Waking up those teens!

I just read another one of those posts: "If you don't want to ruin your teenager, stop doing these things immediately!".  Well, I didn't read it, I glanced at it.  The first item it mentioned was waking them up in the morning.  I just........don't agree with that!

The morning wake-up was a tradition when I was growing up.  All the way until I left for college, my dad had the kid wake-up duty.  He performed it with humor, style, information and (when I look back) flat-out love.  There were three kid bedrooms along a straight hallway.  He would march down the hallway, singing - out of tune -  "Happy Monday (or whatever day) Morning!"  and proclaim the news of the day.  It could be the result of a basketball match between two rival schools, what the dog had already done that morning, or what exciting event awaited our day or night ahead.  Yes, there were days when it was just "Hurry up, get up", but there were also some other days when a bugle was being blown.  In the hallway.  Outside our bedrooms. A bugle. I owned an alarm clock, and used it as well, but I counted on Dad being there.  When I left for college, I missed it.  I didn't miss class, I didn't not get out of bed because my parent wasn't there.  I knew that I was now on my own and had to get up when the alarm went off!

I carried on the tradition and tried to wake up my kids every day.  I wasn't perfect, but I know they can hear my voice saying "Good morning, sunshine!" even now if they try. Parents of teens - they might even talk to you like a human when they first wake up!  Oh, they learned to do laundry, cook, wash dishes, shop, budget money and time.......but waking up?  My opinion is....do that as long as you can.  When it's gone, it's gone.

Effective Classroom Management Gone Bad 8/19/14

Back to school for teachers.  The meetings, the hugs, the surprise announcements of pregnancy and engagements.  The excitement/boredom combination that only that particular week can bring.  I've been to two days now, and something is disturbing me.  It's August 2014, and the town of Ferguson, MO is in such a state of unrest that it's affecting our nation.  The National Guard has helped out, and fifty-seven people were arrested last night.  They were protesting, throwing Molotov cocktails at and even shooting at police.  (The article stated that only four of those arrested lived in Ferguson, proving that people will go a distance to protest and cause harm.)  I am not taking a stand on the Michael Brown case. I feel so sorry for his family, just as I do for anyone that loses a family member.  I am commenting on the vaguely-named "protesters".  If you know me at all, you know that I am seriously anti-violence.  I have trouble with the idea of military and war at all, but this world makes forms of such an evil necessity.  I do know that a family lost somebody they loved and cared about, and rather than use the peaceful tools available, many of these "protesters" are causing more harm, injury and even death to try to.........what?

Yesterday, we played a game with our teacher handbook.  Various questions were asked, teachers had to locate the page number and answer, then run up front and ring a bell and see if their teams answer was correct.  Shorthand:  these are the issues that teachers don't do well on, let's pound them in your head with a game.  I stopped participating when something on page 14 caught my eye.  Under "Principles of Effective Classroom Management" it stated:  "Discipline students in private.  Do not redirect or reprimand in front of the other students."

I am at a loss for words.  I don't know if I can keep teaching.  I can't ask some boys and girls in my classroom "Please stop talking."" "Please don't touch her" "Put your rhythm sticks away, you broke the rules."?  I know there are many other ways, but sometimes a polite direct request works the little miracle we need at the time.  I teach between forty and fifty-five students at a time.  Alone.  Do I have to step out in the hallway with a student that is not allowing me to teach due to misbehavior?  Who watches the others?

Today, we had a presentation on classroom management.  The presenter was all about being positive.  Before I go any further, I have to say that I pride myself on being positive with children, and encouraging them constantly by praising good behavior.  The presenter this morning claimed that she only ever does that, and the worst children that are having a "bad day" are brought around by her praise.  Going into my twenty-fifth year, I can agree with that technique, but only for about 75% of the time.  There are some individuals, small as they may be, that (due to whatever life has dealt them) don't care, don't listen to the praise, abuse the privilege of being treated nicely and even cause a violent happening to a fellow student or myself.

I think there are grown-ups that don't care to obey the law today because the authorities in their young lives let them see by example that they would be rewarded if they chose to do wrong.  Should the authorities in Ferguson need to take one protester at a time to a side street and have a talk with them?  That's what education in America has led them to expect.  I'm glad I only have a few years left, and I hope I didn't scar any of the little darlings that I've corrected in class over the last twenty-five years.

Double Classes and Holding My Breath 4/17/14

Surprise!  The art teacher is sick today and there's no substitute!  "Of course, I'll take those classes.  No problem."  I mean, what choice is there, really?  Somebody has to take the extra group; I have one and PE already has two.  Simple math, the music teacher takes the extra group.

So today, instead of having my usual thirty darlings, I get to control anywhere from fifty to seventy.  Alone.  I've kind of gotten used to alone. Actually, though, that may be changing.

The last time I had to endure double classes, I wrote about taking a breath.  Taking a breath emotionally and letting the realization of  "who I am now" find the cracks in the wall that let happiness shine through like bright summer sun.  I am a little further along that path now.  A journey continues on a daily basis, does it not?  My itinerary has been busy lately.

I have seen the sunshine of happiness and I am now traveling a road of healing.  the care, attention and understanding given to me by Robbie have helped me wake up and realize that joy can be re-discovered in the aftermath of sorrow.  Robbie is traveling the same road, so when we need to take a break and sit on a bench for a while....we do.

Today, although I'm having to monitor double classes, I'm holding my breath - in anticipation.  Robbie, who has kindly traveled the miles to visit me twice already, is visiting again this weekend.  Although we talk very often, it's so much nicer in person. I'm anticipating laughter, serious talk, fun, a little sadness, but mostly a wonderful time.

Even though I had twice the students I usually do today...on the day before a holiday...I can smile on the inside and know that there's someone to listen to me talk about it when I get home. I may be alone in the classroom, but no longer in my spirit. What a difference.  Robbie and I acknowledge our respective tragic pasts and are seeking a happier future.  The sad chapters in our story have come to a close, and some happy chapters are being written.  So talk on, big groups of kids.  I'll hold my breath until 4:00 and enjoy the weekend.

Let's Save the World, Teachers!! (Or at least finish the year!) 3/23/14

I saw "Divergent" last night.  I really like the movies set in the dystopian future, especially ones based on YA novels that I have read.  The young people have to overcome all the wrongs that have been set in place by silly grown-ups since the world ended/big war/great disaster...whatever happened in whichever book.  There is always a challenge.  The characters at that point in the story are stretched to their mental and physical limits trying to make it out/in/to the next stage/stay alive. The formula varies, but the final challenge, in the novels and the movies, remains the most tense, suspenseful, casualty-filled part of the story.

All teachers are getting ready to enter their final challenge.  When I thought about going back to school after spring break, I thought about the last thirty minutes of "Divergent".  I also thought about "The Hunger Games" and every single "Harry Potter" book.  We're in the last months now.  Almost every school has about ten to fourteen weeks left.  Testing will be occurring on a regular basis.  Administrators will be needing to wear diapers worrying about testing abnormalities and audits.  Students will be getting in fights and falling in love.  It's funny that they are tested right around the time when their year-long relationship with the others that surround them reaches its peak!

Spring Break is just what is says: a small break.  The imminent end-of-year hill that we climb is in sight even though we are on vacation. (Is it subliminal that I accidentally typed 'hell' instead of 'hill'?)  I hope, all my teacher friends, that you were wise enough to treat yourself well this past week, because that may not happen again for a while.  We all know it, and our smiles and laughs to each other during the day will help us through.

So here we are, teachers....our final battle of this novel (or movie) is approaching.  Choose your weapons, revive your skill-set, encourage your team.  The good guys always win, don't they?  I'm right beside you, let's go!

When The Music Starts - My Choir at the Toyota Center! 3/9/14

It was the busiest of weeks.  I define 'busy' as any length of time where your focus is required to be on something besides that which you want to be doing.  So I guess any work day is busy.  But even work days have small breaks, lunch, planning...things like that during which you can take a breath, check your e-mail, look at your phone...without other requirements panting at you like a dog.

The undertaking of an elementary field trip is no small task.  Add in the fact that the little darlings are all in different grades and homerooms, they must wear their choir shirt, they have to perform, and certain paperwork must be turned in on every one of the forty-nine students (49!), and I received a busy week.  I was bombarded by questions, papers, looking for papers, figuring how to collect them and feed them after school, figuring out how to get them on the bus and get to the Toyota Center in time....I worked, planned, e-mailed, texted, made phone calls, and typed up papers. Don't get me wrong, I didn't procrastinate; I've been working on this since August.  It's just that the last week is crunch time, and I wanted to go over every detail as many times as possible. When the music starts, we all need to be ready!  I don't like to be wrong about anything!

I must say a huge 'thank you' to our office staff and all the teachers that helped with the little details.  And I thank the principal for just letting me handle it all and staying out of my way.  I prefer to work unassisted and without a hawk looking over my shoulder, questioning everything I do.  And I got it my way!  Pure luck, I know.  The big day, Friday, rolled around and I was up early.  Packing what I would need and getting dressed and ready.  There was a five-minute space when I, the choir director, could not find my own choir t-shirt.  But it was only temporary, the shirt was found and on with the show.  Headed to school, my choir and I got a shout-out on the radio from local morning show Dean and Rog.  That made me very happy, and I hoped that a lot of our teachers and parents had heard it.  I parked at school, carried in all my 'stuff' and was late for the staff meeting.  Not only late, but had already been mentioned, so everyone knew I wasn't there on time.  I claim Rockets game excuse!

Let it be known that during this day, I taught my full schedule of classes, except when the assistant principal spelled me for thirty minutes due to having won an hour lunch with my team.  I was missing a permission slip, I had to call the parent.  I had no less than four students without their t-shirts, and only five to spare.  I typed an agenda for the afternoon to give my principal, who was riding the bus with us.  I figured out how many students I needed to place on each row for our performance from the stands. I dealt with the fact that my underwire on one side was a goner, and hoped that the effect would not be seen on the big screen.  The day went by.  I left during planning and picked up their pizzas.  I was ready for the crowd immediately after school.

They were wound up, to say the least.  I kept them corralled, with the help of precious friends that volunteered to stay for the pizza portion.  They ate healthy portions, and then the orange things appeared. Those obnoxious blow-up noise makers were springing up all around the room!  I outlawed them immediately.  Do not blow them up, put them away, I do not want to see them.  Little did I know that one parent had supplied her child with enough orange things for every one of the 49 kids to have two!   That's a new rule to chalk up for next year.

We loaded the bus.  The principal, me, the bus driver's family and 49 kids.  We told them:  same rules as always.  The bus driver turned on the radio.  The kids sang and took selfies.  I had to trust that all those ten and eleven year olds were taking decent pics!  It got loud.  We had to tell a few to sit back down.  The principal looked unhappy most of the time.  Half-way there, she informed me that we had a "seat-hopper", so she went and sat toward the back.  I frowned at my children (they know if my smile is gone, it's a biggie) and we rode the rest of the way there.

When you take 49 students on a 90 minute bus ride, restrooms at the destination are of the utmost importance.  When that was taken care of, our escorts took our group up to our spot via the freight elevator! There were some scared little darlings, but I, the fearless leader, told them if they want to be a famous singer or actor, they have to learn about arriving the 'secret way'!  Once in our rows, we waited to sing.  Parents were arriving and bringing their child some food, the arena was filling up, kids were clapping noisy orange things and asking for the restroom again... one mom (who has been precious and helpful and kind for six years now) handed me a bottle of water.  "For you, Mrs. McCarty".  True kindness exists.

We got our three minute warning and the kids put away the orange things and focused.  Once the music started, they were in auto-mode.  They got a little distracted by the big screen, but the sound was amazing - on key, energized and sweet.  I realized that I don't focus on bus behavior or how they interact with each other.  I touch on those things - but what I really teach is how they should act and what they should do when the music starts.  They did it.  I was proud.

The rest of the evening was a nightmare of restroom trips, loud clappy orange things in my ear and a few that couldn't behave. It was also a big win for the Rockets, so that made it fun.  What I am going to choose to remember most is the sound that came from my choir, because what you do when the music starts is really important.

Double Classes and Taking a Breath

Double classes.  Sometimes it's terrible.  Sometimes it's perfectly fine.  Sometimes even - one hour of terrible followed by one hour of wonderful.  Double classes for a "large group" teacher does not mean two homerooms.  It means three to four homerooms of darling children.

It takes a certain amount of disciplinary skill to handle large group.  There's the authoritative voice, the appeal to all the years that they have known you (and your expectations), the promise of reward, and the occasional threat (and action) of having to "sit out".  It is possible to manage a large (from 60-90) group of students successfully if you have enough tricks in your bag.

Teaching double classes is difficult and sometimes annoying, but I only expound on that to relay the miraculous fact that I, on a day like today, can still be in a "good mood".

Someone like me, on their journey of grief, may smile, laugh or joke on the outside.  But for a long period of time, those looks and sounds are surface only.  I heard an actual account, just yesterday, of what others say about "how she's doing" (she being me).  They say "She's doing great!"  and best of all; "Her spirits are good."  The person that knows my spirits is someone I only speak to about once a week.

I am not calling those people liars.  They are telling the truth as they interpret it.  They are seeing my act on the stage that is my world.  The costumes, the makeup (Thank God!) the portrayal of expected emotions, and the utterances of the lines that everyone wants to hear.  I have fooled them all, haha!  Until now.  Today, my smile felt real.  Today, the feeling down deep inside matched the way my eyes crinkled with laughter.  On a double class day, no less!

It's a journey.  On a journey, you make progress.  Some are quicker, some are slower.  There is no minimum or maximum speed.  Some progress is internal.  Some is very public.  And some...well, some has to do with coming to terms with your new self because all of the sudden it's not as new, it's who you are.  It was an abrupt realization.  In my mind I compared it to someone in the movies or on TV that is knocked out and not breathing.....and then WHAM! - they take that breath and they're still alive.  My emotions did that recently.  That isn't a complete victory over inner sadness - it's just a break from it.  Like anything that starts, though, it can grow.

Today, I was doing great.  The life-saving breath experience was still a memory that made me feel happy inside. My spirits were good today.  It's about time, they've been bad inside for almost a year - in spite of what some others think.  You just couldn't see it.  Today, the double class did not incur my wrath.  (Wrath for me usually being a lecture, haha.)  Instead they incurred my humor and sly jokes that tricked them into behaving for me.  I know that actually feeling the happiness I've faked for so long won't be permanent, but I pray it won't be a stranger, either.

Princess manners or; Lessons from my Mom 2/28/14

I had a 'princess tea party' with a four year old last night.  She was adorable.  I think it was an excuse to con me out of a cookie and some ice cream, but we had fun.  Real sweet tea in the teapot, Disney princess cups, the works.  She asked the cutest question along the way:  "Do princesses always have to use their manners?" I answered very thoughtfully (this not being my child.....) "Of course they do!  But every now and then, a princess might be hanging out with her other princess girl friend and they might not need quite as many manners."  Answer accepted.  A few minutes later, when she said something about dog poop, I surmised that I was now a princess girl friend and the tea party was over.

She made me think of all the wisdom that women give their little princesses all through life. Some is fun, some very serious. I made a little list, just to honor all the fun, loving and very important things I learned from my mom....and her mom, her aunt, and others along the way!

A few of the royal rules:

1.       “No” can be used as a complete sentence.  Often.

2.       When nobody else gives you flowers for a while, buy them for yourself

3.       If I set foot in the ocean, every sailfish, grouper, whale, salmon, ray, octopus, turtle, dolphin, hippo, shark, and anything else out there will come bite my toes.

4.       Any creature that doesn't live in the ocean is welcome in my house. (Except big snakes.)

5.       Every now and then, you just gotta buy yourself a Camaro.

6.       Always wear your lipstick and polish your toes, you never know who you’re going to meet.

7.       If you’re good at something and it benefits others, say ‘yes’ more often than you say ‘no’.

8.       Electronics purchases are based on how pretty the lights are.

9.       Wear a slip.

10.   Call when you get there.

11.   Whatever your creative self does, do it to make yourself happy.  Don’t worry about getting rich or famous, just do it for fun.

12.   There is no stopping point to the acquisition of jewelry (that one is really mine…)

13.   Plants are friends.

14.   Shoes are not friends.

15.   Dogs and cats are equals.

16.   Any recipe can be adapted.

17.   A good tan hides a lot.

18.   Every now and then, spending the entire Saturday with your best friend is just necessary.

19.   Kids are everything.  Until grandkids come along, and then there is a new category of everything.

20.   Pray without ceasing.

I love you, mom!

Getting Poked, Prodded, and Patted 2/26/14

I ran over a nail.  My new car beeped at me "Low Tire Pressure!!".  I saw the nail - it was toward the outside of the tire, just stuck in there.  I went to get it fixed and ended up having to buy a tire for my new car.  My car had 825 miles on it that day.  I laughed it off, texting my friend: "Life keeps poking me." As in a nail...in a tire....get it?

I went to the doctor.  The first round of pills had not cleared the bronchitis and I felt worse.  He sat me on the table and checked ears, nose, throat, told me I was very congested (I didn't feel like I was...) and then told me he was going to press on my face, let him know if it was painful.  He even moved my bangs out of the way.  That is a big deal, you know, those bangs are carefully placed and lightly, oh so lightly sprayed each morning so as to look naturally carefree and beautiful.  I am a product of the Farrah years, you know.  The doctor moved my bangs and pressed and prodded my whole face.  It did not hurt.  Worrying about getting my bangs fixed hurt a lot more. He prescribed more pills to make me well, and I repaired my hair once I got in the car.

I pet my dogs and cats regularly, I love them and can't resist giving them a good pat or scratch.  They seem to like it, the cute little furbabies.  I also get petted regularly.  No, that is not leading where you think!  Every work day of my life, I teach little ones in the afternoon.  Five and six year olds.  They also have to walk right past me every day to switch from music to PE, or the other way round.  Here's what it looks like when a child that age wants to tell me something:  They stand, their little head waist-high to my adult self, elbow bent, with their hand patting the first part of me it can find.  I get my stomach patted several times a day.  They don't care or look when they pat, they just want to tell some news!  "It's my mom's birthday today!" "My tooth came out!" "Joey hit me!' The stomach pat makes sure that I will bend my head and look right into their earnest little eyes.

There are also the same little darlings that think the pat should be used to get my attention if my back is turned.  Let's just say that it does!  All in all, I think all the poking, prodding and patting that happens in my life serves to move me around a bit, but then put me right back where I was before.  It's not fun to have to buy a new tire just because of a nail.  It's not fun to get my face prodded, be prescribed more medicine and get my hair messed up, either. It's not really fun to get my tummy patted as if I were a household pet - but then again, those little faces and their excitement over what they have to share makes the tire and the hair fall back into second place because they love me and want to tell me their "stuff".  The nail in my tire didn't love me, and I'm fairly sure after all these years that my hair doesn't love me (maybe love-hate...) but the 'patters'?  They love me.  So I teach them to just speak to me, or raise their hand, but all the way until they turn eleven and leave me for middle school, I remember the little arm that used to pat me; and I laugh inside.

Briefcases and Tiffany hearts 2/8/14

There were these guys when I was in fifth or sixth grade.  They were smart.  They played kickball, did a little music, but mostly they were the smart guys.  Then all of the sudden, they all started carrying briefcases to school.  A briefcase - like a Wall Street broker or something.  The rest of us just giggled a bit and went back to band, swim team, staking out our favorite equipment on the playground (do the words 'witch's hat' spark a memory, anyone?) and yes - we all played massive kickball tournaments, even briefcase guys.  When the briefcases started their run, I was carrying a clarinet, some played sports, some loved makeup, clothes and shoes, others were under the hood of a car before they could drive.  It's as if, somewhere around ten or eleven years old, a great imaginary dividing ceremony takes place and sends us to our group.

If you're a reader, you are also recognizing this idea from some great fiction out there. "Divergent", the "Harry Potter" series, many others play on this theme, that you all of the sudden 'grow up' and 'find your group' at that age.  The thing is, it's an eternal theme because it rings true in real life.  I watch it happen with the darlings I teach, year after year.  In fourth grade, they start 'hanging around' the kids that are most like them, instead of just anyone.  Girls who take dance outside of school stick together, etc.  And if you think I'm giving an idyllic, fairy-tale view of this natural separation, I will throw this out there:  I referee more mean comments, hurt feelings and actual tears simply because very young friends are growing apart and they don't have the emotional maturity to realize it's okay, you can miss that friend, you can make an effort to still be friends, or you can remain acquaintances.  They don't know. It's their first bump in the road of all their friendships and relationships to come.  By fifth grade, the groups set themselves. I give them a talk each year about moving on to middle school and finding their 'group'.  I love when they come back to me and visit, and band (or choir, or orchestra, or theater...or even football or art) is their whole life, all their friends are from that group and their grades are fantastic and they are headed for college.

I've been living the very adult version of  'finding my group' for the past nine months. Before nine months ago today, I didn't belong to any group that had experienced tragic loss.  Loss of grandparents, older aunts and uncles, yes.  But I had lost no parents, siblings, or children.  I didn't have that frame of reference before May 8th.  I started thinking this way because I saw an image that made me reflect on the changes that take place long after you find your first 'group'.

Tiffany hearts?  Yes, they made me think.  I wore these earrings on Thursday and Friday.  Invariably, every time I looked in the mirror, one heart was upside down.  I fixed it, tightened the back, but to no avail.  Of course, the earrings being hearts, it made me think - my heart has felt upside-down lately. It just jumped out at me that we always need to find our group.  Life changes, and life changes us.  I'm still the person I was before, but with a new addition to my personality.  And it makes me gravitate toward certain people.  I have been able to have better heart-to-heart conversations with friends that have experienced loss than with others lately.  I'm not saying "I'm not your friend anymore" to anyone.  I'm simply feeling more of a kinship with those that always have their 'event' in the front of their minds, just as I do.

The upside-down heart brought that home to me.  A right-side-up heart looks settled, closed, happy, and states 'don't change me'!  An upside-down heart is one that has been turned over and is now looking to find its way back.  Nothing is settled anymore. That is how my earrings taught me a little something about myself this week. Most of me is settled.  But there's a part that's been moving toward a bit of a different group.  And that's okay.  I think every heart should have an upside-down section.  It keeps us from turning inward and never experiencing new things.

The briefcase guys didn't keep carrying briefcases into high school.  The band kids learned to make friends with the athletes.  Finding your group is an ongoing process, because life is an ongoing journey. When you look in the mirror and find out that part of your heart is upside-down at the moment, be happy that in spite of all, you're not too set in your ways to change just a bit.  Because the road twists and turns and you'll be left behind if you don't.

Five Things This Teacher Will Always Wonder 1/26/14

My own words this afternoon kind of surprised me.  "Several times a day, I wonder what it would be like to work among adults only.  But then I think if I didn't work with children, I would die a slow death."  Really?  Do I think that?  Definitely yes to the first half.  Wondering about those other jobs out there - you know, not teachers - I've been doing that since 1986. I even tried to look up how much a delivery truck driver makes one time, because they just get to drive, deliver, stop for lunch somewhere, then take the truck back to be loaded up and do it again the next day!

Is the grass greener outside the elementary playground?  I will probably never know.  I dream of moving into one of the those educational positions at a museum or something....but I don't actively pursue it.  I have to support myself and my girls, so taking a chance on finding a different-type job is too risky, in my mind.  So I am left to wonder about the outside world, like a confined princess in a tower. Well, maybe like a middle-aged woman that can't escape the workhouse...I prefer the princess, though. Here are five things I will always wonder:

1. What's it like to be able to get up and go to the restroom when you need to at work?  Elementary teachers can't just walk out of the room.  We have to get someone else to watch, oversee, protect, make sure hawks don't scoop up...the children.  Although I am having a laugh here, it's actually quite necessary.  We can have a fellow teacher spell us for a potty break - but our best bet is to learn the schedule and never over-Starbuck ourselves, even on tired mornings!

2.  Who are these people that are at restaurants for lunch every day?  Every great now and then, the schedule gives us a lucky break and we get to venture out - to Jason's Deli, Panera, the local Tex-Mex, a good Chinese buffet - about four times a school year, if you're counting.  When teachers walk in, usually group of women with school t-shirts or their badges flipping at their collar, we can hear the rest of the population think "Oh great, the teachers are out today..."  Who are those people?  I want to walk up to each and every one of them and ask "What is your job?  Do you get to eat out every day?  How much do you make?  How much vacation time do you get?"  But I don't.  Evidently those types of questions are frowned upon from strangers.

3. How does it feel to go through an entire work day with nobody hugging you? Or poking your stomach to tell you something?  Or petting your toes?  Unless you work in a very unusual place, I have got to assume that you "other job" people out there do not get treated as if you are some one's substitute mommy - or stuffed animal!  By the way, in the winter, the toe-petter will rub my suede boots.  This is my third year to teach her, and it has lessened - I feel it's my job to let her know that you can't just pet any one's feet!

4.  If you start to not feel well in the middle of a day, do you just go home?  I know that not everyone can....but can you turn off your phone?  Change a meeting?  Put the e-mail on out-of-office for thirty minutes?  Can you run to Walgreen's on the corner to buy some medicine, then try to make it through the day? Don't get me wrong, we can take measures if things are bad enough, but if it's just a headache, or the start of sniffles, something mild?  We just carry on.  Maybe have an extra bottle of water or cup of tea.  Then  we ask a colleague to watch our kids when we have to run to the restroom.

5.  What's it like to shop locally without children yelling your name?  It is evidently SO COOL to see the teacher outside of elementary school.  And the parents are there, witnessing how we greet their precious little ones, and sometimes wondering 'Who the heck is that?'  So no matter what a long day it's been, how tired we are, we put on a smile, say hi to the precious darling, introduce ourselves to the parents...and then we have to remember why we came to the store in the first place!  If we are lucky, they are leaving, and we don't encounter them on every aisle we walk, to get an update on what groceries their mom just chose.

Actually, number 5 is the reason I went back to teaching happily after my five years off.  My five years off happened to take place in England (I know, cool, right?) from when my girls were two and three, until they were seven and eight.  It was a complete blessing to be home with them during that time.  About six months in, though, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table just sobbing my eyes out.  I analyzed it carefully.  Of course I missed my family.  Of course I missed my friends. Of course I missed the familiar area, stores, etc.  But what I really missed was people knowing me.  Nobody stopped me to talk in the drugstore.  Nobody kept me standing in the driveway chatting for an hour, so dinner was late.  I like to be known!  Granted, we were very new in England, and at the end of my five years I had all that and more.  But learning that about myself has kept me teaching.  Oh there are nine hundred kids in the school?  Bring 'em on! I only get to see them every other week?  That's okay, I'll make sure they know me and that they learn music. Because I am their teacher, for those five days a week, nine months a year, I belong to them and they belong to me.

Me, with some of the earliest huggy darlings - around 1988, when the wondering began!

Where My Brain Goes During Staff Development 1/11/14

It is the bane (or blessing, if you choose) of any teacher's existence:  having to sit through hours of staff development.  Usually occurring at the beginning of the year, prior to students returning from holidays, or on the odd Monday holiday - students off, staff in session, teachers sit for hours to be what; taught new methods?  inspired to change everything they do? be told we're valuable no matter what the world thinks?  If you assume that I've met my quota of staff development hours every year I've taught, then at the end of this year, I've sat through 575 hours of these lovely meetings.  How am I not perfect yet?  Besides the fact that nobody is perfect, the other answer is that over a span of thirty years, the exact same ideas are being implemented, but they are packaged with different wording.  If I say the words from twenty years ago to praise or remind, I'm not doing it right anymore. Same ideas, different words.  I recently sat through a day of listening to a speaker that was guaranteed (by our administration) to be wonderful!!!  You will learn so much! Be excited!  Let me bring out my inner Yoda as I say - "Exciting to me, meetings are not."  I decided to bring a pen and let my thoughts flow onto paper to keep myself looking engaged.  Here's a little view of where my brain went from 8:30 a..m. to 11:30 a.m., with one twenty minute break:

Go ahead, inspire me.  Try to tell me something that I haven't heard.  The first try - telling me I'm older, smarter and I have skills.  As I've said many times before, 'There's your "duh" for the day.'  Keep trying.  Next, you tell me to put my phone out of sight (not a bad thing) because every time it goes off, some chemicals are released in my brain.  Yeah, chemicals are released for me every time I smell the pizza from the cafeteria next door, too.  That's life.  So, you got our phones put away.  Now you go over the handout.  Thank you so much for telling me what is contained in the papers that I'm holding in my hand  Oh good, a new power point slide!  Please read it out loud to me because I'm a teacher and reading is hard.  Also, I do not agree with the quote.  From famed teacher and child psychologist Haim Ginott, it reads:

“I’ve come to a frightening conclusion that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my personal approach that creates the climate. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or dehumanized.” 
― Haim G. Ginott

I do agree with most of that, but not the crisis escalating part.  I have personally seen situations escalate even when I'm at my personal best.  Dr. Ginott's observations are from the 1950s through the 1970s.  We need to keep the valuable and do away with what has changed with time.

Oooh!  Time to take notes! No, not really, just time to read the note-taking paper to me.  Once again, I guess I can't read.  More of the comedy routine (this is a fairly entertaining speaker, as they go...)about how tired teachers get, and how they go to happy hour together.

Finally!  We take notes about how our classroom looks.  And then about behaviors - we are supposed to tell them (the children) in all our gestures and behaviors that we want them here, we believe they can learn and we'll keep them as safe as possible.  (Good points, I've heard and used them for 23 years.)   Comedy moments were demonstrated concerning how our behavior is communication. (Example - a teacher yelling "What have I told you about yelling?"  haha)

Next we're asked "Do you get mad?"  Discussion (one sided) of what we do when we're mad.  All leading up to the point that we do not choose to sit in time out when we're mad.  So here we are, being told that we are doing it all wrong.  Don't say "don't hit".  Tell a kid that flips everyone off to do it in their pocket.  I don't know if I think that's ridiculous or I'm jealous because I didn't think of it.

We are told to ask ourselves:  "Can I be a perfect role model 100% of the time?"  We are told to remove "appropriate" and "inappropriate" from our disciplinary vocabulary.  Easier said than done.  A little contradiction is going on here. we can set a "parameter" and validate that a child has the urge to [hit, fight, curse, cheat....] and re-iterate the parameter for school.  But when you set parameters at school, isn't that because the action is not appropriate? Does simply changing "inappropriate" to "not ok" change the brain chemical?

So much of what this presenter is saying is the same thing I've been taught - on the job - for years.  And I personally use a lot of these techniques - maybe even in a very excellent, exemplary way.  Many teachers at my school do all these things well.

For the past 2.5 hours, this is what's been said.  It boils down to frame of mind.  She is saying "I did not say there are no consequences".  But she only gave examples of non-working consequences.  She didn't give concrete, usable examples of what to do once it's a necessity.  Consequences are seriously downplayed in the district, though, so that's probably a grand scheme.

Lunch is in six minutes and all I can think about is the pain in the bones of my rear end, as I've been sitting on a 12-inch diameter plastic disc for four hours.  And while I sit here contemplating whether this pain in my rear (literal, this time...) affects my bursitis, the speaker is making some of her most hard-hitting, serious, dynamic points and I'm not hearing a word.  Money well-spent, district?


Thus ends my free-write from my day of learning.  The afternoon session was another three hours of the same thing. My hand wouldn't write anymore.  But you know what?  The next day, students walked into my room.  I let them know that I was happy they were there, that I believed they could learn and that they were in a safe place.  I didn't do that because of the speaker. I did that because I love kids, I love teaching my subject to kids and I naturally adjust to the atmosphere and the basic needs of those kids to get them to learn and love music.

The Hardest Questions of All. Thanks, Santa. 12/12/13

Little ones ask so many questions.  Personal questions - "How old are you?"  Silly questions - "Can I have that bracelet?"  Blunt questions - "Are those real diamonds?"  But the two hardest questions of all occur this time of year:  "Mrs. Rush, is Santa real?"  followed by "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Elementary teachers have to face the fact the there are as many levels of belief in their classroom as there are students.  We also have to face the fact that those students believe whatever we say.  We are the teachers.  We speak wisdom and truth!  I bill myself as a teacher that only tells the truth.  So, when I was asked these difficult questions today, as I have been so many years in a row, I gave an answer that has been many years in the making:

"Is Santa real?  Jailynn says he's not."  Oh boy, here we go.  Carefully worded truth. These were second graders.  I personally found out the truth from a kid in my class in third grade.  I was angry and disappointed.  Considering this little questioner was about the same age, I spoke very cautiously:

"Now, my little friends, you might be hearing all sorts of things about Santa from your friends here in your class at school. I think that Santa is very much alive in the spirit of giving.  Different families have different ways that they share that with their kids, so please believe whatever your parents tell you.  This season is about love and giving.  Sometimes we give gifts, sometimes we give a song, sometimes we give our time to help someone.  Santa is one of the leaders behind all that giving, but we are all involved in it.  I hope that you have the chance to give a little bit this season and see how it makes you happy.  Even if what you give is your best smile." (The room erupts into smiley faces.)

"But what about what Jailynn said?"  "Well, her family still believes in giving and being sweet.  Her parents just explain it in a different way from your parents.  But that's ok if the real purpose is being nice."

"Why doesn't Santa bring presents to grown-ups?"  "Well, it's not because all grown-ups are bad.  I'm certainly not bad!" (giggle eruption).  "I think it's because when you are very little you only know how to get stuff.  When you get older, you learn how to give yourself, so Santa doesn't have to give you things to teach you that anymore." (Can we please sing now?)

Then, the granddaddy of them all:  "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?"  Dead silence.  They think they've got me.  "I have to say yes, my friends.  I believe in Santa as he represents the spirit of giving.  I believe in Santa in the idea that if you are good, good things come to you.  I try to practice that all year long on you boys and girls by giving treasure box goodies to the well-behaved children.  I believe that once you really know Santa as a grown-up, you understand that giving is so much more than a present.  Giving can be a smile, saying someone looks nice, visiting someone, calling them, writing them a note, or singing them a song. This is the truth that Santa represents and in my heart I know it's true.  Believe what your mom and dad tell you. That will be different for everyone in here, but don't we celebrate differences at our school?" (Nodding heads) "Santa wants you to grow up to have a giving heart, so he sets the example."  (Quiet.....)  "Now let's sing - please give me some beautiful songs with beautiful voices today!"  Smiles - music - action.  Thanks, Santa.

Treasure Box Day 11/16/13

There he sat, at the front of his row.  A little five-year-old boy.  Blond hair, cute as a button.  Because he was at the front, the other kids couldn't see what he was doing.  His eyes shut tightly, his lips mouthing unintelligible words and his hands clasped together with only knuckles showing.......he was praying.  My heart melted at the same time I laughed out loud with delight.  I didn't tell everyone, I simply enjoyed the moment.  You see, it was Friday;  time for me, the teacher, to select the treasure box winners.  Little boy only wanted a toy truck or a plastic bug.  And yes, he was praying HARD for it!

You see, as the 'ruler' of my classroom, I employ some 'tricks of the trade'.  I had told the same little boy on Wednesday that he was having a WONDERFUL week, and that I could tell he was trying to get the treasure on Friday.  The power of suggestion and dollar store goodies goes a long way in my little kingdom.  I must clarify one thing:  little boy is not a troublesome kid.  He is also not perfect.  He is a regular little boy.  He knows that he talks when he shouldn't sometimes, and that he stuck his tongue out at a friend once.  He is.....normal. And once in awhile, normal wins.

I love the hope that was expressed by this happening.  I love the balance in this world.  On the same Wednesday that I praised little boy, I had a horrible morning.  I needed a regular blood test, the kind where you have to not eat after midnight.  No problem in the evening.  BIG problem in the morning.  If I don't get my coffee and Cocoa Krispies, I don't function well.  Yes, every day, without fail, coffee and a bowl of Cocoa Krispies.  Since I was ten. (Well, not the coffee...) So I grouchily skipped breakfast and headed out early Wednesday morning for the lab, knowing there were loads of drive-thrus between the lab and work.  About halfway there - BOOM!!  Someone ran into the back of my car.  No coffee, no cereal, and now, rear-ended.  We pulled over, took a look - not bad at all - he gave me all his info, there was a baby in his car.....he was nice, I was nice, and I left and headed to the lab.  Offering my arm was easy compared to skipping breakfast and getting hit!  As I left the lab and headed for the drive-thru, I got a message on my phone.  A message from a dear, far-away friend.  It just said "Good Morning! You've been on my mind this morning...hope you have a great day! love and hugs!"  I cried.  I knew I needed to head straight to work, no down time to 'shake off' the events of the morning before teaching my large groups of darlings.  And with that message, I was reminded that so many people out there are thinking about me and praying for me.  It's the other thing, besides the precious little children, that give me the hope and the balance. 

When we pray for, think about and encourage each other, we are storing up treasure in a much more important treasure box than the one in my classroom. I have been more aware, since my tragedy, of the sending of a card, or the sharing of some words of comfort.  I'm not perfectly batting .1000, but I'm trying to reach out more.  You see, little boy actually earned his treasure (yes, he got picked!) through the whole week.  His 'prayer' was adorable, but his constancy of behavior won me over.  I appreciate the constancy of encouragement that I get right now.  Whether it's in the form of notes, words, smiles, conversations.....or prayer; I love you and thank you for balancing my days.  And, along with little treasure boy, every now and then I can raise my fist and say "YES!" .  Because I'm going to make it.

From MTAI to PDAS: M&Ms, Zombies and Mice

The year, I believe, was 1987.  All teachers in Mississippi now had to be evaluated according to state standards.  "MTAI" was the acronym of the year, Mississippi Teacher Appraisal Instrument.  All teachers now had to be officially assessed, according to guidelines set out by the state. These guidelines included several different areas, or "domains" in which a score was given.  We were carefully trained (made to sit through hours of meetings....), so there would be no way we could score badly.  We chose a class period, turned in a lesson plan - in the hand-written lesson plan book with the carbon copy pages - had a meeting to discuss the plan, and then the day came.  The principal had to stay thirty minutes.  They watched and checked everything. I remember leaving the lesson plan on my desk with a pack of M&Ms, as if chocolate could make anything I did wrong disappear!  I was, and still am, quite good at putting on a show, so it went very well, high scores all around.  But in between the observation and the actual knowledge of the scores, my brain told me everything I did was wrong.  "Uh-oh, you accidentally started the wrong song on the record the first time."  "You shouldn't have given that Mean Look, maybe that brought the score down."  "WHY OH WHY did that kid have to do a total snot-sneeze in the middle of the lesson?"  I am my own worst critic, and almost every teacher I know is the same way. 

Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"?  It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly.  Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear.  It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it. 

Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday.  I was not 'officially' evaluated.  First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year.  Each drop-in is about ten minutes.  Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year.  However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring".  We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used.  All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones.  Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones.  (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???)  About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes.  The first time, it was the main boss.  In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style).  I was scared to death.  Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days.  I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun.  "Zombie Style" is fun!  Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board.  Quick thinking.  In a flash, she was gone.  The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose.  I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body.  They can choose ANY song!  So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow".  It's definitely a Christmas song.  And it's early October.  Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count?  I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry. 

I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch.  Then I started thinking.  (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat?  Why were we singing a Christmas song?   Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table?  Why do I teach?  Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere? 

After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces.  If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper.  I should have three drop-ins this year.  For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline.  Once again, I took it personally.  I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong!  Once again, I did well.  I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher.  I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher".  I decided to be the best one I could be.    I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.


"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.

*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's.  They use their own phones, but the app is free.  Cheapskates.

Questions abound 9/27/13

I have a lot of questions.  Some of them deal with life and death.  Some of them deal with family and friends.  Some of them deal with work.  None of them are truly answer-able.  They are mostly just ponder-able.  Is it worth the time to ponder them?  I don't know.  That's one of the questions.

1. Why us?
 Why my precious girls?  Not so much me, but us.  All four of us were awesome. The three of us are still awesome, but way too aware that one-fourth of us is missing.  That flavors and colors everything we think and do, forever. And then I must ask:  Why my friend Maria and her two precious girls?  Is this a new sociological trend?  If so, may I be allowed to say: it sucks.  (Sorry, Mom.)  So, if there ever could be a reason (remember, simply a ponder question...), what would it be?

2. Why can't I get credit for all the years I've taught, even though they were elsewhere?
Don't laugh, this bothers me just about every day. The school district I work for honors everybody for the number of years they're taught in the district. So this year, when everybody is getting their award pins, I'll be sitting there, in my twenty-fifth year of teaching, watching everyone else get awards because they never moved around.  I've only taught in the district  for seven years now.  When I do get my "ten-year" award, it will actually be my twenty-eighth year teaching.  Thank goodness all those years in all those other places count on my pay scale.  I think I'll miss that day this year.

3. Why do some people get all the bad luck? or "Whydobadthingshappentogoodpeople?"
I'm really not referring to myself here, although I feel as if I have joined that crowd lately.  Why do some people not only end up with a bad situation, but no support?  Why do cars break down on top of an air-conditioning repair?  Why can lies be believed?  Why does sadness exist? 

4. Why do those inner bags of cereal sometimes rip instead of opening neatly?
I have a LOT of experience opening those bags.  I know that I do not like them to rip. I am not a fan of wasting single grain (or krispie!) of cereal.  A rip in the bag means that some of the cereal will pour down into the box.  Just this week, I was very carefully opening the new box of Grape-Nuts (another question altogether....) when RIP!!!  It just makes me angry.  I will say that I have better luck with Kellogg's bags than Post's.  I will also ask:  why, oh why, aren't those inner bags re-sealable? You know, a zip-lock top or something?  Too much to ask?

5.  Why am I plagued with the idea that anything I do is not good enough?
We've all been there, right? I just have to look around to know that I did some things great.  But just knowing that my husband is gone makes me feel like I goofed up big time, somewhere, somehow.  I now have to make all the big decisions myself, and instead of being confident because of past experience, I feel as if I will make a really big mistake.  Nobody questions my decisions, everyone tells me I'm smart, I'm strong....and that only gives me more doubt. I'm kind of afraid I'll get "too big for my britches" and do something that's waaay weird and uncalled for.  Ok, maybe not, because when you describe me in one word (you know that game?) the one word is CAUTIOUS.  And the worst insult I could give would be to say that a decision or action was FOOLISH.  Heaven forbid. 

6. Why is nothing ever good enough at work anymore?
This is an offshoot of #5, except that I am kind of making a statement that the district seems to be trying to prove itself by saying that they are constantly changing and upgrading all teaching methods.  In the process of doing so, a lot of teachers are being told that what they are doing isn't good enough, doesn't follow this list or that guideline or new specification #5,038.  Yes, I personally have experienced a bit of this.....and when I am told that something isn't good enough, I am not happy.  However, it's been only a couple of actual times for me.  I'm pretty sure that's very lucky, actually.  It's tricky ground, being in my emotional state, and coming up against the grips of the district.

7. Why does some music give me mixed messages? 
"Carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done." Oh good, I need to hop out of bed and get this day started!!  "Lay your weary head to rest, don'tcha cry no more..."  Nevermind.  "Don't worry, be happy."  My friend wants to punch Mr. McFerrin in the face for ever recording such nonsense.  I agree.  Mr. McFerrin is immensely talented (check out his version of The Beatles' "Blackbird") but that song has probably done more psychological damage than the movie "Psycho".  And Peter Frampton has been asking me to show him the way for thirty years now, but he won't show up. I know the way, Peter!!!  It's not good enough, but it'll get you there!

To sum up my ponderings:

1. Why us (and them)?
2. Why is the district unfair and nothing can be done about it?
3.  Why is life life?
4.  Why don't cereal companies care to improve?  Have we been married too long?
5.  If I am so confident (I am...) then why am I not confident? 
6.  Why do certain entities try to fix what's not broken?
7.  Why do I still feel emotionally attached to song lyrics even though I'm not a teenager?
8.  Why are my dogs and cats so cute?  ( I know, I didn't write about that, but they are napping beside me right now....)

Ponder away, friends, ponder away. 

Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13

I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2".  If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies.  When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time.  I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people.  Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first.  Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality? 

Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another.  I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.

I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair.  It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings.  I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off.  These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house.  In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face.  I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.

This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage.  I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it.  I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed.  I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it.  Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs.  Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain.  That's not scary, though. That is comforting.

I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from.  I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter.  One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic.  The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased.  Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window.  That's scary, but only for a minute.  My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.

Sometimes, there's just sadness.  In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child.  Sadness.  My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis.  In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit.  I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more.  After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis.  I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley.  Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.

Then again, there is the example of Riley.  We took her to the scary movie today.  Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate.  We promised her she could sit between us.  As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy.  We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad.  She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started.  After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously.  It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity.  Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped!  Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day.  And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie?  On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!"  I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going.  What an example.  Take that, scary stuff.

Oh My, The Things They Say! 9/12/13

What fun I have teaching ages 5-11, every year along the way of their elementary school journey.  A music teacher is a constant in their life, year after year.  It's so fun to look at the big, trying-to-be-cool fifth graders and say "Remember when you danced the tango with me?"  "Remember when you said you had a broken head?".  Little ones are always cute. "Mrs. McCarty, do you have some more musics today?"  But big ones are cute, too.  I stated we were going to learn a song from a war - would they like to guess which one?  5th grade boy - "Does it have the word silver in it?" Me - "Yes, if by 'silver' you mean 'civil', in which case, you got it!"  He laughs, we all laugh, and we discuss the word 'civil' then move on to "When Johnny Comes Marching Home".  Innocent mispronunciations to glaringly obvious, but hilarious questions are a part of the teacher's life.  I wish I could remember all of them - but quite a few have stuck in my memory through the years.

"Mrs. McCarty, she's breathing my air!"   Oh my, kindergartners have never had to share anything!

"I have to take a test, then if I pass the test, I go for an auction to see if I can be on television."
(Telling me about trying out for Jeopardy, Jr.)  My gentle correction:  "Pretty sure, since it's a TV show, that it's an audition, not an auction." 

One of my favorites:  I was showing a third grade class my class pictures from first, second, and third grade.  That's one of my lessons on the civil rights movement - all white children for two years, then magically in third grade, a great mix of skin colors.  Third grade for me was also when the school switched from black and white to color photos. (Perhaps to accommodate the new forced melting pot? Or just because photography advanced and it became affordable?)  One of my sweet, but oh-so-innocent third graders raised his hand and asked "Mrs. McCarty, when did the world change from black and white to color?"  Awesome question! 

"What's that big CD thing?"  Yes, it's a record.  I have an entire lesson built around the old classroom record player.  There are always one or two students of course, that say "My Grandpa has one of those!"  yeah, yeah, kids.

Here's a story from a friend that teaches in Florida - an overheard conversation:

Karington (darling student): Leo, can you look that way for my mom?
Leo (another darling): But I don't know what she looks like.
Karington: Yes, you do! She has long blond hair and she smiles like this (demonstrates a smile) and it is the prettiest smile in the whole world. And she is wearing a beautiful pink dress. And she is friends with Mrs. Petty.

Such love for her Mommy, and the fact that Mommy is friends with Mrs. Petty (my sister, smile, smile) just explains everything.

 Here's a favorite:  I have a small Chinese gong on my shelf.  Jacob, a really "cool" fourth grader, a few years ago, very loudly:  "Mrs. McCarty, is that your bong?"  Me - "No, that is the school's, and it's a GONG!!  G-O-N-G, GONG!"  Just saying, dear parents, we teach your children many things, but they teach us things about you, too!


Sometimes, though, funny - but not so cute.  For example, the time two little third grade girls were sitting so close to my feet that one suddenly (and loudly, of course) exclaimed "You've got hair on your toe!!"  Ouch.  I kindly explained (quietly, of course) that  I must have forgotten to take care of that when I shaved my legs, but would definitely remember next time.  I ALSO explained that she was lucky I was happy that day, because that would have made a lot of ladies cry and she needs to be careful when saying that sort of thing out loud.  Now, who wants to say that I just teach music????

There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13

The first week of school is over.  The routine has set in.  The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day.  Here we go.  That's Me.  I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent.  That is (me).  There are barriers there.  I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there.  Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.

There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now.  Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house!  This is the kind of thing I do share.  Amusing anecdotes.  Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings.  (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!)  I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today.  That's my 'story of the day'.  Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold. 

Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue.  I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet.  I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.

College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school.  Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty.  I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc.  Not that difficult, but computers were his department.  I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments".  Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments.  Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his.  Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone.  I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday.  Success in one new territory.

If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success.  Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court?  Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch?  With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me).  My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone.  Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.

So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business.  I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me.  What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years.  My finger was a size 6 in 1984.  It's not anymore.  Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky.  It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on.  I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days.  Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it!  I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama.  That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.

Me can finish out this part of the story for you:  I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel.  My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?"  I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me.  "There is no squirrel!"  I exclaimed.  I knew the answer.  I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe.  The vacuum was in the corner in the pic.  I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back.  (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?)  The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house.  Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark.  I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today.  I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance.  Love, Me.

Why Do I Teach Music? 8/3/13

I started out as a music teacher because I could explain those musical ideas clearly.  Helping other people understand notes and what they say - I was good at that! More than that, the result was fun!  I could watch young people learn how to create music.  I was disappointed to discover, soon into my career, that music teachers were looked upon as break time for the "real " teachers.  One "real" teacher used to stand at my door with her class and tap her watch if we weren't exactly on time.  I've heard an administrator describe my subject as "fluff".  I've had countless parents say, "Oh, my child just loves your class, the say it's so much fun!"  I have come to the conclusion that the rest of the world may indeed see my subject as fun. In many districts, the classes that teach the arts are the first on the chopping block when budget issues arise.  I've been fearful several times over my twenty-four years that my position would be cut. I have mulled over my personal defense for teaching music for most of those years.  As I enter my twenty-fifth year, I'd like to explain why I chose and keep this career.  Only a few experienced individuals and I know that I'm truly working hard at opening a new world for children each time they enter my door.

I teach music for the wide-eyed wonder of the Thors.  Thor entered kindergarten the same year that Mississippi had one pilot kindergarten homeroom at each elementary school.  He and his twenty classmates looked like younger siblings that had gotten lost on a school visit.  The first time this class came to my room, I sat them on the floor in a circle, sang a song called "Happy Train", and accompanied myself on the autoharp.  Little hands reached toward the instrument.  Only the most mature few could manage to listen to the words of the song, as they had been instructed.  Thor was in awe.  It wasn't quiet awe, it was bubbly, noisy, questioning awe.  I gave everyone a turn to touch, feel, and try to make a sound on the instrument.  Eventually, we sang one verse of the song with each child's name included - "I see Thor on the happy train....."  They all tried to sing along, turned red, clapped - Thor beamed.  Every new song we learned, through the weeks - "I've Been Working On The Railroad", "Chicken Soup" and "Skinnamarink-a-dink-a-dink" - Thor sang out, mistakes or no, with a five-year-old voice that bounced off the walls with exuberance.  I taught Thor every year through fourth grade.  He matured, learned to smirk, learned to talk in class and giggle with friends when he shouldn't.  But one thing didn't change, at least through fourth grade.  When I began the piano introduction to one of out 'fun songs', Thor sat up, knew when to come in, and, like very few fourth grade boys tend to do, he sang with all his heart.

I teach music for the seriously talented.  There are too many to name, and I would surely accidentally omit one, so no names here.  I have run across serious talent at every age level I have taught.  I had the joy of taking a high school choir to state-level competition.  They listened to every concrete and abstract idea I wanted them to express in Cherubini's "Sanctus in C minor".  I watched a high school group take the wide range of choral literature that we had learned during the school year, and come up with a final concert that took on the guise of a radio show.  They wrote a script so all the songs fit in as poetry, gospel hour, even commercials!  I was able to share how to hit those high notes a little better, how to pace yourself when dancing and singing the same show eight times in one day, how to pronounce words to blend with other singers.  I saw them get in trouble at home, at school, fail classes, ace classes, get scholarships, get accepted at prestigious universities (with the help of choir as an activity), try out for parts, get them, not get them, finish college, get married, not get married, have families, experience loss - but most of all, I've seen them live their dreams.  Some of them are still performing, even teaching themselves!  I am so proud.  It doesn't matter to me if they went on to study music.  I feel I have shown them a hobby that can last a lifetime.  If you love music, you can find a place where people are sharing it.

I teach music for everyone.  Some students walk into the room and are enthusiastic from day one.  Later, it turns out they can't even sing on pitch.  By the time that discovery is made, it doesn't matter.  Anyone can sing in the place I call my music room.  Just sing your own way.  Some students excel in the paperwork on notes, rests, and meter.  They discover that the great puzzle that is music makes perfect sense to them.  I can actually see them glowing from the brain light bulb while the rest of the class struggles along and asks question after question.  At that point, I allow the one that excels to take over answering questions and helping.  I also get to instruct them to help humbly, slowly, make sure that understanding happens, and never condescend.  What am I teaching at that point?  I call it music, but there is so much more. 

I teach music to recruit new members for the families known as band, choir and orchestra. I love to encourage students to join one of the groups in middle school, for musical and behavioral/social reasons.  In today's climate, students that feel they belong to a group tend to be more successful at all of their activities.  Recently I saw a family in a restaurant.  I had taught both children, and both are now in middle school band.  I smiled and spoke, they filled me in on their activities, and I told them I was proud, and encouraged them a little more. They assured me it would continue through high school.  The father looked at me and said "This is really great, because we were never in band!"  I smiled even bigger.  Mission accomplished.

Teaching music is a power tool that should be used with care. Music is a personal thing. I try to open windows and doors that expose children to all the many, many, types of music that can enrich their life.  I also still explain those notes and rests.  By teaching music, I am more than break time for the teacher.  I am handing out tools with which our children will carve their own personal happiness.

Posts I Reconsidered.....

Blog Posts I Reconsidered

1.        An Ode to Diet Ginger Ale

2.       Why I Like the Music on Candy Crush

3.       Reasons why Peter Frampton isn’t right for me ( :()

4.       That Time I Scrubbed Shadows on the Pool Wall

5.       Prancing Unicorns and Slegs

6.       How My Mom Went From Pac-Man to Farmville

7.       In Defense of Reality TV

8.       A List of all the Places I Keep My Reading Glasses

9.       Pandora Charms You Should Buy For Me

10.   A Compilation of My Tripadvisor Reviews

11.   A Full Description of My Cat’s Bladder Issues

12.    My Crusade against Mexican Lavender

13.   If You Can Maintain a Pool, You Should CLEP Chemistry

14.   Blogging Is Another Form Of Begging For Attention

15.   Quit Mapping Your Ride, I Feel Guilty!!

16.   Why Is Sag Harbor a Brand Name For Clothes Worn By Older Ladies?

17.   Revealed:  The Name of the Person That Teased Me So Badly I Never Wore Pointy-Toed Shoes Again

18.   The Real Story Behind Those Vacation Pics

19.   Why Phrases Like “A Pile of Men” and “He’s So Slippery!” Should Land Me a Football Announcer Gig

20.   An Elementary Teacher’s Guide to Fake Curse Words (Oh, Boogers!)