Ramblings

Maybe it’s the autumnal air, the trees beginning to turn their brilliant colors, the sky deepening it’s hue before a long winter’s sleep. Something has affixed itself to me; something that has no name but boards alongside restlessness and boredom. Let me interject and state that this has nothing to do with Lucille. On the Motherhood front, I feel a sense of gratifying fulfillment. Motherhood has simultaneously shattered and healed me. By day’s end I am exhausted, but even in a collapsed state on the big brown couch, every evening, my heart swells when I turn the monitor on and see my daughter’s rumpled body in the corner of her crib, her doughy hand clutching her lovey.

This thing, this some other, has more to do with the rest of my life. I’m 36. Am I too young to be facing a mid-life crisis? Is that what this is? I have been teaching for nearly eleven years, a decade split between two schools I love. For the majority of my career, I’ve been fortunate enough to teach exactly what I want and how I want, and I have been relatively successful at it. But lately the claws of a greener pasture seem to have fastened themselves to the hours of my days. Daydreaming has turned into thoughts of a full-fledged photography business, or transforming into a married with a kid version of Carrie Bradshaw. My usual state of acceptance and general happiness has been stained with a narrative of I want more.

Can we really have it all?

Pause.

My god, can we have it all and more?

My immediate response to this nebulous fog is to organize. The need for a clean slate, for shirts hanging in the closet to be filed side-by-side according to color and sleeve length, makes me happy. Begin a cleanse and whole body makeover.  And I know why. It’s because I can control these. I can make changes, I can reorganize my desk drawers, I can clean out the pantry – I can be in complete control of the outcome. I’m not grasping at gossamer trails of smoke in the air that don’t exist. Shirts on a hanger are concrete items that can be manipulated. The daydreaming, the fettered state of metacognition – it’s all so elusive.

The reality, though, of this more, is not really real. At least it appears to be temporary; it comes in waves. While I was feeling as previously described for several days, I then sank my teeth into planning one of my new courses, and guess what? I felt revived. The color came back into my cheeks, and the wan sense of boredom retreated. Clearly this just bolsters the case for not making a rash decision. Good thing I didn’t resign and go spend umpteen-thousand dollars on lenses and a new camera body. Good thing my family still has health insurance.

Good thing.

Month Five.

How is it possible that my newborn baby is five months old, that she’s started school, and that I will be returning to my job tomorrow morning? Hindsight may be 20/20, but it is also viewed in fast-forward. When you’re in the moment, time moves as it does – slow and steady, but when seen from the rear-view mirror, those moments quickly become specks on the horizon.

Lucille is an absolute joy. She is sleeping through the night, going to bed at around 7 pm and waking near 6 am. One of the biggest leaps she’s made this month is the addition of pureed table food. To date, my girl has tried and enjoyed: sweet potato, banana, peas, apple, squash, avocado, brown rice, and carrots. She eats with a smile, and eats well. Currently, she’s getting food twice a day, the puree accompanying a complimentary bottle. Bottle volume has increased to 5.5 ounces. Laughter is abundant, and Lucy is really into her doggie, Olive. Olive is the recipient of many smiles, and lots of petting, both of which she accepts gracefully. She does not seem to mind the occasional tug on her fur from little hands, but we are still trying to teach Lucy to be gentle with her. My gal, at her four month appointment, weighed in at 14.5 lbs, and measured 25.5” long. She is growing, growing, growing. Her feet remain a source of curiosity, and she’s constantly grabbing them. Her tongue is also of fascination and she loves to use it to make various noises, some of which include blowing bubbles, making raspberries, and talking. There are a string of sounds she now makes that sound like, "ma-ma-ma-ma." No sign of teeth yet, but plenty of gnawing on toys and whatever hand is handy. Big Red and I agree that she tends to favor her left side, both in the grabbing of objects or kicking – will she be a lefty like her Mom?

A week ago, Lucy started school (aka: daycare). Our first drop off went very well. Big Red got her together without too much trouble (he’ll have to do morning drop-offs since my start time at work is very early), and we made it out of the house by 7:20. When we arrived, her teacher, Miss J., greeted us warmly and helped us get our things settled. Big Red held Lucy the whole time, letting her take in the new surrounds from the comfort of his arms. We were there no more than 20 minutes, and when it was time to go, I kissed her cheek, Big Red handed her over, and we bolted. My goal was not to hear or see her cry because I knew if I did it would make it that much harder – on everyone. In recent weeks, Lucy has become wildly aware of her surroundings, and who is holding her. She does not like being held by anyone but Mom and Dad. Knowing this, we went over our drop-off plan the night before, and thankfully it worked. I did not call that first day, to see how she was doing, because I did not want to hear any kind of shaky news. It would have only made me upset and worried. Instead, I went about my business at home, caught up on some bills, tidied up a bit, and sort-of, relaxed. When it was time to pick her up at 12:30, I made my way there, and prepared myself for whatever report of her morning I would hear. She was in different clothing then when I’d dropped her off, and that was attributed to some minor spit up. No crying baby, and she’d eaten her food – that’s a win in my books!

Lucy’s first week at school was great success other than a small souvenir from her first stint: a cold. Yup. Kept her home with me on Friday just so that she could rest. Naps at school are a little hit or miss, and while I’m sure she enjoys the hustle and bustle in the room and interacting with her peers, she really needed to rest properly. I’ve always known illnesses were part of the daycare deal, and while they suck in the moment, they do help to build her immune system. In reality there are many, many strains of every virus (pink eye, the common cold, etc.). I know she won’t have antibodies for all, but at least she’ll have some, making her a more sturdy kid when she’s older.  The flip side to this was a couple of sleepless nights for me. Big Red sleeps through Armageddon, so the bill falls on me to get up with her when she’s congested. The good news is she falls back to sleep quickly; the bad news is this happened several times in the wee hours of the night. Not to mention a few un-reported trips into her room to lean my head deep into her crib, and inch from her face, and take note of her breathing.  What the hell did I ever worry about before I had her? Lucy has been a trooper, though, and is as happy as ever despite her snotty nose. We lucked out with this kid, I tell you.

Tomorrow I go back to work, the first time in a working capacity since Wednesday, October 9, 2013. I am as ready as humanly possible, logistically, but I’m not sure what the emotional toll will be. I reached out to my Mommy Group for some uplifting, expressing my concerns, not with my ability to teach, and not with Lucy being at daycare, but rather this whole Working Mom business. And I capitalize that because it deserves such recognition. More likely than not I will have no shame in taking the anti-anxiety medicine I have, as I have started to feel the initial pangs of what will, if left alone, turn into ugliness. I have no freaking clue what the next few months will hold, how difficult and exhausting it will be, but I have promised myself the following:

 

No matter what, I will be kind to myself. If the house is disheveled and my options are to spend time with the daughter I haven’t seen all day or pick up clothes, I will choose her. If there are assignments to grade, but the day has finished, then they will have to wait until tomorrow. If the tears come, I will let them fall. I am not a robot, I am a human, and there will be bumps along the way, but I will trust in finding a way.

Happy five months, my sweet Lucille.

Class of 2013

This is my requisite end-of-the-year post. Normal though, it is not. The faces you see above are the faces of the very first graduating class of our little school. 55 seniors will walk across a stage tonight and receive their high school diplomas. Some of them are fortunate enough to know exactly what they want to do with their lives, others are still searching. All have something special to offer the world.

I started with this group four years ago, teaching them as freshman and have been their teacher since. They have grown, both physically and emotionally. On more than one occasion I have wanted to punt their asses down 5th Avenue, and likewise, I'm sure they cursed me to hell. It has been a love/hate relationship, but somehow, despite whatever bumps we've had along the way, however many eye-rolls and f*ck-yous have been slung at my head (or silently, slung at theirs - let's be honest, I'm human), this motley crew has endeared themselves to me. How apropos the epithet this class chose for themselves: "Never Before, Never Again."

Never before have I been with a single group of students for four years, and never again will it happen. They are our first pancakes - you know the one that either turns out too blond and under cooked, or burnt altogether. These kids took a chance on us, and we did our best to educate and instill in them enough tools and tricks of the trade so that they have a fighting chance at making something of themselves. Tonight we send them off on the wings of Pomp & Circumstance. This group has challenged me, and in many ways, prepared me for motherhood.

My first lesson comes tonight.
55 reminders that while they were mine for a short while, I still have to let them go.

The Dreaded Stretch.

Those of you in education know exactly what I speak of when I refer to the stretch. That long dogged road between between our day off on Martin Luther King, and the sanity recovering hallowed week of spring break. It is the time of year between August and June when students start to drag their heals, when the whining becomes one long collective cacophony, and we teachers, aside from counting down every single minute left until the bell rings that last Friday, are clinging with bitten-to-the-quick fingernails of our acumen.

It's rough.

You see as teachers, we are a lot like salesmen. My intention is not to sell my profession short, but to make a simple analogy. I, as an educator, have a product - knowledge. My buyers sometimes come to the negotiation table eager to make a purchase, and others (many) are skeptical. It's my job to present this product in such a manner that attracts my buyers. This can take quite a bit of effort, and effort, day in and day out (especially with buyers that can be finicky, unprepared, and downright rude) is exhausting.

It's no wonder that subs are sometimes difficult to come by this time of year; seams like everyone is taking a mental health day.

I know it can be difficult for those not in education to fathom the weariness of the stretch; the general public likes to counter back with banal remarks usually pointing to our summer, winter and spring breaks. And there is no argument there - yes, we have that time off. But let me tell you something about working with teenagers (or any group of kids). For teachers to remain human and to have a healthy life, those breaks are not just a so-called "perk," they are most undoubtedly necessary. That recovery time is monumentally important and serves to help us come back to the classroom recharged and ready to fight the good fight.

Having that time off allows me to decompress, assess what happened during my time in the classroom, make tweaks for the following year and recover my desire to return.

16.5 days left until spring break.

Lucky.

A new year. And of course the inevitable reflection of life and my existence within it. I said back in September that I was going to consider dismantling this blog. As of right now, I've decided against it. There is still a strong sense in keeping some of my life off the screen, but there is also a want and desire to write about it. The author in me, perhaps seeks to share, or at the very least engage in the act of writing. And "publishing" on this blog holds my writing accountable to me. For now, that's good enough to remove this blog from the chopping board.

Every new year's eve, I find myself saying, "this year will be better, I can feel it." I felt that on December 31, 2011, and I felt it again last night. 2012 held both sunshine and rain. Big Red took a giant courageous leap and made a career change and also got a brand spanking new car! I got healthy, lost a bunch of weight, and then began fostering a romantic vision of starting down the road to a family. It happened quickly for us, near the start of summer, and just as we were beginning to wrap our heads around the idea - after 11 weeks, it was gone. Just like that.

And then school started; my "kids" were now seniors, this would be our fourth year together! I had incredibly high hopes for the first semester. Alas, it fell hard, and has fallen quite flat. The class I was/am teaching has missed the mark. I know it and that has been rough. As for forging on towards a family when we were cleared for take-off once again, the family train became a mission. Too much of a mission. My personal life and professional life, both for which I had grand visions, became blurred and disappointing. I was trolling through a fog and it sucked.

This winter break was exactly what I needed, and somehow I've convinced myself to pull my ass out of the muck at work, just enough to get through the remainder of the semester, making the best of what pieces of the course I can salvage. I'm determined to end the semester on a positive note.

As for the personal, I am giving myself permission to step off the train and attempt to relax a bit. I don't want to hear, "just don't think about it," because that's virtually unattainable. In fact, it IS impossible. Trust me, I'll be thinking about it all plenty, but I'm working hard not to allow this vignette in my life to become all-consuming. I don't want to hear questions about how is it going. That's incredibly infuriating, regardless of the source: friend or family. I'm inquisitive myself, and love to know about the lives of others - I understand that. This journey in life is incredibly personal - more so than any other. I know people care, and I know they want to know - but tough titties. If I've got news I want to share, trust me, I'll share it. Moving on.

My eyes are not averted, just refocused on the other just as important pieces of my life: my husband, my Olive, my family, my friends, my health, my creativity, and my peace.

On the advice and encouragement of a friend, I'm going to my very first acupuncture appointment next weekend. Totally excited! Even Big Red was intrigued (I think I may have even detected a hint of some interest from him...). It's a new year and I can't think of a more appropriate time to have my chi or "life energy" realigned and balanced. I'm completely open to it.

My resolution intentions for 2013 are to remember (thanks Mia) that this is just how it is right now, live in the present without projecting, seek to find balance, and to enjoy.

This year will be better, I can feel it.

Success Story.

In 2004 I completed my first year of teaching. It was slightly overwhelming, but a lot of fun. I worked at a great high school and I got to teach some pretty cool seniors. One of those, L, found herself in an unexpected predicament; pregnant just months before graduating. L hid the pregnancy as best she could, but I was on to her. This normally petite and svelte young lady was wearing baggy clothes that poorly hid an ever blossoming round belly. I tried to pry the truth out of her, but she'd just look at me and smile. Finally, I got one of her friends to spill the beans, this after L had disappeared on "vacation." I asked L's friend to let her know that I didn't care, that the baby didn't change my opinion about her, and that I was there if she needed anything.

When L came back to school after having her baby boy, the first thing I did when I saw her was give her a great big hug. Her eyes welled up with tears only a mother who has left her child for the first time knows. When L graduated, I gave her a card and tried to write what I thought would be meaningful, goals on what to teach her son. It was something along the lines of being a loving man, to respect women, to work hard, and not be afraid of failure.  L and I remained in contact over the years having traded emails, and now keeping tabs on each other via FB. Her son is a handsome young man who by all accounts is a wonderful human being.

What I am most proud of is what L has done with her life. As a single mother she has managed to not let the unexpected gift of her son derail her life. She is gainfully employed and just closed on her first house; an impressive nine thousand square foot beauty in Las Vegas, complete with a gorgeous pool. It is more of a house than I ever expect to own. She posted a picture of it to which I left her a message telling her how proud I was to have been her teacher. This was her response:
                             Thank you so much, means a lot. The start of my change all started with
                             you. It's people like you who take that extra time to help people that make
                            all the difference. Thank you for that.

Many folks judged L for keeping the baby. And while at the time I was nervous for her, I tried very hard not to scoff at her decision. I don't know that I would have been able to do what she did at her age - hell, I'm still a little nervous about doing it now at thirty-three! She is the epitome of a success story, a young woman with her priorities straight, and a work ethic that would impress most people twice her age. Seeing what she has done with her life, not only fills me with hope, but reassures me that even though the unexpected sometimes happens, it's what you do with it that counts.

You see? Just another example of why teaching pretty much rocks. I get to meet, teach, and become friends with extraordinary young men and women. And in teaching them, they educate me.

So damn proud of you, L.

Validation.

Teaching high school students is largely and thankless job. Teenagers aren't exactly known for being appreciative. In fact they are quite self-centered; they are the axis of their universe. The gifts and thank yous that teachers get in elementary school or even in middle school are few and far between in high school. I remember leaving with a trunk full of gifts when I left my teaching stint at a middle school. It was amazing and a little shocking. That has never happened again.

Most of, if not all, my efforts throughout the school year go unnoticed by my students. Generally, some time around Teacher Appreciation week, one, maybe two students, will say thanks. I may get a gift. This year I got one gift card to Starbucks. While the gift card was nice, what I enjoyed more was the card that came with it and what the student wrote. I think you'll find, if you survey teachers, what resonates long after gift cards, baked goods, and crappy crafts, are notes and letters of thanks. I've saved every single letter, email, card, note - you name it - in a binder. I dubbed the binder "Validation." I have a Vol. I and now a Vol. II. It's what I pull out of my cabinet when I'm feeling down and need a little pick-me-up.

This year, year #8 of teaching, has been outstanding. It was the school year where I got to teach two classes of my own design. Post-Secondary Prep I, now my most favorite class to teach, was UHMAZING. It is, without a doubt, what I was meant to teach. I've written about it before (here and here), singing its praises. It's a class that helps fill in the blanks for students in terms of getting them ready for life after high school. Students are done with school on Wednesday (can I get a YAAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOO!), and before they left for the summer I both surveyed them and had them reflect on the class.

If I get no other thanks as this school year closes, I won't miss it. What the students said and wrote was thanks enough. They have corroborated every effort I made for them this year. I don't think I've ever taught a class that has left a bigger impression or helped students as much as this one. Here's a bit of what they said/wrote:

• I’ve learned a lot from my caterpillar, Mrs. Marshall. While she doesn’t smoke a hookah, she is full of wise words. Through Post-Secondary Prep she has been able to place me under her mushroom and helped me to grow much more than I have ever thought I could.
• Mrs. Marshall has really taught me a lot in this class. My bond with Mrs. Marshall is closer because she knows that I like this class and I finally showed my true colors...
• I don’t know if it is you as a teacher being a person that we could easily talk to but also being a fierce figure that could strike fear in our hearts at any given second. I don’t think I’ll ever find another teacher and friend like you were to me. Above all you have taught me never to quit dreaming or chasing to a bigger goal in life.
• This class gave me the tools to decide where I want to go and who I want to become.  However, it also taught me that I cannot be anyone but me, no matter how hard I try to be someone or something else.  I cannot please everyone, but I can please myself.  I can make a difference, and I can be in control of what my future entails. 
• After all, just how often is it that you can have intelligent debates with amazing classmates about tear-jerking documentaries all under the tutelage of a truly awesome teacher? Apparently all the time in Post-Secondary Prep 1, right here in room 227.
• As a student in this class I have learned so much and gained a ton of information. From the beginning of this class to the end, I believe in myself more than I ever did before.
• I finally had someone who was supporting me, helping me figure out how to get to my goal and finally on how it was my life and I could do what I wanted even if my parents choose not to respect that. 
• Without this class and her teachings, I probably would have been bankrupt.
• By trusting us to talk about more controversial topics, you made me feel as though I could ask any question without being judged.

2011-12 school year - it's a wrap.

New Class & Getting Healthy

Wednesday began the new semester, and with that, my new course: Post-Secondary Prep. Can I just say that I'm totally loving it? I know - we're only a few days into the semester, but I really am enjoying myself and my students. I think they're feeling the same way.

I have always loved to read and write - for pleasure. That enjoyment seemed to easily translate into teaching English, at least, it made sense when that whole become a pediatrician - oh wait, you have pass calculus and organic chemistry to become a doctor? realization hit me smack in the forehead. What better than to teach what you love to do? Welp, it's not that simple. First of all, lets all rewind back a few years back to when we were sitting in those desks for six hours a day and our teacher was telling us that we had to read the first three chapters of A Tale of Two Cities. Remember the groan and suck of teeth, the silent promise never to read a single page because who gives a flying fart about some French peasants and aristocracy. I mean, what does that even mean - aristocracy? Remember locating the Cliff's Notes (cause there wasn't an Internet back then), scanning the synopsis and trying to skate by?

I do. I remember all of it. In fact, I remember not reading one single book in its entirety for all four years of high school except for All Quiet on the Western Front. Go figure. Now imagine trying to be the adult standing in front of those teeth-suckers and getting them to read a book they don't particularly want to read. And then imagine getting them to write a proper essay about the book they never read. Yeah. Right.

Despite dragging dead carcasses through quicksand (cause sometimes that's what it feels like being an English teacher), I did enjoy myself. I did not enjoy the endless paperwork or the grading, but I did enjoy getting students to identify with characters and attempt to get them to see something about life, perhaps even their life, within fiction.

But those days are done. And I'm nothing but smiles because now I get to be less of a teacher and more of a counselor. I was once accused of being a "cheerleader" instead of a teacher. One of my supervising teachers said this of me in my final semester of student-teaching. I challenged her asking what was so wrong with being a cheerleader. I wanted to know why that was an issue. I don't remember her answer; clearly it wasn't memorable. I think counseling students is a lot like being their cheerleader. In my new role, I get to take on those traits.

Eight years in and having recently ditched the traditional English teacher role, I think I'm coming into my own. I've found the capacity in which I'm supposed to teach. I get to help students look inward and question their values and what they want from life. I get to help them seek out the very best pathway that suits their dreams and aspirations, while illuminating possible roadblocks and challenges, and aiding them in attempting to create a framework so that they have a map for life after they leave the relatively safe haven of high school. Yesterday we discussed ground rules for discussions about controversial topics. We talked about the skills necessary to engage in a conversation where one party does not agree with the other. They were brilliant. They spoke about respecting one another, and questioning the topic rather than attacking the person. After we were comfortable with the rules, I lead them right into the fire - I told them they were going to discuss abortion and whether or not it should be legal.

They amazed me with both their candor and maturity. They policed one another making sure no one interrupted and they worked hard to stay on topic and avoid tangents. By golly, they were talking to each other with respect, and they were listening. They were actually listening to one another. And I loved every minute of it.

Three days in, and I love this class more than any other I've ever taught. It is my creation, my baby, and my students have embraced it (so far) with open arms.

In other news...

I'm down another pound or so!! Pat on the back. When I got up this morning it was too early, of course, so I had me-self a banana and natural peanut butter, then hit the gym. Yay for free passes. I ran 2 miles on the treadmill then did some weights. It's been a week since starting the challenge and I feel wonderful. I hit Whole Foods last night for this week's groceries and again, I did not break the bank. Yeah, baby - this woman is rocking it. I also brought home a peanut butter and chocolate bar for Big Red. Yes, it was organic made from angel wings, or something like that - but the guy deserved something for his willingness to go along with my dinner meals - the most recent of which was a flavorless meatless meatloaf. FAIL.

I recently read a friend's post, "Change Will Do You Good," on her blog Remission Statement. Mia writes about getting rid of her plastic storage containers and replacing them with glass. After reading her post, it got me to thinking about all the yuckiness out in the universe and today I purchased my first round of glass storage bowls. I plan to add more in the future. Mia also gives links to some other really cool finds that are both safe and reusable. Speaking of reusable, Big Red and I, after almost two years in this house, are FINALLY recycling. I got another trash can that would fit behind the one we have in the kitchen, and now that second trash can is the designated recycling bin. Inconvenience is no longer an issue - go us!

No Snow Day

Snow days are a phenomenon I did not grow up with as a kid in southern California. There just wasn't any snow. Our most extreme weather was always (and still is) rain. That was about as exciting as things got in terms of weather. We did not have spectacular displays of brilliant gold and crimson leaves in the fall and there was no magical wake-up to a winter wonderland on Christmas morning. No, folks where I grew up flocked their Christmas trees in an effort to make them look like they were just cut from a freshly blanketed New Hampshire pasture.

Now that I live on the right side of the country - ha, get it: the right side? - I am lucky enough to enjoy clearly defined seasons, one of which affords a certain group of working professionals something comparable to Christmas morning: the snow day. This is a miraculous event and when one is blessed with such a treat, there is nothing better. Seriously, little else can top it. Well, perhaps Alton Brown's recipe for cocoa brownies. Maybe that's about it. My first year of teaching, we experienced what locals now refer to as "snowmageddon." This part of the country got pounded with endless drifts of snow which resulted in one glorious week of consecutive snow days. It was my first experience and it must have been beginner's luck because we haven't had anything like it since.

Here's how an eminent snow day works. You watch the news in the evening hoping the weather man forecasts several inches of snow. I take that back. During lunch in the teacher's lounge, someone pulls out their fancy schmancy touchy screen phone and looks up the weather. We all sit quietly and not so patiently waiting for the wise sage with the fancy phone to forecast our fate. The key to the snowfall is that it must fall in the wee hours of the morning, thus screwing up the school bus routes because the plows and salt have not had time to reach all the secondary roads (secondary roads: roads kids live on, roads school buses travel to pick up said school children). There is a delicate balance to this equation. If the snowfall hits to early, then it will be swept away in time for school. If it comes to late, like it did today, then we're already there and there's no turning back.

Last night the weatherman called for 1-3 inches of snow. Definitely not worthy of a snow day, but possibly guaranteeing a delay - this is a secondary phenomenon when the weather is crappy, but not crappy enough to call the whole day. A two-hour delay gives the city time to plow and salt and get the kids to school. It's a worthy runner up to the glorious snow day. Last night I went to sleep with dreams of a lazy morning. The wind howled as I crawled into bed, a silly smile on my face, certain of tomorrow's delay. When my alarm rang this morning, I popped out of bed, giddy with excitement, pulled back the curtain on our bedroom window and expected to see a freshly laid carpet of heavenly white gold.

Instead I saw grass. The damn grass. And cement. And my car covered in ice. SHIT!

I still held a small thread of hope. Into the living room I went, turned on the TV to the morning news and looked for our school district's name to pop up at the bottom of the screen with the information. See, round these parts with this kind of weather, if there's a delay or a cancellation, the district calls it in to the local channels and they post a rolling list of all those schools. To my horror in red at the bottom of the screen it read my school district's name: OPEN. Argh!!

Needless to say there were plenty of disgruntled teachers trickling into work this morning. And wouldn't you know it - more snow fell at about 1 pm, covering the roads, making 'em all slippery. Stupid snow. Where were you nine hours earlier, eh?

It used to be that there wasn't anything to get excited about or be disappointed when let down. In California, there was never a surprise free, a stay-at-home-in-your-pjs-and-lounge-on-the-couch-cause-you-had-nothing-planned-and-didn't-bring-home-any-work kind of day. No superintendent ever called a cancellation or delay because it was too sunny and the waves just perfect for surfing. Yeah, definitely no official "surf day." We knew all the days we'd be working. Period. But now I know and I cannot claim ignorance anymore. I can't rewind time and un-know.

And this, dear reader, is now the both blessed and blasted forked tongue I live with: the possibility of a snow day/delay.

photojournalism.

I was supposed to sleep in this morning, but I didn't. Not that it makes much of a difference anymore. Apparently the sleepy time clock in my body has advanced well past my relatively young age of 33. As of lately I've been wanting to go to bed around 9:30 and them I'm WIDE awake around 7 am. Bummer. Getting up early this morning was no chore.

I got dressed with plenty of layers and my warmer jacket, as the morning news indicated it was in the 30s. Let the dog out to do her thing, then headed down to school. Yes, school. Me and two other colleagues drove seven kids around town while they snapped pictures for a photojournalism essay contest. These students are part of the Environment & Energy major at our school. Their fearless leader, and my buddy Z, wanted them to enter into an eco challenge set by a local organization. The challenge was to, in five frames, capture the relationship between the environment and the community - where it's been and where it's headed. Something like that. Forgive me if I get some of the details skewed. All I heard was take pictures, and I said yes.

The seven sophomores showed up in the parking lot around 9 am and we headed out to some rather blighted areas that have been making a slow and steady turnaround through various initiatives that include community gardens. It took nothing more than a few snaps of the shutter and the kids were hooked. Many were talking about how they wished they had "cool" cameras and one even suggested he might reconsider his career path and give photography some credence.

I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and of course, I brought my own picture taker along. Not a bad day for some extracurricular fun. I wish all teachers could experience days like this.

Nancy, the poet

On Monday, Nancy Krygowski visited with my creative writing students. Nancy and I go back fifteen years. When I was a freshman at the University of Pittsburgh, she was the instructor who taught my freshman level writing course.

I always enjoyed writing, but never took it seriously. It was Nancy who first propelled me to look at my writing in a new light. I thoroughly enjoyed her class, even when I was exhausted from soccer practices. Hers was a class I never skipped. I guess that implies I may have skipped one or two here and there. Perhaps. Let's just say that the classes I may or may not have skipped start with a "B"(iology). Turns out I wasn't pediatrician type material. Oh well. I got over it.

I was lucky enough to have Nancy a second time around for a higher level course, and in terms of my writing, I've never looked back. I've been writing since, and Nancy and I remained friends.  Before I left for graduate school in the Big Apple, Nancy gifted me a ring she always wore; one I coveted dearly. I wear it still. I believe the story behind it has something to do with a flea market purchase in San Francisco many, many years ago. Besides the fact that I love this ring, I love even more who it came from and the story it carries.

Nancy's visit with my students went wonderfully. They asked thoughtful questions and Nancy's uber cool presence even elicited the following response from one young lady: I just want to write all day and be free. Me too kid, me too. Being around what I like to call a real poet (I still have trouble putting myself into that category - it's like I need to have a book published to hold that title), certainly made me want to write more. In fact, after Nancy's visit I opened up a few dusty files for another looksy at some pieces I hadn't touched in a while. The result? A new submission. Chances are the submission will be rejected, but at least the work is out there. Ya ain't gettin' published unless you put yourself out there! That's the truth. It's not like a Hollywood scout looking for talent. Publishers don't roam the streets questioning passersby if they've got good poetry hidden in their bags. At least there aren't any that I'm aware of. If there are, please send them my way, okay? Thanks.

I was grateful to Nancy for taking the time out of her schedule to come and visit my humble little group.
I'm lucky to have such cool friends.

this is why.

After going through my inbox this morning, I checked, on a whim, the folder labeled "Junk E-mail." In the junk, right at the top of the pile, was an email from a former student. This young man was at our school for two years, but has since moved on to another location. He struggled to keep his grades up, and was starting to become a discipline issue. This kid was the perfect example of an iceberg: what you saw everyday was just the tip of a crappy hand dealt below the surface. He had more than enough reason to be pissed at the universe. For whatever reason, this young man and I had a great rapport. We connected.

Hey...I'm hoping this is your email address but I just want to let you I miss being in your class and that I was thinking about you. I wanted to let you know your still my favorite teacher and I am doing good. Hope this is your email and hope your doing good.


Of course I immediately replied with nothing short of a full-throttle inquisition. I was curious and wanted to know how he was faring. Word on the street is he had a baby. I sincerely hope he's "doing good."  


I forwarded the email to our school nurse, a woman who always looked after this young man and bent over backwards trying to help him out.  Her response was simply, This is why we do what we do. And she's right. 


I see my colleagues, good people with kind souls and work ethic like you wouldn't believe, breaking their backs over hours spent at their laptops. They work tirelessly to create amazing and intricate lesson plans that are water-tight and second to none. Because of this insurmountably high standard, at the start of this school year I was feeling a little, well, sub-par. Here's the deal: I will admit to anyone who asks that I don't work nearly as hard as my counterparts. That has been a conscious decision from day one. It has nothing to do with the fact that I currently have this unbelievably light load of students and classes. Even when I was working with five classes of 30+ students a day in California, I still made a conscious decision not to take work home with me. I have always vowed to keep balance in my life and never hid that from anyone. Since working at this school, going on three years now, I make it a point to let parents know, from the get-go, that I have a life outside of my job. When that bell rings at 3:20, I choose not to be a teacher anymore. I'm a wife, and a daughter, and a friend. Those other facets of my life are just as important, if not more important in the fabric of who I am and what constitutes my definition of living. I love my job, but it will never rule my life.


Likewise, I will never fault my colleagues for busting their humps and working long hours into the night. If that's how they choose to roll, then I support them. I just cannot commit to that. While teaching is about teaching, it's also about the connections. I love getting to know the people my students are. I want to know about their lives. It's fascinating and wonderful. I want them to know that I care about more than just what they've scored on a recent test or essay. Call me a naval-gazing fool. I'm alright with that. Sometimes I think I should have been a counselor. You know, I was once accused of being a "cheerleader," and not a "coach," while student-teaching in NYC. Apparently my teaching was more rah-rah and not enough of something else. My response was, so what? Why can't I be both? What if I am just a cheerleader in teacher's clothes? Would that be so bad? I have no desire to rest on my laurels and wax poetic all day long with my students. In fact, I'm pretty sure students, while in my class, are learning. Go ahead, ask 'em. I dare you. So long as my students continue to learn, then I'll be okay if my powerpoint slides aren't multi-colored with seventy-two pictures and intricate workings, and if my teacher web page is minimalist at best. That kind of stuff just doesn't interest me. I want my students to do. Susan Schlechter, my most favorite and memorable instructor at NYU once said something I've taken to heart and have never forgotten: The learning is in the doing.


Long after they have turned in their poems and short stories, long after I've assigned them a grade or helped them decide where to apply for college, my hope is that I was able to teach them something about who they are, and the kind of person they want to be. Yes, I want them to have some knowledge about the arc of a story, and what makes for a good line break. Yes, yes, yes. But, I also want to foster their humanity.


I may be wrong, but even if taken at face value, I think that email I received is good evidence I'm on the right track.

Back to School.

Tomorrow begins the 2011-12 school year. My students are 11th graders and it will be our third year together. I'm actually looking forward to seeing them. Strange? Maybe. Or maybe it's because I've been blessed with a fabulous schedule for the first semester (an unusually light load of classes and students), or maybe it's because I'm insanely organized and a fanatic about having things in order WAY ahead of time. Each year of teaching bolsters my confidence, and this year is an exceptional one. I get to teach creative writing - totally my jam. This is what I do, and I love that I finally get to teach it my way to my students.

Maybe it's because I've long since realized that no school year is perfect. Some days are inspirational, and some days are total shit. Some days you want to hug all your students and some days you want to drop-kick their arrogant asses down the hallway. No one can be a hero every day, and no one should expect that. Teachers, just like their students, are human. Some of my students will think I'm awesome and I'll be their favorite, and others will want to shred me, or just call me "weird as f*ck." Yup, that happened last year. Whether I'm a bitch or I'm amazing, I'm me,  And that's not going to change.

I know enough that this is not a popularity contest and that all subjects can't be won over. Some will be lost along the way. I will continue to trust my instincts. It's worked so far. I'll hope for the best, but be flexible enough to accommodate the unexpected. With teenagers and the machine that is public education, it's inevitable.

Whatever it is I'm ready. Bring it, punks.

Now we do the dance of joy.

I am free...until August 24.

Eight glorious, snarky-student - bullshit-paperwork - dumb-ass meetings - weeks, FREE.

For eight weeks.

I am free.

Cue Balki Bartokomous' Dance of Joy!

fin.

Checkmate.

Yesterday was the final day with students.  We can unofficially close out the 2010-11 school year; unofficial only because my colleagues and I still have to show up to work until June 20th.  I only had one more final to give yesterday, and surprisingly all my students showed up.  I only say this because this particular class, a class I’ve written about before, has had a sketchy attendance record.  There are a few students who pretty much wrapped up their year months ago.  They knew they would be leaving and so made no effort to come to my first period class, and do any work.  Today they showed up.  One got called down to the office for some kind of trouble, another remained in class and took the test, and the last – well, the last one remained physically in my room, but did not take the test.

This particular student just put his head down.  I asked him if he was going to make an attempt at the final, and he said no.  I entered a zero into the grade book, and then exchanged his blank bubble sheet for a Rubik’s Cube.  His face immediately lit up.  I whispered: solve it.

What will happen to him next year?  He’s not returning to our school; his grades just weren’t good enough, and he had become very problematic.  He’s not a bad human by any stretch. My guess is he came to this school severely unprepared for the caliber of work he would be expected to do, and he failed one too many times.  Failing repeatedly would wear on anyone.  We offered him supports, made phone calls home, spoke to him individually and collectively.  There were safety nets all around this kid, but somehow he still found a rip and fell through.  Next year he’ll be in a more traditional setting without the pressures of a rigorous curriculum, no dress code to worry about really, and he’ll be surrounded by more of his friends.  And, he’s got football.  We don’t have sports at our school, and trust me when I say that not having athletic teams has hurt our abilities to create any kind of school spirit.  Kids just attend our school.  They’re not really part of it. Not yet anyhow.  Although I’m not particularly fond of this kid, I do wish him well.  I hope he finds his way somehow, and makes something of himself.

As for the rest of my Goonies, I’m pleased with most of the work they’ve done and the human beings into which they are becoming. There were some glitches and ugly spots along the way, I like some more than I like others, but in the end it’s all good.

This is my second year with these kids.  Next year, I’ll have them all again. And the following year, the year they graduate, I’ll have them for the fourth year in a row.  It’s a unique situation, but one that I love.  In a traditional setting, while I would have gotten to know my students, it would never have been with the depth and breadth that I know this particular group. It’s certainly a unique circumstance, and as of yesterday, we are halfway through their high school careers.  I once had a reflective piece of writing published in a newspaper about how every September I’m a skeptic with my new crop of students.  The new group never seems to measure up to the class from the year before.  It was comfortable with the old class, familiar. What will happen when the class of 2013 says their good-byes? It will be hard to let this group go.  I guess I don't have to worry about that for another two years. This frightens me.

This was also my last year as a traditional English teacher. I honestly can’t say I’m sad about it. Yeah, I know I spent $60k on an MA from NYU in English Education – how can I forget with my nearly $500 student loan payment every month – but what I have realized over the course of these past seven years is that the joy I find in teaching is less about the content and much more about the relationships I create with my students.  In the aforementioned pricey graduate school program I completed, I was adamant about wanting to be an inspiration to my students.  I wanted to be able to inspire them to be greater more open-minded, risk-taking human beings.  I can do that with English, and I can do it just as well with Creative Writing. The beauty in teaching Creative Writing, is that now I’ve gained autonomy over my classroom, and autonomy for this gal, dear readers, is highly valued. I don’t do well in boxes, and I don’t do well with rules.  I also get to become my students’ cheerleader as I help them get into college and figure out possible career paths in the other new course I'm teaching. Next year remains promising...

On a sad note, a colleague is being bounced out of our building and into a less desirable 50/50 split between two schools. The person replacing her has more seniority and was furloughed from another school.  Because she had the more desirable job, staying full-time in one spot, she was the one who lost out. She’ll teach half-time at one middle school, and half-time at another.  She becomes itinerant.  She was nothing but tears yesterday afternoon and I felt deeply for her. Seven years ago, I was in her very same position. I’d been hired as a full-time teacher, it was my very first year, I fell in love with my colleagues, the school where I was working, and just a couple weeks before the end of the year, I was displaced. I was being bumped by a teacher with more seniority returning from a leave of absence. Seven years ago I was all tears.  And I continued to cry for several months afterwards. There’s nothing anyone can say to you at that point, and whatever consoling they attempt, compares nothing to the amount of FUCK-OFFS you want to lay out into the world.  So to this colleague, a young girl, I told her only that I understood and to find a way to get through it. I only offered validation and affirmed that it does suck and yes, it is a shitty situation.

Our little campus is slowly growing, and our learning curve remains steep. We remain a tight-knit staff with plenty of moxie and dedication. I still believe we have the potential for greatness, but it is going to come at a price. This end of the school year somehow has come around in an anticlimactic fashion. It’s just another day – except there are no students. I have discovered new friends (yeah, Z, you totally rock, and yes, forever friends), and have deepened ties with others (P, my barometer, my vault).

Seven years in the books.

I’m still happy I’m a teacher.

And as a gift to myself for the seventh-inning-career stretch, I bought a subscription to The New Yorker. I know, right? Just trying to rev up my sophistication meter, and read good reads. Who knows, maybe someday my words will appear in the magazine...

a dime's worth

As I write this, there are just 10 academic school days left.  Translation: 10 more days I have to wade through the steaming pile of garbage that is my students’ laziness, undeserved self-entitlement and indignation. 

I returned to my classroom on this fine Tuesday after a fabulous Memorial Day weekend spent with my friend Z, stellar shopping, and grilling with my husband, only to be faced with lemon-soured teenagers. They walked into the classroom complaining about the quiz saying that they “didn’t bother reading because [they] had better things to do.”  They barely passed the quiz, most of them through guessing on multiple choice answers.  When the quiz was finished I opened up the room for a discussion, asking them what parts of chapters 1-5 they found worthy of further inquiry. The conversation that ensued was between me and ONE other student.  Yes, you read that correctly: one. Why just one?  Well darlings, that’s what happens when no ONE reads!

And there you have it, the English teacher’s conundrum.  How does the teacher lead a class when the students have not read?  If no reading of the novel has occurred, no proper discussion can be had, thereby rendering the class period virtually useless.  Useless, because I refuse to carry on the discussion with just one student while the others ride on that student’s coattails, gleaning bits and pieces of information that they’re bound to confuse anyhow because they simply did not read.

10 days. Why does English as a course even exist?  If students aren’t planning on going to college, then why does such a heavily involved course that requires brain sweat, independent thinking, struggle and work—exist?  The more I teach English, the more jaded I become.  The more questions arise for which the answers do not follow.

10 days.  I just need to get through these last ten days and then I’ll never have to teach English again. Next year I begin teaching a creative writing course of my own design, a lovely little nine week elective. The rest of my schedule gets filled with a course titled Post Secondary Prep 1 & 2.  PSP (1 & 2) is a class designed to help fill in the gaps between high school and college, not to mention help students get into college. It’s real life kind of stuff like balancing checkbooks, keeping a budget, filling out applications, taking a closer look at career paths, getting ready for the SAT, and discussing current social topics.  I think these two new classes are better suited for me as a teacher.  While I’ve always enjoyed English, I don’t love it the way I think a true English teacher should love their subject.  And I’ve always said that I’m the least “Englishy” English teacher you’ll ever meet.  I enjoy writing, but I love creative writing.  I enjoy having class discussions on characters and plot twists, but I love getting students to think about life outside these walls.

10 days.

On a brighter note, I’ve started reading a new book called, The Happiness Project.  I’ve been invited to join a book club and this was the selection for the month of June.  Maybe I’ll have to start my own happiness project—one that involves no students.  Oh wait. I’ve already got one on deck. Yeah, it’s called summer vacation.