This Is Not the End

Today is the last day of March, the last day of school before Spring Break, and, of course, the last day of the Slice of Life Story Challenge.

It is not, however, the end.

There is a new month waiting to greet us. There are still several weeks of school in which to teach, learn, and celebrate. There are still many days to write, though the writing will look and feel different, no doubt.

Over the last few weeks, I have had to stretch myself as a writer. Being naturally a planner, I found myself on many occasions having to operate as a "pantser" instead. It wasn't always a comfortable feeling. How many times did I hit that publish button before I felt ready? How many topics did I never write about because I just never had enough time to thoroughly think them through? The pressure of blogging daily kept me writing, but it wasn't always what I hoped for and the end result wasn't always what I imagined. Yet, I am proud that what I set out to do--write every day--was exactly what I accomplished. It isn't an easy task, as my fellow bloggers will attest.

A few days ago, I thought about all the ideas for blogs I had and knew I wasn't going to get to before the end of the challenge. That's when it hit me:  the challenge may be over, but this is not the end.

I can, and intend to, keep writing. Hopefully, on a daily basis, even though that publish button will no longer be demanding to be hit every day. Instead, it will wait patiently for me to decide when it's time. That's a comforting thought. All those topics I never got to, and all the ones I have yet to conceptualize, one day will have the opportunity to come to life on the written page. 

So, although I am sad to see the challenge come to a close and to lose the daily support of this community of writers, bound together by a common goal, I am also excited to see what tomorrow brings. 

This is not the end. It is only the beginning.

It Was a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

By mid-afternoon I was ready to curl up into a ball, preferably someplace soft and warm where no one could find me.

Yeah, it was that kind of a day.

Kids misbehaved, and one even kicked a chair, causing it to hit another student.

A spider that the kids have been watching for days, picked writing time, when I had all the kids sitting on the carpet in front of me, to rappel from the ceiling, headed straight for one kid's head. It was up to me, as the only adult in the room, to save the day. Looking at its thick, hairy black body I secretly wanted to scream and look for another adult.

A somewhat disturbing situation with students prompted me to seek out the school psychologist for help. She, too, was disturbed, enough to speak with the students and help me sort out the unpleasantness. I'm still in a state of disbelief about the whole thing, and really wish I could have gotten to Spring Break without it.

The aforementioned conversation with the psychologist led to unpleasant conversations with parents after school. One even yelled at me for not calling later. Or earlier. Or not at all. 

Checking email I found one demanding a phone call. What was one more unpleasant phone call? I was on a roll.

It would have been some comfort had I been able to leave work at a decent hour to be wrapped in the comforting presence of my family (although I'm sure one of them would have found a reason to be mad at me), but tonight was the PTA meeting, which didn't start until 6:30.

Wiping away the two seconds of tears I allowed myself to cry, I headed to the meeting.  Last meeting ended at 6:55. Tonight's went until 7:25. Knowing I had a blog to post by 9:00, I started writing notes on the back of the agenda, worried there wouldn't be enough time to write once I finally got home.

At 7:30, 12 hours after I left my house, I left my classroom. Climbing into the car, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone.  As I headed back, I laughed quietly to myself.  Of course, I had forgotten my phone!  After all, it had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

But, as Alexander's wise mother once said, there are days like that.

Even in third grade.

Crazy Cats!

Stealing sandwiches off counters 
and dragging them upstairs

Climbing up the backs of chairs

Wrestling at 4:00 a.m.
ramming our bedroom door

Opening cabinets
And sleeping in drawers

Meowing when left alone 
behind closed doors

Sharpening claws on furniture

Chewing on cords

Sucking on blankets and soft pj pants

Chasing each other in a crazed feline dance

Tearing down stairs to land with a thud

Grabbing hold of soft flesh, leaving trails of blood

Sleeping anywhere high that they can go

Chattering at birds just outside the window

Grabbing straws out of glasses unseen

Waiting for the dog to finish his dinner
to lick the bowl clean

Sitting on stairs, lying in wait

Performing death-defying stunts,
tempting fate

Snuggling up close,
purring night and day

Crazy cats!

Wouldn't have it any other way

Morning Routine

Alarm goes off
and I spend several minutes
in internal debate between
warm bed or
cold kitchen

Knowing that time
is precious
I grab a sweatshirt
and warm, fuzzy socks

I don't look in the mirror
I don't want to know

After a slight detour
to feed hungry kitties
I head downstairs

I make a beeline
for the coffee maker
and set my laptop down
on the kitchen table

I grab the coffee,
pour the milk,
sit down to read and write

Penny appears on cue
jumps on my lap
and purrs
digging her needles for claws
into my leg in
pure contentment

Benny meows
from somewhere upstairs
looking for his sister
no doubt

The rest of the house
is still,
full of sleeping boys

This time is just for us girls
Penny purrs
and I write

Something's Not Quite Right

Honestly, today was one of those days that just didn't feel quite right.

Driving to work, a few raindrops fell on my windshield, reminding me I had forgotten to bring my umbrella.

There wasn't much to take for lunch, so I made a salad that was little more than wilted lettuce with questionable brown spots topped with dressing. It was decidedly unsatisfying.

Only one of my "lunch bunch" math group showed up to practice multiplication facts. Even she was five minutes late, and then took another five minutes to explain why she was five minutes late.

Working with a small group on decoding skills, one of my students informed me she was bored.

Walking past a table group in the afternoon, I caught one of my students hurriedly crumpling a piece of paper, hoping I wouldn't notice. When I asked him to hand it over, he asked if he could just throw it away, a sure sign that I needed to read that note. I discovered that he had written about putting a "rifull" up another student's butt and pulling the trigger. Later I found another note on which he'd written "Why do you want to have sex anyway?" What? I teach 3rd grade. Third graders shouldn't be talking like this.

I received an email from a parent regarding some missing fund raiser money. Seems her son has been telling her and me different stories about what happened to the $20. In her last communication, she said that "his story is different about turning it in." I'm still trying to figure out exactly what that meant.

Finally, after nine hours of everything feeling off-kilter, I left work and headed to pick up my sons. Once I had Jack in the car and we were on our way to pick up Jared at his grandmother's, the world seemed to make a little more sense once again. We listened to Keith Urban and even sang along and talked about our day. Arriving at my mom's we sat and talked, catching up on the latest gossip. By the time I left, I had shaken off most of the not-right feeling that had clung to me throughout the day.

There was, however, one last hurdle in my way. The deadline to post my blog was coming up quick, and I still had no idea what I wanted to write about.

I sat down and wrote anyway.

Wonder Why I Wonder

You think I don't notice
the subtleties
But I do.

You should know me better
And you do.

Perhaps you send them
like a secret code
Waiting
Hoping
For me to decipher
And spell it out
So you don't have to.

We stand 
Frozen
Side by side
But distance
in between.

Inside
I'm a flurry 
of activity
Fear
Sadness
Loneliness 
Hope 
Longing
Weaving in and out
In a frenetic dance
Set to a primal beat.

Then,
Just when I think
I know how this dance will
end
Unexpected 
flashes of light
A spark
A connection

And I wonder 
why I wonder.

51 Degrees but It Feels like 48

Winter has returned, although not in an entirely convincing way. Thunderstorms Tuesday morning gave way to bright, warm sunshine in the afternoon. The next day I awoke to the gurgling of the drain pipe as a steady rain passed through once again. I could only wait and see what the rest of the day would bring. Checking the weather forecast, I saw that it was currently 51 degrees outside, but "feels like 48." That always cracks me up: "feels like." I wonder how that is determined. Who gets to decide what it feels like? And how could anyone feel the difference of 3 degrees?

I suppose, though, in life we do feel those subtle shifts in temperature. Sometimes, even the smallest change in our perception can make a big difference.

After months of feeling discouraged and restless and considering that maybe I truly needed to find another career, preferably one that didn't follow me home each night, I had an almost imperceptible shift of my own yesterday afternoon. I was standing in front of my class giving a spelling test of all things when it happened. Suddenly, I wasn't so discouraged and restless. Suddenly, I remembered a little of the joy that teaching has always brought me.

This change in temperature stayed with me as I sat after school and corrected the spelling tests. One student, who has a talent for constantly talking and playing around with his classmates (in short, driving me crazy), had written on the bottom of his paper that I could find the rest of his words on the back. I laughed not only at the sheer kid mentality of that comment but the elaborate way in which he had expressed it. A few more tests after that, I found the one from one of my most challenging students and marveled at how neatly he had written his words. There are times he turns in work that mirrors his mood, meaning it is completely unreadable. But here was the work of someone who cared, someone who was proud, someone who wanted to do his best.  These kids, who might not always know how to behave properly, still had so much potential and humor and caring inside them. Had I forgotten that? Had I gotten so caught up in what needed to be taught and what everyone needed to be able to do in order to be considered successful, in order for me to be considered successful, that I had forgotten that at the end of the day, it is only about the kids and creating a positive experience for them? And in my forgetting, had I lost the sense of joy I had had at the beginning of my career?

I don't know for sure what caused me to shift my perspective that day. It may have been having a room full of third graders actually all following directions at the same time or it may have been a casual remark from a friend, who moved from our K-5 school to middle school a few years ago and who is also my son's high school track coach. I mentioned to him that I didn't see how he could do both jobs; I was barely keeping up with one. He responded that he had been overwhelmed when teaching at our school and if he hadn't made the change to middle school, he wouldn't have been able to fulfill his dream of being a high school distance coach.

Overwhelmed. That word struck a nerve. That is exactly how I've been feeling. Overwhelmed. And when I feel that way, everything stops working.

How does one stop feeling overwhelmed? Well, I'm not entirely sure. But I think for me it may begin with giving myself permission to not be perfect, and to accept the fact that I never really could be.

Who decides what the temperature feels like? Ultimately, it is up to us to make that decision for ourselves.  So, today I don't care what weather.com says it feels like; I am aiming to make it feel like a sunny and warm 75.

What will the day feel like to you?