It's Sunday evening, the dreaded time of day, at least for the 10 months I'm in school. Sunday evenings are especially difficult after a vacation or break. I'm still in vacation mode...sleeping late, going to bed late, wearing what I want. I spent part of today grading two stacks of papers, trying to catch up.
Our next several weeks will be filled with assignments, meetings, grades, phone calls. My inbox will fill with emails. Nights will be spent grading papers, trying to catch up and/or keep up. This first semester begins slowly, but it picks up speed right after Homecoming. The last month of school is a flash, and our holiday break is spent trying to recuperate.
There's also the anticipation of the holidays, trying to fit in traditions or to start new ones. I'm always torn between going to see lights and grading papers. A non-teacher might say, "Lights, of course!" But other teachers are nodding their heads; they know what I mean! I don't think I've watched a Christmas movie in years without a stack of papers in front of me.
So why dread the inevitable? I have to work; we need the money. I choose to teach; I could be out of a job. I think it's because I've reached a stage in my life where I'm tired of living by someone's clock, someone's expectations of where I should be, what I should be doing, and when I should be there. I want to answer to myself, like I do during the summer. I dread the quick passage of time over the next few weeks, the workload, the exhaustion. I dread lunch at 10:45 and bathroom breaks every 90 minutes, maybe. And mostly, I dread waking up at 5:20 again. Ugh.
But much like the seven dwarfs, I'll be whistling a song as I point my car in the all-too-familiar direction and return to reality tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, I'll have some fun.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
True Thanks
Every love story has its unique qualities, unusual beginnings, and its own charm. We begin a romantic relationship with great expectations and hopes, but we find too many faults in our lovers or in ourselves, and ultimately a great love relationship loses momentum, fails, ends.
Loneliness causes us to make romantic choices we ordinarily wouldn't make. It was just so with me. I was involved with a man who turned out to be 19 years older than me, and since I already have a father and wasn't looking for another, I knew that relationship had to end. At the same time, I was involved with a singles group through church, and we were going to have a retreat, a retreat I didn't want to attend but had to attend since I was one of the presenters. The Friday of the retreat was cold and snowy; I spent a miserable day at the retreat center, waiting for some of the other members to show up. I did a great deal of introspection as well, and I decided that my life needed some changes, including dumping the 'boy'friend.
That retreat, however, changed my life. As the evening drew to a close and the snow picked up, a pickup roared into the parking lot. Several guys emerged, whooping and hollering with joy, having made it to the retreat house in the snow. They stomped into the meeting room, loud and snowy, but lifting everyone's spirits. The man I was introduced to, the owner of the loud pickup, changed my life. As we shook hands, it was just like in the movies...I couldn't tell where my hand ended and his began. Our eyes met and spark happened. It was the oddest sensation.
From that moment, we fit together perfectly. It was like two halves coming together to make a whole. We shared much in common, but we celebrated our differences. Our connection was immediate and solid, so much so, we were engaged within four months of meeting and married seven months after that.
My husband gives me much to be grateful for; he supported my decision to get my master's degree. He took care of me when I spent 20 weeks on bedrest while pregnant with our child, and then he spent another six weeks after that helping me as I recovered from my pregnancy and delivery. He's cared for me through surgeries, and he's held me as I cried when those I loved have died. He listens to me complain about school, and sometimes he surprises me with visits when I'm working.
We've had an array of trials and struggles throughout the past twelve years, but we persevere. We have one another, and while there are days we annoy each other, there are many more filled with love and friendship and laughter. My husband understands me and does his best to anticipate my needs and wants. I appreciate who he is and give thanks each day for him. We don't demand much of one another, which makes it easy to willing and freely give to the other.
While Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for all our blessings, my greatest blessing is my husband (followed immediately by my child--who wouldn't be possible without my husband!). I am truly grateful for him.
Loneliness causes us to make romantic choices we ordinarily wouldn't make. It was just so with me. I was involved with a man who turned out to be 19 years older than me, and since I already have a father and wasn't looking for another, I knew that relationship had to end. At the same time, I was involved with a singles group through church, and we were going to have a retreat, a retreat I didn't want to attend but had to attend since I was one of the presenters. The Friday of the retreat was cold and snowy; I spent a miserable day at the retreat center, waiting for some of the other members to show up. I did a great deal of introspection as well, and I decided that my life needed some changes, including dumping the 'boy'friend.
That retreat, however, changed my life. As the evening drew to a close and the snow picked up, a pickup roared into the parking lot. Several guys emerged, whooping and hollering with joy, having made it to the retreat house in the snow. They stomped into the meeting room, loud and snowy, but lifting everyone's spirits. The man I was introduced to, the owner of the loud pickup, changed my life. As we shook hands, it was just like in the movies...I couldn't tell where my hand ended and his began. Our eyes met and spark happened. It was the oddest sensation.
From that moment, we fit together perfectly. It was like two halves coming together to make a whole. We shared much in common, but we celebrated our differences. Our connection was immediate and solid, so much so, we were engaged within four months of meeting and married seven months after that.
My husband gives me much to be grateful for; he supported my decision to get my master's degree. He took care of me when I spent 20 weeks on bedrest while pregnant with our child, and then he spent another six weeks after that helping me as I recovered from my pregnancy and delivery. He's cared for me through surgeries, and he's held me as I cried when those I loved have died. He listens to me complain about school, and sometimes he surprises me with visits when I'm working.
We've had an array of trials and struggles throughout the past twelve years, but we persevere. We have one another, and while there are days we annoy each other, there are many more filled with love and friendship and laughter. My husband understands me and does his best to anticipate my needs and wants. I appreciate who he is and give thanks each day for him. We don't demand much of one another, which makes it easy to willing and freely give to the other.
While Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks for all our blessings, my greatest blessing is my husband (followed immediately by my child--who wouldn't be possible without my husband!). I am truly grateful for him.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Staying at home with my son
My son's school was closed today, which always leaves us scrambling. Because my husband couldn't take our guy to work, and because I don't want him at my school for two days in a row, I took today off. I found that staying at home with my son is as interesting as always.
During summer, we can go outside, swing, nap, watch the birds, read, and rarely go inside. With cooler temperatures, it's more difficult for us. I know we could suck it up and put on some winter jackets, but when I take a day off during the school year and I'm not sick, I need to do some work. We trip over one another more frequently on days like today.
He was banished to his room for a significant portion of the morning. We refer to his room as 'the cave' because it's dark, filthy and has a particular boy odor. Most likely, it's the smell of unemptied trash cans and dirt. His job was to polish his furniture and clean up his room so we don't trip over his stuff or sneeze too heavily from the dust. Banishing him to his room gave me two and half uninterrupted work hours, which was heavenly. And his room looks better too.
I miss my son during our school year. We are so busy with work, homework, karate, and Scouts, it seems as though we never see one another. It's no wonder we struggle when we're first home with one another in June. We must readjust and get to know one another again. I'm also finding a distance forming between us. I know most of it has to do with his age. He needs me less, and he wants me to hug and kiss him less. We seem to talk less as well. I'm trying not to let my heart break; I know it's important for him to begin forging his identity.
But as I was laying in bed this morning, I remembered when he would 'sneak' into my room and crawl in bed with me. We'd cuddle, hug, kiss, and giggle until one or both of us was hungry. I miss those times. Now hugging is a wrestling match, and trying to kiss him is nearly impossible.
Staying at home with my son, on occasion, gives me a chance to be with him, to talk with him, maybe even to sneak a kiss or two before he realizes what I'm doing. And during the school year, it allows us to do something special...like go to lunch and see a movie. Our time together is fleeting, and I try to make the most out of it.
I miss his childhood, but I look forward to his next phase.
During summer, we can go outside, swing, nap, watch the birds, read, and rarely go inside. With cooler temperatures, it's more difficult for us. I know we could suck it up and put on some winter jackets, but when I take a day off during the school year and I'm not sick, I need to do some work. We trip over one another more frequently on days like today.
He was banished to his room for a significant portion of the morning. We refer to his room as 'the cave' because it's dark, filthy and has a particular boy odor. Most likely, it's the smell of unemptied trash cans and dirt. His job was to polish his furniture and clean up his room so we don't trip over his stuff or sneeze too heavily from the dust. Banishing him to his room gave me two and half uninterrupted work hours, which was heavenly. And his room looks better too.
I miss my son during our school year. We are so busy with work, homework, karate, and Scouts, it seems as though we never see one another. It's no wonder we struggle when we're first home with one another in June. We must readjust and get to know one another again. I'm also finding a distance forming between us. I know most of it has to do with his age. He needs me less, and he wants me to hug and kiss him less. We seem to talk less as well. I'm trying not to let my heart break; I know it's important for him to begin forging his identity.
But as I was laying in bed this morning, I remembered when he would 'sneak' into my room and crawl in bed with me. We'd cuddle, hug, kiss, and giggle until one or both of us was hungry. I miss those times. Now hugging is a wrestling match, and trying to kiss him is nearly impossible.
Staying at home with my son, on occasion, gives me a chance to be with him, to talk with him, maybe even to sneak a kiss or two before he realizes what I'm doing. And during the school year, it allows us to do something special...like go to lunch and see a movie. Our time together is fleeting, and I try to make the most out of it.
I miss his childhood, but I look forward to his next phase.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Failing is an option
It's my least favorite time of year; students haven't made up work or turned in work, and now they're panicking with only a few weeks left in the semester. I've recently had several emails from kids, wanting to make up missed work. It's hard to say no, but if I don't, I'll suffer more than they will. Sadly, their poor choices become my problem rather than their problem. Saying "no" means their anger and frustration will show in my class.
The irony of it all is how much advance notice students are given about the policies and coursework in the class. I begin the first day, telling them of my policies. I have them fill out a sheet regarding my policies, which they and their parents sign. Nearly half my classes didn't do the worksheet, so I had to give them another chance to complete it. I still had a half dozen or so who never did it. I review policies throughout a semester as a reminder of what is expected. Assignments are given in advance, posted on a homework board and my website, and time is given in class to complete them. And yet, many students don't take responsibility for themselves and don't do the work.
Now they're failing. And it's my fault. I'm unfair, unreasonable. Seriously? I'm unclear how much more I have to do for my students. They have access to their grades on a daily basis, not only through a program called Parent Portal, but they can also pick up their papers and keep track of their grades. Do they? No. I have bins loaded with unclaimed papers.
Sometimes I wonder how different it is for our male teachers. Do students play a 'sympathy' card with them or do they think female teachers are more lenient about deadlines? I've been told before that I need to be more nurturing toward our students, but how much more nurturing should I be when they don't take responsibility for themselves?
Thankfully, most of my students are responsible people and don't waste time asking to turn in work that's months old. But the ones who are irresponsible leave a bad taste. They overshadow those who do what's asked. They cause problems, they act out when they don't get their ways, and the rest of us...responsible students and myself...have to deal with them.
What will happen to the irresponsible students once the safety nets of high school are removed? Where will they go? What will they do? Will they be able to hold down jobs in the future if they can barely turn in classwork now? Will they eventually see the need to complete work on time and to take responsibility for themselves? How will their negative attitudes help or hurt them in their futures?
All questions teachers routinely ask themselves. However, quite possibly a failure now, when there is less risk, will help a student forge a better path, a path of responsibility. Growing up in a 'me' generation, a generation where ribbons are awarded to any child capable of breathing, has created a generation of people who expect everything to be handed to them. Failure demonstrates the need to apply oneself; failure demonstrates the need for responsibility and action.
Ultimately, failure is an option. We've all failed at something, and it's made us more aware and stronger. We've learned to rise above it and move forward. And therefore, when students want another chance to do something that was due ages ago, I feel comfortable telling them no. They will be better people for learning a lesson in duty and responsibility, a far better lesson than if I accept their work.
The irony of it all is how much advance notice students are given about the policies and coursework in the class. I begin the first day, telling them of my policies. I have them fill out a sheet regarding my policies, which they and their parents sign. Nearly half my classes didn't do the worksheet, so I had to give them another chance to complete it. I still had a half dozen or so who never did it. I review policies throughout a semester as a reminder of what is expected. Assignments are given in advance, posted on a homework board and my website, and time is given in class to complete them. And yet, many students don't take responsibility for themselves and don't do the work.
Now they're failing. And it's my fault. I'm unfair, unreasonable. Seriously? I'm unclear how much more I have to do for my students. They have access to their grades on a daily basis, not only through a program called Parent Portal, but they can also pick up their papers and keep track of their grades. Do they? No. I have bins loaded with unclaimed papers.
Sometimes I wonder how different it is for our male teachers. Do students play a 'sympathy' card with them or do they think female teachers are more lenient about deadlines? I've been told before that I need to be more nurturing toward our students, but how much more nurturing should I be when they don't take responsibility for themselves?
Thankfully, most of my students are responsible people and don't waste time asking to turn in work that's months old. But the ones who are irresponsible leave a bad taste. They overshadow those who do what's asked. They cause problems, they act out when they don't get their ways, and the rest of us...responsible students and myself...have to deal with them.
What will happen to the irresponsible students once the safety nets of high school are removed? Where will they go? What will they do? Will they be able to hold down jobs in the future if they can barely turn in classwork now? Will they eventually see the need to complete work on time and to take responsibility for themselves? How will their negative attitudes help or hurt them in their futures?
All questions teachers routinely ask themselves. However, quite possibly a failure now, when there is less risk, will help a student forge a better path, a path of responsibility. Growing up in a 'me' generation, a generation where ribbons are awarded to any child capable of breathing, has created a generation of people who expect everything to be handed to them. Failure demonstrates the need to apply oneself; failure demonstrates the need for responsibility and action.
Ultimately, failure is an option. We've all failed at something, and it's made us more aware and stronger. We've learned to rise above it and move forward. And therefore, when students want another chance to do something that was due ages ago, I feel comfortable telling them no. They will be better people for learning a lesson in duty and responsibility, a far better lesson than if I accept their work.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Missing Mom
As the holidays grow closer, I miss my mom. Last year was our last Thanksgiving together and our last Christmas. And this year, I simply don't want to celebrate.
I miss her smell...she always smelled sweet and powdery. She smelled soft and comforting. Her house smelled the same way. Even though her house wasn't the house I grew up in, it smelled of home because she was there with her perfumes and candles.
I miss shopping with her. It didn't matter if we were buying or not (one of us usually was, though), it was fun to go with her. One of our last shopping trips was to an antique mall. We spent several hours in there, looking at everything, buying only a couple of things, but exploring every square inch of the place. Part of me wants to go back there, to recapture that beautiful, sunny Saturday, to recapture my mom, but I know she's not there.
I miss her stories. I thought I'd paid close attention to all she told me over the course of my life, but there are stories I can't remember. I'm devastated. An entire piece of me is now missing because I didn't write those stories down.
Really, an entire piece of me is missing without my mom here. We never realize how much our parents mean to us until they are no longer here. And then the regrets kick in, the 'if-onlys.' Some days I feel as though I can barely function. I want to call her, to talk to her. I resent how she was taken from us, and yet I know it's silly to feel resentful. It wasn't as though she had a choice.
I still comb my hair and put on lipstick before we go out, just like my mom did. I have a wicked purse collection, like my mom. Of course, most of my purses were my mom's, but we had similar taste in purses and wallets. I've begun working crossword puzzles, another passion of my mom's.
I wish we could talk again.
I miss her smell...she always smelled sweet and powdery. She smelled soft and comforting. Her house smelled the same way. Even though her house wasn't the house I grew up in, it smelled of home because she was there with her perfumes and candles.
I miss shopping with her. It didn't matter if we were buying or not (one of us usually was, though), it was fun to go with her. One of our last shopping trips was to an antique mall. We spent several hours in there, looking at everything, buying only a couple of things, but exploring every square inch of the place. Part of me wants to go back there, to recapture that beautiful, sunny Saturday, to recapture my mom, but I know she's not there.
I miss her stories. I thought I'd paid close attention to all she told me over the course of my life, but there are stories I can't remember. I'm devastated. An entire piece of me is now missing because I didn't write those stories down.
Really, an entire piece of me is missing without my mom here. We never realize how much our parents mean to us until they are no longer here. And then the regrets kick in, the 'if-onlys.' Some days I feel as though I can barely function. I want to call her, to talk to her. I resent how she was taken from us, and yet I know it's silly to feel resentful. It wasn't as though she had a choice.
I still comb my hair and put on lipstick before we go out, just like my mom did. I have a wicked purse collection, like my mom. Of course, most of my purses were my mom's, but we had similar taste in purses and wallets. I've begun working crossword puzzles, another passion of my mom's.
I wish we could talk again.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Sick child(ren): The bane of every working mom's existence
It starts with a cough and sniffle, quickly moving to coughing and hacking, sneezing and watery eyes. My son, the hypchondriac, will begin taking his temperature regularly, routinely assessing each ear to see if his temperature has gone up, stayed the same, or gone down. When we get to the point where the vaporizer comes out, he's sucking tea like it's a pacifier, and he can't quite coughing, I know I'll be taking a day or two off.
My son is a good patient,generally, and does what I say. However, getting sick can't be scheduled, and he always seems to get sick when I cannot miss school. This puts me into a conundrum: how do I reconfigure my lesson plans so I can stay home and there's continuity in my classroom or who can come watch him while I go to work? It was easier when my mom was alive; she'd generally do it although she knew she'd be sick next. But now, there's me.
It's not as though working moms cannot prioritize; we can. But I, for example, have meetings scheduled, appointments, grading, a new lesson to introduce. And really, what will I do with my students that will be enriching and meaningful while I'm gone? I love my son, and I'd do anything for him. I wish he could get sick, however, when it's a little more convenient.
But that's the lesson I'm supposed to learn, I guess. While a sick child is the bane of my existence, this might also be a chance for me to spend quality time with him, take care of myself, and slow the both of us down. This is an opportunity to embrace; I just need to get myself there.
My son is a good patient,generally, and does what I say. However, getting sick can't be scheduled, and he always seems to get sick when I cannot miss school. This puts me into a conundrum: how do I reconfigure my lesson plans so I can stay home and there's continuity in my classroom or who can come watch him while I go to work? It was easier when my mom was alive; she'd generally do it although she knew she'd be sick next. But now, there's me.
It's not as though working moms cannot prioritize; we can. But I, for example, have meetings scheduled, appointments, grading, a new lesson to introduce. And really, what will I do with my students that will be enriching and meaningful while I'm gone? I love my son, and I'd do anything for him. I wish he could get sick, however, when it's a little more convenient.
But that's the lesson I'm supposed to learn, I guess. While a sick child is the bane of my existence, this might also be a chance for me to spend quality time with him, take care of myself, and slow the both of us down. This is an opportunity to embrace; I just need to get myself there.
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