Compliment

"Who can tell me the definition of 'compliment'? It's on the board in front of you."

A raised hand.

"A positive remark about someone or something."

"Awesome. Who can tell me about the best compliment they've ever gotten?"

More raised hands.

"Someone said I was beautiful."

"They said I was a great basketball player."

"Let me tell you guys what happened to me recently. Someone I work with said that I was a good teacher. Do you know what that did? It changed my entire day. If one compliment can change an entire day, can you imagine what complimenting someone every day could do? It could change a life.

I want you to think of one person who you can compliment today--somebody you wouldn't normally talk to."

Flashback to last night, when I sat on my bed, crying, clenching my fists and feeling defeated.

I can't do anything right.

I keep praying and it's not getting easier.

I wish they would just say nice things to each other.

"Alright, guys. Before we go outside, I'm curious. Who got the chance to compliment somebody?"

Several raised hands.

Wars aren't won in a day, but this morning I had a small victory.

What is my life.

We'll begin this post with a general statement:

Christmas Break was awesome.

I don't remember much of what happened, but I do know that I slept a lot, visited Lisa, and met my new soulmate(s):

I also missed my kids the. entire. time. Why? 

Because I have a problem.

I love my job.

At the same time, though, I hate my job.

The dichotomy is something understood by all teachers--the reason being that teachers have more than one job. 

Teachers, yes, but also managers, secretaries, subordinates, janitors, moms, police officers, curriculum writers, and saints.

At the same time, we are a bunch of multitasking semi-perfectionists who can't do everything put on our plates. Sometimes this makes us a herd of grumps.

This year, in particular, is not easy for Ms. Love. My journal entries have started with sentences like,

"Tornado day--that's what this was."

"What is my life."

"I LIVED."

"Yesterday's big event was a bug in the class library."

But I'm starting to pull an Anne Voskamp by looking for small things throughout the day to be thankful for and focus on. If I do that, it's much easier to see why I love my job even though I feel beaten down most of the time. 

A few things that bring me joy:

Being called Mom

Having my own (messy and smelly but wonderfully my own) classroom

Hugs

Putting 100s in the gradebook

Being greeted by kids when I come through the school door at 7:00

Kid jokes

Raised hands

The occasional "Yes ma'am"

Using compliments to breathe life into affection-starved children

Notes

Quality discussion time

Hearing kids use uplifting phrases/words with each other that I have used with them

Organized cubbies

Coworkers who laugh

Two or three of these throughout the day can make an astonishing dent in my frustrations.

Obviously there are parts of the job I will never enjoy--the extras, I like to call them. Making phone calls, sending emails, filling out tedious spreadsheets, managing paper (PAPER IS THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE), sorting through student conflicts, going to meetings, and trying to understand all the changing education rules being thrown at us by the government. But these are things I have to accept if I want to keep doing the part of the job that I love, which being with my kids--even when they are making me slap my hand to my forehead while muttering, "What is my life??"

Every once in a while, I get unexpected joy from the kids.

Like the time when I was given McDonalds toys as a Christmas present.

Or when a student said, "You make learning easy," and another said, "Thank you for listening."

And my favorite: when, at the end of a very frustrating day, a student stayed after the bell had rang to sing "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne. Why? Because she knew it would make me laugh.

I love my job.

I'm Not Sorry

Question: How was your day?

Response #1: It was ok.

Interpretation: Nobody died. I fulfilled my duty.

Response #2: Hahahahahaha.

Interpretation: I'm laughing so I won't cry, but in about an hour I'll think of today as a really great story.

Response #3: IT WAS AWFUL.

Interpretation: I'm a firm believer in honesty.

Response #4: IT WAS GREAT.

Interpretation: Somebody said thank you, I got a hug, children helped each other without me asking them to, and I drank ALL my coffee!

Question: How's your first semester going?

Response #1: It's ok.

Interpretation: I'm still breathing and most organs are continuing to function normally.

Response #2: I'm learning a lot!

Interpretation: ...about body fluids, conflict resolution, and how to make the English language sound logical when it actually makes no sense.

Response #3: It's been really hard, but I love my job.

Interpretation: I go through a lot of mood swings and would probably do well with some counseling right now. I love my children and get an unhealthy sense of satisfaction whenever I throw paper away. I'm also accidentally using the words "butthole", "fart", and "stupid" around other adults with increasing frequency because most of my social time is spent with eleven-year-olds (to whom I do not say "butthole", "fart", and "stupid" unless I want to start a classroom uprising).

Statement: Wow, you're getting home late.

Response: Yeah.

Interpretation: Late. So home. Food time? Look this thing on end of my arm. Have five nubs. Called "and". And is conjunction. Conjunction connect words. It the English teach. Food? And. Late. Nubs.

Question: What do you do in your free time?

Response: I don't have much free time, but sometimes I like to go on walks, or bake, or hang out with friends.

Interpretation: My free time is spent feeling guilty that I'm not doing something school-related. I go for walks so I can remember what outside feels like. When I get stressed out, I bake or sit on facebook for unholy amounts of time while thinking about my children and telling myself I'm inadequate. Everyone says I should get a boyfriend. I don't remember what that is.

Question: Do you like your school?

Response: Yeah! It's a little crazy, but I like my students and the people I work with!

Interpretation: It's probably not healthy to spend fifty hours a week under fluorescent lights. Thankfully, I can't differentiate smells anymore and the people around me tell funny jokes.

Question: Are you excited about Christmas Break?

Response: OH YEAH.

Interpretation #1: I need to pay someone to make sure I don't leave the country.

Interpretation #2: I hope I get lots of money so I can buy more pencils.

Interpretation #3: ROADTRIP.

Interpretation #4: Siiiiilent tiiiime. Sleeeep all niiiight. All is caaaaalm. No flooourescent liiiights. Round, fresh cooookies, ready and hot. Tender sofa so fluffy and soooooffft. Sleep in paperless peeeeeaaace. Sleep in paperless peeeeeeeeeeaaaaace. 

Or I might follow this list that I found at school.

Most of you know that this year hasn't been easy.

Usually, your first year as a "regular" teacher isn't.

I've been in rural, urban, and foreign classrooms, but this has been the hardest teaching job by far.

The great part about challenges, though, is that they make it easier to see beauty, cultivate deep relationships, and grow into someone better.

I have no doubt that each of my students is in my room for a reason, whether to be taught or to teach me. 

Someone recently told me, "I'm sorry you're having such a hard year." 

The response that dropped out of my mouth surprised me. 

"I'm not," I said. "I'm not sorry."

Teaching During the Holidays

Teaching during the holidays is like: 

herding cats and trying to count all of their fleas.

swimming with 23 toothless piranhas.

(they won't kill you, but they will gum the heck out of you) 

having a wrestling match with a swarm of mosquitos.

putting a leash on a tornado.

swimming in a pool full of lemon jello.

giving a Tasmanian Devil a bath.

training goldfish to jump through a hoop of fire.

running through a field of porcupines. In shorts.

holding two dozen helium balloons underwater.

climbing a mountain with flippers.

crossing Niagara Falls on a tightrope while carrying three backpacks.

eating popcorn with braces.

clipping a tiger's fingernails.

putting zombies behind the wheel of a car.

playing floor-is-lava with a litter of puppies.

giving monkeys a bottle of wine before asking them to write an essay.

My brain has melted like a popsicle.
I swear the children have become magnetically attracted to the floor.
Nobody remembers how to do anything.
I've forgotten what quiet sounds like.
Paper covers every surface of my classroom.
Everyone has to go to the bathroom all. the. time.

And, yes, there is a reason why I didn't put a Christmas tree up in my room.

One more day of school. Just one.

This is the block of fudge I devoured after the kids left last Wednesday.
I have no shame. Or sanity.

Curse Words

You read that title right.
In the realm of school, there are certain words that shouldn't be said around teachers too much.
Oh no, I'm not talking about real life curse words.
I'm talking about little phrases that will make any teacher's calves tighten up, stomachs drop, and teeth grit. Words that should rarely be mentioned unless you're looking to be assaulted with raised eyebrows, whacked with a cardigan, and sent straight to the office.
(Disclaimer: these only seem to have an effect on the young teachers who do not yet have the skin of a rhinoceros.)

"Bus duty"
Two teachers. Two weeks. A gymnasium full of children at the beginning and end of ten very long days. Bus duty perks? Yelling, shooing kids out of the bathroom, and chasing renegade students down the hallway.
In that sentence, "chasing" was 100% serious.

"In the bathroom"
If a child uses this phrase, you know your day is about to get turned upside down.
Nothing good ever happens in the bathroom. Ever.

"There's blood everywhere."
Don't laugh. It happened to me this week.

"Check your email."
Nobody ever tells you to check your email because they sent you something nice. For once, I'd like to open my inbox and see an email titled,
"Compliments to the nicest, most patient and understanding teacher in all of Tennessee"
or
"For my child's beautiful teacher"
or
"Free Gigi's in your mailbox"
or
"Hot date with Theo James at the Donut Friar."

"Have you finished..."
Probably not. Was there something to finish? SHOOT. I forgot to input yesterday's attendance, make a list for the reward party, give that makeup test, pass out that important notice, check planners, and sign up five people for detention.
What time is it?
What day is tomorrow?
What was that other thing you were talking about?

"Observation"
The moment your observer walks through the door, the classroom feels like it's on fire and you're sure you're standing in front of the kids in your underwear.
What's a verb again?

"Parent-teacher conference"
This one's a double edged sword. Sometimes it's really good. Sometimes it's really not.
Anxious anticipation should be the next breakthrough weight-loss plan for young teachers.

"Grade cards"
NO NO NO. THAT MEANS ALL OF THE PAPERS HAVE TO BE LOOKED AT AND RECORDED IMMEDIATELY.
There's a reason this rhymes with "graveyards".

On the flip side are some phrases that I like to call bless words.

"I made cookies"
Usually this phrase comes out of my own mouth.

"_______ meeting is cancelled."
YES! I'll go home before six!

"Snow day"
Which is another way of saying "catch up and recover day".
Get back in my warm bed?
DON'T MIND IF I DO.

"Clean"
As in, a student who finished early wants to straighten up/organize that mountain of processed trees sitting on the back table.

"You look pretty"
Five hours of sleep and you think I still look fabulous? A+ for ALL OF YOU.

"I did ______ for you"
You put my tissues away? You wiped down the desks without being asked? You finished your homework for the first time?
Sorry. I'm crying. I know it's awkward for everybody.

"I love you"
This comes out of my students' mouths frequently. And for that, I am blessed.

Fall Break

"But Sevier County doesn't have a Fall Break," you mutter to yourself as you read the title of this blog post. 

You're right, it doesn't.

School's been in session for two months now, with one long weekend at Labor Day and no real breaks in sight until Thanksgiving.

"Breaks!" you scoff. "You get weekends! Normal jobs don't have breaks like school does. SUCK IT UP."

Weekends. 

Those would be nice if I didn't spend them working.

I'm not complaining about my job. I knew what I signed up for when I applied. I work 10-11 hours, five days a week, and then a minimum of 11 hours over the weekend. If I'm lucky and work really hard on Friday night and all day Saturday, I can have Sunday off.

I usually spend my time not at school thinking about school, even if I try not to.

And, as is the case for most young teachers, I often feel like I'm floundering because I can't meet the impossible standards set before me.

But it was time for a Fall Break, so I signed up for a sub and prepared myself to get a WHOLE SATURDAY off.
I. Was. Jazzed.

On Thursday night, I was rebellious and went to MagiQuest with my friend Josh instead of going to bed at 9:00.

On Friday, I spent the day planning, grading, and looking at the rubric for my upcoming observed lesson (Y'all. A five-page rubric for one lesson. I've been sweating about it since September). I also went through a few stages of guilt because I felt like I'd abandoned my kids for a day and was SURE something terrible was going to happen (but the kids lived without me).

At 5:00, though, I put it all down to go out to dinner with some friends I used to babysit for.

That's right. I put it down.

And it stayed down through Saturday, which was THE BEST day.

On Saturday, I went to Chattanooga to be with Lisa, the roommate who shaped my entire college experience. We shopped, visited Covenant, and went hiking.

We had a roommate date.

It started with a macchiato that was nothing like what Starbucks has taught me a macchiato is. That cup was the size of my pinky.

We sloshed over the walking bridge.

We tasted Balsamic vinegars, which were shockingly good.

We visited Julie Darlin Donuts (no, we did NOT eat all of those).

We were silly on the merry-go-round.

I sat on Asia (and, as usual, I was bigger than everyone there).

That Balsamic vinegar geared us up for Greek lunch.

We visited our old hall (but didn't burst into our old room like we wanted to).

We gazed off The Veranda.

Lisa demonstrated how she used to spend chapel.

We looked for the broken boat by Jackson Pond, but didn't find it.

We hiked to the overlook that is easy to find.

We hiked to the overlook that is hard to find.

Then we spent an hour on a cliff.

We also what we used to call our "magic kingdom". It hasn't lost its magic. 

In the realm of school, there will always be more to do. I will never be caught up. Even today, the Sunday of my "Fall Break", I spent the afternoon inputting grades and googling resources. But taking a break made my school problems look a little bit smaller and reminded me that there is a Laura outside of Miss Love. 

I don't speak "School".

Y'all are going to get tired of all these posts about teaching, but until I figure out how to grade/plan/be a teacher like The Flash, I won't have anything else to write about.

However, in lieu of my not being able to go many places right now, I'd like to write a short piece on how one's first job in an American school is much like adjusting to another country.

1) Everyone speaks a different language.

RTI?

Star Testing?

Renaissance Learning?

Skyward?

Tier Three?

HANG ON, I need Google Translate for this.

2) Plans usually don't work out.

The copier ran out of ink and I didn't know until the tests I was passing out turned out to be blank? OH WELL. Everybody....work on narratives instead. 

Prompt:

Write a story about a) someone who always has bad luck, or b) a tired teacher who doesn't check all her copies when they come out of the copy machine.

3) You're slow. At everything.

Two years ago it took me three hours to go to a real grocery store. 

These days it takes me three-four hours to plan ten lessons (that will all be replanned the morning before I teach them). 

4) Technology is unpredictable.

Like when the microwave in the teachers' lounge stops working at lunchtime. 

5) Everything around you feels dirty.

MMMMMM. The germs of hundreds of small people all packed into a one-story building...coated in a layer of pencil lead smeared by Dorito-laced fingertips.

6) Going out of your room at the wrong time can get you run over.

Packed hallways complete with the smells of sweaty, stressed bodies.

7) Chocolate will make you more excited than it used to.

Overseas, Twix is a miracle because it's a rare find. At school, Twix is a miracle because any form of chocolate will help everything feel more ok.

8) You come home drained from sensory overload.

But this time, it's because at least 60 people needed something from me that day.

9) Contact with friends can completely change your day.

Overseas, the problem was time difference. Now it's because their conversations remind me that life exists outside of the classroom.

"You met someone on Ok Cupid? You're going on a date? HAHA. What's a date?"

10) Baking will fix everything.

At least, for a little while.