Post the link to your slice on schoology.com prior to the start of class on Friday.
And, where, during the late afternoons and early evenings of my eighteen years at home, I would find myself called silently, like a magnet to a pole, to the kitchen to initiate expansive talk with my mom, recapping my day, and asking the question I later learned she valued, appreciated, and would miss: "How was your day?"
During a phone call my first week of college, "How was school?" was answered with Mom's voice breaking, "You're the first one to ask my how my day was." And I wondered with my mind's eye looking out the kitchen doorway into the combined space of the dining room and living room, "What were those guys [my dad and brother] doing, if not asking Mom how her day was?" The simple question, asked thousands of times out of habit as an unspoken ritual of time together, was a chance for my mom, a teacher, a feeler, a person, to talk, too, and be heard, and get out all the stresses, successes, and weather-balloon emotion of each day in the classroom and l.i.f.e. in general.
In the room that is the heart of our house, I have been fed confidence and a rarely discussed, but everpresent understanding and example of what it means to be good and something good for others.