Last Post of 2021. Looking ahead. One Word for 2022

 I didn't write a #OneWordx12 post for November.

I didn't write for December, either. 

But I thought about them a lot. I thought about what my word(s) might be. A lot. I almost sat down to write a number of times. But I didn't. The last 2 years have been so heavy. Have been so much. Have carried so much baggage into our daily lives. 

I started my #OneWordx12 posts back in January of 2020 when it was somewhat pre-pandemic times. COVID was around but it wasn't here yet (it probably was...). Schools were still open. I went out to dinner with friends. I attended OLASC. I became the OSLA VP and spent a weekend in Toronto at a table with with other people. I shopped. It was the end of life as we knew it and the start of now. 

When I started choosing and writing my one word per month Doug Peterson thought it was a great idea. The world was changing so rapidly and how could one word ever hope to encompass and entire year? Choosing a new word each month allowed me to reflect on what I was feeling, where the world was, how education was changing and (puke) pivoting to this new reality. 

But after 2 years of choosing words and thinking about where I was, where we were, and where we were all going ... it started to feel heavy as well. My #OneWordx12 project started to feel connected to the pandemic even though it didn't start out that way. I started to feel like I was always reflecting on the things we'd lost, the negatives that were part of our new routines and not on the joy that still exists in our world. The joy that still exists in schools and the school library. 

The word "normal" is such a weird word. It barely describes anything if you really think about it. One person's normal almost never matches another person's normal. There is no central normal that fits society. Normal is about as far from normal as we can get. It's a lazy word used to describe the past that wasn't ever normal but maintained a certain comfort level for a small percentage of people. 

Normal is definitely a colonialist construct. 

Matthew R. Morris wrote a thought provoking blog post about being "Back to Normal. Sort of." and I found myself re-reading it and being drawn into the ideas from it a number of times throughout November and December. Being back at school feels almost normal but not. The library is open and students are getting books but they can only come in whole class groups, every other week which is not normal. They are so happy to be in the space choosing books and tinkering with small stations but I am constantly reminding students to pull up their masks and to maintain distance which is not normal. Some of the kids ask about whether the library is safe, is it clean, is it okay to be in there since they weren't allowed last year... which is not normal and devastatingly sad. 

And always on the back of my mind is the question of whether the "normal" of the library was ever good enough to begin with? Were all students able to access the library in a way that supported them and their learning needs? Was free flow an equitable model when not all educators supported and allowed students to come to the space? How might the return to free flow book exchange look different after COVID in order to create a more equitable space for all learners? 

You could say that my word for November and December was normal. Or the reflection on the word normal. What might normal mean? Do we even want to return to normal? Is normal a word that we even want to use in relation to the school library? 

I will not be continuing my #OneWordx12 for 2022. 

I guess you could say I'll be returning to the "normal" of choosing just one word for year... or I won't. I haven't really decided. I like the idea of choosing a word for myself personally but can't wrap my head around how it might encompass all that is my professional life as a teacher-librarian. I'd like to write more about the everyday happenings in the library, about the books I'm reading, the resources I'm curating, the thought processes that goes into all of it. I'd like to blog more. I'd like to set a goal to blog more and stick to it. I'd like to find a way to be intentional in my blogging and reflecting. The #OneWordx12 did help with that... how might I adapt the process of choosing one word each month to maintain my intentions as I reflect on the school library and education? 

Today is the last day of 2021 and while the new year typically brings thoughts of renewal and hope it seems very muted and far from hopeful this year. Omicron has become a normal word in our vocabulary. We still use pivot and unprecedented (puke) way too often. The education system (especially here in Ontario) feels like a raging dumpster fire most days. But there are the moments and small pockets of joy. And without falling into the dangers of toxic positivity I do think we need to share and revel in those moments... and the reflection they should prompt. How might we recreate these small moments for others? What actions might help to spread joy? How can we learn to live within our current reality without constantly obsessing over it? 

Maybe that's where the intentional nature of blogging will come from- normal/not normal and pockets of joy? Perhaps two posts each month?

Time will tell. 

Teaching Loss and Recovery.

I've been thinking a lot about teaching loss lately. It's an idea that has been weighing heavily on my mind. Pav Wander wrote a great bog post called "Is Teaching Loss a Myth, Too" that really resonated with me and has been sticky in my mind for the last month. (There's also a link to an episode of the Staffroom Podcast within Pav's blog that's totally worth a listen.)

The first month back to school this year has been hard. 

In many ways it's been harder than September 2020. 

There seems to be more emphasis on a return to "normal" even as the fourth wave of the pandemic is knocking at the door. In the school library learning commons I feel as though I have been walking a tight rope balancing act of what I know and believe to be good pedagogy and learning experiences for students against the current COVID protocols. Our space is set to open this week for the first set of students to test out the new routines and while I am beyond excited to have students in the space again I also know that every question related to making, tinkering, loose parts, Lego, Keva Planks etc is going to add a small new crack to my heart. I hope we can get back there soon. I hope once we see the routines in place and people are feeling more comfortable we will get back there. 

But my biggest fear is that we wont.

It's already been determined that I can't co-teach and collaborate in our space due to the size and shape of the tables. The students must all face forward and with pentagonal shaped tables that means only one student per table and I only have 13 tables. Once again, I am hoping that once the library routines are in place and I can better understand the time commitment needed to re-shelve and deal with book exchange without the benefit of helpers that I will be able to visit classes in their space to co-teach and collaborate. 

But my biggest fear is that we wont. 

People keep saying that we will get back to having a maker space. We will get back to having a free flow exchange system. We will get back to a school library that hums with students and excitement. 

But my biggest fear is that we wont. 

So how does this relate to teaching loss? 

Well, in my experience most educators' social and professional support circles contain a lot of other educators. And those in your circle who aren't educators don't always understand the nuances of the issues we are facing. So in my opinion, one of the biggest issues of teaching loss right now is the lack of a support system from within our own circles. Normally, educators would be able to be the shoulder to lean on, the ear to listen, the one to cry to, etc. But as we look back over the last 18 months of the pandemic and beyond that as public education has been under attack here in Ontario for almost 4 years people are wiped out. 

Exhausted. Depleted.  

I know that I often feel like I don't have the reserves to adequately support my friends when they are struggling at work and I always feel like I don't want to be the one to burden them with my own worries. I think we can describe this as teaching loss. Usually educators would be chatting in the hall, sharing ideas, thinking up unique ways to collaborate and co-teach. But the halls are quiet. People are trying to find a place they feel comfortable enough to un-mask and eat. Staff meetings and team meetings are virtual so there are people in my building I haven't even seen in person yet this year. No one is interested in the extras- teams, clubs, committees, etc. Everyone is tired. I also think many educators have rethought their priorities in terms of family time and volunteer time. If the extra that you gave in the past hasn't been valued or respected then how in times of stress and depletion do we keep on giving?

I'm worried for my colleagues and for myself. 

How do we get back to the joy of teaching when it seems like there isn't an end in sight to the struggle? 

How do we support ourselves and each other when it feels like we are already at the bottom? 

How do we trust that what we have lost isn't lost forever?

I think because of these thoughts that I am struggling to come up with my #OneWordx12 for October. In September I went with embrace and I did make a list of things I was grateful for and that made gave me moments of happiness. 

Perhaps a good choice of words is RECOVERY. 

What will be uncovered as we re-open the library? What new ways of connecting will be discovered through our virtual story times. How might we recover our joy? 

Slice of Life: What's That Smell?

 My husband has a very sensitive nose. When we first moved into together and at the start of our marriage, I had to tie up the compost before he could take it out because he couldn't handle the smell. When our oldest daughter was born I had some genuine concerns about his ability to change a dirty diaper without being ill himself. His gag reflex to smells is quite something. 

So when he tells me there is a smell in the house, I believe him. 

We have a small hallway that leads to the powder room on our main floor. We have hooks there for the girls backpacks and coats. They line up their shoes under the hooks. We also have the dog's food at the end of the hallway that leads to a door for the yard. We never use the door because this house also has two patio doors that we can use to access the yard. So the hallway is just for the dog, the kids, and a means to get to the washroom. 

I had put a small carpet runner down on the floor because my husband and father-in-law were coming in all the time in their work boots to use the washroom as they work on the addition and deck we are adding to the house. So when my husband announced last night that he could smell urine we assumed our very senior dog had had an accident. 

My husband also likes to be thorough. So he sniffed every pair of shoes. Each backpack. Looked in the backpacks. Sniffed my purse. MY PURSE!!! As if. Nothing else smelled like urine so we removed the carpet runner and he mopped the tile floor.

I left for work. 

Then I got a text. "It still smells like urine. But I scrubbed the grout."

Okay, so maybe this was going to be a bigger problem. Maybe our poor dog had been having accidents and we had overlooked it? Maybe it had soaked into the baseboards?

When I came home I took a turn to scrub the tiles and the baseboards. Lots of elbow grease and our strongest cleaner. 

He could still smell it. 

But what else to do? I Googled "cleaning dog urine from tiles" and found that a 1:1 ratio of vinegar and water would do the trick. I promised to do it again after my workout. Then I headed downstairs to get on the bike and then a stretching class. Partway through my stretching class I heard a crash and some grumbling. I yelled up the stairs, "Everything ok?"

"Yup." Came the response and then the thud of feet on the stairs. "I figured out the cause of the smell."

"Oh?" was my response as I thought we'd already figured this out. 

"Yup. Dead mouse in the vent."

Ummmmm, gross. Disgusting. Seriously??

But do you think this means that we've solved the problem of the mice in the bread drawer?

Slice of Life: Car Rides

 

When I think back on my time as a mom it's always the car rides around town, on the way to the store or running errands, that the kids share funny ideas, ask questions and actually engage in some pretty meaningful conversations. Ever since the pandemic we have been on very few of these types of car trips as we often keep the girls at home and one of us runs out to do the errands, shopping, etc. 

Now that school is starting and the girls are headed back in-person they need clothes and other supplies. So last Friday my oldest and I head out into the wilds of clothes shopping together. As she is turning 11 and a "tween" clothes shopping together is not always the most fun thing we do.... and that's an understatement. 

The car ride was magic. As my car is new I have a trial subscription to XM satellite radio and we have access to fun channels like "90's on 9" where my daughter is able to hear the music I grew up listening to as a teen. Now that I am a mom I do hear the lyrics in many songs in a different light and just brace myself for the questions that will inevitably come up but it's still a fun time. My daughter came up with a game as we were driving- Could I name an artist from the 90's starting at A and work through the alphabet all the way to Z? We discovered very quickly that I could not! So we expanded the game to any artists from any genre. That I could do! 

I miss the short car rides around town that were a part of our usual weekly routine. Somehow that time in car, listening to music and on the way to a new location always lends itself to a little magic. Whether it's the funny things my children blurt out, in-depth questions and social justice discussions or just sharing music those car rides were always memorable. I hope we are on our way back to that soon. 

Embrace September.

 As I have seen many people post on a variety of platforms... wow, it's already September.

How does that happen?

As I was working on my word for September I was trying to decide if it should have a personal focus (as many of my words have had this year) or a professional focus. However, since it is September and that means back to school I don't really see how I can separate the two. 

This will be my 19th year as a teacher and I haven't missed a single first day of school in all that time. Not even the year I was on mat leave with my oldest daughter as my husband and I split the leave and he took over in September so I could go back to school. Not the year I was pregnant with my second daughter (due in November) and had to start my leave 2 months early due to complications. I still started the school as usual and worked for 9 days (while mainly sitting in a chair...). 

18 first days of school as an educator. 13 first days of school as an elementary or secondary school student. 6 first days of school as an undergraduate or teacher-candidate. 

That's 37 first days of school in my life. 

And I can't say that I am looking forward to number 38. 

For the first time ever. 

The pandemic has changed me. The ongoing attack on public education has changed me. 

I often feel like I have lost a part of myself in the last 2 years. 

I know that I am quieter than I used to be. I know that I prefer to be home with just my husband and children more now. I have less time and patience for other people. And for myself. 

I am less excited about the upcoming school year. Even though it looks like libraries will be open in some capacity it still feels harder to be excited. 

I am worried for my friends and colleagues. They are still so sad, so tired, so demoralized.

Embrace.

But I believe under it all I am still an optimist. I still have the capacity to look for the good. So while a part of me continues to mourn for the me that's lost, I want to use September to embrace the good things. To look for the small moments of joy in hopes of finding my excitement again. 

In hopes of finding me. 

 I think I shall start a list. Because to be honest, there's nothing more me than a list! A list of the good things. A list of the times I feel embraced in light. A list of the moments where joy shines through.

Slice of Life: Sunday Evenings

Sunday evenings can be the best and the worst part of the whole week. 

This past Sunday we returned home in the late afternoon from a weekend of camping with cousins. Seven kids under the age of 11 and six adults, three of whom are related as siblings or first cousins and their spouses. It was a wonderful two nights and two days of swimming, hiking, hammocks and eating around the fire. We were all gloriously tired from all the fun, late night glow stick dance parties and living in the fresh air. 

However, returning on Sunday evening meant unpacking the camping gear and getting ready for the week ahead. First up was determining which food that was in cooler was salvageable, then getting the laundry into the wash for the girls to wear to day camp the next day. Of course, in the midst of all this getting the girls into the shower or bath to chip off three days worth of dirt from living and playing outside. And did we order the pizza yet for dinner? 

As the girls were getting clean I began to pack up their lunches and gear for day camp on Monday. This week they would be attending an outdoor nature school camp so that also mean packing an extra duffle of clothes, rain gear, boots and shoes for the inevitable moment when one (or both) of the girls fell head first into the river or mud during the week. 

Once the girls were clean, hair brushed and settled in to watch a movie I checked on the laundry, transferred the wash to the dryer and put in a new load. Then I checked to see if the dishwasher was done so I could unload it and start to pack away the camping gear. Then off to grab a shower before the pizza arrived. 

Finally, everyone was clean and the pizza had arrived for dinner. Time to settle in on the couch to catch up on a favourite show with my husband before bedtime. 

The quiet of a Sunday evening descended upon the house as we all were finally at rest before another week of summer fun. 

System.

Definition from Merriam-Webster. 

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/system

I want to start with thanking everyone who read my last post and reached out with words for support. I also want to thank everyone who read my last post and reached out to say that my words helped them. Lastly, I want to think everyone who read my last post and aren't ready to talk, seek support, or reach out but found comfort in my journey. 

My word for August is system. 

I chose this word as a continuation of my one word from June/July. As we careen towards September and back to school with "the plan" here in Ontario so much continues to feel out of our control. 

Out of our control as educators, as parents, as a community. 

I continue to struggle with my own mental health, feeling rested and healed. Knowing that September is coming and that I will be thrown back into the worry of the past 18 months often feels like a heavy weight. Our family has made the decision to send our children back to in-person school because they did not enjoy the remote/online school and they need the interaction with their friends. But not a day goes by that I don't question that decision. Neither of my children are old enough for the vaccine. My parents and in-laws have underlying health concerns that will result in us limiting our exposure to them. Again. I will be working in a school of close to 800 students and then coming home to my children as well. 

It's a lot. 

It's been a lot for so long. 

As I write this my daughters are in a day camp. We wanted them to have some practice and exposure to being with kids and other people before school starts so it's not so jarring. They are going for two weeks and then we have two more weeks to rest before the end of the summer. The decision to have them go to camp and inter-mingle with other kids was a hard one. They have struggled with separation anxiety since the start of the pandemic. They worry about the lack of space that other kids give to those around them. But they are eager in the morning to go and try something new. They are eager to be with people their age. 

And I am eager to have time to myself. It's been so long since I've had any time alone for an extended period of time. Other than the weeks that schools were open and I was working, if I have been home I am with my children and my husband. At the cottage I was with my parents and my sister's family. And while it's been amazing to have thing open up a bit and get vaccinated so we could see family members, I do feel that my own struggle with mental health stems a lot from not having any space and time for me. 

Everything seems to be in service of my children and their wellness/needs. Supporting school needs. Supporting snack requests. Supporting tech issues that arise with older parents. Supporting the maintenance of a home when no one ever leaves. Laundry. Always laundry. 

As things are opening up and people feel comfortable gathering together more friends want to see each other, and I do want to see people, too. But... 

I also haven't been alone. Ever. For almost 2 years now. 

I think it really was highlighted for me as my mom and I were getting ready to go to the beach at the cottage and I put a book into my beach bag. My mom commented that she wanted to chat at the beach. Her actual words may have been, "Hey! We are going to chat at the beach. I've been alone with your father for this whole time and I want to talk with someone else."

And my internal monologue screamed "NO!!! I have been surrounded by people for the whole pandemic and I just want to read my book at the beach."

But I didn't bring the book with me. 

I've noticed this same thing with friends who have older children. They want to get together more to chat and have coffee. Perhaps because older children are more independent and haven't necessarily felt the same weight of always being with children who demand attention from you at all time. And sadly, while these invitations come from a place of love they feel like another obligation. Another thing to do for someone else. More time to be "up", to be talkative, to be in service to others. 

So while my daughters are at camp for these two weeks I am focused on being alone as much as possible. Even the drive home from dropping them off and then to pick them up feels like a luxurious gift. And I have promised myself that if I say no to an invitation I will not succumb to the pressure to justify my reason. 

Taking time for me is reason enough. 

So how does this all relate to my word choice? 

What does this have to do with the concept of systems?

I am spending this time alone reflecting on my home, my space and my routines to develop systems that support me and my family so when September comes I have a sense of control over some areas of my life.

My focus is developing/refining systems in these areas:

• meal planning
• exercising
• reflecting on the central spaces of our home and refining the organization so it works for us
• purging clutter that detracts from the workings of our home

How are you prioritizing yourself and your needs as we inch ever closer to September?

What systems in your life will help you feel supported and in control of your space and needs?

How will I create space for me as a means to prioritize my mental health and provide an example for my daughters?

 

One Word. My Word.

 I didn't write a post for June. But I did pick a word. 

I have been working to live my word since the start of June and now into July. I felt many times that I "should" write a blog post but I never did come to the computer and start to type. I wrote it a couple of times....but it was only in my head.

My word for June, and now July, has been listen. 

When I decided last year to pick a word for each month it had a lot to do with being more intentional about how I was feeling each month, reflecting on my professional goals and activities, the new learning I was undergoing as a teacher-librarian and an opportunity to share. As 2020 gave way to the pandemic and the entire world shifted it has changed to be more of a personal practice. My word for each month was often more about how I felt personally in my role as a teacher-librarian dealing with the pivot to remote and virtual learning than any professional learning I might be doing. 

I wrote a post last year reflecting on whether or not I was actually still a teacher-librarian if I wasn't in fact IN a school library. Looking back over that post it's easy for me to still recognize many of the same feelings and questions are swirling for me. I spent the entire school year as a virtual teacher-librarian. I worked very hard to find teachers who were interested in having me join their class for lessons and story times, I read many, many, many books to the school community as a whole, I curated, and curated, and curated. 

But it still wasn't the same. 

Looking back at my post from last year it's painful to see the start of the grieving process. 

And to know we are still in it. 

I have seen many posts from other educators on Twitter sharing their grief, pain and experiences as they attempt to heal this summer. Educators are working to take this summer for themselves. To read books. To be with family. To step away from the mess that was the last 18 months.... while knowing we face so many unknowns and so much chaos in the weeks to come as we slowly inch towards September.

My word for June and July is listen. I imagine that I will be keeping this word for August as well. I know when I started this journey I called it #OneWordx12. A word for every month. But as it is MY journey and MY process, I feel that if I want the same word for a number of months I can bend my own non-existent rules. 

I picked listen as my word for June because I had stopped listening. I had stopped listening to my body, to myself and to what I needed. 

May was hard.

I was trying to keep on as though things were back to "normal". I attempted to complete a PD certification through Nat Geo. I was still reading out loud 3-4 hours a day. I was curating and creating resources for up to 6 picture books a week to spark inquiry, learning and questioning. I was reading, reading, reading for my own unlearning. I was receiving and answering many emails a day from educators asking for help, to co-teach, to support tech needs. I was supporting both of my own children's online learning. I was re-teaching lessons and helping with assignments in the evening because they didn't feel comfortable asking their teacher's for help in a virtual space as they were both learning from their 5th teacher of the school year and no relationships had been formed. 

I wasn't sleeping. I had a headache every day. All day. My temper was short. I would fly off the handle for the smallest of reasons. Yelling. Then crying. Staring into space and feeling numb. 

I wasn't me. 

My husband and I agreed that I needed help. I needed it long before I asked for it. I needed it long before I let myself listen to my body. I needed it long before I got it. 

I reached out to my doctor and shared what was happening. I cried through a telephone appointment trying to explain my feelings.... feeling so, so guilty that I couldn't be all things for all people. That I couldn't be enough for me. I still feel guilty. He agreed that I needed help and prescribed an anti-depressant. He warned it would take awhile to take affect but it would help. We spoke about taking a leave for two weeks from work to let the medication settle in and for me to feel better. 

Through all of this I had a few friends that I reached out to and let them know what was happening. They checked in daily. They listened to me. They grieved with me. If they are reading this, thank you. I didn't know how much I needed your friendship until it was there are and a light for me. 

As May rolled into June I started to feel better little by little. The meds helped me to sleep. The headaches slowly eased off and a wonderful friend drove to my house to drop off some essential oils. She continued to check in. I waited and waited and waited for the paperwork to take a leave and have some breathing room.

The paperwork didn't come until the second week of June. School would be done in less that 15 days.

And so I continued to work. Until the end. 

I continued to reflect on my word. I listened. I found ways to slow down. I pulled my children out of virtual school. Each morning when it was time to login they would be sitting and crying in front of the screen and it wasn't worth it. If I was working on listening to myself then I also needed to listen to them. 

It's getting better. But it's not better. Yet. 

Too many people asking for something all at once still sets me off. I feel fractured and broken and unable to focus on their needs. My children's bickering is a daily stress that I often feel powerless against. My youngest has woken up in the night and come to sleep with us almost every night since March 2020. I miss sleeping through the night. 

But slowly I am feeling more like me. I am listening. 

When I need a minute I leave the room. I am voicing my needs to my children and breathing. I am asking for help when I need it. 

I am listening. 

It has taken me one and half months to share this post. I knew I would write it but I didn't know when. I wanted to feel strong enough to share it. Strong enough to own it. Strong enough to be vulnerable. 

I don't know if I'll write a #OneWordx12 post for August. It's creeping up on us and with it... September. The thought of what September will bring is scary.

But I will continue to listen. To myself. To my body. To my needs.

If you are educator who is using this summer for healing please know you aren't alone. 

It's hard for many educators to separate their self from their job. I am the worst at it. 

But if there was ever a summer to try, this is the one. 

Take time to listen. 

The one with all the questions.

 Reciprocity.

Courageous for whom...?

Prove. Improve.

Knowing. Not Knowing. 

It's been an interesting few weeks leading up to choosing my #onewordx12 for May. 

(And as I write this... without a title... I'm still not sure I have picked it. 

I guess we'll see what happens at the end of the post. )

My usual process involves starting towards the end of the previous month where I reflect on the word I picked, where I am at that point and what might my goals be for the coming month. I am often influenced by an event or a spark that gets my mind going. Leading into May, however, it seemed like sparks were all around. 

I have been listening to Robin Wall Kimmerer's book Braiding Sweetgrass on my twice daily walks with the dog. The word and idea of reciprocity is a very central theme in the book, especially how it relates to nature, the land and Indigenous knowledge of the land. This led me to listen to Chey and Pav's episode of The Staffroom Podcast where they discussed reciprocity. I knew they had also read Braiding Sweetgrass and were delving deeper into how reciprocity might be embedded into their classroom practice. 

I like this word and this concept a lot. I think my philosophy of the role of the school library and the practice and pedagogy of being a school librarian is neatly encapsulated in the word reciprocity. The school library is not mine. I curate it on behalf of the community. (Thanks to Jenn Brown for that learning early in my journey as a teacher-librarian). My role is to build a collection that represents the community it serves and provides an opportunity to stretch in their learning. The users of a school library and the text collection is a reciprocal relationship. The books and materials exist to support the learners and the learners decide on the books and materials that need to be in the space.  

So it really looked like reciprocity might be the word for May. 

Until...

A new word and a new idea sparked in my head. I was able to tune in and listen to Chris Cluff and Rolland Chidiac's podcast on YouTube last Saturday morning while I was crocheting and drinking my coffee. A rare Saturday morning treat. Sitting still. Creating. AND listening to something of my choosing. Chris and Rolland's convos are always a treat and an assignment. An assignment because they send my thoughts spinning. Chris often refers to things as "thought fuel" and that is a great term for their podcast. 

They were discussing issues around leadership in schools, diversity in leadership, opportunities for leadership, power imbalances, conflict that arises and more. Chris at one point said "collaboration is the room and conflict is the table" which is a metaphor I'd really like to sit down and discuss with him one day. But it was when the idea of courageous conversations came up (and reminded me that I still need to read Glenn Singleton's book) and the question of "courageous for whom..." that I really took notice.

As a white, cisgender woman in the education system are these conversations around diversity and anti-racism courageous for me? Am I risking anything when I am a part of the conversation? How might my presence make another educator less comfortable and less willing to be part of a courageous conversation?

Am I bringing reciprocity to courageous conversations? Am I part of a reciprocal cycle of learning?

What is my role as a teacher librarian to model courageous conversations? Is it my role to model courageous conversations? It is undeniable that the teacher librarian role is often a leadership role within a school community. As a white cisgender woman how should I approach the possibility of courageous conversations with my colleagues while being cognizant of the fact that I am not risking anything compared to their experience and their journey within the education system? 

How might reciprocity and courageous conversations be connected? 

To add to the thought fuel mix (because there wasn't enough swirling) I listened to an episode of Brene Brown's Dare to Lead podcast that featured Adam Grant called "The Power of Knowing What You Don't Know" . The phrase "I'm not here to prove myself, I'm here to improve myself" was repeated throughout the episode. And what a mantra that is. I truly believe in and having been trying to to centre the voices of the authors, podcasters and educators of the global majority that I have been privileged to hear speak, to read the works of and to follow on social media. But is that enough?

Is sharing and amplifying the voices of those I am learning from part of a reciprocal relationship? Is it enough action? Is it action at all? Am I sharing my learning on social media as a means to help others or as a way of saying"Hey, look at me! I'm doing the work. See how good I am"? Is being aware of what you don't know, seeking to read and learn about it and then share with others part of reciprocal learning? Is it courageous?  

So. 

All these questions. 

So many questions.

More questions than answers. To be sure. And maybe that's the point?

So what shall the word for May be... ?

Let's go with query and see where it takes us. 

Cultivating. Cultivation. Cultivate.

 I've been thinking a lot about words. Because that's definitely something librarians do. 

And probably many other educators as well. 

In the past I've described the act of choosing my one word each month as a struggle. Reflecting back on this I've decided that using the word struggle to describe the thinking, choosing and writing about a word that ultimately only affects me was a poor choice. So many others have real struggles that they are facing each day. Choosing a word to write about here on a blog does not qualify. 

Does that mean choosing my word each month is an easy task? No. Does it mean I should be more precise and deliberate with the language I choose. Yes.

I think our society would greatly benefit from more of us choosing our language carefully and deliberately. Really reflecting on the words we choose to use and the impact of those choices. 

The idea and concept of cultivating and cultivation has been popping up a lot in my sphere and in my silo. For we all do live in a silo to some extent. We seek out others like us, who agree with us, who bolster our beliefs. We cultivate relationships with those who make us feel good about our choices. 

In many ways this can be a good thing. 

The wonderful Lisa Noble created #EDUKnitNight in April 2020 and a group of crafters (knitters, crocheters, scrapbooks, weavers, and more) meet almost every Tuesday to talk about crafting, yarn, books, education, families and more. In between Tuesday meet-ups we have an ongoing Twitter group chat where we post about the ups and downs of our lives. We hold each other up. We commiserate and cry together. We laugh. We laugh a lot. 

Lisa posted the lyrics to Crowded Table by The Highway Women a few weeks ago and expressed her feelings about having all of us "at her table" this past year. So many of us echoed the same sentiment. Lisa started the group and together we cultivated the space. We look out for each other. We share book recommendations. We share yarn sales. We share the tales of our days. We share and cultivate a love that comes from friends who enjoy each other's company. 

The #EDUKnitNight group keeps me on the hunt for new crochet projects and new yarns/patterns. (And yes, we've decided that collecting yarn and collecting patterns are entirely separate hobbies from the act of creating with said yard and patterns. All hobbies are worthy of cultivation!) Starting, working on and finishing a new craft project cultivates my spirit. I have always been a crafty person and enjoy making things for my home and people in my life. Having "a reason" to find time each week to devote to this love has cultivated small moments of peace for me in an otherwise chaotic and noisy world. 

It's also important to seek out those who reside outside of your silo. For me that is educators of the global majority bravely sharing their stories. Bravely speaking out. Bravely educating the rest of when it is not their job to do so. It means reading books by authors who do not look like me. Reading books with characters who have a different lived experience than me. Buying books for my children to read from authors and with characters that are different than them. Sharing and reading those books with classes and my school community. 

Deliberately cultivating a habit of seeking out, listening to and amplifying the voices of others. 

I have been reading and discussing Cultivating Genius by Gholdy Muhammad as part of an ongoing series with other educators in my board and we recently started using it for a book talk with a group of educators in my school. I had the privilege of hearing Gholdy Muhammad speak a few weeks ago. This is one of those books that is pedagogical gold. It is practice-changing. You will not be the same educator after reading this book. 

This book, along with Tiffany Jewell's This Book Is Anti-Racist, has been forming so much of the lessons and discussions I have been engaging in with students. Just yesterday the Grade 4 class that has been reading Tiffany Jewell's book chapter by chapter all year together discussed using our voices and taking action as our superpower (Ch 12- This Book is Anti-Racist) and we read a few pages from The Power Book: What Is It, Who Has It, and Why?  The depth and complexity of the discussion was breathtaking. Once we started talking about social norms and unwritten rules the students couldn't share their ideas fast enough. The discussion even reached as far as "why is it that so many moms and women do the cooking at home but we mostly see men as chefs on TV?" 

So my word for April (a little late this month...) is Cultivate.

Cultivating.

Cultivation.

How might we continue to cultivate and seek out learning, loving and living in this ever changing and ongoing stressful pandemic life? 

Space for. Space from.

 We've almost hit the one year mark. 

One year ago things went sideways. One year ago we shut down schools for three weeks but never went back. One year ago we were all walking around maskless and hugging people. 

One year. 

While I did choose a word last year in March I didn't blog about until April 1st. In fact, I didn't blog at all in March. I know I wrote in bullet journal something I almost never do. I am not a traditional journal/diary writer but I felt compelled last year to document those first few weeks and the unknowns. I haven't gone back to read it. I don't need to. It's seared into my brain. 

My word for March 2020 was appreciate. I picked it "before". 

Before everything went sideways and upside down. 

I'm not sure how much appreciating I did in March of last year. That is a blur.  

So here we are. 

One year.

I am choosing the word space for March of 2021. 

I think this year has taught me (and many of us) to slow down and really notice the things that are important and the things that we value. The people we value. The ideals and beliefs that we value. The traditions that we value. The small daily things that we value.

The word space is somewhat in keeping with my theme so far this year. 

Nourish in January.

Permission in February.

For March (and beyond) I want to continue to notice. What am I making space for and what am I taking space from. Whether that is in my personal life or my professional life. This year, more than any other I think we have seen which educators are drawn to the ideals of serving children as the core of education. Who is making space for learning about racism in our society and in our schools? Who is making space to honour the lived experiences of our children and their community? Who is making space for their own learning and growth? Who is making space for new stories and lost histories in their classroom. 

Who is not?

As a teacher-librarian I have always felt that part of my role is having one foot in the role of an instructional coach. Pushing and challenging people to grow their pedagogy and understanding of best practices. As a now almost fully virtual librarian my role has shifted to almost entirely encompass curating and creating resources to help educators. I also read many books aloud to students but the bulk of my work is curating resources and inquiry sparks for educators.  

I see the educators striving to learn about becoming an anti-racist educator. I see those who are not. I see those teachers asking for books and resources that mirror their students and allow for greater representation in their work. I see those who are not. 

I know times are hard. I know teachers are burning out. I know they have a lot on their plate.

But children come first. Always. Forever.

And if you aren't making space for their identity in your classroom then you are taking space away from their learning. 

February. Enough Said.

     For once I had my word picked early for the month. I was ready with February's word about halfway through January. I could feel February coming. Normally, I love this time of year. The change over between terms 1 & 2 always felt fresh as a classroom teacher and when I moved into the library and discovered the OLA Super Conference it was like a much needed reset and recharge to face the last half of the school year.

    In a normal year, I would already be in Toronto, at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre. I would have attended a few sessions, had lunch with friends, perhaps even met an author or two. This year I have made a list of the sessions I hope to one day catch up that I missed through out the day today. I did catch half of one yesterday on my lunch and wrote down a few new book titles and authors to look into but it's not the same. 

    And I know that there are many, many people with much bigger problems than not attending a conference in person. 

    But it seems to me that as we approach (quite quickly) the one year mark of the pandemic and with what feels like very little light as the end of the tunnel that perhaps these feelings I am having are indicative of something bigger. The #EduKnitNight crew shared and discussed this article awhile back and I think it pretty accurately describes what so many of us are feeling. 

Depleted.

Struggle.

Exhausted.

Uncertain.

Hopeless. Helpless.

    Right now, as much as I want to attend sessions for the super conference and interact with friends, it feels like another add on. It feels like something else to feel guilty about.

    Being home with young children through this has been an experience and many people have asked how we are doing and how we are coping. For the post part, I'd say really well. We don't push our kids to turn on cameras or attend online school meets if they need a break. We get them outside. They have free time galore to craft, play, read, watch TV or play video games. I have described our parenting style as "free range". There are very few routines or rules- help others out, clean up your mess, brush your teeth.

    We have also worked hard to cultivate family evenings to cherish the time that we have together now. My husband isn't arriving home from a 1.5 hour commute late to dinner and just in time to help with bedtime. We aren't rushing out the door to an activity. We listen to music at dinner and eat at the table almost every night. The children set and clear the table. We take turns cooking. We play board games or Mario Kart after dinner. We colour or craft all together. We watch movies and stay up a little later because no one has to commute or get dropped off at a day care in the morning. 

    And I allow myself one evening a week to join in with #EduKnitNight or a webinar if I feel like it. The girls are very protective of our evening time and do not like when they see me on the computer. 

    But with the super conference here and started I do have certain obligations for some of the sessions. Others I want to be there to support friends or learn from other library sectors. But the entire time I will feel guilty or I will just skip the ones I can and tell myself I will catch up later with the recording.

But I won't. 

    Because I have playlists and links and recordings galore I need/want to go back to and watch... but they are just another thing on my to-do list that I can't seem to get to right now. (Or ever.)

    So what is my word for February then?

Permission.

I give myself permission so miss sessions that look amazing. I give myself permission to miss one evening with the girls and know it will be okay. I give myself permission to feel depleted. I give myself permission to go on long walks to listen to an audiobook or a podcast and not feel guilty. I give myself permission to watch movies on the couch with the girls and not finish my never ending to-do list. 

I give myself permission to grieve what feels like another loss in a year of losses.

A New Year. A New Word.

 It's my second year attempting to choose a new word each month in order to stay reflective about what was happening around me and in my life. I threw out the idea of #OneWordx12 last year in January with the hope I'd do it all year long. 

In retrospect, it might be one of the only goals I accomplished that I set for myself in January 2020. 

I did a 20 in 2020 list. 

Much of it involved visiting places. Obviously much of it didn't happen. 

I haven't even looked back at it. 

I am working on a 21 in 2021 list but with a different focus. I want to list habits to make and habits to break and then track if I do (or don't do them) 21 times. Things like yoga, not ordering takeout, walking a certain distance each week, hiking with the girls, a week without spending, etc. A few years ago I was seriously into fitness and healthy eating. I was as fit as I've ever been and then a knee injury. And then physio. And then I got nervous every time I felt a twinge. And then I got lazy.

And so,

NOURISH.

I want to nourish my body with healthy food and better fitness routines.

I also think it's a good word to apply to my professional personal life. In the last year, I have gotten much better at setting boundaries for my personal time and not feeling guilty about saying no. I have gotten better at turning off the computer and reading books of my choosing. I have gotten better at picking up my crochet and working on a project. 

I want to continue to nourish my time and use it to do things I want to do. 

I also want to nourish my professional learning and participate in opportunities that intrigue and interest me. I want to nourish my professional relationships with people who sustain me and push my thinking forward. I want to read books that open my eyes, create new questions and nourish my mind.

I am excited to see where this year's #OneWordx12 takes me and that others are along for the ride. 

I loved this tweet from my friend, Alanna King this week:

My goal for January is to nourish the old me with an eye towards a new me.