Ever have one of those days that feels like two or three?  This morning began about 4:00 a.m,  in a very snowy, bitterly cold Fort Wayne, Indiana.  I gathered my things and headed for the front desk to ask them to help me get a cab and lo and behold, there was a cab already there.  Not for me of course, but apparently someone else headed to the airport was on their way down and the driver said we could share, so he put my things in the back and I sat to wait for the other passenger.

A gentleman joined me and we began some small talk.  Was I here for the conference? Yes, as a presenter and I explained my position.  He was too, as one of the clinicians and director of the honor percussion ensemble.  He asked where I was from and as conversations do, we began to look for things and experiences we had in common.  Well, seems this total stranger knew two of my friends, directors at the University as well as my husband’s trumpet teacher.  I just love being a part of this music family.  Seems this guy travels all over the world and teaches at the Eastman School of Music.  I’m always amazed at the phenomenal people I get to meet in this position while I’m still just a little elementary music teacher in Nebraska.

We parted ways at the airport – well, not too far because there are only four gates, right next to each other.  Literally, right next to each other.  I found myself very fortunate however.  My flight was using the jetway to get into the plane and despite the fact that there was slick snow and ice on the inside, at least I wasn’t having to walk outside on the tarmac to get on the flight he was on.  So, off to sunny – make that cloudy and 36 degrees –  Atlanta for my connecting flight.

Atlanta, land of pralines and biscuits at the airport!  I had an hour so I found my favorite breakfast place and had some sausage and homemade biscuits, you know, the kind that aren’t uniform in size and they’re fluffy, prepared on a well baked on cookie sheet?  Life is good.  I had found a little table by myself and in the middle of breakfast this young woman sits down at my table, looks at me and asks, do you mind?  Well, she was already sitting, although there were other places to sit but whatever, and proceeded to have a loud conversation with her phone.  Well, so much for a peaceful breakfast.

Back on the plane for home, I sat next to this very nice woman and we exchanged small talk until I crashed.  Ok, bad choice of word for a plane.  I fell asleep.  Until I woke myself up with a snore.  Now, usually I sit next to someone and they’re sleeping as well and they don’t notice, but this lady was WIDE awake doing her crossword puzzle.  I sheepishly apologized to which she replied, “well, that was a pretty dainty snore.  Mine are much worse!”.  We both laughed but I found myself thinking about a dainty snore.  Sure, I know I snore, and I probably should do something about it, but I see the contraption that my husband wears at night and quite frankly I don’t want to be Darth Vader.  So sure,  I avoid.

Three more snores that wake me up and I’ve GOT to have some caffeine.  Then I remember I have a Diet Coke in the back pack which is great because I certainly don’t want to keep doing that dainty snoring anymore.  I find out from the woman that her daughter teaches at a middle school school in my district (bless her) and she used to teach as well.  Now however she does professional development for corporations and lives in Florida.  Nice gig.  I tell her I’ve been contemplating retirement but not just to stop working but to find something different to do.  We arrived in Omaha, wished each other well and set off to our destinations.  It was only noon and I had already traveled 1600 miles.  What followed next was a stop at Jiffy Lube to get my tire pressure checked before I drove back to Lincoln, finally rounding out my little travel blog story from a couple of days ago.

On the way home, I thought about that word.  Retire.  I think it brings up visions of rocking chairs, AARP and just being old. I don’t believe that’s what it is anymore but that is certainly the perception.  So for me,  I think I’m going to change the word from retire to revive. It’s a time to revive or create hopes and dreams for the next chapter of my life.  I met several retired music teachers at the past presidents breakfast while I was at the music conference, all of them still very involved, all pursuing other endeavors, all keeping up with technology and participating in life.  That right there is my personal view of getting older.  Now, if I could just eliminate the dainty snore.

 

Day two of the conference and I’m beginning to get the lay of the land.  Being the guest/newbie, someone always assumes I don’t know where I’m going and so I don’t have to worry much about what or where my next opportunity will be and I’m grateful.  Did a brief hello from NAfME at the opening assembly after processing in to the cutest little march Orffestration and proceeded to observe all the wonderful things this organization is doing to recognize those people who have served music education and gone above and beyond the call of duty.

I discovered that there is a Dunkin’ Donuts across the street from the convention center and so away I went after the opening assembly to fulfill the craving, then back to the exhibits to find a Nebraska friend at one of the booths.  This young woman is amazing, seeking adventures in her education and her career in very diverse areas who has now settled in Fort Wayne collaborating with other arts organizations and working to find alternative ways for students to become involved in music other than the big three – band, choir and orchestra.  Not sure why general music is never included.  Maybe we are the people who couldn’t cut it in front of an ensemble….?? Just kidding – except in my case maybe.

Anyway, I love seeing young adults striving for innovative things and ideas that I never would have imagined, and they speak of what they’re doing with such passion.  Very inspiring.  Anyway, had a delightful lunch with her, then back to my room to tweak some stuff for my session and take a power nap.  Then back across the street to do the presentation.  As I’m walking across the street, I realize I don’t know how long my session is supposed to go.  I know when I start, but my end time is not listed and I don’t have a presider to ask.  So I guesstimate.  I think I did ok – only a couple walked out right before the end.

Staying busy during these things is important to me as I’m not so good with just hanging out and doing the small talk thing, you know, being an introvert and all, and I have stopped a couple of times a day to go back to my room to recharge which has helped.  But there are some times when I just have to deal with being by myself and try not to look awkward.  Like dinner.  I don’t mind dinner alone, but I was seated at a little table for two by myself in the middle of the room.  I would have preferred to be in a corner somewhere, but there I was.  Thank goodness for cell phones.  Sometimes I don’t realize how much I rely on that thing to save me from my own introvertedness.   That’s not a word, but I’m sticking with it.

I did go back up to my room until I received an invitation to come down to a reception.  Sure, a little munchie and a drink with the colleagues I knew would be fine.  Except it’s in this BIIIIIGGGGG beautiful open space and not a lot of people.  At first I walked in and said hi, but these are busy people running the conference, so they would excuse themselves and I would find myself alone again with my glass of wine, trying not to look like I was pacing, but hopefully looking like I was taking a leisurely stroll.

Finally deciding that I didn’t know anyone to have a conversation with, I picked an empty table next to the window near a speaker softly playing some classy jazz music when I casually gazed out the large window to see a long row of porta potties across the street where they were doing construction.  Trying not to look deranged, it was all I could do not to laugh out loud – all dressed up, trying to be professional,  having my wine looking at porta potties.  It was that bizarre middle school moment where I realized here I was, having to put on this particular persona because of where I was and who I represent and the truth was I would have rather been barefoot in my comfy pants and a t-shirt reading a book and drinking a Diet Coke in my room.

I decided to finish up and head on out, saying goodbye to my friend who was in a conversation with a young man whom she introduced to me.  It just so happens this young man is the new director of the Indianapolis Children’s Choir, one of the finest I’ve ever heard.  So articulate and so animated in his conversation, I abandoned my plans to be alone and hung out just to hear his stories.  Here was another young person (well, young to me anyway) who was so passionate about making music with kids, I found myself becoming inspired. Imagine if I had made up some excuse to avoid the reception instead of facing my fears?  How many times have I missed similar opportunities?

But tonight was not one of those nights.  I was able to step out of my comfort zone, meet some new people AND sip wine by myself looking at some lovely porta potties.  It doesn’t get any better than that.

Sometime it amazes me the number of things a person can do in a mere 24 hours and the last 24 have been, well, different.  I left home to drive to Omaha to spend the night before catching a plane this morning.  The idea was to beat a little snow that was coming in and I didn’t want to be driving through it at 3:00 a.m.  So I took off, feeling good about having everything planned and organized.

About 20 minutes into the drive, a light comes on and something dings on my dashboard.  I’ve not seen this sign before so it concerns me.  Maybe I’m just out of washer fluid or something.  So I pull off at the next stop and look it up in my handy dandy operators manual.  Low tire pressure.  So of course, like any weeny butt girl would do, I call my husband.  He tells me to walk around the car and look to see if the tires are low.  Well, sure, I knew that.  They look ok – maybe it’s just because it’s so cold outside.  Anyway, now I notice that snow has begun falling.  I need to get out of here so I’m going to take the chance.

Several miles down the highway I’m figuring out that this is not going to be just a little bit of snow.  Oh sure, if the wind weren’t blowing, like it always does, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but I’m having trouble seeing the lanes, so I get in the right lane and slow down.  Now, I never heard that the bigger they are the faster they go, but apparently that’s the rule with semis as they zip past me at 75-80 mph, kicking up a mini ground blizzard.  It’s not like I couldn’t see before, but now EVERYTHING is white.  This continues for about a year – ok, maybe 30 minutes – before the snow tapers off and I’m thinking, yay, I’m in the clear.  I know how to get the airport and the hotel is just down the road.

Have I told you that my husband helped me load Waze onto my phone?  What a cool little app.  It kept me from getting lost in Iowa when I went to their conference in November.  Not knowing exactly where the hotel was, I entered the address in Waze, which was great until I made a turn too early.  Now I’m in a part of Omaha I don’t know, with a bunch of narrow one way streets and Waze has apparently decided not to talk to me because I didn’t follow the directions.  This eventually leads to me making a left turn onto the wrong side of the road in front of a police officer.  I didn’t see him but he saw me.  Next thing I know, as I’m still trying to figure out where the heck I am, those lovely red and blue lights flash on behind me.

Now, you need to know that I have only been pulled over twice before in my life.  Once because I was going a little too fast through Ft. Thomas Kentucky and I somehow talked myself out of that one (I was much younger and cuter then), and the other because when we moved to Nebraska, I had only put on one license plate instead of the required two.  So here comes this lovely man who asks how I’m doing and all I can say is “I’m sorry – I’m lost!”.  After he determines that I’ve not had anything to drink, he and his partner very kindly help me with directions to get back on the road again.

I finally arrive at the hotel, get settled in and finish up some details for a presentation.  By the time this is finished, it’s midnight and I need to be up at 3:45 a.m. for my flight.  The alarm comes early and after dashing around to get ready I walk out to more snow.  Yay. Good news, my flights are on time and I should be to Fort Wayne early.

The good people at the very nice but tiny Fort Wayne airport helped me with a shuttle question where I discovered, yes there is one, but you need to call them.  It’s snowing pretty good and I’m hoping it won’t take long.  I call the hotel and they’re not sending the shuttle out today – perhaps the weather is too bad – so I get an Uber.  Ten minutes later I have this older gentleman in camo driving a huge pick-up truck come around the corner.  I have to hoist myself up into the cab to get in – so graceful.

The conversation is pretty one sided, with him doing all the talking.  At one point he goes into this story about the last snow they had where one of his buddies, who also drives Uber got hit by some woman with no license.  “Probably one of them illegal aliens”, he said.  “I don’t mind them being here so much but they shouldn’t be able to drive”.  He also proceeded to cancel another request because he needed a smoke break and had to get to his doctor’s appointment.  Probably about the smoking.  Entertaining to say the least, but he did get me to the hotel safely.

So 24 hours later, after getting settled in, having lunch with some of the Indiana gang, finishing an article I needed to write, taking a short nap, seeing an old friend, speaking to a collegiate group, grabbing some pot roast at the local Irish pub, helping to carry a couple of tubanos to a stage and attending a reception and awards ceremony I’m getting ready to crash.  Looking forward to what the next 24 hours brings – it should be fun!

Chances are if you walked into our apartment, you would sense that we are music lovers.   The prints that adorn our walls and the treble clef lamp on the table all hint that music might just be a little important to us.  Not just music however, but specifically music education.  Between the two of us we have spent about 65 years teaching students  from Kindergarten through graduate school, and have decided there’s really not much difference, no matter the age.  People of all ages love to make music.

There’s something special and slightly scary when both you and your significant other are musicians.  There is, of course, the tendency to talk shop but with just slightly more passion than others might talk about their professions because, after all, our profession is the most important.  In this case we have a soprano married to a trumpet player, two large egos, according to stereotypes, attempting to coexist in the same space and somehow it works.  And while I might be obsessed with melodic lines and lyrics and he might be obsessed with high, fast and loud, we are on common ground when it comes to the importance of a music education for every child.

Both of us are what we call “builders” in that we work hard at getting as many students involved in our groups as we possibly can.  Right now he conducts the largest ensemble on campus and I have over 50% of my 4th and 5th graders in choir.  Our strategy is to help students understand that music is more than just an art form, it is a way to build family with like minded people, it is an outlet for when the world gets crazy, it’s something they can do for a lifetime AND it’s fun to do something of quality.  When my students go to a performance and hear someone sing, I want them to say “I know how that feels”.  I also want them to understand that anything worth doing well takes work and that the word “work” is not a bad word, but something necessary when it comes to making great music.

Our backgrounds are as different as night and day – he’s a little bit country and I’m a little bit city.  He grew up listening to the pop music his young aunts and uncles were listening to and I grew up listening to classical and what my dad always called “belters” like Barbra Streisand and Judy Garland.  His grandfather played mandolin and my grandfather played strings as well.  We both had great elementary and high school teachers who got us excited about making music and passing on that excitement.

When we were younger and competition was  important, I think we could compete with each other in terms of what we believed we knew and what we believed was most important about music.  Now with some age and experience we tend to agree with each other on most things, occasionally agreeing to disagree about things like Josh Groban’s vibrato.  It’s a long story.

It’s a life I wouldn’t trade for anything else.  Two musicians, sometimes not the best at doing the sensible thing, sometimes struggling to make ends meet, sometimes having to juggle rehearsals and performances but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  There’s nothing  like being married to someone who “gets it” when it comes to music.  Someone who understands when music brings you to tears and says nothing or cries with you.  Someone who remembers important times and events in your lives by remembering the music.  Someone who remembers just about every student they’ve ever had, if not by their name, by their instrument.  That would be him, not me.

Yes, ours is a tale of two musicians, working together to hopefully make the world a better place, one music student at a time.

There is nothing more perfect in this world than a beautifully made biscuit.  I’m not talking about the hockey pucks made by some of my lovely mid-western friends and/or restaurants, especially those who claim to specialize in breakfast.  No, I’m talking about those heavenly, light, buttery, melt in your mouth biscuits made by people who consider baking them an art form, usually in the south.

In musical terms, the best biscuits are made by those who improvise, the people who don’t measure the ingredients but mix things until they “feel” right.  I have an aunt who does that.  The bakery goods she makes are ridiculous, so once I tried to get her to show me how to make biscuits.  She stumped me at the “feel right” part.  Mine tend to rise pretty well but are still too heavy.  There’s a trick to it that I still haven’t mastered, which just makes me appreciate those who can make them all the more.

I’m not talking about frozen biscuits or biscuits popped out by the dough boy, I’m talking about homemade, make a floury mess on your counter biscuits. Depending on who you talk to, it’s either about the butter or the lard, salted or unsalted, the type of flour you use, milk or buttermilk, whether you top it with a pat of butter or brush it on.  Biscuits are as individual as their makers and each takes pride in making the best biscuits.

What’s so special about a great biscuit?  While they are just fine by themselves (for all of you purists out there), they make a great home for country ham or sausage, the spicy or salty goodness of the meat a perfect foil for the butteriness of the biscuit.  This is my favorite.  My husband likes to slather things on his biscuits, usually country gravy but sometimes fried apples, homemade strawberry or blackberry jam or in a pinch, more butter.  You can top a pot pie with them or set one in the bottom of a bowl of stew.  You can use them to wipe up anything that’s left on your plate and eat it.  It’s simple, yet complex, something so delicious that it can make your eyes roll back in your head.

It’s difficult to be in a bad mood when eating a great biscuit.  That’s why I believe what this country needs is more biscuits.  Take biscuits to people who you have trouble getting along with and they’ll be your best friend.  Maybe sending a bunch of great southern biscuits to those senators and representative we’ve sent to D.C. would get them to work together.  I’m telling you, you can’t argue when you’re sharing biscuits with someone.  This could be the whole problem with our yankee president – nothing against my northern friends – he’s probably never had a great biscuit before!  Okay, they probably need more than biscuits, but it would be a start.  Make more biscuits!

 

 

One of the girls ran up to me on the playground, one of her shoes missing on a cold winter day.  “Mrs. Bush, the boys took my shoe and are tossing it around and I can’t get it”.  One of the boys saw her run to me and threw the shoe in her direction before running away.  Obviously it was all in play, but I asked the girls if they were happy about what the boys were doing, the answer of course being no.  “Well, go yell at them!” I said and off they went, gleefully yelling at the group of boys at the top of their lungs.  The boys, completely caught off guard, took off running with the girls right behind them yelling “girl power!!”.

Last night I went to the theater to see “On the Basis of Sex” about Ruth Bader-Ginsberg.  I was all ready to leave the movie feeling empowered and instead left feeling a little angry.    Here was a woman who was first in her class at both Harvard and Columbia, who was denied jobs as a lawyer because she was a woman, an attractive woman and a mother.   Even in the 70’s, the time of the great women’s liberation movement, she couldn’t do things without a man’s blessing or a man’s assistance.  The climate of the day was tumultuous, with one side fighting for equal rights (we’re still fighting) and the other fighting for what they believed was the very survival of the American family with women as wives and mothers or, if they worked, nurses, teachers and caregivers. The “natural order” of things.

As recently as the early 1990’s, I remember going to an interview where I was actually asked if I thought I could give the time I needed to do the job since I had three kids.  At my church I was told I could lead the choir if my husband would lead the congregational singing because I was a woman and women shouldn’t lead in church.  I led both, by the way.  When I meet with the other past presidents of my state music organization, I am one of only two women who have been a part of that esteemed group in its 80 year history.

I think where I get frustrated is that I don’t necessarily want women to take over the world, although it would be interesting to see what might happen, but I don’t want women to be afraid to try and I certainly don’t want men to purposefully get in the way.  On the other hand, I also don’t want women to be admitted or accepted or hired just because they’re women.  Each person, regardless of gender, should be considered on an equal basis, considering things like their education, skill level, or work ethic instead.  But until that happens, women will have to be smart, toughen up and not be afraid to say what they need to say when they need to say it, not worrying about what people think of them.

One of the things I did very much appreciate about the film was the relationship between Ruth and her husband Martin.  From the very beginning they supported each other whether it was going to school, their careers, raising their children or taking care of the household.  They encouraged and praised each other.  I too am fortunate enough to have a partner who shares the duties of the home, who loves and supports me and our kids and supports and encourages me in all of my endeavors.  He’s there if I need him but will step back if I want to do something by myself.  I try to do the same for him.

I think it’s important to encourage our young women to stand up for themselves, to expect to have a partner who is just that – a partner – if they CHOOSE to even have a partner.  They should be taught that a real man respects women and treats them with kindness, not in a patronizing way.  And if some boy takes your shoe away, don’t go running to someone else for help, run right at them and yell!

Today I did something that some music teachers feel very uncomfortable with and that is listening to kids sing and assigning a number as to how well they can match pitch.  As a firm believer that singing is a learned skill and not just a talent, I have seen many students who struggle in their early years of elementary school gradually develop that ability to hear and match until it becomes more and more accurate.  So why is this important?

Singing is a part of who we are as humans.  My students will want to sing at church, at concerts with their favorite artist, participate in karaoke with their friends.  They won’t be self conscious in front of family and friends and have a way to express themselves.  Singing also provides mental and physical health benefits according to recent research.

Sometimes parents become upset when I give a child a certain number for their singing, some who have told me that I have ruined their child’s self esteem.  Would they say the same thing if their child received the same number for math or reading or would they kick in and do what they needed to do to support their child learning those skills?  So many times if a child struggles matching pitch, a parent will say, somewhat apologetically, well, they get it from me – I have no talent for music.  I really take this kind of thing as a challenge.

So today in class, I was walking among a group of 4th graders, listening to them sing, when I walked past a student I’ve been working with for a couple of years.  His speaking voice is naturally lower, not forced, just lower, so when he tried to sing, and he LOVES to sing, it was always too low and often almost monotone.  I would do all kinds of exercises with him and he always received a lower number from me.  He was never discouraged and just kept making his joyful noise.  Some people might be satisfied with that, but like I said, I believed he could do more.

I noticed earlier this year that he seemed to be matching more pitches this year, getting up into a head voice.  Today however, as I walked by, there he was with a big smile on his face as always and just singing like crazy – and completely in tune.  When I finished listening to everyone and I had a chance to talk to the class, I talked to them about just this thing, that the biggest barrier to them accomplishing something, like singing on pitch was that they don’t believe in themselves enough.  And then I bragged on my smiling friend.

I shared that when he first tried to match pitches he couldn’t match any at all.  Several of his friends chimed in “yes, I remember that!”.  But I told him he could do it and he kept trying and today he sang everything on pitch.  The kids all cheered for him and his smile got even bigger.  Then I looked right at him and said “you are why I do this.”  The kids got quiet as I explained that I love it when they made music, it’s what makes me happy and it was ultimately why I do what I do.  Today he made my day and it reinforced the message for the rest of the class (who, by the way all match pitch) that they too can do whatever they set their mind to and believe they can do.  Belief is a powerful thing – I need to remember that for myself as well.

So at the end of a long week of school, with snow on the way which made my kids crazy (all of my teacher friends understand), this one event made it all worth it.  I don’t do this for the pay, or for my summers off (ha,) or the acclaim I receive for my little elementary concerts (ha, ha).  I do it for the students.

 

To kids, teachers are mysterious creatures.  Kids come to school and the teachers are there.  They leave school and the teachers are still there.  Many times I’ve told students that I live at school, that when bedtime rolls around, I just flatten out the risers and sleep there.  They laugh, but there’s always that slight doubting look on their face as they’re not sure if I’m kidding or not.

When students DO see us outside of the classroom, it’s as though they’ve seen an alien.  “Mrs. Bush, why are YOU here?” is usually the question.  Well, I’m shopping or getting lunch or seeing a movie. Sometimes a student spots you in public and they get shy or tug on a parent saying in a whisper voice, “mom, that’s Mrs. Bush my music teacher” or they come over and just look at you until you say something.  This usually leads to a very uncomfortable conversation where I continue to make small talk while they respond with “uh huh” and either yes or no.  It usually ends when I say something like, well, I hope you enjoy your lunch or have a great day and they walk away, occasionally looking back to make sure I’m still there I suppose.

Students especially find it fascinating that teachers go to the bathroom.  If a class shows up while I’ve dashed to the bathroom across the hall, they ask, “where were you Mrs. Bush”, to which I respond, I was in the bathroom.  To which they respond with something like – “ohhhh”.  Yesterday I walked into the bathroom in front of two girls who proceeded to wait until I was out.  There were four stalls, three not being used and yet they waited for me so they could say “hi” when I stepped out.  Reminds of when I had little guys at home, there are just more of them at school.

Today as I walked across the hall, I heard a couple of girls already in the stalls talking to each other.  Very quietly, I stepped into a stall and both girls immediately went silent.  As I did my business, one of the girls asked, “is that you?” to which the other girl answered, “no, it’s not me!”.  Then as I pulled off some toilet paper, the 2nd girl asked “is that you?”. “No”, the other girls answered.  “I think it’s Mrs. Bush”.  I started laughing and asked how they knew.  One girl said, “I saw your shoes!”.  I think that’s telling me I wear a particular pair of shoes too often.

That’s the thing about teachers.  You get to know them really well and maybe you really like them or you don’t, you’re afraid of them or you admire them.  Whether or not a child loves learning can depend completely on what kind of relationship develops between the two of them.  Part of that relationship sometimes depends on how they see you outside of school, how they see you as a real person and not just that persona of “teacher”.  Knowing you well enough that they stop you to tell you that they followed you in your car the other day as they were going to gymnastics.  Feeling comfortable enough with you to ask you how your day is going or give you a hug or stop and open the door for you.  Developing that relationship because you care and so they also care.

Tomorrow ends another week of dealing with what is really a ridiculously large family made mostly of children.  And like most moms, chances are I’ll have more interesting encounters with some of these little people at sometime tomorrow.  I’ll just hope that it’s not in the bathroom again….

I’m completely convinced that when the architects designed the building I’m in and decided where to put the playground they thought, where is the coldest possible place we  put it?  Why, on the north side of the building at the top of a hill with no wind break at all – of course!  Which is why the last two days of recess duty have called for the Beethoven Coat.

I have this mental image of Beethoven and his infamous oversized coat where he kept rocks to throw at children, or so the story goes.  Something big where he could layer and go all the way to the ground to keep his legs warm.  That would be my coat – only without the rocks.  There are varying degrees (pun intended) of coat wearing for recess and many things to consider when looking at the weather.

I actually hate wearing coats, which just makes so much sense when I live on the frigid wind-swept plains of Nebraska.  I remember studying the Great Plains in 3rd or 4th grade and thinking, what an empty, desolate place this must be.  (I obviously had a great vocabulary).  Anyway, as an adult, I now know it’s not desolate, but it does have its wide open spaces, hence no windbreak on the playground.  As I said there are several things to consider; actual temperature, whether it’s sunny or there’s cloud cover  and wind speed, with the latter being the trickiest part.  I can’t tell you how many time I’ve seen kids on the playground with just a long sleeved shirt, freezing because the weather report said 45 and sunny, completely failing to read the part about the wind blowing in from the NNW at 25-30 mph.

I have a nice little lightly lined jacket with a hood that works well to about 45-50  degrees.  Below that I have this great parka but it’t fairly short and doesn’t cover my legs. But when the temp gets to about 20 degrees or below, with or without windchill, out comes the Beethoven Coat.  All wool, all the way to the ground with the added layers, scarf, hat and gloves, I am ready for just about anything.

Today was one of those days, temperature in the 30’s, windchills in the lower 20s.  I was bundled up to the nth degree and I looked over at one of the boys who was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, then to a girl who is wearing shorts over some leggings with a short jacket.  I shiver just thinking about it.  Then I then look at the three other teachers, each of them with a big coats, hoods, hats, gloves and scarves.  At the end of recess, as the kids are running in and smiling, most of them unencumbered by many layers,  the four of us walk into the school with our windburned cheeks, pulling hats off of our hair now loaded with static, hands frozen despite the gloves.  It’s a lovely sight.

I think someone should invent those little houses for teachers to do recess, you know, like they have for soccer moms watching their kids on cold rainy days?  Maybe with a little space heater and a megaphone so we can yell things at the kids when they’re messing around?  For what I spent on the parka and the Beethoven Coat, it could actually be pretty nice.  But until that time, I will depend on the coat and the fact that it’s only 70 days until spring.  Unless you’re in Nebraska in which spring is only a word….

 

The Friday Crash is a phenomenon that I would daresay most educators are very familiar with.  There is the initial excitement that it’s Friday and the weekend is here, just like anyone else with a so-called 8:00-3:00 job (insert sarcastic laugh here).  However, what usually happens is this; all the plans for going out to dinner and a movie or doing something “fun” are completely replaced with a glass of wine, a throw on the couch and falling asleep watching Netflix.

I’m certainly feeling that Friday Crash tonight, however there’s one big problem – it’s only Tuesday and we’ve been in school all of two days since break.  I’ve been thinking of going back to bed ever since I woke up this morning. This certainly is a problem.

For anyone who has never experienced the joy of teaching a classroom full of students of any age, but particularly younger students, I don’t know that they understand the amount of energy needed and expended to keep those students engaged and hopefully learning.  Oh sure, we can do summative assessments to make sure the kids have remembered enough just long enough to answer questions we want the answers to, but are they really retaining anything?  THAT takes time and energy.

It’s not just physical energy of course, it’s mental and emotional energy as well, the triple whammy.  If it were just one, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but most educators put everything they’ve got into their teaching.  That means not only being prepared professionally for the act of teaching but dealing with students who have unique personal difficulties, all of whom need to be addressed throughout the day.  The body language interpretations, the constant tweaking, the behavior management, the reading, studying… the list goes on an on and it takes a toll.

Perhaps a scheduled nap during the day would help.  First of course we would have to schedule regular bathroom breaks.  Don’t see that happening soon, so chances are a nap isn’t in the cards either. Perhaps during our half hour lunch, which isn’t really a half hour once you catch up on the bathroom breaks. I can eat in 10 minutes so that leaves 10-15 minutes for a power nap. Otherwise it’s taking a nap during class, although the kids would probably notice if I took a snooze on the desk.

So 15 hours after I woke up and thought about going to bed tonight, I’m going to do just that.  And tomorrow morning, I’ll get up and think, it’s only one day.  I can do anything for one day.  Or two days.  Until it’s Friday and I can crash again.