Well, this is day three of being cooped up the house. I've only gone minimally stir crazy, so I've had to find things to keep me busy. I've graded papers, cleaned, miraculously found enough ingredients in my pantry to make sugar cookies and even found powdered sugar and milk to create an icing for them, and I made chocolate chip pancakes this morning. (I think Kyle is happy!) I've watched countless Christmas movies and other movies to pass the time. (Anyone else find it weird that they are playing end of the world movies, like 2012, The Day After Tomorrow, and Armaggedon on TV? Winter weather doesn't mean end of humanity... but whatever. I'm still watching, so I guess I'm just as crazy!)
However, I must say I don't mind being cooped up too much. I could get used to Christmas decorations and views like this. Streets glazed in white. Leaves and branches encased in a sparkling glass cocoon. The crunch of ice under my feet prickling my soles. The sting of cold biting at my ears and nose and tingling my fingers until they lose feeling. The cold even raises the hairs on my neck and ignites a chill down my spine. The vapor my breath creates as I talk makes me feel like I've escaped the mundanity of every other day and entered into a magical ice world. Yesterday, as I was "ice-skating" on my driveway, as my feet glided over the slippery silver, exhilaration and fear filled my veins. I haven't been actually ice-skating in years, and as clumsy as I am, I knew I would fall. Much to my surprise, though, I held my fleeting balance. Kyle and I "skated" to the end of our street to watch cars brave the roads. Down the street a little ways was a Chevy Silverado who was bound and determined to get out of his driveway, but after about 15 minutes of sliding and fishtailing on the ice, I think he gave up and went back inside. Good choice. Soon after, another genius creeped up the road behind us. As I turned around all I could see were her tires facing one direction while her car was facing another. She slid diagonally for about 30 seconds before she tried the gas again, which of course did nothing. Her tires spun idly on the ice, but her truck stayed in the same place. Finally she caught a patch of dry ground and gained enough traction to pull out onto the main road. Kyle and I decided then we'd seen enough so we ventured back home, sliding down driveways and streets and sidewalks the whole way. My feet felt like those tires -- struggling, straining, sliding and hoping for traction.
I felt like an eight year old again exploring the icy paradise that awaited me outside my front door. At one point, I closed my eyes and imagined snow falling and swirling from the sky like mini cotton balls and clinging to the few arms of grass reaching up from the ice. It took me back to when I was kid eating icicles off frozen trees and playing basketball on a frozen driveway, shooting into a frozen net. It only took one shot and our ball was stuck in the glass net that had fused together because of the cold. When we'd get too cold, we'd go inside to make s'mores by the fire. Good times. We never got ice or snow or cold for that matter, in Port Neches, TX, so that freak ice storm some 16 years ago held some of my fondest childhood memories.
This weekend was a nice distraction. Now, it's back to school where I've got to keep my balance for a few more weeks. It's nice to be able to enjoy these impromptu holidays. It helps me keep my traction when everything else seems to be spinning. Happy ICEmagdon, friends!
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Monday, October 14, 2013
What I need...
Our theme this year for our school district is superheroes. That's exactly what a good teacher is to a kid or should be. But it's exactly what I feel like I'm not.
I constantly feel like I'm not enough and today, it culminated. It was purposeful planning day at school and I assumed I could get a lot done. Apparently, I was mistaken. I was not enough today. I was overwhelmed with the lessons plans I had yet to make, the parents I needed to call, the piles of papers I needed to grade, the paper work I needed to fill out, the practices I needed to plan, the laundry I needed to fold at home, the dishes I needed to do, and the husband I needed to spend time with. All these "needs" were staring me in the face begging me to tackle them. It was too much. There is no way I will fill every need everyday, so today I had to stop. Yes, I had to cry about it like a little girl, but I got it out of my system so that I could think straight again. More importantly, I had to revaluate which "needs" were most important in my life.
As I was planning for the week, I realized I had stopped writing. I remember thinking about this last night, too. While I was grocery shopping, all I could think was how much I wanted to go home, run, come home, write for a while, shower, and finally, sleep. Of course, I didn't do these things. (Honestly, I'm lucky I had time to get food in the house). I filled my evening with more stuff I "needed" to get done. I didn't run. I didn't write. If I'm honest, I didn't even shower. Last night, I put all of these things on the back burner and focused on what I thought needed to be done. But today I thought about this decision because I came to the same cross roads. If I stop writing, I stop growing, stop learning. If I stop writing and growing, what can I teach my kids about living a writing kind of life? How are they supposed to learn from me if I don't incorporate writing in my life, even when it's hard, but expect them to? There will always be "needs" that I must fill, but if I'm not nurturing the most important ones, the ones that make me who I am, I'll lose myself.
So, the laundry is still in the dryer. The dishes are still dirty. The papers are still ungraded, but I don't care because I made time to do what I needed. I shared some laughs with the hubs, shared some snuggles with my pups, and shared some meager thoughts with the world. I may not be writing poems or novels or anything profound, but a simple blog entry will suffice tonight. It was something I needed to do. Everything gets a little simpler, priorities become a little clearer, when pen hits the paper. Thanks for keeping me accountable! :)
I constantly feel like I'm not enough and today, it culminated. It was purposeful planning day at school and I assumed I could get a lot done. Apparently, I was mistaken. I was not enough today. I was overwhelmed with the lessons plans I had yet to make, the parents I needed to call, the piles of papers I needed to grade, the paper work I needed to fill out, the practices I needed to plan, the laundry I needed to fold at home, the dishes I needed to do, and the husband I needed to spend time with. All these "needs" were staring me in the face begging me to tackle them. It was too much. There is no way I will fill every need everyday, so today I had to stop. Yes, I had to cry about it like a little girl, but I got it out of my system so that I could think straight again. More importantly, I had to revaluate which "needs" were most important in my life.
As I was planning for the week, I realized I had stopped writing. I remember thinking about this last night, too. While I was grocery shopping, all I could think was how much I wanted to go home, run, come home, write for a while, shower, and finally, sleep. Of course, I didn't do these things. (Honestly, I'm lucky I had time to get food in the house). I filled my evening with more stuff I "needed" to get done. I didn't run. I didn't write. If I'm honest, I didn't even shower. Last night, I put all of these things on the back burner and focused on what I thought needed to be done. But today I thought about this decision because I came to the same cross roads. If I stop writing, I stop growing, stop learning. If I stop writing and growing, what can I teach my kids about living a writing kind of life? How are they supposed to learn from me if I don't incorporate writing in my life, even when it's hard, but expect them to? There will always be "needs" that I must fill, but if I'm not nurturing the most important ones, the ones that make me who I am, I'll lose myself.
So, the laundry is still in the dryer. The dishes are still dirty. The papers are still ungraded, but I don't care because I made time to do what I needed. I shared some laughs with the hubs, shared some snuggles with my pups, and shared some meager thoughts with the world. I may not be writing poems or novels or anything profound, but a simple blog entry will suffice tonight. It was something I needed to do. Everything gets a little simpler, priorities become a little clearer, when pen hits the paper. Thanks for keeping me accountable! :)
Saturday, September 21, 2013
It's the little things...
I should be grading right now, but I chose to write instead. It felt too amazing outside not to soak it up. It's like Texas just wanted to give us a glimpse of what fall is supposed to feel like - cool, stagnant air just relaxing in the peaceful silence. Sadly, these envied temperatures will be melted away by the end of the week. Oh well, we can always hope for more rain.
As I'm sitting out in the coolness, I'm reflecting on my teaching week. Everyday I feel a little more drained than the last, so by Friday, it's a miracle I'm still walking. However, this Friday (yesterday), was different. After three years of teaching, I felt like the best teacher version of myself. We were working on our first personal narrative essays of the year, and yesterday was revising day. As usual, I wrote an essay of my own as an example, but I did something with it I've never done before. I put my rough draft - my sloppiness, open and exposed - under our document camera for the kids to see. I have done that before. I've written with them and modeled how to start an essay. I've given check lists of what makes a good essay or what they should have in theirs. We've answered questions about revising essays. I've even done musical revising, where they get up and move around while music plays and they revise whichever paper they arrive at when the music stops. But I've never had them revise mine or modeled what revising looks like. To tell the truth, it was one of my least favorite things to teach because I could never really find a good, meaningful way to do it. I'm sure there plenty of simple ways out there that much better teachers breeze through. But Friday, although small, I had a victory.
I put my rough draft under the camera, so everyone could see. I read it to them and had them follow along. Occasionally, I stopped and told them what I was thinking when I wrote a part or when I though I needed to get rid of something. I also told them to revise it. I wanted to see if they would pick up on the many things I did wrong. At first they were unsure when I opened the floor for discussion of my essay.
"You mean, we won't get in trouble for correcting you?"
"No ma'am, This is a conversation - writer-to-writer."
Once they realized I was serious, they jumped in, excited for the opportunity to correct the teacher. More importantly, I finally started hearing music to my ears. They were genuinely decoding the message of my essay and thinking through the words I chose.
"You went on too long about your courage."
"I think you repeated yourself when you said mountains twice."
"I think that sentence is too long. I can't understand it."
"You said one thing in that paragraph that doesn't go with your story."
Just when I had them right where I wanted them, I brought my lesson home.
"This is revising. What you just corrected is my first draft. Clearly, it was not ready to be my final draft. You had to figure out what I was trying to say and delete the extra stuff."
I saw some lightbulbs begin to click. It wasn't profound or even that creative and it may not sound like it, but I felt like I finally taught them that revising is not just replacing a word or fixing a comma. Revising is about shaping and molding your words to paint the picture you want your reader to see. Words are the clay and students can mold them into any art form they want. It won't be perfect the first time, which is why they have to keep running their fingers through it.
Again, it is pretty insignificant, and I'm sure all you other more talented teachers are laughing at me, but I'll take a small victory. I know I have a long way to go to becoming a "great" teacher, but I had so much fun watching my students genuinely revise and shape their essays, crafting their words into little masterpieces. Even though I was so drained and nearly dragging, my students turned my day completely around. It was refreshing to watch them work and actually realize why we do this. Sometimes it's the little things that keep me going on days when I don't want to get out of bed.
As I'm sitting out in the coolness, I'm reflecting on my teaching week. Everyday I feel a little more drained than the last, so by Friday, it's a miracle I'm still walking. However, this Friday (yesterday), was different. After three years of teaching, I felt like the best teacher version of myself. We were working on our first personal narrative essays of the year, and yesterday was revising day. As usual, I wrote an essay of my own as an example, but I did something with it I've never done before. I put my rough draft - my sloppiness, open and exposed - under our document camera for the kids to see. I have done that before. I've written with them and modeled how to start an essay. I've given check lists of what makes a good essay or what they should have in theirs. We've answered questions about revising essays. I've even done musical revising, where they get up and move around while music plays and they revise whichever paper they arrive at when the music stops. But I've never had them revise mine or modeled what revising looks like. To tell the truth, it was one of my least favorite things to teach because I could never really find a good, meaningful way to do it. I'm sure there plenty of simple ways out there that much better teachers breeze through. But Friday, although small, I had a victory.
I put my rough draft under the camera, so everyone could see. I read it to them and had them follow along. Occasionally, I stopped and told them what I was thinking when I wrote a part or when I though I needed to get rid of something. I also told them to revise it. I wanted to see if they would pick up on the many things I did wrong. At first they were unsure when I opened the floor for discussion of my essay.
"You mean, we won't get in trouble for correcting you?"
"No ma'am, This is a conversation - writer-to-writer."
Once they realized I was serious, they jumped in, excited for the opportunity to correct the teacher. More importantly, I finally started hearing music to my ears. They were genuinely decoding the message of my essay and thinking through the words I chose.
"You went on too long about your courage."
"I think you repeated yourself when you said mountains twice."
"I think that sentence is too long. I can't understand it."
"You said one thing in that paragraph that doesn't go with your story."
Just when I had them right where I wanted them, I brought my lesson home.
"This is revising. What you just corrected is my first draft. Clearly, it was not ready to be my final draft. You had to figure out what I was trying to say and delete the extra stuff."
I saw some lightbulbs begin to click. It wasn't profound or even that creative and it may not sound like it, but I felt like I finally taught them that revising is not just replacing a word or fixing a comma. Revising is about shaping and molding your words to paint the picture you want your reader to see. Words are the clay and students can mold them into any art form they want. It won't be perfect the first time, which is why they have to keep running their fingers through it.
Again, it is pretty insignificant, and I'm sure all you other more talented teachers are laughing at me, but I'll take a small victory. I know I have a long way to go to becoming a "great" teacher, but I had so much fun watching my students genuinely revise and shape their essays, crafting their words into little masterpieces. Even though I was so drained and nearly dragging, my students turned my day completely around. It was refreshing to watch them work and actually realize why we do this. Sometimes it's the little things that keep me going on days when I don't want to get out of bed.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
6 word memoirs. Coolest assignment ever.
I've made it through the first two weeks of school so far! Two very... long... weeks. Tryouts the first week almost killed me. 13-14 hour days feels like someone pressed thumb tacks all the way into the bottoms of my feet. But my hilarious co-workers lifted my spirits and made every minute worth it. I'd make fun of Miley and dance to "Started from the bottom..." all day with tacks in my feet all over again. Labor Day weekend brought me enough sleep to recoup in time for the next round. Morning practices. My body still doesn't understand what's going on with a 4:45-5:00am wake up time. Though, somehow my brain finds a way to wake itself up enough to function. Too bad I don't drink coffee. Once I realize I'm awake and at practice, I can see that we have some really talented athletes (and great kiddos) that make my job well worth the loss of sleep. Plus, we kicked butt at our first scrimmage, so now I'm pumped for the season.
Then, there is the classroom side of my job. While I have more students in my classes this year than I've ever had, it's been pretty smooth sailing (knock on wood). Granted, after the second week, kids are starting to come out of their angel shells and test the waters, but I love all of them regardless. I feel privileged to be able to teach these guys. I've got some super sweet, respectful, intriguing babies who make my job a little easier. Let's just hope it stays that way. :)
Already, though, I'm impressed by them. The first week of school they wrote me a letter introducing themselves, and I was impressed by their ability to write so well already. (Good job 6th grade teachers!! You are amazing!) The second week we continued to do some reflective writing with some 6 word memoirs. This is definitely the COOLEST assignment I've ever done, and I learned so much about them. I can't tell you how much I LOVE 6 word memoirs! It was so cool to watch my kids dig inside themselves and splatter their stories in 6 words. I can't wait to hang these up in my room. I can't wait to see their reactions to how inspirational, strong, and deep their peers are. Whenever I get time, I'd like to make a cool video of these, but until then check out these 6 word memoirs and see how awesome my kids are...
I can trust anyone... I think?
Bruised legs. Dirt Everywhere. That's fashion.
Lost in life. Dad is dead.
Football, best sport for teaching character.
Sounded much better in my head.
Creativity big, height small, heart huge.
Swinging so high, falling down hard...
Stress me out, Starbucks saves me.
Without books, life's black and white.
Finding who you are is hard.
Quiet has never been any louder.
My mind is a forest... lost.
Life's a song you're the lyrics.
Lost in thought, slowly falling apart.
Life's a game without extra lives.
Misunderstood, mistaken, mistreated, but still here.
Gooey on inside, rock solid out.
I'm not quiet, I'm just listening.
Like a rose, falls for nothing.
Knowing not all feats are impossible.
Slow learner, but still get it.
Still waiting for that one day.
Today's biggest worries. Tomorrow's funniest memories.
Love bacon, love mustaches, love life.
Used to be shy, not anymore.
I'm short, but touching cloud nine.
This one about sums it up:
12 years old, blinded by life.
I wish I could put all of them up here, but that might take a while. I'm so thankful that they took the risk to be so transparent with me and each other. I think we can agree my kids are awesome (and smarter than me)!
If I could sum up the first two weeks, even though I've been dog-tired and dragging through most of it, it has been surprisingly refreshing. It's refreshing to be able to work with people that make every day better than the last. To work with coaches who love the kids they coach and who dress up like gangstas. To work with teachers who I can learn from and who share the same goals and approach to writing as I do. Suffice it say that I'm excited for the year, and I love my job!
Long hours. Frustrating days. Worth it.
Then, there is the classroom side of my job. While I have more students in my classes this year than I've ever had, it's been pretty smooth sailing (knock on wood). Granted, after the second week, kids are starting to come out of their angel shells and test the waters, but I love all of them regardless. I feel privileged to be able to teach these guys. I've got some super sweet, respectful, intriguing babies who make my job a little easier. Let's just hope it stays that way. :)
Already, though, I'm impressed by them. The first week of school they wrote me a letter introducing themselves, and I was impressed by their ability to write so well already. (Good job 6th grade teachers!! You are amazing!) The second week we continued to do some reflective writing with some 6 word memoirs. This is definitely the COOLEST assignment I've ever done, and I learned so much about them. I can't tell you how much I LOVE 6 word memoirs! It was so cool to watch my kids dig inside themselves and splatter their stories in 6 words. I can't wait to hang these up in my room. I can't wait to see their reactions to how inspirational, strong, and deep their peers are. Whenever I get time, I'd like to make a cool video of these, but until then check out these 6 word memoirs and see how awesome my kids are...
I can trust anyone... I think?
Bruised legs. Dirt Everywhere. That's fashion.
Lost in life. Dad is dead.
Football, best sport for teaching character.
Sounded much better in my head.
Creativity big, height small, heart huge.
Swinging so high, falling down hard...
Stress me out, Starbucks saves me.
Without books, life's black and white.
Finding who you are is hard.
Quiet has never been any louder.
My mind is a forest... lost.
Life's a song you're the lyrics.
Lost in thought, slowly falling apart.
Life's a game without extra lives.
Misunderstood, mistaken, mistreated, but still here.
Gooey on inside, rock solid out.
I'm not quiet, I'm just listening.
Like a rose, falls for nothing.
Knowing not all feats are impossible.
Slow learner, but still get it.
Still waiting for that one day.
Today's biggest worries. Tomorrow's funniest memories.
Love bacon, love mustaches, love life.
Used to be shy, not anymore.
I'm short, but touching cloud nine.
This one about sums it up:
12 years old, blinded by life.
I wish I could put all of them up here, but that might take a while. I'm so thankful that they took the risk to be so transparent with me and each other. I think we can agree my kids are awesome (and smarter than me)!
If I could sum up the first two weeks, even though I've been dog-tired and dragging through most of it, it has been surprisingly refreshing. It's refreshing to be able to work with people that make every day better than the last. To work with coaches who love the kids they coach and who dress up like gangstas. To work with teachers who I can learn from and who share the same goals and approach to writing as I do. Suffice it say that I'm excited for the year, and I love my job!
Long hours. Frustrating days. Worth it.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Check your pants
Word of advice: when your alarm clock goes off, get up. Don't hit snooze 17 times like I do; just get up. Unfortunately, I did not heed my own advice this morning, and I paid the price. Apparently, the universe wanted pay back for ignoring the world for an extra 15 minutes of sleep. Consequently, a series of unfortunate events ensued. Well, not a series, but a couple.
As you can infer, I was running late this morning after denying the fact that I did in fact have to wake up. I headed out the door at 7:36 prepared to watch for cops while I carefully sped down the highway. Before I could make it to the highway, someone had other plans to end my life. This person decided not yield at his left turn while I was passing in front of him. After I laid my body weight into the horn, he barely slammed on his brakes and swerved before hitting me directly. If I wasn't awake yet, that certainly did the trick. No one was hurt even though he almost hit someone else swerving out of my way. All things considered, I actually made it to work some what on time and with only minimal speeding!
Incident number two happened on my lunch break. I ate a salty lunch at Panda Express with the hubs then I headed out to run some errands with my left over free time. I pulled in to a gas pump ready to drop some cash, and as I slid my leg over the rough texture of my car seat, I heard it. A quick, solid rip. I got out of the car, felt the wind blow, and realized... My pants had ripped. Cool. Apparently my two-and-a-half-year-old-Gap jeans just couldn't hang on to the seam of the left butt pocket.
Since I was on lunch break of teacher inservice, I didn't have much time to fix my problem. I could have put on some athletic sweats to hide my inappropriately placed hole, but I didn't want to draw attention to myself and Target was conveniently located across the street. I figured this was a pretty good excuse for some new jeans. So, I slowly settled back into the car, trying not to exasperate the gaping hole. Once I parked, I inevitably stretched the tear even more getting out of the car. Realizing I was showing more of myself than I wanted to be seen, I attempted to walk. I wish I could have seen myself as I waddled like a pirate with a peg leg, keeping the leg sporting the torn fabric straight out and swinging it out to the side of body so the hole wouldn't creep open. I tried to minimize the full moon exposure. I felt like I had a prosthetic leg and was learning to walk again. Inside, I discreetly dove into the clothes wall trying to hide the white gleam from my jeans from unfortunate onlookers and averting my eyes from any former students. I grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw that weren't awful and came in my size. I tried them on with success, hurried to the cashier, proceeded to change, and escaped ridicule, laughing at myself the whole way. Surprisingly, I still made it back to school on time for our second session.
Sometimes life plays jokes on you just to check your sense of humor. God's got to throw you rough day every now and then to make sure you're still light enough to laugh at yourself. So, moral of the story: don't press that snooze button. You could almost wreck and your pants could rip. Get up and start your day on the right side of the bed. And check your pants.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
New is Always Better
If you watch How I Met Your Mother, then you understand this Barneyism from which the title of the post originated. If you don't watch it, I'm sorry. You're missing out. Barney is constantly spouting little snippets of truth that only make sense in his mind. Think about it. New clothes are better than old clothes. New food is better than rotting food. New things are better than old things. Today, this snippet is true in my teaching life.
There is never a greater feeling the world for a teacher (you know besides the "ah ha" moment for a kid when the light bulb finally clicks inside) when that last kid leaves the building and summer comes blasting you with her inviting sunshine. You walk out the doors of your classroom and feel like you could just open up your rib cage and jar up all the sun light in the world right there in your heart. Freedom. Then again, I do live in Texas so, if I want to survive, I don't spend too much of my time outside. I've decided that summer for teachers is what hibernation is for bears. After 10 months of toughing it in the wild, we just need to hibernate for a few months, get our strength back. Then, we emerge from hibernation ready to feed on children. Just kidding. But seriously, the rest preserves our mental health.
Summer, in addition to hibernation, also brings some perspective. It is a avenue that lets me travel back in time to revaluate what I did during the school year: what worked, what didn't. Unfortunately, I found a lot that didn't work. I'm thankful, though, to have a job that allots time for growth - that allows me to start over.
Much of my "hibernation" time has actually been spent working. Since I felt like I had a lot to fix, I had a lot of reflecting to do. To speed up the process, I spent two full weeks submerged in teacher land: trainings and workshops to make me a better teacher. Honestly, though, I would rather be sitting in a training than zombie-ing out on my couch watching murder mysteries. I don't like being idle. Getting lost driving all over the metroplex was actually quite an adventure. I enjoyed turning heads during my jam sessions with the Wicked soundtrack while sitting in traffic for an hour a day. Plus, these opportunities steered me into the direction of some refreshingly passionate educators. Since these trainings have ended, I have had time to debrief what I've learned and read what other experienced teachers do. Thank you, Pinterest. I've also read from other experts in the field such Kelly Gallagher and Ralph Fletcher to gather some ideas and inspiration.
Through all of this reflecting and reading, I've been inspired to fall in love with writing again. Somewhere along the way I forgot what writing can do, that once it snaps you in it's jaws, it doesn't let you go until you've discovered some new part of yourself that you didn't know was there before. Growing up, I'd always enjoyed writing and was fairly good at it. All my elementary teachers told me so. By the time junior high and high school hit, I'd suppressed any passion I had for it. I tried my hand at poetry in high school, when I thought I was so clever and so deep. Yikes. It was pretty sad. But college rolled around where I was forced to enact my creativity because of my creative writing and YA literature classes. Writing in different genres (well just writing in general) unlocked some faint voice inside that convinced me I had something to say. I was inspired. (I don't claim to be good at it; I just claim to enjoy it.)
Warning: Moment of uncomfortable honesty follows. Read at your own risk.
Then, I graduated and hurried out into the real world eager to change lives. But ironically, after three years of teaching, I forgot. I forgot how much writing is laced with self-discovery. I forgot that I love words. I forgot that I love alliteration and metaphors and imagery and other nerdy literary things. I forgot that I love the very subject I teach. How is that possible? I should be inspiring my students with my love for writing. I should be inspiring them to take risks in their own writing, convincing them that they have a story to tell. That's what good teachers do, right? How could I have gotten so off track? After this last school year, I left with a bad taste in my mouth. I realized I was bored. (If I was bored, I could only imagine how my students felt.) I wasn't excited about teaching anymore because I had turned my classroom into a meaningless, confusing kaleidoscope of grammar. No wonder my kids hated writing. I was missing the point. I had turned off my love of writing and blamed my difficult year on behavior issues. I didn't want to admit that I wasn't meeting their needs. That I was failing my kids. I'd even thought about switching subjects and trying reading on for size. I love reading so I figured I'd be better at that, but I felt guilty. I felt like I was running away because it got hard. I felt like I was quitting. I knew something had to change. This is not the teacher I wanted to be.
Before I could drive myself crazy with all my negativity, summer came to my rescue. A little time, a little literature, a little training from other professionals, and a little writing was all it took to slap me in the face and help me remember what I love and why I teach. I've been inspired again. I've got some organizing to do, but instead of dreading the school year, I'm invigorated. I don't have it all figured out and I'm actually a little nervous, but I'm thankful for a fresh start. In this case, Barney is right. New is always better. New perspective. New year. New coworkers. A new start with a new batch of rowdy, hormonal, creative teenagers for me to love and inspire. It won't be easy, but I'm awakened from hibernation and ready to enter the wild.
Happy school year, folks!
There is never a greater feeling the world for a teacher (you know besides the "ah ha" moment for a kid when the light bulb finally clicks inside) when that last kid leaves the building and summer comes blasting you with her inviting sunshine. You walk out the doors of your classroom and feel like you could just open up your rib cage and jar up all the sun light in the world right there in your heart. Freedom. Then again, I do live in Texas so, if I want to survive, I don't spend too much of my time outside. I've decided that summer for teachers is what hibernation is for bears. After 10 months of toughing it in the wild, we just need to hibernate for a few months, get our strength back. Then, we emerge from hibernation ready to feed on children. Just kidding. But seriously, the rest preserves our mental health.
Summer, in addition to hibernation, also brings some perspective. It is a avenue that lets me travel back in time to revaluate what I did during the school year: what worked, what didn't. Unfortunately, I found a lot that didn't work. I'm thankful, though, to have a job that allots time for growth - that allows me to start over.
Much of my "hibernation" time has actually been spent working. Since I felt like I had a lot to fix, I had a lot of reflecting to do. To speed up the process, I spent two full weeks submerged in teacher land: trainings and workshops to make me a better teacher. Honestly, though, I would rather be sitting in a training than zombie-ing out on my couch watching murder mysteries. I don't like being idle. Getting lost driving all over the metroplex was actually quite an adventure. I enjoyed turning heads during my jam sessions with the Wicked soundtrack while sitting in traffic for an hour a day. Plus, these opportunities steered me into the direction of some refreshingly passionate educators. Since these trainings have ended, I have had time to debrief what I've learned and read what other experienced teachers do. Thank you, Pinterest. I've also read from other experts in the field such Kelly Gallagher and Ralph Fletcher to gather some ideas and inspiration.
Through all of this reflecting and reading, I've been inspired to fall in love with writing again. Somewhere along the way I forgot what writing can do, that once it snaps you in it's jaws, it doesn't let you go until you've discovered some new part of yourself that you didn't know was there before. Growing up, I'd always enjoyed writing and was fairly good at it. All my elementary teachers told me so. By the time junior high and high school hit, I'd suppressed any passion I had for it. I tried my hand at poetry in high school, when I thought I was so clever and so deep. Yikes. It was pretty sad. But college rolled around where I was forced to enact my creativity because of my creative writing and YA literature classes. Writing in different genres (well just writing in general) unlocked some faint voice inside that convinced me I had something to say. I was inspired. (I don't claim to be good at it; I just claim to enjoy it.)
Warning: Moment of uncomfortable honesty follows. Read at your own risk.
Then, I graduated and hurried out into the real world eager to change lives. But ironically, after three years of teaching, I forgot. I forgot how much writing is laced with self-discovery. I forgot that I love words. I forgot that I love alliteration and metaphors and imagery and other nerdy literary things. I forgot that I love the very subject I teach. How is that possible? I should be inspiring my students with my love for writing. I should be inspiring them to take risks in their own writing, convincing them that they have a story to tell. That's what good teachers do, right? How could I have gotten so off track? After this last school year, I left with a bad taste in my mouth. I realized I was bored. (If I was bored, I could only imagine how my students felt.) I wasn't excited about teaching anymore because I had turned my classroom into a meaningless, confusing kaleidoscope of grammar. No wonder my kids hated writing. I was missing the point. I had turned off my love of writing and blamed my difficult year on behavior issues. I didn't want to admit that I wasn't meeting their needs. That I was failing my kids. I'd even thought about switching subjects and trying reading on for size. I love reading so I figured I'd be better at that, but I felt guilty. I felt like I was running away because it got hard. I felt like I was quitting. I knew something had to change. This is not the teacher I wanted to be.
Before I could drive myself crazy with all my negativity, summer came to my rescue. A little time, a little literature, a little training from other professionals, and a little writing was all it took to slap me in the face and help me remember what I love and why I teach. I've been inspired again. I've got some organizing to do, but instead of dreading the school year, I'm invigorated. I don't have it all figured out and I'm actually a little nervous, but I'm thankful for a fresh start. In this case, Barney is right. New is always better. New perspective. New year. New coworkers. A new start with a new batch of rowdy, hormonal, creative teenagers for me to love and inspire. It won't be easy, but I'm awakened from hibernation and ready to enter the wild.
Happy school year, folks!
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Mawwage is what bwings us togeva today...
When I tell people I'm married, they immediately assume I'm a newlywed because I look young. But, actually, Kyle and I just shared our 6th year anniversary, which means we are well out of the honeymoon stage and beginning the (cute) old married couple stage. It's been a whirlwind of emotions and adventures these last six years from graduating college to first jobs to dog babies to new jobs to a new house. Time flies when you're having fun, eh?
That's exactly what we're good at. We've laughed our way through some pretty great times. However, as anyone knows, marriage isn't all fun and games. When two stubborn, hard headed people live together, it can raise some blood pressure. For instance, he constantly insists he is right, but I know I always am. It doesn't matter the subject. As infuriating as he is sometimes, I love sharing my life with him. He knows me better than I know myself and always knows how to make me laugh when my face is purple with frustration. He is my BFF, and he is my perfect opposite. While I hesitate to speak my mind in fear of hurting feelings, bluntness is his second nature. While I am soft-spoken, he is the life of the party. While I am somewhat cautious, he is a dare-devil. If I insist we drink water, he's adamant about drinking Dr. Pepper. He is my opposite in every way, which is why we work so well together. We're all about balance.
Don't get me wrong, the man knows how to push my buttons and does things just to make my skin crawl. I think he prides himself on that. It drives me crazy that every week he finds a new hobby. One week he won't live unless he gets a new mountain bike, but the next week he is trying to sell it so he can buy something else. I don't understand. I also don't understand how when I rewind the TV and hit play, the sound just quits, like it's laughing at me. Then, when he presses a button, it's like nothing ever happened. Or if I restart the computer, it won't turn back on, but if he restarts it, the computer literally grows arms and hugs him. It's like men have this unspoken relationship with technology. That or technology hates me, plain and simple.
I don't get how he spends all day reading forums about Formula 1 racing. I can't stand the amount of car shows he watches. I hate that when I eat pizza and cinna stix, I'll see it on my hips the next morning, but when he does it, he stays the same. I hate that he forces me to talk about things that bother me, but I love it at the same time because he'd rather stay up all night than go to bed angry. However, if these are the worst of our problems, I'd say we're doing OK.
Then again, I do my fair share of crazy, which he remarkably puts up with. For example, when I change 13 times because "I have nothing to wear,"he calmly suggests I go with the first thing I tried on and convinces me that I look great. Or when I can't make a decision, he will quietly listen and stare while I argue with myself about what I should or shouldn't do, and he may even offer some advice. Or when I constantly vent to him about issues at work during his favorite car show, he puts on a fake smile and nods along and even fist pumps in agreement even though he really couldn't care less.
Of course, these are all minor things, but the real joy I find in our relationship is in the little every day things, like finishing each other's sentences with movie quotes or song lyrics or lines from How I Met Your Mother. For example, instead of just telling me it is hot in the house, he quotes the chorus of the Jonas Brothers' song "Burnin Up." My husband is cool, guys. Another one of our favorite family activities is when we howl like maniacs to get our dog Rush to "sing." Then we make fun of our other dog Roxy, who sounds like a raccoon being choked when she tries to sing with the rest of us.
We also have fun annoying each other. When I have headphones blaring music in my ears and I decide sing along just as loudly, he will stare at me and discreetly slide his phone in front of him, threatening to make a vine of how off key I am. That's his way of asking me to stop. We coddle our dog children and annoy them when we're bored. We watch volleyball. We watch Pitch Perfect and quote every line. We watch the Tour de France and soccer games. We cook dinner (sometimes). We are lazy. Most importantly, we spend most of our time laughing. At each other or at our dogs. That is my favorite part.
He is my best friend, my fashion consultant, my sounding board, my built-in chef, my handy man, my supporter, my comedian, my hero, and the only face I want to see after a stressful, hair-pulling day at school. We are far from perfect but words cannot describe how much I appreciate him in my life. Marriage to me means having a partner that truly understands all of who you are and still loves you unconditionally, even through all the ugly parts. I'm so blessed to have found that in a man whom I respect and adore. Thanks, husband, for seeing something worth loving in me.
Happy 6 years, Kyle. Sixty years from now, we'll be old and wrinkled but still laughing and quoting movies - if we can remember them. I love you, Kyle Nielsen.
This sums up our relationship pretty well.
My husband is cooler than yours.
That's exactly what we're good at. We've laughed our way through some pretty great times. However, as anyone knows, marriage isn't all fun and games. When two stubborn, hard headed people live together, it can raise some blood pressure. For instance, he constantly insists he is right, but I know I always am. It doesn't matter the subject. As infuriating as he is sometimes, I love sharing my life with him. He knows me better than I know myself and always knows how to make me laugh when my face is purple with frustration. He is my BFF, and he is my perfect opposite. While I hesitate to speak my mind in fear of hurting feelings, bluntness is his second nature. While I am soft-spoken, he is the life of the party. While I am somewhat cautious, he is a dare-devil. If I insist we drink water, he's adamant about drinking Dr. Pepper. He is my opposite in every way, which is why we work so well together. We're all about balance.
Don't get me wrong, the man knows how to push my buttons and does things just to make my skin crawl. I think he prides himself on that. It drives me crazy that every week he finds a new hobby. One week he won't live unless he gets a new mountain bike, but the next week he is trying to sell it so he can buy something else. I don't understand. I also don't understand how when I rewind the TV and hit play, the sound just quits, like it's laughing at me. Then, when he presses a button, it's like nothing ever happened. Or if I restart the computer, it won't turn back on, but if he restarts it, the computer literally grows arms and hugs him. It's like men have this unspoken relationship with technology. That or technology hates me, plain and simple.
I don't get how he spends all day reading forums about Formula 1 racing. I can't stand the amount of car shows he watches. I hate that when I eat pizza and cinna stix, I'll see it on my hips the next morning, but when he does it, he stays the same. I hate that he forces me to talk about things that bother me, but I love it at the same time because he'd rather stay up all night than go to bed angry. However, if these are the worst of our problems, I'd say we're doing OK.
Then again, I do my fair share of crazy, which he remarkably puts up with. For example, when I change 13 times because "I have nothing to wear,"he calmly suggests I go with the first thing I tried on and convinces me that I look great. Or when I can't make a decision, he will quietly listen and stare while I argue with myself about what I should or shouldn't do, and he may even offer some advice. Or when I constantly vent to him about issues at work during his favorite car show, he puts on a fake smile and nods along and even fist pumps in agreement even though he really couldn't care less.
Of course, these are all minor things, but the real joy I find in our relationship is in the little every day things, like finishing each other's sentences with movie quotes or song lyrics or lines from How I Met Your Mother. For example, instead of just telling me it is hot in the house, he quotes the chorus of the Jonas Brothers' song "Burnin Up." My husband is cool, guys. Another one of our favorite family activities is when we howl like maniacs to get our dog Rush to "sing." Then we make fun of our other dog Roxy, who sounds like a raccoon being choked when she tries to sing with the rest of us.
We also have fun annoying each other. When I have headphones blaring music in my ears and I decide sing along just as loudly, he will stare at me and discreetly slide his phone in front of him, threatening to make a vine of how off key I am. That's his way of asking me to stop. We coddle our dog children and annoy them when we're bored. We watch volleyball. We watch Pitch Perfect and quote every line. We watch the Tour de France and soccer games. We cook dinner (sometimes). We are lazy. Most importantly, we spend most of our time laughing. At each other or at our dogs. That is my favorite part.
He is my best friend, my fashion consultant, my sounding board, my built-in chef, my handy man, my supporter, my comedian, my hero, and the only face I want to see after a stressful, hair-pulling day at school. We are far from perfect but words cannot describe how much I appreciate him in my life. Marriage to me means having a partner that truly understands all of who you are and still loves you unconditionally, even through all the ugly parts. I'm so blessed to have found that in a man whom I respect and adore. Thanks, husband, for seeing something worth loving in me.
Happy 6 years, Kyle. Sixty years from now, we'll be old and wrinkled but still laughing and quoting movies - if we can remember them. I love you, Kyle Nielsen.
This sums up our relationship pretty well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)