Hearing the feet at the pavement #sol18

At 10 am, students began trickling into the space. A steady flow of silent, somber teenagers streamed from the hallways. If you've spent any time with high school kids, you know that quiet isn't a state that comes naturally to them. Yet, here they were, walking without words, without laughter, without any of the typical teenager posturing.

For 17 minutes students stood in clusters, silently. Some raised their fists. Some sat at laptops, registering to vote. Instead of marching in the cold, the students gathered in the common area, crowded together.  Student leaders had created spaces for students to share their reflections. Along with the voter registration table, there were spaces where students could share their thoughts about gun laws, about the purpose of the walkout and write letters to members of congress. There was a memorial wall with the faces of the Parkland victims and a table where more students wrote letters to the survivors. All of these tables showed evidence of student thinking as post-it notes filled the pages and stacks of letters sat on the table waiting to be mailed.

For 17 minutes the students were silent. In their silence, they made their voices heard.

Tooth Fairy

#sol18

As my husband headed to bed tonight (he's so responsible; he headed to bed extra early so he can still get enough sleep tonight due to the time change), he asked me, "Do you want to take care of the Tooth Fairy?"

I added it to my reminders. "I got it," I told him. For good luck, Greg put a dollar on the stairs so I don't forget. It's fair. We parents forget about the Tooth Fairy. It happens. One time we forgot to leave money for Emma and Greg raced upstairs that morning and hid a dollar in her blankets. "Go back up and check it out," he told her. Emma decided she must have slept too wild and mixed up the dollar in her covers. Phew!

The next time Emma lost her tooth, well, we forgot again. I came downstairs that morning to find Greg crafting a note with his left hand. The day of her tooth loss, Emma had hung a sign telling her brothers to "Keep out!" Greg capitalized on that sign and used it as an excuse. Quick thinking.

Thankfully, Emma was thrilled to get a note from the Tooth Fairy, so that made up for any confusion.

The problem, though, is that this note set a precedent. It became family legend that perhaps the Tooth Fairy would leave you a note.

I remember losing teeth as a kid and how exciting the anticipation was. My dad was a roofer, and I vividly remember the night that the Tooth Fairy left behind two quarters, one of them covered in tar. I walked into my mom's room that next morning, holding the quarters out in front of me. "Mom," I said. "The Tooth Fairy must have been flying really close to dad's jobs last night."

"What?" my mom asked.

I explained to her that since the quarters were covered in tar, the Tooth Fairy must have been near dad's work. I think that was my first inkling that maybe the Tooth Fairy wasn't quite real. My mom played along with my story, but that was the beginning of the end of the magic.

And so tonight, I'll tuck the dollar under Justin's pillow. It's such a small window when this magic exists. I want to stretch it out as long as I can. Even if I have to set my alarm to make it happen.

Sneaking out

#sol18

I woke up this morning to a sweet text message from my childhood best friend, Erin. She'd heard that my grandpa had passed away and wanted to send her thoughts. Erin's name always transports me back to the summer we were fearless, in 7th grade.

That night we were sleeping in the backyard in Erin's family tent. It was a perfect summer night and we had started plotting earlier in the day. We dragged out sleeping bags and pillows, flashlights and bags of chips. And bars of soap and rolls of toilet paper we'd pilfered from our hall closets. That night we were on a mission. We were going to soap some windows.

Once the sun set, Erin and I hung out, watching the time until it reached midnight. Who knows what we did to fill the time. When you're with a good friend, you talk for hours about everything and nothing.

Erin's dad worked third shift, so if we were going to sneak out, we had to wait until Mr. F. left for work. Once we heard him pull out, we quietly unzipped the tent. We loaded up with bars of soap, and crept out into the yard. The alley way that ran behind Erin's yard was our gateway to the rest of the neighborhood. There's nothing I've ever felt as an adult that matches that thrill of being 12 and living in a small town and being out in the middle of the night.

We headed two streets over. We had a target that night -- the older teenage boys who tormented us in the light of day. We soaped the windows of their mother's cars. We scribbled messages and nonsense. We covered the windows, rubbing the bars of soap to nubs. We stifled our laughter, keeping an eye out for headlights and lights in windows.

When we finished, we sprinted through the alley and dove back into our tent,  falling asleep on top of our sleeping bags.

The next morning, my dad decided to stop by on his way to work. At about 7:30, he unzipped the tent (I realize now he was probably making sure we weren't stowing any boys in there). 

"Good morning," he whispered, sticking his head into the humid tent.

"Hey, dad," I crawled over to give him a hug. As my dad squatted in front of me, facing away from the alley, a car crept by. A car covered in soaped windows. The car.

"You guys have fun?" my dad asked. I tried to keep a straight face. To not freak out.

"Um, yeah, we just hung out and feel asleep early," I managed to respond.

"Ok, well, be good. I'll see you later," my dad backed out of the tent. As he shut the door to his truck, I turned to Erin, my eyes huge.

Gratitude Journal

#SOL18

Today I'm thankful for...

1. Watching Jacob make a "breakfast salad" at dinner: pancakes, bacon, eggs, shredded to pieces, "dressed" with syrup, shoveled into his mouth.

2. Snuggling on the couch with Emma.

3. Justin's great big hug as he whispered, "Are you sad? Me too."

4. A husband who listens, who rearranges, who shows up.

5. The light across the street.

6. A village that provides a safety net, a hug in the form of texts, a back-up plan.

7. The words, "I wish you had been my writing teacher" appearing in the chatbox after hosting a webinar, the weirdest of PD because you talk into space with no human feedback for 45 minutes.

8. Strong Women: moms and aunts and sisters and daughters and friends and neighbors and colleagues and, and, and...

Six word memoir: My Grandpa

He never once met a stranger.

Dipsy-doodle pitches in whiffle ball games.

Mr. Bear stories whispered under blankets.

Front porch swinging, visiting with neighbors.

Foot rubs, Jeopardy, Notre Dame. Passions.

Rosary praying, Communion taking, Faithful servant.

Best Grandpa, Dad, Husband, Friend -- Man.

Peaceful passing. Dearly missed. Never forgotten.

Rodeo and Juliet

#SOL18

"Mrs. Faulhaber, Mr. D wants to see you," the student beckoned me to the classroom next door.

As I entered my colleague's classroom, the kids, all 28 of them, turned to me. I'm a literacy coach in the district and I had worked in this classroom quite a bit. The kids seemed excited about what was going to happen next.

"Tell her," their teacher said. All eyes turned towards Catherine, a bright student who had researched skateboard tricks for the research project.

"Well," Catherine started, "I found a movie." The kids started tittering. They were wrapping up their reading of Romeo & Juliet this week, so I wondered if she had discovered the R&J version

"Okay?" I said.

"I was doing some research about Romeo & Juliet and well, I found this movie. It's called Rodeo & Juliet." Catherine, along with the whole class grinned. That was not what I expected to hear.

I got a little nervous. "Okaaaaay...."

"It's a movie about a girl who moves to the country and falls in love with a sexy cowboy," she explained. "It's so corny."

I have to admit, I was relieved. Based on the title, I was afraid this movie was something that would air on the After Dark channel. From her description, it sounded more like a Hallmark movie.

I wasn't quite sure where to go from there. Then, inspiration!

"How is this movie connected to the play?" I asked.

"Well, they fall in love but they're not allowed to be together," one of Catherine's friends piped up.

"Ah! That's an archetype," I dropped in the vocabulary word I knew their teacher was going to be introducing in a few days. I love a little purposeful front-loading.

I waved good bye to the students and headed back to my office where maybe I spent some time watching a little bit of a movie. It was for educational purposes, after all. 

Facebook Memories

I think Facebook wants me to have another kid. It's not happening, but every so often Facebook memories unearths a sweet moment from that time when I had 3 kids under 3. And because of the highlight reel feel of social media, all I remember now is those sweet faces, those tiny voices, and how happy we all look. Don't get me wrong, this time of life is amazing. We're just older and busier. I'm far enough away from the chaos that I can feel nostalgic about the crazy days.

And so as I watch the young parents around me, I think about all I want to say to them, but won't. (with thanks to Ron Koertge for the inspiration)

I Have So Much Advice For Those of You Starting Out

Give up sitting at a table for a meal. You'll
jump up and run around,
wiping messes, scooping seconds.
You'll wipe up milk, sticky juice.
But you're building towards days
when you can all sit together.

Also, it's all right to take a nap, grabbing
some sleep when you can. Or sit and read a book,
Or check in on your phone for a bit.
Carve out space for quiet, to listen to your own breath.

Avoid reading too many blogs about parenting,
or advice columns. 75% of the time,
the things you're worried about turn out to be nothing.
But sometimes your gut is right on.
That's why it's important to find a good pediatrician,
or a friend with older kids.

Not surprisingly, playgrounds are a good place to hang out.
You'll need to get out of the house,
to meet other people,
to wear your kids out.
Find the four nearest playgrounds and start rotating.

Don't feel like you always have to play with your kids,
but push them on the swings for a little bit.
Teach them to pump their legs.
Watch them when they say "Mom! watch this!" for the 50th time.
But then stand far enough away that they can wander.

You who didn't ask for my advice, please hear this:
Try to live in the moment, soak up those memories.
Archive -- pictures, videos -- so that in a few years,
when the fog clears and you feel like yourself again,
you'll remember the halcyon days.

Where are my keys?

#SOL18

I couldn't find my keys after church today. Weird, I thought. Maybe I left them in the car.

As the kids and I walked to our van, I heard a humming, almost like a motor running. Turned out, it was our motor running. Because the keys were in the car. In the ignition. Which was on.

Everything appeared fine. Except my dignity.

I looked at the kids in horror. They were shocked. As we climbed in the van, I mentally reviewed our morning. We'd been in a hurry. I had to pick my 10-year-old, Emma, up from a sleepover. My 8-year old, Justin, has been fussing about his breakfast, so we were running late to pick Emma up. Which meant we were late for Sunday School where I was assisting. We were cutting it close.

We buckled and headed home to have lunch. Greg was tutoring all day today, so the kids and I were on our own. After a quick lunch, I needed to drop my 8-year-old off at a friend's house and then I'd promised Emma that we could dye her hair today. We were rushing to eat, rushing to tie shoes, rushing to get out the door.

We pulled into the parking lot of Meijer and I reached for my purse. I didn't see it on the seat next to me: "Jacob, hand me my purse." He looked around, and for once when he said "I don't see it," he was right. The purse wasn't in the van. It was at home. With my wallet.

And that's when I realized I need to Slow. It. Down.

I never used to be like this. But then I had three kids. And even when they were babies, I did pretty good. I could control what time we left because it was all up to me. But now they have personalities and quirks and procrastinations.

It doesn't seem to matter how early I try to get them ready to go, there is always someone who has to suddenly "go to the bathroom", which is code for ... well, that it's gonna take a while. Or someone can't find their shoes. Or they've been waiting so long for their sibling that they've floated back upstairs. It's not even herding cats...it's like herding, well, something that's more wily than cats.

It's not fair to blame it all on the kids, though. In the interest of full disclosure, I pulled that damn key thing about six months ago. I was late (hmmm, sensing a theme) to a class party. I raced into the building, then couldn't find my keys. And, well, you know how that story ends.

I'm not sure what the answer is. I just know I need to slow down. I need to be present. I need to focus on what's in front of me. I need to take the damn keys out of the ignition.

Bowling!

#SOL18 

We love to go bowling. It makes sense. I like to say that bowling is how Greg and I fell in love.

It was my first year of teaching and the district where I taught had a district bowling league. Each Friday, folks from across the district would converge on a local bowling alley to spend the next few hours.

I loved everything about it. The camaraderie. The friendships. The laughter. The fried mushrooms.

We were called the Q2PT2s. The cutie-patooties. There were four of us and we loved, loved to have fun. And it was there that I really started to get to know Greg, my future husband. We'd flirt. We'd talk. We'd have actual conversations.

I found out later that my grandparents fell in love during a bowling league, so it really feels like it's meant to be.

Now. 15 years later, we still love to bowl. We go in spurts: sometimes we go with friends, sometimes just the two of us. But every time we do it, I remember those early days of our romance and how exciting it was to be getting to know this awesome man. Now that he's my husband, I think about how awesome it is to get to be  partner if life. Especially when I can almost beat him (I never actually beat him. Except for that one time, when his student who worked at the bowling alley might have had a little something to do with it.).

Writer's Block on Day Two...Already?!

#SOL18 

Is this what kids mean when they say, "Miss, I can't think of anything to write about."
I usually sigh and roll my eyes in exasperation.

Didn't we just
brainstorm
and web
and list
and
turn
& talk?

I did my job. Just write, I think.

But when it comes time for me to write
I realize that maybe,
just maybe,
the kids are on to something.
For I've done all the things and still

I'm stuck.

It's hard to think of ideas.
Even when you have
an authentic audience,
and you care about the writing,
and you know how to write in lots of genres.

Walking this walk puts me in the place of my students.
It reminds me of how hard it can be to find the words.

But also, how delicious it is when the words finally come,
when the topic finds you
and you can play.

So I will continue to write beside them,
to push myself to remember
and to be authentic.

To write. 

Skating Parties

SOL #1 3/1/18

I took my kids to their first big kid skating party today. As they spun around the room, giggling with their friends, running up to the DJ to make requests, I was taken back.

I loved skating parties. Our started in 5th grade and I remember traveling in a pack with my girlfriends, orbiting clusters of boys. I had a boyfriend, a boy I barely spoke to. Somehow we decided that "our" song would be the hit of the day, "Push It" by Salt-n-Pepa. You can imagine my mother's delight when I told her that little tidbit. That song was the catalyst for our birds and the bees conversation. I thought it was about exercise. When my mom explained the real meaning, I never looked at the song the same.

In sixth grade, I remember the emergence of couple skating. Ah! The horror! The thrill! Some kids took to it with such ease. They didn't seem to be freaking out at the notion of actually touching another person, let alone somebody they like-liked. I remember hoping, hoping, hoping to be asked to couple skate. And then when I was, freezing.

Mostly, I loved gliding across the floor, moving from space to space with my friends. We'd lace up those rented brown skates (the same ones my kids tried on today, I'm almost certain) move through the fog of funk that is unique to middle schoolers. We'd practice skating backwards, or crossing our legs to the beat of the music, certain that we were the coolest. By the end of the party we'd float out into the cold winter air, back to school the next day where we were never as cool as when we were sliding across that wooden floor.

Whiteness

My armpits are sweaty, ya'll. I just taught a hard class. In my juniors level methods class, we just watched the beautiful piece "Danger of Silence" by Clint Smith.

In this piece, Smith talks about all kinds of ways we silence ourselves and the price we pay for that silence. He talked about empowering students. He spoke poetically about unlocking his voice, about being an amplifier.

I should have known then that they were not ready for what I'd brought this day.

After a discussion, in which several students said that sometimes it's better to be polite than to speak out -- has ever a more privileged sentence been uttered? -- we read the blog post 10 Things White Teachers Should Know When Talking About Race. 

They were not having it. Ya'll. So many of them were not ready for this text.

My class of 20 white kids, all from various economic backgrounds, were uncomfortable. More than that, they were angry. More than that, they were offended. They took issue with the author's definition of racism. "You can't just change definitions," they said, pointing to the one on google dictionary that clearly states it's possible for black people to be racist. I could see their own experiences of being the subjects of bias and prejudice brimming behind their eyes. They all had a "well, one time..." story to share.

Folks. I am not sure I was the right teacher for this today. But I'm the one who showed up. So as they sat in groups of three, wrestling with the text and with each other, I hustled around the room, listening, trying to make my face void of judgement, trying to create a space where we can wrestle with these ideas together.

And then we ran out of time. Damnit. Why does that class go so fast?

At the end of class, I faced them and said, "Folks, we'll continue these conversations on Thursday. But remember that this is a space where we're learning together. Where we're going to have hard conversations and feel a little uncomfortable. And that's okay. Where sometimes we won't agree. And that's okay. But we're going to keep talking about these things."

I don't know if it's the right thing. But it's the next thing.