been running for years, which is what I'm tempted to think it means. Runner, as in a person who runs, just like a writer is a person who writes? Yeah, but it takes some work to make myself believe it.

But I didn't tell him any of that. I just smiled and savored his words all evening. And three days later, when I ran again. And every time I've run, over the past three weeks, ever since. I run, and now my brain says: Smooth! I look like a trained runner! Eyes ahead. Head up. Strong legs. Keep it up, Smooth Runner. 

Identity is powerful. Feedback is powerful. Specific, timely feedback that builds an identity is life-changing. And when it's a surprise, it goes straight to your heart with even more force.

How much better would our classrooms, our schools, our world be if we all acted a little more like random rec center guy? If we slowed down enough to notice each other? To figure out what's special and point it out? To honor what someone else is striving for by naming it? Let's search for opportunities to say, "Hey, I noticed your hard work. It was awesome because (specific observation). It made you look like a real (identity construct)."

This is what we all need to RISE.

Head up. Keep going. Better every day. 

My Brooks make me feel like a real runner, too! <3

A rising tide

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"I get it! Now I'll leave comments! I read the comments they left me and I just..." With sparkling eyes, A. looks up from her blog and presses her hands over her heart.

"Seeeee? I tried to tell you!" I nudge her shoulder with my elbow. "But I know... it's hard to understand how powerful comments can be until you get a really meaningful comment, right? And it just gives you this incredible feeling... that's exactly what happened to me with my teacher blogging friends! This is what I've wanted for you guys!"

This little moment with A. is the culmination of several days of having my heart soar as I scrolled through the comment moderation feed on my class blog. Every year, I try to teach my students the power of commenting on others' writing. Every year, I dream of recreating for them the uplifting community of writers I experience every Tuesday through slicing. Every year, a few students buy in and craft some encouraging, thoughtful comments for others. But every year, the experience has fallen flat for most of them. Until this year.

A few weeks ago, I'd once again given a mini-lesson about how to construct a thoughtful comment. It was a darn good mini-lesson, complete with us working together as a class to craft a meaningful comment on one of the TWT author's OLW posts. Once again, I put up a chart on the SMARTboard of the components of a quality comment, with sentence starters, as I sent my students off to their Chromebooks. Once again, not enough kids put in enough effort to create a truly meaningful connection. Once again, their sighs and glazed eyes revealed that most of them viewed it as just another task to complete, and a rather onerous one at that. Once again, many of them scrolled through their classmates' OLW posts without commenting at all or left short, generic, superficial comments.

My muscles tensed as I circulated though the room with my laptop, approving the mostly-mediocre incoming comments and hurling gentle reminders over shoulders. "Remember to leave a thoughtful, 2-part comment!" "Don't forget to try out some of the sentence starters on the board!" "'I liked your writing. It was good.' is not a quality comment!" There was probably steam coming out of my ears by the end of that afternoon.

After class, I flopped into my desk chair, put my chin on my arms, and fumed. Why don't they ever get this?! It could be so awesome! Suddenly, I remembered a takeaway one of my colleagues had shared from Urban Meyer's book on coaching & leadership: "In the old days he got furious. Now, he gets curious: where did the breakdown occur?"

My mind cleared. Curious, not furious... Ok. This is a leadership breakdown. Ever since this particular colleague has brought Focus-3's R-Factor leadership training (the culture / leadership system OSU football uses) into our building, I've shifted to a new vision of my responsibilities as classroom leader. I knew I'd given them the skills they needed to write effective comments. They just weren't doing it. Ok. This is not a skill gap. This is a clarity-of-purpose gap. They weren't seeing the value, even though I'd tried to explain and model the power of commenting. Time to regroup.

The next day, I pulled my class into the meeting area with a blank page on the SMARTboard. With more than a little fire, asked them, "Why do you think I ask you to leave comments for other writers?" After 10 solid minutes of popcorn responses so fast I could barely scrawl them on the board, they'd hit everything I could have possibly wanted to lecture them on: Reading like writers to learn new writing strategies. Practicing good writing in their responses. Getting to know each other better. Building confidence and pride in their writing. Reflecting on the components of good writing... Everything. And they were ready to go.

I felt like we shouldn't have needed that conversation. We shouldn't have had to "waste time" backtracking to talk about why to leave comments when we'd done it several times this year. They should have known. But whether you "should have to" do something is another mindset shift my colleague has had me reflecting on. Regardless of what I thought should happen, there was some kind of disconnect between my vision and theirs, and that discussion transformed it. Maybe it was the days of foundation after break we'd just spent reflecting on first semester and setting goals, maybe they could see I was fired up, but I think the biggest difference was that they felt invested in creating the reasons themselves. 

And that day, enough of them got on board to turn the tide.

The next day, I pulled up some of the best comments and we analyzed them together, noticing the words and strategies that made them so powerful. My group leaders (more posts coming on that!) started really pushing themselves to make a difference in their comments to their group members. More momentum. 

Since then, it has been pure delight to scroll through that feed, clicking "approve" and getting goosebumps. Almost every comment has been crafted with specific, intentional thoughts to lift the writer and build a meaningful connection. 

And the more meaningful connections, the more reluctant writers like A. will see their power and RISE, wanting to pass that feeling on to others. Enough ripples make a wave. But the ripples start with me: curious, not furious.

Flying free

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"Ok, climb on.. oof!" I shift the hard wood to keep it from digging into my legs as little hands and knees start pummeling my back. Dead weight on my neck shoves my head forward, and I have to laugh. "Wait, you're too far forward! Scoot back!!!" Wriggly limbs squirm to a more comfortable position above me, and I tighten my grip around the bar in my hands.

"Ready?! Hold on tight! Hug Mommy really big!" Precious arms squeeze my shoulders, and I shove my boots against the ground.

"FAST!" M&M squeals as my feet scramble to get us to the edge of the hill.
We

tip 

forward

and we're flying!

Wind rushing in our ears,
clear air tickling our rosy cheeks,
flying!
Giggling, shrieking, gliding, flying!

Then
WOOMP!

We careen to a jarring halt,
frigid snow bits clumping in our eyelashes, biting our faces, clinging to our pigtails.

We tumble off the sled, and I can't remember lesson plans, emails, or a to-do list. I can't remember anything but our twinkling blue eyes, our toothy grins, her little arms hugging my neck, and that flying feeling. Purely, joyfully free.

Whatever I used to do on snow days, it wasn't nearly as sweet as this.

I will rise (OLW 2018)

Ever since I found my first "one little word" in 2012, I've spent December days seeking out my next word. Sometimes, a word finds me, jumping out, lighting up, or slamming into my brain. Those years, I just know I've found my word, or rather, that it has found me. Other years, I let a few words bounce around in my head, turning them over, letting them roll through my mind, trying them out to see if they fit. And a few years, I go actively seeking them, scrolling through favorite quotes or contemplating symbolic images.

Regardless, I've always managed to choose 6 words that have filled my life perfectly for the past 6 years: guiding me, pushing me, and encouraging me through sometimes unimaginable changes. It's incredible to realize that when I chose that first word, I was a young middle-school Spanish teacher on a cart who had only been blogging for a few months. Now, as I savor my seventh word, I'm an experienced high school ELL teacher and mom of an amazing toddler. Those words have taken me so far: 2012: connect --> 2013: delight --> 2014: spark --> 2015: love --> 2016: strong --> 2017: anyway

Usually, I like to reflect on the previous year, but I'm so ready to leave 2017 behind. Let's just say that I couldn't have possibly imagined how much I'd really need the word "anyway". In fact, I probably should have clung to it even more than I remembered to, but it got me through, nonetheless. Here I am, ready to choose another word.

This year, my word definitely found me, as surely as if it had appeared in the sky with shimmering lights. In 2018, I will RISE.

I love making my word with Drawing Desk & Font Candy!

I will RISE to continually improve my instruction.
I will RISE to provide feedback that enables a focus on learning.
I will RISE to show more love and grace to every student.
I will RISE to build a stronger classroom culture with more student ownership.
I will RISE to hold the line high every moment, every day.

I will RISE to "brave the wilderness" and work with authenticity. 
I will RISE to stand firm in doing what is best for students.
I will RISE to center myself in trust, kindness, and hope.
I will RISE to seek out and strengthen colleagues who work with purpose, integrity, and joy.
I will RISE to create widening ripples of positive change.

I will RISE to cherish small moments.
I will RISE to bring my best self home.
I will RISE to be careful with the feelings I create in those who matter most.
I will RISE to love with patience and presence.

I will RISE to keep my body healthy and my mind & heart strong.
I will RISE to choose courage over fear and gratitude over pain.
I will RISE to remember how far I've come, not just how far I have to go.
I will RISE to be gentle with myself.

"Just like hopes springing high, / still I'll rise." -- Maya Angelou

Bootiful bodies

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"Mommy's body's OUT!!!" As I start to change into my running clothes, M&M throws her arms into the air and charges across the room towards me, a flailing windmill of delight.

My mind flashes back to before I had her, when I used to laugh at stories of moms complaining they couldn't even go to the bathroom alone, wondering if that was really true. It is, of course, but it turns out that having a small person put her hands on your knees and stare up at you while you pee (even if she announces "Mommy's peeing in the potty!" in a public restroom) is much more cute than annoying, at least when the small person is the sweet, perfect miracle you grew in your belly.

I crack up as she flings her skinny arms around me, only slightly embarrassed that she is making such a production of what used to be a private activity. Suddenly calm, she strokes my belly and gazes up at me. "It's bootiful!" she softly declares.

I look down, not sure we're seeing the same belly. Freckles, pale skin, too much squishiness and pudge that never goes away, no matter how much I run and work out or how well-toned the rest of my body gets. I love the strength that shows in my arms and legs, which are scrawny enough otherwise that they display my muscles in a way that makes me quite proud, but I'm not a fan of my belly. (And yes, I know, it grew her into a person, but it was already too squishy before that!)

"Thank you, Sweetie!" I kneel down and squeeze her into a big hug, feeling like I'm going to split open and a radiant star is going to burst out of my body. This is important. This is my chance to stop passing on body hatred. "Your body's beautiful, too!" I tug her shirt up and sprinkle kisses all over her belly. I bump her belly with mine. "Look at our beautiful bellies!" Her best-sound-in-the-world giggle tinkles around the room.

"Hey, let's take some selfies with our beautiful bodies!" I want to freeze this moment and remember it forever. Stretching out my arm, I start pushing the white button. "Bootiful bodies! Bootiful bellies!" she squeals.

A minute later, I scroll through the pictures: Her head nestled against my sports bra as she wraps her arms around my belly, cooing and grinning as she squeezes that squishiness I hate into a loving hug. Her proudly posing beside me, rubbing her bare tummy with one hand and patting mine with the other. Her patting my neck, gazing at me and then playfully stretching out a tiny finger to poke my belly button.

I did freeze the moment, but I don't even need the pictures to replay it. Every time I start to look at my belly with less-than-positive thoughts, I hear her little voice again. "It's bootiful!"And just this morning, after several days had passed, she rubbed her belly as I changed her, saying "Bootiful body!" And then she reached for mine again. The other night, as Husband and I held her before bed, she exclaimed, "Mommy's bootiful! Daddy's bootiful too!" and patted both of us.

And I started to believe her.

All she sees is love. She doesn't see that Mommy and Daddy do not exactly look like we stepped out of a fashion magazine. She sees Mommy and Daddy, who love her.

She also loves our hair, face, eyes, teeth... <3

I know that no matter how hard we try to protect her, she will eventually be bombarded with the message that she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not perfect enough. But I refuse to be part of that, and the first step is not sharing the cycle of negative self-talk. So yes, Sweetie, Mommy and Daddy are "bootiful." So are you. So are we all.