As a teacher who helps coordinate recess, I spend a lot of time on the playground. I can’t tell you how many times a day a student approaches me with a bumped knee or upset stomach (Tire swing. Every time.) I know that sending that child into the nurse will not only significantly cut their recess time, but will take unnecessary health office triage… the short walk inside having miraculously cured the imminent ailment.
So my go-to answer is, ‘let’s give it the five minute check’. I ask them to come find me in five minutes and report if it is better or worse. As you can imagine, time and play are magical, and 90% of the time the student forgets or moves on; like handing their concern to another was just enough.
Sometimes the next five minutes is all we can handle. I think about the times in my life that I have been in intense pain. When you think beyond the next few minutes, you panic. You breathe through the most manageable tiny increments to get through.
A few weeks ago a dear friend lost her son. He was sixteen. There’s nothing I can type here that will justify what they have been through the last few months- from diagnosis to tragic loss. I can’t even attempt to put into words what they are feeling, but I am guessing they would do anything for just five more minutes.
The thing is, this is the friend who does all the stuff for others. Who organizes the care basket and special orders the ‘kicking cancer’s butt’ candle. The friend who graciously invites everyone over even if it’s been embarrassingly long. Who doesn’t hesitate to reach out, offer, cover, and continuously keep showing up. She’s the first person to comment on my writing posts, even when I feel like it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever written. I heard a story once about a beloved high school teacher who passed away. Many former students came to the funeral clutching a treasured note or special story, certain that they were this teacher’s favorite, only to discover that everyone else thought so too. This teacher had a gift for making each person feel like they were the most important. This is my friend Tanya. I can only hope she feels the love back right now that she has given out to others.
Maybe they are getting through five minutes at a time. Thinking about his wit, humor, heart, his faith. Honoring him through pictures, stories, the awe of a summer sunset, and a dragonfly landing softly on water.
To our dear friends, we love you. For five minutes and beyond.
A few years ago I took my youngest, Auggie, to a playground nearby. I chased him around for a bit, and then watched as he attempted to play with the two or three other kids at the park. Inevitably, he ended up at the big twisty slide. First standing at the top and throwing a shoe down; his grinning face hanging over the edge as he watched his size 10 Nike flop end-over-end to the gravel below. Next, he took off his socks (the obvious next step after losing the shoes), and began to hike up the slide to the top.
Another little boy noticed and took his shoes off as well, following closely behind Auggie to reach the summit. The two giggled and slid down to do it again. From across the playground I heard a fellow mom call out to her child, reprimanding him for his behavior. “Austin!” she shouted as she got closer, “SLIDES are for going DOWN only.” After her declaration she glanced, ever-so-slightly in my direction. Poor Austin gathered his shoes and began playing by himself in the tunnel.
And for a minute I felt the shame. What a horrible mother I was, with no boundaries for my child and all that exposure to peril. But then I stopped and thought about the facts:
1. There are three or four kids total on this playground (two of which were on the other side).
2. The info I’ve read on play in childhood has repeatedly emphasized how much kids need risky play. According to “The Anxious Generation” by Jonathan Haidt (more on this to come!), “…children need play that involves some risk to develop confidence and overcome their childhood anxieties.” In this situation, the worst case scenario is that Auggie falls off, a lesson any parent wants to avoid. But most likely he will test the edges, feeling the unease of being too close to falling. His body and muscles will adjust and he’ll gain the muscle memory and balance needed. But perhaps he gets run over by another child coming down? What a great social opportunity in how to look out for others, apologize, or navigate his own space safely.
3. Playgrounds today, including this particular one, have gotten increasingly ‘too safe’ hence- boring. Have you noticed why kids today are constantly pushing limits like these? Testing the edges of confidence and ability are cornerstones of a childhood equipping individuals socially and physically for adulthood.
In my position at an Elementary School, it is rare that I don’t make it outside for at least one or two grade level recesses. Partially because it’s an excellent time to connect with students socially (and recess tends to be frequent time to solve behavior issues), but I also enjoy working with the team that supervises daily. Over the last few years I have noticed many trends in play that are alarming and worth addressing head on. For example, when kids are bored, they push limits. Jumping off swings, running up slides, climbing too high, and running on equipment, are frequent concerns in the elementary playground liability world. But the irony is: by creating an “uber safe” playground, replete with smooth heavy plastic, low climbs, and the elimination of equipment like merry-go-rounds and tall jungle gyms, kids are more drawn than ever to create risk by using that ‘safe equipment’ in an increasingly unsafe way.
So what is the answer? Anyone with slight responsibility of liability concerns at schools will dodge this question instantly. The easy answer over the last thirty years has been to just avoid the risk. And with over 150 kids playing on the same areas, we simply don’t have the space and supervision staff to monitor and allow the risky play our kids desperately need for social and physical development.
If you haven’t read “The Anxious Generation” by Jonathan Haidt, it is an absolute must. I am currently only on page 93, but I would have recommended it after reading the intro. It’s terrifying what social media or a “Phone-Based Childhood” is doing to negatively contribute to youth mental health. Haidt describes how today’s parents are overprotecting in the real world (too safe playgrounds, not letting kids play outside enough unsupervised…) and under-protecting the virtual world. And truth be told, I say this from a parent’s perspective whom probably lets both of my kids have too much screen time on an average day. But it certainly gives me pause…
I’m left with a hope for a compromise. A playground that is safe, but allows for kids to test the edges and dabble in risk; gaining important social and physical wisdom researchers are finding many young adults to be lacking. I’m hopeful that we can continue to hire not just playground supervisors, but consultants. Monitoring safety, but helping kids to make good choices about how much risk is too much risk. As Haidt says in his book, “…they (kids) develop a broad set of competences, including the ability to judge risk for themselves, take appropriate action when faced with risks, and learn that when things go wrong, even if they get hurt, they can usually handle it without calling an adult.”
So did I really deserve that side-eye from another parent at the park?… Little did she know I was simply teaching a lesson on appropriate risk for my child’s physical and social development!
Take that, Austin’s mom.
*** The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt is definitely a hot read right now. Everyone from Oprah to Charly’s high school is taking notice and rethinking the role that phones and social media play. When Charly (high school sophomore) heard her school was inspired to make a phone-free policy, she was understandably upset. Trying to be sympathetic I asked what she was worried about. She mentioned how she texts her friends before assemblies, asking if they are in the auditorium yet and where they are sitting. I thought for a minute, and then reminded her of the lessons she was missing by texting that; how to walk into a room and look for friends, how to wait by yourself for a minute until others arrive. These are things my generation just did, but we are realizing now how different the social world is for our children. This is easily one of the most important books I’ll read all year.
We recently traveled as a family to Florida. Four days of volleyball nationals in Orlando, followed by three days at the beach in Sand Key near Clearwater. It was the perfect culmination to a fun but stressful end to my daughter’s club volleyball season. (November to June for the record!)
We spent a lot of time at the pool and beach, overestimating the capacity of standard sunscreen on our Minnesota skin. On the last morning, I sat with my son Auggie digging in the sand. Sweet boy wanted to create a “Throne for God” so we leveled off the soft white powder to form a platform and chair. Auggie stopped mid-scoop and said, “I love you mom.” As I was about to reply the same, he added, “…and the Tesla.”
Granted, when we bought a Tesla a month ago it was an eight-year-old boy’s dream car. Lots of tricks and toys, it can “drive itself”, and the turn signal noises can be changed to a fart sound. (Insert peals of laughter from the backseat for a week straight.) I wasn’t offended to share his sentiments with the new car… in fact it warmed my heart to be added to the ranks of his current favorite obsessions.
But it did get me thinking about where we place our value. Who and what is in our inner circle…making the priority cut for the day. Most of us would say family first, but what next? Job…pets…health…physical fitness? And although we like to think we can do it all, the truth is- for our sanity- we can’t prioritize it all. I realized this recently by discovering why I am so anxious in crowds; I am always trying to survey the entire scene. Take for example walking through a convention center where over 150 volleyball courts are being used; inhabited not only by players, coaches and refs, but all the friends and family that accompany them. As I walked through the crowded passways in between courts I am constantly trying to see it all; Do I know any of those teams and parents? That boy is crying… is he lost? Is anyone hurt? That guy kinda looks like Santa… Why is she wearing a prom dress at a volleyball game?…
It’s no wonder I become easily overstimulated and end up snapping at people. What should I be prioritizing? How about… Which court am I going to? Does my athlete and family need anything? Where can I sit and watch? Rather than aim to “save” the whole convention center, I would be so much better off expending energy and brain capacity on my core people. It brings to mind a shirt I see advertised on social media a lot. It says “I like dogs and maybe three people”. And while I certainly like more than three people out there, it’s a humorous nod to the human practice of simplifying. Of focusing on the ones that need you most right now, and what is most important in each present moment.
This isn’t to say we can’t plan ahead or set goals or expand our friendship count, but more a reminder that we are at our best when we do one thing at a time well. In this start to summer I feel this deeply. I always begin my “three months off” with a lofty goal of cleaning, organizing, doing learning and field trips with my kids and reading all the books I said I was going to currently piled under my nightstand. In reality…looking at this summer goal list has the opposite effect of organization. It leaves me in cold sweats, heart pounding, overwhelmed at all of the things I need to do and could do and should do.
Years ago, I heard an acronym to use to prioritize your day: PIES. PIES means to do something in each of the four categories every day; Physical, Intellectual, Emotional, Spiritual. Thinking about just those four things lessens the cold sweats and helps me feel like I’ve accomplished something despite my giant goals. I can fit something from my lofty summer list into those four areas, carving out time with family members as well.
While driving in rush hour yesterday, I was alerted to a loud beeping while the steering wheel turned slightly in my grip. Apparently I had moved a bit close to the outside line of my lane and Tesla had employed a safety correction on my behalf. I chuckled and thought, well what do you know… it turns out the Tesla loves us too.
***Since summer is my fiction and fun era, I am soaking in every narrative I can find. And while I realize I’m about four years late to the party, I finally read Educated by Tara Westover.I was mesmerized by her unorthodox journey to the intellectual life. It was reminiscent of another past favorite memoir- Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Educated reminded me of how enjoyable memoir is and the artful craft of painting a memory so vividly. An excellent read.
When my high school daughter was little she loved going to Cherry Berry. (Ok, she still does, but it was on another level of joy at five years old.) I can still picture her in deep contemplation, standing in front of the tall metal levers- debating over which frozen yogurt flavor to unleash in twisty strands. Inevitably, she ended up with a hodge-podge of a masterpiece in a small cardboard bowl; half cookies and cream, half mango and don’t even get me started on the toppings. A dash of chocolate chips, a smattering of nerds candy, definitely some gummy bears and topped with a generous dusting of sprinkles.
I watched her lips turn candy colors as she bounced excitedly in place on the vinyl couch in the lobby, stirring her concoction into a lovely puce brown. “How does that taste?”, I asked, my face scrunching up in disgust, assuming she would learn the hard way the art of embracing like flavors. “Delicious”, she’d announce, continuing to bounce and giggle, swinging her feet and scooping.
My daughter’s philosophy on Cherry Berry frozen yogurt seems like a metaphor for embracing life’s best parts, and mixing them into something that is real and true and honest. When life is full of so many choices, why must we chose one or the other?
~I adore a bold, red zinfandel…but nothing beats a chilled glass of sauvignon blanc in the summer. ~I’d delight in a dog to go on runs with- protecting me from creepers and the occasional rouge paper bag, but curling up with a cat in my lap is my favorite way to end a day. ~I love my Catholic church community, but sometimes I push back on mandates from the Vatican that don’t embrace loving people entirely.
Can I be loving and firm at the same time? Yes! Such is the ultimate dichotomy of parenting. Comforting my child but holding firm to the denial of the second brownie before bed, despite the tears.
Do I have a heart for both public school and private school? Without a doubt. The structure and support the public schools have battled for and the infusion of prayer in my child’s day are both things I’m thankful for.
And to my fellow educators: Can we follow multiple systems like PBIS and Developmental Designs? Absolutely. Why not take the best from each and make a plan for students that we feel good about sharing? Let’s fill in the gaps with other programs that carry nuggets of wisdom. I’ve seen so many miserable schools be forced to adopt a curriculum that is 70% good and 30% crap (or more). They are then required to teach to the letter- forcing teachers to plan lessons that don’t align with what they know kids need to succeed.
We live in a society that wants to define everyone. As if attaching a category to each person will help us rationalize where we stand in all of it. But the truth is- no one can be defined entirely by one category. The nature of the human condition is that we are each our own type of uniqueness- our experiences and memories shaping our preferences and decisions.
In embracing the cohesion, I hope to also pause the assumptions. To remind ourselves labels aren’t always fully encompassing of the beautiful soul hidden beneath a whole lot of “identifying factors”. And maybe taking a stand on something means saying, “I will decide in that particular situation what is best.”
So here’s to those living what is true and honoring their values. Blend the programs! Mix the systems! Put the damn chocolate chips and Nerds candy in the same bowl and stir hard.
And for the record, my daughter read the intro to this and smiled… “I’d still eat that.”
***I’m currently in the midst of Life in Five Senses by Gretchen Rubin (you may have read her bestseller, The Happiness Project). Recently featured on Jen Hatmaker’s podcast “For the Love”, Life in Five Senses has me really rethinking my day. It’s scary how routine-driven we get…powering through and not noticing most of what passes by. I love her writing, and am trying my best to take her advice to heart. Pulling in our senses forces us to be more present with our crew. Sadly, this week I attended a funeral of a former student. Seeing this gut-wrenching loss through the eyes of her parents makes me want to soak up every minute with my children. To watch their faces while they play; the way Auggie sings joyfully off-key along with tv commercials, and how Charly always says “love you” before she jumps out of the car to go to all the places. Gretchen Rubin has written a beautiful tribute to experiencing life.
I am in a season of auto pilot. Drive the kids, order groceries, make dinner, go to work, maybe sneak in a run or a workout. Repeat. We joke that we are day-by-day, planning the next day of coparenting and codriving. On top of that, this is the second weekend in a row, by sheer bad timing, that I’ve been running the Wangen show on my own.
So this morning, I made it a point to get to church. Having missed last weekend, I needed to ward off the Catholic guilt that inevitably creeps into the default weekend setting. Towards the end of mass, I turned the page in the worship guide to find the penultimate hymn entitled with one simple word; Unwavering.
And to my absolute surprise, I had a physical reaction to that word. My stomach dropped, and I felt a rush from head to toe. Tears beaded the corners of my eyes as I felt the trusting fullness of that one word.
Unwavering.
It’s what I hope my faith is. It’s what kind of mother and wife I aim to be. It’s how I plan to be as a support teacher, and a trusted friend, and a fellow human
But it’s also what we ask for from others. What we ask from family and God and our own support crew.
I’ve always been inspired and sparked by words. I’m often blown away that one, or two words together can encapsulate everything you are trying to say. Often I will be stunted while writing; the perfect word shimmering just out of reach below the surface. Something I can feel and describe, but not name.
But here it was- unwavering. The inspiration and antidote I didn’t know I needed.
This afternoon I stood on the 89 degree (rare for October 1st in Minnesota!) driveway. Hot air blew through my hair as I watched Auggie scooter around and play. And for the first time in a long time I felt a bit more grounded; roused to be unwavering in my love for my family. Unwavering in my belief in what’s right for students. Veering off course just enough to dip a toe in exhilaration or beauty. Holding back the mundane just long enough to be exactly that: brilliantly unwavering. And unwavering in the quest to shake off the auto-pilot and gravitate towards fully showing up for life.
*** In the vein of unwavering transparency (see what I did there…) I have to admit- I did not finish this book yet. However, it’s one of those books that I’m savoring as I make my way through. An appreciation for poetry snuck up on me and allowed for the relish of everyday. There’s a reason Amanda Gorman has wildly exploded into popular culture. Recommended for all who love the perfect word choice. I’m so excited to keep reading Call Us What We Carry. ***
Here’s the first. Years ago I had a hard conversation with a friend at the time. She had been distant, so I summoned up my courage and asked if our friendship was ok. The floodgates opened and she responded with a laundry list of ‘offenses’ I had committed over the last few months. Although it was a humbling opportunity to be reminded to watch how my words are received, I was most hurt by the length of the list. It told me she put genuine attention into cataloging my flaws. Rather than address it with me, she complied them until they exploded into a shame-filled awkward conversation.
My mom used to tell me to keep a twenty in my purse. She had read that luck attracts luck, good fortune attracts good fortune, and wealth attracts wealth. Truth be told, I am the worst at carrying cash, but I always think of that as metaphor when I do have cash on hand and hope it magically multiplies in my wallet.
Lastly, I read a post from a behavior educators page on Facebook last week. A teacher was planning to catalogue every negative behavior and movement of her students. She plotted to take extreme care to list every finger and toe out of line in order to gather more data on how to solve the negative behaviors. I too have a goal of gathering more data this year in order to figure out what that behavior is trying to communicate, but all I could think of was one question: If I’m constantly looking for negative behavior, does it become my focus? Sometimes, although well-intentioned, what we focus on increases. If I am noticing only the mistakes and aggressions these children (especially those from hard places) are making, then that list will inevitably grow.
As many educators have learned, when you call students out for the things they do right, we end up encouraging and noticing the positive behavior. I’m not suggesting we ignore the opportunities to correct a problem behavior, but I think I’d like to focus first on what’s right and beautiful about the students we work with.
In full honesty, I had a rough August. Nothing major, but I let myself internally complain about the tasks around the house, the pressures of the kids, and general annoyances about my family. The only thing I achieved was a constantly stressed attitude and a negative mental health outlook. It’s time to shift.
Yesterday afternoon I gave in to the fall vibes and bought my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Then I splurged and bought one of our favorite red zinfandels from a well-liked Sonoma County vineyard. I took a break from the Saturday laundry factory and allowed a moment to read on the deck. I intentionally spent the day searching for the good and relishing in it.
I know I’ve written about gratitude and blessings before. But it’s clear to me that I need constant reminders to choose the silver lining as my focus. To smile at dear friends’ conversations, and buy the favorite wine.
I find myself desperate for a life of magnetic happiness. Chasing the good and wonderful and treasured. Later I’ll finish the laundry train and get ready for the week. But I might also stop and get a twenty for my purse. Because you just never know….
Cheers to searching for the good.
*** Education friends: I recently finished Hacking School Discipline. And although there were a few suggestions that were geared more towards high school, I thought it was a great read for schools who are looking to imbed more restorative discipline. An emphasis on teaching behaviors rather than assigning arbitrary consequences and demanding compliance out of fear.
She was another mom in a group of friends my daughter hung out with when she was little. I really enjoyed her; great sense of humor, always willing to have the girls get together, and pleasant to chat with. But there was a hesitancy about this mom friend. A slight pause, a glancing shadow crossing her gaze every once in a while; a sense of guardedness I didn’t find in the other moms of the group.
One day in conversation about a sad event that happened to a mutual friend, this mom revealed that her sibling had died as a young adult in a tragic, sudden way. After expressing my immediate sympathy my next thought was… ‘ oh…she sees the thestrals.’
**Please allow a slight digression into my inner dorkdom about Harry Potter….**
According to Harry Potter creator, J.K. Rowling, thestrals are dark, skeletal winged horses who are invisible to everyone except for those who have witnessed death. And because Harry witnessed a tragic death at the end of the previous book, he is able to see these beasts easily, in comparison to his happy-go-lucky buddy Ron who cannot.
And although Harry Potter is a work of fiction (um, genius fiction), I do think this concept has some actual parallels to reality. Not so much as seeing creatures that others cannot, but in some people carrying a depth of life that not everyone does.
I’ve always prided my ability to ‘read’ a person. I feel like I’m a good judge of character, and normally enjoying seeing the best in everyone. And for certain people, like the mom friend above, I can sometimes sense when hearts are heavier than others. I see it while working with a sweet student who lost her dad recently. I see it in another student whose sister is going through treatment for a serious medical condition, and around a friend who repeatedly miscarried through her early marriage.
I also want to be clear and say that this ‘darkness’ (for lack of a better term) is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, people I know who can indeed “see the thestrals” are some of the most grounded, even-tempered, caring people I know. Perhaps a dose of tragedy, although to be avoided at all costs, gives people a sense of importance and value in life. Last year in my blog I talked about a book by Susan Cain called Bittersweet. Cain talks about how it is in that darkness and sadness (sorrow she says) that our life becomes whole; rich and purposeful. Not suggesting that we all must witness trauma to be real people, but simply the idea of embracing all layers of emotion, rather than hiding from it- as we’re told by society to do.
And to some extent we’ve all experienced something that changed us. It doesn’t have to be a tragic death, but maybe a hard family situation or a toxic job environment.
Recently, my son had a friend over that he hadn’t seen in a year. Over that year, this little boy went through extreme family changes and loss. I watched his little hands as the boys took turns petting the cat and building with legos. My heart ached for this little guy and what he’s been through… And although this sweet boy will forever now see the thestrals, he is also still whole. Perhaps where there is loss, other people will rise up to not fix but fill in the gaps; seeping through the edges in the form of aunts and uncles and cousins and dogs and love.
*** I just finished the young adult version of Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. It was paid for by a grant my dear friend Christie got for Shakopee Schools from the Mdewakanton Sioux Community. This book was the perfect way to start my summer. I sat on my deck while the summer breeze rippled the pages and read about indigenous practices involving plants and gratitude. It made me appreciate the gift of my vegetable garden, and breathe deeply as I walk through the nature trail in my neighborhood. Delightful.
Another school year down and I finally (finally) find myself in my happy place on the desk with a glass of raspberry iced tea. And although I am beyond exhausted, I am grateful and reflective about my first year in this position (K-5 Student Advocate/Social Emotional Teacher).
I have never had a year of work where I learned so much, went through so many emotions, and made more connections. A few friends have asked me to summarize what I’ve gathered this year. And although this list is not exhaustive…here are my top five:
#1- “Assume best intentions”. As a support teacher who works with all areas of school, I got to work with a lot of people. And everyone fully believes they are fighting for what is best for kids. The way something works for one, might not for someone else… but we all care about kids.
#2- “Faith is faith“. This year I got to work with several Somali students. A coworker recommended I read “From Somalia to Snow” (linked below) and it was fascinating. I had several honest, open conversations with muslim students this year. We asked each other questions about holidays and beliefs. I learned so much about the Somali culture and feel a closer bond with their community.
#3- “Change is good for the heart”. Many asked me if I missed being in the classroom. I definitely missed having a ‘crew’ to make traditions with and plan fun lessons for. The beginning and end of the year is a bit lonely as a support teacher; with so many classes doing fun events with just their rooms. But besides that, I actually didn’t miss the classroom as much as I thought. I love my new position. I love trying to solve behaviors and teach kids how to identify when they are dysregulated and what they need. It’s hard to leave the comfort of a work groove you’ve known for decades. It would have been easy to keep going through the routine in the classroom, but my heart needed a new route.
#4- “Lead with love and compassion”. If there was a phrase I said way too much this year it was “We can be firm and loving at the same time.” I implore the education system to remember that firm boundaries don’t always mean yelling and negativity. Can I deliver a consequence while giving a hug? Yes! When we get down on the level with a child and comfort them, does that mean we’re not holding them accountable for the mess they made? Not at all. I’m not saying yelling isn’t justified at times, but teaching a behavior through modeled respect and shared decision making communicates dignity and support.
#5- When in doubt…lean in.” I started the year not knowing any kids at my school. My former students had long moved on and I was very much ‘the new lady in the hall’ to most. At first I was hesitant to reach out…especially to those cool big kids. But as the year went on, I watched more. I watched the kid who seemed a bit down, the kid who was always alone, the kid who rarely smiled…and I chose to engage more; smile, say hi, ask how their day was. I would rather reach out, even when it’s awkward, so that child knows there’s another adult who is looking out for them. Every morning on the way to school I pass a high schooler walking to her bus stop. I don’t know her hardly at all, but her family has gone to our church. Some days I think- I’m sure she dreads that obligatory wave back every morning…but I’ve also decided I don’t care. High school is hard, man. What if that wave is a simple reminder that she is cared for…even by weird moms of random neighbors.
And so I end this year just being so very glad. I’m glad to have a principal who fought for this position. I’m glad to have coworkers that invited me in and let me co-love their students. I’m glad I got to be vulnerable and admit I was still learning something.
And I’m real glad for this raspberry iced tea with my feet up on the deck on a summer afternoon.
Happy summer, all.
** From Somalia to Snow was a great read! Easy to get through and taught me a lot about Somali culture. I’m happy I read it.
“We need your help, Mrs. Wangen!”, I heard as two kindergarteners pulled on each of my arms, dragging me across the snowy field just beyond the Sweeney Elementary blacktop. I approached a huddle of eight or nine stocking-capped heads hunched over a spot in the snow. “We found something!”, one of them smiled up at me, as they scraped their mittened hands against the ground to reveal a large man-hole cover beneath the snow.
“What does it say?!” another inquired, as the letters S-E-W-E-R appeared beneath their furious digging. “It says sewer”, I stated, bracing for the let down. “What’s that?!”, another asked, her bright eyes wide as she traced the concentric circles in white paint on the metal cover. A little boy grimaced, “I think it means death slide.” He whispered the last two words as his eyes slid ominously over to the adjacent cemetery.
“Well, it’s where all the water goes when you wash your hands or when there’s extra rain.” My explanation was muffled by other five-year-old theories until the original arm puller bellowed, “Let’s find another mystery!”, and they all took off around the field, hopeful to find another ‘death slide’ buried under mounds of melting white.
There’s truly never a dull moment helping with Kindergarten recess, and I chuckled over this scene the rest of the day.
These past weeks, months, have been hard. Hard for Minnesotans- weary of snow and dull grey, and hard for educators. School systems are in awkward limbo between contending with the residuals of pandemic disruption and the vestiges of “what always used to work in schools”. I’ve never heard so many rumblings of unrest, survival, and exhaustion within our schools.
Being on that snowy field yesterday and watching the wonder of that curious group of Kindergarteners reminded me of why we show up. Because we want them to remember elementary school with fondness. Of discovering mysteries and wondering what it could be. Of feeling the joy of discovery in the way an ordinary sewer cover looks after being hidden for months under snow.
I’ve struggled to write anything the past few months, obviously in part due to general exhaustion eclipsing any wisps of creativity. But it’s also an unexpected weariness from trying to constantly carve a new path.
A few weeks ago we had two snow days in a row; our already snow-covered yards taking on a generous top layer. Auggie and I stood at the top of the back yard hill with sleds, ready to put our snow day to use. The first ride down was slow, his sled getting repeatedly hung up on uneven mounds of drift and ice. The second run was quicker, and by his third pass down he was zooming down the chute. I couldn’t help smiling as a drew parallels to being in a new position this year. When I started my student support position I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to have to constantly fight for social emotional importance in an education system that doesn’t always value mental health. To be challenged and grow, and continue to work to not be misunderstood.
I am continuously thankful for my coworkers. While I know forging a new path is hard and exhausting, I am beyond blessed to be enveloped in the camaraderie of amazing humans at my school.
Eventually, winter in Minnesota will end. We’ll feel a bit of this discontent melt away with the snow, giving way to hope and spring sunshine. For now, I will hike up my snow pants and trudge out to that field. Letting myself be pulled into the wonder of learning, knowing the best we can do is show up for kids and rally for what we think is right- one sewer cover at a time.
Growing up, my grandparents always had a wood-burning fire on Christmas. I’m guessing the fireplace was used on other occasions, but to this date my childhood mind can only recall Christmases. I could smell it when we pulled up, my sister and I clutching our most treasured doll or Fisher Price speciality from the morning as we climbed out of the family’s brown Chevy Nova.
We stepped into the entryway and shook off coats, the woodsmoke filling our nostrils; the aroma of tradition and family. My sister and I bounded up the half flight of stairs to find my grandpa stoking the fire, welcoming us in his Scandinavian cardigan, donned especially for yuletide. My grandma peeked her head around the corner of the kitchen wearing her holiday crimson lipstick and Christmas apron ( which upon her passing I sport proudly every year in her honor).
To this day, when I smell a natural wood fireplace, part of me swoons, recalling Christmas memories when presents were magical and everyone seemed delighted.
I’ve never realized the power of the olfactory system in school as much as I have this year. Acting on an idea from a teacher Instagram post, I ordered an assortment of chapsticks before the school year started. Orange Fanta, vanilla bean ice cream, peppermint… an array scents and flavors. The teacher online used these, not on the intended lips, but as a small dot on the hand, the idea being students are able to smell what they have chosen for at least an hour after putting it on.
As I’ve learned, much of my job as a K-5 Student Advocate has involved keeping kids regulated and calm in their learning environments. The success of this simple chapstick intervention has made me realize these Instagram teachers are pure genius…
1. It’s an amazing distraction. When an upset student is in the hallway, under a table, fixated on an injustice like having to do math, or worse…the classroom ran out of goldfish for snack, my offer of coming to pick out a scent is just intriguing enough to shift their brains. If I can get them to change locations and topics, we can get to a place of reason and regulation.
2. When I offer the basket of chapsticks, I ask them to pick one that makes their hearts feel ‘happy and calm’. I feel like this plants a seed of hope. We both are well aware there’s nothing magical about the tube of artificial scent and wax, but by suggesting they choose a scent they like, it’s something tangible and sensory to shift their dysregulation to content.
3. They are naturally obligated to take deep breaths. Once we put a small dot on the back of their hands in the space between the pointer finger and thumb, I ask them to take a big smell. “Does it make your heart happy and calm?”, I ask, and 98% of the time the student will smile and nod.
Sometimes they need to come back later in the day for a refresh. The smell has worn out, they say. Often it’s more about the need for a movement walk to my room to get the scent, but it’s one simple way we can help students feel more in control of their big emotions.
Upon reflection, I shouldn’t be surprised that smells are so connected with emotion. The way my aunt’s purse always smelled like a peppery mix of leather and mint gum. The perfume I wore in college; rife with anxiety and new experiences. The baby lotion I used when Charly was a newborn, carefully massaging her chubby legs after a bath.
So I hope your holiday smells like comforting fireplaces, cinnamon cookies, and fresh pine needles. To those who are missing loved ones and powering through hard places this season- take that deep smell of something that makes your heart happy… even if it’s just a moment.
Teaching the Good Stuff 