Perspective at its finest

I am sitting in silence. This is after a day filled with Thing 2's meltdowns, yes plural, and her insistence on sabotaging my "day of rest" so to speak. It's also after a day of puppy play, which usually results in lots of barking, lots of tug of war between the two dogs, and inevitably screaming from Thing 2 because she hasn't yet learned how to deal with sharp puppy teeth properly, thus she screams at a decibel so high it hurts area dogs' ears, and I usually have to deal with said puppy, who by the way, knows exactly what she is doing by targeting Thing 2. This silence is so rare I almost didn't recognize it.  It is something I crave which could be because of my introvertedness (or would it be introvertism)...either way, I recharge when I can think...in silence....alone.  So, I'm thinking right now, albeit out loud through my fingers but I'm thinking and recharging while all four little girls in this house, furry and non-furry, breath deep breathes of sleep.

The photo may seem strange to you. The leaves may have caught your eye first, which in all honestly is why I decided to pull into my second favorite cemetery.  It's a place I've gone regularly since I found it years ago, probably after a funeral for a friend or student.  There's no question the fall colors are breathtaking there right now and pretty much ONLY THERE right now as the rest of the trees have lost most of their colors or have just turned a dingy brown.  So, yes, the leaves lured me in, but I didn't resist whatsoever because my heart needed to go there. 

I love the perspective that cemeteries give me. Maybe it's weird.  Maybe it's depressing or dark.  I don't care. I have yet to go to a cemetery filled with angst of some sort and leave still feeling the angst I entered with.  I have yet to go and feel nothing.  I don't believe I've ever felt a more reverent and strangely holy place.  Sometimes I sit at the graveside of former students, looking at the photos on their stone or touching the things left there by their friends as mementos.  Seventeen years old.  Eighteen years old.  Nineteen years old. Sixteen years old.  Two died from choices they made to end their lives.  One died after battling cancer relentlessly.  One died in a car accident.  And these were only four that are buried in the same area. Yes, there are more students I've had buried there.  

Sometimes I go to the baby section of the cemetery.  To even say that word, "baby" gives me a stomach ache. Yet, I've been to a funeral there.  Forever etched in my mind will be the tiniest casket I've ever seen.  On my visit this time, I saw a couple carrying a small pumpkin to place near a headstone. Suddenly, perspective. 

When I drove in to the cemetery,  I was pretty much running on empty.  It's been a surprisingly hard month in so many ways.  I hate whining so I won't do that here.  But suffice to say, I'm struggling. Maybe one has to be in order to find solace in a cemetery.  Maybe not.  Yet, as I drove through (Thing 2 was with me so there was no stopping to sit today) this sought after peace I was looking for mustered its way into my moment.  It could have been that moment when I drove by a headstone that said Cummins on it.  Sobering.  It could have been the couple I mentioned above.  It could have been the amazing beauty of God's creation screaming at me to "look up, just keep looking up because I AM always here even when these leaves fall."  More than likely though, it was the women I saw, probably a bit younger than I am, weeping gently as she leaned against a headstone.  Her arms were draped around it.  Her head lay so her cheek was against the smooth side of the stone.  From the distance I was, I could see the tears as her eyes were closed. I didn't want to invade her moment, so as quietly as I drove up, I backed up and took another route. Suddenly, perspective. 

Let's back this train up. Now.

Before children, I never yelled.  Rarely screamed except in excitement for a great shot in golf or tennis.  But, I have come to place in my life where I seriously don't recognize myself.  Three hours ago I was in a Bible study on the topic of mercy. I admitted there how becoming a parent has changed me and right now, not for the better.  I felt better after coming out of the "I'm a Yeller" closet and being affirmed in the fact that I'm not alone. Others yell.  However, little did I know that I would be home and sitting at the computer after having a "moment" with my little cherubs once again. I need to blog right now or I will leave.  You think I jest, but I'm not kidding.  I would walk out of this house and disappear for the entire day in a heartbeat, if I didn't think the media would catch wind of it and go crazy over a teacher abandoning her children whom she adopted simply to "get away."  Those who know me, know that my luck would have that EXACT thing happen.  So, I'll stay and I'll state honestly that parenting has never been so hard as it is right now. Here's one reason why. She's four. 

When Thing 1 was four, all hell literally broke loose.  She became possessed by some inner attitude that brought me to tears quite regularly.  I was hoping that prayer and alcohol combined would make those memories leave my mind, but as Thing 2 turned four this summer, it was almost like I didn't want to walk down that dark hall because at any moment there would be something horrific jumping out to say, "I'm back!"  My fears have taken shape and the shape looks like the above photo.  When asked to do something, anything, even simply to put her shoes in her room, the same face and wide open screaming mouth that you see above come to Thing 2's face and her body drops to the ground with continual strains of "I can't!  I can't put my shoes away! I can't! I don't want to!"  I stay calm quite well for a bit.  But then this happens. 

Thing 1 decides to join the party. Thing 1 would normally appear to others to be docile, kind and an amazing big sister. I agree that she is that. But when Thing 2 loses it, Thing 1 can't stand it.  This then causes my household to go from one screaming four year old to a house with a yelling 10 year old and this usually will bring the dog to its barking mode, too.  The accusations begin about Thing 2 just faking it so she doesn't have to do anything and Thing 1 will state repeatedly that even the sound of Thing 2's voice makes her want to hit her.  I thank her for her honesty, but continue to remind her we have to be patient because Thing 2 is four and when YOU were four, THIS is what you put ME through.  By this time, Thing 2 has escalated to being covered in boogers from her screaming cries, Thing 1 has begun yelling and telling her to stop it and almost to the point of yelling the "s" word (shut up) at her.  The dogs look at me begging me to make it all stop, so I do what I know how to do best.  I just shut the door and walk away from both of their rooms, turn up the music, and go to the mountain of laundry waiting for me. 

While sorting the whites from the coloreds from the neons from the glittery tops, I think to myself that this whole parenting thing has turned me into someone I don't recognize and I'm not just talking about butt size since that has changed, too. Who would have thought I would ever yell and worry about the neighbors hearing it?  I hated being yelled at when I was young which was why I never truly yell at my students---that and it made me giggle because my voice sounded weird when I yelled.  Yet, I'm a yeller.  Who would have thought I'd want to run away from the two things I waited years for and the two creatures who have become intertwined with my own soul so much that I ache for them when they hurt and yearn for them when they are away from me?  Who would have thought the girl who dreamed of nothing more than being a mommy when she was little would ever want to look at new parents and shout loudly, "Run now! Run far away from that little thing because what it will do to you will make you unrecognizable in a few years!"  Sigh. 

I know this would be the point in a blog where there would be some resolution to the conflict stated.  As a Christian, this would be the place I would say something faith-based and profound and show my strength comes from God and that I will be fine. As a single mom, I could also say something about that being the problem and that maybe eHarmony is the next stop in the world wide web for me.  But at this very moment, when my two precious gifts from God are in solitary confinement in their bedrooms and my two furry gifts from God are keeping my feet warm while I type, I have no resolution to this conflict.  I have theories.  I have experience.  I have many who could give me lots of advice. My only rational thought is I have to figure out how to back this train up.  Now. 

What my dog taught me

A month ago today I had to say goodbye to my sweet, practically perfect Bailey Ann. She had been in my world 12.5 years. Longer than my children have been.  Longer than some of my closest friends.  It was definitely time well spent and more of a gift to my world than any human really deserves.  Good thing God doesn't give us what we really deserve.

Many will see a dog as just that. A dog. Ever since I was a child, I had this incredible love of animals, but this deep bond with dogs. My family always had a dog around, sometimes two if we were lucky, and I believe my connection began one night as I lay in bed sobbing about some hormonal teenage thing I'm sure.  Our dog, Ginger, came sauntering in my room, jumped up on my bed and leaned against me.  Weird, but it was exactly what I needed at that moment.  She stayed until I calmed down and eventually fell asleep and even though I woke up and she was gone in the morning, I was hooked on this dog and what she represented to me that night.

Bailey was an abandoned puppy in a park not far from where I live now. I found her at a shelter and she was, as all puppies are, adorable and exceptionally rambunctious. Within nine months though, I found out she was incontinent. A puppy who pees is normal; a puppy who pees when she is asleep, not so much.  My wonderful vet began what turned into many years of testing and medicines trying to help me get through having a dog that peed in her sleep. As with all illnesses, the problem would come and go with intensity, but ultimately, it was a part of who Bailey was. What many didn't understand, especially because this involved quite a bit of vet bills and I had already had a dog with cancer, was this was the SMALLEST part of who Bailey was.

The blue heeler/border collie/mutt mix was the first dog who ever talked to me. Seriously.  I could look at her and wink from across the room and she would answer with, "booooof." I would ask if she was hungry and she would answer with, "boooof."  I would walk in the door and she was usually there with a little loving howl to welcome me. Whenever I would sit, she would walk over to where I was and put her head on my knee.  Sometimes she would stand there for a really long time, too.  One of my most precious visions I have of Bailey is when my dad was going through chemotherapy and he was staying at my house. He would sit in the recliner and Bailey would always go over and put her head on his knee as he slept or as he just watched TV.  In fact, he loved her and up until his last week of life, he would allow her to do this.  Dad always wore a baseball hat during chemo.  After he died, Bailey would go to his recliner that was in my house, stand there and put her head on the recliner. She also never allowed any man with a baseball hat near her without barking at them.  Before dad, she didn't care about whether a guy was around or whether or not he wore a baseball hat, but from the moment dad died on, she barked every single time.  And not just a "boooof" but a repetitious and quite annoying bark to be frank.  I found that connection she had with Dad quite cool.

If you're not a dog person, you probably can't fathom sleeping next to a hairy beast that sometimes smells funny. To me, it's no different than what most of you call marriage, but I digress.  To me it was comfort.  It was literally and figuratively warmth.  For me, many years of pain that accompanied being single was eased when I felt a living, breathing being beside me. She didn't care what baggage I carried, how much I weighed, whether I had cute pajamas or ugly ones.....she just wanted to be near me.  She asked nothing in return except for some food and water. If I didn't pet her, no grudge was held.  If I ignored her excited greeting because I was busy with something at the moment, she wouldn't say, "Fine, I'm done greeting you."  Whether I could spend a minute with her or an hour with it, it didn't matter because she was thrilled with anything I could give her.  To me, she was an example of grace that humans couldn't quite give me.

Deciding that the time had come to say goodbye was heart wrenching.  I agonized over it for almost two months. My vet had pretty much declared every option tried and failed.  It was now a matter of whether or not I could live with the mess that was increasing daily.  When the answer was no, instantly my heart shuttered at the thought of what was next. I could barely walk by her from that moment on without tearing up.  She simply looked at me with those eyes of hers assuring me that the love she had for me surpassed any I had physically known (yes, I know God's does, but I'm talking tangible love right now) and it would never, ever change no matter what I had to do.  She knew that wearing diapers and spending more time locked up in her kennel than ever before wasn't fair nor right, but she waited for me, her human, to make the decision for her, even though it hurt to the core of my being.

On that Friday morning, I sobbed when I woke up. I sobbed when Thing 1 and Thing 2 hugged her before leaving. I sobbed as I drove to the vet.  I sobbed through the entire process, which was incredibly beautiful.  She walked over to me as the vet had the sedative ready to go and she laid against my chest.  I hugged her tightly to me as she slowly went to sleep.  Within minutes she was snoring the most peace-filled snore I had ever heard.  A deep, joyous sleep. Then the final injection was administered as she was still against me tightly and again, in minutes her breathing stopped and she crossed the rainbow bridge, as they say.  I sat with her for another half hour before I could leave her side. My heart was broken, my spirit was sad yet my heart was so grateful for the 12.5 years of unconditional, pure love Bailey gave me.  I still miss her.  I always will. 

Poop. It rules my world.

No one ever warned me about poop's power.  Seriously.  No one.

One would think that poop would mostly be a word associated with a family of males.  Boys are supposed to like that whole bodily fluids stuff, right?  Right?  Whoa, was I misinformed.  Actually, uninformed is more accurate. Why would anyone write about poop, you're asking?  Well, various reasons.

Say poop. Now say it and keep a straight face.  If you accomplished that, now say it again except this time, say poopy pants.  Guaranteed you smiled.  But really, it's not about poop I'm writing.  It's about this whole concept of parenting and having to know more than I've ever had to know in my life.

Example: Thing 1 and Thing 2 have never been excellent poopers.  That's probably more information than they'd want me to share, but hey, I'm the mom and I don't care.  So, in order to deal with the problem once they're out of diapers, one has to ask them about their poop.  How much...how big...how hard...these may all seem like frivolous and honestly, quite gross questions to ask anyone, much less a child, but really, I've learned the hard way that if the poop isn't going well, nothing will be going well.  Parenting lesson number one---poop matters.

It has even become a topic of conversation at the dinner table since that's usually when Thing 1 and 2 get their "poop pills" as they so affectionately call them.  Just 10 minutes ago, Thing 2 was eating and had just taken her "poop pills" and suddenly stood up and said, "I HAVE to poop! Thank you, Mommy! Thank you for the poop pills!" Now seriously, I never in a million years expected to ever be thanked for this.  Scout's honor.  But it didn't end there. She exited the bathroom with pants pulled down, shirt totally off, exclaiming, "Mom, it was a medium-sized poop but it didn't hurt."  Are you still reading?  Why?  You obviously have the same weird problem I have of wanting to look at an accident scene, which this particular post represents.  Smile, wink.

Even when dealing with the dogs, one of the first things asked if they are sick is based on their poop.  My new puppy went to the vet yesterday.  What did I have to do upon returning home?  Collect a poop sample to return to the vet. I only relay this to not only show how much of an expert I am on poop, but also to show how its importance transcends simply humans.

Again, my purpose is mostly to address how surprising parenting is to me.  No manual warns you that someday, while sitting with your children, the topic of poop will be a discussion and it will be one that is contributed to by all involved. I don't think I've ever read a parenting article telling me that what poop looks like, floats like and sounds like when it hits the bowl is actually quite important.  Even now I'm not sure in my lifetime that the poop topic ever hit my parents lips except maybe to express a request like, "get your shit together, please."

Parenting: one surprise after another.  And I ain't shittin' ya.

The wonder of bubble wrap....

My children both love bubble wrap. It doesn't matter how big or how small, but if a piece of the stuff arrives in my house, it instantly becomes a battle worth fighting over.  Currently, the box the bubble wrap arrived in is being converted into a spaceship.  All on a Friday night.  Party. On.

I do believe that children have so much of life figured out. The innocence thing is cute and all, but it's the creativity thing that I love.  When a kleenex box becomes a bed for Barbie and a box becomes a spaceship and when bubble wrap is enough to keep one busy for at least a good 15 minutes....that's creative.  When crayons create and a pencil and paper is all you need ....when you can put on a pair of high heels while cleaning and instantly be Cinderella....that's creative.  I still love to use my imagination and although I feel like my creativity wanes sometimes, like why I didn't post for three months *cough*writer'sblock*cough*, I still really do see watching kids play quite a miraculous experience.

In the past week, I've seen fly swatters turn my girls into Moth Killing Ninjas. I've watched small plastic creatures shaped like animals mesmerize my girls and take on character traits of their own for hours.  I've seen them pull my ferns out of the ground and replant them in the sandbox as their new garden.  I've seen my three year old run around with underwear on her head singing Adele.  Of course, this same Thing 2 child also named her baby at daycare Dumb Ass so sometimes I would venture to guess her creativity needs a filter.  Either way, it brings me to the question of when does that imagination simmer down to a fizzle?  What age is it that we decide bubble wrap and spaceships are only for kids?

I know that research has shown children lose their honesty in writing around fourth grade because they start "worrying" about what the teacher wants instead of writing what they truly feel.  Sad.  Before that time, they write what they think...they make up wonderful adventures...they create.  But then, once the whole "grade" thing kicks in for them, they stop.  Does that happen to imaginations, too?

I've racked my brains thinking about my seventh graders and their imaginations.  Honestly, sometimes there are a few who let it slip that there is an imagination behind that cell phone and e-reader.  For the most part though, being creative equals work and many won't go there whether it's a grade or not.  However, put a toddler with some legos alone with that same 7th grader and you'll see something magical.  Suddenly, it's okay to be a kid again.  Legos are cool. Making silly faces and voices are cool. Jumping and pretending are cool.  But back to the real world and BOOM, gone. Sad face.

So the question hits me....how can I as a teacher foster and allow that imagination to flourish even when they're on the verge of being a teenager?  And how can I keep my own Thing 1 and Thing 2 loving the simple part of life....like cardboard rocket ships?  If you'll excuse me, I must go fight for my portion of the bubble wrap before it's all popped!

Calling a Bluff

As an educator to hormonally imbalanced and sometimes quite idiotic adolescents, I quite often spend my time calling people's bluffs. It's amazing to me how we are all born with an invisible line that dares to be crossed.  We sometimes are the ones doing the crossing and other times, we're the ones daring another to cross. I've become quite good at recognizing a bluff as a bluff, but let me reiterate, I'm old and experienced.  My poor children. They seriously don't have much of a fighting chance to pull anything over me.  However, they are strong little girls and stubborn like crazy so already in their lives, they've made me call their bluffs.  Today was one of those days.

Thing 2 has a notorious and awful habit of thinking that cleaning up is standing in the doorway and tossing your toys into your room.  Thus, the issue.  I've been watching her and waiting for her to suddenly understand the importance of her toys, of which she has quite a few, mostly hand me downs from Thing 1.  That moment never arrived.  I asked her daycare provider if she helped clean up there.  The smirk and shake of the head was clear enough indication that we had a habit forming that needed to be broken and soon.  I refuse to raise slobs.  Yes, I know, I may eat those words someday when they're in those "rebellious teen years" I hear so much about, but when they're small and my house is filled with their crap, they will not be slobs.

I literally gave Thing 2 a warning two days ago that her toys were going bye bye since she couldn't pick them up.  "Where they go, Mama?"

"Well, probably into a garbage bag so I can take them to another little girl who will love My Little Ponies and Barbies," I replied.

"I go get the bag," she stated matter of factly and by golly, she had a garbage bag in her hand and was standing in the door.  "You clean it."

At this point, my blood began to boil, but I remained calm.  I also realized I was in a pickle because I wasn't ready to truly tackle the whole project of getting rid of things. However, I began to throw things in the bag and she didn't flinch. Dang. I was seriously going to have to up the ante. I left some in the bag, but put the bag in her room and reminded her that if this wasn't cleaned up, it was gone tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. She didn't care. I was grumpy and had had it with life for the moment, so I walked into the house and said, "Thing 1, help me rid your sister of her mess, please."  Thing 1 was happy to oblige because there is always a little fun to be had when your sibling is screaming her head off and you get to be on the better end of the screaming. The toys were emptied within 10 mins. The screaming lasted 40. I ignored.  Thing 1 went about daily business. Thing 2 eventually stopped, went and stood in her room, grabbed her one toy that had been put away and came out to the kitchen where the computer is.

"I love you too much to let you be disobedient, Thing 2. I love you so much I want you to understand how important it is to take care of our things." I gave her a quick cheek kiss and went back to work.   She sniffed and licked her running boogers.

"I love you too, Mama."  If only I had the ability to "get over" things as quickly as she does.  Of course, we'll see what the next hour brings....

And these are the moments that keep me coming back

We're in grammar at school right now.  Yes, I said the G word.  It's one of those hills I'm willing to die on, even when research supposedly shows that teaching grammar doesn't really work.  I beg to differ.  I'm sure that the research done to prove such nonsense didn't take place in my classroom for the last 20 years where I've continued to break the rules and teach it anyway.  They took spelling away from middle school for Pete's sake, but no matter how sneaky I have to be about it, I will teach them what a prepositional phrase, action verb, linking verb, subject, predicate words and adjectives are. I have had more than one student thank me later on when they realized that the infamous research about grammar not mattering didn't get out to high school and college English teachers.

Regardless, one of the reasons I love teaching it is because most of my students are on pretty even playing fields when it comes to grammar. Not many have had specific instruction on it other than a worksheet here or there that introduces it and ends it all on one sheet.  So, I truly believe they are interested in it because it is literally a new concept.  Not only that but when they start, they think there is no way they will be able to do what I ask them to do.  We're half way through my unit and guess what?  THEY CAN DO IT! Today was a fun day of me watching them succeed.  We laughed. We argued about certain words (which is good because that means they care for one nanosecond about something) and more importantly to me, I saw the invisible light bulbs lighting up as time progressed. I was assured once again, that I am exactly where I was born to be and that I love my job so much that I will go to work when my nose is running, my head is throbbing and my body is aching (that would be my last two days anyway). At the end of my day, I wrote a quiz for tomorrow and I smiled, not out of spite that they will be surprised, but because I think the surprise they will experience will be the growth that has occurred in the last week and half.

Fast forward two minutes after running my quiz to the end of the school day.  I met with some teachers and the discussion went to our governor and the sad state of affairs SD is in right now. It's hard to know how to feel right now. I know I make a difference. I work so darn hard and to me, it's not always work, but it's what I do. And guess what? I'm not alone in this feeling.  Many of my colleagues do the very same thing. Give it their all practically every single day of school and beyond. And here we are, another year into the legislative session where education is being pooped upon. Literally. The governor's plan is to provide an incentive yearly to math and science teachers, stating of course, that we have a hard time getting good math and science teachers in our state. I would beg to differ.  We have outstanding math and science teachers in our state (and yes, there are a few ringers too, but the majority ARE NOT) and I can speak directly for my team at my school right now.  Do I believe they deserve to get the monetary incentive?  Absolutely.  Do I think they should be singled out to get it?  Not on your life.  Middle school is like a body in a sense. There is a purpose for each part. The science teacher is as important as the physical education teacher who is as important as the home ec teacher who is as important as the music teacher and the English teacher and the counselors. To say a body can function perfectly with only two parts is a lie. To say two parts of the body are better than another is also a lie.  Yes, I know my analogy loses some footing when you compare the brain and the heart to the big toe, but just let me have my moment of believing it works.  :o)

In addition to the monetary incentive for the math and science people, he then wants to give the top 20% merit pay. This is where I chuckle. Repeatedly throughout the nation this concept has failed. It will pit teacher against teacher (no matter how much they say it won't, with "they" being our legislatures supporting the concept). You can bet your bottom dollar that if I'm going to be getting merit pay based on my test scores and reviews, nobody else is going to get my secrets (of which I do have a few after 20 years, of which I religiously share without issue).  I would even go as far as to say education, which is pretty much broken already (remember when it was fun in the classroom and you could be creative with your plans because the test was just a yearly occurrence and not the thing that your whole school was graded on---I DO) will become one big "Test Fest."  I can imagine how incredibly fun that will be for my daughters to live through.  "Oh, creative writing? Umm, no that isn't on our test.  Let's do more prefixes."  And yes, YUCK is onomatopoeia, which is maybe on the test.

Anyway, not sure where I'm at right now, besides dreaming of the days of old when the teachers were looked upon as knowledgeable, respected people who had the ability to make professional decisions and had the trust of the community.  Now I know many think my job is easy and they can do it. Misconceptions about teachers and teaching makes me sad. But, I shall wake up tomorrow, eat my eggs, go to school and do my job because that's who I am.