Here's what's happening: During March, I'm going to write reviews.  I've been into this lately, as I am - it turns out - a professional film critic.  I'm expanding that capacity now. I'm going to be a professional critic of everything.

Here's my review of last evening:

The company and conversation over dinner at Crave was sublime.  Dan and I sipped our martinis.  I ordered mine "extra dirty," and savored the briny flavor, especially as I bit into the chilled olives, the taut exteriors giving way to tangy shots of blue cheese. Our usual sushi order satisfied immensely.  Chili sauce enlivened the shrimp tempura roll, although I have to say that the tempura flakes on the outside did obscure the flavor of the filling just a little bit.  The best bite was the seabass sashimi, sliced just thinly enough.

Next we walked down to the West End movie theater.  Turned out Dan accidentally bought tickets for a movie theater in Chicago, but the workers were forgiving and honored them.  We then upgraded our seats to VIP. "This is the only way I'm ever going to see a movie for the rest of my life," Dan proclaimed.  It's posh, what with the wide recliners and on-site bar.  I sipped prosecco as Deadpool, a superhero and X-man appeared on screen.  Earlier in the day, I'd listened on the Q & A with Jeff Goldsmith podcast to the screenwriters of Deadpool talk about the six-year process of bringing this irreverent, silly character to screen.  Yes, Deadpool has ridiculous, self-important, and often crass humor, but I didn't care.  I liked that guy and his Sinead O'Connor jokes.  I'm going to go ahead and give Deadpool my stamp of approval.  It's violent and stupid, but it means to be that way.  3.5 stars.

Conferences: I've got five more in a row this morning on the half-hour.  Celebrating the awesomeness and looking toward a brighter future.  I've got this!

Exhaustion: It's setting in. I feel it on the edges of my eyeballs.  I'm hoping I remember how to speak coherently until the conclusion of the final meeting.  At these moments, I flash back to my very first set on conferences in 1999.  I had 150 students and we did them "arena style," where families would line up to speak to you for five minutes each. We did it for 8 hours straight. One set of parents kept asking me if their daughter's writing was too verbose.  At 9pm after doing a hundred conferences (literally), I couldn't remember what verbose meant.  It was hideous.

It's time for spring conferences, and I'm gearing up for a full day of thinking about my advisees and how to maximize their spectacularness.  This won't be hard because I have the most quirky, kinetic advisory of them all.

Despite the delight, it's going to be a long day, and I have to pace myself.  I'm starting in jeans, and I've got my dress and blazer on a hanger ready for a late afternoon change.

Everyone knows I'm an extrovert.  I recently took a quiz to verify this truth of my personality, and sure enough, the results once again confirmed that I "relish social life" and am "energized by interacting by with friends and strangers alike."

Okay, but I still couldn't handle the social obligations of Friday evening.  Here's what I was supposed to do: watch Shef's star turn as Immigration Inspector Washington from 7:30 to 9:30, supervise him while he helped to strike the set from 9:30 to 10:15, drive him to the cast party where I could chat with other thespian parents and drink a civilized glass of chardonnay from 10:30 until 11:45, at which time I would be allowed to return home and collapse into my bed.

I did all of things, except that I couldn't go into the cast party with the parents.  After socializing with their children all day in the classroom and chatting with them as I waited to reserve seats in the auditorium and smiling and complimenting at intermission and again at conclusion and having conversations while the set was struck... I had to stay in my car for the party.

So, I drove to a parking lot to listen to my audiobook - Outline by Rachel Cusk, which I might not be smart enough for.  I got too tired to concentrate and I had to pee, so I went to the Super America.  I looked for a snack that I might want, but nothing seemed as good as a caramel sundae from McDonald's.  As luck would have it, I saw a McDonald's shining like a beacon down the street.

But, by the time I had gotten back into the car and arrived at the menu, it was 11:03 and the drive through was dark.  The workers waved to me unhelpfully from the window as I exited, defeated.  I sat again in my first parking lot until 11:30.  Then, I couldn't stand it anymore. I drove to party and texted Shef from the driveway.

"Come out," I said.  Thank god he did.

In theater... It's the middle school play today.  Shef takes the stage as Inspector Washington at Ellis Island in 1907.  I've seen some of the dance moves here at home, and it appears the kid is a natural.  I'll watch it twice - once with the middle schoolers and once in the evening - and then I have to take my star to the cast party at 10:30. PM. And wait for him there until 11:45. PM!  Will it be rude to retire to my car and listen to an audio book rather than socialize with the other play parents? I mean, probably.

In books... one of my advisees told me she'd spent weekend reading a book that is "a cross between The Hunger Games and The Bachelor."  I stared at her.  "Bring that book to me," I commanded.  She did. It's exactly what she says, and it's called The Selection by Kiera Cass.  I'm also reading Elena Ferrante's My Brilliant Friend, which I'm sure I'm going to fall in love with, and The Red Pencil by Andrea Davis Pinkney.  I've never read a book about Darfur. This one has me attached to the characters from the first moments.  The line drawings are by Shane W. Evans, and I love them.

Mac lost his second tooth yesterday.  His teeth are really slow to fall out. The kid is seven and a half, and only two have come unmoored.  When these two have come loose, he's resisted any pulling or wiggling.  Instead, he let them dangle by disgusting little gum threads.

Anyway, finally, he let me get in there and lightly tug this beauty out.

It's that time again where I pledge to get back into shape.  Let's start with the good news: I never became horribly out of shape.  I maintained a reasonable, although low level of fitness throughout the winter.  I did this by walking Teddy and doing some (not a lot) of online workouts at Barre3.com.

That's all well and good, but I went to real barre class on Monday at a studio and had to modify nearly every move. I watched the other long and lean participants, and they did not have to do this. "I'm really out of shape," I whispered conspiratorily to the instructor, who has seen me on better days.

"It's really good to see you," she said at the end of the class.  I bet it is, Heather!  I saw you laughing at me as I rolled my eyes at myself and rested in child's pose.

Then yesterday, I forced myself onto the treadmill with low expectations.  2 and half miles, I pledged.  That's it.  I kept busy with a Modern Love podcast and broke the 10 min per mile barrier.  It's a start.

After the workout, I realized enough is enough.  I marched upstairs and registered for a 10 mile trail race to take place on May 22nd.  I'll have to be in much better shape to get to the finish line on my feet.  Because (as I mentioned yesterday) I'm a real runner, I know I can get this done.

This is one of those magical Mondays off.  There's no school. I'm planning to spend the morning reading and writing and maybe visiting the photo booth for my hideous skin condition.  I'll work out, clean a little bit, take the kids to some hockey lessons, and watch the Bachelor.

Could things get any better?  Probably not today.

The weekend proper was pretty good, too.  For instance, Mac has noticed that he's getting taller.

"Let's measure," he said, standing in front of me with his little chin pointed slightly up.

I gave a rough estimate, holding my hand at chest-level as he stepped back to check out his progress.

"I'm up to your breasts!" he announced.

He is, in fact, up to my breasts.  Good work, kid.

Left Nostril: It keeps bleeding at inopportune times.  I'm blaming the arctic tundra in which I live.  First, it started bleeding while I was walking the dog, and I had to staunch the drip with my white, cable-knit mittens.  Then, as I was listening to an update on the Capital Campaign at my school in the middle of a row, I felt a metallic flow in the back of my throat. I had to tilt my head back and race out of the auditorium.  Before you even ask, NO, I haven't even been picking it.  I just can't wait for spring.

Meetings: Let's be honest, I generally despise meetings. But yesterday, I was in the most creative, collaborative, energizing meeting I've had in years.  It was teachers of social studies in grades six through nine.  Generally, I'm assigned to be with English teachers because of my extensive training and experience in that discipline.  But, I do actually teach social studies to sixth graders now, as I have for the last two and half years. I've been mentored by the best, so I was invited.  The people were brilliant and the vibe was electric.  Probably the kids will benefit.

Guess what?  I successfully suggested that my sister Rachel start writing a blog.  She had the pressure coming from two sources, as her mom keeps telling her to write stuff down, as well.  In any case, we're all winners now because 30inPA exists. Woot!

Because we have a media sharing partnership, Rachel influenced me to start listening to the Modern Love podcast.  It's like a best-of the Modern Love column from the New York Times, read by famous actors and followed by a conversation between the authors of the pieces, the editor of the column, and the podcast host.

I mean, really.

There's one episode in particular in which a birth mother talks about the relationship she has with family she chose to raise her child.  This writer, Amy Seek, really makes you feel the balance of adoption.  On the one hand it's joy, and on the other hand it's grief.  I think that's often true for people on all sides of the adoptive triad.  Probably, you should listen to the podcast if you're curious about it.  Here's the LINK.

I've been sleepy all day. Just a little foggy.  If it weren't frowned upon at my place of employment, I might just put my head down and close my eyes right now.  Instead I'm practicing my craft.  Right here.  This is my craft.

Later, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be invigorated because my friend Paula's going to make me run outside with her in the 12-degree weather.  Although I've tried to become enamored with winter running, I just am not.  It's unpleasant, frankly; and when you're done, you're cold for a long time until you shower.  What if you don't want to shower right away?  If that's the case, or if you aren't near a shower, you're going to just have to live with the cold.

I'm only going running because I want to chat with Paula.  And because I remembered a face coverer.  I hate it when my face is over cold.

It's been an intense week of writer's workshop.  We're in there pounding out literary essays.  These are complex little pieces, especially for the sixth graders.  In fact, I've never attempted teaching literary analysis essay to sixth graders before. We're using a new curriculum by one of the stars of the literacy world (Yes, there is a literacy world, and yes, there are stars), and it's scaffolded in a really cool and accessible way.  I think the kids are feeling accomplished, which is a sensation we all enjoy.  I told the Sixers yesterday that I used to teach the same concepts to tenth graders in my previous post, which is true. They were heartened, and their little fingers depressed the keys at a slight uptick.

I'm also feeling accomplished in that this is my Friday, and after school, I'm lighting out for Duluth.  I'm feeling slightly bad that I'm leaving Dan alone for the Hockey Tournament Extravaganza, but he's highly capable.  I know he can handle it. Go get it, Dan and Hockey Team!  You've got this!

I'm moving forward into 2016 as a creative risk-taker.  At some points during the sankalpa, I felt disappointed that I wasn't taking creative risks in January. But now that I'm reflecting on the experience, I think I was missing the larger point of the exercise. The point is not to be a creative risk-taker from January 1st to 31st - it's to wash your consciousness in the identity, so that it'll stay with you all year and beyond.