I’m Amy. A born and raised New Yorker, currently living in Miami. Here to reflect on my experiences as an educator and learner, working things out as I write.
Yesterday, we went for a hike at Loblolly Woods Nature Park in Gainesville, FL, a gem in the middle of the small university city. There are no hikes like this in downtown Miami.
The park has a wider path that is shared with bikers, but we only saw other hikers, alone or with their dogs. At one point, the path turned into a boardwalk.
The sun dappled through the heavy tree canopy, making it the perfect temperature for our walk. The noise of the cars on the roads disappeared, birdsong and rustling leaves taking its place. We’d missed this.
We held hands and walked, letting our conversation bounce around effortlessly from more serious topics to silly ones to those inspired by what we saw around us. I truly believe we’ll never run out of things to talk about.
We followed side paths that branched off from the trail, encountering a pond where we watched two turtles sitting on a small log in the water.
“Look, there’s another one that just came up for air!” you said.
I stepped closer, but he didn’t re-emerge.
Then I noticed the strangest-looking bark pattern I’d ever seen on a log:
I walked down towards it.
“Be careful there,” you warned.
The turtles dropped into the water at the sound of my footsteps rustling on the leaves. I snapped a close-up:
“What kind of tree is this?”
The bark looked to me like a topographical map, rivulets running along it. I tried a Google image search this morning but came up with nothing conclusive. A cottonwood tree? A southern live oak?
We continued walking, stepping into a huge empty basin that looked like it had once housed water, covered in brown and red leaves.
“This is so cool,” you proclaimed.
We turned back to the main trail, took another side path down by the creek, and found a bench to sit on as we watched the water burble and heard a tiny bird rustle in the brush behind us. You shared about your Catholic school upbringing and we talked about different styles of behavior management and discipline in schools until our stomachs grumbled.
We searched for a lunch spot that would allow dogs and discovered a Pan-Asian restaurant sitting at the bottom of a lake. Perfect.
The food was delicious, too.
A perfect way to soak up all the nature before we went back to the city.
“Do you want to sleep with the shade up?” Patrick asked after we brushed our teeth and got under the covers.
We’re staying at a Postcard Cabins getaway in a small cabin with a huge window. As we watched the first episode of Adolescence (I was ready to keep watching; Patrick needs longer to digest each episode of a crime thriller), we kept the shade down for privacy in case any other residents were wandering the woods.
“I don’t know…” I wavered, a small giggle hiccuping in my chest, tears peaking from the corners of my eyes. “I want to wake up with the sunrise, but…”
“But what?” He prodded.
“But I’m afraid there’s going to be someone’s face waiting on the other side!”
Patrick’s laugh made us both crack up, like two little kids hiding under the covers at a sleepover.
“Are you really scared?”
“Yes!!” I squealed, and we laughed more. “Did you put the door lock?”
“Not yet! Go put it on!”
“Will it work if there’s an intruder?”
“It will do its best.”
“Its best?!” I leapt back into bed, pulling up the covers. I frowned. “Well, luckily, since it’s so quiet here, we’ll hear anyone approaching.”
“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “Or will we?”
Now he was just messing with me.
“It’s scary to imagine one face at the window,” he said. “But you know what’s funny to imagine?”
“What?”
“Many faces at the window.”
I laughed.
“Okay, okay,” he hugged me. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes,” I laughed again nervously. “I think so.”
And I was! No intruders, no creepy faces at the window.
In the morning, when Patrick took Phoebe out, he showed me what a “face in the window” would really look like. We both cracked up again, our laughter silenced by the window’s soundproofing. The cabin is lofted enough off the ground that a head barely reaches!
We always joke that Phoebe got a “glow-up” thanks to me coming into her life: new bed, new toys, and especially, and most noticeably, new haircuts.
Inspired by Elisabeth from The Dirigible Plum’s A Year in Pictures, featuring her very photogenic cat, Pickles, I wanted to do the same with Phoebe.
Phoebe is a fluffy toy golden doodle who loves nothing more than to snuggle up on whoever’s closest, lick whatever part of their body she can get her tongue on, and roll over to enjoy the belly rubs.
When I looked at my camera roll, I found 674 photos of Phoebe—and that’s been edited down! Phoebe’s only been in my life for a year and a half, but she feels like she’s been part of it for way longer. As my dad says, I “finally got the dog I always wanted.” (My childhood dog, Gracie, was the best, but to my dismay, she hated to snuggle.)
So, I present to you: A Year in Pictures aka 12 Months of Phoebe (plus 2 extra photos on either end). I’ll let you be the one to decide if she’s had a glow-up.
March 2024: Peak ragamuffin status. April 2024: “Who needs a blow-out?”May 2024: A birthday haircut! (Let the glow-up commence!)June 2024: Phoebe discovers Central Park for the first time.July 2024: Modeling Elena’s bonnet.August 2024: In our new apartment. “Can I please come on the bed?”Sep. 2024: Just looking adorable.Oct. 2024: In her ramen costume, which won 2nd place in our building’s dog costume contest!Nov. 2024: “Will you play with me?”Dec. 2024: Posing. I can’t with this photo!Jan. 2025: Napping on me. Feb. 2025: 🧐Feb. 2025: “More belly rubs?”March 2025: “Hi.”
Today I woke up not too inspired, so I tried the 4-4-4 slice format that I’ve seen at arjeha and Persistence and Pedagogy: 4 minutes to write about 4 things within 4 feet of you. Here’s what I ended up with:
My silk Drowsy eye mask that I got after going to Cuba with Reeta. She’s always worn an eye mask, but this one was something special. Silk, plush, and no ear straps, aka. no pain. I treated myself to one as soon as I got home, and now wear it every night. It keeps my curls in tact. P jokes about how I wore it on our first sleepover. “Well, goodnight!”
Hydrocortisone cream on the nightstand because the eczema on my knuckles always acts up when I travel, especially if the weather is different from Miami.
My kindle with about 9 or 10 library loans on it. Do you know the trick for keeping library loans as long as you’d like on your kindle? If not, I’ll let you in on the secret now: as soon as you deliver the books to your kindle, put it on airplane mode. Then, even when they officially get returned to the library, they’ll remain on your kindle until you read them!
The blackout shutters, wooden with slats, a typical feature of almost all brownstones in New York. They block out all the light, turning my bedroom here into the perfect cave, pitch black until I’m ready to wake up.
And there goes the timer! One more minute to reread and clean up, and then I’ll turn on the light and add some photos.
My nephew brought his knees up on the bench next to me, propping my mom’s iPad on them as he worked on the Spelling Bee.
“I’ve already gotten LACE and LICE,” he said proudly.
I peered at the letter options for the day: C-A-I-L-B-E-Y.
“Hmmm,” I said, the letters zooming around as they rearranged themselves in my mind. “Do you know how to spell CABLE?”
He shook his head.
“Try it. C-A-…”
He tapped B, then hesitantly the L and the E, looking up at me. I nodded.
“Yay!” He grinned.
I pulled open my own NYT Games app, bringing up the Wordle, which is the one I opt to start with every morning. Wordle, then the Mini, then Strands, and finally Connections once Patrick is ready.
I’m a random-first-word guesser, so I popped in: CABLE.
Okay, okay, would have preferred some other letters, but not bad!
“What’s that?” John Henry asked.
“The Wordle,” I told him.
“I wanna play Wordle!”
He opened up the game.
“Do you know how to play?”
“Yeah…” he said, unsure.
“So the yellow means that the letter is correct, but it’s in the wrong place. Green means right letter, right place. Gray means it’s not in the word at all. So see, our word has an E but it’s not at the end.”
“Got it,” he said, as he typed CABLE in and pressed enter. Doh!
“Wait!” I laughed. “Don’t guess the same word as me.”
He looked at me blankly.
“Now, what’s a 5-letter word with an E in it that doesn’t end with E or include any of the other letters?”
He brought his hand to his chin. Thinking pose.
“I want to type for you, Tía,” Emmie said.
I pulled her up to sit beside me.
I thought to myself. I always like to guess an S or a T early on. And maybe there’s another E somewhere. The Wordle likes to do that sometimes.
“Let’s try STEER. Ready? S… T… E… E… R.” I spelled slowly for her as she found the letters on the keyboard.
Darn it. I hate when you get through the second guess without any new letters. At least we know where the E is.
Before I could think, John Henry typed STEER in and clicked enter.
“Johnny!” I said. “You can guess something different than me and we can win faster. See how we each have 6 guesses? If we play together, we’ll actually have 12.”
(Yes, I am that competitive against myself and Wordle. And yes, I see how playing team-Wordle and team-Connections may be perceived as cheating, but I prefer to see them as two minds are better than one. Plus, I have a 228-day streak that I do not want to give up!)
“So now we need to think of a word with an E as the fourth letter, and none of these other letters we’ve guessed.”
“What letters now, Tía?” Emmie asked, impatiently. “Can I hold your phone.
“Hold on, I’m thinking. And no, I’m gonna keep holding my phone.”
“Why?”
My mom came over to help John Henry.
Maybe… MINED? MOLED? There’s likely an -ED at the end.
“Okay, Emmie, ready? M… O… W… E… D.”
Now we’re talking. But if there’s no -ED at the end, nor -ER, what could it be? The S is out of the question. Could it be… a Y? _ODEY? DO_EY? Aha!
“Emmie, type: D… O… P… E… Y. Yes!”
“We got it! We got it!” Emmie cheered.
“Got what?” John Henry looked over. My mom and him were still on guess three.
“The word is DOPEY,” I said proudly. And yes, this time he could copy it.
The lyrics of ROSÉ and Bruno Mars’ “APT.” have been spinning like a merry-go-round through my head all afternoon.
Apata-pate, as I wait for Korean takeout, bibimbap.
Apata-pate, as I work on copywriting and feel myself fading.
Apata-pate, as I try on some clothes at Lululemon.
Uh! Uh-huh, uh-huh! I sing to my mom as we walk through the small Target’s aisles.
“Emmie knows all the lyrics,” Tillie told me yesterday at the playground as Emmie sang “kissy-face, kissy-face,” but I didn’t recognize the song at the time. As we climbed aboard the M79 crosstown, I told her we could watch the music video when we got to my parents’.
We watched it 3 times. I definitely recognized the song as soon as the first verse began. In fact, not only did I recognize the song — I knew most of the words! But I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it or how I’d learned it.
As I sit typing this slice now, I wonder: Could it be on the “P.E. 5th grade!!!” playlist that M and V made?
I open Spotify, tap on the playlist, and sure enough, 20 tracks down, there it is.
A song that somehow wormed its way through my subconscious, the lyrics imprinting themselves in my hippocampus.
Don’t you want me like I want you, baby?
Don’t you need me like I need you now?
Sleep tomorrow, but tonight go crazy,
All you gotta do is just meet me at the—
See, I’m a sucker for pop music. Always have been, always will be. During my teenage years, and most of college, I tried to play it “cool,” like I didn’t care for the pop hits on the radio, but the truth is, ever since my parents raised me on The Beatles, I’ve been a total sucker for that verse, pre-chorus, chorus, verse, pre-chorus, chorus, bridge, chorus anatomy of a pop song.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m also a huge fan of plenty of other genres: folk, reggaeton, hip-hop, R&B, rap, rock, alternative, funk, disco, jazz. Give me a good beat, smart lyrics, or a catchy melody, and I’m all there.
I remember a couple of years ago, a friend’s husband shook his head at me as I sang along to the Bad Bunny song playing in his car, after I’d just told them about the Taylor Swift concert I’d been to.
But is it really so strange, or so surprising? Bad Bunny says it himself in NUEVAYoL: “¿Cómo Bad Bunny va a ser rey del pop, ey / Con reggaetón y dembow? Ey”
While on vacation, it’s hard to find the time to slice. I snuck away after dinner while my mom gets ice cream for my niece and nephew, who are watching college wrestling with my dad on the iPad. Maybe I can get a slice done now?
But our apartment is not very big; I’m in just the other room. I can hear my mom listing the flavors: “You can have mint chocolate chip, black raspberry chocolate chip…”
“Black raspberry what?” Emmie asks.
“Chocolate chip. Do you want to try it?”
My brain is tired in that first-day-of-spring-break way and that full-time-aunt-duty way. It’s a good tired. I know I’ll sleep well tonight. Emmie and John Henry are having a sleepover here to give my sister and my brother-in-law a chance to hopefully get some rest — that is, if my newest niece, 5-week-old Lucy, gives them an easy night.
I look back through my photos from today, thinking about the slices I drafted in my head. Can I get one done now before the kids come find me?
Waiting for the M79 crosstown bus
This could be a slice, I thought as I waited for the M79, thinking about how many times I’ve stood at that same corner in my life, watching for a glimpse of the blue bus come up over the hill.
“Is Tía Amy asleep?” John Henry asks my mom.
I flip to a video of Emmie kicking the soccer ball to me. Remember John Henry going over to some older boys from his school on the basketball courts as they argued about what game to play. I drafted the slice in my head:
“Stop yapping,” one of the boys says, trying to mediate.
One boy shoves another, then walks away.
“It’s just a game,” the mediator says, throwing his hands up.
“Baseball?” A fourth kid suggests.
“Yeah! I’ve got a glove,” John Henry says, just happy to play anything.
“Is Tía Amy trying to go?” He asks my mom again. “To sleep?”
Emmie swinging in the park
Next I see a photo of Emmie on the swings. A video of her counting to one hundred. Ever the teacher, I had her comparing numbers and ordering them, from greatest to “middlest” to least. She was loving it.
“Where’s Tía Amy?” Emmie asks.
Or maybe I’ll slice about these post-it nails we made?
Your trip is almost here and we’re excited to see you on board.
Check in to add your bags, choose your seats, and get your boarding pass. That way you’ll have everything ready for your trip.
Finish packing what you can tonight.
Make a list of all the things not to forget tomorrow (phone charger, house keys, eye mask, kindle, toothbrush, snacks, water bottle).
Stay up a little too late talking to Patrick and snuggling Phoebe.
Read some of your book.
When your eyes get heavy, try to get some sleep.
Mar 21, 5:48AM
Wake up a bit earlier than your alarm and stretch.
Wash your hair; you know you’ll have some time to slice later when you’re waiting at the airport.
Eat breakfast.
Say goodbye to Phoebe, who will freak out when she sees you leaving for work with your suitcase.
Watch Phoebe on the Kasa camera as she barks and grabs the placemats and napkins off the table. That rascal!
Get to school, fill your water bottle, take attendance as students come in.
Teach a micro-lesson in Writer’s Workshop — it’s Drafting Day! The children won’t be silent, self-directed, or self-reliant today (it’s the day before spring break, after all), but that’s okay. They’re all typing away, getting things done, even if they are moving around and talking a lot more than usual!
Break for snack and recess. Make sure you get as much venting out as possible with Kim to last a whole week.
Gather the social scientists for their research block. Show them how to log onto Epic. You will need to repeat the class code about 6 different times. Read the book called “Making an App.”
11:26AM – American 3307 to LGA: Departure time has changed to 4:43PM on Mar 21 from MIA gate D12, terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
Play a coding game with the students until 11:45. Usher them into the other room while the Spanish teacher pushes in until Ms. Gabby arrives to teach Sex Ed.
Take your “prep” with Kim, but just click through different tabs on your computer. You’ve prepped enough. Vent a bit more with her.
Talk on the phone with your mom about the dinner you probably won’t make it home for anyway. Text her afterward to apologize for your tone of voice. Wonder if all grownups are doomed to revert to their teenaged selves when they visit their parents.
12:20PM – Gate change: Flight AA3307, from MIA to LGA departs at 4:43PM out of gate D10 in terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
Eat lunch at 12:30 with the EP teachers so you can see Patrick.
Pick up the kids for their lunch at 1:20. Vent with Kim a bit longer.
Say goodbye to the kids and soak up their hugs.
Refill your water bottle.
Run upstairs to give Patrick a big hug before you go.
1:42PM – American 3307 to LGA: Departure time has changed to 5:20PM on Mar 21 from MIA gate D10, terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
Get your suitcase and call an Uber in the lobby.
1:50PM – American 3307 to LGA: Departure time has changed to 6:27PM on Mar 21 from MIA gate D10, terminal D. See refund info at aa.com/refundfaq. Reply STOP to stop.
Wonder if it’s worth checking for a flight that leaves in the morning.
1:52PM – Gate change: Flight AA3307, from MIA to LGA departs at 6:27PM out of gate D5 in terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
Get in the Uber. Be very, very alarmed at how heavily the Uber driver is breathing. Text Patrick about it.
2:11PM – Gate change: Flight AA3307, from MIA to LGA departs at 6:27PM out of gate D48 in terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
Arrive to the airport. Remember your water bottle is full. Chug the water.
Go through the TSA pre-check line.
Look at the departures list.
Check gates D20 and D34 for the earlier flights, just in case they have any open seats. They won’t. The standby lines will be, as you would expect, very long already.
Start walking the three-quarters of a mile to gate D48.
Stop to pee.
Pick up something you probably shouldn’t be eating, but screw it, is anything at the airport going to make you feel good?
Fill up your water bottle.
Stop to pee.
Find a seat at the gate near a charging station.
Plug in your phone.
Eat the thing you probably shouldn’t be eating and revel in how damn good it tastes.
Open your laptop. Work on copywriting.
Get distracted when another woman arrives to the gate and claims her flight, AA2609, is supposed to be leaving there on time at 5:05PM.
“We’re waiting for flight 3307,” the woman behind you will say. “It’s also at this gate.”
Go back to working on copywriting.
3:40PM – Gate change: Flight AA3307, from MIA to LGA departs at 6:27PM out of gate D43 in terminal D. Reply STOP to stop.
“They changed the gate again,” the woman behind you will say.
Tell her you’ll head there in 20 minutes or so.
Finish your sixth caption for copywriting. Close your laptop. Pack it up.
Stop to pee.
Walk to gate D43.
Find a seat.
Hope the gate doesn’t change again.
Open your laptop and write the slice you knew you’d have time for anyway.
In November, I started a knitting club on Mondays after school. Vero had been asking me since my first year at KLA, but I couldn’t bring myself to add something else to my to do list. At the time, my commute was also a lot farther.
But this year, it felt like the right time. We set it up so that classes would begin in November and sent out the class details on a cute Canva flyer. I squealed as she told me 5 of my students had signed up.
The first class was a doozy.
“I don’t know if this is going to go so well,” I told Patrick that night.
I had found all of these beginner how-to videos on YouTube that I thought were pretty easy. I knew to start with the basics: slip knot, cast on, knit stitch. I taught them the vocabulary they would need. I was ready to help them with the cast on like my mom did when I was first starting out, and even pivoted mid-class to show them an easier type of cast on.
“But they struggled to even make a slip knot!”
Luckily, the girls practiced that week at home, and by the second class, a few had mastered each of the new skills, and were helping the others to figure it out. Each week I watched their skills grow, the pride they took in their projects.
One student’s chunky scarf!
We’re in the fifth month of class, and now we have 8 knitting club members: 7 fifth graders and one of their sisters, who is in third.
It’s a funny dynamic each week.
“I don’t feel like knitting today,” E stated on our way to the classroom this past Monday.
So she and other E decided to have a dance/karaoke party to music from Descendants.
Three others sat at my table knitting along with me as I worked on my Eva cardigan by PetiteKnit. The rest sat at a different table, whispering about something as they knit up their squares, headbands, and scarves.
“It’s like a bunch of old ladies getting together and knitting,” I’ve described it to others. “Half of them don’t even want to learn new stitches anymore. They just want to knit and gossip.”
“What happens in knitting club stays in knitting club,” A mentioned one time. She cracks me up.
This month, we’re working on a journalism unit in writer’s workshop and creating a KLA News Magazine. One of my students is writing about the knitting club and interviewed me to get perspective for her article.
“Have you ever considered making a YouTube channel that teaches kids how to knit?” She asked me towards the end of the interview.
“I haven’t,” I replied, a smile coming to my lips as I remembered those first videos that confused the heck out of them. “But I am now!”
I sit crosslegged on the bench, anchor charts behind me, the students before me on the rug, a book in my hands. I’m about 6 chapters into reading aloud one of my favorite middle grade books ever, one I’ve read to two other 5th grade classes before this one: Refugee by Alan Gratz.
I first read the book when Ariel and I lived together in 2017. Her mom worked for Scholastic at the time, and she gave us an uncorrected proof. We both devoured it.
I decided to try it as a read aloud for my fully-remote class during the pandemic. Read aloud was the only time of the day where I felt like the students were all engaged, even if their cameras were off.
Whenever we’d get to an exciting or intense part, various cameras would flash on to show me their shocked faces. The chat would be blowing up with emojis and “whaaaat?!!”s.
Refugee in particular got one of my students into reading. She thanked me for this in a card she gave me at her (luckily in-person) graduation. Knowing that I helped her to become motivated to read more filled my heart with all sorts of warm goop.
These are the cards we save and cherish!
The next year, I read it to a completely different group of students in my new home, Miami. It was a class of just 13. They loved being read to, and they forced me to do a read aloud marathon in the days before Thanksgiving break, because they refused to go off on vacation without finishing Refugee.
They also liked to get REALLY close during said read aloud marathon. Hahaha.
It was with that same group that we decided to put on a theatrical production of Isabel’s story from the book. I took the dialogue straight from the text, and Angie helped me adapt it to our stage. The kids knocked it out of the park.
Now, as I read the lines of dialogue I’ve read so many times before, I can’t help hearing those students’ voices as the characters speak. So many rehearsals, so many times repeating those lines, getting them just right.
They became their characters, just like this year’s students became the characters of Flying Solo.
It’s a pretty magical thing the way my brain works, replaying that memory, and their voices, as I share the story with a new group for the first time, watching their eyes widen just like my students on Zoom’s did.
It’s like a ripple or an echo, reverberating through time. Reminding me of all the ways teachers, and books, can touch hearts and minds.
Writing With Abandon 