Antsy

This was written last night when the insomnia and distractions almost got me.  But they did not.  Somehow, the act of writing was almost as numbing as reading Campbell at bed time.   I was literally too sleepy to post:

I have about forty two things on the back burner of my brain.  Even though they are all things that can wait, I want to just hurry up and go.  I am not really a patient person.  As soon as I get an idea in my head, it becomes either an obsessive need or it is something I fret over.

This moment right now should be about losing my self in sleep.  Instead I hear Jack's cousin's hounds down by the water.  I am sure they are after a coon and I am sure they think it is fun.  I am not having  as much fun as they are.  The geese have been stirred up and sound like they are going take the roof with them as they fly over.  So I am awake and I list.

I know a lot of list makers.  I am sure it is a control thing for me.  Yep, I am super organized, but better, it gives me a semblance of control over the circus life we live.

So this list.  The haircut I need to get from Misti.  The fall pic we need to do for the family Christmas card.  Jack wants the cards out early so people have our new address.  The perfect trick for my challenging hour - the fix from last week has already worn off.  It may just be that I have to get beyond bitchy and there be no room for any sort of fun.  Insurance.  What to do with Nora the cat.  Find a tree to plant in front.  Christmas shopping.

And before I know it, the list has taken on a life of its own and I am frantic about things that do not matter tonight.  So the dogs will bark.  They always get quiet eventually.  I have not harmed the owner of said dogs.  Yet.

Becoming My Mother

A Sunday usually finds us up early, if not bright, and on our way to church.  We still go to church  in Velma  even though it a long drive.  It means an early morning, but it is where we are fed, where our church family is.  Afterwards, we go home to my parents' house for dinner and visiting.  Really, lots  and lots of visiting.  Mom and I discuss everything under the sun from politics in third world countries to the progress on their house remodeling.

Bell thinks it is funny that I still like to see my mom that much.  She knows Grandma Jo is my mom,  but  Bell doesn't think about my mom and I having a relationship.  So many of the things I do with Isabella are the things that someone did with me.  Bella started cooking with me long before she was 2.  I remember sitting on my grandma's counter with a mixing spoon.  My momma always made cookies or bread and let us kids mess in it with her, never complaining about the flour in the flour or a dropped egg. The "little mouse " game is one my Aunt Margaret played with me.  I used to be her Bitty Girl and now Bell is mine.  I remember helping my mother and grandmother in the garden just as I let Bell do.
Tonight Isabella was explaining the word appropriate to me.  Then she gave me a little lesson on sarcasm.  I don't know if I knew about sarcasm at her age, but I do know all my big words as a child came not just from books, but from my mother.

We did not go to church today because there was not a regular hunch service and because I thought we might have company (which did not come to pass - this house needs some guests).  I got crazy amounts of work done from cooking and cleaning to getting winter coat and pjs ordered for Bell.  Despite feeling like the super housewife today, I did still miss my mom.  She is the sort of mom who invests time in her tribe of children, not just money.    So today, even though I was busy, I made sure there was time for pumpkin carving.  A walk to Grandma Rubilee's with an apple pie to share.  A little lap time before bed.  A tuck-in story.  Some people always make becoming one's parents sound bad, derisive.  I would take it as a compliment.

And Then Tuesday Came

There were no tears today.  There were lots of laughs over "by zombies" thanks to that lesson on active and passive voice.  There were questions about paraphrasing and parenthetical citations.  But no tears.

Yesterday, every time I thought about school, even when I was writing the Nitty Gritty, I would tear up.  And I wrote and complained and vented.  And then I was encouraged.  I was encouraged by friends and former co-workers.  But then the nicest thing happened.  I had an Ann moment.  Misti and Talaura will know what I mean because they were given the same blessing of having Ann Frankland as a guide, teacher, encourager . . . super amazing woman that taught us to think.  I have always held Ann, Sarah Webb, Roger (and others) up as my gold standard.  That is what I want to be when I am in class.  I want to give students permission to be themselves, to think for themselves, to dream, to find their bliss and not let go.  Oh yeah, there are state standards and all that too.  

Sometimes, it is really hard to tell if I am hitting the mark.  There are always kids who sit, eyes glazed over just waiting for the bell, and then there are kids that listen.  But do they get it?

And then just as I was shutting down all the gizmos for the night, I got an email from a student, a friend now, who once sat in my class.   She got it.  She appreciated it but more importantly, she got - from me- all those things that Ann gave us.  Permission.  Inspiration.  Courage.  Independence.  The idea of a powerful woman.

And I cried and snotted some more. Thankful tears.  Reassured, I went back to my challenging class today.  They were still a handful, but I don't think they enjoyed it as much today.  Turns out I still had a few tricks in my magic bag of class management.  I handled them with grace because some one reminded me that I could.  The rest of us learned a little that hour.

Thank you my friends.

Mondays - Let this one not be repeated

I will honestly say that I got a wee bit of refresher in changing schools.  Maybe it was just a change of scenery.  Fewer students.  Working harder at teaching. I don't know, but I have not been quite as burned out feeling this year.

Until today.  Today may be the first day I cried on the way home in 15 years.  I don't mean about heartbreaking situations or death;  I have cried buckets over those things.  I mean flat out bad behavior. The kind that made me cry and then abandon tears for hard exercise.

My day sails usually sails by so smoothly as far as the kids go. Except for 1 class. It is a small class but has an over abundance personality.  In a typical day, all teachers see kids whose parents don't parent, whether it is from lack of interest or lack of ability.  And those children consume the bulk of our attention.  Either we are nudging and prodding and nurturing or we are being disciplinarians.  Somewhere in there, we actually teach our subjects.  I don't know what factors came into play today.  But I know I have no desire to baby sit and I am not qualified to be a therapist.

Today, after dealing with a very few kids who were determined to act up, after dealing with their indignation at being punished, after listening to them convince themselves that they were innocent, I was reminded that this is what makes me weary.

Before you say it, yes I am tired.  Yes, I am sure I will feel better tomorrow.  Yes, I know this is what I signed on for.  Yes, I know that good teachers are so important.  Yes, I want Bell to have good dedicated  teachers.  I know.  I get it.  And some days,  I really think that education should be a privilege and not a requirement.  I am sure a shovel could be found for those not interested.  Some days I really just want to walk away.

But I am not going to walk away and I am not willing to be a bad teacher.  So tomorrow, maybe the saints of strategy will send something my way.

Seeing the Things We See

Over and over again since we moved, I have been reminded what a lovely place it is to which we have moved. 

The garden is mown down and tidy. But that is not it. It is the gorgeous yellow - not canary, not butter - but yellow with a tinge of green that the huge elm down at the lake has turned. 

We had a frost last Monday morning that was the ruination of my garden, but it was the glorification of the trees. Perhaps they had been changing and I just was not seeing. Now, I am seeing the scarlet sumac that I always look forward to and more color in the autumn trees than I  am used to. Possibly, it is being just a bit further north, and possibly, our recent rains 

helped.

The other thing I am smitten with is the fields. I purely love fields of green winter wheat - they just are so lush and look like somewhere one should lie down and watch the clouds.  On the country road I drive every day, some fields have been planted with something that was not harvested or at least not cut down - milo perhaps. The plants have turned golden brown, still neat in their assigned rows. In multiple fields, I see only strips and patches that have been cut rather than the entire field, but I do not know why. I know nothing about bird hunting, but I wonder if these plots are supposed to be providing food and cover for birds. Maybe even food for the deer.  Jack thinks the field across from us is patchy just because the farmer got tired of mowing, which is a funny thought.

I am not ready for this show to be replaced with winter.  I am still content with crisp beginnings and endings and warm in-betweens. I am more than content with the view, with seeing where I live.

Urban Adventurer

Today, we traded our muddy edged pants that we wear to the pasture for our town clothes and pretended we were city people.

A month ago, we promised Bell that we would take a vacation over this break, but budgets and jobs conspired against us.  We still hope to at least go on an over night in the next month or so, but for today we went to Bricktown.  Bell had never really been in downtown OKC before and I think she enjoyed the different sights.  She particularly liked crosswalks.

Our primary destination was Pumpkinville at the Myriad Gardens.  In hindsight, it was really meant for kids a bit younger, but she really enjoyed herself.  She made a salt dough pumpkin, decorated a real pumpkin, took a turn at a cider press . . . and fell down a slide and face planted.  Blood.  Lots of blood.  But she rebounded quickly and had more fun.

We explored the Oklahoma Land Run Monument then walked along the canal and grabbed lunch. We then headed back to the Gardens and went in the Crystal Bridge.  That is one of our favorite places.  I remember trips there forever ago when it was just the two of us.  It was probably the second place Jack ever took me back in our college days.  Today was Bell's first time and she was enchanted.  She staked out a spot on a bridge over the fishy stream and under the hanging vines.  It was her "thinking" spot and we old people were not welcome.  So she mediated with the coy and we relaxed in the sun.  It was pleasure for us to watch her enjoy something we loved.  We are thinking we probably need to get a membership.

We ended on a sweet note.  Our car was parked at Bass Pro so on our way back to the car, we made a detour at Pinkitzel.  Bell had a beautiful cupcake and we called it a beautiful day.

Stressed a bit

For some reason this fall which I soooo looked forward to has just blown chunks to quote Jack Dear.

I think am still so  stressed about work that I am stressed about things I cannot change.  I know for certain that I am doing a good job of teaching with the sophomores.  We have done so much more writing that is more academic and less personal, unlike last year.   We are starting a big project in a week that I am doing jointly with other classes  . . really out of my comfort zone though that is exactly why I am doing it.  I need to push myself a bit more so I have agreed to do this project with the other sophomore teacher.   My juniors started research for our big Great Americans paper last week.  Guess what I get to spend my next month doing?  I hate teaching research, but mostly because I dread the grading which starts a month from tomorrow.    No matter what, I am in this never ending loop of crazy fast prepping-teaching-grading.

And somewhere the stress from the never ending loop is bleeding through into my own life.  I should not fret about the garden dying with the frost.  There really weren't that many tomatoes left and the pumpkin patch was a bust anyway.  But I did fret.  And I fret about Bell - she got glasses this week but it was a really weird diagnosis.  My own body is just getting old or it has gone on strike because of stress.  For weeks and weeks, I have agonized over the possibility of being pregnant again.  Don't you dare snicker.  I would just sit down and cry if it were true.  It is not true, but this approaching 40 body has just decided to not behave any more in so many ways.  I am doing weird things like staying the same weight with out dieting.  I even sleep hard at night and that never happens . . . except when I was pregnant with Bell. I fretted and fretted about my hand . . .

 And then days after the shots should have kicked in and I had resigned my self to surgery, I really began to pray about it.  I just could not fathom the money and complications of surgery and asked for healing.  It is not 100% better, but it only gets numb a few times a week.  Still no strength or grip, but I can live with the current state for a long time.          

I used to say that I worked best under stress.  I would always pull things together and do well.  I think I need to get back to everyday workouts instead of a few days a week.  It was my chief stress reliever the past few years.  I think all that stress is overrated.  The school stuff will get done . . . Or it won't.  I will grow pumpkins next year.  And I will get old.  In the meantime, I hope this wrinkle preventing cream I bought works.