Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

Why do women rely so much on numbers to define us? It starts out with the number of American Girl Dolls or Beanie Babies we own (child of the 90’s, thank you), then slowly morphs to our grades, our pants size, our weight, our age, and our performance percentages in our respective professions. Do men do this, too?

Today, I did something most women dread doing. I weighed myself. I had stepped on the scale in a moment of curiosity, after examining my body in my full-length mirror post-run and pre-shower (because wet hair definitely adds at least 2 pounds, right?). I knew what I had weighed when I graduated from Randolph-Macon, and I knew how much my lifestyle had changed, so it was only fair to see where that left me.

I used my big toe to turn on the scale, then left foot on, right foot on. I stepped off and watched the numbers shift before my eyes, as if I was seeing the inner workings of the scale’s little mechanical brain. The numbers finally settled, and after a brief pause, a smile spread across my face. Not because I was satisfied with the numbers, but because I realized that the numbers didn’t matter to me anymore.

I’m not the skinniest I’ve ever been in my life, nor the tannest, nor the most flexible. But I’m the fittest, the healthiest, and the happiest I can ever remember. Perhaps a work-free yet paycheck-bolstered summer, filled with traveling, friends and family has something to do with it. Or perhaps it’s coming off the knowledge that I’ve survived my first year of teaching and my first year post-college all at once. It definitely has something to do with training for a half-marathon and a diet that does not depend on a dining hall buffet.

But most of all, it has to do with one little thing: I stopped trying.

I don’t mean I stopped trying at life. Sheesh, that would be dramatic, something that I am not (insert sarcastic laugh here).

What I mean is, I stopped trying to lose weight, to be skinnier, to look like one of those crazy models in Shape or Health. I stopped trying to be the perfect teacher, the perfect young woman, the perfect something I’m not. Instead, I just started to live life a little less rigidly, and a lot more enjoyably. I started trying new foods that I was once afraid of, and now love (guacamole anyone?). I didn’t criticize myself when running 2 miles took the wind out of me. I had a glass of wine after a hard day of work (there were many). I refused to compare myself to other women, physically and otherwise. I set limits for working at home, stuck to them, and took time for myself. And, of course, I still ate dessert every night, without feeling guilty. There were days that I looked in the mirror and wondered how I got where I am, figuratively and literally. There were days I frowned at my thighs or silently cursed my hair. And there were certainly days that I doubted my abilities in the classroom. But there were so many more days that I just shrugged my shoulders and trusted in the fact that I was fearfully and wonderfully made to be just who I am. And those were the days I enjoyed the most.

Summer has allowed me plenty of time to think about how hard this first year was: my first year after the cushiony existence that was college (and really, the past 22 years of being coddled); my first year in a new and wonderfully different community; my first year in a real profession for which I was minimally prepared. But I’m thankful for both the ups and the downs, because they brought me to a place where I am: for the first time, beginning to find comfort in my own skin.

I’m hesitant to profess a love of running just yet. I’ve still got a great big hurdle to jump that I think may ultimately determine whether or not there is running in my future. But I can say that running has taught me some pretty important lessons these past few months, and has played a big role in shaping my thinking. I’ll keep them short and sweet. Take what you want.

* Life, like running, is so much more a mental battle than anything else. Your attitude truly can make or break you.

* Discipline and commitment can make an impossibly large feat (like, say, running a half-marathon) slowly but surely achievable. And even sweet.

* What works for you, may not work for someone else, and vice versa.

* And most importantly: some days, you just gotta drag your butt out of bed and DO IT.

These apply to running, they apply to work, they apply to relationships--in my limited experience, they just apply to life.

I’ll admit, the heat has been making running tough these past few weeks, in a way that I’m not sure the mind can mitigate. I’ve needed a little bit of extra inspiration to get out of bed much earlier than anyone on summer vacation should to try to beat the heat. Here’s what’s keeping me going:

My new running shoes, the exact same pair as the ones I was running in previously, but brighter and much more supportive. Happy birthday to me, and thanks Mom & Dad!




New songs on my playlist. Some people choose to run to their favorite music, regardless of the beat, tempo, or genre. Me? I need something upbeat or inspirational, the kind of music you hear in a movie right before a big game (think any sports movie) or during a total makeover (think “Watch Me Shine” in Legally Blonde). Plus, listening to the lyrics of a new song helps keep my mind off of pounding the pavement. My current faves:

1. It’s My Time – Fabolous feat. Jeremih
2. Cinderella Man (clean version) – Eminem (both songs discovered while watching the ESPYs—does it get more inspirational than that?)
3. I Am Woman – Jordin Sparks (laugh all you want, but tell me you don't feel like a b.a.)
4. Good Life – OneRepublic
5. Survivor – Destiny’s Child (I’m a survivor, I’m gonna make it this last mile)


My best friend is incredibly introspective and really great at recognizing some simple truths about herself, others, and God’s love. I like to think that I channeled my inner Jessica when I wrote this. Even if you’re not a runner (am I a runner now??), I hope you can still find some truth in these words.

When life gives you frozen lemonade...

I'm going to take a page out of my friends' books (blogs) and share a recipe with you that I recently tried and LOVED.

Frozen Lemonade Pie



I was too lazy (or too hungry) to take pictures of my own, so this one is definitely fancier looking than mine, but it was still delicious.

There are two things you should know about me that will explain why I love this dessert so much.


1. I love dessert. Anything sweet will do, but usually I have a craving for chocolate. However, with the recent heat index reaching over 100 degrees, my chocoholism has taken a back seat to any dessert that is cold and refreshing. This one is both.

2. I get bored easily in the kitchen. Give me a recipe with more then 5 ingredients and more than 4 steps and I'm dunzo. I want to just be able to throw everything together and, voila, it's done! I'd rather be reading or running (did I just say running?) or catching up on my favorite TV shows, anyway. Another reason why this recipe is perfect. It's only 3 ingredients (4 if you count the pie crust), involves no measuring, and you really do just throw all of the ingredients together.

Sounds too good to be true? Well, it is too good, but it's also true. Here it goes:

Ingredients:
1 12-ounce can frozen lemonade, partially thawed
1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1 pint heavy cream, whipped
2 graham cracker pie crusts (I prefer the premade one--and yes, this recipe makes TWO!)

I used these brands, and the Giant brand of heavy whipping cream.






Directions:
Blend lemonade and condensed milk in large bowl. Fold in whipped cream. Pour into graham cracker pie crusts and freeze.



(Recipe from Real Simple)

Voila--it's done! It's that easy, and is delicious! One suggestion: if you do use store bought pie crust, save the plastic insert, flip it over, and use it to cover the pie while it freezes. That way you can stack them without anything sticking to the pie (this happened to me--aluminum foil, yuck!).

I'm thinking of trying a variation on key lime pie next, with frozen limeade instead. If you try this, let me know how it turns out. You won't be disappointed!

Back to School Supplies Part 2 (Or, How I Spent Half of My First Year's Paycheck)

Yesterday, I may have lead you to believe that becoming a teacher has taken all the fun out of school supply shopping for me.

As Dwight from “The Office” would say: False.

I still love wandering the aisles of Staples, running my fingers across the row of smooth, colorful binders and flipping through the pages of a brand-spanking-new notebook, as if I’ve forgotten what clean lined pages look like. I still drool over the collection of colored pens, only now I imagine myself using them to write cheery comments at the top of a worksheet and circle my smiley-faced “100%” (as opposed to my days as a student, when I was a professional note-taker and had a color system for vocab terms and important information).

It’s the purchasing part that’s lost its glory. Although I would imagine that part never held much glory for my parents, either.

There is still some fun to be had in the school supply aisle. For example, I found this today at the Dollar Store:




I bought two, and plan to use them as part of my attempt to expose my students to the normalcy of failure, along with the importance of persistence.

However, the expense of setting up and maintaining a classroom is enormous.

It’s tempting to see an ad for $1 packs of notebook paper, 25 cent rulers, 3-for-$1 glue sticks, and thank goodness, $2 whiteboard cleaner, and think to yourself how inexpensive it is to supply a kid with the basics. And, while I am incredibly grateful for all the sales this time of year, it’s just not enough for any teacher. Because our classrooms can’t survive on 2 packs of notebook paper, a single ruler, and 3 glue sticks (and apparently, my with my inventive children, one bottle of whiteboard cleaner is not enough). Need proof?

Last year, I went through 8 packs of glue sticks, 30 rulers, 8 packs of Crayola markers, 8 packs of Crayola crayons, 4 bulk packs of pens, 15 packs of whiteboard markers, 4 packs of construction paper, at least 10 packs of notebook paper, 10 packs of index cards, and a ridiculous amount of pencils. Which, by the way, is just the beginning. It doesn’t include everything I needed to decorate my room to make it feel welcoming, or the supplies needed to keep my systems up and running—file folders, hanging folders (who knew how expensive those were), tubs, bins, and crates of all sizes. Ink to make copies when I was no longer allowed to make them at school (25 bucks a pop). The standard office supplies that we take for granted—paper clips, rubber bands, staples, tape, etc. Small prizes and snacks to reward students for academic achievement or excellent behavior. Cleaning supplies, hand sanitzer and tissues to keep kids healthy (I thought runny noses were limited to elementary schoolers—boy, was I wrong). All of which must be replaced this year. And some of which we had to do without towards the end of the year, when I just couldn’t do it anymore. So yes, these sales seem so generous; but when you have to buy everything in duplicates, they lose their glitz and glamour.

And that’s just me. Imagine how much veteran teachers have spent over the years, or teachers who require more specialized tools that are not provided by low-income school districts. Or elementary school teachers like my roommate, who has to have supplies for every subject.

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. As my kids have reminded me before, I chose this job, and you shouldn’t pity me or my teacher friends any more than you pity a doctor's long hours (and you don't, because they make bank). We do it because we love it, or because we're called to, or because we're good at it. Regardless of the reason, we make the choice to go to work (almost) everyday, just like you do.

However, if you respect or admire what any teacher does, there is a small, yet strangely huge, way in which you can show it.

Buy school supplies.

I’m not talking about maxing out your credit card and delivering supplies by the truckload to your favorite teacher friend. Although any teacher would fall at your feet if you did. But what you may not realize is how much spending $2 - $3 and 15 minutes of your time can really enhance a classroom and, "help a teacher out".

Okay, now I’m starting to sound like one of those Christian Children’s Fund commercials: “Just pennies a day can help feed a child for a year!”

But seriously. It can. And we need your help.

Next time you're at Walmart or Target and you see a great deal on school supplies, just pick one or two things up. Don't buy it if it's not on sale. We certainly don't. And don't spend more than $5. Just a pack of paper and a some pencils, a couple of 25-cent rulers, or whatever the weekly deal is. Nothing you buy should make a significant impact on your grand total. But deliver it to a teacher friend, and rest assured that it will make a significant difference to him or her.

I know what you’re thinking. It would be so much easier just to hand a teacher $2 and say, “Here, go buy yourself a nice new pack of paper and some pencils.” And while I know no one that would turn down some crisp Washingtons, we really need your help in actually buying the items. Here’s why:

Most of the stores have limits on the number of sale items you can buy. I got a great deal on the thin whiteboard markers that my students use for individual whiteboard activities: $1 for a pack of 4 at Staples (they usually run anywhere from $5 - $8). That’s a steal! But, the fine print says you can only buy 2 packs at the sale price. So I can provide 8 out of 25 students with working markers, while the other 17 simultaneously scream various forms of, “This junk ain’t working!” But with your help, and maybe a few other friends, I'll be much closer to appeasing all my kids and breathing a little bit easier when it's time to pull out the whiteboards.

Want to help out a teacher friend, be it me or someone else? Here’s a list of the most helpful items for any classroom teacher, and where I’ve found them the cheapest in the past:

Tissues (Dollar Store)
#2 wooden pencils (Target, 24 pack is less than $1)
Sticky Notes (Dollar Store)
Filler paper, college ruled for upper elem/MS/HS, wide ruled for lower elem. (Walmart, or wherever it’s on sale)
Pencil cap erasers (Target/Walmart)
Anti-bacterial (Dollar Store)
Crayola Markers/Crayons (Target/Walmart)
Rulers (anywhere they are on sale, or in packs at the Dollar Store)


Maybe your teacher friends have never complained about paying for their own supplies (in which case, they are better people than I am--I apologize to all of my friends who have heard me complain numerous times). Alas, I can guarantee you their already low salary takes a hit because of these items each year and throughout the year. And I can guarantee you they will be grateful and humbled by the smallest donation. You might think one pack of paper is miniscule, but I'm pretty sure I'd cry if someone took the time to think of me and my classroom in such a way.

I have already been the recipient of many donations--a neighbor and fellow teacher gave me boxes filled with extra supplies and books, my cousin had her old school donate my whole classroom library, and my parents have by far been the most generous, with snacks, supplies, and even a copy machine to compensate for the school's limit. But some of my teacher friends (and yours) haven't been so lucky. Until now. Until you and your $2.

If you're interested, I'll post the best deals for the coming week so you know exactly where to go and what to look for.

Thanks to everyone who has and will help out me, my kids, my friends, and their kids.

Back to School Supplies, Part 1 (or, The Many Uses of Whiteboard Cleaner)

Back to school shopping used to be one of my favorite activities. The Hiltunen household would scour the ads for the best deals on Sunday morning, then set aside one full day that week for stocking up at Staples or Target or Office Max, or maybe all of the above. We’d come home with plastic bags bulging with fresh notebooks, brand new colored pens, crisp notebook paper, and a color-coded array of folders and binders (maybe that part was just me). I’d spend hours organizing, labeling, and admiring my loot, all the while dreaming of how I'd arrange my backpack for that first day of the new school year. (There were so many compartments in my bright yellow L.L. Bean--where would I put my pencil pouch? What about my house keys? Should I put my binders in the biggest compartment and my folders in the smaller one?) Oh, and is it too early to start color coding my assignment notebook?

Recently, though, back to school shopping has taken on a new light, and not necessarily a good one. Teaching has almost sucked this joy straight out of me. It’s become a little more stressful, knowing that the pack of brand-new, beautiful red checking pencils will somehow end up in the hands of an angsty pre-teen, who will use it to scratch out the name of his or her 7th grade ex-significant other from his or her homework folder. Or that the 100-sheet pack of college-ruled paper will be gone in 2 days, when students play the “well, if you don’t give me paper then I’m not doing any work” card, and I frantically throw a handful of paper at them to contain the chaos (what would you do?). Or, my favorite, when my whiteboard cleaner becomes everything from a desk cleaner to air freshener to a Neosporin substitute. I still get that giddy feeling when I leave the store with all new supplies. But now, as I’m pulling away in my car, I’m also imagining all the ways my stuff will be misused, and all of the money I’ll spend to replace it in a matter of weeks.

You’d think in a school where kids have so little, they’d treasure what they are given. Shouldn’t they be so grateful for that brand new neon yellow pencil topper eraser you just gave them? Shouldn’t they cherish the group work boxes, stocked with Crayola (brand name!) markers and crayons, tape, stickies, and safety scissors? Shouldn’t tears well up in their eyes when you place their very own pristine “tablet” (notebook) on their desk?

Maybe. But usually it goes something more like this: markers uncapped, sticky notes unstuck from each other and stuck to random body parts (hopefully not with the words “kick me” written on them), tape used as a makeshift lint roller in the middle of note-taking…and those beautiful tablets? Ripped, torn, and on the floor with curse words written all over them. (But those erasers, man? They’re like GOLD! They stay on pencils for ages. No kid would dare lose his pencil if it has a pencil topper eraser on the end!)

Thoughts in my head: “Oh YES! This means I get to make another trip to Walmart! I get to dip into my grocery fund to buy more markers and pencils and my third electric pencil sharpener, and then wait in line for 20 minutes at the world’s slowest store (251 Premier Boulevard, Roanoke Rapids)!” Sarcasm, sheer sarcasm. Did we catch that?

I think, however, that I may have found the cure for my supplies woes this year. It has two parts. I’ll start with part 1 for today.

Part 1: Trick students into thinking all school supplies are like gold (not just pencil topper erasers)

Copies are a precious commodity at school (another tragedy for any teacher). So last year, whenever I would pass out a worksheet or guided notes, I would make sure the students understood just how precious that paper was. I made them cradle the paper, rock it back and forth, and lightly stroke it as if it were a “wittle baby” (picture it, it happened). They’d laugh, but I also saw them protecting it from danger later on, and rarely saw the “wittle babies” on the floor. I now know the power of persuasion, and you better believe I will be treating everything in my classroom like a prized possession. Whiteboard markers will be used gently, and you don’t even WANT to know what happens to them if they end up uncapped.. Calculators that fall on the floor will explode. Want to use my markers? Okay, but first you need to salute to Crayola, to prove your respect for the coloring utensils (that may be taking it a bit far, but you catch my drift?). In short, one of my goals for this year is to teach my students to respect and appreciate the tools you are given, not only because they may be taken away, but also out of desire to be a good citizen.

I’ll save part 2 for tomorrow. But know that YOU, my friend, are a very vital part of part 2, and through it I will unleash powers in you that you didn’t even know you had.

What's this about again?

I've toyed with the idea of whether or not an update is in order, since in my mind the point of this blog is to follow my first years as a teacher, and I am currently not a teacher (as in, it's summer and I have no students to teach--not as in, I've been fired from my job. Because I haven't.)

However, it occurred to me that I'm still learning things, even while school is not in session. Some things that are applicable to the classroom, and some things that are just applicable to life.

In my days of freedom and lazy summer days, I've been doing quite a bit of reading. I've finished 8 books and am currently reading 4 more (yes, I read multiple books at a time to mix things up). I've just started reading a new book by Max Lucado, "It's Not About Me." The title instantly struck me, because I've been struggling for so long to get to a place where I could say those very words and actually mean them. Of course I want to believe that I did not choose Teach for America for me, and that everything I do during the year is for my kids. And I absolutely believe it is what I'm called to do. But I also know that in my heart of hearts, it's still easy to put myself first. Sure, I try to make the best lessons possible for my kids, so they will grow and flourish and become scholars. But don't I often choose what's easiest for me to plan and execute, so that I can get more sleep and have a little bit more free time? Don't I often react to my kids out of defense of myself, and not necessarily how they should be treated? Sadly, the answer is yes. And this is not limited to my workplace. I know I'm selfish in every aspect of my life, in some way or another. I'm nowhere near the point of "it's not about me", but I know God is slowly working on my heart. And I also know I'm not the only one (ahem).

Max Lucado's books are often simple and full of really corny jokes and puns. Many people scoff at me when I admit to having read not one, not two, but three Max Lucado books. The truth is, I enjoy the simplicity. In fact, it is precisely that that really makes me analyze the character of God. Plus, who am I to scoff at theological simplicity? I would hardly say my understandings of the Gospel are complex enough to garner any sort of credibility on my own. So for those of us who are just trying to learn more about our Creator, Max Lucado's books are a great place to start.

The first thing that caught my attention in "It's Not About Me" is from the very first chapter. Lucado describes the moon and its function:

"What does the moon do? She generates no light...Apart from the sun, the moon is nothing more than a pitch-black, pockmarked rock. But properly positioned, the moon beams. Let her do what she was made to do, and a clod of dirt becomes a source of inspiration...The moon reflects the greater light.

And she's happy to do so!...The moon is at peace in her place. And because she is, soft light touches a dark earth.

What would happen if we accepted our place as Son reflectors?" (See the pun? Get it?)

Food for thought. Think about that for a minute.


Chapter 3 is all about God's self-promotion. How everything is for His glory. Our creation (Isaiah 43:7, 21), our struggles (Isaiah 48: 10 - 11), and His Son (Hebrews 1:3). I'll admit, I've struggled with this idea before. I mean, I know He's an all powerful, almighty, BIG God, but seriously? Does he have to toot his own horn?

Max Lucado's answer is, well...yes.

He uses the example of a lifeboat pilot. If you were on a sinking ship, "floundering neck-deep in a dark, cold sea", what would you want the pilot to do? Sit quietly? Mumble his apologies as he searched for you? No! You'd want someone who declares his presence and strength, and is confident that he can and will save you.

As Lucado says, "Make no mistake. God has no ego problem. He does not reveal his glory for his good. We need to witness it for ours."

We all need rescuing, in some way, shape or form. Whether we admit it out loud or not, we know it. And once we witness God swooping in to save us, we should be confident in and declaring his greatness, his ability, and his strength.

Lucado makes it look so easy, and it makes so much sense. Yet I still struggle to do all of the above. Sometimes apparent simplicity is more complicated than we might have thought.

Secret Life of the American Teacher

I know you’re wondering: what do teachers do all summer?

I’m wondering the same thing.

I’m home for the summer (Glen Allen, that is) because all of my teacher friends evacuated Eastern North Carolina almost the minute they tasted freedom. Thus, I’ve found myself in a weird, in-between spot. I’ve spent the past 10 months on my own, creating a new life that involves both a career and plenty of bills. Yet here I am, home again, with the summer off, much like any other summer in high school or college. While all of my friends work 9 to 5 jobs, I’m trying to figure out how to best spend this short but sweet time off.

I turned down the offer (request?) to teach a summer school program for rising 6th graders, mainly because I couldn’t imagine having to go back to work just days after I had that ever-so-sweet taste of freedom. In my head, I deserved a summer off after such a challenging first year, not to mention the fact that I had only about two weeks of summer last year because of Induction, Institute, and Round Zero (all fancy TFA terms for torture). All of my first-year teacher friends agreed.

So instead, I’ve found that most days, I split my time between three main activities: shopping, reading, and running.

The first is obviously very expensive and not necessarily the most responsible use of my time and money. However, I can’t help but take advantage of the plethora of stores at my fingertips. Because in less than 2 months’ time, there will be 45 minutes between me and the closest Target, and I will certainly suffer retail withdrawals.

The second activity, however stimulating it may be for the brain, makes me feel a bit lazy. I take that back. It makes me worried that I appear lazy to other people. I could spend hours and hours reading on the back porch, and sometimes I do. I also love to go the library, which I’ve done at least 4 times since I’ve been home. But I do feel a little self-conscious about my apparent lack of purpose. Is that man in the armchair wondering why I’m not at work? Is the lady banging away at her laptop silently cursing the youth of America and their sense of entitlement? (I feel ya sister—“Gimme a pencil.” “Miss H, where’s my cupcake?”) And then I remember three things: 1. I look all of 17 years old, so they probably assume I’m a teenager out of school for the summer. 2. I just worked my butt off for twelve straight months and I couldn’t care less what they think. 3. Why aren't the man in the armchair and the woman banging away at her laptop at work?

Anyways, I’ve managed to read four books in just a couple of weeks, and I’m currently working on two more. Have you heard of the Hunger Games trilogy? If not, you should read them. Amazing. I’m working on #2, Catching Fire. I’m also doing a little professional development by reading/taking notes on Teach Like a Champion. So at least I’m being a little productive!

I have a love/hate relationship with my third activity. My family loves to remind me that when I was little, I refused to play t-ball when I found out that I had to run the bases after I hit the ball. Any chance I had at being an all-star athlete like my sister was shot with that declaration. And even though I swam for many years and played volleyball in high school, I never had the determination and motivation it takes to really be an athlete. So my recent dedication to running may take some by surprise.

During the school year, running became an escape for me, a way to release all of the stress of school. I didn’t enjoy it, but it became somewhat of a necessary evil, a survival mechanism. Then, sometime in the cold, bleak winter months, when the lack of sunshine and abundance of pre-teen attitude muddled the clarity of my mind, I agreed to run a half-marathon with my dad. I don’t even recall much hesitation on my part, which is a bit troubling. Especially considering I’ve run the Ukrops Monument Avenue 10K twice, and swore I’d never run another race. Numerous people told me that races are so much fun, that the adrenaline and the atmosphere keep you going. I, however, hated every minute of both races, and was either too tired or too nauseous to feel any significant sense of accomplishment as I crossed the finish line.

Yet here I am, training to run 13.1 miles, or, to put it in perspective, to run over 2 hours without stopping. Ummm…what?

I wouldn’t say I am excited. Indifferent is more like it. I’m not dreading it, but I’m certainly not counting down the days like we did for the end of the school year. I will say, however, that I have never felt healthier in my life. The half marathon has given me a reason to stay in shape, and I actually do feel proud each day that I finish the distance suggested on my novice training schedule. Sundays are my long run days. I’m about halfway through training, and tonight I ran a whopping 6.3 miles—the farthest distance I’ve ever run in my life (granted, it’s only a tenth of a mile further than a 10K, but still). And in about 6 weeks, I’ll be in Providence, Rhode Island, running side by side with my dad, accomplishing what I bet no one would have ever imagined I would do the day I walked off the “field” in our front yard and refused to run the bases.

I have no idea what the average American teacher does during summer break. I do know that most of my friends are traveling and enjoying the days without lesson planning, breaking up fights, and waking up at 5:30 am. In the weeks to come, I'll surely continue my shopping, reading, and running. But I'll also be visiting friends in other states (even cross-country!) and making the most of this down time.

And if you feel jealous of the time off that teachers have, let me speak for my teacher friends and say, we deserve it. If there's one thing I've learned that I can't stand, it's when people imply (or flat-out say) that teachers have an easy job because of our two-month summer break. Ha. Get real.

The Last Days

Last Friday I depressed you with my story about my “baby”, my favorite student. The funny thing is, I had just come back from a fantastic field trip to Busch Gardens with some of the best and brightest of Enfield. But I couldn’t get the retention meeting out of my head. As I was catching up with a good friend that night, I couldn’t help but get choked up as I told him the story of Bobby. I worried all weekend, and showed up Monday morning expecting some answers and a chance to talk to Bobby. I reported to my morning duty post at 7:25, where the same 200 students walk by me everyday on their way to breakfast. Bobby is usually one of those 200. But when I didn’t see him with the rest of the boys from his bus, I had a sinking suspicion that something had happened on Friday.

Twenty minutes later, as I stood at my classroom door greeting my homeroom students, my suspicion was confirmed: Bobby was suspended for the rest of the year for fighting on Friday. The girls in my class swear it wasn’t his fault, that another student came up to him and instigated, and that Bobby refused to take the bait at first. I felt a small sense of pride hearing them recount the event. Although they could have been biased and painted it in a different light, I honestly believe that Bobby has learned something this year and may have even thought of how much it would disappoint Miss H if he got in trouble. Regardless, something happened that got him in trouble as well, and it took everything in me not to tear up when I realized that I wouldn’t see him again until August. I was mostly upset that I wouldn’t get to prepare him for the reality that could soon be his: retention in the 7th grade. But there was nothing I could do, so I took a deep breath and braced myself for a crazy week.

Monday and Tuesday were relatively normal days. We had an awards ceremony Monday afternoon and a celebration for the kids who participated in the reading fair Tuesday afternoon, so both of those days felt easier than most. Then came the whopper: Wednesday, the last day. My roommates and I hopped around the house that morning with big smiles on our faces. We said over and over again, “If we made it through 179 other days, we can certainly make it through one more.”

That was very nearly a false statement.

Wednesday was one of the hardest days of the year. The only thing that made it easier was knowing that freedom was so close. Eighth grade promotion was in the morning, and because of space limitations, we were not allowed to go. Starting around 8:30, parents began arriving to the school, and because our classrooms have doors to the outside, my kids kept yelling, “Oh there go my mamma! There go my auntie! I need to go talk to my cousin!” and running out the door. I had prepared awards and baked cupcakes for my homeroom, and allowed them to act crazy because I knew I only had to survive one more class period with them, ever. Until at 9:10, when they were all packed up and high on sugar, I was informed that we were not switching classes all day.

Almost five more hours with those same kids that I had let run wild, thinking I’d be rid of them in 90 minutes. Great.

After promotion, 8th graders and their parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and other “grown folks” were wandering the halls, once again encouraging my students’ desire to flee the classroom. I had to lock my door to keep random people from entering my classroom, and chased many of my kids back into the room when they decided to leave. It was complete and utter chaos, and there was no end in sight. I looked at the clock and it was only 10:15….10:43….11:20…still two more hours until lunch! My kids were having a dance party, playing cards, watching videos on the computer, texting, and of course, wandering the halls. I eventually gave up, sat myself at my desk, and started working on this blog, catching up on others, and scanning the news headlines. The day was so anticlimactic. By the end of the day, I was too annoyed and exhausted to truly appreciate the freedom that was mine. And I had a meeting with new Teach for America Corps Members right after school, so there wasn’t even much time to process what was going on. .

The beauty of it all really hit Thursday morning. Although I still woke up before 7:00, it was a full hour later than usual, and it felt good to “sleep in”. My workday was very productive, and everyone was in a good mood. I spent the majority of today doing paperwork with my 7th grade team members—we like to turn everything into a social event. We sat around, groomed the students’ cumulative folders, and chatted, joked, sang, etc. The women that I work with are one of the main reasons that I love my job so much, and I am starting to get sad as I think about next year. My mentor teacher and my saving grace, Mrs. Wiggins, will be leaving to pursue the final part of her masters in school leadership. Mrs. Robinson is moving over to the elective team to work with AVID (Advancement Via Individual Determination—an elective created for hard-working students in low income schools who are on track for college), and Ms. Mason is debating whether or not she wants to stay. I know that at the end of next week, when we all say goodbye for the summer, I’ll be crying my eyes out, whether at school or when I get home. I would never, ever have grown so much as a teacher and a person this year without my team.

I found out today as I was stuffing the cumulative folders that Bobby has been selected for promotion to the 8th grade. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel the sense of relief that I thought I would. Instead, I felt wistfulness about having to let him go, and fear knowing that no other teacher in his life may ever stay on him like I did, believe in him like I do, or love him despite his ability to drive anyone absolutely crazy. It breaks my heart to think of such potential lost. I’m sure I’ll poke my head into his classes next year to check on him, and I’ll still give him a stern talkin’ to when I know he’s not on his A-game. And I can't help but wish I had done more for him. But really all I can do now is pray. Bobby has a lot of odds to overcome and a lot of growing up to do, with very little support. What I wouldn’t give to sit at his high school graduation in five years and know he’s headed off to a four-year college, his ticket out of this town and this life.