Book Review: The Harmony Within

Rolland Hein, author of The Harmony Within: The Spiritual Vision of George MacDonald, was my professor at Wheaton College years ago. George MacDonald's book, Phantastes, had a vast impact on C. S. Lewis. Although I've never read Phantastes, I selected Hein's book for my post-devotional reading in the morning. Since I've only read one MacDonald book, At the Back of the North Wind, it may have been better to dive into the author's writings before reading literary criticism about them.

George MacDonald wrote over 50 volumes of poetry, essays, short stories, sermons, fantasies, and novels. Hein provides extensive lists of his primary and secondary sources in his bibliography. Honestly, I had no business reading this book, based on my miniscule exposure to MacDonald's works. However, I did gain a sense of this author's spiritual perspectives. Even without extensive knowledge of the fantasies (the primary focus of study), I was able to follow the book's structure and learn of MacDonald's views and goals. I'm not a big fan of fantasy. Indeed, I think I'm more interested in reading his sermons than his fantasies. Hein's book examines MacDonald's oeuvre to show how his spiritual perspectives/understanding helped to determine the shape of his novels/fantasies.

For more on MacDonald and an overview of his prolific works, visit The Works of George MacDonald.

* I'm glad I already owned a copy of this book as the Amazon price ranges from $26-$47. I would be interested in reading Hein's The Heart of George MacDonald: A One-Volume Collection of His Most Important Fiction and then tackling his book, George MacDonald: Victorian Mythmaker. It saddened me to learn this beloved professor died two years ago. I have fond memories of his classes and of the students with whom I shared those moments.

Book Review: The Tale of Despereaux

Kate DiCamillo is one of my favorite children's authors. Her books hold timeless truth and suck the imagination into alternate realities with compelling characters and plots. I will never forget the experience of listening to Ms. Sharon McKee read this book aloud to her third-grade class in DeKalb all those years ago. The eagerness of the students for each read-aloud session was palpable. That is the sign of a truly outstanding book (and also of a truly great narrator, Ms. McKee).

The Tale of Despereaux tells of a small mouse, an abused servant girl, some rats, and a princess. It communicates the light available for our dark world through story. It emphasizes the tremendous power of love. In a kingdom saddened by the death of a queen, Despereaux is born to fulfill a purpose he cannot imagine. Even though all the mice are against him, love drives him to right a wrong. Every child needs to hear this story as a reminder you can overcome darkness with light, and hatred with love. 

Of course, in seeking an accompanying photo from Amazon, I discovered many negative reviews (in most, the readers didn't finish the story). They argue the tale is "incredibly dark," and "promotes evil and torture," "makes light of child abuse and death." I would argue that children are going to encounter darkness in this world where sin is rampant. Yes, they might even encounter death (indeed, one boy in that class mentioned above had already lost his 2-year-old sister). Some may know what it is like to be abused or to be dismissed because they do not fit the mold. If you stop there, of course it is incredibly depressing and demoralizing. But redemption shines throughout the tale. We live in a dark world, yet the light can penetrate the darkness if you bother to light a candle. (Sin exists to reveal our need of a Savior.) Kate DiCamillo's message is clear. Story holds healing power, but only if you see it through to the end. One abandoning reader remarked, "at what cost for the journey?" Journeys that cost are often the most worthwhile. If you've never read this book, please do so now and let me know if, after fully reading it, you regret that decision.

Book Review: What Happened to You?

While skimming the shelves for another audio book, I stumbled upon this excellent book. My upbringing was not traumatic. I had loving, committed parents who provided an outstanding example. My home was full of books, siblings, and love. Our family involvement in the church gave my life structure, purpose, and solidity. However, I cannot say my childhood was without traumatic experience. My week-long bout with double pneumonia, and the ensuing 64 shots I received in the space of eight days, has lingered in my psyche to color all of my medical experiences. This lured me into the subject of this book.

I loved the conversational style of What Happened to You?: Conversations on Trauma, Resilience, and Healing. Authors Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Bruce D. Perry talk back and forth about these issues with both first-hand knowledge and life-long research. Case studies flesh out their findings. This is a must-read for educators and therapists. It is so important for people to be aware of the impact trauma has on individuals and how it can shape behavioral and emotional responses to life's challenges. Trauma-informed treatment is essential for individuals who have experienced trauma in the early years of life. Healing is only possible when you ask that question: "What happened to you?" The authors attempt to shift the frequent response of "What's wrong with you?" and "Why are you behaving that way?" to the gentler and more important question.

So many of the stories were touching and tragic. Receiving love is essential for giving love. Chaos creates more than an uncomfortable environment. It makes it difficult for children to learn necessary life lessons to respond adequately to challenges in their lives. As I listened, I wondered about my own abilities, and my prodigal son's abilities, to self-regulate. I came away with so much to contemplate and process. As Oprah expressed, "Until you heal the wounds of your past, you will continue to bleed." We all have wounds from our pasts, trauma or not, and everyone has a story to tell that has shaped and influenced their life. If handled appropriately, our stories reap benefits alongside the challenges. Oprah would be the first to say she wouldn't be who she is without what happened to her.

Both authors offer excellent narrative abilities. Oprah's voice is especially easy to listen to and full of poignant expression. As I completed the book, sitting in my car waiting for Sean to come out from his football practice, I teared up several times. First, at the story of her awkward acting session when asked to "tuck a child in," and her realization that she had no such experience to draw upon. What a tragic loss! My heart ached for her. Second, the scene at her mother's deathbed. I listened to that portion just hours after receiving news of my mother-in-law's death. Sean was due to come out bursting with news about his school day and his practice. After waiting for him to share, I painted a picture of her last day. I'm sure Oprah's story and voice will forever be tied to the memory of that day.

Book Review: The Hungering Dark

What a thrill it was, in my early twenties, to sit under Frederick Buechner's teaching! I spoke with an old college friend on the phone this past December, and she mentioned our rare opportunity. She said she wished she had spoken personally with him. In my memory (granted, my memory is faulty sometimes), I went in during his office hours to speak with him about my final paper. After she mentioned him, I spotted my old copy of The Hungering Dark and plowed through it once again.

Here are a few sound-bites I gleaned:

"We must be careful with our lives, for Christ's sake, because it would seem that they are the only lives we are going to have in this puzzling and perilous world, and so they are very precious and what we do with them matters enormously."

"The life that I touch for good or ill will touch another life, and that in turn another, until who knows where the trembling stops or in what far place and time my touch will be felt."

"One life on this earth is all that we get.... we are fools if we do not live it as fully and bravely and beautifully as we can."

On why we struggle with accepting Christ's sacrifice to save us, he writes: "To accept such a gift from another would be to bind us closer to him than we like to be bound.... if another man dies so that I can live, it imposes a terrible burden on my life. From that point on, I cannot live any longer just for myself. I have got to live also somehow for him, as though in some sense he lives through me now as, in another sense, I live through him."

On how the world has never been riper or hungrier for God's return: "In some way we cannot imagine holiness will return to our world. I know of no time when the world has been riper for its return, when the dark has been hungrier. Thy kingdom come... we do shew forth the Lord's death till he come... and maybe the very madness of our hoping will give him the crazy, golden wings he needs to come on. I pray that he will come again and that you will make it your prayer. We need him, God knows."

Those words could well have been written yesterday instead of 50 years ago. Buechner sits in the doubt and the struggle. He acknowledges that this world is dark and full of woe, but he recognizes that a light shines in the darkness. We can still choose to accept that light. I say, with Buechner, come Lord Jesus, come!

Book Review: Bright Beginnings for Boys

Whenever our library advertises a book about raising boys, I jump at the chance to read the book. Add in that the book is about increasing literacy, and I'm jumping even higher. I have three boys who are not nearly as fond of reading as I am (although one would say he enjoys a good book, but would still prefer to be read to instead of doing the work himself). Since my boys often see me reading, I know that I am already laying that groundwork of a good example, but I wondered what else I could do to increase their literacy skills.

In Bright Beginnings for Boys: Engaging Young Boys in Active Literacy, authors Debby Zambo and William G. Brozo present a text-book style manual for increasing literacy in young boys. Most of the information followed common sense: let them see you reading, seek out books which appeal to their particular interests, encourage them to find good books, and be cognizant of the special physical needs of boys (energy and curiosity). The book is aimed at both parents and educators. The first few chapters focus on the physical, cognitive, social, and emotional development of boys. There is a chapter addressing ways to create a classroom climate which meets the special needs of boys and one on matching literacy activities to boys' interests.

I think the most helpful resource in the book is a  fourteen page appendix listing books that demonstrate positive values for boys. Many books are suggested for teaching the values of cooperation, courage, generosity, honesty, perseverance, respectfulness, responsibility, and tolerance. All of the book suggestions, while entertaining and educational for both sexes, bear special appeal to boys. I was thrilled to see books I recognized by Kate DiCamillo, Kate Klise, M. Thaler, Tedd Arnold, Natalie Babbitt, and Cynthia Rylant, but many more by authors I am unfamiliar with and titles that sounded intriguing (each listing presents the author, title, and a brief description of the book).

The book also includes an extensive fourteen page list of references which could be culled to discover many more helpful articles and books on the subject. I believe this book will be especially valuable to elementary school teachers who are interested in promoting literacy in their classrooms. They will find a wealth of information for encouragement, questions to ponder for increasing literacy in their classrooms, and plenty of suggestions for great teaching literature. I also noted, from the back cover, that William G. Brozo has another book available, To Be a Boy, To Be a Reader: Engaging Teen and Preteen Boys in Active Literacy. I think I will need to search out that book for suggestions for my own boys, since their literacy levels are leaning toward the pre-teen category. Moreover, I would be thrilled if that book also contains listings of suggestions for great tween and YA literature.

New Classroom Innovations

The boys have settled into the school year and are both enjoying the fact that they get to be around friends every day (when you live out in the middle of the country, getting together with friends is more of a production than simply walking up the street like Bryce used to when we lived in a neighborhood back in DeKalb). Two years ago, when Trevor was in 3rd grade, he was in a shared learning community, with two teachers who team-teach. The kids rotate between teachers for language arts, math, and social studies instruction and do some activities as a large group together. They have a wall which can be closed to separate for separate instruction or opened for large group instruction. This allows you to have twice the number of friends. This year, Sean is in the same shared learning community for his 3rd grade year.

Sean is loving his new classroom for more than the teachers and the friends. They also have the coolest thing yet - a new kind of desk. Apparently, Trevor's class piloted this new desk a few years ago, and then the teachers set up a GoFundMe campaign to raise money for a whole double set of the chairs. Sean is reaping the benefits of this campaign. The chairs facilitate the transitional learning structure of this classroom.

Here is a video to demonstrate the desk Sean gets to sit in every day:



Aren't they way cool? Almost makes me want to go back to school again... almost.

Kudos to my Kids' Teachers

Towards the beginning of the school year, I wrote a post about my dissatisfaction with the stress levels my boys were experiencing in regards to school.  They were not enjoying it and I was defensive, like a mamma bear, on behalf of my cubs.  Thankfully, that initial season waned into a much brighter experience.  I am thrilled with the teachers my two little guys were given this year. 

Although Sean's kindergarten teacher came down hard on his lack-luster coloring efforts, she has really inspired Sean to do his very best work.  More than that, she has sparked his interest for reading (something any teacher will receive my utmost kudos for).  She teaches the letters of the alphabet and the sight words they are learning via songs.  I didn't realize Sean would latch onto this teaching style so thoroughly.  I will hear him off in the bathroom by himself singing the little ditty for "B-L-A-C-K spells black, licorice candy and a witch's hat, I like things that are colored black, B-L-A-C-K," or "At is written, at is written with an A and with a T, " , oh where's my hat, I don't know where it's at ..."  He is constantly asking me to ask him to spell various words to show off his prowess at learning.  Plus, he has taken off with his reading and is constantly begging for more simple readers to try (his favorite: the Dorling-Kindersley series, "Pat the Cat and Friends").

I was thrilled when Sean returned after his first day back at school with his cast on his broken arm and said that his teacher had all the students try to write with their left hands for a while.  They all told him how hard it was.  He gleefully admitted that he must be "ambidextrous" (a word his brother taught him) because he can now write fairly well with his left hand.  Plus, the teacher sent home a wonderful little packet full of drawings and get well sentiments from each of the students in his class last week, when he still couldn't attend school because his arm had to be elevated.  It was so very sweet and thoughtful.

Trevor is also benefitting from a teacher who inspires a love of reading.  His language arts teacher uses a variety of tricks to encourage the students to focus on reading more thoroughly.  He had the entire class in competitive mode trying to see how long they could corporately remain with their heads in a book (without looking up) during silent reading time.  They have worked their time up to 17 minutes now. 

He also gave each student a reading license which indicates what level of books they are allowed to select to read during class reading times.  These levels raise every nine weeks, but keep the children from accessing everything they might want.  You might wonder why I find this appealing, since in essence it is limiting their selection process.  What I have found is that Trevor is desperate to get to the point where he is allowed to read a Goosebumps book that is slightly higher than his reading license allows.  Of course, he can read the book at home because we have so many of the Goosebumps books (a series Bryce actually was interested in collecting back when he was in elementary school).  Say something is off-limits and watch my driven boys try to fight their way into the reading material.  Ha!

At the beginning of October, Trevor came home with a reading log and a challenge to read 300 minutes during the month.  While it is tiresome to have to write down every little thing we read (and sometimes, I just ignore it, since we're in no danger of coming up short - we documented more than double the reading goal), it is still motivating my son to focus on reading.

Trevor's favorite books at the moment are from Tom Angleberger's "Origami Yoda" series (which, no doubt, appeal to his love of 3-dimensional art) and Annie Barrows' "Ivy and Bean" series (about two unlikely best friends who are in the second grade).

Even if my boys get nothing more out of school this year than an increased love of reading, I will be one happy mom.  Of course, they are doing well in math and science, too.  But the language arts focus is near and dear to my heart.

Unsettling School Sentiments

We've been back to school for a little over two weeks now.  The house is so quiet during the day.  I am able to walk a mile and a half each morning, run errands alone, and fit in great chunks of writing time.  It has been a blessing.

If only I felt the boys were equally blessed by school.  Bryce is doing very well.  In fact, he and I went out to Dairy Queen to celebrate last night because he scored the only perfect score on the first difficult AP Chemistry exam.  The class average was 51%.  He says he hasn't missed a single point in any class so far.  Yay, Bryce.

It is the little boys who concern me.  They just don't seem to be enjoying school.  In fact, it has become a source of stress for them.  Trevor is back to praying every night, "and please help me to have a good day at school tomorrow and not to forget anything" (this was a constant from last year).  Sean says he hates school because all it is is work and more work.  He outlined his daily schedule as "work, work, carpet time, work, work, work, lunchtime, recess, work, work, carpet time, work work."  He has said the only thing he likes is recess.

Of course, this was how Bryce was.  He used to always say his favorite class was P.E.  However, he never seemed uptight about the requirements of school.  Trevor tells Sean he should be glad he's not in second grade because they have so many rules, like they can't get out of their seats without raising their hand and asking permission and they have to remember to push in their chairs and one of his teachers (he is in a team teaching situation) yells at them.

Yesterday, Sean met me at the door with eagerness.  He wanted to show me a particular paper out of the mass of worksheets he comes home with.  He held it up in his little hands and said, "Didn't I do a good job on this?"  I was all ready to tell him he did fine, when I noticed a post-it note affixed to the paper.  It read: "Sean says that you say 'Good Job' when he brings home a paper like this.  I think he can do better" and was signed by the teacher.

How to respond to that?  On the one hand, I want Sean to do his very best work.  On the other hand, Sean doesn't have the hand-eye coordination that Trevor has.  He finds it difficult to stay in the lines, and well ... yes, he does just want to get the work over with.  Then again, how important is it that he churn out diligently colored horses?

Here his class is working on the numbers one to four, while Sean can already count well past 100, knows what a googol is, understands negative numbers and can add and subtract right alongside his second grade brother.  But he is called out for coloring outside the lines on two horses. Trevor is more artistic than any other second grader around, yet last year he was chastised for drawing on the sides of his assignments.  I begin to feel like my children aren't being seen for who they are and the wonderful gifts and abilities they have been given.  Instead, they are being forced into a cookie-cutter mold of discipline and structure.

Perhaps I don't provide them with enough discipline and structure, but it seems to me that school should be something a child looks forward to.  Learning should be fun so that children want to spend even more time learning on their own.

I don't know what I can do to make this a more positive experience for them.  Maybe I can't do anything.  Maybe this is just going to be a source of stress and discomfort for them.  Life is full of stress and discomfort.  That, too, is a life-lesson.

When Bryce was in the elementary years, he was basically the top banana in a school system that taught to the lowest common denominator.  The question is:  would you rather your child be the top banana in a school system that teaches to the lowest common denominator or would you rather your child be a mediocre student in a school system that stresses academic excellence and discipline?  I suppose I don't want either.  I just want my bright, intelligent sons to be seen for their strengths and to be treated in a positive manner.  I want them to look forward to the school day. Is that asking too much?

=======
Update:  I'm feeling much better about the school situation.  See this more recent post concerning their teachers.

An Open Letter to Mr. Bouchard

I FOUND HIM!

I FOUND MR. BOUCHARD!!!

Let me begin by saying that there are certain names that just seem to feel tasty on my tongue. Philip Bouchard is one of them. I think even way back when I was nine, I enjoyed the way Bouchard (Boo-shard) sounded.

I can think of a few other names like it. When I did my service corps work in the Philippines, I worked with a Salvation Army officer named "Raven Salegumba" (pronounced Ray-ven Sal-eh-goom-ba). That is another name that just sounds elegant and full of character. Her daughter's name was "Charis" (Car-iss), a shortened version of charity. There was a beautiful young Filipino girl named "Leah Nanlabi" (pronounced Lay-uh Non-lob-bee), whom I adored.

It is hard to know whether these names evoke strong affection because the names are beautiful, or because the people themselves are as beautiful as their given name. Somehow, when you pair a significant person with a distinctive name, the combination produces a completed image in your mind.

For me, Mr. Philip Bouchard, my fourth grade teacher, was a significant person with a wonderfully distinctive name, full of flair. He graciously acknowledged my enquiry and provided information for contacting him personally. However, I've been thinking that what I wanted to say to Mr. Bouchard, after all these years, is really something that could and should be shared openly. It seems there is something to be learned from my experience with Mr. Bouchard. Thus, I am writing my open letter here.

Dear Mr. Bouchard:

What a privilege it is for me to open my heart and share with you something of what you meant to me all those years ago when I was a nine year old girl. As a teacher myself, I know that the work often doesn't reveal the results immediately. You labor on, hoping that something you are doing or saying is making a difference in the lives of your students. Much of the time, you just don't get to see where it all leads.

I have many wonderful memories of my fourth grade year. I'm pretty sure it was the first year that I thoroughly enjoyed and looked forward to school. I remember how special it felt to have an individual meeting, every week, with the teacher, one-on-one. I remember wanting to impress you and work as hard as I could.

I remember an experiment you did with a bunsen burner (or perhaps it was just a hot plate). I have vague memories of someone taking apart a transistor radio to see how it worked. It also seems there was some convoluted idea about making a refrigerator out of a cardboard box. (I have a feeling we discovered that the concept wouldn't work!)

I also remember Story Starters. This was probably my favorite thing, since I have always been very fond of writing. You would give us the first paragraph or introduction and we were supposed to come up with a story from those first sparks.

I remember standing by you at your desk, while we manipulated bottle caps to understand the concept of multiplication. Of course, my adult brain is saying "Yes, but when I worked at my son's elementary school, the kids were expected to master the multiplication tables in 3rd grade." Still, it was one of those "aha experiences" where a light bulb goes off in your head and something really makes sense for the first time.

I also remember hanging our book reports for display on the wall outside of our classroom. I remember recess on the playground, chasing the boys (that seemed to be our favorite game) and trying to play some crazy levitation game.

I remember a particular bully in our class, an intense, physical kind of boy whose name seems to be Billy, but I'm not positive on that. My family returned to Webster Groves for a visit a few years later and a neighbor informed us that Billy had been struck by lightening while holding some sort of metal rod during a storm. I felt horrible for having such conflicted thoughts about that boy, once I learned that he had died young. It was as if, in my childish mind, I had contributed to his final outcome because I had thought ill of him.

Sadly, this wasn't my first experience with premature death. I believe it was during the summer between my third and fourth grade years, that my friend Janet lost her battle with cancer. I was a sensitive individual and I am sure that your compassion as a teacher, in those months following that experience, was crucial in my life.

There are so many things that I believe you excelled in as an educator. You put me in the driver seat and taught me the importance of taking responsibility for my education. Indeed, I think you taught me that the sky was the limit with regard to what I could learn if I set my mind to it.

It makes me think of that adage, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." You taught me how to learn on my own and it was one of the most valuable tools I could have gained.

The lesson must have truly sunk in, because I used these same ideas when I first began teaching high school English. I dreaded teaching the grammar section. Grammar, to me, is so dry and boring. Besides, I'm really not that good at articulating the rules and reasons for grammar. Most of my learning in that area has come from reading well-written books.

So, I took the Mr. Bouchard method and put the students in the driver's seat. I assigned them to groups and gave each group a chapter. The groups were responsible for teaching the class the lesson, complete with visual effects, a quiz and a game to test how well the class had mastered the concepts. Those students blew me away. I still have the video of their presentations and probably even have a majority of the games they turned in, as well.

Another thing you obviously excelled at (especially after looking at the comments I received from other teachers on my report cards) was nurturing the positive rather than the negative. I couldn't have been a perfect student, but I think I felt your approval all the time. How important that is for a young child!

It reminds me of the year I worked with Ms. McKee, in her third grade classroom. We had a student whose name was Tyrus. Ms. McKee informed me, early on, that her goal was for Tyrus to have at least one year in his schooling where he wasn't saddled with the impression that "Tyrus stands for Trouble." Even if nobody else was willing to let that label go, she was going to do her darnedest to banish the label from his third grade experience.

Trouble did, indeed, seem to sit on his shoulder and go with him, with or without his consent. For example, during that same year, I had some surgery on my largest toe on my right foot. For weeks, I had to sit with my foot propped up during class. On the very day, when the doctor finally removed the stitches, Tyrus somehow managed to step back in line and place all of his body weight hard on my healing toe. The pain was excruciating. I was in tears. Tyrus felt horrible. Poor Tyrus!

But, Tyrus did have a good year, because he had a teacher who was determined to make it a year where the trouble label was set aside. She remained positive and he thrived! I'm not sure all of his teachers took this same approach, but I can vouch for his third grade year, that he was nurtured and appreciated for his strengths (man, that boy could put together a bike from junk he found on the street) and it did a world of good (Ms. McKee and I both went to watch him perform in a musical at his church that year - those things have to leave an imprint, right?).

You also made learning fun. The learning itself was far from the drudgery of standard classroom fare (teacher at the front, students in line, rote drills and all that). It is such a horrible thing when learning fails to be presented as fun.

My first year as a teacher, I worked in a small rural high school that was struggling to stay afloat. Fighting the obvious pull to incorporate with the nearby larger high school, they decided to become a charter school with a modern educational coalition. They were going to encourage the teachers to be coaches rather than dictators in the classroom. They were going to prove mastery of concepts by requiring a final portfolio of work. They were going to "change the world of education." All fine goals, in theory.

I was the sole English teacher. I had every single high school student in the building. Imagine my horror when I was informed that the annual exhibition would require each of my students to turn in a research paper to go along with their group presentation. The groups were made up of multi-level students (freshmen to seniors) and each group selected a country to study. The goal was for each group to demonstrate the interdependence of the United States with their chosen country. Some of my freshman were required to write papers that I didn't even think I could write, things like "How is the science of Romania interdependent with the science of the United States?"

It was the most horrible scenario I have ever been forced to enact. Parents were upset. Students were in tears. All I kept thinking was, "these poor students will never grasp how fun it can be to write a research paper because their initial experience with this process is going to be one of frustration and failure."

Thankfully, I didn't walk away from teaching based on that one horrible year and the coalition experience. I'm hopeful that some of those students were also able to put that failed exercise behind them and discover that learning can and should be fun.

Mr. Bouchard, you were an outstanding teacher! You motivated me. You made a difference in my life that was, probably, the first step in a path towards a teaching career.

I sincerely hope that what you gave has come back to you a thousand fold. If not, at least you can recognize that you were greatly appreciated by one little nine year old girl, whom you managed to light a fire within. I'm guessing you can't even see the thousand fold results because those results are still rippling out.

It makes me think of my GED student, Deb Snow. When she came to my class she was greatly distressed because she had worked for over twenty years for a company and then been let go. She couldn't find a job and was convinced that she needed to now go back and earn the education she had failed to finish before.

We worked together for many weeks, studying the books and reviewing the skills for writing coherent essays. Deb passed her GED and went on to take business courses at the community college. She told me once that she had gained a whole different perspective through that GED class. She came in full of anger towards the wrong that had been done to her and she left realizing that losing her job was the best thing that could have happened because it forced her to take responsibility for what she wanted and to follow her dream of starting her own business.

You are part of that. Your contribution to me, led to the contribution I made in Deb Snow's life. And, I'm pretty sure Deb Snow is now making contributions in the lives of others. Isn't that the most wonderful thing imaginable??

God gifted you with a vision for nurturing small children, not just helping them learn, but teaching them how to acquire the learning for themselves. I'm so glad you didn't hold that gift in a bottle. You gave it freely and it continues to grow. I am forever grateful.

Sincerely,
Your former student,

Wendy

Report Card Flashbacks

I have been diligently working to sort through endless piles of paper (I think I am a paper magnet ... plus, I know I have a problem with a tendency to want to save everything).

Tonight, I cleared away one full bag of paper for Trevor's recycling contest. As I was going through old manuscripts (so many things written, so few things published ... sob, sob), old magazines, letters and inspiring articles, I came across a folder full of my old report cards. Talk about interesting reading.

I really don't know what my parents must have thought about a few of these comments.

For first grade, it appears I had a whole team of teachers working with me. My math instructor K. Rhein, had this to say in the mid-year remarks:

"Wendy is a very bright girl. She is very enthusiastic and enjoys math. She needs to work more alone instead of worrying about those around her."

My reading teacher, Jeanette Winkler, offered a favorable remark at mid-year:

"Wendy is an excellent reader. Her ability to handle many kinds of material is remarkable."

But her June comment is perplexing:

"Wendy is an excellent reader. - [good to know that hadn't suddenly changed] However, I hope that she will also enjoy participating in other activities." [Could a first grade teacher predict that I might choose to read, while eschewing other important activities, like housekeeping??? What is she getting at, I ask??]

Then there was the end of year comment from Mrs. Nork (this was the only name that rung any bells in my head):

"Wendy went through a 'slump' for a while this year. I found it very hard to reach her. In the past few weeks she has brightened up and seems to care again!... I have enjoyed having her in my class." [Even back then, I was a moody little thing.]

Somehow the 2nd Grade progress report is missing. Hmmm - a bad year, perhaps? Parents didn't want to keep it??? Or maybe it was lost in their clutter?



For third grade, I had Mrs. Ruth Rose. For the first semester, she managed to sandwich a litany of complaints between two complimentary comments:

"Wendy is a capable girl. She does not use her time wisely. [Still a problem.] She is slow in completing work or getting ready for class. She does not listen carefully. She reverts to manuscript writing at times, but her cursive writing is quite adequate. It is a pleasure [really, are you sure, Mrs. Rose???] to work with Wendy."



On to 4th Grade. Oh, Mr. Bouchard how I loved you and how I love you, still. Mr. Philip Bouchard was an innovative teacher for the time. He taught on a contract system. Every Monday, students would meet with him at his desk and determine what they could accomplish for the week. Some kids might have viewed this as license for laziness, but not me. I remember having competitions with other kids for completing SRAs and other assignments.

Here are his brief comments:

"Wendy is able to take responsibility for her education and create valuable activities that she can work on independently."

At the end of the year, he wrote:

"Wendy has a great deal of talent that I'm sure will be used in years to come."

Where are you now, Mr. Bouchard, champion of my abilities?? I know that you married the Kindergarten teacher at the end of my 4th Grade year, but then, I changed schools and moved away. Who couldn't use a champion, like that?

What is astounding is that I would have considered myself to be a shy, timid, quiet school girl, back then. Yet, here are the comments from the back of my 5th grade report card:

"Attitude has improved somewhat!"

"Wendy is really trying." [As a teacher myself, I know how some of these comments can have double meanings - yes, that girl is trying ... trying my patience, daily!]

"Outstanding work in science."

"Wendy is a fine girl, but [there's always a BUT, isn't there?!] has her own ideas as to when she should start her assignments. She needs to improve in this area."

"Wendy's P.E. attitudes and self-discipline are barely adequate [teacher's emphasis this time, not mine] - she is capable of better work." [Hmmm - wondering if that was the year I was sent to the principal's office because I was paired for dancing with a handicapped student and was so terrified that I refused to dance with him????]

Apparently the problems lingered because the P.E. teacher slung another barb in the second semester comments:

"Wendy is too social to do her best in PE - her attitudes toward instructors can improve."

In sixth grade, my family moved to Alton, Illinois. I think I had a difficult time making friends that year. I know my best friend in 7th Grade informed me that "back in 6th grade, we thought you were maybe retarded or something, because you wore dresses every day and you never swung on the bars, just stood there watching all of us."

My mother doesn't remember requiring me to wear dresses, so perhaps someone had made a comment about me being too much of a tom-boy and thus, I wore dresses every day in sixth grade and watched everyone else at recess.

I do remember doing a report on England (the birth of an anglophile, for sure) and winning the short story contest with a story about a wizard who shows up as a substitute teacher and turns one of the pupils into a submarine. I also remember that my teacher was very nice (come to think of it, perhaps this was the year of the embarrassing principal visit).

Mrs. Arger had very nice things to say, thankfully.

"Wendy is a delightful child! She is well-behaved, well-mannered and cooperative and tries to do her best at all times."

She ended the year with a sweet commendation, "May the future hold for you, the best of everything always." (Not sure she needed the comma after you, but then writing report cards has to be a tedious and troublesome task for those elementary teachers.)

I don't really remember dreading the report card comments for Bryce. For most of his elementary years, I worked there at the school and knew all of his teachers. He was a pistol, that's for sure.

With Trevor, I am a bit anxious about his report cards. He is a very bright child, but, perhaps too much like his mother (talkative, independently motivated, moody and eager to be social, despite a social awkwardness). For now, his teacher always smiles and seems pleased with him. He has never had to move his behavior card from green to yellow or red. The teacher did tell me last Friday that he offered to give her drawing lessons. Ha! Now that is my Trevor!


And now I'm off to recycle some ancient report cards. Thankfully, the comments I might want to return to are all now saved here.

Trying our Hand at Hand-made Cards

Thursday was the last day for the little boys to attend their Parent's Day Out/Preschool program. We wanted to be able to afford giving their classroom teachers a gift certificate, so I told the boys we would try to make our own cards to express our thanks. MS was immediately up for the idea.

At first, he wanted to draw a card covered with snakes. Yikes! Not sure that would go over very well. I suggested we make a pop-up card. We searched for instructions on the computer and found several options. He was very fond of a pop-up bat card, but it looked a bit intricate. We finally settled for a spider pop-up card, which looked easier.

After I executed the pop-up cuts and folds, MS drew and colored the spider. MS was especially thrilled to add the fangs they suggested. We also put little googly eyes on the inside of the front cover, but they didn't show up very well. Still, it was a lot of fun and MS thought his card was the coolest!

Here he is, showing off his card for his teacher:





For YS's card, I wanted to include a photo of Mrs. Carol (his fabulous teacher) in the card. Unfortunately, YS doesn't ham for the camera quite as eagerly as MS does. It took a while, just to get him to take his hands down from his face. Still, the card turned out well and expressed how much we appreciated Mrs. Carol, while at the same time, giving her some photos to remember YS by. (If you click on the photos, they should enlarge enough to read the text.)



During the final hour of their class sessions, a small graduation ceremony was held in the sanctuary for the class going on to kindergarten next year. I'm guessing they wanted more vocal strength, so they included MS's class in the program for the singing performance.

Every minute MS was on stage was agony for me. The boy is convinced that everyone in the world should pay utmost attention to him (middle-child syndrome?). As his class walked in the back doors, he noticed me and left his line to run over to me. I had to direct him back to his class line.

When the first song had just begun, MS called out, "Hey, Mom! Look what Devin gave me ... (moments of struggling with his pocket to procure the shiny nickel) a PENNY!" Despite the universal "Boy, just be quiet" sign (a finger to my lips), he continued to shout out to me. Ay-yi-yi!

By the second song, he began to realize that he had been placed within two feet of the microphone. He leaned over and said something like "Hey, Mom! Can you hear me now?" Thankfully, the third song was uneventful and his class was sent from the stage to sit with the parents.

Just when I had started to suspect that my child alone was unconsciously wearing a "Look at Me" badge, I noticed one of the graduates sitting in his chair on the platform. He, too, had shouted down to his parents. But, it was even more fun to watch him bobbing his head all around to get the full effect of the tassel on his graduation hat! He lobbed that thing back and forth for a few minutes, giving the audience a good laugh. And the girl seated next to him heightened the amusement factor, by sitting prim and proper and stealing glances at him without ever moving her face from a forward position (as if to say "What in the world is that boy doing?").

Good thing we've got another whole year to work on decorum skills and graduation behavior! Then again, this is MS we're talking about. He may never learn to be silent.

Never Let the Obstacles Win

What a treat to have been able to watch the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie, "Front of the Class" tonight on CBS. As mentioned in a previous post, I made every effort to nail my sons' bodies into their evening coffins. Alas, one of mine, in particular, is a vampire and refused to be nailed in the figurative coffin (and this is almost every night, not just nights when he knows that Mom intends to seclude herself downstairs to watch a movie on our lousy rabbit-ears TV, because the Dish won't allow access to such inspirational fare as CBS sometimes offers). (Int, Cardiogirl! Should I curse the Dish or Comcast?)

From the first ten minutes of the movie, I was already being moved to tears (am mentally seeing the scene which played-out back in high school when I watched West Side Story for the first time, and my sister came up from behind me to gloat over catching me crying). It was a touching, heart-warming, inspiring movie. My husband interrupted my tears to ask me if I would check in on the little boys at the first available commercial, since they were both clamouring for me.

I gave them a quick and hearty scolding. Told the baby to lie back down because I was NOT going to rock him. Answered MS that, "Yes, it is o.k. to get out of bed if you must go to the bathroom, but then you must head back to bed."

Alas, after the first half hour of the movie, I felt little eyes penetrating the back of my head. MS had gone #2. I didn't even want to miss a minute of the movie to go and wipe his sorry behind, so I told him to go wait on the downstairs potty until I could wipe him at the next commercial (now there's a tale that should have been made into a "Not-Me-Monday" post and aired on McMama's blog).

Instead of enforcing my boundaries, I gave in and let my MS stay up and cuddle with me and watch the movie. This required frequent explanations ("Mommy, why are you crying now?"), but I'm hoping one day he will also make a difference in someone's life because he learned early on that sometimes people are different and we shouldn't laugh at those who are different, but rather seek to help them and understand them, and maybe even, learn from them.

I certainly was reminded to never let the obstacles win. We all have them. They come in a myriad of forms, but if we let the obstacles win, then we and others around us, lose out on a lot of blessings and lessons.

If you didn't get a chance to watch the movie, I did notice that you can read the book. And, if you watched the movie, send me a comment (just to know you are out there and might actually be influenced by something I have written) and also go to leave a comment with Brad Cohen about his story. Here is his website.

Now, I'm just hoping that my little vampire doesn't decide to take this lesson to heart. May I not discover that he is determined to never let the obstacles win when it comes to his desire to achieve his dreams of staying up past his bedtime. Dear God, please give him the wisdom to understand that this lesson applies to persevering in positive ways, not ways which will diminish the strength and health of his body (like some women who blog into the wee hours of the morning and then wonder why they can't get their morning tasks accomplished).

Freedom

I know that children grow at the speed of light. You blink and they are full grown and you wonder how that happened so quickly. However, over the last two years it has not FELT like my little ones were growing at the speed of light. When my ES was little, it didn't seem to go slowly, but I had a lot of other things in my life. I taught a high school Basic Life Skills class, I attended La Leche League meetings, I sang in a church choir, I went to Bible Study. I had an identity apart from my child.

For the last two years, the entirety of my identity has been caught up in these two little boys. They are like my right and left arms. When I move, they move with me. When I go shopping, they must go shopping, too (most of the time). When I want to exercise, I must find a way to do this with them (thus, my walks in the park pushing a double stroller with two hefty boys!).

But, the past two days have afforded me more opportunities to embrace freedom (from the bondage mothers sometimes feel when constantly saddled with small children). Yesterday, my ES was home sick from school. I had arranged an afternoon appointment with his doctor and my husband actually asked to leave work at lunch time, in order to stay with the two little boys.

When I returned home, I found that my husband had already put my YS down for his nap and MS was quietly playing. I headed to the kitchen to fix myself some lunch and my husband said he would get his lunch as well. I was surprised that he hadn't eaten yet. This is what freedom does to you. It quickly removes you from the reality of what life is like with time-consuming, demanding, needy children. He explained that, although I had gotten them in their seats with their lunch, the entire time we had been gone had been spent taking care of their various needs and cleaning them up, changing a diaper, finding sleepy bear, transitioning them to quiet time, etc.

Later, he stayed with the little boys again, as I headed to the middle school for "Meet the Teacher Night." The parents received their child's class schedule in their homeroom and then followed it for a mini-introduction to their child's typical day. Of course, I responded to this evening both as a parent and as a teacher.

I enjoyed listening to the teachers introduce their class, their expectations, their personal style. I chuckled as one teacher tried to explain his approach after two students had sat on the desks, telling their parents that this particular teacher doesn't ever talk, but just lets the students talk and do projects. I'm sure the students were trying to communicate why the teacher was cool. I'm sure the teacher was concerned that parents were thinking he "didn't make them do anything."

When I arrived at the 7th Grade Language Arts class, I revelled in paging through the brand new textbook. I wanted to see what my son would be reading this year. It was like a mini-fix to an education addict. A hit of what I enjoy doing - teaching literature.

Of course, I met with the teachers briefly, too (especially since ES thought I'd be good for bringing home his missed work). I mentioned to the language arts teacher that my son is a reluctant reader and that it pains me because I was an English teacher. I told the band instructor that even though ES has acquired a used drum set, he has now set his sights on a better drum set. It was an enjoyable evening, away from my children, but still focused on my children.

When I returned home, the little ones were already in bed and ES wanted to know what I thought of his teachers. He informed me that one of his teachers "doesn't like him." I asked why he thought that and he indicated that the teacher had made an example of him and yelled at him a few times already. I found it interesting that I had the same impression, prior to even knowing that my son experienced any difficulty with this particular teacher. I suggested he "kill the teacher with kindness" and give a glimpse of the brain behind the long hair.

Today was the first day of school for the little boys. ES woke up feeling sick again and stayed home from school. I gave ES a dose of Prevacid (we'll see if this helps) and gave YS his Flovent treatment. MS, happily, chose normal clothes! I had laid out backpacks, supply bags and lunches the night before, so we were relatively close to being on time. I was worried that YS would have a hard time, but after delivering him to his class, I dashed back out to get the supply bags and when I returned he was already quiet, sitting in the teacher's lap.

By the time I returned from taking the little boys, ES felt better, so I took him to school. When I arrived at home, I walked to the mailbox to get the newspaper. What a glorious feeling of freedom. I was home alone, walking back to the house with the paper and thoughts of a warm cup of tea to accompany it. I almost did a little happy dance!

I spent the morning tackling the little boys' bedroom. The amazing thing? I didn't even mind it. I enjoyed it. I'm sure it helped that I didn't have little boys underfoot, pulling down every pile that I completed sorting, interrupting with requests for a video or a snack or a story. I even pulled up the rug and hand washed the hard wood floor in their room. I played my own music (Shania Twain was the choice for today - who knows what it will be next Thursday morning) instead of listening to Halloween songs or Disney songs.

They had a wonderful time at school and were even allowed to sit next to each other for lunch. I had a wonderful time away from them. We all three took glorious naps this afternoon. And, when my husband returned home from work, he packed up his things, grabbed MS's bag and headed to my in-laws house with MS (he is going to help my niece move into a nearby apartment tomorrow and Grandma will keep an eye on MS).

After a quiet dinner with ES and YS, I prepared them for bed, knowing that the little guy probably wouldn't go down by 8:30 as I had intended because he had taken a three hour nap. I had made arrangements with my neighbor to go out for ice cream after YS went to bed. ES told me I should still go. He said he would let YS watch a video until 9:30 and then put him to bed. I decided to give it a try. I took my cell phone and headed off.

What a glorious treat to come home and find both boys asleep in bed. The ice cream was sinful (a brownie topped ice cream treat), the conversation enjoyable, and the time in adult company was refreshing. Oh, I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Things are beginning to speed up a bit. Maybe I'd better stop blinking so much now! I'm still licking my lips at the taste of freedom, though!

School Anticipation

Tonight, I attended the Open House for our Parent's Day Out/Preschool programming which MS and YS will attend this year. MS was very excited to go and meet his new teacher, since he moved up to the 3 year old class. Thanks to Indiana's cut-off date, he was in the 2 year old class all last year even though he turned 3 a few weeks after the class began. YS will have to meet his teacher on the first traumatic day.

We had a wonderful time together. When we got in the van, MS noticed one of ES's clothes pins (from the CBLI tweens activity) on the floor. He picked it up and clipped it on to the side of his shirt and said, "I will tell my teacher that this pin reminds me that Jesus loves me!" It thrilled my heart to hear him retaining lessons from our time at CBLI.

Side note: ES also thrilled my heart in a similar way last night. He was having trouble going to sleep early and asked if he could watch TV. I told him to read in bed, instead. When I entered the room a half hour later to switch out his lights (he has a loft bed), he handed down three books to me. One was a guitar book, one was a book called E-mails from God for Teens, and the third was a Bible. So nice to see that the resounding impetus for our attendance at the camp is bearing fruit!

As we headed in the door, MS wanted to go into his old classroom. We were directed to his new room and he saw his name on the bulletin board. Inside, many parents and children were milling around and meeting his new teacher (isn't it horrible, I can't remember her name now - I want to say Miss Janice, but I can't remember clearly). At first MS gravitated towards the toys, but soon headed for the book shelf. We sat on the floor and read a few books (I did my typical eavesdropping on the teacher's conversation with other parents while trying to read and follow a book at the same time). I think MS will have a wonderful year.

Here are some of the positive things I noticed. His teacher has two sons, ages 5-1/2 and 2-1/2, so she understands boys. Her oldest son loves to dress up. She plans to bring in a costume box. (Some leaders had already come into the classroom and asked where MS's Spiderman suit was - it was dirty. He was sad, but agreed to wear a Batman shorts set his cousin Caleb had given him.) She also plans to have a pajama day and a crazy socks day (he's already well-prepared for that).

When the teacher knelt down to talk with MS, she asked him about his loves and he regaled her with descriptions of his costumes. Then, he started telling her about how much he loves animal. She asked if he had a pet. It is always fun to wait and hear the answer. He replied, "Yes, I have a pet cicada shell."

She chuckled. I added, "Well, you know. Easy to care for. You don't have to feed it or walk it and you don't have to worry about killing it by squeezing it too hard because, hey, it is already dead!" (He did kill a toad this afternoon because he held it too tightly. Then he inspected inside its mouth, trying to see its guts!)

The teacher informed MS that they will be going on bug hunts. I think he loves her already. I know I'm feeling pretty keen on her myself.

The Lord Provides

My ES has never been to a music camp before. This is somewhat amazing, since the boy has always exhibited a passion for music. My husband says, "No wonder! It is in his genes!" My husband has a master's degree in trumpet performance and I began playing an instrument at the age of 7.

ES's elementary school back in IL had a fabulous music instructor, Dr. Sherry Jones. One of my favorite things about working as an individual assistant was accompanying my student to the twice-weekly music class. Dr. Jones taught the students a vast amount of musical knowledge. They learned rhythm and note identification. They received instruction on keyboards, recorders and drums. They learned about famous composers. I will cherish the memories of those classes for myself, but also for my son, because I had a chance to glimpse what he was learning as well.

Dr. Jones, with assistance from another fabulous teacher in that school, Ms, Sharon McKee, also offered a drum club for after-school participation. My son was very keen on this and anxiously awaited the time when he would be old enough to join. Then, once he became a member, he began to desire an instrument at home. For his birthday, in either his third or fourth grade year (my memory is fuzzy here), he paid half of the purchase price for a soprano marimba. He memorized other student's parts. He was just crazy about the whole enterprise.

Prior to our move to Indiana, we came to view his elementary school here. We were thrilled to find out that this school also offered a drum and marimba club and gave fifth graders their choice of instruments to play. We anticipated more sound instruction and further participation. ES joined the group at his first opportunity.

As their first concert approached, I began to wonder why I wasn't hearing much about it. Finally, he said, "You really don't need to come. The songs are all boring and the students complain that they are too hard." He showed me his music and revealed songs full of whole and half notes. Poor guy! He was thoroughly bummed. We attended anyway, and came home with a pervasive sadness shrouding our family. To bring us out of the doldrums, we pulled out home video of ES's final concert with the IL school drum club. Let me tell you, they rocked! I must try to figure out how to share some of this video on my blog.

When ES approached middle school sign-up, he was vehemently opposed to taking band. He tried to argue that band was for nerds and none of his friends were going to be taking band. My husband and I simply stated that the decision wasn't his and he would be taking band.

Within a few weeks, he changed his tune. He did have friends in band and it was something he came to really enjoy. We had to rent an instrument packet (which included a set of bells, a drum pad, sticks and mallets and stands) for the first month. We decided he was clearly going to remain interested, so we purchased the packet and he began pounding away in the afternoons. He was proud to point out that his instructor almost always put him on the snare drum because he knew ES could handle the part.

I'm guessing that his band friends turned him on to Guitar Hero. We loved having some of them come over from time to time. My husband would pull out one of his many trumpets and begin to play a little bit (he never showed off, which he could have easily done). I'd sometimes grab the instrument as well and belt out a little bit here and there. His friends were astonished that we could play (they didn't know our backgrounds). Now, when they come over, they tend to spend more time on the Guitar Hero game, but we still enjoy their visits.

Guitar Hero led to the friend giving ES his old electric guitar. This was a god-send, since ES signed up for an elective guitar class at camp. The camp required campers to bring their own instruments. Now ES had a guitar for the elective.

He had been wanting to get a drum. One of his friends, actually owned two drum sets (one at his father's house and one at his mother's), so ES approached him and asked if he would like to sell one. Surprisingly, the answer was yes. So, a few weeks before ES was due to leave for a camp where he was supposed to provide his own instrument, he purchased a used drum set for $30.

We took both the guitar and the snare drum to the music store and had them serviced. He is already scoping out other friends for a drummer's stool to sit on. Ha! I'm thrilled with his enthusiasm and thrilled that the Lord provided the instruments we needed for this week of camp.

Book Review: A Time to Keep Silent

I stumbled upon Gloria Whelan's writings in the same way I stumble upon other great writers - accidentally. I was working as an individual assistant in a 5th grade classroom with Mrs. Brown. She, as I have mentioned before, graciously allowed me to do almost all of the read-alouds for the entire school year. I have to say, if I could get a job just doing that, I'd do it, no matter how low the pay. I get such a charge out of leading kids into a good book and then building up a rapport with them based upon the story. To see their enthusiasm mount as we get deeper into a book thrills my heart.

Mrs. Brown had been on a safari in Africa the summer prior to this particular school year and she planned to share a power-point on her experience with her students. The students were busy creating their own power-points (my student and her partner presented a fun one on cheetahs) and we wanted a read-aloud which would mesh with these plans. I began searching for appropriate books to share. Around the same time, a new book showed up at our library, Gloria Whelan's Listening for Lions.

I absolutely loved the book, but didn't end up using it as a read-aloud, only because the school year schedule required a shorter length of time. We chose a book of short stories about Africa and they worked out well, but I did feel bad that I hadn't been able to share Listening for Lions with my beloved 5th graders. However, one of the other perks to my assistant position was that I often sat at the front of the classroom monitoring and reading during tests and silent work. Students would see me reading and enjoying what I read and, often, they would ask about whatever it was I was reading at the moment. I'm hoping some of them went on to read Listening for Lions.

A few weeks ago, I was at the library looking for another E.B. White book to begin with my MS (he is on an E.B. White kick at the moment - we are listening to Trumpet of the Swan). While in the W's, I noticed a few small books by Gloria Whelan. They were published by William B. Eerdman's, so I wondered if they had a religious slant.

I decided to try one entitled, A Time to Keep Silent, which was originally published in 1979. It was very similar to Whelan's other book. It featured a young, female protagonist (daughter of a pastor, instead of a missionary, this time), struggling with a familial loss and facing a move and difficult decisions. In this book, Clair Lothrop has just lost her mother and has stopped talking (again, elective mutism has always intrigued me). Her father decides to leave their affluent suburban church and begin a mission in the woods of northern Michigan. Despite her silence, she manages to make a friend in Dorrie, a local girl trying to survive life with and without her alcoholic father.

I am now anxious to go back and read more Whelan books. This one, published earlier, wasn't as finely tuned as the other, but it was an equally enjoyable read. It made me wonder about Gloria Whelan's life, now that I have read two books featuring young girls (PK's, no less), who after a move, grow through their relationship with another individual. I tried to search for a biography on-line, but only came up with information that she has worked as a social worker (among other jobs) and moved from Detroit to a cabin in the northern woods of Michigan. Thankfully, she has written many books, so I will have lots of opportunities to explore her writings.

I would heartily recommend both of these books to any young girl in grades 4-8. I would especially recommend both of them to my niece, Paige, who is a PK and has moved a time or two in her life! (Of course, I'd recommend them to my nieces who haven't moved as much, as well!) Neither of the books are overtly religious or preachy, but both of them are effective at teaching lessons about moral and ethical dilemmas, our choices and their consequences, and the value of relationships for personal and emotional growth.

Book Review: Notes from the Midnight Driver

I would have to say that I tend to enjoy reading books which are written by teachers. The obvious plus is that they really know what kids are like because they spend so much time around them. When I look back on my own classroom experiences, I can clearly see how this career provides endless fodder for writers.

Jordan Sonnenblick, author of Notes from the Midnight Driver, came up with the idea for this book after his eighth-grade honors English students tormented a substitute with a paper-ball fight. When he returned to the classroom, he required the students to write apology letters to their parents. What he received instead, was a fistful of excuse letters.

In Notes from the Midnight Driver, Alex Gregory, a normally decent kid gets drunk, steals his mother's car and ends up decapitating a lawn gnome. As punishment, a judge assigns community service at a local nursing home. Alex is paired with a lively, crotchety old man named Solomen Lewis. As the hours are served, an unlikely friendship develops. Alex struggles with his parents' troubled relationship and a changing relationship with his long-time best friend, Laurie.

This is an excellent book to recommend for pre-teens and teens because the characters were believable and achieved realistic growth. Both the adult and teen characters learn lessons. It is a splendid tale of friendship and forgiveness, with a bit of yiddish, music and romance thrown into the mix.

I do wish the author had been more furtive with some of the details. I felt like I figured out an aspect of the plot too early. And, I think there could have been stronger character development in the relationship between Alex and Laurie. Still, I look forward to reading Sonnenblick's first book, entitled Drums, Girls & Dangerous Pie, and other future books he may write.

Book Review: No Talking

My ES and I first came across Andrew Clements and his books when ES was approaching first grade. Our first was Jake Drake: Bully Buster, which we took with us to camp (CBLI) and read every evening together. This propelled us through the whole Jake Drake series and on to other Andrew Clements books, like Frindle. So, it was no surprise that his recent book, No Talking, lived up to the other greats.

This was a delightful story about a fifth grade boy who, after reading about Ghandi, decides to see how hard it is to go a whole day without talking. Of course, one thing leads to another, and it becomes a competition of all 5th grade boys vs. all 5th grade girls for 48 hours. This poses problems for the school staff. It is a wonderful spark to get kids thinking about the power of words and the impact of both words and silence.

Having worked in a fifth grade classroom, I was wishing this had been published sooner, so that I could have read this as a read-aloud in Mrs. Brown's classroom. I highly recommend it to other teachers. I also recommend it to reluctant readers. What kid doesn't like a story of gender competition?

It brought to mind the first time I had to go 24 hours without speaking. I was at a Salvation Army Girl Guard camp (age 13 or 14) and was going to be inducted into a special group called "Black Arrow." They came for a few of us after we had fallen asleep (I think I slugged the girl who tried to rouse me - sorry, Melody Shank), blindfolded us and led us off to a campfire where we were given our first challenge. To earn our way into the "Black Arrow," we had to be silent for 24 hours. Anyone who knows me, would realize that this was a very tough challenge. I think I could do it now, but as a kid, it was monumental (of course, now I have a motor-mouth son who never stops, so I crave silence a bit more than I used to).

Confessional: I recently dug out my Children's Living Bible to pass on to my MS (his favorite thing to do is flip to the page showing the picture of Jesus dying on the cross between two thieves - he gets mad if he can't find it). I received this Bible from my parents on Christmas Day in 1972. In the back, I had asked several of our Salvation Army cadets (those who are training to become officers) from a Cadets Spring Campaign in 1979 to write autographs. (I have such clear memories of this week with cadets - they all slept in the basement of our building and one gal became engaged to a man named Rose the night before Easter. They came up the stairwell for our sunrise service and Easter breakfast and she was singing, "Up from the grave, I'm a Rose." Ha!)

Here are some of their comments:

• "God bless you and keep you. Don't be afraid to speak (lots) for Jesus."


• "Wendy - Don't ever quit talking - I'll not know who you are. Love ya Loud-Mouth!"


• "To Motor Mouth, Keep your jaws greased and your teeth straight."


• "Take it easy - my favorite Big-Mouth."


• "Wendy - Even though I don't understand why people call a shy, quiet kid like you motor mouth, I still love ya! Be good!"

So, there was an unforeseen reason why I never passed this on to my ES, but saved it, somehow, to give to my MS, who apparently is a lot like me! And, maybe there is an unforeseen reason why I feel I should share one more quote from the inside back cover of this Bible. I attributed this to Russell Platz (and it is below some sermon notes jotted in 1983 at Wheaton, so perhaps it was from a sermon in college chapel???). He said, "Now I begin to see in the nitty gritty of life, how God's silences regarding my petitions do not mean abandonment, but just another opportunity to trust where I cannot trace." Perhaps someone else needed to read this quote today! It is entirely fitting, while reviewing a book about silence!

Book Review: Tuesdays with Morrie

I have been trying to get out of the house at least one night a week. Unfortunately, I usually end up at the library (where I can browse the shelves and the book sale unencumbered) or the thrift store (exciting, huh?). A few weeks ago, I picked up a stack of books at the sale (yes, Shopaholic Takes the Library Book Sale!). Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom, was one of them (only 50 cents). I have thoroughly enjoyed the other Albom books I've read (One More Day and The Five People You Meet in Heaven). I'm not surprised that this one, like those others, has been made into a movie. I've only seen "One More Day," but I'll keep my eye out for the others now.

I enjoyed this book, but not as much as the other two Albom books I've read. It was an easy, inspirational read. I don't know if his perspective carries more umph when it is set in story form. I still would recommend this as a good read. The whole time I was reading it, I couldn't help but think of my father-in-law. I will probably pass my copy on to my mother-in-law; however, I don't know if she'll have time to read it.

My father-in-law has been very ill for quite some time now. Every Father's Day, birthday and Christmas, my husband wonders if it will be the last. My father-in-law, like Morrie, was a college professor. I doubt that I would suggest the book to him - a bit painful to suggest a book on dying to a man who is probably in that process himself. But, my mother-in-law bears the brunt of his care for now and works tirelessly trying to make his last days more comfortable. I think that she would be touched by reading about this account of Morrie Schwartz's final months and his insights into living and dying.

The book also made me think about teachers and professors I have admired and loved. My most memorable elementary school teacher was Mr. Bouchard. He was handsome and unconventional. He taught his class by calling us up individually to make learning contracts each Monday. My competitive soul took to this like fire. I wanted to read more SRA's than any other student. I wanted to be his most successful student! At the end of that year, he married the kindergarten teacher. I wonder where he is now? If I looked him up, would he have great lessons to teach me?

My most memorable junior high teacher was Mr. Wadleigh (I looked it up - I was right). Mr. W. was my 6th or 7th grade English teacher and he encouraged me to share the stories I wrote. He taught me how to write a query letter. He even helped me send off a few of my stories (I laugh now, though, because we sent them to Cricket magazine. Couldn't he have set my sights a little lower so that I might have actually gotten an acceptance letter?).

My most memorable high school teacher was Harsh Ms. Karsh (I've written of her before). She was creative, demanding, inspiring, flamboyant and involved. She clearly cared for her students and wanted to know them more. She read my journals and made comments. She encouraged me to write. She encouraged me to teach. In fact, when she learned that I had earned a teaching degree, she invited me to come back and teach one of her classes for a day (I never took her up on that).

My memorable college teachers were Dr. Lyle Dorsett (more on him later, I'm sure), Dr. Lundin, Dr. Rapp (an interesting Victorian history professor), Dr. Hein, Dr. Ryken, Dr. McClatchey, and Dr. Lake. How sad I was to hear that Dr. McClatchey had passed away.

The two memorable professors from graduate school would have to be Dr. Arnstein and Dr. Winton Solberg. Both of these individuals helped me tremendously and were warm and encouraging. I have often thought about dropping in to see them when I return to Urbana to visit my in-laws.

How rewarding it would be if I discovered that one of my students considered me to have been a memorable teacher in his/her life. I only know of one who has commented about me. When I was teaching GED, I had a student who was interviewed by the local newspaper after her graduation. She said some wonderful things about me. I was thrilled to have been able to meet her. Perhaps some day I will share her story (it is inspiring and I recently shared it with my ES as we were talking about jobs and job security. Yes, I did really have a conversation about that with my 11 year old after he attended something called BizTown, where he held a job for a day!)