Oh I guess I wasn't finished...

Still Tuesday, still unraveling from a crap day and went to bed and was lying there talking with chris, or rather, complaining. Bitching. Unloading. He just wanted a nice night with me; dinner and talking and snuggles without all of this baggage I carry around today, and fair enough, I would have liked that too. Instead there I was laying in my bed and was just So Sad. So Damn Sad. I thought about MD. and all of her lashing out and then seeing her father, her father virtually ignore, virtually appear as unconcerned as it gets, appear to Not Give A Shit. And then there's D.'s dad, five messages and a confrontation later and no call back. It it appears he does Not Give A Shit. And I., who's been silent, I didn't even realize he was there today. Quiet and sad and dad's in jail. And M.s mom with ovarian cancer and now charges pressed against her for assaulting that other mother in the hallway and three kids and one on the way? with ovarian cancer? is that possible?
And sad and heavy and gloom and
I don't know. All of a sudden I'm laying in bed crying and crying and feeling guilty even for complaining and bitching and ruining what could have been this nice night with my husband and taking on and taking in
and
and
and
here I am wanting a baby, trying to have a baby, trying, still, perhaps, to come to terms with a miscarriage, the possibility that it might not ever happen for me. I asked Chris again does he really want a baby with me? He said "You are a mother. A mother without a baby."

and all these kids and these sad little lives and yet there's pregnancys all the time - M. is going to have another sister in a month or two; with a father who text messages in the delivery room.

God. I mean, these parents care the best they can. I mean no disrespect. But what the fuck?
Why?
Must I state the irony in this?

How do I turn this switch off? How do I not care, not feel?
I get so de-sensitized and then there seems this sudden BLAM --- knocked over hard.

4 days left before vacation and then I go to half time. And I wonder now if even that will be too much.

uggggggggggg

I can't stand myself today. Pressure to have a lot of math work out because the district was coming to observe. At nine, I was told. So my kids were doing math and by 1030 or 11 wanted to do something else. Sick of math. And then the district comes in and it's kind of falling apart. I have my best days when I don't try to control what the children are doing as some sort of showcase, don't you?

We're all getting time in our classrooms without kids. Most schools just call it "inservice" and get a whole day off with no kids in the building, or at least a few or even a bunch of half days. Not us. I mean we are damn lucky to even get the time at all. So our kids are dispersed into five different classrooms, and, for a week and a day, we have five extra kids in our classroom. And the kids, who are strangers to us and we to them, are generally on their best behavior, so it's really not a big deal ... but today... the pressure, the extra kids, the word FUCK that I am so sick of by now... D., very strange child D., refused to get in line after gym and instead walked in circles saying "Fucking asshole!! Fucking bitch! Fucking nigger! Fuck you!" Really, can we just can the "fuck" for awhile? Do we have to hear it read it find it on tables in elementary school? I mean, what the...fuck? So I called D.'s parents, for the FIFTH time. When I saw dad at pickup time I nearly yelled at him. "We must have a conference" and I told him what D. was saying today. "No way!" he said. Yeah. Yeah way. I asked him to call me later on my cell to set it up. Do you think he did? No, way.

M.'s dad finally came in for the "fucking ass humping sex" charming note M. wrote to T. She's suspended for two days. And while my principal scolded M. and admonished her father as to the gravity of the situation, I kid you not, he was texting on his cell phone. I mean nearly the entire duration of the conference. Looking at his phone. Not paying one damn bit of attention.
Hmmmm. Is it any wonder that M. is so FUCKED UP? I think not.

I am so lit today, tonight. Can't even seem to manage to shake it. I get so mean to my kids on days like this - seems like it's just gotten worse - where I say the meanest things and hate myself for it. "Are you kidding me?" I ask, sarcastic. Ms Lowe, can I get a drink of water? "NO!!!" ... I mean, monster. I mean like someone put a firecracker in my ass. I can't stand myself when I talk like this. I can't stand it. I want to run from the room and never come back.

anyway. No kids tomorrow. They'll be there, but not with me. Environmental revival. Which actually just means major inventory, but whatever. I need a break bad. Realllllllllllll bad.

catfight in the hallway

Teacher L told me there was a, I don't know, red alert, major code, I can't remember the term but it means all the big time personnel are to report to the big emergency area, which was in one of the stairwells by the main office. I had no idea what happened - probably some kid having a meltdown. Whatever. Nothing really surprises me anymore at my school.

Even when I got the story. The para from the next room came to ask me if I had such and such a student - no - she looked on my list - pointed to MC.'s name - "This one." she said. "His mother just started a fight with another mother in the stairwell."

Here's what I know - MC. is super SPED, still in my class for whatever reason though he's stopped running so much, and I've grown to adore him. However, when he gets stubborn, there is no stopping him - and he's a Big Kid. He's got two younger siblings at home, no dad in the picture, and his mother has said it's gotten harder and harder for her to protect her little ones at home when he starts losing it. And, p.s., she is pregnant. Last Tuesday MC. had a major meltdown wanting to be first on line from the library to lunch. I wasn't there, and my para wouldn't let him so there was some code call to come get him as he flipped out and spent the rest of the afternoon with the principal. The principal called his mother, who was at the doctor's office but came right after, having just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

So a few days later she beats up another mother in the stairwell. There is no excuse for this, but I can barely imagine what it's like to be her. In fact I have to shield myself from even thinking too much about it. What will happen to those kids? What will happen to MC., who has become so dear to me?

What's to become of any of these kids? What difference does it make that I am as present as possible, as loving as possible, an example of what? - some white woman that they will never be. I know it matters; I know it matters somehow. I know it matters or I would have bailed altogether rather than stay half time, which is still stressful enough. Even financially I'd be better off subbing a few days a week around my district than the half salary I"m taking. But I'm doing it because I love my kids. And I love my parents - even the ones who beat up on one another.

I talk to my husband a lot about my kids - this one did that today, this one made me laugh, that one finally got the math lesson, or that one wrote an amazing piece of writing -- I wonder sometimes what it will be like next year when I don't have them to talk about anymore.

more swearing on friday...

It's Monday and I really could have worked a half day, and thought about it very seriously and decided I'd rather stay home. Wouldn't you? Maybe if I hadn't worked as a waitress Friday night and Saturday night I would have had more energy to get there today - but alas, I'm home, with my coffee dog and cat, and frankly not sad about not being at school.

Friday wasn't a great day. J. the freakin whirlwind that he is was ping ponging around the room as usual, running up and yelling "CA-CA!" behind the kids backs then running away, etc etc. He is the first born and a prince at home who can do no wrong. His mother nearly cried during our conference because she claims my para is "mean to him." I can be mean to him too, I'm thinking - and he can be REALLY mean to other kids... Cry me a river lady. I'll go a-sailing away.

Not that I'm so mean and bitter - I just get so tired - it's Monday, I'm not even at school and the whole thing exhausts me. Damn. But that's not what I wanted to write about.

3:15 Friday, we're almost done, leaving in the next ten minutes and T., sitting there in the gathering holding a scrap of paper, says "Ms. Lowwwwe, MD wrote this about me."
"No I di'int! No I di'int!" MD is screeching.

I pick up the note: T. is a fucking ass and humps Y. and has sex with her. the end.

Beautiful. MD. is my second grade beautiful, so beautiful to look at but mean girl. Second grade. Fucking ass sex and hump, second grade. Lovely.

I get a piece of paper. I ask her to write T.'s name. It is the same handwriting.
"MD, this is your writing. You did this."

I think it was then I decided I was taking the day off Monday instead of going in for half. I wrote a note to the principal, shoved both of the notes in an envelope to leave with her to deal with.

My husband came home with boxes of books that someone random had given him. Harry Potter and other stuff- like 20 copies of the same books - thought OH! Perfect to give to my kids! We could have reading clubs with chapter books! Yeah! ... and I can't wait to hand them out - My third graders are all just starting to get into Harry Potter.

Oh but in this meantime. I can't wait til Christmas break. I can't wait to start working half time. I hope it helps.

fuck you bitch

It was a good morning, until the floor tables (low tables we have so the childen can work on the floor if they want to) were flipped over and "fuck you bitch" was exposed on two of them; in dark pencil, in two different hand writings. WTF. Ruin my morning. Rang the bell, made an announcement, asked anyone to raise their hand who might know something about the bad words written on the floor tables. Said if I didn't find out who did it, we wouldn't have recess until I did.

I'd seen it before. I mean, bitch - fuck - it's been graffiti'ed other places in my classroom in random places, but it's been awhile - and it set me off. Just when you think your class is relatively normal and functioning, it's like oh yeah, and then there's this...

I trusted I., my super star, to scrub the tables with a little ajax. He, by the way, is really the coolest most mature and wise second grader ever, in the world. Not only brilliant, but just a genuine amazing boy. But this is a story for another day. My stepdaughter needs to use the computer, after all.

So after gym we usually go outside for recess, and today was this unseasonably gorgeous day. But I said we couldn't go out. I was dying to go out myself for some fresh air, but had to stick to my guns. So I give them the speech, there in the hallway next to the doors, "I said we're not going out until I know who wrote those words." Etc, etc.

Well. D. and G. came forward. I took the rest of the kids outside while they stayed with my para. By the time I got to them, G. was crying and D. was sullen. "What were you thinking?" I asked. These are good kids. G's mom is a bit nuts (the one who wanted to beat me up when G. had lice, again), and D. is not a great student (soooo lazy), but they are not the kids I worry about or would expect "fuck you bitch" to come out of. I walked away and left them in an area alone (but in view) and let them stew awhile. When I went back, I asked them what they thought I should do, what should be their consequence.

I don't remember how it went or if any were volunteered. By this time of night I am so worn out I can't even remember what I ate for dinner. But we settled on their cleaning all the tables in the room, and writing an apology letter to the rest of the class which they would have to read.

And they did. At the end of the day, they both read their letters, apologizing and promising to never write bad words in the classroom again. G. even wrote "I know I'm better than that. I will never, ever write bad words again."

After they were finished reading, I asked the class if they had anything to say, and to raise their hands if they did.

I. raised his hand first. "Thank you for being honest," he said. Then I called on A. "Thank you for being brave," he said. and then I called Y., a first grader who raises her hand before a question is even asked, every time, and then has nothing to say when I call on her, but I called on her anyway. "Thank you.... uhhhhh...." oh brother. but I waited... "for... uh... being responsible."
Wow. that was a good one.

So there they are. My kids. It turned out to be a kind of good day in the end.

so it's been awhile...

It was hard to keep writing, knowing what I knew, knowing the access to the people who didn't know and might have vested interest when they found out that I wrote a letter of resignation saying I wouldn't be returning to my school come January:

This letter comes to you after much conflicted deliberation.

I won't be returning to teach (at school) after the new year.

Many factors have contributed to this decision, the most prominent and tipping point is about wanting to be a mother. After being somewhat unexpectedly pregnant for the first time last year and miscarrying at 10 weeks while working at (school), I realized how badly I want to have a child. I've been trying to conceive since my body has healed after that experience, so far to no avail. When I recently talked to my doctor about what I might do to be proactive in this process he asked, " Do you have a lot of stress in your life?" and all I could do in response was laugh.

I love my job in so many ways. I love the teaching, the learning, the excitement and even the challenges that arise due to complicated emotional circumstances. I also feel from the bottom of my gut the stress rising up through my chest and my throat every day when some of the afore mentioned conflicts arise. If I spend the rest of the year teaching and don't get pregnant and think for one second that the level of stress at my job had one thing to do with it, I would regret it for the rest of my life. If I relieve myself of the stress and find other ways to live a life of service in my work without so much stress and still don't get pregnant, I will have at least known that I tried. I'm over 40 now. I don't have time to mess with this. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

One principal caught me in the hallway, gave me a hug and said to the effect that he was behind me and not to worry about anything. Another wrote me a heartfelt e mail saying she understood. My principal didn't talk to me for nearly two weeks. When she did, she offered up an idea: what if I could work half time? At first I thought no, done, sorry, no. But then - I really really love my kids. And they're really learning so much, and have gelled into this lovely little community, all dysfunction aside. So I came back and agreed that if that were an option, I would take it. It's still not set in stone, but I think I'd be okay with it if it were. Knowing I could go home, stop at the gym, take care of my neglected exhausted body, then go home, be with my dog and cat and write for a few hours before my husband comes home, actually have time to spend with my husband... wow. I'll forgo the sushi and thoughtless shopping and financial stability. I'll patronize my local library more than the bookstores I love. I won't buy myself flowers for our house every week, though that will be a hard habit to break.
I want a more simple life. I can't - no - it's not that - it's that I Don't Want To - act like some sort of superhero every day anymore, exhausting myself, commuting way too far, etc etc.

But I still have stories every day that I've neglected telling in what was this mixture of guilt, fear, and now is such exuberance and relief. If I'd known how it was going to feel after I quit, I would have done it a long time ago. Elation.

I've grown much fonder of my new first graders. Funny how I taught pre school for years and was so accustomed to their neediness. What a difference from second and third graders -
I. is one of my first graders, a little boy with a soft voice and gentleness. He often seems sad, but yesterday was verbal about it. "I'm sad," he told me. "I miss my dad."
"Where's your dad?"
"I can't tell you. My aunt told me not to."
I already had my suspicions.
"Well I'm sure that wherever he is, you are in his heart." I put my hand on his chest to illustrate.
"I can't tell you where he is because the other kids will hear."
"You could whisper in my ear if you want to."
He got close and cupped his hand around my ear. "He's in jail."
He stood back and looked at me.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
I cupped my hand and whispered to him. "My stepson is in jail."

He smiled, slightly, and looked at me. "It's okay," I said. He nodded and seemed satisfied.

He was still sad, though. When we were doing writing assigments I helped him write a letter to his dad. "You are my best dad. I love mommy and daddy forever."

While I was helping him, A. came over to me with a question. Then I asked him, "Hey is it okay if I tell I. where your dad is?"

"He's in jail," A. shrugged.

It's funny. My mother asked me about school, and I told her about I., how he's touched me, how sad he's been the last couple days.

"My God," she said. "These kids lives are so different than kids in a normal school."

Normal school.
I don't imagine the work would be necessarily easier in a "normal school." I don't imagine I would love my kids quite as fiercely, either.

avoidance

It's true. I've been avoiding my blog. I'm not sure if it's because I'm too afraid to tell the truth, or I'm afraid I won't tell the truth. Maybe I don't even know what the truth is right now. Maybe I don't know anything.

Last week I finally met with my principal for a post conference. It wasn't scheduled. I had been composing a list in preparation for the meeting; a list of all the things I am responsible for as a teacher; a list that completely paralyzes me. I was up to a page and a half when she caught me in the office where I was checking my mailbox and said "do you have time right now?"

Deep breaths.

"How are you?" She asks me, all breezy like.
"I Am So Unhappy," I tell her.

And thus begins an hour long "conference" of how overwhelmed I feel, all the time, how stressed out, all the time, how I feel like little pieces of myself just abandon my body, all the time, as if those pieces just don't have room to fit anywhere and I'm just walking around existing as some fragmented version of myself.

"It never ends," I told her. "I cross something off the list, and there are ten more things to do and I just can't get to them. I'm behind in my Montessori coursework, I have a mountain of to go through, and I need to do a two week prep course to take a 4 hour licensure exam on a Saturday that I get to pay 130. bucks to take. I can't do it. I can teach Montessori, I know how to do that. It's all this other stuff: attendence incentives and guided reading groups and peace days and documentation of everything. FBA's and IEP's and DRA's ... I just can't ..."

She finally sighed and got to my evaluation, which was pretty much a rave review. I got more "exceeds expectation" than simply "meeting expectation," or whatever the gauge was.
"You are changing children's lives," she said. "You are changing FAMILIES lives," she said.

"That's great," I say, "but at what expense? I've been asking myself huge questions, like, is my heart too big, or not big enough? Do I live in service of other people, or do I live for myself?"

"I have a 50,000. student loan I'm paying back for a MFA in writing. And guess what? I don't write. I don't have time. I've gained 15 pounds in the past year, and I don't get to the gym. I live in the middle of nowhere. If I go to the gym, I get home at 7, and my husband is in bed by 8 since he get's up at 3:30 for work. I'm just not sure I want this to be my life," I ramble. "I'm 40 years old, I want to get pregnant, and the doctor says 'how much stress do you have in your life?' and all I can do in response is laugh."

She cut my list in half. She said not to worry about it. She said "Colleen, the kids in your class are not only learning and working hard, but they're HAPPY. They're so excited about working."

And this is true. And this is Montessori. And this is what I've been doing since I was 25 years old, philosophically, teaching preschool. So yeah, I know this. I also knew that I didn't want to teach anymore. I also applied for a job on the periphery that was NOT in a classroom. Instead I got an offer in the classroom, a better salary offer than any private school I'd ever worked in, Elementary Montessori training, and an opportunity it seemed would have been foolish to pass up. Now I feel like a fool for taking it all on.

My grandmother died three weeks ago, today. I spent the last 8 days of her life with her. My adrenaline on full blast, giving me everything I needed to wake up 5 times a night to care for her while sleeping on a lumpy couch, staying present every moment. She finally passed away, there was a wake, there was a funeral, there was the drive home, and BLAM back full on into my life like nothing ever happened.

I spent this past Saturday in bed. Almost all day. I haven't been sleeping (apparently still not sleeping, as it's 1am at the moment) and was sick; in my head, in my stomach. I spent the day in bed sleeping and weeping. Why can't I just stop for awhile. Why can't I just pause and go look for those pieces that have split from me. Why can't I just feel like I'm whole and not constantly stretching myself so thin that I leave little pieces of myself behind everywhere I go, on the floor, where those pieces of myself get stepped on and kicked aside.

Friday at work there was all the 3rd grade petty angst of girls "she said this about my mom... she's not my friend because of this... wah wah whine whine blaaaaah..." I held up my hand. "Write it. I don't want to hear about it; get your writing journals and write it."

So they did. Then the girls lined up and showed me what they'd written.

"I don't like M. anymore because she said my mother is a b____ and is going to h - e - l - l." Etc like this. "and she isn't my friend because I blah blah blah and she blah blah blah...."

I took a pencil and wrote back.

"Sometimes people who don't feel good about themselves try to make other people feel bad so they might feel a little better. It doesn't work. Try not to let anyone get to you. You are amazing. You are special. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If someone makes you feel bad about yourself, know that they must not feel good about themselves, and walk away."

I must have wrote little messages like this for four different girls Friday.

Maybe it does make a difference. Maybe I do make a difference.

So what?

Do I live in service of others, or do I live in service of myself? Do I stay in a job that drains the shit out of me where little pieces of me are left in random places being kicked around, or do I gather myself back together, get some kind of work without a fat paycheck but that allows me room to breathe, to write, to exercise?

I already know the answer, of course. And I wish I didn't feel so guilty about it.

mehlo mehlo

The children have decided I'm not ms. lowe anymore - I'm MEHLO!! MEHLO!!! which, on second thought, rings kind of cool ... "mellow - mellow -" I can live with that.

so tired I can't believe I'm bothering with this blog tonight. three nights of no sleep - so much anxiety - so ready to move on from this job - yet so attached to my kids it's not as easy as quitting any other job that exists...

and this morning went so well.. so much work.. so much study.. so much enthusiasm... I. my superstar has recently figured out dynamic addition - carrying - and was doing it in the millions with up to fifteen numbers. wow. I was calling him the human calculator. and tons of language work --- maps --- G. can name about 25 states learned only out of repetition - I never actually sat down and taught her, she taught herself. Yeah montessori.

but then a. was choking sweet a.. stormed off in that anger haze and sat in the stairwell. I called the office for a counselor to come up - obviously it was a serious infraction - but nobody ever came. why do I even bother calling?

then M. was pulling on her earrings so hard that both ears started to bleed. Later she found a piece of glass on the playground, put it in her pocket, then was carving the palm of her hand with it when we were back in the classroom.

I can't do this. I learned the term "secondary trauma" tonight... those bearing witness, I suppose, to the primary trauma? Anyway it hit me, or validated perhaps, how much of this kind of trauma I absorb by proximity.

I asked myself tonight if my heart is not big enough or too big.
It's a tough call.
"What's going to happen to these kids?" my stepmother asked me tonight.

I don't know. I don't know, and I can't save them.

met a couple girlfriends at a greek place tonight for dinner. had my lesson plan book out and told myself I must remember to put it back in my bag after tucking it aside.
turns out I left it there. in a restaurant nearly an hour from my house.
OOPS.
this won't fare well for the meeting I have tomorrow, or for my follow up meeting with the principal.
perhaps a subliminal act.
I want to care ... I do...
but I"m also trying hard... to only care about myself...
hows that for a not so selfish twist. I miss me. I want her back. all of her.

late friday entry

Got home friday and shortly after went out with my husband for sushi and a cocktail or two. Wasn't in the right frame to write when I got home and have been avoiding the update all weekend as the weekend is peaceful. I don't want to think about what is not.

Though Friday I somehow managed to wow my principal. She came an hour late - so I'd already given the major lessons I wanted to give, children were busy, and I was giving some help and individual lessons when she came in. Ms. N had taken M. to the nurse - he wasn't feeling good - so I was alone when she showed up to observe, an ominous presence, ee gads the principal is here to check me out.

Fuck it. I didn't care. This is it, this is how we roll. And the kids rose up - nothing to do with me - they rose up and man they were just working. And M. my girl M. who can be the biggest pain in my ass hid all the singular/plural work from the other girls so they couldn't do it - "Msslowwwwe M.'s hiding all the work we want"
I go over to M., squat down and look at her face, "How many of those envelopes can you do at once?" I ask her quietly. "one" she says. "So how about we let the girls use the other ones"

She takes them off her lap and gives them to me.

Then she does something else obnoxious, I don't remember, and I pick up her table and move it closer to where I am "in case she needs any help." and she goes right back to working, no problem.

A. was totally proud of his dynamic addition of complex numbers - 6 of my kids think its the most fun they've ever had - "I"m a math geek!" they yell out to each other, loving numbers.

What did I do? Nothing. This is them. At least on this morning in those moments that I was observed.

Now she's telling other teachers how "masterful" I am and that they should all observe in my room.

"WHAT?" I say, when I hear this from my colleague. "Are you KIDDING me?"

Sure. There is some magic in the classroom, there is concentration and focus, there are learning children and there is calm.

But at what cost? I am still asking myself. At the cost of my health? my stress levels? my dread on sunday nights having to go back the next day? my ability to conceive? my complete and utter lack of time to do anything for me? to write?

Something about being with gramma and that stark awareness that life is short and time is precious. Do we go on doing something just because we might be good at it even if it sucks the life right out of you? Do you suck up and hail the mighty paycheck and then go home and have sleepless nights over kids who have rocks in their heads and it's your responsibility to fix it?

There have been so many drive by shootings in the neighborhood of my school lately.
It's just another factor to think about. To think really hard about.

I hate my job.

No. I just want to hold up my hand to anyone, to whatever question is asked, to whatever request, to whatever administrator. I want to hold up my hand: Stop. No.

Have still been in a bit of a fog, memories of Gramma care still so fresh on my mind, "are you warm enough?" she asked me about 700 times, the thank you's, the "I love you kids." Warm water from a straw in a certain glass, morphine patches and funny stories and middle of the night adjustments. Blankets and pillows to prop, hand holding, so much hand holding, wafer thin hands in mine that I would rub hand lotion into and up her arms, bone and loose skin. Funeral and family and bagpipes at the church, at the cemetery. Tears and stark awarenesses that I can't, I won't hear her voice again, ever. The tape I took from the player next to her bed, Ernie Tennesee Ford, spirituals; I played them on my way home from work today. Not necessarily what I would choose to hear, but my Gramma, I wanted to hear what she heard, I wanted to be close to her, still.

We had a big IEP meeting for M., my crazy Puerto Rican boy who speaks no English, who does no work, who wreaks havoc and writes foreign letters that have little resemblance to anything legible. I brought writing samples and stories of behavior, and 15 pages of documented incidents. The SPED teacher was 1/2 hour late, and brought little with her herself but stories of non-compliance. The principal sat in on the meeting as well, who I later had a meeting with about her observing in my classroom, standard, as everyone has done the last two weeks that I was absence.

"You and Ms. H (Sped teacher) were not prepared at all for the IEP meeting," she tells me. "It was an embarassment."

WTF? "I never had SPED kids in my class. I don't know how these meetings go. I'm three days back in school after being out for two weeks. What was I supposed to bring? He does nothing. I have nothing to show. You saw his writing. You saw the documented incidents."

"You should have counted the number of times he's run out of the room. You should have had a running tally."

Are you fucking kidding me?

"Next time talk to J. the SPED facilitator person and get a better idea how to be prepared. Don't worry about it for now."

Right. I'm not going to.

The meeting goes on. I don't know what the fuck she's talking about. MCAS's and FBA's and how many peace days have you had? and we have to get our attendance up, how are you documenting that?

D. continued to hide again today, J. was laying across tables, G. was found in the back of the classroom humping C. A. was pissed that he couldn't color all day long and sat in a corner banging his head saying "I'm stupid. I'm stupid." One of the children broke the pencil sharpener yesterday so there were no sharpened pencils. Fuck you.

"And you need to document every PD ... every team time, every mentor meeting - you can keep a notebook. I also need a portfolio of your lesson plans, attendence, FBA's, incentive plans..."

"uh huh, uh huh, right, sure, uh huh"

"And where are you in your licensure?"

I am a Montessori teacher, not fully trained, working on a temporary license. I'm supposed to take some teacher tests to get licensed, three hour long tests of general curriculum for public school that I have no fucking clue about. I'm still in training and have a shit ton of work to catch up and revise for my Montessori course.

"Well I'm still in training so I thought that would cover it."

"You have to take your licensure exam."

Fuck you. I go to work early every day. I leave late every day. I do the best I fucking can and now I need to put together portfolios and FBA's and write a note every single day to M.'s mother to let her know how he is doing, and have my para translate it to Spanish. Every day. I need FBA's on 6 of my kids, some behavior documentation shit. I need to get my third graders up to snuff to pass the MCAS exams coming up in the spring. And, apparently, I need to study and prepare for teacher licensure exams.

Blah and blah and blah and by this time I am so overwhelmed and already put in ample time not even including the hours over the weekend or the cutting out laminated materials or the creating my own materials. Not even including the hour and a half I spend in the car commuting every day.

Waitressing is looking real good right now. Being a check out girl at Shop and Stop is looking really good right now. Hell hole of a fucking school, "This school is a joke," my colleague said today, and you want me to do more work? Prepare for another exam so I can secure my license to stay here? What makes you think I want to stay here? Why would I want to?

was it always this exhausting?

Feel like I'm gonna drop to the floor. My classroom is still a mess from my hiatus, so much to organize and put back together. I stayed an extra hour yesterday and thought I would today and then thought "F it. I'll just come in early tomorrow" (and we all know how that goes, right? ... snooze button, snooze button, snooze button, oh shit I'm late...).

I feel so behind. My lesson plans are leftovers from what I didn't get done three weeks ago, the assessments are still on my desk that I never gave, my first graders have grown accustomed to the handwriting practice busy work... argh.

Kids are the same. M. is still bolting, despite his medication. My female M. - well she's not so much the same - must be on some new medication because she has totally mellowed to the point I don't even recognize that she's there when it used to be she was the most blatant presence in the class. But I still struggle - medication? Mind altering drugs? What do they do to a developing brain? Is it really good for the child, or just for the adults around him/her?
Def makes life easier, but .... uggg.

Work after death... I mean I'm not busting out into tears in the classroom (that only seems to happen in the evening, when it's time to call Gramma time and I remember with some kind of jolt that she's not there anymore), but something has shifted. My love, my patience, sure, I feel more mellow and appreciative, but I also feel more... tired. Exhausted. Just exhausted. Not just exhausted, but lethargic. Depression? Maybe it's that. Maybe.

I'm not quite as interested. Is that awful? A. was reported to DSS, not by the school but a neighbor? His hygiene is awful (E. told him once "you smell like garbage," which, really, is sometimes true). He's totally immature and is often in trouble for not listening, etc, and then sits around and says "I'm bad. I'm bad. I'm so bad." ... His father is in jail for I don't know what, so I often intervene with "you're not bad, you just don't always make the best choices" or something like this, though lately, as in the last couple days, I don't. Intervene, that is. Maybe it's a flavor of the month thing because now my eye is on D., the boy who hides and puts on this mean face and dodges and ducks and bursts into yelps for attention. I've been singling him out. Having him read to me, putting my arm around him, sitting next to him and I feel him mellow. I feel him ease. These kids, collectively and individually, need SOOOO much attention...

Maybe I feel a bit like D. I'd like to hide, to observe from behind a shelf, to bark to make sure that I'm still there.

I had an IEP meeting today for one of my SPED kids, S. Last year she was such a royal pain in the ass, but to a scary degree screaming about how she wanted to kill herself, she hates herself, choking herself and smacking herself until her face was bright red, slamming her head against the wall... She would throw fits and literally throw materials around the room, chairs, whatever. WE've had to evacuate on her behalf and get the kids away from her for safety. She's a third grader who is on a first grade level. Yet this year... there has been no threats of suicide, there has been no head banging or furniture throwing and I sat in this meeting this morning and thought wow... huge change... she's really coming a long way...

So at least there is that. And it's something.

I'm so behind. I feel so behind. It's exhausting just to think about so I think I'll take a nap.

back to school.

I was bombarded with love this morning. Arms and smiles clamoring for me, "Ms Lowe! Ms Lowe!" (though later one child mused "we don't even call you Ms. Lowe, we call you MihLo!"). It was a love fest reunion... All sympathy and smiles as they asked about my Gramma, questions overtaken by "I missed you!!!" G., one of my first graders, kept saying in this baritone voice for a boy, "Yeah. My teacher's back. Yeah."

Sure it made me feel good.

Everything today was seen through a haze of death and love. The new pencils, the popcorn for snack, the laughing raucous noise, the handwriting practice. It all seemed so precious and somehow fleeting, like I wanted to tell them STOP! Treasure this moment! This one, right now!!! -But I didn't. I just stood back and took it in.

And I gave some lessons. The children were so hungry for work, listing all the contractions in the English language, working on irregular plurals and labeling fractions. It was a good day. Even when it got loud and M. left the room running and A. put on his f-you face and left the room for no apparent reason with his backpack on and D. was back again, hiding in corners and under tables like a feral animal, it was good. It was good to be back.

Even though now I'm home with a mile of laminated materials to cut out and lesson plans that need more detail and meetings to prepare for - I haven't stopped yet and have more to go still - I think I'm okay with this.

I used to call my gramma on my way home from work or right after dinner. I miss her. I miss her badly. But life, indeed, goes on. And the cards I got from colleagues and even a fruit basket... all mean so very much; more than anyone can know.

life after death

And the beat goes on...
Home again after essentially helping my grandmother die... the most profound journey of sorts ever taken... so much to say about that it would take another blog altogether. Huge honor to be there. Life changing. Beautiful and tragic at the same time. Miss her so badly...

But back to school tomorrow, the subject of this blog. Yet my past couple weeks will undoubtedly weave it's way into new fabric and perhaps a way of being... I became so soft, so soft with my Gramma... So in love with everything, everyone - with air, with colors, with birds - all these earthly delights we take so hard for granted... And the children - I'm hoping all that love will extend and my temper will be just that much longer and my words will be just that much kinder and my patience will be noticably extended...

I have new stories to share with the children. I can't wait to go back, and I dread going back.
Will keep ya posted...

death does not come easy

I've been here with Gramma since Monday. It's now Friday. And I've actually left the house to come shower at my stepmothers and write this blog. It might just keep me sane.

Congestive heart failure and a strong diuretic is not ridding the water which means the kidneys will eventually shut down and we will all say goodbye. In the meantime it's a long, slow downhill battle and I am savoring every minute.

I've been sleeping with her in her bed, her propped up on five pillows, holding hands while she sleeps and I listen for every breath. I"m exhausted and I would stay up and will stay up for more days if I have to. We've moved to the living room now, to a lounge chair that she's propped up in with many pillows and blankets, oxygen hanging out of her nose and paper thin hands that reach for mine and I hold; fragile, delicate, silken, cold.

I've gone into her bedroom alone which likely she will never see again and I've wept. I look at the walls, the trinkets on her dresser, the old clothes hanging in her closet and I remember my whole life. I weep and I weep. But who gets to have their grandmother until they're 40? Me.

She opens her eyes and I"m right there. "What do you need? Are you okay?"
My brother has stayed with me the last two nights. We sleep on the uncomfortable couch and get her up at 2am, 4am, when she needs to use the bathroom. She can't walk anymore though so now we're just pulling away the lounge chair and replacing it with a commode in one moment's time so she can just stand up and sit back down. It exhausts her.

She's told me my whole life of her show business days in the 1920's as a young girl, dazzling Alfred E. Smith, some politician I think? It was only today that I found the bag of 1926 newspaper clippings of her and her sisters dancing on stages and rave reviews of the Dimond sisters and their grace. I'm still learning about her and she is almost gone. I will learn more, I know, when she goes.

I've been praying to my Pop; come take her, come take her. Her four sisters and brothers who have come before; come take her, come take her. She's ready although I may never be but I am but i"m not but I am.

My sister, my brother, my cousin, my stepmother, my father - we have all been there in shifts and I, for this is not my home anymore, this town, I park myself with her, next to her.

I called her every night for the past year. She's been living alone for the 25 years since my grandfather has passed. In moments I glimpse the intense loneliness she must have been feeling for so many so many years.

This has nothing to do with my school or my kids or other hard lives. Everyone's life is hard. In my readings of the past week I came across some snippet about a culture long ago that celebrated death more than life, for they knew when a baby was born that life was hard and full of trials, and peace comes only consistently in death.

She is a treasure, this woman, my grandmother. I have been blessed.

I called the teacher who works in the next pod last night. She said my class has risen, has risen to the occasion and things have been so smooth and I want to hug and kiss Ms. N, my para, who is a miracle worker in this intense time. She wants me to be here, knows how special it is, has not a shred of resentment in my absence.

I will stay as long as I am needed here. I will return to my life at my school, my work, my home, changed.

Chris is coming tonight, thank God. I've missed him and I miss my kids and I am so proud of them, who they are and how they live. I hear that M. is on medication now that has made him so much calmer, he's not running out of the room anymore. I can't wait to see him.

And A., my science boy. My neighbor teacher told me of a conversation I had of where I am, what I"m doing. He was excited, going to see his own grandmother and Ms. E told him that when she gets older, he can do the same thing for her. He nodded, he got it.

So much love. SO much love. Really, it's all that matters.

another movie

I'm in another movie altogether right now.

I knew my grandmother was in rough shape, so I came down Monday so my brother and I could pick up my dad to bring him down to see her which was really the best medicine we could offer.  But since then I haven't been able to leave.

Grandma will be 90 in January, if she makes it.  She's in the last stages of congestive heart failure, her legs are swollen like balloons and it's hard for her to walk.  She lives alone.  She has someone come over in the evening to get her dinner and get her to bed, and now she'll be coming in the morning as well but she can't start the morning until Saturday.  In the meantime, my gramma can't walk.  She can't get herself to the bathroom.  She can't do anything.  She hasn't been eating, she's been taking pills that are supposed to make her pee so the swelling goes down, but so far this hasn't done the trick.

Last night I stayed with her, slept over, got up four times in the middle of the night to take her to the bathroom, painstakingly shuffling the six feet it takes to get there which takes about ten minutes.  It sucks.  I looked at her last night, she was glazed and babbling about "take my necklace" etc.  I started crying.  She perked up.  "Don't cry! Don't cry!  I'll bounce back, I always do!" 

"But Gramma, you're tired.  You're so tired," I said.

She doesn't even watch tv, and she hasn't even had a cup of tea which is the major blaring red flag.

So what do I do? My father is in his own situation, her only son, he can't really do much from his chair in Huntington.  My sister and brother work (oh, right, so do I) and can't do much.

My class?  Ms. N just called me a little while ago, bless her heart.  She told me everything is fine there with the class and to take my time down here, I'm doing the right thing, this is more important, etc.  Yesterday I worried about my class.  I thought I'd go home last night and be back there today but now it looks like I won't be back til Monday.  And today I'm not worried about my class.  Fuck em.  This is my real life here, my family.  This is what's more important.  This is my reality right now.

and it pretty much sucks and I'd rather be with my kids but what am I gonna do?

field trip

It was okay. Exhausting. A. flipped out and kicked the wall for a few minutes, M. told T. that she doesn't brush her teeth and her mouth stinks, general running problems and antics, but we all survived. There was a little push and tumble before lunch when three children fell on top of each other and a couple parents gasped.

But to hear the kids - the gasps and squeals and "ooohh's!!!" during the planetarium show and the dinosaur exhibits... it was really very cool. As exhausted as I'm feeling right now, I might say it was worth it. It also might be true that there's several kids I'd much rather leave at school next time however....

I did leave M. and another A. Was really bummed about leaving A. since he is probably the smartest kid in my class and obsessed with science. What could I do though? After giving him ten warnings I finally had to make good on the threat. It sucks being a meanie but at the same time that ODD shit is serious.

When I got home there was a call from my school district. One of those recorded messages that goes out to every family. We get them every night before an open house or when something else significant is happening at school. The one tonight addressed "a couple of recent incidents." One being about my girl T. and the inappropriate man by the school doors. Apparently it wasn't the first time and they are "so proud of the student who reported it to her teacher." ... Right. Except when they accused her of making it up I guess?

And "there was another incident where a student brought a bb gun to school." But "I assure you the safety of our school is in tact and we are hiring another security guard by the end of next week" blah blah blah... "Thank you and have a wonderful weekend."

What's funny is that every single time we get these automated messages they are conveyed first in English and then in Spanish. This time, however, it was not translated. Which means that the 75% of our school population that doesn't speak English have no idea what was said.

Ask me if I'm surprised.

Gotta sleep. Thank God for a three day weekend.

bum computer and so much to say...

No internet service so at the "internet express" counter in the library. This will not suffice but it will have to do for now. I have ten minutes.

Yesterday was fabulous. Really. I needed a great day and it happened. Why? Well it could have been the six children who were absent. MC., A., S., J. ... heavy hitters... and three more. Oh, it was so peaceful! So blissful!!! No complaining, no fighting, no whining - work work work, it was everywhere, even though I was barely available because I was doing individual reading assessments (and what a pain in the ass that is. Teach, parole, counsel, notate, AND do individual reading assessment tests. It's a blast.) So I can't say enough about yesterday. 19 children. I loved my job yesterday.

Today? They were all back. And MC. was running down the stair, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and threatening to eat it despite my thousand "no's", ran from me when I tried to take it, I mean, when the hell is this kid gonna be in a class that suits him?

AD, , brilliant boy, brilliant questions he asks, and so manipulative and defiant... Five phonecalls later and I finally talked to his mother this afternoon, to tell her he could not come on the field trip with us tomorrow. Crossed too many lines, too many warnings. She said he's an ODD suspect and I wish it just meant odd, but it's that oppositional defiant disorder. And yeah, tell the kid stop and he goes, work and he plays, I mean while he looks you right in the eye. If he weren't so brilliant it might not seem to matter as much but the boy is SO smart and SO talented and I just don't get it. Total emotional meltdowns going on at home; dad leaving, staying, leaving, staying, home, gone, home, gone...

Oh, I just stand here over the library computer that I have about 5 minutes left on and SIGH. Big freaking sigh. And a rather satisfying one, I'd have to say, having just spent an hour at the gym. Hoping it helps my sleep.

But there is other news. The sexual perp nasty crap that happened a couple weeks ago - T., my dear 3rd grade T. who came to school a little late and was asked by some stranger if she wanted to see something, and that she did. But if you scroll back for a review, you'll see my agony that day when she told me, and I reported it, and an interrogation of sorts ensued, a male cop grilling her in a small room with a completely insensitive counselor. This counselor told me she "kept changing her story and they think she just made the whole thing up." I fumed. "I know this girl," I said. "she is NOT lying."

Well. I'd heard the rumor yesterday, but today my principal called me to her office to talk to me about this incident and they'd reviewed the security tape. Not only was the guy exposing himself, but he was masturbating. Beautiful.

And, it seems he was back, or another guy? a couple days ago. This was reported as well but the next day parents stormed the office because despite this report, there was no security at the door the next morning.
Typical. What can I say.

If this isn't enough, there was another incident yesterday that isn't quite clear to me, but apparently a couple children "found" a gun. A BB gun mind you, but a big one. A child picked it up and pointed it at a security guard. He was suspended, of course.

Suspended. Whatever.

Last year and two years before that we had a Montessori Mentor who was also in training for administration. She was a master of non-violent communication, and had the presence of a sage. She had an automatic calming affect on everyone, and when concerns were expressed to her, you knew they were going to be addressed and handled. When there was a crisis, she was there. All of her. Her entire being was present and these children, no matter what the crisis was, were respected and honored as human beings.

She was my rock. As long as she was in the building, I could breathe. Everyone could breathe.
However, she took over an asst. principal position sometime toward the end of last year, and was not offered a position again for the fall. I have my suspicions about this, for peace is power, and other people of power are easily threatened by such humane and divine power such as she possessed. It broke her heart into ten thousand pieces and shocked everyone, I mean everyone, in the building (except, perhaps, administration).

She wasn't just my rock, but she was the rock. She was the foundation. She's gone, and the foundation is crumbling so fast into little bits. There might be some teachers that thrive on this kind of challenge, and what is true is that there is a greater satisfaction in touching the life of a child from this neighborhood than that of a typical suburban peachy neighborhood, but I haven't heard one who isn't burnt out and it's only October. And I know of several who have no interest in coming back next year.

It's a rollercoaster. It's madness.

But then there is B. and BE., two girls in my class, and I. and J., a couple boys, who rarely fail to tell me at some point in the day "I love you, Ms. Lowe."

So what is one to do? What is one to do?

The librarian must be glaring at me by now.
Field trip tomorrow. Should be interesting. Hopefully the home computer will be back to status quo and I'll get to tell you all about it. MC. and AD. are not going. And maybe I should have left a couple others behind as well due to behaviors, but I want to believe they can rise up. I do believe they can rise up. Which I suppose is why at least for this year, I haven't left yet.

sleepless

This is the part where I wonder if I can even hold out the year.

This is the part I wake up riddled with anxiety.

Did I mention we are going on a field trip Friday? I know; crazy. One of my colleagues arranged it and I thought it would make the children step it up and get on board. Behave, is what I mean.

D. is one of my new first graders. He hides behind shelves and under tables. He makes noises and complains about everything. He hardly does any work. I have called his parents five times already this year. I don't know what to do with him.

J. started a new medication which has mellowed him out a little. But yesterday he swung at a third grader because he was "bothering him."
"You bother me sometimes," I told him. "What do you think I should do about that?"
"Noooooo," he whines. "Ms. Lowwwwwwe!!"

I have used this trip as leverage. "We don't have to go," I tell them. "We could easily stay in the classroom. I don't know if you are ready to go out in public."

But it becomes an empty threat. The two dollar bus fee is a precious amount to most of these parents. And the bus gets paid no matter what.

My para uses it all the time. "No field trip for you," she says. Or, "no recess." And there are times that we do stay in from recess, but then my para and I suffer because we need to sit outside and breathe as much as the children do. I need to call parents tomorrow of some of my hard kids and tell them they can't come unless you, the parent, comes with. Which ones? There are so many.

A. is a second grader who is frankly, a crybaby. "It's not fair," he whines, CONSTANTLY. It could be about someone getting one more pretzel for snack than he did, or not getting to be first in line. He came in last year with NO schooling behind him - never any preschool or kindergarten - not knowing one letter sound. He is still so far behind. And his behavior SUCKS. Constantly fooling around. Constantly disturbing other children.

And I., who is so musical and sweet, who has better rhythm than anyone else in my class, but has rocks in his head when it comes to remembering anything I told him four seconds ago. What about him? How do I teach him? These aren't even my heavy hitters. There is S. and A. and MC., my chair throwers from last year. I mean, can you imagine? I remember last year at this time there had already been like 87 suspensions in the school. It was my first year in this madness and I was just dumbfounded - first and second graders? suspended? .....but it happens all the time.

I hate this. I made five phone calls to parents Monday afternoon for behavior issues. Yesterday I could have made several more but I was so tapped by the end of the day I couldn't spend another minute in that room, couldn't make one. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to go home.

And now I can't sleep.

Did I mention at all that I'm wanting/trying to get pregnant? I had a miscarriage last year, after just about 12 weeks. I can damn bet it had something to do with my job.
And now? I feel like I'm carrying so much stress in my body, despite the coming home and walking my dog, despite processing and letting go by writing about it, despite my Monday evening sojourns into town for lovely dinners alone or with friends, despite the balance I thought I was creating.

Bad day, I know. It was a bad day yesterday.

But is this worth it? Is not sleeping worth it? The risk of holding too much stress so that I can't conceive or maintain a pregnancy? If my school wasn't in such distress as it is, would I quit? Could I quit? What would I do? It would leave my kids, my school, my colleagues, in such turmoil that I can't. I won't. I wouldn't. The year has begun. I can't just up and quit.

My asst. principal called me yesterday to tell me that MC.'s SPED evaluation meeting is scheduled for Oct. 27 and there's not much she can do until then as far as him being in my classroom. That's, what, at least another three weeks. I don't know if I can stand it.

I don't know if I can stand any of it.

We had a survey to fill out yesterday, about the school, admin, etc. "Be totally honest." They were bubble letter answers. No names.

The question was something like "The main goal as a teacher is to simply survive the school year." I checked STRONGLY AGREE.

I hope I do. Survive, that is.

ug

Today was one of those "I hate my job" days. It didn't start out so horribly. There were kids working all over the place; lots of language lessons today; antonyms, adjectives, matching words to category cards... few kids checking out the timeline of life, creating maps, etc etc. I mean, really, it wasn't too bad.

Tho my para Ms. N was busy with MC. who was, of course, running out of the room creating havoc, same ole same ole. This might and I mean might be fine if he weren't the only child in my class who has "issues" shall we say. A. did his whole tough punk ass routine of throwing his book and pencil across the room, two of my first graders run around the classroom and slide on their knees like it's some kind of game, cat fights erupt between T. and S. ...

It was my para who snapped. "I'm taking a break!!" she said, and stormed out of the classroom with her cigarettes. I totally get it - I know - it's crazy - and she's out the door.
She told me she's called her Union to report this crap - the babysitting MC - that she's supposed to be a teacher support person for a class, not a one on one special education teacher. Which is totally true. She tells me she could easily get a transfer to another school. And now I am on alert. Wait a minute, you can't leave, please don't leave...

And then I am stressed. And then all the things I can let slide in my periphery and still act calmly as I walk across the room are no longer tolerable. The whining child who can't find a pencil sharpener, the other whining child who will absolutely die if he doesn't have snack RIGHT NOW, the child who wants his 58th trip to the water fountain this morning .... We have a system for getting help from the teacher which on some days is forgotten. And then I have five children in front of me, needy whining children "Ms Lowwwe can I go to the bathroom? Ms Lowwwe I need help. Ms. Lowe S. is bothering me. Ms Lowwwe T said she's not my friend. Ms Lowwwe you said you'd give me a new lesson."

I put my hands over my ears. I really did this. I put my hands over my ears and said "Please, all of you, just go away!!! Get away from me!!!"

There are moments as a teacher in this school that I cannot stand myself. I say things and do things that I have never done before as a teacher. I am mean and insolent and harsh - I cut kids with a word, a look, I tell them I don't care, I tell them to leave me alone, I tell them no before I even know what they're going to ask. I am a caged animal, I am trapped, I am surrounded by annoying bugs biting and itching me and I just want to get out.

I can't stand my job on days like today. I can't stand myself. I turn into a monster and just want it all to stop. I just want to leave. I just don't care.

S. took a book out of the library that when he showed me, I knew was way over his head. Still he'd sit around and pretend to read it, and tell me he is on, like, page 147. Today we did leveled reading and he whined and complained that what I gave him was too hard. I helped him tough it out. Then he picked up this novel and told me he was going to read. I opened to a random page and said "Oh yeah? Read this to me. Just this page. Read this." He said "Aw, Ms Lowe!" I said "You know what? You CAN"T read this. You can't read it. Put it away."

Dammit, I'm really a asshole. That really sucked. Today really sucked. If I could even remember all of my infractions today, I would easily owe ten apologies.

I hate days like today.

I try not to be cynical.

My asst. principal calls me Friday afternoon, the second day she's spent with my dear student MC., and says "We have to do something about this student." And I want to say NO SHIT what do you think I've been telling you for the last five weeks?

"Have you tried telling him 'no'?" she asks me.

I start laughing.

"No, I'm serious," she says.

"Of course I have, are you kidding me?"

This is my support. After five weeks and a little personal experience, she finally gets it. Maybe she should spend the day with J and MD and A and D and have a little taste of them, too.

Not that there aren't bigger issues in other classrooms. I heard that one student allegedly peed on the other asst. principal. He was suspended for two days. And E. who used to be in my class is apparently wreaking havoc in his new class, possibly worse than he did in mine. I was passing the music room the other day and glanced in. A child was in there alone with the music teacher.

"E? Is that you?"

"Hi Ms. Lowe."

"How are you?" he comes and hugs me.

"Look, I got this big coin." He shows me a silver Big Y coin, the supermarket token that allows you discounts, if you remember to carry them in your purse which I sometimes do.

"Oh yeah! I know those coins! I use them at the grocery store."

"Here." He gives it to me.

"You keep that," I tell him.

"No. Take it," he says.

"Thank you so much!" I put it in my back pocket.

I went grocery shopping Friday night and bought myself a bouquet of flowers, using the coin as a discount. I'll have to tell him about that.

I've pretty much decided I won't be going back there next year, though I said that last year too.
It's Sunday now and beautiful out and I'm so cranky b/c I have to do lesson plans and go to work tomorrow. Of course I have to go to work tomorrow.

I try not to be cynical.

I watched the movie "Freedom Writers" the other day. Erin Gruewell (sp?) teaching post Rodney King in massive gang afflicted part of LA. Very moving. Amazing. And she, as a teacher, the sacrifices - getting two extra jobs to buy the student books, all the after school and weekend time. I read the book as well.

I'm good, but I'm not that good. Her marriage suffered (and ended in divorce). But what a difference she made. Two books and movie later, still inspiring people everywhere. She taught high school. Ms. N my para keeps telling me I should be teaching high school, but I'm not certified for that. More school? More training? Don't I have enough already, two Masters and two Montessori certifications? And my second masters is barely paid off.

I taught pre-school for ten years and moved up to elementary because I was really tired of the limited conversations during the day. "Oh, you're daddy gave you a new teddy bear?" "Wow, you had a hot dog for breakfast? Yes, that IS so funny!" You know... delightful, sure, and sometimes hysterical, but I was aching for intelligent conversation by the time ten years was up.

I also worked with babies for a year in an infant center. Talk about feeling self indulgent!!! I talked to them constantly, and never had to stop very long to listen what they were saying to me. I loved working with babies, though that too, got old. Imagine all the diapers. And there were days that there were only two of us adults and sometimes 8 to 10 babies. Those were not the best days.

Elementary is definately more satisfying - there is a wonderful curiosity and developing sense of humor - there is a gigantic step in social development - yes, I'm happy to have moved up a few years, but again, sometimes, "She said your mother smells like dookie? C'mon, are you kidding me? Do you really have to talk to each other like this?"

Maybe high school is the next best thing. Or maybe it would be better to skip straight to college. Or hell, can I just pass Go and teach graduate students?

nowhere meeting

My dear MC, the boy who can't contain himself, the boy who is like a two year old inside a (large) seven year old body, who can write his own name but that's about it, is at it again. He's run from my classroom a thousand times already, and lately he's taken to running down stairwells (and where he's gone, nobody knows) which is when I generally have to call the office, which is when nobody responds anyway. Yesterday half of my class went outside with Ms. N, my para, and half stayed in with me, including M (who peed behind a bush last time we were outside). He left, ran down the stairs, I had ten kids with me, couldn't chase him (which becomes a cat and mouse game to him anyway). I called the office. It turns out he ran all the way down stairs, down the open public space hallway and to the exit where Ms. N was coming in with the rest of the class. He told her in Spanish that he was looking for her. Yet he didn't get in line with her, simply ran back, went up another flight of stairs, and met her on the floor of classrooms. Super dangerous of him.

I went to the asst. principal at the end of the day, who said "Oh, did your student come back?" ... ummm yeah but not because anyone from administration responded.

"I can't do it anymore with him. He doesn't stay in my room. He's running down stairwells."

She says my para should be working one on one with him. I burn.

"I have 24 other students, about 6 of whom need serious attention. There is no way that's going to happen."

She says, "Well what do you want me to do?"

I don't know, I want to say, that's you're freaking job, isn't it.

I told her what happened when he left, going to public spaces, running, etc and she tells me to send him down with work tomorrow and he can stay in her office for the next two days as a consequence.

I think Yeah, This should be good. He doesn't work. He doesn't write anything other than his own name. He doesn't read, he doesn't count, he does nothing. Good luck with that.

I get a message at 10am that his mother is coming in and we're having a meeting about him.

Ha. Bet he's run out of her room a few times. Bet he's rolling around the floor in her office. Good.

So at 1pm I go for the meeting. Nobody is there. I go to Ms. asst Principals office. She is manning the door of the solitary confinement room, a child screaming his head off, "I DON"T CARE!!!!" I ache with compassion for this stranger boy and ask if I can go talk to him.
"yeah," she says. "Go for it."

So I go into this large closet sized room with the red carpeted walls (sound buffers) and not a single other thing in there except the chair he is sitting on. I kneel down with this boy and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you're having a hard day. Are you okay?"

Mean face, no answer.

"My name is Ms. Lowe. It must suck being in here by yourself. I hate this room."

He's still looking down, but I see I have his attention.

I ramble on, I ask his name, his teacher, he doesn't answer me but I keep talking anyway, keep my hand on his shoulder.

"Life can be hard. Life can be really hard," I tell him. He nods.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. It can get easier, but you have to try. I know how hard it is."

He is fighting tears so hard, he is looking up as high as he can to avoid them spilling.

"Adults can be stupid," I say. "Adults don't always know the right thing to say or do. I think maybe you just need some kindness."

He keeps looking up, trying so hard, so hard not to show me his tears.

"You can cry, you know. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Tears start dripping. I wipe them away with my scarf.

"I'm so sorry it's hard for you. I wish I could do something to help."

I wipe more tears.

"Have you eaten?" I ask. He shakes his head no. "Sometimes things feel better when you have something in your stomach. Did you eat breakfast?" he shakes his head no.

The kid hasn't eaten. Well, hello.

"Yesterday I hadn't eaten and I went home and was such a brat to my husband. I was so cranky. Then I ate dinner, and I was like Ahhhhhh... I felt so much better."

(this didn't really happen last night, but it certainly has happened).

The counselor comes to the door just then with his lunch tray.

"You gonna eat this or what?" she says. She, too, is menacing. I want to hit her.

WHY ARE THESE ADULTS SO MEAN? WHY CAN'T THEY TURN AROUND AND TRY SOME OTHER TACTIC?

I say "C'mon," and tug his arm to get up. He gets up and goes into her office to eat.

Then I look around for the principal. She is still busy. The meeting hasn't started. I go to the office. The mother is there, I say hello, and the SPED teacher is waiting.

"We're going to need an interpreter," I say.

One of the office women pages someone to translate.

I am edgy, it's been 20 minutes and the meeting still hasn't started. My class is alone with my para. This mother has been waiting all this time. C'mon, can't we at least try to be professional here? I hate my school.

I go back again to see if the principal is coming. I check in the counselors office and my new little friend has eaten everything on the tray.

Finally, at 130, the meeting starts.

MC was the same in Puerto Rico. His mother was so honest about how hard he is, how he doesn't listen, etc etc etc. On and on and on... therapists and psychiatrists and doctors... plans and appointments and strategies... I know this mother is as frustrated as we are, is as worn and discouraged.

The principal says he's in her office as a consequence for the next two days.

I pipe up. "I don't think he understands what a consequence is. I don't think it matters to him."

This is translated. His mother agrees. It's the same at home.

The meeting ends with appointments and evaluations forthcoming and going to the doctors next week to get a prescription, hopefully, to contain the hyperactive part.

"He'll be back in Ms. Lowe's class on Monday."

What does this solve? What did we even meet for? Where is this going? Another meeting in a few weeks to see how it's changed? As if it will change one bit? Are you kidding me?

What is wrong with this school?

BTW, this school is at the very bottom of the achievement list in the state. IN THE STATE. The state tests? not ONE CHILD not ONE was proficient in math last year according to the state exams. Not one. FOUR, only FOUR were proficient in ELA.

Is that our fault, the teachers fault? Are you kidding me? When we're dealing with disabilites and sexual perps and angry children and crack heads and poverty and violence?

I wish I could save the world. I wish I could save these kids. I wish I could make a difference but I have to believe that I do, at least a little, at least a little.

addendum

So many things happen during the school day that are write - worthy. So many interactions and questions and situations come up that I find are on my mind, though with the pace of the day, sometimes they only stick for ten seconds and I have a hard enough time keeping up.

But I didn't mention A. A, the child who lives among violence and has an edge so sharp it will cut your heart. He goes into tough guy mode; by the end of last year it was tough guy acting out as throwing chairs and turning over tables and ripping up work, etc. We started the year with him running off the playground (dirty patch of ground - what slide? what swing?), calling administration, etc. I fear for him at times, that he'll snap into one of his punk ass gigs.

Monday when I was alone he threatened to because I wouldn't let him draw all day, which is what he wanted to do. Math, writing, reading - I don't care which he chose, but not drawing, which is all he wants to do. Which is fine, if some words go with it. He's in third grade for goddsakes. He left the classroom, standing outside of it with his fists clenched and red faced about to snap and it wasn't the day to mess with me. I went out to him and got in his face.

"Look. I bend over backward for you. You get away with so much more than you should because I'm trying to help you get this right. Give me a break. You know I'm alone today here and you pull this out? I help you. It would be nice if you help me."

I knew he might the scene with a big eff you, but I didn't care. Turns out he glared at me for awhile, but he came back in the classroom. I kept him in my periphery. He eventually sat down and did some work, quietly. "BRAVO!!!!" I wanted to scream. "YES!!! GOOD MAN!!!" I wanted to tell him. Instead I keep it all in and later, quietly thank him for his good choices.

Yesterday it was the same thing. His job this week is the attendance, which means he brings it down the hall to the basket. Z had a doctors note she forgot to give me for her absences, so I asked A to see if the attendance was still there and if not, to slip the note in the folder. Z wanted to go with him, so I said sure. Z is a dream first grader. I wish I had a whole class of Z's.

Z came back crying full on tears. A was mean to her, didn't want her to come, sent her back alone. Damn punk. When he came back, I told him he couldn't have the attendance job anymore if he was going to be so mean. She's in first grade, I said. The right thing to do would be to apologize to her.

Of course he was totally pissed and instead went to the library where I have a big white board on the wall and the spelling lists for the week, which he promptly swiped his hand across, erasing half of the first grade spelling words. I noticed of course, but I didn't react. Later I just said "It would be nice if you fixed those words on the board." And I ignored him for awhile.

Later he came to me with an apology note, "Ms. Lowe and Z, I am sorry." something like this - a nice apology note with more said, just can't remember. I thanked him and asked him to give it to Z, which he did. Then I noticed him in the library, re-writing the spelling words.

WOW... you have no idea... these simple little triumphs really are triumphs. I am proud of him like a gushing fountain. Z went up to him later, brave little girl, and said "thank you again for the apology note. That was really nice."

We notice, we all notice when the tough guy has a small victory. It means so much.

to calm a child.

My para was back today. Hacking and sniffling and still getting over her weekend flu, but back, which immediately made my day better than yesterday.
They worked hard today. Everyone was busy either doing multiplication or studying dinosaurs or creating maps of continents, etc. etc. It was a good morning.

Though the counselor called and said T was needed downstairs; the cop was back for further questioning. When I told T she was needed in the office, she had a total meltdown. "I'm not going down there," she kept saying. "No, I'm not going down there." I said I'd go with her, but her whole body just collapsed on the floor and she was crying. I called the office back.

"She's traumitized enough. I'm not sending her down there; she's crying, she doesn't want to come and I"m not going to make her."

The principal called next. "What's the problem?"

I told her. "I'll come up," she said. And she did. And somehow she calmly took T with her. T came back twenty minutes later and seemed okay. Phew.

This afternoon when things get nuts near dismissal time my boy J who is nuts anyway was really going off the wall. He's diagnosed ADD, waiting for a new dosage of medication (which just sucks, by the way), and I said "you're sitting with me."
NOOO! NOO!! he protested.
"Yes." I sat on a chair and positioned him beneath me, his head facing out between my knees, my feet in front of him.
"NO!" He said.
"Just for a minute. I just want to give you some calm."
I put my hands on his head and mustered all the calm I could into my hands. I thought as calmly as I could, I thought about giving this boy calm, I kept my hands on his head, and he relaxed under them. I kept my hands on his head and I asked the gathering what song they wanted to sing. We sang "I love the mountains" and "Waltzing with Bears." I sang calmly, quietly, J still under me, my hands on his head. Between songs, I asked if he wanted to move and sit by himself or stay with me.
"I want to stay with you" he said.

He stayed with me until almost everyone was dismissed, clutching homework in their hands. He got his homework, put it in his bag, and then ran to the line.

Oh, well. It lasted a little while.

straight from the front lines

Today, lunchtime, in an e mail to myself:

My para is out today. she threatend last week she was taking a day off. what it means is that I'm in my class alone.
what it means is that today when T came in all heebie jeebied out telling other kids but not me what happened finally telling me that some guy was outside the school doors this morning when she came in late and asked her if she wanted to see something and whipped out his penis for her to ponder. she told some friends and they're all a little weirded out. I called the counselor, wrote a report, and now she's in the counselors room with a police filing a report with the counselor, they will not let me in to check on her and when I did go in there the energy was so serious, dark and heavy this traumatized girl needs a pat, a touch, a hug, something but no, that doesn't happen. I asked if she's okay, she just looked down. "Look at me" I said while delivering her lunch. She looked up. "Are you okay?" she looked at my eyes and shook her head no. I touched her face.

"I wish I could stay. We'll talk later." I say to her. My heart breaking.

MC was out of the room all day. I'm alone, what can I do, as long as I could see him in the hallway I let it be. I called the office twice but no one ever came. When he did come in the room he was stealing snack from the snack table, or throwing pencils across the room. By the time we lined up for lunch I was so out of my mind that when he pushed to be first I said NO it's not your job. NO. He then took off running, down the stairwell to god knows where. What could I do? I was alone. I yelled to a mentor observing in a class. "I'm by myself here. One of my students just ran down the stairwell. My other 24 are lined up down the hall."
"I'm just observing here."
"Well can you maybe help out?" Do I have to scream in paragraphs? I bring my attention back to my class and another teacher is reprimanding my class for not standing quiety. Thanks a lot, I got it from here. I drop them at lunch, check on T, tell them she's missing her lunch "well you can bring her lunch here." great. So I run back downstairs, get the lunch, bring it back, the door is locked in the bad ass serious reporting cop and counselor room. I knock again. On the way to the cafeteria I see a para who was in the class next to me last year. "I fucking hate this school" I say to her in passing, my face, I'm sure, harried and old.How am I supposed to do this again? How do I do this?

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

straight to the computer for ten minutes to blurt; that's what the above was. right from the front line.
and I'd elaborate but I'm too damn tired. It was a long ass day.

Before T got to see the counselor and go through an interrogation there was a moment that broke my heart, when one of her friends told her that H likes her. "EW!!" she said. "That makes me think of what happened!!!" haunted by some assholes fat penis. Oh, it makes me sick just to think about...

This afternoon her mom showed up at our recess, outside. I was so glad to see her. Crackhead mom with about six teeth in her head, using or not at the moment, I don' t know - but she talked to T alone, came to talk to me, "yep, that's what she told me too," I said, and we looked at each others eyes, and I just put my arms around this mom and hugged her, hard.

G didn't come to school today. I guess I'm not surprised. The nurse told me that she noticed all the hack marks across her mother's wrists and arms when she finally picked her up at the end of the day. Old scars and fresh slices. WTH ... Why can't someone snatch this child up and give her a life? Why can't I? Last year I wanted to - asked my husband even - we talked about it seriously - we would have made room in our lives - I called DSS, talked to her caseworker, the whole bit. But so much paperwork and time and somehow it fell through the cracks after I miscarried my own child and this and that and this and that... I mean, G is an angel - truly - the most beautiful, sweetest kid - so well behaved and good and just wants to be loved... Ugggg.. How do you stay detached from human beings? How am I to do this as a teacher?

S acted up today in a big way. Her and T pulling hair, fighting, etc. S sitting on tables all day after I told her at least 4 times that we don't sit on furniture in this classroom, etc. Then jumping down steps, landing with a thwack (if you could see these cement stairwells...) - we WALK, we don't JUMP blah blah from me and she gets more and more distant. Probably even stuck her tongue at me when I turned around. Certainly thought, I'm sure, that her teacher is a pain in her ass.

I went to the cafeteria to pick up the kids after lunch, my para was already there and had them in line. She told me to call the office to have S picked up (by a counselor or principal), she was not going to gym, was not going to recess, was pulling T's hair, etc etc.
I was on my way to prep, which is a big ya hoo 45 minute prep time which is about enough time to walk back to the classroom, pee, clean up my desk, then go pick them back up. More often I have some meeting or another. Anyway I took S with me, even though I was really needing that break away from kids.

My para was saying I need to take her to the principal, so I headed that way, holding S. by the wrist. She pulled and cried and cried and wailed. I knew I wasn't going to bring her there. I knew that what she needed was not more anger/punishment but attention and kindness. I let her think I was taking her to the principal's for a little bit, and then we went past the office and instead to the classroom. She went to the library (part of my classroom), layed down and cried into her arm.
I knew she needed that: a good cry.

I put my hand on her back and let her cry. Then said "I have some work to do, why don't you go back to yours?" She was making a calendar, filling in classmates birthdays, etc. I talked to her a bit, said I thought maybe some alone time to work would help more than the principal would, etc. She got to her work and I got to mine, filling out behavior assessments etc documenting some more of my sped/ell M antics...

When we walked back to meet our class for recess I asked her to tell me how she needs to behave on line and with other children. "Stop fighting, no running or jumping" etc. That was that. She leaned against me and put her arms around my waist as we walked.

A was being hard, too. He went into one of his tough guy punk fits. We were on the playground and he decided to leave. I asked I. to go get him, which he did. Sometimes they'll respond better to peers than to an adult. He came back and instead of scolding him I said "A, I need you to help me with the line. I want you to be in charge, would you please?" So when we were lining up, he was making sure everyone was standing properly, going from one to the next touching their arms to adjust their positions, etc. Another eruption averted.

How can I yell and scream at these kids? Don't they get that enough? How can I treat them all the same? It's so amazing to me how much they'll push and push and wait for you to snap and when you're good and snapped they'll smirk as if satisfied and then you want to snap even more but that's when I try to take a deep breath and take a different approach. What if I just love this kid? What if I just give him what he needs? What if I just remind her how important she is?

Not that I always rise up to this. Sometimes I snap and I'm just snapped and I play that dumb human game of control and punishment. But most of the time I try really hard to stop and breathe and maybe try something different. Like love.

How do I remain detached? How do I keep that balance?

How do I protect my heart from breaking?

the bugs are back

I'm sitting here not quite noon at home in front of my computer with a chemical soaked head and a plastic bag over it. Why? Seems that I have contracted, for the first time this year and only four weeks in, the dreaded lice.

G came back to school today. I had to take her to the nurse to be sure she was bug - free. Alas, she wasn't. The nurse called her mother, who again flipped, cursed her out and blamed the school for her having lice, blamed the teachers, the nurses, anyone and everyone, claiming we have a personal vendetta against her daughter.

I come back upstairs to get work for her to do while she's waiting for her mother to pick her up, and my para says "oh, Ms. Lowe, wait a minute -" and picks something out of my hair.
Are you fucking kidding me?
So I go to the nurse with work and a request, and sure enough, "yep Ms. Lowe, you have nits."

I didn't want to leave. My class is going well. We seem to have been on a groove this week and I had all kinds of geometry lessons planned.
But no. In about 15 minutes, I will drag the fine tooth comb through my head and watch the little bugs fall out. I'm already gagging.

But at least I didn't get beat up. Though I'm not sure that would have been worse.

I love my job, I hate my job, I love my job, I hate my job.

Dammit.

not a bad day...

I told the coming of life story today... I focused on the few that were riveted... very cool how it goes with the timeline, I mean, I learn from it. Good way to start the day, captivating at least a few of them.

I stayed late again, drove the 45 minute commute, stopped at the grocery store for some salmon and stuff, got home, started dinner, kept telling Annie to hang on and I'd take her for a walk, greeted the husband who was in and out (he and Char are at the farm tonight hanging with horses for another little while), took Annie outside, about to go walking but instead followed her in the big field part of our yard where I'd hung a hammock between two trees this summer and have layed on maybe five times. So I brushed the debris off and laid down and swung while watching the dog wrestle a branch and rustle in the leaves. And Ohhhhhhh.... Ahhhhhh... Wow... I could have fallen asleep right there.. it was so comfortable, a nice breeze, a setting sun amidst haze, a happy dog, salmon and squash in the oven, rice on the stove.... How often do I stop? Does anybody stop? And swing on a hammock and appreciate that very moment?

Wow.. until the phone rings as I write this blog...

G still has lice. The poor girl. Her mother is completely unstable, suicidal, has tried burning their apartment by lighting a fire in the corner. G spent a weekend last spring in foster care as this was all investigated, after reported to the school counselor and in turn to DSS by yours truly.

SO a bug fell out of G's hair and on to her shoulder this morning. The other girls at the table all squealed and told me, so I sent her down to the nurses office. G's mother has already cursed out the nurse twice and hanging up on her, claiming it's the school's fault she keeps getting lice, even though she had it all summer. G says "Please don't send me to the nurse. My mother will hit me."
"It's not your fault," I tell her. "It's not your fault."

G has a family friend, a saving grace, a woman who was G's mother's counselor sort of crossed the professional boundary, staying in touch with G and G's mother after the counseling had ended. This woman and I stay in touch as advocates for G. She just called me to say that G's mom called her today, several times, leaving her messages about how she is going to shave G's head and send her to school, the next one she said she's going to pack her bags and run away, and the next she said she'd go to school tomorrow, curse out the principal, find the teacher (me) and beat her (me) up.

"So you might want to alert the principal, or, you know, have someone walk you to your car."

Oh, because I personally gave G lice? It's my fault? Beat ME up? ....Nice.

Obviously this woman, G's mother, is completely irrational. Also capable, I'm sure, of violence, as she's already tried to burn her apartment down and has gone after her husband with a knife.
So should I be nervous at least? Are you kidding? Where was this in the job description?

Where did that moment go on my hammock... that perfect fall happy dog swinging in a cool breeze moment...

Oh, brother.

tuesday, first day of fall.

Ug.
I mean, just, ug.
It was actually a pretty decent morning, lest sped/ell MC. running the hell out of the classroom four hundred times, and my other darling MD screeching and squealing and complaining and refusing as defiantly as a kid with o.d.d. can (oppositional defiance disorder. I didn't even know it existed until last year, when I encountered it).

Things would be better if it weren't for the paperwork. I'm supposed to teach, guide, maintain, give lessons check follow up chase children re-direct re-direct re-direct AND track three of my students every hour and write down their behaviors for each period. Three of them. On top of everything. How am I supposed to do this?

There was a lot of work going on this morning. B labeled all the countries in South America, and instead of coloring them in, drew the flags of each country. Four children did stamp games (addition of complex numbers), my first graders did the teens boards (and on their follow up work, little I. kept asking me "how do you make a three? How do you make a five?" Sheeeeit. C'mon. Are you kidding me? Did you nap through kindergarten?). Two children were drawing the creatures from the Pre-Cambrian period was it? Two were doing reports on dinosaurs... Etc etc... much much much going on. I have to remind myself of that lest I forget because what sticks in my head more is MC refusing to go into art class and running up and down stairwells where my para chased him for 40 minutes. What sticks is S pulling T's hair and the daily fighting between those girls; S turning her hands upside down and gripping her neck pressing her thumbs against her throat until she turns red.

Yet here is what's funny.
Either I'm maturing somehow within the context of this job, letting things go and shaking them off, or I just don't care.

I don't think it's that I don't care. Because I stayed at work until after 6 on Friday and until 6 yesterday and until 430 today and I'm changing things, trying things, giving lessons, etc. If I didn't care I wouldn't bother with all of that. So I must care, I know I do. I'm just not feeling as tapped out as I did last year. I'm managing to conserve energy. I don't really know how.

Monday's are my long days. Meeting after work every week, then I stay until 6 and go into the hipster town to stroll and get my people/culture/town fix. I often love living in the boonies, but I really do miss the bustle of even a small town; movie theaters, ethnic food, bookstores... And then there's my writing group. By the time I drive home, it's 11 pm and I fall into bed. But I love it- it feeds me - even though I know that I will be tired on Tuesdays, it doesn't matter.

I didn't do this last year. I didn't make it into town on a weekly basis, have a spicy meal (my husband hates spice. I love it.), browse a bookstore or look at cool art, get a coffee that doesn't come from a gas station. I didn't write, either. I claimed I had no time, and I didn't, and I still don't, but I make it, the time, and it makes a difference.

I still haven't gotten the exercise routine down, and this bothers me. Some walks with the dog maybe, but no hard out workout like I used to when life was more convenient. My gym is a half hour in the other direction and I just can't fit the time in without having none left. So I walk the dog and call it good, and feel my arms and ass go to mush in the meantime.

I haven't even been down to the horse barn in like two weeks. I used to make it there a few or at least couple times a week. Cocoa isn't going to recognize me next time I go to see him, or, yes he will, but he'll probably give me the cold shoulder.

But I am aware; aware of the time I need to carve out for myself; aware of the writing I need to do to preserve my sanity, the exercise, even if minimal at this point, I need to keep up and do more of. The town visits and getting out of the woods, also for my sanity.

All of this keeps me more in tact - more available - more whole - more me. Last year I didn't pay attention, just let school suck me in and under like a rip tide at the ocean. This year I'm diving into a calm pool instead. At least trying. I might flap my arms and look like I'm sinking and at times I really am, but at least I'm not at the whim of the ocean.

So far so good. Or, at least as good as it can be.

Right now gotta go cook dinner with my husband and keep us whole, too.

sunday night and balance.

I've been thinking a lot about balance today. I don't think I had it last year at my job.
It's so easy to take on these kids... their stuff... it's so easy to feel the pain of some of these kids, and hard to focus on the hope. It's so hard to hear some of their stories without some piece inside breaking just a little. Last year I had a total meltdown over it all. Hell, I even had a miscarriage. How does one detach in this work and yet remain committed and whole?

Last year I almost always gave the extra. I almost always took the hard ass kid by the hands and waited for him/her to look into my eyes so that he/she knew that they were Seen. I wanted them to know that I saw them - and I respected them - and I honored them - for doing the best that they can. I mean, they really do the best they can - they can't help it if the world around them is unstable and inconsistent. I want to look at them all and invite them back into their bodies .. make it safe for them, if only for a day, an hour, a moment.

But then in that seeing - in that invitation - in that gaze - I acknowledge their hearts in a way that invites them inside of me...
and then, perhaps, that starts a collection of situations and little lovely souls that I hold in me, and I love and I love until my heart breaks into pieces and I am no longer whole.

And what good is that?

This year I am not nearly as open. It's counter intuitive to me. It's not really how I want to be, but it's a matter of self preservation.

I see who/how I want to be: a shining example, a happy person who doesn't lose her patience and can gently and firmly usher back on the track, all the time serene and smiling. This pillar of strength that doesn't get tired of chasing the run-aways or catching the apple before it falls. (I went apple picking today.) I don't know how many times my para and I see the eruption coming and re-direct before chairs are thrown.

Last year I deliberately did not catch an apple. I wanted to see what would happen. Of course, the child went wild, threw materials from off the shelves across the room, toppled over tables... I had to evacuate the class, call counselors up. It took two to remove her, screaming her head off as they carried her away. "What happened?" my lovely asst. principal at the time asked. I told her, perfectly honestly, "I wanted to see what would happen if I didn't catch her."
Cuz that's real life. Cuz that's the deal. Cuz I'm not always there, there won't be someone there all the time who cares and sees and helps and assists these kinds of passes.
(big football game today. I'm full of metaphors).

Not to say that I won't be catching anymore apples or assisting passes. But how do I keep myself engaged and removed at the same time? How do I care and love without feeling like I have to brush myself off when I get home, pieces of children and their hearts stuck all over my sleeves? How do I come home and let go and laugh and not have nightmares? How do I sleep?

Here's another metaphor of sorts. I re-potted plants today; plants that had gotten too big for their homes. One of them, a hanging trailer, wouldn't come out of it's plastic pot. "C'mon," I urged this plant. "You need more room so you can grow." I finally got it to come out, it's roots wrapped so tightly around itself I felt guilty I'd waited so long. I put it in a deeper, wider pot - filled in with miracle-grow soil - hung it outside on the porch to bask in the sun for the afternoon and by the time I brought it in, I could see that it had claimed new space. It's full and happy and perky and I swear I can hear it breathing in big sighs.

And there's me. I need more room to grow. I'm not even sure what this means to me right now or how to give myself that space. I can't keep giving of myself to the point that I have nothing left. I have to find new ways of doing this - keeping myself in tact - shaking off at the end of the day - getting sleep without nightmares or mind spins of lessons and troubles and meetings and behaviors...

I have to up-root from an old way of being, and I have started, though the detached approach isn't working so well.
Couldn't I just let go, do the best I can every day, make it enough that I've done the best I can, and let it go?
Couldn't I just find a bigger pot to claim space in, fill up with some extra dirt and let my roots extend further? Couldn't it just be as easy, like that? Like nature?

Lesson planning awaits. Sunday night blues.