For the month of March, I am writing a daily slice of my life. Thanks to the team of Tara, Anna, Dana, Stacey, Betsy and Beth at Two Writing Teachers for providing this opportunity to write. Would not, could not have done this any other way. Check out more slices for day 13 here.
If yesterday was a mini-moment day, today is a micro-moment day. A day of squeezing moments between moments, getting what I want to get done in between what I gotta get done.
Every day of teaching seems like that.
Those little opportunities you find to slip in
a tip,
a compliment,
a question,
a let-me-show-you,
a you-try,
a watch-me-again,
a say-more-about-that
moment.
That’s the way I live teaching
with not enough
let me jot what I just told you,
let me take attendance on time,
let me just file that away in the proper place
moments.
I rush to squeeze what I can into the minutes.
Ten minutes to get her to physical therapy.
Forgot the phone, back to school.
Click on twitter in the school parking lot for the last 19 minutes of #tcrwp twitter chat.
Pick up a few charting gems that may help me improve my students’ conventions. Conventions have taken me many years of reading and absorbing at a deep level to understand. My process is a hard one to transfer readily to students, so I always feel less than in this area.
I’ve got 15 minutes to get to the gym for a quick set, not what I planned, but better than not at all.
I pull up, the phone dings. I check. Someone got into TCRWP Summer Institute. I check email. YES! I’m in. A quick internal yippee, and I think about how sad it is that I’m not savoring this of moment more.
I walk into the “Y.” I see young families walking out with toweled little ones talking about swim team, and my heart aches for those slower times with little people who could only move so fast.
I pass the sign for the meditation class. Hmmm.
Up to the counter, past the treadmills, and into the weight room.
I promised my knees a set of squats, and someone is using the machine I need. This wasn’t in my micro managed agenda. I look at the clock. Ten minutes. It’s doable. I work a machine closest to one I want. This woman looks like she’s sleeping in between sets. Isn’t there a rule about the amount of time you get to… Oh, she’s done. Here I go. I fulfill my life-long promise to my ACL-less knee, one, two and three quick sets and I’m back to the car.
I have a lingering feeling of wanting more. But I’ve got to go and pick up at physical therapy.
I look to text my husband and see his text: We can’t go to dinner on Saturday. Moving Mom and Dad. My heart sinks, not for the lost dinner, but the move. A couple of 60-plus years must separate due to Parkinson’s.
Off to Trader Joe’s for lunch food.
My daughter’s by my side shopping for fruit, salads and bread. I tell her about the move. Would she like to come and help?
No, but I will, she replies.
It will be hard to see her papa in a way that is not so much like the papa she knew. But, she needs, we need to go. We move on to the check out.
Now, hours later, I sit in the quiet, at my dining room table, and remember times when we all were a bit younger, and a bit more attached. When time seem a bit slower.
I stop and linger.
To Read To Write To Be 
Terrific slice. I can feel the frenetic pace to your day in your writing.
I read, could feel the pace, and wanted to stop you and say “breathe.” I am glad you had that moment to pause when the day was over.
Loved your opportunity moments in teaching. Want to stay in those moments, want to linger. The pace at school often seems too quick to be able to enjoy those moments or even have enough of them
Micro moment day? Whew .. all that you squeeze into day leaves me rather breathless.
Your micro day felt full of micro emotions too, Julieanne. Hope the weekend goes well. I understand some of the Parkinson’s dilemma’s. Good for you for getting to the gym, even for a while!
I’m exhausted just reading about your day. Congratulations on getting into the summer institute. I haven’t heard yet. Hope that’s not a bad sign.