That’s the One! (Of course I’m writing about Raven) - Mrs. Russo

“Daisy’s pregnant!” my sister announced as we all stood in her kitchen at one of our typical family gatherings. Ben and I immediately exchanged an excited look. We had been wanting a puppy for so long, but our plan was to get one in the summer after the wedding!

“When is she due?” I asked.

“December!”

My mind began to wander. A Christmas puppy, how special would that be? Except…we’re in the middle of wedding planning and we still live in an apartment. Would our landlord charge us more? Can we afford a puppy with the wedding expenses? 

I admired Daisy’s round belly and a gut feeling won over all of my worries: Our puppy is on the way!

Later that night, Ben agreed that this had to be fate. With my sister living the town over, we’d be able to meet the puppy right away and continuously visit until it was ready to take home. We asked our landlord, and although it was an extra fee, we decided to make it work.

On December 11th, the puppies were born! My sister and nieces sent photos and we were ecstatic. 

“I think we should go for a boy right?” Ben suggested.

“Yes, a grey one?” I asked.

“I was thinking that!”

Ben and I both had mainly boy dogs growing up, so I think we were just going with what we were used to.

On Christmas morning, we went over to my sister's house to watch my nieces open gifts and to meet the puppies and pick one out! 

My sister went to grab a couple of puppies for us to meet. She came upstairs holding two of them, both about the size of her forearm! One had grey fur and the other had black fur with a patch of white on her chest. 

“Sorry, I grabbed two girls by accident, I know you said you wanted a boy. I’ll grab a few more in a little bit!” she said.

Ben grabbed the black puppy and I held the grey one. The grey one slept peacefully in my arms, but when I looked over at Ben, I noticed his puppy squirming and stretching. Then she turned her head and slightly opened her eyes, looking up at Ben.

“Oh my goodness, she just opened her eyes for the first time!” my niece exclaimed.

“I like this one, she’s sweet and spunky!” Ben said.

“That’s the one,” I said. “You’re the first thing she has ever seen!” 

“Are you sure?” My sister asked, “I can easily bring up the rest for you to meet!”

I looked at Ben and we nodded. “We’re sure.”

It was a Christmas morning we’ll never forget.

I always teach my students to derive life lessons from stories. The story of getting Raven taught me a lot. Between the decision to get a puppy at a chaotic time and the decision that Raven was the one before meeting the rest of the litter, I learned you can’t always assume things need to be done on a certain timeline and you can’t assume that you always know what you want. We thought we knew exactly when we should get a puppy and exactly what kind of puppy we wanted. Sometimes things just happen how and when they’re meant to and we need to trust life’s surprises. Stepping outside of our original plan and following our heart led us to the most beautiful bond with the sweetest and spunkiest little girl! 

I know pet owners can relate to this special connection. May we all cherish our pets for choosing us!

One last thing, my husband truly believes he thought of the name Raven, but I have a list in my phone of dog names and the name Raven is on it! I distinctly remember choosing it!!!! I just felt I had to put that in writing. :-)

Loving Our Children- Mrs. Cichocki

 

A Giant Heart-shaped Cookie- Mrs. Keating

One of my favorite things to do is tell my preschool students some stories

about when I was growing up in NY with my large Italian family.

It’s fun to attach lessons with a story from my childhood.  Recently, we were making play dough “cookies” and we were comparing small, medium and large sizes.  One student asked, “What if we could make one giant cookie?” 

Well, that set the stage for me to tell the story of baking cookies with my Grandma Rose.  I told them about a time when it was near Valentine’s Day.  My grandma and I made cookie dough and when we began to roll it out, we both noticed that the entire piece of cookie dough looked like an enormous heart. 

My grandma looked at me, smiled, and said, “Let’s bake it just like this–it will be one big heart-shaped cookie for Valentine’s Day!”  

For a moment, as my preschool students were looking at me, I was transported back to my grandma’s kitchen in NY, at the side of my beloved grandma, marveling at one giant heart-shaped cookie coming out of her oven.

Go Easy on Me- Ms. Riera

As I drove home from an especially difficult family funeral, Adele’s song “Easy On Me” came on the radio.  I had heard the song a million times before, but found that after the song was over the lyrics “go easy on me” were trapped in my brain, repeating on loop and I wasn’t sure why.  

But then like a solar plexus suckerpunch, I realized, “that’s it!” 

That’s what I need! 

That’s what we ALL need;

For life to go a little easier on us.

It is so easy to get caught up in the pressures of everyday life;

The never ending tasks and decisions we make from the moment our eyes open

Until the moment we lay our head down at night.

And even then, our brains deceive us and keep thinking of all the 

Would’ves, could’ves and what-ifs.

We can so easily talk ourselves into believing that we are not doing enough,

Not being enough, not handling things well enough.

And when faced with challenges we are told to “embrace the hard and keep going”

Despite the fact that we may not feel we have enough in the tank to do so.

But if we think about where we came from,

These tiny, perfect, miraculous bundles of precious joy

These souls just waiting to become everything they are meant to be,

Living for right now, not thinking about tomorrow or yesterday,

We see that not much has changed.

We are all still beautiful, fragile creatures in need of someone to hold space,

Emotionally and physically for us.

Just as we would not chastise an infant for crying

Or put down a toddler for taking a tumble,

We too need grace.

Our souls are still full of wonderment and adventure,

Of grandiose possibilities.

Go easy.

On others.

And most importantly, 

On yourself.

My Books- Mrs. Lindquist

 

                *I dedicate this slice to my book-loving friend, Mel Swider Wenz.*

My books have traveled 12,850 miles. All twenty-one large Sterilite bins of them.

Across the United States and back again. Twice.

I started my vast children’s book collection forty-six years ago, and I might add

that I rarely paid for a book. Rather, I used the bonus points I accumulated

when my students ordered books through Scholastic Book Club. Each time

I ordered a book for my classroom, I ordered that same book and put it aside for

the children I hoped to have one day. By the time I was pregnant, I had amassed

two well-stocked libraries – one for school and one for home.

When I began preparing the baby’s room for our first daughter, I purchased a

bookshelf before the crib. I lovingly put every book I had saved on the shelves

and organized them by the author. Sort of nutso. By the time our second

daughter was born, I had quadrupled my collection, and by the time I retired, well,

who knows how many I had stockpiled. I loved reading to my girls and did so until

they went to middle school. I was sad when this special time ended but happy

to have instilled in them the same love of reading that I have. I kept those books

on the bookshelves of our house until the kids had moved out, and my husband and

I decided to downsize our home. That’s when they went into the twenty-one bins.

After we sold the house, we moved into an apartment and waited for the perfect

house to come along. (Mel SW, that one's for you, too.) My husband moved most

of our belongings into a storage unit, including the bins of books. Nine months

later, we found our next house, and he moved those bins (without cursing) out of

the storage unit and into our basement. 

“Why do we (which really meant “I” because he was the one to move them) have to keep lugging these books around?” my husband once asked.

“Why, they are for our grandchildren, of course!” I answered. 

After our eldest daughter got married, I happily gave her all of the books. My husband was thrilled about the newfound space in our basement. I knew the books would always stay in the family and be ready for my younger daughter one day. Fortunately, my son-in-law was in the Air Force, so the military shipped the books on their first journey. . .to Alaska. . .then Maine. . .then Las Vegas. . .and, finally back to Maine. In the middle of these moves, along came Isla, my precious granddaughter.

Now, the books are prominently displayed in their living room. There is no television – only shelves of books. And guess what. My daughter organized them the same way I did! Grammie just loves reading to her granddaughter every weekend and is delighted to see her “read” them to herself! And, of course, there was a grand sense of nostalgia when both of my daughters opened up the books again. 

Except for pictures, I quite literally have saved nothing for as long as I have my cherished books. I’m sure they will travel many more miles and be read many more times❣️ 📚

This pic is unposed. I snuck around the corner and snapped it! 

On a Dime- Mrs. Sullivan

It was early.  I heard the house phone ring, but I chose to ignore it. 

If it was important, they would call again. 

I pulled the covers up, knowing that I would have to get up soon, but I needed to get just

a few more minutes of rest. I wanted to bask in the quiet, before lunches needed to be made,

outfits needed picking out and hair needed brushing. 

Just a little peace before the school and work day began.

But it was difficult to ignore the nagging feeling I was having.  Something felt off. 

The room was getting brighter.  I could tell, even though my eyes were closed.   Soon I would need to get up whether I wanted to or not.  I took a few deep breaths and stretched out my arms, bending my elbows and raising them over my head, like my children had done as babies. I turned to my side toward my nightstand and reluctantly opened my eyes. It was 5:55 am.  It was getting late, usually I was up by now.  But I did not make a move to get up.  I felt safe in bed, and suspected that my day would take a turn once I decided to get up.

I heard a faint sound, and turned my head toward the door.  It started to open, and I expected one of my girls to come charging in.  But it wasn’t my girls.  It was my dad.  He was standing in my doorway.  He and my mom had come to visit, arriving last evening.  My dad was dressed and looked like he had been awake for a while. He did not say anything at first.  He looked at his feet, then back up at me.  His expression looked serious and sorry at the same time. “You need to get up,” my dad said.

“Everything alright?” I asked.  And then I thought back to the early morning telephone call.

“I was taking out your garbage,” my dad said, “and the police pulled into your driveway.”  

I sat up.  

“Is everything ok?” I asked again.  

He shook his head, “You need to get dressed.”

Efficient Decision Making or...?- Mrs. Warchut

  “Professor or lawyer?” a tall woman in a suit asked me, as she indicated that she would be joining me in my row.

I looked up from the binder of paper I was editing, a draft of my next novel, to see a tall, well-dressed woman in a suit.

“Neither. Teacher… and author,” I said, still adjusting to claiming this as part of my identity. 

I stood up to let her slide by me and take a seat. She left an empty seat between the two of us, enough space for a little privacy but close enough so that we could have some pleasant conversation.

“I’m a paralegal, so they probably won’t pick me. Looks like almost everyone else is a phone zombie, but not you,” she said, pointing to my binder.

I looked around the large, rectangular room with auditorium seating facing a screen in the front. Narrow vertical windows provided some natural light and peaceful blue sky. I thought I’d be able to see more buildings, but the sky was nice, peaceful even. I started counting and got up to about seventy other jurors. If they were only picking twelve out of seventy, what are the odds I’ll be picked?

“How many cases do you think they are looking for jurors for?” Since she worked in law, I figured she might have more experience here than me.

“Yes, that’s how it works now. It didn’t used to be that way, but this is more efficient.” 

As jurors, we’d all gone through the same rigamarole that morning, parking in the juror lot, going through strict security, waiting in a lobby to be taken in the elevator, six or seven at a time, to the fourth floor, the jury’s waiting space. There, we checked in. I didn’t need the summons they sent me or even my ID. My name sufficed. Perhaps through Real ID my picture popped up and I looked close enough? Perhaps no one would randomly show up for jury duty and give the right name of their own volition? 

While we were waiting in line to check in, there was some chatter among jurors, if it was someone’s first time, what happened when they called the hotline the night before–it just rang, or it was busy or it took them an hour to get through, if they had deferred or not.

But once we were in the waiting room, she was right. Almost everyone immediately plugged into their phones, bodies hunched, lost in a digital world a few square inches in size. 

How unlike the last time I had jury duty. How long ago was that? I was still in New York City. Could it have been fifteen years ago? I don’t think anyone had a phone out back then. Yes, smart phones had been invented, but they didn’t have wireless or WiFi access everywhere, and definitely not in a courthouse. Now, WiFi was everywhere. Even in subways. For so many years, you had to rely on the maps in the subway cars for directions, and now, you could just look at your phone. The last time I had jury duty, back in New York City, back in my twenties, I’d taken a book and ended up sitting beside a Rockette. We spent most of the day just talking. 

They called us to attention, and most of the others put their phones away. The woman in charge spent a good amount of time thanking us, telling us how important what we were doing was, and how they appreciated our making the sacrifice–getting babysitters, asking off work, making arrangements to be there. 

“Our system of justice exists for everyone, and in order to preserve this system, we rely on people like you.Your presence and participation is vital to our system of justice. We try more cases in front of a jury in the United States than any other country in the world.” She told us to, “Listen carefully, keep an open mind, avoid biases, and use common sense.” 

Some of the things she said echoed episodes of Dragnet and other cop shows or movies that I had seen. How the defendant was presumed innocent unless proven otherwise beyond a reasonable doubt, how the state must prove guilt and how the defendant didn’t have to prove anything at all. And how the defendant had the right to remain silent and that was not an indication of guilt or innocence, just a right that the defendant had.

Then we watched a movie about implicit bias. I’d always thought that it was something negative, subconsciously prejudging people based on a few traits or observations. The movie had a different take. It called them ‘mental shortcuts’ that were sometimes helpful in navigating the world and making efficient decisions, but that could have dangerous consequences in a courtroom. It said, “Awareness is fairness. Would you make the same decision if the person was of another gender, race, or age?”

When the woman asked me if I was a professor or lawyer, she was just using a mental shortcut to classify me, to find someone to sit near. Not inherently negative, just efficient decision making on her part in a new situation.