When I was little, my mother had a habit of buying many table linens for our dining room, and we had a large cabinet where all of the linens were folded and stored. As a setter of the table, trying to find matching linens was a maddening task. On occasion, I would take out all of the linens and try to organize them and then put them away. Despite my mother's penchant for pretty linens, she had no interest whatsoever in organizing them. In her eyes, caring about such things was anathema to her generation's concern for women's rights, and caring about the home to any certain degree was a sheer reversal of burning bras. (For the record, she was a stay at home mom with many bras, and most meals were home-cooked, and rarely did we ever go out for dinner--ah, but irony was never a part of her vocabulary).
Even when I was a kid, I knew I was the type of girl she openly berated. She made fun of women who were overtly domestic, equating them as mindless ninnies who had no real substance to the world. As a consequence, even though I knew I was someone who enjoyed domestic life, I never admitted my affection for organizing my world and enjoying the scent of fabric softener and lemon scented dish soap as I shop for housecleaning products. No, I knew I had to keep these things secret.
Our pantry closet is also the place where the washer and dryer, as well as table linens, are kept. I have been keeping our linens on a shelf above the washer, but as you could imagine, over time the pile has grown to be an unruly mess, and attempting to get place mats out of the pile is a gamble. So yesterday I finally went out and got two fabric covered bins from Michael's.
This morning, I took all of our linens down, and organized them into two piles: tablecloths and runners and place mats and napkins. As I sorted, I felt a sense of accomplishment, and I remembered attempting to do the same thing so many years ago. Back then, though, I was just a kid, and I had to hide my enjoyment of organizing such things. I also had no ability to go out and buy baskets or bins to do such a thing.
As I organized and made sense of that small collection, I also thought about what my mother's generation got so wrong. To be successful and accomplished as a woman, it doesn't have to mean disowning all things domestic. We can be both domestic and successful, and there should be no guilt in that.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Surrogate Mom
I am a teacher. I took the classes to teach the curriculum, earned a nearly perfect GPA and worked myself to the bones while in grad school to ensure that once I started teaching, I would be the best teacher I could be. Unfortunately, as with most parts of life, there is nothing that any professor can teach that teaches us the skill that we all, as teachers, have to learn: how to be the surrogate mom while their actual parents are not with them.
Some children who have happy homes don't really need me to be a mom, but this year I have several students whose needs surpass the academic. They need love. They need attention. Of course, all children need these things, and I give them to each everyday, but for some, the need is much greater. These needs manifest themselves in several ways.
Some children need attention, and when they do, they act out by either being the class clown, and will do anything for a laugh, or they withdraw from the class and become little islands with tough shells. In either case, the message is clear: I need your attention. I not only need your attention; I crave it.
Since the beginning of the year I have been dealing with a student who has seemingly learned how to be helpless. He has lacked the confidence to proceed in the simplest of tasks without my validation. In the beginning, to even write an answer to a question, he asked, "So I write my first word here on this line?" to which I respond, "Yes, that's right," or "Do you think that's what you should do," in which he responds, "Yes." He has come a long way since then, and now doesn't seek out my approval with everything he does. But there is one obstacle we have yet to overcome: homework.
Yesterday I spent the entire day helping kids get organized, which included looking for homework. I firmly believe that you can tell the state of a child's mind by looking at their desks (or for parents, their rooms). A desk that is tidy and neat belongs to a child who is focused and knows what's going on in class. They are in control of their own little world. The desk of a distracted child is messy, disorganized with bits of broken erasers and a various hodgepodge of all things they own. This is a reflection of their thoughts and I know they are lost inside their minds. So I am teaching them to organize their belongings, which, in the long run, will be a saving grace for them. The student I mentioned above is one student I helped.
(As an aside, I think it's funny when we as adults tell our kids to clean their rooms/desks, but don't show them how to do it. We expect them to, but if they've never been shown how, it's a pointless effort on our part. So, as the teacher I do what my mom did for me when I was a kid, I show them how to take a massive pile of stuff, sort it into piles, and then put it away according to that pile. I clearly remember my mom teaching me this when I was seven years old. So now I teach my students the same thing. )
Earlier in the day I found that he had not done his homework for two weeks. I make weekly homework packets for them to do so that they don't have loose papers all over the place. This really helps kids with organization problems. But Ted did not do or turn anything in. I called him over to my desk to ask why he wasn't doing his homework, emphasizing that he needs to try to do things on his own. He broke down in tears and told me that he's home alone on most days until about 7 or 8 at night because his mom is at work. Her job is low-paying, and I think she just can't afford child care for him. So, he goes home, is by himself, doesn't have any interactions with adults or friends and plays games. I can only imagine how lonely this must feel, and it breaks my heart. In fact, I'm fairly certain that school is where he gets personal attention, and he gets it by me fretting over him, which I think is what he wants.
So Ted and I developed a plan where he would check with me about his homework each day before he goes home, and each morning I will check to see that he has done his homework. Essentially, I will be doing his mom's job for her. I know this is what he needs, but I really wish he had more support at home.
I am also going to invite him to have personal time with me during lunch. It will either be just eating lunch, or playing a game with him, which I think he would really enjoy. I don't mind doing this for him, but I really wish he didn't tell me that his best days with his family are holidays, because that's when he gets to play with his family. In the meantime, school is his family, and I am the surrogate mom.
Some children who have happy homes don't really need me to be a mom, but this year I have several students whose needs surpass the academic. They need love. They need attention. Of course, all children need these things, and I give them to each everyday, but for some, the need is much greater. These needs manifest themselves in several ways.
Some children need attention, and when they do, they act out by either being the class clown, and will do anything for a laugh, or they withdraw from the class and become little islands with tough shells. In either case, the message is clear: I need your attention. I not only need your attention; I crave it.
Since the beginning of the year I have been dealing with a student who has seemingly learned how to be helpless. He has lacked the confidence to proceed in the simplest of tasks without my validation. In the beginning, to even write an answer to a question, he asked, "So I write my first word here on this line?" to which I respond, "Yes, that's right," or "Do you think that's what you should do," in which he responds, "Yes." He has come a long way since then, and now doesn't seek out my approval with everything he does. But there is one obstacle we have yet to overcome: homework.
Yesterday I spent the entire day helping kids get organized, which included looking for homework. I firmly believe that you can tell the state of a child's mind by looking at their desks (or for parents, their rooms). A desk that is tidy and neat belongs to a child who is focused and knows what's going on in class. They are in control of their own little world. The desk of a distracted child is messy, disorganized with bits of broken erasers and a various hodgepodge of all things they own. This is a reflection of their thoughts and I know they are lost inside their minds. So I am teaching them to organize their belongings, which, in the long run, will be a saving grace for them. The student I mentioned above is one student I helped.
(As an aside, I think it's funny when we as adults tell our kids to clean their rooms/desks, but don't show them how to do it. We expect them to, but if they've never been shown how, it's a pointless effort on our part. So, as the teacher I do what my mom did for me when I was a kid, I show them how to take a massive pile of stuff, sort it into piles, and then put it away according to that pile. I clearly remember my mom teaching me this when I was seven years old. So now I teach my students the same thing. )
Earlier in the day I found that he had not done his homework for two weeks. I make weekly homework packets for them to do so that they don't have loose papers all over the place. This really helps kids with organization problems. But Ted did not do or turn anything in. I called him over to my desk to ask why he wasn't doing his homework, emphasizing that he needs to try to do things on his own. He broke down in tears and told me that he's home alone on most days until about 7 or 8 at night because his mom is at work. Her job is low-paying, and I think she just can't afford child care for him. So, he goes home, is by himself, doesn't have any interactions with adults or friends and plays games. I can only imagine how lonely this must feel, and it breaks my heart. In fact, I'm fairly certain that school is where he gets personal attention, and he gets it by me fretting over him, which I think is what he wants.
So Ted and I developed a plan where he would check with me about his homework each day before he goes home, and each morning I will check to see that he has done his homework. Essentially, I will be doing his mom's job for her. I know this is what he needs, but I really wish he had more support at home.
I am also going to invite him to have personal time with me during lunch. It will either be just eating lunch, or playing a game with him, which I think he would really enjoy. I don't mind doing this for him, but I really wish he didn't tell me that his best days with his family are holidays, because that's when he gets to play with his family. In the meantime, school is his family, and I am the surrogate mom.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Charles
Today Charles--the student who was locked out of his house--came to see me this morning. I was standing at my desk looking over some of my current students' work, and he seemingly appeared out of nowhere next to my desk. He thrust his report card in my face and proudly showed me his straight As for the second quarter. I gave him a hug and told him how I proud of him I was. His green Principals List sticker sparkled under the florescent light and his sky blue eyes matched its brightness.
When I was a student teacher, my supervising teacher told me about her former students coming down to see her. She was a first grade teacher, so it was easy to imagine her having this opportunity to see her former students. As a fifth grade teacher whose students move on to middle school, I don't hope for such things, but I have to say that I really enjoy seeing my former students come by. Watching them grow up is really neat, and it's very rewarding to see them as successful students, and to know that I had a part in that.
Last year, truth be told, Charles drove us all crazy. He was a pest who just wouldn't leave us alone. At the end of each day he would ride his bike back up to the school to say hello, and we just wanted him to stay at home so we could be in peace. I'm happy Charles still has his second home, and I take even greater satisfaction in knowing that my old team teacher and I are the first ones he comes to, even though he spent all of his years at our school, and had worked with many teachers who are still there today.
When I was a student teacher, my supervising teacher told me about her former students coming down to see her. She was a first grade teacher, so it was easy to imagine her having this opportunity to see her former students. As a fifth grade teacher whose students move on to middle school, I don't hope for such things, but I have to say that I really enjoy seeing my former students come by. Watching them grow up is really neat, and it's very rewarding to see them as successful students, and to know that I had a part in that.
Last year, truth be told, Charles drove us all crazy. He was a pest who just wouldn't leave us alone. At the end of each day he would ride his bike back up to the school to say hello, and we just wanted him to stay at home so we could be in peace. I'm happy Charles still has his second home, and I take even greater satisfaction in knowing that my old team teacher and I are the first ones he comes to, even though he spent all of his years at our school, and had worked with many teachers who are still there today.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Give Me a Break
So the stock market tumbled today on news of the updated bank bailout plan, released by the new Secretary of the Treasury, Geitner. Why did it tumble? It isn't big enough, analysts complain. It isn't broad enough, and there are few details, they say.
Here's one fact: the plan is over $1 TRillion. Yet, it isn't big enough.
Maybe I am old fashioned, but if I were in the banking industry, I would be humbled by any assistance given to my company that likely played a role in the financial collapse to begin with.
I believe in helping those who try to help themselves first before asking for help. To admonish the new administration's plan because there's not enough money in it is, in effect, being a choosey beggar.
If there is nothing else to destroy public confidence, there is still the banks' greed. It has not gone away. The lack of responsibility in this whole mess is jarring. I am still waiting to see where any of these bankers actually take responsibility and say, "Yeah, we fucked up. But we're going to fix it. Tell you what, I'll even take a pay cut."
What makes me even sicker is the fact that so many people have already lost their jobs, but the very people who made the poor decisions to begin with, still remain. I believe that if a company fails, then get rid of the CEO. After all, he is paid the big bucks because of the amount of responsibility he has. I believe he should earn it. Don't just expect to be paid millions--deserve it. Earn it. And when you area part of losing billions, find a way to fix it and don't just ask for a handout.
And also, when you're offered help, don't turn your nose away. When that happens, we all suffer.
Here's one fact: the plan is over $1 TRillion. Yet, it isn't big enough.
Maybe I am old fashioned, but if I were in the banking industry, I would be humbled by any assistance given to my company that likely played a role in the financial collapse to begin with.
I believe in helping those who try to help themselves first before asking for help. To admonish the new administration's plan because there's not enough money in it is, in effect, being a choosey beggar.
If there is nothing else to destroy public confidence, there is still the banks' greed. It has not gone away. The lack of responsibility in this whole mess is jarring. I am still waiting to see where any of these bankers actually take responsibility and say, "Yeah, we fucked up. But we're going to fix it. Tell you what, I'll even take a pay cut."
What makes me even sicker is the fact that so many people have already lost their jobs, but the very people who made the poor decisions to begin with, still remain. I believe that if a company fails, then get rid of the CEO. After all, he is paid the big bucks because of the amount of responsibility he has. I believe he should earn it. Don't just expect to be paid millions--deserve it. Earn it. And when you area part of losing billions, find a way to fix it and don't just ask for a handout.
And also, when you're offered help, don't turn your nose away. When that happens, we all suffer.
Friday, February 6, 2009
A few more thoughts
Since I have time to decompress, I'll take this moment to write down a few more thoughts.
Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right career. When teachers belittle themselves by saying, "I can't do anything else but teach," I wonder if I'm in the right field. I know I can do other things, and yet I stay in the classroom.
On Wednesday I was leaving to go home. As I walked to my car, I heard a child screaming and carrying on. It was a cold day filled with light snow showers and so when I heard the screaming cries of "Let me in!" I thought it was way too cold to be stuck outside. I looked across the street and I saw a boy, arms flailing about, screaming for someone to let him in to his small brick ranch house. Part of me said not to go over to the house because I didn't know the child, but then the other part of me was compelled to walk over there anyway; and so I walked over.
As I approached the boy, I had a better glimpse of the child, and I realized that it was a former student of mine who was now in sixth grade at the nearby middle school. As I continued to walk over, I said his name. "Charles*?" A small whimper came. "Yes." He held his head up. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and a lone tear dangled on the curve of his cheek. As I continued to walk forward, my heart ached for this poor child who was home alone, locked out. The wind picked up and knocked us both. As I stood on the steps he told me that he was locked out, his mom wasn't home yet, and worst, someone had stolen his keys off of his backpack during Social Studies.
I asked him if he wanted to go over to the school to call his parents to come and get him, and he said yes. I put my arm around him and walked him over to his second home, my school. We pounded on the front doors of the school. Thankfully another teacher was on her way out, and she let us in. He called his parents, and as I sat and waited with him, I was thankful that I was there to help him. I don't think any child should have to wait outside for any amount of time. Perhaps that's because it has happened to me, and I know how awful that feels.
Eventually Charles' mom came to the school and picked him up. As he got into his mom's minivan, he said, "thank you so much." I just smiled and he drove away, all the way across the street. I'm just happy he had a warm place to go when he was in trouble.
Yes, I do question my profession from time to time. Usually when that happens, there's something there to remind me of why I do what I do. It's because of kids like Charles. And I hope that whoever is being a jerk to Charles has his keys stolen one day so he can know how hard that is. Hopefully someone will be there to let him in to a warm place.
Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right career. When teachers belittle themselves by saying, "I can't do anything else but teach," I wonder if I'm in the right field. I know I can do other things, and yet I stay in the classroom.
On Wednesday I was leaving to go home. As I walked to my car, I heard a child screaming and carrying on. It was a cold day filled with light snow showers and so when I heard the screaming cries of "Let me in!" I thought it was way too cold to be stuck outside. I looked across the street and I saw a boy, arms flailing about, screaming for someone to let him in to his small brick ranch house. Part of me said not to go over to the house because I didn't know the child, but then the other part of me was compelled to walk over there anyway; and so I walked over.
As I approached the boy, I had a better glimpse of the child, and I realized that it was a former student of mine who was now in sixth grade at the nearby middle school. As I continued to walk over, I said his name. "Charles*?" A small whimper came. "Yes." He held his head up. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and a lone tear dangled on the curve of his cheek. As I continued to walk forward, my heart ached for this poor child who was home alone, locked out. The wind picked up and knocked us both. As I stood on the steps he told me that he was locked out, his mom wasn't home yet, and worst, someone had stolen his keys off of his backpack during Social Studies.
I asked him if he wanted to go over to the school to call his parents to come and get him, and he said yes. I put my arm around him and walked him over to his second home, my school. We pounded on the front doors of the school. Thankfully another teacher was on her way out, and she let us in. He called his parents, and as I sat and waited with him, I was thankful that I was there to help him. I don't think any child should have to wait outside for any amount of time. Perhaps that's because it has happened to me, and I know how awful that feels.
Eventually Charles' mom came to the school and picked him up. As he got into his mom's minivan, he said, "thank you so much." I just smiled and he drove away, all the way across the street. I'm just happy he had a warm place to go when he was in trouble.
Yes, I do question my profession from time to time. Usually when that happens, there's something there to remind me of why I do what I do. It's because of kids like Charles. And I hope that whoever is being a jerk to Charles has his keys stolen one day so he can know how hard that is. Hopefully someone will be there to let him in to a warm place.
Taking stock
The past two weeks have not been good for me. I injured my leg last week while getting out of my chair as my cat beckoned me, with his persistent yowling about his stupid pink mouse, which has not seen the light of day since that night. To cope with the pain, I took enough Advil to make most people numb for quite a while.
If you wonder how much it hurt, let's just say that I could not put on my pants. I could lift my leg up about half an inch, and that was it. I had a side-swaggering limp that made me feel awkward and clumsy, and very much like a little old lady whose hip was giving her trouble. When I get to be old, I hope I accept the challenge a little better than I did this time around.
The worst part of this whole injury was the constant questioning by my co-workers. "What did you do?", "Are you STILL limping?" (to which I wanted to say, what the F#$%^ does it look like?), "Have you gone to the doctor?" Finally, on Thursday I complained to a friend that I just wanted to be left alone. My friend said, "Well, we just care about you." I truly appreciate the compassion, but there is a fine line between watering a plant and poisoning it with too much water. By Thursday, I was drowning and my roots just wanted a chance to re-grow and heal.
Thankfully my leg healed, and the questions about my leg were replaced with compliments about how quickly I rebounded. This is due, in part, to Advil, a heating pad that remained affixed to my leg while I was at home, and many hot baths with Epsom salts. This did not happen without any consequences. I think I may have taken too much Advil, for the weekend was filled with other worries, which I will not go into detail about on this blog.
What I can take away from these past two weeks is: a) I really need to be careful about how I move around; b) Advil is not as friendly as I thought; and c) I need to be more careful about what I put into my body.
One of the first things to be cut back: caffeine. As a teacher who has been convinced that coffee is essential for survival, I have not thought twice about how much I drink. Yet at the same time, I can also say that I have been more likely to snap at a child's behavior (even though most of the time I am snapping in my head, and not to the actual child) and have felt more tired than usual. So, with this newly rediscovered awareness about my health, I began to cut back. I now have a cup of tea in the morning, followed by mostly decaf coffee when I get to school. That's it for caffeine.
The remarkable results: I am much less irritable and I am sleeping much better now, and it has only been a week. I am more tired at night, but I am sleeping more peacefully. The hardest part of this was on the second day I had a killer headache, but I would not take Advil. I took two Tylenol instead. My dull headache never completely disappeared, but at least I didn't put non-steroid hormones in my body. Until I did some reading, I had no idea how bad Advil actually was. Live and learn.
So yeah, it's been a crappy couple of weeks. But I think I'm coming out of them a little bit better, and slightly wiser. And no, this isn't the most exciting post, but whatever, life isn't always thrilling.
If you wonder how much it hurt, let's just say that I could not put on my pants. I could lift my leg up about half an inch, and that was it. I had a side-swaggering limp that made me feel awkward and clumsy, and very much like a little old lady whose hip was giving her trouble. When I get to be old, I hope I accept the challenge a little better than I did this time around.
The worst part of this whole injury was the constant questioning by my co-workers. "What did you do?", "Are you STILL limping?" (to which I wanted to say, what the F#$%^ does it look like?), "Have you gone to the doctor?" Finally, on Thursday I complained to a friend that I just wanted to be left alone. My friend said, "Well, we just care about you." I truly appreciate the compassion, but there is a fine line between watering a plant and poisoning it with too much water. By Thursday, I was drowning and my roots just wanted a chance to re-grow and heal.
Thankfully my leg healed, and the questions about my leg were replaced with compliments about how quickly I rebounded. This is due, in part, to Advil, a heating pad that remained affixed to my leg while I was at home, and many hot baths with Epsom salts. This did not happen without any consequences. I think I may have taken too much Advil, for the weekend was filled with other worries, which I will not go into detail about on this blog.
What I can take away from these past two weeks is: a) I really need to be careful about how I move around; b) Advil is not as friendly as I thought; and c) I need to be more careful about what I put into my body.
One of the first things to be cut back: caffeine. As a teacher who has been convinced that coffee is essential for survival, I have not thought twice about how much I drink. Yet at the same time, I can also say that I have been more likely to snap at a child's behavior (even though most of the time I am snapping in my head, and not to the actual child) and have felt more tired than usual. So, with this newly rediscovered awareness about my health, I began to cut back. I now have a cup of tea in the morning, followed by mostly decaf coffee when I get to school. That's it for caffeine.
The remarkable results: I am much less irritable and I am sleeping much better now, and it has only been a week. I am more tired at night, but I am sleeping more peacefully. The hardest part of this was on the second day I had a killer headache, but I would not take Advil. I took two Tylenol instead. My dull headache never completely disappeared, but at least I didn't put non-steroid hormones in my body. Until I did some reading, I had no idea how bad Advil actually was. Live and learn.
So yeah, it's been a crappy couple of weeks. But I think I'm coming out of them a little bit better, and slightly wiser. And no, this isn't the most exciting post, but whatever, life isn't always thrilling.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
What? What's this?
Dost mine ears deceive me, or did the president actually say, "I made a mistake."?
Such tunes have not been heard in many a year. 'Tis been a long cold winter, eight years full of quickly descending ice, unforgiving eyes in the woods, and iron fists closed all around us. Off in the distance I am hearing a calming tune-a tune that sings not of vainglory or arrogance, but a tune of humility and human nature's tendency towards fallibility; as long as such fallibility exists, therein lies the opportunity to learn and, dare I say, change.
Let the ice hold warmth and continue to change, for the thaw is long overdue.
Such tunes have not been heard in many a year. 'Tis been a long cold winter, eight years full of quickly descending ice, unforgiving eyes in the woods, and iron fists closed all around us. Off in the distance I am hearing a calming tune-a tune that sings not of vainglory or arrogance, but a tune of humility and human nature's tendency towards fallibility; as long as such fallibility exists, therein lies the opportunity to learn and, dare I say, change.
Let the ice hold warmth and continue to change, for the thaw is long overdue.
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