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We all have them about each other - about who we are as people, about what our jobs entail, what our families are like - sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. It seems that the more we are able to share those misconceptions with other people, and through that, gain support and acceptance for the skewed way we view each other, the less we care about correcting them. I've talked before about how in Idaho, if you hold a K-8 All Subjects Certificate, you are legally "highly qualified" to teach all  subjects in grades kindergarten through eight. Period. The end. Your college coursework is deemed enough to prepare you for any and all of those positions. I can't even begin to cover the countless flaws I see in this system. But I can bring your attention to two specific specialty areas covered in that certificate that are not what they seem. PE. Technology. (You thought I was going to say Music, didn't you? Pshaw. That would be so obvious. Hang in here ...

I tweeted earlier "I think my biggest fear is amnesia." All joking aside (and obviously, all the replies were  jokes) - forgetting is terrifying to me. I'm reading What Alice Forgot  by Liane Moriarty, about a woman who wakes up from a fall and can't remember the last decade of her life. When she wakes, she feels like herself from 10 years ago, but around her, everything has changed. I've spent the first quarter of the book in fairly frantic tears, my chest tight. I don't want to forget. I NEVER want to forget what has happened to me - none of it. Good or bad. I can't imagine what it would be like to see a dear friend and not know them. To not be able to share a joke or a knowing look. In the story, the main character even forgets her children . She wakes up and is a stranger in her own life. I feel like it hits close to home, not just because I am a visceral reader, (I have some of the worst book hangovers you can imagine.) but because someone near ...

I guarantee that inside each of us is a kernel A small, hard nugget Of our true selves. Not the self we put on for our friends Family Lovers Or even when we look in the mirror. A single grain of sand Irritating our softest parts We cover it Secrete this life Over top of it Smoothing out the edges Becoming luminous We clamp our shells down Greedy Unwilling to lose what we’ve Worked to build Over who we are deepest inside But A beach is made from sand Smoothed by the ocean Warmed by the sun Sinking between our toes And clinging to our skin Each of those grains beautiful Useful together And more comfortable than Walking on pearls.

I have nine days left with my kids. I'm thrilled and petrified to be starting a new job at a new school in a new district in the fall. I have no doubt that it's what I need and that I am what they need. I would say that I have no regrets, but that would be a lie. A big one. I'm going to miss my kids so much. I've watched entire families grow up - siblings, cousins, and now, aunts and uncles. I haven't had students of students, but I'm sure I was getting close. Sure, a half hour once a week doesn't seem like enough time to really connect with kids - and truly, I don't connect with every kid - but half and hour once a week for five years adds up. Compound that with the kids who choose to do Special Chorus and are actors in the big 4th grade play. Mix in the fact that I have a heart for the kids that struggle in class but bloom in music. These are my kids. And it's tough to know that I'm leaving them to help myself. It feels selfish. Un-teac...

Since when is being stabbed in the neck A "non-story"? It's nonSENSE in the purest form A complete and utter Lack of sense A senseless crime And I think it's time To inspect the sources Aim to correct the forces That let a man Spewing hate and vitriol Be in control Exact flesh as a toll And forever change the lives of Strangers on a train

I'm pretty bad at actually *taking* a compliment. As a music teacher, I'm complimented after each performance by smiling parents and families: "You do such amazing things with the kids." "This is the best performance I've ever seen." "Thank you for everything you do with the kids. They love you." Nearly always, I duck my head, mutter thanks, and say something about how it's all the kids. Not because I'm modest (because I'm really not) but because it felt like what you're supposed to say after a program. Some part of me knew it was genuine, but honestly, by the time the show was over, I was tired and wanted to clean up and go home and enjoy some silence. I needed time to process. Time to see past the mistakes, the things we'd worked on over and over but never quite nailed, to see the performance as a whole. I'd never really seen a performance as a whole until last week. My son's first grade program w...

My kid just spent the day in in-school suspension. I mean, I guess it's called "the quiet room" but let's call that spade a spade, shall we? And while we're calling things as they are, my son is a bully. He's the mean kid. He's hurting others physically and with words. And I'm not whether he knows how what he's doing is wrong or whether he just doesn't care. Either way. I could make a list of things that could be reasons excuses: he's young for his class but huge for his age. He's a super silly kid who is also very imaginative. He's gifted. He's got terrible impulse control. He's an only child. He's bright enough to be experimenting with sarcasm. Maybe he's a bit of a misanthrope like his mother. In any case, he's apparently gone from "big clumsy puppy" to "bad, bad dog" rather quickly. (source) I have no idea how to handle this. Mom-Sarah: Dude. you're in so much troubl...