Saturday was a crazy day. It was the type of day that I normally hate because I would just rather sit at home and relax. But, for some reason this Saturday's craziness seemed fitting, appropriate. My son had two birthday parties to attend. My daughter played in two different divisions in an all-day racquetball tournament and she sang in a Christmas concert. There was just enough time between each event to get to the next event. We left the house at 8 AM and did not return until 7:30 PM. This would normally be cause for an instant panic account on my part, but for once I relaxed and just decided to celebrate the day and the fact that we were lucky enough to be able to have that kind of day.
The first celebration was the first birthday party. I brought my son to one of his favorite places on earth: a little place where you can decorate your own pottery and have tea, hot chocolate, etc. I brought him thinking, well, either I will stay and watch him paint or maybe I will go to the book store next door. Whatever happens, happens. It ended up that my friend was also there dropping her twins off. We decided to go to the book store and then have coffee together. I bought four books for my daughter's Christmas present, and my friend and I sat down and had lunch AND coffee for a whole hour in a sweet little restaurant on the third floor above the bookstore that looks out over the bay. The bay was bright aquamarine, all covered with whitecaps. And for once, I finally took the opportunity, while in the situation, to say to myself, this is really nice. This just happened. I am here, with a friend, relaxing. My son is doing something he loves and so is my daughter. It wasn't planned, it just happened.
As the day progressed, I did this at each event. When my daughter won all of her racquetball matches but one, I just told her how awesome she did and I was just there. I wasn't melting down because we only had ten minutes to get to the next thing. I was just there. Telling her she did great. At the concert, I just soaked in the white twinkly lights, the beautiful girls as they stood on stage in their white blouses and their black pants. They had on sparkly Christmas necklaces. I teach or have taught most of the girls who were up there on that stage and I was able to think about each of them, but especially my daughter, as they sang. I was able to reflect on what amazing people they were all turning out to be, having known most of them since they were little sweet girls who would wear pink dresses with flounces. Now their day to day life consists of sweatshirts, Aeropostale t-shirts, and jeans, so it's hard to notice how beautiful and grown-up and wonderful they've become. But as they stood there beneath those lights, their beautiful voices wrapping us all up like Christmas presents I thought, yes, this is a good day.
I have a love/hate relationship with exercise. When my alarm clock rings at 5:00 AM, I can't think of enough words to describe the depth of my hatred. Hatred for the alarm. Hatred for morning. Hatred for the extra helping of rice and gravy I ate the night before, necessitating the 5:00 alarm. As I struggle to swim up out of sleep, I repeatedly slap the snooze bar, knowing that with each desperate swing of my arm, I am coming closer and closer to the type of exercise I hate most: the type where I won't get a full workout in because I won't have enough time. This will prompt me to ask the constant question: was this workout really worth getting up for? If I only do 20 minutes of cardio, would I have felt better to just stay in bed?
The main reason why I struggle with exercise, I think, is because of the mixed messages I got about exercise as a kid. On the one hand, there was my dad: super-fit, super-tough, made-of-steel man. He had an exercise wheel that he would use each night. I remember watching him do fifty or more reps with that wheel and he would go all the way down until he was grazing the floor with his entire chest, then rise back up. This summer I tried to use the exercise wheel at the gym and either a) flopped directly to the floor like a huge, flailing halibut or b) could wheel myself no more than a few inches out for fear of falling like the already mentioned halibut. He did 100 push-ups every night. Real push-ups, using the kitchen chairs and my brother and I as ballast. He was like a rock. He repeatedly broke his ribs by slamming into the hatchcombing and jumped right back up, cussing and screaming, but he kept working nevertheless. He never even went to the doctor to get them checked. No time. Work to be done. Luckily, he was in such good physical shape, he could somehow keep working, and I mean physically labor. You can't hurt steel, apparently.
And then there was my mom. How many fad diets did she start and quit? How many times did she start some crazy kind of exercise plan and never follow through with it? How many times did she yo-yo back and forth between a healthy weight and one that was likely to take years off her life?
With these two role models, it's no wonder I struggle.
Questions for my writer's group:
I would like to zoom in on just one important idea in this memoir, kind of like Sandra Cisneros did in “Eleven.” I feel like I am talking about too many things in this piece. There is the part about my dad. Then there's the part about my mom. Then there's the thing about me exercising. What part is most compelling to you as a reader?
Should I just drop the idea of exercise altogether and just make this piece about my mom or about my dad?
I feel like I need help with my conclusion. How can I work on that?
It's way over 150 words. (Sorry!) What can I cut/save for later? (Maybe 150 words is a cruel limit...should we expand it??)
For this month's book club:
Babylon by
Bus: Or, the true story of two friends who gave up their valuable
franchise selling YANKEES SUCK T-shirts at Fenway to find meaning and
adventure in Iraq, Ray LeMoine and Jeff Neumann
The Last True Story I'll Ever Tell: An Accidental Soldier's Account of the War in Iraq John Crawford
| The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society | Mary Ann Shaffer |
The Piano Teacher Janice Y. K. Lee
Brick Lane Monica Ali
Notable within this text:
The "Pensieve":
"After sticky notes and clipboards"
"It's not your notebook, it's your Pensieve."
Section 1: Teacher Notes
Calendar
Keeping Track Form
Strategy Groups Form
Section 2: Dividers/Tabs for Each Child
CAFE menu
Reading Conference form
Writing Conference form
AND the Ready Reference Form!
Questionable within this text:
Does anyone really have that much time to teach reading and writing? What about math? Science? And don't say "integrate." That's a dirty word.
It is here and it is the best thing ever. I've been working out each morning, cracking the whip and getting my kids to do chores (and I have been doing them too), reading, and knitting. Most of all though, I HAVE NOT been working on National Board stuff or MEd stuff and am so happy I never will again. (I hope.)
By this time tomorrow I will be finished with my work for National Board certification. My test is at 11:30 tomorrow. I feel ready, like I've run a marathon studying and now just have to run the last few blocks. I've attempted to narrow down each assessment center exercise to some big ideas that I can apply to most any stimulus.
Today I've spent at least five hours studying, of course getting way off track as I did...reading articles about Sarah Palin, updating my Netflix queue, fixating on Pandora, reading random blogs that had nothing to do with anything, and putting books on hold at the library. But, you gotta take a break sometime. So now, my final (well, maybe) act of studying: summarizing here.
Exercise Eins: Reading Comprehension
Exercise Zwei: Oral Language Development for ELL
Exercise Drei: Emergent Literacy
Exercise Vier: Analyzing Reading
Exercise Funf: Visual Text
Exercise Sechs: Writing Development:
Subject: Reading Comprehension
Stimulus: Analyze a student's comprehension of text
Prompts or Questions:
Stimulus Examples (from Home Stretch):
Study Resources:
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