Welcome Home, Baby!

So I mentioned in my last post that the Ponderosa was welcoming 4 new additions to the house. Well friends, today's the day. It will forever go down in history (although it already is), as the Day We Received Our Great Gift.

If you've walked past an Apple store anytime recently, you may have noticed the Teach for America display in the window. A few months ago, we caught wind of an advertisement in which Apple was asking people to donate first generation iPads for Teach for America classrooms. I remember thinking, "I wonder how they'll choose which classrooms to donate them to." I assumed it would be for big cities, like New York or Los Angeles, where they would get the most press. We never heard anything else about it, and to be honest I never thought much of it after that.

Then one morning in late August, we got an email from a fellow ENC corps member that set the Ponderosa abuzz. TFAnet, our Teach for America portal, had posted a news article that said that Apple was donating the refurbished iPads to EVERY TFA classroom. We were excited, but there was still a feeling of disbelief. It sounded too good to be true.

A few days later, we got an email from our regional office that confirmed what we saw: we were in fact receiving iPads for FREE, one for each classroom, and would get to pick them up within the next few weeks!

It became the talk of TFA. iPads? For FREE? (As a fellow corps member said, they certainly don't come free--the price is blood, sweat, and tears.)

Soon after, we received another email with the option to sign up for a pick up date and location. We chose Sunday, September 11 at the mall in Raleigh. We loved reminding each other of the beauty of what was to come. A free iPad, in our hands, in just a few short days. This weekend couldn't come soon enough.

And then, it was here. The bittersweet date: September 11, 2011. I felt guilty being so excited on such a somber day. It's a strange way to commemorate the 10th anniversary of 9/11. However, I can't help feeling a bit giddy about this new tool and the world of opportunities it opens up for my kids and our classroom.

So bright and early this morning, the four of us piled in the car and headed to Raleigh to pick up our new 64 GB babies. The Apple store was opening especially for us at 8:30 am, where we received basic training from the Genius Bar workers. I could hardly contain my excitement, as is evident below:




Now we're back home, all flopped around various parts of the living room, glued to the screens of our new iPads and brainstorming ways to use them in the classroom. It's a scary thought, the fingers of my grimy 12 year olds all over the screen of such a precious, precious piece of technology. But I know it will be a great incentive, and I'm excited to use it to enhance my instruction. If only I could set it down long enough to be productive....

On a more serious note...I'm in the process of planning how to discuss the events of 9/11 with my class tomorrow. It's hard to believe that most of my kids were only 2 or 3 when it happened, and I learned last year that many of them really don't know anything about it except that a few planes flew into a few buildings. Especially since I remember moments from that day so vividly, even though I was only in the 8th grade. I remember hearing the news in Social Studies, and our teacher rushing us over to the science classroom to listen to the radio. I remember the announcement that came on that forbade the teachers from turning on the televisions. I remember being terrified when I heard one of the planes that crashed had left from the Boston airport, because I knew my mom was supposed to fly home that day from Logan International. I remember that all after school activities were cancelled. I remember walking home from the bus stop that day, stopping at the end of our cul-de-sac with tears in my eyes, wondering how such an awful thing could happen on such a beautiful day. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the flowers were still in bloom, but something just didn’t feel right. We found out my mom wouldn’t be able to come home for a few days, and my dad knew we were upset, so he took us out to dinner that night. We sat outside to enjoy the weather, but now I suspect it was also to avoid the televisions that were replaying the sickening footage over and over again. I remember I kept thinking, “Why?”, but no one had answers.

There is so much to talk about, yet I don't even know where to begin. I want to show videos, I want to have discussions, I want them to experience what it felt like to be a part of the events that day in even the smallest of ways. But most importantly, i want them to take it seriously and to be grateful for what we have. It's so easy to talk about September 11th one minute and then forget it ever happened the next, but the truth is it is still very much apart of our country's present. There are still people sacrificing so much for us to be what we are and have what we have. To all of you--thank you a million times over.

A good friend of mine found a website a few years ago that allows you to show your support for our troops by adopting a pen pal and sending a letter to a serviceman or servicewoman once a week (much better than the first program she found, writing to prisoners. A bit sketchy if you ask me.) I "adopted" my first solider from AdoptAPlatoon.org my junior year in college and wrote letters once a week for the length of his deployment. At the end of last school year, I signed up again and have been writing to another soldier once a week for the past few months. If you are looking for a way to show your support, check out the website. If you're worried that you wouldn't know what to say, don't worry, I never know, either. I just write. I update him on what's going on in the United States and in my classroom. I tell the occasional story about a crazy child or a fun adventure. And I always try to remember to say "thank you" in some way, shape, or form. I'm ashamed at how easily I forget all the men and women who have given up so much for us and put their lives on the line everyday. And recently, when I'm feeling frustrated with my job, that letter to Iraq reminds me of how grateful I am for all that I have, and the people that make it possible. All it takes is a stamp and some kind words.

Can I get a "TGIF"?

It’s been a while since I have fully appreciated the sweet relief of a Friday evening.

Last year, it was akin to feeling like the elephant that has been standing on your back all week finally lifted his giant hoof up one tiny yet somehow liberating inch. There was still so much to be done, but the beauty was that nothing had to be done right away. You could come home and collapse on the couch for a solid 20 minutes before you started to feel guilty about not grading that stack of papers that had been looming all week. By January, Fridays were absolutely necessary for preserving sanity. And by May, they became the benchmark by which you measure the rest of the year: “We just need to get to Friday, and then we only have 2 more weeks!” They were that last shred of hope when you felt so close, yet so far, from that glorious last day.

And then there’s summer. When the days of the week really only determine which reruns you catch each night and, for me, how many miles I had to run to keep up with my training schedule. And even then, Friday just meant I was one day closer to my dreaded long run on Sunday.

Today, Friday just felt like the logical next step after four days of long hours and hard work. It was about time. I was tired, both physically and mentally, and it just didn’t seem right to have another weekday. So, Friday swooped in and rescued me. We celebrated the end of the week by ordering pizza, but I think we were all really just too tired to have to cook. I wish I could come up with some clever analogy for my second year, but I’m too tired to think about it. I will say, though, that the elephant hasn’t found me yet. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Coming off of a 10 day mini-vacation (thanks to five, I repeat five days off due to Hurricane Irene and a holiday weekend), this week hit me like a ton of bricks. It was only four school days, but they were the first four days in a row since May, and in a weird way I felt very out of shape. Remembering 100 new names and faces, standing on my feet for 8 hours a day, using both my teacher voice and my teacher stare, keeping children focused and under control despite a ridiculous amount of stimuli and hormones, and molding them to be the “extraordinary” students that I know they can be. I forgot how exhausting it is.

Oh, and hey, in case I wasn’t already tired enough, let’s add another two hours to the day by coaching volleyball. By myself. With 20 girls, 6 volleyballs, and a net that’s 4 inches too short. Thank goodness it’s the sport with the shortest season. As much as I loved playing volleyball, coaching is a different story. In theory, it sounded great. In reality…not so much. Only because I never realized how difficult it is to teach someone how to play a sport, especially when most of those someones aren’t…shall we say, athletically inclined? I get so frustrated, not with the girls, but with the fact that I really don’t know how to explain the appropriate way to set the ball. You just…set it. I don’t know! And running practice with one coach and 20 girls is not easy. Thank goodness it’s middle school and we’re not trying to defend a previous title or anything. Hopefully I’ll eventually be able to find some fun in it. But right now, it’s just one more thing on the list, and one more reason I’m grateful for Friday.

Here’s the great thing. I know it’s only been six days, and maybe I’m crazy for saying this so early. But I love my job so much more than I did even 3 or 4 months ago. It may have something to do with the fact that I’m actually able to do my job right now, as opposed to spending half of each class period dealing with kids fighting or “joaning” or throwing things across the room behind my back (and on the worst days, throwing things AT me). Now that I’ve got it figured out about 1% more than I did last year, it’s so much more enjoyable. I know teaching is one of those careers where you can always get better, and you can never have it figured out, but I’ve definitely got it down a whole lot better than last year.

Have I mentioned how much I love the women I work with? They threw me a surprise birthday party during our planning, complete with snacks, drinks, cake, and ice cream, since we didn’t get to celebrate on my actual birthday grâce à Hurricane Irene. It was nice to have a breather and socialize with someone other than 12 and 13 year olds, and especially sweet that it was in my honor. Any excuse for a party during planning, and the 7th grade team is all over it.

It’s way, way past my bedtime, but some exciting news (more on that later) and an overdose on belgian chocolate wafers have kept me up long enough to get in a new post. Be on the lookout for a post early next week about the 4 new additions coming soon to the Ponderosa (don’t worry, no children or pets involved). Oh, and see below for a few pictures of my updated classroom.



Just some of the supplies from my generous family and friends, organized in my cabinet. The green cube is FULL of stuff, and behind the buckets are stacks and stacks of pencils and pens. Plus stacks of paper above. You all are ridiculous! (PS, I've gotten two more boxes since--thanks Becky and Amanda!)







This poster is currently sitting on the floor, after hours of hard work, because NOTHING sticks to those darn cinderblock walls. Someday i'll get it back up there.

Confidence is Key

I know I’m a week late, and I also know I have no excuses since I’ve had so much free time on my hands (that’s a story for another day). But here it is: part one of the first days of school series.

As I was reading my posts from this time last year for some inspiration, I couldn’t help but laugh at how naïve and unsuspecting I was. Those first few days were great—I was on top of the world, and had all the confidence in the world in my kids. But as the year wore on, the days got worse before they got better, and there were certainly days where I wondered what I was doing and how I would ever survive. I was run over by 12 and 13 (and some 14) year olds, and some days I just gave up.

This year, I knew confidence was key. And luckily, as I stood in my position outside the auditorium at 7:25 Thursday morning, watching the kids trail in from the buses, all the nerves I felt in the car that morning were replaced with a surge of energy and confidence. And I got right to work doing what I do best: being bossy.

“Tuck in your uniform. Tuck in your uniform. Thanks for having your uniform tucked in. You’re going to hear it from three more people as you walk by, so you might as well just do it now. Tuck in your uniform.”

I felt established and legitimate. Thirty seconds into the new school year, and I was already laying down the law. Kids recognized me and knew about me, and that automatically gave me a leg up from where I was this time last year. I was no longer the new white lady; I was Miss H…and Miss H don’t play. The other staff members and I were sending the message that this was a new year, and we meant business, beginning with the way you looked when you walked through those doors.

My nerves came back a little as we stood in the auditorium with all of the kids, waiting for our opening day announcements. I realized that these new 7th grade babies were all mine, and I didn’t know anything about a single one of them. And those 8th graders in the middle? They used to be mine, but now they were someone else’s. In some cases, I was relieved. In others, I was sad and jealous of the teacher that would get my sweet, sweet babies. But mostly, I was proud to see them sitting in the spot that was reserved for the “upperclassmen”, proud that I could say I taught them.

Part of the first day announcements is to introduce the staff and call out the homeroom rosters. Each teacher was called to the front, and the students responded with polite applause and the occasional cheer. As I waited for my name, I started to worry that some of my more difficult students from last year would boo me. After all, so many of my students spent so much time last year complaining, rolling their eyes, smacking their lips, harassing me and probably cursing me under their breath when I walked by (and those were my good kids). I had good relationships with a handful of my kids, but I always felt like there was a barrier that I couldn’t break down. By the end of the year, I wasn’t sure how many of my kids I had actually reached.

Our principal began calling the 7th grade team, and I sucked in my breath, ready to walk with my head held high despite the impending humiliation. But when my name was called, I made my way down to the stage to an uproar of cheers and applause from the same babies who had caused me so much heartache just months ago. I didn’t hear a single boo, and the other teachers raised their eyebrows at the ruckus and smiled at me as I took my place at the front. My eyes watered as I fought back tears, swelling with pride at the possibility that maybe, just maybe these kids finally understand how much I just wanted them to succeed last year, and that everything I did, right down to raising my voice and sending kids to the office, was done because I truly believed it was what was best for them.

Or maybe they just “like” me in some superficial, less rewarding way. It’s hard to tell.

Either way, I was incredibly moved and inspired by my kids’ enthusiasm. I knew that on some level, I had had success with my kids from last year, and I could do it again this year. I couldn’t help but think it was exactly what my new babies needed to hear. They were about to learn that Miss H is strict and has really high expectations of her students. But it was good for them to see that strict does not mean unlikable or mean.

Stay tuned for more on strict Miss H. If you don't believe it....well, believe it, 'cause it's true: Miss H don't play.

Ask, And You Shall Receive

You must be sick of it now, all this talk of school supplies. But this post is much needed and overdue.

I am so overwhelmed by the amount of support that I received. I’ve already posted about my first two donations, from my grandparents and my college friends. I couldn’t believe that my words actually meant something, and that they actually turned into a box and bag of school supplies at my door. I was so grateful for those notebooks, pens, pencils, dry erase markers, paper, etc., that I never even stopped to imagine that there would be more.

And then…there WAS more. So much more. Over the next few weeks, I had NINE more people/families donate supplies. My friends (who are probably just as broke as me—an extra thank you!), my parents’ friends, family, and family of friends brought me bags filled to the brim, mailed packages, and dropped boxes off at my parent’s house. My car was packed solid as I headed back to North Carolina, and my closet became my very own Staples Office Supply store.

Of course, I had to empty it all out on the living room floor so I could sort through it, organize it, and try to grasp just how much you all donated. And let me just say, I was floored (ha, get it?). No, but really. There I sat, in the middle of your gifts, and I was humbled by how generous you all are. I never expected to receive so much. My intention for writing the blog was just to make people aware of how much money teachers spend, and hopefully encourage people to consider spending just a few dollars for the sake of one of their friends’ classrooms. I never imagined that all of those donations would come to me and my classroom. I have been able to share your donations with my teacher friends in need, and stock my cabinets at school to help my grade level team. You have no idea just how grateful I am for every single school supply donated—for each tiny little pencil top eraser, every individual sheet of paper, and that pack of 15 whiteboard markers (believe me, I know how expensive those are—THANK YOU!).

I do want to make sure that everyone who had any part in donating is acknowledged. You all are too good to me, and I love you all! For the sake of being in a public domain, I won’t use last names. But a big thank you to:

Memere & Pepere
Memere & Grampy
Mom & Dad
Jess
Malinda
Meg & Ryan
Morgan
Christian & Joey
Emily & Miller
Brittany & Matt
Kaye

In total, here’s how you all have helped my “babies” and the babies of my friends (read on for numbers and pictures:

900+ pencils
10+ boxes of markers, crayons, & colored pencils
15+ packs of paper
15 binders (13 of which were filled with supplies!)
30+ dry erase markers
12+ glue sticks
15+ rulers
150+ erasers
120+ pens
And much more.





I can't say it enough. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! My kids don't know it yet, but they appreciate it, and of course, so do I.

(Thanks Britt Hack for the inspiration for the title.)

Just in case you were wondering....

....we now have to clock in and out at work, and my records show that I spent over 50 hours at school this week.

That doesn't even count the hours I've worked at home.



And I get paid WHAT?



An update on the first days of school to come this week. For now, read about my half-marathon adventure below. Two posts in two days!

Raining on Run Day

It’s fitting that I finally get around to writing this post now, as Hurricane Irene starts to make her way through Roanoke Rapids.

As you may know, I spent the last month of the past school year and the entire summer training for a half-marathon. I don’t know how I was talked into it so easily, and more importantly how I became so determined to make it. But I was disciplined and stuck to a schedule, and before I knew it I actually felt like a runner.

It was the first week in August. Summer was ending and the big race was approaching. The five-day forecast said race day would be perfect running weather: partly cloudy, chilly in the morning, and warming up later in the day. I enjoyed four days with family in Salem and Providence and tried to keep my mind off the race, for fear of psyching myself out. I stopped checking the forecast, because I knew that if I saw even a chance of rain I would convince myself I couldn’t do it. Saturday night, we packed our things, headed to our hotel near the starting line, and went to bed early. I wasn’t really excited or nervous, just ready for it to be over.

I woke up early Sunday morning, rolled out of bed, and went straight to the window. When I opened the curtains, my stomach dropped: it was raining. Or at least, it was gray and the ground was wet. I couldn’t tell if it was still raining outside, but it didn’t look promising. As I pulled on my running skirt (yes, skirt) and shoes and tucked my energy jellybeans into my pocket, I wondered all over again how I ever agreed to do this. I hadn’t slept well the night before, so the rain just added another layer to my grumpiness. Standing in the lobby of the hotel, I was painfully aware of two things: that it was in fact raining, and that the rain didn’t seem to put a damper on anyone else’s mood but mine. Our hotel must have been occupied by hundreds of runners, because the lobby was full of people stretching and bouncing around like it was Christmas morning. The energy in the lobby just annoyed me even more. There were days during my training that I just really did not want to run, days that took all my willpower to convince myself to even get out of bed and get in my running clothes. But this day topped them all. I have never felt so strongly about not wanting to run, ever. When we stepped outside, it only got worse. It wasn’t just raining…it was pouring. We had to walk to the starting line in the rain, and the whole way there I was wondering how many people would really blame me if I turned around and crawled back into bed. I have a feeling dad was thinking something similar, but we both just kept walking (well, truth be told, I complained most of the way).

Oh, but it gets better. This was the first annual Rock ‘N Roll Marathon in Providence, so we should have known that there would be kinks. The first wave of runners was supposed to begin at 7:00 am, so we took our place in the tenth wave promptly at 6:55. But alas, there we stood in the rain 7:05, 7:10, 7:15, waiting, waiting, waiting. Not even so much as an announcement as to why it was taking so long. I was already drenched before we even started running. I was even more annoyed because not only were we standing shoulder to shoulder with the other runners and soaking wet, but no one else seemed to care that it was raining. Finally, the corrals started moving and we were off.

My saving grace on this run was my fantastic playlist. Just hearing the beat of the first song immediately gave me a shot of energy, and I took of with a smile, yes a SMILE. I just started laughing to myself, thinking, “Am I really about to do this? Run 13.1 miles in the rain?” I guess so.

It rained the entire race. In fact, it poured during some parts. We went uphill, downhill, around sharp corners with big puddles, and alongside the water. Our only relief came when we ran under the occasional overpass. Dad and I stayed together for most of it, but he took off ahead of me a few times. I had never run 13.1 miles before, and especially not in the rain, and knew I needed to be careful and pace myself so I didn’t have to stop and walk. Dad has run three half marathons in a matter of months (and is running another one today!), so I didn’t feel bad about watching him go ahead of me. This was my first, and my goal was just to finish.

The strangest thing happened. As I was running, I was actually happy. I was happy that I had been so disciplined this summer, that I was accomplishing a goal I honestly never thought I’d even set, much less reach, and I was happy that I had some good new music on my iPod. I felt proud of myself for toughing it out, and even more so when I saw people that had to stop at walk as early as mile 2 (I’m sorry, if you’re going to stop at mile 2, why bother?) and mile 6 and mile 10 and I was still chugging along.

And then, I hit a wall. At mile 12, with only 1.1 miles to go, I felt like giving up. I wanted to walk so badly. I was exhausted, I was soaking wet, the rain was weighing down my skirt, and I already knew that we weren’t going to make Dad’s goal time. Couldn’t it just be over? The finish line was in sight, but so was another hill. To get to the end, I had to first trudge up one last hill, one that felt bigger than any of the rest, but in reality was probably the least of them all (but really, a hill at the end? That’s just cruel.). Dad and I crossed the finish line together, clocking in at 2:11:00, averaging a 10 minute mile. I had hoped for a little faster, but the rain was my excuse, and I was just happy to be done.

I DID IT. I ran a half marathon. And ran the whole time. In the rain. With wet, heavy sneakers and a saggy running skirt (the skirt thing is my fault). And I actually enjoyed it.

Ask me if I’ve run since.

Merry Christmas, Courtney!

It's not winter yet, but you would have thought that August 1 is the new December 25, with as many presents as I received yesterday.

In the morning, my mom took me to Sam's Club, Trader Joe's, and Walmart to stock up on groceries before the school year starts. That's a lot of presents. Delicious and practical presents, at that.

Later that afternoon, the mail truck drove up the driveway, which I knew meant that there was a package to deliver. My first instinct was that my electric toothbrush heads had come in and I would finally be relieved from my stupid travel toothbrush (I dream big). I was distracted by a phone call with my best friend, so I barely noticed the large box in mail woman's arms (well, that's definitely not my toothbrush heads, darnit). I cradled the phone between my ear and took the package from the mail lady, expecting one of my mom's feather-light deliveries. Instead, I buckled under the weight as I struggled to balance the mail, steady the box, open the door, and keep the phone tucked under my ear. I made it through the hallway and let the box drop dramatically onto the floor, absentmindedly sifting through the mail as I continued to chat with Jess. As if I ever get mail at this address anymore. If I do, it's usually a wedding invite, and I hadn't seen any Facebook engagement announcements recently.

Hey, wait a minute, I thought to myself. Did that box say...YES! It said MY name! That gigantic and heavy box is addressed to me!

And then, my friends, Christmas came early.

There, in that lovely brown box, was a huge pile of school supplies: crayons, colored pencils, index cards, paper, whiteboard cleaner (!!), highlighters, pencils, pens, construction paper, tissues...you name it, I've got it.




Thanks to my grandparents, who are faithful blog followers and my #1 fans, I remembered what it felt like to bask in the glory of new school supplies. I was like a little kid on Christmas morning, throwing aside the bubble wrap and plastic bags as I dug deeper and deeper into the never-ending box. I was momentarily disappointed that I was home alone and there was no one to present my new treasures to, but that didn't stop me from announcing each item out loud as I pulled it from the box.

Finally, my mom walked in the door and saw me sitting with the contents of the box fanning out around me, smiling like an idiot. She knew the box was coming, but I think she also knew how much more joy I would get out of a surprise (a concept, according to her, lost on both my dad and myself).

Memere and Grampy, this picture says it all:




And that's not all, folks.

Last night, I had dinner plans with my newly married friends Meg & Ryan, two more blessings from my RMC years. Meg was my roommate senior year (and part of the reason I began running--thanks?), and I've known Ryan since freshman year. I had the honor of being a bridesmaid in their wedding last month (hey, happy one month you two!), and absolutely love seeing them together. They kindly invited me over for my third meal in their new apartment, and I was eager to catch up with them since our last run, breakfast and pool date. (Third wheel? Me? Never.) Meg was hard at work in the kitchen when I arrived, sculpting burger patties and stirring homemade gravy after a full day in the office. I immediately started yapping away, as always, commenting on how delicious the meal smells and how great the apartment looks, yada yada yada, when she said the phrase that put the icing on the metaphorical cake of my day:

"Oh, don't forget to take that bag with you. I bought you school supplies!"

Two donations in one day? Man, I'm one lucky lady.

I already adore Meg and Ryan, for many reasons. Clearly the fact that they feed me is one. Other reasons include but are not limited to: our mutual love of One Tree Hill, how much they make me laugh (individually and as a pair), they never make me feel like a third wheel, and they are a big part of the reason that I have happy memories of Randolph-Macon. And now, they buy me school supplies? Dang, they are too good to me. I can't say it enough:



I of course could not resist laying out all the loot, and luckily my mother was there to capture my sheer, childlike joy again.

Phew, too much excitement for one day. I can hear my bed calling my name.

Thank you thank you thank you to my grandparents and my OTH buddies. You have no idea how loved you have made me feel, and how grateful I am for your support.

I think I'll go stare at my stuff one more time.