Exchanges: Summer vs. Fall

Summer requirements include: flip-flops, sunglasses, sunscreen

Cheesy novel, rigorous exercise, extensive meals.

Easy days, lazy nights, no schedule.

No shoes, no shirts, no problem.

Fast forward to August; exchanges required.

Fall requirements include: school uniforms, supplies

Required reading, no exercise, quick meals.

Hard days, harder nights, rigorous schedules.

High heels, ironed shirts, countless assignments.

New challenges, new opportunities, new beginnings.

Sometimes, exchanges aren't all that bad...

This for that?  Uneven exchange?  Tell us more.  Visit Melissa and learn more about Six Word Fridays!

Unexpected Joy

Piles of boxes have surrounded me

All summer long, in many forms.

Ten long weeks. Five longer days...

Checklists miles long, endless errands run.

Time shrinking away as I prepare:

my mind, my home, my room;

for a new crop of brains, smiles.

The greatest unexpected joy this week:

mountains of empty boxes, abandoned outside

the gleaming neatness of my classroom.

Tasks accomplished, tools ready, tasks completed:

my mind, my home, my room;

awaiting my new students with joy,

with unexpected ease, speed and enthusiasm,

even after seventeen years of unpacking!

Unexpected insights, visitors?  Unexpected news, joy?  Share with us!  Visit Melissa and find out about Six Word Fridays!

Promises kept...

In spite of the remarkable odds,

they tenaciously overcame all the obstacles.

They let themselves be cheered on,

taught to succeed, groomed for greatness.

They learned, practiced. They whined, complained.

We celebrated small victories, smoothed bumps

that lined the long road ahead.

In the background, silent prayers whispered;

parents and teachers inviting triumph in.

Today, the news your teacher awaited

finally arrived. Congratulations received, knowledge confirmed;

to know how far you've come;

to know how far you'll go.

You promised to do your best.

I promised to bear witness all year

to growth: physical, emotional, spiritual, academic.

A promise worth keeping, working towards.

What are you keeping?  What have you kept?  What's worth keeping?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up and find out about Six Word Fridays!

Wisdom

Knowledge is power. Wisdom; a gift.

Long awaited, hard won, scarcely used.

Bestowed only when your age guarantees

That it will be applied judicially,

When necessary, with compassion, for good.

Wisdom, like memories, is for those

who have treasured life; well lived.

Have some wisdom to share?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and try your hand at Six Word Fridays!

Wonder

I wonder how you see me

each day I walk in, ready.

I wonder if you all know

how much I worry over you

as I prepare each lesson, carefully.

I wonder if you can see

how much I admire your eagerness,

and how it feeds my soul.

I wonder how you will remember

our short time together; this year.

I wonder what will stand out

in the memories of your childhood.

I wonder if you will still

see me with the same eyes

when you are an adult yourself.

And if you will smile remembering

our time shared, these precious days,

and wonder how I am doing...

What makes you wonder...Head over to Making Things Up and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Relief, and worry

When my boys started school at the same place I teach, I made a vow to keep out of their world as much as I could. I didn't want to be one of the overbearing parents I had had to deal with in my many years in the classroom. I wanted them to have as "normal" an education as they could, in spite of the fact that I am a teacher. Don't misunderstand. I love being able to see them during the school day; their shy smiles or secret signs for "I love you" make the rest of my day go that much faster.

Recently, Matthew's teacher commented on the academic prowess of my two older boys and said, "it must be such a relief to know that your kids are smart." I was kind of taken aback by the comment. I mean, I know my kids are bright (and I am NOT bragging. I have scientific proof to back up that statement). But I don't know that I would exactly say that I am relieved by this fact. There are times I am actually concerned.

I taught for a solid five years before the birth of my oldest son. I would marvel at the intelligence of some of the students I had the pleasure of teaching. I thought, naively, that their parents had it easy. I mean, a smart kid doesn't hassle you to complete tasks, right? Well, that might be true at school, but it might not necessarily transfer to home assignments. I would have challenges of my own in the classroom for children that were way above the curve. How could I keep them challenged throughout the day? How could I meet their needs?

Fast forward to Matthew. Matthew who started Kindergarten reading. Matthew who could read beginner novels at the beginning of first grade. Matthew who would get so frustrated with the children in his class who would misbehave and interrupt his learning. Matthew who was reading four to five grade levels above his current grade level.

Andrew could add and subtract at age three. He was soon following in his brother's footsteps, albeit with less "look at me" fanfare that seems to follow Matthew. Andrew was reading Harry Potter in first grade, people, movies yet unseen. (House rules are that you must read the book BEFORE watching the movie.) Andrew could conduct a detailed conversation about the novel's nuances with no difficulty.

And what to say about Joshua? With two older brothers, he floored his Pre-K 3 teacher this year with his ability to name a hexagon with no problem. The other kids in his class could name three shapes tops. Letter names and sounds, out of order? No problem.

Here is the clincher. Some parents sit with flash cards from the time their kids can sit up. I never did.

Not with the oldest. Not with the middle. Certainly not with the youngest.

Why? Because as a teacher, I knew that would get plenty of that sort of thing when they got to school. Because I wanted to just talk with my kids, with no kind of pressure to actually learn something. I wanted to show them cool stuff, just because it was cool.

Blessed? Absolutely. Worried? You bet.

Why? Because placement for children like this is impossible. Because regardless of what their academic age might be, there is still the emotional component of all this knowledge and having it come WAY to easy. Because they rarely struggle.

And I want them to struggle. I want them to learn what it's like to really have to study to learn something.

At the beginning of third grade, Matt was having trouble with Spanish. Regardless of the fact that I am a native speaker of Spanish and am a fluent reader and writer, I had a hard time keeping the Spanish only rule my parents implemented while I was growing up. I married a man that can speak and write it, but found it to be difficult to switch from one language to another while the kids were really little. The only time the Spanish flows in our house is when Mama is ticked. Not the best way to learn a language.

Now, I never heard a peep from his Spanish teacher. But by the second week of school, he was begging me to pull him out of Spanish. His reason for determining he was "failing" Spanish? His teacher had asked him the same question twice. And he knew, from prior experience, he told me, that when the teacher asks you the same question twice, you are not doing well.

Well, it took a lot to convince him that he was not "failing." That certain things might not be come as easily to him. And that took him aback.

"Why?" he asked.

How to answer? Because most people have to work hard to learn things. Because a strong mind is only as strong as the lessons learned. Because not everything can be easy.

The best things in life are not necessarily the ones that are easy to come by.

So, yes. There is some relief in knowing that my children love learning. That they have been blessed with wonderful teachers who value them as students, who challenge those minds every day, who make learning so much fun for them.

But there is worry, regardless. Because in order to succeed, you must learn to fall. You must learn to get back up.

And I know that they will. Hopefully. And not too painfully.

Finding inspiration: everyday, all year long

Eager, bright minds

Behind smiling eyes.

 

What's your inspiration these days?

Join Six Word Fridays! Find out more at Making Things Up.

Intentional Happiness for the week of September 23, 2010

It has been an exceptionally rough week. There are many reasons for this, many reasons I cannot go into it on this blog, because of the nature of the circumstances, because of promises I have made. But in spite of the bad news and setbacks this week has ushered in, I am filled with gratitude for many things.

I am grateful for the kindness of the people that surround me on a daily basis. Their gentle words have slowly brought my soul back to life, helped me pick up my family from our worry, has helped my find the right words to bring comfort and hope to those I love the most.

I am grateful for the prayers so many have been saying for all of us. Those prayers are powerful weapons against anxiety and worry. That kind of faith can move mountains.

I am especially grateful to my students, my own sons, for making me think of someone other than myself. Their wit, perspective and humor fuels me on a daily basis.

I am grateful that, in spite of the events of the last 24 hours, we have been given yet another opportunity to embrace a new day with renewed faith that things can, indeed, get better. And they will.

Meet the parents...

A few nights ago was my school's Open House. For parents, it is the opportunity to meet your child's teacher, get informed about the year's goals and objectives, and get a peek at what your child does throughout the day.

For teachers, the day and night of Open House is an exercise in endurance and patience. And for me, Monday was an answered prayer for air conditioning. So once again, for the second day in a row, we headed over to our Media Center and hung out there, waiting for cooler days ahead.

That being said, we had about two hours to reconstruct the classroom and prepare for the meeting of the parents. And write letters, clean desks and take care of the fish tank that was orange, full of fish food the Boys Scouts had dumped into it a few days before.

Plus, I looked like a bum. I knew that I had a lot of cleaning up to do, so I wore crummy jeans and a polo shirt. My filthy hair, pulled back into a pony tail, I was a force to be reckoned with. And, I was about to make a first impression.

I met yet another Language Arts/Reading teacher who will be covering for my beloved co-teacher as she enjoys these last few weeks with her brand new, crawling baby girl.

Yes. On Open House Day.

At least I had the air conditioning going for me.

At the sound of the three o'clock bell, I ran out of school like a maniac, drove to pick up Joshua at school, came home, saw that my aunt had made it to my house okay, ordered pizza, left money for said pizza to feed the kids, jumped in the shower and managed to wash my tresses and shave my legs, put on one outfit, discarded it, put on a winner with coordinating accessories, did my hair, put on my face, kissed my kids goodbye as I barked orders and threats relating to homework and behavior. I made it on time for Andrew's Open House session, the one I stayed at for a total of 15 minutes before I had to head out to my room to prepare the laptop and projector. Thank goodness, John played the concerned, involved parent.

One of the things that I love about Open House is to find the faces of my students in those of their parents. It's almost like a game to me, to pick out the parents and match them to the kids. It is so interesting to see how much some kids look like one parent, or how certain features closely resemble their child's.

More importantly, it's a chance for parents to hear that no matter what, their kids are going to have a great year. That they are doing the best they can, and it is good. That they are not in this alone.

As a child, the thought of my teacher meeting my parents was terrifying. I was a good kid, a great student, but somehow, the thought of my two worlds meeting filled me with anxiety. As a teacher, it is a wondrous thing to be able to tell a parent that their child is doing well, that they are a joy to have in the classroom, that you are proud to be their teacher.

And so, for the sixteenth time in my career, I stood in front of anxious parents, made them laugh, made them think, made them smile.

After all that went on Monday, it was by far, the best part of my day.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself...

Being a math teacher is hard. Being a math teacher in third grade is like growing teeth and THEN pulling them out. Being a math teacher in third grade with a new math series sucks rocks. SERIOUSLY.

Most kids begin third grade with an abnormal terror of all things mathematical. Apparently, the stigma of having to memorize your times table is a ghost that lingers past my own childhood and continues to haunt GENERATIONS of children. The fact that we have a state mandated test that determines your promotion into fourth grade does not help.

Our old math series was traditionally heavy handed with lots of computation skills, a fair amount of reinforcement exercises and plenty of opportunities to provide homework after good amount of practice. Basically, it did the job, had adequate opportunities to practice, and had a good amount of resources for remediation and challenges.

The new math series is a consumable workbook, which means you can write in it. And that pretty much sums up all that makes it great.

I REALLY hate the new series.

Don't misinterpret me. I did not love the old math series. But I knew it. I knew how to circumvent the obvious deficits of academic types who have never actually taught third graders. I knew when to strap on my boots when the skills to be taught were going to drive me to drink. I knew what concepts my kids would literally sail through.

With this series, I got nothing.

Except that the kids can write in it and instead of 3 GIGANTIC teacher's editions, I have six small, lightweight teacher's editions.

Not much of a selling point folks.

For you naysayers, there is a huge amount of deep psychological reprogramming that has to occur in third grade to not turn off kids to math. I remember constantly feeling stupid at the beginning, middle and end of every math lesson from Kindergarten through 12 grade. Every single one. I NEVER left my classroom feeling like it owned whatever we had covered. I hovered between treading water or drowning. And I cannot say it was my teachers' fault. They were good teachers, but every year I struggled so much that they focused on keeping me with everyone else, rather than finding out WHY I was so frustrated.

And for the first 13 years of my 16 years of teaching, I NEVER felt qualified to teach anything above first grade math. Because even as an adult, I was still afraid of math.

Then, I decided to teach third grade. And my administrators agreed it was time for a change. And for the first time in my life, I knew I had to be okay with math so that I could make sure no student ever walked out of my class feeling like I had for so many years.

I took that damn math book home over the summer and I taught myself all the sh*t I could not understand when I was in third grade. I started to see that there were patterns. That is really wasn't all that hard, if you were paying attention. That numbers, dare I say it, were actually pretty cool.

After discovering, albeit too late to do anything for myself, this new respect for math, I knew that I had the power to help my math haters reform themselves while they still could enjoy it. I vowed to make those kids who so closely resembled my former kid-self learn from my mistakes.

Was I not, after all, one of them?

The first year in third grade was rough. I had an intern the first quarter of the year. There were so many days I left school with bite marks inside my mouth from trying to keep myself from interjecting in her lessons. When she finally left, my real work began.

My students were timid, afraid of making a mistake, unwilling to let go of this fear. I vowed to do my best and promised them that if they paid attention and asked questions, success was theirs for the taking. I told them that if they didn't get it after holding up their end of the bargain, I would have to do a better job of explaining it.

It worked. Two years in a row. Glowing scores. More importantly, children who LOVED math.

Once they knew, they had nothing to fear anymore. They knew that they were more than capable.

Flash-forward to this year. A whole new crop of eager brains. A new math book.

A monkey wrench.

Our first math lesson was a disaster. I actually had one little boy start crying and tell me he was stupid. As I looked around the room, it seemed like there were many eyes teetering on tears as well. And then I wanted to cry. But more than that, I was pissed off. That this stupid book, written by people who had never met these kids were making this poor kid think he was stupid. Just like I thought I was.

And so we had a little talk. About people who write books that are designed to trip up kids. About how we are in this together. About how we were going to GPS anyone who was lost and help them find their way back.

We kept on it. In the midst of these past weeks, they tried to hide in their seats, behind their neighbor's head so that they could deflect my eagle eyes, searching for those who didn't want to be found. The last few weeks have been more than a little rough.

But we have persevered. We have hung on.

And today, my students actually felt ready to complete math problems on their own, without me holding their hands. I had students eagerly waving their hands, waiting to be called, instead of students with sullen, shifty eyes that beg not to be called upon.

Today, I had success. My kids got it.

But I will make a confession. Even though there was some deep psychological drama going on in that classroom for the last three weeks, my students owned it today. They proved to themselves that they are capable. And that is going to fuel the fire in their belly to continue to succeed.

And if I were the math problems in that sh**ty, new math textbook, I would be afraid.

I would be VERY afraid.

A long day and weary body...

Not enough sleep, 4:30 am wake up time to walk close to 4 miles for training, fight horrendous traffic, students who don't want to work or are too afraid of making mistakes, parents who demand home work assignments but don't bother to make sure their "gifted" children actually complete it, a hubby who will be off on work related travels, tennis, offspring's' home work assignments and ensuing battles related to its completion.

Muscles ached, eyelids drooping, heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

Only one answer, really. Too tired to cry, although that would feel good. Too tired to write, even though words cannot replace the lost rest I can never seem to find. Longing for sleep.

And yet, I long for more days when the events don't always go as planned, but hold a certain kind of magic. In that you can overcome those things that should otherwise impede progress. That in spite of a long talking to, your students can still recognize a feeble attempt at a joke, and inevitable, surprise you with new knowledge, even if it's at the eleventh hour. For colleagues and their knowing smiles, for parents who do appreciate what you do, for your own children that confess their fears as you mention your own, their growing hand safely nestled in your own.

Looking forward to an extremely early bed time; a night's slumber that will restore and empower.

Wishing the same for you.

Things you never thought you'd hear

Did you know that John likes you?

Want to go see a movie?

Can I call you later?

I think I love you.

I love you.

Your father has cancer. It's bad.

Will you marry me?

You're approved.

Congratulations! Here are the keys to your home.

Your father is too sick to walk you down the aisle.

Your father is too sick to sit in the church.

I do.

Mrs. E.

Congratulations! You have received a full scholarship to the University of Miami.

You're approved.

Here are the keys to your home.

Your house sold.

You might not have kids.

You don't smoke or drink and you're under 35. You'll be pregnant within 6 months.

We don't know your lab results. We've lost your blood. Call back tomorrow.

+

Yes. The blood test confirms you are pregnant. Congratulations!

It's a boy.

Mama.

Congratulations! You won teacher of the year.

I'm sorry. He's gone.

Is Abu in heaven now, Mama?

Congratulations! You have achieved National Board Certification.

It's a boy.

Mama.

Abu is right here with us, Mama. Don't you see him?

I wanted to let you know, the job is yours.

They don't do things over there, the way we do things here.

Your child bit another child.

Another child bit your child.

Your child called another child a**$%#.  Please speak to him about it.

It's a boy.

Mama.

Your baby's floppy.

If he doesn't make some major improvements, you might want to see a neurologist.

Mom has Parkinson's.

You're going to be an aunt.

Tia.

Mom fell.

You can breathe. Your baby does not have a tumor.

You're going to be an aunt again.

Tia.

You need to think of home care options.

You're in charge.

He did great. Is he always so quiet?

You are the best teacher I ever had.

He's a trooper.

He's a fighter.

Can't really say what's going on with him. We'll just have to wait and see.

Mommy, I love you.

Mommy, I missed you.

Thanks, Mom, for doing this.

It's not your fault.

You have a renter.

You made me love math.

I am going to miss you SO MUCH.

I love you.

Pink eye was in this room.

We've deloused the school.

You did a great job.

Ever wonder what your words mean to others? Sometimes, what you say and how you say it leave a lasting impression on people's hearts and minds. The list above is in some sort chronological order, but each statement above has shaped me. These statements have made my heart soar, my pulse race, my soul ache, my heart break.

Words have power.  Power to heal.  Power to strengthen.  Power to weaken.  Power to destroy.

How have other's words shaped you? What statements have stayed with you throughout the years, making you chose your own words carefully? Share.

And when you thought nothing else could go wrong...

The first day of school is always a day when you must be ready to fly by the seat of your pants. Traffic is horrendous, school zones are in full effect, harried desperate parents ready to leave their children at school, children who won't wake up. In a nutshell, the converging of all Laws Murphy.

My day was no exception.

For one, I skipped out on the 5:30 am spinning class, mostly because I did not want to be late on my first day. My body took it as a sign that is was a day to sleep in, so I dragged my tired arse out of bed with PLENTY of time to get three sleepy children out of bed and get myself in some form of decent for school. I managed to get everyone moving, even darling Joshua, who has been known to be quite a sourpuss in the morning. He so agreeable this morning, I thought for sure he was kidnapped by aliens. Regardless, he even pooped this morning before school, to my complete delight (have weirder words ever been expressed), because that way he wouldn't have to go at school and have difficulty wiping his own ass.

Because Andrew is now in the "big" school, I had only one drop off. Before we headed out the door, the traditional first day of school picture, backpacks and lunch bags in tow. Three happy, smiling faces.

Got in the car with all my stuff, headed out. The interstate wasn't too bad and I decided to go the scenic route. BIG MISTAKE that cost me a good 40 minutes as I cursed under my breathe, cursed out loud, pounded on the steering wheel and gnashed my teeth. Good Lord, it was going to be a LONG day.

I tried calling my co teacher, M. Unfortunately, she had forgotten her phone at home, as she also has three children who needed primping and prodding to get out of the house. Universe 2, Maria 0, for those of you keeping count.

When I got to work, rushing like a mad woman in platform heels (Yes, I dress up on the first day of school. No need for parents to experience incredible disappointment from looking at their child's teacher and thinking she is a slob) after a whole summer in flip flops, I found my principal near the Main Office where we sign in. Now, I was on time, but I had not arrived as early as I wanted. Universe 3, Maria 0.

I rushed into my classroom with my two sons lagging behind. I couldn't find my co teacher. She was there, but I couldn't recognize her. She shares my philosophy in which we should look like decent human beings on the first day of school, not at all like the slobs we will eventually become as the school year wears on. I hurried to give Matthew his room number and asked him to drop off his brother. Shitty mother of the year goes to Maria...Universe 4, Maria -2.

The class of students are phenomenal! The parents seemed very supportive and willing to be active participants in their child's education. They also knew when to leave the premises. I felt all warm and fuzzy. Then I realized I was just warm. AC unit is still not functioning. Shitty classroom awarded to Maria...

Got through the preliminaries, got them to Physical Education, lunch, to the bathroom, etcetera. Everyone is fine. Everyone is following directions. Suddenly, dark clouds and storms threaten and unleash. Happy first day of school from rainy South Florida. Every year for the last sixteen years. That's what happens when you start school in the middle of hurricane season. Universe 5, Maria -2.

Then, one of the kids exclaim, "Mrs. E! Water is coming in through the ceiling!"

Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. The universe's joke of a classroom is truly a prize. No AC and a leaky ceiling. You know it's bad when the head custodian apologizes for the situation in your room. And if you have ever been a teacher, you know the head custodian NEVER apologizes for ANYTHING...

Dismissal was a rainy one in which we don't recognize parents or students. It was a soggy wet mess.

But I survived.

My kids had an awesome day.

Matthew loved both of his new teachers. I got a phone call from one of them, saying he was just so polite and smart.

Andrew smiled and waved when he saw me in the cafeteria. He was happily relating the day's events later on.

Joshua had a good day. And another bowel movement. And his teacher, whom was Andrew's teacher when he was two, snuck a wipe on his behind, God bless her.

So, all in all, a great day.

But Momma is drained. Needs to sleep.

So she can get up at 4:45 am for her 45 minute walk.

And maybe, that's how I can keep the Universe from kicking my arse tomorrow.

Scratch that.

Tomorrow's election day.

And our school is a polling place.

Just when you thought it was safe to dive back in....you have to go vote too.

Helpful back to school tips or how not to piss off your child's teacher before school starts

As many of you know, I am a school teacher. I have been teaching for sixteen (!) years. Throughout the many years I have educated children, I have encountered all kinds of children and parents. Just so you know, there can be a lot of "problem" children out there, but "bad" parents are by far the worst problem teachers have to deal with throughout the school year.

I have decided to share some helpful tips for all you lucky people who don't start school until AFTER Labor Day, as the good Lord intended.

1. Please do not disturb a teacher before school starts. This means refraining from introducing yourself to said teacher as she is head deep in opened and unopened boxes, when her room closely resembles Hiroshima after the bomb went off or in the full throes of the nervous breakdown that occurs when we realize the summer is over and school starts in a mere four days from now. This also includes sending emails telling her how gifted your child is, asking what supplies to bring. Bear in mind that any of these actions can remind her that the summer is over.

2. If you decide to come and show your child where his or her classroom is, please make yourself scarce. Teachers who need to move boxes, furniture and books do not tend to look where they are going. Once they gain some momentum on their hand trucks, they forge full speed ahead, rarely noticing if they are running over pedestrians. This is especially true of short teachers, such as myself, who usually pack hand trucks and carts to above my eye level, making a line of vision impossible. Consider yourself warned.

3. Please do not tell us how you can't wait to send your child to school, how the summer was endless and your child was driving you nuts because they were bored. You are not making a good first impression. More importantly, your child's teacher not only has to deal with your "angel." She has 36 other little "angels" whose mothers are desperate to unload come the beginning of school. For the record, we are not here to entertain. We are here to educate. You are not inspiring confidence in us when you relate your anecdotes. Truly.

4. We get the issues your child has with homework. We have kids too. We also have classwork assignments that we have to pull teeth in order to get done. You have our sympathy. It is an unpleasant part of parenting. Get over it.

5. Be truthful of your child's strengths and weaknesses. We will figure them out sooner rather than later. It would be nice to have a heads up so we can address it quickly and efficiently and help your child succeed. We like nothing better than to have a successful academic year and confident students, in spite of what you may have heard about us.

6. Don't schedule teacher conferences the first week of school to gossip about your ex-husband and his new girlfriend. Discuss what is pertinent to your child's educational and emotional well being. We don't like tattling from adults either.

7. Please refrain from blaming your child's prior year's teacher for all your child's academic shortcomings. Surely, uninterrupted TV and video games for the last ten weeks did nothing to strengthen their academic progress. The tons of junk food and soda did not help either.

8. Please, please don't put sodas, cookies, chips and candy in your child's lunch box and call it a lunch. Call it what it is. A teacher's nightmare.

9. Teachers are people too. We have many responsibilities and obligations, inside of the classroom and in our personal lives. Please don't get upset if we don't respond within five minutes of you leaving a message in the main office or sending us an email. We are teaching.

10. If we call you with a concern, we are not picking on your child. We truly have your child's best interest at heart. But when push comes to shove, you are ultimately responsible for your child. We know parenting is hard. Most of us have children of our own. We share the same anxieties and insecurities in our own parenting. As teachers, we know your child in a way you will never know, just as parents know their children in ways teachers never know. We get it. But we are here to help.

11. The way to a teacher's heart is through kindness. There are only so many scented soaps we can use and necklace sets we can wear. If you think we have really touched your child's life, write us a letter. Let us know what we did right so that we can do it again and reach another child. Keep in touch with us throughout the years. We love to hear how our students are doing in other grades, as they get older.

12. Be enthusiastic. Your child will pick up on it. It will make all the difference between having a good year and having a phenomenal year!

Pardon me...

It is crunch time for teachers in South Florida, as school starts on Monday.  I have been working my tail off, and I promise to devote a few hours this weekend catching up on blog posts, and sharing what's been going on here, including a special list on how NOT to piss off your child's teacher before school starts...

Back in the saddle again...

Unfortunately, the new school year is right around the corner. I hate to sound like a sourpuss, but, I am hesitant to be excited this year. I know once I get a whiff of brand new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils, AKA teacher crack, I will more joyful at the expectation of 38 new, eager little minds and personalities to match.

But I have been to work for two days already. Packing. Moving. Doing heavy lifting. Leaving my classroom and moving to a new one. One with little to no storage. One with a joke of a dry erase boards. One with tables so huge and heavy, it took four adult women to move.

I am grateful to God in heaven that I have been physically active this summer. Because if I hadn't, I would be in some SERIOUS pain. More than I am right now, as I clutch the aspirin bottle for dear life.

My co teacher is extending her maternity leave until November. A move I applaud loudly and joyfully. You only have your first baby once. Once the second comes along, you can't physically do all the things you did with baby two as you did with baby one. God bless her, she came in to help with the move. She has packed, shuttled, and escaped many a roach in the last couple of days.

My new co teacher is pretty awesome as well. She is a parent of a former student and was a full time teacher in a life before her three children. She is easing back into the maelstrom of education and I am thrilled that she was assigned to me. She and her kids, along with my two older boys and I, have spent the better part of two days hauling stuff into the universe's joke of a classroom.

Normally, I wouldn't care. But I am having serious issues. Placement of items, where to store books, if we will ever get to open the locked storage room that torments and jeers at us as we perspire and ache as we prepare.

It is funny. When school begins this year, I will have opened SIXTEEN school years. Every year, I feel the anxiety of the deadline of the first day of school as it looms. The unpacking, the sorting, the counting, the endless meetings and trainings, the relearning of colleagues names as we set sail into another year of adventure.

Regardless of how much time passes, the thrill never escapes me. It's as though all the bitching about the moving and changes is cathartic in a way that promises the gleam of my new crop of brains. Brains that I will mold and train, question and challenge, inspire and educate. That thrill of the first day, the eager but nervous smiles, the questioning looks to each other, combined with the heavenly smell of brand new everything is intoxicating.

And it will get me through the crap I will go through with my trusty entourage, the classroom fairies, if you will, to get everything just so for my new kids.

Another batch, another year, same saddle.

And although my legs, arms and back ache like hell, there is no place I would rather be.

Except, maybe, for my old classroom.

Watching paint dry...

Do you remember being in school?

Do you remember the breathless anticipation of the end of the school year?

Do you remember how the clock would not move?

Welcome to my day today. A day of endless waiting. A day of the clock remaining stuck at the same time, the whole day.

And if it was painful for my students, it was excruciating for me. Because in that endless waiting for the hands of the clock to move, I was also waiting for documents, lists of instructions, a hurry up and wait kind of situation that did nothing to help pass the time.

And the only thing that would have helped would have been to have had that endless list of tasks to be completed. It would have kept me busy.

Too busy to constantly check the clock.

Too busy to be reminded of how painfully boring it is to sit and watch a clock.

Or to watch paint dry.

Please, PLEASE, tell me NOW!

For weeks, rumors have been swirling. Anticipation was at an all time high. And when we got word that that the news we had been so anxiously anticipating was in the building, there was a mad rush to the source.

My class sat for the state mandated test in mid March of this year. We worked, prepared, drilled, prayed, cried, made concessions, timed, cried some more, found our happy places, and spent many sleepless nights wondering how else we could prepare these children.

In the days leading up to the test, I wondered how the children would react to the test. Would they feel confident? Would they spend the majority of the morning keeping themselves from emptying the contents of their stomachs onto the test? Would they find peace in knowing that we had worked their butts off? Would they feel prepared?

Those questions have been dancing around in my little old head for the last eleven weeks. And even though my own nine year old son sat for the same exact test, I was less worried about him than I was about the children I teach.

Yesterday afternoon, third grade teachers caught wind of the scores. They descended on the main office like hungry vultures.

But everyone was told that we would be told today.

This morning, as I applied my face, I thought twice about wearing mascara, lest I turn into a raccoon upon learning the scores. I decided to live dangerously and made my lashes a little thicker and darker.

Upon getting to school, unloading stuff from the car and taking my junk upstairs to my classroom, I returned to the main office. Armed with my class list and a firm affirmation of NOT walking out without knowing how my children scored, I approached my principal.

As she beckoned me into her office, my co-teacher and I stood, ready. With each name that I said, the scores I heard were just music to my ears. Name after name, reading and math, those scores were worth EVERY single drop of sweat that been exuded over the length of the school year.

The numbers brought uninvited tears.

Tears of joy, relief, pride.

Damn mascara...damn raccoon eyes...

And the tears really flowed for the math scores of some students who had walked into my classroom, terrified of math. Those I had coaxed out of that fear, those who I had demanded so much from. Those that many a time during the school year reminded me of myself at that age. 

So scared, feeling stupid as the teacher would explain concepts and I lagged further behind everyone else. 

The ones I vowed to reform from math-haters to math lovers.

Those students were the ones that scored the highest on the math. I thought of their reaction when I told them what they had earned. I thought of how they had proven to themselves that they COULD do it.

Because they didn't just score what they had to in order to pass.

They went above and beyond.

And my students' reaction this afternoon was everything that I had hoped for during those dark days of preparation. Their eyes grew wide with disbelief. The uncertain looks were replaced with wide, confident, toothy smiles.  They asked to look at them again, perhaps to convince themselves that their eyes were truly not deceiving them.

I am not a braggart. But I am so proud of those children. I am so proud of the determination, consistency, effort and growth they have shown throughout this school year.

And I am SO relieved that the State agrees with me.

And so, for the rest of today, I felt drained.

More than what a teacher typically feels at this point of the school year.

Because you cannot hope and work so hard without giving of yourself.

And I gave.

And it was worth every bit.

***By the way, my son performed just as well as my high achieving students!  Happiness and pride all around!

Making lemonade...

Sometime life hands you lemons. Lately, my lemons have been thrown at me. Hard and with direct aim. But I am a firm believer in seeing things in a positive light, despite the circumstances. You make lemonade with lemons, but lately, Mama needs something with a little more, um, substance.

As you get older, you wise up on how to deal with certain issues and certain people. You might smile and move along with some, as you are gritting your teeth to keep from yelling obscenities. Others, you coax until you get the desired results. Others, still, require a heavy hand. This week, I think I have run the gamut.

I have always thought of myself as a people person. I mostly enjoy being around people, talking with them, finding out what makes them tick.

But I think I need a break. I want a time out.

This week, I have organized events for the teachers at Joshua's school, sat in board of director meetings at said preschool, dealt with issues with students, prepared end of the year documents, continue awaiting test scores, taught long division with remainders, administered more end of year testing and dealt with issues with my own, birthed children: mainly, incomplete class work assignments.

It makes Mama thirsty for something other than lemonade.

A couple of days ago, what I really wanted to do was have a full fledged temper tantrum. I have seen enough in my time to know how to throw a good one. Somehow, I didn't think that I would get what I wanted.

And what did I want, you ask?

For adults to play nicely. For adults follow through when they are supposed to, not make commitments to things they have no intention for following through with. To be, you know, adults.

I am a pretty tolerant person. I can deal with people behaving badly. I taught Kindergarten for 10 years, ya'll. I know how to handle "problems."

But the amount and caliber of the "problems" are not laughable. They are not something you can just shrug your shoulders at and say "whatever" to. They are mean. They are ugly. And I am tired of drinking the lemonade flavored Kool-Aid.

So, what to do, you ask?

Well, I am looking forward to unwinding a bit this weekend. My youngest niece's birthday party is on Saturday morning. I know, it might be more fun to visit a sweat-shop, and the temperatures might actually mimic one since Florida has now begun what we refer to as Hellish Heat.

Regardless, I have big plans for after the party, mainly, getting everyone fed, bathed and in bed as soon as it is feasible. After that, I plan to do the same for myself.

'Cause Mama's tired.

And when Mama's tired, there are no good times to be had.

So, I continue to gather the lemons, by the truck load.

But something's got to give.

All those damned lemons need to be immediately traded in for limes.

So that I can at least make a decent margarita instead of sipping on that insipid lemonade.

Another round...

Today called for heavy artillery of adult beverages in my house. None were consumed, although they were much deserved. An extremely busy week, a most difficult day, and still, another two days until the week end.

My morning was not particularly hard. I was able to get dressed, get out of the house, and get the older two boys to school on time. I was scheduled to serve as a Science Fair judge at my old school, where I worked for ten years.

I left six years ago this fall. I remember that I struggled with the decision to leave for over a year. My children were getting older, I lived too far from the school and my husband had started working in his current job, that required huge amounts of travel at the time.

I struggled for many reasons. The main one is change. I traditionally have never done well with it. I will change my wardrobe a million times. I might change my hair and it's color without too much remorse. But the big things like a place of employment, not so much.

I completed my final internship at HES school in December 1994. There were no open positions there when I graduated, so I found a job at another school where I was miserable. It was the longest six months of my life.

I doubted whether or not I had made the right career decision. I wondered if I should go back to school and get a degree in something else. At the end of the year, my position was eliminated, and I went back to the principal at HES, trying to secure ANYTHING for the following year.

As luck would have it, I was hired in mid September of 1995, after the school year had started. I was fortunate enough to work steadily, although in temporary teaching assignments until the following school year. In 1996, I finally had my own classroom with 38 of the most energetic, and bright Kindergarten students ever.

At this school, I began as a young 21 year old undergraduate. I slowly emerged to married woman, Graduate student, mother of one, struggled through the loss of one parent, to mother of two boys. More than coworkers, these people became a sort of family. We mourned our losses, we celebrated new additions and life's greatest joys. It was hard to leave them and all that history behind.

But I did. As scary as it was to go and begin again in a new place, to form new friendships and professional relationships, I understood that this was something I needed to do for my family. Matthew was nearing preschool age. I wanted him to be able to attend a school that was close to home. I wanted to be closer to home as well, and not spend the bulk of my day behind the wheel, in traffic, gathering children and getting home.

The reaction on the last day of school in 2004 was hard. As people heard that I had transferred out, the questions swirled. The tears flowed. It was surely one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I still had my doubts, but at least, I knew that my sister and I would be working together, that my children, one day, would be able to attend this school with me. I forged ahead.

The first few days of that school year were hard. As the school year began, I was preparing in a new classroom in a different school. I often thought of my old school, my friends that I had left behind, my old students. But I made new friends. I reveled in the new challenges and procedures. I enjoyed my new students. I loved being closer to home and not fighting that traffic as much.

I still keep in touch with more than a few people. Several of those Class of 1996 Kindergarten group stay in touch with me through Facebook. They are now completing their Freshman year in college, which is just astounding to me.

But today, as I walked through the old halls at HES, I did not feel too nostalgic. The last few years have been rough for the staff. Administration is not what it should be. I was GLAD that I was gone. People seemed sad. They said with longing, "Be glad you left." And I was.

Because sometimes, you need another round to realize that even decisions made fearfully and with some doubt are the right ones.

Because I would have grown to hate my job.

Because, eventually, I would have equated those beautifully hearted co-workers with the confines of that building. And would have grown to dislike both.

Today, as I skipped out after judging Fourth Grade projects, I did not leave with the usual twinge of sadness for a simpler time.

I left with gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who had helped shape that shy 21 year old young teacher. Who had supported her, helped her hone her craft, and been a second family to her, and bade her goodbye six years ago.

Gratitude for having had the courage six years ago leave something that seemed safe, but would have surely killed the best part of me.

Gratitude for having forged ahead in a journey that made me mighty uncomfortable. But forced me to grow. To adapt. To change. And like it.

Another round of blessings that would have been forever undiscovered, had I not taken that simple step.

And for that, I am incredibly grateful.