Today, my nephew won the GeoBee at his school.

I’m his auntie, so I think this is just mega-cool for a bunch of reasons.

1. Living in a few different states and halfway around the world has apparently paid off for the little guy in terms of global awareness.

2. He’s an awesome, thoughtful kid with a mind like a Masterlock and that’s clearly paying off, too.

3. Winning something — be it a game of Go Fish, the GeoBee or the lottery — always feels mighty fine.

Best of all, though, is that this comes at a time when he needed a bit of a lift.

Lately, he’s been struggling with what most of us struggle with now and again — carving out a comfortable spot for himself among his peers where he can both be himself and be adored. He’s been feeling a little wobbly about that, even though those of us who know him can see about 10,000 things to love and think there ought to be a line around the block of kids signing up for playdates and sleepovers with the kid. 

But the thing is, most everyone feels a little wobbly about their own self in the context of everyone else sometimes. There are so many talents and beauties and big personalities out there, it can be darn hard to keep your rudder in the water and realize that you are your own fine boat.

One of the best ways to right oneself, I think, is to put your best self out there occasionally — scary though it may be.
To put your best self out there and really shine.
In front of people.
What they see gets reflected back at you and the shine becomes downright dazzling.
And dazzle is mighty powerful.
Honestly, I can see my nephew’s from here.

May it last a good long while.

My Tall One (who is now truly living up to that moniker, towering above most of the 5th graders and sharing my shoes) will go to middle school next year.

Only it’s not that easy.

She has "choices and opportunities" — magnet schools and leadership academies and such.
Nevermind that she’s eleven.
Working on essay applications.
Makes you almost yearn for the good old days when we just stepped blindly into our next school like good little sheep into a paddock.

Except not really, of course.
Because an interesting thing happens when we have choices about schools or jobs or relationships — we assess them.
A decision becomes a process rather than a event.
And afterwards, we know something more about who we are, what we like and what we want.
Which, I’ve got to admit, is better than just ending up somewhere.
Nothing against sheep.

So here I am, getting to know my girl ever better as she gets to know herself.
I hope she likes what she’s seeing as much as I do…

So, Jon Scieszka-rhymes-with-Fresca spent the last two years as our very first ever
National Ambassador of Young People’s Literature.

Did this mean he had to attend top-secret summit meetings? 
Or travel by Air Force One?
Did it mean he had to weigh in on the health care debate?
Or be followed by a secret service detail?
Did it mean he had to dress up in a Fresca costume and visit every library in the U.S. with his "sparkling" personality?

No!
I don’t think so!

I think he just did what he does better than almost anyone — take things like children’s literacy very seriously while somehow wielding the most monstrously phenomenal sense of humor this side of anywhere. Especially for a knucklehead.

Whew!!!!

Thank you, Jon Scieszka, for spreading the good word.
We’re all better for it…

No. Seriously. We are.
Don’t make that funny face.
I’m not kidding.

1. I am thrilled and flattered that All the World has been chosen as a Cybils Picture Book finalist. The Cybils, folks. These are my peeps. And honest to goodness, did you SEE all the other finalists? Dang, I wish that sale at BookPeople had been longer than one day. I’m starting to think that when they say "Customer Appreciation" they mean, in particular, me.

2. I am thrilled and flattered again (and also kind of light-headed) that All the World was included in the 2009 Horn Book Fanfare. Cannot say much more than that, what with the light-headedness and all. Sheesh.

3. The always big-hearted Lisa Schroeder is hosting a truly inspiring series of posts this month over at Lisa’s Little Corner of the Internet. It’s called Dream Big, and there’ll be a new spin on that topic every day but Sundays. Go check out the awesome Matthew Holm’s post and the indefatigable April Henry’s post right now. And then bookmark Lisa’s site, because why’d you want to miss posts on dreaming???

4. And speaking of dreaming, it is time for me to say in public that one of my goals for Twenty-Ten (not including drinking more water and making something that sounds like music with this dang dulcimer) is to complete a draft of this YA novel that’s stuck in my craw. There. I said it. Picture books, scootch aside for a minute, wouldja?

5. Have you said your goals in public yet? Um, might I suggest that you do? That’s what the comment section’s for, folks…

6. Time, space, health and happiness to each and every one of you, today and all year long.

New Year’s Day

Usually I consider

September

the new year

the beginning

of so much

ever since 1^st grade

in that red felt jumper

my name on my backpack

and my missing teeth.

But today

I’ll go ahead

and take January 1^st

at her word – the dirt

nearly mud, so eager

for this year’s

Drummond Phlox

and Gayfeather;

the morning light

clear enough to trust

that it will last.

In each bed

in this house

the people I love

still sleep – to think,

their days not even

begun yet!

while mine has,

unhurried but mindful

that by tonight,

the full moon

like the year

will have already begun

its slight wane.

– L.G.S., 1/1/10

(Poetry Friday hosted today by the most excellent Mary Lee at A Year of Reading)

Hello, dear friends.
I’m back, and just in time to reflect upon the year decade before starting fresh tomorrow morning.

Am I the only one who thinks it’s kind of crazy that an entire decade has zipped by since all that millenium hoopla awhile back?

I would get depressed, except reallly, quite a lot has happened.

And, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from parenting, its that every stage is flush with newness and opportunity.
So, bring it on, I say.
The adolescence of the era.

But first this:

At the beginning of this decade, I was 32. Now I’m 42.
At the beginning of this decade, I’d been married 5 years. Now it’s been 15.

At the beginning of this decade, I had one daughter. Now I have two.
At the beginning of this decade, I had four living grandparents. Now they’re all gone.

At the beginning of this decade, we lived in one house, now sold.
Then we bought another house, now rehabbed.

At the beginning of this decade, we had two cats and a dog. And we still do.

At the beginning of this decade, I had one agent. Now I’ve got a different one.
At the beginning of this decade, I had sold one book. Now I’ve sold six.
And I hadn’t published any. Now there are two.

The beginning of this decade was pre-9/11. Now it’s post-.
The beginning of this decade was pre-hurricane Katrina. Now its post-.
The beginning of this decade was Bush era. Now its Obama.

At the beginning of this decade, we talked about Y2K. Now we remember the year two thousand.
And it suddenly seems like an awfully long time ago.
I think I was eager and hopeful then. And I still am.

You?

Happy New Year, friends, and namaste.

Hello, friends…

Didn’t really plan an announced blog outage but seeing as how it’s been nigh on a week, it’s clear that my current priorities rest with cookies, wassail and the like.

So, on that note, I think I’ll sign off for a bit, with wishes for good spirits, good health and good friends for you all…

Namaste…

Yesterday was the last day of school for my daughters.

We went up in the morning for the holiday sing-along and back in the afternoon to deliver gifts to teachers. (And to hear the kids called out, "See you next year!" and then cracked up.
Some things never change…)

In between, Small One’s class presented a short program on Peacemakers.
They’d each chosen one (Ghandi… Cesar Chavez…. Helen Prejean… Pete Seeger…) to research and tell us about.
There’d obviously been some rehearsing because they were clear as bells — all of them — talking about nuclear disarmament and nursing the poor and civil rights.

They stood in front of the little village of papier mache houses they’d made and a big bulletin board bedecked with images of the peacemakers. Imagine my surprise to see that the headline on the bulletin board read, "Hope and peace and love and trust, All the world is all of us." I think it’s my favorite reading of the book so far, and it was a silent one.  

The kids had all taken UNESCO’s Pledge for Peace, too, and I was left with an overall sense of hopefulness that if these 8- and 9-year-olds grow up to run the world, things aren’t gonna be half bad.
 

I love teaching.
I love the opportunity to put on shoes and lipstick and leave my little cave every once and awhile.
I love being around when new writers experience epiphanies and evolution.

I also find it hard sometimes.
Trotting out the shoes and lipstick, yeah, but also trying to figure out how to be most helpful to my students.
What resources to offer… what to say and how to say it… what to require…
How to balance encouragement and critique… how to stay organized and on track… how to assess creative work…

At the end of each semester, I reflect on how it all went (okay, so I’m procrastinating because my grades are due today).
Here’s what I’ve come up with this time around:

1. Sitting in a circle is a good idea, even when I’m giving a sort of lecture.

2. The fewer lectures the better.

3. The more reading aloud the better.

4. Humor’s a good idea, too.

5. Workshops are richest when there are many voices. I’ve resisted "required commenting" for a long time, but I think I’m going to experiment with a new format next semester to get every single student to speak up more regularly.

6. Online workshops also work best when communication is frequent and vital. Students say they want to be left alone to work at their own pace, but that actually just allows them slip away into the great interweb void. I need to play a little bit more of the street performer to keep everyone engaged from beginning to end.

7. Meeting in person, at least once, might really, really, really help an online workshop gel. Just attaching faces to names and saying, "Please pass the cream." That sort of thing. Next semester, I plan to schedule an in-person get-together right out of the gate.

8. I work best when I have a particular day or two per week dedicated to teaching prep and student critique. I need to get in the zone through immersion. A little bit here-a little bit there is not efficient or inspiring.

9. Trying to discern between a student who needs a little empathy and a student who’s taking me for a sucker is.not.easy.at.all. So, although I do get burned at least once a semester, I’m still going to err on the side of a little empathy.

10. Not all students have library cards. I’m seriously thinking of making this a required part of all my syllabi from now on. I mean, it’ll look like a requirement but it will really be a gift. Y’know what I mean?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some really dynamite portfolios to read.
The written word is alive and well in Austin, Texas.
Indeed it is…

Probably everyone else took care of their holiday gift list about a month ago.
But, if you’re like me — still ticking away and pretending like the post office is a kind and gentle place for last-minute mailers, take heart.
I have a few ideas for you…

1. Books. Shocker, right? I’m giving mostly books this year because there are so darn many good ones out!!! I can’t mention them all here because I fear there may be spies a’foot, but here’s a little taster: The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, The Navel of the World, Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, and Moonshot.

2, Photo books a la Shutterfly, Snapfish or, my new favorite, A & I.

3. Gift certificates to Kiva, microloan love worldwide.

4. Paperwhite bulbs.

5. Homemade chocolate sauce.

I wish I could say I was knitting scarves (my Small One’s doing that) or making potholders (ditto) or otherwise crafting the perfect holiday gift. But I am missing the craft gene. Seriously.

A little kindergarten buddy of mine came over the other day and assessed our advent calendar — one of the only finished craft projects to my name. He wondered why I’d used an elf hat rather than a Christmas tree as the central motif. Um. The thing is, it IS a Christmas tree. See what I mean?

But if you guys are good at that sort of thing, carry on…