Jumpin' Off the Edge

I was observed teaching my 8 th grade Research class today. While I am pretty sure it was one of the worst observations I have ever had in my teaching career, I left the class excited. My excitement had nothing to do with what I perceived as a subpar lesson on my part, but everything to do with the ideas of the students. High School Prep: Research is a semester long class designed to teach students the skills necessary to conduct research and write a paper. This is the first year it has been taught at Franklin Academy. One of the things I love about it is creating the curriculum along with the other teacher who teaches a class of it. We are all about making it real for students. Therefore, the first research project is all about their interests. For the past six weeks, students have been researching a variety of topics from Taylor Swift to Why Hitler was such a powerful leader to ice cream to dance to tennis. Students have researched, created note cards, written outlines, and

When I first took the job, the thought of teaching two 45-minute Grammar classes made me cringe. Sitting through the training of the scripted program only brought up bile. I am all for teaching students how to use Grammar correctly. However, in order for it to work effectively, it needs to be incorporated with writing. Shurley Grammar is not set up that way. Students start by learning a song about whatever part of speech we are  working on and then go through a rote process in labeling the parts of a sentence. I was sure the students would laugh at the songs and refuse to sing them. Six weeks into school, I have found a way to put my touch into Grammar class. It began with the singing. The songs are rather annoying. Think of Barney on steroids. A few of the songs are more tolerable, such as the Adverb song. It has a rather jazzy sound to it. The perfect song to wear sunglasses when singing. Fridays became our sunglasses day. Shortly after, we decided to make Grammar T-shirts. O

Life happens. And then it doesn’t. In the past few days, I have  spent some time today thinking about when it doesn’t happen any more. The tenth anniversary of 9/11 approaches and with it plans for remembrance. Invisible Children is coming to my school to share their story with my students. So many lives ended much too young.  Loved ones making the ‘C’ word become a reality. And then, my mind goes back to living in the moment. Mostly, the pure joy of living every minute are given. And then I start to ask myself: What am I doing with my life? Am I making it count? What am I doing to better the world? What do I want to do before I die? I keep talking about things I want to do, but I have never put pen to paper. Some of the goals I have set along the way have been attained. Others will be a life–long process. And still there are goals yet to be begun. Here it is (in no particular order) with room to grow. My ‘To Do’ list of life: Finish college on the Dean’s List Get my Masters Ge

Tonight while Woodland High School’s Class of 1981 (and 78, 79, 80, and 82) reminisced about our high school days 30 years ago at the Spednic Club, the music of Night Ranger, Foreigner, and Journey transported me back in time. The concert was an anniversary present for my husband. (From the beginning, I knew I would be more excited about it than he was. When he found out the Blind Boys of Alabama were coming to town, those tickets became the more sought after gift. In October, I will let you know about that concert.) While walking into the concert arena, the sounds of Night Ranger could be heard from the speakers. Singing along, I was soon 18 and riding the loop again. Looking up on stage was like watching a music video on MTV back when MTV showed music videos. There was a reason why many bands in the 80s were called ‘hair bands’.  I looked on stage to see the guitar players hair blowing in the wind….except there was no wind. (It was a sultry 95 degrees.) A fan provided the l

School is good. (Excellent, really.) The new house is fantastic. (Loving our new shower.) Family life is better than ever. (I think there is something to be said for the girls having their own rooms.) Social life? I am out every weekend with friends. (More of a social life than I had in Colorado in three years.) So why am I feeling so out of whack? I came home on Wednesday feeling rather melancholy. There was no reason for me to be feeling down in the dumps, but there it was holding fast like a tick. I had no answer for Tony when he asked what was wrong. I knew of nothing. And then I began doing what I do. I started analyzing what was going on for me. I think I figured it out. It has been almost three months since I have consistently worked out. As for eating healthy, not really happening. The poison that comes as a result of eating too much processed food is swirling around in my body with no way to get out. It is trapped by my inability to get my butt out of bed in

I could never promise you On just my love alone That all my life I’d care for you And love you as my own I’ve never known the future I only see today Words that last a lifetime Would be more than I could say Eighteen years ago, I sung those words to Tony on an oceanfront in Maine. (There was more to the song, but we will save that for another day.) I had no idea what marriage would entail. I was pretty sure love would take care of whatever came our way. And it has. After a wonderful day spent together celebrating our journey thus far (pictures scattered throughout the entry), I thought I would take some time to update my promises. This one’s for you, Tony. Happy anniversary! PROMISE #1 I have no idea how to be the perfect wife, but I promise you I am going to fake it. (That was my promise 18 years ago.) Okay, so the reality to that statement is I do know what society says about being the perfect wife – cooking, cleaning, laundry, obeying your husband, and all that stuf

When I go see a movie from a book I read, I go into it thinking what I see on the big screen will be different from what I see in my head. In some instances such as The Lightning Thief , I am disappointed. While in others, I am pleasantly surprised as in Stand By Me . And then there are the ones that I contemplate whether I should go see it in the theaters. For me most recently, that movie was The Help. While reading the book, I became a part of it. It did not matter that the setting took place in a time (1963) and location (Jackson, Mississippi) for which I have no familiarity. Characters felt as if they were friends. It was a book that got inside of me. A book that needed time to roll around in my head for a few days after I finished it. Needless to say, when I heard there was a movie coming out, I was excited about it. Albeit, a bit apprehensive as well. Would the movie have the same impact on me the book did? I walked into a crowded theater today shortly before the movie

It is time for me to acknowledge it…..I am getting old. Last night, I took my girls to a Ke$ha concert. (For those of you who don’t know who she is, I have posted one of her music videos above - Patti's favorite.) Before we even got to the amphitheater, I knew I was not dressed appropriately. I thought I was dressed for the weather in shorts and a tee shirt. (The girls wore jeans and a tee shirt.) Apparently, to fully enjoy this particular concert, one should be in ripped up leggings, short-shorts, and a skimpy top outfit or a super-skimpy dress ending just below the curve of the butt. The male counterpart would be either short-shorts or super skinny jeans. Whichever outfit is decided upon should include body paint and glitter. Lots of glitter. Ever since she heard about the concert, Patti bugged me to take her.  I put her off for two months. After all, the big adventure of the summer was going to Missouri to see Sean’s graduation from boot camp. When Tony came home from wor

When I first moved to Benson and needed a social life, it was Craig and I. It mattered not bit to me that he is my son’s age. Friday nights were our night to go out and relax a bit. Whether it is dinner at Logans, a Rush concert, or sorting Goodwill cards, we always have a blast. This past weekend was no different. We had ourselves a night of memories starting with pub crawl on a rickshaw driven by my husband, followed by an improv comedy show in which we became part of the act, ending with an evening of dancing at a club in downtown Raleigh. It has been ages – make that decades - since I have danced anywhere other than a middle school dance or around my house. Walking down the street to the club, I knew my clothing was sticking out like a sore thumb. I was wearing too much of it. Besides being half my age, all the women we were passing on the street were wearing skin-tight dresses ending right below the curve of their rump. Add to that, spiked heels and perfectly coifed hair a

Thirty-five 7 th   and 8 th   graders running cross-country.    The number baffles me. Yet, once again, I refuse to cut a single runner. They are all on the team along with my three managers. The reality of the situation is I know nothing about cross country. I take that back. I know it involves running. At this time, I have no idea how many kids can compete, how long the course is, or even what a meet looks like. I have never been to one. And yet, the support I am getting from students, parents, and other teachers astounds me. They are all good with my ‘team’ approach. My expectation that the faster runners go back and encourage the slower runners by running them in has been met with acceptance and happiness. Parents are offering to do whatever is needed to make this a successful experience for all. I am working out right along with them. (As a result, I am about dead tonight.) I am honest with them about the effects of being overweight and ignoring the need to exercise. They cheer m