And So I Dream

      My mom's been struggling with her emotions lately. She, as I've mentioned in previous blogs, has recently returned from an almost six-month stint in a rehabilitation center; she has a broken hip and limited mobility. She is angry and frustrated and feels as if she's lost control of her life.     My niece is coming over tomorrow, and she's a little nervous because she hasn't seen my mom since October, so I suggested, since my niece is really into dolls, that my mom show my niece some of the miniature doll clothes that she used to play with in the 1950s. I thought this would be a good way to break the ice.      While rummaging around in the closet, I found what I thought was a hat box with winter scenes imprinted on it, but was actually an old sewing box which began to crumble under my fingers as I carried it carefully down the stairs and into my mom's room. She took off the lid, and inside was another small sewing box, but this one was covered with flowers.

     My niece, my sister, and I went to United Skates for a girls' night out. For my sister and me, it was a much need night out. For my niece, it was her first time on skates, solo, and her first time at a roller rink.      My sister and I learned to roller skate from our Dad and from the big kids in the neighborhood. We took to roller skating like ducks to water. Our parents' basement was unfinished, and that smooth, gray cement was just perfect for roller skating. We raided our Dad's record collection, stacked the spindle, put the needle on the record, and raced around the basement roller dancing, twirling, and criss-crossing our feet. My sister loved to listen to Elton John's Crocodile Rock . She'd move the needle to the groove for the song over and over. Little Willie Willie Won't Go was another one of her favorite songs. I have no idea who sang it, but it made her so happy.      We'd spend hours down in the basement, skating and singing and being silly

 My mom is home.  She came home last week.  I am trying to be positive, but the situation has been, well, trying.  She has a broken hip and is wheelchair bound.  She's been out of the house since October, with the exception of her coming home for three days in January when she fell, and was sent back to the hospital and then to a rehabilitation center.  And now she's home.  I don't really know what else to say. 

    Shoots of palest green     stretch after their winter's nap     Robins chirp welcome!      

      When I was a little girl, the Scholastic Book Fairs were open both during the school day, and during the evenings for the parent-teacher conferences. The silver cases were carefully spaced in a prime spot in the lobby of Brookhaven Elementary School, their doors were open arms full of brightly colored books.      I loved browsing the book fair, both during the day and in the evening. My dad's work day was long, with a daily commute to and from Queens, so my mom had to drag all four us to the conferences. We were threatened within an inch of our lives to be on our best behavior during the conferences- especially since we were left in the hallway while she met with our teachers. I still don't know how my mom managed to handle four different teachers in three different grade levels (my brothers are twins) over the course of one night; she never took notes, yet remembered everything the teachers said about each of us, and was able to pull up specific examples of our work to p

     My seventh graders just finished reading Linda Sue Park's novel, A Long Walk to Water . Due to this year's unique teaching situation, my co-teachers and I decided to read the book aloud to the students rather than assign them chapters to read independently. The kiddos do not have a good history of completing work independently, especially on the days when they were learning from home.      So, we read the book aloud five times a day for the past few weeks. I took periods once, three, and nine. I have two inclusion sections, so my co-teachers graciously volunteered to read aloud during periods four and eight.      I've been teaching seventh grade almost twenty years, and the thing about seventh grade is that they love to complain. They complain about the writing we do, the poem we're reading, the book we're studying, the grammar we're learning. So, of course, they complained about the book: It's boring. Why is Nya here? Can't we just take a nap? Why

     "So the newspaper said something about a JoJo Siwa person and that she is an influencer. What's an  influencer?"     "An influencer is someone, usually young, who uses social media to influence their followers."      "Influence how?"     "Convince them to buy things, to go on vacation, to eat at restaurants-it's a way of advertising."      "Do these influencer people make a lot of money?"     "Yes, they can make a ton of money, and they get tons of free stuff depending on how many followers they have."      "Followers? Like a cult?"     "Not exactly like a cult, but sort of. A person can set up an account on a social media site like Instagram or Tik ToK, and they get people to follow them. The more people who see, comment, and share their pictures or content, the more money the influencer can make. They can get more free stuff, too."      "Do the followers get paid?"      "No- ju

      It's been awhile since I've written my blog and posted the link to the thirty day challenge.  It's not because I've been lazy or been procrastinating or ran out of ideas. A lot has happened since Friday, March 12, which was the date of my last posting, and I've felt so overwhelmed that I had to take a break. I am working on not feeling guilty about this break in my writing and posting commitment.      * My niece's grandmother passed away on Friday, and my niece was with me on Friday night and into Saturday morning, so that her parents could mourn, take care of funeral arrangements, and alert the family members.      * I spent the weekend Upstate with my husband. Our WiFi and cell service was sketchy, and our time together limited, so I didn't work on my blog. I had a lot of thoughts about future posts, which I recorded in my notebook- so I guess that counts as writing.      * My migraines have decided to return- with a vengeance. Honestly, I am not eve

         The sun  had just started its descent in the sky as I headed back from walking my niece to her dance class. I shivered, pulled my coat closer to my body, and picked up my pace. The dance studio is in one of three strip malls that line the east side of the road, across from my nieces's school. The walk back to my sister's house is a short one, and despite the chill, I was glad to be outside.      My sister had texted me earlier that day to see if I could watch my niece for a few hours. Her mother-in-law, my niece's grandmother, is very sick, and my sister and her husband had to go to the hospital to meet with the palliative care team. It is a very sad situation. Despite the fact that his mother is sedated, my brother-in-law has spent every afternoon with her since she was sent to the hospital. She doesn't know he is there, but he is a loyal, loving son, and he sits with her for as much time he is allotted. Difficult decisions will have to be made soon, and my he

    "Auntie, can I tell you a secret?" my eight-year-old niece asked me as we skated down the newly-paved street. "You promise you won't tell anyone?"      My heart stopped beating for a minute, and I said a little prayer, Please let this not be serious.        "I promise."      "You know those big kids. . . " she said, referencing a group of boys who were racing by on their bicycles.      "Yes."     "You know, Auntie, this is really bad, but. . . " she paused for a minute to concentrate as she skated around a piece of cardboard that had blown into the street. "Those big kids, like, they don't wear helmets when they ride their bikes. Like, I see them all the time, and they never have helmets and that's really bad 'cause they could fall when riding their bikes and they could hurt their heads and they could be really hurt, so, like, they should wear helmets."      I breathed a sigh of relief, and then s

            Riley, my shorty Jack Russell Terrier, will be fourteen this year. She's been with me since she was six weeks old. We've been through a lot together, and I can't imagine my life without her. Riley's slowed down some, after all, she's ninety-one in human years,  but she's still tenacious, persistent, and very stubborn. These are some of the things I love about her!      She no longer has the strength to jump on or off the bed, so she "snarfs" relentlessly until I pick her up and put her wherever she wants to go. Recently, Riley's taken to snarfing between the hours of one and three in the morning, which is, of course, when I am in my deepest sleep. . . Her snarfing gets louder and louder until I force my eyes open, stumble down the stairs, and open the back door. She likes to stand in front of the open door, and blink at me until I shoo her out the door. And then it's back to bed we go.     Riley has become my shadow; she  follows me

       I have several sets of twins on my team this year.       I don't like when twins, or triplets, have the same schedule because I believe that it's best for them to grow and learn independent of one another. I don't believe it is beneficial to their emotional development for them to be together all day, and night.      It is very hard to write this without using specific details, but I am going to do my best to maintain the anonymity of the situation. In a nutshell, one twin is bullying the other twin during my class, and I don't know how to handle the situation. I've addressed it during class, which has slowed down the bullying,  but it hasn't stopped.      If it were one student bullying another student, I know exactly what I would do. Yet, I feel like none of those strategies apply here because I am dealing with this unique situation.      I've been told, "Well, that's just how siblings behave."     Why is it okay for one twin to bully

      My dad walked to the mailbox and back today. This may seem unremarkable, but in actuality, this is a milestone.      My dad, a Vietnam Veteran, has severe health issues due to his unknowingly being doused with Agent Orange during his year-long tour in Vietnam in 1968. He's a cancer survivor in end-stage renal failure whose heart functions at only 25%. He's had several heart attacks, nine stents placed in his heart, and two in his leg.      One day in the beginning of December, he mentioned that he wasn't feeling well, and he didn't look too good. His face was gray.  I had to run an errand, but I wasn't comfortable leaving him alone. He insisted that I go, that he was fine. When I came back, he was slumped down in his recliner, gasping for breath. "Call 911,” he rasped, his hand clutching his chest.      The dispatcher directed me to get an aspirin as we waited for the ambulance. He was so weak that he couldn't take it by himself; I had to open his mou

  “The Good Old Days”  Sometimes I remember  The good old days  Sharing stories late at night With my sister Each in our own twin bed Snuggled deep in our blankets Hers yellow, mine pink We’d giggle in the darkness Surrounded by the silence  Of the house, warm and cozy.  We’d touch hands  In the empty space  Between our beds. I still can’t imagine Anything better than that.                       Inspired by Ralph Fletcher's poem

     Most my seventh graders are returning to school full time on Monday. I will still have to have a Google Meet running during class because I will still have twenty students who will remain fully remote students.      This is my third first day of school this year.      I am glad that the majority of them are coming back; I have students coming in whom I've not yet met face-to-face, so it will be nice to finally meet them. I think that it will give them a sense of much needed normalcy.      However, I have concerns about the health and safety issues.      Thirty kids in a class is a lot in a normal year. During a pandemic, thirty kids in one room is overwhelming. The buses, hallways, and the cafeterias will be really crowded. We have about one thousand kids in our building. There is no way to put six feet between a thousand kids in the hallway.      It seems that social distancing has gone out the window.     Are masks next? How will mask-wearing be monitored during passing in t

      I spend a lot of time driving.       Every other weekend, I pack up the car, grab the dog, and we're off to visit my husband on our farm. The eight-hour round trip snakes through the mountains of Upstate New York, past trees, mountains, rivers, and deer. Villages pop up along the side of the road, and then disappear. My cell signal goes in and out until it disappears for quite awhile.     It can be a long, lonely trip.      Without fail, both my dad and my husband call to check on me several times during the drive. Sometimes, if I am driving through a dead zone, the calls go straight to voicemail.  Sometimes the calls from my dad and my husband overlap.     "Can I call you back?" I interrupt our conversation. "Dad's calling to check on me."      "It must be nice to be loved," my husband responds, his voice warm. "I love you."      "I love you, too."                       

           The yellow house on the corner still stands. "Turn here," it says," to find your way to Grandma and Grandpa's house." I found myself near the yellow house last Thursday, en route to a doctor's appointment. I had some time to kill- I'd left earlier than necessary to avoid the traffic- so I decide to turn right at the yellow house.      I followed Cornwell Avenue down under the Southern State Parkway and made the left onto their street. Grandma's house is still there. It's been there since 1927, so I doubt it's going anywhere. I slowed the car to a crawl in order to pass the house a few times.     The house is tall, three stories, with a basement and a huge porch in the back. The porch used to be screened in, and we'd play out there in the summer when we'd visit, which was often. Grandma was a garage sale fanatic and a pack rat- never a good combination- so the porch was covered in toys: cars, plastic dishes, an old kitchen.