The Do's and Do Nots of Running

I Do run because it makes me hungry. I get an appetite that unrivals anything else I’ve ever known. An appetite for life, food, fitness, more distance, more hills, more … everything.

I Do Not run to get away from what is bothering me. It’s all waiting for me anyway. I run so I can deal with it.

The Do's and Do Nots of Running

I Do Not run to please anybody else. People may enjoy the sight of me running by, or like the way my body looks as a result of my workouts, or even appreciate that I get out there every chance I get, but my runs are for ME.

I Do run because it’s the one point in my day where I don’t rely on anybody else and nobody relies on me. Nobody can let me down but me. I like that.

The Do's and Do Nots of Running

I think a lot while I run. So every day, I’ll share a few of those thoughts. At first, they will undoubtedly be mostly about justifying such a painful habit…

I Do run because anytime I can defy gravity is good with me.

I Do Not run to lose weight. I don’t know how much I weigh… and I don’t care.

On the Bright Side: I'm a Poet... and I Know It.

In honor of the National Day of Writing, I attended a poetry writing workshop tonight. Hosted by the super-fly Dan Levinson, the workshop gave us a few prompts to wrangle some poetry from our souls. Here's my rough draft.

Guilt
Creeps on soundless muddy gray feet
Inching in, blank-faced, tapping my shoulder
"You're not doing enough" blank-faced and hoarse
The enemy of hope and motivation
Lover of lethargy, devouring my soul, my dreams, my joy, eating my sleep
"You're doing too much!" whips and flails slice
Guided by heavy spiked gauntlets
"You're not doing it right" breathed in my sleeping ear
Filling my dozing mouth with drowned bonfire ashes
Barely heard footsteps creep away
Chased by motivation, my stalwart savior, guilt's best friend and enemy
Letting me begin again.

On the Bright Side: We're Cracking Up

Today got a little crazy. Nothing I can't handle, of course, but my students were a little louder than usual. Mondays are loud. They've had three days of (I presume) utter silence at home, where they aren't allowed to speak at all. Now, I know this isn't true, but the amount of talking on Mondays leads me to imagine a mute weekend. Today, though, today is Tuesday. What was the dealio?
Well, my loudest student was gone yesterday, so today was his Monday. We got a new student and that always creates a stir in the classroom, so that's explained as well. Oh, and the weather changed, again.
Okay, so under the threat of not being allowed to speak in the lunchroom until next Monday, my students attempted to get back on track.
My hipsters took off their sunglasses, which they've been wearing non-stop. Now I can see their eyes. As one student commented, "Ah man, now I can't roll my eyes whenever I want to." Yup, sorry.
We had to stop during P.E. and discuss the difference between "hitting somebody" and "hitting on somebody." That was quite the conversation. Particularly since one student accused another student of "hitting on" the teacher. Noooooooooo!!!!
One of my students asked, "Will I lose my pants if I just stand here?" I stared at her in puzzlement, then doubled over with laughter, which then led to a coughing fit, which then led to more laughter, then coughing... When I could finally breathe again, she laughed, "I meant points. Do I lose points if I don't participate?" Well, yeah...
We finished the day by discussing the "hands off" policy at our school and all school events. After talking about no kicking, biting, punching, shoving, pushing, elbowing, jostling, etc. We then ventured into the realm of public displays of affection. (My principal let me know that she had to deal with student PDA on a field trip last week. Jeeze.) At the end of spiel, I finished with, "Keep your hands, feet, and lips to yourself." I hope they weren't so busy laughing that they forget the policy...

On the Bright Side:Today Was a New Day

Today ... well today rocked. I can finally breathe through my nose (bidding farewell to the cold that tormented me for the past week) and I got to work early today for a conference that ended up being cancelled. (Phew!)

I've been searching for Sahara Special, which is the go-to book when I have a student who has issues fitting in... and I finally found it, right where I swear I've been looking all along. My students are in love with it already (of course) and I feel like I've found a good friend again. We worked hard in my classroom today: some 2nd drafts, a few algebra equations, an intro to ancient Egyptian history, you know....

My half-day student, who doesn't make friends easily, beamed as she left today ... because the students all shouted, "Bye Laura!" as she left the room. They like her. I knew they would.

The weather was exceptionally warm today, so I cut P.E. 15 minutes short and we lounged on the shady grass, cooling down. I saw another side to these teenagers and I really liked it.

I've been awfully sad lately, so much so that I stopped eating for a while and stopped caring about almost everything that makes me who I am. I think that's over now, at least mostly.

While I packed my storage space up, I somehow discovered the "model stomp" walk that makes me feel red-hot and powerful. (Yeeeeeeesssssss)

And tonight, my ex, with whom I had plans for this Friday, changed the plans. A week ago, (ah hell, last night) I would have been crying, wondering what I did wrong this time. This time, I'm a little bummed. I still love spending time with him and yeah it hurts a little that he made plans with me and is now doing something else, but oh well. I guess he won't see the "model stomp" that he used to like so much...

It's okay, because today was a new day.

On the Bright Side: There's Always Tomorrow

Today... well today kind of sucked. Late to work, missed a meeting, stressed about parent-teacher conferences, saddened (angered, hurt) by a conversation with my ex, I didn't exemplify teacherdom today.

Impatience ruled my mind, impatience with students, traffic, my family, myself, and I didn't give myself to the teaching experience. Usually I learn through/from/with my students and I didn't allow that to happen today.

Listing everything that went wrong today would be a very long entry, so, trust me when I say it kind of sucked. Curling up in my California King-size bed is soothing me, as I listen to Spotify and fall in love with music again. In five minutes, I'll pick up my plan book, grade papers, plan tomorrow, next week, and next month. For now, I'll relax, though, because on the bright side, there's always tomorrow...

On the Bright Side: We Still Love Each Other

Okay. We've been done for over a week now, but he has finally moved to his new home. He's been staying here ever since we started getting along again. It has been good and it's been bad, but definitely not boring. We slept in the same bed at night, and for all intents and purposes have seemed very much like a couple again. . . except for the almost daily, "We're not getting back together. I don't want to be in a relationship with you." It hurts a lot when I think of that, but it would be far crueler to give me false hope.

After a lot of talking, tears on my part, stone-faced determination on his, and a little time and distraction to dull the pain, I started helping him pack last night. It was difficult. I cried in the shower, and he caught me. It upset him and he couldn't understand why I was still sad about him leaving. After all, I had a whole week to prepare myself. Yes, a week in which to forget how his eyes look when he first wakes up in the morning. A week to lose the stitch in my chest when he hugs me. Seven days to bury the flutter in my stomach when I see his number on my cell phone. A whole week to blank out the way my name sounds in his throat, how his hand feels on my hip, what his hair feels like in my fingers, how his neck smells at night, how he smiles when he sees me...

I could write for days about the nuances of my love for him, all the ways in which I celebrate his presence, but that only serves to make my eyes well with tears. I've been letting my health slide enough without adding a little more dehydration to the mix. I average about 4 hours of sleep at night, and my entire body aches at the thought of being without him. I finally started eating again, after quite a few days of living in a 0-calorie haze and even forgot to drink water one day. My skinniest jeans slide down without unbuttoning or unzipping. Yeah, it's time to eat.

Back to the bright side. . . he still loves me and doesn't hate me. He wants to spend time with me. He doesn't want to be exclusive with me (something I'm not used to), but he insists that he will call, and will come see me, ask me to do things with him. I can't wait to see him again and I am cautiously optimistic. I don't trust that he will do as he says. I worry that he will get caught up in his new freedoms. One and a half years is a long time to be in a relationship that has had more than its fair share of stresses. We spent the day together, packing and moving his stuff, shopping for his necessities. I met his roommates and he wants me to come back. I want to be there, snuggling at night, laughing during the day. I want to be at his side, but ours is a volatile situation. At any time, things can change... but for now, we still love each other.

On the Bright Side: I Can Laugh About It

So this post isn't about my classroom. It's okay, because I suspect that this page doesn't have a whole lot of followers. Which isn't really what this is about anyway. It's cathartic for me, and that's enough.

My boyfriend and I have broken up for the final time. I haven't been making him happy and he seems to be miserable when he needs to be around me. I've messed up in so many ways: clinging too tightly, caring too much, controlling whatever I can, and forcing my attention and my love on him. Now he's gone, moving out by Saturday. He has found a new place to live, with roommates his own age and he will be living in a beautifully-kept home. I am happy for him, but I will miss him so much that the thought of not seeing him makes me gasp for breath. (I know, a little pathetic.)

Anyway, he gets so angry sometimes, when I had no intention of hurting his feelings or making him angry. He is super-sensitive towards me and I almost tiptoe around him. Argh! Talking to him doesn't help. We have moments when I think he might still be able to get along with me and that we can be good friends again someday. Then, of course, he says something that hurts me, like, "I'm just tired of dealing with you." Ouch. My bad.

You're wondering, "Exactly when does this sad woman have an opportunity to laugh?" Well, he still does kind things for me, taking up a lot of his own time. It adds to my sadness that he couldn't be happy with me.

Today's laugh is as follows. I had to buy a new laptop. He had wanted to buy one for me and I asked him to wait, since we need to watch our money supply during the summer. Even though we are broken up, he moved all of my old files to the new one, set up the household network, and made sure that the problematic household printer works with my new computer. I have been using the hell out of this thing ever since I got home. I thanked him profusely and he just said, "Well, I said I would do it."

When I discovered that he had even made sure the printer works, I looked at my daughter and laughed, " He even set up the printer. That makes me love him so much more. That little shit!" I haven't laughed much since last Wednesday. I'm glad that I can laugh, even when it concerns him. I will always love him... and possibly need him in my life. He's moving on, following his dreams, and his bliss. I will follow mine, and continue loving him.

On the Bright Side: We Learned About That

STAR testing is nearly over at my school site. We've been taking it slow, only testing in the morning, giving adequate time for the students to work on their tests, and offering encouragement the whole way.

I never imagined that the rough and tumble junior high students who half-heartedly greeted me in September would ever be able to sit still for half an hour, much less concentrate for that long. They've impressed me. The same students who walk an entire circuit of the classroom to get a pencil (and smack a friend in the head on the way) are economical with their time now, planning bathroom visits and drinks so as not to interfere with "The Test."

Kids, who I swear have never heard anything I say, can all of a sudden remember stories that I shared in order to explain a biblical allusion in one of our novels. After the test, one came running up to me, "Ms. D, Ms. D. That guy, the one who took the slaves from Egypt, I remember him. Moses, right? I remember you telling us about that."

One of my 8th graders grinned from ear to ear in triumph, "Ms. D, they had a question about the Magna Carta. Isn't that crazy? We learned about that."

Yup, we learned about that.

On the Bright Side, Turning Talk, Talk, Talk, into Thinking

My students, talk, boy do they love to talk. Talk, talk, talk. If there is an opportunity to talk they take it. I even seem to have students who talk in the bathroom, to themselves, just so they can talk some more.

Mondays are especially rough for my students. They only attend school four days a week, so they have three-day weekends. Monday morning is a constant jabber of voices, often all day. The instant I turn them loose on an assignment, or even just turn my back they start talking again. I am often unsure if they talk so much on Mondays because they were just warming up all weekend or, more sadly, if it's because nobody else listened to them all weekend.

Regardless, Mondays are rough. I've tried various strategies, tricks, etc. to rein in the talking, but with limited success. They write in their journals each morning and I write back to them, starting a conversation with writing. They still feel a need to talk aloud, about all sorts of stuff. I've started something new...

I find a piece of odd news, and use one sentence, or even part of a sentence from an article to be their daily journal writing prompt. They have to fill in the rest of the story, giving me details, adding information, and fleshing out a story when they don't even know what really happened. After they write what they think happened, we talk about it. I take a quick survey to have them summarize their version of events. "It's about a guard beating a prisoner" or "The jockey fell off the horse." Then I read the article to them. Then we discuss it, oh man, do we discuss it. They talk about which student had the closest version, why context clues matter, what life lessons could be learned from the article, and speculate on tomorrow's article. All of them talk, a lot, and I encourage it. They love it and I let them see that talking is useful, a way to reason through problems, but that talking does have its place... and its time, not all the time.

On the Bright Side: Are You Okay?

Teaching a multi-grade class is challenging. Teaching siblings is even more difficult. Teaching junior high age siblings who constantly squabble is well nigh impossible.

Two sisters in my classroom are exceptionally sweet, responsible, and constantly courteous, just not to each other. They interrupt the classroom constantly with their quarrels and the younger sister, a sixth grader, insistently reminds her older sister of what "Mom said... " or "Dad told you..." Her sister, the eighth grader, insults her on a daily basis and never seems to appreciate her. Moments of sisterly affection are rare. Imagine my surprise when the sixth grader fell backwards after asking me for help at my desk.

One moment she was there, the next, falling away from me. Her sister, sitting at the back table, shoved her chair back, jumped to her feet and rushed to the fallen sister's side. The sixth grader, crying, more from embarrassment than anything else, tried to shove her sister away. Refusing to leave her side, the eighth grader brushed the tears from her sister's eyes, whispered, "Are you okay? It's alright, you're okay, shhhh. Don't cry," and helped her to her feet.

It's good to know, deep down, when siblings love each other. It's even better to see it out on display. "Are you okay?"

On the Bright Side: We Know This...

STAR tests can be a dirty phrase in many California classrooms. In my room, it inspires outright terror, resistance, and (not so) nonchalant shrugs. Students in my classroom have issues with a "traditional" classroom setting and some are grade levels below in most subjects.
The most common answers when I ask about test-taking strategies for the test?

"I just guess, Ms. D."
"I make patterns, Ms. D. Last year, I made a butterfly for the Science section. It was cool."

Aaaaahhhhh! So we've spent a lot of time talking about the STAR test: what it tests, why they have to take it, what's done with the results, and so on. Now, most of my students are deciding to attempt at correct answers. And so it begins.

Today, working in partners to review the released test questions, they reminded each other of how to set up equations.

"No, no, add the x's then isolate them."
"Geeze, how could you forget how to find 15% of $138.00? Change the 15% to point 15, of means times, and multiply the 0.15 by $138.00. We know this, guys."

Six months ago, most of my 6th and 7th graders were puzzling over dividing a three-digit number by a one-digit number. Now, they say, when presented with math problems that I never thought we would even reach, "We know this, guys."

On the Bright Side

Recently, my boyfriend brought something to my attention. "Why don't you say anything positive about your class? Do you still like teaching?"
I realized that he was right. I don't say enough about the wonders that take place in my room. There are minor miracles every day. Something happened to these students who used to talk all during my teaching, refuse to do their work and insist that they have never learned anything. They surprise me every day with their interest, their hard work, their thought processes, and the depth of understanding that they show. My attempt will be to remind myself and anybody who sees this, that something good happens every day in my classroom.

Not Needed, but Wanted

I've always believed that a good teacher is one who is able to give her students the tools that they need to get out into the real world and make their own way. She supports them in their weaker areas, praises their strong points, and exposes them to ideas that they may never see otherwise.

These students, who are so needy at the beginning of the year: crying for attention, begging to be heard, clamoring to get personal time, change by the end of that year. They are stronger, smarter, hungrier for knowledge, and so sure of themselves. They believe that they are invincible, and hopefully, they are. Hopefully, these students are just strong enough to go make mistakes and learn from them.

This teacher, who has poured herself into these students, has to let them go. She has to trust that she has done her job well, prepared them as best she could, and fight to loosen those bonds that she worked so hard to form in the past year. These children, who were strangers, the unknown quantity, received her love, attention, time, and wisdom.

I am in a position where I am desperately needed. I fill a job that is tough. I spend four days a week with students who are at nearly their last stop in the educational system. Many of them have bounced from one school to the next. Maybe they were home-schooled, maybe they got kicked out of three public schools in the past four years, maybe they just don't fit anyplace else. Now, they are mine. They have adapted to a "tough" teacher with high expectations. They know that I'm not messing around with their futures. They cry out for my attention, they vie for my time, and I can't get to all of them or meet all of their needs. Somehow, I have to get to them, and help them find what they need.

I spend a lot of my time working to meet other people's needs. I have a daughter with a broken arm. She needs me. I raised her to be independent, to take care of herself, and now I help her button her pants and tie her shoes. She needs me. I'm okay with it, because I need her too.

I have a boyfriend who taught me that my life isn't just about teaching and my daughter. He showed me that it's healthy to trust and to love. He and I needed each other last year. He needed patience, understanding, and love. I needed that from him too. We supported each other, loved each other, and got each other through one of the toughest years of our lives. Now, he needs more. He needs more than I can give him and I have a hard time with that. I'm used to meeting needs and now I can't.

He's branching out, making friends, and having the social life he was meant to have. He was never meant to live on a mountain, hidden away from the world, isolated from the human interaction on which he thrives. He loves to have a million acquaintances and I'm happy with a small circle of close friends. We broke up during the worst month of my life. Everything crashed down on me, and I didn't deal with it well.

We decided to get back together and I have been working extra hard to meet his needs, but I can't. . . and I hate it. He's been working too, trying to balance his new life, school requirements, job duties, and his love for me. He's under tremendous pressure and I'm not helping. I'm not good at loosening up.

It occurs to me that I haven't really addressed my needs in this post. Here they are: I need to know that I'm doing my very best, every minute of every day. I need to hear that I am loved. I need to understand that just because I am not the focus of attention, it doesn't mean that I'm not important. I need to be involved in the lives of the people I love. I need to see patience in the eyes of those who I admire. I need to still feel needed. Above that, I need to feel wanted.

My students get a lot from me and it takes its toll on the people I love. My students walk away at the end of the year, not needing me anymore, but usually wanting me to still be a part of their lives. My personal relationships have no such time limit. The people I love pay far too much for the career I have chosen. I want to make that better. The people I love want me to make it better. I will.

Humans, Metaphors, and Other Things

My life is a mixed metaphor.

Of course, now I can't think of a single metaphor to encapsulate my past week, but I'll try.

I'm finally feeling comfortable in my skin with my students. I have had 4 weeks with these students who were prepared to hate me, where I had to pretend that I didn't care what they thought of me and still take on the weighty task of turning the classroom around.

I came in easy, not my normal, whip-cracking, straight-faced, shoot-from-the-hip self. I eased them into it, the whole time knowing that my previous students would be horrified at the things I was "letting" these kids get away with. They were terrified of who I might turn out to be and I was terrified that I wasn't really any good at being a teacher. Many of them had been with the same teacher for at least three years and were worried that their new teacher would be old and mean. (They were half right.)

I was met with outright resistance at first. It ranged from abject refusal and clear disrespect to whiny attempts at arguing and dramatic tears when "the new teacher" was being unreasonable. I came home the first day with somewhat clear intentions of never coming back. The first two weeks horrified me and I had to cling to my favorite quote on my Facebook page, "One of my superstitions has always been when I started to go anywhere, or to do anything, never to turn back or to stop until the thing intended was accomplished." U.S. Grant

I am not a quitter, but I knew deep down in my soul that I would be searching for a new job come spring. My boyfriend would ask me, "Do you even like your students?" I couldn't answer in the affirmative about all of them. I saw the lovable characteristics in some of them, but roughly twelve of them were not so easy to see. I drifted, not knowing what to do, worried that I would have an outright rebellion. Taylor, my boyfriend, helped me there, "Well, you can either go in hard and whip them into shape, or ease them in. What will work?"

I laughed when an 8th grader who absolutely loved horses asked if I was going to ride them hard and break them in. What do you say to that? I came home almost every day dreading to see what tomorrow had to bring. I swear they had a sign-up sheet somewhere entitled, "Chasing Ms. D Away." I'm nearly positive that at least four of the 6th grade girls were taking turns throwing tantrums. I think I had nightmares about Gremlins with children's faces. They didn't seem human, I had no rapport. They didn't care and I was beginning not to care.

Then something happened. They wrote in their journals and I wrote back. They started responding to me, to my humor, to my intelligence, to my know-how. Some of them started coming around, working to meet my expectations, listening, being quiet when I spoke. I still had to moderate my expectations, adding layer after layer as time went on, increasing my expectations so that we could all be satisfied with the day. "Okay, now you know that I mean business, should I really have to ask you to be quiet for the 14th time?"

P.E. used to be a run for the hills, hide in the bathroom, creep up the stage stairs, hide from the teacher hell of 45 minute increments. Now they line up, ask how much of a warm-up we're doing, partner up for Pilates sit-ups, ballet stretches, arm-ripping push-ups, and anything else I might decide upon. Every day they check to make sure that we're having a Ms. D P.E., meaning that we are organized and have a goal in mind. Believe me, I have some kids who still don't know that their bodies are designed to move and play, but they're learning. They've learned that not only does their teacher say what she means and mean what she says, but that she can play a pretty wicked game of "Hotshots" in her pointy high-heels.

They've learned that this teacher is also human this week. This week, I trembled as I sat down in front of them for my morning greeting. My voice shook as I faced them and said, " I need you to be patient with me today. If you call my name or raise your hand and I don't respond, it's not because I don't want to help you, it's because I'm a little pre-occupied today." Tears filled my eyes as I struggled the words out of my throat, "My boyfriend and I broke up yesterday and I'm having a hard time."

The instant sympathy from these kids who put on such a tough front and pretend that they are untouchable, broke my heart for the second time in an 18-hour period. "Omigod Ms. D, do you need a hug? What can we do? What a jerk! Are you okay? What can I do? Do you need a tissue?" They started to rise from their seats and I waved them back, gently, but knowing I would break down if they got up.

"Guys, we gotta be good, 'cuz we gotta give Ms. D a break. Right, Ms. D?" My toughest 8th grade girl looked at me and then stared down the rest of the group.

I shrugged, "That wasn't really my intention, I just didn't want you to think I was ignoring you."

They all smiled, "We gotcha Ms. D." And they did. . . they had my back. I caught them watching me anxiously as I started them on their morning tasks and guided them through our quick grammar review. Tears welled up when I had a second to think about my failed relationship and one of the 6th grade girls literally vaulted to the sink and grabbed the box of tissues. She put it on my overhead projector and went back to her seat, taking up where she had left off with her work. At several points during that half-hour, they turned to watch me at my desk, as I responded to their journals. Another 8th grade girl jumped up and hugged me because I ducked my head to hide my tears. Again the tissue box appeared at my elbow, courtesy of my 6th grader. Their caring made everything better.

A truly high point occurred when one of my very clever 8th grade boys wrote a beautiful fairy tale about a mean, ugly, horrible teacher who hadn't always been that way, some particular boy/man had broken her heart. Of course, the particular boy/man died in a horrifying manner (it was a fairy tale after all) and the mean, ugly, horrible teacher turned back into the beautiful, caring teacher that she had been before. "I didn't mention your name, Ms. D. Is it okay that I wrote about this," he anxiously asked me.

At that point, that particular boy/man dying horribly had a strange sort of appeal and I am not going to stifle a student's zeal for writing. No way. So, of course it was okay.

Our day went on and the resource teacher stayed in at lunch to talk with me. The conversation halted several times as various students peeked through the open door or rushed my desk to hug me. My colleague, who had been sharing the story of her marriage, which had separations and near-divorces in it, just shook her head and smiled as they finally filed out of the classroom, "Can you see how much they love you? Junior high kids are so self-involved, and yet they're checking on you."

The day finished and they filed out the door, having behaved in a manner very befitting of MY students. I was proud of them and unbelievably touched by their love and care. They had to see me as human, so that I could see them as the very human children that they are. My human students, and I am their very human teacher.

Thank God (and whoever else is out there). . .

Thank God for my daughter.

She cries with me and laughs with me.

She supports me no matter what, because she loves me.

She sings back-up when I can't hit the right notes.

She patiently endures my faux pas and pretends that I'm the best mom in the world.

She loves me when I'm cruel and when I'm weak.

She forgives me when I'm mean and when I embarrass her.

She smiles at me when I can't smile.

She hugs me when I don't deserve it.

She knows when I'm wrong, and corrects it when she needs to.

She's willing to drop everything to rescue me, even though I'm supposed to rescue her.

She supports me.

She loves me.

Thank God for my daughter.

Nothing Prepares You

Nothing prepares you for the call telling you that your baby is lying on the floor crying because she broke her arm. None of my prior experiences helped me get into my car with my boyfriend comforting me and helping me be strong. I've never had to drive with tears in my eyes and frenzied worries racing through my brain.
Self-blame was the immediate response. "I knew I should have talked her out of going to that party," knowing full well that my worries had not actually involved a broken arm. "I shouldn't have driven all the way home. I should have stayed at the skating rink," again knowing full well that she wanted me to go, knowing I would have been bored out of my mind.
Driving to the hospital, I made the necessary phone calls, alerting my mom, my anchor, my rock, to the situation. Calling back, I cried as my dad told me she had already left and therefore wouldn't know that my daughter was going to a different hospital. I cried harder as he reassured me over my nightmarish what-ifs and "How am I going to pay for this?" His calm voice echoed the comforting voice of my boyfriend and I became strong.
Walking into the emergency room before the ambulance arrived, I hastened to dry my tears and remember my baby's social security number. (Note: She is twelve, but she'll be my baby until we're both in our hundreds.)
Waiting in Trauma 2, I hid my horror as they unwrapped the temporary splint and my baby's misshaped, elongated, nightmare of a broken arm became visible. I stifled my sobs and hid my tears as she apologized for falling and told me, "Mama, it hurts." My boyfriend turned away as she cried, because he didn't want her to see the horror on his face.
I numbly nodded, initialed, signed, dated, listened blankly and let my daughter squeeze my hand to pieces as they placed the x-ray plate under her arm. I left the room and winced as they took the x-rays, hearing her whimper every time they moved her arm.
The ER doc and surgeon conferred and talked about the commonplace qualities of the situation, not callously, but matter of fact, as they should. Her nurse laughed as he told her that she at least had a good reason for falling. She and I both were horrified as he showed her his scarred arm and explained, " I got this in 7th grade when I tried to jump over the tennis net. At least you were doing something worthwhile."
She clutched my hand as they prepared her for surgery, to push her ulna back through her torn skin and realign everything in her precious right arm. I reassured her that everything would be okay and she whispered to me, "Mama, I'm scared." I kissed her and sent her away, worried about everything that could go wrong and trying hard to cling to what could go right.
Nothing prepared me for the waiting, wondering how long it would take, hoping I could be there when she woke up, in case she was still scared. I tried to watch tv, tried to get comfortable, tried to convince myself that she would be fine. I sent Taylor home, because he had work in 8 hours. I convinced my mom that she needed her sleep... and I waited.

Bulletin Board Love

Tonight I met with two fabulous teachers at the Plaza Grill. While sitting and discussing classroom matters, textbooks, and all manner of other "teacher stuff," it hit me how lucky I am. My daughter is beautiful, creative, and intelligent, my boyfriend is loving, understanding, and supportive, and I am lucky enough to teach.

While I don't have a classroom to call my own and students eagerly waiting to see what the next day in Ms. D's room will be like, I do have amazing colleagues, opportunities to teach where I can, and a librarian who is willing to let me help her with bulletin boards.

Have I told you how much I love bulletin boards? I love, love, love, love them. I live to think of new ideas. I love to cut the butcher paper, cloth, wrapping paper, tissue paper; whatever I decide to use to back the bulletin boards. Unrolling the long pieces of border and stapling them in neat, precise frames fills me with satisfaction. I crave the feel of the letters as I neatly arrange them in clever phrases or meaningful questions. Maps, posters, pictures, books, articles, student work, art replicas, masks, t-shirts, anything and everything that relates to my students, the community, the school, or our units of study cry out for display. I hunger to create vast displays that showcase my students and/or add to to their understanding of a concept. Bulletin boards are my reward for a long day of work. I always saved them for last. . .

So I began my daughter's school year as I have begun them for the past 4 years, in her school library. I sign in at the office front desk, clip the visitor badge to my shirt, and eagerly walk to the library. Blank corkboard greets me on nearly every wall and butcher paper lies across a library cart, practically crying out to be stapled. I greet Terry, the librarian, (who is feeding my bulletin board hunger) and I get to work, cutting out letters, arranging items, stapling, push-pinning, stepping back to look and rearranging until I get it right. I work for three hours and don't get nearly enough done, but I'm busy, I'm at a school, I'm surrounded by books, I'm being useful. She thinks that I'm helping her, but she is helping me far more than she can ever know.

I have more job applications to complete and I suppose that there is a slim chance that some school, somewhere nearby, may decide that they need me this year. Until then, or even perhaps until next year, whenever I can, I will do whatever bulletin boards need to be done in the library.

I wonder if changing them every week is too often?

What do I do now?

School starts for my daughter in a matter of hours. She's excited, but she's worried too. She worries that her mom may turn into a basketcase... I am too. You see, our lives have been about teaching for as long as she can remember. She attended classes at the local junior college prenatally. Later, at 3 years old, she attended my education classes at Humboldt State University, sometimes taking notes so that she would be proficient by the time her turn came to attend college classes. Through the long hours of classes, student teaching, my 12 hour days at my first real teaching job, her mom has always been a teacher. And now, she's not.

I know, I know, teachers aren't made, they just are, but what happens when there isn't anybody to teach? I understand that there are plenty of students out there who don't have teachers, but I don't have anybody to teach.

Jobs have been available for the past month. I saw on one site that the same application had been downloaded 541 times. I'm hoping that the real number is only one quarter of that, because if there are even 100 out-of-work teachers in this tiny area, then something is drastically wrong. I've applied, gotten my rejection letters, or no notice at all, and even interviewed for a position which seemed made for me. I placed second out of 45 people. Now I know how the runner-up in a beauty pageant feels. I always wondered, now I know. The difference is, a beauty queen isn't relying on the income from winning, I am.

At my doctor's appointment this morning, the nurse practitioner mentioned that her husband, a laid-off teacher, is sitting at home waiting for call-backs too. She has her income still, they can handle a year of lay-off time without being on the street. I can't.

So my attention turns now to jobs for which I am drastically over-qualified, and yet under-qualified. No, I have never been a secretary, but I've written hundreds of messages, notes, letters and answered many irate phone calls. No, I have not done extensive data entry, but I can a run a grading system like nobody's business and even figured out how to send the damn grade checks through e-mail. No, I never went to nursing school, but I can't even count the number of knees, elbows, hands and other bruised, scraped, cut body parts I have bandaged, cleaned, and treated with antibiotic ointment. No, I did not learn to be a landscaper, but a woman on her own learns how to wield a weed whacker and pruning shears. No, customer service is not my dream job, but I have enthralled children with my history stories which are "so much better than the textbook, Ms. D!" and showed non-readers that books don't hurt and might even be enjoyable.

I've made kids smile and jump for joy and I've cried for them when they are down. I've been called Mom, Dad, Auntie, Grandma, and even Uncle once, and I've answered to them all. I didn't go to school to become a psychologist, a fortune teller, or even a mind-reader, but I did learn to read the set of a child's shoulders and predict how his morning had already gone. I also figured out how to make the rest of the day go a lot better for that child and worried when he went home that night. I learned that the toughest, meanest acting child still needs an adult to say "I believe in you," even while that child is telling the adult that she hates them.

I don't know what to be now that I can't find a job teaching. I have a family to support, and subbing doesn't pay the bills. I devoted a lot of time to become who I am, and it will be hard to become anyone else. I'm truly not trying to whine and I can't believe that this is hitting me this hard. It's amazing how alone I feel, because I can't show my daughter how horrifying this is to me. She knows, though, I don't usually sit on the couch all day in my pajamas, with red-rimmed eyes. My friends, mostly teachers, are incredibly supportive, but inside they have to be thinking, "Thank God I have my job." And rightly so, teachers should be grateful to have their jobs. They should be thankful that they have somebody to teach. . .

Now my daughter asks if we have enough folders for her classes, because she is finally a full-fledged junior high student. Seventh grade will need a lot of folders. I tell her she is in luck, because teachers have a lot of folders, and pens, and paper, and notebooks, and anything else a child could possibly need to survive.

Maybe I'll need to be something else for a while, a secretary, a gardener, a data entry clerk, but I'll always be a teacher. . . with plenty of folders.

My Certainties in a Time of Uncertainty

As a teacher who has fallen prey to the cutbacks in our economy, I am now a ship adrift. My life, for the past four years, has revolved around a tiny classroom in the southern dregs of one of the poorest counties in the state. My students, my classroom, my teaching, filled my days, (and sometimes sleepless nights) with questions, worries, joy, heartbreak, and the blinding flash of students learning.
Now I seek to fill my summer with professional development and the camaraderie of teachers. We sit and learn. We write, we laugh, we wonder how we can capture the idyllic congenial atmosphere. One more week.

Niggling Worries, Whining, and Wondering

I work in a tiny school where professional development is usually done online or even more rarely, on-site. I recently joined my area's local chapter of the National Writing Project where I am continually inspired to do more, and do it better than I ever did before. As with any source, application, or workshop that I find to be wonderful, I try to share it and encourage my colleagues to do the same. The usual response is that they are far too busy.
I get it, duh, we all are. I am a relatively new teacher (my 4th year full-time) and I'm frightened by the prospect of being too busy to learn new things.

Is that what happens when you have been teaching for a while?
Do you know so much that you can't learn anything new?
Are you too busy knowing what you know and doing it?

"If you hold a cat by the tail you learn things you cannot learn any other way." Mark Twain

"Everybody who is incapable of learning has taken to teaching." Oscar Wilde