The Mayonnaise Jar

I didn’t write the humourous little story below, and I can’t find credit for it anywhere. It’s been floating around the internet for a few years, but I first knew it as the Mayonnaise Jar. It arrived again in my inbox recently from a friend, only this time with a new little touch at the end where the water’s been changed to 2 glasses of adult content. You’ve  most likely read it before, but it never hurts to have one of life’s little reminders float across your desktop or screen every now and then.

It just about sums up my life right now – exhausted finishing off report cards, all fired up starting an entirely new 21st Century term of learning with my students and participating in a Blended eLearning pilot project, digging deep into new TLLP activities with both teachers and kids, taking another PLP Network eCourse over the next 6 weeks, and most of all, returning from a phenomenal ABEL Leadership Summit in Toronto, with my mind still on a non-stop Spin Cycle with ideas, questions, challenges, and images of education in the future…

…and in the midst of all this organized chaos and change, being carried farther and farther beyond my retirement date each day… trying to find a clear path through the flotsam and jetsam for the next part of my life.

So I’m creating this jar and putting it on my desk at school TODAY.

Of course, there’s no question I’ll be using the water and Mayonnaise Jar version to explain it to my students when they ask, because they will!   (-;

cb

TWO GLASSES OF WINE
When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 glasses of wine theory…

A professor stood before his philosophy class with some items on his desk in front of him. When the class began he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous “YES.”

The professor then produced two glasses of wine from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

“Now,” said the professor, as the laughter subsided, “I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favourite passions; things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else; the small stuff.

If you put the sand into the jar first”, he continued, “there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the good things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. Do one more run down the ski slope. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first; the things that really  matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.”

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the wine represented.

The professor smiled. “I’m glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there’s always room for a couple of glasses of wine with a friend.”

The Power of a Teacher’s Silence

If I ever doubted how much we affect our students when we’re not even aware of it, I had a visceral reminder of it yesterday while I was teaching.

I went to school yesterday with complete laryngitis – absolutely complete laryngitis – but I wasn’t feeling sick, and I had a relatively easy Friday schedule, so I knew I’d be fine even without a voice.

First thing in the morning, I decided to demonstrate the short geometry lesson using sign language: a strategy I often use while teaching anyway, sometimes exaggerating and pretending it’s a magic show.

Only this time, there was no teacher voice to accompany or explain along the way. I couldn’t even whisper. And the strangest thing happened…   As the lesson went on, the students stopped talking to one another, and gradually became very still and absolutely silent.  They were completely focussed on the lesson in silence – and even answered and responded with their own silent gestures as well.

It was so remarkable that I actually stopped teaching and tweeted it out — I had a couple of students take the photo and read what I was saying to make the most of the teachable moment, of course — and then they started talking about it.

One student said that he thought that it was a game he was supposed to play. Another said my not talking automatically made her feel like she needed to do the same thing. Another later added that my continued silence made her want to whisper all day, and not talk at all.

Fascinating!

How often do we try to explain to student teachers, pre-service teachers, that their voice is their most powerful tool as a teacher — that their students will respond to it, especially when they start to raise their own volume over the kids? And how often do we forget to use the power of our voice to calm things, and quiet our students back down when calm is needed?

But even more importantly – how often do we forget how strongly we are affecting our students when we are least aware of it?  This kind of power carries enormous responsibility to use it mindfully, wisely, and for the benefit of our students.

What a great lesson you demonstrated to me yesterday my lovelies, Thank-you!

Beaten on the Journey Path

Well, what a couple of weeks this has been. Ups and downs as high and low as a rockin’ roller coaster! Feeling like I’ve been beaten black and blue both from within and without.
This ain’t no walk in the park, eh? Innovating in a classroom, in a school, in a public board of education, it’s all really, really, really, really hard work. We make mistakes. We lose our way. We lose support. We lose our faith. We lose site of our goals.  We want to quit, just lay down, and give it all up.

And then one of your kids looks up to you and says:
“I love this! Can we do this every day?”
“Hey look! This is really cool!”
“Let’s not do the other work anymore.”
“Can I bring my laptop to school too? Really?!? REALLY?!?”
“Can I just email my assignment to you?”
“Hey Miss Beach, XXX just taught me how to do that — you just…”
“This is SO good!!!”
“ELBOWS!” (Take your hands off the keyboards) “I just figured out how to change your avatar pic, and I want to tell you how. You have to go to…”
“Is it time to go already?!? Man, that went fast. I thought it was only half way done.”
“Can we do this again tomorrow?”
“Call me tonight, and we can finish it online…”
“We’re going to do it ourselves, you bring all the things we need…”
“This was the best day of my life.”

And the flashes of smiles, the excitement, the electric energy in the air — they blow away the memories of the falls and bruises, and we know we can stay at, and we know there’ll always be another day.

Such is the life of a teacher trying to create a relevant and worthwhile education for 21st Century digital kids.  There’s always a tomorrow, and tomorrow is always another day.