There are days in teaching, where I come home feeling high with the euphoria of success. I have found just the right way to communicate what I want students to be able to do... and... they... have... done... it. I collect a bundle of poems from proud creator-hands and... the poem... are... transparent... and... whole. And then there are days like today when I come home holding my heart in shattered pieces, so tinny and broken I'm sure the shards will cut my hands. If I shared this story with my colleagues, and maybe I will, they would all have similar stories to tell, similar episodes of setting aside the huge stack of papers that need grading to listen to a child who doesn't possess a fraction of the words he needs to communicate just how much he's suffering. There are too many stories like mine today, too many tales of the adults giving up or going away, too many stony faces of children swearing that nothing is wrong when really their world seems to be held togethe...
This blog will inadequately capture my thoughts on topics from art, to inspiration, from education to equity. I am who I am, who I create myself to be, so the nature of me will shine through: as a mom, a wife, a teacher, a leader, and a seeker.