We lost a whole week during the polar vortex.
Temperatures were in the -30ยบ range, and the kids had to stay home from school. I was down with my first nasty cold of the season and between nose blows, I broke up fights and sent kids to their rooms. I made Sam sick, too, and when the weather was finally warm enough for him to go to school, he had to stay home.
We did our best to pass the time with Uno, My Little Pony episodes, a train set from when Sam was a toddler, and Harry Potter movies #2 and #3 (which Sam and I watched in installments while Eloise napped).
The week felt like it was not part of real time while also being 12 days long.
Is that a loss? Or a gain? I don't know. But now that we're back into the regular routine, it feels like a blur.
p.s. It's February now, but I'm carrying on with the January Blogging Challenge. You probably noticed.
Showing posts with label January Blogging Challenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label January Blogging Challenge. Show all posts
Monday, February 04, 2019
Friday, January 25, 2019
Learning
Today, Eloise and I learned about Mary Fields in a fantastic new book called Fearless Mary: Mary Fields, American Stagecoach Driver, written by Tami Charles and illustrated by Claire Almon.
Mary Fields was an African American woman who spent the first 33 years of her life in slavery. After she was free, Mary moved to the Wild West, and in Cascade, Montana in 1895, she responded to a Help Wanted sign for a stagecoach driver to carry mail and supplies to a school in the mountains. It was a dangerous job and the manager doing the hiring told Mary, "We don't hire people like you." Mary wouldn't leave, though, and took a turn to show the manager what she could do. She hitched horses and drove the coach better than the white men vying for the job.
The manager hired her, and for eight years, Mary fearlessly carried deliveries to the mountain school, fighting off both bandits and wolves along the way. All of this in her 60s.
Eloise and I both enjoyed learning about Mary Fields today.
Upon finishing the book, Eloise said, "Mom, she's definitely a rebel girl. I know it." We were glad to learn then, after a quick Google search, that, yes, Mary Fields is included in the Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls 2 book, which we are looking forward to reading together soon.
Mary Fields was an African American woman who spent the first 33 years of her life in slavery. After she was free, Mary moved to the Wild West, and in Cascade, Montana in 1895, she responded to a Help Wanted sign for a stagecoach driver to carry mail and supplies to a school in the mountains. It was a dangerous job and the manager doing the hiring told Mary, "We don't hire people like you." Mary wouldn't leave, though, and took a turn to show the manager what she could do. She hitched horses and drove the coach better than the white men vying for the job.
The manager hired her, and for eight years, Mary fearlessly carried deliveries to the mountain school, fighting off both bandits and wolves along the way. All of this in her 60s.
Eloise and I both enjoyed learning about Mary Fields today.
Upon finishing the book, Eloise said, "Mom, she's definitely a rebel girl. I know it." We were glad to learn then, after a quick Google search, that, yes, Mary Fields is included in the Goodnight Stories for Rebel Girls 2 book, which we are looking forward to reading together soon.
Thursday, January 24, 2019
A Memory
The other day I was telling Sam and Eloise about my high school math teacher, Mr. Froelich. Mr. Froelich was someone I really admired. He loved math and was no nonsense about teaching. He knew how to explain a concept. He wore a pocket protector to protect his white shirt pocket where he carried 3 or 4 pens. He had a subtle sense of humor but wasn't bothered when he didn't get a laugh. Students liked him in the way they like a teacher who challenges them but doesn't try to be a friend. When you went to Mr. Froelich's class, you did your work and learned some math.
Later, as a teacher myself, I realized that one of my favorite things about Mr. Froelich was how he quietly locked the door each morning when the tardy bell rang. No big deal. You're late, you wait. Mr. Froelich unlocked the door when it wasn't interrupting his lesson to do so. This was usually just a couple of minutes into class, but geez, he made his point. Then, when you finally entered the room, you just took your seat, where materials waited for you, and got to work.
I was personally familiar with Mr. Froelich's tardiness policy because I was routinely tardy my junior year for his first period class. My best friend, J, took me to school every day that year and being on time was not her thing. I must have been tardy twice a week for an entire spring semester. Mr. Froelich's subtle yet consequential approach to tardies applied directly to me.
Besides being locked outside his door each week, another consequence of the tardies was that I had to take the final test for his class. This was something students tried to avoid, and if you had good attendance and met some grade benchmark, you were excused from finals. It's odd, but rarely did I take a final test in my high school career.
But I did take Mr. Froelich's test, and thanks to his good teaching and the genuine interest he had fostered, I remember actually enjoying his final test. The next day, when I stopped by his room to ask how I had performed, he said, "You got them all. Now get out of here and have a good summer."
That's my memory of Mr. Froelich. He was all about respect for the math, and I respected him for that.
Later, as a teacher myself, I realized that one of my favorite things about Mr. Froelich was how he quietly locked the door each morning when the tardy bell rang. No big deal. You're late, you wait. Mr. Froelich unlocked the door when it wasn't interrupting his lesson to do so. This was usually just a couple of minutes into class, but geez, he made his point. Then, when you finally entered the room, you just took your seat, where materials waited for you, and got to work.
I was personally familiar with Mr. Froelich's tardiness policy because I was routinely tardy my junior year for his first period class. My best friend, J, took me to school every day that year and being on time was not her thing. I must have been tardy twice a week for an entire spring semester. Mr. Froelich's subtle yet consequential approach to tardies applied directly to me.
Besides being locked outside his door each week, another consequence of the tardies was that I had to take the final test for his class. This was something students tried to avoid, and if you had good attendance and met some grade benchmark, you were excused from finals. It's odd, but rarely did I take a final test in my high school career.
But I did take Mr. Froelich's test, and thanks to his good teaching and the genuine interest he had fostered, I remember actually enjoying his final test. The next day, when I stopped by his room to ask how I had performed, he said, "You got them all. Now get out of here and have a good summer."
That's my memory of Mr. Froelich. He was all about respect for the math, and I respected him for that.
Friday, January 18, 2019
An Ache
Remember that time I threw my back out while cleaning for our annual holiday party? It was two years ago but only seven blog posts away. Sheesh. Anyway, that same spot has been an ache in my side (literally) on and off since then.
I've decided that in 2019 I'm going to stabilize my spine and work toward a stronger core. How will I do that, you ask? By reading some books, obviously. Just this week I picked up 8 Steps to a Pain-Free Back, The Younger Next Year Back Book, and Relief Is In the Stretch from our local library.
The plan is to follow the suggestions in those books and also take pilates with a highly recommended teacher in our neighborhood.
Watch out, ache. I've totally got you covered.
I've decided that in 2019 I'm going to stabilize my spine and work toward a stronger core. How will I do that, you ask? By reading some books, obviously. Just this week I picked up 8 Steps to a Pain-Free Back, The Younger Next Year Back Book, and Relief Is In the Stretch from our local library.
The plan is to follow the suggestions in those books and also take pilates with a highly recommended teacher in our neighborhood.
Watch out, ache. I've totally got you covered.
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
A Person
For this January Blogging Challenge post, I'm going to unearth some writing I started a few months back but never finalized. It's some writing about a person. That person is my husband, Dave.
This past fall, Dave was on a mission to take out a red squirrel that had been building his winter nest in our attic. This was nothing new. Every year there's at least one red squirrel who finds its way into the house and Dave's psyche. We've all witnessed his obsession with red squirrels, and now whenever either kid sees a red squirrel, he or she stops what they are doing, points like a hunting dog, and shouts, "Dad, red squirrel!" Then the three of them gather at the window to track the movements of the tiny, albeit fierce, creature.
So, without my saying yes and without my saying no, Dave acquired a BB* gun to deal with the red squirrels and other small creatures who wreak havoc on our house and yard. I have, of course, mixed feelings about this. I understand the need for removal of the creatures and prefer this method, I think, to poison. But I'm also someone who prefers the settling of disputes in diplomatic, violent-free ways. In my conflicted state, I stayed out of the conversation and lo and behold, I now have to mark that line on our pediatrician's safety checklist that states we have a gun in the house. Ugh.
Dave's red squirrel mission took up much of his evening and weekend time in October. As the weather began to cool to fall temperatures, we had screens off and windows wide open while Dave watched for his target. This often went on for hours while Dave waited for the perfect shot -- one that would not alarm (or hit) the neighbors or workers building the addition to their house directly in sight with the squirrel's usual route.
Then, finally, on Halloween evening before the trick-or-treating began, it happened. Dave shot the squirrel. The look of pride and satisfaction on his face was worth the weeks of wearing our coats in the house. We were all very happy for Dave and that this squirrel chapter had closed.
Except that it hadn't. You see, Dave did hit the squirrel with a pellet, of that part he was sure, but of the directness of the hit, he couldn't say. He did see the squirrel run up to a low branch on a nearby tree and lie down. And after 30 minutes of stillness, he did declare that the squirrel was dead (and also likely to fall eventually onto the neighbor's gazebo).
Can you believe, though, that after those 30 minutes when we had all given up the watching and had gotten the Halloween costumes on, one of the kids shouted, "Dad, red squirrel!" and a bloody critter with tail waving in the breeze came running along the fence headed toward the house? It's true. It did. On that very Halloween our resident red squirrel came back to life and zombied across our yard.
The kids and I laughed so hard.
Then, a couple of weeks later Dave sent me a picture of a dead red squirrel which I opened while sipping tea at the hair salon.
*Dave would like for me to add that this is a high-velocity pellet gun that takes out the creatures humanely with "one-shot."
This past fall, Dave was on a mission to take out a red squirrel that had been building his winter nest in our attic. This was nothing new. Every year there's at least one red squirrel who finds its way into the house and Dave's psyche. We've all witnessed his obsession with red squirrels, and now whenever either kid sees a red squirrel, he or she stops what they are doing, points like a hunting dog, and shouts, "Dad, red squirrel!" Then the three of them gather at the window to track the movements of the tiny, albeit fierce, creature.
So, without my saying yes and without my saying no, Dave acquired a BB* gun to deal with the red squirrels and other small creatures who wreak havoc on our house and yard. I have, of course, mixed feelings about this. I understand the need for removal of the creatures and prefer this method, I think, to poison. But I'm also someone who prefers the settling of disputes in diplomatic, violent-free ways. In my conflicted state, I stayed out of the conversation and lo and behold, I now have to mark that line on our pediatrician's safety checklist that states we have a gun in the house. Ugh.
Dave's red squirrel mission took up much of his evening and weekend time in October. As the weather began to cool to fall temperatures, we had screens off and windows wide open while Dave watched for his target. This often went on for hours while Dave waited for the perfect shot -- one that would not alarm (or hit) the neighbors or workers building the addition to their house directly in sight with the squirrel's usual route.
Then, finally, on Halloween evening before the trick-or-treating began, it happened. Dave shot the squirrel. The look of pride and satisfaction on his face was worth the weeks of wearing our coats in the house. We were all very happy for Dave and that this squirrel chapter had closed.
Except that it hadn't. You see, Dave did hit the squirrel with a pellet, of that part he was sure, but of the directness of the hit, he couldn't say. He did see the squirrel run up to a low branch on a nearby tree and lie down. And after 30 minutes of stillness, he did declare that the squirrel was dead (and also likely to fall eventually onto the neighbor's gazebo).
Can you believe, though, that after those 30 minutes when we had all given up the watching and had gotten the Halloween costumes on, one of the kids shouted, "Dad, red squirrel!" and a bloody critter with tail waving in the breeze came running along the fence headed toward the house? It's true. It did. On that very Halloween our resident red squirrel came back to life and zombied across our yard.
The kids and I laughed so hard.
Then, a couple of weeks later Dave sent me a picture of a dead red squirrel which I opened while sipping tea at the hair salon.
*Dave would like for me to add that this is a high-velocity pellet gun that takes out the creatures humanely with "one-shot."
Thursday, January 10, 2019
A Challenge
Blogging pal, MM, has given me just what I need to get this blog going in 2019. She's asking us to join her in writing 8-10 posts from the Minnesota Writing Project Instagram prompts. I love this idea for several reasons: 1) I like supporting my colleagues at MWP, 2) I like reading the posts of others who have taken on the challenge, and 3) I like having the motivation to write and a little help with the topics, too.
So, the challenge: Getting out the door without losing my cool.
I want to raise kids who go with the flow and take things as they come. Yet just about every morning I sabotage this goal by shouting (or stating with obvious urgency) that we are late and "SHOULD BE DRIVING IN THE CAR ALREADY!" Then we all scramble in tense frustration until we are belted into the car and moving along. Finally.
My kids are just kids. They want to spend part of their morning throwing paper airplanes at a designated target and building a fort with every available throw pillow and blanket for their rubber-banded together stuffed animals. They can't help that we need to leave in 5 minutes from the time they've started this play and both still need to brush teeth and put on socks. They're kids!
So, my challenge is to keep calm as I remind them that these things need to happen and they need to happen NOW. Sure, we could get up earlier so there's time for airplanes and forts along with brushing teeth and sock adorning, but in my 8 years of parenting, the lateness seems to happen no matter when we get up. It creeps up on us every single day, and while I can't change the creeping, I can change my reaction to it (which is exactly the life lesson I'm trying to impart on my kids without actually modeling it all that often).
So, the challenge: Getting out the door without losing my cool.
I want to raise kids who go with the flow and take things as they come. Yet just about every morning I sabotage this goal by shouting (or stating with obvious urgency) that we are late and "SHOULD BE DRIVING IN THE CAR ALREADY!" Then we all scramble in tense frustration until we are belted into the car and moving along. Finally.
My kids are just kids. They want to spend part of their morning throwing paper airplanes at a designated target and building a fort with every available throw pillow and blanket for their rubber-banded together stuffed animals. They can't help that we need to leave in 5 minutes from the time they've started this play and both still need to brush teeth and put on socks. They're kids!
So, my challenge is to keep calm as I remind them that these things need to happen and they need to happen NOW. Sure, we could get up earlier so there's time for airplanes and forts along with brushing teeth and sock adorning, but in my 8 years of parenting, the lateness seems to happen no matter when we get up. It creeps up on us every single day, and while I can't change the creeping, I can change my reaction to it (which is exactly the life lesson I'm trying to impart on my kids without actually modeling it all that often).
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