[A word about disclaimers: Many a blogger offer disclaimers at the beginning of a post after a long absence. I have even been guilty of such garbage. However, I have recently decided that I personally don't like reading them, so I am not going to write one. Furthermore, you all probably know we just bought a new house, which includes endless amounts of work. You also probably all know that I am a teacher and as such have been drinking up the glorious days of summer...and most recently panicking that I haven't done more to prepare for this school year. But since I decided I am against disclaimers... I won't write one and will spare you all the torture. You're welcome].
A fellow teacher-friend of mine came to visit me about a month ago. In the darkest part of winter we had decided that when the July heat was in full force we would don our cutest bathing suits [whether or not we had attempted any form of working out previously], lather on sunscreen, and pretend like we were thirteen again and spend a day at the great and marvelous Oceans of Fun in Kansas City. We were both a little surprised that we followed through with our winter promise to each other, knowing full well that when one hasn't seen the sun and has been walking on snow for a month or two your decision making abilities are not always at their highest capacity.
That being said, she drove South to my place, we lathered, I hadn't worked out, we put on our suits, we judged our aging bodies accordingly, packed a lunch, and had a wonderful and glorious 7 hour day at the water park of my childhood.
However, this post is not about waterparks [although they are still incredibly strange places where people walk around in what can sometimes be deemed less than underwear and it's considered normal], and it is not even about making everyone who did not choose a career in education jealous [although it is worth noting that you should be incredibly jealous of our lazy summer days... even though while we were laying in the wave pool my teacher-friend and I had a brief discussion about whether it is lay or lie and how we teach our students the difference... but I digress]. And no, this is not even about me arguing with those of you that will say, "You are 24 for crying out loud! Your body is NOT aging..."
No, this is actually about something quite different entirely. It is about how this visit from my teacher-friend who is also a city-girl [and all sorts of other hyphenated words], helped turn the tide in my process of moving "home."
You see we went to this quaint little store just outside of town, run by a local Mennonite family. We both ordered some coffee and in the process I struck up a casual conversation with the sweet lady that owns the place. It went something like this:
Sweet Lady: Are you getting a little more settled now?
Me: We still have a lot to do but yes, we're feeling more and more settled everyday.
Sweet Lady: Now you moved here from Nashville, right?
Me: No, Louisville. My older sister is in Nashville.
Sweet Lady: [Apologetically] Oh that's right! And she's the one that has that sweet little girl, right?
Me: Yes, Caroline. We're all a little nuts about her!
Sweet Lady: Well I know your parents are really glad to have you back. Here are your white-chocolate mochas [because hey, who said Mennonites don't serve fancy coffee!?]. Have a great day ladies!
Teacher-friend and I proceed to sit down at a little table next to homemade jams and spices and sip our coffee. She looks at me with a huge smile and says, "Wow, Kels." I peer over my steaming mocha, thinking she is probably going to say something like, "Seriously? Are you bff with the Mennonite lady or something?" But instead she says very sincerely, "You must just LOVE this. All of this. Being known again." And as I formed the word "Yes" I realized I really meant it.
My teacher-friend is very wise. I love her to pieces. I really do. [Except that she looked far better in her cute swimsuit than I did... but I guess we all probably have a friend like that :)]. While we were sitting at that little table someone else came in the store. I got up, hugged the customer, had a little chat, and then sat back down. Teacher-friend just smiled and said, "Every face is familiar. When we were in your backyard yesterday two cars drove by and you knew both of them and they waved at you! I don't even know my neighbors. Oh Kels, you're going to love it here."
Later that morning I hugged my teacher-friend in her city-girl dress and she got into her black city-car, and as she drove away I began thinking:
Most of America idolizes small towns, but live in large cities or suburbs. If you think about it the iconic "Main Street" of small towns is everywhere: Disneyland and Disney World even put a Main street at the center of their paradise, every truly great classic movie has a peaceful main road in the center of their town. And these places are dying because even though people secretly long for that welcoming and convenient small town, they can't bring themselves to live there. And so these places are dying.
But here [and I'm going to try to be more careful about not saying exactly where we are], that's what I really love. Because here it is the way small towns are supposed to be. Our Main Street is complete with an old, brick courthouse [complete with familiar faces from my childhood], a post-office, a true old-fashioned hardware store [where you can buy anything from a birthday card to a microwave to paint to a lawn mower!], a couple of banks, a couple of bars and restaurants with clever names like "The Tavern," and "Coffee Time Cafe"], a little public library, a family drugstore and lots of churches. Most of the buildings are old brick, paint from every decade showing. Wide sidewalks and waving passersby line the brick roads. Local farmers' daughters sit in the back of pick up trucks at the four-way stop and sell sweet corn and tomatoes. It is a scene you have seen in the movies a million times. And I realize now how rare this place truly is. Global and national chains have not tainted this place with a loss of personalization. Sure, I can't run into Wal-Mart to buy Great Value milk and bread, but I can walk to the local grocery store which has been owned and operated by the same family for years.
The most common question I have been asked by people back in Louisville [or friends from other cities] has been, "Do you miss the convenience of the city?"
My answer: Life is way more convenient here. Sure, I may not always have the cheaper option that retail chains can offer, but if necessary I could drop my car off for an oil change [and talk to the car-guy about his granddaughter whom I graduated with], walk over and have a sandwich at the local cafe, walk to the post office and do a little business, go to the dentist, the local tax office [and have the lady work up my taxes and then not charge me but rather ask for some iris bulbs in return], the drugstore, the grocery store, the courthouse, the bank, and the hardware store, and then walk back to pick up my car all in less than hour if I wanted to! And along the way I would know everyone with whom I was choosing to do business. In the city I would have to plan a full day, if not two, to accomplish what I could accomplish here in an hour ON FOOT!
I would bet that you could ask almost any American to picture the quintessential American town and they would think of images such as parades on Main street, and black and white movies like "It's a Wonderful Life" set in places much like I have been talking about. It is likely their images will always involve a small-town scene.
And though most people don't have the privilege of living in such a place [because these places are almost all stamped out], I do... and I think my teacher-friend was right: I'm going to love it here.
** But I do miss Starbucks' java-chip-frappuchinio.
8.06.2010
7.09.2010
a tale of two foods
I have good news and I have bad news.
The bad news is I learned just how bad cucumbers can go. Yes, it's true, cucumbers get mailable, mushy, excrete large amounts of yellowish-green liquid, and are downright disgusting when left in an unopened refrigerator drawer. In my defense I'm still getting used to all the new compartments in my fridge, and the particular cucumber dwelling drawer was not one I used often...or for at least two, possibly three weeks. Gross. And the sad thing is I really LOVE cucumbers and would have enjoyed eating them had I remembered they were in said drawer.
The good news is I tried a new recipe and we loved it. It is always such an unknown to try a new one, but it was time. So I got online and just searched a few blogs. I came across one called "Vintage Victuals," went to her index, clicked on "chicken recipes" and tried the first one that came up. It is called CHEDDAR-BACON-RANCH-CHICKEN AND RICE BAKE and it tastes just about as delicious as it sounds. Yum.
[This is her picture, not mine, but it pretty much looked the same]:
One of the beauties of this little dish was that it was super easy. It took me about 8 minutes to throw together! Seriously.
The bad news is I learned just how bad cucumbers can go. Yes, it's true, cucumbers get mailable, mushy, excrete large amounts of yellowish-green liquid, and are downright disgusting when left in an unopened refrigerator drawer. In my defense I'm still getting used to all the new compartments in my fridge, and the particular cucumber dwelling drawer was not one I used often...or for at least two, possibly three weeks. Gross. And the sad thing is I really LOVE cucumbers and would have enjoyed eating them had I remembered they were in said drawer.
The good news is I tried a new recipe and we loved it. It is always such an unknown to try a new one, but it was time. So I got online and just searched a few blogs. I came across one called "Vintage Victuals," went to her index, clicked on "chicken recipes" and tried the first one that came up. It is called CHEDDAR-BACON-RANCH-CHICKEN AND RICE BAKE and it tastes just about as delicious as it sounds. Yum.
[This is her picture, not mine, but it pretty much looked the same]:
One of the beauties of this little dish was that it was super easy. It took me about 8 minutes to throw together! Seriously.Cheddar-Bacon-Ranch Chicken & Rice Bake
1 1/2 cups uncooked rice (white or brown)
1 10.5-ounce can cream of chicken soup
1 can of water
1 can of milk
1 1-ounce packet of ranch seasoning mix
1 medium green bell pepper, diced
1 medium red bell pepper, diced
4 medium-sized chicken breasts [I used 6 smaller ones]
2 cups cheddar cheese
6-8 slices of bacon, cut into 1″ pieces
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
In a 9×13 inch baking dish, combine the rice, the soup, the water, the milk, the ranch seasoning, and the diced peppers. Stir until well combined. Place the chicken breasts on top of the rice mixture. Cover the dish with tin foil and wrap tightly. [I forgot to do this part, and it turned out fine...so to wrap or not to wrap...]
Bake for 45 minutes. In the meantime, lightly brown the bacon pieces over medium heat in a small frying pan. [I used one of the great wonders of this world- pre-cooked bacon that you stick in the microwave for roughly ten seconds...delicious!]. Remove chicken dish from oven and sprinkle with the shredded cheese and the browned bacon pieces. Return to the oven for about 5-7 minutes so that the cheese melts and bubbles. Serve hot. Yield 4-6 servings.
Yum. And clean up is super easy too [especially if you use the pre-cooked bacon] because you make it all in the 9 X 13 dish!
7.06.2010
reflection
I just realized that for the past two years I have said I would write a reflection about the end of the school year. I truly have wanted to do that. Interestingly enough, that reflection has never materialized. Well, I have one coat of trim color painted in the living room, made myself a cup of coffee, hooked up our internet, and now would like to write that promised reflection. However, since I'm moving from the school that helped me start my career, I figure it would be best to combine the past two years into one reflection.
I can still clearly remember my student teaching experience. I worked with two completely wonderful, completely crazy in all the right ways, completely compassionate teachers. They gave me pointers and praise and lots of laughs, and assured me for the final time before I spread my wings that I had chosen the right career. When my time with them was over, I knew I had earned the right degree because walking out of that school and saying goodbye to the students I had just taught Romeo and Juliet was difficult. I wanted to be in the classroom. I wanted students to come to my desk for help. I wanted to high five kids in the hallway.
And like a whirlwind the next month came and Brent and I decided on Louisville, and I typed up my resume, wrote a glowing cover letter ["I would be so lucky to work for a school district like yours"... I couldn't have even located the town in which the schools I were applying to resided], bobby-pinned my graduation cap to my mess of curls [who ever invented such ugly hats?], took lots of pictures, and loaded up the UHaul [that was almost responsible for dad missing my graduation...but that's one of those "for another day" type of stories]. I was still ever-confident in my choice of career.
I went to Wisconsin for a bit to marry off one of my best friends [it went well, thank you], then drove home to prepare for my own wedding. The imminent move to Louisville was tucked away in the back of my mind; however, the thought of a job was not really on my radar. I had never had a job interview. Being from a small town, jobs just kind of fell into your lap as a teenager ["Hey, does that big kid of yours do anything during the summer? NO? Well send him over to bail some hay and I'll pay him 10 bucks and hour!"]. I didn't fully realize the competitive nature of a real job market, or the the current exhausted state of our economic situation. Sure, I had taken enough initiative to send out some applications [and that glowing cover letter, remember?], but pretty much figured God would just take care of it as that had always been the case.
Then the call came. Some deep throated, southern voice asking me if I was still interested in the 8th grade Language Arts position at their school. My immediate answer: No. Not at all. Of course, that came out sounding something like, "Of course. I'm VERY interested." I wasn't interested for a few reasons) number 1: it was a MIDDLE school, as in hormones and puberty and sweaty kids that have attitudes and vocabularies that include "idk, wat's up" but not "maturity." number 2: their [smelly middle] school was in KENTUCKY. I didn't want to be there. number 3: it wasn't just MIDDLE school, it was 8th grade... for those of you that don't know this, 8th graders are the antithesis of all things good and right in this world.
"Of course. I'm VERY interested." And so the phone interview was set up, and a few days later I plopped on the floor upstairs in my parent's house, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and not having showered for a day or two [or three...because who's counting when it's summer!?] and decided this is the way all real interviews should go from this point forward in my life. The interview included the normal questions: "What are some of the reading strategies that you implement?" and "Do you have your students keep ongoing writing notebooks?" etc. I remember asking towards the end how exactly I should pronounce "Lou-a-vul?" It was a success and resulted in an interview in person.
Now lest you think I'm going to chronicle every moment of my teaching career from this point on, you are mistaken. I just wanted to paint a picture of how exactly I FELL INTO the position I did at the school I did. In case you didn't catch it, I knew no one in Looeyville, and sure didn't know any schools. I randomly applied. Randomly [and probably not smelling to great] interviewed. And I ended up getting a job in one of the top school districts in the state of Kentucky. This was all very good, but I would still be teaching those crazy 8th graders.
Fast forward 3ish months. Teacher I.D. badge slung around my neck, wearing the outfit I had meticulously picked out since, oh, about June 9th, I walk into the school building in which I had spent the previous two weeks sweating while hot gluing posters and such on my classroom wall. It was all perfect now. I poured myself a cup of coffee, breathed yet another prayer, and stepped into the hallway as the first bell rang. I smiled and greeted strange students as they filed into the building [not that they were strange, per say, but all of them were strangers to me...well, and some looked strange if I'm being honest]. Since I had first block planning I returned to my room and made sure everything was just right. My co-workers, also strangers to me at this point, one by one came to check on me to make sure I was good to go for that day. My immediate answer: "No! Of course not! I'm just a tiny little girl and I shouldn't be doing this! I'm not ready! HELP MEEEEEEE!!!!" Of course, that came out sounding something like, "Yes, thanks for asking! I'm just excited to finally be starting! Can I help YOU get any last minute things ready because I am completely and totally ready to go!" And then I flashed a huge smile and willed my nervous knees to stop knocking.
The funny thing: when the bell rang and the kids filed in and I gave them their seating assignments and welcomed them... my knees stopped knocking on their own. I made it a point to learn all of their names on that first day, and the next day in the hallway I greeted familiar faces by name [well, most of them. A few got called someone else's name but, hey, it was just the second day].
August, September, October... the months seemed to fly by. Sure there were bumps and hiccups along the way, but I also learned so much like proximity can squash about anything, treat the kid with the mom that works at Starbucks VERY well [I'm kidding...sort of], using a sick day when you have strep throat is really most likely the best option, expo marker does NOT come out of khaki pants, trying to grade papers and return them to all 110 of your students in a weeks time will most likely kill you, teachers really don't ever go to the bathroom... and other stuff, of course, but these were some of the most useful.
By the end of the school year though I had learned a lot about who I was as a teacher, and a person... and then I slept for the ENTIRE summer just to catch up on the amount of energy I had expended that first year.
August rolled around all too soon, as it has a funny way of doing, and I found myself moving classrooms and preparing in different ways than I had the year before. I now knew how 8th graders operated at far different levels than I had the previous year, and began planning more interactive lessons and stocked up on Lysol [because my first hunch that they were smelly and pubescent was also, unfortunately, very true as well]. The funny thing was though, this time I was so thankful I was going to be teaching 8th graders, and couldn't even picture it any other way. It is odd how things like that happen when you let them.
The first day of school came, I again greeted students in the hallway with a cheery wave and coffee breath [which I'm sure was a delight for them], but this time I just relaxed during that block of planning before I got students. I talked with my coworkers who were no longer strangers but great friends, and for good measure poured another cup of coffee. Yes, there were a few jitters, I think there always are on that first day for teachers and students alike, but there was also a peace. A peace knowing that, yes, I had made it past that first year and come out [somewhat] unscathed and better on the other side.
The students came in, I learned their names, they learned my pet peeves and that I "don't do puke" within the first few minutes, and all started off rather well. But within a month I was somewhat unsatisfied. These weren't MY students... these were the 7th grade teachers' students being IMPOSTORS in 8th grade bodies. I wanted MY students back. But then I realized, they were over at the high school imposing in someone else's classroom, smelling someone else's coffee breath. It was sad for awhile. I had spent so many months building relationships with the previous years' students and finally reaped the benefits in April. The thought of taking that long to get close to these students seemed impossible. No, it just wouldn't work.
But again those months flew past, I learned more lessons like don't schedule an observation with the principal for the last class of the day on a Friday, and even if you don't get strep throat take an occasional sick day, save the movie for a day you'll be there and make a sub teach them something [okay, I'm mostly joking...and besides I think I only showed two movies all year], and of course don't try to see if you're allergic to penicillin on a school day because you probably will be and it will be a disastrous affair. I also learned important things like sharing Monday homemade lunches with co-workers, and really listening when students' share their writing, and to not assume how a kid will do on his speech presentation because he will probably prove you very wrong, and sometimes yellow starbursts work wonders, and quite often a trip to McDonald's during planning time with your coworkers/friends is not necessarily the most productive but is probably the healthiest thing to do.
And come March, those students I had been pouring into returned the favor. They were finally "my" 8th graders. And then, they got ready to leave me too. And so the pattern goes.
Each year I will probably get a bit of the jitters on the first day. Each year I will probably think "my" students have left me and I have gotten someone else's students in return. Each year I will learn 492 new things. Each year I will get a little bit better at this thing we call "educating our youth." Each year I'll have that one student that will drive me crazy and I will try to lure with yellow starbursts. Each year I will be exhausted and ready for summer.
And each year I will realize anew that nothing done in love is ever wasted.
And that random school I just happened upon became a second home to me. My coworkers became a second family. When I first entered that building on a hot day at the end of May, I never thought I would leave it a different person 2 years later. I never thought that as I surveyed the stripped down walls of my classroom and turned off the lights for the last time that I would do so with tears rolling down my cheeks. As hard as it was to drive out of that parking lot with clipboards and markers and tape and construction paper and all other classroom essentials in my backseat, I know that leaving that school does not mean leaving who I am. I was a teacher before I entered that building. My two years there refined me and shaped me, but I am leaving that building the same: as a teacher. Hopefully a better one too.
And in another month [wait, where did the summer go?!], I will enter a new classroom, with new students who will seem for awhile like they belong to someone else, rather than me, I will make plans and change plans and catch new germs, but come May [please God, let us get out in May], I will have made those students mine, and we will share a space that is "ours" and it will be sad to let them go.
And on the rough days I will just repeat to myself: nothing done in love is ever wasted.
And here are a couple pictures of me with "those coworkers that became family" on the last day of school and at the "last supper" we shared together:
I can still clearly remember my student teaching experience. I worked with two completely wonderful, completely crazy in all the right ways, completely compassionate teachers. They gave me pointers and praise and lots of laughs, and assured me for the final time before I spread my wings that I had chosen the right career. When my time with them was over, I knew I had earned the right degree because walking out of that school and saying goodbye to the students I had just taught Romeo and Juliet was difficult. I wanted to be in the classroom. I wanted students to come to my desk for help. I wanted to high five kids in the hallway.
And like a whirlwind the next month came and Brent and I decided on Louisville, and I typed up my resume, wrote a glowing cover letter ["I would be so lucky to work for a school district like yours"... I couldn't have even located the town in which the schools I were applying to resided], bobby-pinned my graduation cap to my mess of curls [who ever invented such ugly hats?], took lots of pictures, and loaded up the UHaul [that was almost responsible for dad missing my graduation...but that's one of those "for another day" type of stories]. I was still ever-confident in my choice of career.
I went to Wisconsin for a bit to marry off one of my best friends [it went well, thank you], then drove home to prepare for my own wedding. The imminent move to Louisville was tucked away in the back of my mind; however, the thought of a job was not really on my radar. I had never had a job interview. Being from a small town, jobs just kind of fell into your lap as a teenager ["Hey, does that big kid of yours do anything during the summer? NO? Well send him over to bail some hay and I'll pay him 10 bucks and hour!"]. I didn't fully realize the competitive nature of a real job market, or the the current exhausted state of our economic situation. Sure, I had taken enough initiative to send out some applications [and that glowing cover letter, remember?], but pretty much figured God would just take care of it as that had always been the case.
Then the call came. Some deep throated, southern voice asking me if I was still interested in the 8th grade Language Arts position at their school. My immediate answer: No. Not at all. Of course, that came out sounding something like, "Of course. I'm VERY interested." I wasn't interested for a few reasons) number 1: it was a MIDDLE school, as in hormones and puberty and sweaty kids that have attitudes and vocabularies that include "idk, wat's up" but not "maturity." number 2: their [smelly middle] school was in KENTUCKY. I didn't want to be there. number 3: it wasn't just MIDDLE school, it was 8th grade... for those of you that don't know this, 8th graders are the antithesis of all things good and right in this world.
"Of course. I'm VERY interested." And so the phone interview was set up, and a few days later I plopped on the floor upstairs in my parent's house, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and not having showered for a day or two [or three...because who's counting when it's summer!?] and decided this is the way all real interviews should go from this point forward in my life. The interview included the normal questions: "What are some of the reading strategies that you implement?" and "Do you have your students keep ongoing writing notebooks?" etc. I remember asking towards the end how exactly I should pronounce "Lou-a-vul?" It was a success and resulted in an interview in person.
Now lest you think I'm going to chronicle every moment of my teaching career from this point on, you are mistaken. I just wanted to paint a picture of how exactly I FELL INTO the position I did at the school I did. In case you didn't catch it, I knew no one in Looeyville, and sure didn't know any schools. I randomly applied. Randomly [and probably not smelling to great] interviewed. And I ended up getting a job in one of the top school districts in the state of Kentucky. This was all very good, but I would still be teaching those crazy 8th graders.
Fast forward 3ish months. Teacher I.D. badge slung around my neck, wearing the outfit I had meticulously picked out since, oh, about June 9th, I walk into the school building in which I had spent the previous two weeks sweating while hot gluing posters and such on my classroom wall. It was all perfect now. I poured myself a cup of coffee, breathed yet another prayer, and stepped into the hallway as the first bell rang. I smiled and greeted strange students as they filed into the building [not that they were strange, per say, but all of them were strangers to me...well, and some looked strange if I'm being honest]. Since I had first block planning I returned to my room and made sure everything was just right. My co-workers, also strangers to me at this point, one by one came to check on me to make sure I was good to go for that day. My immediate answer: "No! Of course not! I'm just a tiny little girl and I shouldn't be doing this! I'm not ready! HELP MEEEEEEE!!!!" Of course, that came out sounding something like, "Yes, thanks for asking! I'm just excited to finally be starting! Can I help YOU get any last minute things ready because I am completely and totally ready to go!" And then I flashed a huge smile and willed my nervous knees to stop knocking.
The funny thing: when the bell rang and the kids filed in and I gave them their seating assignments and welcomed them... my knees stopped knocking on their own. I made it a point to learn all of their names on that first day, and the next day in the hallway I greeted familiar faces by name [well, most of them. A few got called someone else's name but, hey, it was just the second day].
August, September, October... the months seemed to fly by. Sure there were bumps and hiccups along the way, but I also learned so much like proximity can squash about anything, treat the kid with the mom that works at Starbucks VERY well [I'm kidding...sort of], using a sick day when you have strep throat is really most likely the best option, expo marker does NOT come out of khaki pants, trying to grade papers and return them to all 110 of your students in a weeks time will most likely kill you, teachers really don't ever go to the bathroom... and other stuff, of course, but these were some of the most useful.
By the end of the school year though I had learned a lot about who I was as a teacher, and a person... and then I slept for the ENTIRE summer just to catch up on the amount of energy I had expended that first year.
August rolled around all too soon, as it has a funny way of doing, and I found myself moving classrooms and preparing in different ways than I had the year before. I now knew how 8th graders operated at far different levels than I had the previous year, and began planning more interactive lessons and stocked up on Lysol [because my first hunch that they were smelly and pubescent was also, unfortunately, very true as well]. The funny thing was though, this time I was so thankful I was going to be teaching 8th graders, and couldn't even picture it any other way. It is odd how things like that happen when you let them.
The first day of school came, I again greeted students in the hallway with a cheery wave and coffee breath [which I'm sure was a delight for them], but this time I just relaxed during that block of planning before I got students. I talked with my coworkers who were no longer strangers but great friends, and for good measure poured another cup of coffee. Yes, there were a few jitters, I think there always are on that first day for teachers and students alike, but there was also a peace. A peace knowing that, yes, I had made it past that first year and come out [somewhat] unscathed and better on the other side.
The students came in, I learned their names, they learned my pet peeves and that I "don't do puke" within the first few minutes, and all started off rather well. But within a month I was somewhat unsatisfied. These weren't MY students... these were the 7th grade teachers' students being IMPOSTORS in 8th grade bodies. I wanted MY students back. But then I realized, they were over at the high school imposing in someone else's classroom, smelling someone else's coffee breath. It was sad for awhile. I had spent so many months building relationships with the previous years' students and finally reaped the benefits in April. The thought of taking that long to get close to these students seemed impossible. No, it just wouldn't work.
But again those months flew past, I learned more lessons like don't schedule an observation with the principal for the last class of the day on a Friday, and even if you don't get strep throat take an occasional sick day, save the movie for a day you'll be there and make a sub teach them something [okay, I'm mostly joking...and besides I think I only showed two movies all year], and of course don't try to see if you're allergic to penicillin on a school day because you probably will be and it will be a disastrous affair. I also learned important things like sharing Monday homemade lunches with co-workers, and really listening when students' share their writing, and to not assume how a kid will do on his speech presentation because he will probably prove you very wrong, and sometimes yellow starbursts work wonders, and quite often a trip to McDonald's during planning time with your coworkers/friends is not necessarily the most productive but is probably the healthiest thing to do.
And come March, those students I had been pouring into returned the favor. They were finally "my" 8th graders. And then, they got ready to leave me too. And so the pattern goes.
Each year I will probably get a bit of the jitters on the first day. Each year I will probably think "my" students have left me and I have gotten someone else's students in return. Each year I will learn 492 new things. Each year I will get a little bit better at this thing we call "educating our youth." Each year I'll have that one student that will drive me crazy and I will try to lure with yellow starbursts. Each year I will be exhausted and ready for summer.
And each year I will realize anew that nothing done in love is ever wasted.
And that random school I just happened upon became a second home to me. My coworkers became a second family. When I first entered that building on a hot day at the end of May, I never thought I would leave it a different person 2 years later. I never thought that as I surveyed the stripped down walls of my classroom and turned off the lights for the last time that I would do so with tears rolling down my cheeks. As hard as it was to drive out of that parking lot with clipboards and markers and tape and construction paper and all other classroom essentials in my backseat, I know that leaving that school does not mean leaving who I am. I was a teacher before I entered that building. My two years there refined me and shaped me, but I am leaving that building the same: as a teacher. Hopefully a better one too.
And in another month [wait, where did the summer go?!], I will enter a new classroom, with new students who will seem for awhile like they belong to someone else, rather than me, I will make plans and change plans and catch new germs, but come May [please God, let us get out in May], I will have made those students mine, and we will share a space that is "ours" and it will be sad to let them go.
And on the rough days I will just repeat to myself: nothing done in love is ever wasted.
And here are a couple pictures of me with "those coworkers that became family" on the last day of school and at the "last supper" we shared together:
7.01.2010
3 things
1. We get internet on SATURDAY!
2. I FINALLY got to go to the pool today. July 1 is WAY too late to be going to the pool for just the sencond time of the summer.
3. One of my FAVORITE green, light weight cardigans got caught in the car door today. I arrived home with just a sleeve. My parents and Brent found this hilarious, while I wanted to cry.
2. I FINALLY got to go to the pool today. July 1 is WAY too late to be going to the pool for just the sencond time of the summer.
3. One of my FAVORITE green, light weight cardigans got caught in the car door today. I arrived home with just a sleeve. My parents and Brent found this hilarious, while I wanted to cry.
6.29.2010
change
[We moved. It's official. And we officially don't have Internet...thus lack of blogging. Not to mention, of course, the painting, the tearing down of carpets, the new flooring, the painting, the cleaning, the unpacking, the tearing up of bushes, the painting, the mowing...etc. However, I promise I have not left forever. I'm sure you understand. I did take time to hand write something yesterday (what a wonderful, and sadly enough, lost art). I'm sharing it with you now. It is honest. And real. And I will return soon, as there is SO much more to write about-- end of school, our new house, our second year anniversary, SUMMER, and so much more... just be patient with me, please. Also, I'm assuming you're still there: are you!?]
I have never liked change.
My barbies always wore the same clothes, I always wanted to drink juice out of the purple cup, and for this very reason puberty was a nightmare for me.
Leaving for college was a very painful experience. I felt like I was being torn away-- like a kid that doesn't want to come in for supper because the weather is perfect and being outside seems like the best way to spend the rest of your life. Inevitably though I packed up, I drove away, I made my bunk bed in the dorm and cried for a few months. But eventually... yes, eventually... the unfamiliar became familiar and the thought of leaving what I had built at college seemed impossible--insurmountable. So I began to dream up a way to return home after college. I would then be able to skip the brutality of change and, in a sense, return to my own backyard where everything made sense.
However, it seemed Louisville was dragging me away from this dream.
Change was unrelenting with me yet again. New marriage. New city. New job. New. New. New. I made my now double bed and cried for a few months.
Eventually though, just as new things lose their shine, the glare slowly faded and I was able to see. Friendships were built-- real and true and beautiful. Marriage became what we knew and it flourished, and maps were no longer needed to drive downtown. Yet when we would travel home the familiarity tugged at me still. The smells, the colors, the sounds. There was a magic there and the dream I had dreamt in college occasionally fluttered back to me.
And then, without much warning, it became a reality.
We were going to be returning home. I didn't understand why, and I'm still not fully sure I do now, but I began to cry when I thought of leaving Louisville. A friend tole me that these were tears of "unexpected blessings." I was thankful for them because moving there was one of the hardest things I had ever done, and they meant I had let that change happen to me. But I was also deeply confused by them. My dream I'd had since packing up my room after high school graduation was coming true-- so why were my cheeks salty and wet and my heart so heavy?
All of those years I had been fighting change, change had happened to me. In my leaving-Louisville-tears I realized this, and I feared not only the change of another move, but knew that how I had changed would be magnified upon returning home. Would I fit in the places that used to hold me?
Nevertheless, I did the impossible and the insurmountable yet again-- I said goodbye, I packed up my life, and I moved forward towards change.
I never thought I would view returning home as change, after all this is the place that made me. But I'm realizing now I wasn't a finished product at age 18. College continued to make me; Louisville continued to make me.
Bill Bryson once wrote about returning home by saying, "It is so disconcerting to find yourself so simultaneously in your element and out of it."
And so here is where I find myself: in and out of my element. The dream I always had to escape change proved faulty. Change is all around me and it's as much a part of my life as my curly hair. I still dislike it as much as I did when I was little, but I've also learned that there is a certain charm in the unknown, in the uncertainties before me.
After all we all know it's not only necessary, but good to eventually come inside and eat your supper.
I have never liked change.
My barbies always wore the same clothes, I always wanted to drink juice out of the purple cup, and for this very reason puberty was a nightmare for me.
Leaving for college was a very painful experience. I felt like I was being torn away-- like a kid that doesn't want to come in for supper because the weather is perfect and being outside seems like the best way to spend the rest of your life. Inevitably though I packed up, I drove away, I made my bunk bed in the dorm and cried for a few months. But eventually... yes, eventually... the unfamiliar became familiar and the thought of leaving what I had built at college seemed impossible--insurmountable. So I began to dream up a way to return home after college. I would then be able to skip the brutality of change and, in a sense, return to my own backyard where everything made sense.
However, it seemed Louisville was dragging me away from this dream.
Change was unrelenting with me yet again. New marriage. New city. New job. New. New. New. I made my now double bed and cried for a few months.
Eventually though, just as new things lose their shine, the glare slowly faded and I was able to see. Friendships were built-- real and true and beautiful. Marriage became what we knew and it flourished, and maps were no longer needed to drive downtown. Yet when we would travel home the familiarity tugged at me still. The smells, the colors, the sounds. There was a magic there and the dream I had dreamt in college occasionally fluttered back to me.
And then, without much warning, it became a reality.
We were going to be returning home. I didn't understand why, and I'm still not fully sure I do now, but I began to cry when I thought of leaving Louisville. A friend tole me that these were tears of "unexpected blessings." I was thankful for them because moving there was one of the hardest things I had ever done, and they meant I had let that change happen to me. But I was also deeply confused by them. My dream I'd had since packing up my room after high school graduation was coming true-- so why were my cheeks salty and wet and my heart so heavy?
All of those years I had been fighting change, change had happened to me. In my leaving-Louisville-tears I realized this, and I feared not only the change of another move, but knew that how I had changed would be magnified upon returning home. Would I fit in the places that used to hold me?
Nevertheless, I did the impossible and the insurmountable yet again-- I said goodbye, I packed up my life, and I moved forward towards change.
I never thought I would view returning home as change, after all this is the place that made me. But I'm realizing now I wasn't a finished product at age 18. College continued to make me; Louisville continued to make me.
Bill Bryson once wrote about returning home by saying, "It is so disconcerting to find yourself so simultaneously in your element and out of it."
And so here is where I find myself: in and out of my element. The dream I always had to escape change proved faulty. Change is all around me and it's as much a part of my life as my curly hair. I still dislike it as much as I did when I was little, but I've also learned that there is a certain charm in the unknown, in the uncertainties before me.
After all we all know it's not only necessary, but good to eventually come inside and eat your supper.
6.03.2010
open letter to my students
Dear 8th Grade Students of 2009-2010: May 2010
Before I started teaching I wrote myself a letter. In this letter I reminded myself why I wanted to teach, just in case all of you persuaded me otherwise :-). In this letter I told myself the following:
- I am writing this so you remember what it is like to be passionate about your job…You’ll get tired. You’ll get sick of the routine. But so will your students and they’re looking to you to see if you will break this time. Don’t break. Let them know you need their support as much as they need yours. Let them know that you expect the world from them…and don’t ever stop believing that they’ll give you anything less. Don’t ever become too proud to learn from your students.
- When papers stack up to grade, write each comment with compassion, like you always said you would. Your students read your scribbled writing in purple, “Be sure to show not tell and it will make this beautiful story even stronger,” and they also hear in those words, “Someone is still taking the time to believe in you.”
- Above all remember that you love what you do. And remember that nothing done in love is ever wasted.
I hope you have seen a reflection of this in some small way this year. I hope you could tell that I enjoyed teaching you.
I can honestly say that I have enjoyed everyday of this school year. I could not have asked for a better second year of teaching than the year I spend with all of you.
We have shared some great moments this year in 3rd block [this was written per block, obviously, with different highlights]. Whether we were trying to wake up Chase, or you were asking to borrow another pencil, we somehow covered the material and learned something along the way. Even during trips down the hall to Jamestown, or while you begged for more candy or a chance to go back outside, we somehow became, although slightly strange, one big family.
Thank you for writing beautiful words and discussing books deeply. Thanks for all the notes and cards. Thanks for your attempts at improv, your enthusiasm during review games, your beautiful, humorous, and honest poetry, and for understanding the lesson about the writing process [even if it meant feeding you ice cream sundaes J]! Thank you for devoting ten minutes of every day to becoming a better writer, and thank you for teaching me lessons along the way.
Thank you for reminding me of why I love writing, and inspiring me to become a writer again. I will never forget the day you wrote in your writer’s notebooks “Why I Write” [I attached the list so that somewhere down the road if you forget, you can look and remember why you ever filled an entire notebook with your writing in the first place].
I
want to leave you with a list that I wrote recently about reasons I love teaching:
want to leave you with a list that I wrote recently about reasons I love teaching:
- because students trust me with their stories
- because when I am excited, they get excited
- because it puts me in my place
- because I learn something everyday
- because I can fill a room with laughter, fear, or inspiration
- because there are 30 of them in one room, and one me, and I like that challenge
- because I can be goofy and can enjoy their goofiness too
- because I have very few other things in life that I am THIS passionate about
- because I can teach a child the skills necessary to THINK for the rest of their lives
- because I don't ever give up on my students, and they can tell
- because middle schoolers don't quite know who they are, or what they are capable of becoming, but they still believe they can change the world
- because I get to go to work every day and work on a "who" not a "something" or a "what"
- because I will always have them, and they will always have me
- because on days when I think, "Are they really getting anything?!" a student of mine writes that the "lightening ATE THE SKY" or that the "LUMINOUS WIND TICKLED her face"
- because I am reminded how hard it is to be a teenager on a daily basis; and I am reminded of how little I truly know by their know-it-all attitudes
- because seeing it "stick" is worth the extra hour after school
- because my patience is tested daily
- because a new air freshener is a very big deal
- because we can all pretend to love our "grammar-o-fun!"
- because I see a group of misfits become a family over a 9 month period, and realize that they have let me be a part of that family too
- because everyday I can work to become the kind of person my students think I already am
Why do I share that with you now? Because I hope you have been able to tell that I am passionate about what I do; that I have truly enjoyed the time I have spent with you this year. Thank you for reminding me of these reasons. I also share this with you because I hope you have felt listened to and I hope you have felt that your writing is meaningful. I hope that as you continue your education at the high school that you will continue to feel this. And always remember the “nice things” [sidenote: I gave each block a class roster and they had to write "nice things" about everyone in the class and then I typed them up and laminated them as bookmarks for each students and that, along with this letter, were my goodbye presents to them] people said about you. Even after you leave room 130 and SOMS, remember that you have a great story to write…you are a great story…and I have been listening.
5.18.2010
calendar of events
- T-minus 3 hours: leave for D.C. and Williamsburg with bus loads of 8th graders.
- Return Saturday.
- Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
- Monday-Friday: crazy busy last week of school with fun events and buck-wild students; "last supper" with coworkers
- Monday: memorial day. no school.
-Tuesday: Last day. 8th Grade graduation. Dance.
- Wednesday: Closing day. Pack up 2 years worth of memories at South. Cry.
- Thursday: breathe deep. finish packing apartment?
- Friday-Sunday: Beck and Joan arrive in Louisville and help me de-stress and finish packing.
- Monday: check out of apartment forever, wave good-bye. ... drive, drive, drive...unload at our NEW HOUSE.
-Tuesday: begin our new adventure.
- Wednesday: figure out a way to write a real blog and update you all on the aforementioned event.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go pray for patience for the upcoming D.C. trip. :-)
- Return Saturday.
- Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
- Monday-Friday: crazy busy last week of school with fun events and buck-wild students; "last supper" with coworkers
- Monday: memorial day. no school.
-Tuesday: Last day. 8th Grade graduation. Dance.
- Wednesday: Closing day. Pack up 2 years worth of memories at South. Cry.
- Thursday: breathe deep. finish packing apartment?
- Friday-Sunday: Beck and Joan arrive in Louisville and help me de-stress and finish packing.
- Monday: check out of apartment forever, wave good-bye. ... drive, drive, drive...unload at our NEW HOUSE.
-Tuesday: begin our new adventure.
- Wednesday: figure out a way to write a real blog and update you all on the aforementioned event.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go pray for patience for the upcoming D.C. trip. :-)
5.10.2010
our weekend in pictures
Okay, these took me almost 3 hours to upload. So PLEASE... I'm BEGGING you...ENJOY! [Or buy me a new computer?]
Even the cute ones have to...everybody poops
Such a good mommy.
Brent and I traced her hands for mother's day for Kali. I'll post a picture of the final product soon...or in 5 years when my computer allows me
She was more than content to let us
she LOVES pulling my hair
high five
Even the cute ones have to...everybody poops
Such a good mommy.
Brent and I traced her hands for mother's day for Kali. I'll post a picture of the final product soon...or in 5 years when my computer allows me
She was more than content to let us
she LOVES pulling my hair
high five
5.09.2010
happy mother's day
Caroline got all dolled up to wish her mom a happy mother's day, and so we thought we would use her to wish OUR mom a happy one too!
We love you mom! Thanks for making sure we grew into ladies. :-) [More pictures of the weekend to come]
I have been blessed with a beautiful and wonderful mom and mother in law. I wanted to share the following for them:
A prayer for mom [written by Bob Russell]:
Thank you, Lord, for this opportunity to pay tribute to our mothers. Thank you for those who endured the disfiguring of the body, morning sickness, months of discomfort, anxious moments and excruciating pain to bring us into the world. We were oblivious then. We give you thanks for her endurance now.
Heavenly Father, You said, "In pain you will bring forth children." It's obvious that prophecy wasn't limited to labor pains. There is ongoing emotional pain that every mother experiences. And today we want to pause and than You, and them, for the hurt they tolerated for us.
Thanks that our mothers climbed out of bed at 3 a.m. to feed us when we were hungry, and held her nose to clean up after us when we were sick. We weren't capable of saying thanks then. We do now.
Thanks that our mothers sat on hard bleachers in the hot sun for hours to see us perform for a few seconds and then fought back tears when we struck out. Or agonized during a missed note in a recital and then reassured us on the way home that we did great. Forgive her, Lord, when she wasn't totally truthful but she knew what we needed to hear. We were probably too immature to say thanks then-- we do now.
It's not pleasant to repeatedly correct improper behaviors; tolerate insolence and stay up late worrying about a teenager's safety. We resented her sometimes then- we say thanks now.
Lord, it had to hurt when she worked for hours preparing a special meal, no one said anything positive when it was over in 15 minutes and everyone went their selfish way while mom was left to clean up alone. She must have felt so taken for granted then. We say thanks for her sacrifices now.
Thanks for moms who taught us about the Bible. We never even dreamed that she could be tired and would just as soon put us to bed without reading about Moses in the bulrushes again. We thought she was in a rut then. We say thanks for her perseverance now.
Lord, it's got to be extremely painful to see a child, who was loved and instructed about You, leave home and forsake that teaching. When a child goes to the far country, there's a sense in which a sword pierces the mother's soul. We laughed at her pleading then. We give you thanks for her devotions now.
Help us to find some way today to encourage her and to let her know that we finally notice and are appreciative. For those whose mothers are no longer living, would you communicate for us and reward them accordingly? Thank you that you see what is done in secret and you have promised that one day you will reward openly.
Father, none of us has a perfect mom. Instead of blaming them for what ails us, help us to forgive and understand as we want You to forgive and understand us.
It's in the strong but tender name of Jesus that we pray.
We love you mom! Thanks for making sure we grew into ladies. :-) [More pictures of the weekend to come]
I have been blessed with a beautiful and wonderful mom and mother in law. I wanted to share the following for them:
A prayer for mom [written by Bob Russell]:
Thank you, Lord, for this opportunity to pay tribute to our mothers. Thank you for those who endured the disfiguring of the body, morning sickness, months of discomfort, anxious moments and excruciating pain to bring us into the world. We were oblivious then. We give you thanks for her endurance now.
Heavenly Father, You said, "In pain you will bring forth children." It's obvious that prophecy wasn't limited to labor pains. There is ongoing emotional pain that every mother experiences. And today we want to pause and than You, and them, for the hurt they tolerated for us.
Thanks that our mothers climbed out of bed at 3 a.m. to feed us when we were hungry, and held her nose to clean up after us when we were sick. We weren't capable of saying thanks then. We do now.
Thanks that our mothers sat on hard bleachers in the hot sun for hours to see us perform for a few seconds and then fought back tears when we struck out. Or agonized during a missed note in a recital and then reassured us on the way home that we did great. Forgive her, Lord, when she wasn't totally truthful but she knew what we needed to hear. We were probably too immature to say thanks then-- we do now.
It's not pleasant to repeatedly correct improper behaviors; tolerate insolence and stay up late worrying about a teenager's safety. We resented her sometimes then- we say thanks now.
Lord, it had to hurt when she worked for hours preparing a special meal, no one said anything positive when it was over in 15 minutes and everyone went their selfish way while mom was left to clean up alone. She must have felt so taken for granted then. We say thanks for her sacrifices now.
Thanks for moms who taught us about the Bible. We never even dreamed that she could be tired and would just as soon put us to bed without reading about Moses in the bulrushes again. We thought she was in a rut then. We say thanks for her perseverance now.
Lord, it's got to be extremely painful to see a child, who was loved and instructed about You, leave home and forsake that teaching. When a child goes to the far country, there's a sense in which a sword pierces the mother's soul. We laughed at her pleading then. We give you thanks for her devotions now.
Help us to find some way today to encourage her and to let her know that we finally notice and are appreciative. For those whose mothers are no longer living, would you communicate for us and reward them accordingly? Thank you that you see what is done in secret and you have promised that one day you will reward openly.
Father, none of us has a perfect mom. Instead of blaming them for what ails us, help us to forgive and understand as we want You to forgive and understand us.
It's in the strong but tender name of Jesus that we pray.
5.03.2010
advice?
If anyone has advice on any of the following, it may make it easier for me to make more appearances in the blogging world:
- packing
- trying to maintain livable space while packing
- using all non-perishable foods while not having to purchase any more groceries in the remaining month
- saying good bye to people you have grown to love deeply
oh, and by the way, we signed a contract on a house :-) YIPEE!
- packing
- trying to maintain livable space while packing
- using all non-perishable foods while not having to purchase any more groceries in the remaining month
- saying good bye to people you have grown to love deeply
oh, and by the way, we signed a contract on a house :-) YIPEE!
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