We're Gonna Party Like It's 1980

Stein and I have watched the documentary Do You Believe in Miracles? about the 1980 US Men's Hockey team about 50 times, I'm sure.  Each time it comes on, we stop what we are doing, watch it, quote it, and get goosebumps from it.  There are certain lines that I quote occasionally out of context.  Like when I was in Steamboat screaming down the mountain and clenching my muscles out of fear, I found myself saying, "Play your game, play your game," just as Herb Brooks said to his team under pressure.

It's not surprising, then, that I quoted that movie last week when I had a major victory of my own.

I got a job.

Yes, a job.  A real, full-time, salary paying, benefit offering, kind of job.  I will be in charge of a classroom of 5th graders from the start of the year until the end.  I will know where I'll be everyday.  I will be the one calling for a sub.  I will be the one who decides where things go in the class.  

Needless to say, I'm more than excited.  I'm ecstatic.  I've been told that there were 1100 applicants, 40 were interviewed, and 18 got jobs.  I find it unbelievable that I beat those odds. It's all finally settling in, especially since I have been in orientation and training meetings for the past couple days and there are more ahead of me this week.  

The morning after I received the job offer, Stein called me at home.  "Are you still excited about your news?" he asked slyly.  "I feel like Jack O'Callahan in Do You Believe in Miracles," I said.  He laughed and asked why.  "You know, the part when he's being interviewed about beating the Russians and how he felt when they did it.  When he rolls his eyes in disbelief lets out a breath and says, 'Whoa.  We beat those guys.'  That's how I'm feeling."  

I did it.  Whoa.  I beat those guys. 

Letting go, or Shutting Down

After our relaxing time of sitting by the bonfire Friday night, we had a bunch of stuff going on this weekend. I had mentioned in my last post that we were going on our canoe trip on Saturday, and then to the Tigers game on Sunday.

I typically would be all ready for the canoe trip the night before. The cooler would be packed with drinks and ice, the beach bag would be packed with towels and extra clothes, and some snacks would be bought and packed in a bag to bring on the canoe. Instead, we raced around the house on Saturday morning, grabbing things we thought we needed and throwing them into random bags, ran out of the house, and jumped into the car to race to meet our friends. I had a moment in the car to think about the day ahead, and realized we never ate breakfast. Crap. We found ourselves in the line at the McDonald's drive-thru, and scarfed down something greasy as we arrived at our destination.

The day of canoeing was great. We couldn't have asked for a better day. Warm, but not hot temperatures, bright blue skies, and no humidity. After we stopped for lunch, we found our canoe attached to 3 other canoes of adults floating down the river. So relaxing.

I guess Stein and I were lulled into relaxation. Once we got home, we became one with the couch. We talked about the next day and the baseball game we were going to, but didn't really talk about the details or what needed to be done.

The next morning, we were up at a pretty early hour, thinking that we had some time to get ready for the day. Then my brother-in-law showed up with his back hoe and dump truck (more about this in another post), and I decided it was a good time to go for a run. When I got back from my run and Stein took care of the heavy machinery stuff, we found oursleves right back to Saturday morning. We ran around the house, gathering the things we needed for the bus ride to the game. Stein went to the grocery store to get what we needed and added some muffins to his haul. We scarfed those down as we raced over to meet the bus.

In between bites, I said, "You know, last night I sat on the couch reading a magazine when I could've been getting ready for the day today. What is my problem?"

"You shut down, Kel," Stein said. But before I could get my dander up about the comment, he added, "And that's good. You've been going all summer, and now you finally stopped."

He was right. We were going to make the bus. We had sunscreen and hats packed. We had what we needed for the bus. We survived the canoe trip the day before with what we packed.

Although I usually like the feeling of being prepared, this time everything was okay. Everything worked out. And the most important part? I was in the moment.

Summer is Here

Oh, I know that it's August 7th. But to be honest, I feel like summer has finally begun. Don't get me wrong, Stein and I have done our fair share of summer stuff. We planted flowers, tomatoes and herbs and watched them grow almost in front of our eyes as we sat outside eating dinner. We have enjoyed the fruits (and vegetables) of the farmer's market where we ride our bikes every Saturday. We've also been running outside on a regular basis. But it wasn't until this week that I really felt like I was on summer vacation.

I got out of school in mid-June, and then had a bunch of things right after that took up my time. Then I had summer school. When that was over, Stein and I immediately got on a plane that night and flew to the VA/DC/MD area to see our friends. On the other side of that trip a flurry of activity awaited me back home. Yesterday, I was done.

Last night Stein and I put together a fire pit that we bought a few weeks back. The instructions sounded pretty simple. I was half-reading them as I took all the pieces out of the box, peeled the inspection labels off, and set them aside. It wasn't until I was trying to put the screen together that I realized the labels had a purpose. Namely, they were lettered, and you had to put each piece in a certain order. I used most of my patience trying to get it together, and Stein dipped well into his patience reserves. He ended up rigging it so it was useable. We'll have to revisit that project at another time.

Once Stein got the fire lit (after I botched my attempt), we sat back and stared into the flames. Drinking a nice glass of wine, just relaxing, and not thinking about anything. No lessons to plan, nowhere to go, no one to worry about. I was in the moment and loving it.

I know we have the most clarity at times like these. In that moment, I realized that I haven't been in the moment very much this summer. Every time I was doing something, whether it was teaching, or planning, or tutoring, I was thinking about the next thing and what I had to do. Being a teacher, you become conditioned like this: constantly thinking about what's next, anticipating the "what ifs".

Yet in doing this, I find that I don't enjoy things to their fullest. I had a great time this past weekend away (and will write a separate post about it) but also had a lot of things on my mind which prevented me from fully enjoying it.

Today we went canoeing. And tomorrow we go to the Tigers game. Two definite summer activties that I enjoyed and hopefully will enjoy fully.

It's only taken me two months to realize it, but summer is finally here.

This Week I'm Feeling

Excited
-to see Chris, 2 of my college roommates and their kids, and another friend this coming weekend. We'll all be at the beach out east, picking up where we left off the last time, reminiscing and making new memories. These are friends who I feel so comfortable with. They know me so well, and I am so glad that we have stayed in touch.

Relieved
-that I only have 5 days left of summer school. While it's been a pretty good program, I still feel like it could've been better. I already have an extensive list of things to do if they want the program to run again next year.

Productive
-by getting some things on my to-do list done while also catching up with some friends whom I haven't seen in a long time. The friends always tend to fuel my productivity.

Thankful
-for the diagnosis of my friend's husband. It looks like they got all of the cancer during the surgery and it was not in his lungs, colon, or other vital organs. He still has a long road ahead, with chemo and radiation treatments, but the initial prognosis is good.

Dreamy
-about the upcoming vacations we have planned: the trip I mentioned above, and then a trip up north. I have a stack of books and magazines ready to be read. Or not.

Change in Perspective

The mom of one of the kids whom I tutor has asked me over for dinner a couple times. Between those times, and the times that she has dropped off and picked up her son at our house, I have become friends with her. We're not close friends yet; we're at the beginning stages of our friendship where she's learning a lot about me, and I of her. She is an excellent cook, and has an excellent kitchen, which provides the perfect backdrop for getting to know each other. Both times I was over for dinner, I sat at the counter in her kitchen for 3 or more hours just talking and eating. As it should be.

About a month ago, as she dropped her son off for a tutoring session, the boy said, "My dad has an owie." The mom nodded her head and explained to me that he had some intestinal issues and they were being cleared up with some antibiotics. The words for his condition and symptoms were flying over her son's head and swirling in my brain while he dug in our flower bed for slugs and other creatures.

Fast forward to last week when I was invited over for dinner again. As I watched my friend shake pans on the stove, marinate meat for the grill, and shake drinks for her friends, she told me that her husband was in the hospital. She swatted the air and said, "Yeah, it's more of the stuff he had before, but now they found a mass of infection and they need to do surgery after giving him a course of some major antibiotics." She seemed fine with it, and he didn't want her at the hospital. It seemed pretty routine to me at the time.

I should've known better. Rarely is the word "mass" ever good, except if you're Catholic and the mass miraculously lasts less than 45 minutes. I emailed my friend last week after the dinner to thank her and check in on her husband. I never heard back from her, which is very unlike her. Today I casually called her, and asked how he was doing. "Well," she sighed, "When they did the surgery to remove the mass, they realized that it was cancer." Her voice went up an octave with the last word.

I offered my sympathies, my prayers, my good thoughts. I told her to please call me if she needed anything. I said all of the things that I'm sure she heard countless other people say already. I wanted to stay on the phone to help, while at the same time wanting to get off so badly to avoid the uncomfortable situation altogether.

Out the window went the pity party I was having for myself last night and this morning. Out the window went pressure I was feeling during this summer school program. Out the window went all of the small stuff I had been stressing about. Does it really matter if I get my toenails painted before this weekend? Does it really matter if my house isn't clean? Doesn it really matter if fix the iTunes issue today?

No, no, and no. What really matters is people. And friendships. And family. And laughter. And love.

Pavlov's Dog

I know I'm speaking for my fellow bloggers when I say that getting comments on your posts is pretty cool. It's kind of like getting real mail in your mailbox. Not something addressed to "current resident" or to someone who has a name kind of like yours but has been changed in some weird way. The real stuff. Letters, cards, whatever it is that is delivered to your house, in your mailbox, to you. And it's usually from someone you know and love. I love the surprise of mail, especially now that we're in the digital age of email and facebook and texting.

So in the case of the blog, getting comments feels a lot like getting mail. If you have a blog, I'm sure you log into your space, scan down to where it says comments, and then scan to see if the number next to the word "comments" is greater than 0. When you see a one, or two, or bonus of all bonuses, a three or four, your mind starts racing. You think, Who commented? Which one of my four readers had an opinion about what I wrote and wants to tell me about it?

Lately I've had an onslaught of spam comments. They're such a tease. I go through the whole drill, scan down, see one or two comments are waiting, and click with anticipation to see who wrote something. But I don't know who wrote to me or even read the comment, because the sender's name and comment is written in Asian characters. Bummer.

So please, mysterious Asian person, log onto a translation website before making a comment. I'm sure you have something just riveting to say about my students or the recipes I make.

Stumped

I miss my third graders. I know how good I had it when I was their teacher. They were a great group of kids and I got to know them really well. I could have a conversation with any one of them, asking questions about things like hamsters, or sisters, or soccer, or whatever else was in their third-grade world.

Now that I'm teaching summer school, I know that I won't have the same relationship with these kids in my class. It's really not possible in 3 1/2 weeks to build relationships with them. I only see them for an hour and half each day. And all of that time is jammed with reading and learning.
I almost feel like it's a waste of time. I know that these kids are getting some learning that normally wouldn't be happening at home. The possibility of having "summer slide" is lessened by what we're doing together. But I really feel that getting kids to be engaged and learn is so much dependent on relationships. If they know you and trust you, they're likely to want to learn from you.

There's one little girl in the group who is going into fourth grade. She is reading at about a first-grade reading level. After working with her one on one, I said to her, "Great reading! You are a great reader!" She looked at me and said, "I'm not a reader." I looked at her in disbelief and said, "Yes, you are. You just read these words to me." She sat for a minute formulating her thoughts and said, "I don't want to read. I don't want to learn." After going back and forth with her, I realized that it was a losing battle. Her stubbornness won out.

I've been thinking about her all weekend. (That's one of the side effects of being a teacher; you can't leave work at school when you leave. You're constantly thinking about it.) I'm stumped. I've never worked with a kid who came out and said that he or she didn't want to read, didn't want to learn. I have made it my mission to figure out how to get through to her and help her see that reading and learning is fun. I don't know if there's enough time, but I'm going to try.