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SOLC Day 8: Unspooling

March 2026 SOLC–Day 8
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

After waking early Saturday morning, I sit at my desk, looking forward to a morning without time constraints. On weekdays during the challenge, I have less time to write morning notes, as my writing needs to be more focused in order to get a post ready to go. As I start writing, I realize how much I’ve been missing free writing in my notebook over the past week. The ink spills from my pen out onto the page like a thread unreeling from a tightly-wound spool. I can feel myself unspooling, too. I write and write. 

After a while, I pick up my phone and check the day’s forecast. I see the haze symbol and feel a sudden tug to visit the marsh. I love it when it’s foggy! I check the time. 5:05 am. I glance at my phone again. Sunrise is at 6:07. I can make it there if I leave soon. Closing my notebook decisively, I rise and get moving. Within ten minutes, I’m dressed and in my car heading south.

As I get closer, the rich smell of the marsh seeps into the car. I breathe deeply, enjoying the elemental, pungent scent. My shoulders lower. My jaw softens. Coming here was a good choice.

I pull into the empty parking lot, park my car, and grab my camera. Walking over to the path, I gaze out over the marsh. I see a small movement and turn to look. My arrival has disturbed two ducks. They paddle further away, slip streams rippling out behind them. I watch them for a bit then turn my attention to a tall tree across the channel. Often there is an eagle there, or later in the year, an osprey. I see a very faint outline. Is that an eagle?  I zoom in with my camera, and only then can I confirm that it is. Even though I can barely see it, I like knowing it’s there, across the snowy expanse, where marsh grasses also lie hidden, dormant beneath thick layers of snow and tumbled chunks of ice. On the other side of the water. A silent companion in the mist. 

With every step further onto the trail, with every sweep of my eyes over the hazy horizon, it’s as if I’m unspooling even further. Loosening. Every so often I hear a crow call. Or a seagull. I see Canada geese and watch them fly low across the snowy expanse. See their silhouettes hazy in the mist across the water. Admire a few ducks as they slip in and out of view.

Far off in the distance I hear the soothing rush of the surf. The ocean is out of view, a few miles away, but it thrums in the background today. Like a pulse.

I imagine that many people would find the scenery dull or stark. Even harsh or severe. But it speaks to me at a fundamental level. The muted winter palate is a balm. The mist is like swaddling, wrapping and comforting me. With every exhale, I feel lighter.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.

All the splintered, jagged edges of the week soften and smudge.

This. I think. Just this. 

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SOLC Day 7: Problem Solving

March 2026 SOLC–Day 7
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I tilt my head back and let the warm water flow over my hair, rinsing away the shampoo. My feet splash as I step forward, reaching for the conditioner.

Wait? Splash?

I look down at my feet and see water puddling around the shower drain. I lift one foot. Then the other. Splash. Splash. 

Uh oh…When was the last time I cleaned the drain?

I squat to get a closer look. The water is definitely backing up. If I can’t remember when I last cleaned it, no doubt it’s overdue.

I reach down to the drain grate. Is it lefty loosie or righty tighty?

I grip and nudge the grate to the left, not wanting to push too hard in case I’m going the wrong way. Nothing happens. I push again a little harder and feel a little give. Another twisting push and the grate cover is free. Success! I lift it from the drain, and a large glob of hairy, goopy nastiness dangles from it. If the drain were a cat, this would be a monstrous hairball! Making a face, I pull the slippery mass free, place it in the far corner of the shower. Then I reach down into the drain to see what else I can scavenge. One after another, I pull up several large clumps of gunky yuck and add them to the debris pile. It’s simultaneously both thoroughly disgusting and immensely satisfying. 

After the drain is as clear as I can get it, I replace the grate. I finish my shower, washing my hands repeatedly, and relish the water’s swift descent through the drain. No more splashing!

When my shower is done, I get some tissues, pick up the pile of yuck and throw it away. 

If only all my problems were solved this easily!

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SOLC Day 6 and PF: On Becoming Wonder Woman

March 2026 SOLC–Day 6
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org
Today’s post serves as a Poetry Friday post as well!

I’m lucky enough to have a writing group that I’ve been meeting with for years now. It’s a consistent bright spot in my world! In addition to bimonthly Zoom meetings, each month one of us poses a challenge, and then we all share our responses on the first Poetry Friday of the month. This month’s Inkling challenge was from Margaret Simon who asked us to write a poem using the word “becoming”. She referenced a Jacqueline Woodson poem, but I honestly never managed to even click on that link. I toyed around with a couple of ideas related to becoming, and then remembered a poem I’d written earlier this year that had been searching for a title. It seems like it found it!

On Becoming Wonder Woman*

Wonder Woman donned her metal cuffs
to protect her as she entered the fray,
to deflect harmful projectiles,
making her both stylish and
impervious.

Today, I put on my flower earrings,
my fragile plastic optimism
on full display.

Then I head into the classroom
hoping to emerge,
if not victorious,
at least 
with some bloom
intact. 

©Molly Hogan

*Disclaimer–I am in NO way implying that I am Wonder Woman. I wrote this poem after a morning when I deliberately chose to wear these earrings feeling like I needed every optimistic vibe I could scrounge up. These earrings are like a little dose of happy, and because my brain works in mysterious ways, it reminded me of Wonder Woman donning her magic cuffs. Apparently earrings are my battle armor of choice!

To see what the other Inklings did with this prompt, click on the links below:
Mary Lee @ A(nother) Year of Reading
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Margaret @Reflections on the Teche
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Catherine @ Reading to the Core

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Karen Edmisten at her blog. Stop by to enjoy some poetry goodness!

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SOLC Day 5: What would you do?

March 2026 SOLC–Day 5
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

We’re lined up in the hallway waiting for the final dismissal call and the official end of the school day.

“Look what I found!” J. yells triumphantly, rising from the ground and holding up a penny. 

“Ooooh!” L. enthuses, edging closer. “It’s a penny! Pennies are rare now!”

“Do you know why they’re rare?” I ask.

“Because Trump stopped making them. Trump’s bad!” yet another student offers. 

“Well,” I interject, not exactly sure yet what I’m going to say and trying to formulate a response. But then, before I can continue, another student chime in.

“It’s true,” he said, his soft brown eyes looking up at me earnestly. “Trump is bad. He kills people. He does. He made this thing called ice–not like the slippery ice–and they kill people. Like they killed a soccer mom and she didn’t even do anything!” 

Some other kids nod.

A moment hangs there, and I’m not sure what to do. What to say.

These are 7 year old kids. They’re talking about the President of the United States killing people. And they clearly have heard a lot. They have details.

How do I handle this? How would you handle it?

For good or for bad, I divert. 

“Well, one big reason they stopped making pennies is because it costs more to make pennies than they are worth,” I say. 

“Oh, yeah,” L, the penny expert, says, “I heard that.”

And then their conversation moves smoothly along to other topics.

They probably won’t even remember this conversation.

I will. 

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SOLC Day 4: With Apologies in Advance

March 2026 SOLC–Day 4
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I’m tired. 

Do you know that saying, or maybe it’s a fable, about the frog in the boiling water? How if you try to put a frog into boiling water, it will jump out? But if you put a frog in cool water and gradually turn up the temperature, it will remain in the water and boil alive?

Sorry to start your day with that imagery, but I’ve been feeling like that lately. A lot. Like I’m the frog. And my classroom is the water. And it is boiling me alive. 

I lay awake in bed this morning at about 3:30 am, unable to fall back to sleep, thinking about yesterday at school, pondering an incoming phone call from a parent scheduled for this morning, and wondering when I’m going to deal with all sorts of looming deadlines. The days are filled with one demand or need after another and by the time I get home, I’m utterly exhausted. Spent. Unable to open up my bag and get anything done.

Lying in bed this morning, giving up on the idea of sleep returning, I start to consider the fable more carefully. I notice some flaws in my thinking. First of all, the water in my classroom was NEVER cool. In fact, I think it’s cooler now than it was at the beginning of the year. We’ve made some progress. Yay! … at least on some days. But the never ending exposure has left me hot and bothered and tired. Drained. Cooked to the bone. I sometimes wonder if I’ve just become accustomed to the uncomfortable temperature. What toll is it taking on me? On them? There’s such a constant draining need with this group of kids. 

It’s been a year of firsts. I’ve had to remove sticky notes from the classroom materials. And then pens. And now, I decide, scissors are going. Oh, and apparently tape is too, because someone threw away or absconded with or destroyed part of the tape dispenser yesterday. Or maybe it just got lost. (Though my experience this year suggests the latter is unlikely.) My exhaustive search for the missing piece was unsuccessful after school yesterday. Another material bites the dust. These aren’t the sort of firsts I was hoping for when I began the year. I wonder idly how much money I’ll be budgeted for supplies this year. I know the budget is tight. I think of all the destroyed materials I need to replace. And, really, that’s just a symptom of larger problems. I sigh and roll out of bed and away from this unhelpful cycle of thinking. It’s 4:07 and there’s not much hope of sleep returning.

This year is a lot and I’m sure the events in the larger world add to all of it. I know there will be positives today. That we’ll learn and laugh. That there will be moments of joy along with the moments of frustration. But right now, the new day is beginning, and I’m still tired from the last 104 of them. (Who’s counting, right?)

When I’m feeling overwhelmed, one of my go-to strategies is, ironically, to take a hot tub and relax. 

I’m rethinking that one right now.  

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SOLC Day 3: Chatter

March 2026 SOLC–Day 3
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

I actually don’t love teacher reels. Ok, well, I do love some of them, but many of them have a bitter edge that I don’t appreciate. This one popped up the other day and made me laugh, so I sent it along to my colleagues. I can’t figure out how to attach the actual video here, so I took a screen shot for you, but you get the idea. Just picture a few more yapping geese coming in and out of the frame, and coming in reaaaaalllll close!

In my classroom this year, ongoing talk is not solely a morning activity. It’s a day long affair. I can definitely relate to that black lab. (And hey, my name’s Molly, so I’m practically half lab anyway*!)

Case in point: This morning after I direct the kids to get ready for recess, student after student approaches me.

“Hey, Mrs. Hogan,” J asks, “Do you wanna know my secret soccer move?”

“Of course!” I say, putting my book down and reaching for my coat.

“Ok, well, I just move my body toward the ball and then when the ball gets close…”

“Can I go in the cupboard to look for a book?” someone interrupts.

“Wah-wah-wah-wah…ball….wah-wah-wah-wah…real fast…Wah-wah-wah-wah” J. keeps talking, Charlie Brown teacher style, as I am distracted by other incoming voices and simultaneously trying to get ready to head outside.

“Yes.” I answer, shrugging into my coat, putting my hat on, trying to hear at least some of what J’s saying.

“Are you on duty today?” M. pipes up.

“Yes.” Phone in pocket.

“I wanna be a beaver when I grow up.”

What? My hand stills as I reach for my sunglasses, and I turn toward the last voice, realizing it comes from Y, and totally abandoning any effort to listen to J.

“Can I go to the Lost and Found? I think I might have left my gloves on the playground last week. I was playing on the pirate ship with….”

“Sure,” I interrupt, “Just go on down after we head out the door to the playground.”

“What did you say?” I ask Y, simultaneously wondering if we’d talked about beavers in any way, shape or form today, while knowing full well that that’s not particularly relevant anyway.

“Can you fill out my chart?” another voice chimes in, shoving a clipboard and pencil in my direction. I grasp them and start filling out the chart, keeping my eyes on Y.

“I want to be a beaver when I grow up,” she repeats. Then, she quickly pulls her lower lip in and juts her top two teeth over it–those two typical second-grade-newly-emerged-permanent-and-still-a-bit-large-for-their face teeth. “See!”

This surprises a quick huff of a laugh from me, but luckily, she doesn’t seem perturbed by it.

Before I can respond, a curious classmate chimes in, “Why do you want to be a beaver when you grow up?”

“Cause I like ’em!” she announces cheerfully, and bounces away, in a not-remotely-like-a-beaver fashion. I can only hope she’s finally getting ready for recess.

I hand back the clipboard, place my sunglasses on and move briskly toward the door. The kids who aren’t already lined up follow me, still regaling me with information, questions and life goals.

I move to the doorway and do a quick scan of the haphazard line of winter-clad students. Fortunately, even the aspiring beaver has managed to get geared up and into her place in line. It looks like we’re ready.

“Come on geese…, I mean, kids!” I call, “Let’s get going! It’s time for recess!”

We head out of the room, and I swing back in line next to J.

“Hey, J. What’s that you were saying about your soccer super power? I think I missed a few details.”

J happily regales me with full details of his soccer prowess, all the way down the hallway and out the door to the playground.

*If you’re a dog owner or lover, you might already “get” this. But in case you’re not, or you just haven’t noticed, so many dogs, and labs in particular, are named Molly!

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SOLC Day 2 People Watching at the Hospital

March 2026 SOLC–Day 2
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

As we left the hospital wing where we’d been visiting my son and daughter-in-law and our new (and first! and adorable!) grandchild, we walked down the long hallway. I watched the people entering the building, knowing how lucky we were to be here for a joyful reason. Most people in hospitals are not. I scanned their faces, their postures. Who were these people here to see? What were their stories? 

As we neared the elevators to the parking garage, a very tall man and his much shorter young daughter walked toward us. She was maybe five or six years old, and bounced as she walked, her ruffled skirt bobbing about her thin legs. Although I couldn’t make out her words from a distance, I could see that she was talking non-stop. I glanced at her father, trying to read his face. Were they here to visit a new baby, like we were, or was their purpose more worrisome? Although his head was inclined slightly toward her, an ear out to catch her stream of talk, he seemed quiet, maybe even sober. Or maybe it was just the contrast with the animated child at his side? 

We passed the two of them, and not long afterward, the little girl’s high voice drifted back to us. “Daddy, do you want to skip with me?”

What would he say? I wondered. Would he do it? 

I paused for a moment, but then couldn’t resist turning around to look.

Much to my delight, there they were, still in sight, at the far end of the hallway. The man had leaned way over to hold the child’s hand. The two of them were moving together in a hopping-bobbing-up-and-down approximation of skipping. People stopped to glance and smile as they passed, but the two of them focused on each other. And on their skipping. His long gangly legs angled out from side to side, jerky and awkward. She moved with the fluidity of youth. His movements were somewhat taut, and slightly ridiculous looking. Hers were graceful and free-spirited.

Together, they skipped down the hallway toward whatever awaited them.

And together they were absolutely beautiful.

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SOLC Day 1: And so it begins…

March 2026 SOLC–Day 1
A huge thank you to Two Writing Teachers for all that they do to create an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write, learn, share and grow.
http://www.twowritingteachers.org

It’s coming.

The words, or a variation of them, have been a pulse threading through my mind for at least the past week, probably more like two or three. A steady beat. Sometimes louder. Sometimes softer. Always there.

It’s coming. Soon. Are you ready?

The words have ebbed and flowed, a flutter of anxiety occasionally accompanying them. They’ve sparked an increased awareness of time evaporating. Of a deadline fast approaching. Of more things crowding into my mind. Onto my to-do lists. Into my already over-scheduled day. Into the madness of March with it’s glut of assessments, report cards, conferences, etc. (And that’s just the school stuff!) Every so often, the words have crescendoed…It’s coming. Are you ready? Are you? Soon! Soon! It’s coming… and the flutter of anxiety has roiled into a full-fledged heavy repetitive beat. Uncomfortable. Persistent.

How will I do this?

Inside my head a tentative voice reminds me this is a choice and that I’ve done it before. Many, many times.

Still, this year feels different. I’m unsettled by the world and by changes in my own life. I’m juggling a lot of commitments to myself and to others. I’m already feeling overwhelmed and dropping balls here and there.

Where will this energy come from? Where will the time to write come from? Should I even bother starting?

I remind myself I can quit. That missing a day isn’t failure. That’s what I tell myself, but I’m not sure it’s what I believe.

“I’m feeling stressed about the Slice of Life challenge,” I blurt out to my husband. “More than usually so.”

The questions spill out of me. “Am I being ridiculous to pile more into this month? Am I just needlessly adding stress?”

He turns, but before he can even answer, I continue, “But I say this every year. And I always get so much out of it.”

I know he can’t answer this for me. I’m just thinking out loud. Trying to get my feet under me.

This morning I wake. The calendar page has turned. March has arrived, and it’s time to decide.

With trepidation looming, I’m trying.

It’s here.

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PF: For Sullivan

Susan Thomsen is hosting Poetry Friday today at her blog, Chicken Spaghetti. I took her up on her invitation to join her in writing in response to Walt Whitman’s line, “I stop somewhere waiting for you.”

For Sullivan on the day of his birth

This morning I await
your mother’s and father’s
texted updates.
I check my phone again
and again
and wonder at this world
expanding
as we wait for you.

You should know now
and it will forever
be true
that I will always stop
anywhere
anytime
and wait for you.

©Molly Hogan

Our first grandchild was born this past Sunday, February 15th. He weighed a bouncing 9 lbs 3 oz and measured 24″ long! You’ll have to take my word for it that he’s the cutest guy ever!

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Just a small moment

There’s nothing like a morning walk to loosen all that has become tangled and taut. I took this picture back in December, on a morning of wandering wide swathes of open beach. I reveled in the sights and sounds as the sun rose and the skies transformed again and again. It was a day when I celebrated being small and finding myself lost in the flow of it. By chance, I scrolled past this photo again this week and saw it in a new way.

Above the vast expanse
of sandy beach
clouds gather
like a herd of horses
flick their tails up
into cerulean blue
and gallop along
the horizon

©Molly Hogan

This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Robyn Hood Black at Life at the Deckle Edge.