• We put up the tree and all of the ornaments. All of them. Even though every year I remind the family that we don't need every single one. "We do," they say, even though there aren't enough spaces and not all of them are very attractive.
• We planned a holiday outing. However talented the dancers in The Nutcracker undoubtedly were, it was not particularly enjoyable, as you can see above. All tippy-toes; no talking. Lots of leaps; loose storyline. I don't know. It just wasn't for us. Dan liked it okay.
• I finished my shopping at the last minute, visiting the Mall of America, Target, and Dick's Sporting Goods on Christmas Eve Eve. I didn't even hyperventilate at any of these locations.
• We baked cookies and decorated them. They taste good, and I ate lots of dough and broken pieces.
• Teddy, for his part, ate 8 oz of dark chocolate and cheerfully vomited in the back room of the emergency vet's office to the tune of 227 dollars. He's so dumb, but it looks like he'll live for another Nativity.

I just did a quick search, and it turns have written before about being the parent of a hockey goalie, but not lately.

If you're curious, this fact remains: of all of my identities -- teacher, reader, runner, writer, minivan driver, etc. -- hockey goalie parent may be my least favorite one. Mac is the hockey goalie, and I am his parent.

What happens when I'm watching is this: First, I try to convince myself up to be normal and calm during the hockey game. This is difficult given my naturally high-strung temperament. I'm like a Border Collie in mundane situations, so you can imagine what I'm like under stress.

Still, sometimes, I can remain calm for an entire period of hockey. It helps if the period lasts fewer than 15 minutes and if there are fewer than ten shots during the period. It also helps if I'm chit-chatting with someone or engaged in texting. But, sometimes, instead of remaining calm, tension starts to paralyze my limbs, filling them as if they were PVC pipes. The pucks start sailing at Mac, and suddenly I'm hyperventilating.

Later, I get up a lot to walk laps of the arena or get a drink or visit the bathroom even though I don't have to go. These are coping strategies, and other parents seem to understand. They understand even though Dan is able to watch the whole games like a normal person. Of course in real life, he's like a Great Dane, a couch dog with boundless objectivity and powers of reason. I'm the Border Collie, remember? The one who needs ten hours of exercise and a shock collar?

My ability to sit still dissipates depending on the frequency of the hockey games. If I have at least 48 hours between games to reset and refuel, there's a good chance I can endure in the stands for another full period of hockey. If it's been, say, a tournament weekend with four games in 36 hours, I'm back to pacing and visiting the concession stand within seconds of the puck drop and with increasing frequency in direct proportion to the number of shots on goal.

How are things going? Well, let's take stock:

Clean Eating: Oh, as if. It's December. Report cards are due, holiday shopping has barely begun, the faculty lounge, which is perpetually stocked with baked goods, is mere steps from my classroom. In fact, there is literally not a closer classroom to the fully-stocked faculty lounge than mine. Plus, I'm just not really trying that hard. Bring on the toffee!

Exercise: An eyebrow raise seems appropriate here. I'm hanging on to fitness like a mom hangs onto a wild toddler in Disney World. That's the best synonym I can think of at this very moment. Still, I ran a 5k yesterday. To be honest, if I didn't have a date with a friend at that 5k, I totally would have bailed.

Report Cards: This isn't easy, people. The report cards are massively time-consuming. I'm trying my best to have the report cards accurately reflect each child's progress, as well as my adoration for each child. That's a tall order. I'll probably get it done by the deadline because, for better or for worse, meeting deadlines is how I roll. However, there might be some crying on the way. Sadly, crying is also how I roll.

Christmas Cheer: Believe it or not, I'd give myself a 5 on a scale of 10 for Christmas cheer. That's high for me, as I'm certifiably Grinchy. But, self-improvement is a worthy aim, and I'm nothing if not a life-long learner.

That's how things are going. And that's five weeks in a row of weekly blog posts. #goldstar

Here's an unfortunate fact about me: I'm not a very good gift-giver. Every once in a while, I'll straight-up steal a half-decent idea from someone else about what to buy for someone I dearly love. Most of the time, though, I walk into one of the same half-dozen stores I always go to and pick something that the recipient might think is just fine. Just fine, but not usually delightful.

I wish I were better at this, but I'm just not.

This year, Dan has some specific requests for Christmas gifts. One of them is a quarter-zip pull-over. Before I go any further, I want you to know that Dan has about fourteen quarter-zip pullovers already in his closet. I pointed this out.

"I'd like one that isn't blue," he said. It's true that at least six of the pull-overs--the only ones he actually wears--are blue.

"But I've purchased you purple and green ones, and you never wear them," I argued.

"On the green one, the sleeves are too short."

"What about the purple one?"

Dan went to his closet and pulled out the purple. "Well, the collar is just outrageous. It's too tall! And, plus, it's boxy." I asked for proof of these assertions, so he modeled the sweater for me. To be honest, I could see what he was saying, but I disagreed that those two points made the sweater unwearable.

"It's okay if you can't find the perfect quarter-zip," Dan said. I think he began to realize that he was sounding a little Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. "I could also use some, like, regular sweaters. Maybe a cable knit."

First of all, I don't think he has any idea what cable-knit is. He definitely doesn't like it. He only likes tight stitches.

"I liked those v-necks you got me that one year," he went on, "but, I didn't like how deep the Vs were. Like, I don't like it when any part of the second button of my shirt shows in the V."

I raised my eyebrow here, I'm pretty sure, and Dan started to look sheepish. He might have giggled. "And also," he added, "those were a little too short." There's another black quarter-zip that he has, incidentally, that's a little too long.

 I think all readers can see my predicament.

"Just get me a sweater," Dan said, finally.

I wrote this directive down in my bullet journal. "I'll do my best to get you a sweater. But not a crew neck, not a deep V, and if it's a quarter-zip, I'll be sure it's neither too short, too long, and also doesn't have a tall collar or a boxy fit."

Should be easy. Luckily I'm such a good gift-giver.

As you know, I'm a dedicated masters athlete. By "dedicated," I mean I miss quite a few workouts, and in terms of "masters," I'm referring to the USATF definition of 40+.

Just to clarify that in case you thought "masters" meant "skilled."

But anyway, I went to the treadmill yesterday and I did the prescribed mileage and speed for my upcoming 10k. I felt super lucky that the Ironman World Championship coverage was re-airing on ABC. It'd make the 40 minutes go fast, watching all those inspiring endurance athletes who don't skip workouts finish something so daunting.

I was running along, virtually cheering the triathletes when a profile of an age-grouper came on. The guy, Leigh Chivers, was competing for his wife who'd died from brain cancer at age 34, and also for his baby son, who died from his own brain cancer just six months later.

Obviously, I sobbed during this profile. It was a little bit awkward to be hiccuping and wheezing while I ran, but anyone else in the gym watching that particular tv had to have had the same reaction.

Can you even imagine a brain cancer diagnosis for your spouse and then, just a short while later, the same terminal diagnosis for your child? And there was Leigh, biking 112 miles and running a marathon, all after finishing a 2.4-mile swim. He was talking about the importance of determination and positive memories.

People might want to watch the profile. You can find it here at 34:18. I'm inspired by this family. People can be pretty good and mightily resilient.

It's the weekend again, and I now write a blog post on the weekend. Easy peasy.

So, this last week, one of my third graders came up to my desk while Spanish was happening.

"Ms. West," he said quietly, "I found a nail on the rug."

"A nail?" I said, turning away from the computer screen. "Well, thank goodness you found it. That could be dangerous." I held out my hand. I did wonder fleetingly how a nail had made it to the meeting area, but sometimes these things just happen.

"What should I do with it?" the kid asked.

I felt like it was pretty obvious what he should do with it since I had my palm cupped and ready, but I nodded at my hand to reinforce the cues. "Just give it to me."

As he dropped the item in, I realized pretty quickly that the nail in question was not the sharp metal variety, but the rounded papery top of a discarded fingernail.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," my student agreed. "That's pretty gross."

"I'll just put it here," I told him, standing to tip it into the garbage can. Later, when he found another one, I just offered a noncommittal comment about how people should probably put their fingernails in the compost if they happened to bite them during instructional times. I didn't bother helping with the disposal the second time around.

I've been reading Vikki Reich's daily November blog posts, and I've been thinking: how hard could it really be to just write something here once a week?

Vikki is a humor writer I admire, and her blog is really good. So, it's not as if I'm thinking: it'd be so easy to write something like Vikki every week. No, it's just that when I read her stuff I realize blogging has a lot of value, at least to me. I love reading about other people's lives, and I like going back through the archives here and reading about my own life.

Wouldn't it be nice to chronicle a little longer? Just keep track of the mundane?

In any case, here are a couple of things:

• We've been working on volume this week in third grade. As in, noise level. Previously, we've worked on stamina and coping skills. Those things are still high on our list of priorities, but this week I felt like a lot of people were yelling all the time. We've now worked on self-awareness around yelling. I come around and gently remind people about our goals. I say, "It sounds like you're yelling." We've achieved sporadic and marginal success in lessening the frequency of yelling.

• Mac has me obsessed with this podcast called Six Minutes. It's a story about a girl mysteriously lost at sea and the family who takes her in. Also, it's about helicopters and bad guys and hoverboards. It's transformed our commute. Each episode is--shocker--six minutes long. If I can't listen to my new Spotify playlist that includes "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" and has my family engaged in a whole new round of mom-mocking, then I choose Six Minutes.

Remember about my blog? It's here!

I'm paying attention to it today because I finished my book again. I think I've finished my book 6 or 7 times now. That's all the way to THE END. I'm wondering how many more finishings it's going to take before people can actually read this thing in traditional book form. Whatever the answer, at this point, I'm not really interested in quitting.

I'm also not interested in quitting my day job teaching third grade. It's pretty fun. We have crayfish right now. I'll be honest and tell you that I was not very excited about hosting crayfish. After all, they're gross. But having crayfish turns out to be a pretty good experience. We're doing some cool observing and experimenting. Today, we're making crayfish identification cards. It's going to be some of our best work. We're going to weigh and measure those suckers in addition to describing their structures and doing some scientific drawings.

One day during our crayfish time, three kids got pinched by their lab animals at once. I'm sorry to  report that there was a fair bit of screaming. But as long as we slow down and follow the protocols, everything will be totally fine. There's no need for any more bloodshed.

Let me tell you a story about a mattress. This story begins eight years ago, but I'll keep it short. Way back then, Dan and I moved into his parents' house. They were moving out, and they left several pieces of furniture, including their bed. This was really convenient, and we were grateful.

As the years went by, the second-hand mattress became less functional. It's an old Sleep Number job, and it started deflating at odd times. In general, it wasn't ideal. Lucky for us, Dan's parents offered us a like-new organic cotton mattress from a guest bed they weren't using in their condo. They've become our mattress suppliers. Plus: "It's organic!" my mother-in-law said. I guess non-organic mattresses are basically environmental and health disasters. So, that's something to consider.

In any case, we emptied the miniature van and went over to Dan's parents' place to get the mattress. We lugged it to the car and then up the stairs to our room. I made the new bed, and then I lay down on it, ready to bask in its luxury environmental-friendliness.

You guys.

It's rock hard. I'm talking ROCK. HARD. It's like camping in our bedroom. There's no way my wonderful in-laws have ever tested that bed. Or, they have tested it and found themselves high-fiving as we removed it from their home. Dan has had to take Advil to deal with the effects of the mattress. While I used to look forward to retiring to my bed, I'm now happy to stay on the couch longer, as I can sink into it. Mac ran into our room the other day, ready for a story. He leapt on the bed, only to find himself the victim of a dull thud. "Whoa!" he said.

Whoa is right. I googled the benefits of a very firm mattress, and it's true there may be some. But, this weekend, I'm buying a memory foam topper. It probably negates the environmental health benefits of the organic mattress, but I fear my hips and shoulders are becoming bruised. There's only so much I can take.

We're in Week 3 now, so I'm quite experienced in third grade. At the very least, I now know how to get the students to lunch and back again. Their quietness in the hallway is another matter, but I'm taking my wins incrementally.

Lesson Planning: The trickiest part is not actually designing the instruction. That transfers well from one division to another. The hardest part is figuring out how long things are going to take. "This'll be a solid 20 minutes," I think to myself; and then it's either 10 or 40. It might be a good 10 or 40, but it wasn't what I was expecting.

Vocabulary: Sometimes I use words the students don't know, and they look at me like, "What?" These moments surprise me, but I just find a synonym and move on with life. Recent examples: insightful, problematic, and expedient. No worries here: studies show that using big words with little kids is a solid vocabulary-building technique.

Math: Of all the disciplines I now teach, math is the one I've never taught before. One of my students told me he's especially excited to be in my class because I'm a middle school teacher and certainly capable of challenging him in math. He thinks it might be his best year ever in math. I think positive expectations are key to success.

Sitting upright: While I've had to remind students of all ages to maintain posture during lessons (it was a always a rule, for instance, that you couldn't put your head down on your desk in my classroom), it's especially a thing in third grade. While we're having instruction time on the rug, I prefer that you're not rolling around. I also prefer that you're not dancing on the sidelines of the instructional space. It doesn't matter how cute you look while you're dancing; it's just not time for that right now.

I've completed my first week of teaching third grade. I'm a little giddy because of the fun factor. The children are adorable and tell me amusing anecdotes. Plus, they won't be writing multi-thousand word essays I'll need to grade on weekends and holidays.

This is not to say I won't have other things to do on weekends and holidays: the lesson planning and the scheduling and the understanding of students' needs and capabilities in many a discipline will take up that same time. But those tasks seem more interesting to me at this point in my career.

The whole switch has been exhilarating.

Here are some critical differences between teaching elementary and secondary that I've noticed in my first days in the former:

• One needs a slightly different wardrobe with swishier, more versatile clothing. Many of my outfits no longer suit because of the constant up-and-down of elementary teaching. A skirt needs to have a certain give and a certain length to make it work for sitting on the rug in a circle.
• The job is more physical, and I get sweatier. It's not that secondary teaching is sedentary by any means. But third-grade teaching with the necessary vertical flexibility I previously mentioned, plus the bending over at the waist, plus the line walking--I don't know. Something about it makes showering more imperative. This is not to say I didn't value cleanliness in my former capacities.
• The children all have something to tell me. It's charming, and I laugh and smile a lot. To be fair, I laughed and smiled a lot in my old jobs, as well. Teaching is teaching, and it's all pretty fun.
• But here's an excellent bonus: I've forced kids of all ages sing songs with me and repeat affirmations. However, I've never experienced total compliance and freedom from eye-rolling in grades six and up, no matter how catchy or helpful the song or affirmation. In third grade, though, they look at me earnestly and try their best in these activities. It's that simple.

My school is starting a week earlier than normal this year, which means summer was a week shorter. This seems like a hardship for many, including the people who like to get their work done without teachers in their faces all the time. I keep hearing, "As you know, we lost a week this year."

It might feel like we gain a week on the front side of next summer when we finish up in May. However, this fact doesn't help the people who are working their tails off to have things ready for next Tuesday when the children show up.

To kick things off, I bought a book called The Growth Mindset Coach, and we're going to focus on our first month's theme: Everyone can learn! I think we'll do a little writing about when we learned how to do something. I have an idea to write a little sample about learning how to teach. I'm learning all over again now, and I have to say it's pretty fun so far. I feel slightly sorry for my new teaching partner on whom I have to rely rather heavily. I'm trying to make up for that burden by exhibiting my sunny personality. I'm sure she appreciates it.

Before I get into my fail, let's just put one major WIN on the table: I sent my massively revised novel back to my agent by my self-imposed deadline of today. There's hardly a scene that we haven't overhauled. I cut several characters and added one. I changed the sequence of events that leads to the ending. I gave one of the protagonists a family secret. I changed the genesis and substance of the conflict.

It's just a totally different book. I also think it's a better book. I really hope all of the stakeholders agree with this assessment.

So here's my funniest fail:

I arranged to meet a new friend at a coffee shop. It was my first time having coffee with this friend, and of course, I wanted her to find me charming and impressive. The coffee place was fancy, and I ordered a drink I'd never tried called "Golden Milk," which is high in turmeric and made with an oat-based dairy substitute.

Only someone evolved and sophisticated would order such a beverage.

When the barista called my name, I zipped right up to the counter and grabbed the nearest cup. I sipped it enthusiastically, certain the Golden Milk would be fantastic. But right away, I noticed the drink was an iced latte, not a Golden Milk. "No," I said, turning around. It was at that point I spotted a very sour-looking woman whose latte I'd just sampled.

"That was mine," she said, angry.

"I'm so sorry!" I said. "They called my name, and the drinks look the same!" She scowled at me as if I'd transgressed on purpose. I swear I did not! I babbled on about the mistake. The barista pointed out the drink that was actually mine and told the other woman she'd replace hers.

That latte lady was REALLY mad. Like, really. This coffee situation was a major setback for her.

At our table, my friend and I giggled. What else was there to do? We made jokes about how perhaps I thought the counter offered free samples, or that the Golden Milk came as part of a flight. The more we laughed, the angrier that latte lady became. I felt bad for her and definitely sorry, but my discomfort just made me laugh harder.

When she finally left with her non-contaminated drink, I waved and mouthed "I'm sorry," apologizing again. She did not reply. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. This made my friend and me laugh harder, which I'm sure annoyed her to no end.

I'm sorry, latte lady! I don't know what else to say.

I have nine days until I plan to hand in the full revision of my novel to my literary agency. I'm sure we'll go back and forth again at least one more time after that, as writers and editors are wont to do.
I'm hoping, however, that the changes going forward will be more minor in nature.

That's because this first guided revision is pretty much a rewrite. I've had ups and downs during the intense process, and I'll just be honest: I don't want to rewrite it again after this.

Still, overall, I'm going to give the last four months of work a positive review.

That's because I'm pretty happy with the manuscript in its newest iteration. That's not to say there haven't been some sad cuts. I'm sad to have cut, for instance, a classic line delivered to me by an actual parent in real life. It's the time someone told me her son "couldn't have cheated because he has too good a relationship with Jesus."

I liked that scene in the novel, but alas, the fictional person who says that iconic sentence is no longer a character in the book. The line will live forever in my memory instead of in fiction.

Another sad cut came down in the last 36 hours. It's Gratitude Buddies. This is something else from my real life. Remember that time I embarrassed myself at a meeting by laughing about gratitude buddies as a school-wide initiative?

I had some really funny gratitude texts flying around in the back half of the book. On careful inspection, however, I came to agree with my current editor that they don't really fit. They don't further the character development or the plot.

I cut them. But, it was kind of sad. I'm nearing the end of this rewrite/revision. I'm looking forward to the day it's done.

Maybe you already know about the Grand Prismatic Spring?

We're back from our Montana vacation. This is our third summer in a row venturing west. We did the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, the Badlands and Black Hills, and now, the Rockies of Montana. These trips suit me. I like the hiking, the adventure, the ceaseless vistas.

I know I saw all this terrain and natural beauty as a young person, but it's all seemed new to me on these recent sojourns. Of course, I distinctly remember refusing to look up from my book as we crested many a snow-capped mountaintop in our family van. My own children similarly fail to take it all in. I can tell by the way they slap at each other in the back seat and made countless off-topic jokes about balls. In any case, we accumulated many "first" experiences and, I'm quite certain, precious family memories on this Montana trip. I'll provide a list of these "firsts" now:

• First multi-mile family hike. We did the famed Beehive Basin hike in Big Sky, often referred to as one of the forty most beautiful hikes in the world. It was six miles long and stunning. At the outset of the hike, I was very clear about my expectations. "I plan to complete this hike," I said. And everyone complied with very little complaining. In fact, the children ran the final three miles, leaving Dan and me in the dust.
• First whirlwind national park tour. We spent eight hours in Yellowstone. Obviously, we barely scratched the surface of this American treasure. We were awed by the amazing geothermic marvels and tried not to think about the supervolcano under it all that might end the world someday. 
• First time in a broken down taxi. On the way home, our cab driver's miniature van emitted terrible sounds and then started smoking copiously from the hood. He dropped us off in the parking lot of a gas station, and we called an Uber to make the final leg of the journey. Good problem solving to end the vacation.

You can see the river guide here is responsible for ten lives, including his own.

I've been whitewater rafting a few times in my life, and although I really enjoy this activity, I've been thinking about it and have come to an important realization: there are, I'm convinced, few jobs I'm less suited for than "River Guide."

Although I'm pretty outdoorsy, which seems to be a trait the river guides have in common, the truth is I do not understand paddling and/or levers. Perhaps I could be trained, and yes, I was a marginally competent canoeist at one point in my life. River guiding, however, requires a level of technical precision I might find hard to achieve. There are boulders and sharp turns and also, as my crew demonstrated yesterday, the people in the boats don't always heed river guides' paddling direction with accuracy and/or alacrity.

Another issue with river guiding is that most professionals live a nomadic lifestyle, sojourning from river to river in search of both sustenance and adventure. Mike, our guide on the Gallatin River yesterday, currently lives in the back of his Toyota Tundra and will do so for the next eight weeks.

I like camping and all, but living in a truck at this point? I'm not sure I'm up to it. I already wake up sore most days, and I don't even sleep on aluminum.

A third reason I'm not suited for river guiding is that river guides must be immediately ready to handle life-threatening emergencies. The truth is, I'm rather skittish in the face of danger. And, although I once-upon-a-time became a certified lifeguard, I'm not sure my swimming and rescue skills can stand up to class IV rapids. Or class III or class II rapids. Let's not even imagine foot entrapment or whirlpools.

As you can see, I've given this a great deal of thought. Although I appreciate the opportunity, I'm going to have to say no to river guiding.

Once again, we're watching The Bachelorette, and once again, I'm losing brain cells at an alarming rate. In the current season, a lovely Minnesotan woman named Becca dates twenty-five marginal suitors. We just watched a date on which Becca and Colton rode camels and then soaked in a hot tub in the full sun of the Vegas desert.

Why would one do that on a date for fun? I didn't even see either of them apply proper sun protection.

At the end of the date, Colton said it was one of his best days--not dates, but DAYS--ever in his life. I'm sorry, but that can't be true. It was a hot tub in the middle of nowhere with camels roaming in the vicinity.

In other news, the summer's been cruising. There's a lot to do on each of the days, and I'm a little worried about accomplishing all the things on all of my lists. Luckily, I totally mastered today's to-dos, including eating at a delicious vegan restaurant called J. Selby's. I had street tacos with soy chorizo, and Lee had a meatless hot dog that looked as if it were made of meat. Lee's visiting! Isn't that great?!

Here I am finishing the hardest 5k I've ever run.

We're finishing the first week of summer vacation. Actually, I'm just thinking of it as "summer, "and not as "vacation." Last year, when I reframed the whole June-July-and August phenomenon as not time-off, but rather the start of my other jobs, I just felt much happier. I wasn't expecting to be luxuriating and feeling relaxed all the time.

Indeed, I'm not living a life of leisure over here. Instead, I'm being a novelist and a full-time parent and studying for my new job. All of these are time-consuming endeavors, but also a lovely change of pace from my normal 9-5. Or 6:30-5, as the case may be.

I've got a daily task list. It includes laundry and clutter clearing. And, most importantly, I've got butt-in-the-chair time to make progress on the book. The comprehensive revisions are due to my agent by August 6th. I'm excising two characters and adding one. I'm writing more internal thinking. I'm reworking the conflict. To be honest, it feels less like revision and more like re-writing, but so far, I think the changes are making the book more and better than it was before.

In addition, I've got running on the calendar. I joined a running team to celebrate my 40th birthday. I was lured by the possibility of scoring points for the team now that I'm old. Sure enough, I ran an extremely hard 5k last Wednesday. It was the slowest 5k I've ever run, and yet, I finished 2nd in the Women's Masters division. That's a point-scoring position! Yay for 40!

Let's do this, summer. I'm ready for you.

We're here in the homestretch of school year 2017-18.

Here's the story: I have finished and proofed my report card comments. I have emptied my classroom. I have loaded a few belongings on a cart to take on a long drive (3 elevator rides and a trip through the courtyard) to Room 205, where I'll be teaching 3rd grade come fall.

At our assembly, my students reminisced about their favorite moments with me in middle school, which was very sweet. They remembered me leading them in dance moves from High School Musical and also commented that I'm quick with a sticker and a smile. 

I do love stickers.

Bring it on, Summer 2018! Only the Valleyfair trip, Shef's 8th-grade graduation, official high school graduation, and couple of faculty meetings to go.

I can do it, I'm pretty sure.

Here's something pretty cool: I applied for a new job. I went through all of the steps. I wrote a cover letter, updated my resume, did a fifteen-minute screening call and then a one-hour in-person committee interview. After that, I became a finalist, and I did a full-day candidate visit complete with two demo lessons with real kids. There were also six interviews with real adults.

Isn't that a lot?

I'm lucky because at the end of it all, I got picked for the job. I think you're supposed to play it cool on the offer call and say you need some time to think about it, but I didn't do that. I basically interrupted my new supervisor to yell, "I'M THRILLED, AND I'M TAKING IT!"

The whole thing was for an internal transfer position at my same fantastic independent school, and here's the deal:

Beginning next fall, instead of teaching sixth and seventh grades, I'm going to teach third grade. Third grade! In a self-contained classroom where I can work on empathy and community and global competence all day long while also thinking about all the core subjects plus social and emotional coaching! Further, I'm going to handle walking in lines and distributing snack!

Lucky for me, someone I know and love a lot has expertly taught third grade for years. I called Lee. She totally coached me, you guys. She made me feel like I could do it. When I got the job, she said, "Welcome to Thirdland," and I felt like I was 100% on the team.

I think it might be the best thing ever.

Here's a picture of me practicing for tonight's show. My lip might be curling in an unattractive way. Photo Credit: Ann Marie Photography The lip curl is obviously not her fault.

In a few hours, I'll be reading a story called "Labor and Reunion" in a show called Listen to Your Mother. I wrote the story myself. It's a true one about being an adopted person and having two mothers. It's also about giving birth and being a mother myself.

That sounds like a lot, but my part only runs 4 minutes and 45 seconds, so there's no need to panic about length. And, I included a few marginally funny jokes. If you go to the show, please laugh in the appropriate places. You'll be able to tell, I think, that I tried for humor.

Of course, I'm nervous. Here are some particular fears:

• That I'll trip on the way to the stage, need to catch myself, and shove my butt toward the audience in an awkward way.
• That I'll choke on my spit.
• That my bra strap will fall down.
• That I'll lose my spot on the page and need to tell the large audience to "hold please."
• That the audience will be weirdly silent without any laughter or reaction at all. This has happened to me before at a Back-to-School Night, and it's unpleasant.

I've been super into this podcast called Happier in Hollywood. On it, two tv writers and life-long friends discuss their work, friendship, and "the war of attrition that's life in Los Angeles." I feel like these gals are basically my best friends.

By some miracle, KK and I escaped the winter hellscape of Minneapolis and landed in New Orleans where we're participating in a Global Symposium for independent school professionals.

I have to say, it was sort of surreal taxiing down the ice-encrusted runway on Sunday in Minneapolis. I kept thinking we'd turn back toward the terminal. The snow kept falling. The previous day's flights had been widely canceled. We'd have to bag our talk about global competence and trot it out another time in another venue.

But no! Miraculously we de-iced, we took off, and we landed. We made our way to the French Quarter and checked into the Sheraton. Truth be told, we had a heck of a lot of work to do on our talk, so we haven't seen as many sites as we might have liked. But here's what we have done:

• Had a Pimm's cup in a corner café.
• Walked into the smallest bookstore I've ever seen.
• Enjoyed some street performers, including some sweet electric violinists.
• Strolled down Royal and Chartres and Decatur
• Ate blue crab rolls, barbequed shrimp, pralines, red beans and rice, sweet potato gnocchi, praline bread pudding, and beignets.

Not too long ago, the kids and I went to watch a friend of Shef's play in a high-level, high-stakes hockey game. It was really fun, and I especially liked how they blasted clips of classic songs like 1989's "Move This" by Technotronic before face-offs.

I got to thinking, I should take the kids to more school sporting events. We could wear our colors and root for the teams! Sounds wholesome and screen-free! I shared my epiphany with Shef, who is now fourteen years old.

"Hey," I said, "wouldn't it be fun to go to more school sporting events?"

"No," he said. The answer came swiftly and with zero hesitation.

"No?" I asked, surprised. "You don't want to watch your friends play lacrosse and stuff?"

"No," he clarified, "I just don't want to be seen with you in public."

Just like that! All matter-of-fact!

I think the inclination is probably exacerbated because I'm a teacher at the school, in addition to also being a regularly ignominious parent. Having a teacher mom is literally the worst thing ever for an eighth-grader, Shef says. I can't help that it's my job, though, and I also can't help that I'm so embarrassing. I feel I could be even more embarrassing if I didn't already put so much effort into my behavior. Shef doesn't know how lucky he is. One little slip and he could be the laughing stock of the entire school.

This is Mac, the only snowboarder in the family.

Skiing:

I love the free feeling of whizzing down the mountain, stopping frequently for breaks and 100% controlling my speed. I'd say my ski level is stagnant compared to other years. Why try to get better at a dangerous sport at 40? Seems like not such a great idea, especially when I can just, like, have fun and look sort of like I know what I'm doing. Or at least look like I'm not a danger to others.

Altitude Sickness:

It appears that one person in our party might have some mild to moderate altitude sickness. It's better not to google this, but instead to consult a mountain medical professional. That's on the docket for today. Luckily, in the limited medical research I did do, professionals say that altitude sickness generally resolves in short order. We should be on the other side of this in no time.

Reading:

I've got two perfect vacation titles on the go. One is The Widow by Fiona Barton. I love a good psychological thriller, especially on vacay. In this one, there's this feeble woman named Jean who married a veritable asshole who may also be a criminal. The blurbs all tell me I'm in it with an unreliable narrator, so things could turn any second.

The second book is America's Next Reality Star by Laura Heffernan. It's about Jen. She's suddenly jobless, boyfriendless, and broke. Why not go on a reality television show about puzzles and problem-solving? As you can imagine, the pages are flying by here. Reality television has long been my kryptonite.

That's about it. I'm hoping the second of these three items resolves today. Don't you?

I'm sad to say I haven't made too much headway on my lengthy spring-break to-do list.

Alas.

But to tell the truth -- and I'm being 100% honest here -- I don't much care. I did other really exciting things. My 40th birthday was the most memorable and frankly the best birthday I can remember.

As I was writing that, I scanned back over other birthdays, and it's true that I do have lasting memories of 23. I had a fancy dinner at a sushi restaurant with Dan, several of my friends, and my mom. At the table, Dan said fondly, "And now you're 24."

"No, I'm not," I said. "I'm 23."

He insisted I was 24, but I knew for a fact that wasn't the case. I knew it especially because we were celebrating my golden birthday. Also, I was sure my birthday was March 23rd, as it has been every other year.

"Are you serious?!" Dan finally exclaimed. Everyone laughed pretty hard, and then the sushi was excellent.

In any case, all of the things on my aforementioned to-do list will still be there when I'm finished vacationing.

In the meantime, I plan to be goal-oriented about downhill skiing. I'm going to take lots of runs and not get hurt. I'm going to write on my blog a few times. I'm going to be pleasant and cheerful in interactions with my family members. I might think about other writing, too. Anything is possible.

There's a lot happening over here, but most important, it's Spring Break. I've got a to-do list as long as my arm, including an eye appointment and painting the trim in the upstairs hallway. And, obviously, other stuff because that little list is only as long as my fingernail.

Among the items, there's also this blog that I've been neglecting. I'm really wanting to get back to it with charming anecdotes and musings on the writing life.

Here are three potentially entertaining tidbits:

• I was once again a dance captain in the middle school teacher talent show act. A student emailed me afterward to tell me what a good dancer I am. I'm pretty sure, but not positive, the email was written without irony.
• In the Mac zone, we've traded hockey parenting for lacrosse parenting. It's time for box lacrosse. Lacrosse is, I think, the most violent sport known to humankind. During the games, I find myself yelling things like, "WHACK HIM!" and there's sometimes blood.
• I'm working out a synopsis for my next book. Before I get to the whole thing--even the whole synopsis-- I'm pretty sure there's an impending round of new edits on the old book. Isn't it funny that it seems old even though it still hasn't seen the light of day? Here's what I think to myself: the more rounds of edits I do, the fewer there still are to go. I think that's true no matter what. 

It hasn't seemed so hard to get through this particular Minnesota winter. It's been cold and snowy, yes. I felt typically overwhelmed by work, certainly.

I usually write at least one blog post about teaching in February. Here we are in the last week of the month, however, and I've neglected to write about the perils of schools at this time of year.

It's a brutal combo, the lack of light, the ongoing winter, the crankiness of everyone in the building. Add in a mass school shooting and the president's asisnine suggestion that I pack heat while kneeling next to students during writing conferences, and it's enough to make us weep.

Just in case you're still wondering whether it's a good idea for teachers to carry weapons, I'll tell you definitively, it's not. Smart people who know about these things are documenting the reasons why, reasons like even the NYPD has only an 18% hit rate in active shooter situations.

Another reason that's inordinately clear to me personally is my responsibility to create warm, productive, and predictable relationships with kids. I can't do that with a constant threat of violence on my hip. Plus, where would I put it when I'm sitting on the floor, huddled together with an eleven year-old over his new poem?

No, no, and no.

I'm hoping the light gets better. Put some sunshine on the situation. Get a clue.

I skipped #5amWritersClub today for the first time in a long, long time because I feel I'm battling an epic illness. I'm calling it epic because I've seen kids go down with it at school, and it looks ugly. To be fair, there are several strains of epicness going around. They all seem dire, and I keep getting emails from people that say things like, "Maybe I'll be back tomorrow, but maybe not."

On Tuesday morning, I took Mac to the orthodontist's office. This is where we all smile politely at each other, the staff inflicts pain on my children, and I pay eleven-thousand dollars for them to do it.

Despite the nature of our relationship with the orthodontist, Mac and I were pretty content in the waiting room, just playing a game on my phone called Yazy. It's Yahtzee without the copyright, and I was winning.

Anyway, a kid came out of the torture chamber and tapped his dad, sitting across from us, on the shoulder.

"All done?" said the dad.

"Yep," said the kid. He grimaced a little bit, teeth flashing metal.

The dad stood up and something clattered to the floor. Neither he nor the kid noticed.

"Sir," I said, without looking, "you've dropped something." I stood up to grab it for him, planning to hand it up. But when I lunged toward it, I realized it was a huge knife.

A long, sharp knife! Like a hunting knife!

I paused.

"Oh," said the dad, and then realizing, "oh, geez!" He grabbed the knife and collapsed it and shoved it back into his pocket. I looked at his shoes. He didn't thank me for pointing out that he'd dropped a dangerous weapon in the lobby of the orthodontist's office.

I glanced over at him a few more times as we walked back toward the work stations. He seemed both sheepish and angry, like I might report to the over-friendly receptionist that he was packing. I didn't tattle, but I thought about it. Doesn't the orthodontist's office ban weapons? Why would that guy need the very sharp knife? Perhaps he was planning on negotiating a new payment plan?

It's not that I don't understand the impulse. But, violence is never the way.

Forget the new project for a moment, I'm in agony here over the old one.

Before I tell about the agony, I just want to say that regardless of whatever happens, I already did the thing I've always wanted to do. Which is, I wrote a book. I've got a whole story. And, if I feel like it, I can leave the whole thing there. Done and check. Bucket-list item totally kicked.

It helped me the other day to remind myself of this reality. "I actually finished this, and I don't have to do anything with it ever again to make that more true."

But, of course, that's not me. I'll revise it and perfect it and take more feeback and get it as close to 100% right and perfect as it can be. Nothing's ever just finished. I both like and despise this enduring personal quality.

But anyway, I'm starting to understand why some writers refuse to let anyone they know IRL get eyes on their manuscripts. I've had some readers - my freelance editor and my critique group, and then some friends and family.

Here's what's happening: Everyone has different ideas about how to make it better. There's no consensus in the existing feedback from people who've read it front to back. Other people haven't finished it, and I just want to say: "Ok, you don't like it. That's awkard, but it's fine. Just stop reading, and let's move forward. Maybe my next book will be better!"

I sometimes do say this, and the friend is like, "Oh no, no! I like it! I mean, you did it! You wrote a book! I'm sorry, I'm totally going to finish it!" And that just makes me feel worse. Like forcing their way through the pages is a chore they have to complete out of loyalty to me. It's like the slow clap you might muster for the last-place finisher in a fun run. The ol', "Isn't is wonderful that she's out here?"

To be honest, I just want to cry a little. Put the book down. Go back to playing violin at a 7th-grade level. Remember my hobby before was playing violin? Although, at this point, it would take me a year or so to catch back up to the 7th-graders. It'd be me and the 4th graders in group lessons, and that might feel worse than being a mediocre wannabe novelist.

At least - at least! - I'm pretty good at my day job. We've always got middle school teaching to fall back on.

You might not have realized that I've been really working on my coping skills these last few weeks. It's been hard, and I've been soldiering on with very little sympathy.

Here's the story: two (TWO) of my closest pals at work have been out on leave. Robin has been gone for nine weeks already. First, she was waiting for her baby to be born, and now she's taking care of said baby. You know Robin and I actually teach a class together. We're co-teachers. So, now she's not here, and I'm still here. Plus, she's funny and nice, and she's my friend.

And not only that, Chadd, my neighbor down the hall and frequent hallway duty companion, also had a baby and went on paternity leave. He was gone for six (SIX) whole weeks. No hallway jokes, no talking about our novels in progress, no stealing each other's door stops and tape dispensers. Once again, he was gone, and I was still here.

Here's the deal, I totally support family leave. In fact, I wish we had more paid time available for workers to take care of their babies.

But (BUT) what about my loneliness and isolation?

Overall, I'm pretty proud of how I've handled this. I haven't even cried one time. However, today when Chadd came waltzing back into the building, I felt very happy. Fulfilled. Like things were once again right.

There might have been a group hug. They'll be an even bigger one when Robin gets back in two weeks. All together.

What's happening now is I'm trying to write a synopsis of the novel. It's a 500-word description of everything that happens, focusing on the seven anchor scenes or the Hero's Journey or whatever.

Let me just say that next time I try to write a novel (I hope I'm going to do it again), I'll write this dastardly little document first. There will be one main character (not two, like I have now), and that main character will zip through her story, hitting every blasted one of these seven anchor scenes. It will be completely satisfying, and the whole thing will work.

There will be high stakes that I plot ahead of time. I won't find myself, for instance, standing in the gym with a colleague during recess duty trying to identify the villain after I've already written a hundred pages.

Because retro-fitting that villain was hard.

Writing the synopsis is also hard, okay?
The little paragraphs are dis-jointy.
It feels like I should have two different synopses.
I found another template that I think would work better for multiple characters.
Maybe I should start the synopsis over?
The doubt is creeping in while I write, like, one sentence per hour.
But doubtLESS, I'll have to re-write that one sentence a million times.

Luckily, this situation led me to the comfort of my blog. Maybe the blog will revive now that the novel is mostly done? That would please me. I hope that's what happens.

• Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, narrated by Scott Brick. An excellent choice for a family road trip.

• A Window Opens by Elisabeth Egan, narrated by Julia Whelan. This was on my list of favorite fiction this year, and Julia Whelan has narrated several books I've enjoyed.

• I Found You by Lisa Jewell, narrated by Helen Duff. I loved this mystery, but there was something off about the recording. Read it on paper.

• Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz, narrated by Colleen Werthmann. I like the premise, but it's just too long.

• Natural Born Heroes by Christopher McDougall. I had to listen on 1.5 speed to get through it. There's just too much going on.

• The Last Anniversary by Liane Moriarty, narrated by Heather Wilds. I love listening to Moriarty's books. This one centers on a quirky family, their secrets, and finding personal peace.

• Small Admissions by Amy Poeppel, narrated by Carly Robins. A delightful story about a young woman's accidental foray into private school admissions. Funny, poignant, filled with (sadly) realistic portrayals of top-tier parents.

• Maybe in Another Life by Taylor Jenkins Reid, narrated by Julia Whelan. I loved this Sliding Doors-style dual love story in which we're left to ponder whether life is "meant to be" or "what we make it."

• The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, narrated by Bahni Turpin. On my favorite YA list. A really impressive novel of activism and coming-of-age.

• The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware, narrated by Imogen Church. A total trip. The audio kept me sublimely entertained while I painted my son's bedroom.

• Young Jane Young by Gabrielle Zevin, narrated by Karen White. The narration enhances the humor, especially of Rachel, one of four protagonists.

And that's it for book lists of 2017! I'm planning another post about my reading goals for 2018. I've got them, that's for sure!

• Blind Spot: The Hidden Biases of Good People - by Mahzarin Benaji and Anthony Greenwald

• Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher - Carrie Fisher's fast, funny memoir about living a crazy life while trying her best. 

• On Your Mark: Challenging the Conventions of Grading and Reporting by Thomas Guskey - It turns out I'm not doing everything right when it comes to assigning grades. Lots to think about.

• Real Friends by Shannon Hale and LeUyen Pham - A middle-grade graphic novel about girl friendships.

• Running with the Buffaloes by Chris Lear - I loved this inside look at a successful college running team, its iconic coach, and a deserving national champ.

• Whereas by Layli Long Soldier - Long Soldier morphs clauses of treaties and conveys through wordplay, syntax, and metaphor her own experiences of displacement.

• The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lakota History by Joseph Marshall - This is a wonderful compilation of stories and collective memories about the Oglala Lakota leader and legend.

• Natural Born Heroes by Christopher McDougall - I liked parts of this book quite a lot, but overall, there was just too much going on.

• Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton - Sometimes, I felt annoyed because it seemed manipulative, and sometimes I cried because I found it so honest and moving.

• Born a Crime by Trevor Noah - Engaging and sobering stories of The Daily Show Host's growing up in South Africa during and after apartheid.

• The Four Tendencies by Gretchen Rubin - I tore through this detailed guide to her Four Tendencies framework - a study of how people respond to expectations.