See Sarah Blog.

Columbine was an awakening. I was a senior in high school. Nearly done. Ready for college and future, and suddenly, my peers were looking at friends of mine - people we'd all known forever, but who favored boots and trenchcoats, loud music and facial piercings as The Other. My friends cared. They'd never tell you because they were Teflon-bulletproof-fuckyou people, but they were hurt that people they'd Red Rovered with and been to the skating rink birthday parties of, suddenly moved to the other side of the hall and eyed their backpacks suspiciously. The horrors ran together afterwords. I'll admit to being shocked but numbed to another  school shooting, another active shooter, another lockdown. Until Sandy Hook. By then, I wasn't just a teacher, I was a mom. It was a deeper slice, because these weren't older children, children struggling at the brink of adulthood, these were the faces I see every day. Their ages and the circumstances made th...

I had the best first week of school. This isn't hyperbole. I really believe I had the best first week of school I've had since my very first year when I really didn't know any better. And you know, maybe it's kind of the same thing - I'm in a new place. It's shiny and exciting. The kids and I don't know what to expect from each other yet. I haven't offended any staff members or parents yet. But it's more than that too. I was trying to explain it to some friends who still teach where I used to, and I was doing a terrible job of it. I'd said it was "like the expectations are equally as high, but maybe more grade level appropriate?" and flapped around vaguely. The girls knitted their brows and nodded, clucking that they sort of knew what I meant. I tried telling my husband, who is also a teacher, that it had "more of that feeling of elementary school, you know, like how it feels when you're a student and you feel cared for and...

I'm an Idaho-sized Edulebrity, and I think I'm uncomfortable with it. This week, I'm presenting at and attending a large conference. People are recognizing me from other state or regional conferences I've presented at. I've reached a thousand followers on Twitter. (which feels like an insane amount) This tweet happened: I'm completely flummoxed. Not because I don't think I have great things to say - I mean, let's be honest, I'd totally  follow me - but because I'm not *doing* anything to get noticed. Yes. I'm active on Twitter. Yes. I blog pretty consistently about things happening both in my classroom and my real, human life. Yes. I present at conferences in memorable ways with useful content. But I'm not doing that because I want to get picked up by a publisher or (sweet Cheez-its, no) be considered a "Thought Leader." I'm not out hustling and promoting my brand . Enter this morning's keynote. The author of Br...

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...