Algunas veces, no se me ocurre que no sé una palabra en #español. Puedo estar platicando con alguien y tengo que parar y pensar en lo que quiero decir.
Una vez, estaba leyendo un libro a una clase de segundo grado. Era un libro de no ficción sobre animales #bioluminiscentes. Discutimos diferentes tipos de animals y empecé con la pagína con…–vuelan cuando empieza a oscurecer…estos..puedes ver las lucecitas volando. Son #fireflies en inglés–les expliqué
–¡Sí maestra, son fireflies!–
–Pero ¿comó se dice en español?–
Otra maestra, confundida como yo, empezó a buscar la palabra.
–Ahh, luciérnaga!
Todos empezaron decir la palabra.
–Luciérnaga, luciérnaga, luciérnaga!–
Continuamos con el libro. Siempre tengo momentos cuando no sé lo que no sé.
How Do You Say #firefly?
Sometimes it doesn’t occur to me that I don’t know a word in #Spanish. I can be speaking with someone until I have to stop and think about what I want to say.
Once, I was reading aloud to a second grade class. It was a nonfiction book about bioluminescent animals. We discussed different types of animals and I started with a page about “…they fly when it starts to get dark…they…you can see little lights flying. They’re #fireflies in English,” I explained.
“Yes, teacher, they’re fireflies!”
Another teacher, just as confused as me, began looking up the word.
“Ahh, luciérnaga!”
Everyone started chanting the word.
“Luciérnaga, luciérnaga, luciérnaga!”
We continued with the book. I always have moments where I don’t know what I don’t know.
My soon to be #sweetsixteener hit me up for a #birthday gift. Three months ahead of time. Important items of discussion typically happen at the #lastpossibleminute, but here we are. On the bright side, her skills are improving-ish? Not only does she ask me three months and a week in advance, she does so during my afternoon walk. Via #text. Can Novio Boy tag along? Oh, and it’s in San Antonio. #minordetails
The door hasn’t even shut behind me when I walk in and she #hollers “Ma-a-a-h-m…did you get my message?” She emerges at the top of the stairs. Then she hops down. Must be important.
“Okay, #hearmeout…”
I stop and let her flow.
“…there’s this concert, you’ll hate the music, but maybe not?”
My questions addressing all of the things she hasn’t considered, never mind she described it as a midwestern emo band (what is that?), are rising to the top and bubbling. I have to turn down the heat so they don’t spill over.
Tickets are cheap. #redflag. They’ll hit you with #fees. It’s at 9:00 in the morning. #weird and #anotherreadflag. Can Novio Boy come along? #redflagandsirens. It’s at a place called Paper Tiger.
I look it up. It looks like a #divebar #ohhellno
I don’t say yes. I don’t say no. #researchmode. I can’t find it on the ticket apps I use.
“But I got the link to buy tickets on #spotify!” her two-year-old self peeks out for a few seconds before she stuffs her back deep inside.
“Hold on, I’m looking.” Dallas, Houston, L.A. …”Oh, I see, there’s the fine print, TBA, so even if it says 9:00 a.m, they may still be in the planning stages. Listen. This isn’t a big venue. If it was at the Alamodome, it would be different. I have to check out this Paper Tiger place. It sounds like a bar near St. Mary’s campus. If it’s a bar, you have to be over 21 to get in.”
“But how is it that I can buy a ticket if…”
“The same way you opened up your Instagram and Snapchat accounts that you aren’t supposed to have. Guaranteed, if it’s a bar, they’ll check your ID to get in.”
“But even if I have tickets?”
“Chica, you first have to be 21. Give me time to check it out. Have you looked at the venue?”
“What’s that?”
#sigh
It appears minors must be accompanied by an adult. There is a bar #yayme It’s small and frequently hosts live bands. Reviews are positive. I know nothing about the band. #lighbulbmoment
My #livemusicguru friend! I send her a message asking about the venue. Yes, she has been there and enjoyed it. Yes, it’s safe for teens, but it’s best to go with her. There are restaurants and other bars within walking distance.
“Can I pay you to take her?”
“Lol! If it’s a band I like I’ll go with you.”
It’s still a little early and I’m not ready to purchase tickets. There may be a music festival going on which explains the 9:00 a.m. show. I feel #awkward tagging along, but I also don’t want to leave her there without being on the premises. I promise I’ll hide in the back somewhere.
Why is it that an adult can take their kids to most places, but if teens take parents, are they #weirdos or do they have #coolparents?
I struggle with staying off my phone. #everything lives there. I’m not the #techie type, but it has gradually choked out all resistance I once had to keeping up with the times (and #Joneses). Every Sunday, my screen time notification lets me know how much of my life bled into #cyberspace.
This week will be different. It won’t be the ghastly #imnotsaying hours it is every week. Nopity, nope. It will be less. I’m cutting it in half. People say researchers say setting your phone to #grayscale will significantly reduce the amount of time you spend on your phone.
#bluelight #screenaddiction #doomscrolling all of the things will improve. So they say. I had to look up directions, because, you know, the #reel I watched went too fast and there I am, taking another #screenshot to add just one more photo to my 10,000+ collection I carry around every day. How much would that weigh in actual #photos?
Is it the #placeboeffect? I have reduced my time, although not by half. It’s about a third. What I have noticed is I #cantfindanything. My apps are organized just so…by #color. I have slowed my scroll because I have to read my screen. (Funny how I’m always telling the kids “Slow your scroll and #readyourscreen!”)
My bank account is a little happier, but Amazon is not. I’m not clicking on useless items to bulk up my #shoppingcart. I’ve taken less screenshots because I’m not scrolling as much. My messages may be a bit off since I’m struggling to find the right #emoji 😃
I do turn it on for a few minutes, especially if I’m getting (more) photos from family members, but overall, I switch it back. It’s #cumbersome to toggle back and forth and I’m not creating a shortcut. Also, it isn’t hurting my eyes. Well, my eyes don’t necessarily hurt, but it isn’t as jarring.
How long will I maintain this? Who knows. I’m curious to see how much of a difference it makes. I can go on with my life #inlivingcolor.
Way back in my #college days, there was a sub shop, or was it a pizza place? Taco joint? Anyhow, this place advertised #twofer Tuesday and you’d get two for the price of one. I figured since it’s #SOL Tuesday and March SOL #challenge, I’d write two posts. As if this challenge isn’t enough.
Here’s to post #1, my introduction to making myself squirm in my writing seat a little (#alot) more than usual.
Friday nights in Texas usually means football in the fall. On the cusp of spring, it’s baseball. Winter one day, spring the next.
A chill in the air vies for attention letting us know “I’m not done with you yet.”
Tpyos
“Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren’t distracted by the total lack of content in your writing.”
–Randy K. Milholland
Tpyos bother me, mostly when wen they're my own mistake, not anyone else's although I do notice them in porfessional settings, such as formal publications online in a book an email form someone important
I take a second look how did it make it past editors? did anyone proofread?
I'm the type who usually proofreads most days including fly by the seat of my pints text messages and yes, I resend revised messages
auto-correct I HATE it! Fixes words that didn't need fixing and changes the enteir meaning is there a name for that?
If you were to have a superpower, what would it be?
I like to think flying, teleportation, or the ability to predict the future might top my list, but no. The ability to go a whole day of teaching without going to the bathroom might top my list. I think most educators have that one built in, so there’s no need to wish for it. I think about weaknesses that come with superpowers and the downside to having something special so I can’t ever answer this question because I take it way too seriously.
However, I do have a superpower.
I can smell weird things. Weird things other people can’t smell. When I was expecting my first kiddo, I smelled cow manure. My husband and I were driving on the highway and I smelled it. Odd though, there aren’t many cattle trucks around here. Sure enough, a few minutes later, we passed one. I smelled it from about a mile away.
Last week I kept getting a whiff of some grandma smelling perfume. At work. I checked my desk. Is it my lotion? Everything I use is unscented. What could it be? Valentine’s Day flowers are long gone. Did a student leave something? I forgot about it until I sat at my desk this morning.
“Do you wear perfume?” I ask work bestie.
“No, the scent gives me headaches. I haven’t worn it in years.”
“Same,” I agree. “But don’t you smell something perfume-y? Like old perfume? Grandma perfume from when we were kids?”
She comes over to my desk and starts sniffing. “Is it your lotion?” she asks.
“No, it’s unscented, but it does have a cosmetic type smell. Wilhelmina, stop messing with me,” I announce.
“Wilhelmina?”
“Yeah, my class ghost, remember?”
We both start sniffing, like those cartoon hound dogs that put their noses across every surface, going up and down every object on and around my desk. The computer monitor and keyboard. The drawers, open and closed. A stack of papers. Dog man book marks still sealed in the packages. I reach for the ones in the acrylic holder and sniff. Nope.
Sniff, sniff, whiff, sniff…
A stack of books. Maybe it’s a book? One by one, she goes through a stack I’m working on, opening them and moving them to the counter as she eliminates each suspect.
“Aha! This one smells funny. It smells like powder. Is it this that you’re smelling?”
I take a whiff…BINGO!
Never suspecting the book, it never occurred to me to sniff through the stack. I move it to the cart of new nonfiction books, far away from me.
It may take a little longer to nail the culprit, but I’ve still got it.
My work bestie and I closed the library Thursday for lunch. I had a full day of lessons with eighth graders and another teacher was scheduled for checkouts. We rarely have lunch together because we try to keep the library open all day. I needed a breather and it’s nice not to have to eat alone.
I taught three full days of research lessons with this particular class and my anchor research topic was AI. I mentioned how we’re embracing AI every day (hello, MagicSchool, Chat GPT, Gemini and all you other invisible bots) and moving toward a Wall-E world, which creeped me out the first time I watched it years ago when E-now 22-was little, which led me to reminding her Wall-E is pretty much Number 5, the robot from the ’80s movie Short Circuit and did she ever watch it? which led to “Who was in that movie anyway, Matthew Broderick?” which led to a Google search (hers) while my brain search recalled Matthew Broderick in War Games, and “Did you ever watch that one?’ which led to an answer: Ally Sheedy and Steve Guttenberg (not how I’d spell it)–Steve Guttenberg? Wasn’t he older? Which made me stop to recalculate how old I actually was when I saw it (we lived in a rural town so that meant I watched it about two years after its release on HBO) which also reminded me I was still a young teen, so anyone over 18 was old in my mind’s eye, which then led to reminiscing and going down the 80s Week theme we’ve been tossing around for the library, ending with an 80s dance party. In the library. Before school. Which led to “Do you know how to dance?’ and I reply “If you call standing in one place bending your knees and swinging your hips to the beat actual dancing. 80s style dancing, so yeah, I know how to dance,” which led to the next class coming in and my brain trying to contain herself because in walked a student wearing…
a Wall-E t-shirt.
Today, it’s year 5 five for me. Number five is definitely alive, although my thoughts might short-circuit every now and then, which leads me to ask, anyone want to join me for an 80’s themed virtual dance party after 31 days of slicing?
Estas son las mañanitas que cantaba el rey David...
There was no Spanish birthday song yesterday morning. No serenata from family or even Spotify. No elaborate party to tap in to our culture. It was more “Can I have my phone back? I didn’t get to talk to him all day yesterday. This day is turning out terrible!” There is still much to do for a fifteenth birthday celebration later in the afternoon, despite a plan for something low-key. I proceed to take pup out for a morning walk, carry on as usual.
But it’s not usual. It’s her fifteenth birthday. A decade ago, a decade, we vacationed in Mexico and a mariachi did sing Las Mañanitas. Inside of a McDonald’s. We were getting ice cream for the kids. Our friend found them strolling along the street, so he arranged the surprise. I held her, lanky five year old legs dangling past my knees as I propped her on my hip, her face buried in my shoulder while she covered her ears with her hands because it was too loud.
Last year, she came out on the other side of middle school. An entire 365.25 days (there’s that quarter again) and we’re at 15. One and a half decades of mothering a daughter and I can only think of hollering, “Well at least you don’t have an older sister getting married on your birthday like on Sixteen Candles!” as I walk out, holding the leash with a death grip so bucking bronco Dipper doesn’t yank me out the door. I have to remember though, I’m not fifteen. I keep my mouth shut.
It’s the day of her birthday and there is a quasi-plan. On our way to pick up a friend for a bowling outing, the plan changes. Again. It’s decided to hang out at our house. Stir-fry for dinner at home courtesy of Chef Dad because it’s her favorite and he’ll cook anything for anyone, but especially her. Cake at 7:00 because E is adulting and needs time to get home from work.
My mind races to think about everything fifteen will bring. 2024 fifteen is a long way from 80’s fifteen. Different issues. Different dangers. Too much for me to handle. Too much for her to handle?
On the drive back (then there’s driving!) from dropping off her friend, she says thank you. “The day got progressively got better. I had fun.”
“You’re welcome.”
She puts her phone back up to her ear (earbuds are lost—again) to listen to her music. When we get home, I go to the front yard to take out the black and white polka-dot birthday letters announcing her day to passersby. I realize we forgot to sing when she blew out the candles on her cake.
Nerds Beget Nerds 