This Christmas

This has been a Christmas like none other before in my life. I'm not sure I want to erase it because it did have some beautiful moments but there is certainly a piece of it we could have all done without. Plans were made for several celebrations - the family get together, Callie's Christmas, and Bill's family dinner.

Christmas Eve came with high hopes. I couldn't wait to see Callie open her presents and realize that those wrapped boxes were actually hiding books and toys and clothes for her. Every decision I made about the holiday was based on me being with her. Nothing else mattered. I was thrilled coming to Maria and Bill's house. I put the presents under the tree, went out to greet everyone and within minutes all of our worlds turned upside down. Callie walked into the kitchen and grabbed a corn chip and walked out; something we had all seen her do hundreds of times before. But this time it was followed by the attack howl of Milo, their beloved beagle. What followed next is something I will never get out of my mind. Callie screamed and screamed. As Maria ran to stop the attack her screaming overtook Callie's. The house seemed filled with unstoppable noise that brought terror coursing through my very being. Maria brought Callie into the kitchen to try to stop the bleeding but it was clear we would be heading for the emergency room. And here is the horrible part for the grandmother. I was witnessing my daughter go through what I had done a handful of times in my life - holding her baby and being completely helpless to comfort her or take away the pain. But at the same, my baby and I were in the same state. I could not ease my daughter's pain, her sadness, her fears. I wanted the world to stop turning and just give us a moment to get a handle on a situation that was careening out of control. But there was no stopping it. Emergency room, stitches, pain medication, antibacterial ointment, seeping wounds. How could this have happened to this beautiful baby girl and this incredible family? I will never understand it and have finally stopped trying. The end result is that Milo will need to leave his home of 11 years, Callie will carry the scars of her second Christmas and none of us will ever again be the same.

Christmas ended up being exactly what it needed to be for Callie - slow, mellow and at her pace with breaks for eating and napping and playing. My dream of being with her as she experienced this first Christmas of her memory has been fulfilled. It was not at all what I imagined but it is good to remember that life takes its own course. Sometimes we are just spectators to the main event and in time find our place again in its rhythm and carry on as best we can. We have all been changed by this horrible thing. We have been tested. We are all stronger for it and every one of us loves a little deeper. We hold each other tighter and longer and pray that this is the worst thing that ever happens to this precious child.

Christmas Music

I am not a musical person. I can't really sing or play a musical instrument. But for some reason at this time of year, much of my celebration of Christmas is centered on music. In church I revel in the advent songs. I listen to Christmas songs in the car as I travel from point A to point B. I take the time to play the songs that I remember as a child. Perhaps it is because my mom made it a point to sing and play those songs throughout December. Or maybe I just need something to get me through the darkness of winter. For some reason the other night I thought about an album that I listened to while I was a young mom. It is not a kid thing but it got me through a lot of winters. I downloaded it last night and I am loving who I become as I listen to it. I am that loyal Catholic, I am a loving wife and mother who knows that her children are all things wonderful, I am full of potential. That is the thing about the right song. It takes you back to who you were when that song moved your soul. For me in this moment, that song is Creator of the Stars of Night by Marty Haugen. It is a lovely trip through all those Christmases past.

The end of an era

For many years I have been trying to hold on to my own childhood memories of Thanksgiving and reinact them at my dining room table. I guess for most of those years I have been fairly successful. But it is clealy time for me and my memories to step aside and allow the next generation to make the family Thanksgiving celebration whatever it is destined to become. I took Thanksgiving away from my mother-in-law a few decades ago and demanded that it be the one holiday a year that we spend together as a family of four. I have no regrets in doing that. But I would rather give the holiday to my kids than have it taken from me. We are now a family of 7 and soon to be 8. I know Dave and Britt would like to do something different and it's possible that Maria and Bill may want to have their own family celebration. So I have most likely cooked my last turkey dinner. And I'm actually fine with it. I won't miss the stress of orchestrating all those dishes being warm at the same time nor making gravy that is golden and smooth. So let change take its course and take each of us where we will sit at table with smiling faces and grateful hearts. Memories of Grandma Allen's dinners will always be a part of who I am and every Thanksgiving celebration that is yet to be.

Good-bye Jack

Last night I did the hardest thing I've had to do in a very long time. I put my beloved Jack to sleep. A couple weeks ago something started going on with him. He seemed a little lethargic and the legs were all a little tentative. I kept feeling around his pads and moving his joints but nothing seemed to be wrong. Eventually he started favoring his right leg. Once again as I investigated, I could find nothing wrong. Within another day he was crying out in pain when he would try to get down from things - the couch, the bed, the deck. This is not Jack. The dog never complains and I had only heard that sound once before. The pain got worse and so did the yelping. Crying dogs are so much worse that crying babies. So off to the vet we went to try to figure out what was going on. That was as painful as sleeping with a yelping dog. The vet was pretty certain about what was going on but needed to run several tests and prescribe medication to deal with the problem. His first price was $900. As I balked he brought it down to $800. I finally told him to price out what he absolutely had to do to make a diagnosis - the bare minimum. I love my dog but I have always been that person that was not going to go broke keeping my pet alive. I also did not want to see them in pain. So we settled on the $600 range. A few minutes later I was hearing the bad news. Jack had 2 collapsed vertebrae (no disks between the bones), an enlarged spleen and a heart murmur. This did not sound good. The vet was also adamant that Jack should not be around small children. It would be too easy for them to accidentally inflict additional trauma. So we left the office with pain killers, anti-inflammatories and a prescription for a muscle relaxer. This was all new territory for me. So I was hopeful that in a week or two Jack would be his old self again and we could look for a new home for him to live out the rest of his life. The scenario did not play out that way at all. Despite the drugs, Jack remained in pain. He would still try to get down from the couch on his own and still try to welcome everyone who came to the door. By Tuesday, I knew that he wasn't able to deal with this on his own. I crated him for his own protection. That was almost as bad as the yelping - constant scratching to get out, struggling to get comfortable, panting... I let him out in the morning to do a check but nothing was better. So back in the crate he went on Wednesday. Thursday was Thanksgiving and I gave in to his wanting out. I just couldn't do it anymore. He was in pain but he really wanted to be with us, smelling the smells of Thanksgiving and cleaning up any morsels that Callie dropped along the way. I was getting closer to a decision. I could feel it all building up in me. It was so hard to watch him. It was the first time that I carved the turkey and he wasn't at my feet. He could have cared less about me pulling the meat off the bones as I made the turkey soup later that night. I went to bed with a very heavy heart. We had 2 days of pain medication left and then what. If he was like this on drugs, what would he be like without them. I clearly did not want to see that. The alternative was another trip to the vet for more of the same. I woke up yesterday morning praying that he would have turned the corner but he was actually in worse shape. The moving around on Thanksgiving had taken its toll. And now we were down to only one more day of meds. It was clear to me what I had to do. I called the humane society to get the needed information. We spent the day together hanging out and looking at pictures of my buddy in younger days. For some reason none of the pictures accurately portray the joy of Jack. Is it imagined and something that only lives in my heart? My work day ended and I took Jack for one final walk to the car. His tail wagged but that was about all he could do. I met with the receptionist and gave her the necessary information. Jack and I went to the "reflection room" to spend our final minutes together alone. The realization hit me that that my dog was about to die and that I was going to see it. I had just paid to kill my dog. I cried and he leaned against my legs with his tail tucked between his legs. Did he know what was about to happen? What kind of energy had been left behind by other pets in this room. Now it was time for the walk down the hall to the euthanasia room. They explained to me what was going to happen and answered my questions. They gave him the muscle relaxer and he began wobbling a bit so I laid him down on the blanket. It was time. They gave him the sodium pentathol and he was gone. I had snuffed out his life. I know there was no real alternative for us but nonetheless, I had ended my dogs life. Jack was the best of dogs. He loved freely and openly. There was joy and youthfulness in everything he did. It was so hard to believe that it would one day stop so abruptly.

I am grateful to Maria and Bill who seem to understand so much of this without my having to speak the words. I went over there afterwards for a glass a wine, a loving hug from each of them and some petting time with Milo.

And so now I was to begin life without Jack. I came home and tried to ignore that corner of the couch that Jack had been spending so much time in the past two weeks. I threw away what was left of his medication because I just didn't want to see it or think about it. I put the throw on my bed that I would no longer be constantly washing to remove the dog fur and said good night to Jack. I prayed that his spirit was content and could somehow understand what I had just done to him and to us. The thought of life without Jack is so much harder than actually doing it. I can definitely live without him but it was so much more fun with him here. I now truly wake up and come home to an empty house. Or maybe it just seems that way. I will be missing Jack for a long time. He was an important part of my life. I know that I will never ever see Milo without thinking of Jack and the fun they had together. He was a vital part of Growing and Learning Together. He greeted every child every day with love and told them he was happy they had come. And he did the same for me every day that we were together. I love you Jack and I always will. I am sorry that you are gone and that we had to end our partnership so quickly. I thought we would have a few more years together. But I am so happy that you are once again pain free. Just like any other death, I will learn with every day that goes by to live without you by my side. But you will never leave my heart. Thank you for all the good times, all the joy you gave to me and anyone who met you. You were the best! I love you Jack.

Exposure Notices

The last few weeks in the daycare business have been down right interesting. Within a week's time we had a child with chicken pox and two more with head lice. This seems a little odd considering there are only 7 kids enrolled. It's not like it's a classroom of 35. And besides that, the chicken pox kid had been vaccinated. When I got the chicken pox phone call, I hung up feeling sad for Allison and then I realized that as the director/teacher/owner I should do some something. But what? Where is my secretary who is in charge of all that? Oh yeah, that's me too. So my job now was to notify my parents that their precious child has been exposed to some ugliness in the world. And if they hadn't been in my house, it probably wouldn't have happened. So I got to work writing an e-mail that would somehow communicate information as well as care and concern. I hated the thought of being the first person in their lives to give them this news. Guess what; vaccinations aren't guarantees. Little bugs crawl from head to head. You don't need to share combs, brushes, and bows for that to happen. It was especially difficult because the e-mails came back to back. I tried to end the second one with a little light-heartedness. I have no idea if it was effective or not. Once again, time is our friend. With the passage of time I have stopped by psychosomatic head scratching. The chicken pox kid has healed and thankfully the disease did not spread to the 7 month old baby. The affected heads of hair have been treated. I have had time to thoroughly clean the house and put into effect a couple new rules including assigned nap mats. I am feeling more in charge when the unexpected happens and more responsible as these children's caretaker. I am definitely in loco parentis (in place of parents) in this job. There's a good reason that I am accidentally called Mom by my little ones.

Raising Kids

I did know going into this adventure that I would have a feeling now and then that I was raising kids rather than teaching them. There is one in particular where that is definitely true. She comes to me every day and is here from 8:30 until 5:45. That is a long day for a little kid to be away from home. Now factor in the idea that this little darling goes to bed at 8 and gets up around 7. She is definitely mine more than Mom and Dad's. Add to this that about once a month Mom and Dad also have me babysit while they out for some fun of their own. In the last week, there have been several instances that have made me smile but then I feel so incredibly sad for this sweet sweet girl. She knows my refrigerator like it is her own. She often accidentally calls me mama or grandma. She takes off for the outdoors on her own exactly like Callie does. Those are all "cute" things. But tonight my heart almost broke. Each day I fill out a family communication form so the parents know the big events of the day. Dad was reading through it and stopped at the phrase "Good jumping today." We've been working on this off and on for a few weeks. Evidently this was unknown to Dad. His response was, "She can jump?" So sad. So very sad. I never had to make the daycare decision until my kids were in 5th and 6th grade. By then, that decision just meant before and after school care at school. I can't imagine what it is like to leave your child in the hands of another person for most of the day and somehow trust, truly trust that this person will do what I would do. This little darling who comes to me every day for 9 hours a day 5 days a week makes me take my job very seriously. And now that responsibility has taken on even more importance. I am mom and teacher and babysitter all rolled up into one while she is in my home. I sure hope that I am doing it right.

Saying Good-bye

No matter how much I work on the whole notion of birth and death being part of life, the death piece always takes me by surprise. Babies come into this world and we are filled with elation at all that is to come. It's all about potential and knowing that in your hands lies this little being who is going to experience such unfathomable joy. You also know that sadness will find its way into this little life but it's mostly about joy. This new person will know love from his/her mom, dad, grandparents, aunties and uncles. He/she will learn new things with every passing day. He/she will babble, giggle, and laugh out loud from way down deep. He/she will learn that life is at its very core about being happy. He/she will grow up, find his/her way in the world, develop a passion for something or 2 or 3 somethings, fall in love, have babies, grow old and die. He/she will leave behind a legacy of a life well lived but for his/her loved ones in his/her place is a giant hole where a loved one once lived, breathed and loved. Yes, no matter how much we rationalize that death is part of life, at the end the ones left in its wake feel such sadness and loss. We must somehow pick ourselves up and learn to live life without that person who has been such a vital part of our own living.

Yesterday, the Sutter community said good-bye to Carol Ragsdale. You can say a lot of things about Carol. She was an amazing teacher, in a class by herself. She lived her life the way she wanted. In the end she lost her battle with cancer but not without one heck of a fight. On one hand you can feel relief that it is over but on the other, there is only sadness. She died too young. I doubt that she would have ever retired but she could have experienced the joy of more time with her husband, children and grandchildren. She could have seen more beautiful things in the world. She could have just been among us modeling, guiding and cheering on the next generation of amazing teachers. She indeed left an amazing legacy but in her place in a giant hole.

Birth is what can be and death is what could have been. Birth brings such joy that I think I will explode and likewise I am desperately overwhelmed with the sadness that death brings. But it also motivates me to renew the promise to myself to live life on my own terms. We don't know the number of days we have here or the hugs that we will have time to give. So we better not miss any of those opportunities - chances to love, to laugh and to just be with those we love to laugh with.

Leaving Town

Today I made my way up to the pumpkin festival in Half Moon Bay. It is hard to believe but it is the first time I have been out of the San Jose city limits since the first of August. The pumpkin festival is one that I rarely miss. It has always been my favorite. I love fall and I love pumpkin anything so it is the perfect place for me. I have many fond memories of the festival over the past 30 years or so. I loved going with the kids but Ralph hated the traffic and crowds so we probably went with them every couple years or so. But I don't think I've missed one since I have been on my own.

The drive up 280 was so beautiful this morning. Seeing the light reflecting off the trees and hills almost brought tears to my eyes. Then I realized, I really do need to get out more. Even though I am on a tight budget there is still money enough for a ride out of town. And it is necessary to get my head out the business and into all the wonderful things that are out in the world only minutes away. As I continued the drive over 92 I reveled in being under the towering trees. I was being bombarded by beauty every second of the way. Yes, I HAVE to get out more. On the way home I went south along highway 1. I had the ocean on my right and the pumpkin farms on my left. Beauty. Beauty. Beauty.

As I got closer to home my mind wandered to those Sunday drives we took as a family growing up. Is this what they were about? Just getting out of your environment and seeing something new is enough to realign your vision. Perhaps I need to add this to my weekly agenda. Sunday: Get in the car and go somewhere. Let go of your worries. Open your eyes and take it all in.

Flashes of the Past

In this new life with toddlers I am constantly catching myself in moments of deja vu. There will just be a funny little feeling and I'll realize that I have done this before. It is accompanied with feelings of contentment or sometimes exhaustion. I am momentarily confused until I take the time to think about what I'm doing.

When I have my "light" days, we try to get out of the house. Sometimes that is a wagon walk and sometimes it is a short trip to the park. Our walks usually include a visit to one of the fountains in the area. There's just something about water and kids. I vividly remember frequently taking my own children to the fountain at the post office. A trip to post office always included time to put our hands in the water and walk the perimeter several times. Dave also wanted to dig for the pennies that had been dropped there but these kids haven't been allowed that adventure yet. Walking the blocks to the post office I often feel like I am stepping in my own footprints from the past. Everything feels the same - the excitement that the kids feel when the moment their hands hit the water, the fun of making hand prints along the bricks, the fear I have that one will eventually fall in, the risk of walking the wall once, twice, three times until I finally say that it's time to go which is followed by sighs of disappointment. We leave by way of Monroe Street so we can see the Ball Fountain by the bus stop. Then we head for home and they talk about it all the way there.

Last week we took out the Memory game for the first time. The big kids and I played around with the cards and I had the strangest feeling about it all. Then I remembered how Dave loved playing with Memory cards. He would play it over and over again until no one else was interested in continuing the game. Whenever I would ask what he wanted to play, he would choose Memory. That was a memory that I would have thought was lost forever.

I love reliving these moments of motherhood. They always bring a smile and some kind of crazy warmth to my heart. I was blessed to be able to hang out with my kids before they headed off to school and now I am double blessed to be able to live it all a second time.

Progress Reports

In my former life, at this time of the year, I would be preparing progress reports. This is the end of my 6th week as a childcare provider and a couple of my kids have been with me since the beginning. We have all made progress. Growing and Learning Together has turned out to be the perfect name.

Sophia
My everyday girl. She has gone from being the only kid to one of 5. That has not been easy but she has learned that shhh means to close her mouth even if she's crying. She has learned to share me and to know that sitting beside Miss Tere is sometimes as close as you can get to being held. She is walking on her own and has even been seen trying to run. She has gone from being fed to feeding herself to actually sometimes using a spoon. She is still my easiest diaper change, best napper and will eat almost anything I put in front of her. She has a smile that will melt your heart.

Bronx
Our transition has been a difficult one. Only being here 2 days a week make it hard to remember how things go from one week to the next. He has gone from needing a bottle to fall asleep (his mom's thing) to just laying down and closing those big beautiful brown eyes. He still scoots everywhere and some of us like to try and imitate him. He loves playing in the "tupperware" cupboard and cooking in the toy kitchen. He is all boy and loves balls or simply throwing anything in his hand.

Makenna
The oldest. Makenna came in missing mom a lot. Now she knows that Mama always comes back and there is so much to be done while she is gone. She is my little helper - loves to cook, feed the baby and teach the younger ones tips on walking. She is not the "princess" I thought she was the day she caught those blonde locks in the butter while making grilled cheese sandwiches. She has great weakness for play dough and anything crafty. She has been on vacation this week and I miss her terribly.

Allison
I think she is probably a lot like I was as a child - very wary. You have to earn her love and respect. Maria can attest to a few of her stink faces. She is not afraid to say NO (even to me) and blaze her own path. She always has a sippee cup of milk nearby as well as a binkie or 2. Her latest toy from home has been a small rolling suitcase - HYSTERICAL. She will often tell me that she is going on vacation. I have learned to check for toys before she leaves for the day. Her first week here she informed me that she "only takes naps at mommy's house." It seems that nap time at Miss Tere's is OK too.

Sienna
Day 1 I thought that I had met the enemy. I had never seen anything like her. Anything that came into her head, she did. Day 2 she met Allison and everything changed. She found her place in the line-up and I fell in love. She is incredibly bright, mimics everything we say and her flexibility is admirable. Some days she's with the big kids and others the little ones. But she is able to adjust her actions and behavior depending on who is here. She loves to sing but doesn't always want anyone else singing along so maybe it's a performance... She enjoys counting, matching colors and doing puzzles. She is a beautiful blonde who isn't afraid to get dirty.

Lucien
The baby. He is almost perfect. He eats and sleeps in regular intervals and if he's not hungry or tired you have a happy baby on your hands. He will hang out on the floor watching the other kids play for unusually long periods of time. He likes the rings, rattles and his ball. He has an incredible grasp and can always find a fistful of hair if it is within his reach. He is adjusting to his baby chair but everyone else likes it just as much as he does. So sometimes we have to boot them out of it so he can get in his sitting time. He is growing fast and will be crawling before we know it.

So there are my kids. I love every single one of them. They are each unique and beautiful and amazing in their own way. I am in awe of them, all they have learned in such a short time and how they play together. And yes, I am going to say once again, I love this job. I am so grateful for the trust that their parents have placed in my hands. This is crazy beautiful work that I am about.

Define "Potty Trained"

I have 3 kids whose parents informed me while signing up, that their children were "potty trained." In retrospect, I would agree that one of the three is potty trained. With the other two, I have learned the hard way that they need constant accompaniment, not to mention questioning every couple hours, "Do you need to go potty?" They are more at the stage I referred to at the time I went through it with my own kids as parent trained. As long as I remember to ask, we get through the day in a dry state. But the greatest part of all this is that nobody gets upset when there is an accident. They shout out from the bathroom, "I have wet panties." But when all goes well, there is constant cheering and carrying on. The babies clap along with us and everyone is happy.

Slowing Down

Looking at the world through the eyes of a toddler is an awesome spectacle. Step 1 is to simply slow down and see what they see. There are amazing things happening when you are only two and a half feet off the ground. Bugs crawling, birds landing and taking off, squirrels chattering, incline changes on ramps and steps become perils in disguise and the backyard chickens are the scariest things around. Time no longer has any meaning. A 3 block walk to the park pulling a wagon for 2 along with 2 additional toddlers in tow can take anywhere from 10 to 20 or 30 minutes, depending on traffic and what we see along the way. Life lessons are constantly occurring. People we meet along the way are greeted by some of the kids and scowled at by others. We take the time to "learn" how to say hi and smile. My favorites are the elderly. They are the ones that have time to share and don't mind smiling at a frowning child. They stop and ask their names and ages and really want to talk to every one of them. Toys and activities we do every day can turn out differently every single time. Figuring out how safety harnesses work can occupy a toddler for an amazing block of time. Things we simply take for granted without a second thought are mesmerizing. If anyone wants a lesson on living in the moment, start hanging out with a toddler.

The Trick is Scheduling

Not unlike middle school everything in this new career is dependent upon scheduling. I have often stated to friends and potential clients that I think this job could only be done successfully by a teacher-like person. I have caught myself on a few occasions realizing that the day hasn't been thought through completely and have paid for the mistake. If there are only one or two kids, anything goes. But once the numbers go up, the person in charge better have a plan. On my "heavy" days I am balancing the schedules of a 5 month only, 14 month old, a 19th month old, a 2 year old and a 3 year old. Tricky at best. Now add in heating bottles, spoon feeding solid food, morning snack, lunch, afternoon snack, 2 naps a day kids, 1 nap a day kids, and those in the midst of potty training. Through the weeks, I have learned to make lunch before anyone arrives in the morning so that all I'm doing at lunch is balancing the baby's bottle/solid food with getting lunch on the plates for the toddlers. The Bjorn is a life saver. It is the only way I get snacks prepared. When times are bad, everyone in the place is crying, screaming or whining. And if I thought it would help, I would be doing the same. The beauty of it is that once everyone has food in their mouths, dry diapers or panties, or has gotten themselves to sleep, the house is once again silent. Silence now equates with happiness for all. I am constantly reminded of the resiliency of children. Just take care of their needs and the tears and wails are a thing of the past. They will of course resurface and we will follow the same process. Cry, eat, cry, change diaper, cry, sleep. The ebb and flow has become some kind of crazy venn diagram. It is no longer centered on the food and sleep of an infant; it is also the food and sleep of 4 other characters in the house. I no longer even attempt to have everyone sleeping at the same time. My time is much better spent simply reducing the numbers who are awake and being able to spend more time with each child. The smiles and laughter of the few are worth so much more than the value of the household chores I could be doing if everyone were asleep. There will always be time for that. This moment of playing and giggling is irreplaceable. I am loving this job, knowing full well that others looking at it from the outside think it is absolutely crazy. There are just crazy moments. Most of my day is still filled with laughter, smiles, playing and learning; all of it done together.

Committments?

I am loving where I am in life and truly feel that this move to childcare was one of the smartest things that I have ever done. BUT, I am constantly struck by the things that I am doing and thinking and often catch myself reflecting on the oddness of them. For instance, just a year or so ago I was completely committed to buying locally. I only shopped for produce at farmers markets and would only buy within 50 miles of home. Today I will put my money on the table for bananas from absolutely anywhere. If you told me that they were from China and their transportation cost exceeded the cost of production, I would probably still buy them. Why? Because every child ever born will eat bananas. It is close to the perfect food for toddlers. And there are just days when I simply want a child to eat something and smile about it. I am also committed to cloth diapers for any number of reasons. I used them for my own kids and could go off on the number of reasons cloth are better than disposable. Today I caught myself changing a child's diaper and choosing disposable over cloth. I just wanted it to be quick and done. Yes, I have felt guilty about it all day but nonetheless, I made the choice and I take responsibility for it. I'm responsible for the fact that it went into my garbage, the landfill it will end up in and the fact that commitments are only as good as any given moment in the day. It is a good reminder to me about what young parents are going through every day of their lives. Yes, we know what is right for our planet and our future generations but sometimes we just get tired and want our babies to be happy and healthy and dry and comfortable. I suppose this is all a reminder of the steep learning curve for someone like me who is being reintroduced to babyland and that with every chink in the armor will come a reminder of the commitment. The next time I consider the disposable option I will recall the sadness that filled today. But I'm not sure about the banana issue. Could someone please come up with a banana that will grow in Silicon Valley?

A Bunch of Random Thoughts About My New Job

I have completed the first real week of being a childcare provider and I am happy. That is the short answer to a very complicated question. People are so curious. Every one's question is the same; "How is it?" Some are asking about the specifics of my day, others want to know about the teaching end and still others want to know about whether it's possible to make a living at it. And of course some want to know all of the above. I have had many thoughts during this first week...

Every day is a new day. You start fresh each morning with no thought of what might happen. What lies ahead will slowly be revealed to you.

Each day stands on its own and is self-encapsulated. At the end, you pick up the toys and everything goes back in its box. Whatever has gone on is over. You go fix dinner, sit on the couch and smile at all the good that happened in these four walls today.

There is an ebb and flow to each day. The mornings start slowly and build into excitement. Nap time comes and we build again. The moments of frustration during the day are short lived and we move on to something new and better. Laughter returns and everyone smiles again.

The day revolves around food and sleep. Morning snack, morning nap, lunch, afternoon nap, afternoon snack. We are emptied and filled back up again and all is in balance once more.

Like in middle school, sometimes we just need to have a little cry. It is short-lived, followed with a hug and then we can go back to try try trying again. Trying to fit square blocks into square holes, trying to share, trying to figure out this crazy world.

I love my schedule. I am up at 6 but am still able to have my "summer time" leisurely cup of coffee. By 7 I am off to the shower and follow it up with a quick check for hen droppings in the play area. There is a slowness to beginning the day that I cherish. It fits where I am in life - taking it easy but still being the best that I can be, still teaching, still mattering to my students and their parents.

I really never sit down. I always said that about teaching but my legs can tell you that this is different. My quads are tightening from getting up and down off the floor, picking up toys and kids and cleaning up spills.

The morning thought of what I'm going to wear is the last thing on my mind. I never had much of a wardrobe but I always tried to fit in with my co-workers. Now I just put on a pair of capris and a shirt and get on with the day.

I love being home. It really never occurs to me that I haven't left the house all day until I actually do. When I get in my car, the first thought that comes to me is to wonder how long it's been since I have driven.

On a personal level, I am eating better than I have in a long time. There is only healthy food in the house and I am doing the cooking. The most decadent food around is oatmeal raisin cookies. In addition, the house is cleaner than ever. That is mostly what I do - clean; clean kids' faces or bums, clean the table, the counter, the floor. At the end of the day, I am physically tired and actually dirty. I love that. To look at me, I have done a full day's work but I am smiling, happy and satisfied. There is no thought of what will be, just contentment with what is.

How is it? It is great. I love my job. I am happy; happy with my kids, happy with my parents and happy with my working conditions. Everyday is new with no residual of what happened yesterday. There is no plan or even an inkling of an idea of where I am going. It is fine just to be here looking at the world through the eyes of a child. The word that comes to mind is discovery. While these kids are discovering the world around them, I am discovering who they are as people, the importance of smiles and laughter, the effect that playing has on learning and still more about who I am and am becoming.

So Far, So Good - Even Better Than Good

A few short weeks ago I took my first steps into the world of childcare. I had the perfect opportunity to begin this journey with a short time commitment with one sweet boy. The grandson of my favorite substitute was looking for a substitute of sorts. Their childcare provider was going on an extended vacation and they needed someone to take her place. Voila! I appeared out of no where and came to their rescue.

Day 1 was fascinating. Here was this little boy who had only had a short visit to my house and yard and was now plopped down here for the day with this kind of crazy woman, a dog and some birds. But there were toys and a bed to sleep in. He handled it well - always watching me, trying to figure out what was coming next. Every day has gotten better and better and better. We play and laugh. We take care of the birds and hang out with the dog. We throw balls, chase bubbles and stack things. We are growing and learning together. He is learning about his world and I am learning about him. We hug and kiss and he feels like my own. And that is what I want for these kids, for this to be their home away from home and for me to be their mom away from mom.

Before I get too carried away with how wonderful this all is, I remind myself that this is one child, not 2 or 3 or 4 and it is 3 days a week. So I still have my Monday mornings and all day Friday to run my errands and have coffee or lunch with friends. It is the perfect summer in many respects. I am dipping my toe into this new world and trying it all out while still having time for relaxing cups of coffee, walks around town, and time to reflect on all that has happened in my life over the past few months.

Observations about this new world:

• I am teaching all day long with no one telling me what or how. I can start and stop when my "students" are ready for more or need a break. I can do the same thing over and over again without concern for best teaching practices or new strategies that some one just thought up.
  
• The house is filled with laughter and the sounds of playing.
• Music, chants and poems are back in the forefront of my brain. Yes, just like riding a bike, Mother Goose is never forgotten. I am singing again.
• My voice is happy and cheerful. There is no need to sound like I am in control.
  
• I am outside again just for the sake of being outside, not to plant or weed or water but to play with balls, bubbles, ride trikes and dig in the sand.
• Discipline is a simply a word or two and a distraction. There is no threat of detention or need to consider what I should do for this kid this time to get him in line so I can teach my lesson about metaphors or persuasive essays.
  
• Time only matters for food and sleep. We can take as long as we need to learn what ever we are interested in today. There are no bells to tell us that learning time is over.
• I am seeing the world through the eyes of a child and am once again filled with awe at all we have at our fingertips.
  

I am loving things where they are in this moment. I am struck with the awareness that I am ending my "work" career where it began. Thirty-three years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl and became a stay-at-home mom. I have often said that they were the most important 6 years of my life and I wouldn't trade them for anything. They weren't always easy but I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I have come full circle and still feel the same way. I know the next few years won't be easy but I look forward to the challenge and know that what I am doing is some of the most important work in the world - allowing children to grow and learn in a supportive and loving home.

Nana

I just finished reading Eye of My Heart: 27 Writers Reveal the Hidden Pleasures and Perils of Being a Grandmother. There was one that spoke to me in strange and wonderful ways. It made me wish I had tried to get my thoughts about Callie's birth down on paper. Maybe I still will... But until then, I will revel in the words of Roxana Robinson.

Nana

During the years while my daughter was growing up, each time I took a trip without her – as the airplane struggled to lift off, as the engines strained and the wings tilted alarmingly toward earth and the landing gear groaned fatally – I gripped the armrests with white-knuckled fingers, wishing from the bottom of my soul that I had never come on this stupid trip, and anguishing over the thought of how in the world my daughter would manage to grow up without a mother.

While she was small, the thought of her grief was unbearable and made my heart race with terror. When my daughter reached eleven, the thought was still terrible, but I knew I was no longer quite so essential, and I began to hope she would survive. At eighteen, I wondered in my heart of hearts, if she might actually be happier without me. When she was twenty-one, I stopped gripping so hard – though not altogether.

When you first become a mother, your child becomes the center of your gaze. This is biology at work, survival strategy: human babies need more care than any others on the planet. So this is how you start out together; her helplessly dependent, you fiercely protective. For years, as she is growing up, you are wholly responsible for everything, and whatever goes wrong is your fault: the time she got that terrible infection and had to go to the hospital, the time you were late and the non-English speaking babysitter walked out and left your three-year-old alone in the house, the time in seventh grade with those awful girls; the time the horse kicked her. To say nothing of the times when you were mean instead of kind. All these things would not have happened, as you well know, if you been a better mother. You should have prevented them. They will still wake you up, years later, with a dark stab of guilt: there are things for which you will never forgive yourself. Because long afterward (forever, in fact) you will continue to carry your child as you did in the months before her birth. She is still there, just under your beating heart, a constant beloved presence, burden, and delight.

It’s a deep connection, between mother and daughter. So when all my friends told me that being a grandmother was “the best,” I wondered. What could be better than this? My friends should their heads. “Whatever you expect, it will be better.” Everyone loves being a grandmother. What is it about this job that’s so great?

I was curious and eager to find out for myself, but this is a job you can’t apply for. Whether you get it or not is entirely dependent on someone else. Your qualifications have no bearing here.

My daughter is my only child and that makes me think of the old adage, “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” If you have only one child, this is just what you’ve done, both literally and metaphorically. This is where all your maternal energy and intensity is focused, and it’s where all your biological information is stored: this basket matters deeply.

Two years ago, my daughter (also Roxana) was married and I began turning into an old adage myself, wondering when she was going to have a baby. Isn’t this what old women do – aren’t they always asking when younger ones are going to have babies?

I didn’t feel particularly old, but I suddenly understood why they do it. As a mother, you too are part of the biological clock; its steady tick reverberates within your consciousness as well. My friends and I ask this question all the time about each other’s daughters: “When is she going to have a baby?” It’s a question we can say out loud, unlike the one that precedes it: “When is she going to get married?” Those questions are taken from the same text. We’re asking if our children will enter into the dance of the future, if they’ll take those opening steps that lead to the next generation.

This too is biology, ingeniously at work through the emotions; these questions are intensely important, and when we hear about a wedding or a baby, delight fills us. This sudden upswelling of happiness has something to do, of course, with the particular love that you feel for a particular child, and also with something larger, more encompassing – the long steady beat of life.

One evening last summer, my husband, Tony and I were about to go out to dinner with Roxanna and her husband, Danny. We were all in the living room of their apartment in Greenwich Village, ready to go. My daughter, standing in front of the bookcases, pulled on her sweater, then turned and said she had something to tell us. Her voice was annunciatory and proud. It was the look on her face, really that delivered the message, and the room lit up with joy. Of course they’d had their earlier private moments of joy; we multiplied this by the length of another generation.

That was my first moment of grandmotherhood, I suppose – seeing my daughter so fresh and radiant, making her announcement, her still slim body holding its secret.

During her pregnancy, I watched Roxana become fuller and rounder as she moved toward The Day, taking on the peaceful beauty of women who are literally, full of life. Now everything was focused on The Day. She told me her plans: a midwife, in a hospital. She was taking Lamaze classes in natural childbirth. She was using a doula, who was also her Pilates teacher. What, I wondered was a doula? Explanations didn’t entirely help: it seemed that the doula offered something part spiritual and part physical, but it wasn’t clear to me exactly what.

One day we received an e-mail with a mystifying attachment: the sonogram. This is the baby, we were told; here is her foot, there her head. We could make nothing of these amorphous outlines. It was exciting, but also somewhat unnerving; it seemed to me too intimate for us to see. I felt I shouldn’t know what she looked like now, before she was ready to be seen, while she was still dreaming, while her brain was still forming, while her world was liquid.

But it was extraordinary: she was there. She was real.

And she was a girl.

They’d chosen her name, but wouldn’t tell it. My daughter said, “If you tell people the baby’s after it’s born, they say, ‘Oh, what a great name.’ But if you tell them before, they say, ‘Oh, don’t name her that. We had a dog named that, and she bit everyone.’”

Of course she was right; still, I was dying to know. Sometimes I asked her outright.

“Is it Melchisedic?” I asked – Sarah Crewe’s pet mouse in The Little Princess.

“It might be Melchisedic,” she said laughing.

As the due date approached, Roxana was more and more enormous, the baby so demandingly present that each day the birth seemed imminent. But there were some false starts, and by the date itself Roxana announced that she’d given up hope. She’d decided that pregnancy had become a permanent condition.

The next day she went into labor, very early in the morning. All day I waited near the phone as the hours dragged past. Danny called periodically. The doula was there, I was told. The mysterious doula! What was she doing? She was making tea, buying groceries. She was coaching my daughter’s labor: then I began to understand. Midwives encourage you to spend most of your labor at home, so now the presence of the doula, with her deep intimate understanding of the body, made sense. She stayed all day. I spoke to my daughter once or twice, but she was in a removed and distant state. She was being taken over by the life of the body. She herself, her own consciousness, was being submerged in it, in this mysterious force, with its violent paroxysms, its urgency, its own interior logic. She was deep in the center of the current, too far out for us to reach, and she was headed for the falls. All of us were helpless on the banks, watching. All during the pregnancy we’d talked about the birth, every aspect of it, the thing we didn’t mention was that birth is perilous. It’s very close to death. The two things move terrifyingly close to each other, like two huge planets. Their conjunction is unthinkable.

That evening she was still in labor. She’d been in to see the midwife, who sent her back home. As I got into bed that night, I was suddenly sick with fear, terrified by all the things that could go wrong. Roxana had told me one day about how the baby’s head must turn and twist and bow and straighten during the birth. I hadn’t wanted to listen, to visualize it – the chances of something going wrong seemed greater if I dwelt upon it. Now the risks seemed too immense, too dangerous to consider. And I was helpless, I could do nothing to protect her. All I could do was whiten my knuckles and grip, afraid again for her, but this fear was different: it had nothing to do with me. It was only her. My daughter was struggling in this wild current; it was she who was braving those rapids, alone in the frail craft of her own body.

The following day she was still in labor, but now in the hospital. I sat waiting by the phone, biting my nails and jumping at every sound. Danny called every few hours. In the afternoon, the phone rang.

“Hello?” I said breathlessly.

“Hello, Grandma,” Danny said.

“Oh,” I said. I was stunned. A stillness spread out around me. My eyes filled. I couldn’t think of the next thing to say.

“She’s here?” I asked stupidly.

“She’s here,” he said, “come and see her.”

My husband was due home shortly, and we were meant to be at a black-tie dinner at the opera in an hour.

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said.

We arrived in our evening clothes.

They were still in the delivery room, which held a bed, a chair, and a high padded table. It hadn’t been cleaned up and was still unkempt, echoing urgency. The bed was pulled out from the wall; the sheets were tumbled. On the floor was a smear of blood. My daughter was in a hospital gown; a transparent oxygen tube was taped to her nose; there was an IV stand by the bed: frightening reminders of the passage she’d just made. I didn’t want to look at them, but my daughter was smiling – beaming, in fact – and there was something else to look at. There was the baby, wrapped like a loaf of bread, in a striped tea towel.

She’d arrived.

She was strange, glowing brick-red from the compression of the birth canal, from her passage from the other world. She was full of blood; she was weighty, over eight pounds, and gravid with life.

Her hair was thick and black, thatchy ad damp. Her cheeks were full and pink and her eyes – oh her eyes. They were open and liquid, and indescribable color, neither blues nor brown – the color of new. Her gaze was mysterious and calm. She had never seen anything before this room, these faces. This was the world, where she would now live.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Lucy,” they said.

It was perfect, a jewel of a name.

“And what do you want to be called?” my daughter asked me.

“Nana,” I said. This is not what I called my grandmother, but what we called my mother’s favorite cousin, who was also Roxana. The baby and I each had a new name, as of course did my daughter: she was Mama.

“That’s your Nana,” my daughter said to Lucy, who gazed at us thoughtfully.

The 36 hours of labor were now behind us. The oxygen tube, the IV stand, the bloody smear were all irrelevant. I watched Lucy in the arms of my beautiful daughter, who was now a mother, and also still a daughter, just as I was still a daughter, and a mother, and now a grandmother. This was part of the dance, these were the steps to the future.

Lucy, radiant and glowing, is the future. And she’s mine, in a way, though of course she’s much more my daughter’s. But she’s also mine and I am hers, as my mother is mine and I am hers. We belong to each other, linking past and future. As Virginia Woolf wrote, “We think back through our mothers, if we are women.” It’s our mothers who teach us how to live in the world. And we think forward through our daughters, if we are mothers, and beyond them, through their daughters.

“Would you like to hold her?” my daughter asked – an unthinkably generous offer.

I took Lucy in my arms: she was glowing with warmth. I touched her bare shoulder. It was the color of terra-cotta, and silky, unimaginably smooth; it had never been touched before now. She looked up at me with the preternatural gaze of the newborn: wise, quiet, sibylline. Her mouth was wide and delicate, the line of red lips perfectly distinct. Her black hair stood up wildly, like damp fur. Her nose was brief and curved; her eyelashes long, dark and fine. Her eyebrows were high and faint, the barest of brushstrokes. She was so new. I could hardly bring myself to hold her, she was so important, I could hardly bear the thought of giving her up.

I could see that her arrival – that time in which I was powerless to help my daughter anymore – was the end of one thing and the start of another. From now on it will be my daughter’s turn to grip the armrests. This is actually a relief: I couldn’t bear to go through it all again – the hospital, those mean girls. But here, for all those years of gripping, is my reward: Lucy. She’s my retirement gift, the platinum watch for being a mother.

Here is a baby for whom you don’t have to grip the armrests, whom you can adore without being responsible for everything that goes wrong. You aren’t in charge, so nothing will be your fault. It’s like being told you no longer have to eat vegetables – only dessert – and really only the icing.

This fortunate position – the one you couldn’t apply for – is one you can’t lose either. It’s yours for life: this will always be your daughter’s daughter. These two will always be yours, and you, theirs. I’ll always be Nana. Maybe this is biology at work once more: it seems now that this is just what I’ve always wanted.

Hired Again

Yep! I have a full time child coming in August. Yahoo!

This is a giant relief in so many ways. Letting the universe take charge of this new job of mine is a new experience. I personally like being in charge. That's what teachers do, they take charge. So this whole notion of "Let's just see what happens" is totally new for me. I know that 2-3 years down the road things are going to look very different but right now they are scaring the you-know-what out of me.

So word of mouth wasn't producing much beyond several e-mails of people telling me they had referred their friend and "I'm sure they'll be calling you." Option B was investigate county referrals, which I was calling my ace in the hole - until I read the fine print. It seems that county referrals have a prioritized list. #1 on the list was CPS kids. #2 on the list was the poorest of the poor. And #3 on the list was the poorer of the poor. Now, let it be said that I never had any qualms in reporting parents to CPS but to actually care for their kids and try to lead the parents in a different direction seemed like a whole new ballgame to me. So I sad with the idea for about 10 minutes and decided that I clearly am not ready for that piece of the action.

Option C was to advertise. So I bit the bullet and called back the guy from St. Clare's Church bulletin. It's the cheapest piece of action around. 13 weeks of a very small ad on the back of the bulletin of a Catholic church that is about 5 blocks away. Unfortunately, it probably won't appear until I open my doors.

The afternoon of the very same day that I wrote the advertising check, I got an e-mail from a referral. We set up a time to meet for Thursday night and I tried not to think of it as a job interview. But that is what all of these conversations are, in my mind. After a couple hours of worry, I finally was able to look at it as making a match. I need to meet the needs of parents and their child needs to be comfortable in this space that I have created. Well, we had a lovely chat, and never in my life have I felt better fitted for a job/child. Sophia is a doll. I love her parents to death. By the end of the meeting, I found myself talking about the importance of date nights for parents and lecturing on the mom and dad being the core of the family structure. Yes, we are a match made in heaven.

So now, I'm feeling that the combination of the day care kids that are definite and the prospect of tutoring on the horizon, I'm half way home in making ends meet when the end of August rolls around. My fingers are crossed that the advertising pays off, for more reasons that one!

Back to School

I just got home from a trip to the store and was disgusted to realize the Back-to-school displays are up and ready for action. I know they always come out soon after the 4th of July but still, I was taken by surprise. My normal response is, Yuck! Disgusting! But it is soon followed up by an investigation of what is on sale. What can I take advantage of? How can I use this stuff in my classroom? However, this year it is just Yuck and Disgusting followed up with pure unadulterated sympathy for the poor children who are being reminded that their summer is coming to an abrupt end. Poor babies. I'm sorry for everyone who has just had the first of August and going back to school thrown in their faces! Sad. Sad. Sad.

I Have Been Hired

It is true. I have my first child set to come and play. The daughter of one of my favorite substitutes was looking for some temporary child care this summer because her child care provider was going on vacation. So we e-mailed, called and finally set a time to meet. A few hours before, those butterflies showed up again and I was reminded of how much I hate the interview process. Mom, Dad and baby came in, introductions were made and I set about showing off the house and yard. They were so amazed at everything I had going on. I haven't been in many child care homes so I'm not really sure what the norm is. I only know what makes Callie and me happy. We chatted easily and at the end I gave them the necessary forms and we made arrangements to make arrangements. I couldn't be happier and can't wait to get my arms around this cute little boy. 3 days a week for 4 weeks starting July 11th isn't a bad beginning considering my goal was set on August 8th. I still have a few little concerns in the back of my head about achieving my target of 4 full time kids but so far the money is holding out thanks to my tutoring. So here's to hanging out with the little ones. Let the fun begin.

My Week of Medical Care

This is a week that I am happy to say is over. Summer is always a time to catch up on appointments - dental, medical, financial - but this one was a little different. Knowing that there was going to be a transfer of benefits from an employed to a retired teacher I wanted to be sure that everything was taken care of before July 1st.

I had put off my colonoscopy as long as I could with a clear conscience so that was the way the week started. Preparation on Monday and procedure on Tuesday. I solved the preparation challenge by significantly reducing my intake of food and doubling the days of the clear liquid diet. The only blip on the screen was that the doctor was half an hour late but I was still in and out by 10:00. I came home, took a nice nap and was ready for tutoring by 1:00. Not bad.

Wednesday I was back at Kaiser again to figure out what was going on with my back. I had been in severe pain for 10 days but of course when I made the appointment the pain immediately started subsiding. The verdict? Severe back strain - muscle, ligament and tendon. Prognosis? Full recovery with a list of back exercises and suggestions to stay away from incline hiking.

Thursday was a second visit to the Female Imaging Department - also known as mammography. It seems my last visit resulted in a "compression abnormality." I was fine with the term until I actually went into the room and the technician kept going on and on about thinking positive about "this" and repeatedly saying that we were going to hope for the best. Too much smiling by medical employees makes the patient very nervous. All I could think of was, Nice! I quit my job and get breast cancer. Very funny, Universe. But it appears that all is well and it really was a compression abnormality.

So, I am happy to have survived my week of Kaiser care and don't care to repeat it very soon. There is only one appointment left on the horizon so it is time to focus on enjoying summer.

Hanging with Callie Girl

I was granted another gift, free of charge, this weekend; the chance to spend the night with my favorite little girl. Yep. Callie was back for another overnighter. I love being with her for a few hour shots during the week but spending the night is always somehow bigger and better. It brings more hurdles because of that sleep thing that she hates but also more joy. The joy of having no time limits. The joy of strengthening our bond together. The joy of love and laughter that comes from way down deep. This visit was nothing but fun. We played together, hung out with the hens, ate together and played some more. She always brings back memories of my early mothering days. And that always warms my heart. I see pieces of my babies in her. This time it was the beauty of a hand print. In her zestful consumption of strawberries, a few tell tale marks were left on the wall. I was reminded of the beauty of my own children's hand prints on the walls of our home. I was never that mother that was bothered by them. It was a mark they were leaving on the world. I loved watching those prints slowly climb the walls showing the growth of my kids. And there was that funny little art activity that the primary teachers did with the hand print poem attached that showed up on several Mother's Days.

My Handprints

Sometimes I might upset you
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
on furniture and walls.

But everyday I grow a bit
And soon I'll be so tall
That all those little fingerprints
Will be so hard to recall.

So here's a special handprint
Just so that you can say
This is how my fingers looked
When I placed them here today







Somehow I automatically just wiped Callie's prints off the wall and the minute I did I was sorry. In a flash, the evidence of her being here was gone. I think that the next time she is here, we need to memorialize those little hands in a stepping stone so her mark on my world will always be with me. I will look at it and laugh, remembering those strawberry prints on the kitchen wall.

Life on the Other Side

It is official. I am no longer a public employee for the state of California. And that feels just fine. My decision to retire and the months that followed have felt a little like a stoppage of time as I knew it. Everything since January has seemed to be in slow motion. In some ways that was beneficial so that I could truly experience each step of the way and not be taken by surprise. I never even got the speedy end of school that normally happens around mid May when you wake up and suddenly it is over. It was one day after another and it just didn't seem to have an end. With every day that went by, I was reminded of the good and bad, the happy and sad of the life of a teacher. I still do not have the euphoria that I expected. It just all feels fine. I love being home and waking each morning with an empty slate in front of me. I decide how it will be spent with no standards, or bells or after school anything. I love being the co-creator of my future, building this new business and looking forward to experiencing a new joy in children. I can't wait for the peels of laughter, and yes the tears that are inevitable. I want to create a new love for life in these kids who will spend their days with me. I am eager to guide them in maneuvering about their world, be the one who opens their eyes to the joy of reading and develop in them an appreciation for the nature that can be found right outside the back door.

Saying Good-bye to Jen

The most difficult part of leaving teaching has been leaving my partner. I have told her that if anything would have kept me in it, it is her. We have been an amazing partnership, one that I never dreamed was possible. We complemented each other in incredible ways and our kids were better for it. But more importantly, we made each other better teachers and better human beings. And so, today, I say good-bye, praying that it isn't.

Dear Jen,
The time has come to write the words that I have been dreading for months now. It is still hard for me to believe that I am really saying good-bye to the finest teacher I have ever had the pleasure to call my partner. We have done some pretty amazing things together and I am so proud of who we have become in the process. We have guided, cajoled, prodded and lit a few fires for 180 incredible sixth graders in our time together. We were able to do it because we supported and nurtured each other. Someone from the outside looking in would see that support take many shapes and sizes. We challenged each other’s thinking, we shared honestly the obstacles in our paths, and we provided a strong and comforting shoulder to rest on when it was necessary. I have never seen or experienced anything like the relationship we have had for the past three years and to be completely honest, I never dreamed it was possible. We have laughed and cried together, fought the good fight in the name of our kids, and in the end have become better teachers. As I turn to leave, I hesitate and look back in fear of all that I am leaving behind. But then I realize I am only afraid of leaving you. You have been a friend, a counselor, a sister, and companion on the journey. I pray that we will find time to continue to nurture our relationships, every one of them. I have loved peaking into the lives of your family through your stories. You have made me laugh during the bleakest of moments. You have become a part of me that I never want to lose. Stay in touch my friend and I promise to do the same. So, I turn once again and leave my teaching partner behind but grab the hand of my friend. Walk along beside me on the journey, Jen.

All my love and admiration,
Tere

A Change in Attitude

The end is near. I can almost taste it. But sometimes, the taste is a little bitter when student behavior does not meet teacher expectations. Yesterday was an awful day - one of my worst. I was just so frustrated that at this point in time, the words I heard coming out of my mouth were still the same. "You don't have your assignment? I'm so sorry to hear that. Are you using your time wisely? Thank you to the people who are listening to directions." And then someone called out those words that I just can't handle. In a discussion about where his research paper might be, which was already a week late, he uttered those 2 little words, "my mom..." Now I have absolutely no idea what he was going to say about the part his mom might play in solving this problem because I LOST it. The strong students could be seen just shaking their heads because they knew what was coming while a few others just looked befuddled. That was the low of lows for me. I could not face another day that would end in a churning stomach, pounding headache and a voice that suddenly shot up an octave without warning. And so today, I walked in the door determined to smile, to laugh and to refuse to respond. And oh, did I laugh. In that laughter, I was able to let it go, let it all go and just take in the words and actions of kids who are left on their own to solve what might seem light unsolvable problems. I reveled in what can happen when standards and expectations are taken out of the equation and adults just let kids be. I had a good, good day and am officially finished with the teaching of these kids. I am letting them go, knowing that I have given them my best, more than I thought was humanly possible to give. And now there are a whole new set of lasts to record.
The last teachable moment - I think that was today.
The last field trip on Thursday.
The last locker check, also on Thursday.
And, most important,the last happy hour on Friday.

The Mark has Been Left

Although I am leaving Buchser after only 3 years, I have managed to leave a mark or two. This year was the year of return parents and requests for siblings. It has become known by parents and teachers alike that The Shark Team is a force to be reckoned with. I also did what I could to get a Buchser garden started. My dreams were big and I can thank Kyle for keeping my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds. I prepared and planted the planter boxes on campus and even managed to get the Foods class teacher on my side as well as a 7th grade teacher that was interested in getting a group of her kids involved in a community service project. I had my highs and lows but all in all I felt pretty good about it all. But today I was able to watch my dream become a reality that will last for years to come. A Beautiful Day came to Buchser and Kyle put me in charge of the planting crew. Guys who love to dig in the dirt were thrilled to do whatever popped into my head. Plant beautiful perennials in the music building boxes. Done. Plant flowering trees in the science wing boxes. Done. Plant around the sign and entry way. Done. Add irrigation and trees to the B Quad. Done. It was amazing to watch people who actually know what they are doing do everything that would have taken me months to accomplish. It all made me feel so much better about leaving Buchser with the garden so beautiful. I know the Buchser garden will always be a thing of mine but for now I can let it go knowing that beauty has been left in my footprints.

What are you gonna do?

What are you gonna do? That is the question that I have learned to hate. And that is the question that is on everyone's mind. It is a compliment in some ways because it is born out of the realization that I am chronologically too young to be retiring. But I am tired of answering it. I am tired of the silence that immediately follows the question. I never know what to say or what attitude to infuse in the words.

The truth is that I don't really know what I'll be doing. I won't be in the classroom and that's all that is really certain. The rest will be made clear in the process of the days that pass one after the other. But that uncertainty makes people nervous and to be honest, it makes me darn nervous too.

I have several plans and hopefully the mishmash will provide a living in which a family of one girl, one dog and three hens will somehow be able to eat, continue to have a roof over all our heads and maintain the happiness with which we have all become accustomed. But please don't ask me what I'm gonna do. You might be surprised by the answer.

A Bunch of Lasts

This week has been a bunch of lasts. My classroom is finally cleaned out of everything that I am taking with me. My lesson plans are winding down and most of my copies have been made. I have made my last trip to the dumpster with my old files. I have made my last lesson plans. Every time I make the trip to the faculty work room, my brain immediately forms the question, "Will this be the last time I have to do this?" There is still no euphoria and the days are still dragging on. By Friday I feel totally exhausted and by Friday at 1:00 I can't imagine how I could possibly get through 2 more classes. But yet I do. Friday ends; I enjoy every minute of my weekends and on Monday I get up and start all over again. It feels like it will go on like this forever. This is definitely the longest end of the year I have ever had. I just can't wait for it all to be over. I feel sad saying that but it is the truth. I know that a lot of things go into this feeling. I have the most challenging class of my career. We are still being bombarded with budget cut politics. I am tutoring 6 hours a week beyond my regular work week. I am still in the midst of completing paperwork, phone calls and appointments for the next leg of my journey and my mind is never still. I wake up thinking about what I have to do in the next hour, during my prep period, after school and that night. I feel tired just walking out the door. And all I want to do is go out into the backyard and weed or seed or just sit in the sunshine. I know this will end - everything does but I am inclined at this point to just wish the next 3 weeks away, away, away.

What do you really really want in life?

This afternoon I caught the tail end of a conversation between a few teachers in the faculty lounge. It centered around soul mates and romantic love and such. When asked why I wasn't participating I avoided it all by simply saying that I had indeed had a great love that had unfortunately faded but I certainly didn't regret any of it. I'm not looking for romance. So then I was asked what I really really wanted in life and my response was "nothing." These ladies were definitely taken by surprise and simply responded that I must be very content. Yes that is the word for me, content. It is the reason that I am able to walk away from a well paying job and set my sail to the wind and trust that I will be taken to new and wondrous experience. I'm not wishing for anything because I have it all. I am surrounded by family and friends who understand and love me. I am healthy beyond belief. I live in one of the most amazing climates in the universe where I can grow my own food. I am surrounded by indescribable beauty everywhere I look. What more could a girl want?

What a Week

It has been quite a week. I have somehow managed to teach reading and writing amidst the administration of the STAR test and a whole bunch of other things that need to happen if I am going to have a future in child care. I filed for a fictitious business name, opened a business checking account and completed the on-line orientation for a state home child care license. The license application is in process and should be completed before I go back to work on Monday. I am living with one foot in the present and the other foot in August but my weight is definitely leaning forward. There is certainly enough to keep me focused in school with ending the year and finishing up a unit on myths, doing a final literature circle set of novels and somehow writing a research paper together. But my heart is dreaming dreams of all that is possible in the next stop on the journey. I both love and fear the unknown ahead. I worry about the money piece but know that all the rest is going to be filled with new and unforeseen ways to learn, love and grow along the journey.

What I Learned in Middle School

I have no doubt that I was called to middle school for some very specific life lessons. Three years is pretty short period of time to learn all that I have. I still vividly remember coming to this very school for a meeting in my early days in public school and being absolutely astounded at the language and behavior I witnessed. I could not imagine how anyone could work in such an enviromnet. And yet, 5 or 6 years later I found myself standing up in front of these very students attempting to hone my art of teaching.

I have learned to conquer the fear of ugly looks and cruel language. I know now that a smile can disarm almost anyone. I was clearly put here to spread happiness and to let kids know that someone else in the world cares about them as people, the people they are today and those they will become.

I have learned to simply act like I am in charge. Even though my stomach is flipping out of control, my face and voice can command beligerency into comformity.

I have learned how to teach, really teach. First grade is like being on vacation compared to the work that goes on in the secondary level. There is the incredible challenge of motivation, in addition to senseless harrassment, content standards, grading 70 essays over weekends and meetings, oh the meetings.

I have learned to be a little fish in a big pond. At times I have felt completely invisible. Being on a staff of 70, that is not hard to imagine. Compare that with my first year of teaching when I was one of 11. I learned quickly to be quiet and find my group.

I have learned that cake can win the hearts of any staff member. It melts the well-know sarcasm of a middle school teacher like butter on a hot knife. Yes, I have become known more for my cakes around here than my teaching ability.

I have learned that respect comes from doing. People are watching and noticing who you are in your words and actions all the time. I have been pleasantly surprised by comments that people have made about me and my dedication to teaching. And I thought no one had noticed.

I have learned that a good teaching partner can make all the difference in the world. And mine was the best! She made me a better teacher, mother, grandmother and human being. If anything would have kept me in education it would have been the opportunity to continue to grow professionaly and personally with her at my side.

I have learned that middle school kids are above all else just kids. I have learned to laugh with them, cry with them and have enjoyed every single day that they were lovingly entrusted to my care.

I am now just a bit wiser, and definitely more patient and loving than I was when I walked through the door of B-15 three years ago. It has been a fruitful stop along the way. I am grateful for all that I'm taking with me - the power of listening that leads to true understanding, the art of self-reflection, and the knowledge that the "kid" in each of us is always there. Sometimes it gets hidden by pain and fear but a smile can almost always bring it out again to laugh and play another day.

The Beginning of the End

I am extremely aware of the limited time that is left in my career as a public school teacher. Much of that is positive. I enjoy knowing that everything that I do is the "last" whatever - the last open house, the last progress report, the last STAR testing. Today I received an e-mail from a parent that warmed my heart. He was concerned about his child's failure to live out his full potential in the classroom. He included a series of questions that really made me think about his child and I thoroughly enjoyed responding to his queries. If I were staying in the profession, I might find a way to include them in our back to school packet because this is what it is all about.

What are my child's weaknesses? What are some examples of each weakness?

Does my child speak or ask questions during the class and in any of the classroom activities?

Are there any classroom relationships or situations which I need to be made aware of?

Have you noticed any changes in behavior that I should be concerned with? Is my child complaining of having trouble seeing the board or does my child seem sleepy?

Does my child work up to his/her potential?

How does my child approach test taking?

What are some of the upcoming subjects the students will be studying, and how might we support these units from home?

Is my child turning homework in on time?

Is there an action plan we can develop to keep improving my child's progression?

Now to add to this joy was the parent's response to my reflections. He commiserated with us about the lack of support we receive from most parents and then intimated that our personal knowledge of his son demonstrated that we truly were amazing. It was a wonderful compliment and so nice to know that there are people out there who have an inkling of how difficult this job really is.

The birth of a work in process

Here is the beginning of what shall be.

Titles and Credentials

We are known by many titles and our life is chronicled by the documents we collect. This week I have had the need to locate several of them. This is the me I have been, am, and shall be.

Daughter
Granddaughter
Great Granddaughter
Niece
Cousin
Sister-in-law
High school diploma
Aunt
Bachelor of Arts
Wife
Daughter-in-law
Clerk
Mom
Teacher's Aide
Day Care Worker
Administrative Assistant's Assistant
Multiple Subject Credential
Teacher
Special Education Credential
Master of Arts
CLAD certificate
Grandma
Licensed Child Care Provider

I take pride in each and every one of them, knowing that they are what brought me to the joy I feel in this moment.

A Redefinition

This spring break has been brought to you by a lot of thinking, reflecting and one big aha! I made the decision several weeks ago to resign my position as a public school classroom teacher. I endured the shock and wide variety of responses from my peers that came as a result of that announcement. I have listened and taken in for my own evaluation their responses about that decision and their advice for my future. There comes a time when all the input must stop and something must happen in order to put that first foot out in front of the other. The process of getting to that point has been much more difficult and time consuming than I ever imagined. But I suppose that is what happens when you put the universe in charge and you simply allow life to take its own course. For several weeks now I have played out scenarios in my mind. Every day I would wake up to a new one and I would sit with it for a day or so. There was no controlling the thought process; it seemed to have a life of its own. I knew I had let go of it all when I "decided" I would just go back to parochial school. Now this was not just a passing thought. I actually went to the office, picked up an application, filled it out AND wrote the essay. Why? Because the question that kept recurring over and over again is who am I if I am not a teacher? This is what I have done for 21 years and what I had always dreamed of doing long before I did it. I am that person whose what is directly connected with her who. I have reinvented myself several times in that span but never have I gone about redefining that me. So my big AHA finally occurred while hanging out with my 11 month old granddaughter. And a child will lead them... The voice in the back of my head said, you ARE a teacher and you are doing it at this very moment with the most important human being in your life. I am teaching this baby girl what love is, I am teaching her how to define herself in the context of the world, I am teaching her how to manipulate her environment and to love herself. What could be more important that? So I finally got it. I am a teacher and will forever be one. I simply will choose to do it on my terms. And my right foot slowly slid in front of the left. The brain stopped thinking and began planning.

Student Success Story

At our English Department meeting today we ended with everyone sharing a student success story. This is not a bad thing to do at this point in the year when we all feel so defeated and drained of any cognitive thought.

A "student unnamed" is my shining light this year. He is thrilled to be learning and growing. It shows through in his eyes and the energy he brings to the classroom each and every day. He brings happiness through the door. I discovered a few months ago that he responds directly and completely to student models. If he sits with players, he's a player. When he sits with workers, he's a worker. He now has gone begone mimicking behavior of his neighbors and is picking their brains. He asks questions of his table partners and really wants to know how to get that A. He is a risk taker and is not afraid to ask the "I don't understand" questions with 32 sets of eyes on him. His growth this year has brought me incredible joy and a deeper understanding of how to use the evil of pre-adolescent peer pressure for good.