Are we there yet?

The days feel interminably long. The nights pass too quickly. Before I know it, it's 8:30 pm, and I haven't eaten dinner or done anything more productive than read a chapter of my book or change the channel to a new show. Everyone is getting sick, and no one feels like getting out of bed to go to work. It can only mean one thing...

Winter Break is almost here.

My advisory partner and I have challenged our homeroom students to read 2 books before winter break because the reading teacher expressed concern that they were the only class that would not be on grade level by the end of the year. We don't want anyone else to know, though, so we refer to it as "scuba diving" when other teachers or students are around. We put a sticker on their desk when they've "caught a fish", and they get to decorate a fish to put on the board when they've met their two book goal. As excited as I am to see my babies reading, this means two things. One, I also have to read 2 books and two, I have to continue to "sell" the importance and excitement of what they are doing. Both energy and time are lacking, and it's making this a difficult challenge for me.

There's nothing like an unexpected sweet note from a student to lift my spirits from the abyss that is the-weeks-before-winter-break.

"Dear Moma bear,

People never tell you how great you are. Well I am telling you that your the best teacher ever (sh don't tell anyone). I hope you acomplish your goal of 2 books. I was wanting to let you know you do feel like a momma bear to me! Here is a list of things I like about you. Smart, funny, pretty and much more. Thanks for teaching me.

Love your baby bear"

Thank you, sweet girl, for reminding me why I do this job, right in the middle of a season when it feels so thankless and exhausting.

Fall Break, Part 1

I’m aware the Fall Break was almost two months ago, and that interest in my adventures has probably waned at this point. Selfishly, though, I like to have a record of events to look back on, so bear with me as I recap Part 1.

I'm not exactly sure at what age I first started to feel like an "adult", but there have been several moments where I knew I had ventured into the long-awaited and much-feared land of adulthood.

Renting a car was one of those moments. Not only because I managed to get myself to the off-site rental car location without calling my parents, but because I had a slew of worries and anxieties that only an adult would have:

Does my insurance cover this? Do I need additional insurance? Does the rental car guy think I'm 12? Does he think I'm crazy for asking all of these questions? Am I supposed to tip him? Is it possible to lock the keys in the car? Is it just me or is that guy driving really close to me? Oh no, is he SWERVING INTO MY LANE?! (He wasn't; I was paranoid.)

Not to mention I felt like I had fallen into the generational gap when the Enterprise man told me I didn’t need keys to drive the car. It was a keyless ignition, and the car started with just the press of a button. It was like the scene in Baby Mama, when Amy Pohler is struggling to figure out the “space car”.

I happened to have two week days off for Fall Break, so I decided to use one of them to visit my old students and coworkers, since I literally pass through the town on the drive from Raleigh to Richmond. I didn't want to be "that teacher", though, that comes back in the middle of the day, walks the halls, and distracts students from their work. So instead, I committed to a whole day of volunteering in a new TFA corps member's classroom, who also happens to teach my old babies. I had heard she was struggling, and I remembered those days oh-so-clearly, so I was excited to both observe her teach and teach my own lesson to model for her.

I could barely contain my excitement on the hour drive to Enfield. I had very strategically planned to arrive Thursday after school so that I could catch up with my teacher friends first. I walked in the back entrance like I always did, and the long hallway that stretched in front of me brought back a rush of memories. Before I had time to reminisce, though, I was running down the hallway to greet my old co-workers, trying not to cry or knock anyone over. I spent the next hour getting the latest gossip, meeting new teachers, and talking a little bit about my life in Nashville. I ended up seeing a group of students who had stayed after for various sports practices, and it made me even more excited about the next day.

Walking in to school on Friday gave me butterflies. I knew the kids would be excited to see me, but I also wondered if they would still show me respect. I worried that they would feel like I had abandoned them and that they would act out in defiance. I approached my old classroom with a mix of anxiety, apprehension, and genuine enthusiasm.

That Friday was one of my best teaching days at Enfield, and I had only scraps of a lesson plan, a handful of lame jokes, and a few new cheers to get them excited about class. The celebrity effect worked in my favor; it certainly played a large role in keeping (most) children in their seats and attentive. But it became very clear how much I have learned in just a few shorts months at my new school.

Leaving my babies was hard. It was even harder to find out just a few days ago that their current teacher is no longer at the school. This didn’t surprise me after my few interactions with her and some conversation with my old principal, but it hit me right in the heart. These babies that had worked so hard last year, had grown so much, and had even started to like math, were being failed by adults again. It’s not their fault, but they will suffer the consequences.

I won’t lie – for more than a split second, I thought about quitting my job and going to be with my old babies. They could easily replace me here, and it’s nearly impossible to find willing and capable teachers to work in a small town like Enfield halfway through the year. And then my adult brain started kicking in – you have a job, new babies, a mortgage, and a life in Nashville. As desperately as I wanted to be there for my EMS kids, I knew that it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought.

I wish there was a happy ending to this story. I guess all I can do is pray that there will be. Hopefully, another teacher steps into the job who can love those babies like they deserve to be loved, and teach them like they deserve to be taught.

Fall Break, Part 2

No, you didn't miss a post. And yes, I'm about a month and a half late. I've been trying to write for weeks now, but the days I have the time I don't have the capacity. So backtrack with me a bit, will you, as I reminisce about Fall Break mere days after Thanksgiving Break and just a few weeks from Winter Break. My four-day weekend for fall break happened to coincide with the wedding of great friend. For years, I have referred to my closest friends from high school as "the girls", but those simple words could never describe just how important these particular girls are to me. This year will be our 10th annual Christmas party, which means we've known each other since the days of braces, Backstreet Boys CD releases, and instant messenger. My love for "the girls" could fill an entire blog, but the short of it is we've been through a lot individually and as a group, and ten years and ten cities later, we are still close friends. The third "girls" wedding was one of the highlights of my break, not only because all nine of us were finally reunited, but because we got to watch Kourtney marry her best friend.

My goal for the weekend, post-Enfield, was to see as many of the girls as much as possible, since I live so far way now and it's rare that we are all together. Eight of the nine of us spent Saturday afternoon hanging out with the bride and her family at a low-key cookout, then met up with the bridesmaids that night for a quick drink. It was great to be together again, with the addition of boyfriends and husbands, and it only built up the anticipation for the following day.

Sunday was an absolutely gorgeous fall day, a perfect day for a wedding. And we looked pretty nice, too :)

We arrived at the outdoor venue and were greeted by the bride and her bridesmaids from the second-floor window of the bridal suite. As always, Kourt looked calm and collected, and you could tell even from hundreds of feet and two stories away that she was stunning. I had seen her dress the day before, but it always looks a million times more gorgeous on the glowing bride, and I couldn't wait for her to walk down the aisle.

The ceremony was intimate and incredibly beautiful. Kourt's sister has an amazing voice, and her version of Jason Mraz's "I Won't Give Up" fit the occasion perfectly. I couldn't get over how calm and content the bride looked the whole time, like this was exactly where she was supposed to be. It's what you hope every bride is thinking on their wedding day, but Kourt's calm confidence was incredible.

The rest of the night was spent celebrating the couple with hilarious toasts and absolutely delicious food...I'm pretty sure we all went back for seconds. Oh, and the dance floor. Must I even mention the dance floor? Even Jenna, who is recovering from a broken ankle and was sporting a boot, spent most of the night dancing (we may have hassled the deejay a bit to play a few of our favorite songs, ahem, MMMbop).

It's always bittersweet to come back from a long weekend (90% bitter, 10% sweet). It's hard to leave behind the people I love the most, and it's a tough transition back to 4:30 am wake up calls and being responsible for your own meals (can't I have catered food for every meal?). But it's also nice to get back to a routine, have my own space, and get back to the work and the job that I love.

Hopefully part 1 of Fall Break is coming soon...

Everybody's working for the weekend....

My first year of teaching was a perpetual countdown. Every Monday morning, my roommates and I would greet each other over breakfast with, "Only 5 more days until the weekend!", and continued our countdown until Friday. We even purchased a wall calendar for the sole purpose of being able to physically cross off days leading up to major holidays, breaks, and self-created "mental health days".

My second year, we welcomed a new roommate who brought a refreshing perspective to the breakfast table every Monday morning: "Only 4 more days of waking up early this week!"

She fit right in.

As exhausting and challenging as the week was, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty for always "working for the weekend". Many times I asked myself, "Is this what I'm working for - the weekend?" It's often what it felt like. I don't remember if I shared this concern through a blog or if it came up in conversation, but I do remember that my dad was the one who eased my mind about it. "Everybody works for the weekend, Court."

He told me that even though he likes his job and the people he works with, he still always looks forward to the weekend. And for some reason, knowing that my hard-working, honest, and genuine father feels the same way made all the difference in the world. Thanks, Dad.

Now in my third year of teaching, I know exactly why we work for the weekends. They are well-deserved. They are brimming with possibility. They are restorative. They are just plain glorious.

I've had some of the best weekends I can remember in the past month or so. My birthday weekend was rather underwhelming, but it was long and restful and fine for my 24th year. I celebrated with a few friends with dinner, margaritas, and gourmet ice cream, after treating myself to spur-of-the-moment haircut (one of my favorite things).

The following weekend, my parents came to visit for the first time since they moved me in. My dad had carefully mapped out a list of things to do and places to eat, and we kicked off the weekend with a delicious breakfast at an East Nashville restaurant that I didn't even know existed. A mere mile from my apartment, it's a quaint one-room cafe, with a friendly staff and specialty dishes, including the banana and nutella french-toast-wrapped-in-pancakes that Dad ordered. That evening, we visited the Nashville classic Bluebird Cafe for live music and drinks, and I was completely blown away by the talent that is tucked into every pocket of Music City.

After a visit to a local cupcake shop Sunday morning, we walked the 0.9 mile to LP field, where we watched Tom Brady and the Patriots breeze past the Tennessee Titans. My first-ever NFL game, and hopefully not my last! It was a beautiful Indian summer day, and I woke up Monday morning with sunburn and a renewed soul for the week ahead.

The next weekend, a co-worker and I went back to the Bluebird Cafe to see Josh Kelley, a pop-turned-country artist who is the true definition of an "entertainer". Hilarious and incredibly talented, it was well worth standing in line for 30 minutes and sitting at the bar rather than one of the reserved table seats. We sat next to an established songwriter and her husband, chatting about her experiences writing for Reba and JoDee Messina and traveling back and forth between LA and Nashville to continue her work. How cool?

Last weekend, a group of us from work drove 30 minutes out to Arrington Vineyards, the winery owned by Brooks of Brooks & Dunn. The gorgeous cabin hosts a free wine-tasting and a wine shop, where you can buy your libations for the evening. There is a tent with live music, and the beautiful grounds are speckled with wooden picnic tables that are open to anyone. We snagged a table, laid out a spread of snacks, passed around a bottle of Arrington wine, and enjoyed a night of conversation that had nothing to do with work.

Saturday night, a couple of co-workers and I went to a local East Nashville coffee shop to see more live music, followed by a gourmet ice cream and a cocktail at a local restaurant. I truly felt like an "East Nashvillian" that night, as I discovered some of the hidden treasures of my new town.

As I'm settling into my new job and my new city, carving out routines and making new friends, it's becoming more and more obvious why I work for the weekends. I love my kids, and on a good day I love my job, but we need a break. Our lives can't revolve around work, or we lose ourselves and our sanity. The weekend is my time to recharge and re-energize, to take a break and to do something for me. I no longer feel guilty about looking forward to weekends, because I've seen just how vital they are to maintaining my sanity and to preparing me for the week ahead.

This weekend's activities require a post of their own, so be on the lookout.

Happy Hour

Thank goodness for like-minded co-workers. Although there are only a few, at least there are people I can commiserate with about the current state of my life. Or lack thereof.

Out of 15 teachers, only five of us have previous teaching experience elsewhere, four of whom were TFA corps members in highly dysfunctional school districts. The four of us tend to stick together, sending sarcastic emails throughout the day, exchanging knowing looks from across the teacher workroom, and sharing stories of how we have most recently been patronized by another staff member. At the beginning of each week, one of us sends out an email with "things to look forward to", including gym dates and weekend plans. Our new coping mechanism: Wednesday night happy hour.

This is not our first happy hour, but it's our first with just the four of us, and it was nice to have the freedom to say whatever we wanted, without fear of it getting back to someone else. My friend Ashley and I even changed into jeans in an attempt to be "normal" people after hours.

Besides the impressive spread we created, we also had an incredible view:

While most of the conversation revolved around school (let's be honest- what else do we have to talk about? It's all we do!), we did manage to change the subject several times. Go us!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

My best friend from the Corps forwarded me this article, and I couldn't help but share it, because so much of it hits home. I'm not sure it's quite as simple as he makes it sound, but I agree with the general idea of the article. This may not be of interest to anyone but other teachers, but it's food for thought.

Silent Support

I've been waiting to write again until I had something worth writing about. A sudden change of heart that renewed my hopes and reaffirmed my purpose here in Nashville. A story or two that would move you to have faith in me, in my kids, and in this crazy school that is currently owning my life.

I've got nothing.

In some ways, things have gotten better. Although I'm pretty sure by better, I really just mean I've adjusted. I'm still working 12+ hour days. Last Thursday, I was at school from 5:30 am to 9:00 pm. Working. Copying. Grading. Trying to stay awake. Nonsense.

My official bus-unloading duties don't begin until 7:20 am, but I started getting to school two hours early when I discovered the silence and stillness that awaits me before most of my coworkers are even awake. Originally, it was a way for me to appear as though I was not letting the crazy workload engulf me. I was able to leave everyday at least by 5:30 pm, if not earlier, while most of the other teachers had to stay late and make copies, grade papers, etc. They thought I was just super efficient; in reality, I was trudging out of bed at 4:45 to take advantage of the quiet building and open copiers.

Two things have happened to change this.

First, other people started to get to work earlier and earlier, encroaching on my peaceful space and crowding the copier before anyone is even truly awake enough to operate it properly. This morning, someone even beat me to work. Panic is rising in my chest as I type this. It's supposed to be my time, my space, my brilliant idea to get to work early so I don't have to stay late.

Oh wait, and then there's the second thing. The fact that the workload has caught up with me, and I can no longer leave early. I still get to work at 5:30, but now I'm not leaving until at least 6. If not later. By the time I get home I'm so exhausted and brain dead that I can't get anything productive done. I can barely get myself up off the couch long enough to cook dinner or do the dishes. But because of this, I only get more behind and have to stay later at work. It's a vicious cycle.

But I'm determined to beat it.

I'm not sure how or when, but I will figure out a system. I will not let this job take over my entire life. Because you do not have to sacrifice your personal life to be a great teacher.

I'll let you know when I figure it out. For now...I could use some silent support. Just hover both hands above your keyboard and wiggle your fingers at your screen. That's a sign we teach our kids for a variety of circumstances, including when a classmate is struggling and needs a little encouragement. That's me, riding the struggle bus. So send that silent support my way.