Something to write about

Last day. I made it! I wasn't trying for any prizes or anything, I just wanted to know I could do it again.

Days when nothing happens are hard, because then I'm just writing about how I have nothing to write, in an attempt to write something...a convoluted dog chasing it's tail scenario.

Days when I'm fired up are hard, because I have to breathe and try to coherently convey my passion, without alienating whatever audience I may have at the time.

Conveying the passion is hard, because I really want everyone to jump on the float and travel the parade route with me.

Writing every day on a blog is hard, because there is no continuation as there would be in a book or novel. Every day is new. Every day is a blank page asking for a completely new idea-- some revelation or take away on life. But, like I said, some days really are just a horse and a wagon on Mulberry Street. That's why I think I will continue my Encyclopedia of Me on days where I have nothing else to write, so I have that continuation to keep me going.

Today I planned to just write Volume C for my Encyclopedia of Me, but we got home from spending time with my in-laws, to find our power was out. How long it had been out, or how long it would be out, were unknown.
We ordered pizza.
We played a family game.
The boys played chess by flashlight while hubby and I read by flashlight.
The house grew darker and colder.
I got bored and worried I would miss posting on the last day because of the stupid power outage.

But 4 hours after we got home to no power, it came back on.
We only lost two degrees of temperature from the time we got home.
I got to start a load of laundry.
I got to write this post.

Ironically, the book I was reading by flashlight, while under a blanket,  was The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure. In it, she discusses her fascination with the world of Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was just at the part where she is visiting a farm in Southern Illinois, where people come to experience life as it was lived in pioneer days.

Every time we lose power is a reminder that I would not have survived in pioneer days. I like cooking on our stove. I like the washing machine and it's neighbor, dryer.

 I like electricity.

Now excuse me while I plug in my phone.

Encyclopedia of Me: Volume B

Encyclopedia of Me Volume B

Bells: I have started collecting bells. We go to a place in Fort Wayne called The Wood Shack. It is an architectural salvage place. I love the old doors, and wooden chests, and old cabinets, but we don't have the room for any those things in our current house. Last year there was a beautiful cast iron bell, the kind that you would hang outside and ring to call the  kids in to dinner. That we had room for. Since then I have added 4 other bells. The latest is like the kind a teacher would ring at a one room school house. I don't think new bells would have the same allure and I don't know how long this phase will last. But for right now, Bells goes on my list for "B".

Books: Our family has an addiction. My husband and I have been the dealers for our kids. We started them as infants. We put board books in their cribs. I read to them every night until they were in 6th and 8th grade, when homework took over. Scholastic books, once they started school, furthered our dependence. When we go to Barnes and Noble and they ask if we have a members card, we laugh and hand them our member card and our Barnes and Noble credit card that gives us 1% cash back on every purchase. Our library has grown to over 4000 books combined between the 4 of us. We just can't get enough.

Boys: I am from a family of 6-- 5 of whom are girls. (see also brother) The neighborhood I grew up in was all girls. Even my cousins are mostly girls. So, when we found out we were pregnant, I was hoping for a girl. I knew how to do girls. But we had a boy. And I realized I loved having a boy. He was happy and curious and precious. When we got pregnant a  year later, I hoped it would be a boy, because now I knew how to do boys. And we were blessed once again with a boy. Now that they are 18 and 20, I don't know if I really know how to raise a boy, but I think we've done OK. And when I hear friends with girls talk, I know I wouldn't know how to raise a girl.

Brother:   I have one brother and he is 13 years older than I am. He left for college when I started Kindergarten. I don't know what it is like to have a brother, not really. I have snatches of memory.

My brother is 6'4. I am currently 5'3", but obviously when I was starting kindergarten, I was much smaller. I vividly remember walking with my brother, him on the sidewalk, me walking along the wall next to him.

 I remember him coming home and lifting me to the ceiling.

 I remember him informing us that "roof" had the "oo" sound like what an owl says, and that coupon did not start with the "q" sound. To this day it is a pet peeve when people say "roof" like a dog barking, or pronounce coupon with a "q" at the beginning.

 And I especially remember the time he came home from college... I was with my mom on the back porch where she was doing laundry. Ricky said something smart-alecy and my 5'4" stocky mother told him, "You're not so big, I can't take you over my knee and spank your butt!"  I decided then and there to be good. If she could take down my giant brother (theoretically) that I didn't stand a chance.

Rick and his wife took my husband and I to shows at Purdue -- where we attended and they were alumni.
 Rick paid for my drivers ed because my parents didn't have the money.

He is an engineer and the father of two beautiful daughters and 3 grandchildren. He's still more of and uncle because of the distance in age,  but he is my big brother and I love him.

Encyclopedia of Me A edition

This may be a cop out, but I'd like to think of it as killing two birds with one stone.

I've been planning on making an Encyclopedia of Me of my own for a couple of years now, but haven't gotten around to it. If I use it as blog posts, I'll at least have the journaling done in a short amount of time.

For A:

Ancestry-  I became interested in my family history in 2012 when I started preparing for my parents 50th anniversary. I realized at that point my time with them wasn't going to be forever and I needed to get the stories I could. My mom had a typical middle class life and had good memories to share. My dad grew up poor and had few stories to share that didn't include working hard. Those stories led to a subscription to Ancestry.com and my search for stories.

Dad died ten years later-- 7 months before what would have been their 60th anniversary. Mom died two years after that. They didn't know the stories I had discovered. I continue to search for more. I hope to be able to share the stories I've discovered with my siblings soon.

Anxiety:  I "suffer" from anxiety or depression. I had postpartum depression after my kids were born. I recognized it after watching Marie Osmond talking about hers on Oprah. Everything she said was me. I asked my doctor and he asked, "Is that not normal for you?"

He is an amazing doctor and I wished he could have moved with us when we moved away, but that question threw me. In a 3 year span of time I had had 2 children, found our first born might be legally blind, moved to a new house, I'd left my job that I loved, and become a stay at home mom. I didn't know what normal for me was. So, I let it go.

I became afraid of going out, being in public, being alone...

We moved here and things didn't get better. I asked our new doctor and she put me on a medication. It has helped...immensely.

I still get anxious about crowds. I still work on not getting bogged down. I still think...hard...about everything. So Anxiety is definitely under A for me.

Autumn:  Autumn is my favorite season. I chose Autumn for my camp name. My husband says it is the perfect description of me. Stormy, changing, colorful. My birthday is in Autumn. I met my husband in Autumn. Autumn is sunshine and sweatshirts. If they made a candle that smelled like burning leaves, I'd have a collection.

Nothing

Today's quote couldn't be more perfect. "Sometimes the blank page wins."

It is Spring Break and today I did absolutely nothing. I subscribed to Newspapers.com and looked up people.

I watched reruns of ER and Supernatural.

I read.

I dropped youngest off at the movie theater and then picked him up.

I didn't watch or listen to news. I only interacted with the boys.

There was nothing to spark an idea or trigger an emotion.
Literally nothing.

So, like the kids in school, I wonder, "How many words does this have to be to receive credit?"

Procrastination Gets You in the End

It seemed OK to procrastinate. I mean, it took so long to scan, and there were so many that, "I'll do it later," seemed like a good idea.

It wasn't.

I am working on our family history. Everyone's history -- Mom, Dad, Mom-in-law, Dad-in-law and back and back.

I've acquired my mom's photos, gotten photos from in-laws, from Aunts and Uncles, from Mom's cousin, and from Ancestry.

I've located documents from old newspapers, from the courthouse, and from Ancestry.

Obituaries, gravestones, photos of people and places.... and many of them have numbers 0015723, 2963812... not actual identification.

Oh, and copies of some of these too.

Thousands of items I now need to go through one by one.

But first I need to think of a system that will make sense to me when I need to find something next time.

I'm the only one who can do it. No professional organizer or outside person knows these people (I don't even know all of them.) Me -I have to do it.

Think of the stories I'll be able to tell when I get it all together.

No more procrastination.

Who brings the pencils

Our trip to Indy today included a trip to one of the Half Price Books. As I perused the shelves, I found a book put out by the La Porte Historical Society. Because I'm working on my family history, and primarily the family that is from La Porte, I grabbed it.

As I looked at the pages, I found a description I found funny, as it is proof that things have really not changed much in 100 years of education.

Today teachers buy supplies for the students in their classrooms. Right?

The quote from the book:"A one- room school house is defined as a school with all grades one through eight, being taught by one teacher and a curriculum very different from today. The heating system in this school is a wood stove and the teacher was primarily responsible for supplying the wood. Some parents and students assisted, however."

So, I guess, teachers have always been counted on for taking care of their kids, with little to no support from the community. Huh.

Home

We will be putting our house up for sale after Youngest graduates in June.

This week makes 13 years in this house.

When we chose this house, I was a bit cautious. We are in the country with well and septic. I didn't know that was an option because I was an in town girl.

 Our old condo in Illinois was less than 1000 square feet. This house is around 1600 sq. ft.  It seemed like a palace, which made it feel like the kids were so far away when we put them to bed.

Our yard was huge. At the condo, I had a small purple plastic pool and a wheel barrow full of sand for playing in the yard, because it was shared space.

 It was all so overwhelming.

13 years later, we are still "not from here", because that is the kind of town we live in, but this house is home. It is where the Easter Bunny visited, leaving footprints behind. It is where Santa ate Maple Creams instead of cookies. It is where we learned pipes freeze when it gets to be 25 below zero windchill for several days in a row. And we learned you can prevent that, by leaving cabinets open and a trickle of water flowing from the faucet.

The garden tub was a zone of relaxation for me, and, when they were little, a swimming pool for the boys.

 The laundry room door has the marks of height from every first day of school.

I can still see in my mind, the epic Rescue Hero/ Transformer battles the boys set up -- like armies advancing-- stuffed cats set up as announcers. And I can see the cardboard ships they created from old boxes and duct tape.

The really cool sand box hubby built in the back yard, combined with the swing set when they got older, to become a sort of treeless tree house with turrets.

Husband has built tons of bookshelves to house our families addiction to books.

Oldest learned to make cookies and youngest has perfected homemade spaghetti sauce in our kitchen. Breakfast conversations have occurred at the kitchen counter.

All of these memories now need to be packed up.

Now we need to find a new place to call home.

First on my criteria list ...
                is a house in the country.

Matter of perspective

Many people are lauding the "teenagers trying to make a difference". It's a matter of perspective, isn't it?

Would you think a group of teens trying to get abortion laws changed brave?

Many were struck by all the pairs of shoes outside the Capitol representing the victims of school violence.

How many baby booties would there be for the same time period performed by Planned Parenthood?  Would you be just as saddened and appalled?

Those teenagers are brave for speaking up for what they believe in.

I wonder what the aborted would say, if their voices hadn't been silenced?

Infringement of rights?
Right and wrong?

It's a matter of perspective, isn't it?

Random Facts

Brain Dead. Doing the random facts thing.

I am 5th of 6 born in my family. I have a brother 13 years older, a sister 11 years older, a sister 10 years older, a sister who would have been 7 years older had she not died at the age of 5, 2 years before I was born, and I have a sister 2 years younger. 

My sister, Susie,  died at the age of 5 playing tag with the sister 10 years older. She tripped and fell, and instead of putting her hands out to break her fall, her fists hit her heart and stopped it. People told my mom she should have another child. My mom said, "If I have one, I have to have two, because I won't have a spoiled brat." So, I guess younger sister is here to keep me humble?

My parents would have been married for 60 years the year my dad died. All of us kids have lived by that example and have been married for between 28 and 40 years.

My husband and I will have been married for 28 years in April. Together for 33 in October.

I turn 50 in October.

We have two boys.

I love sunsets and collect rocks.

 I love music I can sing to. So this excludes Rap, Opera, and most instrumental music.

I hate going to movie theaters. 

I am a picky eater. Very picky eater.

Birds terrify me. One irrational fear I have is that of a bird flying through an open window on the van when I am driving. 

I've lived in Alaska, Delaware, Michigan, Illinois, and Indiana.

I hate shopping.

Love reading.

I am on Spring Break for two weeks. 

And even though I am a Night Owl, I am going to bed, because my job does not respect that I am not a fan of getting up at 5:30, so I am tired. 

Little Things

It has been an uphill climb on roller skates this week. And not fancy roller blades made for all terrain. I'm talkin' those old fashioned, skate key, roller skates... and a really big hill.

We are only allowed to wear jeans every other week, and tomorrow is not that Friday.

But...

Permission was asked for, since it is the last day before Spring Break and because it has been that kind of week.

And...

Permission was granted as long as we wear our staff shirts as well.

Everyone do your Snoopy Dance. It's the little things, that mean so much. 😀

Tired

Tomorrow I might make a list
or write a poem
or search my soul
or detail a revelation
or discuss a book
or remember a funny thing...
Tonight
I just want to go to bed.

Facepalm

There are phone calls you dread making. Needing to talk to a parent about a behavior or educational matter rarely goes well. Parents push back. They blame. They ask what the other child did. They go over your head looking for a different answer.

Making those phone calls is as difficult for the teacher to make as it is for the parents to hear.

So it was with great joy one of the teachers I work with called a parent today. The child had defended himself and classmates through the written word in an attempt to get things changed for the better.

"WE are so proud of this child, and just wanted you to know," the teacher told the mother.

 Mom was in tears on the phone and was saying she would make her son's favorite meal. The teacher hung up feeling pretty good.

Ten minutes later, the secretary calls over the phone intercom and said the mom was on the phone. "Mom says you just called, and she just wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

Facepalm

Apparently good phone calls should be condidered hard to make too.

Mulberry Street

Do you know what happened after school?
Well, on the way to the busses...
Oops. Can't tell you.

I know!
Guess what this one kid did and said at recess.
Well, ...
Nope. Can't tell you that either.

I could maybe tell you what was said in our weekly notes, but I better not. I'll have to leave it at being told if kids don't learn, it is entirely and completely the fault of the teacher and the teacher only.

My favorite Dr. Seuss story is, And to Think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.  I love how the boy is so bored by what he sees every day, he embellishes the stories he plans to tell his dad.

As educators, our days our flush with stories we can never share.
And the sweet stories are just not as interesting.

In the end, Marco tells his dad all he saw was a horse and a wagon on Mulberry Street.

At the end of this day, there were laughs and frustrations. I got some hugs and heard some jokes. I saw some good teamwork, and I saw some complete failure in communication.

And I have some really good stories you'll never know. 

4 days to go to break.

Countdown

Vacation Will begin in...

5 Cities to visit
4 Books to Read
3 Research Libraries
2 Museums

1 Week to go

And then two weeks off to get it done

Lesson from the Back Seat

Our older son is a bi-optic driver, and when he travels with us, he rides in the front so he can practice spotting.
Our younger son has taken college visits, so he has ridden in the front, so hubby can ask the questions to get to the heart of what he is thinking about the schools.
That has left me with one of the captain's chairs in the middle row. These are my thoughts.


The back seat is a deprivation chamber
Music's loud from overhead
Darkness outside make the windows mirrors
No control over temperature

But sometimes windows are a giant Magna Doodle

Did you know the backseat is bumpy?
Open containers
like a coffee mug
spill or bump your teeth.
Bumps and brake taps
tighten seatbelts
and don't...let...go.

You can hear voices
but are not a part of the conversation
unless someone turns their head.

Yep.
I've learned a lesson.
When your kids ask,
"Are we there yet?"
it's because they'd be in
trouble if they said what they wanted to,

"Get me the heck outta here!"

My two cents

I have been reading the news articles and Facebook posts on the "Walk Out" protest that took place on Wednesday. Here is my own "in the moment" reflection.

I am afraid of guns. When we first moved to the country, the fact that the neighbors would and could target practice in their own backyards, freaked me out. However, I would never take that right away from them. I just made sure we wore bright colors when we were outside. And it isn't as though they were hunting in their own yards anyway.

Today, I am still afraid of guns, but I'd like to actually go to a gun range with an experienced/trained person who could teach me how to shoot, and so I could know how it feels to shoot a gun. I could never take a life--not of an animal and not of a human. I don't know if I could even if it was life or death. I just don't know.

What I do know is, I would be OK with a body guard. I would be OK with a Police Officer. I would be OK with a friend who knew how to use, and was comfortable with, a gun.

I am tired of hearing people conflating "have the right to arm" and "must arm" when it comes to teachers. Do I want guns in school? Not necessarily. Do I want my kids to be safe? Absolutely yes.

It comes down to trust. Do I trust my district to make the right decision in choosing and training the right people? Do you trust yours?

People today want to give the government all the power, I think, in order to absolve themselves of any responsibility. If your home, school, community is not what you want it to be, it is easier to blame some entity out there, instead of taking the scary step of starting with the people closest to the situation. Children shot in your school is not the fault of the Federal Government honoring the second amendment, it is the responsibility of the school and the culture it allowed to ferment. 

But, there are people out there cheering on kids who are protesting the second amendment. I know there are kids that believe fervently that taking away guns will make them safe. I also know there are kids out there that want to be part of the big, noisy party and get their faces out there for "being brave."

I might support them if they weren't complaining about receiving consequences for their actions. Didn't Civil Rights protesters risk jail and worse? They fought for what they believed, and the consequence was part of what sparked the change. If you leave school without permission you are truant. Period. If you truly believe in your cause, isn't detention a small price to pay for expressing your rights?

And back to the things I have been reading. The hateful name calling. People saying that kids have a right to do and say anything they want in whatever manner they choose, are the biggest problem of all. Everyone has the right to their own opinion. Telling your child they don't have to listen to authority figures, or follow rules if they don't like them, is what is leading to the society we have today...

The name calling, "I know you are, but what am I?" mentality.

Kids are emotional beings. Moods change, thoughts change, beliefs change -- that is part of being a developing human being. They haven't finished developing yet. Our job as adults is to challenge their thinking and help positively direct their energy. They should not be used to further our agenda and regurgitate our words and feelings.

The saying goes that you can't tell a parent how to be a parent. I will tell you...
         If you are teaching your child to hate
         If you are teaching your child that the one who screams loudest is right.
          If you are teaching that only your view point is valid

You are doing it wrong.

That my friends...

When you meet with a reading group
reading Bridge to Terebithia
that last week was basing characterization
on the illustrations and not the words
but somehow this week
you manage to engage them enough
that there is actual conversation happening
That my friends in magic

And then
When later you meet with a group
and go over the latest terms
in the Literary Dictionary
Everyone has been working on
for the past 3 weeks
and not only do they listen
75% of the time
but also participate
and answer questions...
That my friends is a miracle.

And when both things happen
ON THE SAME DAY...
That my friends is a good day.

It was a good day.

You Don't Matter

"You don't matter."

That's is the message some of received on this, our #saysomething day. But let me go back a bit to explain my frustration.

A weekly calendar of events for our school is sent out over the weekend. On this calendar, was #saysomething as the topic of our Monday morning meeting. I had to look up what it was, and since IA's don't attend the Monday morning meetings, I had to ask what it meant for us.

"Classroom teachers are getting T-shirts that say #saysomething and they are supposed to work with their class to create a list of 17 times somebody should say something. There aren't enough shirts for everyone so only classroom teachers are getting them. But somebody asked about jeans and it sounds like Wednesday will be a jeans day," was told to me by more than one person.

Frustrated, I was thinking, "So, teachers find out about this program on Monday and have to present the concept of why 17, as well as the delicate topics that needed to be a part of their lists on Wednesday? How does that make sense?"

I understood and was fine with the T-shirt situation until last night when we got an e-mail "to clarify".

  "Anyone wearing a #saysomething t-shirt or teaching a #saysomething lesson is allowed to wear jeans tomorrow. And yes Friday is a jeans day."

It isn't the t-shirt. It isn't even the jeans really. It is the proclamation that, to me, said, "You don't matter."

Walking into school I see both secretaries wearing a #saysomething t-shirt.

Walking down the hallway, I see the custodian wearing a t-shirt.

The teachers I work with tell me a child from each class is to be chosen to "win" a t-shirt.

The principal has a teddy bear from a fund raiser in her office. She put a #saysomething T-shirt on the bear and put it in the front lobby.

A specials teacher said she was going to make a t-shirt of her own, since specials teachers were originally not going to get them either. She was told she could have one, saw a box full of the t-shirts and got one for each specials teacher.

So, every classroom teacher, every specials teacher, the secretaries, the nurse, the counselor, 16 students, and a giant teddy bear got t-shirts and the humans were able to wear jeans.

 The assistants were in our usual dress clothes because we are not worthy.

Way to build a community within our building.

Then in class, we start making our list. 6th grade, so some kids weren't paying attention or were goofing around, but we did manage to turn it to some serious topics. So much so, a child asked to speak to me in the hall. What child  had to say was important, and I was thinking how ill equipped I was in that moment to do more than listen and ask if child were willing to talk to the counselor.

Child agreed, and I went to find the counselor-- since today is a day she is in our building.

I relayed what had been told to me and let her know child absolutely didn't want it to get out that the information was coming from child. I asked if she had a few minutes and she said she had 25 before her next appointment.

I got child and sent child to her. Child was back in less than 15 minutes. Child didn't look happy.

"Did it go OK?" I asked.

Child shrugged.

"Do you feel like it helped?"

Child shook head.

"I'll try to find a way to help more then," I said.

When I saw the counselor later she thanked me for sending her child. I reiterated that child didn't want anyone to know it was child who told.

"I know. I stressed that to the people I passed it along to," she smiled.

I cannot begin to tell you how I will lose my mind if she screws this up. She is a counselor in training, meaning she isn't yet licensed. What was told to me required more than a 10 minute conversation. Who did she pass it along to and what will they do? How did it pay either child or me to #saysomething?

It was a HUGE step for this child to say what was said. Child's trust will be forever broken and child has so little to believe in as it is... I worry.

Which leads me to the code of secrecy. Our school takes FERPA to mean no one can know anything about a child. That was brought out to me once again during my conversation with child. Child mentioned school was aware of part of what was told to me. Had I known part of what was going on in child's life, I would have had some ground to stand on- a starting point to help.

Around the country, students walked out of buildings to protest gun violence.

 Around the country some teachers led them out the doors.

How many of those students are the same ones who make fun of "weird" kids? How many are part of disenfranchising others who don't fit the mold of popular? How many teachers protesting gun violence are hurling insults and being derogatory in their stance?

Here "we" decided #saysomething was a better approach. The theory being, if we say something, we can make our class, our school, our community better. So some wore t-shirts they will likely never wear again. We made chart paper lists to hang in the hall. And we had brief discussions.

Neither way accomplishes what it sets out to accomplish. Community isn't a division of groups yelling at each other, nor is it a society that likes to promote #saysomething over "know more so you can do more."

Instead of marching to prove you have high morals, how about quiet acts of kindness? Value those around you -- those that agree and at least listen to those who don't.

 Let everyone you meet know they have value, and you will have taken the real first step in building a community. This is well and truly the only way to end violence.

#everyonematters

Civility is Lost

I miss conversation
There was a time when
opposite view points could be civil.
Passion was from the heart,
not regurgitated talking points
and recycled emotion.
Disagreement didn't mean
the other was evil incarnate.
I'm tired of words being twisted
to fit a narrative.
I'm tired of OUTRAGE
and stomping feet
and the refusal to LISTEN.
Feel free to disagree.
But first Clarify
 to be sure what you hear
is what was meant.
Then explain where your opinions differ
and look for common ground.
In the end you can agree
to disagree...
without HATE.

Road to College

Back in the fall our youngest, who is a High School Senior, narrowed his college search to 6 schools. After visiting all of them, he narrowed his choices to 3. He applied to, and was accepted by, all 3. We are now in the final lap.

My husband has been the one to go on all the visits so far. I didn't want to stress out our son. Hubby and son went to Anderson University for a final visit a few weeks ago. He loved it!

I took the day off of work today to go with them to Indiana Wesleyan.

Our appointment began at 9, so we left the house about 7:15. I have to mention, the thing I hate most about Daylight Saving is that it is dark in the morning again. You just start to have hope again and, "boom!" it is taken away. As we pulled out of the driveway, I mentioned how wrong it was.

I sat in the backseat, so Son could be in the front. He is quite good at being the DJ with his phone and the bluetooth. He kept us in music the whole 105 minutes.

We arrived in time, and shortly after, we had a meeting with an admissions counselor. She answered questions and explained our day. We were then referred to a student who would take us to Chapel.

Wesleyan is a Christian university and chapel will be required 3 times a week. All in our small visiting group attended, which was a good thing. For my husband and myself, who were raised United Church of Christ and Lutheran, the service was a bit intimidating. I married into the Lutheran faith and both boys have been raised in a Lutheran household. However, we haven't really gone to church much in the last 5 years, so Son wasn't intimidated in the least.

When I say intimidating, I mean they had a band, and the entire student body was in attendance, many waving their hands in the air, playing air guitar, and bouncing to the music. Their voices sang along to words projected onto two screens.  To traditional church goers, of traditional services, in small churches, this felt suffocating. If I were the one attending, I could have left then, confident this school was not a good fit. Son enjoyed it.

We next went to lunch. They had great choices, and the food was quite good. Son and Hubby said the food was better than Anderson.

Next was the campus tour. Our guide, Dylan, was fantastic! The tour was very thorough, and Dylan was funny and asked questions and answered all of our questions. I was impressed.

One of the stops, of course, was to see an example of what a dorm is like. The rooms are impressive. The layout seems to offer some privacy and they have suites that share a bathroom, so no communal bathrooms.

We sat in on a creative writing class, which is Son's major of choice. Hubby and I got to sit in as well. I found the professor to be engaging and fun. He had Son sit at a table with kids from the class, and they treated him like an equal.

After the class, we met with the same professor. He let Son know what the Writing major requirements were. He was friendly and helpful.

We went back to the Admissions Center to check out, and Son got a free T-shirt.

We, of course, had to stop at Ivanhoe's for milkshakes on the way home.

The way the college choice points stack up right now:

Both have chapel requirements, but Indiana Wesleyan is much more Faith based.

Anderson had a great History professor. IWU had a great Creative Writing professor.

Then IWU wins in food, dorms, and the fact that they have more band opportunities.

Hubby and I went to Valparaiso University for our Freshman year and graduated from Purdue because Valpo was so much more expensive.

Oldest started at Indiana Tech, but no longer wants to be an engineer, so he is taking the semester off while he decides what he does want to be, and what school will offer that.

What I worry most about, is Youngest will start at a school where Faith is expressed more visibly than he may be comfortable with and need to find a new place to belong.

It's his first "most important decision of your life" decision. It's hard knowing I am not needed or even wanted as anything more than a consultant. But I have to believe we've done our best, and I'd like to think we did a pretty good job.


Indiana Wesleyan University moves to first place.
Next is Ball State.
Then the decision.
Ready or not, here comes the future.

Haiku

Education now

Rigor with Fidelity

Mandates without Trust

Why is this not a family story?

We just finished reading Out of the Dust in 6th grade. For me it was a reread, but reading it out loud and discussing it left such an impression, because of the real world connection I have.

In the story, Billie Jo's mother catches on fire and dies as a result of the burns. Billie Jo, in trying to rescue her mother, badly burns her hands. The guilt she feels and the pain and recovery that take place are important for the rest of the novel.

In my genealogy research, I discovered that my great-great grandmother locked herself in the barn and set it on fire. She died a day later as a result of the burns. The newspaper article I read said that a daughter pulled her out and suffered burns on her hands as well.

The frustrating thing is that the newspaper mentioned the daughter who pulled her out was 15. They had a son who was 15-- not a daughter. There isn't a daughter close to 15. Further, there are no mentions of scars in death records or draft records on any of the children, nor stories of the whole event.

Re-reading Out of the Dust made me think of the agony my great-great grandmother must have been in and what the person who pulled her out must have felt. Why is this not a family story?

Why. Is. This. NOT. A family Story?

Faith and a License

"He will probably never drive a car. He may need braille. He may need a seeing eye dog." The doctor listed off the "cover your butt" list of possibilities for her diagnosis of albinism.

As we drove away, the tears slid down my cheeks. I was envisioning the life our 5 month old, first born, son would lead.

My husband, driving, reached for my hand and reminded me the doctor had to give the worst case scenario to avoid the possibility of law suits if they didn't prepare their patients. "Besides," he added, " at least we know he'll get scholarships for college."

At two our guy pointed out a double rainbow to us. At that point, we decided we would never tell him he couldn't do something because of his vision.

The more we learned about albinism from the albinism community we found on line, and watched our child grow, the more we realized the only thing we would need to keep an eye on was making sure he wore sunscreen.

He is a voracious reader but he reads normal print books. He just holds them closer to his face. He sat in the front row in school and had permission to get up if he needed to, to see the board. The district's vision teacher helped him learn to use a telescope to see distance if needed and advocated for him when the Project Lead the Way teacher for his engineering class tried to shrink 4 pages to fit on one two sided paper. Our guy graduated 9th in his class of about 280. He got scholarships based on academics, not because he is visually impaired. He was on the High School archery team and scored high enough that his score helped his team earn their way to state all 4 years.

However, driving was always the elephant in the room. We found out around 16 that his vision was good enough to learn to drive with bi-optics. Because of the time involved, he didn't start with the training until this January. He has been working with an instructor trained in teaching bi-optic driving for the past 3 months.

A couple weeks ago, his instructor came for an evening session to see if night driving would be a possibility. He came back about a half hour after leaving.

"Not going to happen," he said. "The lights are too bright coming at me."

I could hear the disappointment in his voice, but he tried not to be bothered by it. He also informed me he would be taking the driving test for day driving at the DMV soon.

Well, "soon" turned out to be today.

At 1, when I knew his test should be starting, I sent out one more prayer that he pass.

I had told him to let me know because I couldn't wait until I got home. At 2:15 I sent him a  text that read, "???"

While waiting for kids at bus duty I quickly checked my phone and read his text, "I passed!  Just took a while for the paperwork."

Relief, joy, euphoria...not sure how to describe the gift from God this is. He is a 20 year old young man who has been given, not only a license to drive a car, but a license to live a life that is as independent as he wants it to be.

When we found out all those years ago, I prayed not that it not be true, but that God grant me the acceptance of what it is and to help our son live his best life possible.

I've felt every day that God is good. Today his Grace fills my soul.

Thank you God for this most wonderful gift.

Be careful what you wish for

Tendrils drape over desks
spreading out across the floor
powered by a twenty slot bar.

Many tabs open.
Quick hands switch-
from supposed to be...
to not.

Update
Glitch
site blocked by administrator
Connection lost

There's a pic for that...
and unfortunately that as well.

Headphones lost
Volume up
An updated version of singing a round
       An updated version of singing a round
            An updated version of singing a round
                   An updated version of singing a round

Screens darkened
'cause bright "hurts eyes"
obscuring

Teacher talking
Keys lure fingers
one more click
one more command

I wasn't!
I'm not!
angry sigh
screen is closed

Money spent
Mandates levied
Money spent so
Use is Mandatory

No more paper
No more books

Oh, so many dirty looks.

So you think you want Technology?
Be careful what you wish for.

Challenging Challenge

The hardest thing about writing every day is time.
Writing is planning,
 executing,
and revising

and for me there needs to be time between the writing and revising. I need a break to be able to put forth my best work.

 Writing every day compresses that time.

 Reading and commenting on other blogs takes more time.

Children and cats distract.

If writing every day makes it easier to write well... every day... then I hope anyone reading finds the early bits interesting.

Thanks for reading.
Good luck writing.

Nurturing Butterflies

A butterfly emerging from it's chrysalis needs to struggle to develop its wings so it can fly.

A baby chick has to peck its own way out of its shell in order to build up strength to survive once it breaks free.

If someone were to help either of them-- out of pity at their struggle-- they would succeed only in harming, if not killing them.   Struggle is necessary in order to build the capacity to survive. We as a society have succeeded in harming the next generation through our pity at their struggle. 

Conscience is that little voice inside our head telling us whether something is right or wrong. But who decides right and wrong and how do we instill those values in our kids?

It used to be, at least for me, parents and church that taught me right from wrong. Sometimes fear was the catalyst for that decision. Fear of the paddle (which I don't agree with), but also fear of disappointing those who believed in me and trusted me. A healthy fear is good. It is that voice that says, "This is wrong."

Today we lament parents who have no discipline and only want to be their child's friend. Apparently being their friend is our job?  The world is such a horrible place, and parents are such horrible care givers, that WE in EDUCATION have to be the "safe" place for them?  And just how do we make them feel "safe"?... by being their friend. 

In one of my favorite books, Positive Discipline  by Jane Nelsen it talks about how discipline should "follow the 3 "R's" and be "Natural and Logical"

Related means the consequence should be related to the behavior. 

Respectful means the consequence must not involve blame, shame, or pain and be respectfully enforced.

Reasonable means the consequence must not involve piggy-backing and be reasonable from the child's point of view as well as the adults.

Speaking for my school, we give multiple chances that include stickers and coins and tickets that lead to treasure boxes and prizes... for not throwing a fit, or hitting, or fighting, or disrupting. We take away recess... tomorrow. Our office is a friendly place because kids "shouldn't fear" the office. So in a sense we are a chaotic mess of placation.  We let our pity make excuses for why "they can't succeed". 

They live in a bad neighborhood.

They live in poverty.

They have a parent who has to work two jobs.

Parent is in jail.

Parent is sick.

Drugs.

Etc., Etc., Etc.,

How many success stories start with, "Someone else put in the work and I let them."  When we teach writing we teach there has to be a struggle, an antagonist, a hardship-- that brings about change. 

How would you grade a story whose plot was: Johnny was disruptive and rude. He disrespected adults and caused havoc wherever he went, so his mom let him play on his phone and his teacher let him pick from the prize box, and the principal bought him Mc Donalds and ate lunch with him.  Johnny continued being rude because he liked the cool perks. The End?

I'm positive we have different views on what is right and wrong in the political and social norms aspect of life, and we shouldn't be projecting those beliefs on the children in our charge, but I think we can all agree on the Golden Rule. Expecting kids to be respectful and kind and to treat others with decency is not abuse. It's not even setting the bar too high. 

Many in education don't realize you don't have to be a doormat in order to build relations. Shouldn't we set expectations high enough for them to feel pride in that achievement and the work required, rather than so low they can trip over them when they are walking?

Are we brave enough to let them struggle out of the chrysalis of childhood?

Changed My Mind

I started planning this post this morning. I knew exactly what I was going to write about. The title was going to be something along the lines of: I feel like I'm being bullied.

You see, the kids I'm working with now are in 6th grade. This is my first year being exclusively in 6th grade. The last 11 years I was in Kindergarten. I knew these kids in Kindergarten. They were the group of 27 that followed the group of 17. They were the challenging group that followed the group everyone wished they could loop with. They were the group everyone got through.

I've seen them in the hall, and I had some of them in my reading groups when I did reading intervention. But, for the most part, this is the first time I've been with them since they were 6. And for the most part they haven't changed. They are just as challenging as they were then. Maybe more so, because many who weren't as challenging then, have joined the challenging.

Our school, and really our district, have had a habit of chance after chance with no real consequence. We have used the same tired ideas and they have never change the behavior. For a consequence to be effective, it has to change the behavior.

Then I look at the teaching blogs I follow. I read news articles and posts others share about feeling sorry for the world "our kids live in."  I read how putting kids in rows is torture, because kids need to learn to work together. We get notes from our superintendent-- buying into the narrative that we should have couches and lounge chairs and lamps with scarves draped over them to promote a homey atmosphere. We are being led to believe if we don't provide kids a stress free, consequence free, discomfort free, existence than we, as the adult are somehow unfit for teaching or working with kids.

I was going to write about how, maybe if these kids had had more consequences along the way, we wouldn't be in the position we are in now.  I was going to channel my "These rotten kids today," frustration, but then I read this post from tonight.

https://readreflectteach.wordpress.com/2018/03/04/slice-of-life-2018-day-5-if-you-really-knew-me/

It changed my focus. I've heard of the "What i wish my teacher knew about me" writing assignments before, but reading it tonight brought me back to who I really am.

I am the one who relates to kids. My gift has always been connecting to the kids that drive others crazy. That is what is missing from education.

Testing and teacher evaluations based on those tests have relegated connections to the back burner for many. Schools rely on the quick fix and fear of parents forces the least effective route to changing behaviors.

Time and personnel are what schools need. Can you imagine what it would be like if the assistant in a classroom could pull a student aside and discuss behavior and choices while the teacher continued to teach without needing to ditch the many to counsel the one? What if that assistant could take over the class for a few moments so the teacher could connect to the child? Imagine how much more learning could happen if the kids who "live in trauma" in their home lives didn't have to experience trauma in the classroom just because a school prioritizes and allocates money to the benefit of prestige rather than child development?

I still believe we need to stop calling those who have traditional approaches to education wrong-headed and detrimental to student learning. 

I still believe the collective "we" have failed the group of 6th graders I work with. For 6 years we have capitulated, cajoled, and conceded, and because of that, we have a group of kids who put little effort into their learning, talk back, and ignore adults. We have not helped those who needed us when they were little, and we have harmed those exposed to disruption year after year.

Unfortunately the test still looms for all of us, every year, and unless and until we put our resources toward listening and connecting instead of furniture and fancy technology,  we can't say we have prepared our students for now, let alone that proverbial "world they will be living in."

I Love Fixer Upper

I want ship lap and a duo fireplace...
Hard wood floors
and tiled back splashes.
I want an open floor plan and
a big back yard.
I want dormers on my roof and
front porch with rocking chairs.
I want old fashioned doors
that close in my pantry.
I want concrete counter tops
and hand made tables made from
white oak.

I think we could do it ourselves...
I mean, I've seen how it's done.
You tear down a wall.
You sand some floors.
All we'd need is some money
and about 8 weeks.

Is it possible if you don't live in Waco?

Nothing to Say

On Friday I had to 'sub' in one of the 6th grade rooms because the teacher was selected to help chaperone the "Principal's Challenge" kids who were going bowling.

This year we started the "Principal's Challenge."  Teachers set up academic goals for students to meet by the end of the trimester. Those who meet the goal are rewarded with a special activity. The first tri, the principal played minute to win it games with each class. This time all the kids who met the goal were taken to the closest bowling alley. They left about 8:30 and got back a little after 11.

Well, as an IA, I had to watch the kids left behind in one of the 6th grade rooms. We had a business as usual day planned. MobyMax Vocabulary, followed by Read to Self, a worksheet, and then it was time to switch for Writing and Math. I was in the room for Writing.

We are starting to study Theme in narration. I had to read "Hooway for Wodney Wat" and discuss possible Themes. Then I had to give them their assignment: they will be writing stories for Kindergarten or 1st grade and they will use animal characters to teach a lesson.

We discussed the choices of graphic organizers. And I asked for questions.

One child raised her hand and asked if "you had to have a climax."  She was looking at the Rising Action graphic organizer.

Surpressing a sigh (we have been discussing story arcs all year) I explained that, yes, stories have to have a problem and work toward a resolution. Otherwise it was just a list of activities.

This is a long way of saying I've had a hard time thinking of stories to slice.  I realize the point is to show little slices of our normal lives, but today
the sun woke me up before I wanted to get up
Hubby made me breakfast
We got groceries
We had lunch
We with oldest son went to local park. Hubby and I walked. Son biked.
Came home and started laundrey
Watched Fixer Upper
Had dinner and watched Captain America

Nothing inspired me to expand or expound upon.

So, I'm sorry. I have nothing to say today.

Caveman

ISTEP --* Done (for now)
Mega Band Concert-- *Done
Family Fun Night-- *Done
Crummy Storm --*Done
Convocation --*Done
Fire Drill -- * Done
Full Moon --*Done (almost)
Week --*Done
Day-- *Done
Me-- *Done

I Am

I am

a wife

a mother

a sister

an aunt

a niece

a cousin

a friend

an Instructional Assistant

I am

an introvert
an empath

a conservative
a reader
a writer
a researcher
a seeker of Truth
a giver of opinions

I am all these things and more.
I am complicated and simple
But all I am makes me
Me