Something had to give...

...and it was the blogs.

As I wrote earlier, October has been crazy for me. I had two conference presentations (there was supposed to be a third, but the whole internal conference was canceled, thank god). Plus, this big annual writing workshop that I help coordinate for GED students. And tons of student papers to read and respond to.

So I was pretty freakin' frazzled.

I couldn't put off the work or the family or the friends or the colleagues, so I did something I haven't done in about 8 months: I stopped the blogs. Stopped writing them, stopped reading them. Cold turkey.

It felt weird at first, like a party was going on without me. Then I was so busy that I didn't even think about them. In the last few days, though, as I've been grading students' papers online, I've found myself wanting to slip over to bloglines and check my feeds. Just to see what Collin's been up to, what BrightStar's thinking, what witty thing Heather's said lately, what insight Eunice has had.

I'm sure I'll be hooked again in no time.

Because crazy October's almost over.

But can she put on her own wraps?

Russian Violets had a post this weekend about finding her kindergarten report card. She wrote, "Now, the very notion of a report card for 1970s kindergarten just makes me laugh since we never did much that was 'academic,' unlike kids in school today."

She made me think of my own 1970s kindergarten experience. Last winter, my dad found a thin file folder containing my report cards and a few scraggly-looking drawings I'd made in Ms. Nagel's kindergarten class at Cold Spring Elementary in Cold Spring, Ky.

My final kindergarten report card cracks me up! It's dated May 22, 1974, and it's a handwritten mimeographed sheet. It has three "grade" columns, labled "most of the time," "part of the time," and "seldom."

I got checkmarks in "most of the time" for all the categories, which were:

I work and play safely.
I take off and put on my own wraps.
I try to be polite.
I listen when others talk.
I follow directions.
I share with my friends.
I try to do my best.
I try to finish everything I begin.
I take care of school things. I put them away.
I am interested in books and stories.
I like music.
I am interested in art.

I love the emphasis on "trying" (rather than "mastering") and on showing an interest in things like books, music, and art. I love the parts about listening and sharing and finishing what I start. And the part about putting on my own "wraps?" Priceless!

My daughter's kindergarten report card from last year stands in pretty stark contrast. Hers has categories like "performs simple addition with concrete objects;" "recognizes shapes, including ellipse and rhombus" (rhombus??); "uses knowledge of consonants in writing." The only behavior-related categories on her report card fall under Physical Education (sportsmanship and participation).

Seems like Anna's way, way ahead of where I was at her age.

Except that she still needs help buttoning her jacket sometimes.

Deb goofs up

For years, I worried about losing students' papers. Like many (all?) other writing teachers, I'd lug around heavy bags of students' drafts, prewriting, revisions, etc. I'd always think, "Man, I'd be so screwed if I lost these papers."

For all my fretting, I don't think I actually ever lost anything.

A year ago or so, I started having students turn their work in electronically through Blackboard (even in face-to-face classes, since I teach in computer classrooms). No more heavy bags! No more piles! No more handwriting! Very little chance that I'd lose something!

Well, you guessed it. I lost something yesterday.

I had to post this announcement on Blackboard:

Hi guys,

I goofed up on something. It's a long story, but basically I *thought*
I was fixing a Blackboard problem in my other section of English 111, and I ended up accidentally deleting the reflections you wrote in class today.

If you still have the reflection, could you re-upload it to
me? If it's saved at school, you can re-upload it in class on Weds.

If you don't have it, that's okay. Obviously, I won't penalize you for my mistake.

To re-upload, click on the link below.

Thanks (and sorry)!

--Deb

It's not really a huge deal. I didn't lose students' actual papers, just the reflections they'd written in class about their work on those papers. (And really, even if I *had* lost the actual papers, it wouldn't be a huge deal: they should have their own electronic copies on disk somewhere.) I guess I just feel sort of stupid and careless.

And: I always love reading those reflections. I ask students to tell me what they like about their papers, what class activities helped them the most in writing them, etc. So I learn a lot--both about students' metacognitive processes and about my own teaching. It's almost like I can't read the actual papers until I've read those reflections!

I hope they'll re-upload 'em. And I hope they won't think I'm a big doofus.

What was I thinking?

I've got three conference presentations this month. There's one next week at a conference that's halfway across the country (and I'm still working on the kid-care thing for that one; my husband's running our local marathon during one of the days that I'll be gone. Yikes.) Then the following week there's one I can drive to, but I'll still be gone two days. The third one, thank god, is local.

All three of my presentations are on different topics.

What the %$# was I thinking?

The conferences are all fairly low-key: one regional, one statewide, and the other an internal conference. But they'll all still involve work (and worry) on my part--because I'm the kind of person who just doesn't have the ability to wing a presentation. I wish I had that gift; I totally admire it in others.

And of course, my students have papers due this week. So I have tons of commenting to do, on top of the presentation crap prep.

This same thing happened last October. And I remember telling myself to never let it happen again. Why didn't I listen?

At least you're quiet about it

My girls were playing so well tonight--each pushing a little vanload of Barbies across their bedroom floor. No fighting. No whining. Just cute little-girl voices "talking" the Barbies.

So I poke my head in and say, "I love how you two are playing so nicely!"

The older one cocks her head. "Whaddya mean, playing nicely? We don't even like each other."


The really pathetic thing: I thought to myself, "Well, okay, as long as you're not audibly fighting..."

Poetry in FYC

So I had my students write poems in my first-year comp class.

I'd never done such a thing in 12-plus years of teaching comp. Mainly because I'm no poet myself. But also because there's already so much (other really cool stuff) to do in FYC.

This summer, I took a class affiliated with the National Writing Project, and we read the incredible book Reading, Writing, and Rising Up: Teaching about Social Justice and the Power of the Written Word by Linda Christensen. She's a former high-school English teacher who writes about creating and implementing a curriculum that works toward social change while also honoring and drawing on students' stories and backgrounds. In a chapter called "Where I'm From: Inviting Students' Lives into the Classroom," Christensen gives an entire lesson plan for helping students write "I am From" poems, modeled after a George Ella Lyon poem. My classmates and I (and apparently other Writing Project participants across the country this summer) wrote our own "I am From" poems. And loved the experience.

So, my current FYC students are working on a narrative-collage assignment, and I thought the "I am From" thing would work well as a kind of prewriting activity. I introduced the activity on Friday, and they brought their poems today. In Christensen fashion, we did a read-around. It was lovely. Delightful. Students were making all kinds of connections with each other, talking about their childhood memories of Big Wheels and Mario Brothers and Rainbow Brite. One student wrote about growing up in Ghana. One wrote about being a drain on his family's finances because he was born with a heart defect and required numerous surgeries.

Aside from helping us build a sense of community (we're only in the second full week of the quarter), the poems offered a chance to talk about specific detail, imagery, description--things they'll need for their narratives. One student prefaced the reading of his poem with an apology for using words and names--like "McCheever Street"--that wouldn't be familiar to the rest of us; of course, that opened a space for us to talk about how specific details do make the unfamiliar familiar.

Anyway, here's an excerpt from one of today's poems--one that the class especially responded to. It's by Jose. (Used with his permission):

I come from bike rides and soccer games,
From a park with hills of red ants
Where a dead horse was picked up by the police
As we sat and watched.

I come from behind that park
Where falling from a bike and scraping my knee
Invited a man to steal a nine-year-old's bike
And my father recovered it for the sake of a young child's peace of mind.

I come from swimming with frogs in a green water pool,
And getting stuck in the mud at the bottom of a lake with no water.
I come from drinking champagne with 12 grapes that turn to wishes,
And enjoying the company of the family I see once a year.

I come from half a dozen apartments where you can never be alone
If you have the image of the mother of the son of God.
I come from lighting candles for her on the street
And praying and fasting for her son.

I come from several walks on the snow and feeling my ears freeze.
I come from several midnight escapes
That would always lead to my bedroom
Where I catch myself become someone else.

(After a quick google search, I discovered there's tons of stuff out there about using George Ella Lyon's poem as a starter poem. Here's one interesting take on having students write "I am From" poems in middle-school literature classes.)

100 things

Most others in the blogosphere have already done this meme, but, like Russian Violets, I'm just now getting to it.

100 things about me.

1. I love chocolate, even the cheap stuff.
2. Dove milk chocolate is probably my favorite.
3. Or almond-milk-chocolate bark from Schneider's Sweet Shop in Bellevue, Ky.
4. I grew up in Cold Spring, Ky.
5. But most people say I don't sound like I'm from Ky. (Whatever.)
6. I have eight siblings.
7. 3 sisters, 5 brothers.
8. I'm the oldest.
9. 9 kids in 11 years.
10. "Oldest of nine" was the defining feature for most of my life.
11. Just last night, I met a woman who's one of five. When I told her I'm the oldest of nine, she said, "Oh, so you were a raiser." I knew just what she meant.
12. And yes, I was a raiser.
13. By age 12, I could pin a diaper onto a squiggly butt, make a bottle, and console a baby screaming in pain from an ear infection. Like nobody's business.
14. I wouldn't have had it any other way. Always somebody to play with, sing at the top of your lungs with, shop with, drive to college with when you're too much of a whimp to get your own driver's license.
15. Yes, I was 19-and-a-half when I got my driver's license.
16. I'd always had dreams about losing control of a car.
17. I paid for my college education myself.
18. So did all eight of the siblings.
19. That's why only one of us went out of state for undergrad. (And it wasn't me.)
20. I played softball in grade school. And sucked at it.
21. Basketball for one season in 7th grade. Really, really sucked at it.
22. Volleyball for 2 years. Only midly sucked at it.
23. Track and cross country all through high school. A teensy bit above average at it.
24. Two of my three sisters were awesome runners, though.
25. I once ran a marathon.
26. I was part of a three-person relay team.
27. I did the three-mile leg.
28. With a broken finger, mind you.
28. My husband did the 10-mile leg.
29. My sister Jan did the 13.2-mile leg.
30. I met my husband when I was a senior in college.
31. I got married when I was 27.
32. I had a major health crisis when I was 30. Something I hope to never go through again.
33. I had my first child when I was 31.
34. I had my second child at 33.
35. Both are girls.
36. I'd always, always, always--all my whole life--wanted to have a daughter.
37. My older daughter looks exactly like the daughter I always imagined in my mind.
38. I'm not really a very funny person.
39. But I'm very good at laughing. Very good at appreciating other people's humor.
40. I'm just now getting brave enough to say what I think and ask for what I want. Most of the time.
41. For 9 years, I had an hour-long commute to my workplace.
42. But it was worth it because I loved my job.
43. And I especially loved my co-workers (Cathy, Beth, Bobby, Rich, Jim, Sara, Jane, Adrienne...)
44. Now I have a 10-minute commute.
45. And I love my "new" co-workers too.
46. I'm a soap-opera junkie, even though I rarely get to watch them anymore.
44. I keep up on my soaps through those stupid, way-too-expensive soap-opera magazines. And through my mom.
45. My favorite soap for most of my life was Guiding Light.
46. But I thought it started sucking when they did the Reva clone thing.
47. I've been a full-time college writing teacher for 12 years.
48. I was at a 4-year institution for the first 10.
49. Then I moved to a 2-year college.
50. Which I love. It feels like home to me.
51. My dad worked at the same company for 42 years.
52. 42 years!
53. He repaired and installed phones for the local telephone company.
54. My mom didn't work until I was in college. (See 6 through 9 above.)
55. Then she held a series of clerical jobs.
56. Now she watches several of my nieces and nephews while their parents work.
57. Obviously, my mother is amazing.
58. And my dad is the kindest, most humble, most giving man on earth. Really.
59. All the siblings pretty much adore each other. Really. It's kind of a sickening Brady Bunch thing.
60. We pretty much like the men and women who married into the family too. (Of course, we do rib the one lone Republican among us.)
61. My husband is a journalist. A very good one.
62. He's been a sports writer or sports columnist for his 18-year career.
63. But he's doing a stint on the Projects Desk now. He got to cover Katrina. (See here, here, and here.)
64. My husband just recently revealed to me that, for the entire 10-plus years of our marriage, he's been re-loading the dishwasher after I load it. He says I just throw all the crap in there with no rhyme or reason.
65. Hey, if he wants to re-load it, more power to him.
66. (And I think I adore him for having just done it for 10 years without telling me. Or complaining.)
67. I love Curb Your Enthusiasm.
68. My husband and I are constantly noting the ways in which certain things that happen to us are "Larry David" moments. I'm sure everyone else who watches the show does this too.
69. One thing I can't stand in other people (and thus have to fight against in myself) is negativity.
70. Not that I expect (or even want) people to be all Pollyanna all the time. But constant negativity bugs the crap out of me.
71. Another thing I don't like in other people (and thus have to fight against in myself) is selfishness.
72. I really, really like my students.
73. Sometimes Often I get totally overwhelmed with all the papers I have to read (especially on a community-college teaching load).
74. But usually once I get going on them, I'm okay.
75. And even in the not-so-good ones, I can usually find a gem somewhere. A turn of phrase, an insight--something beautiful.
76. My main scholarly interests are: composition/rhetoric, teaching with technology, and service learning.
77. I'm one of those people who actually likes committee work.
78. I have a core group of friends (Shannon, Cathy, Michelle, Ann, Kate) without whom I don't think I could function.
79. Even though I don't see all of them as much as I'd like (i.e., Shannon and Michelle), I'd still hate to imagine my life without them.
80. My husband has a similar core group of friends, some of them going back to grade school!
81. Which is something that always attracted me to him. I figured that if he can inspire that much loyalty, he must be a pretty good guy.
82. Motherhood is extremely, extremely challenging to me.
83. This I know: I'm very, very good at the baby stage (say, birth to 18 months).
84. The toddler stage on up: not so much. But I'm trying.
85. I gave birth to both of my girls completely naturally. No epidural, nothin'. (But I was very lucky: both labors--from first pain to the actual birth--lasted less then six hours. With the first one, I was completely dilated by the time I got to the hospital. And I had a very encouraging midwife, which also helped.)
86. "Easy" birthing is in my genes: all my sisters have had quick labors too. And so did my mom.
87. I think I'm running out of gas here at number 87.
88. I love to cook, but I'm not very good. And I don't really do it much.
89. I love coffee and coffee shops.
90. One of the difficult things about parenting, though, is that I don't get to hang out at cool coffee shops often.
91. I love old houses.
92. I have a pretty old house now (1940's era), but someday I'd like to have one that's even older.
93. I love to imagine who lived here before me, what kind of wallpaper they had, whether there was a lovestruck teenage girl looking out the east window at some boy down the street.
94. I have no pets.
95. I blame it on the big family: we never had time or room for pets. So I didn't grow up with them.
96. My daughters, like me at their age, are extremely frightened of most dogs. Even tiny ones.
97. I love singer-songwriters like Gillian Welch, Nanci Griffith, Kasey Chambers, Caitlin Carey, Lucy Kaplansky, et al.
98. And I adore Bruce Springsteen.
99. I like the color of my hair.
100. I have to give the girls a bath now.

"Mom, will you take a picture of me at the pumpkin patch and put it on your blog?"