A friend posted this today, about federal mandates coming down on Washington educators. Read for yourself the idiocy and short sightedness of these mandates. I have this to say: you don't scare me, Uncle Sam.
As I mourn the end of summer, I am working to get my head back in the education game. Reading the article above, followed by this validating yet very depressing editorial about how insanely under-everything teachers are could have sent me searching for a new career. It didn't, because satisfying fundamentally flawed federal mandates created by politicians who have never taught is not why I became a teacher.
Don't get me wrong - I'm all for standards. High ones. I think bad teachers should be fired. (How "bad" is determined is a whole other issue.) I think most teachers - certainly about 95% of the teachers I've worked with - are brilliant, dedicated and possess a humanity that is required by only a handful of professions. I don't want to share the same salary and job description as a lazy, burnt out, uninspired teacher who doesn't actually like kids. I just want the standards to actually assess something meaningful. Test scores are all the feds can think up, really? They are limited, limited, limited. I'm not saying they mean nothing, but they sure as shit don't mean everything.
If I read too much stuff like this, the foolishness of the so-called leaders in education in this country would drive me stark-raving mad. So I don't. Honestly, call me fatalistic, but I don't feel like there is all that much I can do about it. I'm not going to march on Washington, or do much more than write my Senators and vote. Why? Because I'm too busy teaching.
I teach for the humanity of it. I love getting my hands dirty with young people who are learning, exploring, thinking, struggling and creating their way to a better world. I love watching teenagers find their passion for a cause that truly matters. I love it when I teach something really hard, it bombs, I go back and reflect on how I can do it better, I do it better, and then the kids get it!! I love graduation day, especially when I have the privilege of working with SO many kids who are the first in their family to graduate and go to college. I love hearing from students years after graduation, and finding out they are crazy successful, or that they figured life out on their own terms, or that they have found love and had children.
I am so very lucky to teach in a progressive, small public school with a visionary for a principal - who also supports all of his teachers in every way. My colleagues inspire me, make me laugh, and make me want to do better. My students piss me off and delight me all in the same day. My school is a family. Because of this, I am able to take the bureaucracy with a grain of salt. I take my job hella seriously, and I am dedicated to being a really great teacher. But the humanity in my job is what is important. If someday, in spite of all I do well, some fed decides I'm not good enough because my students' test scores aren't high enough (for a battery of complex reasons - but nuance and complexity has never seemed to be the strong suit of these dummies), oh well. I will keep serving my students in the ways that they actually need (which I have some idea of, because I know them). Or I'll pursue some other endeavor where humanity is valued above standardized test scores. And if it really takes a total implosion of our education system for the powers that be to figure it out, I'll homeschool my daughter.
So in a weird way, these posts actually inspired me. I'm excited to get back to the awesome journey that each day in the classroom offers me.
Score that, fuckers.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
The Yin and the Yang
What goes up must come down. You must have darkness to have light. If there is nothing bad, you can't appreciate the good. Whoever started these universal realities was most likely raising an almost three-year-old.
A few days ago, I found myself careening toward being the kind of parent I don't want to be, having the kind of kid I don't want to be responsible for co-creating. Nothing was working. I was a bitch. Frankly, so was she. She was whiny as hell, and oh my GOD I thought it would kill me. If there is anything worse than a cranky toddler with unmet needs, it's that same toddler attempting to communicate her needs through a series of guttural sounds that in no way resemble language. Add to that my hormones, and it's a recipe for disaster. While running away from you, wriggling out of your grasp in a busy parking lot, or perhaps even lifting up your skirt so the whole neighborhood can see what you're workin' with, as you attempt to pick her up in the throes of a tantrum.
I found myself saying to her at one point, thankful she would never catch the reference, "the power of Christ compels you!"
This video saved my ass. I laughed so hard my diaphragm hurt. Tears rolled down my cheeks. And I knew I wasn't alone. Forget the articles, the parenting books or - God forbid - the advice from your mother. What you need is another irreverent, blunt and borderline inappropriate parent who is in the trenches with you.
After releasing copious amounts of cortisol through my laughter tears, I slept on it. She woke me in the morning with her crazy-ass curly hair, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. The sun streamed into our bedroom, and I knew I only had to push the 'on' button on the coffee maker to start the day right. I am such a fan of new days, and after a bad day, I always try to start the day following with a flood of positive thoughts. Usually, it works. I also started the next day (yesterday), by re-committing to mindfulness, attunement and presence with my girl.
I asked her if she was nervous about starting preschool. Her emphatic "yes" told me that THAT was what was wrong the last two days. When I commented on what a good day we were having yesterday, she said "yeah, I'm not sick anymore." Well duh. I'm a total shit when I'm sick. Should I expect more of a three-year-old? Sigh. Live and learn.
Yesterday and today were seriously parenting bliss. We were in sync, there was a rhythm to our days that I knew intuitively was meeting her needs. (It was interesting to note how they were different from other days - with one exception, we didn't go anywhere we couldn't walk to, we didn't have anywhere to be by any particular time, and I said 'yes' as much as I could, on purpose.) And I could never appreciate them without a few days of parenting hell (which will no doubt re-present themselves at some point - it's life).
I experience this very same thing with my students throughout the school year. Parenting and teaching, toddlers and teenagers (and dogs, but that always comes across as insulting) are SO. MUCH. THE SAME. I think my big takeaway is that I am the adult, and it really does start with me. Her brain isn't fully developed. (And their hormones - fuck it. They're crazy.) I am a grown up. It's up to me to set the stage and hold (sane) space for my little person (and those big little people) as she (they) navigate(s) the turbulent waters of growing up. I'll screw up, and she'll (they'll) piss me off, but hopefully less than without this understanding. I'd love to claim this understanding as my own, but I can't. More on that wisdom here.
Anyways. Here's some proof of the good times. I'd include proof of the shitty times in the name of balance, but no one takes pictures of their child's meltdowns.
A few days ago, I found myself careening toward being the kind of parent I don't want to be, having the kind of kid I don't want to be responsible for co-creating. Nothing was working. I was a bitch. Frankly, so was she. She was whiny as hell, and oh my GOD I thought it would kill me. If there is anything worse than a cranky toddler with unmet needs, it's that same toddler attempting to communicate her needs through a series of guttural sounds that in no way resemble language. Add to that my hormones, and it's a recipe for disaster. While running away from you, wriggling out of your grasp in a busy parking lot, or perhaps even lifting up your skirt so the whole neighborhood can see what you're workin' with, as you attempt to pick her up in the throes of a tantrum.
I found myself saying to her at one point, thankful she would never catch the reference, "the power of Christ compels you!"
This video saved my ass. I laughed so hard my diaphragm hurt. Tears rolled down my cheeks. And I knew I wasn't alone. Forget the articles, the parenting books or - God forbid - the advice from your mother. What you need is another irreverent, blunt and borderline inappropriate parent who is in the trenches with you.
After releasing copious amounts of cortisol through my laughter tears, I slept on it. She woke me in the morning with her crazy-ass curly hair, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks. The sun streamed into our bedroom, and I knew I only had to push the 'on' button on the coffee maker to start the day right. I am such a fan of new days, and after a bad day, I always try to start the day following with a flood of positive thoughts. Usually, it works. I also started the next day (yesterday), by re-committing to mindfulness, attunement and presence with my girl.
I asked her if she was nervous about starting preschool. Her emphatic "yes" told me that THAT was what was wrong the last two days. When I commented on what a good day we were having yesterday, she said "yeah, I'm not sick anymore." Well duh. I'm a total shit when I'm sick. Should I expect more of a three-year-old? Sigh. Live and learn.
Yesterday and today were seriously parenting bliss. We were in sync, there was a rhythm to our days that I knew intuitively was meeting her needs. (It was interesting to note how they were different from other days - with one exception, we didn't go anywhere we couldn't walk to, we didn't have anywhere to be by any particular time, and I said 'yes' as much as I could, on purpose.) And I could never appreciate them without a few days of parenting hell (which will no doubt re-present themselves at some point - it's life).
I experience this very same thing with my students throughout the school year. Parenting and teaching, toddlers and teenagers (and dogs, but that always comes across as insulting) are SO. MUCH. THE SAME. I think my big takeaway is that I am the adult, and it really does start with me. Her brain isn't fully developed. (And their hormones - fuck it. They're crazy.) I am a grown up. It's up to me to set the stage and hold (sane) space for my little person (and those big little people) as she (they) navigate(s) the turbulent waters of growing up. I'll screw up, and she'll (they'll) piss me off, but hopefully less than without this understanding. I'd love to claim this understanding as my own, but I can't. More on that wisdom here.
Anyways. Here's some proof of the good times. I'd include proof of the shitty times in the name of balance, but no one takes pictures of their child's meltdowns.
Picking blackberries
"It's a magic garden!"
Oh yeah!
I remember sitting in this very spot with her at Greenlake when she was 2 1/2 weeks old. How is she so big? How?
Daydreaming while drinking hot cocoa at Chocolati.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Self-Care at Three
First of all, hello again.
Hannah is about to turn three, a bittersweet little miracle that defies belief. In just about every moment of the day, I simultaneously mourn and rejoice in her growing up. I miss so much about having a baby, love so much about every new day, and am astonished as I watch her become a PERSON. Not simply "my" baby, "my" child, but a fellow human being who is developing a moral compass and figuring out how she will relate to the rest of the world, how she will experience joy, and how she will take care of herself.
The primary lesson of my summer, courtesy of my child, has been to LET IT HAPPEN. When I don't, I create a rather impressive power struggle while bidding farewell to my mental health, all in just under 4 seconds. When I do, I do things like:
Recently on a family trip to the zoo, bullets #4 and 5 actually happened. There was free yoga on the lawn, Hannah was totally into it, and that was all she wanted to do. I was into it for about 20 minutes, but when she was done with the yoga and it was becoming a challenge to contain her, I decided that what we should be doing is seeing the animals. Because we hadn't just done that 4 days earlier? Because that's what the zoo is for? At any rate, my insisting she bend to my will resulted in her will getting stronger. After chasing her, still barefoot, into a crowd, I was mad. I went from ujayi breath to pissed off with a quickness, in lockstep with my attachment to a particular agenda.
So we're walking through the zoo exhibits, the three of us just not synced up. No one was really having that much fun, it seemed, but we were doing what you're supposed to do at the zoo, damnit! (By contrast, doing yoga and letting Hannah run through the grass, we were all three laughing and feeling the love.) Finally, at the giraffe exhibit, Hannah did what neither of her parents were wise enough to do. She said "I'm taking a time out for myself." (We don't do punitive time outs, so her only association with the term is simply stepping back, taking a break.) She proceeded to sit down on a bench and just CHILL for a minute. Such a better solution than nagging or being cranky.
Now that a few weeks have passed, I look back and realize how proud I am of that moment. She must see us do that, right? And it stuck. I often fail to take time-outs for myself, and it doesn't do anyone any favors. I wish for Hannah the mindfulness to know she is out of balance, and the wisdom to act on that calmly and kindly, right away. What a reminder this little time out was for me. (And who knew a trip to the zoo could pack so much wisdom?!)
So this is the sweet part. Yes, she is growing up way too fast. And yes, I love who she is becoming.
Hannah is about to turn three, a bittersweet little miracle that defies belief. In just about every moment of the day, I simultaneously mourn and rejoice in her growing up. I miss so much about having a baby, love so much about every new day, and am astonished as I watch her become a PERSON. Not simply "my" baby, "my" child, but a fellow human being who is developing a moral compass and figuring out how she will relate to the rest of the world, how she will experience joy, and how she will take care of herself.
The primary lesson of my summer, courtesy of my child, has been to LET IT HAPPEN. When I don't, I create a rather impressive power struggle while bidding farewell to my mental health, all in just under 4 seconds. When I do, I do things like:
- Spend a half hour trying on hats at Whole Foods, right at dinner time, just because it makes us both laugh
- Wander around Fred Meyer, talking and browsing the aisles with my little person, for an hour and a half. We leave with a Minnie Mouse water bottle, and she is so proud.
- Take pictures of her posing with the 40-foot bear in front of Brown Bear Car Wash (her idea)
- Do yoga on the grass at the zoo, Hannah in down dog next to me
- Watch her run barefoot, squealing with joy, through the grass
Recently on a family trip to the zoo, bullets #4 and 5 actually happened. There was free yoga on the lawn, Hannah was totally into it, and that was all she wanted to do. I was into it for about 20 minutes, but when she was done with the yoga and it was becoming a challenge to contain her, I decided that what we should be doing is seeing the animals. Because we hadn't just done that 4 days earlier? Because that's what the zoo is for? At any rate, my insisting she bend to my will resulted in her will getting stronger. After chasing her, still barefoot, into a crowd, I was mad. I went from ujayi breath to pissed off with a quickness, in lockstep with my attachment to a particular agenda. 
So we're walking through the zoo exhibits, the three of us just not synced up. No one was really having that much fun, it seemed, but we were doing what you're supposed to do at the zoo, damnit! (By contrast, doing yoga and letting Hannah run through the grass, we were all three laughing and feeling the love.) Finally, at the giraffe exhibit, Hannah did what neither of her parents were wise enough to do. She said "I'm taking a time out for myself." (We don't do punitive time outs, so her only association with the term is simply stepping back, taking a break.) She proceeded to sit down on a bench and just CHILL for a minute. Such a better solution than nagging or being cranky.Now that a few weeks have passed, I look back and realize how proud I am of that moment. She must see us do that, right? And it stuck. I often fail to take time-outs for myself, and it doesn't do anyone any favors. I wish for Hannah the mindfulness to know she is out of balance, and the wisdom to act on that calmly and kindly, right away. What a reminder this little time out was for me. (And who knew a trip to the zoo could pack so much wisdom?!)
So this is the sweet part. Yes, she is growing up way too fast. And yes, I love who she is becoming.
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