Today, on this Mother’s Day, I am grateful for my mom. She is an incredible example of selflessness, kindness, and compassion. She instilled in me my love of books and all things literacy. We continue to share a passion for words, literally sharing our manuscripts back and forth–encouraging, polishing, and pushing–back and forth.

I am grateful for my grandmothers, no longer here with us, and yet with me every day. I hope to mirror their strength, spunk, and joy of life.

I am also grateful for teachers today. In so many ways, teachers fulfil a mothering role. From bandaids on knees to words of encourage, from steady support to inspiring hope.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who give a mother’s love, regardless of your role.

If you’ve ever been to Edmonton during the NHL playoffs, you’ll know what I’m talking about: it’s hard not to get caught up in the swell of excitement. Last week, I saw a family–or likely an extended family: three adults and six kids–standing on a street corner adorned in Oilers’ jerseys, chanting “Go Oilers Go!” prior to game time. Thousands upon thousands head downtown to watch the away games at Rogers Place or one of three outdoor watch parties.

You can’t go anywhere without seeing flags waving from vehicles or people wearing jerseys, even in 30 degree heat. Heck, even my dog is sporting an Oiler bandana.

Rewind four decades or so and I was a student in a third-grade classroom during a similar wave of Oiler excitement. My teacher capitalized on the opportunity for learning, and still today, I remember the fun going to school during this time. She had us analyzing statistics, making predictions, creating graphs, writing opinion pieces and letters, anything she could think of inspired by the times. We ate it up.

Even if you are not a big hockey fan, if you live somewhere caught up by playoff action, why not capitalize on the hype?

One of the best parts of a writing residency is when I ask students what they’ve learned about writing. Here’s a sampling from last month’s residency:

• “I’ve learned that writing is actually fun!”
• “You don’t have to be perfect. You can always fix things later!”
• “I learned that it can take a long time and you can make lots of drafts.”
• “Reading books helps us to be better writers.”
• “You can find mistakes when you read to the wall!”
• “Erasers can be our best friend!”
• “We can do the same things other authors do.”
• “When we’re writing, we get to create things from our own imaginations!”

I wish I could convey the enthusiasm of these grade 1-4 students. Their words will have to suffice.

Last week I had a range of experiences: presenting to administrators and district leaders from across the country, presenting to 4-6 teachers on the new curriculum, creating resources on morphology for teachers and students, and working as a writer-in-residence with grade 1-4 students. The highlight, though, was in a grade one class.

Students were engaged and excited about the creative process, using their imaginations to create characters and sequential stories, in many ways oblivious to the many skills they were using to accomplish this complex task.

One student decided to use her own recent experience–the death of her pet–as the basis of her narrative. As she and I talked through her ideas, I had the privilege of witnessing this little one process her loss. As she began writing, she was able to express both her grief and her acceptance on the page–through story.

Was she creating a transformation story? Did she connect the plot pattern in the mentor texts with her own experience? Was she using her phonetic knowledge to spell words on the page? Was she sequencing her thoughts with each sentence she wrote? Was she attending to conventions such as punctuation and capitalization?

Yes to all.

More importantly though, she was working through one of her first experiences with grief.

As educators, we do our best to teach students to wield the mighty power of words. To help not hurt. To empower not dishearten. To encourage not deflate. To seek knowledge and not spread falsehoods.

Haruki Murakami has said, “Words have power. Yet that power must be rooted in truth and justice. Words must never stand apart from those principles.”

How about these words? I hear not only the principles of truth and justice, but those of freedom and democracy. Grace Linn, you go girl…

The other day, after watching ten minutes of the news, I felt both disheartened and angry. Angry that an unborn child will never get to know his police officer father. Angry that another school community has been rocked by gun violence in the U.S.–an elementary school yet. Angry that gun regulations are slow to change because too many resist. Angry that lies are spewed as truth.

Then I remembered what St. Augustine once said, “Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are Anger and Courage: Anger for the ways things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.”

I will use my anger to fuel my courage. To speak out in the platforms I have available. To find ways–little ways even–to spread love and kindness to those around me, strangers included. I may not be able to change the headlines but I can influence the stories in my own circle, creating ripples with unknown effects.

Will you join me? Use your anger to fuel your courage… spread love and kindness in your own circles… create ripples…

Generate Hope.

Last week in the middle of my work, I had a moment. A moment of realization:

I am doing exactly what I am meant to be doing.

As I create my next resource for teachers and students, I am using my literacy background, my love of language, my knowledge of pedagogy, and my creativity. I am both challenged and excited by my work each day. I love writing for teachers and students. I love the team I am working with. I love the energy and passion devoted to this resource.

True, I’m busy and working hard to meet deadlines. But I am enjoying every part of this process.

I am where I am because of a chance encounter at a conference in 2018. I am where I am because I took a risk leaving the security of a job I loved. No question: it was the right decision. Meant to be, in fact.

Last week I hosted another Parent Literacy Evening at an elementary school. I enjoy meeting with parents in this context and listening to the questions they pose. I share favourite books for various ages. I provide simple, effective strategies to support young readers and writers. I talk about the importance of the attitudes shared by parents and the environment created in the home.

Sometimes school staff are disappointed that more parents don’t attend. And yet, those that come, want to be there. Those that come, ask important questions. Those that come, positively impact the literacy lives of their children.

What more can we ask, really?

“Children are made readers on the laps of their parents.”

Emilie Buchwald

Supporting parents, supports their children, too.

I’m in the middle of convention season and I’ve been meeting teachers and administrators across the province (with many more to come)!

I love educators who share a passion for learning and improving their practice: those who ask questions, refine their work, strive to be their best selves for their students. Those who know they can never stop learning.

Consider this convention season a mid-year opportunity to learn and reflect:

• Do you capitalize on your instructional time with students?
• Are your practices based on strong pedagogy?
• What should you stop doing in your classroom? What could you start doing?
• How are you a positive leader in your school?
• How do you ensure that your students know they are safe and valuable in your classroom? Each and every student.

Our work is important work. We have the responsibility and the opportunity to impact student learning, self-concept, and well-being. As John Hattie has said, “Know thy impact.”

Your work matters. You matter… perhaps even more than you realize.

Picture this…

I ventured into the last class of the day during my most recent residency: Kindergarten.

After reading the students a mentor text, I was scaffolding their representation of transformation stories. Students were hard at work illustrating the middle of the transformation story when they spontaneously broke into song: This Little Light of Mine. It began at one table but quickly spread to all. Soft, beautiful, precious five-year-old voices.

This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine...

When the weight of the world feels heavy, I will return to this moment.

…Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine.