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.