Friday, November 12, 2010

Transition Words

One of the important moments for student writers is when they learn to use transition words.  I do not mean the way they use them when we scaffold it in elementary school.  My first grader recently wrote a paragraph on her morning routine, complete with misspellings and awkward transitions, clearly inserted by the teacher to make students aware of their existence: 

"First, I wake up.  Next, I eat breakfast.  Then, I get dressed.  Finally I get my backpack and go to school."

Unfortunately, many students in high school have long since forgotten these elementary attempts to make the use of transitions conscious and smooth.  Instead we see a lot of run on sentences, comma splices, and sentences that start with "then."  By the time they reach sophomre or junior year, we can expect the reliably stilted, "In conclusion" to start the last paragraph of any piece of writing.  However, for a student to achieve appropriate, precise transitions that move a reader smoothly through her essay, is a rare and impressive accomplishment. 

All of this thinking about transitions led me to ponder metaphor.  Most things in life lead me to ponder metaphor.  I didn't end up as a literature major and English teacher because I enjoy the linear.  If smooth transitions in writing are difficult to achieve, they are virtually impossible in life.

I race from work to home each day, never feeling I've put out all fires and cleaned up all messes.  It's usually a panicky glance at the clock, followed by a sprint to the car and a quick text to reassure my family, especially the husband part who needs to get to work...now...that I didn't forget to come home.

The transition home is loud.  Granted, most things with five children are loud, and my daily welcome home is no exception:  a chattering hen house of school updates, questions, hugs, kisses, permission slips and exclamations.  Then,  I close the front door and actually come inside.  Despite many attempts to have a few moments of calm before leaving teacher person and putting on the full armour of mommy person, this frenetic welcome home goes unchanged.

My early morning routine isn't much better.  Every life needs a soundtrack and my mornings these days are accompanied by strains of "Chuggington," a colorful animated show for preschoolers whose theme song, for whatever reason, is completely enthralling to my eight month old.  Complete with wobbling head and wonder-filled "o" of the mouth, he sits mesmerized while a cloying children's chorus sings the following: 

"Chuggington.  Chugga, chugga, chugga, chugga Chugginton!" 

I know.  It's hard to believe my kids can't get perfect scores on the SAT someday if I just set them in front of this kind of quality programming all the time.  Fortunately, he's only interested in the monotonous theme song.  Afterward, we switch over to the beloved Arthur.  This part of the morning is crunch time-- the transition from Mom to Teacher, from Children to Students.  No matter how early I rise, the last half hour is still, always, slightly chaotic.  I should probably just record my voice shouting the following:

"Did you brush your teeth?"
"You have to wear socks."
"I don't know, check the dryer."
"Did you pack your lunch?"
"Someone pick up your brother."

Weekdays are one thing.  Saturday mornings are another.  Soccer Saturday offers its own transition challenges.  Now, you don't just have to get your children to school.  You must get them there on time for an event involving several other families.  It is a timed event.  It requires special clothing, and sports equipment.  Sometimes you even have to bring a meal for everyone involved.  By the way, if you think the phrase "bringing snack" doesn't sound like a frightening summons to provide a full meal that pleases both sugar hungry mini-athletes and healthy minded parents, you are not a soccer mom. 

I've been a "soccer mom" for four years now.  Four years to know when each of my three children have to be at their respective pre-game warm ups.  Furthermore, this isn't the first week of soccer season when the transition to the routines might have some starts and stops.  It's the middle of the season, so our Saturdays should move like at least a relatively well-oiled machine.  Instead, this was my recent AM:

After an early morning session of chores, cuddling and Cheerios, I was lounging on the couch with said Cheerio eater, my six year old, and a cup of coffee. We were watching "Arthur,"a show I would watch by myself.  I want to hang out with my friends at the Sugar Bowl after school everyday and make big plans with Buster in Arthur's treehouse, and I'm not even sure what Arthur is.  My eldest says he's an anteater; I'm not seeing it. 

But I digress

Suddenly and for no clear reason, I realize the six year old is supposed to be at the field much earlier today.  I check my email for her coach's weekly update (Thank you, Lord, for coaches who email; otherwise I might never find any soccer communication) and realize we are supposed to be at the field in 30 minutes!

Now, considering the drive is about five minutes away, you might interpret this as good news.  However, you would be wrong. Stupidly sunny in your optimism in fact.  Even Superman and Wonder Woman together could not get three children ready for soccer games and two more ready for watching soccer games in that time.  After rousing sleeping Dad to ask if he can bring Child 1 and 2 to the field in two hours, I go to work on the youngest Mia Hamm and the babies.  As a family we enter Red Alert mode where I shout orders, Dad does triage on some blisters and shoes the two year old.  While I pack the bag that will serve as changing and water station, cell phone dock, snack shack, bank and baby toy box, hair is brushed ("I don't know where your purple ribbon is; you'll have to go without it.  I'm sorry."), teeth are brushed and water bottles filled. 

Soon I'm flying out the front door, yelling for older sibs to move car seats from Dad's car to mine, and I begin to think we just might make it on time.  Well, maybe a few minutes late.  We can be those cool parents who think the start time is just too early, so we arrive a bit late, knowing that things at the field never really get going as soon as the coach likes to claim.  Just as my sunny confidence begins to flame, it is quickly extinguished, and I realize I will probably cross that tenuous "fashionably late" threshhold and instead, again be the manic mother of five, racing in late and apologetic.  I hate being that chick.  It's sooo predictable!  Anyway, the source of my new distress comes from this conversation:

Mia Ham (heading out the front door)

Eldest:  Are you wearing one of my shin guards? Mom, she's wearing one of MY shin guards!
Mia (with a slight but growing whine):  I NEED it!  I can't find mine!
Eldest:  They're not YOURS!  I need them, too!  I have a game, too!



Dad and I quickly realize that we have three soccer players and only five shin guards.  It's kind of like the time-honored dryer conundrum where two socks go in but only one comes out.  What happens to the other sock?  Coincidentally, the T.V. show "Arthur" has a cute episode that explains the sock mystery: 



At any rate, I am now clearly one shin guard shy of soccer Saturday.  I refuse to race to the store to buy more shin guards.  My six year old has the chronic habit of losing everything she wears that falls below the knee.  We are often reduced to tears before school, before church, before birthday parties because she can't find socks or the other shoe or any shoes that fit.  Today is just the latest in this predictable and frustrating habit.  While I might want to dwell, wallow even, in the misery of this realization, I must forge ahead. 

Soccer waits for no mom! 

Please tell me this sad shin guard sharing is not the pathetic experience of just my soccer family.  Do shin guards go missing in your house, too?  Probably not.  You're probably a super organized working mom who has special wicker baskets with canvas lining that match each child's team uniform color.  After each Saturday, you dutifully wash the uniforms and socks and lovingly fold and place each uniform along with its cleats and shin guards in the basket for each child.  Are their water bottles color coded as well?  Of course they are.  You are the master of soccer Saturday, and your essays all have delightful transitions.

Meanwhile, back in the increasing H-E-Double Hockey Sticks that is my Saturday, we charge out of the house and into the car.  Dad's executive decision is that they will share their shin guards because only two of them play at the same time.  I realize no one has had breakfast, so I throw a granola bar back to my soccer star (Yeah, that will fuel her until almost the half) and a bag of goldfish crackers at the two year old, whose total devotion to me is sealed with this immensely cool breakfast choice.  No oatmeal with sliced bananas.  No pancakes with flax seed.  No scrambled eggs with broccoli and cheddar cheese.  She gets "Fishy Crackers?!" 

Predictably, we are to late to warmups, but luckily there is another Mom who arrives slightly later than me.  Victory.  Everyone plays.  Only one daughter wins her game, and yes, we keep track of these things in our house.  Don't get me started.  It's another blog unto itself.  They collect their snacks.  We trudge to the car, and when we get home, we're far too exhausted to do anything but collapse en masse on the couch. 

Dozing with the baby on my shoulder, I sense the two year old is grazing on the snack leftovers from her sisters.  The six year old kicks off her cleats and socks which are almost immediately inhaled by the couch, hider of all needed things.  Soccer uniforms end up in one pile or another, but they don't go into the wash for at least two more days.  Let's be honest, they may still be dirty somewhere next Friday.  I'm not even sure I own any wicker baskets.  I know my five children have nothing color coded.  All of this will either make them resilent and calm in a crisis, or at the very least, it will fuel some productive therapy sessions when they reach their late twenties and realize I am to blame for everything.  Either way, Saturday is waning and relatively successful, and I still haven't learned how to transition from Mommy to Soccer Mommy. 

Tomorrow, there will undoutedly be at least some chaos between home and church.  Even though I am a veteran working mother and a teacher who can guide students through any number of good choices to create smooth transitions in writing, my shift between home and work on Monday will undoutedly still be difficult.  Transitions are hard.  Smooth transitions are almost impossible to achieve, both in the classroom and in life as a

Teacher Not Teaching Now Teaching

 Transition Words Handout

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