Leveraging Learning

I like to help. It's an annoying feature of who I am - just ask those closest to me. For as many times as I hear "thanks, that would be great," I hear "I got this." Perhaps it's not a one to one ratio. I should probably count... Practical help is the help I give best. In school, that's often sitting with a kid and helping them finish an assignment while we eat snacks. In life, it's shoveling the 90 year old neighbor's driveway or getting you some milk because you're out and I happen to be at the store. Make no mistake. This does not make me special. I find that doing small jobs for others helps mitigate the glaring and heavy mistakes I make daily. I gain a lot by helping because it makes me feel useful - even when I know that a half gallon of chocolate milk isn't life changing for anyone. In the last almost year, we've all had to learn ways to help from a distance. Sure I can still shovel and drop off groceries for you. I can even cal

My favorite part of my favorite movie is when Captain von Trapp asks Maria if there is anyone he should ask for permission to marry her. Forget about the permission part - that's icky. What I love is when both Maria and the Captain simultaneously answer "the children."  As a child I loved this because I am also one of seven children and when this is your situation, it often feels like your opinion gets lost. As a mom, I ask my children things all the time, not just to gauge how they are with a certain thing, but to honor the fact that we are a unit and their voice matters.  As teachers, we remember to ask children the silly and mundane. Because opinions can been kooky, we are rewarded with great stories to share with others. Yesterday, for example, a kid told me he needed to be in a breakout room alone so that he could change his profile picture. (It's not like changing your clothes, but ok.) During math class we were partitioning a garden to determine the fractional

 It's been a week of transition. New information required action from many - most of which resulted in a change of location, a change in colleagues or a change in responsibilities. Yesterday, our 8th graders received their long-awaited high school acceptances. It was a combination of relief, joy, disappointment and fear of the unknown. I was gratified that so many kids reached out and shared their excitement or sadness or confusion about the future. Two different families sent me short videos of kids receiving their news, I was in a group text with two others who sought help in deciding where to go and some simply sent emails or messages on Instagram with the news. In all, it was a gift to be a part of this moment of change for kids. Amid the joyful moments, there were some filled with disappointment or loss. Some students had one option and it wasn't the one they wanted. Some had none - and we as the adults who care for them will need to find a place for them to continue learn

 On my walk this afternoon, I saw a toddler with a butterfly net. He was exceedingly cute - wearing a navy blue jacket and hat, skipping along with his net. The skies were a brilliant blue and the sun was shining, but as it is January in Pennsylvania, it seemed unlikely that he would catch - or even see - an insect of any kind. Even so, the boy ran along waving the net with excitement. For the rest of my walk, I thought about the boy's optimism. Surely he didn't know that catching a butterfly was impossible today and it's likely that his mom, who walked behind him with her hand outstretched ready to catch him should he fall, just wanted a reason to leave the house. But there was something about the sheer expectation in his gait that made me hopeful.  Lots of things are impossible and we wave our butterfly nets at them anyway. I wanted to write everyday this month, but I fell off that wagon on the 4th. Here I sit in my sunny living room writing anyway - even though the strea

 Yesterday, I put yet another new soap in the powder room. It made me wonder how much soap we have used since March. If we are thinking about use, there are lots of quantifiable ways we could measure these last several months. How much water? Toothpaste? Electricity? Time?  Use implies depletion. Certainly, we are all at least a little depleted and many families are indeed ravaged by the pandemic. How ever we look at these last ten months, we can identify loss. But we can also point to some gains. Since we started by quantifying soap, we could pause a moment to quantify the gains we have made. How much have we learned? How many new relationships have we formed? How much more compassion do we show?  Hopefully, these gains make up for our significant loss of soap.

 When my younger son was born, my mom stayed with us for a week. At the time, there was a BabyGAP up the street and she went to scope out the sale rack. She came home with two matching navy blue T-shirts, put one on each boy and dubbed them Team Beall.  The name stuck and almost two decades later, I find new ways to be grateful for them all the time. They aren't the chubby, silly Team they once were, but they are helpful, kind, hilarious, joyful and hardworking. We still play a lot of games and take a lot of walks - throwbacks to an earlier time and benefits of being pandemic housemates - but our Team has evolved into a really lovely thing. I find it disingenuous to brag about them, as I maintain they are excellent humans on their own merit. However, I do find the way they support eachother, me and others. Their definition of Team is a beautiful thing - they make meals, provide fun, offer ideas, listen, clean up, laugh, help others, support creativity and love openly. No, we did no

On the first day of school this year, I bought myself a Fitbit. I always thought wearable technology was dumb, but I am quite enamored of my lavender little friend. It shows how far I walk each day and how my heart rate changes. While I walk a great deal each day (even while teaching online), I don't run or do anything all that strenuous outside of yard work. That said, I check my heart rate all the time. Over Thanksgiving, my resting heart rate was 69 bpm - an all time low and something I have tried (unsuccessfully) to replicate - even now at the end of winter break. I notice a connection between my level of stress and how high my resting rate goes - 77 bpm on the day before winter break.  Break has had a lovely impact on my heart rate. All the extra walks, extra sleep, extra fun and extra Vitamin D have done wonders for my heart (both the actual and the metaphorical). This morning I checked my email. Oof.  I had to talk myself out of being annoyed. Instead of an "are you kid

I feel pretty stupid when someone else asks me to set one, but find that on my daily morning walk, I set a few intentions as I go. Maybe it's still flaky to do it for yourself, but to me it feels less weird. It seems fitting on the first day of the new year to set a few, so here goes: Honor your heart. I had a a TIA in August and while I no longer need to be under the care of a cardiologist, I have a new respect for my heart. I sleep more and eat less cheese. But I also thank people who touch my heart with their actions or words. In the new year, I hope to be prompt and profuse with my gratitude. I am fortunate to have students, colleagues, children and family who take consistent care with my heart. Take care with others. Whether or not you've had a TIA, everyone's heart needs care. Tell people when they are great, tell them when they make a difference and tell them what you notice about their skills. We all need to hear those things. Notice. Notice what works and what does