Monday, December 29, 2008
Crystal Ball
Sarah Palin's daughter had a baby boy today, according to People magazine, which I saw in a Yahoo! headline. Now here's the conundrum I see: what are all of those Sarah Palin supporters going to do when their daughters start getting pregnant at an early age, and think it's okay because of girls like Sarah Palin's daughter? Can you imagine the argument? "But mom, there are others who have done it! Just look at Sarah Palin's daughter." I can see it now in the headlines, and it will be beautiful.
Friday, December 26, 2008
January 1986
There once was a time when school was canceled for two weeks. In the forecasts which led up to a blizzard, our local meteorologist, Charles Middleton, who often forecasted the weather through long, under-breath belches, told us all not to worry; the storm would be only a small shower, a flurry at best.
The day before the storm came, I sat in my mom's car outside of my piano teacher's house while we waited for my sister to finish her lesson. The sky was a steel sheet of gray, and not a single sun beam shone through. My classmates and I spoke of the snow, and even though we were told there would only be flurries, we still held out hope for a cataclysmic storm that would shut down schools and ring in the days of play and sleep. Looking at that sky, I knew there was hope for more than a flurry.
That night I chose not to do my homework. I placed my bets on school closing. It was a risky bet to make, for the odds were more in favor for us going to school than not going. Still, I took my chances.
The next next morning my new radio alarm clock, given to me just that previous Christmas, blared those poppy 80s tunes, and in the midst, the DJ crooned, "Bedford County Schools are closed!" Could it be?
Upon hearing this I jumped out of bed and peered outside of my bedroom window. Unfortunately, when one lives out in the country, there are no street lights to shed any light on whether or not it snowed the night before. I touched the glass, and sure enough, it was very cold. Just cold enough, I thought, to bring snow.
I ran downstairs. No one was awake yet. I tip-toed over the cold slate floor in the foyer and went to the front door to turn on the outside floodlights to witness the glorious event that unfolded before my eyes. Snow. Everywhere. The sidewalk leading up to the house was completely covered, and even better, the grass, which was the true measure of the snow's depth, had been put to sleep by the vast blanket of snow. I quickly turned out the light, ran back upstairs and quietly jumped back into my still-warm bed and hoped there would be even more of the delicious white goodness the next time I awoke.
I awoke again around eight. The snow came down in downy white puffs, and I could barely see the old gray tobacco barn which stood two hundred feet from my room. I turned on the radio and heard the DJ excitedly list off the many school districts that had to close that day. I was elated, not only because of the snow, but also because of the bet I placed, and won. Surely no teacher would remember that homework, right?
My dad was not so pleased. As the owner and manager of a small furniture refinishing company, he had to get to work. The only problem was that back then, no one plowed the roads out in rural Virginia. (Incidentally, this is why I do not want to live out in the country ever again.) Still, he thought, he had to be at work. He stood at the back porch to our house and grimaced at the thermometer while saying, "This isn't a blizzard! It's thirty-three degrees!" I contended that the temperature didn't matter, it was still a blizzard. I didn't understand why he wasn't excited too!
After dressing in layer upon layer, my dad climbed aboard our John Deer tractor, turned on the ignitions and gurgled and roared his way down the country road. He had to go at least ten miles to get to work. At a speed of about seven miles an hour, it would take him over an hour to get each way to work. As an uprooted New Yorker, I doubt he ever thought it would take him an hour to get to work ever again. But then, he never really knew how life in the country could really be.
The snow lasted for days and days. Each time it snowed, I did a snow dance in the living room. After a while my parents thought it was working and they asked me to stop dancing.
My mom didn't have an easy time with the snow either. While my dad ran the business, she ran the horse stable. At that time we had close to fifteen horses. The barn was three-quarters of a mile down the road, which isn't far, but it may as well have been twenty miles away when we had no four-wheel drive vehicles and a foot and a half of snow, with drifts up to three feet, in between you and the barn.
One day, I had actually become bored of the snow, and my mom decided to take me with her up to the barn. Along with us we took our Golden Retriever, Buster. My mom stood at a height of five feet three inches, and I was a little over four feet tall and only weighed about eighty pounds, give or take. We needed help getting through the snow, and Buster was our only choice. As we trudged our way up to the barn, there were times when the snow was so deep that I was in it up to my chest. I grabbed hold of Buster's collar to help me get through the drifts. Even though he was smaller than me, he was lighter, so his paws didn't go all the way down to the ground. He made for an excellent anchor. After a good, long time, we made it up to the barn. I helped water the horses while my mom fed them their mix of oats and barley. After spending only half an hour in the barn, we turned around and did it all over again. To this day, I have never been as cold and wet as I was on that day.
During those two weeks I discovered the warm joy that is oatmeal. There is nothing else that will completely fill your stomach and warm a cold body more than oatmeal. I also discovered that banana oatmeal is NOT very good.
I discovered how to make beaded bracelets and dresses out of scrap fabric. I also played with my Barbies and cleaned my room, which was a rarity in those days. I saw my dad plow the driveway many times, and much to his chagrin, a new snow shower came, as if to say, "Enough! Take a break! Relax!"
Eventually the snow stopped and life continued as usual. We lost our Spring Break to the snow, which was okay for me because I was sick for that whole week anyway, since I had bronchitis; I had my vacation anyway.
There are simple dreams and wishes of children everywhere. Among the wishes: a huge birthday cake for your birthday, a dollar bill for losing a tooth, and no matter where a child lives, the hope that snow will bring rest and play to those most deserving. As an adult living in a coastal area, I easily think we will not have snow. But then again, I also know that some forecasters get it wrong.
The day before the storm came, I sat in my mom's car outside of my piano teacher's house while we waited for my sister to finish her lesson. The sky was a steel sheet of gray, and not a single sun beam shone through. My classmates and I spoke of the snow, and even though we were told there would only be flurries, we still held out hope for a cataclysmic storm that would shut down schools and ring in the days of play and sleep. Looking at that sky, I knew there was hope for more than a flurry.
That night I chose not to do my homework. I placed my bets on school closing. It was a risky bet to make, for the odds were more in favor for us going to school than not going. Still, I took my chances.
The next next morning my new radio alarm clock, given to me just that previous Christmas, blared those poppy 80s tunes, and in the midst, the DJ crooned, "Bedford County Schools are closed!" Could it be?
Upon hearing this I jumped out of bed and peered outside of my bedroom window. Unfortunately, when one lives out in the country, there are no street lights to shed any light on whether or not it snowed the night before. I touched the glass, and sure enough, it was very cold. Just cold enough, I thought, to bring snow.
I ran downstairs. No one was awake yet. I tip-toed over the cold slate floor in the foyer and went to the front door to turn on the outside floodlights to witness the glorious event that unfolded before my eyes. Snow. Everywhere. The sidewalk leading up to the house was completely covered, and even better, the grass, which was the true measure of the snow's depth, had been put to sleep by the vast blanket of snow. I quickly turned out the light, ran back upstairs and quietly jumped back into my still-warm bed and hoped there would be even more of the delicious white goodness the next time I awoke.
I awoke again around eight. The snow came down in downy white puffs, and I could barely see the old gray tobacco barn which stood two hundred feet from my room. I turned on the radio and heard the DJ excitedly list off the many school districts that had to close that day. I was elated, not only because of the snow, but also because of the bet I placed, and won. Surely no teacher would remember that homework, right?
My dad was not so pleased. As the owner and manager of a small furniture refinishing company, he had to get to work. The only problem was that back then, no one plowed the roads out in rural Virginia. (Incidentally, this is why I do not want to live out in the country ever again.) Still, he thought, he had to be at work. He stood at the back porch to our house and grimaced at the thermometer while saying, "This isn't a blizzard! It's thirty-three degrees!" I contended that the temperature didn't matter, it was still a blizzard. I didn't understand why he wasn't excited too!
After dressing in layer upon layer, my dad climbed aboard our John Deer tractor, turned on the ignitions and gurgled and roared his way down the country road. He had to go at least ten miles to get to work. At a speed of about seven miles an hour, it would take him over an hour to get each way to work. As an uprooted New Yorker, I doubt he ever thought it would take him an hour to get to work ever again. But then, he never really knew how life in the country could really be.
The snow lasted for days and days. Each time it snowed, I did a snow dance in the living room. After a while my parents thought it was working and they asked me to stop dancing.
My mom didn't have an easy time with the snow either. While my dad ran the business, she ran the horse stable. At that time we had close to fifteen horses. The barn was three-quarters of a mile down the road, which isn't far, but it may as well have been twenty miles away when we had no four-wheel drive vehicles and a foot and a half of snow, with drifts up to three feet, in between you and the barn.
One day, I had actually become bored of the snow, and my mom decided to take me with her up to the barn. Along with us we took our Golden Retriever, Buster. My mom stood at a height of five feet three inches, and I was a little over four feet tall and only weighed about eighty pounds, give or take. We needed help getting through the snow, and Buster was our only choice. As we trudged our way up to the barn, there were times when the snow was so deep that I was in it up to my chest. I grabbed hold of Buster's collar to help me get through the drifts. Even though he was smaller than me, he was lighter, so his paws didn't go all the way down to the ground. He made for an excellent anchor. After a good, long time, we made it up to the barn. I helped water the horses while my mom fed them their mix of oats and barley. After spending only half an hour in the barn, we turned around and did it all over again. To this day, I have never been as cold and wet as I was on that day.
During those two weeks I discovered the warm joy that is oatmeal. There is nothing else that will completely fill your stomach and warm a cold body more than oatmeal. I also discovered that banana oatmeal is NOT very good.
I discovered how to make beaded bracelets and dresses out of scrap fabric. I also played with my Barbies and cleaned my room, which was a rarity in those days. I saw my dad plow the driveway many times, and much to his chagrin, a new snow shower came, as if to say, "Enough! Take a break! Relax!"
Eventually the snow stopped and life continued as usual. We lost our Spring Break to the snow, which was okay for me because I was sick for that whole week anyway, since I had bronchitis; I had my vacation anyway.
There are simple dreams and wishes of children everywhere. Among the wishes: a huge birthday cake for your birthday, a dollar bill for losing a tooth, and no matter where a child lives, the hope that snow will bring rest and play to those most deserving. As an adult living in a coastal area, I easily think we will not have snow. But then again, I also know that some forecasters get it wrong.
Christmas
The holidays are good for many reasons; not just for being with family and friends, not just for receiving presents, but also for taking stock of your own life and the people in it.
This year my mother-in-law came into town to go to church with me, B and my dad. I was so happy to have them with me in church, and I was also very happy to recognize many faces in the congregation as well as up on the altar.
My MIL told me that she was invited to go to a Christmas service at her nieces, but instead she told her niece that new traditions were starting, and her place is now here with us. She doesn't know (yet), but that does mean a lot to me.
Growing up, I always wanted to have family members come see us for Christmas, but our parents weren't the social types. We went to NY when I was very little, but after a few times of traveling up and down the east coast for Christmas, that stopped, especially when my grandmother passed away when I was eight. My grandma also came down to see us several times, but again, after her passing, Christmas became a much smaller and quieter affair. I know B has a hard time with many people in his house, but I like having people come and go, and I also want to have a house that is a stopping/meeting place for many, during the holidays.
I feel very blessed this year. Knowing how people are struggling this year gives me a sense of humility and luckiness at the same time. People's lives can change in an instant, and in the meantime, it's important to appreciate all that we have and not lust after things we do not.
This year my mother-in-law came into town to go to church with me, B and my dad. I was so happy to have them with me in church, and I was also very happy to recognize many faces in the congregation as well as up on the altar.
My MIL told me that she was invited to go to a Christmas service at her nieces, but instead she told her niece that new traditions were starting, and her place is now here with us. She doesn't know (yet), but that does mean a lot to me.
Growing up, I always wanted to have family members come see us for Christmas, but our parents weren't the social types. We went to NY when I was very little, but after a few times of traveling up and down the east coast for Christmas, that stopped, especially when my grandmother passed away when I was eight. My grandma also came down to see us several times, but again, after her passing, Christmas became a much smaller and quieter affair. I know B has a hard time with many people in his house, but I like having people come and go, and I also want to have a house that is a stopping/meeting place for many, during the holidays.
I feel very blessed this year. Knowing how people are struggling this year gives me a sense of humility and luckiness at the same time. People's lives can change in an instant, and in the meantime, it's important to appreciate all that we have and not lust after things we do not.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Colorblind dogs
How do we know dogs can't see color?
Have we ever asked a dog, "can you see this?" to which they respond, "Of course not, I'm a dog!"?
It's along the same lines of people thinking animals have no feelings.
Anyone who has a pet knows that's not true, and any animal who hunts brightly colors birds would say that they most certainly CAN see color.
Really.
It's ridiculous.
Have we ever asked a dog, "can you see this?" to which they respond, "Of course not, I'm a dog!"?
It's along the same lines of people thinking animals have no feelings.
Anyone who has a pet knows that's not true, and any animal who hunts brightly colors birds would say that they most certainly CAN see color.
Really.
It's ridiculous.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Some things take forever
Why is it that we can take years to figure out why we are the way we are, when usually what influenced us to become who we are happened in a matter of months, weeks, days and minutes? It's almost unfair.
In the past year many things about who I am have started to come together.
So here are the basic facts about me, but only recently have I started to think about why. Knowing why really doesn't matter, but it can be interesting to think about. Maybe I can affect the future by knowing what I know. Anyway, here goes:
1. I am sensitive--apologetically so. Everyone who knows me knows that I am sensitive. I am apologetically sensitive. I actually feel guilty for becoming upset when I am upset. Why am I like this? Well, first of all, I know it runs in the family. My nephew is amazingly sensitive, and he is only three. I also know that sensitivity is part of giftedness. It can be hard to teach different versions of me. I can teach them because I understand how they think in many more ways than other teachers...and sometimes I know that how they are is not a good way to be, not always at least. It's as much a curse as it is a blessing. The more I teach the gifted kids, the more I see myself in them.
2. I am the peacemaker in my family. Studies have shown that a person's personality is usually influenced by the role of the person in her/her family. In my family, I am the peacemaker. I am often the one in the middle of an argument, and I am usually the one trying to make everyone feel better, even when I feel like hell. I am not sure why I have that role, but I definitely want to make sure everyone is okay, and I want to make sure I am helping where and when I can. I enjoy it. It does make me happy--except when it doesn't. When I was caught in fights with my mom and dad, there was nothing I could do, and it made me miserable. When I feel helpless to do anything, I am not happy.
3. I am also a perfectionist. Yes, it's true. I want everything to be right. I want everything to be okay. Of course life just doesn't work that way, and reconciling with that is not always easy. In my profession I have learned that perfection is nearly impossible. Everyone has different standards and expectations, which make achieving perfection nearly impossible. There is always room for improvement. But I must admit, hearing someone say, "Perfect!" is music to my ears. I suppose that comes from being a classically trained pianist where perfection is the ultimate goal. When I work towards achieving that goal, I feel calm and at peace. When I am not working towards that goal, I feel lost. I am finally okay with having a 3.94 GPA in grad school.
I have also learned a few other things in the past year.
5. Now that I have discovered my cousin in Seattle, although she is a 5th cousin, I know why I think like I do, and I know where my sense of humor comes from. And cousin, if you're reading this, you look very much like my mother's side...but your mouth is a little different. (ha!) Otherwise, I know we share the same genes, I am certain. There is a comfort in that, which is indescribable. It make me more at ease with who I am. I had heard stories of my cousins in Richmond, and I had heard very good things about them. My mother told horrible stories, but I learned to question everything she said. I am glad she lied. If I could describe it in any way, it's like knowing that there's a fabulous jewel out there, and that it was once yours, only you lost it, but you don't know where it is or what it even looks like, but you know it's out there.
6. For years, I have had this sense about business that I have always had. When I was in the sixth grade, I turned my school's little pencil cart into a veritable store. I made signs to advertise and I even worked with the layout of the little cart. In high school I always scrutinized my teachers' methods to figure out what would be more effective as a teacher, and what would increase student learning; and what I came up with is actually what I do now as a teacher. When I teach kids, I pay attention to the books they read mostly because I want to know what the trends are for publishers. Yes, I do care about what they read, but it's also from a business point of view. Just today I realized where all of that came from, because it has always seemed to be a natural ability to me. Alas, it is not natural at all.
It's actually from my father owning and running a business for most of my childhood. He owned a woodworking business where he refinished furniture. He also sold woodworking tools in his store. I remember my mother taking pictures of our furniture to display some sort of technique. He would post those pictures in ads, and my mom would write the copy for those ads. They placed ads in the newspaper and I would often go behind my mom to read what she had written for the ad. Usually I thought something needed to be fixed.
I also questioned why there were certain commercials on during various times of the day. I also noticed that the shows with fewer viewers had the crappier ads...and my poor dad's ad was in there too. I knew where we stood in the mix of things.
The one thing that drove me crazy with my dad's store was its filth! Yes, there was a workroom where they did the work, but there was also a "showroom," but what he was trying to show, I never knew. I used to go up to the store after school and I always started dusting and straightening; not because I liked to clean, but because I didn't see how he would sell anything in that room. Of course the nature of his business was not to do with that room, but to me, it was not acceptable. I wasn't even ten at the time. Later on, I went with my dad to price and weigh screws for sale in a mail order company. I did that until he shut down his business when I was 15. I wonder if my sister had any clue about how I thought about things.
7. Tonight B and I got into a little argument. At the end of it he pointed out that I am non-confrontational competitive. Essentially I am very competitive, but in a non-confrontational way. This means that I will do my best to outperform my counterparts, and I always wanted to be the top sales girl when I worked in retail, but I do not like one-on-one competition. It completely conflicts with who I am. In a work environment, I believe my work is a reflection of who I am, and I let my bosses and students be the judges. To be honest, I love it when my students outperform the other classes. I believe they are a reflection of me, and so when I see the scores, and they do well, I love it. I love that I helped them get there...and they aren't even the so-called "highest" of the students this year.
So yes, I am now 31, and I am only really starting to figure some of these things out. Sometimes my past comes knocking to remind me that it's there. Sometimes it shows up at the worst time. But I am glad my brain keeps working on the puzzle pieces, trying to fit everything together one piece at a time. I don't know what the final picture will be. Maybe there is no final picture. Once it's complete, that's it!
So I guess I am okay to be a continual work in progress.
(And yes, I know this blog is a bit egocentric, but sometimes it's good to think things through.)
In the past year many things about who I am have started to come together.
So here are the basic facts about me, but only recently have I started to think about why. Knowing why really doesn't matter, but it can be interesting to think about. Maybe I can affect the future by knowing what I know. Anyway, here goes:
1. I am sensitive--apologetically so. Everyone who knows me knows that I am sensitive. I am apologetically sensitive. I actually feel guilty for becoming upset when I am upset. Why am I like this? Well, first of all, I know it runs in the family. My nephew is amazingly sensitive, and he is only three. I also know that sensitivity is part of giftedness. It can be hard to teach different versions of me. I can teach them because I understand how they think in many more ways than other teachers...and sometimes I know that how they are is not a good way to be, not always at least. It's as much a curse as it is a blessing. The more I teach the gifted kids, the more I see myself in them.
2. I am the peacemaker in my family. Studies have shown that a person's personality is usually influenced by the role of the person in her/her family. In my family, I am the peacemaker. I am often the one in the middle of an argument, and I am usually the one trying to make everyone feel better, even when I feel like hell. I am not sure why I have that role, but I definitely want to make sure everyone is okay, and I want to make sure I am helping where and when I can. I enjoy it. It does make me happy--except when it doesn't. When I was caught in fights with my mom and dad, there was nothing I could do, and it made me miserable. When I feel helpless to do anything, I am not happy.
3. I am also a perfectionist. Yes, it's true. I want everything to be right. I want everything to be okay. Of course life just doesn't work that way, and reconciling with that is not always easy. In my profession I have learned that perfection is nearly impossible. Everyone has different standards and expectations, which make achieving perfection nearly impossible. There is always room for improvement. But I must admit, hearing someone say, "Perfect!" is music to my ears. I suppose that comes from being a classically trained pianist where perfection is the ultimate goal. When I work towards achieving that goal, I feel calm and at peace. When I am not working towards that goal, I feel lost. I am finally okay with having a 3.94 GPA in grad school.
I have also learned a few other things in the past year.
5. Now that I have discovered my cousin in Seattle, although she is a 5th cousin, I know why I think like I do, and I know where my sense of humor comes from. And cousin, if you're reading this, you look very much like my mother's side...but your mouth is a little different. (ha!) Otherwise, I know we share the same genes, I am certain. There is a comfort in that, which is indescribable. It make me more at ease with who I am. I had heard stories of my cousins in Richmond, and I had heard very good things about them. My mother told horrible stories, but I learned to question everything she said. I am glad she lied. If I could describe it in any way, it's like knowing that there's a fabulous jewel out there, and that it was once yours, only you lost it, but you don't know where it is or what it even looks like, but you know it's out there.
6. For years, I have had this sense about business that I have always had. When I was in the sixth grade, I turned my school's little pencil cart into a veritable store. I made signs to advertise and I even worked with the layout of the little cart. In high school I always scrutinized my teachers' methods to figure out what would be more effective as a teacher, and what would increase student learning; and what I came up with is actually what I do now as a teacher. When I teach kids, I pay attention to the books they read mostly because I want to know what the trends are for publishers. Yes, I do care about what they read, but it's also from a business point of view. Just today I realized where all of that came from, because it has always seemed to be a natural ability to me. Alas, it is not natural at all.
It's actually from my father owning and running a business for most of my childhood. He owned a woodworking business where he refinished furniture. He also sold woodworking tools in his store. I remember my mother taking pictures of our furniture to display some sort of technique. He would post those pictures in ads, and my mom would write the copy for those ads. They placed ads in the newspaper and I would often go behind my mom to read what she had written for the ad. Usually I thought something needed to be fixed.
I also questioned why there were certain commercials on during various times of the day. I also noticed that the shows with fewer viewers had the crappier ads...and my poor dad's ad was in there too. I knew where we stood in the mix of things.
The one thing that drove me crazy with my dad's store was its filth! Yes, there was a workroom where they did the work, but there was also a "showroom," but what he was trying to show, I never knew. I used to go up to the store after school and I always started dusting and straightening; not because I liked to clean, but because I didn't see how he would sell anything in that room. Of course the nature of his business was not to do with that room, but to me, it was not acceptable. I wasn't even ten at the time. Later on, I went with my dad to price and weigh screws for sale in a mail order company. I did that until he shut down his business when I was 15. I wonder if my sister had any clue about how I thought about things.
7. Tonight B and I got into a little argument. At the end of it he pointed out that I am non-confrontational competitive. Essentially I am very competitive, but in a non-confrontational way. This means that I will do my best to outperform my counterparts, and I always wanted to be the top sales girl when I worked in retail, but I do not like one-on-one competition. It completely conflicts with who I am. In a work environment, I believe my work is a reflection of who I am, and I let my bosses and students be the judges. To be honest, I love it when my students outperform the other classes. I believe they are a reflection of me, and so when I see the scores, and they do well, I love it. I love that I helped them get there...and they aren't even the so-called "highest" of the students this year.
So yes, I am now 31, and I am only really starting to figure some of these things out. Sometimes my past comes knocking to remind me that it's there. Sometimes it shows up at the worst time. But I am glad my brain keeps working on the puzzle pieces, trying to fit everything together one piece at a time. I don't know what the final picture will be. Maybe there is no final picture. Once it's complete, that's it!
So I guess I am okay to be a continual work in progress.
(And yes, I know this blog is a bit egocentric, but sometimes it's good to think things through.)
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Let the Holidays Begin!
Now that school is out, I feel as though the holidays can begin. Today I'm going to Richmond to make and decorate cookies with my friend in Richmond while her husband and B hang out for the day. Even though my eyes are half open from waking up, and I can hear the coffee brewing, I am alert and excited for today.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Throwing out the clock
As a teacher, I live and die by the clock.
On days off, I am still scanning the room for the time, even though it usually doesn't matter.
Last week I was talking to another teacher and she said she was literally giving her own children 45 minutes to have a cookie party at home. Wow. Forty-five minutes. I bet those kids got to go crazy with that much time!
A few minutes ago I scanned the clock on this computer and had the thought that perhaps I could get all 18 Christmas cards addressed by 7:00. That was four minutes ago.
But then I decided that that was a but much, and if I had kids, I would give them 30 minutes to eat, 10 minutes to wash and 5 minutes to change into jammies, which is a bit much.
So over my Christmas Break, I am challenging myself to throw out the clock. Beyond going to church on Christmas Eve by a certain time, and planning for meals, I will not keep a schedule.
It has been said that not keeping a clock in the bedroom is better for sleep. I think it's probably better for more than just that reason, especially if you are sharing your bed with someone else. (wink wink) So over winter break, away with the clock!
I just typed this in three minutes. Not too bad! But the fact that I just counted how long that took only proves the point: I need a break.
On days off, I am still scanning the room for the time, even though it usually doesn't matter.
Last week I was talking to another teacher and she said she was literally giving her own children 45 minutes to have a cookie party at home. Wow. Forty-five minutes. I bet those kids got to go crazy with that much time!
A few minutes ago I scanned the clock on this computer and had the thought that perhaps I could get all 18 Christmas cards addressed by 7:00. That was four minutes ago.
But then I decided that that was a but much, and if I had kids, I would give them 30 minutes to eat, 10 minutes to wash and 5 minutes to change into jammies, which is a bit much.
So over my Christmas Break, I am challenging myself to throw out the clock. Beyond going to church on Christmas Eve by a certain time, and planning for meals, I will not keep a schedule.
It has been said that not keeping a clock in the bedroom is better for sleep. I think it's probably better for more than just that reason, especially if you are sharing your bed with someone else. (wink wink) So over winter break, away with the clock!
I just typed this in three minutes. Not too bad! But the fact that I just counted how long that took only proves the point: I need a break.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Me being me
Last night B and I went to a holiday party at a co-worker's house. Her house is gorgeous. She's an art teacher who's married to a military officer, who is currently in Afghanistan for 7 months, and apparently he is paid well for risking his life. (I do support our troops being in Afghanistan.)
Anyway, as I mingled with B for about an hour before leaving, I was judging people's moods, as if to see that everyone was okay. It wasn't a forced effort, just something I do, and it's something I have always done. It's a natural instinct that I have, but in a couple of people's cases, I felt as if all was not well for a few of the people there, and of course today I am hoping that everything is okay. I could be completely wrong about my analysis, but usually I can tell, either through facial expression or body language, that everything isn't okay. It could just be that they didn't want to be there, or that something else was up, but here I am wondering if they are okay.
I think sometimes I wish I could just take everything as it is and not question what I'm seeing. I guess when I see that something is contrary to the norm, I wonder what's going on. Maybe it's just me, and maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there, but I wish I could just not worry about it and not question it. I think life would be much simpler that way. In the meantime, I'll check in with my friends when I get back to work.
~~~
Actually, I think I know why I do it. I grew up with a mother whose mood would change instantly, for no apparent reason. Such is the life of a person growing up with someone who is bi-polar. I learned to judge the mood of another person quickly before talking with them, because I learned that not to do so would be like walking into a minefield. Of course, everyone isn't my mom, but I think it's why I automatically try to discern how someone is before approaching them. Usually I kind of watch them from a distance after I've said hi, and I watch their natural disposition, which tells me if something is wrong. If everything seems fine, then I'm not worried. But when I see something is not right, then I worry.
I think what I need to do is stop treating everyone as if they are a patient for me to fix. I know I cannot fix, but I guess there's nothing wrong with checking in on someone to make sure everything is okay.
I can say one thing, usually I am right when I think something's wrong. And for some reason, I can bring tears to someone's eyes faster than you can say "cry." I guess they feel safe when they're with me, and it's okay to let down your guard, but sometimes it's hard to see so many people get upset. I hope I'm doing the right thing by getting them to talk. Last year my team teacher called me her therapist. On the flip side of it, it can be exhausting to be in that position. But I guess that's just what I do, and it's just me being me. :)
Anyway, as I mingled with B for about an hour before leaving, I was judging people's moods, as if to see that everyone was okay. It wasn't a forced effort, just something I do, and it's something I have always done. It's a natural instinct that I have, but in a couple of people's cases, I felt as if all was not well for a few of the people there, and of course today I am hoping that everything is okay. I could be completely wrong about my analysis, but usually I can tell, either through facial expression or body language, that everything isn't okay. It could just be that they didn't want to be there, or that something else was up, but here I am wondering if they are okay.
I think sometimes I wish I could just take everything as it is and not question what I'm seeing. I guess when I see that something is contrary to the norm, I wonder what's going on. Maybe it's just me, and maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there, but I wish I could just not worry about it and not question it. I think life would be much simpler that way. In the meantime, I'll check in with my friends when I get back to work.
~~~
Actually, I think I know why I do it. I grew up with a mother whose mood would change instantly, for no apparent reason. Such is the life of a person growing up with someone who is bi-polar. I learned to judge the mood of another person quickly before talking with them, because I learned that not to do so would be like walking into a minefield. Of course, everyone isn't my mom, but I think it's why I automatically try to discern how someone is before approaching them. Usually I kind of watch them from a distance after I've said hi, and I watch their natural disposition, which tells me if something is wrong. If everything seems fine, then I'm not worried. But when I see something is not right, then I worry.
I think what I need to do is stop treating everyone as if they are a patient for me to fix. I know I cannot fix, but I guess there's nothing wrong with checking in on someone to make sure everything is okay.
I can say one thing, usually I am right when I think something's wrong. And for some reason, I can bring tears to someone's eyes faster than you can say "cry." I guess they feel safe when they're with me, and it's okay to let down your guard, but sometimes it's hard to see so many people get upset. I hope I'm doing the right thing by getting them to talk. Last year my team teacher called me her therapist. On the flip side of it, it can be exhausting to be in that position. But I guess that's just what I do, and it's just me being me. :)
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Christmas Morning
I remember the anticipation of Christmas morning that each Christmas Eve brought. Each Christmas Eve my family and I had a quiet dinner, which was later followed by Christmas carols played on the piano while my dad dozed off in his recliner. Off in my parents' bedroom my mother wrapped present after present until she could wrap no more. When I was very young, I had no inkling of such present wrapping; but as we got older my mom wasn't quite as discreet about her routine. I guess she figured that we knew where the presents came from, so why bother hiding it?
After several hours of wrapping presents, my mom hid one present for each of us somewhere in the house, and our job was to find the present. My sister was not a big fan of this tradition, but I was a huge fan and every Christmas I looked forward to this tradition just as much as waking up the next morning to see what Santa brought.
One Christmas Eve I found a silken chocolate brown bear sitting in a sauce pan in the pots and pans cabinet. I don't remember many other times as clearly as I remember finding the bear sitting in a pot.
Each Christmas Eve my sister and I went to bed around 10:30 or 11:00. We had to see where Santa was on the local news at 11:00, and so afterwards we were shooed off to bed, which is when the unfurling of presents by my parents began.
In my bed I lain, as I watched the shadows, illuminated by the candles in my windows, dance across the wall. I tried to shut my eyes and sleep but the excitement was too much to bare, and my eyes popped open as each sound echoed from beneath my room.
Once I heard the door to our shed screech open. Later on I learned that the shed was the keeping room for my new purple dirt bike.
After several hours of trying to sleep to no avail, silence from down below came. I quietly hopped out of bed, tiptoed out of my room and peered over the top stair, trying to gain a glimpse into the living room where I knew the presents would be.
Usually I couldn't see much from standing on the top stair, so I crouched down and almost laid my cheek to the floor trying to see what was there. I could see a box or two, but nothing more. Then, my curiosity got the best of me, and I took one step down onto the next stair. I leaned down to see through the railing and down into the living room. I still couldn't see. Time to take another step. This continued until finally I decided just go walk down into the living room. Sure enough, each year, without fail, our living room was transformed from antique to toy filled within a matter of hours.
There was one Christmas where I was bold enough to not only go all the way down, but I also went to see my presents too. I had a whole chair piled high with toys and clothes. There were Barbie dolls sitting in boxes, an acid washed jean jacket folder over tissue paper and box after box waiting to be opened. Sitting atop a bunch of boxes was my prized present: a pair of white fringe leather boots. Oh yes, white fringe. I thought they were the coolest boots around. Whether or not they actually were the coolest boots, I have no idea. But I had been in love with them for months. Each time I went to the tack shop with my mom to pick up items for the horses, I went straight to those boots. I would touch their soft white leather and imagine myself wearing them, and being the coolest girl in the fifth grade. I just had to have them, and finally, I did.
As I grew older my patience waned, and I usually went down to look at my presents every Christmas Eve. I always felt a certain amount of guilt, but an adolescent will always choose immediate, rather than delayed, gratification.
I am thankful to have such happy memories of my Christmases. I suppose these memories are why I look forward to each Christmas, and I hope to one day start my own traditions. I may even throw a bear in a pot to etch a new memory for our kids; I think that one would stick.
After several hours of wrapping presents, my mom hid one present for each of us somewhere in the house, and our job was to find the present. My sister was not a big fan of this tradition, but I was a huge fan and every Christmas I looked forward to this tradition just as much as waking up the next morning to see what Santa brought.
One Christmas Eve I found a silken chocolate brown bear sitting in a sauce pan in the pots and pans cabinet. I don't remember many other times as clearly as I remember finding the bear sitting in a pot.
Each Christmas Eve my sister and I went to bed around 10:30 or 11:00. We had to see where Santa was on the local news at 11:00, and so afterwards we were shooed off to bed, which is when the unfurling of presents by my parents began.
In my bed I lain, as I watched the shadows, illuminated by the candles in my windows, dance across the wall. I tried to shut my eyes and sleep but the excitement was too much to bare, and my eyes popped open as each sound echoed from beneath my room.
Once I heard the door to our shed screech open. Later on I learned that the shed was the keeping room for my new purple dirt bike.
After several hours of trying to sleep to no avail, silence from down below came. I quietly hopped out of bed, tiptoed out of my room and peered over the top stair, trying to gain a glimpse into the living room where I knew the presents would be.
Usually I couldn't see much from standing on the top stair, so I crouched down and almost laid my cheek to the floor trying to see what was there. I could see a box or two, but nothing more. Then, my curiosity got the best of me, and I took one step down onto the next stair. I leaned down to see through the railing and down into the living room. I still couldn't see. Time to take another step. This continued until finally I decided just go walk down into the living room. Sure enough, each year, without fail, our living room was transformed from antique to toy filled within a matter of hours.
There was one Christmas where I was bold enough to not only go all the way down, but I also went to see my presents too. I had a whole chair piled high with toys and clothes. There were Barbie dolls sitting in boxes, an acid washed jean jacket folder over tissue paper and box after box waiting to be opened. Sitting atop a bunch of boxes was my prized present: a pair of white fringe leather boots. Oh yes, white fringe. I thought they were the coolest boots around. Whether or not they actually were the coolest boots, I have no idea. But I had been in love with them for months. Each time I went to the tack shop with my mom to pick up items for the horses, I went straight to those boots. I would touch their soft white leather and imagine myself wearing them, and being the coolest girl in the fifth grade. I just had to have them, and finally, I did.
As I grew older my patience waned, and I usually went down to look at my presents every Christmas Eve. I always felt a certain amount of guilt, but an adolescent will always choose immediate, rather than delayed, gratification.
I am thankful to have such happy memories of my Christmases. I suppose these memories are why I look forward to each Christmas, and I hope to one day start my own traditions. I may even throw a bear in a pot to etch a new memory for our kids; I think that one would stick.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Today
Was a funny day. There are some days where I'm just too busy to listen to what kids say. Today was a day where I am over-tired, which means I'm slap happy, and the kids did a lot of group work, which was nice, so I had a chance to listen to them.
So today one of my kids was trying to tell the other kids in his group what he had written for facts about plate tectonics in relation to the formation of the ocean floor. So, he starts off quickly stating them. Several kids say, "wait, slow down! What was that? " So he slows down and repeats himself. The kids ask him once again to slow down. By the end of this exchange, this poor boy is speaking to the other kids so slowly that he is enunciating each and every single syllable, as if they speak a different language. Meanwhile, I am in hysterics as I listen to this exchange. When he returned back to his desk I asked if he understood what it's like to be a teacher now, and he nodded in a daze.
Later on, the kids worked in pairs as they learned about the various jobs of colonial Virginians. The kids were to pick which job they wanted to learn about, and then read a little book about the job, and then answered 4 questions. At the end of class, another teacher asked the whole class if they felt like experts about their jobs. Many of them said "no". When she asked why they felt that way, one boy responded, "Well, an innkeeper cleans people's shoes, and I am terrible at keeping my shoes clean. So no, I'm no expert."
On a related note, my students this year are very bright, but they are very young for their age. They haven't quite grown of literal understanding of the world and take everything to mean what you say. So, metaphors and similes are an area that I am teaching right now. Just today I read to them the book Owl Moon, which is great for teaching imagery, metaphors and similes. In one part of the book, the snow in the forest is compared to white milk. So I ask the kids if it's really white milk, and they all emphatically say "No! It's a metaphor for snow." Yes, but to be an expert about a job, you must be able to do it well, according to the kids. We're getting there slowly but surely.
So today one of my kids was trying to tell the other kids in his group what he had written for facts about plate tectonics in relation to the formation of the ocean floor. So, he starts off quickly stating them. Several kids say, "wait, slow down! What was that? " So he slows down and repeats himself. The kids ask him once again to slow down. By the end of this exchange, this poor boy is speaking to the other kids so slowly that he is enunciating each and every single syllable, as if they speak a different language. Meanwhile, I am in hysterics as I listen to this exchange. When he returned back to his desk I asked if he understood what it's like to be a teacher now, and he nodded in a daze.
Later on, the kids worked in pairs as they learned about the various jobs of colonial Virginians. The kids were to pick which job they wanted to learn about, and then read a little book about the job, and then answered 4 questions. At the end of class, another teacher asked the whole class if they felt like experts about their jobs. Many of them said "no". When she asked why they felt that way, one boy responded, "Well, an innkeeper cleans people's shoes, and I am terrible at keeping my shoes clean. So no, I'm no expert."
On a related note, my students this year are very bright, but they are very young for their age. They haven't quite grown of literal understanding of the world and take everything to mean what you say. So, metaphors and similes are an area that I am teaching right now. Just today I read to them the book Owl Moon, which is great for teaching imagery, metaphors and similes. In one part of the book, the snow in the forest is compared to white milk. So I ask the kids if it's really white milk, and they all emphatically say "No! It's a metaphor for snow." Yes, but to be an expert about a job, you must be able to do it well, according to the kids. We're getting there slowly but surely.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Growing up
When I was young, my mother bought a nativity set that I would excitedly set out on top of my spinnette piano each December. When my parents divorced, it took a number of years to heal from the separation from my mother and my home. As a symbol of our traditions and Christmases, I always wished to have the nativity set back.
I pushed my dad to get a nativity set for our little two bedroom apartment, even though he could not afford the delicately painted Fontanini set that I had grown up with. He did manage to get a beautiful porcelain set from a local department store that went out of business, and he still has it.
This year I finally bought my own nativity set. I know it's just a piece of plastic, but as I said before, it's more than that. It's a symbol of my religion and of my past. It is a symbol of the happiness I had when I was a child. I do not expect to piece together the past through this purchase, but I also see it as something to carry my husband and I forward, and to hopefully share with our children, and to pass on this memory. For us, there is a future ahead, and with B I look forward to each holiday as it approaches, and each year I hope to make this holiday as good as the last.
I always thought that when I turned 30 life would be over. I pictured myself sitting on a sofa, watching TV, with little to look forward to and with the best years having passed me by.
How wrong I was.
I never realized that perhaps that was the life of my parents, but is has not turned out to be the life I am leading.
What no one tells you is that life really starts when you hit the age of 30. For many, life is not as confusing and ambiguous as it is when you graduate college. I never knew how hard those years after graduation would really be. Every time I hear of someone graduating from college, I silently say a prayer for them, because I know how hard it can be to find your way. When you're an undergrad, you're sold on the idea that you will take over the world once you graduate, that somehow that little piece of paper you've been given is your key to the world. In a sense, it is; having a college education is a requirement for the potential for success for many people. Sure, there are those who did not go to college and are successful, but I contend that they would have been successful no matter what. So yes, a college degree is essential, but a key to the world? Hardly.
What no one tells the poor, unknowing undergraduate, is that life is really hard once you graduate. You start out at the bottom of whatever field you enter, and then you question, "What the hell am I doing? Is this really what I want? What was I thinking?" For many people I know, myself included, the mid-20s are a time for reinvention, discovering yourself, and that ultimately entails going back to school. Maybe a second time around will help define who you are.
So then you graduate, again, and start out on the path that you are hopefully more suited for. And then 30 comes. But something happens as you hit that age. You look around and say, "Wait a second, this isn't so bad!" No longer are you the struggling 20-something trying to find your way. Even if you still aren't sold on the job you're in, at least the salary tends to help.
My husband is still wondering if he's in the right field. But if you work in his field of commercial real estate, I would think you'd have your doubt, no matter who you are or how well you do it. In the meantime, we are thankful for stability.
As I eagerly await the arrival of our new nativity scene, I eagerly look forward to the future. No matter how daunting or unpredictable it can be, I know that I can get through many things, and the biggest challenge lies ahead: kids. At least, I think, I am not still struggling for stability and could handle such a challenge at this point.
I'm really not even worried about 40, although I do think I may need to have some maintenance done on my face (droopy cheeks and eyes run in the family)...but probably not until I'm 50, as we all tend to age well...unless you're my uncle, whose work life has aged him considerably. Hey, if you worked until 1am at the age of 60, you'd look older too! He has certainly paid the price for his success. His success didn't really begin until he was 50. So I look at guys like him and know that life is short, but many good things lay ahead.
I pushed my dad to get a nativity set for our little two bedroom apartment, even though he could not afford the delicately painted Fontanini set that I had grown up with. He did manage to get a beautiful porcelain set from a local department store that went out of business, and he still has it.
This year I finally bought my own nativity set. I know it's just a piece of plastic, but as I said before, it's more than that. It's a symbol of my religion and of my past. It is a symbol of the happiness I had when I was a child. I do not expect to piece together the past through this purchase, but I also see it as something to carry my husband and I forward, and to hopefully share with our children, and to pass on this memory. For us, there is a future ahead, and with B I look forward to each holiday as it approaches, and each year I hope to make this holiday as good as the last.
I always thought that when I turned 30 life would be over. I pictured myself sitting on a sofa, watching TV, with little to look forward to and with the best years having passed me by.
How wrong I was.
I never realized that perhaps that was the life of my parents, but is has not turned out to be the life I am leading.
What no one tells you is that life really starts when you hit the age of 30. For many, life is not as confusing and ambiguous as it is when you graduate college. I never knew how hard those years after graduation would really be. Every time I hear of someone graduating from college, I silently say a prayer for them, because I know how hard it can be to find your way. When you're an undergrad, you're sold on the idea that you will take over the world once you graduate, that somehow that little piece of paper you've been given is your key to the world. In a sense, it is; having a college education is a requirement for the potential for success for many people. Sure, there are those who did not go to college and are successful, but I contend that they would have been successful no matter what. So yes, a college degree is essential, but a key to the world? Hardly.
What no one tells the poor, unknowing undergraduate, is that life is really hard once you graduate. You start out at the bottom of whatever field you enter, and then you question, "What the hell am I doing? Is this really what I want? What was I thinking?" For many people I know, myself included, the mid-20s are a time for reinvention, discovering yourself, and that ultimately entails going back to school. Maybe a second time around will help define who you are.
So then you graduate, again, and start out on the path that you are hopefully more suited for. And then 30 comes. But something happens as you hit that age. You look around and say, "Wait a second, this isn't so bad!" No longer are you the struggling 20-something trying to find your way. Even if you still aren't sold on the job you're in, at least the salary tends to help.
My husband is still wondering if he's in the right field. But if you work in his field of commercial real estate, I would think you'd have your doubt, no matter who you are or how well you do it. In the meantime, we are thankful for stability.
As I eagerly await the arrival of our new nativity scene, I eagerly look forward to the future. No matter how daunting or unpredictable it can be, I know that I can get through many things, and the biggest challenge lies ahead: kids. At least, I think, I am not still struggling for stability and could handle such a challenge at this point.
I'm really not even worried about 40, although I do think I may need to have some maintenance done on my face (droopy cheeks and eyes run in the family)...but probably not until I'm 50, as we all tend to age well...unless you're my uncle, whose work life has aged him considerably. Hey, if you worked until 1am at the age of 60, you'd look older too! He has certainly paid the price for his success. His success didn't really begin until he was 50. So I look at guys like him and know that life is short, but many good things lay ahead.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Fragile Times
I work in a fairly affluent area. The parents with whom I work tend to be fairly well off, but lately, I can tell that things are changing.
A mother of one of my students told me of a new job she has where she is selling paving stones for residential and commercial properties. She was employed with the performing arts center here in town, but as far as I can tell, she was laid off. When purse strings tighten, culture usually suffers first, and so, she was let go, moving from one vulnerable job to another. She told me how lucky she is to have a job in such down times. I pray she holds onto that job selling paving stones, both for her and her daughter's sake.
By the same token, I know that B's job is still very fragile. Yes, what he does, as a financial reporting analyst, is a job that is needed in good times and bad, but we both know how things could go sour in the blink of an eye. I am very thankful that we are still okay, even if he will not receive a raise this year. This is the first year, since he graduated from college, in which he will not receive a raise. Still, I'm okay with the steady employment, even if it means no raise.
How many families are hanging on by a tenuous thread? How many families have only one pay check separating them between having a home and being homeless? How many are willing to admit just how badly off they actually are? Credit cards have been a great aversion to reality, but it seems as though fewer and fewer have this route to take as an alternative.
For now, I will continue to thank my lucky stars, and I will continue to help out where and when I can. I suppose my biggest concern is helping so many more people who will need it. I also hope that those who need it will actually ask for help, rather than make their families suffer in silence, and are too proud to admit when things are not so good.
I know this has a depressing tone, but I am a little sad today. I can say, though, that times like these also force me to take stock of what we do have, and that the most important things are not things at all. The most important things are people.
A mother of one of my students told me of a new job she has where she is selling paving stones for residential and commercial properties. She was employed with the performing arts center here in town, but as far as I can tell, she was laid off. When purse strings tighten, culture usually suffers first, and so, she was let go, moving from one vulnerable job to another. She told me how lucky she is to have a job in such down times. I pray she holds onto that job selling paving stones, both for her and her daughter's sake.
By the same token, I know that B's job is still very fragile. Yes, what he does, as a financial reporting analyst, is a job that is needed in good times and bad, but we both know how things could go sour in the blink of an eye. I am very thankful that we are still okay, even if he will not receive a raise this year. This is the first year, since he graduated from college, in which he will not receive a raise. Still, I'm okay with the steady employment, even if it means no raise.
How many families are hanging on by a tenuous thread? How many families have only one pay check separating them between having a home and being homeless? How many are willing to admit just how badly off they actually are? Credit cards have been a great aversion to reality, but it seems as though fewer and fewer have this route to take as an alternative.
For now, I will continue to thank my lucky stars, and I will continue to help out where and when I can. I suppose my biggest concern is helping so many more people who will need it. I also hope that those who need it will actually ask for help, rather than make their families suffer in silence, and are too proud to admit when things are not so good.
I know this has a depressing tone, but I am a little sad today. I can say, though, that times like these also force me to take stock of what we do have, and that the most important things are not things at all. The most important things are people.
Fun Day
Yesterday we went on a trip to Colonial Yorktown (where the English surrendered to the US in 1783) and Colonial Williamsburg. What a great time! It was freezing (the high got up to 43), so I had on two pairs of socks, my heavy down coat, which I haven't worn since before I moved, a fleece headband for my ears, heavy gloves and jeans, oh and clogs. Every part of me stayed warm, except for my legs, as I forgot to wear two layers on my legs. I guess fat on the legs isn't as much insulation as I had hoped. :)
What a great way to teach history to kids who are not yet able to understand such abstract concepts as history. Many kids have a hard time with history because it's not something that they personally experienced. It is the only subject that cannot always be hands-on, so it's tough for them to learn. So we take them there so that everything they learned becomes alive. It is always so much fun to see how engaged and enthusiastic they are when they go. They got to see a soldier fire a musket. They got to see a real colonial farm, with tobacco growing and everything. They even got to be in the House of Burgesses and the court room where the birth of our nation took place. And my lowest student actually got to be Patrick Henry. I don't think he will forget that.
The best parts were having tour guides the whole way through at both locations, so I didn't have to teach anything, and actually getting to talk to the students' parents not as a teacher, but more as an adult. It is hard to be the teacher sometimes. You can't always says what's on your mind, and although I didn't completely let my guard off (I'm no fool), it was nice to talk about things other than kids.
So even though I am tired and sore from carrying a backpack full of stuff, I am gad we did it.
:)
What a great way to teach history to kids who are not yet able to understand such abstract concepts as history. Many kids have a hard time with history because it's not something that they personally experienced. It is the only subject that cannot always be hands-on, so it's tough for them to learn. So we take them there so that everything they learned becomes alive. It is always so much fun to see how engaged and enthusiastic they are when they go. They got to see a soldier fire a musket. They got to see a real colonial farm, with tobacco growing and everything. They even got to be in the House of Burgesses and the court room where the birth of our nation took place. And my lowest student actually got to be Patrick Henry. I don't think he will forget that.
The best parts were having tour guides the whole way through at both locations, so I didn't have to teach anything, and actually getting to talk to the students' parents not as a teacher, but more as an adult. It is hard to be the teacher sometimes. You can't always says what's on your mind, and although I didn't completely let my guard off (I'm no fool), it was nice to talk about things other than kids.
So even though I am tired and sore from carrying a backpack full of stuff, I am gad we did it.
:)
Monday, December 1, 2008
Help me...please
There is a person I know who is a reading teacher. She wants to continue teaching reading, even though I think she is a better math and science teacher.
I am even more so convinced by the following:
She teaches "homophoMes," but not "homophoNes". Perhaps I should just start calling them homonyms to see if she follows suit.
In a letter to a parent, she stated that her daughter would have "amble" time to finish the work. I suppose she could amble along to the finish line.
And finally, in a conversation, she used the word "astrominable," which isn't even a word, in place of "astronomical".
Help me.
Please.
I am even more so convinced by the following:
She teaches "homophoMes," but not "homophoNes". Perhaps I should just start calling them homonyms to see if she follows suit.
In a letter to a parent, she stated that her daughter would have "amble" time to finish the work. I suppose she could amble along to the finish line.
And finally, in a conversation, she used the word "astrominable," which isn't even a word, in place of "astronomical".
Help me.
Please.
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