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.

It happened.

I had my first "moment" about 30 minutes ago.

I had just hung up the phone with my parents. Just minutes before, I got an unsettling call from the bank about my loan for the condo, and of course wanted to tell them because I needed an "adult's" interpretation of the implications (I guess I'm technically an "adult", but as soon as someone starts talking about money in amounts larger than $100, I turn it over to the expert, my dad).

Right before that phone call, I was talking to the TFA teacher who is inheriting my EMS babies this year. It was open house tonight, and she met some of those sweet babies for the first time. Every time she read a name from her list, I felt a bit like those annoying seagulls in the movie Finding Nemo. All I wanted to shout was "Mine! Mine! Mine!" Those are my babies.

I got carried away telling her how S. is brilliant but sloppy and has no control over his own limbs; J. has huge dreams of going to college at Duke, and she deserves to get there; M. is a sneaky little rascal, watch him with those playing cards.

As I was sharing my insight and sometimes completely irrelevant stories about the kids, the new teacher nonchalantly interjected with some of the conversations she had that night. Words that rocked my world.

She told me my kids came bouncing into her room (my old room!) with genuine excitement about math. She said they told her that I was the first teacher that actually taught them math and broke it down so that they could understand it. They told her excitedly about the activities that we used to do that they loved.

The teacher was telling me all this with hopes of acquiring my resources. She wanted to know what I did to build such a positive rapport with them, because she told me it was very clear that I got through to them.

She had absolutely no idea how much those words meant to me.

After the combination of those three phone calls, I lost it.

To be honest, I've been having a tough time getting adjusted to my new job, for reasons that I probably shouldn't post about in a public forum, but eventually will anyways (with the appropriate amount of discretion). The challenges I'm facing are on the opposite end of the spectrum from the ones I faced previously, but they feel so much less rewarding. I said it before, but I've had my moments where I wondered why I even left EMS to begin with. I've always been able to step back and remember why, but after tonight, I've found myself back in a place of doubt. And at the same time, a place of incredible certainty.

I know I would have always wondered "What if" if I hadn't taken this job, so I don't regret it. But after hearing about my kids tonight, that fire was lit in my soul again to fight for them. To love them. And I began to wonder how I could have abandoned them. I feel certain that I made a difference for many of those kids. Not in a "oh, I'm so great, look at me, I changed lives" kind of way. In a "I'm so incredibly proud of how dang hard those babies worked, and I know I pushed them just the right amount" kind of way. I know I made them work harder than they've worked before, but I also know that they can see and articulate that it paid off. And I couldn't be prouder of them for that. They actually like math. They aren't afraid of it. They are excited about it. Those are huge wins. We did it as a team, we did it when no one thought we could, and we did it with very little resources. Those words from the new teacher were a reminder of all of those things.

Now, I have unlimited resources, unlimited support, and a town full of people who believe in our cause, but I feel like a first year teacher again. Because I came from a school that operated on a very different set of systems (re: no systems), there is a huge learning curve, and the presumption that I don't know what I'm doing. My teaching and management styles are different from the expectation, both of which are perceived as inferior. Being new to the school is perceived as synonymous to being new to the profession, which is incredibly frustrating after fighting my way through my first two years.

Don't get me wrong. I'm am very quickly growing attached to these new sweet babies. My advisory class (aka homeroom) reminds me a lot of my honors babies from last year, even though they aren't technically "honors" kids. I appreciate all of the systems that are in place, because they allow me to really focus on teaching, and I have a blast doing my job. But there are things that I don't agree with, that I'm having a hard time adjusting to, that are making me miss my old school, my old staff, my old babies.

I'm not worried, though. I've come such a long way these past few years, and I say it all the time, but one of the biggest lessons I've learned is about perspective. It changes everything. So right now, I'm just remembering that things were not always warm and fuzzy at EMS, and there was a reason I sought out a new job. And that if nothing else, this is a learning experience and is making me even more aware of what I want and don't want in a job. I'm grateful for the doors that have been opened and am looking forward to where this year takes me.

Every vote counts!

I think it's very clear by now that the school in which I began my teaching career has a special place in my heart. The staff and the students have shaped who I am as "Miss H", and I miss them dearly. To say it was a difficult two years would be an understatement, but I would never, ever take a minute of it back. It shaped me professionally and personally in so many ways, and I learned more lessons than I taught.

Part of the challenges facing a school like my old school is the obvious lack of resources. It's a burden that falls on both the administration and the teachers, and one that can affect the quality of education provided to the kids. I was lucky enough to have generous family and friends (you all!) to donate supplies for my classroom my second year, and my kids never went without the essentials. But I vividly remember my principal scrambling for pencils on testing day and running out of copy paper at the end of the school year. Our textbooks were over 10 years old, and there were barely enough for a class set. Our art teacher had to borrow markers from me, the math teacher. It shouldn't be that way.

As if Target wasn't already my favorite store, another reason to love them. They are giving away up to $10,000 to schools across the country, and all we have to do is vote. You can vote once a week, and after a certain number of votes, a school earns Target gift cards. My old school is on the list, and all it takes is the click of a button. Want to help? Simply click here, then click "Vote". That's it. My sweet babies are one step closer to getting the resources they deserve.

Thanks for all your support!

Twas the night before school....

I know I should be sleeping. I know 5:00 is going to come to early, and I'm going to wish I had gone to bed hours earlier. Luckily, I already have the coffee maker loaded with grounds, pancakes in the fridge, and my clothes laid out. Because tomorrow is a big day.

Tomorrow is THE day.

The first day of school.

Ahh!

I can't believe it's here. After weeks of sessions, planning, role playing (yes, we pretended to be kids and ran through just about every scenario possible), more planning, more sessions, and even more planning....the day has arrived!

This is technically my 20th "first day of school" since kindergarten (when you think about it that way...I sound old!). As a student, every year felt a little different, yet strangely similar. I don't remember much about elementary and middle school, but I'm sure there was a healthy mix of nerves and excitement, as I clearly remember from high school and even college. But my two first-days-of-school as a teacher were a whole new level of emotion. I'm not sure I could ever put into words how I felt those first days, but I do remember this. As much excitement as there was, especially my second year, there was also a tiny sense of dread at the pit of my stomach. My first year: what if a kid curses me out on the first day? What if all of my kids are defiant and refuse to do anything I tell them? What if there's a fight in my room? (All of which happened at some point over the course of the year.) My second year: What if none of my kids want to learn? What if they think my jokes are lame? What if I can't get them to where they need to be by the end of the year? What if there's one kid who ruins it for the rest? There was an ever-present uneasiness that stayed with me even in my second year, when I was truly in charge of my classroom and my babies worked hard for me. Because at the end of the day, there was little support outside my four walls, and my kids took advantage of the lack of systems and discipline, as any kid would.

Desipte all of that, I found myself especially nostalgic for my old school today, as they started professional development and we prepared for our first day with kids. I miss the women I work with, I miss my principal, I miss the freedom I had to run my own classroom, and I miss having planning periods where we did nothing but socialize. And of course, I miss my sweet, sweet babies.

Much like when I first joined TFA, there have definitely been moments when I've wondered if I've made the right choice. This job is so much harder than my last job in so many ways. The expectations are ridiculously high for students, which means they are that much higher for staff. The hours are long, we work weekends, and there is always more to be done. Not to mention I still feel like I've abandoned my kids and a community that I fell in love with. My chest tightens every time I think about my volleyball girls, my honors babies, and my fellow teachers. My heart hurts when I think that someone might write my babies off as incapable of learning, and that I'm not there to fight for them. Oh, I have my days.

But then I remember that dread that I had every morning as I walked into school. Everyday was so unpredictable- with kids, with adults, with the district. I had no support, and although I grew leaps and bounds from my first year of teaching, no one was pushing me to be better. I was left to my own devices, because I wasn't a priority. Other teachers "needed" more guidance, so it was up to me to figure it out. In my second year of teaching. I needed support, I needed coaching, and I needed to be held accountable. This move was the best for me professionally, and I know it was the right thing to do.

Now, here I am, the night before my first day at my new school, and I feel not even one tiny ounce of anxiety. Maybe it will come when I wake up, or when I pull up to school, or when I see the buses outside the building, but I know for sure there will not be any dread in the pit of my stomach. I have never felt so prepared for something in my whole life. All the hours we've spent training, planning, and pretending to be misbehaving children have been worth it. I can go into tomorrow with peace of mind. I can walk into school feeling confident in myself and my teammates. I can breathe easy.