Today is generally accepted as the day William Shakespeare was born in 1564. Also, it’s recorded as the day he died in 1616. One has to love the concision of the idea that he was born and died on the same day—well, if you’re a geek like me that is.
So true. The end of the school year is always bittersweet!
Originally posted on lauralanni:
What is this feeling made of? It feels uncomfortable (like worry) yet exciting (like waiting for pizza).
It hums and bumps around underneath the events of a day (like a puppy in the saucepan cabinet).
It’s comprised of equal measures of good and bad, happy and sad, excitement and dread (like leaving my best friend to go on an adventure).
I know what it is: the end of the school year.
They’re going to leave me. They know so much more than they did when we met eight months ago. They are so done with this course. I’m impressed and proud and I’ll miss them when they leave me.
As a group, they have a beautiful curiosity for understanding the organic chemistry that I love. They memorized a hundred reactions, functional group inter-conversions, and about eighty mechanisms. When they don’t know the mechanism, they can reason it out. They can design the synthetic steps…
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I have writing notebooks hidden under my bed. The writing in them spans years of my life; there are many words on the pages.
The thing is…I haven’t looked at them in years. Literally. I am afraid to look at them. I am afraid to remember things I wrote about, things I have long since forgotten. I am afraid of the memories. Most of all, I am afraid of my voice.
So, so true—and so important for every teacher/educator to realize.
Originally posted on lifeinthedport:
Allow me to step into the confessional.
One thing I struggle with is loving people unconditionally, accepting them in their weakness. I expect the best from people, immediately, consistently. This is a universal application that haunts my students, my friendships, my colleagues, and my marriage.
Of course, I am not off the hook. I am my own worst critic, my most insistent demander, my harshest judge. I live in an internal world where it is hard to accept grace for myself…and thus–either as a cause or an effect–hard to offer it authentically and organically to others.
I am no blind fool: this leads to a lack of peace within myself…and with others.
At school, we’ve excitedly moved into a focus on rigor. Many voices expressed the idea that there can be no rigor without risk, and no risk without struggle. I wholeheartedly agree. At the most foundational level of this struggle…
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So, for books that have been out a while, I decided I would do a post discussing why I loved (or maybe hated, though that would be very rare) a book instead of writing a review. Because, really, I don’t see the logic in writing a “standard” review for a book that’s been out for years. Also, because sometimes, with books, there are only certain things I want to talk about vs. writing a general overview to entice other readers to read the book.
So, here we go with my first attempt at such a thing.
Quite a while ago now (in Internet terms at least), Preeti Chhibber started the hashtag #Womeninfiction on Twitter. She wrote about it here for Book Riot, and though it’s been a while, I still wanted to offer up my reasoning for why I chose the women I did, because I did not do so the night I posted my tweets.
I don’t post a lot about teaching; mostly I post about books and reading.
But I was thinking today about the practicalities of teaching. The things that people do not bring up in teacher training courses. And I figured I would take some time to write about the things that have saved me—literally or figuratively—for the past seven years.