Friday, September 12, 2014

Theory 50b: All teachers develop ADHD.

In last week’s post, I explained that all teachers develop ADHD. Then I told you all about a project my students are working on. Then I shared an autobiographical poem. In the poem, I tagged my family members as “interrupters and storytellers.” Those same folks are educators, ya’ll. I wondered and wandered all over the place in that 1,031 word diatribe. Among other topics, I mentioned the following:

Breast reduction
Family members
Go Band!
Money hustling
Common Core
Mad Lib
Oh, and a squirrel!

What’s my point? My point is that I am a victim of Stockholm Syndrome. What is Stockholm Syndrome?

Stockholm Syndrome (per Yahoo Dictionary)
            A psychological syndrome in which a person being held captive beings to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor, simultaneously becoming unsympathetic towards the police or other authorities.

FYI: I hate authority. Even way on back to the Sevierville City Park swimming pool. I’ve always had an “issue” with lifeguards.

The scene:
Lifeguards: Always whistling, “Tweeeeeeeeeeeeet” and yelling, “Stop running!”

As if I could actually run.

Bug: I usually held my nose, penciled into the deep end, and stayed under, swimming to the shallows to get out of the large-and-in-charge teen’s surveillance. I avoided eye contact and stayed under the water (and the radar) until the awkward moment faded. Ugh. Thank God for nachos and Reese Cups to calm my frazzled, misunderstood, self-conscious nerves.

So what’s my point about Stockholm Syndrome? My point is that I have contracted ADHD from my students. Every teacher does.

My teaching buddy J-Bird says he makes to-do lists and only gets half-way through. Foks, he gets half-way through the to-do list, not the to-do's!

ADHD defined (per Mayo Clinic)
Diagnosis: ADHD includes a combination of problems, such as difficulty sustaining attention, hyperactivity and impulsive behavior. Children with ADHD also may struggle with low self-esteem, troubled relationships and poor performance in school.

Every affliction has a cause, right? What could be the cause/causes of ADHD?

·         Our lives are dictated by bells. Literally.
Riiiiiiiiiing, “Everybody sit down”
Riiiiiiiiiing, “You are tardy.” (I can’t wait to retire so I don’t have to use the word ‘tardy’ anymore.)
Riiiiiiiiiing, “Look at the board and start the (no kidding) ‘bell-ringer’ activity.”
Riiiiiiiiiing, “Don’t forget your homework. Don’t forget to log off. Good luck at the game tonight. Yes, you can turn it in later. I don’t know what we did yesterday. Ask another student. Stop running.”
Riiiiiiiiing, “Yay! I can go tee-tee now!”

·         We don’t JUST teach. We constantly switch gears to meet the needs of our students (I have 35 at a time, 4 to 5 classes per day, in a lab with 35 computers). Here are the roles teachers take:
- patrolmen
- secretaries
- coaches
- party-planners
- cheerleaders
- motivational speakers
- role models
- parents
- theorists
- logistical experts
- administrators
- counselors
- referees
- nurses
- policemen

·         Teachers do every single thing we do in a hurry.
We eat fast. I do not pack lunches that need re-heating. That would waste my whole lunch time!
We pack our lunches in a blaze of fury on Sunday nights. I honestly make all my breakfasts, all Gnome’s breakfasts, and all my lunches at once with three rows (5 squares each) of tin foil.
Teachers wear the same black pants three days a week.
We wear our Sunday clothes on Mondays (“God first, laundry second,” according to my teacher buddy Sugar Bear.)
We don’t lock the bathroom stall doors when we tee-tee (if we tee-tee) because, hey, there’s just no time. It’s easier to say, “I’m in here.”

·         We CENSOR to exhaustion: Not students, but ourselves! Delicious says “Teachers constantly self-censor what we say, the tone in which we say it, the volume, everything.” All to avoid trouble, hurting students’ feelings, miscommunication, and the dreaded parent phone call. Oops!

Teachers, how many of you have worried all night about something you’ve said in class? Can I get an AMEN?

Finally, if you haven’t noticed or don’t believe me, I have data to back up my claim. RESEARCH documents that teachers make thousands of responses. I talked about this with Delicious on my way to school and said, “Don’t teachers make about three thousand verbal and non-verbal responses each school day?”

She said, “Oh, no, Bug. It’s THIRTY thousand.”

When I got to school, I asked Red Hot Backspace “How many verbal and non-verbal responses do teachers make during the day?”

She answered, with blunt certainty, “A zillion.”

~ ~ ~

Okay, so I typed everything up to this point in the morning, before class. But, to illustrate this theory and prove that I am right, I am going to do something odd and obnoxious that will make the ADHD causes obvious.

I am going to finish writing this post during second period. Second period is 74 minutes (bell to bell), but I'm only going to use thirty minutes of that time. My students are finishing up a creative project and should need NO instruction from me. They have everything they need on the white board, the interactive board, AND in a Word file on their personal directories. They have the World Wide Web and each other for help.

THAT BEING SAID, every time they, a teacher, a bell, or other thing interrupts me, I’m going to post a picture of a squirrel. I thought about putting a caption detailing the interruption, but there’s no way I can do that AND teach AND moonlight with this blog. Shhhhh. Top secret. Well, consider this research and development. Maybe I can come up with an ADHD version of Airborne (that teacher is a millionaire)!

Understand and say a little prayer for harried, hurried, ADHD teachers everywhere.

I think I’ll diagram a sentence or two, ya’ll! (But in a different way). Let’s just take each of the Mayo Clinic ADHD symptoms one by one and examine them.


Difficulty sustaining attention:
My teaching buddy, let’s call him "Magic Mike" because he half-stripped for Delicious on her 60th birthday, said he can do exactly twenty-three things at the same time. I’d like to see you try, Magic Mike, I’d like to see you try. We do many things at once because that is our comfort zone. The zone of chaos. The zone of multi-tasking, talking, directing, responding, writing, correcting, etc.

Teachers are the most talkative people in the world.
Almost all of us have second jobs. Read Theory 24: Teachers are money hustlers, ya'll.
Have you ever tried to talk to a teacher in her classroom full of students? She pops up and down like a prairie dog at the Knoxville Zoo
Teachers even SAY, “I’m sorry, I’m not listening.”

Impulsive behavior: 
Delicious bought a 70-acre farm one weekend. Delicious and I are trying to find a cabin on the Little River to buy. We’ve already made and lost on two offers. (Top secret. Tall Child has NO idea!)

Low self-esteem
Women eat for comfort, right? You should see the damage we do at in-services lunches. You should see the damaged people at in-services. Wide loads, comin’ through!

Troubled relationships: If we get into fights at home in the morning, we can’t settle them to we return that night! We are too busy, too frazzled, and can’t text at school.

Poor performance in school
I just want to graduate and finish my Master’s Degree before I have to start the dreaded Christmas season. I am too old for this! Oh, and no worries. I love Jesus. I just hate December.

~ ~ ~

So my students have $1500 MacBook Pro’s, iPhones, iPads, and name-brand clothes, while I go to grad school with an Etch-a-Sketch, have the oldest smartphone on planet Earth, tote maxi-pads (a cruel joke on this infertile woman), and wear shrunken Faded Glory shirts and flood-ready britches.

I think it’s time I get an IEP. For ME!

IEP (defined by "About Parenting")
Short for Individualized Education Program, an IEP is the legal document that defines a child's special education program. An IEP includes the disability under which the child qualifies for Special Education Services, the services the team has determined the school will provide, his yearly goals and objectives and any accommodations that must be made to assist his learning.

Hmmm. Let me break this down.

Bug's IEP

Disability: ADHD

Goals (in order of importance and difficulty):
          Lose 10 pounds by Christmas
          Maintain full-time employment
          Publish Student Anthology Project for my freshmen
                                              (Copyright CB Publishing)
          Not get into a single fist fight (manage my rage)
          Learn to use the software I'm supposed to use
          Finish my Theories: Size 12 humor book by summer 2015
          Finish my M. Ed. in December
          Stay safe on Alcoa Highway
          Money from Tall Child to buy all meat and produce (no carbs) at Kroger
          Exercise routine (gross)
          Patience (from the people around me)
          Bota Box in large supply
          Small group settings. Classes of fewer than 15 would be nice. Ha!

Services the school should provide:
         A laptop (I teach technology, and I am sick of carrying this Etch-A-Sketch around.)
         A company car to keep me safer on Alcoa Hwy. Maybe a school bus?
         Catered lunch. To my room. Already heated and ready to eat. And low carb.
         A private bathroom.
         A private weekly session with the school psychologist. Hey, here's here anyway, right?
         An endless supply of Crocs, deoderant, mechanical pencils, jump drives, sticky notes, and, ............................ Adderall and Vyvanse!

I took this one to the streets, well, my classroom actually. Here’s what the students of Lab 211 have to say to my question, “Do teachers have ADHD?”

Response (in loud chorus): “YES!!!”

Bug: “Why do you say that?”

Freshmen Responses:

They all are always running around the halls trying to find things.
They talk fast.
They are easily agitated.
They get off topic.
They lose their smart board pens all the time and freak out.
They're always pacing around the room.

 10 squirrels in 30 minutes. Common Core that, and you will deduce why all teachers develop ADHD!

See you next post! Until then, think outside the barn.

Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Also, visit or my website to read about my book, The Eye of Adoption, my short story, Field Day, and my collection of essays for parents and teachers, Parents, Stop and Think.

Author website:

Facebook: Theories: Size 12 (See each post, comment, share, and talk directly with others readers and me!) I'd LOVE to hear your theories!

Friday, September 5, 2014

Theory 50a: All teachers develop ADHD. And here's a poem.

I stumbled upon a new theory today: "All teachers develop ADHD."

Only a few years into the profession, I should still be focused and sane, but I'm starting to wonder...and wander.

Delicious says I have "too many irons in the fire." She's right.
My days are packed with teaching, writing, getting another degree, managing my publishing company, raising Sharky and Gnome, and being "everything" to Tall Child. Oh, and I'm on a pre-breast reduction anti-snowman-appearing low carb diet, so I'm always cooking meat. I don't know how the pioneers built log homes and herded cattle without the modern crock pot. Maybe they kept those big cast iron pots over fires for hours and assigned one of the dozen double-named children to keep adding wood underneath some stew. I hate that they didn't enjoy Campbell's Cream of Mushroom. 

Okay, see what I mean? I ramble! Don't all teachers do that? Is it bad that I sometimes stop teaching and tell a funny story for no other reason other than that I am bored out of my mind. Is it bad that I lean out my classroom window at practicing marching band members and yell, "Play Rocky Tooooooop!"?

Go band! 

Maybe I ramble because writers ramble. Most writers I talk to say that, when it's time to wrench out a piece of work, they just sit down and start typing. Fast. With no editing-as-you-go or self-critiquing. They just type away. That's what I do. No outline. My outline is the return/enter key. Writers must "let go" and be all ADHD, wild, and loose. Oh, and they must be SPECIFIC.  To illustrate my new theory, "All teachers develop ADHD," I am not going to write about how "All teachers develop ADHD." I am going to procrastinate, deviate, and possible frustrate. Confession: humor is HARD and time-consuming to write. Forgive me if you don’t laugh today. However, if you do need a chuckle, be sure to "like" Theories: Size 12 on Facebook. My freshman class is providing all sorts of gems by way of strange t-shirts and stranger comments, which I post to the Theories: Size 12 page.

I do have something for you, though.

My students are constructing an anthology. In my "Teachers are money hustlers, ya'll" fashion, I have schemed up a money making plan. I'm testing it on my students. Look, I teach in a lab; I'm supposed to test things on my students, but know this: I will NEVER profit from their work. That would be unethical. But, I can learn from them. Seriously, though, it is an academically rich, cross-curricular, comprehensive, Common Core (gag) project that will be awesome/wondrous when it's finished. My students are writing an anthology. They will be published authors! By doing so, they will master every standard in my course and several in English I and Marketing I. Yippee! I've even drafted the collaboration from some ADHD colleagues, Scone-Ad, Red Hot Backspace, Graphic Arts, and Tech Savvy. 

We have over 400 freshmen. Short stories would produce a mountain of paperwork and be impossible to grade, so students are writing poetry for the anthology.

Look! A squirrel!

What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Anyhoo, I asked students to read and study George Ella Lyon's original "Where I'm From" poem. Lyon is a southern poet and teacher in Kentucky. A fellow author-teacher-hustler!

Note: Teachers, you can hit the internet to find fantastic templates for her poem. Remember the old Mad Lib books? The templates work that way, but word choices are specific and autobiographical, not random.

Like any good educator, I modeled for my students and drafted my own "Where I'm From" poem, which is the meat of today's blog post. I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and readers, if you know of any small creative writing projects my students may enjoy, message me, comment or email me at Thanks! Happy Friday!

Where I’m From
Jody Dyer

I am from hand-tied trout-luring flies and Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls, from masculine creativity and feminine, abundant love.

I am from the farmhouse at the end of the holler of The Crippled Beagle Farm.  Slanted floors, a crooked chimney, and frosted paneling bedroom walls in East Tennessee winters.

It felt fragile in build and strong in character.
It tasted like homemade beef jerky, chicken and dumplings, fried okra, and cornbread.
It smelled like hops and barley, fermenting in a one-hundred year old hallway.
It sounded like The University of Georgia’s Larry Munson and grownups talking and popping popcorn. After I went to bed.

I'm from Nellie's puppies. Velvet paws and downy Beagle fur, a rolling pile of wet-nosed innocence.

I am from the cedar forest and Kellum Creek.
From Irises and Tawny Day Lilies.
Pale grape lavender and bright orange, intricately designed, dancing against barn wood, into water, and up steep banks.

I’m from opening presents youngest to oldest, rooting for the SEC, gambling at Thanksgiving.
From interrupters and storytellers. From athletes and educators. From strong opinions and attitudes.

From Donna and Scott and Wimmie and Grandmama Freddy.
I’m from the romantic and respectful, the resolute and resourceful.

From raw intelligence.

I’m from picnicking at Metcalf Bottoms and tubing the Little River.

From, “Always anticipate the incompetence of others,” and “You could never do anything in this world to make us not love you, Bug.”

I’m from the preschool, playground, and baptismal of First Baptist Church on the parkway in Pigeon Forge.
Soulful and sweet.

I’m from Sequoyah Presbyterian Church. Pews filled with academics and grace.

I’m from Columbus, Georgia and Sevier County, Tennessee. Celtic, Scots-Irish, English.

A daughter of Appalachia.

I’m from a Division I athlete who won the Bronze star in World War II and his bride, who rode buses to Atlanta every weekend to dance with soldiers. From a Naval Carpenter long at sea and his bride, a hospital pastry cook who sent him pictures of herself in long, lacy nightgowns because she missed him and wanted him to miss her.

I am my nieces’ Crazy Aunt Jody. 
I am writer Jody Cantrell Dyer. 
I am teacher, Mrs. "Um?"
I am wife Baby. 
I am Mama!

Really, I’m just Bug.


Delicious shelling peas at Grandmama Freddy's deck in Columbus, GA

Pooh and a Rainbow Trout

See you next post. Until then, think outside the barn.

~ ~ ~

Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Also, visit or my website to read about my book, The Eye of Adoption, my short story, Field Day, and my collection of essays for parents and teachers, Parents, Stop and Think.

Author website:

Facebook: Theories: Size 12 (See each post, comment, share, and talk directly with others readers and me!) I'd LOVE to hear your theories!

Facebook: Jody Cantrell Dyer
Facebook: The Eye of Adoption Let's talk books.
Google+: The Eye of Adoption
Google+: Theories: Size 12
Twitter: @jodycdyer

Friday, August 29, 2014

Theory 15: Tailgate etiquette is not an oxymoron.

Friends, this post from last year is a reader-favorite and perfect for this weekend as many of us gear up to tailgate and cheer on our teams. Enjoy! Go Big Orange!

Theory 15: Tailgate etiquette is not an oxymoron.

Over many years, I observed every type of behavior—from southern chivalry to northern aggression. I’d like to give a shout out to my buddy “Mint Julep” for prodding me to write about tailgates! Mint Julep and her husband actually treated Tall Child and me to a private plane ride to Tuscaloosa to watch Tennessee take on The Crimson Tide. What a great day! I’d like to thank all my friends for this blog’s fodder, even you Alabama fans.

Tailgaters travel a spectrum from calm, civilized, linen-draped tables and guests of The Grove (Ole Miss) to sweltering, sweat-soaked, foot-stomping 2-bits, 4-bits cheering fans in The Swamp (Florida). Tall Child and I built our own little Tennessee Tradition; we hosted season after season of great tailgate parties. For many years, we even held an annual kick-off party at home to fire folks up for the tailgating (and SEC football) season. We started in Lot 9 with the in-laws, and then we moved to G-10 (a multi-level parking garage beside Thompson-Boling arena) and gathered up family and a few more friends. I loved snagging the top corner spot over the garage entrance. We could cheer in UT fans or harass the opposing team. Once, Delicious and Big Booty J helped organized a huge TN vs. Georgia tailgate party. Delicious draped a giant Georgia flag over the railing. It was upside down. We never told her. Alongside the upside-down flag, we dangled a stuffed bulldog on a long rope and tormented Georgia fans as they rolled through. I saw this idea when I was in AthensGA with the UT band. A couple of trumpet players sat on the sidewalk as we waited to enter the stadium and every time a Georgia car cruised by in the molasses slow traffic, the boys threw the stuffed bulldog under its wheels. We cracked up as Georgia fans of all ages fumed as they crushed their own mascot. Finally, we found the supreme tailgating spot in Knoxville: a flat paved rooftop above a one story building – no cars, just thousands of square feet with huge crowds and a view of the stadium and the river. Those parties were the best. We even hired live bands for the big games. Yes, tailgating gets rowdy, but there are rules. Tailgate etiquette is not an oxymoron.

So, today, I present you with a list of tailgating rules. Tailgaters, be gentle toward one another. You have many games and years ahead of you.

Rules for the host/hostess (per the always succinct and ever gracious Tall Child):

Never run out of beer or food.

Beat your guests to the tailgate spot. Tall Child explains “The head guy has to be the first one there.”

Invite a lot of people.

Rules for tailgaters in general:

If the host offers to haul your stuff, drop it off per his instructions and be punctual.  If you drop off a cooler, make sure it’s packed and it rolls.

Designate a driver. Run-ins with the Po-Po take away from the spirit of the party. If you do get arrested, do it before we take pimento cheese out of the cooler.

"C ome here, boy!"

If you have a big car and a parking pass (lucky), don’t roll up solo! Offer rides.

Bring a chair. If you don’t, don’t take the last one. If you don’t bring a chair and sit on a cooler, if anyone makes eye contact with you, get up.

If you invite a female northern friend to a southern tailgate, give her the dress code. Girls in the south wear party outfits to football games. Staples include big earrings, feminine blouses and skirts or dresses, high heels or cowboy boots. G.R.I.T.S., if you travel outside the SEC, do a little research before you pack. Tall Child and I tailgated with Indiana friends at Notre Dame. I showed up in a skirt and they wore sweatshirts. I froze. FYI – That was one of my favorite tailgates ever! The ND fans were laid back, friendly, and most didn’t even go in the stadium.

Speaking of clothing, Tennessee fans, pick a shade of orange and stick with it.

When it comes to neighboring tailgates, remember the old poem, “Good fences make good neighbors.” Respect the invisible boundaries. But, if you lose your Southern Comfort cool and attack a nearby tailgater by force, take a lesson from my cousin Roscoe’s division one performance. Sharky was throwing football with a friend. He missed his catch and the football landed in a neighboring tailgate. Some jerk threw Sharky’s ball way out into the parking lot. Roscoe strolled over, picked the guy up, wiped his tailgate table clean (with the guy’s body), dropped him, and walked away calmly. Well played, Roscoe. You are still Sharky’s hero!

The good ole' days.

Keep a sound friend to food ratio. A-Boo says, “Don’t’ bring half a tray of pinwheels and nine friends.”

Don’t expect the host to think of everything and accommodate your friends or coworkers, whom he’s possibly never met. If you invite extra people, entertain them. Don’t leave all the conversing up to your hosts. Be a mini-host! All are welcome. Help them feel that way.           

If you are a slow roller (show up two hours before game time “really tired from the night before”) don’t call the host and ask if he needs more ice. Uncle Trout says, “When is the last time you ever heard anyone say We have got too much ice?” Just bring it.

Don’t ask anyone to watch your stuff while you go into the stadium. Stay with it or prepare to sacrifice it.

No moral authority allowed! Party at your own risk!  Keep in mind that the presence of children and bosses change the dynamics of any party. If you bring either, take care of them. Don’t let children sit right in front of the big screen TV that other grownups bought and hauled. Don’t tell adults not to smoke, curse, yell, or drink. The tailgate is their domain.  If you bring your children, bring your children food and drinks. Trust me. Diet Coke, cranberry juice and orange juice have a different purpose under the tent and they certainly don’t belong in sippy cups. Ooh, and keep your young’uns out of the Jell-O. This ain’t Morrison’s Cafeteria and most hosts don’t pack stomach pumps. If you roll up with a baby stroller, make sure there’s a 20 pound bag of ice in its bottom basket.

Please use hand sanitizer before you hit the sandwich platter.

Don’t ask anyone, “Do you have room in your cooler for this?” Most will say yes, because we are nice and want you to have a good time. However, it’s better if you just bring your own cooler. Even Sharky packed his own tiny cooler of Gatorade, Doritos, and fruit snacks. Good little southern boy.

Our buddy “Renaissance Man” often cooked gourmet breakfasts of pancakes, bacon, and sausage on his griddle for the early-bird setup. Then, he’d cook huge extravagant lunches of low country boil or chili for the whole crowd. If you have such a kind chef in your crew, offer to bring ingredients or give him cash. If you eat by the pound, pay by the pound!

Smokers – step outside the tent area to smoke. Non-smokers, don’t fuss at the smokers. It’s an outdoor party.

Speaking of atmosphere, hosts (hostesses) actually go to a lot of trouble to organize the food tables. We spread tables with ironed cloths, use “real” plates, decorate with flowers, hang battery-operated chandeliers, and designate areas for drink mixing, salty snacks, and sweet treats. Please don’t slap grimy purses, fuzzy coats, empty bottles, and trash on our pretty Southern Living September issue inspired tablescapes.

Cousin Fuzz, a dedicated Vol fan and thoroughbred tailgater, reminded me to address a particular party phenomenon: the folks who stagger up to tailgates where they know no one. She calls them “stray cats.” Fuzz says, “Stray Cats, you are welcome. It’s cool for you to drop in, but know your role. Stay on the perimeter. Make friends and mingle. Just like the yard-apes, you should never sit front row at the big screen. And, whatever you do, don’t touch another man’s vodka.”

Singletons and married folks, tailgates get tricky sometimes. All kinds of things can go wrong in the heat of SEC rivalry. Don’t offer to keep your friend’s husband company while she goes into the game. Instead, go with her. He’ll be okay after a little nap.

If you wear heels, bring flip flops, too, because heels, vodka, onion dip, and standing in Auburn heat for six to 12 hours makes pretty little feet hurt. Plus, at some point in the evening, you’ll hear “Dixieland Delight” and feel the urge to clog. You don’t want to shuffle-step-ball-change barefoot on dirty concrete littered with charcoal dust and pointy bottle tops. That’s just not lady like. Also, take it from me; it’s not cool to clog if you have to hold on to a chair, a person, or the tailgate tent post to stay upright for your butter churn. Some of us need to do our clogging earlier in the day.

When it’s time to go into the stadium, some tailgates pack up. HELP. Don’t just set your drink down, check your tickets, and walk off. If yours is a late-night post-game tailgate, remember that your host may have been in that parking lot since as early as 5am. HELP. Bag chairs, haul stuff to his car.

Sunday morning (as soon as you recover), come and get your nasty cooler.

The most important rule of all is simple for most but oh, so, difficult for some. Please please please please please please please BRING YOUR OWN BEER!

A couple of years ago, some rich donor gave money to the UT School of Engineering to construct a giant educational building. They dynamited our dynamite tailgate spot. I cried. Tall Child used that and a terrible season to hang up our tailgating cleats for now.  I am forever thankful to every person who ever came to my tailgate – no matter how you behaved and whether I knew you or not. Thank you for creating some of the best weekends of my life (especially the ones I barely remember).

Tall Child in his element.

Tall Child and I have passed the Tennessee Tailgating Torch to the younger crowd and hope they deliver their friends and families a great season. We wish you safety and success as you cheer on the Volunteers. Do not feel compelled to carry on our traditions. Create your own. Which reminds me of Theory 16: People erroneously think they can do other people’s jobs.

See you next post. Until then, think outside the barn.

Go Big Orange!

Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Also, visit or my website to read about my book, The Eye of Adoption, my short story, Field Day, and my collection of essays for parents and teachers, Parents, Stop and Think.

Author website:

Facebook: Theories: Size 12 (See each post, comment, share, and talk directly with others readers and me!) I'd LOVE to hear your theories!

Facebook: Jody Cantrell Dyer
Facebook: The Eye of Adoption Let's talk books.
Google+: The Eye of Adoption
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Author website:
Read reviews and/or purchase The Eye of Adoption here: