Okay! I Was Wrong! Will Someone Take the Fork Out of My Eye? Please!

A couple months ago I received an email from another school in the district seeking teachers for a Saturday Extended Learning school. I am always a little leery of emails from schools asking for teachers help because it makes me wonder why the teachers that teach at that school don’t fill the positions. Because I happen to admire all the administrators at the school that was soliciting teachers, I thought about applying for one of the positions. I have to admit the money swayed my thinking, also. When Janet said she wanted to do it I was in. Another fifth grade teacher from my school, Ally, applied to teach also. They were going to have two teachers teach together per grade level so I was sure Ally and I would be teaching fifth grade together.

There was a pre-planning meeting on a Saturday. We found out Ally and I wouldn’t be teaching together. Bummer! But the person I was assigned to teach with was someone I knew and admired, so I was fine with it all. During the planning meeting we were informed that we would be teaching about twenty power standards over nine Saturdays, three hour each Saturday. This is virtually impossible, but I knew what the administration really wanted. We needed to place (cram) as much information into the students’ minds to make some kind of dent on the AIMS (state test of achievement). Probably what the students really needed were some test taking strategies. Let’s face it the students were the bottom of the pack and it was going to be impossible to teach seven months of standards into nine Saturdays. 

Miguel and I were given the lowest fifth grade group. This is something I am used to experiencing. I am usually given the lowest and toughest students. When one has a reputation of being able to handle the “difficult” students one’s classroom is generally filled with the darlings. (I have always wondered what kind of class I would have, if I had a reputation of not being able to handle the “difficult” students.) When I work with another teacher I always over plan because I want to make sure I don’t make a fool of myself. I was teaching at a different school with a teacher from another school and for administrators that highly respect which caused me to plan even more. I spent more time planning for three hours of Saturday school than I did planning for two weeks of teaching in my own class.

I am always nervous when I teach at a school where the students don’t know me. It is easy for me to go into any class at Tomahawk (except for kindergarten, those little imps are mean) and rock a lesson. My reputation precedes me and the students know what I expect and they know not to mess with me. When I teach at a different school the first thing the students see is “handicapped” teacher and they usually think, “Oooooooooo, someone I can take advantage of today.”

The plan for the first day was: 1. Teach a group lesson on poetry. 2. Both teachers would do two small reading groups with grade level nonfiction text. 3. Teach a group lesson on problem solving. 4. Both teachers would do two small groups in math. At the end of the day all of the fifth grade students would be tested on the reading standard for the day and based on their scores would be moved around the next Saturday for large group reading instruction with Miguel and I always having the group with the most need.

I knew I was in trouble on the first day when Ally and I were sending students to their prospective groups and after Ally placed a young man in my group he asked who his teacher was going to be, and when Ally pointed to me he replied with a smirk on his face, “HE is going to be the teacher, but he is in a wheelchair.” I was wearing a dress and the young man was not an ELL student so there was no reason for the gender confusion. We were supposed to have twenty students and only twelve showed up. I was thinking this was going to be easy money. That’s what I get for thinking!

The ten boys and two girls were the most difficult group of students I have ever come across in my thirty-five years of teaching. (That even includes the year I had the African-American female mafia.) First, the girls refused to speak as did most of the boys. The only boys that spoke were the ones that really shouldn’t have spoken. Mainly they just enjoyed listening to the sound of their own voice. Their behavior was atrocious. Miguel and I were constantly stopping and talking to individual students. I felt like I was riding on an out of control train that was about to catapult off a cliff at the end of the track. At one point, I wanted to jump with no regard to road rash or the fact that I was leaving poor Miguel behind. The poetry lesson was a flop. The small reading groups with grade level nonfiction text were impossible because most of the students couldn’t read. In the middle of the problem-solving lesson I felt a sense of doom and with a teary eyed glaze I looked at Miguel knowing that he was going to have a smile on his face that would make me want to continue. The smile wasn’t there. There was a look of doom across his face and he mouthed, “I don’t know what to do.”

All the teachers that were teaching the fifth grade groups were from a different school. That right there should be a warning flag. When we got together to discuss the day and plan for the next week I felt defeated and was wondering what I did wrong. Then I heard from the other teachers and found out we were on in the same canoe without a paddle plummeting down a raging river. Ally was sitting next to me mumbling, “I never, I never . . .” At that point I would have rather had someone stick a fork in my eye than go back the next Saturday.

When I went back to my own school on Monday I had a much greater appreciation for where I was and what I had. I told all my bad boys and girl how much I appreciated them because they were nothing compared to what I had experienced. At one time Colleen and I were planning to transfer to the “Saturday school” school so we could team-teach together. I told Colleen, “I’d rather you stick a fork in my eye and sit me in the middle of a Wal-Mart with no exits than transfer.”

Then it happened. It always happens when it comes to working with kids. Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching, if I have learned anything, it’s that kids are kids and they only need three things: structure, respect, and expectations for greatness. Oh, and it helps to have snacks, especially, with low-income kids. The next weekend, armed with snacks, Miguel and I laid out our expectations for behavior and greatness with an iron fist. We also so told the students why they were and how to keep from being there ever again. (Everybody has to have goal.) If a student stayed in their seat longer than 30 seconds we’d pat ‘em on the head, give ‘em praise and toss ‘em a treat. (I know the reader might hate to hear this but training kids and husbands is just like training puppies.) Miguel and I also threw all our hours of planning out the window and did what we do best which is fly by the seat of our pants. I brought lots of read-alouds and he brought his great mathematical mind and we made it up as we went along. During our hour of planning time every Saturday while others planned lessons we discussed individual students and what our strategy was going to be with each student.

Then the “aha moments” started coming. Miguel taught the class a different way to multiply other than the standard algorithm and a light clicked on. One student was so excited that she could multiply that she took home extra work so she could go home and teacher her 12 siblings and her parents how to multiply. Students were interacting with my read-alouds. Our students were passing the weekly tests and being sent to the “higher” level classes. As these “aha moments” continued, the “twinkle” returned. That “twinkle” in our eyes and our hearts. That “twinkle” that has kept me doing what I have done for the past 35 years.

“It was the worst of times and the best of times.” (Sorry, Charles Dickens, but I had to switch your quote around.) As I got up early every Saturday still counting down to the last Saturday, God whispered in my ear, “You know what you have to do don’t you?” Finally, it was over and I was glad but “you know who” kept pestering me, and when I got home I filled out a transfer form to go and teach at Frank Borman K-8 School. It was practically impossible for things to fall into place in order to go. It would take a miracle! Yesterday it was made official that I will be teaching fifth grade at Borman. But wait! There’s more! I will be teaching with one of my best buds and sistah, Colleen, whom I admire and respect so much. We have team taught in the past and I loved every minute of it. That God! What a Guy!

Next year will be one of the hardest years of my career but one I am already looking forward to experiencing. It’s been awhile . . . .

Oh, by the way, could someone get me out of Wal-Mart and pull this fork out of my eye?

Paco’s Perspective

Just remember I better not hear any whining from you next year.

The Flip Side

Take me lizard hunting and you can whine all you want!

Oh, Sure, Caren! Now You Want to Stalk Clinton Kelly With Me!

I’m sure it is no surprise to my readers that I have a huge crush on Clinton Kelly of The Chew.  Well. . . . it’s not really a crush I just want to be his best friend.  AND I wanted to be besties with him before he was on The Chew. He caught my eye long before The Chew. His appearance on The Chew has just fortified my knowledge that we would be great best friends. About a year ago I wrote a blog about my desire to be Clinton Kelly’s BFF. I just happened to be watching The Chew and he was talking about his love of ironing which was my favorite thing to do when I could iron. (I longer have the strength to lift the damn iron. I hate when I drop the iron on my lap while ironing.) AND on the same show he brought up his love of Judge Judy and it just so happens, if I couldn’t have Clinton Kelly as my best friend, Judge Judy would be my next choice!

My blog, Chew on This, Clinton Kelly, Please!, (Yes, I cleverly titled it so someone would let Clinton Kelly know about it.) was posted and Clinton Kelly actually posted a comment on my blog after some strong pressure to do so by his niece. At that point, I was sure we were going to become best friends, even though, he wrote that we could be “best friends in spirit”. What does that actually mean “in spirit”? I think it is a polite way of saying, “Yea, right, Cathy, when pigs fly!” I knew it didn’t mean the next time he was in town he was going to give me a call and we’d go shoe shopping. Delusionally (Yep, I made up this word.), I continued to send him messages on facebook and sometimes he would respond, but it wasn’t a BFF response. It was a kind, polite “O.M.G., I wish this woman would stop cyber-stalking me. Doesn’t she get what BFF ‘in spirit’ means?” response.

I have expounded on my “Clinton Kelly BFF Crush” to my sister, Caren. When we are out shopping together I always say, “Well, Clinton Kelly would say . . . .”, and she responds, “Who is Clinton Kelly and who really cares?” I even tried to convince her to get tickets to The Chew when she and Rhonda were in New York. It was a selfish reason because I know Caren would have caught Clinton Kelly’s eye (She is the type of person that catches eveyone’s eye.) and she could have told him that she was my sister and then my dream might have come true with a big emphasis on might have. But her response to my text, I am sure, was a big eye roll and, “No way! We’re getting tickets to the Today Show because Matt Lauer is so much cuter!” 

Just recently, I received a text from Caren stating that she has been watching The Chew and she NOW gets my Clinton Kelly BFF Crush. She NOW thinks he is the greatest. She NOW tivos The Chew. She NOW says that she wishes she had bought tickets for The Chew instead of the Today Show because the almost bald Matt Lauer is no way as cute as Clinton Kelly. Oh, sure, Caren, NOW you want to stalk Clinton Kelly with me!

Don’t worry, Clinton Kelly, crippled kids can’t stalk. It is so hard for someone in a wheelchair to be inconspicuous. We can’t hide in the crowd. We can’t jump into a cab and shout, “Follow that cab!” We can’t weave in and around people in a crowded mall without hearing, “Hey, that’s my toe you just ran over!”

Anyway, if Caren and I were in the same room with Clinton Kelly, he would be immediately drawn to Caren. (Everyone is immediately drawn to Caren those of us that hang out with her are used to it.) Then Caren and Clinton Kelly would become besties and I would have to be the tag-along. I hate when that happens!

I would just like to restate my position on why Clinton Kelly should be MY BFF:

Clinton Kelly loves to iron and I love to iron.

Clinton Kelly loves Judge Judy and I love Judge Judy.

Clinton Kelly is crafty and I do crappy, oh, I mean, crafty projects.

Clinton Kelly has a dog that he loves and I have “daboyz” that I love. (Clinton Kelly, “daboys” are my dogs Paco and Flip.)

Clinton Kelly loves to cook and I love to eat.

And I know it’s not evident in my writing but I have a very sarcastic sense of humor and so does Clinton Kelly.

Reasons why Clinton Kelly might not want to be my BFF:

I have zero fashion sense. I used to be a fashionista but now I’m a fashion-no-waysta.

I don’t drink. But I don’t mind watching people drink. (Clinton Kelly, you are friends with Karla and she doesn’t drink.)

I don’t have a crush on Olivia Newton-John.

So, Clinton Kelly, the reasons to be my BFF out weigh the reasons not to be my BFF.

Because I love my sistah and soon to be fellow stalker, I’ve got to give her an equal chance, so here are reasons Clinton Kelly would rather have Caren as his BFF:

Caren is F-U-N! (Among the Cunnigham Girls I am NOT the fun one.)

Caren has fashion sense, I think, but this is coming from someone with absolutely no fashion sense, so we would have to see what Clinton Kelly would say.

Caren is athletic. She hikes, she runs, she golfs, she plays softball, she leaps tall buildings in a single bound.

Caren has a dog that does everything with her.

Caren loves cocktails.

Caren loves to cook. Did I mention that I love to eat?

Oh, great I just convinced myself that Caren would make a better BFF for Clinton Kelly. So, I shall no longer continue to make pleas to Clinton Kelly to be my BFF. But, Clinton Kelly, if you happen to be walking down the street and you feel like someone is watching you, and you hear someone shout, “Hey, that’s my toe you just ran over with your wheelchair!” If you look behind you, I’ll be the one in the wheelchair “inconspicuously” weaving in and out of the crowd trying to keep up with you. 

Paco’s Perspective

Even though I am stocky, I have stealth-like moves and I could help you stalk Clinton Kelly. 

The Flip Side

I stalk lizards so I am sure I can stalk a Clinton Kelly, whatever that is.

The Spirit in Spirituality

I’ve been on a new quest during the latent stages of my life. That quest is to be more spiritual. I have been reading, watching TV shows, and thinking about spirituality. Just recently I have come across Oprah Winfrey’s Super Soul Sunday where she was discussing spirituality with three new up and coming spirituality gurus: Gabrielle Bernstein author of Spirit Junkie, Mastin Kipp blogger of The Daily Love, and Marie Forleo creator of Marie TV. I learned quite a bit about my quest: What is spirituality, really? Do I have to go to church every Sunday to have spirituality? How can I be sure I have spirituality? These new gurus answered all my questions and more.

Spirituality is how loving one is. Spirituality is loving and accepting all even during the bad times. People first find spirituality through religion but to expand that one must bring one’s heart and love to every part of their day, even those days one wonders why one woke up. Religion is something one is taught and spirituality is something one learns and teaches oneself. One can be spiritual without going to church every Sunday. (I always feel guilty about that one.)

To become spiritual one must do three things. First, as Joseph Campbell (The spirituality gurus of all spirituality gurus) says, “follow your bliss” and one needs to bring passion to everything one does. Next, one must be grateful for what one has in life instead of whining about what is missing. Then pay attention! One needs to give one’s full attention to whatever is happening at any moment. Stop texting while driving, listening to a friend or talking to a store clerk. Finally, one can’t be afraid to take risks when following one’s bliss. “The cave you fear to go in, holds the treasure that you seek.” – Joseph Campbell

When I think of who would be my spirituality role models I would have to say it would be both my sisters, Caren and Chris. Years ago when Caren accepted Christ into her life she said, “It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders.” I believe that was God telling her that he loved her and she was going to be okay. At that moment she was given validation to be who she is. Caren does everything with passion from playing golf to making friends with every store clerk or bank teller in which she comes in contact. Caren has two jobs and she doesn’t even need to have one. She goes to those jobs with a love for what she has to do. Work is not work to her. It is an opportunity to meet new people and spread her passion for life to others. Caren makes friends with everybody. There will be a time when I will wait in the car while she just runs into the store to get something and she’ll not come back for an eternity saying, “Sorry but I was talking to my friend in the produce department,” and when I ask, “What friend?” She’ll respond, “The guy I just met next to the chile peppers!” Caren will ask perfect strangers over for dinner. She loves everybody and everything with all her heart. Then there is my older sister Chris, who loves everybody. If she could, I think she would kiss every client on the way out of the office and say, “God be with you and buckle your seatbelt,” but my nephew and her son Michael who happens to also be her boss wouldn’t like that. Chris has faced many hardships over the years but has always looked at those hardships as a direction to a new path that she needed to take in her life.  On the spirituality scale of one to ten I think these “sistahs” are both a nine.

On the spirituality scale I think I am about a 5.5. I try to be passionate about everything, but then I think about my new experience teaching Saturday school (subject of a new blog) and I believe I let those kids suck the spirit out of me. I don’t do well at paying attention. I am always thinking about fifty things at one time and especially, how I am going to respond that I don’t really listen. Honestly, I have trouble loving everybody. I guess I might be a 3.5 on that scale. The only way to go is up and besides I love a challenge!

I personally believe that we all must find the spirit in spirituality. Not the “Holy Spirit” but the “rah, rah, sis, boom, bah” spirit. Just think, if we all gave a cheer on the way to work or before getting in the dentist’s chair. What would happen if we kept that cheerleader smile on all day long? How would people feel, if we continually cheered them on? Give me an S, give me a P, give me an I, give me an R, given me another I, give me a T. What’s that spell? S-P-I-R-I-T!

Paco’s Perspective

Sitting on someone’s lap is my bliss. I pay attention to when it is dinnertime. I love that everybody loves me.

The Flip Side

Chasing lizards is my bliss, duh! I pay attention to lizards. I love lizards and dinner. Give me an L, give me an . . . I don’t know how to spell lizard.

Your Joy Is Up to You

 

Joy – noun - the emotion of great delight or happiness caused by something exceptionally good or satisfying; keen pleasure; elation

Recently, I have allowed my frustrations to take my joy. On December 6^th, 2012 I was admitted into the hospital with double pneumonia. I am used to being in the hospital with pneumonia. In the past it has occurred once a year. A couple years ago it became twice a year and this past year I have been in the hospital four times with pneumonia. This last time in December was the hardest and it has been most difficult to recover.

When I was first admitted I had so many praying for my recovery, unfortunately, I was praying for the opposite. I was tired of gasping for air, coughing, choking, and fighting for my life. I had allowed my illness to take away my joy. A friend’s son came to see me on the night before a difficult procedure that was suppose to take the fluid out of my lungs. I hadn’t seen this young man for many years, and he entered my hospital room very upset and said, “Man, Cathy, you have always been a fighter. You are my hero. You can’t give up!” That’s when I knew I had allowed my situation to rob me of my joy.

At that point I gave it to God. To quote a country western song, I decided to “Let Jesus Take the Wheel” (Why does one always refer to country western songs in times of trouble?). I was okay with whatever happened one way or the other. I was ready to fight.

I was released from the hospital on December 16^th. I stayed home from the 16^th to January 6, 2013. There were some very rough times. I was so tired and there were times when I couldn’t even hold my head up. One day I even had to ask for a hug. And again, like the fool that I am, I started to allow my situation to snatch my joy. What was I thinking? People wanted to take me to the movies, lunch and shopping and I was afraid to leave the house. I had depleted my self of my joy.

I was up early this morning coughing, choking and flipping channels when I came across Joel Osteen giving a sermon on Joy and not letting bad situations, or mean people take away your joy! Jesus took the wheel, again. God never said, if we followed him we wouldn’t have bad things happen to us. He has only promised to be there to comfort us when they do. It is my responsibility to keep from allowing bad situations or people to keep from absconding with my joy.

I have a dear friend that I have philosophical text discussions with just about every Sunday morning. We are from completely different worlds but are so much alike. I secretly call her the “Quote Queen”. I always share with her my spiritual epiphanies and she always sends me a bevy of quotes about my epiphany and then texts her own amazing thoughts. This morning I was sharing my new epiphany on being responsible for one’s own joy and she sent me the following quotes:

“It depends on how we look at things, not on how they are themselves.” Carl Gustav Jung

“It is our attitude at the beginning of a difficult undertaking which, more than anything else, will determine its successful outcome.” William James

“”We don’t laugh because we’re happy – we’re happy because we laugh.” William James

“Man can alter his life by altering his thinking.” William James

I’ve told students in the past and the one’s I teach now that attitude is everything and here I am not practicing what I preach. My new epiphany: To find joy in everything I come across and everyone I meet. Or as Caren would say, “Stop being a pissypants!” If the reader is a friend, family member or someone I work with, I may need gentle reminder of my joy epiphany. One is welcome to nudge or shout, “pissypants”.

DON'T LET ANYONE OR ANYTHING TAKE YOUR JOY!

Paco’s Perspective

I find joy in twirling three times before entering or exiting a room. I find joy in licking the grout. I find joy in drinking Caren’s wine. Y’all call it obsessive compulsive I call it joy.

The Flip Side

I find joy in lizard and rabbit chasing and long runs with the golf cart. I wish everyone would make it their responsibility to make sure that I am joyous. Ooooops, I forgot my joy is my responsibility, but I can't reach the gate lock.

Meet You at the Burger King in Flagstaff

The other day my friend, Lauri, posted some old wedding pictures to commemorate her thirtieth wedding anniversary.  I wrote on her post, “I remember when . . . . .” Lauri’s mom, Mrs. Patrenos, was the nurse at the elementary school I attended and first worked at many years ago. I met Lauri when I transferred to Peralta Elementary. Lauri was a student teacher at the time for my soon to be best friend, Peggy Hillis. Part of Lauri’s student teaching duties was to occasionally make lunch runs to our favorite Mexican food restaurant, Popo’s.  That is the day I became Peggy Hillis’s best friend. Anyone that wouldl send a student teacher to Popo’s for the best cheese crisps and green chili was itching to be my best friend and so was any student teacher that made that run.

Lauri and Peggy were the part of the original “sistahhood”. We called ourselves The Nightriders. There were about eight of us. We were young new teachers that worked hard and played even harder. We drove the older established teachers crazy with our pranks and birthday parties for member of The Nightriders that took over the teachers’ lounge. We were even called out by administration for considering ourselves a “special” group. But as Peggy said to our principal whom we also considered our second dad, “Anyone can be a member they just have to fill out an application, go through initiation, and wear the official pin." (Aside to my new sistah, Illona, yes, we had an official pin which you were going to design for the “new sistahhood.)

This brings me to the “remember when” with Lauri and her husband Terry. As Nightriders we got together monthly, at first it was for happy hours then when husbands came along it was game nights and after children arrived it became family camping trips. One spring day Peggy decided we were going to go camping. Peggy loved to camp I on the other hand saw no reason to camp when it was just as easy to spend the evening around a fire pit roasting marshmallows and then spend the night in my own nice, comfortable bed. Why would anyone want to pack up husbands, kids, dogs, and friends to spend a frigid night sleeping on rocks and a day finding some place to pee in the woods and don’t even think about pooping? But I was outnumbered, so the families loaded up their vans and Lauri, Terry and I packed up my van and we were off.

We were going to camp at a serene out-of-the-way place called Locket Meadows outside of Flagstaff. When we left Peggy’s driveway she said, “If we lose touch on the road, (This was before mobile phones.) we will meet you at the Burger King in Flag. At the time, I was able to drive, Lauri rode shotgun and Terry was in the back with the boxes of food and supplies. I didn’t know Terry that well, but I learned a lot about him on that trip. Number 1, if a man wants to get into the snacks and munch on the trip up, let him, if not, he becomes an angry, hungry bear and throws canned cheese at you when you tell him to stop digging in the food.

It is important to know that driving was the one thing that I could do all by myself without assistance. It was my freedom and I had a tendency to drive like a bat out of hell. In all the years that I drove FAST, I was only stopped once but never received a ticket. Also, I did not stop to pee or eat. The destination was my goal and getting their first was my trophy.

We arrived at the Burger King in Flagstaff in record time and we had to wait in the parking lot. We waited and waited and waited. We even drove to the Taco Bell and got something to eat while we waited for at least an hour. Peggy and the rest of the caravan were nowhere to be seen. We couldn’t believe that our friends would leave without us and we didn’t really know how to get to Locket Meadows. We stopped at a Circle K to ask for directions. When Terry told the clerk that our friends left us the clerk said, “You don’t have very nice friends because Locket Meadows is a bitch to find.” Terry wrote down the sparse directions and he and Lauri traded seats and we were on our way to find our “friends” that had ditched us. The number 2 thing that I learned about Terry on that trip, he had the patience of a saint. It was dark by the time we found the narrow-edged-by-a-steep-cliff-lit-by-only-moonlight-rocky-dirt road to Locket Meadows. I drove white knuckled like a snail almost at a sixty-five degree angle on the side of the mountain that was away from the cliffed-edge-that-would-send-us-to-our-death, if I got anywhere close to it. And my co-pilot, Terry, patiently talked me over every rock and didn’t get angry when I drove too close or up on the wall away from the cliffed-edge-that-would-send-us-to-our-death.  Along the narrow-edged-by-a-steep-cliff-lit-by-only-moonlight-rocky-dirt road to Locket Meadows there were many turn off roads that led to nowhere. We know because we took them all with Terry walking in front of the van with a flashlight to be able to see the fallen trees that I couldn’t spot with my headlights. Yes, that’s how dark it was.

We finally found Locket Meadows and our serene out-of-the-way camping spot in the pitch dark, but what we didn’t find were our “so called friends that ditched us”. Meanwhile back at the Burger King a few minutes after we left on our quest the rest of the gang pulled in and they waited and waited and waited for us. They waited so long that they even went to the Highway Patrol office to ask if there had been any accidents with my van.  What we forgot is that they had dogs that had to get out and pee and kids that had to get out and snack and dads and moms that had to stretch their legs and rest their ears from the “Are we there, yet?” chanting. All I had in the van was a lead foot, a friend and her patient, kind, canned-cheese-throwing husband.

We finally found each other, blamed each other for the mix-up, and spent a great weekend camping in the serene out-of-the-way place known as Locket Meadows. And from that moment on whenever The Nightriders were going to meet up somewhere Peggy would shout before getting in her car, “Hey, Cathy and Lauri, we’ll meet you at the Burger King in Flagstaff!”

SO, Lauri, I remember when I would come over to your house to put up the Christmas tree and we would drink hot chocolate and make Terry crazy because we would make him place the tinsel on the tree one at a time. I remember when we would have game night and beat the cahonies off the boys. But most of all I remember when we took a road trip to Locket Meadows with that canned-cheese-throwing-patience-of-a-saint husband of yours. That is the weekend I knew you had snagged yourself a keeper!

Paco's Perspective

I remember when I was just a pup and you took me everywhere with you and we went to a graduation party at Lauri and Terry's house and Terry held me in his lap most of the evening.

The Flip Side

I remember when . . . . .okay, I don't think I know these people but I bet Terry would go lizard hunting with me. He could knock 'em out with canned cheese. I love cheese. 

Everything One Needs to Know About Teaching

The 2012-2013 school year is my thirty-fifth year of working in the teaching profession. I have taught second, fourth, fifth and sixth grade. I have taught self-contained learning disabilities, resource special education, basic English Language Learners and mainstream classes. I have even spent eight years of my career teaching teachers. Throughout my career I have come across things about teaching that will never change:

Nobody Believes Teaching is a Real Job

Unfortunately, many think that teachers go to work at 8:00 and leave at 3:00. Many also think we get too many holidays and summers off. Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching, I have learned not to try and change the minds of imbeciles.

I have never worked less than ten-hour days and that doesn’t include the work I do at home in the evenings and on the weekends. Imbeciles don’t understand that most teachers work through their breaks and their summers and generally don't get paid for it.

The imbeciles that don’t believe that teaching is a real profession couldn’t begin to write lesson plans, read and answer emails, teach intervention, stand recess duty, serve 35 students breakfast, get the recyclable breakfast items to the recycle bin in the back parking lot, collect homework, collect book order money, collect field trip money, collect library books, check agendas, check reading logs, take attendance, council a student through a poor choice, answer forty-five questions about forty-five different topics and help the substitute next door prepare for a day without lesson plans– all before 8:00 a.m.!

Kids Will Be Kids

I am always asked how much kids have changed over the years. My answer is always the same, they haven’t. Kids are kids. They need structure. They need discipline. They need love.

Kids need and want a routine. They want to know exactly what time math is going to happen. They want to know exactly what time lunch is going to happen. They will have a hissy fit, if one strays from that routine.

Kids want to know the rules and they want to follow them. They need consequences for their behavior good and bad. If they know the rules and know that one will give out the consequences equally and fairly every time, they will follow them. Kids are lost without discipline.

Just love them. Laugh at their silly redundant April Fools jokes. Take a deep breath when they act like kids. Let them know they are cared about. Remember loving them doesn’t mean giving them anything they want and letting them do anything they want.

 

7 Weeks

It takes 45 days to make a habit so it takes 7 weeks for kids to catch on to a new routine. I learned this from my friend, Colleen, that I team-taught with for many years. Each year when we started with a new group of kids, I would get so frustrated that they weren’t getting “it” (everything I wanted them to do in the classroom and at home that involved learning) in the first two weeks. Colleen would always be the calm one and say, “Cathy, you know it takes 7 weeks. It takes 7 weeks for them to know that you are serious about following rules, doing their homework, understanding classroom routines. 7 weeks!”

So, every year after that, we would look at each other on the first day of school and repeat our mantra, “7 weeks, 7 weeks, 7 weeks.”

After Colleen moved out of state and we would talk about are beginning of the year frustrations, we would both say at the same time, “7 weeks, 7 weeks, 7 weeks.”

Colleen recently moved back to sunny Arizona and is teaching at Tomahawk again, unfortunately, not at the same grade level as I. This year she has a tough class. One day she peaked in my room while I was teaching and she had a defeated look on her face and at the same time we both said, “7 weeks.”

Lice Will Find Their Way to Any Classroom

One might think this is a silly thing to know, but if one teaches one will meet these evil parasitic creatures. No matter where one teaches, no matter who one teaches one will come in contact with lice. Trust me when I say this.

This Too Shall Pass

When a new way to improve the educational system comes down the pike, I always laugh because I know this too shall pass. When the baby teachers whine about the “new” system, I just shrug my shoulders, go in my room, close the door and teach. Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching I have seen a lot of “new” curriculum that was going to save the teaching profession: TERC Math, Math Their Way, Everyday Math, Singapore Math, Excel Math, Math-U-See not to mention all the reading curriculum. I know that about every five years the math, reading, science and social studies curriculum will change. I have never seen one all encompassing program in any subject area. I have always just taken what I think will work with my students at the time and integrate it into what I already do.

Along with curriculum changing every five years so goes administration. I tried to think back and count all the different administrators I have had and I couldn’t remember them all. That might be because I am old or I have had many administrators. When fellow teachers complain about the school administration, I just shrug my shoulders, go in my room, close the door and teach. This too shall pass.

How Tight One’s Pants Are Will Affect One’s Mood for the Entire Day

Many wonder why teachers don’t dress professionally. “If teachers dressed more professionally, they would be taken more seriously.” First, teachers don’t have the bank account for high-end suits. If one can’t get it at Target, Wal-Mart or Ross, one isn’t wearing it. Secondly, it is strategically impossible to sit in a primary-sized chair or on the floor and get up with any dignity left in a pencil skirt, silk blouse and six-inch heels. Thirdly, dress pants are too tight. One cannot wear tight waistbands and work with children because how tight one’s pants are will affect one’s mood for the entire day. Someone could die.

A Teacher Will Never Be Rich

I have spent the last thirty-five years living from paycheck to paycheck. I am sure that it is my fault. When I signed my first teaching contract I signed for $8,900. That was not my monthly salary. That was my yearly salary. To top off the poor pay most of a teacher’s salary goes back into the classroom.

When I signed my contract, I knew I was never going to be rich, monetarily. I am rich in so many other ways. My students pay me in so many different ways. I drive to school everyday excited about my job. I hate days off. Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching I have had one bad year, only one! (That was the year I had the female Mafia in my room, but that’s another blog.) I love all my students even the one’s I want to strangle. I can’t imagine a life without wondering how much it is going to cost me to make sure every student is organized and ready to learn. I can’t imagine a life without the frustration of waiting for payday. I can’t imagine a life without being surrounded by students.

Paco’s Perspective

Everything You Need to Know About Being a Chihuahua

Twirl Only to the Left

Don’t try twirling the opposite direction. It doesn’t work.

Cute Counts

Sitting up and pawing will get a dog anything a dog wants. Remember to use the puppy-dog eyes.

The Flip Side

Everything You Need to Know About Lizard Chasing

They’re Tricky

Give Me a Break

I have old, crippled bones, so my bones break easily. Sometimes I feel like if someone looked at me cross-eyed I could break a bone. When I was in a car accident many years ago and broke all my bones from the waist down the orthopedic surgeon said, ”That putting me back together was like trying to build a sandcastle without any water.” 

This summer in Montana it happened again I managed to break my leg. It was one of those moments that at the time it happened it wasn’t funny, but afterwards Caren and I were laughing until the tears rolled down our legs as we told the story to her husband, Darrell.

Caren and I were at Grandma’s (Darrell’s mom) house. Her house is the one of the few places in Bigfork where we can get on the Internet. Since I read a book or two a day due to lack of T.V. reception, I needed to download some books on my Kindle and Caren is Grandma’s “lawn boy”.

Grandma’s back yard is beautiful. Her yard is fenced in with chain link and all along the fence is a garden and in front of the garden is a sidewalk. It makes it easier to take care of the garden with the sidewalk. One can sit down on a rolling cart, scoot and weed, scoot and weed. Her garden is filled with strawberries, raspberries, veggies, etc. There is nothing like eating strawberries and raspberries directly off the vine.

As I was making my way to the back porch by the way of the sidewalk I came to the raspberry bushes and a branch was sticking out in front of my face. Raspberry bushes are very stickery. I tried to go around the bush by driving my wheelchair partially off the sidewalk. I was in a precarious position but I made it around the bush and I made a mental note not to do that again because I almost fell.

Caren had finished the lawn and she was gathering up my Kindle, her Galaxy, our laptops. I was working my way back to the car by way of the sidewalk and came upon the evil raspberry bush. Mental note: don’t do what I did previously. I decided to back off the sidewalk into the lawn, go around the bush, and get back on the sidewalk. Much safer, right? Wrong! As I backed off the sidewalk, the little “safety wheels” on the back of my chair that keep me from tipping over backwards got stuck on something and as I was trying to my chair back on the sidewalk my front wheel fell into a hole and chair started tipping to the right.

I was hanging over the edge of my chair shouting, “Caren, I’m falling! Help, I’m falling!” Caren is trying to run to help with her hands full of expensive technical equipment. She is trying to keep from dropping and breaking things and save me at the same time. Apparently, she wasn’t wearing her Superwoman cape because she just missed getting to me before I fell out of my chair. When I fell my face was in the lawn, my legs were on the sidewalk and my feet were in the raspberry bushes.

Caren made it to me one second too late and she said, “What the heck were you doing?”

“I was trying to get around the raspberry bush without getting my face scratched,” I replied.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to trim the bush?”

Caren can’t get me in and out of my chair without the portable Hoyer lift we have which happen to be at the her house a couple miles away. “I’m going to go get the lift,” she told me.

“But I can’t lay her all twisted up. What if I roll over on my face and can’t breathe?” I whined.

“Okay, okay, let me think.” Caren ran into the house and got a bunch of couch cushions and came back and tried to straighten me up and make me more comfortable.

Here comes TMI: I go commando. When one spends their life sitting in a chair the less thing to sit on to cause sores the better. Most wound care specialists will tell those who sit in wheelchairs all day should go commando.

So there I am lying on a bunch of cushions with my ass exposed to the neighbors and Caren says, “Okay I got to go and get the lift.”

“But you’re not going to be able to get me in the chair by yourself!”

“It is either that or I stop at the volunteer fire department to get help but then everyone in town will know this story.”

“Okay, never mind, go get the lift but before you go there is just one problem. Something is crawling on my legs.”

“Oh, shit!”

What is it? What is it? What’s crawling on me?” Ihate things crawling on me because I can’t reach to brush bugs off.

“It’s ants and they are going right for your scooter pie!”

“Not the scooter pie!” Again with the TMI: commando! This is a big problem.

Caren runs back to the house, grabs a blanket and uses it to block the ants’ path to the scooter pie. “This is the best I can do. I’ve got to go or I can go get help at the fire . . . .”

“No, firemen!”

So there I lie, on a bunch of couch cushions propped around me with a blanket between my legs to stall the ants from reaching their prime destination, (I guess that’s why it’s called the sweet spot.) baking in the sun on the one hot day in Bigfork, Montana with my ass exposed to the neighborhood.

Oh, did I tell you all the dogs were there. Paco and Flip, my dogs, Caren’s dog Osa and Grandma’s dog Paige. Paco feels that he has to be my protector and for him the only way to do that is to sit on my boobs and snarl. I have Paco trying to get on my boobs, Paige and Osa are taking turns licking me in the face and Flip who cares about no one but himself dug a hole under the raspberry bushes to get cool and to point the ants in the right direction.

Caren did return and after a long boring ordeal and help from the neighbor lady, nothing funny, I made back into my chair. On the ride back home I told Caren that I think I broke my leg. Coming from our suck-it-up-put-some-ice-on-it-and-walk-it-off family Caren said, “Nah! It’s not in a weird position or a weird color. We’ll go home, get you in bed, put it up and put some ice on it and you will be fine in no time.”

As I was lying in bed with my leg up and an ice pack on my leg, Darrell came home from a road trip. As we giggled through the story, Darrell said, “You girls, it’s all fun and games . . .”

“Until someone breaks a leg,” we giggled.

“Tomorrow, Cathy is going to urgent care and having an x-ray.”

“Okay, but it isn’t broken,” Caren replied.

Eight weeks later I got the cast off and I am hoping to get a break from the breaks. 

Paco's Perspective

Remember who protected you! Where was Sir Flip when you needed him?

The Flip Side

I was in the bushes looking for killer lizards to slay, Sir Barks Alot!