I seem to be collecting projects lately. It’s really getting out of hand.
Cheryl invited me to join in on this project this year. I’ve watched her post her own 12x12 posts each month for a while, and always thought it seemed like fun.
Here’s the concept: On the 12th day of each (of 12 months) you take 12 pictures. Then, you do something a little like this…
*You can click on the collage and it will open larger in a new window.*
From the top left corner, working clockwise:
My breakfast this morning, unexpectedly provided by students. This is why I need to lose weight - my students love me and spoil me. Note to self: Be meaner.
My officemate and I chatted this morning about how wearing tights makes us feel spunky. Well, she likes tights; I like boots with tights. Either way, we laughed.Note to self: The pirate boots are soon to be retired.
One of the perks of teaching where my daughter goes to school: I love walking down the hall and smiling at her picture hanging outside her room. Even when I’m not running into her at lunch or in the hall, I get to see her smiling face.
When I picked up my class from media today, a student noticed an old typewriter on display among other tchotchkes. I overheard him marvel, “Woah…it’s a typewriter…” Obviously, I found this amusing. After polling my class, about half of my 26 4th graders had never seen a typewriter before. Note to self: I. Am. Old.
A coworker of mine just got a new baby dachshund, Ellie, to replace the one they lost recently. I couldn’t resist a little after school puppy playtime! Ellie is wrestling a friend’s glove while wearing a Build-A-Bear t-shirt.
That’s my Big Boy, my last picture taken today. Bo, I feel the same way, buddy.
Breakfast for dinner! The girlies set the table for me. Didn’t they do a good job?
I tutor after school for the “Extended Day” program at our school. It is the first job in my entire life for which I’ve ever had to actually use a time card! I think it’s pretty darn cool…I feel like Laverne and Shirley!
After school meeting amongst the teachers who tutor. Talking data, rituals & routines, tu-tus, talking bananas…you know, good stuff like that.
Where my bootie was planted for a decent chunk of the day today. We [my classes and I] are totally engrossed in this chapter book right now. We’re only a few chapters from the end – and you know what that means! We can’t put it down!!!!
Lunch. Mmmm, mmmm, good. Diet DP and Baked Ziti at my desk, laughing with my officemate, tweeting, and breathing.
And finally,
The center photo is the coaster on my desk at home. She’s my role model.
I can’t wait for February 12th! What a fun project!
PS – Do you or any bloggers you know participate in a 12x12 project? If so, leave me a comment with links. I’m looking forward to checking out other peoples’ pics!
That is my all time favorite church song. As an adult, I attended a particular church for a while mostly because they sang this song every Sunday at the end of the service. And, I loved the pastor. He was like a loving grandfather, welcoming everyone into his humble home. Even heathens like me. :)
December first marks, for many, the beginning of the holiday season. The season of giving. But, sadly, I truly believe that this “season of giving” has become much more of a “season of shopping, stressing, and spending”. I’m trying so hard this year, as I watch my daughters grow, and pray they don’t get jaded to that “giving” part, to focus on the spirit and heart of the season.
Hell. When I think of it that way, who needs a season?
I want my girls to be givers. I want them to be filled with hearts overflowing with love for their family, friends, and fellow humans. I want them to care about the world and the people and the air, the water, the trees, the wind, the clouds in the sky, and butterflies and puppies and apples. I do not want them to wander lonely through this world with clear vision only as far as the end of their own nose. I do not want them to view their beliefs, their thoughts, their needs as supreme and righteous, but rather, as one of many valid perspectives.
Not only do I want them to love and care for others, but I want them to love and care for themselves. I want more for them than I have been able to give to myself. I see them through mother’s eyes: eyes that see clearly every fault and every virtue – and love them just the way that they are. They’re perfect, even their imperfections.
Over and over and over again I’ve preached to BigGirl, “All I expect is that you do the best you can do,” so much that she now cuts me off and finishes the sentence with that annoyed tone we’ve all used with our mothers. The one that sounds like the teachers and parents on Charlie Brown. The one that says, “Would you stop saying that already?” But it’s true. I expect her to do her best at everything. Everything. Not just school work and dance, but friendship. Sisterhood. Being a daughter and a dog owner. Being a citizen of the Earth.
I have a friend who told me once that when her daughters were young she told them, “When you lie to me, I can see crosses in the back of your eyes.” She also said, “Even when Mommy and Daddy can’t see you, God is always watching.” (No offense, folks…but see what I mean about being Catholic?)
I want them to carry God, Buddha, the Golden Rule, karma, whatever it is they decide to believe in one day, in their hearts always. I want them to be proud of their every decision – or at least 99% of them. I want them to sleep well at night knowing they gave to the world. They made a difference in someone’s life each day.
I read this article today that discussed the importance of giving. It’s important in ways you may not have suspected. I’d like to try this project, and I would love it if you would join me.
Give a “gift” everyday for a month.
Mind you, “gifts” aren’t always tied in pretty paper and ribbons. A gift, says the article, could be simply saving the last piece of cake for your husband. Or, perhaps you go out of your way to make your children their favorite meal one night. Perhaps you give your change to a neighbor’s or friend’s child. Perhaps you volunteer your time in a classroom – helping someone other than your own child. Maybe you bring your co-worker coffee unexpectedly one day. The bottom line is – do something thoughtful and nice for someone without expecting anything in return, other than perhaps a smile and a “thank you”.
I’m going to try it. I hope you will too.
Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me.
As a teacher, I totally "get" the idealistic thinking behind assigning projects to students. I completely understand the lofty goals that accompany the standard "Dear Parents" letter, detailing the project guidelines, due date, and scoring information. After all, projects are authentic learning. They give students choices. They close the gap between home and school. They are directly linked to standards. The possibilities are endless when you truly unleash your little learners and say, "Go! Be free and LEARN!!!"
As a student, I often shared my teachers' glorified visions of excellence. I'm sure I secretly (or perhaps not so secretly) strived at times to be the best: turn in the fanciest diorama, write the longest report, or build the biggest balsa wood Aztec dwelling. I do not doubt that I (at least internally) wanted my speech to get the most laughs, my science fair project to win the blue ribbon, and my work to receive the highest honor. I WANTED that 100/A+!
Now, enter phase two of my life...parenthood. In many ways, projects are a curse. They take over my life. They cost money - money for which I had plans. Plans that didn't include buying jiggly eyes and felt. My evenings are quickly consumed by cracking the whip over BigGirl while repeatedly turning BabyGirl away. Trips to libraries to hunt down juvenile nonfiction books. Hours pouring over the internet researching the topic and sifting through websites looking for age-appropriate and applicable content.
However, projects as a parent aren't all bad. With each project, I fall in love with BigGirl's love of learning all over again. I am continually amazed by the wheels in her head. Her inquisitive nature and knack for piecing together random knowledge with memories is unbelievable. I love the time we spend together and, inevitably, I learn something new. And, for that, I'm always a better person in the end. It is during the hours of toiling away over these school projects that I am reassured - she will be OK. She will succeed in this rat race of a world. She will rise to the top like cream in milk. This girl of mine, she's going somewhere.
I also am reminded by my friend that these moments are memories in the making. Just as I will never forget the night I stayed up till "the middle of the night" (probably 10:00!) with my parents creating the greatest solar system model of all time, she will never forget the hour we spent interviewing a couple in Scotland via Skype. I will never forget how cool it was to use that awesome leftover silver metallic wallpaper (No, it was not from my own home. Daddy was a custom homebuilder.) to cover the outside of the moving box that housed my painted styrofoam planets suspended by fishing line. And BigGirl will never forget painting paper plaid and pleating it into a miniature kilt. Just as I will remember with a smile the pride I felt walking down the fourth grade hallway and seeing my solar system stand out in the row of models, I'm sure she will never forget the awkward pride she felt as her class watched her VoiceThread, and listened to her own voice teach her classmates about her heritage.
This project is not the first we've done together, nor will it be the last, I'm sure. We've made a gingerbread girl, a leprechaun trap, costumes for literary parades, a Hopi doll, and - the first projects ever - family books. (A tradition at our preschool.)
My heart swells as I compare these moments with my budding student to the moments from my own childhood. My diagram of a flower received special praise from my fifth grade teacher (the meanest teacher in the world) because I outlined everything in black to make the edges stand out. (I'm 99% sure she hated me and that was the only praise I received from her all year. That's why I'll never forget it.) That was also the year My Daddy helped me build the balsa wood Aztec dwelling. The next year, my mother drove me around to shoe stores searching for the perfect pair of lace-up ankle boots to accompany my Laura Ingall's Wilder era project. To be honest, I really don't remember that presentation, but I'll never forget the costume or the time spent preparing it with my mother. And I'm pretty sure she returned the boots immediately afterwards. We didn't have the money to be spending on those boots right then. Believe me. My mother helped me again soon. She helped me write an "award winning" speech in sixth grade, just after we moved to Florida. I even went on to the semi-finals - which was a big deal for "the new girl", who, prior to that point, was mostly known for talking with a Texas Twang.
At some point, probably high school, the time working with parents began to fade...as it rightly should. Projects became my own procrastination, and the memories changed. I can recall sitting in my bedroom for hours memorizing poems in French for Le Congrés, building my repetoire, line after line after line. My senior year, I remember sitting at my desk, staring at my bulletin board, searching for the inspiration for yet another speech. This one was about my great grandmother. I remember clearly the moment my eyes stumbled across the words from this Nike ad* (circa 1990) hanging there. It all fell into place.
"You don't have to be your mother unless she is who you want to be. You don't have to be your mother's mother, or your mother's mother's mother, or even your grandmother's mother on your father's side. You may inherit their chins, their hips, or their eyes, but you are not destined to become the woman who came before you, you are not destined to live their lives. So if you inherit something, inherit their strength. If you inherit something, inherit their resilience. Because the only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be."
And tonight, as I enjoy the relative calm in my home before the next project is assigned, I will remember that those moments spent on projects with my girls are irreplaceable. Those moments are a gift I give my BigGirl - and one day, my BabyGirl. It is in those moments that they will inherit from me, just as I inherited from my parents. It is on those moments that she will one day look back and smile.
Pssst! If you haven't seen it yet - you have to give my girl props. :)
And just for fun, check this out from last spring**. Heh, heh, heh.....
* I still love that ad, even today. Probably more than ever. ** Just so you know, I couldn't let BigGirl turn the project in since FireDaddy did it completely without her help/involvement. Her finished project was a shoebox with a trap door that had tissue paper grass covering the top and a shiny coin glued on top of the trap door. (Equally as ingenius, I thought...)
