Roaring Twenties

Dear Twenties,

As we part ways, a reflection of the last decade of my life is perhaps inevitable.  I would love to say you were always good to me, but alas, I cannot make such a bold statement.  You were good at times, bad at times, and frankly, downright ugly at times.  But through it all, I did in fact survive with some spectacular lessons and experiences.

20 was the level of perfection I always wanted to attain, but slipped out of my grasp far too soon.  Naivety led me to believe it would last forever--my state of being nobody, and therefore perfect.  This innocence also led me to another fantasy ideal--that arguing with the spirit would turn out in my favor.  Alas, with the loss of that battle, mission papers were submitted, and the demise of perfection seemed inevitable, even if I did not initially see it coming.

21 approached with a level of fear and anxiety previously unknown in my state of naive perfection.  It described itself as merely "the South."  In this unknown and strange world yet another naive ideal would be shattered.  Not only was my year of perfection gone, but it would not be achieved again in this life.  Amid this disheartening realization came a glimmer of hope--a Canadian mission companion.

By 22, the disillusionment had passed, perfection no longer the goal.  I was merely content to accept the fervent chastisement of my Mission President's wife: "Perfection is a process, not a place we remain all the time."

23 arrived with all it's "Pomp and Circumstance," and the most expensive sheet of paper I own.  Joy!  Rapture!  With a sense of accomplishment and renewed freedom, I reentered the realm of public education, determined to conquer the world. Alas, this latest naive, idealist position would soon collapse, just as they all have.

24 came waltzing in, ready to prove that a college education does not in fact prepare you for everything fifth graders can dish out.  After many tears, "revisions," and constructive criticism, I finally attained reassurance of my career choice.  It came in the form of a card from two little handfulls, "Thank you . . . hopefully next year you will have a better class than we were."

Ah, 25 was grateful for that wish that came true!!  The little darlings were fabulous, complete with a one-time-only ukulele concert.  But this too would end far too soon.  A new position was calling, complete with a high-tech upgrade and the bliss of being a "veteran teacher" following the intense hand-cramp requirement called the PRAXIS.

26 was enthusiastic about this new role, and only slightly deterred with rumors of devilish darlings.  Armed with every sanctioned tool in the toolbox, I donned my helmet and went to war . . . only to lose due to heat exhaustion in a non-air conditioned building and a windowless classroom.  Fortunately, after school productivity decreased, Chicken Dancing and Wii Boxing increased, and the war was eventually won . . . against the heat AND the darlings.  I became known as the Undisputed Queen of Christmas.  Yes, it was a good year.

By 27, confidence was renewed, I gained respect from parents and received donuts as proof.  However, tragedy struck, and I was forced to say farewell to a longtime friend.  And as 27 was headed for the door, it stopped in the emergency room first . . . so my elbow could be repaired.

28 came in with a vengeance.  Or perhaps more like a wolf . . . in sheep's clothing.  While humor abounded in typical 5th grade fashion (and a-typical fashion in some cases), I learned a valuable truth.  It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye . . . or their confidence, right?  Fortunately, a new ward was created, a new calling was issued, new friends were made, and a buoy was created during the eye of the storm.

While I hoped 28 was the worst of it, the vengeance continued with 29.  Perhaps the storm raged even more intensely.  But finally, a light came, and the buoy was utilized in abundance.  A release from the calling came the day before 30, having contributed it's fair share to the buoy that was my saving grace.

As you go out like a lion, please ask Thirties to come in like a lamb.

Sincerely,
Esther

It Is What It Is . . .

This has been the longest week of my life . . . or at least it feels like it.  After informing my principal that I was volunteering to be the surplus teacher, everything just kind of went into hyper-speed.  She informed the entire 5th grade in a meeting on Friday afternoon last week.  The faculty was informed shortly after school that same day.  On Monday morning, she came to my room and told me what school I was going to--and proceeded to tell me that they wanted me to start on Tuesday.  (Which, by the way, was totally false . . . I think she just wanted me out as soon as possible.)  I divided my students amongst the other three teachers and started packing up all the hud.  By Wednesday, one week to the day of making the decision to leave, I had everything out of the school . . . and in the garage at home.  Yep, I don't have a classroom at the moment.  I am apparently getting a relo and it hasn't arrived yet.  It probably won't arrive for at least 3 weeks--probably closer to 4 according to my new principal.  And so, welcome to my new classroom . . . . may it not stay this way for too much longer!!

If It Doesn't Kill You . . .

I have been seriously slacking in the blogging area, but perhaps that is because I have had way too much garbage in my life since about February.  Without going into huge detail, let's just say that there were some serious differences of opinions, "mud-slinging" of sorts, and serious stress and anxiety on my part.  Instead of feeling totally comfortable at school, I began to dread work.  I didn't associate with anyone besides my team for fear of gossip.  At the end of the year, I seriously considered requesting a transfer.  I even looked up several job listings and almost applied for a couple of them.  But for some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  I felt as though I needed to stay at my current school, even though I couldn't think of any reason why.  The summer passed way too quickly and before I knew it, I was back at school.  Things started out ok, but I was just a little more cautious and anxious than any other year.  I would go to work, mind my own business, and do my best to never be alone anywhere in the building, just for my own protection.

But this last week, it all came back--like a bad case of indigestion that totally stinks but keeps coming back up over and over again.  (Nasty analogy, I know, but it really is how I feel!!)  I found out on Tuesday that despite trying to just go to work and do my job, the gossip was back with a vengeance . . . at an even higher caliber than I would have imagined.  Let's just say I proceeded to have an emotional breakdown because I felt as though I didn't have many options.  I was asked to consider volunteering to be the surplus teacher at our school.  Essentially, due to dropping enrollment at our school, we don't have enough students to keep as many full time teachers as we have.  So, one teacher ends up being surplussed--or moved to another school partway through the year.  I apparently was a little confused about all the politics of the entire situation, because I felt as though the blame for everything was being placed on me--that I was the bad guy in everything that had happened.  However, I am very fortunate that my dad went into what he describes as "helicopter mom mode" and contacted his friend at my association and got the down low on it all.  After talking with the two of them, I felt sort of better . . . I at least knew I wasn't being falsely accused for everything that had happened, and that I really did have a couple of options.  However, neither option sounded ideal.  I could either get out of my current school, and therefore be out of the situation.  Or, I could stay.

I know.  It seems like it would be a no-brainer.  But, I am pretty emotionally invested in my school.  I have a great class this year, and the one student I've been concerned about having in my class is doing really well.  He and I have reached an understanding and he is doing better than he has in years in terms of behavior at school.  I haven't had a single respect problem from him, and the school behavior specialist seems to think I'm a miracle worker or something.  Really, I don't think I've done much, but he seems to trust and respect me.  I have really enjoyed getting to know my students the last several weeks.  I work with the best team in the school, and I have a good friendship with several other faculty members.  Several of us have just been rallying together in a type of survival mode.  I felt that if I left, I'd be giving up everything that was important to me in my working environment, not to mention giving up on my coworkers who I've relied on and who have relied on me for the last year or so.  Besides, the thought of moving my classroom to another school and getting a whole new class of kids, and getting to know a whole new faculty and staff partway through the year seems like a seriously daunting task.  The fact that I would have no idea where I was going in terms of what school or what grade level wasn't exactly a comforting thought, either.  However, the thought of having to cope with the emotional abuse for the rest of the school year didn't sound like a great option either.  Hence, the pro/con list.  I had a lot of cons for leaving the school, but for every con, there were two pros. I was told by my association that they would fight for me if I wanted to stay, and if I wanted to go, they would make sure that I was placed in the best situation possible for me--with an environment that was not even a fraction as stressful as the one I am in now.

So I have decided to take the opportunity being handed to me to get out now.  I still feel a little guilty--like I am abandoning ship mid-battle, even though I've been assured by all of my coworkers that really matter to me that they understand I have to do what is best for me.  In fact, they all tell me they are a little jealous that I get to leave and they have to stay for the rest of the year.  My students were not super happy about the situation when they found out at the end of the day on Friday.  That was not my decision to let them know right then.  I was planning on telling them when I had a few more answers--like where I was going and who's class each of them would be going into.  So to have them know I'm leaving (not to mention they were told I volunteered to leave . . . also not my decision) is going to make the next week at school very emotional and stressful.

I was informed on Friday that the human resources office (and the assistant superintendent) also have my needs as their top priority, and that my association thinks they have found a great placement for me.  I still don't know where, and I still don't know when the change will happen, but it will be really soon . . . sometime in the next week soon.  My biggest stress right now is the though of having like a day to move my entire classroom, get it set up somewhere else, and be ready to teach a whole new class the next day (or the following Monday if it happens at the end of the week.)  Who knows how all of this is going to work out . . . . but the fact my total emotional breakdown has reduced itself to minor panic attacks is strangely reassuring because I know there is going to be an end to all of this.  I never though I would think that a major change like this, especially with as many unknowns at there are, would be comforting to me.  Let's just hope my anxiety attacks and stress headaches diminish soon as well . . .

Dear Parents

We regretfully inform you that all the 5th grade teachers are sick and tired of missing assignment reports. As a result of this and a “get your grades done ASAP” hangovers, we will not be sending home missing assignment reports this week. Who knows if we will ever get to them again. Honestly, when you have 10 pounds of papers to sort, correct, and frequently identify owners of, it gets old faster than you can say “you all fail!!” Besides, how many of your slacker children really finish their assignments any way? It’s like talking to a wall and expecting it to produce a completed math page. It’s never gonna happen! It has been said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. What are our weekly missing assignments reports if not a manifestation of all that is insane and illogical? Therefore, in order to preserve our sanity, and as a byproduct your child’s life, we have decided it is high time to cease and desist with the futile efforts of getting students to complete work and make something of their lives. Let them be slackers. After all, we’ve already passed 5th grade.

Sincerely,

Tired and Disgruntled Teachers Who Need Career Changes

Conversations You Don't Want to Have With Students

This story kind of requires a little background. In previous years of teaching, I thought I knew the definition "Hoover Mothers." However, this year I have come to realize that that some people are Hoover Mothers. And then there are the Hoover Platinum Mothers. This particular mother makes the strangest requests and has the most outlandish ideas of what my job description is. I thought perhaps her request for me to personally locate her daughter's new jacket (which oddly enough showed up under her desk after she had looked EVERYWHERE.). However, this last week, I think her request reached a whole new level of absurdity. I received the following email:

[My daughter] has a small dilemma. These last couple of days she has not been able to change her pad at school because the children's restrooms are not made for girls starting into menstruation. That is not ok. It is unsanitary, and can lead to serious urinary tract infections. If she could be allowed to use the teacher's restrooms, that would help. Can you talk to her privately to allow her to use the teacher's restrooms? It would only be a handful of times in a month.

Please let me know.

Um . . . wow. I mean . . . wow. I was seriously at a loss for words. About the point I began giggling about the absurdity of the request, I forwarded the email to the school secretary in order to serve 2 purposes: 1. to figure out what to respond to this particular email and 2. to entertain her. (Our secretary simply loves random requests . . . like students who request ice for every area imaginable . . . ) I knew the request would be denied, but just how to put it in a politically correct manner was beyond me. I was advised to talk to the student and ask her what specifically what the problem with the children's restrooms was. The conversation went as follows:

Me: Your mom emailed me about a problem with the bathrooms. Do you know what the problem is?

Student: Um, I'm not really sure.

Me: So, you don't know why your mom is requesting that you be allowed to use the teacher restrooms?

Student: Well, I do, but it's kind of hard to explain.

Me: Why don't you try and I'll see if I can figure out what you mean.

Student: Well, you know when you are growing up and going through puberty . . .

Me: Yeah, I think I've got that part. What is the problem with the bathroom?

Student: There's no garbage can in there.

Me: Yes there is. It's right by the door.

Student: Oh . . . there is? I've never noticed it before . . . .

At this point, I was trying extremely hard not to laugh. After all, the student had just tried to teach me about puberty . . . probably in the same way her mother had explained it to her just a few days before!! Yeah, I SOOOO did not want to have that conversation with her! As for the mother . . . I'm still trying to word a response to her in just the right way. But knowing her, she will probably have a new issue in a few days that helps her forget the unsanitary nature of the bathrooms at our school. Maybe next time I'll be put on the case of the school lunch causing her daughter to have diarrhea . . . . only to discover her daughter brought lunch from home that day.

A New Description of Pain

So as some of you may already know, either by being present on the fateful day I shall be recounting, or by having the pleasure of enjoying my company during the month of July, I had what Drew called "a really big owie." I used to use the "I've never broken a bone" line in playing the game "Two Truths and a Lie" as one of the true things about me. I suppose I can still use it as a truth . . . after all, I didn't exactly break a bone. My elbow and I simply had a little bit of a disconnect with each other.

My excuse is that it seemed like a good idea at the time . . . roller skating, that is. After all, how hard could it be? I had been roller blading just fine . . . but for some unknown reason, I decided to give roller skates a try. Never again. I've learned my lesson. I had been home from Seattle for one whole day. In a way, it was my first day of summer vacation at home. Patti called and asked if I wanted to go to classic skating with her and her kids. Since I wasn't doing anything, I said sure. After all, it sounded kind of fun. And it was . . . until everything went all wrong.

I was rolling along . . . very wobbly, actually, and I briefly had the thought that I should quit while I was ahead. In fact, I had planned on stopping and taking the skates off as soon as I made it back around the rink . . . for the first time. However, about 3/4 of the way around the rink, I suddenly felt my feet go out from under me. Instinctively, I put my hands out to catch myself. I landed on my rear, looked to my right, and thought, "That's not right . . . aw, shoot! Ella just got new skates and I probably just freaked her out!!" THEN the pain set in. Honestly, it didn't occur to me until AFTER I had consciously thought my arm just didn't look right.

After that, all thoughts were almost as disjointed as my arm. For some reason I was having a strange obsession about the fact that I didn't have any shoes on. Patti finally got me into the car, drove as speedily and respectfully as possible, and got me to the hospital in record time. The lady at the check in desk was nice and didn't make me sign myself in . . . seeing as how my dominant right arm was not fully functional. The nurse in radiology was not so nice. I had the pleasure of filling out paper work while in extreme pain with a semi-functional arm. The ER nurse did warn me that the radiology folks weren't very nice. If you are queasy, you might want to skip the pictures . . . I thought they were pretty cool . . . until I wasn't looking at them with 2 doses of morphine in my system (and they were worth EVERY penny!!).

Clearly, my bones are not quite where they should be . . . at least I didn't break through the skin. If there had been blood involved, it could have been messy . . . in more ways than one!

After a loooong wait in the ER, everything was put right again. In this X-ray you can actually see the pattern of the bandage that was wrapped around my arm after the bone was reset.

Fortunately for me, I was knocked out for the procedure. While I don't remember any of it, apparently I was answering questions correctly after I was technically out . . . or so I've been told! My mom told the doctors that I was really out and I was only talking coherently to them because they kept asking me questions and I'm a teacher. Teachers never fully stop thinking!

Despite all the trauma of my personal day of infamy, I have to admit there were some entertaining moments through it all. Of course, they are only entertaining after the fact! First of all, right after I crashed and burned, there was this kid that had to be about 5th grade age. He immediately asked if I needed help getting up, and continued to stay close and offer help. In fact, as I was on my way out of the building in a wheelchair and without my shoes on he made sure to tell me, "I hope you feel better!" If I had not been in excruciating pain I would have told him to tell his mother she did a great job of teaching him manners and she should be proud. Yeah, that would be the teacher in me . . . coming out at the most painful moments.

In talking with Patti after all of this, she said her train of thought was something like this as she saw me go down: "Ow!! Her butt is going to hurt! (pause) AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!"

For several days after the accident, every time I saw Drew he would ask me if my elbow was better. When I said not yet, he would ask why.

Getting the copy of my X-ray was more difficult than breaking my arm. Day 1: I went to my doctor's office to get the X-ray. They sent me down to a different office. In that office, they burned a CD of "my" X-rays. Unfortunately, they were not my X-rays. They were my dad's. Day 2: I go back to the office and ask them to get my X-rays. I had an appointment with the physical therapist down the hall, and when I came back over an hour later, I was informed that they could not actually access my X-rays after all. Day 3: I go Intermountain Hospital and wander around trying to find someone to help me. Finally I found someone in the pharmacy. She directed me to the medical records office in another building. I arrived 30 minutes after the office was closed. Day 4: I go to the medical records office where I am directed to a different office . . . in a different building. I go to the radiology office at the hospital and finally get the CD with my X-rays. Well, most of them were there. I called back, went back to the hospital and FINALLY got a CD with ALL of MY X-rays on them.

In retrospect, yeah, roller skating was not the greatest idea I've ever had. But, I was really lucky. After all, if I really had broken my arm, I'd still be in a cast . . . which would have made getting my classroom ready for school to start even more difficult than it already has been. I am, however, still willing to accept any offers for free labor! To top it off, I've just had to go to physical therapy for the past month--no surgery. You just might call the whole incident a lucky non-break!

Who Would Have Thought?

Maybe it's a late teenage rebellion. Maybe it's a quarter life crisis. Maybe it's an attempt at individuality. (Strike that last one . . . . this isn't exactly original for our family.) Whatever it was that possesed me to try out this new do, I must confess I rather enjoy having purple hair!! Too bad I can't get away with it in the Fall . . .