Changing by doing

Therapists suggest that when you feel down you should smile and this act in itself will put you on a path of feeling better. Through the change of outside you can achieve the change inside. My life has provided me examples that support this claim.

At one point in my teaching career I was faced with a choice to either loose a job or accept a fifth and sixth grade math and science teacher's position. Math? I did not like math. I did not always understand math. I had no desire to teach math. I did not voice any of that to the director. Instead I read and learned. I prepared myself as well as I could and when the school year started I entered the classroom acting as if math was the most wonderful subject in the world.

After three years I had a chance to return to primary grades. Because of my experience I was able to suggest resources to other teachers, and explain different concepts.

One day someone said, "You are the math teaching guru here. You clearly love it so much." It was the oddest compliment ever. But I guess it was true in some sense. I had discovered the beauty of math and overcome some fears.

In high school I had many very active classmates who participated in everything, organized events, volunteered for duties, performed and presented in public. I was fine in the role of the follower. I had no desire to do what they did.

In the university and and later in my job, life rolled some occasions on my way that forced me to do these things. Of course I was scared each time but I prepared myself as well as I could. Whether it was reading all the information before going to committee meetings, writing detailed notes and a time frame for a presentation, or collecting resources and planning activities during organizing a theme week. Because I was prepared I spoke when necessary.

One day someone said, "You are so bold, out-spoken, experienced and active. " It was true in some sense. I am still shy and wish someone else was in charge but if necessary I can be the leader or volunteer for committees or give a thank you speech or give a presentation.

I have never considered myself an organized person. I have never managed to keep a pocket calendar or a planning journal throughout a year. I quite often feel overwhelmed by what has to get done. I fear the amounts of paper that surrounds me. With all sorts of deadlines looming I feel surrounded by chaos most of the school year.

I have read what others do and peeked into other classrooms to get ideas for organization. I have tried every possible tool for organizing papers. I use multiple ways to remind myself what has to get done. Post-it notes and e-mails to myself seem to work the best.

"You are well-organized. This is clearly your strength," a colleague commented during a peer-evaluation session. I still don't consider myself an organized person, but then again I am not going to argue if someone gives me a compliment.

It has been too short of a time to say that I have been through a similar metamorphosis with writing. Slowly, slowly some changes happen. All my life I could divide people into writers and then non-writers. The first had an abundance of ideas that they couldn't keep inside and had to write in their journals. They either walked around and hummed a hymn to the world or then locked themselves in a room and poured the agony of life on a paper. Others preferred to avoid writing but did it when they had to. I was part of the second group.

Having to teach writing I had to understand it better. I read about writing and read about writers. Then I joined the Slice of Life challenge last year. I continued writing on Tuesdays. I experimented with ways to collect ideas, ways to structure my texts, played with words, collected inspiration from other writers, and filled my journals with words.

It was an odd sensation when I started getting compliments in the comments, and people called me a writer. I still need more time to convince myself in that. At the same time I know that the pool of ideas is open to everyone, writing amplifies joy and helps to erase frustration. I am not afraid to write. The change continues.

Portfolio time

Anyone who has worked as a teacher knows that the photo above is unusual when students are putting together portfolios. This photo isn't staged but I admit that it happened only once during this week when my table (I'm deskless) looked like this. We had just finished sorting final pieces of work and everyone had their reflections and work in their files and portfolios were waiting to be stuffed.
Right after this quiet before storm time we went through another hour of chaos when students assembled their portfolios for the second half of the year.

Year after year the same thing happens:

• We promise that we will be consistent in choosing and reflecting yet we wait as long as possible, so students would have a bigger amount of work produced to choose from.
• Every year the first reflections we see are poor and we feel that we haven't taught the kids anything, then some pearls of writing appear and we breathe in relief.
• Every year the printers and copiers decide to go on strike during the busiest time. This year our server and Internet decided to join. I guess their demands were met because they started working again just on time.
• Every year the teachers moan and complain when portfolio time arrives. When they are done everyone shines with happiness and pride, and agrees that it is one super form of assessment.

We have tried to give the ownership of the portfolios to the kids as much as possible, so the collection of work and all reflections mirror the child. Because of the technology strike this year I typed up all the student reflections at home. Because of the time constraint I conducted some military style sorting lessons where students had to answer "yes" or "no," just to make sure everyone had everything they needed and no one missed a subject or examples of work.

I am happy to report that the portfolios are ready and next Tuesday we will have student-led conferences.

I don't understand it

Not again.

Why doesn't my laptop want to start and has this blinking folder on the screen?

When I took it to the shop they said my computer was slightly corrupt but otherwise fine.

If that was true, why doesn't it work?

I need our technicians magic touch but he is out of the building for the rest of the day.

Who is going to help me?

All I can ask for is some sympathy from the teacher across the hall.

He knows my history with this machine and asks: Not again?

I don't know why my laptop doesn't want to start.

Just as a joke I ask: Could you pat my laptop? Do you have a magic touch?

He pats the computer, opens it, and presses the button.

It works.

I don't understand it.

Part of me wants to apologize that for a second day in a row I write quick and short.

Part of me wants to congratulate me for not giving up after a long day and still writing at least a little bit.

Random ramblings and wonderings about writing

This challenge has been like cooking on busy evenings. I know what is nutritious and delicious, and I'd like to offer gourmet, but instead I opt out for something simple. Somedays I add more spices and herbs or use a cookbook to try a new recipe. Sometimes I cook "look-what-I-found-in-the-cupboard" dinner. I think that today is a day like that for writing.

There are days that are busy and a lot happens, but when you sit down to write the mind is blank. And then there are moments when ideas flood and you have to be fast enough to catch them. Is there a pattern? Can you predict and prepare?

I went to see a play. The character said that if you speak and don't have listeners you become invisible. He also wondered how do you know that you speak with your own words when all ideas and words have been voiced before. I can't get that out of my head.

If a tip of a pencil breaks when you are writing late in the evening, does it mean you have to stop writing and need to go to sleep instead?

double twenty

Today I stand in the middle. Am I old or young depends on the perspective. I think turning double twenty sounds much better than turning half 80.

I can't predict what will happen in the following years but I can look back at what has or hasn’t changed in 20 years.

1. Before I was a naive university student believing people were good and life was beautiful.

Now I am a responsible adult, knowing that life is life with its bright and dark colors. I know world has evil in it but I still like to be naïve and believe that most people are good

2. Before I had just met a young smart tall handsome man. I felt I was special.

Now I am married to this seemingly not aging smart tall handsome man. We have three daughters. I feel special.

3. Before I thought that I was super smart. I had come from a very good high school so the first years of university were easy for me.

Now I know I will be learning forever.

4. Before I compared myself to others and felt that I wasn’t enough. I had flaws and didn’t meet my own high expectations.

Now I am not perfect, but that is ok.

5. Before when there were problems I used to worry all the time. The problems had to be solved.

Now I have slowly learned to let go some of the problems. I still worry but not everything worth the time and effort.

6. Before I was a good girl. Not drinking alcohol or coffee, not smoking.

Now I am still a good girl but allow myself a cup of cappuccino or a glass of wine in the company of friends. I don’t smoke.

7. Before I was a stay home girl and didn’t enjoy big parties. A game night or movies with friends were my way of having fun.

Now I still prefer staying at home. I am glad when I get to go to the theatre or movies, or get to play board games in a small company.

8. Before I had a little sister who lived her teenage life that intersected with mine only when we fought over bathroom or remote control.

Now I have a younger sister with whom we talk daily on a phone, spend summers together, and laugh over silly things.

9. Before I lived in a city in a tall building with 144 apartments. I didn’t mind the bus ride to the centre and I loved the noisy streets.

Now I live in a small town in a building with 16 apartments. I don’t mind a train ride to the city, and listening to the noisy streets. I love walking in the small quiet streets of my sleepy countryside town.

10. Before I knew I would become a teacher. At age of 18 I was silly enough to volunteer to work as an English teacher for a sixth-grade my sister was in. I had seen what my teachers did in class so I thought I knew it all. For three years I studied and taught at the same time. I hated it more than liked it.

Now I am a teacher in grade3/4 in an international school, in addition I am in a role of the Primary years Programme coordinator. I have moments when I wish that I wasn’t a teacher, but most of the time I love love love my job.

11. Before I cooked the food my parents had taught me to cook. I worked my way through my mom’s old cookbooks and journal. The food was simple because the stores were empty.

Now I try various recipes and have grown my own collection of cookbooks and journals. The stores have an abundance of choices, but quite often the food at home is simple yet delicious, filled with tastes of childhood.

12. Before when I did something I noticed first what could have been better. I saw what I hadn’t done.

Now I collect little successes and allow myself to make mistakes.

13. Before I cried. Mostly secretly.

Now I cry. Mostly secretly.

14. Before I was shy. I was scared to present in front of audiences.

Now I am shy but hide it well. I still get read ears and shaky feet when I speak in public but my voice is loud, I stay focused, and I smile.

15. Before my hobbies were reading and cooking.

Now I have added ballroom dancing and writing. The last one has been a surprise for me.

16. Before I dreamt of traveling and seeing the world. I couldn’t wait for an opportunity to open. I thought that living in a foreign county would be much better than home.

Now: I have been to other places but I can’t wait to return home. I think that Estonia in its smallness and with its four seasons is the best place to live in. I don’t mind the darkness and rain.

17. Before most of my thinking evolved around me - my life, my dreams, my issues, my needs, and my wants.

Now life is not just about me but also about the people around me.

18. Before I had no desire to learn to drive.

Now I still prefer the days when I don’t have to sit behind a wheel. I can drive to work, to my parents, my sister, or country house. But I wish I didn’t have to.

19. Before I thought that only big things and events could bring happiness.

Now I know that happiness is hidden in simple things and small moments.

20. Before I had my hopes and dreams.

Now life has given me so much more than I ever could have imagined possible. We don’t know what the future holds.

endless flow of papers

The papers are plotting against me. They have a plan to attack and conquer my room, and then bury me alive. They're gathering the troops, all ranks are represented: post-it reminders, webs, lists, drafts, charts, stories, math worksheets, posters, homework, permission-slips, letters, weekly menus, flayers, schedules, manuals, tests, reflections, colored in pictures, and origami kittens. Marching in with the kids, hiding behind administrators, using parents a a shield, slipping through the cracks of the floor, falling from the ceiling, and sneaking in through the windows - the papers seize me. I thought I was prepared with my weapons and strategies. Files, folders, binders, trays, portfolios, boxes, and hanging pockets are all in my arsenal. I have scheduled time for reading, responding, marking, sorting, displaying, returning, forwarding, and discarding the papers. I have tried to protect myself with electronic devices, trapping papers to virtual world. No use, the papers are unstoppable. I don't want to surrender nor admit my defeat. But sometimes I think the best thing to do is to sit very still, pretend that papers don’t exist, wait long enough, until the papers expire, loose their meaning and strength, an can simply be sent to a new life in recycling plant.

The sun always shines on Sunday

When the sky is covered with thick gray clouds, the wind is fierce and bullies the trees, and pouring rain claims to stay for a day, I know that my Sunday morning breakfast is vitally important. The moaning and complaining over the depressing weather would kill the Sunday joy. Some magic is in order.

Get a bowl and a whisk

mix some eggs, milk and flower

add a pinch of salt and a spoonful of sugar

pour a thin layer of batter all over a hot greasy pan,

fry from both sides until golden brown,

put on a plate,

top with grandma's raspberry jam,

and Voila!

You have a smiling sun for a Sunday.

Don't listen to the scientific specialists who say that pancakes have no nutritional value. Listen to the wise moms and grannies who know that the traditional Sunday (or Wednesday) pancakes have very high emotional value.

Book stacks and book spine poem

Inspired by Christy's post and the different book spine poems

The books in my home have a tendency to escape form the shelves and have casual gatherins around the apartment.

The books on the bedside table are civil and patient, waiting for their time to be read. Some are young and freshly out of the bookstores, others have seen the world with their different owners.

Then the professional books like to chat during their PD meetings on the kitchen table that changed a career, stopped serving food and became an office table instead. It still stays in the kitchen and curiously listens how old and experienced books change ideas with the younger ones.
The children books like to have festivals on the floor next to my bed. They get to leave the shelf in groups, getting their pages flipped and the pictures pointed at with little fingers. They like that their stories are read out loud. Oh, they are clever. They know that people are too tired in the evening to put them back and way too busy in the morning to notice them. They have a secret hope that people would be occupied with tons of things, so they wouldn't get to the word "cleaning" on their to-do list too often, and the party can grow and continue.

Sometimes the children books hang out on both sides of the bed.
As we all know the little follow the example of the big. So the small books have started their own play dates and pajama parties on Mimm's bedside table. Sometimes they invite guest books for bed time stories.
Sadly the parties have to end sometimes. For example on Saturday mornings the books left on the shelves call out: "Come back, come back. Next time it is our turn."
The only books that have some discipline are the cook books. They leave the shelf only during a day and in orderly manner. They may get some grease and flour stains but they usually return before the end of the day. They sometimes get to visit the living room and are allowed to stay overnight.

After I took the pics of the escaping books I asked for volunteers for a book spine poem. Most of the books are in Estonian and they are too timid to make an appearance. Besides thoughts might get lost in translation. The books in English are minority. I was lucky to find some brave (or vain) volunteers.

Have a lovely Saturday!

learning to listen 3

continuing from yesterday.

Thank you to Christy and Linda for their comments and offer to come to my rescue. But as we know:

Everyone has to solve their own problems.

I knew it this morning when I was driving to school. We tiptoe around parents at school, trying to please them, and then we go to the lounge and complain or cry or write about it in a blog. I simply did not have any energy to carry around my hurt feelings or confusions as why one parent says what she says, so I asked the parent to my room this morning.

We spoke for an hour. We had the time and the privacy to listen and explain. This is what I took from the conversation.

• It's hard to say "You hurt my feelings," but it's worth it. You may hear an apology.
• The driving force behind the complaints of a parent is a wish to have the best for the child. Who knows what is the best for a child? Who knows what the future is like?
• When a family is facing a move to another country, it amplifies the worries.
• The parents know what they see. They have no clue about the learning teachers continually do, or the thinking that goes behind planning learning experiences, or the time invested to each individual child. May-be it is good to share that side of our work with the parents.
• If it is hard for the teachers to shift their mind from old pedagogical paradigm to new, the shift for parents is many times harder.
• The perception of what goes on at school is heavily influenced by past experiences and the circle of connected parents. It's hard to let go of the past or hear the positive comments if the parent always speaks to just one group of people. The complaints always seem louder than the compliments.
• It may-be difficult for a parent to accept that the child might be an artist instead of a mathematician.
• It is ok to say to the parent: "You probably do not realize how wonderful your child is. She will be fine in any country and any system." The response may be: "I should probably relax."
• A parent talking in a classroom is better than a secret whisperings in the hallway.
• Some changes are easy to make. On a paper it looks that I value language more than math. The importance of daily reading and writing is regularly reminded to students on their weekly homework. Even though I speak about the importance of math, and how mathematicians think and work, I have not put it in writing. I'll do it.
• There is something positive if a parent sees a need for improvement and takes action to achieve it.
• It's ok to disagree on some things.
• Meeting that finishes with a thank you can be considered successful.
• It's not easy to put aside the "I" and listen to what is behind the words.

I listened.

I face my weekend with peace in my heart.

learning to listen 2

At the beginning of the month I wrote about learning to listen.

It has been on my mind ever since. I know that for some of you the following is no news. But it has been learning experience for me and I have strengthened my understanding of what it means to listen.

Truly listening requires one-to-one situation without distractions. I think that's why it has been difficult with the students. There is never enough time to just sit with one and let them talk. They talk in small and big groups but it's not the same. I feel sad that I do not have the time to just sit down and let them talk without the pressure of goals, assignments, and assessments. Writing has allowed me to listen to their stories. I have listened to my daughter Mimm, allowing her to finish her never-ending imaginary stories, and waiting for her to voice dreams, wonders, fears, and thoughts.

Truly listening requires pauses. I had some questions prepared when I went to listen to a kindergarten teacher. I am used to "she says-I say-she says-I say" conversations. Now I tried "she says-pause-pause" technique. She spoke. Spoke about things that I had not anticipated with my questions.

Truly listening means putting aside what you already know or think that you know. In my family we have a very bad habit to finish each other's sentences. It is not too bad when the women speak because we can speak in three voices. It's super annoying for my father who likes to speak slowly. Last Saturday I just held my mouth shut and let him speak. I learned about him things I should have known, but never had had the patience to listen to.

Truly listening means not jumping in with your advice even when you know that the other person is not exactly right. I have a young colleague who doesn't realize how inexperienced he is. So far any advice giving has ended with strong defence from his side. Recently I stopped giving advice and just listened and nodded. I can see how he is slowly starting to think through what and why he is doing in class. He has started coming more often and few times has asked for my opinion and advice. I give it very gently in a form "may-be you could try" or "another way I have done it." It is not my job to coach him but I am glad I have been of some assistance.

Truly listening means figuring out what does the other person really want to say when all I can hear is sour complaining about the work I know I do well, and generalizations opposite to what I know to be true.

This one I have not figured out.

the well of tears

She stands on a black box stage and squints her eyes in the spotlight. She is the fourth performer at the school talent show. She arrived just two months ago and was placed in second grade. Now she waits for the music to start. The school hall has chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, dark red velvet curtains covering the tall thin windows, yet the stage is undecorated and the wooden floors squeak and chairs cry for a new upholstery. For her it doesn't matter. She starts slowly tapping her foot, holds the microphone tightly with one hand and rubs her earlobe with the other. The first words timidly enter the room. Her voice gathers strength and the audience is spellbound. She lets go of her ear and relaxes a bit. Suddenly her mouth closes and eyes start searching for support. Everyone holds breath. She lets down the hand with the microphone and stands still looking at the audience. The music still plays and no one dares to say or do anything. She turns and walks over tho the DJ. People can't hear but can see her mouthing: "I know the words. I will do it again. Start over. I know the words. I know." The music stops. She walks back to the center of the stage, lifts her microphone and starts tapping her foot again. A wave of relief rolls over the audience. She sings.

I listen.

I let go of the words that hurt me in the morning.

I let go of the stress of the work undone.

I let go of the worries of the meetings tomorrow.

I let go of the regret I stayed in town after school.

I listen.

The beauty and the pain, the sadness and the joy of the world are all there, in the music. My heart swells and warm streams flow down my cheeks.

Quickstep

Chasse, pivot. Pause. Slow, quick, quick. Pause. Left, left, right. Pause. Turn, quick, quick, quick, quick. Pause. Turn. Lock, lock, done.*

I did it. I am right in the position I should be.

So is my husband on the other side of the room. Few men in the line are switching their legs.

The teacher shows the steps in slow motion again.

Time to try with my husband. Left hand on his shoulder, right hand in his hand stretched to the side, back straight, chin held high and we are ready to start.

Chasse, pivot. Pause. Slow, quick, quick. Pause. Left, left....

I knew my steps. Dancing together we get on each other's way.

Lets try it again.

Chasse, pivot. Slow, quick, quick. Left, left, right. Pause. Turn, quick, quick, quick, quick. Pause. Turn. Lock, lock, done.

One more time.

Chasse, pivot. Slow, quick, quick. Left, left, right. Turn, quick, quick, quick, quick. Turn. Lock, lock, done.

We did it! We did it! We did it!

Now with music, please.

Chasse, pivot. Slow, quick, quick. Left, left, right. Turn, quick, quick, quick. Stop.

We have no idea what we are doing. "Quick" in practice and "quick" in music are two different terms.

We'll try again. And again. And again.

We get frustrated, we want to give up, we'd like to blame the partner, we'd like to complain that the routine is too complicated, we are sure we can never remember the steps.

We don't say anything. We just practice. We know that the negative phase is just part of the process.

Music, please!

Chasse, pivot. Slow, quick, quick. Left, left, right. Pause. Turn, quick, quick, quick, quick. Pause. Turn. Lock, lock. Slow, quick, quick, pivot. V6. Slow, quick, quick.

We dance.

* I may be mistaken with some names of the steps but that is how I memorized them in the dance lesson last evening. It is very likely that the teacher will correct me next Monday. That is ok. She knows us, we know her. For 8 years already.

Last year's dance slice.

Spring on a windowsill

We planted tulips at school on the 24th of November. This was a all-over-the-city event organized by the Dutch embassy. The Dutch florist who came gave three tulip bulbs as a gift to everyone.

I don't have a garden. I don't have a green thumb.

A gift is a gift.

I planted the tulips and took the flower pot to the basement.

3 months the tulips waited in the darkness.

March began. My husband went to get some raspberry jam and returned with the jam and the tulip pot. Three little green noses were curiously peeking from the soil.

I believe that if I had had the patience to sit next to the pot I would have seen the tulips stretch in slow motion. Each day brought another "Look, how they have grown!" We still had snow outside when the red blossoms opened. I didn't find Thumbelina inside. I found the flowers nodding to me as if to say: "Never mind the cold and the gray, we have the color you need to light the day when the sun is hiding, just come and look at us."

I listened to them. The dirty melting snow and dark cloudy days have meant nothing when the gentle tulips greet me on the windowsill. I can see they are getting tired and will let their petals fall on any day. They have given me the patience to wait for the spring outside. It can't be far.

mid-challenge reflection

10 things I found out during the 17 days (not that they surprise in the hindsight)

1. I made plans and thought I was better prepared than last year. Nevertheless there have been days when my mind and fingers refuse to cooperate.

2. I know about the importance of staying in a moment and observing the surrounding with all my senses. Nevertheless instead of enjoying the “now” my mind goes on a scavenger hunt for new slices.

3. The time matters a lot. The pieces I like the most I wrote when I had time. There was time for the ideas to form and later there was time to revise. Now it seems that as my days get packed fuller my writing gets shorter and shorter.

4. Guilt crept in when I didn’t have time to comment as much as I wished. I had to let it go.

5. I find safety in dialogues. Probably because these words have been spoken so I don’t have to go looking for them.

6. I wish to write more pieces that would use description or would be mood lifting.

7. People have commented on my honesty. It is easy to be hones about myself. The way some people speak deeply and honestly about their feelings toward the people close to them is a territory unexplored for me. Not just as a writer.

8. The shine of the comments got me disoriented. I had to take deep breath and think through whether I would still write if I didn’t receive comments. I was glad to find out that I probably would. Then I realized I was still deceiving myself. It matters that my Tuesday friends have not deserted me.

9. What I have found most interesting is that the readers see more in my texts and in me than I do. It has been pleasant to allow myself to enjoy it.

10. I have puzzlement. I wonder how much I have created who I am through my writing.

a never ending conversation with some parents

Why don't you have workbooks?

Every child develops at his/her own pace, workbooks are the same for all.

But when I went to school there were workbooks.

Current pedagogy understands that each child constructs his/her own knowledge therefore the teaching approach has changed.

That's good, but where are the workbooks?

We use inquiry based learning. We encourage them to explore, ask questions, find resources, collect and analyze info, and record their learning in their way.

That's interesting, but where are the workbooks?

We use hands-on materials, different visuals, field-trips and guest speakers to help us learn.

In the last school they had workbooks, my child learned faster.

We teach for understanding concepts not just memorizing content and procedures, it takes time.

But my child will miss some knowledge if they don't have workbooks.

We teach them trans-disciplinary skills they can use their whole life. We nudge them up on the ladder of thinking skills. They learn how to learn.

My child said that you let her do whatever she wants. If she had a workbook she would work.

Your child is working toward her goals that are different form other students' goals. We expect the students to become independent and reflective learners.

Yes. But in the last school I knew what my child was learning because they had workbooks.

Look at the work on the walls, we speak to you almost daily, read the class blog, come to the portfolio conferences, listen to your child.

I do. But I think you should use workbooks so there would be more homework.

We have small classes and get so much learning done at school. There isn't volumes of homework but it often requires them to use thinking skills and creativity.

I still think you should have workbooks. She should learn more at home.

We have very long days at school, it is good for her to just play.

But what if she wont pass exams in other schools because you don't have workbooks.

Seriously? We are speaking of third and fourth graders.

short

Sometimes I simply don't have the energy to think or to write.

Having finished a very busy working week

On Friday evening it is especially difficult to come up with great ideas.

Restful weekend is waiting ahead, so may-be

Tomorrow I will write with an abundance of words. May-be.

I filled a journal

I filled a journal. 7 months of writing in it.

I had written from both sides so the end was in the middle.

It was a very simple notebook.

The students thought I should put at least few stickers on. I did.

Eventually they started to peel off.

I had bought a new journal few months ago. I couldn't resist.

Little My is everything I am not.

She is naughty, fearless, blunt, and sometimes even mean.

She has no doubts and gets what she wants without considering what others might think.

She would not be a good role model for children but

she is my favorite in Tove Jannson's Moomin series.

I needed a journal with a strong personality.

I opened the third page and filled in two in no time.

I used my notes to write yesterday's slice.

I left the first two pages empty because I want to write something special there.

I just don't know what yet. I doubt it will be something deep and profound.

the dark side of Pinterest

Happy and content, going through my goodies (blogs that lift my mood) folder on Google Reader I noticed that one of the Norwegian blogs mentions Pinterest. The part of my brain that says inspiration, beauty, collect, share, mood-lifting lights up. I can't speak Norwegian but I see that there is no link to the Pinterest site, instead several links to articles. Only one of them is in English.

Obviously I click.

I wish I hadn't.

This article leads to another writing both filled with words like illegal, copyright, intellectual property issues, license, TOU, violation, liability, can sue. The second article ends with the lawyer deleting all her boards. My head is spinning. I don't think that I read the terms of use before signing. Am I really doing something illegal? I like to obey the law. I don't want to be a criminal. Do I really have to give up all the pretty and inspirational pics I have collected to cheer me up on a cloudy day?

Little bit more reading was in order. Found another text. Not that it took all my worries away but at least it said that since Pinterest is popular among women and parents "who would make sympathetic defendants in any case that went to trial." Selfishly it is not the copyrights of others I am concerned about, but myself. The good thing is that Pinterest already has taken steps providing websites with no-pin option. The bad thing is that I might still be violating copyrights.

What bothers me the most is my enthusiasm and naivety to see the good side of things that I like and never consider the negative sides unless someone directly points it out.

Who will choose the movie next time?

I wipe my eyes with the last tissue and blow my nose. Even though it is still dark in the movies I can see Nina wiping her eyes with her scarf. Not knowing what to say exactly we stand and start walking toward the exit.

" When I asked whether we should see Thatcher or this, you said we should choose a lighter movie, " I can't help but comment, shaking my head and feeling a smile forming.

"I really thought that dad taking care of his two daughters would be better than politics and Iron Lady getting old. I thought the movie was good," Nina replies with a nod and returns a smile.

"The movie was very good. I just didn't read about it and from your description I thought that it was going to be a comedy. I didn't have enough tissues," I explain and then continue:"When I chose the movie and we went to see Happy-Go-Lucky you said that I had strange choice."

"What else could we have chosen. We might be getting too old for romantic comedies," Nina gives another reason.

"I understand. You had your 40th birthday," I reply sympathetically.

We step to the street and spring sun greets us.

"The movie was sad and filled with unexpected turns but I am glad we came. Thank you for finding the time, " I mean what I say.

"We'll do it again. Who will choose the movie next time?" Nina says as we hug good-bye.

unfair

"It's time to wake up, Muffin" I gently push aside the canopy and nudge Mimm (7) who is curled up under her pink blanket. It's barely 6: 30.

"A new day has started, Cinnamon Roll" I say louder and slowly pull the blanket off. The skeleton on the pajamas glows in the dark.

"It's unfair!" Mimm turns to her back and crosses her arms on the chest.

No sunshine smile this morning.

Unfair for her could mean several things: not getting chocolate for breakfast the day before, loosing a board game a week ago, or her favorite singer not winning a competition two months ago. The unfairness doesn't have an expiration date.

"What is unfair?" I ask knowing there wouldn't be any movement without the question.

Mimm pushes aside her tangled hair and peeks at me with her right eye.

"It's unfair that the president made a law that says we can have only two days for a weekend," Mimm declares and stretches her hands toward me. I pull her up. Standing on her bed she is almost as tall as I am.

"I agree. Two days is not enough, Sugar Bun." I hug her to feel the sleepy warmth.

"The president should change the law so we could stay at home for three days and sleep in," Mimm whispers to my ear.

I second the motion.