Our homes are reflections of us, sometimes as individuals, sometimes as couples, sometimes as families.  There’s no hiding our personalities when someone walks in the door.  I’m not necessarily talking about the mess you shoved under the bed or in the oven (you know you’ve done it), I’m talking about the colors and furnishings we choose to surround ourselves with.

Growing up, I chose to be a pink and purple girl in a gold and avocado world.  I really tried to like blue or red, but they just didn’t speak to me. When it came time to finally get my own teenage girl room, which my parents chose for me of course, they debated on the colors for my bedspread.  My mother was convinced that I would love the gold and avocado look while my dad thought I would rather have the pink and purple.  Somehow my dad won that debate, but not before my mom asked which one I would have liked best and, well, you know how that went.  Purple was a “gaudy” color, one that people with no taste liked. Despite this criticism, I stuck with it, made a few changes as I grew older, going to Spencer’s to buy my own pink shaded plastic lamp to go on my white plastic parsons table next to my pink and purple bedspread.  A paycheck from McDonald’s only goes so far.

Decorating and furnishing my home was much like figuring out who I was as a person.  At first I had to be frugal and I ended up letting people talk me into what they thought I should have.  Then I tried to be trendy, using the latest color palette whether or not it actually worked, thinking more about what other people would think than whether it fit me or not.  During the years my kids were growing up, I was just lucky if the decor and furnishings survived, much like my life at the time.

The best part now is that I’m at a time in my life where I’m not letting others tell me what I should like, I only go for trendy if I actually want to and I don’t worry about what others think. and now that the kids are gone, I can think about me and go with my gut about things I really like because I know they’ll last past tomorrow.  Creating a home is a lot like becoming your own person, the personalities, the lifestyles, the memories are all reflected in the colors, the fabrics, and accessories you choose to surround yourself with.

And just like me, my home is a work in progress.  Just like I may replace or refurbish one piece or room at a time, I’m also working on parts of me, growing, learning, peeling away layers to make new discoveries.  There are those parts of me that I love and parts of me that I know need to go or change.  I’ve also learned that this takes time.  It takes time to find just the right piece of furniture, the right color, the right piece of art work, just like it takes time and patience to figure out just who I am and how everything fits together.

Does this seem trivial?  Perhaps, but sometimes it’s the trivial things that become great analogies for life.  I’m still a pink and purple girl, even if someone thinks they’re gaudy.  I’ve learned that while I still love those, there’s more time to explore other facets of me and hopefully one day my home with be a total reflection of who I really am.

 

 

 

You know, we teachers are a gullible bunch.  We want to believe there’s good in everyone, that everyone has good intentions.  But unfortunately, as nature would have it, there are people out there who actually are not looking out for us.  As most of us will tell you, we didn’t get into teaching for the money, but apparently legislators are taking us seriously.

I should jump in at this point and say that I’m in a very fortunate position in terms of my personal salary and benefits, in a district and school board that does its best to work with our union leaders to take care of teachers.  However, my district, like all districts, is at the mercy of our state government and that’s where I’m wary.  For years I’ve watched states legislate curriculum, assessments, and teacher evaluations, all in the name of teacher accountability, because for some reason, despite the fact that teachers can have multiple degrees, they are never quite treated like the professionals they are.

And yet, teachers stay.  We stay despite larger classrooms, fewer resources, more of our own money spent so students can have what they need, more testing and teaching to the test, a more diverse classroom than ever before with students from different socio-economic statuses, speaking many languages, who suffer from trauma and mental health issues and little support with many negative classroom behavior issues.  Teachers stay despite the long hours, the work taken home, and taking additional after-school jobs in order to help their own families.   They stay despite the fact that they are called names by politicians, chastised by parents and community members and disrespected by students.

So why then do they stay?  It’s not logical.  I can’t imagine any other professional putting up with this kind of treatment, and yet teachers stay.  Well, at least 50% of them. The only different variable has to be that teachers want to make a difference in the lives of children.  There is obviously nothing else left and that need to make a difference is powerful enough that teachers put up with ridiculous treatment and conditions for a long time, believing at the same time that the results of our labor will make a difference in how people think of teachers.

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice….5 times….10 times….  What was the breaking point?  We’re apparently seeing the results of the breaking point in various states across the country.  Was it this last school shooting?  Is it the fact that some legislators are wanting to put guns in the hands of teachers?  As if being trained to deal with every other possible scenario that could ever happen during the school day wasn’t enough.  What are we teaching our students if we aren’t standing up not only for them but for ourselves?  What are we teaching them if we don’t demand that we be treated with respect as the professionals we are and instead cower and give in no matter what is throw at us or taken away?  What are we teaching if we don’t take advantage of our right to protest when we need our leaders to hear us?  And what are we teaching if we don’t demonstrate perseverance when it takes a while to change the culture we find ourselves in?

Maybe it’s the combination of all the above that is the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Maybe it’s the fact that politicians don’t even try to hide their disdain for who they perceive teachers and the teaching profession to be.  That somehow teachers are whiny, spoiled, irresponsible and living in the past.  That schools need to be run like businesses and students are products to be used.

Even the nicest people have their limits.  Don’t try to reach that point because the nicest people are also the scariest people when they’ve had enough.

Yes, I believe that most teachers are nice people.  We’re also highly educated and highly organized.  We are not the people you want to deal with when we’ve been pushed too far.  As of fall 2017, there were 3.2 million full time teachers in the United States and I’m betting they’ll be voting this coming fall.  No more shame on me.

 

 

The sky was grey and the light snow falling reminded me more of winter than the first day of April.  So disappointing as I had just recently seen the promise of spring with buds beginning to pop out on the trees and crocus and daffodils blooming.  Just when I was getting my hopes up that spring had finally arrived, those hopes were dashed.  A Winter Weather Advisory turned into a Winter Storm Warning with a prediction of 4-8 inches of snow.  Aside from it just being a complete waste of a snow day, at least from a teacher’s point of view, it was not at all what I had expected for Easter.

The family gathered here after church and we enjoyed time together, eating laughing, playing games and just enjoying each other’s company.  My daughter in law curled up on the couch for a nap, having recently recovered from the flu and later on my husband crashed out on his recliner.  It was a time to reconnect, relax and renew ourselves, with people we love.

And then something interesting happened.  The clouds began to part, the Winter Storm Warning disappeared and in it’s place the sun began shining brightly as the snow we did get began melting.  The hope for spring was present again with the knowledge that the snow was necessary for things to begin turning green, for flowers to grow and moisture for farmers.

The day reminded me of the resurrection story.  I’m sure that followers of Jesus just knew that He was the promise of spring, of new beginnings.  I can’t begin to imagine their disappointment when Jesus was hung on the cross, having to deal with a perceived ending rather than the hope of a new beginning.  His followers gathered to give comfort to one another, because that is what you do with those you love.  And just when they thought the story was finished, the sun came out, melting the disappointment and turning it to joy.  Joy that everyone can share in, in a brightness that one cannot ignore.

Or can we?  There are those that say people who believe in God are weak minded and need a mythical god to believe in because they are not scientifically or analytically minded.  Those same people look at our weakness as hypocrisy and not the same weakness as their own.  They look at our understanding of grace as an excuse to make mistakes because we believe God forgives.

On the other hand, I’m sure it can be hard for unbelievers to see God’s light in us when we tend to cover it up with our doubts and our continued behavior that is no different  from anyone else.  I am one of those believers that I’m sure has inadvertently cast doubt in the minds of others.  It is merely proof that I am imperfect and still need the joy and reassurance the sunshine brings.

The Resurrection Story isn’t just something for us to remember and celebrate with  traditions one day every year, it’s a lifestyle.  It’s living through life’s inevitable disappointments, conflicts, problems, grief and even death, knowing that the light of God is just around the corner, sometimes right behind the clouds.  So how do I know this?  Since each person’s relationship with God is personal, I can only speak from my point of view, but let’s just say there have been many times in my life, and I’m old enough to have seen some of them completely through, where I had no understanding of why I was having to go through some tough experiences. Dealing with depression and anxiety, issues with my career, financial problems, and struggles in my relationships, just to name a few, not unlike a lot of  people.  However, as I look back, I see where certain people or opportunities came into my life that, at the time, didn’t seem like such a big deal, but in hindsight begin to look like a well thought out master plan for my life, one that I never saw for myself.

And while I could tell you miraculous stories of how God has quickly answered prayer, I can also tell you stories of how He has worked patiently with me to change my attitude or behavior, to learn to trust when life hits really hard, or how He’s helped me slow down once in a while to just appreciate his handiwork, whether it’s in a spectacular sunset or the creativity He displays in nature as I watch the beautiful little birds that come to my birdfeeder.  Rather than being an example of mindlessness, as some might say, I prefer to say I’m an example of mindfulness, a higher awareness that I’m not alone and everything is not always up to me to know, explain or do.  I believe that He is ultimately in control and I’m okay with that.  My job is to keep learning, working hard, doing my best and looking towards the light of the Son, looking forward to what He has in store for me next.  Happy Easter!

 

 

 

Seven 5th graders sat in the darkened theater, silently eating their popcorn and candy, drinking their pop with eyes glued to the screen.  One boy in particular sat forward in his seat, mouth slightly open, completely engaged in the action in front of him.  This happens everyday in America, usually for the latest action film, but not today.  Today was a 3 1/2 hour opera by Mozart, sung in Italian by performers and conductor from places around the globe.  Some people might say that opera is dying, that the art form is no longer relevant.  However, the looks on my students’ faces tell me differently.  After all, a good story is a good story.

The story doesn’t begin this way of course.  The minute I mention the word “opera” I’m met with groans and eye rolls.  In fact I can get the same reaction from adults – I was one of them.  I saw my first opera, La Traviata, while I was in college and I was bored to tears.  I hadn’t looked at the synopsis, had no idea what the story was about and it was in ITALIAN.  I couldn’t wait for it to be over and I did not attend another opera until five years ago when I lucked into a relationship with the Metropolitan Opera.  Little did I know that not only would the characters and stories affect me the way that they have, but it would change my students and how they perceive the genre completely.

The first year I had the opportunity to take my students to the opera, I had no idea how it would go over and our first opera was Carmen.  After an introduction of the characters, voice parts and any special details, we got into the story, acting out the synopsis and getting to know the characters as people, which was difficult when one of the characters tended to make some questionable life decisions, if you get my drift.  I’ll be honest, after seeing the opera, I was afraid I had lost my job, especially when at intermission, one of my little girls asked me why the man kept sniffing Carmen’s leg.  That was a difficult one to answer!  The best part came at the end however, as Carmen was about to get killed, two of my girls were so involved in the story that they were talking to the screen, telling Carmen to “just go!”.  The conversation at school later that week was very interesting as they shared what they had learned from the opera.  There are consequences to our actions, sometimes really bad consequences and they decided that Carmen did not make very good life choices.  What made it really relevant was when they compared her bad choices to some choices they had made and how they should think before they act.

Since then I have taken quite a few students to the opera.  It became so popular that students would run their permission slips out to their parent picking them up from school to make sure they would be on the list for the next opera.  Opera has spoken to students who don’t seem to fit in anywhere else, an autistic student who corrected the pronunciation of Turandot to the host on the screen, to a group who began singing an aria with Renee Fleming during The Merry Widow.  Students who were so excited about what they had seen that they couldn’t wait to share their experience with incoming 5th graders.

These are students who, when asked about the opera by other patrons at the theater, are able to speak intelligently about the characters and the plot. Opera has been a way to connect several generations and these young people have become an encouragement to opera lovers who have been concerned about the death of a beautiful genre.  So what is the key to getting kids excited about what many consider to be dying art forms?  Stories.  Great stories that never grow old, that continue to speak to us intellectually and emotionally.  Great music that speaks to our heart and soul.  Great symphonies, ballet and opera aren’t dying, they just need teachers who are willing to do more than share theory and history.  To keep great art relevant we must tell and sing their stories to the next generation and they too will be on the edge of their seats.

 

If you like isolation, then being an elementary “specialist” may be just the ticket.  All you wannabe PE, Computer, Art and Music teachers, if you like having your own space, doing your own thing and just teaching whoever shows up, this is the job for you!  Of course, there are some drawbacks to not being in a “pod” or cluster of grade level classrooms when, oh let’s say, nature calls, but eventually you train your bladder into submission.

Then there are those other days or classes when you wish there were two of you and thank goodness I have a wonderful student teacher right now so there are two of us.  So, let me describe part of today’s events to you.  As my student teacher is doing all of the teaching right now, prompting my students to regularly ask me if I’m doing anything, I tend to work at my desk in the corner.  At one point, my student teacher, who was leading a musical rehearsal had a bit of a coughing fit, so I stepped in for a minute while she got a drink and she stepped right back in.  Easy Peasy. The class that followed was a bit more of a challenge.  One of the students was being particularly disruptive and when asked to move chose to throw a bit of a fit so I decided to walk him to another classroom to cool off.  On the way, when he realized where we were going (not sure what he thought before that), he laid on the floor of the hall, kicking and crying before I could convince him to walk to the other classroom rather than have to call the office to come and get him.

After walking the child to this other room, where I realized there was a substitute teacher, I changed my mind and we walked to another specialist’s room.  No sense in stressing out the sub, right? I walked back to my classroom, sat for the briefest of moments when I saw my student teacher walking over to a child who looked rather green.  I grabbed my trash can and took him out, but he didn’t want to go directly to the nurse, he wanted to run to the bathroom.  So there I was, standing in the hallway with a trashcan, listening to a child gagging in the bathroom.  When he was finished, the two of us and the trashcan, walked down the hall to the nurse.  Pretty sure I washed my hands several times after that.

A woodwind identification game was underway in my room as I re-entered, with most of the kids laughing and cheering.  Except for the child who cried because “it wasn’t fair” and the child who stomped as loudly as he could up the risers.  These two and the child who just didn’t understand that his stand-up routine was not appropriate during class, all had to hang out after for me to process with while the same incredible student teacher took the rest of the students to the bathroom before lunch.

The afternoon was actually relatively calm and we almost made it to the end and the beginning of a few days of Easter break.  Almost being the operative word.  One of our students who refused to participate and then decided to be disruptive became upset when asked to sit out of the activity.  By upset, I mean yelling as he ran out of the room, slamming the door and running into the boy’s bathroom across the hall.  Surprise for him when, after making sure there were no other boys in the bathroom, I told him I was walking in and I did.  You should have seen his face.  After some talking and him slamming the stall door several times, I talked him into walking down the hall with me, eventually walking him into the office where the principal, assistant principal and office staff were also having an interesting end of the day with a little gas leak in the neighborhood.  Just so you know I wasn’t the only one having a challenging day.

This day was not atypical.  Unexpected things happen every day, mostly good, some bad.  It’s part of the challenge of teaching school.  However, did you notice how much of my day was spent having to take care of individual students?  If I had been there alone, I would have had to either call an office staff already stretched to the max, send students down the hall to the other room and hope they actually go, or find a way to try and deal with the child in class and take time away from the rest of the students.  I would have sent the poor sick kid to the bathroom, had him check in with me afterward and probably send another student to walk with him or send my trashcan with him. While the isolation can be a nice thing, especially for an introvert, it can also be a challenge when the unexpected happens,  Seeing as I only see my students every 3-5 days, every disruption/distraction just takes away that much more instruction time.  It’s hard, but it’s the job.

It’s always interesting to me when those who are outside of education do not want to fund for more teachers or resources.  Because although I’m sitting at my desk, supervising, I’m also finding plenty to work on.  Things I would normally have to do after school hours, sometimes staying two or more hours late or coming in on weekends.  It really does take two to teach, except in real life, there’s just me.  So, the next time someone says something about how lucky teachers are to have their summers off, the truth is we work the equivalent of two jobs during the school year and we really earn whatever part of the summer we get.  And after that break, the most unbelievable part is that we’re ready to do it again.  Even thought it really takes two to teach.

For those of you who have not stepped into an elementary school for awhile, let me tell you, it’s a never ending surprise party from the moment you walk in until the moment you leave.  From the good to the bad, to the funny and the unexpected, it’s a whirlwind of activity from hundreds of children during the day.  This morning when I walked in the door and began to open up the door to my room, I heard a boy from the before school care group yelling “Toilet Paper Party with Captain Underpants!”  Welcome to my day.

The beginning band was playing next door as I prepared for my day, putting things away, setting up my computer, munching on my chocolate frosted donuts while I was checking my email.  At some point a chunk of chocolate fell off the donut and I briefly looked for it but couldn’t find it.  Until a little while later when I felt something up my sleeve.  I never said I wasn’t a messy eater.  My student teacher and I were discussing plans for the week when one of my students popped in my room for a hug and proceeded to tell me how she had been sick with a fever and her mom took her to the doctor thinking it was the flu but it turned out it was a UTI instead and that she had an antibiotic now.  Two more hugs later and she was off to class.  Yes, they tell me everything.

Learning about blues music, singing and dancing to get ready for a musical and another class later, we did our bathroom duty – not for us of course, but the kids – and it was off to lunch duty.  There seemed to be a problem at one of the tables and the substitute teacher looked at me with a questioning gaze so I walked over. A group of 4h graders were sitting there and proceeded to inform me that a couple of of 2nd graders had not been kind to them.  Yeah, I know – 4th graders fussing about 2nd graders, but the story gets better.  The 4th grade boy was upset because one of the 2nd graders walked by and asked “so what did you do this time?” because it was the table where students who are struggling usually go to sit during lunch.  But the best is yet to come.  When the 4th grade girls who were sitting with him stood up for him, the 2nd graders called them – get ready for this – old women grandmothers.  They were completely insulted.  From an “old woman grandmother perspective” I didn’t see the big deal but I guess I can’t see it from a nine year old girl point of view anymore.

The rest of the day was full of laughter and out of control behavior from the little people.  Not sure if there’s a full moon coming or if it’s the weather or the fact that they have another break coming up in a couple of days.  And what is it about little boys that they can’t ask you if they can go to the bathroom without holding themselves to make their point more poignant?  But that probably should be another blog for another day. Anyway, at one point my student teacher brought out a triangle which for some reason brought the song Jingle Bells to mind and the entire class sang an impromptu rendition at the top of their lungs.  It was so raucous that it took a little while to get them back under control.  You just can’t prepare for this kind of thing.

Thank goodness for my professional learning group of colleagues where we can share stories, laughter and encouragement after days like this and for those days when you just don’t know how much more you can deal with.  It’s nice to know we’e not in this struggle alone, that there are others who understand this craziness that is teaching elementary music.  Here’s looking forward to the craziness to begin again tomorrow.

 

 

Libtard.  Deplorable.  Snowflake. Uneducated. Elitist. Extremist.  The Oxford Dictionaries actually has a list of the top ten negative terms applied to liberals and conservatives by overall frequency.  I’m serious.  Social media is full of these terms, some of them coming from my old and new friends alike.  So, I thought it would be interesting to ask my Facebook friends to label me based on my attendance at the March for Our Lives this past weekend.  At the very least, I was hoping to be labeled either liberal/conservative or democrat/republican.  But I was surprised – and slightly disappointed.

I was especially disappointed when I saw that many of my friends, the ones who tend to be very politically vocal on social media, some of them contributing to the frequency of those negative terms, not a one of them called me a name.  Not one!  In fact they didn’t call me anything at all, good or bad.  I can’t decide if the lack of acknowledgement is a good or bad thing.  After all, if you can’t say something good, don’t say anything at all, right?

What did happen was very eye opening as well.  Rather than be labeled, my friends listed positive character traits, things that they have observed personally.  Things that they believe they know about me.  I was beyond humbled, but it completely changed the direction of this blog.  I did have one friend who questioned me on something I posted about the march and what it was for.  We’ve known each other for over 40 years, so he cut me a break.  He’s an extremely honest person who speaks his mind but he gave me grace, obviously because he knows me.  But I wonder how much grace he would give someone else with the same passions I have whom he didn’t know?

I think you can see where this is going now.  It’s so easy to call someone terrible names if we don’t know them, especially if it’s over social media.  It’s the cowardly way out.  For most people, it’s difficult to call someone a name to their face, but it’s even more difficult if it’s someone you know well.  You want to give them the benefit of the doubt because you’ve seen multiple sides of their personalities and have interacted with them. So why is it that we determine that everyone we DON’T know is so one-dimensional?  It makes no sense. While it’s a powerful emotion, not every action is driven by fear, as some would make you believe.  There are countless variables that contribute to how we think, feel and believe.  For goodness sake, we have got to stop pigeonholing and see everyone as the diverse people we all are.  And we don’t have to agree with all of them to be able to get along like civilized human beings.

And while we’re at it, let’s define “know”.  Reading about someone in the news (which may or may not be slanted) does not qualify you as “knowing” them.  You may think you know them based on what you’ve read or heard, but until you sit with them and listen to their story, you don’t know them.  I’ve certainly fallen into that trap myself, but I really believe that nobody is 100% evil incarnate and nobody is 100% angel.  It’s called being human.

Let’s go back the march.  I had never participated in a protest or march of any kind and it was interesting to see how many people used the march to promote their own agenda or philosophy.  And maybe that’s what it’s all about and if so, the 1st Amendment is alive and well.  I’m pretty sure the intelligent, articulate students who lead the march (and I DID know a few of them) are just tired of wondering if this is the day it happens at their school.  As for me, I marched because I’m tired of having to practice hiding with children so they hopefully won’t get shot to death.  That’s just the plain, harsh truth.  I don’t know what the answer is, but we won’t ever find an answer if we can’t stop calling each other names over social media like kids on a playground.

Now, I’m not going to share with any of you how I vote because frankly, that’s none of your business.  I will share several things that you may or may not know about me that may or may not change your mind about how you feel about me.  I have been a registered Republican since I could vote, but I tend to vote with my brain and not always along party lines.  I became saved in a Presbyterian Church and baptized by immersion in a Southern Baptist Church.  I grew up in a military family and absolutely believe in the 2nd amendment, but I question the logic of people owning certain weapons “just because they can”.  I believe that while a generation has created some of the issues we see due to their helicopter parenting (aka “snowflakes”), I also see a light from the next generation that tells me things are going to get better.  And I was marching for all of them because they deserve to live and attend school without fear.

Those of you who know me know my heart.  It’s all about the kids, always.  Hopefully we can teach them to speak to each other face to face in a civil way, giving grace for those things they don’t agree with, working together to find consensus and leaving the name calling on the playground where it belongs.  And perhaps it’s time for the adults to grow up now and be the examples these kids need.

 

The phone conversation in the back seat went something like this.  “Yes, I’m going with my parents right now.  They’re protest virgins.”,  followed by much laughter from all of us.  He was right of course.  I had never been to a protest march as this particular event had been labeled.  I have always tried my best to vote whenever I can and in the last decade or so have been more involved in advocacy efforts, speaking to state and national representatives about the importance of music education in the lives of all children.  But to be honest, there has never been a protest that I felt strongly enough about to participate.

So, why this one?  Well, as the students today spoke of so eloquently, enough is enough.  The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was when I actually raised my voice in anger to a class of first graders a few weeks ago because they giggled throughout a code red drill, not understanding fully that this was a drill that could mean life or death should it actually happen. Six year olds who just thought it was fun to hide in the dark.  I hated the idea that we even had to do the drill and hated my reaction to the students out of fear for them on my part.  I hated that I had to talk to my student teacher, just beginning her teaching career, about steps to take to hopefully keep her students safe, despite the fact that in a real life scenario there may be nothing she can actually do.  As several of the students said today during the protest, this is not normal.

Those who joined in the protest today obviously came with many different points of view, some of which I agreed with and others I did not.  I had a couple of people on social media who asked what the protest was about, and that was a simple yet complex question.  The simple answer – children dying in school shootings needs to stop.  Period.  Complexity comes from the many different perceptions as to why this is happening in the first place, and therefore how things need to change to stop the killing.

Now, I know that there are a lot of armchair “quarterbacks” who are labeling everyone who organized and/or participated in the protests.  They have decided everyone is anti-second amendment, anti-NRA, anti-Republican, etc.  And I have no doubt, based on the signs I saw, that there were people in the march with their own agendas, biases, and personal experiences.  So I am only speaking for myself personally, when I share that I marched in solidarity with the students on those capitol steps who spoke so eloquently about being the generation who have grown up with school shootings, who live in fear that they may be next and that they are tired of the so called “adults” who can’t let go of their personal or funded agendas long enough to see that the death of any child in this way is not acceptable on any level.  I am not protesting anything, I am BEGGING other adults to come together, set aside those personal differences and come up with a solution that will save children.

All I know in my heart is that hardening schools is not the answer.  Giving teachers guns is not the answer.  School should be the place where all children feel and are safe and protected. Seeing guards with guns, walking through metal detectors, having cameras in every hallway and knowing some of their teachers might have a gun in the classroom would be constant reminders to children which in turn would distract them from the things they should be doing at school – thinking, exploring, and learning.

Do I have the answers?  No.  I learned a long time ago that issues like this are multi-faceted and that it will take many people from many points of view to come to consensus as to how we need to stop this.  It is not just guns, it is not just mental illness, it is not just the need for new legislation, it is not just bullying, it is not just hardening our schools.  It is the culture we have created in this country that needs to change.  It is a culture that says everything else is more important than addressing violence in the lives of children with more than lip service. We need to come together with a creative solution with one thing in mind and not get distracted by our own agendas.  No more children dying.  Enough is enough.

My son who called us protest virgins today also told us he was proud of us several times.  It’s time for all adults to get over ourselves and do this one essential thing to make all of our children proud and ultimately, safe.

Bed Fairies are the best.  You know, the fairies who show up sometime after you’ve left your hotel room and they make all the mess go away.  I love walking into the room after a long day of of intellectually stimulating meetings, where everything is neat and clean and all I have to do it think about sitting for a few minutes and relaxing.  No shoes or dirty socks on the floor,  no unmade bed, no dirty towels in the bathroom.  It is a wonderful thing and something I appreciate greatly.

As I’m sitting on the plane, excited to get home, I realize I’m also going home to reality.  For a few days I have a lot of very kind people who carry my luggage and load it into cabs or Ubers, who bring me food, pour water and wine as I need or want it, take my dirty dishes away and call me “ma’am”.  When I get home, I have to throw some clothes in the washer and get things organized for the next day of school. My son, totally engaged in watching a basketball game finally takes the time to say “Oh hi mom.  Welcome home” with a little pat on the shoulder as he walks to the kitchen for more food.

And the bed fairies?  Well, the bed was made when I got home, the kitchen had been cleaned and things picked up.  However, the shoes I had left in the living room before I went out of town four days ago were still under the coffee table and there was no bread at home to make lunch today.  Reality.

I think it takes a lot of reality to make you appreciate life.  It’s a lot like having a variety of low wage jobs.  Working fast food has given me a real appreciation for anyone who who has to work behind the counter.  From burning yourself with grease to dealing with irate impatient customers to mopping with smelly solutions, cleaning bathrooms and taking out the trash, I know this is a tough job.  I greatly appreciate the fact that I work in a nice building with great co-workers and my “customers” now are usually much more fun.

It takes having only five dollars to buy as much food as you can when you’re in college to appreciate being able to buy a nice meal in a fine restaurant.  It takes living in roach infested married student housing to appreciate a beautiful home or hotel room.  It takes having an old car on its last legs to appreciate the ability to buy something reliable and, if you’re lucky, something fun to drive.  It takes having to drive for HOURS to visit family to appreciate the ability to buy a plane ticket to fly instead.

I have worked with children who have not had even the most simple of experiences who have reacted joyfully to something new and different.  And I have worked with children who are quickly bored or unimpressed with everything because well, they have everything they ask for.  When you have a five year old share that they just got back from Cancun for vacation like it’s an every day occurrence you worry that they will grow up taking things for granted.   Suffering little trials and tribulations, failing and not getting everything they want helps them appreciate things and people so much later/

But let’s take this up a notch.  How will we ever appreciate what other people go through if we don’t attempt to experience what they experience?  If we don’t take the time to walk in their shoes to understand where they come from and why they think or behave the way they do?  If we don’t experience hardships, how can we understand and help others who are going through those same experiences?  We tend to question why we have to go through certain experiences, but sometimes it is so we can appreciate life when things go well.  Would I have appreciated the great relationship I have with my family now if I hadn’t had a dysfunctional relationship with family growing up?  Maybe not. Going through difficult times helps us to not only appreciate the good times but gives us compassion for those who go through those same experiences.

So now, as I sit on my comfy leather sectional that hasn’t suffered damage from three active boys, with my best friend on a quiet evening watching TV, I’m once again appreciative.  Appreciative for great relationships, passage through trials, a comfortable life and of course, bed fairies.  Always bed fairies.

 

 

Have you ever thought about all the different kinds of thinking we do every day?  The brain is an amazing thing, storing and retrieving information, working to make connections with things we know and searching for connections to things we may not know at all.  Three of my personal strengths from the Gallup Strengths Finder are, Learner, Ideation, and Input, so basically I live in my head.  And quite frankly, I like it there.

Seriously, let’s just think about thinking.  According to Merriam-Webster, thinking is something you can form or have in your mind, it can be an intention, an opinion, something to consider, ponder, remember, suspect or anticipate, you can reason, meditate, have a point of view or a concern.  You can think purposefully or you can just let your mind wander.  You continue to think even while you sleep, with the brain basically controlling your life.

So, after sitting in meetings for two solid days doing nothing but well, thinking, my brain hurts.  It’s a good hurt, much like I imagine a good workout must feel, but I would have to rely on my healthy friends to confirm that statement.  I’m amazed at how others around me think and how ideas just pop up and bounce around the room, sometimes allowing us to come to consensus, other times just raising more ideas and questions, but the thinking never stops.  Even for lunch when there are multiple desserts to choose from.  Life is hard, people!

So many times we hear someone talk about people who “just don’t think”.  Well, yes they do, they just don’t think the same way you or I might think.  And what others think may not seem to make any sense, but in the context of how the brain stores and retrieves information, it makes absolute sense.  My brain takes everything I’ve experienced, seen, heard, tasted, and touched and pulls that information out when I need it.  The way I might troubleshoot a certain situation and the way someone else might are based on our experiences stored in our brains.  We question how on earth someone could believe a certain thing or vote a certain way or love broccoli and it all comes down to previous experiences stored in their brains.  I’m sure some of those people look at me and think, how could she NOT believe this or vote for this person or like broccoli.  How we think and what we think about makes us the wonderful individuals we are.

This is not to say that someone can’t change their way of thinking.  Adding different experiences, meeting different people from different places and backgrounds, and questioning preconceived notions can all tweak the data in the old database, giving us new eyes to see with and hearts to feel with.  I know that the more I listen to others and ponder, mixing the new with the old information, that I can do one of two things.  I can either begin thinking differently or it verifies the way I’ve always thought.  It’s certainly not an exact science and we all look at these experiences and conversations through different lenses, but the more information we can accumulate, the more connections the brain can make and perhaps we in turn can see more options with which to come to consensus.

This is a concern I have in terms of education, especially at the elementary level.  If we, and I mean the educational community, in the name of equity, insist that all children learn and think exactly the same thing in the same way, we’re really trying to create little robots. If a child reads a book, we want them all to comprehend it in the same way or they’re wrong.  If they don’t solve a math problem just the way they’ve been told they should, then they’re wrong, even if the answer is right.  We don’t take into account all of the data that they have accumulated up to the point where they start school and the environments that produced them.  Each individual thinks differently,  I believe we were all put on this earth because we bring a unique gift to the world.  Are we allowing our children to do that?  While you might believe we are, I would beg to differ when I have children coming up to me with a piece of trash they’ve found or a pencil and they have to ask me what to do with it rather than just do it.  They are not thinking for themselves, we are doing the thinking for them and after a while, I’ve discovered they become fearful of thinking for themselves because they’ll be “wrong”.

My apologies – if I think too long about this I tend to get up on my soapbox.  I think we should celebrate the diversity of thinking.  It’s not changing how someone thinks that is important.  We’ve got it all wrong.  It’s allowing people to find ways we can come to consensus through civil discourse.  Quite frankly, there’s nothing better than shoving some ideology or political agenda down someone’s throat or telling someone they’re wrong or stupid to see a mind close.  You see, the other thing about thinking is that we don’t have to take in any new thoughts if we don’t want to.  Another perk to being human I suppose.  We can enrich and inform, but the way to really get people to think is to get them to talk and then finding some common ground.  It’s never going to be completely the same, after all, the data input is different, but it could lead to compromise or consensus and actually get something accomplished.

As I mentioned yesterday, I’m a lucky girl.  I work with people who challenge my way of thinking every time we meet.  For someone who lives in their head, this is crazy stimulating.  And sometimes, stimulating thinking hurts.  But the best part of this group is that they listen to what I think as well, and rather than just dismiss it, they think about it.  So, maybe my thinking can affect the way others think.  You think?