Teachers: it’s okay to loosen your grip

I pour hot water over ground beans, stirring meditatively as the coffee drips through the Melitta filter into the largest mug I own. I stir, pour again, and wait. In between, I pull fixings for today’s lunch out of the refrigerator and clear the dish rack. I pick up the kettle and pour again. Stir. This is my only quiet moment in what will be a 13-hour day.

The screen door is open. It’s too early for the birds, but nighttime insects still chirp and little mammals rustle the leaves below my deck. The distant Beltway roars. What’s on my agenda for the day? I slowly activate my mind as I move nonstop around the kitchen. When I turn back around, coffee is flowing out of the mug onto the counter, pooling quickly to the edge. I dash for a sponge and place it down one second before the coffee spills onto the kitchen floor.

Like most high school teachers in our district, I’m up well before dawn. Before my brain has quite caught up with my body, I’m planning out what clothes to wear. If I’m coaching that day, I’ve already checked Team Snap, made lineups and sent workouts to the assistant coaches. I spent the evening before grading papers and entered the scores in Synergy.

I’m packing my breakfast, lunch, dinner, and after-school snacks. I’m filling two water bottles and making a mug of hot tea. I’ve already loaded the 54-pack chip box from Costco into the car, so that I can give students snacks on Friday. And the Dum-Dums from CVS. Those are surprisingly popular. I’ll pack that extra large tissue box today because the school-issued tissues are flimsy and disappear too quickly.

The mental gymnastics of preparing for a normal day of teaching and coaching have gotten harder as I’ve aged. I love my job, but why am I pushing myself so much? I’m in four different rooms every day at school, moving in the hallways between every period, bumping into students walking slowly three abreast. I’m carrying my laptop open so that I don’t have to completely log in again and take 5 minutes of precious class time to boot up. Any teacher can tell you how discombobulating it feels to be a “floater.” I do it all day.

It’s taken longer this year to remember student names, even though I’ve only got 120 of them, and I share three classes with a wonderful co-teacher. Plus 34 kids on the rowing team, half of whom are new. I’ll be in the middle of practice, and forget the word for oarlock or cox box. After three coaches had to leave Saturday’s scrimmage unexpectedly early, I started snapping at the kids and glowering at their parents.

Stress has taken its toll. On Monday, I fell down in the boatyard and fractured my wrist. I will not be able to drive a motor launch to coach for at least three weeks.

The overflowing coffee mug should have been a sign to slow down and pay more attention. I don’t have to move at such a frenetic pace. Someone else can coach for a few days without me. It’s okay to accept the cart from my supervisor, so I don’t have to carry my heavy book bag through the hallways. With a broken wrist.

Most teachers are super-organized control freaks, driven to be helpful. I never thought I was one of them. But this enforced pause has made me realize that it’s okay to loosen my grip. Physically – because my wrist is in a brace. And metaphorically, to let people help me. Too bad it’s taken a painful fall to make me focus more on myself.

Back to School Babble – Oh, and No Cell Phones!

Pre-Service Week has come and gone. Once the mandatory Compliance Training Modules were all complete, ELD and ELA teachers worked on an instructional model that uses an asset-based approach that encourages effortful thinking to support translanguaging for EML students.

We worked in our PLCs, backward mapping to use HQIM and differentiated tasks aligned with the SIP for our SLOs, due EOY. We accessed Synergy to check all the IEPs and 504s then posted content and language objectives on Canvas, making sure the CWT due dates and deadlines were clearly labelled AT or PR.

When we were all exhausted by the endless meetings and jargon, we could finally sit and plan out our actual lessons and set up the classrooms. And, of course, catch up on each other’s news. Teachers really need a week before students return, to adjust to being on a bell schedule again!

This year, we’ve had to adapt to a new cell phone policy, too. Away All Day! Not sure it could work, we spend the entire first days of school shouting at students to get their phones put away: in the hallways between classes, during lunch, when they go to the bathroom. It’s a huge change from last year, when high schoolers were allowed to use phones between classes and during lunch.

After just a week, it seems to be successful. I’ve noticed that students are talking to each other more in class. Fewer students are sitting alone at lunch. My EMLs are asking each other — and me — how to say a word in English. They might actually remember vocabulary better now without the instant gratification of Google Translate.

I’ve seen some students wearing analog watches. I have found my stash of old Swatches, which all needed new batteries. Gotta set a good example, keeping my cell phone Away All Day! Even to check the time. Others are bringing sketch pads and colored pencils to class.

We’ll see how long the compliance will last, but I’m going to enjoy watching students interact with their peers in a healthier way this year. They might even learn how to be bored.

Excuse me now while I prep my students for next week’s MAP-R and MAP-M, check the DME messages, and scaffold high-impact, rigorous lessons using FLA and the GLEAM approach.

Good thing we’ve already finished BTSN or I would have to go AWOL.

(Image: Discovery Education)

Musicians make the best community

When my family moved to southwestern West Virginia more than 50 years ago, only boys were allowed to participate in the school band. I’d played clarinet in upstate New York and wanted to continue. So my mother marched down to the local board of education and forced them to change the rule. Other girls integrated the band along with me. I was never very good but felt pressured to stick with it until ninth grade. That feeling of always being the odd-one-out has stuck with me for most of my life. Especially with music.

During the pandemic, I started recorder lessons. My instructor was a very patient young man, who met with me on Zoom once a week. Even though recorder is very similar to clarinet, it had been decades since I’d had any regular lessons. He endured my squeaks and poor rhythm, then assigned me more challenging pieces, talking about embouchure, fingering, and breath control. He said I was his only student who actually made progress during the pandemic. After 18 months, he declared that I was “ready to play with other people.” What a thrill!

One day, during a neighborhood jam session, I pulled out my recorder. I usually just sang backup while they strummed and crooned. Everyone laughed. I felt like I was in middle school again. “Oh, I used to play that thing in 5th grade,” someone said. I’d practiced Lean on Me and Ashokan Farewell using sheet music. I couldn’t tell them what chords to play or even what key it was in. Nobody told me I sounded good. They indulged me then moved on to more familiar guitar-centric tunes. But it gave me a huge boost of confidence. 

Now I play regularly with different groups – my jam band (rock), a Celtic ensemble, an old-time group, and an ad hoc recorder group. I’m even in a chorus — when I can make it to rehearsals. I still feel that everyone is a better musician than I am, but the groups are also extremely welcoming and encouraging. So many older adults are coming back to the instruments they abandoned as teens, re-learning what it means to play with others and finding the joy that was missing when we were adolescents trying to please others. 

If I don’t know the song, I’ll sit out a session. If my soprano recorder is too shrill, I switch to the alto. Sometimes I just play the root notes – something I’m still learning how to do. Jam sessions in someone’s house, open-mic nights, classes, and informal gatherings in the park are perfect spots for self-improvement and socializing. It’s so much fun!

As I pick up knowledge of chords, rhythms, and the requirements of various instruments (I just purchased an Irish flute), I’ve found a place where I belong. The DC area is full of older musicians gathering regularly for just about every style of music imaginable. The community of musicians is a true brotherhood/ sisterhood. I can go out almost any night of the week to a music event and run into people I know. 

When so much is going wrong in our society, it’s heartening to find a strong, welcoming community. Musicians are the best! 

Screenshot

Teacher Time Out

Two weeks into my summer break and I’m already missing my teacher ‘leagues. I wake up without an alarm and stumble through my day with no bells to mark time. Who’s going to keep me on track with my long To-Do list? Who’s going to remind me what the schedule is today? What time that PLC meeting starts? What I have to read or click through before moving on? Who’s going to discuss that message with me? Or what spirit wear is it tomorrow? Who’s got the latest chisme gossip?
The What’s App group chat has gone silent and I don’t know what to do without the daily videos, Q & A, jokes, or the one teacher responding three days late to a message long forgotten. I haven’t yet left behind the chaos of my ordinary school life, moving among five different rooms every day, maneuvering through hallways teeming with students larger than me and in no hurry to get to class, sitting in a loud office where I can’t get away even when I put on headphones to signal I’m off-duty.
It’s funny that I miss the noise and over-stimulation of school, but am quickly adjusting to “summer mode.” I’ve already completed a little road trip, a rowing regatta (where I won a medal just for showing up), a Primary Election, a mini family reunion, and a visit to the Tall Ships in Baltimore.
On my schedule this summer are meet-ups with teacher friends. A lunch, a karaoke night, a walk in the park, a rowing date, and evening drinks at a brew pub. That’s how I pass time in the summer. Seeing colleagues outside of school keeps me grounded and helps me reinforce who I really am. Ten months a year, a teacher’s identity is shaped by others, as we comply with rules and expectations.
During the summer, we’re free to celebrate who we really are. I’d feel a little lost without teacher friends to join me.


On the way to Liberty Island. I lived in Manhattan for 10 years, but never once visited the Statue of Liberty
View from my table LES

His Ship Has Sailed

Uncle Dookie passed away this month, a larger-than-life figure who cherished his family and shaped the community. It was fitting that Navy jets flew over his military museum in Houma, Louisiana to honor him. He was of an older generation, bound by duty, honor, and patriotism. In his final days, he shared that my that my mother had been the biggest influence on his life. Her legacy helped shaped autism services today. He will be remembered for his U-Boat research, starting a military museum, and running an airport for many years.

But I will remember the stories that have made him a legend in our family: his daredevil feats – for example, at age 77, jumping off the roof a a building into the lake below.

Rest in Peace, C.J. Christ, Uncle Dookie!


Ninth grade boys

I’ve been teaching high school seniors for a long time. But ninth grade boys have a special place in my heart. They start the year doe-eyed and wary, then finish several inches taller and a lot more smart-ass. I teach a class full of them. With some girls, too — who are also great, just a lot more predictable. The boys enter the room for 5th period, posturing for each other and cracking jokes in Spanish that usually involve put-downs.


Emerson (not his real name) stakes his claim in the back row well before the bell rings, a backpack on the chair. He then positions himself at the door, a signal to friends in the hallway that he is ready to shoulder bump, man hug, or beg for a snack. The physicality of a ninth grade boy is something to behold.


“Don’t block the door!” I shout, remembering that a counselor asked me to keep two of them apart because of an altercation at the beginning of the year. The girls have to push past them to enter the classroom.


I start every class reminding them to take out their earbuds, put the cell phones away. Emerson arrives late, takes out a large McDonald’s bag, ice-cold drink in hand. His buddies in the back row start shouting, asking to share. I’ve become completely irrelevant.


When I give my best teacher reprimand, he exclaims, “Miss, but it’s free delivery! The Ride-On bus is free for students!”


He skipped 4th period to make a food run.


Seniors would be cool about eating in the classroom. They’d open their laptops or take out their folders and at least pretend to be engaged in the lesson while they munch. Ninth grade boys are feral. By 5th period, they’re also really hungry. I turn my back to begin teaching and I hear loud chewing and slurping sounds.
Once I finally start the lesson, girls sitting attentive with their folders open and the appropriate paper pulled out, one of the boys shouts a random “Six Seven.”


Some things are better left without comment.


We looked at a poem called “Where I’m From,” where the speaker alludes to learning Bible verses. I had a visual on the board and was trying to help them understand the nuances of the lines.


“Miss, do you believe in God?” Emerson shouts from the back row. I take a deep breath and try to give a measured response. Then I turn the question back to him, attempting to make a genuine connection with the class. The quiet students look up; I can tell they’re listening. We exchange a serious dialogue for a few moments, then I carefully guide us back to the poem.


This doesn’t happen with seniors.

As annoying as they sometimes are, I enjoy these teachable moments, where I can tell they’re engaged.

I’m a disciplinarian when I need to be, but my ability to overlook certain behaviors often gains me an edge.

“This is my favorite class,” David says. “You’re the only teacher who helps me.”

Two of these gangly young men now have girlfriends, puppy love in their eyes. Suddenly their clothing has become just a little nicer, their broccoli hair cuts trimmed and fresh. The horse play has two fewer participants.

They want to attend the trade school next door to learn electricity or automotive technology. I remind them that they need to pass all their classes if they want to be accepted into a program next year, that teachers often write recommendations for students. What would I say about them?

That I can see their focus begin to change as the year evolves. I can see who they are becoming more clearly. Maybe they can too. I can see that they’re annoying as hell sometimes. But it’s fascinating to watch them grow before my eyes — literally and figuratively. These kids will be all right. There’s a special place in my heart for ninth grade boys.

Comes in like a lion

The ups and downs of March have left me roaring. Mostly on the inside, since I’m a professional and must remain neutral in the classroom. I’m reeking from the daily assault of this moral cesspool of an administration. Sometimes the only response is taking to the streets singing. Or roaring like a March lion.

Then there’s the weather. It’s 80 degrees one day, then 32 the next. I’ve had to cancel many after-school rowing team practices. High winds, weather extremes, coaching drama. Always hopeful, I focus on the kids who show up, no matter what.

Like in the classroom. My superpower is just showing up every day with a plan. If they can remember even one thing I’ve said or made them feel or understand, then I count myself successful. My superpower is just showing up.

I’ve shown up this month to support my ELD colleagues across MCPS. As a member of the MCEA Collaboration and Labor-Management committees, I’ve been at the table sharing ELD teacher concerns with top leaders of the Division of Multilingual Education (DME). For years, teachers have been roaring for reform. Only to be dismissed, as if “equity” is the only consideration. When students don’t have enough English to ask for a hall pass, it’s not equitable to expect them to read “A Raisin in the Sun.”

In January, 21 of the 25 high school ELD Resource Teachers (RTs) sent a well-crafted 13-page Letter of No Confidence to the Superintendent and the Board of Education. In our committee meetings, we asked for a formal response. Nothing. We’re toothless. Then the scandalous reveal from a leaked document where the DME leadership team was taking notes on body language, eye rolls, sidebar conversations, and “possible leverage” of these behaviors in a closed-door RT meeting. Egregious breach of trust from top leadership.

I’ve been asked to keep all this silent. But when the cognitive dissonance of performing my job duties clashes with everything I’ve learned and know from 25 years of teaching EMLs, then it’s time to speak up. It’s time to speak up when MCPS policies might actually harm our students, some of the most vulnerable in the school system. My claws are out.

I also wrote a letter to the Superintendent — as an individual teacher, not as a representative of any school or union committee — expressing my deep frustrations with the leadership of the DME Division.

Roar!

No Kings Day rally, March 28, 2026

So grateful

I live less than 10 miles from the White House. It’s hard not to feel demoralized by the astounding changes to the world around me since January 20, 2025. Federal workers laid off, the decimation of vital U.S. government agencies, blatant homophobia and misogyny masquerading as policy, and the dehumanization of immigrants. I’ve spent part of the year in mourning for the America I once thought I lived in.

However, the “sickening moral slum” of this presidency is countered daily by the activism of friends, colleagues and total strangers. As 2025 wraps up, I choose to focus on things that make me hopeful.

Fellow rally-goers. I’ve been to No Kings Day demonstrations, marches for immigrant rights, and sing-alongs in front of a courthouse. Every time, I am warmed by the spirit of civic engagement. I am proud to live in a community where we are (still) free to assemble in public and express disagreement with our government.

Musicians. I have joined so many sing-alongs, karaoke nights, protest-music nights, and other music groups that I feel like a groupie. Musicians carry the spirit of our times like few other artists. They can bring a group together in a way that uplifts the entire community in real time.

Colleagues. Teachers are the most amazing group of people. And teachers of immigrant students have a special place in my heart. I work in a school with an enormous ELD department (formerly ESOL). Even as the students stop coming to school (fear of ICE raids) and attendance is at an all-time low, my colleagues persevere. They help the students who show up and reach out to those who don’t. We support each other in the office before school, during lunch, and after school. In a job that can be emotionally draining, my colleagues make it better every single day.

So, as the meme says, have the best year. My resolutions for the new year are exactly those shared in this image.

My advice for the New Year: Get outside every single day, no matter the weather. Join a group. Honor your commitments to yourself.

Wishing you the courage to pursue the activities that give you joy.

End-of-Season

The end of rowing season always brings feelings of relief and melancholy: so many days, so many hours of rowing, driving to the boathouse, planning workouts, carrying boats down to the dock, washing shells after practice, breaking down the motor launch, chatting at the park with others who share a love of the best sport in the world. I miss the exhaustion already, and don’t know how to fill my extra time.


I finished the Sunday crossword puzzle two weeks in a row, and I’ve learned a couple of new tunes on my recorder, ready to join the Celtic Ensemble again. I’m loving my new crime thriller audiobook (Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache is so much fun). My son and I went shopping for winter coats together. We had Thanksgiving at a friend’s. My life is full. Yet I find myself researching winter workouts when I should be planning next week’s lessons for school.


I never thought I’d get pulled back into coaching teens again, but that’s exactly what’s happened. I love it and dread it at the same time. I love teaching new rowers the protocols and technique. I love watching young people get excited about doing hard physical work for the first time, especially when they thought they couldn’t. I love the playfulness they bring to the team, even when my reprimands about horseplay brought the wrath of parents.


It’s a rebuilding year with a small high school team. My job is to keep it fun, to teach the sport, and bring everyone back in the spring to start all over again. And bring a friend.


Seasonal transition periods usually make me more reflective, and this one is no different. Should I retire and become head coach again? For real? Should I finally downsize and move out of this large home? My older son recently got engaged. This would be a perfect grandmother house, if that’s in the future. I can put off that decision for now. I still have a rewarding, full-time teaching job. I believe I still make a difference.


Fellow masters rowers have started the Holiday Erg Challenge, a Concept 2 virtual rowing regatta, where the goal is to row 100K between Thanksgiving and Christmas. This is a regatta for people who don’t embrace the liminal space of transition like I do. They gather in the 28-degree dawn at the boathouse, ergs lined up in the darkness. They’re rowing 10K on the machines every day. I planned to join them, but sleeping in until sunrise and home-brewed coffee in my pajamas just called too loudly this year.


Tomorrow it’s December and we start the high school winter workouts three days a week. I’ve enjoyed my down time, but it’s time to embrace the crazy-busy again.

Mixed Masters 8+

Head of the Occoquan Regatta

Made you smile!

It’s the last day of Marking Period 1. English teachers are dressing as idioms for Halloween. I’m supposed to be a copy cat but I can’t find my kitty ears from last year. With a slight sore throat and headache, I have no energy to go digging through the family costume box before school. I’ll just wear a black mask and meow if anyone asks what I am today.

The everyday costumes that I see walking the halls of my extra large high school (2800 students) always put a smile on my face. Some girls with full, ready-for-my-close-up makeup at 7:45 am, carefully curated outfits with big fuzzy boots. Mostly a lot of hoodie sweatshirts and comfortable pants.

Teen backpacks also make me smile. Often adorned with labubus dangling from key chains, they feature little-kid cartoon characters: Lilo & Stitch, Lightning McQueen from Cars, Elsa from Frozen, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Worn without irony.

I don’t understand it. Six seven. Whatever. A reminder to just lighten up.

Make someone smile today.

(image generated by AI)