I'm getting better, but I'm not there yet

I’ve been feeling driven lately.  Not fueled by my usual panic or fear, but fueled by my new found understanding that what I’m doing currently isn’t good for kids.  Fueled by the fact that on many days, I wouldn’t want my own children to sit in my class.  Heck, I wouldn’t want to sit in my own class.

Some things I get right.  Some things I’m proud of.  And I know I have my students at heart.  I know I can be there for them and help them on a personal level.  But I’m not sure that’s enough.  I want both.  I want a place where my students feel both cared for and inspired.  Motivated to learn and to be challenged wherever they’re at and with whatever background they bring into the room.

I’m getting better, but I’m not there yet.

So I read all the books.  Not the novels I usually escape into, but the professional books by people who are leading the charge.
And I watch the videos by people who are making change with success.
I’m getting to know people, virtually (I’m too awkward otherwise), who stand up every day for our kids and our schools.  The work they do is tremendous.
And oh so needed.

I hang on every word from Donalyn Miller, Penny Kittle, and Kelly Gallagher.

I celebrate the strength and innovation of a teacher leader like Pernille Ripp who not only makes changes in her classroom, but has started a global movement.

I’m discovering a whole world of people who have since followed these strong speakers and teachers and have created tribes of their own.  I feel like I’ve found the Resistance.  Please, take me with you.

The important thing for us, as educators, is to keep moving forward.  To keep trying new things.  To change with the world around us.

Kids need our love and respect first and foremost.  We all recognize this.  And yet day after day, we stand in front of them as if we are better than them.  As if we have power over them.  As if we can’t trust them with this beautiful process of learning.

That’s not what I want for my own children.

My son is one of the most curious little creatures I’ve ever encountered.  And I’m terrified that by sending him to school that huge part of his individuality will be extinguished by the school system.  Can that spark survive?  I’m not sure.  I hope so.  But why should it have to survive, when it should be placed into the one environment created for it to grow and catch?  The one place it’s supposed to thrive.

I know my students feel the same way.  They say it every day.  They say it with their incomplete homework.  They say it with their opened books that haven’t turned a page.  They say it will their cellphones and their social media.  They aren’t engaged in my lessons, so they aren’t learning.  When something else is more engaging than my lesson, I need to stop and reflect.  I’m not saying I can ever compete with an iPhone; I know I can’t.  But I can make my room a place of possibility to try.  A place that a student would be sad to be away from.  A place that they look forward to coming into each and everyday.

So I’ll keep trying new things.  They might not all work out - but it’s better than standing still.

Something worth learning

Today is one of those days in which the pressures of teaching have me feeling down.  I've been out of my classroom sick for a few days, and managed to suck it up to attend a literacy conference at the IU I've been looking forward to.  I figured sitting and being a student would be a lot less strenuous than juggling the three ring circus that is my classroom.

I'm sure it's the February-March slump with state testing right around the corner that's truly gotten me down.  As much as I hate the state test, as much as I tell myself I don't give a rip about how my kids perform on that test, I still feel the pressure to have them do well on it.  I question if I did everything I could this year (a year that is not even close to over), what could I do better, why did I give in to pressures and do silly things I know my students won't use outside of my classroom, but maybe they do need that knowledge and I'm holding them back by not exposing them to it, or maybe I'm just going crazy and losing all signs of intelligence in my own life, I mean really how many run-on sentences is this now?

Maybe this post should be my hamster wheel brain part deux.

The conference I attended today was on New Literacies - digital literacies if you will.  Our kids are technology natives and yet only a single digit percent of them can navigate the wide world of the internet for information - factual information.  This scares me.

I soaked up all of the information I could today, started planning ways to do better in the future and save what time I still have left with this group, and sat still for a moment just feeling - - - defeated.
One person can not do it all.  I can sure try, but we need teamwork in a school to do this right.

In my not so humble opinion, I sit back and think about the education I want for my children, and this is truly the heart of it.  They need to be curious.  They need to solve problems.  Real problems.  They need to use their intellect to make the world a better place.  They do not need to practice taking multiple choice tests.  They do not need to memorize facts, especially if they aren't ever going to apply those facts to anything of importance.

However, this is not just a teacher problem.  This is a school problem.  An education problem.  Most recently, a society problem.  I am no administrator - I can't create local change.  So what do I do?  I'm never going to stop doing things in my own classroom.  Sharing ideas with my colleagues.  But is that enough?

This is the time of the year where I feel like a bad teacher.  Add me to the list of teachers who've continued to fail our students year after year - the ones who give teaching the bad reputation it can't seem to shake.
This is the time of year where I feel hopeless and at the bottom of a mountain I'm not sure how to climb.
Yet as I sit here at the bottom looking up, I know there's room to grow.  I know I've made a difference somewhere.  But I'm stuck down here festering in the mire.  Stuck in the pit of despair, paralyzed by wheel of pain, waiting for Andre the Giant to rescue me.

For today, I'll go to sleep hoping my body can make it through a school day tomorrow.  Another day out of the classroom would just make me feel like more minutes have been ticked off of my clock of opportunity with these kids.

I think it's time for some toddler dance moves to shake off this pity party.  Tomorrow is a new day.  Hopefully we'll all learn something worth learning.

The pitter patter of little feet

I heard the click of the door and the tip-toeing of his little feet in the hallway before our bedroom door even moved an inch.

When I met his devilish smile in the hallway, he announced, "Mommy, I'm coming to sleep with you!"

Not tonight, kiddo.

I let him get away with it once this weekend, when I was too tired and sick to do anything but roll over and make some space for his little body.  Within five minutes, I felt like I was taking punches from a kick boxer during hot yoga.  I had to get out of there, and ended up in the kid's bed for the night.  But I got my sleep.

He thought tonight was the night to try again.

Instead, we hunkered down for another round of bed time routines.  We had already watched the allotted amount of iPad videos.  As much as I hate to admit it, I had to say "no" to another round of books. (I know, I just died a little inside again at even putting this in writing.)

Instead I asked him to tell me about his day.  We do this often, and I just love to hear the things his mind perceives about the world.

Usually I get one actual true story about his day at school and then things quickly turn into stories about ghosts, Dinotrux, or some adventure he had on a spooooooky night in the woods.

Tonight was a little different.

He gave me a beautiful run down about how he loves school and wants to keep going there.  As I kept asking questions for elaboration, his answers kept getting a bit darker, a bit sadder.
This is where things usually turn a corner into the fictionalized ramblings in order to keep me in his room as long as humanly possible.
Instead I realized, my little guy has already mastered the art of saying "I'm fine" even when he's not.
He talked about how he feels shy in the morning and gets scared to go in the room.
He talks about friends who don't include him.
Friends who don't listen to him.
He talks about wanting to be by himself sometimes and how he wishes things were quiet. (I know, I know - the apple didn't fall far.)

His little lip trembles as we problem solve through many of these events.  I know he does each and every one of these things to other kids - and to hear him talk about his own actions made my heart melt.  He's finally at that age where he understands right and wrong. He understands mistakes and on purpose.  He's starting to understand that other people have feelings too, and that our actions can affect people.  He can problem solve with me and understand how to do better next time.  He knows that mistakes are normal and that in the heat of them moment "he sometimes forgets" to do the right thing.  But "it's ok, I'll try to remember next time."

These are the skills I try to instill in my eighth graders every day - but never really get to see if they take root or not.  Today, I saw "grit" and "growth mindset" starting to emerge from my little guy - and I couldn't be prouder of him.

Today I felt like I won a battle over the Dark Lord.  Today there was a little bit of hope for our future.

And if that wasn't good enough, after I told him it was time for us both to go to bed - for real this time - he looked up at me and said, "But Mommy, I have one more story to tell you."

So I situated myself for one more story - with patience oozing out of my eyeballs - when he said...

"I love you Mommy, goodnight."
<3

My hamster wheel brain

I’m at a loss today.  I have ideas… I am a veritable hamster wheel full of ideas ready to jump ship at any given unnecessary and inappropriate moment.  Yet, when I sit down to write - I’m left a bit unfocused.  Friday night brain function at its finest.

What moment to choose for today?

Is is the glorious moments in which I locked myself in my classroom and actually kicked out a ton of productive work with the lights off and pure blissful silence?

Is it the moment where I tried to make the function of infinitive phrases fun and exciting?  (No, it most certainly is not.). Although, I did have a kid offer his condolences.  “You gave it your best effort Mrs. Risser.  Ain't no one gonna make that fun.  Don’t let it keep you up tonight.”

Is it the last minute need for a dodgeball referee at our annual tournament after school today?  The one in which I didn’t plan on attending because picking up the kids on time is a struggle in and of itself.  Yet, once I got there I wished I would have stayed, wished I would have gotten a team together, wished more teachers would get involved in those fun moments with kids instead of burning out and running for the hills.  We’re just so tired.  It’s no excuse...but sometimes it is.

Is it the moment I walked in the house with the kids, mentally prepared for a marathon night of cleaning, only to find my husband did hours worth of it already?  (Yes, I think this is it.)

Or the moment we all sat down after making the house spotless to watch our first Friday night family Disney movie - my personal favorite - Beauty and the Beast?  (We made it a good 30 minutes in.  It’s a new record.)

My goal here was to write more narratives about my life to complete the Slice of Life Challenges each day.  Yet I have to say, writing this little list of things I’m not going to actually write about made me pretty happy.  It got the job done.

Who taught this kid to break dance?

I had a whole downer post plotted out in my head about how I need to set boundaries in my life and learn to say ‘no’ more often. Blah, blah, blah, whine, whine, whine.

And then bedtime hit.

We made it through bath with only one minor scream fest and hunkered down for our 30 minutes of “it’s time to chill out and try not to eat each other time” in “the big bed”.  Our kids get in their jammies and pile into our bed for some quiet time.  Usually we end up watching a million Blippi videos, and tonight was no different.  (Blippi, we love you.  The dinosaur video is your best work.)

Then my son discovered the mirror.
Things quickly escalated into a scene from Step Up: Into the Streets.

His sweet little body unleashed every dance move under the sun.  He even busted out some break dancing move that apparently “takes a lot of practice.”  But don’t worry, if you keep trying, you too may master the the shoulder-to-the-floor-one-leg-kick-extravaganza.

Soon, it was a family dance party set to the bass line of Immy’s belly giggles.  She begged anyone who would catch her eye, “Want to watch me flip jump!?”  And flip-jump she did.  She’s an extreme dancer.

This is exactly what my week needed.  Some utterly goofy, silly, uncontrolled fun that brings life back into perspective.  I kept telling myself to let go of things that were stupid and to focus on the good, but my brain doesn’t always respond to rationalization.

What is does respond to is sweet dance moves.  Adorable, silly, proud dance moves.
Bring on tomorrow.
I’ll be dancing.

And today too

It's going to be a short one today.  My brain is still revolting.  Apparently it wants to join the #resistance.  Someone let this thing know he got the wrong guy.  There's a much larger #Resistance going on - capital R.  Get up over there instead, would you?

I thought for a second I'd sit here and do the school work that I am severely behind on.  But computer time is not going well.  So I'm going to barf out some words for my own personal goals and go back to catching myself up with the Kardashians in a blissful state of limbo.

At this point, breathing hurts.  So I guess everything else can wait.
The school work can wait.
The department issues can wait.
The house can wait.  Thank God we don't have to pass inspection.
The laundry can wait.
The groceries can wait.

For now, I'll be simmering in graham cracker crumbs and my "bugg" blanket.  Yes - it still lives.

He won, today...

I never saw myself as a victim.  Never thought I’d be sitting here battered and bruised, wondering how he snuck up on me again.  Again.  Sure, I’d been here before.  And yes, I guess I had been a victim.  But I’ve moved past that, left that life behind me.  I’m not meek.  I’m not scared.

I am strong.
I am in control.

I was strong.
I was in control.

Now here I sit, still wondering how I went wrong.

My assailant is a smart one.  He creeps in at such increments that by the time he’s on top of you, it’s too late.  He’s always with you. You’re just so close that you forget to notice.  You go blind to his strength.

For a time, he’d had utter control over my life.  I’d find myself huddled in a dark corner, terrified to move an inch and feel his wrath.  At good times, an ice pack would bring relief from the damage he’d done.  I’d hold it over my throbbing eye and offer up my prayers to the universe that this would all be over soon.  Breathe in four beats.  Breathe out four beats.  In with the healing, with hope of relief.  Out with the pain, the panic that engulfed my thoughts.

During the worst of it, his rage would be directed at me three to four times a week.  During the best, I’d get off easy and might only have to hide out one day during the month.  It became hard to explain to those around me.  Where was I?  Where did I go?  What was wrong?  Did I need help?

Yes.

And help I got.  With support, I armed myself with information.  I did my research.  I made a plan.  Slow and steady, without him noticing, I cut off his power over me.  It was over.

Until today.

I’ve been free of his wrath for eight months.  I’ve lived in a world where he can’t hurt me.  No pain.  No isolation.  No hiding out the next day.  I’ve been the one in control.

But today, today he snuck in.  Slow at first.  So slow I didn’t notice until it was too late.
I felt his presence early on, but shrugged off that nagging feeling.  Got myself to work.  Business as usual.  The feeling got stronger as the day went on.  But still I wasn’t worried.  Those feelings could be a multitude of things.  Life adds up.

And then all at once, I couldn’t stand it anymore.  He was upon me like a boa choking off my air supply.  His hands a vice around my head.  A grip that squeezed with all its might.  I couldn’t see anymore.  Couldn’t move.  Needed to sit. To breathe.  The pain was so strong I wasn’t sure I could hang on much longer.  The bile in my stomach threatened to rise.  To give away my weakness.  But still, I persisted.  I would not give in.  I would not let him win - again.

But win he did.  I surrendered.  Admitted defeat.  I packed my bags.  Abandoned my post.  Got in my car and drove home while I still could.
After eight months of solace, the migraine had found me.
He wins.
Today.

My marriage gives me a burning, bubbling, red-hot rash

I have been happily married for the last seven years and had been dating my husband for six years before that.  It took thirteen years for this fairy tale love to make my skin crawl.  Literally.  And I hate the word literally.

The redness came first.  Then the bubbles, raised into scales between my fingers.  In time, these bubbles burst open and dried out like scorched earth, making room for the burn that seared through my skin at any slight movement.

My wedding rings had turned on me.

I spent too much time on the internet, trying to diagnose myself.  All signs pointed to wedding ring finger cancer.  Obviously.  Either that or my 30 second bathroom breaks between classes weren’t allowing me to dry my hands thoroughly enough.  Or my children had caused my body to turn on me and I’m now allergic to most everything in life.  (I’m betting on the latter.)

So today, I took the obvious course of action.  I spent precious moments of a glorious day off of work at the jewelers.  Apparently, if you don’t get your jewelry cleaned and replated for the entire length of your marriage, things have a tendency to go wrong.  (They offer this service for free every two years, you know.  No.  I did not know.)

Now the most humorous part of this entire scenario occurred as I was playing sleuth with the kind saleswoman.  It would take them at least two weeks to fix everything up for me - but lucky for me, my oh so delicate fingers needed that time to heal anyway.  She asked me if I had had problems with any of my other jewelry, or just the wedding rings - which made me giggle ever so slightly.  I explained to her that jewelry was not really my thing.  Maybe if I could curl up and read a good pair of earrings things would be different.  Her next recommendation was to “throw on” another gold ring on the other hand in the meantime, to see what reaction I might have with the metal on my skin.  Another gold ring you say?  Number one, I don’t have one - we seem to have overlooked the “jewelry’s not my thing” comment.  And number two, why on earth would I want to subject myself to the boiling, bubbling, burning, blisters on my good hand?  The one I write with.  The one that turns pages.  The one that has to feed small children.

We’ll see how the cleaning goes.  Maybe my life has just been so filled with the germs of my toddlers, that they’re growing teeth and eating me alive.

Until then, I’ll be fighting the boyfriends off with a stick while I’m without my rings for two weeks.  Translation:  I’ll be at home changing diapers, and hoping I get to wash my hair THREE times this week.