Two Mondays ago M's stepdad came into school early. I was coming back from copying stuff in the staff lounge. He hurried toward me, intense, caught me a bit off guard, and said "I just wanted to tell you that M's dad is dead."
"Oh my God. What happened?"
I think about M, my second grade girl, sweet as pie and how often she talked about her dad. I just helped her edit a letter she'd written to him a few days before.
"We don't know. But M doesn't know yet."
Oh, great. Are you kidding?
So all morning I had this secret knowledge that M's life was completely changed and she didn't know yet, but I did. There was a bomb waiting to go off when she went home and I had to act like I didn't know.
Mom and stepdad picked her up early. Mom said she wasn't sure M would be in the next day, but she was. My para, who somehow finds out about everything, told me she'd heard it was a suicide.
At one point that next morning I sat with M.
"I am so sorry, M. I'm so sorry this happened."
"The thing I don't understand Ms Lowe, is that he did it to himself."
Wow. Whoa. What do I say now?
M has been doing remarkably well the past couple weeks, despite. She told me all about the funeral and putting roses on her dad, and how her uncle kissed him.
It occured to me over the weekend that she will forget, over the years, the little things.
"Maya." I approached her today. "I was thinking that all of the memories you have of your dad - the stories you've told me, the stories you know - you should write them down so that you never forget. When you're older you can go back and read your memories so you can keep him alive with you."
She didn't seem too keen on the idea, until she said "Yeah. Ms Lowe we can do it together. You can write about your gramma."
(My class all knows that I was out for two weeks in October to be with my dying Gramma Doe).
I was thinking about all the lessons I needed to give, but I said okay, let me get my book. I got my journal out of my pocketbook and she gave me a pencil. I read out loud as I wrote.
"My gramma drank more tea than anyone I know. She loved tea. She liked Decaf Irish breakfast tea from Trader Joes and when they stopped making it, she was sad. She always had something sweet with her tea. She loved orange and pinapple cake from shop and stop, but her favorite was a danish from the Lindencrest Diner."
That was about as far as I got when Maya skipped away with her own journal.
She came back an hour later and showed me two pages of handwritten single spaced writing that she read to me.
She wrote about her dad and she making spitballs at McDonalds and how whenever they went there he would buy her anything she wanted. She wrote about how when he woke up in the morning he would look in a mirror and say hey, handsome man! and she would say daddy, you are handsome. She wrote that she would tell him I love you sooo much and he would say I love you more. She wrote about camping and how much her dad exercised and had big muscles.
Then she surprised me. "Can I read it to the class at the gathering?"
"Um, yeah! Sure!"
So she did. And the children were attentive. And when she finished, she leaned her head against me. I said "Does anyone have any comments?"
Hands raised.
M pointed at children to comment.
"That was beautiful," one child said. I nearly floated.
"Do you wish you could see your dad again?" Oh, no. But Maya just nodded.
"That made me think of my grandpa. he died too."
"I think your dad is around you now like an angel." Wow.
This went on for a few minutes and we still had a little time before we had to leave for lunch.
"I have an idea," I said. "Let's have a moment of silence. A moment of silence is a time to honor someone, like M's dad. We'll just be quiet for a minute, bow our heads and think about her dad, and think about M and send her lots of love."
"Ready? Go."
And the class fell silent. And we could hear all the voices and activity in the classrooms around ours, but my kids were silent, their heads bowed, and I looked at them all so proud, so honored to be with them, and my chest filled with the memory of M's dad, and it filled with M herself, but most of all it filled and nearly overflowed with love, so much love, and how fragile and strong it can be all at once.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, December 7, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 9, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 2, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, October 26, 2009
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...
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...
Friday, October 16, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
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?
Friday, October 9, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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