Busy Is Not A Four Letter Word

“No such thing as spare time, no such thing as free time, no such thing as down time. All you get is life time. Go.” ~ Henry Rollins

I keep reading posts about busy.

Busy is a sickness.

We wear it like a badge of honor.

We say it to get people to feel sorry for us, admire us, envy us.

I get it.

But I don’t necessarily agree with it.

I think it’s like anything in life – depends on your personality and your perspective.

For me, busy is a good thing.

It’s the hustle and bustle of a well-oiled routine as the kids and I share the same space and all manage to eat breakfast, pack snacks and lunches, and get ready for school. Throw in a little attention for the dog, a quick rundown of the day for Tim, and we’re all out the door with quick good-byes and I love yous.

[I love that start to my day because I know it won’t be this way for long – S starts high school in the fall, and those years will fly by, and I’ll miss the busy-ness of our mornings.]

Then I have a short car ride of just me time – time to listen to what I want on the radio (currently classic vinyl on Sirius XM) before the busy-ness of work kicks in.

[I love that time, but there’s a part of me that misses the drive with a toddler or two buckled in the back seat and the Wiggles CD in place of classic rock. And the questions they asked – a different kind of busy time.]

I love the work kind of busy. I don’t think you can stay in education as long as I have and not appreciate the beauty of busy.  No two days are the same, and that challenges me to keep a schedule, use a to-do list (Remember the Milk is my go-to on this), and rely on my Google calendar to remind me where I need to be.

[But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time to chat with a friend, talk with a student about their weekend, or to drop everything and write a recommendation letter for one who realized the scholarship deadline was today.]

And after school?  Sometimes there are meetings. Sometimes I teach graduate classes. Sometimes I stay at school and work on my dissertation because my office has fewer distractions than my house. Often, though, I leave to pick up one kid or the other from practice or go to a game.

[Classes and committees are choice busy – I love to be part of those kinds of education experiences. The dissertation is bucket list busy. I know a lot of people don’t get my drive to do this and I have read often enough that on my deathbed I won’t be clutching that diploma, but it’s a brain kind of busy that I do  just for me. And youth sports? I have never made either of them sign up for a sport they weren’t into, but I have encouraged them to try lots of different things, and then to choose the ones they love. And the busy of running S to her AAU practices? That hour+ car ride may keep us busy, but it also gives us the time to just talk, her and me.]

Eventually, I find my way home.

The dog greets me at the door – howling like I’ve been gone for weeks, not mere hours. One kid or the other needs something signed or help with a homework question. Both want to know what I’m making for dinner. Most nights a load of laundry needs to be washed or sorted and put away. Dinner gets made and eaten (usually with a compliment or two from C).  The dishes usually get washed but sometimes they sit in the sink til the kids are in bed.

[I have things to do – an article to read or another few pages to write on the dissertation – but when C says, “Do you want to watch an episode of Psych?” I say yes, and he goes to the next episode on Netflix, and even though it goes past his bedtime, he curls up next to me on the couch, and we watch it til the end.]

Backpacks get repacked. Teeth get brushed. Both kids still get tucked in. Good night kisses and I love yous are said.

Lights out upstairs.

Back down to finish the dishes or the laundry or both. An uninterrupted conversation with Tim who sometimes is just getting in from the barn.

[I should probably sweep or mop or dust, too, but busy lets me be okay with a house that’s clean, not spotless.]

Papers out – to read, to write just a little more.

Tired.

Let the dog out one last time.

Check the doors.

Set the alarm.

Turn out the rest of the lights.

Go to bed satisfied with the day -knowing I was busy in the right kind of ways.

 

 

 

 

What’s Your Groundhog Moment?

Yesterday was Groundhog Day; a silly little weather predicting holiday to most, but to the alumni of the University of Dallas it’s OUR holiday. (We are #4 on this list from the History Channel!)

My Facebook feed was full of pictures of groundhogs and wishes of Happy Groundhog Day! One friend mentioned watching Bill Murray in the movie, Groundhog Day, and the conversation turned to “If you could relive a day like Phil Connors, which day would it be?”

That made me think.

One friend mentioned a day we spent in Assisi, Italy during our semester abroad. I smiled at the memories made that day, and thought, “Yep, that Saturday in Assisi would rank in my top five.”

Then someone mentioned their wedding day and the births of their children.

I thought about that for a moment.

A late June wedding, Texas heat (96 degrees), and a long satin dress with a train, 23 hours of labor with S and 20 hours of labor with C – as wonderful as the days were at the time, I wasn’t convinced I’d want to relive them.

So, then I thought about the fact that Phil Connors kept reliving the same day until he got it right…what day would I like to relive to get right?

I had a list…

An argument I had with Tim where I said something I wished I could take back as soon as it was out of my mouth.

The day in London where I was tired and cranky and my sharp words made S cry because she was tired and cranky, too.

The day C told me he had a fragile heart – not that I don’t love that explanation, but I’d love to fix what made him feel that hurt in the first place.

The day I decided I was angry at a friend, and that anger kept us for talking for almost a year.

My first year teaching when I confiscated a note from a student and hung it on the wall for all to read.

The day I questioned a student’s ability because she didn’t want to jump through the hoops everyone else did (as a GT teacher now, I wish I could re-do that whole year!)

The list went on and on…

Lost opportunities to let people know how much I cared for them…

Lost opportunities to spend time with people who are no longer here…

Reality is I can’t fix those moments.

There is no time warp to send me back to undo what I did.

But I can make the most of the life in front of me.

I only get one shot at today, so I need to make sure I get it right the first time.

That means…

I work on making my words gentle.

I work on maintaining the dignity of my students.

I work to understand the learning needs of each one.

I work on spending time with those who matter.

I work on telling people how I feel about them.

I work on protecting fragile hearts.

I’m trying to get it right the first time.

So, what are your Groundhog moments?

 

 

 

 

 

No Points For You!

Confession time.

My kid failed 4K screening.

I’m a total failure as a parent.

Okay, not really…the failure as a parent part.

Or the failing 4K screening part.

You don’t fail a screening, but you do get labeled.

I was told that C was developmentally behind.

Total disclaimer: I had no intention of sending him to 4K as I loved our play-centered daycare, but I did it because ‘everyone’ is supposed to.

It hurt my heart to hear those words…developmentally behind.

Then it made me angry when I was told the why.

He failed cutting.

Seriously.

He was not quite four and a lefty.

They gave him right-handed scissors and asked him to cut out a semi-circle.

He did a bang up job until the end where he cut off part of the black line.

Perfect almost three-quarters of the way around, but then…

He failed to stay on the line.

Had he left white around the line he would’ve gotten points,  but once he cut off part of the line…no points.

In my head, I imagined the screener as Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi.

No points for you!

Ah, but he was behind in more than just cutting.

He couldn’t hop on one foot.

She had to repeat questions for him as he was easily distracted.

When I asked for clarification on what that meant, I was told he kept looking around the room instead of focusing on the adult.

Imagine the nerve of a not quite four-year-old to check out his surroundings!

Posters covered the walls.

The shelves and counters were filled with toys.

The adult asking the questions wasn’t nearly as interesting.

It didn’t matter that I knew my little guy was a chatty, active, inquisitive kid.

It didn’t matter that during well baby checks the pediatrician placed him at or above all the developmental milestones.

What mattered was that according to some magical school readiness checklist – he wasn’t ready.

So I politely (through gritted teeth) said thank you.

I took that chubby little hand in mine, and we walked out of the school.

The kid who couldn’t hop on one foot skipped down the hall.

He pointed out things on the walls and asked a million questions.

And I knew their baseline data was useless.

He was full of curiosity and joy.

Who needed points for cutting?

I can joke about it now.

But it still hurts my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Don’t Want To Be A Dream Crusher

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Ask C what he wants to be, and he’ll tell you. He wants to play for the Green Bay Packers. In fact, he’ll tell you he wants to be the next Clay Matthews.

I know the chances of him playing at that level are slim. According to the stats from NCAA, there are over one million high school football players (about 300,000 seniors), and out of that number only 6.5% play at the college level, and only 1.6% of that number go pro.

That means

20,000 of those 300,000 high school seniors go on to play college football.

Out of the 16,000 playing as seniors, 254 are drafted.

So, when C says he wants to play pro football, I’m tempted to quote the stats at him.

But I don’t.

Instead I ask what he plans to do to get there and what he plans to do after.

We talk about the importance of a good education.

We talk about team work.

We talk about doing things because you love them.

We talk about not giving up when things get tough.

But more than anything, we talk about following your dreams.

During those conversations I’m reminded of a young man named Aaron from my Texas days.

He wasn’t in my class, but he was a talker and always struck up a conversation.

One recess I asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he said, “A football player and a lawyer.”

I asked why both, and he answered…

“Because my mama told me sometimes dreams don’t come true, so you have to have more than one.”

Maybe C won’t play football past high school.  Honestly, he’s 10, so maybe he won’t even play in high school.

But that’s okay.

Right now he has a goal…a dream to play a game he loves at the highest level possible.

Who am I to tell him he won’t make it?

I won’t crush his dream.

I’ll just make sure he has more than one in case this one doesn’t come true.

Teachable Moments

The world happens around our students all the time, and they bring it into our classrooms.

We don’t teach in a bubble.

That means we have to talk about the tough subjects.

It means we listen with an open heart and an open mind.

It means we keep our bias to ourselves so as not to limit the voices of others.

It means we teach critical thinking.

It means we teach respect for differing views.

It means we acknowledge the facets of our world that are beyond our control.

It also means we talk about the ones that we can control.

To do all that, you need to build relationships with students.

They need to feel safe to express an opinion,

ask a question,

or tell a personal experience.

Most importantly,

it means you have to realize you teach students not content.

A teachable moment is going to throw off the lesson plan,

disrupt the scope and sequence, and

it probably won’t follow the curriculum guide.

But that’s okay.

Don’t be afraid to have the tough conversations.

Don’t be afraid to hear student voices.

Don’t be afraid to admit you don’t have the answers.

Don’t be afraid of the teachable moments.

 

 

 

I’m Still Waiting for Flying Cars

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Sometimes I have no filter.

Those of you who know me…stop laughing.

I really have gotten better at tempering what I say and keeping the snark under control except with close friends.

But sometimes, I just can’t hold it in, especially when it comes to education buzzwords created by those far removed from the classroom.

No Child Left Behind

Thanks, policy makers. Prior to this becoming law, I frequently, purposefully left children behind…said no teacher ever!

What we did was meet children where they were developmentally; understanding that no two were exactly alike.

College and Career Ready

Wow, I wish my teachers, way back in the 70’s had known they needed to prepare students for college and careers.

I mean, I don’t know how my friends and I muddled through to become successful adults.

Future Ready

This one showed up repeatedly in my Twitter feed yesterday (and was the proverbial straw that pushed me to write this post).

Future Ready…what does that even mean?

Ask a hundred people, and you’ll get a hundred different answers.

Are we insinuating that prior to this initiative schools weren’t preparing students for the future?

I read through the Future Ready pledge.

How sad is it that a friend and I both thought of a Tommy Boy quote?

“Here’s the way I see it, Ted. Guy puts a fancy guarantee on a box ’cause he wants you to feel all warm and toasty inside.”

To me, that’s what this is.

A guarantee on a box.

A hollow gesture that allows policy makers to feel good.

When I think about the future I want for my kids, it’s what my parents wanted for me.

I want them to work well with others.

I want them to have and support an opinion.

I want them to listen to what others have to say and be able to disagree without attacking.

I want them to be positive, productive members of a global community.

Most of all,

I want them to be happy.

Let’s face it. We have no idea what the future holds.

We can make predictions.

But we don’t know.

A quality education is about giving students real world skills and experiences that transcend generations.

It’s not about the technology or innovations.

If it was I wouldn’t still be waiting for flying cars.

Thankful for the Little Things

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to limit my time with those who see the glass half empty because they suck the life out of me.

It’s not that everything in my world is perfect, but I’ve decided to try to always look on the bright side of life. (Monty Python fans, are you singing the song? :) )

I’ve found that the littlest thing can have the biggest impact – from a simple thank you to the kid who waited and held the door for me on my way into school to a passing hello in the hall, it matters.

I’m convinced that it’s the little things people say or do for us that set the tone for the day or the week or even a lifetime.

This past week I didn’t have to look too hard for the bright side, it just seemed to find me.  These are the highlights that made me smile.

  • Last Sunday I wished a former student happy birthday via Facebook.  This was his response:  “Thanks! Me and Sean used to make finger skateboards and play with them when you weren’t looking. Now that I’m 32 I feel comfortable telling you.” :) I laughed because I’m sure they did. I probably knew it at the time and ignored it, but I loved that he wanted to share that all these years later.
  • Tuesday at the Veterans Day Assembly, a World War II veteran from the local American Legion Post gave me a big hug. Then he told me how they’d been talking about me on the car ride over and how much they appreciated me.
  • As I was leaving to head back to the high school, a young mom got out of her car, stopped and stared at me and said, “I know you!” When I asked how, she said, “You were one of my teachers, I think.” I asked her name, and as soon as she said the first, I said the last. Her face lit up.  I was a long-term substitute in her 4th grade classroom. It was 18 years ago and in a different district, but she remembered me.
  • Wednesday morning I had an elementary parent catch me in the hall. She wanted to tell me how much she appreciated all I do for students, but more importantly, she appreciated the time I took to talk with her about her child.
  • Thursday’s mail brought a handwritten thank you note from a former student. I had sent a little gift to him and his wife – a few books for their new baby boy. He’d already thanked me through Facebook, but then he took the time to write and send an actual note.

These are the moments that keep me centered.

They remind me why I do what I do.

They remind me that teaching is still an amazing profession.

They remind me that I’m truly blessed.

 

 

You So Get Me

The other morning I was running behind schedule so I was drying my hair when C needed to get in the bathroom to brush his teeth.  This isn’t a big deal; happens all the time, but I recently bought a new dryer, and it was the first time he had seen it.  He looked at it, looked at me and then made this boy grunt that only a mom can translate into “What’s that thing?”  So I told him it was a diffuser to which he answered with another quizzical grunt, so I explained that it diffused the air coming out the dryer which helped me dry my hair faster.

He stood there a little longer, and I said, “Yeah, I know, it kinda looks like a ray gun.”

5dcd362e5ae67a5b792788e39abe67f9He looked at me with this huge grin and said, “You so get me all the time!”

He’s right.

I get that he feels things more deeply than other people do – too sensitive some might say. I hate the word too (adverb – to an excessive extent or degree; beyond what’s desirable, fitting, or right.  (http://dictionary.reference.com)

He’s sensitive – no superlative needed.

I get that he sees the world as black and white/right and wrong – it’s really hard  when he sees somebody not following the rules. We’ve had countless conversations about how I can’t make random children at the store follow the rules. As he’s gotten older, I tend to say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

I get that he has to talk to the TV. It drives S nuts, but it makes me smile. I don’t know how often he asks a question about why a character did A instead of B. Of course, when I try to answer he tells me that it was just a rhetorical question.

I get that if it pops in his head, it’s probably going to come out his mouth. I don’t think there’s a mean bone in his body, but he can be brutally honest.

I get that when a topic catches his interest, he kind of obsesses over it until he learns as much as possible about it.  Not sure many kids his age start sentences with, “According to research…”

I get that he can nerd-jack a conversation and go off on tangents that leave other people shaking their heads.

I get that when he does that and someone calls him weird, it hurts.

I get that he’s torn between fitting in and being himself, and that when he chooses to be himself it can be a little lonely.

I get that sometimes he thinks I’m the only one who gets him.

And I so get him.

All the time.

Teaching My Kids to Vote

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I started my day in line at the Town Hall. It’s election day, and I knew I had more time before work than after, so I was there when the polls opened at 7:00 a.m. I was surprised to find a line already, but even so, I was in and out in 15 minutes.

I have voted in every state and federal election since the 1984 presidential election, and I am pretty diligent about voting in all the local elections, too. (Although I have to confess, when everyone on the ballot is running unopposed, I have skipped a few.)

I love seeing my social media feeds fill up with “I voted” posts from  friends and colleagues (regardless of their political leaning).  As someone who taught 5th grade American History for 18 years, I am especially proud to see my former students post that they have voted.

I was reminded last night of a conversation I had with S when she was in 2nd grade, during the primary election to determine who would be the presidential candidates in 2008.

She had not been feeling well, so I was taking her to the doctor, and during the car ride she was telling me about the upcoming mock election in her classroom, and she said, “I’m going to vote for Hillary Clinton.”

I asked her why, and she said, “Because she’s a girl.”

Now, there is a fine line between mom and teacher, and I can never resist the teachable moment, especially when I have just one kid in the car, so I had to pursue the conversation.

Me: Honey, we don’t chose candidates because they are men or women.

S:  Hmm, well then I guess I’ll vote for Barack Obama.

Me: Why?

S: Because he’s young.

Me: Honey, we don’t chose candidates because they are young or old.

S: Then how do you pick them?

Me: You listen to what they say, and you decide who you agree with most, and you vote for that person.

S: How do you know who’s telling the truth? (What’s the old saying? Out of the mouths of babes. ;) )

Me: That’s a good question. You have to hear what they say, and look at what they do, and then decide.

Later that night she and I sat down and looked at a couple of kid-friendly articles on the candidates, and she had tons of other questions.

When the November election rolled around, her school, like many others, held a mock election.

Now, it would’ve been easy for me to tell her how I believe politically and to let MY opinion be the opinion she put on her ballot, but I wanted her to be able to form opinions on her own and be able to support them. So, the teacher beat out the mom, and we sat down to look at some kid friendly sites, starting with Time for Kids. I had her write the names of both major party candidates (McCain and Obama) on note cards, and then we went through the information provided.

I was in teacher mode at this point, so I read each statement, making sure she understood what the issue meant, and then I read what each candidate had answered to that issue.  If she liked what she heard, she put a tally mark on that candidate’s note card. Sometimes she liked what both said, so she put a tally mark on each. Sometimes she didn’t like what either had said, so she didn’t put any marks down.  When we were done, she counted up the tally marks and decided who to vote for, and when I asked her why, she could explain it to me.

This morning as I was leaving, C asked me who I was going to vote for, and I wouldn’t tell him. Instead I explained about secret ballots and that while I was glad to share that I was voting, I really never shared who I cast my vote for. Then I said, “So, if you could vote, who would you vote for?”

I loved his reply: “I don’t know. I don’t have enough information about the candidates to make a decision.”

That is what I want for both S and C. I want them to be able to not only make decisions but to support those choices, and to realize that you have to do a little research to make up your mind.

They won’t always agree with me, and I’m okay with that.

 

What’s In A Name?

A few weeks ago I overheard a conversation that has stuck with me.

I was sitting at a soccer game, and the parents next to me were with the opposing team. From the conversation I could tell they were also teachers, and they were talking about kids’ names. The conversation started with how hard it is to remember kids from past years, to keep their names straight when you’ve taught for so long, but then it moved in to talking about unique names of current students.

And I was bothered by what I heard.

Both of them talked about how some of the names were difficult to pronounce, so they just gave the kids nicknames.

At first it made me think of this:

But then, I thought about all the times people misspell names and don’t make corrections, the times names are shortened without asking if that’s okay, and even calling someone by a siblings’ name.

I’m kind of funny about all of these things.

My poor daughter goes through life having to tell people there is no H at the end of her name, and that our last name has an E not an I.  People still get it wrong, which is okay if they fix it when she (or I) point it out, but we’ve had a teacher tell her it’s no big deal and not to worry about it.

And I hate to be called Jenny (goes back to a moment in 7th grade when a friend who shared my name but spelled it differently informed me that a Jenny was the female counterpart to a Jackass).

But people call me that all the time….shorten my name without asking my preference.

In high school, one of my few rebellions came when my history teacher insisted on calling me Jenny even though I had asked her not to – I ignored her when she said Jenny. I wrote JENNIFER in huge letters at the top of every assignment. She never got it, and it frustrated me.

And sibling names? I’m the youngest of five. I don’t think my mother has ever gotten my name out on the first try. :)

As a teacher, if I use a siblings’ name by mistake, I quickly correct myself and apologize.

I’m not afraid to ask how to pronounce a name – better to ask than to slaughter it with my Ohio/Texas/Wisconsin accent. I’ve found that I earn a little trust with students when I do that.

And I always ask before I shorten a name. I totally get the Michael who isn’t a Mike or the Elizabeth who’s okay with Beth but hates Liz.

It may sound like I’m making a big deal out of a little thing, but I think names are very personal.

They represent who you are.

So when someone changes your name without your permission?

It makes you a little less you.

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