Yesterday was Sunday, my day off. All I really wanted to do was organize the house, grocery shop, and go for a bike ride with my family… the first ride of the season. It was a beautiful day, and I was excited to see my bike again.

It’s kind of a special bike- one of those bubble gum pink old school Electra bikes.  It was the first gift Rob got me after we were married. It’s name is Happy because that’s how I feel when I ride it.

I got my chores done in the late afternoon and gathered my family. We went outside to retrieve our bikes from under the porch.

I don’t know why it hadn’t dawned on me- my bike was under the porch. It was the first ride of the season. With all of the busy in my brain, I had forgotten to put it away last fall- Happy had been outside all winter.

When I pulled the bike out, the damage was clear. The formerly pristine chrome was covered in brown rust- even the once-cheerful bell was destroyed, clanky from corrosion. I instantly began to cry. We rode to the beach, big tears plunking off my 35-year-old cheeks and onto the rusty metal.

I knew I looked insane, but I just couldn’t stop crying. I was overworked, tired, and super disappointed.

We came home, I pulled myself together, made dinner, and put the kids to bed. I went to bed early, eager to end a crappy day.

This morning, Rob had a plan. We dropped the kids at school, and he loaded my bike into the back of his truck. Without a big hoopla, Rob drove to the local bike shop, where he bought and ordered replacement parts. He got me a new bell. We brought the bike home, and he helped me polish every inch of what could be salvaged, then replaced everything else.

When we were done fixing it up, Rob told me to take it out for a ride. It rode better than it ever had before- powered by the quiet, “let me help you out” kind of love that hangs out in a family.

We all feel love uniquely. So do our partners, our kids, and our friends. Rob knows me well enough to know that I could care less about flowers on Mother’s Day or a sappy card on Valentine’s Day- he knows that when I really need to feel loved, the best way is to get out his toolbox and make something better.

The best investment we can make in our family and relationships is learning, and living through, the ways our loved ones FEEL love.

I tend to have big feelings, so random bouts of crying aren’t entirely unusual for me… but today felt different. I was crying AND angry AND thinking at the same time.

I was reflecting on a TEAM meeting that I had attended. It was a pretty typical situation. It could have been for any kid in any district: 8 or 10 people gathered around a table, fighting with big, polite words, about a kid who wasn’t  in the room.

I kept looking around the table- mostly at the school staff- thinking about how under any other circumstance, I’d be out having a beer with these people, laughing and talking about things we care about- kids, education, justice, making a difference.

But we weren’t. We were facing off, locked in a courteous battle over service delivery and least restrictive environments and data and effective progress.

I wanted to scream out, “I’M ONE OF YOU! WE WANT THE SAME THINGS! CAN WE JUST TALK?!”

But we couldn’t. Not there. Not in that setting.

But we can here.

So I’m yelling out- to parents, teachers, middle, high school and college students, thoughtful community members- ANYONE who cares about education and kids…

I’m shouting out to you… Can we talk? Not in a hiding-our-anger-overly-polite way… in a real way. Can we just get in a room and start a meaningful conversation? About our hopes and dreams and where it went wrong?

I feel like somewhere on Beacon Hill or Capitol Hill there is a faceless mob who built a brick wall between us- and the only way to take it down is to start talking… to each other.

I don’t want to wait. I want to talk soon.

Please join me on MONDAY APRIL 15th at 7pm at Skills for Living. Come caffeinated. I’ll bring cookies.

Everyone who cares is welcome. There might be 2 or 3 of us or 30 or 300 of us. We’ll see. Get a babysitter. This is about our kids, sure. But let’s be honest. It’s also about us.

Who’s in?

Passing the MCAS

I’m going to pass the MCAS
and get a four, get a four.
Not a one, not a two, not a three,
but a four.
I’m gonna get a four
because of the teachers in the fourth grade.
They taught us our writing area
and a lot more.
They told us to use awesome adjectives
and vivid vocab.
They told us to use capitals and punctuation marks.
They told us to use a subject and
predicate in every sentence.
They said make sure you revise
and edit so you’ll get a lot of credit.
We’re going to blow off the scorers heads.
We’re going to get a four, four, four
because of the fourth grade teachers!

OK. Can we talk for a minute?

Have we lost our FOOL MINDS?!?!?! What is going on here?

Our NINE YEAR OLDS are a bucket of stress over a test that is meant to evaluate their schools… not them. Why do our kids feel like they are carrying such a heavy burden with this test? I’m thinking that as educators, we are accidentally sticking our stress to kids like unwanted post-it notes.

Perhaps the bazillion “QUIET PLEASE” signs, the phone calls home to remind families to feed their kids breakfast, the special snack and extra recess promises, and obscene amount of practicing has crossed a line a smidge? Assessments are certainly important educational tools, but why are we training our kids SO YOUNG to tie their self-worth up in their results?

Let’s all take a breath. Let’s remind ourselves about the goals of education in the first place- to help kids like John develop a love of learning, find their talents, and grow into collaborative adults. I’m not sure we’re meeting our benchmarks.

I packed a few things and left the joyful, distracting, spinning noise of my life for three nights.

I needed time to think, write, and create. I needed quiet to sort through, process, and dump out the swirling chaos of ideas in my head.

I escaped to a little cottage by the beach, fully intending to write a book. It’s been on my professional to-do list for a long time now. I had no doubt that with three days away from the action-packed minutes of my daily life, my thoughts would line up in an orderly fashion and move directly though my hands onto the page.

I was super confident that after three days, I’d have something relatively ready to hand an editor.

Um, not so much.

Here’s what surprised me about this time and this task: It’s so messy.

I spent a day-and-a-half just thrashing:

• I took a long walk through my childhood and teen years, thinking about the kids I went to school with. The kids who were disconnected from the group.  The kids who had to scream to be heard… and were either teased or ignored anyway.
• I cried about those kids.
• I reflected on my life-long calling as a helper. The joys, responsibility, and exhaustion of choosing a life that often involves collecting bits of other people’s pain in a bucket… then never being able to really put the heavy bucket down.
• I wrote a bunch of false starts: anti-establishment-anger-filled chapters about the hurt we have caused kids in an attempt to help (or, more honestly, normalize) them.
• I was scared by my own anger and ate a bunch of girl scout cookies left for me by the owner of the cottage.
• (I learned that I use junk food to numb myself.)
• I wrote lots of messages on colored card stock with Sharpies.
• and finally, after a good long sleep, was able to start writing something coherent.

I’m coming home today. I do not have a neat, clean, manuscript to show for my time away.

I do have:

• A box full of ripped up paper, marked up drafts, and tiny handwritten posters.
• A folder on my desktop called “Thrashing Bucket.”
• A really rough draft, about 35 typed pages, that will need to be stretched and filed in, loved, and polished… but it will eventually become the book I set out to write.

After all of the messy thrashing, the simplicity of the topic surprised me.

I’m telling the sweet, heart-driven story of Skills for Living, and I’m inviting other people who truly care about kids to join in. I’m teaching them how. That’s it.

I think this was time really well spent.

Thank you-

• Rob- for taking full responsibility for home
• Susan- for running my groups and
• Krystal- for fielding the phone calls at Skills

I truly am grateful for the gift of three days. xo

Today, a lot of us think about what it is we want to do with our year ahead- how we’re going to take the world by storm (or lose ten pounds).

Regardless of what it is that is on our minds today- it involves a change.

This year, I am going to learn to shut down my Lizard Brain. We all have one- the little voice in our head that steers us towards safety- and away from awesome.

My Lizard Brain has a favorite line… “Who do you think you are?” 

It’s been speaking this line to me for years- whenever I have wanted to do something bold: Trying out for the lead in the high school musical… applying to speak at a national conference, posting a blog… it always has something to say. I’ve fought with it and won several times- but have missed out on a lot of potential awesome too… when I’ve bowed to it.

This year, I am inviting my Lizard Brain to have a seat. I am going directly against it’s advice. I’m going to take a lot of risks.

Here’s the first-

I’d like to invite you to a conference on January 19th… started by me. This conference will bring together people who do- or want to do- work that really matters to them. People who care deeply about the mark they leave in the world. People who are passionate- sometimes to the point of crazy.

All of the details are right here. My Lizard Brain is telling me none of you will sign up… that people will laugh at me for thinking I could pull off a conference with just 19 days notice… but my heart tells me it’s worth giving it a go. All of the registration fees are going towards a rubber floor we have been saving for at Skills for Living. 

So who’s in? I am.

Let me be clear: These thoughts are directed only toward kids far removed from the tragedy. Kids who live in or near Newtown, CT should seek the guidance of a mental health professional.

Turn off the news.

Young children are not able to decipher news that is happening in their own world from news that is happening far away. Protect them from the terrifying images and sound bites as much as possible.

Be aware of your child’s feelings

• Take inventory of your child’s emotional state- is she shut down, anxious, quiet, extra energetic?
• Don’t assume what kids are feeling… rather, ask what’s on their mind.
• If a child brings up the school shooting, explore feelings with open ended questions:
  • What have you heard?
  • What do you think about this news?
  • How are other kids feeling about this?
• Listen, with empathy and understanding, to your child’s reactions and feelings.
  • There are many “OK” ways for kids to react to difficult news and information. Some kids are talkers, and some simply aren’t. Many kids will seem unaffected.
• Reassure kids of their own safety, the safety of their school, and the safety of their family.
• Respect kids’ feelings. Don’t try to redirect or “cheer kids up.”
• Some kids will want to become involved- offering to help, send gifts or cards, while others will keep their distance or seem indifferent.

Be aware of YOUR feelings

• Kids can feel our feelings… tone of voice, body language, and conversations with other adults
• What kids don’t understand, they will finish in their heads… and it is likely not even close to reality. Be very aware of conversations that are taking place about the shooting around our children. 

Some details are unnecessary

• Kids need to trust that the adults they love will give them the information they need. It’s OK to not have all of the answers.
• Give direct, truthful responses, but keep answers brief and age-appropriate. “You heard about a very sad situation in Connecticut. Kids and grownups were hurt very badly. That happened far away from here. You are safe at your school.”

My heart is very much with all who have been touched by this terrible tragedy. As the mom of a kindergartener and the daughter of a kindergarten teacher, my brain simply can not begin to process it.

Rob’s last day at his job is tomorrow.

Yup. That super-cool-high-tech-awesome job three miles from our house… the one he left a stable, steady, long term job for… ten months ago.

That’s the one. It’s over tomorrow.

Let me just chime in, before anyone starts in with “I’m so sorry about the job loss…” This wasn’t a job loss. Rob and I chose to walk away.

To make a longish story short: Life is too short to spend every day working in a less-than-awesome climate. It’s a waste of spirit, time, talent, love.

So tomorrow, Rob will say goodbye to his 9-5 job and come home… to be with our kids, and to start teaching science and engineering classes to children. He will probably make 15% of the salary he had been bringing home, and will likely be 1,000% happier.

So that leaves me, and this thing I call Skills for Living, to earn an income for our family.

I’m scared and I’m excited. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and I’m slightly overwhelmed. I’m ready to break out some awesome, and I’m not sure I can do it… all at the same time.

Change, transition, living, and working when it matters to your family… it’s serious stuff.  I feel like we’re about to step out on a tightrope- strung across a gorge.

If you’re reading this, thanks for caring about Skills for Living and our family. We wouldn’t be taking such a risk without the support and love we feel from those who believe in us.

No, I’m serious. Stop trying to run the show from your seat on Beacon Hill, Capitol Hill, or Wherever Hill. You don’t get it, and you’re seriously screwing things up for our kids.

I can respect your desire to have American kids “catch up” to those countries who have bounded ahead of us in math and science. I understand your wish for measurable data and generalized student success… I get it. But you’re going about it ALL WRONG.

• Kindergarteners aren’t met to sit still, completing page after page of seat work.
• 2nd graders need the opportunity to get fresh air and solve problems on the playground.
• Middle School students shouldn’t be so bogged down by hours of homework that they don’t have a moment to connect with peers.

Your rules and expectations are socially numbing our kids. They are labeled as difficult, unruly, or wild. They are being medicated so that they can sit still long enough to grind through paperwork that would bore most adults. They can’t access downtime to play, create, connect, and dream.

Take a clue from the teachers of the past- the ones who were allowed to interpret and design the curriculum so it would fit their students:

• When I was in fourth grade, Mr. Sopelak took the better part of 6 weeks to construct a ginormous triceratops skeleton with our class. Everything we did in class revolved around it. I learned a ridiculous amount about science, math, engineering, history, and team work.
• In fifth grade, Mr. Knie played a month-long cross-curricular pioneer game with our class that I still remember joyfully.
• When I was in seventh grade, my math teacher would regularly write “Enjoy your afternoon” in the homework column on beautiful spring days… and I did.

I very much doubt the piles of paper our kids do now are going to have a lasting impact on their learning.

So seriously, get over the data-driven crap and let our teacher teach.

Signed,

A Disheartened Mom and Social Educator

(Oh, and by the way- can you get a message to whoever designed the Common Core Curriculum?  The directions go a the TOP of the page. Duh.)

Seth mentioned multiple times about the need to be generous in our work… with our ideas. We should freely share digital content, and collaborate with people in our field.

Seth believes in abundance- that there is enough opportunity for everyone who does good work to succeed. It’s a beautiful idea… and I know it works- because I had already learned it from my friend Donna.

Donna Shea is the founder and director of the Peter Pan Center in Ayer, Massachusetts. Donna believed in social education before it was even a thing to teach. For ten years, Donna has thoughtfully and lovingly provided a space for kids to come together, without judgement, and practice their budding social skills.

Donna has been a major inspiration and cheerleader to me as I’ve built Skills for Living. Like Seth Godin, she has taught me to share. She and I swap ideas freely, without thought of “competition.” There is no need to troll one another’s websites for ideas to duplicate, because we openly exchange plans. We both believe that there are more children in Massachusetts who need our help than we each have hours in the day to help, so we enthusiastically swap referrals, content, and business ideas. I have never thought of her as a competitor- only a colleague.

I wonder what life would be like if we all saw the world like Donna Shea and Seth Godin- no need to shoot anyone down, swipe ideas, or fuss over credit… because it was purely, simply, about giving. That would rule.

Thank you Donna… for being a tremendous mentor, encourager, and giver. You’re the best.

That’s why it was particularly annoying when, just as I was about to accept the check, my neighbor’s car alarm tore me out of my happy dream and back to reality. Ugh. Lame.

When I came into work on Saturday, I was greeted by an email from one of the parents in our community. Her mother-in-law had sadly died on Friday, and the family wanted to request that in lieu of flowers, people make gifts to Skills for Living in her name.

I was completely blown away. Through their grief, this family generously thought of us, and reached out to see if they could help. My eyes filled with tears. We decided that any gifts we receive would be put towards the flooring we have been saving for in our gym area, and that we will put up a plaque to remember Barbara Howard- a woman I had never met- but who will touch so many lives in our community every single day.

Because of Mrs. Howard’s Floor, kids will be able to play a whole lot more safely, and the edge will be taken off a nasty echo that has been hard for some of our kids with sensory challenges.

My heart is just so full. A dream that had begun in my sleep was complete in real life.

We think of the Howard family as they grieve their beautiful mother, grandmother, sister… and are oh so grateful to them for helping us keep her memory very much celebrated at Skills for Living.