Sometimes with all of the busy and all of the rushing and all of the stuff we have to do in schools, we can forget to be gentle. Sometimes gentle is the most important choice we make.

It’s the most necessary thing we can do.

It matters.

A morning can begin with loud and disruptive and off task and when all of our attention goes to those things, we might miss the one child who needed the room to be especially quiet. Who needed a little bit of time. Who needed a moment of special attention.

Yesterday, I found this child still in the cloakroom when everyone else was lining up for the library. He was sitting at the desk meant for quiet work hiding his head in his arms.

I could have shooed him off. Insisted he get in the line up. It was my prep time. I had lots to do.

But the room is his as much as mine. He needed it more than me right then. I told him I would be back and brought the class down to the library.

Gentle.

When I returned, he hadn’t moved. I gave him choices not questions. Did he want me to walk him to the library? Would he like to come and make coffee with me? Both choices involved him getting up and moving. He nodded at the coffee so we grabbed supplies —mini Bodum, a jar of coffee and yesterday’s cup — and headed out of the room.

In the staffroom kitchen, I talked as I completed simple tasks. Boiling the water. Filling the Bodum. Mindlessly reorganizing the spoons.

“Do you think the dishwasher is clean or dirty? I wonder if my favourite cup is hanging on the wall? I think I have some granola bars in the room. Are you hungry?”

He found me a cup I had used before. Peeked in the dishwasher and realizing it was empty, put my dirty cup inside. The wrong way up. I opened the dishwasher and showed him how it worked – where the water came from, how it swirled around. He ended his silence.

“How do you turn it on? What does this button do?”

We talked. Made a single cup of dark coffee. Side by side puttering by the sink.

Gentle.

“I have some things to do. Do you want to go to the library or stay with me?”

Little eyes peeked at me as we walked down the hall.

“You.”

I set up some prep work and handed him some math materials,

“Why don’t you do some more math?”

We worked side by side.

I sipped coffee. His energy returned.

He began recording equations on the white board. I offered him an entire day’s worth of attention within twenty minutes. Praise. Smiles. Little corrections.

It poured rain outside. Our temperamental heater kicked itself on. The class across the hall was quiet.

Coffee. Math. Quiet.

Gentle.

Somedays, they need more. Somedays, they need us to acknowledge all of the little things they might do. Somedays, they need especially to matter. Somedays, they centre themselves on our smile. Calm. Safe. Welcoming.

Gentle.

I got everything done. This little guy reset his morning. He went downstairs at recess and played games in the basement avoiding the rain. Content. Secure.

Today, I opened the novel I am reading to the class and found a homemade paper bookmark with my name on it. “Books are loved,” it says.

I held it up to look more closely and noticed him at my elbow.

“I made that for you,” he grinned at me.

Be gentle.

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.

Scene one: Reading Workshop. Conferences. Question this week is “How are you feeling about your progress with your Reading Challenge? What’s happening?”

Ms Gelson: Asks the question

Student: “It’s going really well. I have read so many books! Last year I just mostly read graphics. But since I’ve been in your class, I’ve read so many novels. I really like realistic fiction. And I LOVE historical!”

Ms. Gelson (outwardly) Smiles and takes furious notes. Checks student’s Reading Challenge chart. Smiles bigger.

(inwardly) Cartwheels. Like twelve of them!

Scene two: Thirty minutes later. Word Work. Students working independently. Resource Teacher arrives.

Ms. Gelson: Shares this quote from student. (Beaming)

Resource Teacher: (Expected big smile) “Amazing. That sounds like something you told her to say.”

Ms. Gelson: “I know! It’s that good.”

Various later scenes: Teacher engaged in various reflective moments recognizing the strength of the current reading community. The over stuffed book boxes. The long lists of names of students wanting to read titles just book talked. The student who is suddenly taking a book home every night. The hopeful requests, “Can you get the next one in the series?” The engagement during independent reading time. A reading community.

I know.

It’s that good.

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.

And we’re back.

Our two week break is over and things rolled out in first day after a break fashion.

There were new haircuts. New shoes. New glasses. New sweatshirts.

And all of us back together.

The smiles were big and sincere. The reality? Most of us were happy to be back into the routine. Despite early wake ups and late nights and tired all around, there was happy.

There was also testing. Pushing to the edge and then a little further. A specific word. A particular tone. Being where we shouldn’t when we shouldn’t. Doing things we aren’t supposed to do. The eyes always giving it away. “Yes, I know better but I’m going to try it and okay, yes, you noticed.” And then it stopped. Or it didn’t. Some of us need a few days to remember the way a classroom community needs to work.

There was magnetic pull. Visiting and reconnecting couldn’t be helped. We made room for it. Recess and lunch just weren’t enough. It’s hard to write when you have stories to tell in person. It’s hard to settle when you have too many wonders. “Did you see . . . ?” “Where did . . .?” “Did you know I . . . ?”

There were highs and lows in terms of emotions. Cranky. Distracted. Silly.

Some of us couldn’t stop smiling all day. School is about returning to a place of safety and belonging. Others were angry. The break wasn’t the best and now away from it, it was safe to express that. Some of us expressed it outwardly at others all day. Purging the angry. It was sad to watch. But our classroom is about all of us and this is what’s going on for some of us. We all experience pieces of what we each are going through.

We had to have one serious conversation about who we are to each other. Over and done in less than ten minutes. I recognized maturity, best intentions and contributions. Reminded that all of our actions are choices. Requested that we choose to give and not take away because we all learn best when we allow for space for all of us to be our best to each other.

There was more silence than usual from some. Contemplative thinking. Readjusting. Observing. Taking some time. Remembering how to be in our space.

There was ease with the familiar. We know reading. This is when the room is at its best. Most of us can get immediately lost in a book. Some went looking for new titles. I heard some children literally greeting books they hadn’t seen for two weeks.

We know listening to stories. If our learning community has tangible edges, this is when it began to take shape, to firm up, to smooth out. Our collective breath slowed. The calm was comforting and became deeper. Muscle memory. The connections were shared. The noticing happened. The building on each other’s ideas. Respect.

We know outside. Racing about. Skipping in time. Charging up rocks. Jumping over mud puddles.

We know each other. There was kindness and irritation as we all settled back in. Amusement. Contented socializing. Happy reunions. Laughter. Impatience.

To be expected adjusting.

No surprises.

We’re on route to recapturing our momentum, our rhythms, our way.

We need a few days.

Some patience.

Smiles.

Kindness.

Time.

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.

Tomorrow we return to work after two weeks away. I have a rough plan for the day. I went in twice over the break to clean and organize so an extra strong coffee and an early arrival should ensure that the day will flow.

Mostly, I have been checking the weather. What is going to be going on mid afternoon? Because by mid afternoon, we will all need a break. Despite my plans to ease back and take it slow, by 2 p.m., we will need to move. The kind of moving that involves fresh air, the chance to yell and the chance to run.

This is the most important thing on my day plan tomorrow.

Math is on there. We will do some number puzzles. Some partner games. Remind ourselves that we can do some tricky equations and problem solve without picking up a pencil. Pages of unanswered questions are not going to stare us down.

There will be time to write. About a picture book we need to finish. About our break if we so choose. Or to the author of the novel we finished for book club. The beginning of a story? There will be some options. But here, we will put pencil to paper.

Of course, we will read. And of course, I will book talk. We need to rev up the book excitement once more. So Reading Workshop will be extra long. Time to record our spring break reading. Time to reacquaint ourselves with the contents of our book boxes. Time to shop the shelves. Lots of time to read!

I will read aloud. Little bits all throughout the day. Our novel of course because it’s been two weeks and I was begged not to stop the last time I read it. Two weeks! A picture book for #classroombookaday because it’s not a regular day without a picture book. The title we were reading about residential schools and didn’t quite finish. There is time for this.

We need time to visit. Time to smile at each other. Time to walk in circles. Time to notice. Just time.

This is not a day for starting new. Not a day to be overwhelmed. It’s a day to do some work and get outside and run off the back to routine energy that won’t quite feel right. The most important part of our day will be to get out of the building. As a group. To race about and laugh and whoop.

And there’s a 60% chance of rain.

Hoping everyone brings a rain jacket.

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.

Confiscated lego. Paper hearts. Lineup drama. Finger spaces between words.

The land of primary. I miss it.

I miss the affected sneers and huge put on grumpy faces.

I miss the toothless smiles. Rosy cheeks. Shy grins

I miss sticky out pony tails and falling out braids.

I miss the giggles. The shushing. The tattling and the denial.

The wide eyes and the gasps at the smallest of things which often turn out to be the biggest of things.

Unabashed asking.

“Are you married?” “Who’s your husband?” “How much money do you have?”

I miss the repeating. The asking and telling again and again and again.

I miss sparkle dresses. Hairbands. Droopy tights. Polka dots.

I miss yellow rain jackets. Broken umbrellas. Muddy layers.

I miss new reader pride. Pages that take forever. Not breathing through one long stretched out sentence.

I miss little hands reaching for mine. Spontaneous singing. Silly little poems.

I miss stompy feet that seek out puddles. Dancing. Prancing. Spinning in circles.

I miss messy play. Toppled towers. Imagined lands. Race car lanes.

I miss the ease of imagination. The willingness to believe. The joy.

Paint splotches. Standing on chairs. Untied shoelaces.

I miss the love. The mush. The gush.

I spent much of the day shopping with my daughter. We went with things we needed in mind and came back with none of it. Ironically, we celebrated how well we did. Part of me celebrated that it was over.

I love the idea of shopping much more than the actual experience of it. The usual outcome: less money, tired feet and uncertainty about a bunch of things I will not care about in a day. Doesn’t seem worth it. Perhaps this is age.

I find I am usually only attracted to the colour and pattern of new styles hanging in windows. The styles themselves? Much less often. I like greens I wouldn’t wear. Florals on black. Rusty colours I could give amazing names to – burnt something or other, sienna, cactus flower. I’m not sure what any of those might be but I like to imagine. Again, the idea of all of this is quite wonderful. Much more wonderful than the doing of it: the traipsing from store to store, choosing things, trying things on, standing in lines.

The actual styles often confuse me. How can one hem on a pair of jeans be so popular this season when nobody thought twice about it in another? This no shoulder thing? Oh my. Wrapped skirts, wrapped shirts, wrapped this and wrapped that look all too confusing. And the silhouette of boxy cropped shirts. Yeah. Well.

This is me. Old, I remind you. Can’t keep up. Can’t be bothered to.

Not to say I don’t like fashion. I do. But my fashion sense seems to be summed up by this rule: find something that works and hit repeat. When I shop, I gravitate towards the same things over and over in slightly different variations.

Really long sweaters. Huge scarves. Sleeveless tunics. Dresses I would never wear with bare legs. I like linen. Jersey. Cotton. Never wool. Wrinkles that should be there. Too much grey. Natural colours – muted, nothing bright. Anything printed in serious moderation and ideally, amusing. Ravens on scarves. Giraffes on a silk sleeveless blouse I found at the consignment shop. A blue dress with tiny white stars that can be mistaken as dots. The perfect black everything: summer dress, silky T-shirt, slouchy cardigan. All of this worn over skinny jeans. Ideally soft and worn in. I am constantly searching for the army green jacket that will be my favourite. I have some that come kind of close. I buy too many sandals and not enough closed toed shoes even though it rains here for half the year or more. I have too many over sized bags. No small purses. But I do own the perfect tiger eye ring I have been wearing for decades.

My favourite things have come with me through years and have stories. I keep coming up with new reasons and ways to wear them so that they remain my favourites. Other things that don’t seem to fit my style, I am happy to give up after a season, wondering why I ever liked it to begin with.

My purchases today? Another pair of skinny jeans – soft and grey. A blue linen like dress perfect to wear over pants. Something black and sleeveless – you might call it a dress. I call it a tunic. Sandals for my daughter. Even though today was all about rain. So we also bought her a summer dress. And shorts.

Of course.

How well we did!

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.

A spring trip to an island. A month of writing. Staring at the sea. Mornings full of words. Walks for the sake of wandering. Somewhere between now and years from now and long ago.

This March feels so like last March.

Yet it is so very far away.

I have come from held together with faith and fear and wishes. I walked months and months being sure sometimes of just the next step. In other moments I was certain about years worth of knowing. Both things pulled me through. Walking forward and pure conviction. I was wise and true and right.

This would carry me.

And it did.

Despite all of the future ambiguity, I knew what I knew. And it was something.

I eventually packed boxes and boxes of books and a few other things.

Plants. Special rocks. A wooden boat that was sailing me out.

I brought along the knowledge that had carried me. I spent last March writing about it all. Collecting it in one place. Giving it titles. Exploring its depths and how far it stretched. Unravelling it on the page, I could sift through and pick up the shiny bits.

Hold them up to all kinds of light. Dim. Fading. Bright and true.

I was calmed. Delighted. Constantly sad. Full of grief. Restless as hell.

I made certain that other things didn’t accompany me. Particular things. I turned literally in circles looking down and brushing off to make sure nothing attached like a sticky burr full of wayward seeds ready to find new growing ground.

Nothing was going to cling unannounced to make me stuck going forward. Or make me stall when I needed to flee. If I could have made some things tangible, I would have boxed them in crates. Wrapped them in twine. Stuck on labels: “To stay” “Not wanted” “Discard”

My words from a year ago speak to me in so many different ways. I remember the secrets they were trying not to keep. I am struck by their searching. I smile at their joy. Over and over and over again they celebrated all that I loved about the children I taught for two incredible decades.

So far.

One year is so far away.

Now that I can mark time like this, I can use it to make travel back and forth be a safe journey.

There is there and there is here.

I can wander back and return all in one piece.

Wandering through a month of writing. Brings me so far.

Between now and not so long ago.

I am participating in the Slice of Life challenge to write and publish a post every day in March.

Slice of Life is hosted by Two Writing Teachers. I thank them for the community they provide. Read more slices here.