It's that time of year again. Time to reflect and reevaluate what worked and didn't work in the classroom. There are several thoughts on both:
What worked - If you want teenagers to become good listeners, let them speak. It's amazing to see how focused this age group can be when they actively participate in the discussion process. Before beginning To Kill a Mockingbird, I had the class get out of their seats and gather in the middle of the room. I made a statement such as "all men are created equal" or "girls should act like girls, and boys should act like boys." Whoever agreed with the statement, would move to the north side of the classroom, and whoever disagreed would move to the south. We then had a respectful debate, allowing students to support their opinions with specific examples. They absolutely love this exercise, and I am so impressed with their thoughts. (I don't recall where I first heard of this activity, but I've now expanded on it and added it to other units.)
A second successful activity with a documentary. After learning about the Scottsboro Boys Trial and using the event to show parallelism with Harper Lee's work, we talked a lot about civil rights. The students are always intrigued by this time period; however, most of them know nothing about Emmett Till. I ask the students to look up online some information about the boy, to find out about who he was and how he impacted the civil rights movement. The next day, they listed on the board fact after fact, and then we came up with questions, things we didn't yet know but wanted to know. The lesson that followed was the viewing of an Emmett Till documentary, and the students were instructed to jot down any detail that could shed light on our questions. The film is powerful, heavy, heart-wrenching. When the credits start, the students are silent, and I know they need to speak, to talk about this event, to relieve their hearts of the sadness. But how does a teacher reach ALL of them? I instructed the students to silently take out a sheet of paper and start writing about whatever they were thinking. The sounds of pens scratching on paper and tiny sniffles were all that were heard, and after about 3-4 minutes, I asked them to stop writing and hand their papers to the student on their right. They passed. Now, they had to respond to what their neighbor had written. Expand, agree, disagree, question... whatever... just respond until I said to stop writing. Three-four minutes later, they passed the papers again. And one more time. Wow! What incredible insight! "I'm astounded at Mamie Till's courage.... Me, too. I agree that she must have been a strong woman. How else could she have insisted on having an open casket... I was thinking the same thing. I actually think she did it for us, not for herself. I mean who benefited from that act? Not her... It killed her inside. The rest of the world had to see him, had to see what was happening, had to stand up." "How could those dudes even look at themselves in the mirror? Come on. They were guilty as guilty could be... No doubt about it. How about the pictures of them kissing their wives and having a party all the while knowing what they did to that kid... And the worst part is that they got off in a U.S. courtroom. What kind of justice is that? ... Do you think that kind of stuff still happens? I think people get off all the time, especially if they have money for a good lawyer."
And the last activity is another keeper. When students received their independent civil rights topics for research, I met with each to check out their sources. After about a week of class-time research (laptops for online research for two days, and three days of in-class book reading/notetaking), I told the students to clear their desks, and once again, take out a sheet of paper. They had to write for fifteen minutes straight about what they'd learned so far. Bullet point lists, paragraph format, chronological order outline... I didn't care. I just wanted them to write about it, feel like they were real researchers. I put them into random groups of four or five, and then I told them that each student had a few minutes to tell the rest of their group about their research. Other group members were encouraged to ask questions. If the speaker couldn't answer the questions, these would become the target of research for the following week. This was a great confidence booster for the students.
What didn't work - My 8th graders wanted me to do a "read-aloud." Why not? Who doesn't enjoy being read to? One class chose a book called Shark Girl. Okay. Well, having never read this book before, it was interesting, I guess, but none of us were completely into it after about five readings. The "fun" student-driven idea, ended up being a chore, and I hate to admit this, but we never finished it. I think I'll stick with poetry and articles for read alouds.
Another assignment that needs to be cut is the iMovie presentation. At the end of our civil rights unit, students are given independent topics for research, as mentioned previously. The final product is three-fold: a 3-5 page paper, a poster depicting the event or person, and a 3-5 minute iMovie presentation that "teaches" the class about their topics. Well, after two years of assigning this presentation, I've seen the technology issues, I've realized that I'm grading these poor kids on their technological skills more than their knowledge and ability to communicate that knowledge. If one student's iMovie runs smoothly with perfect timing on captions and "We Shall Overcome" coming in and fading out at the right times, while another student's iMovie skips and doesn't play the video clip and won't open in iTunes for sound, what's the point? I gave it a lot of thought this past week or two, and I've decided that the good ole speech is coming back into the classroom for this project.
Well, with the exception of a few missing assignments and a make-up test, my final grades are updated and ready for printing. Another year down, another summer to reinvigorate, replenish, and reflect... but first - SLEEP! Next year has a lot of promise!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Parenting
Several people have called me a good mom. Flattering? Yes. But I have to admit that I haven't felt that way lately; I never feel that way in May when I am all-consumed in the end of the school year responsibilities of being an 8th grade teacher, and at the same time unable to focus in on the end of the school year responsibilities of being a mother. I'm always the room parent for one of the boys, but I can only plan the activities and not participate in them. Add to the mix my annual, pre-summer, self-applied pressure of finding extra income, and I see myself as a caffeine-driven, ten-project at once, organizational freak making it through each day on four hours of nightly sleep. It's at times like these when my only goal for each day is checking off the to-do list, and praying that no one gets sick in the meantime because illness does NOT fit into the schedule.
But any other time of the year, I try to be good at motherhood. I love being a mom, but then again, who wouldn't, when she has two of the best sons one could ask for. I like to think that my boys are avid readers because of the example set by my husband and me. I don't remember teaching them how to read, but they were both doing so in preschool. Of course I read to them, but they started reading to me at a very young age, and I reveled in that fact. However, I also dismissed issues that turned out to be long-term obstacles.
My oldest never enjoyed Legos or Lincoln Logs. We had them, but he had no interest, so we put them aside and delved into Thomas the Tank Engine world. No biggie. Well, I remember going to my first parent-teacher conference (this time as the "parent"). Friends and relatives wanted to know how it went, praising my son's brilliance at vocabulary and voracious reading ability and sports analysis (he loved, and still does, checking out the box scores in the newspaper and forming opinions and predictions for every team in every league in every sport). What I didn't expect was the veteran preschool teacher telling me that my child was quite delayed with fine and gross motor skills. WHAT? Yes, I knew he hated coloring and didn't hold the crayon correctly, but quite delayed motor skills? Yes, I knew he had difficulty with the specially made child scissors, but he doesn't have the ability to rip paper? Why would I ever have reason to notice he couldn't rip paper? When he slapped a bouncy ball, and it walloped him on the forehead, we thought it was cute; we chuckled. We didn't realize he didn't have the control necessary to "dribble." So eventually, we sought out occupational therapy, and I researched all the activities I needed to monitor at home. We became quite crafty at Christmas time, but no matter how enthusiastic I was about all of our projects, he dreaded everything we did. I wanted to make our at-home therapy fun and exciting, but he was smart. He knew why we were doing these things, and he struggled, but he improved. When insurance ran out, and the therapist took maternity leave, I was on my own. Some people say I was a good mom for taking charge of my son's motor skill problems, but I saw it as making up for being the bad mom who didn't notice the issue in the first place.
(FYI... my son still dislikes art, but fortunately for us, he is in a school with a wonderful art teacher who recognizes his inabilities and has never stomped his spirit. I am grateful to her for guiding my son and giving him art appreciation. I hate the fact that so many schools are dismantling their art programs due to a lack of funds. Our story is the best example as to why these programs are so very important, so please support the arts! In addition, my son, at age eleven, is doing quite well academically. I chalk this up to his continual obsession with reading. He is an honor roll kid, and I hope he will always take education as seriously as he does today. He is active in all sports and acknowledges he may not be the best player in every sport, but he is truly a good athlete because he puts so much dedication into practicing and improving. I admire him so much for this. And last but not least, it is probably no surprise that as a fifth grader, he got his own byline as a sports reporter in the school newspaper. And did I mention that he has a heart of gold? What a great kid!)
So, seventeen months after my first delivery, we were blessed with a second son. Of course, by the time he was in preschool, he was using building blocks and putting together puzzles and experimenting with stickers and paints, because this mom doesn't make the same mistake twice! No siree, my boy would grow in dexterity with superb hand-eye coordination and no sign of delay in motor skills. Well, as much as this is all true, it didn't seem to matter to me that he didn't talk much. After all, who could get a word in edgewise with a babbling, older brother who was always stealing the spotlight with monologues a mile long? He was just my shy one, right? There were plenty of kids with lisps and making the "w" sound for r's and l's. By kindergarten, the teacher told me to keep an eye on his speech, but he just might outgrow the impediments. Impediment? By first grade, speech therapy was recommended. This was when it dawned on me that I needed to seek help. However, the reality was that my son was very bright, and from what other moms in my town said, he would be the last to receive speech services because his speech was not impeding his school work. I'll do it on my own. I purchased speech therapy workbooks and a handheld mirror for the "therapy" activities, and when strides were being made with the l's, I was a proud mamma. Well, take it from me, an untrained mother can NOT be a substitute for a licensed speech therapist. How do people place their tongues correctly when saying "rrr?"; furthermore, if I can't figure it out with my own mouth, how could I teach my son? By second grade, the teacher expressed concern that my son was not participating enough in class, and when he did, she'd have to ask him to repeat himself. This was turning into a self-esteem issue, and I was feeling guilty for having let this go so long. After waiting to hear about my application for services, I felt as if the process was going to let us down. So, finally, at the end of second grade, my son was evaluated by a private speech therapist. Insurance covered some, but not much, of the therapy. We could only afford two sessions per month, and that's what we've been doing for two years now.
(F.Y.I... Slowly but surely my son is improving in speech, and there's a complete difference in the way he approaches new people and new situations. He is great with l's, near perfect with "th," when concentrating he has the "rr" down pat at the beginning and middle of words, and he's well on his way to conquering the ending "r." I wish we could have done more sooner, but I'm grateful once again for all of the caring faculty at our school for guiding me in the right decision. Like his older brother, my son loves sports, plays them all well, and is still an avid reader, getting engrossed in a new series practically every week. Unlike his older brother, my son has found another interest - comic books. He actually participated in a child focus group to discuss Marvel heroes, and he was a shining star in that group, offering some insightful suggestions and comments, all the while articulating his words. How amazing he is!)
My boys are fun and inquisitive and bring out the best in me. If I'm a good mom, it has everything to do with the fact that they are simply good kids. I love you guys!
But any other time of the year, I try to be good at motherhood. I love being a mom, but then again, who wouldn't, when she has two of the best sons one could ask for. I like to think that my boys are avid readers because of the example set by my husband and me. I don't remember teaching them how to read, but they were both doing so in preschool. Of course I read to them, but they started reading to me at a very young age, and I reveled in that fact. However, I also dismissed issues that turned out to be long-term obstacles.
My oldest never enjoyed Legos or Lincoln Logs. We had them, but he had no interest, so we put them aside and delved into Thomas the Tank Engine world. No biggie. Well, I remember going to my first parent-teacher conference (this time as the "parent"). Friends and relatives wanted to know how it went, praising my son's brilliance at vocabulary and voracious reading ability and sports analysis (he loved, and still does, checking out the box scores in the newspaper and forming opinions and predictions for every team in every league in every sport). What I didn't expect was the veteran preschool teacher telling me that my child was quite delayed with fine and gross motor skills. WHAT? Yes, I knew he hated coloring and didn't hold the crayon correctly, but quite delayed motor skills? Yes, I knew he had difficulty with the specially made child scissors, but he doesn't have the ability to rip paper? Why would I ever have reason to notice he couldn't rip paper? When he slapped a bouncy ball, and it walloped him on the forehead, we thought it was cute; we chuckled. We didn't realize he didn't have the control necessary to "dribble." So eventually, we sought out occupational therapy, and I researched all the activities I needed to monitor at home. We became quite crafty at Christmas time, but no matter how enthusiastic I was about all of our projects, he dreaded everything we did. I wanted to make our at-home therapy fun and exciting, but he was smart. He knew why we were doing these things, and he struggled, but he improved. When insurance ran out, and the therapist took maternity leave, I was on my own. Some people say I was a good mom for taking charge of my son's motor skill problems, but I saw it as making up for being the bad mom who didn't notice the issue in the first place.
(FYI... my son still dislikes art, but fortunately for us, he is in a school with a wonderful art teacher who recognizes his inabilities and has never stomped his spirit. I am grateful to her for guiding my son and giving him art appreciation. I hate the fact that so many schools are dismantling their art programs due to a lack of funds. Our story is the best example as to why these programs are so very important, so please support the arts! In addition, my son, at age eleven, is doing quite well academically. I chalk this up to his continual obsession with reading. He is an honor roll kid, and I hope he will always take education as seriously as he does today. He is active in all sports and acknowledges he may not be the best player in every sport, but he is truly a good athlete because he puts so much dedication into practicing and improving. I admire him so much for this. And last but not least, it is probably no surprise that as a fifth grader, he got his own byline as a sports reporter in the school newspaper. And did I mention that he has a heart of gold? What a great kid!)
So, seventeen months after my first delivery, we were blessed with a second son. Of course, by the time he was in preschool, he was using building blocks and putting together puzzles and experimenting with stickers and paints, because this mom doesn't make the same mistake twice! No siree, my boy would grow in dexterity with superb hand-eye coordination and no sign of delay in motor skills. Well, as much as this is all true, it didn't seem to matter to me that he didn't talk much. After all, who could get a word in edgewise with a babbling, older brother who was always stealing the spotlight with monologues a mile long? He was just my shy one, right? There were plenty of kids with lisps and making the "w" sound for r's and l's. By kindergarten, the teacher told me to keep an eye on his speech, but he just might outgrow the impediments. Impediment? By first grade, speech therapy was recommended. This was when it dawned on me that I needed to seek help. However, the reality was that my son was very bright, and from what other moms in my town said, he would be the last to receive speech services because his speech was not impeding his school work. I'll do it on my own. I purchased speech therapy workbooks and a handheld mirror for the "therapy" activities, and when strides were being made with the l's, I was a proud mamma. Well, take it from me, an untrained mother can NOT be a substitute for a licensed speech therapist. How do people place their tongues correctly when saying "rrr?"; furthermore, if I can't figure it out with my own mouth, how could I teach my son? By second grade, the teacher expressed concern that my son was not participating enough in class, and when he did, she'd have to ask him to repeat himself. This was turning into a self-esteem issue, and I was feeling guilty for having let this go so long. After waiting to hear about my application for services, I felt as if the process was going to let us down. So, finally, at the end of second grade, my son was evaluated by a private speech therapist. Insurance covered some, but not much, of the therapy. We could only afford two sessions per month, and that's what we've been doing for two years now.
(F.Y.I... Slowly but surely my son is improving in speech, and there's a complete difference in the way he approaches new people and new situations. He is great with l's, near perfect with "th," when concentrating he has the "rr" down pat at the beginning and middle of words, and he's well on his way to conquering the ending "r." I wish we could have done more sooner, but I'm grateful once again for all of the caring faculty at our school for guiding me in the right decision. Like his older brother, my son loves sports, plays them all well, and is still an avid reader, getting engrossed in a new series practically every week. Unlike his older brother, my son has found another interest - comic books. He actually participated in a child focus group to discuss Marvel heroes, and he was a shining star in that group, offering some insightful suggestions and comments, all the while articulating his words. How amazing he is!)
My boys are fun and inquisitive and bring out the best in me. If I'm a good mom, it has everything to do with the fact that they are simply good kids. I love you guys!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Thinking about Mom
With Mother's Day coming up, I've been reflecting on one of my special gifts: my mom. So here's a little personal narrative that, hopefully, captures my appreciation for a wonderful lady.
"You did WHAT?"
"I told your mom she should stay with us for a week or so after the baby's born. I thought you'd be happy. She'll be such a big help," my husband replied sheepishly.
I was despondent, ninth-month emotional, on the verge of hysteria.
"How could you do that? Without asking me? She'll drive me crazy. I'll start talking in that tone again!"
That "tone" is something of which I've never been proud. A prime example of that "tone" comes back to me every once in a while. It was the end of my senior year of college. The phone rang, and I knew her ring, but I figured I should probably pick it up anyway, so she wouldn't keep calling and calling until I answered. My mom was the type to call back ten times and leave ten messages until I'd return her call. So I picked it up with a roll of the eyes and a look of disgust. Snotty? Yes, I knew I was being snotty, but that didn't stop me.
"Yes, Mother."
I never addressed my mom as "Mother" unless I was peeved about being disturbed. I wasn't doing anything in particular. I wasn't engrossed in any activity or book or show or school work. It was simply a bad time. It was ALWAYS a bad time.
"Hi sweetie. What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Am I catching you at a bad time again?"
"Actually, yes, you are."
"Well, you don't have to be so snippy, Geralyn."
"I'm not trying to be snippy, Mother. I'm busy."
"Well then, I'll let you go and tell you what I wanted to say at another time."
Another roll of the eyes, and I switched the phone to the other ear.
"Please don't put a guilt trip me on me."
"Your father and I were thinking about making a down payment on a car for you for graduation, and I was just wondering if you were free this weekend to go car shopping."
Silence. Guilt. And that was a prime example of Mom putting me in my place. If I could go back in time and slap my face for every time I used that "tone" with my mom, I would do it. And it took years of effort to change those habits, to remind myself over and over again of how blessed I was to have this woman as my mom, and if her desire to be my friend and talk to me was the worst quality she had, my God, who was I to complain!
And so, my husband invited Mom to stay with us. It was a vulnerable time. I hated it when I didn't feel in control, and I was definitely NOT in control of my life at that point. What if she's smothering? What if she starts offering unsolicited advice? What if she inadvertently criticizes what I do? What if... I sobbed. I cried for hours. I wasn't a mean and cruel person, but I dreaded that "tone" coming back and feeling mean and cruel.
"Should I tell her not to come?" my husband asked.
"NO!" Now that would be mean and cruel.
So, on a cool and clear October day, my husband and I, with our new baby boy, came home from the hospital. Our humble bungalow was decorated with a large, cut-out stork and teddy bears; cards and packages of congratulations had already arrived. I was filled with pure happiness and joy. Being a parent was an amazing experience from the first moment I held this little angel in my arms. And when Grandma/Mom arrived with her rolling suitcase and teary-eyed gaze... well, the opposite of my fears occurred. It was unexpected, but I finally connected, and while connecting I started to remember.
I remembered sitting in the shopping cart when we went grocery shopping, and I remembered my favorite jello-cake with whipped cream on birthdays, and I remembered her brushing my hair into perfect pigtails, and I remembered the cool washcloths she put on my head when I had a fever, and I remembered her singing "Oh, Johnny" in the a show at our church, and I remembered her tolerating the pains of being a lunchroom lady, and I remembered her presence at my cheerleading performances, and I remembered her humming while seasoning her Italian pasta sauce, and I remembered her at my side in a hospital room when my appendix was taken out, and I remembered her encouraging me to write, simply by reading everything I put down on paper.
Yes, a strange but beautiful experience took place - my first week of motherhood was also the first time I wholeheartedly appreciated being a daughter. My mom was, indeed, a great help with the baby; they bonded, and that was important. But just as important, we bonded - Mom and me. As mother/daughter, as parents, as friends. And I cried the day my dad came to pick her up and take her home. They didn't live far away, a 30-45 minute bus ride if my dad was too busy to drive her (she doesn't have a license), but I cried anyway.
It's not surprising that Mom was one of the only two readers for my first manuscript. She is always interested in hearing about my ideas, even if it's a bad time, but I guess that's just what moms do. For the most part, we've talked daily ever since that week together, and going to the Dells each summer always includes Grandma... I may still roll my eyes once in a while (I'll keep working on it), but seriously, I feel like the luckiest daughter in the world! Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
(The ironic part of this essay is the fact that Mom called three times while writing it, and I answered every time, smiling while thinking of what I was writing and who was calling... and I have to say that I truly love my mother.)
Here are some links to other "mom" related stories/essays written by members of the Chicago Writers Association:
By Mary T. Wagner
author of Running With Stilettos: Living a Balanced Life in Dangerous Shoes
(watching my young daughter pack things to bring back to college)
By Libby Hellman
author of Set the Night on Fire
http://boomersandbooks.wordpress.com/
(Click on "Mother's Day -- Bah, Humbug")
By Lisa Sachs
http://recipesforabetterworld.blogspot.com
"You did WHAT?"
"I told your mom she should stay with us for a week or so after the baby's born. I thought you'd be happy. She'll be such a big help," my husband replied sheepishly.
I was despondent, ninth-month emotional, on the verge of hysteria.
"How could you do that? Without asking me? She'll drive me crazy. I'll start talking in that tone again!"
That "tone" is something of which I've never been proud. A prime example of that "tone" comes back to me every once in a while. It was the end of my senior year of college. The phone rang, and I knew her ring, but I figured I should probably pick it up anyway, so she wouldn't keep calling and calling until I answered. My mom was the type to call back ten times and leave ten messages until I'd return her call. So I picked it up with a roll of the eyes and a look of disgust. Snotty? Yes, I knew I was being snotty, but that didn't stop me.
"Yes, Mother."
I never addressed my mom as "Mother" unless I was peeved about being disturbed. I wasn't doing anything in particular. I wasn't engrossed in any activity or book or show or school work. It was simply a bad time. It was ALWAYS a bad time.
"Hi sweetie. What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Am I catching you at a bad time again?"
"Actually, yes, you are."
"Well, you don't have to be so snippy, Geralyn."
"I'm not trying to be snippy, Mother. I'm busy."
"Well then, I'll let you go and tell you what I wanted to say at another time."
Another roll of the eyes, and I switched the phone to the other ear.
"Please don't put a guilt trip me on me."
"Your father and I were thinking about making a down payment on a car for you for graduation, and I was just wondering if you were free this weekend to go car shopping."
Silence. Guilt. And that was a prime example of Mom putting me in my place. If I could go back in time and slap my face for every time I used that "tone" with my mom, I would do it. And it took years of effort to change those habits, to remind myself over and over again of how blessed I was to have this woman as my mom, and if her desire to be my friend and talk to me was the worst quality she had, my God, who was I to complain!
And so, my husband invited Mom to stay with us. It was a vulnerable time. I hated it when I didn't feel in control, and I was definitely NOT in control of my life at that point. What if she's smothering? What if she starts offering unsolicited advice? What if she inadvertently criticizes what I do? What if... I sobbed. I cried for hours. I wasn't a mean and cruel person, but I dreaded that "tone" coming back and feeling mean and cruel.
"Should I tell her not to come?" my husband asked.
"NO!" Now that would be mean and cruel.
So, on a cool and clear October day, my husband and I, with our new baby boy, came home from the hospital. Our humble bungalow was decorated with a large, cut-out stork and teddy bears; cards and packages of congratulations had already arrived. I was filled with pure happiness and joy. Being a parent was an amazing experience from the first moment I held this little angel in my arms. And when Grandma/Mom arrived with her rolling suitcase and teary-eyed gaze... well, the opposite of my fears occurred. It was unexpected, but I finally connected, and while connecting I started to remember.
I remembered sitting in the shopping cart when we went grocery shopping, and I remembered my favorite jello-cake with whipped cream on birthdays, and I remembered her brushing my hair into perfect pigtails, and I remembered the cool washcloths she put on my head when I had a fever, and I remembered her singing "Oh, Johnny" in the a show at our church, and I remembered her tolerating the pains of being a lunchroom lady, and I remembered her presence at my cheerleading performances, and I remembered her humming while seasoning her Italian pasta sauce, and I remembered her at my side in a hospital room when my appendix was taken out, and I remembered her encouraging me to write, simply by reading everything I put down on paper.
Yes, a strange but beautiful experience took place - my first week of motherhood was also the first time I wholeheartedly appreciated being a daughter. My mom was, indeed, a great help with the baby; they bonded, and that was important. But just as important, we bonded - Mom and me. As mother/daughter, as parents, as friends. And I cried the day my dad came to pick her up and take her home. They didn't live far away, a 30-45 minute bus ride if my dad was too busy to drive her (she doesn't have a license), but I cried anyway.
It's not surprising that Mom was one of the only two readers for my first manuscript. She is always interested in hearing about my ideas, even if it's a bad time, but I guess that's just what moms do. For the most part, we've talked daily ever since that week together, and going to the Dells each summer always includes Grandma... I may still roll my eyes once in a while (I'll keep working on it), but seriously, I feel like the luckiest daughter in the world! Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
(The ironic part of this essay is the fact that Mom called three times while writing it, and I answered every time, smiling while thinking of what I was writing and who was calling... and I have to say that I truly love my mother.)
* * * * * * * *
Here are some links to other "mom" related stories/essays written by members of the Chicago Writers Association:
By Mary T. Wagner
author of Running With Stilettos: Living a Balanced Life in Dangerous Shoes
(sitting at my son's hospital bed)
(taking a weekend trip with my grown daughters, each of us survivors in our own way)
(motherhood measured in foil-wrapped treats)
(my daughter gets cancer and I go pre-surgery shopping)
http://runningwithstilettos.blogspot.com/2008/07/little-clutter-please-first-sign-that_20.html(watching my young daughter pack things to bring back to college)
By Libby Hellman
author of Set the Night on Fire
http://boomersandbooks.wordpress.com/
(Click on "Mother's Day -- Bah, Humbug")
By Lisa Sachs
http://recipesforabetterworld.blogspot.com
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Teaching Writing
After finally finishing off 40+ editing/revision assignments (x2) and 40+ book reports, I am now preparing for the next round of 40+ family stories... all authored by a group of seventh graders who wowed me today in their brief presentations of family memorabilia and story synopses. I'm in the midst of hearing about famous connections to the American Revolutionary War, Grace Kelly, the Chicago Rockets football team, while other students reveal a love-letter collection between great-grandparents, vessel pictures of their ancestors' journey, and photos that capture the Italian immigrants' dream of opening a family deli... it's our own WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? episode in my classroom! Though there are times when I am overwhelmed with the stresses of being an English teacher, when I swear I won't assign another essay or writing assignment, when I am simply too tired to write another comment on another paper that will most likely not even be read unless we have yet another one-on-one conference... though there are times like these, there are also moments like today when I eagerly await the evening's calm when my biological kids are in bed and husband is engrossed in a Sox game, and I can take my tea and enjoy my school-kids' work as if turning pages of the next blockbuster novel. Bravo, 7th grade!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Book Themed Books
I found a niche in my reading. I tend to enjoy books about books. My students think I'm addicted to reading, devouring books whenever I get a free moment, and they're right, I know, but I can think of worse obsessions. So, here's a list of some novels I've read and plan to read, all with the twist that at the center of their literary plots, there's a book or bookstore or bookclub... gotta love it!
1. The Shadow of the Wind (Carlos Ruiz Zafon) ***** 5
2. The Angel’s Game (Carlos Ruiz Zafon) ***** 5
3. The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) ***** 5
4. The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield) **** 4
5. The Dante Club (Matthew Pearl) *** 3
6. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows) *** 3
7. The History of Love (Nicole Krauss) *** 3
8. The Club Dumas (Arturo Perez-Reverte) ** 2
9. The Book of Lies (Brad Meltzer) ** 2
On my shelf: The Book of Air and Shadows (Michael Gruber), The 351 Books of Irma Arcuri (David Bajo), The Secret of Lost Things (Sheridan Hay), The Jane Austen Book Club (Karen Joy Fowler)
ANY OTHER SUGGESTIONS?? IF YOU DO, PLEASE COMMENT!
1. The Shadow of the Wind (Carlos Ruiz Zafon) ***** 5
2. The Angel’s Game (Carlos Ruiz Zafon) ***** 5
3. The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) ***** 5
4. The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield) **** 4
5. The Dante Club (Matthew Pearl) *** 3
6. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows) *** 3
7. The History of Love (Nicole Krauss) *** 3
8. The Club Dumas (Arturo Perez-Reverte) ** 2
9. The Book of Lies (Brad Meltzer) ** 2
On my shelf: The Book of Air and Shadows (Michael Gruber), The 351 Books of Irma Arcuri (David Bajo), The Secret of Lost Things (Sheridan Hay), The Jane Austen Book Club (Karen Joy Fowler)
ANY OTHER SUGGESTIONS?? IF YOU DO, PLEASE COMMENT!
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