Mrs. Needle Writes

When I was pregnant, there were only two questions: "How are you feeling ?" (weird emphasis on the word "feeling") "What are you having?" To which I would respond: "I can't sleep, I have to pee every 5 minutes, and brushing my teeth makes me barf." "Hopefully it's a human." In these times of genetic testing and gender reveal parties, I got some funny looks.  "You have to tell me so I can buy the right clothes!!!" "People won't be able to get you shower gifts!" "I hope it's a girl!" (COME ON. That's a weird thing to tell a pregnant stranger while you're waiting in line for a public restroom.) I protected my little Poppyseed from the wave of over-the-top gendered crap for as long as I could. But once she was born, word got out. And then it happened. The wave of PINK SHIT. All pink everything. And dresses. Do people realize that dresses make it very

Why are there men's shoes outside our door?   I saw them as I climbed up the stairs to our unit. I felt my stomach tighten as I reached the door. I heard two adult voices as I reached for the doorknob.  I opened the door, and stepped into a nightmare.  The first thing I saw was my five month old daughter's high chair. It was moved from its spot at the dinner table. It was now sitting directly in front of the TV, a foot away from the screen. My daughter was not in the highchair, but who knows how long she sat there. My baby who loves babbling and gazing into my eyes as I sing to her. My stomach turned into a ball of lead.  I turned my gaze to the two adults who were standing, deer-in-the-headlights, by the dinner table. One of them was supposed  to be there, entrusted with the care of my baby. The other was her boyfriend. The ball of lead moved up towards my heart.  I couldn't even hear whatever she/they said to me. All I said was, "Where is Popp

For me, St. Patrick’s Day used to be like this: This was taken in Dublin #studyabroad (LOL “study”) Today, it was like this: I took my daughter on a scavenger hunt to find houses with shamrocks in the window.

“Anybody want a peanut?” It’s that thing you didn’t know you absolutely NEEDED until you heard it was a thing. It’s like being a kid at COMICON, except it’s all booze. Twue Wuv in dark, smoky, liquid form. A Princess Bride themed pop-up bar!!!! We wanted a nightcap after feasting on Sushi Mike's special rolls (see The Last Supper, Part 1). And with the looming possibility of a total shutdown of bars and restaurants, we knew there was only one place to go. The Sixth - a cocktail bar in Chicago - had a monthlong Princess Bride theme.  "I'm not a witch! I'm your wife!" Now, let me break it down so you can comprehend how big this was for me: I married a Wesley (his name was not the reason I married him, but it is a perk). I used an excerpt from the book in my WEDDING VOWS. My thirtieth birthday is on Friday, and what more appropriate way to celebrate than by drinking out of a goddam GOBLET! "He's only mostly dead." I

Last night, my husband and I went out for a date. I know, we’re meant to be socially distancing. But we needed a last hurrah as a couple before we began our isolation with a toddler in a tiny condo. Thank GOD we went on a date! It turned out to be a dream come true! Our night began at a neighborhood sushi joint, small, BYOB. We went because it’s BYOB and we’re poor, but what we realized is that it is a neighborhood destination that we somehow didn’t know about(?!?!). The reason why it’s a destination is Sushi Mike. Sushi Mike is the Japanese-American sushi version of the character who plays the mafia boss’ favorite chef. He is PURE GOLD. His laughter - a shocking cackle- cuts through the sound of chatter and ambient music the way his chef’s knife slices through ahi tuna. Left and right, customers ask their servers to send over a glass of wine for Sushi Mike. It is well deserved. Sushi Mike’s specialty is making special rolls for his guests. Servers ask about allergies and spic

We all have those students who need extra help year after year. Sometimes it seems like it take forever for THE lightbulb - that life changing lightbulb that illuminates that reading identity that was always there, hidden in the shadows - to light up. But when it does, my God is it amazing! My district has closed for COVID-19, but I was the luckiest teacher in the world to witness this moment for a second grade student exactly 2.5 hours before dismissal yesterday. “Mrs. Needle,” he said. “I have a question.” I smiled. “What are you wondering about?” I answered. “Why does the word ‘have’ have an E at the end? It doesn’t make the long sound.” My smile grew exponentially. Wow! I thought. This kiddo not only noticed a word pattern totally unprompted, but also 1) noticed a word that deviated from the pattern and 2) remembered his wondering until I came to pick him up for intervention. “K,” I said. “I’m so proud that you noticed that! What a smart question to ask!” I took out my

Picture this: You’re snuggled up on a plush couch, listening to the gentle patter of the rain on the window, book spread open on your lap. Hell, you can even treat yourself to a San Pellegrino! Not a care in the world. “Mommyyyyy!!!! Mommyyyyy!!!!! MOMMYYYYYYY!!!!!!” The time bomb has gone off. Only... It ain’t YOUR time bomb! Let me backup a second. A few months ago, my mom friend/neighbor came up with a brilliant idea. She and her husband have two tots and never go out on dates. My husband and I have one tot and never go out on dates. We should do a babysitting swap! A convenient solution to save us some date night money, as we live exactly one flight of stairs away from each other. Our deal was simple: Ask a couple days ahead of time for babysitting availability. Make sure tots are sound asleep before leaving for the date. Don’t stay out TOO late. We’re now several months into the arrangement, and I have learned a HARSH truth. I’m afraid I got the raw end of this de

As a literacy specialist, I know the importance of reading to my daughter every day. Sometimes that looks like her pulling all her books off the shelf and throwing them onto the floor, and me picking one up and reading it aloud (to myself) as she runs off to do something else. Sometimes that looks like her cuddling up on my lap and making me reread the same book four times (right now, the obsession is her Obama book).  Last night, she pulled down one of her books, pointed to the cover, and said, "mama." It was actually one of my old books that someone gave to me as a birthday gift when I was three (they wrote a note on the inside cover). And that book was Cinderella.  Now, the question is, does she think I'm Cinderella because she's seen me talking to animals, because she's seen me sweep under her high chair every night, or because I'm in desperate need of a wardrobe update?

If I could send a letter to new mom Alex, this is what I would say: Dear Alex, I know that right now, you have this screaming newborn in your arms. I also know that despite the fact that this newborn is screaming and literally sucking the life out of your exhausted body, you love the sh*t outta her. But there are some things you should know, too. 1. You are still Alex. Regardless of the fact that people call you “mama” or “Poppy’s mom,” you are still a human being who deserves(!!!!!) her own identity apart from that of her parasite - oops, I mean baby. Don't forget to sometimes do things because they make YOU feel good or have fun. 2. Ignore the peanut gallery. They will tell you things. Some things will be helpful, like the lactation consultant who will suggest bouncing that screaming baby on a yoga ball to settle her. Some things will do nothing, like the midwife who will suggest drinking a shot of beer before nursing to help trigger letdown. Some things might even

I emerged from the stairwell and smiled at my colleague who was walking down the hall. I opened my mouth to say, "Hey, how are you?" but she beat me to it. Except, she didn't say "hey, how are you?" Instead, she said: "What day are you on?" I stopped in my tracks, lips bunched and eyebrows knitted. My mind went blank. What day am I on? Does she know that I'm participating in the Slice of Life Challenge? Does she think I'm taking part in a 30-day fix? Oh God, DOES SHE THINK I'M MENSTRUATING - AND ASKING ME ABOUT IT?!?! All that slipped out was "...what?" "Sorry," she said shaking her head and giggling, "what day are you on for your hair?" "Oh! I actually just washed it this morning," I said. You see...I have a reputation at my school. My reputation is that I do not wash my hair, yet will go to great lengths to hide the fact that my hair in extremely unwashed. Although I do this out of

"Alex. My box is missing." It's that time of year again. My inbox full of questions, groans, and anxiety. It's Fountas and Pinnell Benchmarking time. As the school literacy specialist, I am the gatekeeper, the spokesperson, the cheerleader. Little did I know that - among the many other facets of my role - this would be the source of a great deal of drama. I try to move the situation down a few notches from DEFCON 3 without making this teacher feel like I'm patronizing her. "Have you asked the resource teacher if he borrowed it?" I suggest. "I've looked in his room already," she replies. Maybe we need to inject some humor, here. "I'm happy to initiate a manhunt for you! Theft is a common problem in this building. Are you missing a Level 1 kit or Level 2? That ought to narrow down the list of suspects," I say, attempting a cheeky grin. It's a too early in the morning for me to actually be charming.   She chuck

“Mama help?” I ask her. “No, Pah-pah!” she grunts, thumbs thrusting into her delicious Buddha belly. I say, “okay, Poppy can do it!” And then I sit back and watch as the rice flies out of her spoon, over her shoulder, and onto the floor. She puts the empty spoon into her mouth and looks at me, brow furrowed in bewilderment as to why there is not a spoonful of rice in her mouth. It felt like we had been reenacting the same scene all day. “Mama help Poppy put on shoes?” “No, Pah-pah!” “Mommy help Poppy brush hair?” “No, Pah-pah!” It seems like just yesterday she needed help with everything. She used to cry in frustration at her failures, until we taught her how to sign for “help.” Once she learned that, we had exactly 2 seconds to help her accomplish her goal after she asked for help. If we were too slow, those familiar cries broke out once again. Hmmm...maybe it was actually just yesterday. I knew that one day I’d watch my little bird fly from the nest. I guess I di

“Bama!” My daughter is 18 months old, and she surprises me every day. Some days my husband and I come home from work and she’s learned a new word (last night it was “wait!”). Sometimes we walk through the grocery store, and she shows me that she’s learned a new sign (as of last Sunday, she’s apparently mastered “grape” and “apple”). And sometimes she surprises me by freaking out for no observable reason (we had to leave the library a mere 5 minutes into Spanish story time this morning). One thing that Poppy has learned recently is that her Obama book is not actually about her dad.  She now says “Bama” when she takes it off the shelf instead of saying “Dada!”  The resemblance that only a toddler can see! My husband and I naively patted ourselves on the backs for our daughter’s new party trick. “She knows Barack Obama,” we thought to ourselves, smugly. ...until she picked this book off the shelf at the library and said, “Bama!” We’ve got a bit more work to

When I was little, I was a good girl in school and at home. They taught me  to sit still and be quiet. They taught me that girls are nice, not bossy. Now, at thirty, I am finding my voice. The one that "pushes back." Now, I have a little girl. And when she lies down because she is not ready to leave the park, I find myself loving her voice. 

Have you ever had a work twin? When we were hired - at the same time - our administrator said, "people are going to confuse you." The literacy specialist...and the math specialist. Even our jobs are work twins. Kristen and I have been at this school for three years now, and the following exchange is still a weekly occurrence: Student 1: "Hi, Ms. Hoch!" Student 2: "That's Mrs. Needle!" Student 1: (Choose your own adventure) "Are you sisters?" or "Why do you look the same?" or "You have the same hair." Yesterday, I walked into the staff lounge to heat up my soup. I smiled at my colleagues sitting down to lunch at the table. As I stood in front of the humming microwave, I ran through my mental list of things I HAD to accomplish in the next 20 minutes. And then I heard a burst of laughter.  I turned around. Dammit! What nugget of fun did I miss? Was it an adorably naive student quote? A hilari

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up, and before any other thought crosses your drowsy mind, you think to yourself, 'huh, how can I make this morning difficult for my fellow human beings?' No? Me neither. But apparently, the guy riding his bike in the middle of the lane did!  (Side note: my husband and I carpool. He is driving, I did not take this photograph from behind the wheel!)

My husband is a genius Sole spawn of 2 PhDs Seemingly limitless knowledge of sports and politics But Sometimes I have to teach him things. Like The time I asked him To clean the floor. “Wesley,” I said. ”You have to put The wipe on the Swiffer BEFORE you push the Swiffer across the floor.” Or The time I asked him To melt the butter. “Wesley,” I said. “You have to put The butter in a bowl BEFORE you put it in the microwave.” My husband is a genius. He teaches me, too. He teaches me To be more positive And to let my sillies out. He teaches me By reminding me to show grace And let go of my raging petty. He teaches me That the problem isn't THAT big. He teaches me That it’s okay to make mistakes. My husband is a genius. And I am a genius For marrying my husband.

I have noticed some things as a new member of this group called "mothers." One thing that I have noticed is the way that lovely middle class highly educated politically correct mothers do this thing where they say, "no judgment," and then proceed to mercilessly judge and condemn whatever comes next out of their mouths. It reminds me of being in second grade, when your friend would say, "no offense, but..." and then say something incredibly offensive. But because it was framed with the opener "no offense," you were not allowed to get insulted. Heaven forbid you cried at such a statement! Your friend meant no offense! Anyway. My husband and I recently took our daughter to a tot's birthday party. At tot birthday parties, tots don't really play with each other. They take toys away from each other, or play next to each other without acknowledging their "friend's" presence, or they cry. Tot birthday parties are not really for

So, last weekend I went to a Pamper Party. A Pamper Party is when your friend, who decided to become a Mary Kay consultant, invites people over to drink wine and buy things. The morning of the Pamper Party, I said to my husband, "I will not buy ANYTHING." The afternoon of the Pamper Party, I said to my mother and sister over FaceTime, "I will not buy ANYTHING." I'm sure you can see where this is going. 7:30PM rolls around. My toddler daughter is asleep in her crib bathed in the soft glow of her nightlight and the steady sound of her white noise machine. My husband is sprawled on the couch, bathed in the blue lights of the television and his laptop, both of which are tuned into different sporting events. I am walking downstairs to my friend's unit.  I am the second to arrive. The wine is being opened. Introductions are made. When the fourth and final mother (we are all mothers) arrives, we go down to the basement. Let the pampering begin. We are