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Angela

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I’ve written about our gnome home and fairy tree before. And yesterday, I sent off the first of what I am certain will be many submissions to publishing houses that are accepting unsolicited manuscripts. Some of you told me I should write a picture book about the events that transpired around here last spring and summer, and so I did that. I have no idea how to do that well, but I did that. I…

Last year, my daughter explained how appreciative she was of her white college professor who, as she began facilitating a face-to-face discussion in her Black history class, opened varied channels for discussion. All students were expected to “participate in class” but they were also expected to be thoughtful about how and when and where they added their own perspectives to the discussions that began there. This was important, my daughter explained, because as a white…

My interest in loose parts play evolved out of the discoveries I was making through my own action research in the years prior to the release of my first little book, Make Writing. You can read more about that work by visiting any of these posts if you’re interested. These are a few that I find particularly revealing, as a reflective practitioner: Writing Ideas at Play (2010) Research and Writing in Kindergarten (a series) (2011)…

If you’ve read my new book, then you know that I’m a huge supporter of what my friend Michelle Haseltine is doing over at #100DaysofNotebookKeeping and Beyond! Last week, she welcomed fellow notebook keepers back into that community, where everyone makes a commitment to 100 days of notebook keeping. I started last year, floundered, and eventually quit. This year, I’m planning to go the distance. One of the things that I love most about the…

My friends and family know that I struggled mightily with post-partum depression after the birth of my first daughter nearly twenty four years ago. I was hospitalized for a bit, and I went through sixteen medication trials before we found one that worked. It took five years for me to fully recover and many more years to speak about all of that openly without feeling one bit of shame. And speaking about it is important…

Those of us who are privileged enough to publish books and engage a platform that grows a little (or by leaps and bounds) each year must take care to protect the commons. Those commons are filled with talented people who share not for profit, but because they know that when we share, we all grow better–together. Each time I publish I book, I make it a priority to elevate the voices of those teachers whose…

It was a rainy afternoon, long before anyone was really thinking about global pandemics and civil unrest. We were visiting my favorite art store, and I noticed this notebook on the clearance table. “That’s massive,” my husband John said. “What would you fill it with?” I didn’t know then. Now, I do. The first pages of this notebook document my work and what I learned from it during the last lesson studies I led in…

We often say that we bought our house because of the trees. Of course, there were many factors that contributed to this decision, but the trees weighed heavily inside of that equation.¬†These huge maples tower over our home, lining the sidewalk that sits just a few feet from the window next to me. My husband walked my kids to elementary school beneath those trees each day. Every fall, they still make my neighborhood glow.¬†They also…

White friends: I’m hearing those who are telling me that now is not the time to talk. Now is the time to watch, listen, and quietly help–not by taking charge, but by using my privilege to elevate, amplify, and fortify the IBPOC who are working for justice. Please be strong for them and willing to keep your eyes and ears and hearts wide open. Let’s not wring our hands. Let’s use them to do brave…

When my youngest was still in elementary school, she began the countdown to summer vacation with so much eager anticipation that one would have thought she hated school. She didn’t. She just loved summer, too. This was evidenced by the fact that each year, on the last day of school, she would step off of the school bus and promptly burst into tears, right in the middle of the street. “I’m going to miss my…