"Is that what I think it is?" A colleague laughed at lunch today. I looked down at my newest pandemic accessory, a black, zippered, around-the-waist bag... also known as a fanny pack. I've brought back the 1980's staple as a hands-free way to always have important things on my person while at school. It was suggested by a public health professional in a seminar I attended, and I ran with the idea. I have been getting a lot of questioning glances since I've begun rocking the fanny pack. At first, I was a little embarrassed, questioning if the convenience was really worth the side-eye... but after a few days, the verdict is in. The function is worth the fashion misstep. I always have pockets now, and I never set my phone or keys down on questionable surfaces. I always have the pandemic essential hand sanitizer and hand lotion on my person... and I have an extra mask in there too. Who knows what else might make its way into the fanny pack eventually? It's FAN-tastic. At the end of our outdoor lunch, another colleague momentarily misplaced her mask. I reached into the fanny pack and pulled out my extra, fresh disposable one, "I have one here if you need it! Don't diss the fanny pack!" |
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"Small groups of teachers have begun utilizing the stone benches in front of our school as a makeshift staff lounge for lunchtime. It's nice to have an opportunity to get outdoors in the nice weather, take a mask break, and interact face to face with plenty of space.
Today, our conversation turned to teacher self vs. real life self. "Oh my two selves are very, very distinct," one colleague said. Another chimed in, "The lines between the two blur for me, for sure." The pandemic definitely muddied the distinction between my work persona and real-life personality. Maybe it's because colleagues and students saw inside my home, watched me calm my dog, and even occasionally heard me shout upstairs to my husband, or saw him peek his head in my office to ask about lunch and see if I was "on camera". Even in the before times, I have always been an over-sharer. My colleagues and students generally get to know a lot about my life whether they want to or not. I'm forever using my husband and dog as examples for text-to-self connections in reading classes, writing about them for ELA, or using my life experiences to explain why I think one way or another. At lunch today, of course I said, "As you all probably know, I have trouble compartmentalizing my two selves since I'm such an oversharer!" Everyone laughed, but it made me think. How much of my home self is too much to bring to school, and vice versa? On the other side of the spectrum, my husband sometimes complains that I overuse teacher phrases at home, "What might we do here..." "Does that make sense?" even, "Can you please look up from your screen and show me you're listening?" Is it important to keep these two selves separate, or is it okay that they're all swirled together as me? Every Spring without fail, it returns.
A loud, trilling sound just outside my bedroom window, promptly at 5:54 AM. Without fail, I open my eyes, turn to the window, and silently curse the existence of this bird. I squeeze my eyes shut and will it to go back to sleep. I roll over to my husband and dog, both snoring in oblivion. I shove a pillow over my ears and attempt to get my last 35 minutes of rest, but maybe I should take a cue from that bird and wake up a bit earlier. I wish it had a snooze button. March is unpredictable, and maybe more so this year than ever before. One day it is freezing cold, even snowing, and the next it is short-sleeve, windows open, outdoor happy hour weather. In the state where I live, there’s a meme going around to describe this phenomenon. I’m sure there’s something like this for every state. We can’t control the weather, after all, and when we can’t control something we’re often bewildered by it.
I got to thinking about fool’s spring today because along with beautiful weather, today was our first day back in school with students. Much like the weather, it was hard to predict how today would go. Call it luck or credit it to preparation, either way, to quote one sixth grade student, today went, “much better than anticipated”. There were a few bumps, but overall, the kids and teachers were happy to be reunited, even masked and distanced. Here’s hoping that the weather and the return to school stay steadily spring-like. Mondays are for meal-prepping. I always cook at least two dinners on Monday nights to help set myself up for the week. Tonight, as I emptied the dishwasher, something was off. I tentatively peered down into the bottom of the dishwasher, and sure enough, dingy water was still hanging out in the tub. Sigh.
My husband and I are not handy. We try, but usually our attempts to fix or install things end in a more expensive ordeal than if we'd just hired someone at the outset, or replaced the broken thing. When we first bought our home, a townhouse-style condo, we had visions of improvement projects we'd embark on together. Chris and Joanna Gaines, perhaps not, but we thought we'd at least have an average person's capability for home repair. We learned some lessons the hard way. One that sticks out is trying to install a toilet paper holder in our downstairs bathroom, which ended in a full day of Ryan swearing, and having to drywall patch and re-paint an entire wall. It was a true disaster. I'll never forget the look of shame on his face when the contractor came in and asked, "So... how did this happen?" We recently had to replace our washer and dryer, but we didn't even try to fix those. It was their time to go. No regrets- our new appliances are fantastic. My laundry is fresher and drier than it ever was with those ancient things, good riddance. But now, the dishwasher, too? Sigh. Right now, Ryan is upstairs on the kitchen floor surrounded by mechanical parts and a bucket of gray dishwater. I can hear the youtube tutorial optimistically saying, "Dishwasher won't drain? It's usually an easy fix! Try these 3 simple solutions..." I'm downstairs, writing this slice, and googling "best dishwashers 2021" and "standard size dishwasher, stainless steel, ratings". Am I a pessimist, or a realist? Only time will tell. I had brunch with a friend today, and as we caught up on everything we haven't texted each other in the last 6 or so months, the conversation turned, as it often does these days, to the state of the world.
"I'm so glad things are starting to take a positive turn," she said, "but can I be honest and say there are some things I'm going to miss about the COVID-era?" We made a list of things we can keep from this last year:
What are your covid-era keepers? Did we miss any good ones? Almost exactly one year ago, I drove 2 hours each way to attend a first birthday party for my friend's son. At the time, it felt a little silly. "No pressure, Katlyn! You live so far away!" I remember Justine reassuring me that if I chose to celebrate with them in spirit instead of driving to PA, she wouldn't be upset. My friend group has so many little ones in it now that first birthday parties aren't the catered, firehall sized ordeals they once were. Second babies get the short end of the stick sometimes, a homemade cupcake instead of a fancy bakery smash cake, some hand me downs from older brother instead of all new gifts, a small party with family and close friends... first birthdays are more for the parents, anyway, right? Nonetheless, something told me I should go. "August will only turn 1 once!" I resolved. I cued up my broadway soundtracks (the best for solo driving) and ventured north for the day. I visited my parents and my grandmother, making some stops on the way to the party to break up my trip. I used to do this kind of thing all the time. I didn't think much of stopping into my grandmother's assisted living for a 10 minute visit, a quick chat, a cup of coffee, a hug. "See you in a couple weeks!" I remember dropping into my parents' house for a bathroom break on the trip. I don't even think I saw them. Just ran into the house to pee, probably grabbed a drink from the fridge, and went on my merry way. Then when I got to the party, I remember crowding in Justine's kitchen and living room covered with little kid toys. My friends' kids crawled all over me as we played and read together, and then sang happy birthday to August. I split a beer with my 3 closest friends, all of us jammed on one couch, close together, like we have done since high school. We passed the can back and forth, laughing and reminiscing about how everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed in our 18 years of friendship. I thought back on this day today as I ran some errands. My group text pinged with a picture of August, now 2, eating his slice of birthday cake. Who would have known what this year would be? I can't help but wonder if things will ever be like this again. When is the next time we'll feel comfortable stopping to visit multiple households in one day? Cramming so many people into a small space? Blowing out birthday candles? Sharing a drink? For now, I'd settle for seeing my friends and their kids in person, not through a screen. Hugs would be a bonus! Hopefully, soon. In the last 24 hours, I've had a crash course in classroom setup for concurrent instruction.
This morning, I began helping a colleague set up her webcam at 8:30, then as I walked out, I was called into another place to help, and then another, and another... before I knew it, it was 12:30 and I hadn't set foot in my own classroom, but I felt so good nonetheless. Being back in the building has been overwhelming at times, having to learn new technology like goosenecks, webcams, amplifiers, and what will cause feedback when and how... but it has also been so refreshing. I feel like myself again, I feel useful, and every time I can help someone solve a problem, I get that rush of adrenaline I've missed in the days of basement teams meetings. It's hard to know through a screen how overwhelmed someone really is or what problem they might be grappling with that they aren't mentioning... but in person, I can look around a classroom, see what needs to be done, and help with the doing. I know I still have a lot to learn, but I'm feeling like this week I was thrown into a pool and asked to swim, and now I have the doggy paddle down. Now that I can stay afloat, I'll have time to move onto more advanced strokes. I'm excited for the possibilities! When my alarm went off at 5:40 this morning, I had regrets. When I laced up my sneakers, I had regrets. When I pulled into the parking lot and it was still dark, I had regrets. When I took off my coat and shivered in the early morning cold, I had regrets. I began my warmup outside the community center in the parking lot that has become my gym since the pandemic began. My personal trainer walked up with a too-excited grin. "GOOD MORNING! Are you ready for a tough one today?" I groaned. I am not a morning person. I usually work out after school, but today this was the only time that worked. I was not thrilled. "We're doing 100's!" He clapped and watched my reaction with glee. 100 repetitions each of 10 exercises. It's a challenging workout, both mentally and physically. I prefer short sets with lots of transitions, or high intensity intervals in my cardio workouts- sustaining one thing for too long bores me. I picked up the medicine ball for my first set. By 40 reps, I had gotten into a rhythm, and became almost mesmerized by the smack of the 20 lb ball slamming into the pavement. Counting the reps started to feel almost like meditation. Keeping it up got tough at 80. A slow-motion version of the movement I began the set with. The last 10 were brutal. The 100th rep felt like a victory, though. "What's next?" I asked. No more regrets about my morning workout. I stared down at the collection of tangled black cords below my desk. They were nested together like a den of snakes, and I feared them almost as much. I heaved a sigh, chose a cord, and tugged. The whole knotted mess jumped toward me. I recoiled. Every time I pulled one end, they seemed to tighten together in revolt, determined to stay fixed in place. I plotted a new plan of attack, this time starting from the wall. I ripped the plugs from all their ports until I could move the electronic mass to the middle of my classroom floor. What cord belonged to what item? How did this even happen? There had to be more cords than devices here. Do these things even work? I started the detangling again, hitting snag after snag. I felt a vibration and looked down at my fitness watch, "You seem stressed. Take a few deep breaths?" I screamed (internally). When the cords were finally sorted, I left them stretched across a table like a warning to any technology that might happen by. "I. Will. Conquer. You." |
AuthorI'm Katlyn Bennett- a middle school reading specialist, and bibliophile. Archives
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