Writing With Abandon

Reflections and ramblings about life as an educator, writer, reader, knitter, and over-thinker. Trying to do the writing only I can do.

Tag: learning

  • Could you have known?

    Dear 2021 Amy,

    Do you remember that first writer’s workshop session?

    It was just after 2pm on a weekday in August. You had a class of just 13 students, no co-teacher, squeezed onto the rug of that tiny room. Everyone was wearing masks, including you — yours was fabric, a light blueish-green with stripes that your dad’s bandmate’s wife had made. You could feel your breath warming as you spoke; you yanked the mask down slightly to be heard over the loud air conditioner, looked down at your lesson plan:

    Session 1. We Are Writers

    You hugged your notebook to your chest, which you had just decorated the weekend before at a friend’s house. You cut out patterns and letters from magazines. Your name — A-M-Y — on the front, your two words — JOY and CONNECTION — on the back, a quote from Jason Reynolds — “Writing is like any other sort of sport. In order for you to get better at it, you have to exercise the muscle.” — collaged between images that spoke to you, photos of family and friends. Under your chair, behind your legs, 13 fresh composition notebooks sat in a bin, waiting to be handed out.

    “Good afternoon, writers,” you started, feeling the hum of those words take flight and dip into the ears and minds of the students before you. “This year, we will write for many purposes and audiences. We will embark on this writing journey together.”

    Ana’s lesson plan said: “(Make a big fuss handing out NBs.)”

    So, of course, ever the good student, you did, handing each notebook to a pair of reaching hands as you told them that next week, they’d have the opportunity to decorate their notebooks with photos, drawings, quotes, and more.

    You settled back into your chair, leaned forward ever so slightly.

    “Today I want to teach you that the only thing writers need is a pen, paper, and a beating heart. We write about what we know, what we see, what happens to us or others. Everything we experience can become a story if we capture it in our notebooks.”

    Could you have known then that you were giving them the tools they’d need to write their own slices of life?

    Could you have known then that this lesson is timeless, that “today and every day,” you really can “see every idea that pops in your head as a possibility for a story”?

    Could you have known then that Ana would become much more than a mentor, a writing partner, a friend?

    Could you have known then that you would have so many more magical moments with those students, and the next group, and the next, and the next?

    The half groups in 2022, in the bright windowed corner room. The writing conferences where a student’s pen started racing across the page before you stepped away. The independent writing time when you were writing too, and it was so silent you could hear a pin drop because you’d forgotten to put on the music, but it didn’t matter because everyone was in flow.

    Could you ever have known then that by teaching kids to believe themselves to be writers, you’d be helping the writer in you find her way out onto the page again?

    Could you have known then that you were speaking as much to yourself, the dormant writer, as you were to them, the writers-to-be?

    I know now, so I write to the you of then:

    Writer’s workshop will, without a doubt, change your life.

    Yours, always,

    Amy

  • A Friday Slice

    “Are you going to do the Slice of Life Challenge this year?” Ana asked me this morning as we passed each other in the halls. “Male and Angie are gonna do it, and Gi too.”

    “I don’t know…” I skirted. This year’s intention to slice every Tuesday started out strong and then waned in the fall as I dealt with some personal health issues. If I couldn’t commit to doing it weekly, how could I do it daily?

    *

    Later, when we met in my room, she mentioned it again.

    “I just sent an email to the second grade team. Darlyn is in!”

    “Maybe…” I smiled. We returned to the writing plans. I shared something funny a student had said about me moving the teacher’s desk.

    “That’s a slice!” Ana exclaimed.

    “Should I just write it and schedule it for March 1st?”

    “YES!”

    *

    At 3pm, while I was waiting to meet with Male, Ale left Ana’s office and Ana shouted, “Ale’s gonna slice, too!”

    “Okay, okay,” I laughed. With this many new slicers from our little school community, surely I could get motivated enough to slice again each day for the month of March. It was tough last year, but it was also fun and satisfying, connecting me not only with other slicers but with friends and family (hi, Mom!). Plus, I have a little time capsule now that captured a joyous month in my life when, among other things, I was falling in love.

    So, here it is. Today’s slice. Never mind that it’s a Friday:

    *

    This morning when I entered the classroom at 7:48am, I had visions of the documentation that would start to emerge on the bookshelves as I cleared them. But something wasn’t right. The table by the window always got in the way, and the chairs were all different sizes. There was all this dead space near the teacher table, too, and the math materials were blocked off and inaccessible to the students.

    So, I did what I always do when I realize the layout of the classroom doesn’t align with how we’re using it — I started rearranging.

    First order of business: moving some of the writing charts. Next? Swapping the teacher table with the long one at the window.

    The first students arrived at 8 to find me and all of our tables and chairs scattered.

    “Good morning!” I shouted.

    “Um, hi? What’s going on?” Two of the girls asked.

    “I’m rearranging the furniture. Help me!”

    “Okay!” They agreed. These two are always up to help with anything.

    “Is this table going to stay on the rug?” The other girl asked, skeptical.

    “No, no,” I assured her. “It’s just there while we get the rest sorted.”

    Then two of the boys arrived.

    “Happy birthday!” I said to one of them who turned eleven today. “Help us move these smaller chairs to the other room and grab all the big ones to bring in here?”

    They set off on their task as a few more students arrived.

    “We’re rearranging everything!” One of the first girls explained.

    “Why?” A student yawned.

    “I don’t know! For a change?”

    “Because Ms. Amy was doing it when we came in!”

    “But Ms. Amy, it’s so sunny over there! You’re going to fry like a grilled cheese!”

    “I liked it better before.”

    “Yeah, what about all the other teacher stuff that’s still over there? It’s so far away from your desk now!”

    Once everything was moved, and we were mostly satisfied with their placements, we gathered for Morning Meeting.

    I explained to the fifth graders that I got the rearranging “itch” from my dad. When I was growing up, he always moved around the furniture in our combined living room/kitchen/dining room. I’d wake up and come out to see things in different places. It would be a bit of a shock to the system, and then I’d get accustomed to it. Ever since, I have constantly rearranged my dorm rooms and apartments to whatever felt right. And I always found that rearranging gave me a refreshed feeling, a sense of starting anew.

    I’ve found that with classrooms, even the same one, once you see how the students of that year are using the space, it often becomes clear how best to arrange the furniture. (And it’s apparently good for their brains to have that change!) Sometimes you only need to rearrange once. Sometimes more! (Like last year, which one of our students hated, but Kim loved.)

    A half hour later, as we were teaching math, Sol came in and widened her eyes. She walked over to the desk.

    “I rearranged!” I said.

    “I see that,” she laughed. “Are you trying to slow cook us?” She asked as she shaded her eyes from the sun beaming in through the window.

    “Seriously, Ms. Amy,” M said. “Yesterday, this was you: ‘Oh my god, the window is so hot, we need to move things away from the window.’ This is you today: ‘I think I’ll put my desk by the window. Yeah, good idea…’”

    He’s not wrong, but I’ll give it a chance. I think it will work.

  • The First Writer’s Workshop

    It’s 5:30am and I’ve already been up for an hour. I’ve been struggling with morning insomnia for a few months now — waking up around 4 or 5 to pee, and unable to quiet my brain enough to fall back asleep. I have a notebook beside my bed to help me dump these thoughts, the goal being to train my brain to deal with them later, but tomorrow is moving day and so I’m too excited to settle back down.

    Besides, it’s the perfect time to get my slice of life out of the way. And I do have a goal for my Tuesday slices, now that the school year has started — I’d like to document a year in the life of a 5th grade teacher and her class and the learning we all do. So I thought I’d begin with the first Writer’s Workshop.

    ***

    This year is a little different. It’s the first year at KLA that I don’t have Ana in the classroom across from mine or down the long hallway, and it’s not because she’s on maternity leave or has moved away. Ana has gotten the job we’ve all been hoping for (and more!): instructional coordinator. This means she is more available to do coaching work with teachers, coordinate curriculum for the school, help streamline and align all-school practices, and so much more. This spring and summer, she also wrote a whole new WW launching unit for us: The First 20 Days of Writer’s Workshop, a beautiful unit that emphasizes talk, encourages teachers to join in the writing, and keeps writers in their notebooks to help them develop a strong repertoire of strategies for generating ideas of what to write about.

    To be honest, my head hasn’t been in the right place since starting school, what with everything that’s been going on (see my last post), but I knew I needed to start this year off right with a first Writer’s Workshop lesson that would hook my writers. That need became even more apparent when, during our morning meeting share, students expressed their feelings (good or bad) about writing — some saw it as something to enjoy, when they got to write made up stories or jot down their feelings to destress, while others cited it as being boring, hard, or tedious, unless they were passionate about the topic.

    I knew this first lesson would be important in convincing my reluctant writers that maybe, just maybe, there could be something to enjoy about writing this year. (And I have verbal — and written — proof from previous years that I’ve been able to do this. Many students who previously didn’t like writing either fell in love with it or found the utility in it.)

    So, as they gathered on the rug in rows for the first mini-lesson, I took a breath, told them I needed a moment to put on my writing teacher’s hat, and then leaned in close, as if letting them in on a secret: “Good morning, writers.”

    Envisioning language, a suspenseful story, big eyes and smiles, audible surprise — I wish I could have filmed the lesson from my perspective. It was a beautiful example of engagement, when every single kid is there with you, one of the utmost highs of teaching.

    And then, the planned conversations for oral rehearsal — one partner talking, the other asking follow-up questions. By the time I sent them off to write, there was no question that the notebooks would be filled. When the timer beeped, you could feel that they would have kept going.

    But it’s the first six weeks of school. The first 20 days of writing. And so we go slow to go fast.

    I’m ready for day 2.

  • Writing Conference with Myself

    If a writing teacher were to come up to me right now, 8:17pm on a Tuesday night, 28th slice of 31, ask me the magic words: “How’s it going?”

    If it were I in the writer’s seat, pen in hand, notebook open before me, I would reply: “Not well.”

    “Not well?”

    “I can’t think of anything to write today. I’m plumb out of ideas.”

    “What tools do you have for generating ideas?”

    “I know, I know. Think of places and people and memories close to your heart. Make a list, choose one, write everything down. Use Ralph Fletcher’s ‘breathing in and breathing out,’ or a photograph, or an observation out my window. But I’m telling you, I’m stuck.”

    “Let’s try. What’s one small moment from today, just an image, that gave you joy?”

    Ugh, I’d think. Fine, I’ll try.

    And close my eyes. And breathe. And think about what moment today was not hectic, not loud, not tiring.

    “I’ve got it!”

    “Great. Now write it down.”

    Tuesday, March 28th

    At recess, my student brought her notebook down to the playground, led me to a bench, and read me her poem about #middleschoolfeelings. Legs crossed on the bench, notebook open in her lap. Voice soft, yet powerful. We workshopped a few possible endings. She borrowed my pen to ink the chosen one. Then went off to share it with a friend.

    Day 28(!!!) of 31

  • His First Sudoku

    Today M picked up sudoku as an early finishers after math, settling in next to me as he worked through it. It was his second time attempting the puzzle, as the first time he didn’t quite understand how it worked. Today, he was ready to try again, determined.

    I could see the gears grinding in his brain as he successfully placed one, two, three digits.

    “I got a whole row!” he cheered.

    “Great work!” I told him as I checked another student’s math journal.

    “I’m gonna write the little numbers in the corners for these next ones,” he said. Then suddenly, he pouted. “No wait, I think I messed it up.”

    I leaned over. “Hmm, let’s see.” I spotted the mistake. “There! You put a 6, but the row already had one.”

    “Do I have to start over?” he asked.

    “Nope! Just erase that one and see what other digit could go there.”

    “Okay,” he said, erasing and taking another determined breath in.

    A few minutes later, he cried out, “I got a whole square, look!”

    “Amazing! See?” I said. “Want me to check the book to see if it’s correct?”

    “You can do that? Yeah!”

    I checked. He was right.

    “Now you can use that square to help you with the rest of the puzzle.” I looked at the clock. “But we have to transition to PE now.”

    I started to gather the other students to transition. M stayed glued to the puzzle.

    “How about you take it on a clipboard to PE? That way, in case you need a break, you have it.”

    “Yes!!” he cheered, and quickly put the rest of his materials away, grabbing a clipboard and lining up.

    The rest of the day, M had the clipboard with him. He used it for a couple moments during PE (“while the girls were arguing,” he said), as we lined up to go to Spanish, at lunch after finishing a Spanish word search, during quiet time, and then finally for music. When everyone returned upstairs to clean up, pack up, and get ready for closing circle, he bounded in excitedly.

    “Ms. Amy, I finished the whole puzzle!” he said, showing it off to me.

    “You did it!” I cheered. “Want to save puzzle #2 for tomorrow?”

    “Nah, I think I’ll bring it home,” he smiled proudly.

    Day 27 of 31

  • A New Community

    I had different plans for this slice (or did I? It’s 5:40pm on a Sunday and I am tired and ready to get out of the house for a walk or a run before I settle in for the evening), but then I read Elisabeth’s wonderful slice about commenting!

    As a first time slicer, the comments were a totally unexpected and welcome surprise. Yes, yes, I knew that commenting on 3 other slicers’ posts each day was part of the challenge, but I didn’t realize that meant other slicers would comment on MY posts.

    And so each day I was pleasantly surprised as a couple of comments would come trickling in, or likes, or even follows! It filled my cup, especially during a month that has been such a mental, physical, and emotional challenge for me.

    So, I dedicate this slice to the new community, and offer a little introduction about myself, inviting you to comment with the same so that I can get to know my fellow slicers/bloggers/writers better!

    My name is Amy. I’m originally from New York City (Upper West Side!), lived in Madrid for two years, and now currently reside in Miami. I love reading, knitting & crafting, singing loudly to music, cooking, and moving my body (yoga, running, pilates, rollerblading). I taught for 5 years in NYC public schools as a Spanish dual language teacher, and currently am in my second year at a private school as a monolingual teacher (though with many students who are bilingual, porque claro — estamos en Miami). I studied creative writing in college but then let go of it for a little while, only to rediscover my love of it as a teacher of writer’s workshop last year. My friend and mentor, Ana, encouraged me to start this blog. My cousin and literacy consultant, Nawal, inspired me to join the slice of life challenge. And here I am!

    Now, tell me a little about you!

    Day 26 of 31

  • Rihanna’s “Croch”

    Today I got to see my older sister, Tillie, for the first time since Thanksgiving! She’s here on a “moms getaway” weekend with 3 of her best friends, resting and relaxing by the poolside. We met for breakfast and when she told me a story about my nephew, John Henry, I knew it was perfect for today’s slice.

    Apparently, my niece and nephew are obsessed with Rihanna’s halftime show (I mean, who isn’t?) and have requested for my sister and her husband to play it for them a million times.

    “And he’s been drawing so much lately,” my sister told me. “Every holiday, he makes a new drawing for our front door. On Thanksgiving, it was a turkey. On Christmas, a tree. On Valentine’s Day, we cut up a bunch of hearts. And this weekend he even made a St. Patrick’s Day drawing of a leprechaun with the belt and the pot of gold and everything!”

    Super cute, I know. He’s also been writing a ton, thanks to his amazing kindergarten teacher who teaches him writer’s workshop.

    Recently, they’ve learned that writers label their drawings.

    Here’s where Rihanna comes in.

    “So he drew a picture of Rihanna in her halftime outfit,” Tillie said. “And—wait, I think I have the picture on my phone, hold on.”

    And that’s when she showed me the detailed drawing — with labels! — of Rihanna in her halftime show outfit.

    “He labeled her crotch!” Tillie exclaimed.

    John Henry’s drawing of Rihanna

    And he sure did.

    “What does that say at the top?” I asked.

    “Rihanna,” Tillie laughed. Ah yes — Reeona. Gotta love phonetic, inventive spelling.

    “Wait — is that her baby?” I asked, pointing to the stick figure in a circle inside Rihanna’s tummy.

    “Oh my god, I didn’t even notice that!”

    Man, do I miss my nephew!

    Day 18 of 31

  • Friday Haikus

    HOW-TO HAIKU

    Taught kids to haiku

    They tried traditional ones

    And silly ones too

    *

    FUNNY KID

    Reluctant writer

    Manages to write the best,

    Funniest haikus

    *

    SPRING BREAK

    It’s finally break

    School is out — Quick! Run away!

    Ready to relax

    *

    SOCIAL MEDIA

    Deleted TikTok

    It is a total time suck

    Now screen time is low.

    *

    HYDRATE

    Remember to drink

    It’s important to hydrate

    Gotta love water

    Day 17 of 31

  • A Connection

    I have a student who tends to get sick a lot. Sometimes it’s his immune system, and sometimes it’s psychosomatic (like when I explained to the children a couple weeks ago that I was experiencing vertigo, and after recess he told me, “I think I’m having what you had!” with a hand to his head).

    Today after PE, as we sat down for math, he told me he was feeling nauseous, and I could see how it was making him nervous. Thinking it was a combination of thirst from exerting himself in PE and hunger (lunch was 45 minutes away), I told him to drink some water, try going to the bathroom, and wait to see if he felt better after eating something.

    On the lunch line, though, I could feel his anxiety radiating from him. I suddenly recognized myself in his fear — this weekend, overwhelmed with my own health crisis, I broke down to my therapist. Not only was I run down from the health issue itself, but I was exhausted by the anxiety I was having over it, losing actual sleep and making myself sicker with worry.

    So I leaned into that.

    As he waited for his food, I rubbed his back and told him how when I get sick, I feel just like him. I told him that what helped me was to talk back to my anxiety, to remind myself that yes, I didn’t feel well, but I was going to get past this. This wasn’t forever. I would feel unwell and then I would get better.

    “Tell your brain, ‘I’m going to be okay. I’m safe,’” I told him.

    I felt him sigh under my hand, the tension releasing.

    “Do you feel like you can eat?” I asked.

    “Yes,” he nodded, and made sure to get some pork in addition to the rice I had suggested.

    He still felt sick afterward, and I called his mom to pick him up, but I hope I helped make that fear go away, at least.

    Day 16 of 31

  • Notes from an “Ask the Expert” Session

    Every month or so, on professional development Tuesdays, we have an “Ask the Expert” session with Lina Acosta Sandaal, a psychotherapist, child & adolescent development expert, and creator of Stop Parenting Alone. She is amazing and I always feel that I learn so much from a session with her.

    Here are some notes I took from today’s session that really stuck with me, and which I want to keep in mind:

    • We all have a confirmation bias that makes us see what we want/expect to see. Especially at this point in the year, we are struggling and are allowing our confirmation bias to take over. It’s automatic. So we have to take an extra step to reset every day until the end of the year.
    • Our brains are the best virtual reality equipment ever.
    • Guilt is a horrible feeling to feel, but it shows you have love and caring and compassion within you.
    • If you model resetting, you give kids the opportunity to reset.
    • Remember, it’s not messing up the day, it’s just messing up a moment.
    • Two ways to calm your body and your nervous system when you’re especially overstimulated or stressed:
      • ONE – Find your feet. Find 3 tight spots to loosen. Take a breath. Speak.
      • TWO – Find your feet. Expand your eyesight — widen out.
    • Three musts of caregiving: consistency, routine, teamwork amongst caregivers.
    • When we give kids a crutch, we need to give them a crutch with a plan. “That is there because we are working towards __.”
    • Around age 8, children move from caregiver-motivated to self– and peer–motivated. This is why it’s especially important in the early years to motivate with responsibility, integrity, and perseverance — not pleasure.
    • After a big event or project culmination, kids will disengage. Plan accordingly: make time to process, reassess, and get excited about what’s next.