Way back when I first purchased a family membership at the zoo, my mom gave me a piece of advice. At the zoo, you write down how many dependent children you have living with you at your address. She told me to just round up. That way, when one of your kids brings a friend, that extra kid is free. She said she always did that kind of thing when my brother and I were young.

I didn't think much about the LIE, and just signed up for three kids like my mom told me to. Never mind that we have never actually brought a friend for either of our boys. But, whatever, I COULD HAVE.

Well, on this past weekend's visit, we didn't bring friends, but we had to renew our membership. I was, of course, reminded of my enduring LIE. Then, I was forced to ramp it up. On the new membership application, you have to list the names and birth dates of your children. My first inclination was just to let it drop. Like, just say, "Oh you know what? We just have two kids now." But then what if I had to do more explaining and it only compounded the LIES?

So, I just decided that the easiest thing would be to invent a middle child. Plenty of people with 7 year-olds and 3 year-olds also have 5 year-olds, and now, ladies and gentlemen, we do too! As far as the zoo is concerned Shef exists, Mac exists, and so does Thomas, our middle child born on May 15th, 2006.



Welcome, Thomas! I think I do love you so much.

It's that time! I'm reviewing my year in reading starting today!

I've done a lot of writing about reading this year. In many cases, I've written about these books in the newsletter, in Writerly Wednesday, on Goodreads, or at Literary Quicksand, the book blog to which I contribute. So, I'm lifitng some sentences from myself for these blurbs. It's fine.

Here are the stats: I've read 63 books this year, including 17 audiobooks. This was an interesting year for audiobooks in that there were several books I loved, but that I wished I'd read on paper.  So, here are the best five audiobooks - books that do really well in this format - in alphabetical order by author.

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson. Narrated by Jeannie Stith.
Anderson is a master at writing teenaged girls with real and scary problems. Two years ago, I had this author on my list for The Impossible Knife of Memory, about a girl whose dad suffers from PTSD. In Wintergirls, eighteen year-old Lia details her spiral into mental illness and near-fatal anorexia. Her conditions intensify following the death of her ex-best friend Cassie, herself a bulimic who had called Lia 33 times on the night she died. Lia's pain gives rise to a raging fantasy life that terrified me and held me transfixed. Narrator Jeannie Stith conveyed Lia's desperation and confusion believably.


The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown. Narrated by Ed Herrmann.
Brown's work is a riveting emotional portrayal of individual sacrifice and team dedication against the backdrops of the Great Depression and the rise of Hitler. Brown's primary subject is Joe Rantz, a sympathetic underdog from rural Washington, who together with eight other guys from the UW crew team, aim for the 1936 Berlin Olympics. As narrators go, Ed Herrmann ranks among the best I’ve heard. He emotes without condescension or smarm. Nothing in his performance – not even the closest of crew races – seems overdone. Full review at Literary Quicksand.




Just Kids by Patti Smith. Narrated by the author.
Smith's memoir, the story of her creative partnership with Robert Mapplethorpe, is a hypnotic and spare tribute to the artist's life.  Smith's writing floats along conversationally, deceptively simple. You're just reading, taking in the stories about art and life in the 1960s and 70s, until you’re  stunned by the beauty of a particular sentence. It happens over and over again. I loved hearing Smith reading this herself. At one point in the recording, she sings a few bars, and I had chills. Full review at Literary Quicksand.




The Martian by Andy Weir. Narrated by R.C. Bray.
The Martian is totally not my kind of book. In a super-sciency sci-fi novel (originally published serially on a blog!), Mark Watney gets left behind on Mars by his crew who understandably mistakes him for dead. As he's not dead, he describes his situation - the compromised equipment, the dearth of food, the loneliness and isolation. Watney's first person narration, interspersed eventually with vignettes of NASA problem-solvers on earth, kept me listening. R.C. Bray delivers it with a perfect deadpan, accentuating the strong humor (and strong language). This is a funny thriller with a happy ending, great for a road-trip with teens.




The One-in-a-Million Boy by Monica Wood. Narrated by Chris Ciulla.
My takeaway from this book is that "It's never too late." An odd eleven year-old Boy Scout befriends Ona Vitkus, a 104 year-old woman whom he convinces to both record memories ("shards" of her life) on tape AND to pursue a Guinness World Record (World's Oldest Licensed Driver). This is not a spoiler, as it happens right away: the eleven year-old dies of heart failure, and the 104 year-old befriends his sometimes-absent father, Quinn, who takes over the scouting duties. Chris Ciulla effectively conveys Quinn's crushing grief, the boy's lingering recorded voice, and Ona's high, breathy sarcasm, as well.




Here are the other audiobooks I listened to this year in alphabetical order by author. 
This year, I'm including a short blurb! Links go to full reviews I wrote for Literary Quicksand.

• A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman - Charming, gimmicky, saccharine, and ageist.
• The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly - Good writing, good plotting, fun characters.
• Outline by Rachel Cusk - Filmy, dreamy, too smart.
• Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler - I admire the book, but not the narration. Read the paper.
• Cartwheel by Jennifer duBois - Engrossing, page-turning, self-important.
• A Sudden Crush by Camilla Isley - Frothy, frivolous, fairty-tale fun
• Be Frank with Me by Julia Claiborne Johnson - Far-fetched, but endearing.
• Great House by Nicole Krauss - Serious, layered, accomplished, complex- read the paper.
• Truly, Madly, Guilty by Liane Moriarty - Not my favorite Moriarty, but she's still my favorite.
• After You by JoJo Moyes - Great fun to revisit Louisa Clark. A satisfying sequel.
• Lafayette in the Somewhat United States by Sarah Vowell - Cool sentences and word choices. I'm not into history enough to love it a lot.
• The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead - An important book about whiteness, blackness, and the enduring trauma of American slavery. Read a paper copy.

It's that time again. Actually, it was that time four days ago. But you know what? I'm trying my best. Plus, better late than never.

HERE is the 1st Quarterly Review of 2016; HERE's the second.

Now this is the third:

The Three Best Books I Read in the Third Quarter:

• It Ain't So Awful, Falafel by Firoozeh Dumas. Hilarity and history meld in a heartfelt story that takes place in Newport Beach, California during the Iran hostage crisis. The sixers just finished reading and discussing this. They really liked it. I'm not surprised because it has a great mix of laughs, friendship, cultural conflict, and middle school.
• The Hired Girl by Laura Amy Schlitz. I wrote a full review of this at Literary Quicksand. In the review, I reported that I "flat-out loved" it.  It's true. Short version: this compassionate and witty novel is a feminist story for all ages.
• Just Kids by Patti Smith. I got obsessed with Smith's memoir and couldn't stop tweeting about it. Once again, I reviewed it at LQ, the audio version, this time. This will certainly make my top 5 nonfiction picks of 2016. If I listed the top 3, it would still make it. It would probably make the top 1.

With Mac, there's no guarantee he's going to do anything.  That's just the way he is.  He's willful.  Super cute and sweet and also finicky. I had to read a parenting book about how to deal with that kid.  It was called How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk.  Highly recommend.

Anyway.  He had his first violin recital yesterday.  Of course, I was afraid he'd just NOT play.  He started out this way.  His teacher said, "Would you like to do a quick rehearsal right here?"

"I already practiced," he said.

"I mean, in this space," she clarified.

"No," he said.

Classic error here, Teacher Jennifer.  You don't ASK him really anything.  You TELL him, "We're now doing a rehearsal right here in this space."  She's fallen into this trap more than once, and she knows the best thing to do is move on.  Mac cannot be cajoled. 

Recital starts, and Mac whispers to me about the program.  He loves seeing his name on the program.  He watches the kids go up, and honestly, he seems like he's going to do it.  A really little kid refused to go, and I said, "That kid is REALLY little. I think he's three."

This tactic of pointing out what little kids (not 5 year-olds) do only SOMETIMES works and never in the heat of the moment, just in case you are ever "in charge" of Mac.  This time it seemed to work.  The little kid made a huge scene. Mac was embarrassed for him.

Finally, it was his turn.  He marched up there, pointed to the small piano that he preferred Jennifer play, and just totally nailed it.  Here's the proof:

• Both Before the Fall and Just Kids are about commitment to art. I can't help but think about how different Patti Smith and I were in our early 20s. Patti made art at all costs, living on the street and going without food in order to write poetry and support her partner's creativity. I did not make art in my early 20s, but rather worked long hours in my classroom and made contributions to my 401k. I went on dates with my now-husband and we talked about buying houses and stuff. Smith's partner, Robert Mapplethorpe, spirals into sometimes life-threatening reveries during which he produces overwhelming visual instillations. I'm awed by Smith's decisions. They worked out for her, as now she's a famous musician and prize-winning writer.
• In Before the Fall, a fictional painter's work mirrors his own dangerous entanglement in what might be murder. Here's an excerpt from the description of Painting #2

"Now you look back to the girl, eyes widening, hand rising, not to pull the hair from her face, you realize, but to shield her eyes from the horror. And then, hair rising, you look past her, to the house, but more specifically to that tiny storm door, that black pit of salvation, and within it a single man's arm, his hand grasping the the frayed rope tether. And this time, as you take it in, you realize - He is closing the storm door, shutting us out."

So the bottom line? Maybe I didn't make art at all costs in my early 20s, but I did establish a long career that might now allow me to make art without living on the street and contracting trench mouth. Also, I still like mysteries and thrillers. I always have, ever since middle school.

Here it is! My final list of 2019! Most of my reading has been in the fiction category. I read 35 adult novels and 11 written for kids and teens. A reminder: I only finish books I like and admire, so all of those 46 were good! You can see all the books I read this year on Goodreads (and while you're there, you can mark MINOR DRAMAS & OTHER CATASTROPHES, out 2/4/20, as "Want to Read." That helps me.) 

And, here are my favorite five novels in alphabetical order by author.

We had dinner at D'Amico (bottomless wine!) with our friends Liz and Tom and their three kids tonight. Their Sam and our Mac are just three days apart.

Liz used to be on a dairy-free diet just like me, but now Sam is fine with milk proteins. I'm happy for her, of course, but I'm also insanely jealous.

"How is it being able to eat that?" I asked her, as she leaned over to take a bite of her daughter's cookie. "Does that taste good?" She downplayed it, but let's face it, we all know it tasted GREAT.

Yesterday, when I was having dinner with Jordan, the server brought me a fork "just in case I wanted a bite" of her flourless chocolate cake with mocha whipped cream and caramel drizzle.

I'm sure that tasted pretty great, as well.

It wouldn't be so bad not being able to eat delicious things if I could just get full, but I find that pretty hard to do on a dairy-free diet.

Tonight, shortly after I wolfed down my cheeseless pasta dish, I popped a bag of popcorn. Then twenty minutes later, I scarfed a peanut butter sandwich on toast.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dan asked, staring at the peanut butter dripping off my chin. "You just keep eating and eating."

"I'm just so hungry," I told him. So, so hungry. For butter and cheese and lattes and soups with cream bases.

"Well, you only have five months to go," Dan said, laughing.

I tell you, I'm counting the days.

• Cultivate a Yes Response. If someone asks me to do something with them, I really just try to say yes.  There's a caveat - I don't say yes if I know for sure the idea doesn't interest me.  Like, say, "Will you work with me on revamping after-school detention?"  That's going to be a big fat no.  First, it doesn't inspire curiosity in me, and second, I don't even believe in detention.  But, even if I'm just marginally interested or curious about an idea, I'll go with a yes!  Or, at least a, "Tell me more about what you're thinking." I'll especially go with yes if there's an idea of how to do something differently than I've done the same thing before.  Why not at least try the different way?
• Teach with the Door Open. Depending on whether or not you're a teacher, I might be speaking metaphorically here.  In teaching, people have a tendency to shut their doors and just be in their spaces with their kids.  I try not to do this all the time. Instead, let cool people see your work, and sometimes those people will want to join you in it.  Full disclosure: this can backfire and those interlopers can be mean and/or obnoxious about your work.  Most often, though, that's not what happens.
• Ask.  I snagged my writing partner by asking what she was working on and whether we could get a coffee.  The coffee ended with her saying, "How can we help each other?"  And now we help each other.  I can't believe it!

• Write Time by Kenneth Atchity - A definitive, yet gentle guide to completion and publication.
• The Taliban Shuffle by Kim Barker - Alternately appalling and amusing.
• The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown - The excellent TED talk on vulnerability suffices.
• The Big Thing by Phyllis Korkki - A charming, quirky, and helpful menu of motivational strategies.
• American Ghost by Hannah Nordhaus - Loved the ghost story; endured the history and geneology.
• The Year of Yes by Shona Rhimes - Like the sentiment, not sure about the style.
• Still Writing by Dani Shapiro - An affecting but somewhat gloomy portrait of the writer's life
• Lafayette in the Somewhat United States by Sarah Vowell - Cool sentences and word choices. I'm not into history enough to love it.

I read about a bizillion things today, but the thing I read twice was the proctor checklist for part two of the Minnesota Comprehensive Assessment. The kids reported that the test articles were extremely boring and that they guessed on the poem questions. I hope they guessed right.

Later in the day, I taught a dynamic lesson on Chapters Eight through Fifteen of Things Fall Apart. In the last fifteen minutes of class, I directed the students to finalize their podcast scripts, since we're recording a podcast about "the right to read around the world" tomorrow. I sat down at my desk to finish my sandwich, while a group in the corner played musical instruments (part of their podcast segment), another group rapped quietly, and several pretended to be broadcasters. And, of course, some groups were just wasting time.

Anyway, I was mid-bite in my sandwich and sort of paying attention to the chaos when my principal came in.

"Uh," I said, "LOOK SHARP, EVERYONE!"

"Hi!" the principal beamed. The musical instruments played on and a couple of kids came up to ask to go to the bathroom. "I just came to see how the blended course was going."

It's going just fine, I told him. I'm working super hard.

There's, like, a new trend afoot in our house.  Basically, it's that the kids just act like they totally don't have to listen to me.

I ask them to do stuff, and then they just decide not to do that same stuff.  Then, when I ask again more loudly, they look at me blankly or say, "oh-KAY," like I'm some kind of lunatic who is constantly freaking out.

The whole thing kind of reminds me of this classic article from The Onion, "Report: Mom Just Locked Her Door," except that in my case Pronto does listen to me and help.  Thanks, Pronto.

Just writing this makes me realize that my kids are really not that little anymore.  Instead, they're old enough to be mouthy and willfully defiant.  You'd think a benefit of reaching this stage would be that they now sleep through the night.  Alas.

Today, I took my juniors to the library to look for their Poems in Their Pockets for tomorrow. My great librarian put out the books and socialized with the kids during this process, helping them to pick poems that they might actually like. This is a benefit of having a librarian. Let it go on record that I believe every school should have a librarian that knows about books and cares about kids.

"Do we have to write down the poem, or can I just check out the book?" some of the kids asked.

"Well, the poem has to be in your pocket," I explained, "so you probably have to write it down."

"But what about if I take a picture of it with my cell phone?" they said.

"And then will it be in your pocket?"

"Yes!" they said.

I agreed this would be fine, as long as they could read the poem from the cell phone picture. We checked, and we found that they could. Hooray for technology, once again!

I decided we'd do a Give One Get One with the poems in class tomorrow. This will require the kids to trade poems with each other for awhile. Then at the end of the Give One Get One, they can decide to keep the poem they're holding or trade back for their own. This might be troublesome for the cell phone kids, except I was thinking they could decide to message their photos to each other.

After that, I think they'll have to write a one word poem about the experience. I got this idea from Dorothy Menosky from a comment she wrote on a different literacy challenge blog. Guess what? I've never met Dorothy Menosky, but I follow her on twitter and we're friends on Facebook and I've seen her photographs on JPG and she's given me book recommendations all because of different types of literacy.

I told the juniors they'd be intrisically rewarded for doing PiYP, but they suggested an extrinsic reward, too. I said, why not? I'm thinking of a couple of options involving showing their pocketed poem to as many of the 1900 students in our school as possible.

Thank you literacy challenge. Thanks for changing my April 29th for the better.

There are so many reasons I love my job. One of them is that I work with the most awesome people, including our newest addition, Robin. Robin is a super-experienced teacher with tons of cool ideas. Lucky for me, it's my job to plan and strategize with her on a regular basis. Over lunch on Friday, I shared a challenge I'm experiencing: one of my 7th graders has really bad b.o. This has to be addressed.

"I'm going to have a girl-to-girl chat with her, and just give her some deodorant tips," I said.

"Oh," said Robin, "I don't like dealing with that one-on-one, so I usually just take out some deodorant from my desk drawer and put in on in front of the class."

"WHAT?!" I said.

"Yeah," she said. "I just say, 'Oh, my! I've gotten so sweaty today, I really feel like I need to reapply my deodorant.'"

I was stunned. "You put your deodorant on in FRONT OF THE CLASS?"

"Oh yeah," she said simply. "Then I say something like, 'You've probably noticed that as you're growing up, you start to smell a lot more easily. You'll probably want to keep some deodorant in your locker and just put it on from time to time.'"

"But what if the kids see your BRA?!" My mouth was hanging open at this point, I'm fairly sure.

"Oh, I just go under the shirt," Robin said, simply. "Too much?"

Okay, this is like a totally weird collision of worlds in some way. In 3rd grade, there was a kid in my class named Nathan Kartheiser. He was only in my class for that one year. Together, we ate the punches from the hole puncher. I can't explain why I did this. We called them thousand islands, and we ate them. The paper. I'm pretty sure our teacher, Ms. Miller, tried to stop us, but we didn't stop. We were table mates, and we ate paper.

Nathan had a little brother, Vincent, who was in like, 1st grade at my school. Now Vincent is on Mad Men, the television show.

AND, I read on People.Com today, he has just become engaged to Alexis Bledel (aka Rory Gilmore) from Gilmore Girls, the television star that everyone said I looked like when I was younger.

Guys, this is so weird. Also weird is the story I just read on US Weekly.com about Lorelei Gilmore's love interest on Parenthood now leaving Parenthood to be the love interest of Alexis Bledel, her tv DAUGHTER, on another show!!! Seriously!

And.... Just like that, it's the worst blog entry ever. Did you see the pic of the kids up there? The kids are so cute.

We had an assembly today in which we honored the outgoing Head of School by singing "Sweet Caroline" just like they do during the Boston Red Sox games, since the Sox are the HOS' favorite team.

The problem with this was that the kids didn't know that you should actually sing that song in a raucous sort of way.  The whole thing was just STAID.

Some of us teachers in the back tried to get things going with the "DUH DUH DUHHHHS" and the "So Goods!" but the kids just looked at us like we were crazy.

Also, starting today I'm trying to maintain a greater sense of order and control in the classroom, so I couldn't really go nuts at assembly like I wanted to. 

This week has been a little nutty. For instance, right now I'm sitting at home with Mac who had a little fever and a massive headache. I worked the morning, and then I traded with Dan at lunch. The whole tradeoff was a little hairy, and I was reminded that I hate missing class. I hate getting subs. I feel responsible for my students and my colleagues, even though everyone needs a sick day now and then. I wish I could just submit an out-of-office thing that said I was working at home, guilt free.

Anyway, I'm just feeling rather out of sorts, a little headachey myself. Of course, my headache might be the residual effect of yesterday's recess duty.

There I was, watching kids play basketball and frisbee and stuff in the gym. Indoor recess - we have it all winter because middle schoolers don't wear coats - seems a little precarious. I supervise it once per week.

Midway through yesterday's session, a kid landed a soccer ball on top of the folded-up bleachers. Kids aren't allowed to go up there to get the balls themselves, so I walked over to retrieve it. On the way, a different soccer ball hit me in the back of the head. My glasses flew off my face. I had an instant ache behind my right eye. Plus, I was super embarrassed. Getting whomped in the head with a soccer ball in front of thirty seventh-grade boys - it's just not dignified.

I wasn't very gracious about the kicker's apology. "Watch where you're kicking!" I admonished, unsmiling. I could tell he was actually sorry, but come on - look ahead before you let loose!

I'm hoping things seem a little more normal starting tomorrow. No sick children, no dull headaches, no projectiles, no nothing. Teaching and learning. That's it.

Sheila and I signed our preschool boys up for this little gymnastics class at the Y.

I'm always calling it the "little gymnastics class" because it's really pretty stupid. The kids don't seem to learn anything. The teacher has been absent three of eight classes. She rescheduled the last one because she was going to Mexico, which she told me seven or ten times. She also doesn't seem to have any knowledge of gymnastics or experience in teaching it. I mean, as far as I can tell.

For the last class, the kids did a "performance." I'm not going to lie: Sheila and I just laughed through the whole thing. The kids were trying hard, but I'm pretty sure they would have done just as well on the first night as on the last.

At the end, everybody got certificates with gymnastic lady clipart on them.

I watched the teacher rifle through the stack. I could see that there was no Shef certificate in the bunch.

"Shef!" she called out. "What's your real name again?"

"Thomas," he told her.

"Ok," she said, looking at each certificate again.

I could see that there were no certificates that said Thomas.

"We're going to have to change this one," she told me, pulling out a certificate that said Ian, "because he doesn't go by his first name."

"Okay," I said, laughing a little.

She came back in a few minutes with SHEF written in big sharpie bubble letters over the Ian.

I laughed some more, but Shef didn't seem to mind at all.

I am generally open-hearted (and optimistic) by nature.

Open-Heartedness is not the same as saying yes to everything.

A few YEARS ago, I tried to explain zone training to Dan. Like how you don't just go out and run as fast as you can every time you run. Instead, you mostly go at a comfortable pace for building endurance and burning fat, and then only sometimes run as hard as you can.

I explained it really well and patiently because I'm a teacher by trade.

Did he listen or internalize this information?

No, he did not.

But when some dude on his sports talk radio station brought up the same concept last week as part of a paid segment for Lifetime Fitness, Dan suddenly became a convert and is now running slowly in his fat-burning zone and using a heartrate monitor.

This same type of thing (where Dan totally disregards whatever I have to say) has just now happened. There's this awesome vocal concert that the kids at my high school do. It's a great show featuring all kinds of music, and, as a former singer in SEVERAL a cappella groups, I KNOW Dan would enjoy it.

But has he attended?

No, he has not. Instead, he's repeatedly made fun of me for liking it.

And then tonight, we watched the new Fox show Glee (awesome!). Dan was riveted during the closing number featuring a small group of high school kids singing a song by Journey while accompanied by other high school kids playing rock instruments. He was so riveted, in fact, that he yelled at me for pausing the show during that number, the number which was an exact example of the type of performance that makes up that stellar concert at my high school that he refuses to attend.