Friday, September 23, 2011
The Trick is Scheduling
Monday, August 29, 2011
Committments?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
A Bunch of Random Thoughts About My New Job
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.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
So Far, So Good - Even Better Than Good
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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Nana
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.
Friday, July 08, 2011
Hired Again
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!
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Back to School
Friday, July 01, 2011
I Have Been Hired
My Week of Medical Care
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.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Hanging with Callie Girl
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.
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Life on the Other Side
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Saying Good-bye to Jen
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
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A Change in Attitude
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.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The Mark has Been Left
Friday, May 20, 2011
What are you gonna do?
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.
Friday, May 13, 2011
A Bunch of Lasts
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
What do you really really want in life?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
What a Week
Friday, April 22, 2011
What I Learned in Middle School
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.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
The Beginning of the End
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.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Titles and Credentials
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.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Redefinition
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Student Success Story
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.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
People Can be So Entertaining
Friday, March 18, 2011
Open House
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Peace From Quiet
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Happy Birthday Grandpa
Happy Birthday Grandpa! Those have become three of my favorite words. But of the three words, of course, the best is Grandpa! The word Grandpa has become synonymous with love. Just saying the word increases my heart rate, I get a little light headed and I feel warm and fuzzy all over. It brings to mind the endless number of memories I have of you, starting from my first few years of life up to and including today.
As your birthday approaches my mind and heart merge as one and I begin thinking love. Months in advance travel plans and arrangements are made to leave my home and classroom behind. All I can think about is how lucky I am that I have one more chance to celebrate your birthday. The thought of Grandpa’s Birthday Hug overpowers almost any obstacle.
There can never be enough of your birthdays for me. I no longer think about your age or the idea that you are getting older. It is just another number that is added on each year and another chance for me to be in your loving presence. I believe that you are with us here today because we all still need you. We are simply not ready to let you go. I, for one, am still learning the secrets of life from you. My most recent venture into egg production has made that abundantly clear. You were one of my primary sources of information about raising chickens and it turned out that, once again, you were the expert. You beat out every chicken internet website and California urban farmer that I spoke to. Your words to me when my chickens laid their first eggs in the dark days of late December will forever ring in my ears. “Tere, you’ve got to learn to listen to me.” Yes, Grandpa, you’re right, I do need to remember to listen to you. You still have so much teaching to do and I am still that little girl, looking up into your eyes, knowing that your words are some miraculous combination of love and wisdom all wrapped up into one. Your stories, your advice and your wisdom continue to guide me. I am honored and blessed to still be learning from you and loving every minute of it. And today, I have the great pleasure of giving you your 103rd birthday hug.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Family
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Thing About Primary
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Getting Outside of Myself
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Laughter Makes All the Difference
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Choosing Happiness
Genetics and choice
We are all a product of our DNA but that is simply a starting point in the game of being happy. I choose each moment how to feel. No one makes me feel bad or sad. It is all inside of me. With each feeling I identify it and do what I can to either embrace it or remove it. That is easier said than done and some of those feelings take longer to eradicate than others. But in the long run, I become who I want to be.
Take control of my own life
I refuse to surround myself with negative people and the energy they exude. I am very suseptible to it and notice it immediately. When I am unhappy, I take the time to identify the source and if possible remove it from my life. The exception to that is of course winter weather. But where would my spring joy come from without the winter lows?
Identify things that make me happy and use them
I love baking. I love watching movies. When I do what I love, I can overpower the sadness that finds its way into my life.
Find time to put the daily events in their place
I am a reflector and I make time every day to think through the day's events - what went well, what sucked. The process helps me realize that there is almost always more good than bad in my life.
Sharing time
I love, love the process of creating new memories that add to my reservoir of happiness. That comes from sharing time, food and love with my friends and family. I have regular times set aside for some friends (monthly breakfast, weekend coffee dates, dinner, walking partner) and I always look forward to them. Sometimes they turn into a short bitch session but we always come out of it and and are able to find humor in our own lives. This time spent often becomes the impetus for my own self improvement. It also reminds me that while I may live alone, I am not alone. There are wonderful people in my life who "get" me.
Thinking outside of myself
One of the greatest things I have done lately for happiness is to raise chickens. I had no idea that was going to happen when I started this venture. One reason is that they have made me realize that there are just some things that can't be controlled, they just are. They walk, they fly, they eat, they poop wherever and whenever they want. It has become my challenge to simply accept some things in the world. And I have to say that it is slow but it is coming. I still don't like walking out on the deck and seeing their residue but I'm adjusting. It is also extremely entertaining just to watch them from the window and realize how simple life can be but one of my greatest joys is to open the door and take a step or two and watch what happens. All three of them come running, heads bobbing as if to say, "She's here. She's here." If that doesn't make you happy, I don't know what would.
Maintain a long range view
As a child, my mantra was "There's always tomorrow for dreams to come true." It's a quote from Clarice in that funky Rudolf that I still watch every year. I still live my life with one foot in the future, always thinking about what I want to do next. Even though my "next" is semi-retirement, it excites me and it keeps me from obsessing on today.
Think happy
I try to remember that happiness is a choice. It is the lens through which I choose to view my life. Even when things are challenging at work, I look forward to coming home and relighting my fire. I surround myself with beauty and love everything in and around my home. I walk through the door and know that life is good.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
January Theme Song
This could have been my theme song for January. It is how I have felt - I just keep on rising up. One day has followed another and now February is just ahead. A little happy dance is in the making.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Question
This question was posted on Facebook by my daughter and it has resonated with me. I guess in light of all my thinking about the future, it makes sense that something like this would roll around for a bit inside of my head.
It is really hard for me to answer because I have such a hard time looking past money and to be completely honest, fear. A few years ago one of my greatest desire was to parachute out of a plane but not now. I am thinking about much more age appropriate things these days.
If nothing was stopping me...
Travel: Australia, more Europe (Spain, Greece, more of France, Italy again, Switzerland/Austria), see the fall colors in the northeast, tour a few antebellum plantations (don't ask me why), Montana (can't explain that one either)
Ride in a hot air balloon - I've been waiting for that one since my 40th birthday
Fly in a glider or maybe an airship instead
Go white water rafting - on the mild side
Ride my bike more
Get better at sewing
Read more
Go to more movies
Create more opportunities to celebrate our family
Find ways to hang out with my siblings and my sister-in-law
Become a wonderful mixture of my own two grandmas for Callie and any other grandbabies that come my way. I want to bake and garden with them and create all sorts of wonderful memories that can only be described by them as "I just love being at my Grandma's."
A Shaft of Light Shines Through the Darkness
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Living Life
Monday, January 17, 2011
Life is a Come As You Are Party
I am trying hard just to stay in the moment and feel what it really is. No, I'm not ready to throw in the towel or retire yet . I still like too much of what I'm doing. Maybe it simply requires me admitting that I'm getting older and I don't approach anything with the same energy anymore. It all feels a bit like a come as you are party. I don't think anyone does them anymore but it is a part of my childhood memory. A friend would plan a party but the invitees wouldn't know about it. You would be kidnapped and taken to the party in whatever you happened to be wearing and what ever condition you were in. That is kind of like what it feels like when I wake up in the mornings now. I take it as it is. If the energy is there, I rush off to work and do what I have always done. If it's not I take stock and do what can be done and I allow myself the time and space I need. The good thing is that I am still an early riser so if the energy isn't there I just tell myself it's OK and I'll just be a few minutes later today. The world doesn't end, the kids get taught and I get through another day.
I have been pretty fascinated by talking to people about this. I have been shocked by all the people that don't LIKE going to work. They are fine when the kids show up but they don't wake up raring to go. So part of me is just grateful for having had 20 years of being excited about my job.
So as I prepare for another day of teaching, I promise myself to continue putting one foot in front of the other until I feel better about it all or June 3 shows up on the calendar. I also know that I need to find some peers that will feed my professional development beast. And the final plan is to do some tutoring this summer so I can get in some real teaching. Maybe this three prong approach will work together to light my fire again. Or maybe, just maybe I need the winter fog to lift and the spring sun to clear away the duldrums. I hope it really is as simple as more daylight, warmer temperatures and blooming flowers.