Because Hope Doesn't Disappoint Us

I'd be lying if I said 2009 was a great year. In my world, too many people found out they have cancer, too many people lost their jobs, too many people have had to fight sicknesses and personal battles. Sure Joe and I have had some important highlights: selling of our first home, building of our second home, and welcoming a new niece into the family. I successfully graduated all 25 learners from the UWRF masters program and continue to become a better teacher for my high school students. Joe continues to explore his outdoor passions and even achieved a personal goal: catching a 50.5 inch musky. But as I sit here and write, thinking about my niece who has been in the hospital for a week now, those highlights for us don't outweigh the battles people in our lives are fighting. But I have hope. For 2010 I have lots of hope.

I have hope that my niece will get better and be sledding down our hill again soon. I have hope that the cancer will stay away from those that I love. I have hope that losing a job really means a new chapter in one's life. I have hope that whatever comes our way in 2010 we can handle it, with the best of our abilities, because we have hope. Because, more than anything, "hope does not disappoint us."

Four Pillars

In less than 72 hours this weekend I weaved and bobbed my way through events and time with four different groups in my life: my former college roommates (8th annual cookie party), my husband (cleaning, shopping and a dinner date), my family (ice skating and pizza party to celebrate birthdays) and my best friends from high school (holiday craft night). As I sit here Sunday night exhausted from all the fun,I feel very fortunate to have these four groups--these four pillars in my life. And that's really what they are--cornerstones as to who I am as a person.

Former Roommates:
At one point there were seven of us living in a house sharing two bathrooms. We made it work, although I doubt any of us would want to return. Both then and now they bring out the relaxed, fun, and ready for anything Stacy. Although I probably see them the least out of the four groups, I can pick up with them so quickly that it almost feels like we still live together.

Husband Joe:
On a regular basis, Joe tells me he loves me, that I'm beautiful, that he's so glad I'm his wife, and that he can't imagine his life without me. He says all of these things while I'm flipping flour all over his kitchen, dripping water all over the floor, and complaining about his other girlfriend (a.k.a musky fishing). He supports me in everything I do and pushes me to be a better person everyday.

My Family:
Even though I started the pizza on fire today, setting the smoke alarm off, they don't get mad; they just say "Oh, that's Auntie Stacy". My niece teaches me how to be gentle and kind to everyone (and thoughtful about the words I use). My nephew snuggles into nap with me--even when he doesn't feel good. And although I won't do the dirty-diarrhea-diaper thing, he is teaching me how to be a mom someday. My brother and sister-in-law wow and amaze me with their positive attitude about life and love for everyone. My dad is the person I am most like and you get the two of us together and watch out! And my mom. I admit, I call her everyday after school because that is what I did for 13 years of my life--why stop now? Even though she tells me the same thing as the day before, I can't help but call. She's the only person at 3:00pm on a weekday that I can legitimately be crabby to. And who will still love me regardless.

My best friends from high school:
Perhaps it's because none of us have sisters that we have remained best friends for so many years. Maybe it's because we all are so very different that we just appreciate one another for that--instead of trying to change one another. Maybe it's because we all have interest in unique things--like knowing what people's lunch routines are each day. Maybe it's because we have a common belief that we are on earth for good. Whatever it is, I know that I am a better teacher and person for having them in my life.


So needless to say, I couldn't imagine a better way to spend a weekend. Or my life, for that matter.

"If today you become frightened, instead be inspired."

I keep one e-mail in my inbox at all times. My co-workers will find this odd, because they know me as the e-mail deleter queen. An inbox full of e-mails is a to do list. And so I try to get rid of an e-mail as fast as it's sent to me. I'll respond as soon as I can (even though it means that sometimes I'm not afforded the opportunity to really think through my response). If I no longer need the e-mail, it's deleted and placed in the trash, which I promptly recycle at least once a day. If I'm sitting next to my co-worker and see her inbox, I start to feel nauseous and not-so-kindly ask "do you know what folders are?". But there is one e-mail, with just a subject line, I cannot delete. It says, "If today you become frightened, instead be inspired." The source of the quote is somewhat cheesy, but I cannot let it go.

There are so many times when I'm frightened. When the phone rings with news about cancer. When I cannot get a hold of my husband while he is fishing and my mind goes to the worst possible scenario. When I get a call about my dad in the hospital. When I get an e-mail about a friend that is struggling through something about her life. When I hear student's stories about their less than perfect lives--yet they are at school every day working as hard and smart as they can. And so I think through all this scary, and bad stuff, I'm suppose to be inspired?

However, I think the quote is meant to inspire me to be brave. To be inspired to make a difference. To be inspired because it feels so much better than being frightened. And mostly to be inspired because then I can see the world through a different perspective- and that is beautiful.

Tone. Purpose. Audience.

Tone: Forthright
Purpose: To encourage them to admit they need help
Audience: My 5th Hour AP Composition class


Tone. Purpose. Audience.
Audience. Purpose. Tone.
Purpose.
Tone.
Audience.
TPA. APT. PTA.

For the last seven weeks I have been swimming--no drowning-- in the words tone-purpose-audience. It's at the core of any good writing, and therefore the core of the AP composition class I love and hate to teach. I love to teach this course for the reasons many teachers would think: students who actually want to learn, who do their homework, and who can think deeply. I hate teaching this class for reasons that most people wouldn't expect: it consumes my life.

Sure the 60 papers sitting in my inbox to provide feedback on is overwhelming. And yes, reading a novel or two every two weeks is demanding. But what really consumes me is the thinking involved.

I'm consumed by the thinking because I was not an AP Composition student. I am an AP Composition teacher, but never an AP student. Thankfully, that is not a requirement for the job, but I wonder if that would've been helpful. I wonder if it would've been helpful for me because then I might understand my audience. I know my purpose: to teach students to become better writers and thinkers and to do well on the AP test. I know my tone: didactic . And often, I think I know my audience, but in reality, I don't know them.

I don't know what it's like to take pre-AP classes. I don't know what it feels like to have to be a perfectionist. I don't know what it feels like to have the pressure from my family to get into Standford, Harvard or Yale someday.

But what I do know is what it's like to be the teacher of said students. I do know that it's incredibly difficult to teach students who are afraid to admit they don't know something. I do know that learning doesn't begin until they can admit that. I do know that I need them to take a risk and fail. And I need them to trust me that when they do take that risk, and do fail, I'll be there.

Question and Answer

Question: Are we actually taking a vacation from our job OR from our phone, cell phone, and email? Does anyone remember what life was like before that?

An Attempt at an Answer: Husband Joe posed this question to me before a week long trip to the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Now for me, going on vacation during the summer has always been very odd. I'm not really stressed, and getting to sleep in until 9:00am isn't really any different than any other day during summer. September through May, I known what Joe means. And I think the answer is that we are still taking vacations away from our jobs, because having cell phones and the Internet is too instrumental in our lives to ever really take a vacation from it.

My evidence? This past week, I wrongly assumed that my cell phone would work at the resort we were staying at. Why wouldn't it? And I told myself that I really only wanted it to work to make meeting up with my girlfriends, who were coming to stay, easier. But I have to admit that I was glad the second we drove into a neighboring town and my phone worked. I was elated that Joe had brought his laptop with so I could check the weather (cold and rainy). I told myself not to check my email, but I couldn't help it. I LIKE checking my e-mail. I LIKE having a cell phone. I was not alone. Husband Joe checked his work e-mail and cell phone throughout the week ("It'll make Monday easier"). He even checked the Musky Boards he so adamantly keeps up with. My girlfriends that came with also checked their phones or texted with family members/friends. So as much as I think we'd like to say we are taking a vacation from our jobs AND cell phones, email, and the Internet, I just don't think we really want to.

The view from the basement

If you ever want a new perspective on your family, live in the the basement. Husband Joe and I are going on month three of living with the 'rents. All in all, I'd say things are going well. I am an adult woman living in my parents home with my husband. I've never felt safer in my life. And I've realized a few things that I never saw as a kid.

*The little tifts my parents have really keep their marriage alive and are more about loving than arguing.
*My dad has eaten the same breakfast (one slice of peanut butter toast, one slice of honey toast, one banana, and a glass of orange juice) for over thirty years.
*It's true: my dad has really never washed a load of laundry or cleaned the oven. Not because he can't, but because mom won't let him.
*My parents love being parents, but it's obvious they love being grandparents more.
*My mom does spoil my brother more than me. But my dad spoils me way more.

But mostly, I've learned that my family works very hard. All in our in different ways, but we're very hard working individuals. My brother and mother are hands-on type hard workers. If someone is in need of help on a project, they'll do it meticulously until it is finished. Or if there is downtime, they'll create a project to do meticulously until it is finished. They are crafty, creative and loving in ways that I could only begin to understand. My father and I on the other hand, work hard mentally. We are thinking, reading, and writing constantly. We digest every piece of information we can in our environments so we can help others with knowledge.

I think I've always known these things about my family, but it really has taken my adult self, with a view from the basement, to understand them.

I reserve the right to be a girl

As a kid, I was usually picked last for the neighborhood baseball game. Not because I was that bad, but because I was the only girl. In junior high and high school, I found myself with a lot of guy friends--never any boyfriends. In college, living in a house with seven girls, I found refuge in the neighborhood of the boys hockey team. Typically, I get along better with male co-workers. And I've always prided myself on being, "one of the guys." Which meant I could do anything a guy could. However, as I've gotten older, I reserve the right to be a girl.

Case in point: last night Husband Joe and I took my parents out fishing on Lake Minnetonka. A beautiful night for a cruise past absurdly beautiful houses and to wet a few lines. We all caught some small pan fish, and as I would reel in my prize, I would shout to Joe to put down his line and be prepared to take off my fish. As the night continued, more and more boats started fishing close by us (they must of heard us say "walleye"--little did they know it was the smallest walleye ever!). Soon one of the boats close by caught a fish. The girl on the boat caught, reeled, and promptly--without any nod to her male companion--took the fish off the line. Something about this made me think that I could and should take my next fish off the line. Some competitive girl drive in me said "you will do that, too." Not too long after, I caught a cute little guy (or girl?). Step one: reel it in. Done. Step two: touch the fish. Done. Step three: hold the fish in your grip. Done. Step four: take out the hook and let fish free. Done? No. The fish flopped out of my hands and went flying into the boat. For the safety of the fish, I summoned Husband Joe over to finish my work.

I reserved the right to be a girl.

I don't want to portray that I think of "girl" as weak or inferior. It's just that I've realized, and am now okay with the fact, that there are certain things that men can do better (and of course there are a lot of things women can do better than men). More than anything, it's about an education for the last girl standing on the neighborhood baseball team: it's okay to be a girl.

In an instance

In an instance, my cell phone went blank yesterday. As in won't-turn-on, can't-get-any-numbers, doneski. In more than an instance, I was the proud owner of a new Blackberry phone with no one to call.
In an instance today, I received a large cheeck in the mail I hadn't expected (maybe only one of the benefits of selling a house?).

Often times I fear things that can happen in an instance, things that can forever change a person's life. Many teachers at my school give a similar speech to mine before prom weekend: "don't do something for 30 seconds that could change your life forever". Sadly, many things fit into this category. However, in the last couple of weeks, I've been reminded how things in an instance can be positive, too. Like an unexpected check, phone call from a friend, smile from a baby, or e-mail from a student just to let me know she verbally committedto a college.

I have this topic on the brain because recently Joe and I made the toughest decision of our married life. Someone looking in at us, may think that some of our other decisions would have been tougher (getting married, buying a house, etc). However, I know that for me, this recent deicision was especially tough because I couldn't make it in an instance. I have friends that spend months, even years making decisions. Some of them even make spreadsheets and interview a whole gament of people to make sure they get it right. Me? I make a decision and go with it. But not this time. I had to use logic. I couldn't use my an instance, emotional gut response. I bought a house (two in fact) on that, why wouldn't this work for this? Even Joe commented that this was so hard because "I usually count on you, Stac, to tell us what to do." Now I feel confident we made the right decision (but time will only tell, right? Isn't that how it always goes?), but it really got me down. So these positive "in an instance" situations put a little faith back into my decision making skills. Put a little trust back into who I am and how I make decisions.

Someone Should've Told Me

I'm not sure if no one every told me or if I just didn't listen, but getting old (even in your late twenties) sucks. You see, I've been faced with a very important decision lately: continue to wear cute, trendy shoes that make my foot swollen or spend the money on seemingly not cute or trendy orthopedic shoes that don't make my foot swollen. For those of you that know my love for shoes, you understand why this is such a difficult decision.
I've never been good with just two choices. Usually I think outside of the box and come up with some alternatives. I could do what my doctor said, which was "sit down more at work. Why couldn't you?". Clearly, doc has never spent a day in the feet of a teacher. I asked husband Joe to check with our insurance policy to see if it would cover a new foot. Seems viable, right? So as I trot from store to store in search of the perfect cute-but-support-please-don't-make-my-foot-swollen shoe, I curse the older women that let me buy the cute, cheap shoes so long ago. And I think about what I'd say to the twenty-something girls in my life. It'd go something like " heed this advice: you will get older. You will get medical problems. And, well, someone told you so."

Know Your Audience

During the past two weekends I have found myself in the company of a mixture of friends and people I have never met. And on both occasions, I have encountered dumb men. The first guy, around a campfire of both women and men (although more women than men, and the men that were there were with the women), pronounced that all women are liars because they put on make up and disguise themselves behind clothes and other superficial items. The second guy, around a table of men and women (although in this situation, more men were present), announced that women are dumb. This was in response to my inquiry about how he could possibly be dating five different women at one time.

Now, I'm not writing this entry to defend my gender, because in all reality, yes, some women are dumb. And, sure, some women are liars. In fact, I'm sure I was a dumb girl at one time when it came to dating and I know I've lied to myself once or twice--especially when buying a pair of jeans a size smaller than I know I should be purchasing. But here is my thing, my issue: know your audience. In both circumstances I was with strong, talented, smart, and beautiful women. All who, I think, would rather been known for the first three adjectives than the last one; at least I know I would. Clearly, these guys didn't know their audience. With the second situation, before the words: "Excuse me! I'm a happily married women! I have a masters degree! I teach AP Composition! I'm an adjunct professor at a respected University! I'm published!" came screeching out of my mouth, my husband and his friend interjected "do you know who you are talking to?". Right. That's my point--know your audience. My husband and his friend (who is with girlfriend), clearly know their audiences. Perhaps that is they are no longer single. So just a little tip to the single guy looking for a girl: know your audience. . . always.

What are you going to do?

It's been five days since the school year ended, and I've already been asked countless times (by friends, family, students and strangers) "what are you going to do all summer?". My response has been: whatever I want. However, let me expand here.

I'm going to. ..
wake up whenever I want to and stay in my pj's for as long as I want. Stay up late to watch movies and devour books like my mom's chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven (and maybe work on writing more authentic similes). Eat whenever I want, use the bathroom whenever I need to (not when a bell rings), and check my e-mail how ever often I want. Lay in my hammock, in my bathing suit, as often as possible. Attend happy hours: at noon, four or nine o'clock. Fish. Or at least be in the boat. Walk, bike, run, rollerblade, drive or skip to various locations. Plop down in a chair at B&N, hope not to fall asleep, and browse through deocrating books. Think about what I can do better next year to reach more students. Take my niece swimming and lay for hours on the floor watching my nephew roll himself over.
Visit my out-of-state nieces and family members. Walk around Ridgedale, try on clothes, and not buy anything--for hours. Enjoy random happenings and then blog about them.
Allow someone with little kids and a huge cartful of groceries to go in front of me and say, "It's okay, really, I have the time."

So the point is, I don't have a plan for the summer. And I don't have to.

Thinking in an on Demand World

As the school year draws to an end (17 days, but who's counting?), I've been reflecting on my teaching this year. Many things I will ponder well into the summer, but I know with 100 percent certainty today that teaching AP Composition has made me into a better teacher; a way better teacher. Teaching AP Composition has taught me to think.

I so often encounter students who don't want to think. They can, but they don't want to. But really, who can blame them with the world we live in now? Take for example today in class. I asked a student to look up the word "lechery" as we were reading The Crucible. I knew the word, but found value in teaching the students to take the time to look up words they don't know. However, before the student could even get back to the stack of dictionaries, another student had pulled it up on his iPhone and was reading off the definition. Husband Joe's right: "it's an on demand world, baby."

Don't get me wrong. I fully appreciate the on demand world. Laptops, cell phones, radio, etc. I have them all. But I've really appreciated the opportunity to think this year. Seems silly, right? To say that I'm thankful to have to think at my job? In the past I've envied people whose jobs don't require them to think past their cubes. But as I think about this past school year, I realize, especially in this day and age, what a skill it is to be able to think. And I'm glad I have it.

House vs. Home

Houses and homes: currently I have three and none all at the same time. Husband Joe and I have officially moved our stuff out of our first home together, but we have not closed on it. We also recently agreed to build a new home--birth date: September 2009. And lastly, we are living, temporarily, in my parents' basement. So to say we have three houses right now is accurate. To say we don't really have a home is also accurate. To say I'm feeling a little frazzled, is undeniable.

Moving Forward

For what will be the last time at this house, Joe and I had our best friends over last night to watch the Wild game and grill out. They brought the steaks; I put together the cheesy potatoes (in which I remembered the cream of chicken soup this time). Three out of the four of us went to college together, so many times we reminisce about days gone by. The fact that guys have been best friends since they were born, also usually means reminiscing back to high school hockey or junior high shenanigans. Last night, however, our conversation turned to the future. The question was posed, "what type of parents will we be considering all four of us are so different?" And as we pegged what we thought would be our parenting styles, I smiled. This was the closure I needed to be able to move out of our first house next week. As much as the past is fun to reflect on, the future, and whatever it holds, is just as exciting to consider.

In Defense of Breaks

I always find it interesting that the number one question I get asked as a teacher is, "you get paid all summer not to work?". I know that people are asking because they are jealous of such a concept, but it always comes off very condescending. Plus it amazes me that people don't ask questions like, "what is high school like these days?" or "what is your biggest challenge in your job?" or "what are the kids like?". No, the question most asked always is about not working in the summer and getting paid for it.

First of all, it's a misconception. Yes, teachers get a paycheck in the summer, but it's for time already worked. My school district isn't giving me money all summer just to lay in my hammock and read--no, it's money I already worked for. Yes, when you consider how much teachers get paid for the number of days they work, it's good money. Except when you divide it out hourly and realize teachers never work just an eight hour day. It's not uncommon to spend 12 hours working each day. I don't write this to complain--I have a great gig for a job. I love working with high school students, I love my co-workers, I enjoy creating new ideas and seeing them work (and many that do not work), and I love the feeling knowing that everyday I'm doing something good for someone (many times, it's many people). I write this in defense of breaks.

I'm on the last day of a much needed Spring Break. Now the weather has been much more like Winter Break than one would imagine Spring Break to be like, but I'll take it. It's normal for me to want to get back to work after a break. I woke up this morning thinking about what my students need to be successful on the MCA test--a sure sign that break is over, and reality is just around the bend.

And here I sit thinking about all of the items on my to-do list that are left unchecked. Don't get me wrong, I got a lot of items checked off that list, but mostly what remains is school work. Another concept I find intriguing. Most teachers I know will bring home work over a break. Or spend some of their summer working on curriculum for next year. I crave breaks for many reasons, but the biggest is that I know I'll have a chunk of time where I get caught up in paper work or lesson planning. I can't speak for all teachers, but for sure some that I work with with, but we are always thinking about what we can do in our classes. Always. So maybe school districts should start paying us in the summer. I assure you I can think of some great ideas in that hammock.

Just Some Random Thoughts of Late

Random Thought # 1
While driving home the other day on Crosstown ( a stretch of road I love and hate), I saw a group of men playing Frisbee Golf. There they stood, next to a frozen pond, with their shirts off. Shouldn't that be some sort of rule? Shirts stay on until at least the water is unfrozen?

Random Thought # 2
Or how about my experience at the DQ last night. I was tasked with getting dessert after a delicious BBQ Rib dinner crafted by Husband Joe. I handed the clerk my check card that has JOINT written on it. As in Joint Checking Account. Until this moment, I had never considered what someone else might think JOINT meant. The DQ clerk informed me what he thought it meant and said "well, you know working here, you get kinda caught up in that stuff". Huh. And to think I was just making sure that I wasn't buying dessert with my fun account reserved for clothes, manicures, and drinks with the girls.

Random Thought # 3
We recently sold our house and it's odd for me to think about the people who are so excited to move into a house we don't want anymore. It's a great house, don't get me wrong. It's just not meeting our needs or wants anymore. They are probably doing what we did--looking through the photos over and over. Mapping out where everything will be. Planning the first get together. They are doing all of this while we are planning our move into temporary housing (code for in with Mom and Dad) and thinking about what we want next.

Not the Artsy-Hipster Style

Thanks to my dear and talented friend, Shelby (check out her blog: http://bronette.net/), Husband Joe and I went to the Walker Art Museum After Hours Party last night. In a text message exchange beforehand , I asked Shelby what we should wear. Her response was "I'm wearing jeans. It will be the artsy-hipster crowd. You know the type". She's right: I know the type. Well, I know of the type.

Style has been on my brain lately (as well as one of my other friends, who is a blogger too, http://hjshaunt.blogspot.com/). I would never classify myself as a "fashionista" but I do like to be aware of current trends and I like to dabble in them. Only lately have I decided that I prefer quality over quantity. In that, I'll buy an eighty dollar pair of shoes over three ten dollar pairs like when I was younger. Getting in shape and losing sizes has also help perptuiate my latest fashion craze (not to mention reek havoc on my fun account balance--all worth it, though). I subscribe to a couple different fashion magazines so I have something mindless to distract me during my workouts. However, lately Husband Joe has found me reading an article, dead stop on the treadmill or bike. Even Husband Joe has had style on the brain. If we were financial affluent, we'd open a clothing store for men ages 25-40. Joe has found that he is no longer interested in wearing polos with a big eagle on them and can't yet put on the loafer and sport coat/button down outfit.

So last night both Joe and I observed the artsy-hipster style while in search of our own late twenty-something style. Head to toe Leopard print, large 80's glasses that I wore in 2nd grade, sport coats with massive emblems on the back, and of course, the short purple 80's dress. While we stood in our jeans and black tops we agreed: the artsy-hipster style isn't for us. So onward we go, searching for our style. Joe's currently at a hockey game and I'm on my way to the theater. Maybe we'll find our style there?

Check. Uncheck.

2 cans tomato soup. Check!
1 onion. Check!
1 lb hamburger. Check!
1/4 cup uncooked rice. Check!
1/4 cup milk. DOH! uncheck.

In a rare moment, I decided that I was going to make dinner tonight. I verified with Husband Joe that he didn't eat said meal for lunch (I should have known he had a burrito) and stopped at our friendly neighborhood Lunds (I should write a blog about this place) for a few of the ingredients. Once at home, I called mom for the instructions. I'm feeling great at this moment. I'm cooking a nice dinner! Yet it was short-lived as the dreadful news came to light--I forgot to get milk (which, ironically, I finished this morning, and admit that in a rush, put the empty container back into the fridge. Yes, I am that person). Since I have to be somewhere tonight, I didn't have time to go get the milk. It was now onto plan B. At one point as I was standing in the kitchen, trying to create plan B (I was not about to call Husband Joe in defeat yet), I thought to myself "think outside the box, Stacy". I had spagetti last night, and Triscuts and cheese was dinner the night before. The ribs are frozen solid as are the Talipa Pinwheels (but they have been that way since, oh about a year ago). Could I make Southwestern Chicken Skillet without chicken? Nothing was coming together. So as I type, Husband Joe is ordering off of the McDonald's dollar menu.

#19: I'm a horrible speller, but I demand people to use correct English and grammar.

Recently I filled out one of those time-sucking Facebook "all about me" surveys. Number nineteen says:

I'm a horrible speller, but I demand people to use correct English and grammar (yes, even on Facebook). It's a hazard of the job, I guess.

I just spent the last two weeks teaching my AP Composition students that when they write "you" in a paper it really means me, and I'm not their intended audience. I've spent endless hours circling all of the pronoun issues and repeating in class that if a person writes, "one can not understand", he/she has to write "his/her" instead of "their" when he/she finishes the sentence. Now I believe they all think that I'm being psycho English teacher about this issue, but I really do believe it does matter. However, when I wrote number nineteen on that Facebook survey today, I realized I'm a hypocrite.

I readily admitted that I'm a horrible speller, but I demand others to be perfect. How is that fair? It's not. It made think this morning about how it is so much easier for us as people to be editors in life, than our own writers. It's easier for me to point out someone else's errors/faults, than for me to really acknowledge or accept my own. Or in my case, I acknowledge my own fault, but don't cut other people slack if they are bad spellers or if they didn't learn the correct way to write out numbers.

It also made me think about my two students this week who were debating whether perfection exists. One student said, "If we know perfection can't really exist, why do people say 'practice makes perfect' and why do people strive for perfection?".

I guess this makes sense then about my request for people to use correct grammar: If I can't be perfect (and I know I can't), than I demand someone else try to be.

January 20, 2009

My first English professor in college wrote on one of my papers that it is my job to describe what I'm feeling--to show my audience what I'm thinking. It is not enough to say "it's indescribable". But as I sit down to write this blog (something I would feel remiss if I didn't do today), I don't know how to describe what I'm feeling--what I'm thinking. Today I witnessed history inside Room 245 with 21 silent teenagers. Had I been at home in my comfy chair, I would have been bawling. Being in a room with 42 eyes watching my every reaction, I simple teared up at the historic moment when Barack Obama walked onto the stage to become the 44th President of the United States of America. I'm not black. I'm not Jewish. In fact, I'm not part of any group that has been radically prejudiced against. But it doesn't matter that today didn't break barriers for me. Today defined for me why I'm proud to be an American.

Times Have Changed

I graduated from high school ten years ago. One wouldn't think things in high school have changed that much since then. Let me assure you, times have changed.

Each year as I teach The Great Gatsby I assign a monologue. I love it; students usually hate it. Because of time constraints this year, I had to quickly modify the assignment and make it be a one-draft-only-draft paper. I said "For Monday, type or handwrite a one-page monologue answering the question: what happened in chapter 8*". Well, Monday rolls around and as I call on students to present their monologues, I have a student raise his hand and ask, "I couldn't get to a computer over the weekend, so I typed my monologue on my iPod Touch. Is that okay? I can type up a copy tonight and get it to you tomorrow".

I agreed to let him present and accept the typed version the next day. And I even complimented him for overcoming obstacles to ensure that he got his homework completed. However, now as I think about it, I'm amazed. If you look at my initial directions they include "type or handwrite". So let me get this straight: instead of picking up a pen/pencil to write the monologue on a piece of paper, he typed it into his iPod Touch. Huh. Times have changed.



*I've changed the wording here to protect those who haven't read the book.

The Oprah Effect*

As evident by the fact I'm an English teacher, math and science didn't always come easy for me. And with frustration meant a dislike for the subject. Until physics my senior year. Something about physics interested me as well as the personality of my teacher, Mr. Netland. I always respected my teachers, but I had a different type of respect for this well-educated and seasoned teacher. Something he told our class has stuck with me since those days of lab reports and chapter readings. He told us that he didn't want to cause the "Oprah Effect" on any of his students. Meaning, there are always these episodes where students will bring their past teachers on the Oprah show and tell the teacher what a positive impact he/she had on this particular student's life. Mr. Netland was afraid that a student would bring him on the Oprah show and tell him about the negative impact he made a student's life. As a high school student I remember thinking this was funny because I didn't really think it would ever happen. As a teacher now, I completely understand what he means.

Teaching is tricky business in which only a teacher can understand. And as the years go on, what I've realized is that not only am I afraid of the "Oprah Effect" of how I impact students lives, but I've realized the impact the students have on my life. There are the student tragedies that are imprinted on my heart, and the funny sayings that I find myself repeating. There are the questions they make me answer ("Where will I use this vocabulary quiz in my everyday life in the future?") and challenge my thinking on a variety of subjects. And of course there are the student success stories that I love to share. And sometimes, for some people, there are very different ways a student reaches you.

I had the privilege of seeing the movie Gran Tornio last night with Clint Eastwood and Bee Vang. As in Bee Vang: my former English student. It was an exciting and odd experience, as I'm sure it was for many people who know Bee, watching someone I know so well on the big screen. He did an amazing job and I'm so proud of him. The movie is thought-provoking, emotional, educational, and much more. And as I sat watching him, I thought how cool it was to have the roles reversed. Here I was sitting in a chair for hours (albeit more comfortable), listening to him talk about his Hmong culture, watching him demonstrate a lesson for me using his skills and passions. So, Bee, thank you for what you've taught me and what you're teaching the world. And just so you know, when Oprah comes knocking on my door asking about you, don't worry; I only have positive things to say.

*As a side note, I struggled with the correct usage of "effect or affect" for this blog entry. I decided that it is technically both a noun and a verb, so I just picked one. I'm open to other thoughts on the subject, though.

Choose Us!

Recently Husband Joe and I decided to put our house on the market in hopes of moving closer to work and family. The process of organizing and cleaning and packing wasn't fun, but it wasn't as painful as I'm finding the showings to be. It's been two days and we've had three showings. Of course in today's economic state, I am cautiously optimistic--even though I secretly wanted to have an offer on our hands by this evening (that hasn't happened--yet?). Not necessarily because I want to sell the house (I do, don't get me wrong), but because I want to win and want someone to choose us.

The competitive person in me is coming out. I find myself scouting out other properties in the area to see how ours compares--spreading the word whenever I can: the lunchroom, Facebook, random e-mails to be people. I am even considering baking cookies before a showing! Anything so someone will choose us. I want them to come into our house and say "this is the best and we want it". Now I realize the faulty thinking in all of this: it's not our house they are looking at; they are looking at a house. But as Joe and I talk about it, we still feel like we are being judged. Judged on our decision to paint one wall a darker color than the rest. Judged on our furniture choices. Judged on the placement of pictures, mirrors, and other decorative items (yes, some are there because that is what you do when there is a huge hole in the wall and you can't find the matching paint anywhere). And in my brain I know that they aren't really judging us, but just like Michelle Obama said today about her clothes, our house represents us. It represents our thoughts, opinions, daily activities, decisions past-present-future, and so much more.

So to all of you prospective buyers, choose us! Choose us whether it's for the great "man cave" in the basement, the fabulous paint job Deb did, for the convenient location or for any other reason. But please just choose us;don't judge us.

Healthy, Happy, and Safe

Husband Joe and I are blessed with 4 nieces, 1 nephew, and 1 to-be-determined May 1st. I often tell people that if you want to find one of our family members, just travel from Minneapolis to Chicago on 94--there is someone about every two hours. Because of this we don't see all of our nieces very often. However, we are able to spend a lot of time with our niece Faith and new nephew, Jakob, since they live on the part of 94 closest to us here in MN.

The other day I was at my parent's place (also off 94) with Faith and she wanted a banana for a snack. If you know anything about my family, you know we like our bananas. And while eating said banana, Faith says through a mouth-full of mush that only a 5-year old makes cute, "I eat bananas so I can be healthy, happy, and safe". No doubt she has heard this phrase from someone (probably her awesome mother, Melissa), but isn't it true? Shouldn't we all just want to be healthy, happy, and safe?

As I think about the new year, I think about Faith's theory on life. I want to spend 2009 healthy--which means I workout and eat right, and pray that no disease comes my way I can battle against. I want other people that I know that are currently battling those diseases or who I get caringbridge.org updates from to be healthy, too.

I want to spend 2009 happy. There are a million things in this world that make me happy: A well-prepared dinner (obviously prepared by Joe and not me), an e-mail from a distant friend, date night with Husband Joe, an Uno game marathon with a niece, the opportunity to teach my favorite book to a group of curious teenageers, family gatherings, and nights out with the girls---plus so much more. And I want others to find what makes them happy and just be happy.

And safe. I want to spend 2009 safe. I want to find a house and a neighborhood that will protect my family. I want to trust that when I go to work each day that I don't have to worry about someone jeopardizing my safety or the safety of others. I want to spend 2009 knowing that our world, while a little unstable at times, is overall the safest it has ever been.

Faith has it right--all we need in life is to be "healthy, happy, and safe". So here's to 2009: being healthy, happy, and safe!