An Ode to William

Wow, the year has basically come and gone and I’ve just now gotten around to writing again. Life as a full-time mama and full-time teacher is, as always, a busy adventure. In the time since I last wrote, we said a very tough and sad goodbye to our beloved family pup, William. You may recall William’s antics as they were chronicled in years past (see: “Oh William” Part 1, Part 2, Part 3). He served as more than a pet in our family; he was our keeper, our therapy, our joy. A gift from God, honestly. Losing a pet, or anyone we love, is deeply difficult — even if we see it coming. In the weeks leading up to the goodbye, and in the days following the loss, I was reminded of a simple truth: everyone is dealing with something we (often) know nothing about.

I have been beyond blessed to experience Capturing Kids’ Hearts training(s) on a handful of occasions. One of the most beloved features of this training is the sharing of sentimental objects. In this activity, participants bring an object and a prepared story to share with the group. In such, I’ve learned about the trials and triumphs, joys and losses of many of my colleagues and district-leaders. These are stories I would otherwise never know but for the time carved out within the training. When our eyes are opened to the hardships others face, we are moved toward deeper understanding and authentic empathy. We build bonds and are strengthened as a team. We are challenged to be more caring humans.

But what of our students? Those whose pain will never be known, or whose joys are kept hidden away? Students who, like my nine-year-old son just weeks ago, said the most tearful, gut-wrenching goodbye of his life to William. I am always challenged to balance high expectations with extreme empathy. To learn as much as I can, ask a million questions, and analyze the eyes and body language of my students. What’s more, taking it further: cultivating a classroom environment where students develop emotional intelligence and learn to read the energy of those around them. Here’s one simple thing to try: ask your students (rhetorically), do you know the names of every person you sit by in all of your classes? What about the person behind you? When have you asked anyone around you how they are doing? Do you actually look at their face when they answer? If never, do it next hour or tomorrow.

We have a terrific responsibly as educators — to teach, assess, shape character, grow our teams, elevate expectations. Let’s not forget that at the core of every human is life-experience, much of which we know nothing about. Developing empathy within ourselves and among our young people is work that never stops.

And to William Dog Veitch, Willie-Dog, the handsomest pup I ever did meet: we loved you so much, good boy. X

God will prepare everything for our perfect happiness in heaven, and if it takes my dog being there, I believe he'll be there. — Billy Graham.

Move it!

Hey, hey — back at it again, are ya?
Not long ago, the calendar turned to August, so I looked at my class lists and laid out some plans. Low and behold, I started to feel (gasp) ready-ish! I mean, I’m not ready, and if you’re already back at it in earnest, I salute you.
This summer I set out to do one simple thing everyday, no excuses: move it. It’s taken me a minute to get my pre-COVID norms and habits back in place. Admittedly, when I was drowning in all that was the last 2.5 years, my self-care habits were the first to go. Things I had locked into place prior to March 2020 — exercise goals, book clubs, church, sleep routines, and so on — suddenly felt like extras that I had to (or could easily) boot from my daily norms.
My counselor said this to me recently, “self care is not a privilege, it’s a necessity.” I know, I know. Self care, psht. At the risk of sounding cliche, I make the case.
My husband is the busiest person in the field of education that I know. He runs an entire school building, serves as a community leader in various roles, pours into his staff like no other, and now has a side gig training teachers and school staff during the summer. Yet, when his friends call to meet him on the river, or he needs to pound out three miles on the treadmill to burn steam, he doesn’t miss a beat. He’s there, he does it, he shows up — for himself and for his people. He is rarely off center, and though he might not call his rhythms self-care, that’s what they are.
When we greet our kiddos for the first time later this month, or next week, we will take one look at their faces and it’s game-on. Every ounce out there; nothing left on the table. But we will, and I mean we will, max ourselves out in short order if we don’t take care. What is it that you need — to move it, like me? A walk, at minimum, everyday? A book to lose yourself in at day’s end? A weekly phone call or Marco Polo exchange with your person? Do it, do it, do it.

Cheering you on, always!

Lindsay

Is it just me, or ....

Talk to anyone in the field of education right now and you’d likely hear something like this…

Is it just me, or is this year really, really hard?

No, it’s not just you. Yes, it’s been a shockingly tough school year.

We have thought up a boat-load of reasons why this year feels so difficult. Each one is valid and real. And depending on your personal circumstances, this school year might be the hardest stretch of the pandemic yet.

Of all the reasons I myself have named, and those I’ve heard my colleagues express, there is a foundational piece clamoring for our attention: the reality of what has happened. We are currently teaching children, who, on the heels of the most unusual educational experience the world has ever known, have been thrown back into a traditional educational setting — and WAM, just like that; things should be normal, right? Many kids have gaps in learning, basic skills missing, and difficulty hanging onto expected routines and daily systems. Not to mention some of the wonkiest behaviors I’ve seen in 15 years in education — and I teach middle school! All of this coincides with the real and legitimate mental health crisis teens are facing in the wake of the pandemic. Last month, The New York Times reported on the United States Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek H. Murthy’s remarks regarding this very issue. Dr. Murthy cites an alarming increase in mental health emergencies in our country, adding insult to injury among an already vulnerable group of humans: teens. Further, teens have become increasingly involved in all things social media, exacerbating emotions and feelings that can, in a flash, wreck a person’s well-being.

This is a lot; so what is one to do?

I, namely, have to re-up my game as a “good thing finder.” My approach — Goal 1: send notes home to students each week, even if it’s just one or two. (Here’s a refresher on this idea). Goal 2: run, run, RUN from negativity. Find the good, say the good, be the good. (Check this out for more of my thoughts on positivity).

Let’s be real though, we can’t just sugar-coat a situation like the one facing our kids. It’s going to take more; it’s going to take genuine empathy. A colleague of mine recently noted that we have dozens and dozens of wounded and hurt children walking our halls. And, sadly, they can’t or won’t tell a soul. We need to change that. We need to greet our kids at the doors of our classrooms. We need to insist on eye contact. We need to linger and check-in. Asking “how are you today” is a terrific start, but dig deeper, be specific, circle back.

Take heart in knowing that it’s not just you, this school year has been a lot. But the New Year is upon us, and what a great time to refresh our efforts and do what’s best for kids.

Joy and cheer, my friends.

Lindsay

The Social Contract

A funny thing happened in our family a few months ago. My husband and I were engaged in, let’s say, a disagreement. It was nothing major, in fact the tiff was over something silly, but the perception of a tense moment got the kids’ attention. Our five-year-old marched up to us with a poster-sized paper in his hand, pointed to it, and said, “mom and dad! The social contract!” Incidentally, this was the child most disengaged during the creation of our families’ social contract, yet he’s usually the first one to call our attention to it when needed. That big ole paper was with us all summer. We folded it up and brought it on vacation, displayed it in the boys’ bedroom when summer fight mode broke out, and have reflected on it in moments of celebration.

We’re big advocates for Capturing Kids’ Hearts, having been trained in many of the Flippen Group’s programs over our years in education. The philosophy is game changing, and their foundation to successful classroom management is a tool that can be transformational. “Can be” is the key phrase. The social contract can be just words on a bulletin board like the rest of classroom decor; or it can be a catalyst for student self reflection, growth, and peer accountability.

If you’ve not made a social contract with your students, or you’ve never heard of Capturing Kids’ Hearts’ approach to it, check this out. Thousands of teachers and other organizations rave about the effectiveness of creating and using a social contract.

My eighth graders made a social contract and we put it right to use. We’re preparing for our first debate in history class, so the groups discussed which ideas from our contract should be their focus in order for our debate to be successful. Each hour chose 2-3 ideas. As we’re prepping for the debate, I ask two kids each hour to monitor how the class is upholding those 2-3 expectations. Then, at the end of our time each day, those same two kids report out to the class with critical or positive feedback. So far they’ve owned it and taken it serioisly; I’ll count that as a win.

If your past experiences with a social contract have left you skeptical, I recommend watching this video from Edutopia. I love two ideas from this clip. First, the way the instructor ties her class’ social contract norms into their group discussions is brilliant. As a history and language arts teacher, I can see doing this as we reflect on events from history or key ideas from a text. Asking questions like, “where/how do or don’t we see evidence of [insert word/idea from social contract]?” Second, I love the 3,2,1 rating where students give feedback on themselves, the class-as-a-whole, and give specific examples as a verbal affirmation.

Whatever your experience with a social contract is, surely it deserves consideration, another look or a refreshed approach.

Wishing you all the best in your classroom today and always,

Lindsay

Standing Together

Oh, hey. It’s been a long time, I know. Now that I’ve had some time this summer to do normal things — like, breath in pure oxygen for many days in a row, for example — I’m feeling clear-minded and ready to re-up to my email notes.

I’ve written before about my (very rudimentary) gardening experience (see “Baby Jalapeños”). We’ve gotten a little more aggressive over here, adding one or two planters to our patio garden each year. Knowing we’d be out of town much of the summer, we opted for a plant that required minimal maintenance: tomatoes. We loaded the little tomato babies into their new homes, positioned them to receive water from our underground sprinkling system, and off we went. In my haste, I put wire tomato cages in only three of the seven pots. Well, my mistake turned out to be a learning experience, and a terrific reminder on the importance of togetherness.

We returned home after many weeks away, only to find that a meager three of the seven pots housed flourishing tomato plants. In these planters, our babies were now fully grown, cuddled together in their pots, beaming with nearly-ripe fruit and green vegetation in and around their thin wire cages. The other four pots, however, were in disarray. Their foliage was already turning yellow, they lopped sideways and hardly a tomato ripened on their vines. They weren’t growing together at all, and consequently, they were suffering. Lesson learned: don’t forget the plant holders next year.

The tale of the tomato plants also serves as a good reminder that we flourish, stand tall, and produce bountiful fruit, only when we stick together.

I’ve never been more excited to return to school — a crazy thing to say after the year we just had. Nonetheless, I feel strong and capable, ready and eager. But I have to remind myself that none of us, not a single soul, made it through the COVID Year on his or her own. We need to remember this and weave togetherness into the fabric of our work at school each day. Growing together happens little by little and with intentionality: when we write an encouraging note to a colleague, choose to pop over to the social hour instead of home to the couch, linger for a chit-chat in the staff lounge even when the to-do list awaits. I’ve worked on a team for the last several years that has had some serious fun. But it didn’t just happen to be that way. We made it happen that way. The daily work of standing together happens in the small moments, the little things we do each day to hold each other up. We are just like those tomatoes: prone to drift apart and maybe even falter on our own. I suggest we nestle in together, ready and eager to carry each others’ joys and each others’ sorrows. It’s tough work, educating humans, but together we can make it the best kind of work.

Standing with you,

Lindsay

Positivity

I’ve set out to write an awe-inspiring post about a few revamped instructional strategies at least a dozen times. But the truth is, I feel brain dead! Sure, I’m pulling out all the stops now that we’re 100% face-to-face and experiencing fewer quarantines (knock on wood!). We’ve done as much work away from screens as we possibly can — upping our use of thinking map journals, annotating historical song lyrics and images, analyzing primary sources and so on.

Nevertheless, there is one, solitary, single thing sustaining me right now: positivity. I’m looking for it everywhere. I’m working my tail off to spread it all day long. I’m going overboard to affirm it when I see, hear, or notice it. I shut down negativity like it’s a three-headed monster. Because honestly, it’s a complete and total waste of time at this point. We are where we are, we’ve been tested by fire, and all we can do is push on with a smile under our mask and a song in our heart.

One day soon, my brain will come back to life, and I’ll send along some new instructional ideas. For now, I’ve got a one track mind for positivity — the golden ray of light that changes everything.

Try Something

I was recently thinking about the week before holiday break last year, and several recollections came to mind:

a taco feast my teaching team enjoyed together at lunch

dozens and dozens of eighth graders, dressed in their ugliest Christmas sweaters, partying with cookies and milk

a whole family gathering at my mom’s house with a cheese board and laughter and joy

And then I compared those memories to the events of this week, and I actually had to take a moment to grieve.

The same week in December this year has been marked by the following:

working through lunch, again, because … 7,000 emails.

feeling a sense of accomplishment that I didn’t cry during week number two of our middle school’s hybrid model

staring at my lesson plans for January and smiling like a clown at the sight of 2021 on the calendar

What did this comparison achieve? I have no idea. What have I learned in 2020? It might take me a few days to talk it all through.

Distilling the events from this past year into one, concise lesson seems like a preposterous task. But I’ll give it a go. 2020 taught educators everywhere to try, try, and try again. We have done so many things for the first time this year. Some of our efforts have flopped, while other methods exceeded expectations. And sometimes, we’ve found ourselves staring blankly into space wondering what on Earth we’re doing. Nevertheless, we put aside yesterday’s failures and mishaps, show up each day, and try again. And on and on it goes. Every. Single. Day.

If a year ago someone would have told me that I would be simultaneously teaching half of my students in person while supporting the other half virtually, I would have bellowed with laughter. “Impossible,” I might have implored. Of course, I now know that I would have been wrong. Yes, it’s hard. Yes my first attempt stunk, and yes it needs constant tweaking. But, it is possible.

I’ve been pondering this quote from Franklin D. Roosevelt, “It is common sense to take a method and try it. If it fails, admit it frankly and try another. But above all, try something.” That’s it. That’s what we’ve been doing. And we are all the better for it — humbled, stronger, more clever than we thought we were, and wiser, for sure.

At this time next year, I hope I remember this lesson and beam with pride.

Keep trying, my friends, and remember that goodness always prevails, even in a year like 2020.

Uncertain

As I pen these words, we are on the brink of more uncertainty than most of us have ever known: a heated election, an ongoing pandemic, schools doing their very best to stay safe and stay open.

The uncertainty is overwhelming. It’s got me rattled and dizzy-minded and cackling about like a crazed maniac.

I have no idea what next week, two weeks, or a month from now will look like. I hope we’re in school, but there are no guarantees. But one thing I am sure of is this: now, more than ever, our students need our love.

Recently, I received a sincere, from-the-heart, nice note from a student. And, suddenly the unknown didn’t matter. Leave it to a 14-year-old to reorient my brain and set me straight. The kid thanked me for my dedication, for being loving, for dolling out unsolicited help, for mentoring everyone that comes in my classroom. When I read those words, I was reminded of this simple truth: right now, love matters most. We can be uncertain of everything else, but one thing we know for sure is that our love makes a difference.

Time will pass, and a new season will dawn. What will remain is the love we showed during this time of uncertainty and trial.

Spread the love and shine your light, friends.

Everything Is Awesome!

A colleague across the hall, Erika, (who also happens to be a dear friend and our team’s official joy-spreader) has been known to shout/sing “Everything is Awesome!” at random times throughout this wild and crazy back-to-school season. Our team has successfully exhausted the song’s lines, as well as every emoticon and bitmoji of the like.

Of course, everything is not awesome, but truthfully, it’s going well. Really well. As well as we could have hoped for.

I look around at the work that’s being done, and can’t help but notice that things are, er, intense. Most of us are dealing with all or some of the following: preparing and grading work for students in school and for those learning at home; mapping out lessons on tech platforms that are still new to us; jumping through the psychologically exhausting guessing game of “what if?” What if we get shut down again? What if I get quarantined and can’t be in school? What if this new normal isn’t temporary and goes on and on and on? When I ponder all of that, I can’t help but actually laugh out loud at the idea that “everything is awesome.” Sometimes it’s hysterically funny; other times it’s entirely overwhelming.

Then I hear Erika's version of “Everything is Awesome” reverberate down the hallway and listen closely for the chuckles and giggles that follow it. That’s it, right there. I am reminded of the terrific joy that surrounds me, and I am infinitely grateful for the joy-spreaders in my life.

Stop and consider this question: what is bringing you joy? In the middle of the crazy. During the endless unpredictability of 2020. In the absurdly difficult. What’s keeping your spirits up and your head in the game?

I hope you share your answer with someone, or take some time to thank the ones who fuel your tank and keep you going. Friends, let’s speak that goodness aloud. Let’s talk about what is positive. Let’s share the joy, because… everything is awesome!

To see more of Erika’s beautiful graphic art, click the image above or follow this link.

Whew

Well, we’re doing it. Some of us are doing it again… distance learning, that is. Others are doing something new — teaching our classes with a masked face. Whatever situation you’re in, I imagine that you celebrate the end of each day with a big sigh and a, “whew, made it through the day.”

I find myself in the latter scenario, masked all day. I’m straining my voice so I can be heard and getting used to seeing only half of my students’ faces. It’s different; it’s tough.

But man, it’s good to be back.

Here’s what I’m learning in this season: sometimes, the “whew, we made it,” is all we can ask for. Life in the classroom looks a lot different right now, but I think we can and should celebrate every single day. We can celebrate the resilience of our kiddos, the contributions of our teammates, and the problem solving efforts of every person in education.

Whether you’re drowning in technology (again) or battling to keep your chin up with that mask on, I am confident you’re making it work. And I sincerely hope you feel a little bit of joy later today when you get to say, “whew, I made it.”

Your hard work matters!

Team, Team, Team on Three

On the rollercoaster ride that has been 2020, the phrase “we’re all in this together,” has gotten a little, well, overused.

Might I suggest that this overused phrase may have an under appreciated value? It deserves a second look, I think.

At this point in the summer, we have seen or heard of several hundred back-to-school plans. We’re anxious; we’re fretting. Some urge, “can we just do this already?” While others caution, “easy does it.” We’ve waited for decisions, lurched into action, and then whiplashed into re-working plans when change comes ‘round again. My head is spinning just thinking about it all. And, alas, we’re not even back to school yet!

There is one constant in it all, however: our teams. Sets of educators, administrators, and support staff who have linked arms, tag-teamed, and carried the load together. I’m looking around for stability right now, and I am grateful to find it in my colleagues and partners-in-action. Folks who will send me screenshots of my scowl-face from the virtual staff meeting. Others who will carry an extra load when I’m busy with my kids. Leaders who are detailing every possible scenario for the safety and health of us all.

This school year will be a wild one, that’s for sure, but our teams will see us through. We are all in it together, after all. Team, team, team on three!

Look Away

We’ve made it to the homestretch (or, at the very least, it’s quite near). Most of us never imagined this type of ending to the school year. It feels so strange to say a virtual goodbye to our students and pack up our classrooms without colleagues to hug and cheers with. And let’s not discount feeling so uncertain about what the Fall/future holds.

One thing I am certain of, however, is this: I need to look away.

Look away from this screen, detach from the news, purge from the stress of this “new normal.” There is a ridiculous bounty of blessing around me, and I want to turn my eyes to it. I hope and pray that you have good things to turn your eyes toward, also.

In the weeks to come, I’m looking away from my screen and scanning the view from my back porch. Here I’ll find our families’ new yet faithful friends: Mr. Cardinal (and his girlfriend — yes, according to some in my home, birds have loved ones), the bunches of bunnies who’ve made homes (and children) in our yard, and the toads my children regularly take hostage. These joys are simple and treasured; they deserve my attention.

Regardless of what the Fall brings — a normal first-day-of-school with jitters and all, or a virtual greeting that will feel…uhm… odd — we need to enter it with clear minds. And I think that requires a moment or two or ten of looking away.

This summer, as always, we have loads of work to do. But, I hope — for a least a while — that you feel released from your screens. So that when you return, under any and all circumstances, you’re ready to capture the hearts of your students, pour into the good work of teaching, and tackle any challenge that comes your way.

Wishing you peace, joy, and health,

Lindsay

Too Much? Not Enough?

Friends,

I have been drowning in computer screens and Google Classroom pages and hyperlinks and instructional videos. I am desperate for a major technology detox, can I get an amen?

Now don’t get me wrong, I want to do everything I can to be the best virtual teacher. Yet the sheer volume of it all — managing teaching and home-life and other miscellaneous stressers — can be debilitating. The trickiest part of thriving under these circumstances (at least for me), is the wonky balancing act that we’re all facing. I’ve been wrestling with this question for weeks: how can I strike the just-right balance for myself as a virtual teacher and my kids as virtual students? Here are a few principles to consider:

• Put your face front and center — in short videos, pictures posted on Google Classroom, and in virtual Hangouts. The kids need to know we’re still here.

• We shouldn’t fret if they don’t show up. Like us, these kids are juggling an awful lot right now — from home — and many (especially the teens) are doing so with very little structure in place. Most school districts are beyond blessed to have many layers of support staff. I’ve learned to lean into these folks — our SPED colleagues, EL teachers, paraprofessionals and secretaries. If I haven’t heard from a kid or can’t reach his or her parent, I send their name along to our staff. Together, we’ll make sure the kids are doing okay and are fully supported. I can’t carry the burden alone. We can’t be everything for every kid in normal circumstances, and we surely cannot in these unusual times.

• Assign a reasonable work load. Teams of teachers in our school district have worked hard to design impactful, essential, and engaging lessons that won’t bog our students down. As a parent of a kindergartener, I am grateful for this wise approach.

If you’re like me and asking yourself, “am I doing too much or not enough?” take a deep breath… your students know you care and that’s what matters most.

Stay strong; we got this,

Lindsay

Believing the Best

Okay, first of all, let me be honest, this note is as much of a pep-talk for me as it might be for you. “Seeing the good” in the COVID-19 crisis, for me, has been a struggle. Like most of you, I was shocked, disappointed, and totally bummed out that all of our most anticipated activities had been cancelled, postponed, or highly discouraged to carry out. From my six-year-old’s final basketball game, to a normal Tuesday morning with my wonky and hilarious eighth graders — wham, upended. Upon finding out that March Madness had been kiboshed, one of my husband’s friends said, “I feel like a kid who just found out that his birthday, Halloween, and Christmas were all cancelled.” I agree, completely.

But — and here’s the turn — this is about more than any inconvenience to me or my six-year-old kid’s basketball season. Sure, we can feel disappointed, bummed out, and angry, even. But we can’t stay there. This strange moment is about something bigger. It’s about doing what’s best for our community, state, and nation; reorienting our normal; accepting that no one can predict what will happen. We can only control a few aspects of this crisis — the moment right in front of our face. Here we are, unexpectedly challenged to bring our best selves into each new day, as abnormal and uncertain as it might be.

Stay tuned for some ideas to digitally enrich and support your students’ literacy skills while we are educating from home. But for now, I hope we can all find peace in this moment, embrace each day, and believe in the best.

With you & for you,

Lindsay

Hello and Goodbye

Up-and-gone, midyear. I’m writing this note to my friends and colleagues who know the feeling. Those of us, who, out of nowhere, were forced to say an early goodbye — though sometimes, there’s not even time for a goodbye at all. Thousands of school districts across our country are flooded with transient populations — kids who come and go for reasons we may never know. It’s a heart-wrenching reality of the job.

This thing we do — teaching — is tricky. We put it all out there for kids, pour into them, challenge and direct them, and sometimes, it feels like it was all for naught.

This note is to remind each of us that this work, in fact, is for something. Something big. Something that matters. Each of us has left a little piece of ourself in every student we’ve loved and guided.

As a teachers we say many hellos and, sometimes, too many goodbyes. If you’re faced with a goodbye this week or next, this month or tomorrow, I hope you remember that your work has made an impact. Your gentleness, kindness, and generosity of spirit will go with that kid, wherever he or she may go.