tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76343278603746635892024-03-13T21:48:27.859-05:00The world looks brighter from behind a smile.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.comBlogger557125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-6590324190186384732023-05-21T17:59:00.001-05:002023-05-21T17:59:11.404-05:00The Rebound<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1yPwjNtmifGCKpeawrZ01OnMydNwF90F-5g-u_7w5gy1rNtVMxt-vpC_n2uwEd8s8bU8C18WmY5Yt6fLpaNqZJu3Nfxqsl1FhhljX5LsXFMRjwJEQKp63b9vnbzhgWs0cqxsOubhS_0VEI7_yuVVP1J3aALmuTew1mO2T4cPrggbCYDhBxiK9KG9MuA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1yPwjNtmifGCKpeawrZ01OnMydNwF90F-5g-u_7w5gy1rNtVMxt-vpC_n2uwEd8s8bU8C18WmY5Yt6fLpaNqZJu3Nfxqsl1FhhljX5LsXFMRjwJEQKp63b9vnbzhgWs0cqxsOubhS_0VEI7_yuVVP1J3aALmuTew1mO2T4cPrggbCYDhBxiK9KG9MuA" width="320" /></a></div><br />This week, I'm headed for my 13th breakup in 13 years. It will be amicable for sure, but I will still joyfully grieve my way through this week, enjoying all the moments while being fully aware of how bittersweet they are. Just like every other year, I knew from the beginning that this was never meant to be long term.<p></p><p>You see, middle school is really the "rebound" relationship of education. Elementary school? They get to be the first love. It's the first relationship these kids have with school. They experience so many things for the first time, and nothing will ever be quite so brand new. They hopefully spend six years of their lives in puppy love and look back on that time with intense fondness and nostalgia.</p><p>The breakup with the first love is not an easy one, even though they know they've outgrown the relationship. They come to middle school fearful of if they can ever love school as much as they did before, fearful of change, fearful of being lost in the crowd and never meaning as much to us as they did to Mr. or Mrs. Fill-in-the-Blank... you know, the one who set the standard for all the rest of us. We do our best to pick up the pieces and put them back together stronger than they ever were before. We show these kids something completely different from what they've experienced, and they start to navigate it all while building their preferences and interests. We know the three year time clock starts the second they walk through our doors for the first time, and it is a mad rush to pack as much as we can into that short time together. </p><p>In middle school, academic content is important. We're laying the foundation for high school and beyond with crucial building blocks of skills, and that is no small task. I would argue, however, that building the content of their character is perhaps the most important thing we hope they take from us into their next relationship. These forming humans start to figure out who they are and who deserves their time. Have you ever gotten to be in the room with someone at the moment they stop following the crowd and begin to lead with being themselves? They start to carve their own paths, make their own decisions, and form their own opinions. In the rebound, we work to bring out the best in each of them and revel in our time when we see them each begin to step into their own light.</p><p>But once those lights are shining, well, they need a bigger stage. The rebound is never meant to be anything more than a temporary period of discovery. All that time, energy, and work we put in wasn't really for us because they were always meant for someone else. High school comes along and scoops them up and into their next long term relationship. We hope they carry with them everything they've learned from our short but pivotal time together. </p><p>When our students walk out of the Barn doors one last time on Friday, I hope and pray that they have gotten everything out of this rebound that they need to move forward. I hope they've felt seen and know how to find and demand that from everyone they meet from now on. I hope we've set a new standard for them of what it's like to be loved through the toughest and sometimes most unlikable times. I hope they know their full worth- their strengths and all of the goodness inside of them- and that they know how to find their people, the ones who will continue to nurture the best in them. I hope our time together has been enough.</p><p>If this is the end of the story, I hope these kids know how thoroughly I have enjoyed our time together. It is an honor and a privilege to get to be part of this season of their lives. Really, though, I hope that this is just the beginning of our story together. I hope that when they go on to do all the amazing things we've dreamed along with them, they'll check back in every now and then to let us know all about them. Maybe the rebound was actually meant to be a lifelong friend. A girl can hope.</p><p>After Friday, I have the absolute BEST crew at home to help me get through this breakup. My heart will be sewn back together with library trips and pools days and ice cream and snuggles and getting to be a whole mom for my kids. By the end of the summer, I'll be ten times more devastated to leave my kids and our carefree days. And, on the other end, will be the next group waiting for their rebound and a chance to build the relationships they need all over again.</p><p>Five more exhausting and happy days to hopefully fill these kids' cups to the brim, and then it's time to share a whole jug full of love with my own for a while. My own guy at home is experiencing his first school breakup and may just need some help nursing his own heart. I'm so excited to get to help him rebound with all my friends in the fall. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCaohl87eDI_5zgjfcUmMK7w8Abr0v2HhxSeHDDmJ9dOSx6HAY-6DO04-SvLWtkkiojS5OKpOLUs9JYvQHsX7u0oC0kQXSmUao4NfRoOVtpx-0TSOIJynq-Yqf_RKk6C9PRCnufjez1qo3gg4nllE3zNfmcTehAfD1UmUb59ca-hPMOe0vTzVpAz5d0w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCaohl87eDI_5zgjfcUmMK7w8Abr0v2HhxSeHDDmJ9dOSx6HAY-6DO04-SvLWtkkiojS5OKpOLUs9JYvQHsX7u0oC0kQXSmUao4NfRoOVtpx-0TSOIJynq-Yqf_RKk6C9PRCnufjez1qo3gg4nllE3zNfmcTehAfD1UmUb59ca-hPMOe0vTzVpAz5d0w" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-49551711544704744852023-04-26T21:07:00.010-05:002023-04-26T21:21:49.968-05:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg10L1uaYgUnzzfTmz97LJH4EO4QqB13st68GAtBp04-V2DYSjbhRy99TywQAtKe1EjUsftjb-Vv_dMF4AFlWZMurZXTXzs_hxdd-AtSYssBXxs30QVw1kwRmeN8kqYC84h4b4bxX4j8nWfGwRWh_nPqKKuglAS1mCt63c0mIdnZMjy2c3-sTbo4bAtA/s2048/Punta%20Cana%202023.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg10L1uaYgUnzzfTmz97LJH4EO4QqB13st68GAtBp04-V2DYSjbhRy99TywQAtKe1EjUsftjb-Vv_dMF4AFlWZMurZXTXzs_hxdd-AtSYssBXxs30QVw1kwRmeN8kqYC84h4b4bxX4j8nWfGwRWh_nPqKKuglAS1mCt63c0mIdnZMjy2c3-sTbo4bAtA/s320/Punta%20Cana%202023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This picture is one from the highlight reel. The woman you see in it is coming off of an amazing vacation. She's happy and rested and full of great new memories and sun-kissed skin. She's part of a big happy family. That's all real.</p><p>What you don't see is the "real" after the picture. This was taken the morning we left Punta Cana after spending a week doing our favorite things with my parents in a gorgeous setting with equally as beautiful weather. We got to focus on our biggest decisions being pool or beach, buffet or sit down dinner, dancing or an early bedtime. On the day we left, I was weepy all morning, and it was easy to justify. Of course I would be sad to leave paradise and my parents. I brushed off the nagging feeling in the back of my head that while I was always blue to leave vacation, this felt a little different. I was happy, and I was fine. Maybe just a bit tired. </p><p>We coasted into home that Saturday evening and crashed hard. I got up Sunday morning and fell back into our home routine right away- get ready for church, throw in a few loads of laundry, start the grocery list. I pulled out the calendar to look at our schedule in order to meal plan for the week, and that's when that nagging feeling became a storm. The wind came first. It knocked the breath out of me, and I couldn't get it back. Then, the rain started. It trickled down my cheeks in drips first but quickly picked up and turned to a torrential downpour that I couldn't stop. I tucked myself away and fought the storm for almost an hour before it finally subsided and left me beaten down in its wake. </p><p>It took me a long time to process this. It should be blue skies over here. How could this happen, how could it come out of nowhere? I have the four most precious kids in the world who fill my heart and give me so much life. I have an incredible support system in my family and at work. I love my job. I have a deep faith to lean on that has gotten me through times much tougher than these. I love my life. I really do. It overflows with blessings.</p><p>But none of this could hold off the storm. It came anyway.</p><p>The only other panic attacks I've had are related to driving and were much more predictable. If you don't know the story of my high school car accident where a seatbelt saved my life, that's a story I'll have to tell you another day. The more I thought about this storm and dissected it, the more I realized that these fronts had been moving closer for a long time, and I couldn't stop them from meeting just by ignoring the weather report. Had I paid any attention to the forecast, I wouldn't have been so caught off guard.</p><p>All the blessings in my life bring me unbelievable joy. Each of these roles that are so important to me- mom, wife, daughter, friend, teacher-also bring with them stress, anxiety, pressure, and the fear of letting down the incredible people who have spent my whole life building me up. I'm not sure if it's possible to care too much abut too many things, but, well, I care way too much about way too many things. The things I truly enjoy are also the things I obsess over to the level of exhaustion because all I want is to get each of them right. So, I put on a smile and remind myself that each of these things is something I dreamed of and prayed for and worked my butt off to bring into existence. In doing this, I lose sight of taking care of one other important person. You know her.</p><p>I had perfect attendance first semester, and that was the least perfect choice I've made all year. Instead of being a badge of honor to wear, I have come to realize that sometimes I need to worry less about showing up at my best for work every single day and more about showing up for myself. The kids will survive a day or two with a sub. In fact, some of them will be quite delighted with a break from me for a day. Sometimes, it's okay to not show up for every single thing my own kids do. They'll survive that, too. Part of letting them try every sport and activity their hearts desire has to be letting go of the idea that I can be there cheering and documenting every second of it all. At the end of the day, I can only survive the storms myself if I make my way to the basement when too many fronts start to meet. I'm no good to anyone if I let the wind and rain sweep me away.</p><p>I think it's important to say at this point that I am okay. I know what I need to do to stay okay, and I just need those constant reminders to keep myself on that unending "to do" list. I also know that I don't make it easy for those around me to share their umbrellas. Even those most well-versed in how my brain works may miss my biggest "tell" because it is deceiving. My biggest instinct when I'm falling apart is to find others who are, too, and to do everything I can to help them keep it together. Obsessive generosity is one of my biggest coping mechanisms and also a shield I like to hide behind. No one will notice I'm struggling if I'm pouring into others in their struggle, right? In some ways, it is deeply helpful. Making others happy fuels my own happiness and tucks me under a protective overhang. In other ways, it adds to the exhaustion. There's just so much to care about. And love is an action word.</p><p>I gave myself a gift this week. I went to Lizzo on a school night and drank and danced and sang and had the best time. Lizzo was incredible. I had high expectations, and she exceeded them all. She also inspired me with her love and care for everyone in the audience, and it was clear that this started with her deep love for herself. When I bought the tickets months ago, I scheduled my first personal day of the year for the day after the concert (today) so that I could enjoy myself to the fullest, and I thanked myself for that profusely last night when I turned off my alarm before crashing wayyyyy after my bedtime. I spent today basking in the post-Lizzo glow, taking a long walk with my dog and a meaningful podcast, exercising, cooking, making something special for someone special, having lunch with a dear friend I don't get to see enough, playing and reading books with my kids, and going to the bathroom whenever I wanted. It's the little things. I also got all the laundry done because that just has a way of bookending every story, doesn't it? </p><p>Nothing that I'm sharing here is particularly original or revolutionary, but it is still important. It's important to keep it real that I have bad days, and my kids fight, and I fall apart and cry and lose myself sometimes. It's important when God has called me to a profession where I work hard to be a role model and a leader to let those who choose to follow know that it's okay not to be okay sometimes. It's important to acknowledge the storms because I have learned and am still learning and have fought and will keep fighting to survive every single one of them. When you look at that picture, know that there is so much more to that girl than what you see. It's all part of the reel and my real. </p><p>And after the rain... that's when God does his most beautiful work in full color. </p><p> </p>Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-55174457404258852332020-01-14T17:24:00.000-06:002020-01-14T17:24:14.977-06:00The Weight of our WordsIn case you're ever wondering what the rules of etiquette are for talking to a woman about her body or her weight, and especially for those who aren't wondering and think they already know, here are a few tips:<br />
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1. Don't.<br />
2. Don't talk about her weight.<br />
3. At all.<br />
4. Unless you are her doctor or trainer or nutritionist... then it might be okay.<br />
5. Otherwise, don't do it.<br />
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News flash- I'm pregnant. My body is doing the miraculous work of growing a baby, one that I hope and pray is healthy. If she is, she's getting bigger. If she's getting bigger, then I am too. That's the way it works. I can see this in the mirror as I try to find clothes in my closet that will stretch over her for the home stretch. I can feel it in my cankles and my puffy feet through long days of teaching. I notice as I'm trying to sneak through tight spaces but bulldoze instead and as I catch bits of lunch on the bump that might have previously fallen to the floor (talk about a win, right?). As sore and uncomfortable as I feel sometimes physically, I am also as comfortable as I have ever been in my skin. I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm continuously in awe of the things that you can push a human body to do.<br />
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That's why I can handle the comments and take them in stride (waddle) without also taking a hit to my self confidence. But I shouldn't have to. I'm not hurt; I'm pissed. After multiple comments today about how big I'm getting and how huge this baby must, I had finally had enough. When a coworker stopped me in the hallway to once again point out to me how large I am, I stopped her, looked her in the eye, and responded as nicely as I could muster, "That's not nice." She laughed it off, but I wasn't done because I wanted her to really hear me and think twice before making that kind of comment to someone else. I continued, "I would never say something like that to you." She doubled down, and I walked away.<br />
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At first, I stewed over and hypothesized about why being pregnant seems to give people the impression that it's acceptable to constantly comment on a woman's weight and a woman's body. This quickly moved into wondering why we ever feel as if this is an appropriate thing to do, pregnant or not. Twenty years and sixty pounds ago. I found people's "compliments" about my skinny frame equally as disturbing. No, I did not have an eating disorder or any body fat. Yes, I had a lot of trouble finding clothes that fit and even more trouble with my deep insecurities about the way that I looked and the people who constantly had to point it out.<br />
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It was even worse for one of my friends in college who actually had an eating disorder. Every time people had something to say about how amazing that "skinny bitch" looked, they were reinforcing her self-destructive behaviors. She was absolutely stunning on the outside but literally withering away and dying on the inside. And the outside too, really. Thank God she survived their compliments. Don't even get me started on the damage we have collectively done to my friends on the other end of the scale.<br />
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When I was discussing today's round of comments with a colleague, she said that these kinds of comments don't usually come from a bad place, and people say really awkward things when they don't know what to say. I completely agree. It's an unfortunate element of human nature, isn't it? We can learn, though. I ask my students to always write rules and norms focusing on positive language instead of just telling people what not to say. Maybe people could just use a little guidance with compliments they could give that don't mention weight or bodies, things we could use to acknowledge and build up each other.<br />
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For all of the cringy things that I've stomached about this big belly of mine over the past few months, I've also gotten to experience my fair share of sweetness. A different coworker that I don't interact with very often stopped me in the mail room last week just to tell me that there was something so happy and glowing coming off of me that it was truly beautiful. I carried that one with me and somehow felt lighter. It made my whole day.<br />
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If you want to tell me about my looks, tell me I look happy. Tell me I look strong. Tell me I look like I'm taking on a lot but I'm somehow surviving handling it well. Tell me I look capable. Powerful. Friendly. Badass. Sure, I wouldn't mind being pretty or looking good, but if you see any beauty in me, I hope that you can find it in my heart. Maybe if we can be better and more intentional in the things we say to each other, we'll also be better about the things we say to and about ourselves.<br />
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What is something good that someone has said to you that stuck with you more than the bad? What do you wish we would say to each other more? Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-55416429281542298232019-09-30T20:44:00.003-05:002019-09-30T21:47:03.995-05:00Role Reversal"Mrs. Ferri, are you really telling kids that they can't say 'no homo'?"<br />
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The question took me aback for a minute, just like hearing a few boys casually toss this phrase around my classroom the week before had. I love my middle schoolers dearly and think the world of them, which makes it even more disturbing to hear such ugly things come out of their mouths sometimes. I spent a few nights stewing on this and sent an e-mail to our counseling department to circle back and teach intentionally to these moments. When I started to look through the resources they gave me, the whole thing got bigger for me. What if, I thought, the expository writing we need to practice anyway is timed at a perfect intersection with some real life applicability? What if my students would actually be the better teachers?<br />
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I spent the weekend putting together a project for my Pre AP students, including the class with the harmful phrase hockey, where they will do the work to teach each other why some of these most harmful things that they say so carelessly must be opposed as adamantly as I did in their class last week. I want them to get it, and I want them to help each other to get it. Because I know they can. Which brings us to today. My 7th hour student made it clear that, one way or another, the kids are talking about the project.<br />
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"So is it true? What's the problem?"<br />
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There are so many moments in teaching where I can see two paths roll themselves out clearly in front of me. My husband teases me for my indecisiveness, but I would argue that by the time I get home, I'm just worn out from being deliberately decisive all day long, with the implications of each choice holding more weight than I might even realize at times. Today, I could reiterate that "no homo" simply wouldn't be tolerated in my classroom and move on with our regularly scheduled programming, or I could take a minute to answer thoughtfully. This was one of the easier decisions I made over the course of the day.<br />
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Since we just finished reading "Flowers for Algernon", we had a conversation about how "pulling a Charlie Gordon" and "no homo" weren't all that different in theory. We talked about the staggering statistics of how many teenagers harm themselves and how many end their own lives, many because they are made to feel uncomfortable for one reason or another about who they are. Race. Religion. Ethnicity. Sexual Preference. Weight. Height. You name it. We talked about how my job as a Mama Bear is to protect my students and to give them a safe place to be who they were made to be. Because everyone deserves to feel secure in that way, right? Heads started to nod. Maybe they started to get it. We talked about how my Pre AP classes would hopefully be able to explain it better than I could by the end of their project-that-I-hope-will-be-much-more, and I asked them to really hear out their classmates when they tried. I told them I wanted to know the kind of people who could have the courage to say to each other, "I'm uncomfortable when you say that," and, "We don't say that here."<br />
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"But what if we're just joking around? I mean, at least 'that's so gay' is fine, right?" His classmates were ready to answer that one for me. Score one for the team.<br />
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As our boys acted goofy, made Alexa their personal TRL, and figured out new and inventive ways to avoid eating anything healthy on their plates tonight at dinner, I relayed this story to Tom. He's been my sounding board and proofreader for the project, after all. When I was finished, Tyson turned to me and said, "It sounds like he asked the right teacher his questions, Mama. I bet he's glad he was in your class." I hadn't even known he was listening.<br />
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And that's exactly the point, isn't it? Someone is always listening. We are sometimes heard when we don't even realize it, even when we don't mean to be. My school kids needed me to be a mom today, and my own kid saw me as a teacher. The best I can hope is that each of them heard what they needed to hear from me.<br />
<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-22760235843400768432018-02-07T21:36:00.001-06:002018-02-07T21:40:50.041-06:00Permission to Fail<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="esrjf" data-offset-key="s47b-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="s47b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I've been wanting to try something with my students for years but have put it off because I was worried that it wouldn't turn out the way I hoped it would. I won't bore you with the details of exactly what it was. I finally realized that I had to try, though, because of one of the biggest lessons I've learned as a teacher: <b>magical things can happen when you give yourself permission to fail. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Reminding myself of this lesson makes me work toward going bigger, better, and bolder every time. Sure, we totally crash and burn on "guinea pig" days in class sometimes. Yet, it's all worth it for the grins we get to share on the days when we realize that something is going right. Really right. Awesomely right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I set a personal goal to get my students to the point where I felt that we were ready to try the thing. You know, </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">that </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">thing... from the first paragraph. Little by little, chunk by chunk, we scaffolded and prepared without them even knowing that this thing was looming ahead that I just knew had to happen. I finally told them yesterday because today was the big day. I hoped that it would build their confidence when I shared with them that I was finally willing to try because of them. We put in the work. We were ready.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My students exceeded my wildest expectations today. They were articulate, thoughtful, and mature in their discourse. They were respectful in their handling of each other and of the variety of ideas that were floating around the classroom. They were just awesome, and I was so proud. I wish I could take credit for this, but it was really all them. They helped me to reach my own personal goal by showing me what they could do when I trusted them with it. They were great teachers when I was willing to be a student myself. What more could I ask for in a day of teaching?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What kind of magic might happen if I start to apply this lesson to my own life more? I'm looking forward to figuring this out. :) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you, permission to fail, you made my day. </span></div>
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Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-22594497818211026802018-01-18T21:23:00.001-06:002018-01-19T09:33:06.652-06:00The Light Under the DoorOne of the biggest cliches about parenting is also one of the biggest truths: those kids, they grow up so quickly. I'm all too aware of how fleeting time is and how important it is to be fully present in each moment because nothing beyond what's happening right now is ever guaranteed.<br />
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I remind myself of this every time life gets crazy or every time I'm tempted to start a pity party for myself. I remind myself of this when I worry big time about small things. I especially remind myself of this when I'm spending time with my kids and especially when I feel myself starting to get into the "I'm so busy, life's so crazy" spiral of excuses that prevent me from enjoying life's little moments to the fullest.<br />
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I hope it is abundantly clear to anyone who knows me just how much I love and adore my kids. They drive me nuts, but I couldn't be any more nuts about them. Each little guy has his own quirks and habits that make him absolutely delightful and delicious. Being the total sentimental mush that I am since I became their mom, I know that with each joyful milestone, I will also mourn the loss of these things that have marked their childhoods as they become stories and memories.<br />
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One that I want to capture for posterity belongs to Des. Unlike Tyson, he did not naturally take to bedtime routines (or any routines, for that matter). While we read Tyson stories before bed, Des would run around the room, make a mess, jump on the bed, and do whatever he could to keep his "Party Boy" nickname. I worried that he'd never be able to sit down long enough to enjoy reading a book, but somewhere along the way, he became the most voracious "reader" in the house.<br />
<br />
His love of reading became even more clear when we started to find the light under the door. Des has always rebelled against bedtime, so we started to get suspicious when he started going down more easily. If you think we should have relished in him finally learning and abiding by the routine, then you don't know Des. His rebellion had just become more quiet. I was so frustrated the first time I found the light. I figured he must be up messing around in his room, and this made what I actually found behind the door that much sweeter. When I opened it, there was our little Party Boy finally passed out in the middle of a circle of books. It is now a common occurrence to find the light and to find Des either reading a book or asleep in the evidence of a night of beyond bedtime reading. I have to stop for a minute before I can enter his room to replace my grin with a serious "go to bed" face, but something about that kid (or maybe everything about that kid) ensures that the grin will always return anyway.<br />
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I know that someday the light under the door will mean I'm about to enter into an argument about bedtimes or cell phones or video games or things that I don't even know about yet, and it makes me cherish the sweet innocence of my little reader of today even more.<br />
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Thank you, light under the door, you made my day.</div>
Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-48064016769936034032017-12-19T18:18:00.000-06:002017-12-19T18:49:39.933-06:00Carry OnTyson has developed a sweet habit of helping me carry in my things from the car at night. As a recovering bag lady, this is truly more meaningful than it may sound at first. It's nice to have someone to help lighten the load. Today, he was having trouble because he picked up too many things. I heard myself saying to him, "Well, Tyson, don't take on more than you can carry!" Immediately as the words left my mouth, I realized just how ironic that statement was.<br />
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Just like my Grandma Ginny, "I'm fine" to a fault. I come from parents who inspire me by going out of their way on a daily basis to improve the lives of others. Seriously. They are a human interest story in kindness. They have passed along that gene to me (I hope, I'm working on it), along with a gene for hard work. I have worked and clawed and stressed and struggled and risen to life's challenges and have begun to carve out my own place in this world. My life has not been easy by any means. However, I am not blind to the fact that much of what I have and who I get to be has also come from the privileges I have been afforded and a life of unconditional love. This is where things get a little stickier.<br />
<br />
When I told Tyson not to take on more than he could carry, he responded with, "But you have so much to carry, and I don't have that much. I can help." He's five, and he totally meant this in a literal way, but it had a profound impact on me. This is exactly what I don't know how to stop doing. In my job, I see heartbreaking things. Every day. Sometimes every hour of the day. I see kids dealing with things in their lives that they should never have to deal with at any age, let alone in their teenage years that come with so much insecurity and uncertainty anyway. If I told you their stories, you might not believe me. Along with my 500 bags of ungraded papers and library books and eating-my-feelings snacks, I carry these things home with me every night. How could you not? I have a lot on my shoulders, but they're not broken, so I keep adding to the load. I have my faith and friends and family to build me up and pick me up. As Tyson said, if you're carrying more than I am, shouldn't I help you?<br />
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I'm not entirely sure what my point is in all of this because I'm carrying too much right now, and I know it. I'm frazzled and think I very well may be dropping the ball in all of the reindeer games I'm trying to play. Yet, I think maybe what I want to say is this: what I'd love to see more of in this world are people who are helping to carry the load. I don't mean this on a political level. I mean it on a human level. Not everyone literally wears their stress on their shoulders like I do, but that doesn't lessen the load any. When someone says, "I'm fine," the easy path is to take their word for it and wait for them to ask for help. People like me, we're always fine, and we won't ask for help. We'll have trouble accepting it, too. You can wish that we were less difficult and say it's our own dang fault, and you'd be entirely right. However, I'm not sure that being right feels as good as helping us anyway (and I should know because I friggin' love being right).<br />
<br />
Thanks to the people in my life who call bull on "I'm fine." I rely on you so much through stressful times like these and know that I can't possibly thank you enough times for you to understand how grateful I truly am. Thanks for reminding me to give my problems up to God. Thanks for stopping me in the hallway, asking how I'm doing, really meaning it, and hearing me out, even though your load is as heavy as mine. Thanks for helping me sift through my "bags," even when what I'm carrying is ugly and uncomfortable and hard. Thanks for letting me set things down for a while to have a run or a drink or a laugh with you. We should do it more often! Thanks for somehow hearing my cries, even when they're silent in my classroom because I just heard a silly Christmas song that I used to sing with my sister. Thanks for understanding what's on my shoulders and for hopefully letting me help you with what's on yours. Because of you, I will always want to be a carrier and hope that others will see that in me. Thank you to people who are named Tom Ferri. Thanks for making it (almost!) to the end of this sad attempt back into the blogging world. I think I should try again soon. It's good to be grateful. :)<br />
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This has been a tough day, and I have hours of work still to do after the kids go to bed. I will somehow limp my way through Thursday and the holiday season in no small part because of the people who love me despite myself, and I will try to pick up as much as I can along the way.<br />
<br />
"<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">If you're lost and alone or you're sinking like a stone,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Carry on</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground and</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Carry on"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
Thanks, load lighteners, you made my day.<br />
<br />
Carry on...<br />
<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-86442198059838209332017-01-25T09:47:00.001-06:002017-01-25T09:47:44.498-06:00To Whom It May Concern (Which Should Be All of Us)- Draft 2<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There are some things that need to be said about the state of education in our country. I'm going to have to let the two things that are most uncomfortable for me to talk about, politics and money, have a place in this conversation. But I need you to listen anyway. Please. Pretty please. If I had the choice to "just" be a teacher and not get involved, I would do it. I would put my head down, go about my job and my life, and be happier for it. The problem is that it's not a choice I have any longer. I need to be heard. I need to be heard so badly that I'm sitting here, still soaked from the shower, balancing a nursing baby and a laptop, scrolling through the list in my head of the hours of work I need to do this morning and trying to triage to make time for this because I need you to hear it.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-89600c34-d64f-17de-4399-345dd229f7af" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You can’t be apathetic when it comes to education. You just can’t. It's not enough just to care. You simply have to walk the walk. Education isn't just an issue that only affects teachers and people who have school-aged kids. I'll let John Green describe this one for you: "Public education does not exist for the benefit of students or the benefit of their parents. It exists for the benefit of social order. We have discovered as a species that it is useful to have an educated population. You do not need to be a student or have a child who is a student to benefit from public education. Every second of every day of your life, you benefit from public education. So let me explain why I like to pay taxes for schools, even though I don't personally have a kid in school: It's because I don't like living in a country with a bunch of stupid people.” It’s time to act. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The work we do in our schools every day is important. It is crucial. It is necessary for the survival (and dare I dream advancement?) of our society. I believe these things with my whole heart. I don't believe them because I read them in my Facebook scroll or saw them on the news. I certainly haven't heard them come out of the mouths of politicians, not in the way that I want and need them to. I believe these things because they are deeply ingrained in the life I live every day. They are the inescapable facts that dictate my every move far beyond my contracted hours as a teacher.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here's what it boils down to: the work we do in our schools every day is priceless, but that doesn't excuse us from the responsibility of giving it a VALUE.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me say it again, maybe in a different way this time, to make sure it gets through: because teachers are called to do everything in their power to help each child who enters their classrooms, many would do it for free, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY SHOULD HAVE TO. It's time to invest in our future, which means that we have to invest in education.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me give you some background. I work for an incredible school district. I often thank my lucky stars for somehow stumbling into such an amazing school on my first interview. I'm at a place where I just fit. My students, my colleagues, my families that I meet each year-- they are everything. I love what I do, and I love where I do it. That being said, it has been a devastating blow to have two tax levies fail here in less than two years.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The community that I value so much doesn't value me back.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least, they don't value the work that I do. Not as much as they should. In turn, this means that they don't value the power of educating our youth. Not as much as they should.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After much research and reflection, I know the reasons why. I don't accept them. Please understand that this is one of the times where this is going to get uncomfortable for me. I'm going to share facts and run the risk of sounding whiny. One of the main reasons our community decided to deny us the funds we need to simply maintain the status quo in our district, which I think our staff can widely agree is not enough, is because we got a "raise" a few years ago. Yes, I'm an English teacher. I used those quotation marks right. You see, our "raise" was given as a gift at the same time that we were gifted extra days added to our contract. Admittedly, I'm not super great at the money and business portion of life. However, receiving extra money as compensation for working extra days... is this what you understand a raise to be?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That's not the only flaw in the logic here. We'll get to the whole teachers-are-the-opposite-of-greedy argument in a minute, but by blaming the teachers or using them as an excuse, people are ignoring a crazy important part of the issue here: THE KIDS. In order for anything to be successful in the education world, the center of every discussion, every decision, and every step we take has to be our kids.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When a teacher stays after school to tutor struggling students because she operates under a philosophy that dictates that all students can learn at high levels, it takes away from the time she could be home helping her own kids with their homework. But she does it anyway. For free. Shouldn't there be funding for that? When a teacher sponsors a chess club to give kids a safe place to land where they are accepted and loved, he's giving pieces of the time he could be spending playing Trouble with his own son at home. Because he can't stand another day of those kids being bullied after school. Wouldn't there be funding for these kinds of things? When a teacher starts a breakfast club as a "treat" for her homeroom in order to make sure that one of them who was recently diagnosed with diabetes eats at least one balanced meal a day, it takes away from the fund for treats she can provide for her own family. But she does it anyway. For the kids. Couldn't there be funding for this? Not in our current system. Not even a little bit.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Isn't it embarrassing to us that master teachers who have taught for decades are being forced out of classrooms because their districts can't afford to pay them even a little bit for their experience? Isn't it embarrassing that new teachers have second and sometimes third jobs in an attempt to survive while doing this important work? Isn't it embarrassing that we refuse to fund the things that we should find most valuable?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you do the research, and I really wish you would, you will find that it's not an exaggeration to say that there is a direct pipeline that leads to prison for a great number of our youth who drop out of high school. You will find staggering figures about the earning potential for someone without a high school diploma vs. someone with a high school diploma vs. someone with a college degree vs. someone with an advanced degree (unless, of course, those "someones" decided to become teachers). We're speaking in millions of dollars here. As Frederick Douglass said, "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men."</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I got my contract last year, I thought twice before signing on the line to sentence myself to another year of the most rewarding yet most devastating job I can imagine. In the interest of full disclosure, I thought about it a lot more than twice. Less than five years after being named my district's Teacher of the Year, I was ready to throw in the towel. My family encouraged this move, dangling jobs with more respect and higher salaries in front of me. Less hours and much, much less take home work. Weekends free? It was all so attractive. I seriously thought I was ready to walk away. I couldn't find a place for my idealist mentality in the reality of teaching anymore.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But then I signed my contract anyway. Why? You guessed it.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is one of my greatest curses and my greatest blessings. At the end of the day, I could walk away from everything except for those KIDS. Which brings me back here. To this. To you.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You see, teachers aren't greedy at all, and we are not the problem. We are the people who get up every morning with the simplest and most difficult goal of all: we want to change the world. Every day. For every kid. But we can't do it anymore without your help, and we can't keep doing it for free. I did not become the latest casualty of the profession, but in less than a decade of teaching, I have seen many gifted professionals move on because they just can't stomach it anymore. The politics. The public indifference, disrespect even, for the most powerful tool we have at our disposal. The kids who need more than we can provide with what we are given and the toll this takes on our lives and our kids, those we claim as our own at school and those who belong to us at home.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tonight, I will have to rush home after work because I forgot the shoes I need to walk me through a night of volunteering with our staff, students, and families at the local food bank. I hope to hit a red light somewhere along the way to give me time to knock a few other things off my "to-do" list (because even red lights offer an opportunity for progress). I'll make it home in time to eat a late dinner with my kids before putting them to bed and diving into the hours of planning and grading it will take to make tomorrow a good, productive day for my school kids. All the while, I'll be thinking about how thankful I am for my life as I worry about what's happening in the lives of the 140 humans who I need to help raise to change the world.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What are you doing tonight? Could I kindly suggest a few things? I want to give you the opportunity to make a difference. Yes, you. You don't need the most powerful elected officials to help you or even a crowd of people. Here are some things that you will do that will make a difference:</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Share. Share this post. Share your thoughts. Share your time by volunteering at your local schools. Share funds by donating to education or politicians who support our kids or any number of GoFundMe projects posted by teachers online.</span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do your homework. Yes, even as an adult peer, this teacher is asking you to do some homework. Educate yourself about the major issues in education. Are you wondering why people are making such a big deal about this "growth vs. proficiency thing" in the confirmation hearings? Make it your business to know why. Why is there a lack of funding in schools in the first place? You can't fix it until you know about it.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Get involved in your local schools. In the next twelve months, there will be a school board election where you live. Guaranteed. The people who are elected will be the main stewards of your local tax dollars. Do you know who they are? Do you know what they're spending and why and how? School board elections are often decided by a narrow margin because there are so few people who vote. You have a chance to have a direct impact for our kids.</span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: disc; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Refuse to allow Betsy DeVos to become our new Secretary of Education. She does not have experience, and she does not have enough respect for the position to have even done her homework before her confirmation hearings. A quick Google search will give you a number of different politicians to contact and a number of different ways to contact them to make sure that this does not happen.</span></div>
</li>
</ul>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you need more ideas, send me a message. I'll catch up with you at my next red light.</span>Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-42434696164813056852017-01-25T08:33:00.000-06:002017-01-25T08:56:16.241-06:00To Whom It May Concern (Which Should Be All of Us)There are some things that need to be said about the state of education in our country. I'm going to have to let the two things that are most uncomfortable for me to talk about, politics and money, have a place in this conversation. But I need you to listen anyway. Please. Pretty please. If I had the choice to "just" be a teacher and not get involved, I would do it. I would put my head down, go about my job and my life, and be happier for it. The problem is that it's not a choice I have any longer. I need to be heard. I need to be heard so badly that I'm sitting here, still soaked from the shower, balancing a nursing baby and a laptop, scrolling through the list in my head of the hours of work I need to do this morning and trying to triage to make time for this, all so I can let my heart speak the words it NEEDS to say. I need you to hear me, and I need you to do more than click the "like" button after you read. I need you to care, and I need you to take action. This is going to be long and wordy and a little political, but I need you to listen anyway. Can you give me that gift, please? There's a prize for making it all the way to the bottom.<br />
<br />
The work we do in our schools every day is important. It is crucial. It is necessary for the survival (and dare I dream advancement?) of our society. I believe these things with my whole heart. I don't believe them because I read them in my Facebook scroll or saw them on the news. I certainly haven't heard them come out of the mouths of politicians, not in the way that I want and need them to. I believe these things because they are deeply ingrained in the life I live every day. They are the inescapable facts that dictate my every move far beyond my contracted hours as a teacher.<br />
<br />
Here's what it boils down to: the work we do in our schools every day is priceless, but that doesn't excuse us from the responsibility of giving it a VALUE.<br />
<br />
Let me say it again, maybe in a different way this time, to make sure it gets through: because teachers are called to do everything in their power to help each child who enters their classrooms, many would do it for free, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY SHOULD HAVE TO. It's time to invest in our future, which means that we have to invest in education.<br />
<br />
Let me give you some background. I work for an incredible school district. I often thank my lucky stars for somehow stumbling into such an amazing school on my first interview. I'm at a place where I just fit. My students, my colleagues, my families that I meet each year-- they are everything. I love what I do, and I love where I do it. That being said, it has been a devastating blow to have two tax levies fail here in less than two years.<br />
<br />
The community that I value so much doesn't value me back.<br />
<br />
At least, they don't value the work that I do. Not as much as they should. In turn, this means that they don't value the power of educating our youth. Not as much as they should.<br />
<br />
After much research and reflection, I know the reasons why. I don't accept them. Please understand that this is one of the times where this is going to get uncomfortable for me. I'm going to share facts and run the risk of sounding whiny. One of the main reasons our community decided to deny us the funds we need to simply maintain the status quo in our district, which I think our staff can widely agree is not enough, is because we got a "raise" a few years ago. Yes, I'm an English teacher. I used those quotation marks right. You see, our "raise" was given as a gift at the same time that we were gifted extra days added to our contract. Admittedly, I'm not super great at the money and business portion of life. However, receiving extra money as compensation for working extra days... is this what you understand a raise to be?<br />
<br />
That's not the only flaw in the logic here. We'll get to the whole teachers-are-the-opposite-of-greedy argument in a minute, but by blaming the teachers or using them as an excuse, people are ignoring a crazy important part of the issue here: THE KIDS. In order for anything to be successful in the education world, the center of every discussion, every decision, and every step we take has to be our kids.<br />
<br />
When a teacher stays after school to tutor struggling students because she operates under a philosophy that dictates that all students can learn at high levels, it takes away from the time she could be home helping her own kids with their homework. But she does it anyway. For free. Shouldn't there be funding for that?<br />
<br />
When a teacher sponsors a chess club to give kids a safe place to land where they are accepted and loved, he's giving pieces of the time he could be spending playing Trouble with his own son at home. Because he can't stand another day of those kids being bullied after school. Wouldn't there be funding for these kinds of things?<br />
<br />
When a teacher starts a breakfast club as a "treat" for her homeroom in order to make sure that one of them diagnosed with diabetes eats at least one balanced meal a day, it takes away from the fund for treats she can provide for her own family. But she does it anyway. For the kids. Couldn't there be funding for this?<br />
<br />
Isn't it embarrassing to us that teachers who have taught for decades are being forced out of classrooms because their districts can't afford to pay them even a little bit for their experience? Isn't it embarrassing that new teachers have second and sometimes third jobs in an attempt to survive while doing what they love? Isn't it embarrassing that we refuse to fund the things that we should find most valuable?<br />
<br />
If you do the research, and I really wish you would, you will find that it's not an exaggeration to say that there is a direct pipeline that leads to prison for a great number of our youth who drop out of high school. You will find staggering figures about the earning potential for someone without a high school diploma vs. someone with a high school diploma vs. someone with a college degree vs. someone with an advanced degree (unless, of course, those "someones" decided to become teachers). We're speaking in millions of dollars here. As Frederick Douglass said, "It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men."<br />
<br />
When I got my contract last year, I thought twice before signing on the line to sentence myself to another year to the most rewarding yet most devastating job I can imagine. In the interest of full disclosure, I thought about it a lot more than twice. Less than five years after being named my district's Teacher of the Year, I was ready to throw in the towel. My family encouraged this move, dangling jobs with more respect and higher salaries in front of me. Less hours and much, much less take home work. It was all so attractive. I seriously thought I was ready to walk away. I couldn't find a place for my idealist mentality in the reality of teaching anymore.<br />
<br />
But then I signed my contract anyway. Why? You guessed it.<br />
<br />
It is one of my greatest curses and my greatest blessings. At the end of the day, I could walk away from everything except for those kids. Which brings me back here. To this. To you.<br />
<br />
You see, teachers aren't greedy at all, and we are not the problem. We are the people who get up every morning with the simplest and most difficult goal of all: we want to change the world. Every day. For every kid. But we can't do it anymore without your help, and we can't keep doing it for free. I did not become the latest casualty of the profession, but in less than a decade of teaching, I have seen many gifted professionals move on because they just can't stomach it anymore. The politics. The public indifference, disrespect, even for the most powerful tool we have at our disposal. The kids who need more than we can provide with what we are given and the toll this takes on our lives and our kids, those we claim as our own at school and those who belong to us at home.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I will have to rush home after work because I forgot the shoes I need to walk me through a night of volunteering with our staff, students, and families at the local food bank. I hope to hit a red light somewhere along the way to give me time to knock a few other things off my "to-do" list (because even red lights offer an opportunity for progress). I'll make it home in time to eat a late dinner with my kids before putting them to bed and diving in to the hours of planning and grading it will take to make tomorrow a good, productive day for my school kids. All the while, I'll be thinking about how thankful I am for my life as I worry about what's happening in the lives of the 140 humans who I need to help raise to change the world.<br />
<br />
What are you doing tonight? Could I kindly suggest a few things? After all, I did promise you a prize for making it to the end, and this is it. I want to give you the opportunity to make a difference. Yes, you. You don't need the most powerful elected officials to help you or even a crowd of people. Here are some things that you will do that will make a difference:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Share. Share this post. Share your thoughts. Share your time by volunteering at your local schools. Share funds by donating to education or politicians who support our kids or any number of GoFundMe projects posted by teachers online.</li>
<li>Do your homework. Yes, even as an adult peer, this teacher is asking you to do some homework. Educate yourself about the major issues in education. Are you wondering why people are making such a big deal about this "growth vs. proficiency thing" in the confirmation hearings? Make it your business to know why. Why is there a lack of funding in schools in the first place? You can't fix it until you know about it.</li>
<li>Get involved in your local schools. In the next twelve months, there will be a school board election where you live. Guaranteed. The people who are elected will be the main stewards of your local tax dollars. Do you know who they are? Do you know what they're spending and why and how? School board elections are often decided by a narrow margin because there are so few people who vote. You have a chance to have a direct impact for our kids.</li>
<li>STOP BEING APATHETIC. It's not enough just to care. You simply have to walk the walk. Education isn't just an issue that affects teachers and people who have school-aged kids. I'll let John Green describe this one for you: "Public education does not exist for the benefit of students or the benefit of their parents. It exists for the benefit of social order. We have discovered as a species that it is useful to have an educated population. You do not need to be a student or have a child who is a student to benefit from public education. Every second of every day of your life, you benefit from public education. So let me explain why I like to pay taxes for schools, even though I don't personally have a kid in school: It's because I don't like living in a country with a bunch of stupid people.”</li>
<li>Refuse to allow Betsy DeVos to become our new Secretary of Education. She does not have experience, and she does not have enough respect for the position to have even done her homework before her confirmation hearings. A quick Google search will give you a number of different politicians to contact and a number of different ways to contact them to make sure that this does not happen.</li>
</ul>
<br />
If you need more ideas, send me a message. I'll catch up with you at my next red light.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-34368452247153361782015-03-15T17:09:00.001-05:002015-03-15T17:21:22.751-05:00Me, Myself, and Thighs<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Despite having the appetite of a
truck driver and an intense aversion to vomit, I was diagnosed with having an eating
disorder numerous times. I was never diagnosed by a doctor because I never
actually had a disorder, but that didn't really matter to the number of people
who came to their own conclusions anyway. This diagnosis was made by the critical
eyes of strangers and the unkind whispers behind my back from “friends” and
people with “concerns” who voiced their opinions through most of my teenage
years. Up until that point, I had experienced enough unconditional love from my
parents and “Ah, I remember the glory days when I was that thin… was I ever
that thin?”comments that I had a healthy sense of self-confidence in my “skinny
minnie” status. As a teenage girl, however, the things people said about me
became who I was and how I saw myself. The confident toothpick turned into a
blubbering mess in a dressing room being lectured by her mom that she would
never love the clothes until she loved the girl in the mirror who was wearing them.
I loved her for it, and I sometimes believed her when she told me I was pretty.
Bad habits are hard to break, though, and I had already developed the bad habit
of finding fault in everything I could see of that girl in the mirror and disliking
things that weren't actually there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After giving birth to two beautiful
baby boys, I find myself in a similar predicament. There were whispers after
the first one, people wondering whether or not I was pregnant long before that
was my reality. Nope, that belly was not the signal of another child on the
way; it was the remnants of the one who already existed. It’s crazy to me that
we regard the birth of a child as one of the most astounding and incredible
miracles that there is, but we want to get rid of the evidence that we had anything
to do with it, and we want to do that as quickly as possible. We are sent on a
never-ending tailspin of love for that precious little being while
simultaneously starting another tailspin of loathing for the thing that produced
it. What kind of sense does that make? We notice how cute the baby is in a
picture and genuinely ooh and ah, but then we can’t help but judge ourselves
against the mother holding it to determine our own self-worth based on how it all
shakes out. <i>How long ago did she have
that baby? I wonder what she’s eating. Is she working out? </i>Maybe you don’t
do any of those things, but I have. I’m not proud of it, but, you know, bad
habits.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I've read the inspirational
articles on this topic. I've loved them. I've teared up reading about how my
kids will want to look back on memories with me and see me in the pictures with
them, even on the days when I have bags under my eyes and too many chins. I've
nodded my head in wholehearted agreement at the idea that the fear of the
swimsuit should never keep you from jumping into the pool. There’s definitely a
beautifully written life metaphor in that one. I've felt deep sorrow for women
who can’t see or understand their own beauty because it is so very clear to the
rest of us. I've cheered for companies like Dove who produce commercials that
ask us to love our bodies and ourselves. As much as all of these things impact
me, though, they don’t really change the daily practice of how I think and feel
about myself. It’s time for an intervention. A change. To practice what I
preach. Some emotional plastic surgery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
This is for all of the people with judgmental
stares and unkind remarks, the ones who helped me to develop my bad habits. This
is for all the people whose eyes alone diagnosed me with an eating disorder I didn't
have and a pregnancy that was so four months ago. This is also for all of the people
I love and for people I don’t even know who I hope will somehow hear this
anyway, the ones who have disparaged their soul-housing vessels at one point or
another. I think that probably covers all of the women I know and a number of
the men. Mostly, though, this is for me. Whether I’m a toothpick or a muffin
top, it’s time to put a little love back into this relationship.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
What I’d like to do, and I hope you’ll
do this for yourself along with me, is pick apart my body piece by piece. Wait, what? That sounds
counterproductive. This is different. I want to spend a week or so at a time picking
a part to love and changing my thoughts and attitude about it. For example, I've
always wished for different legs. Yet, thinking about what these legs of mine
have done is a total game changer. They ran their way to happy memories and
victory in track. They've walked me down some important aisles and up to podiums
and into graduation at the Big House. They are the only part of me that has any
clue what to do when I’m joyfully dancing. They are amazing. Shoot, I've
already jumped far into the first weeks’ worth of love. After working at
Victoria’s Secret for four years, I may need to spend a whole month on boobs. I
could write a book about boobs. In fact, I hope to do that someday. But (ha,
butt!)I think this is enough to work on for now. How about each body part just
gets its own blog for now? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
If you've made it this far, then
you either actually love me enough to try to hold me accountable, or you’re one
of those people who is just reading this to pick me apart and get all
judgmental because you love to hate. Either way, I hope you’ll join me in this.
Let’s allow ourselves to believe in our own beauty, and let’s do this together.
We deserve it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Hit it, Pink!<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You're so mean<br />
When you talk<br />
About yourself, you are wrong<br />
Change the voices in your head<o:p></o:p></div>
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Make them like you instead”<o:p></o:p></div>
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DISCLAIMER: Okay, judgy judger, let’s be clear about this.
Just because I am pledging to love myself and be proud of myself the way I am
does not mean that I am going to stop working out and trying to get back in
shape. You’re missing the point if you think differently! I want to be a
healthy, active mom for my kids, and I like the fact that I can squeeze myself
into the kids’ table when Ty asks to have a picnic. <o:p></o:p></div>
Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-21993788172558782962014-08-16T22:34:00.000-05:002014-08-17T07:53:30.447-05:00Grandma GinnyAdmittedly, I am terribly awkward in emotional situations and never know the right things to say or do. This is why I either eat or write my feelings and why I am currently wiping chocolate chip cookie grease from my hands in order to try to think of the right words to write words to capture something important. I want to somehow do justice to my Grandma Ginny. The good news is that when you are a true original and classic like Ginny, the stories really write themselves.<br />
<br />
There are so many things that are quintessential Grandma Ginny that the only trouble is knowing where to start. Many of my earliest and many of my fondest memories of her involve holidays. She prided herself on taking each of her grandchildren out for a date on their birthdays. I was treated to years and years of these, with dinners at Ponderosa (one of her favorites) or Finley's (one of my favorites) followed by a trip to a toy store to pick out whatever my heart desired. I remember there was one year when I had my heart set on a baby doll that was more than the amount I was supposed to spend. Grandma tried for a few minutes to convince me how fabulous the other toys were, but she ended up caving and getting me the doll anyway. There was another year when she somehow got lost on the way back to our house, and I fell asleep in the passenger seat, no help to her. If I'm remembering right, there were deer involved. We got an extra long date that year! Classic Ginny.<br />
<br />
I have to say, though, that the greatest gift my grandma ever gave to me was my dad. It is clear to anyone who knows the man that he is that she and my grandpa did something right... a lot of somethings. I never got to meet my grandpa, but the parts of my grandma that show up in Dad are clearly recognizable, from his stubborn nature to the silly faces and noises that he makes. It takes a good woman to be a great mother (she was to six kids, a slew of grandkids, and even a bunch of great grandkids), and I think it takes an even greater woman to raise a great man. Dad is proof of how well she did in that area.<br />
<br />
The gifts didn't stop with her own family, though. She started a family tradition of taking in "strays". I don't just mean the cats she'd always leave food outside her door for, either. There were lots of human strays, too. I remember my dad talking about how she'd make them share toys with random kids from the orphanage that she'd have over at their house, and I can remember countless holidays where we'd all be elbowing each other and whispering, wondering who in the world all of the guests were. As the kids and grandkids grew older, we started to bring our own strays around for the holidays, friends who needed a place to go, and they were always welcomed with open arms and without question. <br />
<br />
Many other great memories were made on Christmas Eve. This was always at Grandma's house, where she was surrounded by her kids and grandkids and some darn good cheesy potatoes and cocktail weenies. Grandma was an excellent cook, and although some claimed sometimes that she "ate like a bird", I'm not sure there was ever a Christmas Eve where she didn't end up with some food on herself and on the floor. I'd like to think that maybe I got those things from her. It wasn't Christmas Eve without an awkward weenie joke made by someone, the potatoes setting on fire, and Grandma scratching off a pile of scratch off tickets while asking "Now why'd you do that? You shouldn't have done that!" about all of her other gifts. Classic Ginny.<br />
<br />
I'll never forget the Christmas Eve when Tom and I were newly engaged, and I brought him around to meet my Dad's family for the first time. As was customary, we left our shoes in the dining room and headed to the living room to hang out. A few minutes later, we heard Grandma in the dining room.<br />
<br />
"Whose shoes are these?"<br />
"They're Tom's shoes, Ma," my dad said.<br />
"Ooh. Good for Jess!"<br />
<br />
Thus, Tom was welcomed into the family. Classic Ginny.<br />
<br />
You see, Grandma Ginny was never shy about anything. This was apparent from her unabashed love of the"Talk Sex with Sue Johanson" tv show, her shameless flirting, and the TMI real talk she shared with us. I found this gem of advice from her in one of my first blogs ever from Christmas Eve<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.799999237060547px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.799999237060547px;">"If you please your man, he won't mess around on you. I used to do it with your grandpa every Saturday morning. That's how Terry and Lynn were made."</span><br />
<br />
Grandma's audacity even led us to coin a term for her that has been used with delight by our family for years. It began when we were visiting her one day, and she offered us a piece of a dessert she had made. We refused because it was supposed to be for a potluck she was going to, and we didn't want to be rude. It wasn't until we looked at what she was offering that we realized that there was already a piece missing and cracked up. Her philosophy? She made it. She ought to be able to try it whenever she wanted! A few years ago, I had an assignment for a grad class that required me to bring something in for a potluck that represented something about my family heritage or history. I beamed with pride as the entire class delighted at my Ginny'd dessert. Classic Ginny.<br />
<br />
There was also a softer side. Another earlier memory I have of Grandma Ginny was when I was sick. I was having digestive issues and was absolutely miserable. She stayed with me, rubbed my back all day, and showed me compassion even when I was cranky and stinky. That's classic Ginny too.<br />
<br />
Even at 92 years old, Grandma was a woman with almost as many hobbies as years under her belt. She golfed and bowled late into her life. Even when she didn't do either super well, she did them with gusto! She liked to go on senior trips and to casinos, and we'd joke about how she'd always be the one that "wandered off the tour." She collected perfume bottles that filled shelves and shelves all over her house. She was an avid church goer and involved in all kinds of church business. She worked at the Jackson Space Center for years after my grandpa passed away and introduced us to space ice cream, something I still love to find in museum gift shops. She kept up with the latest gossip and goings-on through listening to a police scanner and even called one time as we were discovering our house had been robbed to make sure we were okay. She filled pages and pages of diaries. Given what she was willing to share publicly, I can only imagine what those private thoughts must hold. She never had a computer or took to the internet, but I bet she could have written a blog that would have given people something to talk about! She always sent cards for birthdays and anniversaries and cracked us up with her comments when we'd call to thank her. She was a busy lady who was never too busy to spend time with her family or let them know that she loved them. It was all just classic Ginny.<br />
<br />
I would be remiss if I didn't mention what was arguably her most classic line of all. No matter what came her way, Grandma always had two simple words for any situation: "I'm fine." Maybe it was the stubborn Spencer woman in her that refused to admit that there might ever be something she couldn't handle. The freezer went kaput? She turned it into a pantry. She was clumsy and always taking a spill somewhere? The way she remembered it, she used to jump over barrels on ice skates. Maybe the "I'm fine" came from the fact that she had been through so much that even the big things could seem little to her. She survived giving birth to six children, breast cancer, the death of her husband and a son, and anything else that came her way. Even as she was in her last few hours, semi-conscious and barely able to speak, my dad reported that she was still insisting to her sister, "I'm fine." It doesn't get more classic Ginny than that.<br />
<br />
Grandma, you left a mark on all of us who loved you. You Ginny'd our world, and there will always be a piece missing now that you're not in it anymore. You will live on in your sassy daughters, your sons who aren't afraid to be sensitive, and the hilarious memories you created for all of your grandchildren and great grandchildren. Thanks for always taking us in your arms, pecking our cheeks, and telling us that you loved us very much. There is comfort in knowing that for the first time in decades, you will be in the arms of the men you have loved all your life: your beloved Buysse, your Tim, and your Heavenly Father.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">"Be not afraid</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">I go before you always</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">Come follow Me</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">And I will give you rest."</span><br />
<br />
Rest peacefully tonight, Grandma. Judging by the thunder we're having here tonight, there's a rowdy game of bowling for you to join with Grandpa tomorrow. Love you.<br />
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Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-55318131533624398152014-05-09T17:36:00.001-05:002014-05-09T17:36:32.256-05:00Worthwhile FileOne of the best pieces of teaching advice I've ever gotten was to create a "worthwhile file". Mine is actually a file folder, and it's full of reminders of why I love my job. There are notes, cards, and pictures from students, parents, and other teachers that make me smile and feel a few inches taller when I read them. Don't tell anyone, but I've also kept some carbon copies of detentions past students have gotten (we used to get copies any time one of our Ac Lab students was written up by someone) that make me giggle. Maybe giggle is an understatement. Anyway, I look through it from time to time for a boost, but its real purpose is for days like today as a reminder of why it's worth it to work through the tough days. Today was one of those tough days.<br />
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I don't ever want to publicly complain about my job. I've said it before, and I'll say it again-- being a teacher is an honor and a privilege, and I feel blessed every day that I get to be one. EVERY day. Truly. I also don't want to be too specific because maintaining the privacy of my students is important to me (although if you ask me about those funny detentions, I'd be happy to share a story or two that will make you pee your pants). With all that being said, here's what I think it all boils down to for me today:<br />
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One of the hardest parts of my job is investing everything I have but feeling powerless when kids make bad decisions.<br />
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It's incredibly rewarding to see students grow and shine. When I can give them skills and tools and challenges and then sit back and watch them accomplish things all on their own, it's one of the most amazing feelings in the world. It's also so much fun to watch kids be kids. They're silly and creative and wonderful when left to their own devices. Unfortunately, the opposite is also true. Kids who act like kids do not always produce rainbows and sunshine. Allowing them the freedom to make their own decisions also gives them the opportunity to make bad ones. Bad ones with consequences. As we get closer to the end of the school year, some of these kids that I have loved and enjoyed all year are not making the kinds of decisions that we've taught them to make. Our best laid plans and discussions and investments of time and energy are just not always going to be enough. They do dumb things because they're still just kids, and that's what teenagers do sometimes. They don't think, they act, and they can throw away all of their hard work and progress with some nasty words or actions in the blink of an eye, leaving me sick to my stomach and teary-eyed on the sidewalk, watching the bus drive away, hoping it was the last big bad decision and hoping that they'll be back to finish out the year strong after a week away. Patterns have to change. Cycles have to be broken. Even though I know each student makes his or her own decisions, I really do KNOW this is true, it's so hard not to take the weight of their worlds on my shoulders. I'm a fixer. I'm a make it betterer. That's my job. It's the naive hope I had when I signed up for this whole business, and it's what I still carry with me today. Let's save them all!<br />
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"People cry not because they're weak. It's because they've been strong for too long."<br />
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This is why I need the worthwhile file. It doesn't take the weight off, but it tips the balance back to even, and, in some cases, helps me to remember that we really can save a lot of them. It gives me the deep desire to jump back in and get back at it. My job, after all, is one of the most worthwhile ways I can think of to spend my time (the others, of course, have to include some type of family, friends, church, food, and alcohol).<br />
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I'm excited for Monday. I really am. I need a weekend to energize with many of the things mentioned above and to read over the worthwhile file again(yeah... I brought it home), and then I'll get to try again. Monday can be a great day. I'm going to make sure it is.<br />
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Thank you, worthwhile file, you made my day.<br />
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<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-34070318961607243742014-01-22T19:45:00.001-06:002014-01-22T19:45:04.838-06:00The One Who ListenedThe warm-up today for my students was to reflect on and write about an MLK quote I had on the board. I had also written "Happy (belated) MLK Day!" because this was our first day back since Monday. A student raised his hand and asked, "What's milk day?" I played along with the joke and made some kind of remark about how we should all bring in a quarter for our little cartons of milk, and we could have snack time, and...<div>
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... and then I realized that he wasn't joking. Like, not at all. Le sigh. Really? I mean, really? Milk Day? </div>
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To be fair, he also thinks that Americans speak American and Canadians speak Canadian, so his lack of common sense is not limited to history. He's equal opportunity in these types of questions, and the rest of us do the best we can to handle answering them with humor and grace... and maybe a dash or two of sarcasm.</div>
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When someone else asked later in the day why we didn't celebrate MLK Day during Black History Month, I held my breath, hoping that this conversation would not be a repeat of our morning history lesson. Instead, before I could form a response, another student chimed in:</div>
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"Well, you see, Martin Luther King, Jr.'s actual birthday is January 15, but..." </div>
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And he went on to answer the question with what I'm guessing was pretty much verbatim what he had heard in his history class. I thanked him profusely for this gem of knowledge and promised to put in a good word with his history teacher. I wonder if there's a way I could subtly strike up a friendship between him and my good ol' milk buddy. A girl can dream. You know, like that milk guy did?</div>
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Thank you, the one who listened, you made my day.</div>
Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-51550462881077051862014-01-14T19:49:00.002-06:002014-01-14T19:49:34.698-06:00Baby Butt CheeksWhen we lived in Seattle, we paid top dollar to be able to watch the sun rise over Lake Union from our tiny one bedroom apartment. It really was breathtakingly beautiful and one of those kinds of views you don't take for granted, even seeing it day after day.<br />
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It turns out that the best things in life are free, though. One of my favorite things in life is the view I now get of some tiny little butt cheeks sprinting from the nursery to the tub when it's bath time. <br />
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"My blessings are in front of me, it's not about the land<br />
I'll never beat the view from my front porch looking in<br />
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I see what beautiful is about<br />
When I'm looking in, not when I'm looking out<br />
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'Cause anywhere I'll ever go and everywhere I've been<br />
Nothing takes my breath away like my front porch looking in."<br />
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<i>Lonestar</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
From the Seattle sunrises to the St. Louis moons, we have been so richly blessed.<br />
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Thank you, baby butt cheeks, you made my day.<br />
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<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-81468372572306243562014-01-02T17:19:00.002-06:002014-01-02T17:19:57.514-06:00Neighbor on the PayrollI should be excited that I had a Snow Day today instead of having to go back from break. The truth is that I have four hours worth of professional development to facilitate tomorrow and a penchant for Lifetime movies when I'm at home sitting on the couch, so I ended up going into work for a few hours anyway.<br />
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When I got home, I decided that the driveway wasn't going to shovel itself. I also thought Tom would be pleasantly surprised if I took care of it, and he might even make me some hot chocolate with little marshmallows as a reward (he did, by the way, after I asked him nicely). <br />
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I made the mistake of not wearing any head covering, as my hair was piled up in a rushed hot mess from this morning. As I was nearing the end of the driveway and the conclusion that my ears would freeze off and I would have to live without them, my neighbor from across the road came out. He hollered a hello, and I quickly greeted him with a frozen smile. He pulled up to our driveway in his truck and slowly rolled his window down.<br />
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"Now I <i>really </i>see why he married you!"<br />
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I finished with a grin and an extra spring in my step (as much as you can "spring" in snow, I suppose). <br />
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I remember a similar incident to this from a few years ago where I got a "You go girl!" from our self- proclaimed "Mobsta" neighbor. It must be that it's cheaper for Tom to keep the neighbors on the payroll than it is for him to pay someone to come shovel while he's gone. ;)<br />
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Thank you, neighbor on the payroll, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-15363293364892886272013-12-19T16:27:00.002-06:002013-12-19T16:28:45.801-06:00Our Lovely MessThis is so weird.<br />
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I'm sitting on the couch. It's dusk. The room is lit only by the multi-colored lights of our tacky Christmas tree full of memories. There are toys allllll over the floor. There's laundry all over the couch.<br />
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My house is a place where messes happen. Everywhere. And I love it.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I don't like be messy, and we really do try to keep a clean house. However, one of the things I love about my family is that we have really gotten to a place where we are learning to prioritize. A clean house is important. Sometimes.<br />
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See, here's the thing. My house is a place where messes happen. It's also a place where joy happens. All over. Everywhere. Mistakes happen. Then more love. Dance parties and family dinners and tickle fests happen. Hugs happen. Friendship happens. More love. Belly laughs happen. Big things and little things and silly things and wonderful things happen.<br />
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My house is a place where love happens. Always. And I wouldn't trade these messy years for anything. <br />
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Thank you, our lovely mess, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-9490489835842529392013-12-10T21:19:00.001-06:002013-12-11T11:07:13.494-06:00Meat Slingers and Can Stackers and TeenagersWhen I tell people that I teach middle school, they judge me. Sometimes, they come right out and tell me. "What? Really? Umm, why?" Other times, it's just a sympathetic look given with you-must-be-crazy eyes. Who in their right mind would spend their days with, ohhhhh, I can't even say it.<br />
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<i>Teenagers</i>.<br />
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Ugh. Teenagers are what's wrong with the world, right? They ruin my night out at the movies, they cut me off driving, and they're constantly talking loudly on their cell phones wherever I go. They only care about video games and being mean to each other and doing inappropriate things, right? <br />
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<i>She must just not be very bright or must be lacking in some kind of real job skills. Maybe she's just plain crazy. Middle school teacher? Oh, honey.</i><br />
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I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I questioned whether or not I should, but you're not going to believe me anyway, so I figure it's safe. Teenagers are AWESOME. Truly, earth shatteringly (yes, I'm allowed to make up my own words because I'm the teacher) spectacular. They're just only willing to show this if you're willing to weed through all of their melodrama and angst and immaturity to find it.<br />
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<i>Yep. She's really lost it now.</i><br />
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A while back, one of the special education teachers at our school brought a wonderful idea to my committee. She had been volunteering at a local food bank with her students, and she thought it might be a fun activity for us to do together as a staff. She was totally right. We had a blast singing Tina Turner and dancing boxes down an assembly line. We also worked hard enough that my principal went home with a blister from lugging big bottles of juice. That's some intense fun. ;)<br />
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<i>Okay, her definition of fun may be a little off, too.</i><br />
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We decided to take it a step further this year. We opened up the invitation to our students and their families to volunteer with us also. I was floored when we filled up the spots for our first date within a week. Good times were had by all. I was beyond overjoyed when it took less than two days to get over thirty volunteers for our service tonight.<br />
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<i>Hmm. That doesn't sound </i>so <i>bad...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Tonight was special. I got to the food bank knowing the good feelings that would be in store for me a few hours later, but our families somehow surpassed even my biggest expectations. These kids and their parents were just awesome. At the interest of full disclosure, many of the kids looked less than thrilled to be there at the beginning, and some of them even got a little mouthy with their parents while they were working.<br />
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HOWEVER,<br />
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they were nothing short of inspirational. To see kids feeling empowered in their work as contributing members of our community made me feel good deep down all the way to my soul. It was so cool. I also got to bond with them while tossing around frozen meats and packing boxes for families that we all probably know. I got to see what is right with teenagers tonight.<br />
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We middle school teachers get it. We choose these kids because they are the perfect combination of kids and adults. They can think and feel and understand beyond our wildest dreams. They say insightful, grown up things every day that surprise us. Yet, they also say shockingly childish things every day that surprise us in a whole other way. They're still silly little works in progress. If we can find a way to do and say the right things, we get the honor of getting to be part of who they are and who they will be. <br />
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<i>That's nice. I'd still never even </i>think <i>teaching of middle school, though.</i><br />
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That's okay. I'm not planning on giving up my job anytime soon. :) It's kind of weird to even call myself a teacher sometimes because I swear I learn as much as they do... if not more. These kids will put me to shame with the amount of amazing they put into the world.<br />
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Thank you, meat slingers, can stackers, and teenagers, you made my day.<br />
<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-82185209444943285092013-12-02T18:50:00.002-06:002013-12-02T19:16:20.745-06:00Lucky Shopping CartI have this little game I like to play with myself when the line at the grocery store gets long or slow. I like to look at the contents of the carts around me to see what I can figure out about the other shoppers. I mentally high-fived myself when the boy in line in front of me called the man with him Grandpa. I had already determined this relationship, not by the age of the man (he looked pretty young), but by all of the crazy snacks they were unloading onto the conveyor belt. They were the the kinds of things parents say no to, but you don't even have to ask grandparents for: candy, marshmallows, green drink, chips, and more. I had also determined that the woman in front of them was both a grandma and a widow. She had a few premade dinners, among other things, and did not seem to have anyone at home to eat with her. We had bonded in the cereal aisle when she showed me a little dog that played Christmas songs and did flips. She was thrilled. As this treasure was loaded into her cart, I prayed that there was a grandchild or someone coming over soon to share one of her dinners and her delight with the dog.<br />
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Since the line was both long AND slow, I had plenty of time to turn my attention to the contents of my own cart. Besides the usual suspects- milk, butter, and meat- I found a whole series of items that led me to one simple conclusion. Man, I am lucky.<br />
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Tomato, cilantro, jalapeno, avocado... I am lucky to have a husband who prides himself on making the best guacamole I've ever had. Seriously. I know that's true because he told me once, "This is the best guacamole you've ever had." I am happy to be his sous chef in the kitchen and in life. I am also happy to take on the head chef role when need be. ;)<br />
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Whole milk and chorizo... I am grateful that I have a little guy at home to enjoy these things to the fullest. It's hard sometimes to fit two gallons of milk into the refrigerator, but fitting our little man into our lives has been one of the easiest and clearly one of the most enjoyable things we've ever done.<br />
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Ground beef, taco seasoning, rice with some flava... did I mention it's Mexican night at the Ferri household? We'll make more memories with mariachi music, green guacamole faces, and legit dance parties galore.<br />
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Snacks, snacks, snacks... I am blessed to have a job that I love. These "emergency snacks" are stashed in and around my desk to hold me over until my frantic twenty minute lunch. It turns out just about every day holds an "emergency" that constitutes a trip to the drawer, but each day also comes with a great deal of joy. Even when that twenty minute lunch is my second one of the day, I sure do enjoy laughing making jokes with my lunch girls that would make even the most audacious eighth grade boy blush.<br />
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Wet lettuce? I am lucky to be oh so easily amused. I think everyone should find it particularly delightful when the vegetable sprayers coming on and "Singin' in the Rain" pipes over the loud speakers. For real. Just enjoy it.<br />
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When I got through the inventory of my cart, I found myself still taking inventory of my blessings. I thought about how thankful I am for the fact that my love of food, cooking, and family dinners came from the insistence of my parents to have all three in our household, no matter how crazy our sports schedules or how empty our bank accounts. I was grateful that I would not have to question, even for a second, whether or not my credit card would be approved. This is not something I take for granted. Most of all, I was thankful to have a moment in a busy day that could help me to once again find clarity and perspective from the blessings in my life.<br />
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Thank you, lucky shopping cart, you made my day. Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-22453142159328763792013-11-26T21:45:00.000-06:002013-11-26T21:45:41.041-06:00Are There Sticky Notes in Heaven? Please Say Yes.Wow, it's been a hot second. <br />
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The higher my stress level gets, the more I miss this daily dose of gratitude. I need it. I'm not sure that I can commit to daily writing again, but I have truly been equal parts humbled and inspired these past few days, and I need an outlet for the overwhelming feelings of gratitude. I want to hold this feeling, and this might be one of the best ways that I know how.<br />
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I love my life. I really do. That being said, some days are easier than others. When I get too caught up, I pray that I will not let myself become too stressed or busy to notice the daily Post-its I get from God. I always get what I need when I need it most, I swear. There are these reminders. Sometimes it's people who go out of their way to love me when I least deserve it. Sometimes it's small yet humbling moments. Sometimes it's just a little thing with a big meaning. I just have to look for it, and I turns out I don't even have to look that hard. God sticky noted all over my day today. <br />
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I am so wrapped up in my own stuff lately and doing so many things that I feel as if I can't possibly be doing a great job at anything. Somehow, though, I am blessed far beyond what I deserve. I need to know that it's okay that I'm not always or not ever the best mom, wife, teacher, or friend. I need to know that the people I love could forgive me for this and love me anyway, despite the faults that I have been wearing out in plain sight lately. I need to know that I can forgive myself for watching Real Housewives and going to bed early a few nights in a row instead of nurturing relationships or grading papers. I have been feeling perpetually behind at work and in life, and that needs to be okay.<br />
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It turns out that all of this is okay somehow. For some reason, I can be far from amazing but still be surrounded by amazing. For this, I am truly grateful. Here are some of God's little "stickies" that I recognized in my life today:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I am oh so very blessed to have friends who love me. Not only that, they are even better friends when they know that I am being too selfish with my time to be a great friend back. I have sweet friends who have truly become my family, and I'm also lucky enough to have a family full of friends. They are so life giving and generous with their love without any expectations of anything in return. This just makes me want even more to be a better friend to all of these people who deserve everything I can give and more.</li>
<li>My job causes me unbelievable stress and completely turns me into a crazy person. Every once in a great while, I question my poor life choice to work as hard as I do to make as little as I do. It's no secret that teachers are overworked and underpaid. The thing is, though, that it's not really a job at all. This is my calling. It's my life. Any time I even begin to doubt my career choice, I find a "sticky note" that humbles me, reminds me, and takes my breath away. Today, it was an actual note from a student that left me crying at my desk in the best possible way. These kids are worth every gray hair and wrinkle that they will cause me. It is an incredible honor to be included, sometimes even invited, into their worlds. My life is rich with memorable moments of wonderful that keep me up late at night and get me up early in the morning.</li>
<li>Look for the reminders! Seriously, just look. There they are. I was Godsmacked in the face by the church across the street from school on the way home today. The sign out front had Psalm 119:68 on it: <i>You are good, and what you do is good. </i>Ahhhhh. Thank you.</li>
</ul>
If you're one of the three people who will read this, chances are that I love you dearly, and I don't tell you that or show you that enough. Thank you. Thank you for loving me anyway. Thanks for being who you are and allowing me to be me, even when I could be a lot better. I may be undeserving, but I promise that I am not ungrateful. <br />
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Thank you, God's sticky notes, you made my day. <br />
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<br />Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-23594839713131581882011-06-11T23:53:00.000-05:002011-06-11T23:53:25.909-05:00Day 168- The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse and Foot High PieI have had a crush on Johnny Rzeznik for over 10 years. We've been through a lot together. It turns out that he is of Polish decent, so we have that in common. He's cute in a bad boy in a band kind of way, and that definitely helps. The biggest reason for my undying love, however, is that I am obsessed with the Goo Goo Dolls and their music. I wrote about them last year after popping <em>Dizzy Up the Girl </em>in my cd player last year and singing along to every word of every song.<br />
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I did a little research on my longtime love to try to find a good organization for today. I discovered that Johnny's dad had a problem with alcohol that really affected the Rzeznik family deeply, especially after his alcohol-related death. Johnny's mother died just a few years later, and he was an orphan at a young age. This just makes me want to hug him more.<br />
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The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse works to help people with all kinds of addictions and problems like the one Johnny's dad had. They encourage people to take responsibility, and they give people the tools that they will need to conquer their addictions. They aim to "replace shame and despair with hope." They also do a lot of work centered on raising awareness and encouraging kids to stay drug free. A worthy cause indeed!<br />
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<a href="http://www.casacolumbia.org/templates/Home.aspx?articleid=287&zoneid=32">http://www.casacolumbia.org/templates/Home.aspx?articleid=287&zoneid=32</a><br />
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We made the long drive back to Michigan again today. It's been a while since we've been back, but the drive proved reliable, and not much has changed on the eight hour path from STL to Parma. In fact, part of what makes the drive easier to manage is spotting all of the familiar landmarks along the way. There's the jail that we thought was a school at first, CrossUSA.org, the Nestle bunny, a beautiful house that we always remark is such a shame to have built along the highway, Indy, Fisher, Markle, Pochantas, Brazil, the Paul Simon Freeway sign with the bowtie, Chateau Thomas winery, Effingham, Welcome to Illinois, Welcome to Indiana, Welcome to Michigan, and so much more.<br />
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There's also Blue Springs Cafe, home of the foot high pie.<br />
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<a href="http://www.foothipies.com/">http://www.foothipies.com/</a><br />
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Every time we drive by, we marvel at the thought of a foot high pie. We wonder if it's possible that they could actually be so high, and we wonder what they might taste like. We even pulled off this year on our way home for Thanksgiving to check out the goods, but we were sorely disappointed to discover that we had arrived an hour before they opened.<br />
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We don't have to wonder any longer... today we purchased our first foot high pie!! Although all of the outrageously tall cream pies looked amazing, we settled on peach for the day to take home to my parents. It was as lovely as we imagined, and I'm sure it won't be our last. :)<br />
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Thank you, foot high pie (finally!), you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-36515742093744430422011-06-11T23:22:00.000-05:002011-06-11T23:22:22.698-05:00Day 167- Pitch in for Baseball and First Pool DayWhat a difference a year makes! Armando Galarraga technically (but not officially) pitched a perfect game for the Tigers last year. He's currently playing for the Diamondbacks now and not even a Tiger anymore, but I'd still like to make a donation in honor of his (almost?) accomplishment last year.<br />
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Pitch in for Baseball is a charity that focuses on kids. The program lists four crucial goals on its website:<br />
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• To support the growth of baseball in the U.S. and internationally.<br />
• To give kids equipment so they can get out, have fun and stay healthy.<br />
• To teach kids important lessons through baseball, like teamwork and sportsmanship.<br />
• To make friends across the world through America's pastime.<br />
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These are all really excellent lessons for kids, and I think Galarraga would be proud.<br />
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<a href="http://www.pitchinforbaseball.org/html/index.html">http://www.pitchinforbaseball.org/html/index.html</a><br />
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After our teacher breakfast and a short stint at school, I am officially DONE for this school year. I think that means I am no longer a first year teacher. Woo hoo!<br />
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In order to celebrate, a few of my friends and I went to the pool... the first pool day of the summer (for me, at least)!! We chatted and tanned and dipped in the pool and giggle and just plain celebrated the fact that this is the first of many pool days to come over the next few months. I could get used to this!<br />
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Thank you, first pool day, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-1175938439073809292011-06-11T23:10:00.000-05:002011-06-11T23:10:45.602-05:00Day 166- Humanities Washington and School's Out for Summer!I thoroughly enjoyed reading <em>The Art of Dancing in the Rain</em> by Garth Stein last year. The book made me laugh and cry and think, and reading the blog from last year made me want to read it all over again. I just might.<br />
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I looked up Stein's website, and it turns out that he is involved in some really great organizations. By stalking his calendar of upcoming events, I found one that I'd like to donate to today. Stein grew up in Seattle, moved away for a while, and now resides there again. Many of the groups he works with are scattered around that area, including Humanities Washington. Their mission is to honor "stories, ideas, and perspectives from across our state that connect Washingtonians from all backgrounds and communities, allowing us to understand our past and present as we work to shape our future." <br />
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<em>Through reading, writing, storytelling, conversation, presentations, and other avenues, Humanities Washington reaches out to all to create a deeper understanding of who we are and the remarkable, challenging, and inspiring experiences that connect us–advancing thoughtful and engaged communities across our state.</em><br />
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Even though I don't live in Washington anymore, I really dig what these people stand for and what they're trying to do. Plus, if it's good enough for Garth Stein, I think it's good enough for me.<br />
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<a href="http://www.humanities.org/">http://www.humanities.org/</a><br />
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Schoollllllllllllllllllllllllll's out for summer! Need I say more?<br />
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Okay, maybe I'll say a little bit more. I'm ecstatic to have a little time to myself. I'm also really going to miss the kiddos. However, I was explaining the whole thing to Tom in an analogy (while he half listened and tried to make the appropriate noises to let me know that he was at least half listening). Here goes...<br />
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I'm like a pitcher. Not the kind that stands on a mound and hopes for a no-hitter. More like the kind you put lemonade in. Or margaritas. Anyway... I pour my whole self into my job and my kids. It's constant. Tip and pour. Tip and pour. I think these next two months are just a chance for me to refill. This will help me to do the whole thing over again starting in August. Tip and pour.<br />
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I will be keeping busy too. I'm going to be taking a couple of classes this summer so that I can finish the Master's and graduate in December. One of the classes is a crazy research class that meets Mon.-Thurs., and the other is a class that meets for FIVE hours at a time twice a week. I have no concept of what you can do in a class for five hours at a time, but I'm about to find out.<br />
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Time to go fill the pitcher! :)<br />
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Thank you, schoollllllllllllll's out for summer, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-6879418537211053632011-06-11T21:48:00.000-05:002011-06-11T21:48:59.391-05:00Day 165- Disabled American Veterans Charitable Service Trust and "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar!"Speaking of Memorial Day... it was on this date last year. Here's an excellent charity that helps out our veterans.<br />
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<a href="http://cst.dav.org/">http://cst.dav.org/</a><br />
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Not only is this one of the highest ratings I've ever seen for a charity on charitynavigator.org, it is also on their list of "10 Consistently Excellent Charities". The program helps veterans in a variety of ways:<br />
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<em>•Helping to maintain a volunteer-operated transportation network providing rides to sick and disabled veterans needing transportation to and from VA medical centers for treatment;</em><br />
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<em>•Providing food and shelter and connecting homeless and needy veterans to essential medical care, VA benefits counseling and job training;</em><br />
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<em>•Meeting the special needs of veterans faced with specific disabilities such as blindness and amputation;</em><br />
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<em>•Supporting significant therapeutic initiatives;</em><br />
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<em>•Supporting physical and psychological rehabilitation projects aimed at some of America’s most profoundly disabled veterans; and</em><br />
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<em>•Bringing hope to the forgotten and suffering families of disabled veterans.</em><br />
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God Bless America and our veterans!<br />
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I think my facebook status sums this one up best (oooh... a new format!).<br />
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<em>Although this sounds totally lame, I rule! I baked all morning yesterday and shoveled gravel all afternoon. I herded 8th graders today in my flouncy dress, then surprised even myself with my strength and endurance as I soaked through my camo hauling patio blocks. I may have to be wheeled in for the last day of school tomorrow and probably won't be so pleased with myself, but... for now... I AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR!</em><br />
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Man, I worked hard. <br />
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Thank you, "I am woman, hear me roar!", you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-44054003569274525442011-06-11T21:35:00.000-05:002011-06-11T21:35:56.056-05:00Day 164- Sheltering Arms Senior Services and Memorial Day BBQI was thankful last year for Carol, a woman who was not too proud to accept some help from me. I Tetrised (a new word?) a patio set into her car for her at good ol' HD and helped build and lift stuff. I got as much out of the deal as she did. It made me feel good.<br />
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In honor of this, I found an organization that helps out senior citizens. It's called Sheltering Arms Senior Services, and they seem to do wonderful work. I really like their motto, which is "Preserving Dignity and Independence". Their mission is:<br />
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<em>Sheltering Arms Senior Services is a nonprofit organization committed to the health and well-being of older adults and their family caregivers. Our mission is to promote the dignity and independence of older adults through service, advocacy, and support for caregivers. </em><br />
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<a href="http://www.shelteringarms.org/">http://www.shelteringarms.org/</a><br />
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When we left Seattle a few years ago, I was happy to be starting the next phase of our lives, to go back to school, and to start teaching. I was also ready to not be so far away from my family and the time zone that many of my friends lived in. The one thing I was really sad to leave behind was the group of amazing friends we made while we were there.<br />
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Tom and I spent a lot of time as just the two of us when we first moved here. Well, it was actually just the three of us because we got General shortly after moving into our house. We were settling in and getting to know the area, and we liked hanging out with the dog as he adjusted to life in our family. We were also both working at jobs with a lot of people who were way older than we were, so we didn't have the kinds of friends we were both used to from all the other aspects of our lives.<br />
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Little by little, we started to pick up some wonderful friends along the way. Once I started my first teaching job this year, the good people came in abundance. I am surrounded by fabulous people, and I feel so blessed to have much such great friends. I thought this all day today as Tom and I hung out with a bunch of these friends at a Memorial Day BBQ this afternoon. It feels as if we have known these people for a long time (even though it's been less than a year), and I know that we'll know them for a long time to come.<br />
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<em>It also didn't hurt that they grilled some outstanding pork steaks and praised my cooking. :)</em><br />
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Thank you, Memorial Day BBQ, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7634327860374663589.post-91621224405108494702011-06-09T23:23:00.000-05:002011-06-09T23:23:23.501-05:00Day 163- National Disaster Search Dog Foundation and Stand-up GuysIt's Puppy's choice time again! I so enjoyed a walk with him on this day last year, which means he gets to choose another charity. Believe me, he's totally excited.<br />
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General chose the National Disaster Search Dog Foundation for today's donation. He likes dog things and helping people. He figured this would be a good way to combine a few of his interests. In all seriousness, though, this is a wonderful organization. <br />
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<em>The National Disaster Search Dog Foundation (SDF) was founded in 1996. Our mission is to strengthen disaster response in America by recruiting rescued dogs and partnering them with firefighters and other first responders to find people buried alive in the wreckage of disasters. We offer the professionally trained canines and an ongoing training program at no cost to fire departments. And we ensure lifetime care for every dog in our program: once rescued, these dogs never need to be rescued again. </em><br />
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This is also a timely donation, as teams of these dogs are currently deployed in Joplin, MO, to help out.<br />
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<a href="http://www.searchdogfoundation.org/98/html/index.html">http://www.searchdogfoundation.org/98/html/index.html</a><br />
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*If you go to the website, you can meet all of the search dogs. It's really cute, and General and I have decided that we'd really like to be friends with them. Maybe we can be penpals once they receive our donation.<br />
**Ok, it gets even cuter once you donate. A little video comes up of a dog, and he barks. This is translated to "Thanks for being a part of the search!" Love it.<br />
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What started out as a fun little group date to see <em>The Hangover 2</em> tonight ended in a police report. I'll spare you the details because it wasn't pretty or positive. There was some positivity to come out of the situation, though. I was extremely proud of the way my husband and our friends handled themselves. They were truly gentlemen, even in the most difficult of situations. They stood up for their friends. They chose the high road. They really are stand-up guys.<br />
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I am blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful people with such gigantic hearts.<br />
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Thank you, stand-up guys, you made my day.Jessihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10157330928038911707noreply@blogger.com0