Book beginnings

Alright, I'm putting it out there. My heart and soul, hopefully someday on the pages of a book. I need some much needed feedback from my friends and family that mean so much to me! I'd love to hear what you think, good and bad. I know I hold back, I know I use the passive voice too much, I know there are grammatical errors. But here are the first one and a half chapters of the book I soon hope to complete. If no one reads it but you all, it was still worth writing

Background info. It's about my first year as an adult, and as a teacher. It may/may not be called "The many ways of sitting." Silly I know, but its just a concept I'm going with for now. Because when you think about it, you have many different schemas and ways of sitting and talking in the presence of different people. When youre sad/worried, you're currled up in bed, when you're with the man you love, you're snuggled up close, when you in your profession you're sitting up straight and ready to fire your academic knowledge right back, etc. etc. And sometimes you have to stand up.

And so it begins....

How you sit when you have to tell your parents moving across the country:

So, if you want to ask anybody about survival, ask a 24 year old fresh out of graduate school. Those at an age of intellect, able understand the world around them as they deliberately step into a new world and new life; a new job, a new city, a new citizen. That novice is leaving nurturing graduate school for the curious world. From times that they were cradled by schedules and predictable costs of living, with advisors telling them how to live their life, text books, to tell them what they should be thinking about, and a group of friends, all in the same boat.

How can I? The youngest of my family, be out on my own with no support and begin as a support to others.

This is what I thought of as I sat on my bed one sunny spring Saturday in Nashville. My computer on my lap, I wait for my Skype to ring to recite a lukewarm version of the forethought doubts to my parents in St. Louis. My always reliable, 9:00 pick up, scheduled Starbucks Soy Chai Latte at my left, my iPhone at my right, body tucked under my blanket made from club and team Tshirts of an overachieving highschool teen, two pillows behind my back, I’m perfectly prepared. I quickly review my financial pie charts, my pro and con list ranked by points (relationships 5 points, job 4 points, location perks, 3 points, etc etc), all combinations of job offers and potential apartments to have a grasp on my financial future, I’m set and ready to go.

Lets be honest, it takes practice to be this insanely OCD. I like to refer to mine as a learned and acquired tool to living. Life as the youngest and most scatterbrained of a high achieving family, I had to learn to be rigid and methodic in my actions or I would fall into a self-loathing depression for days for having missteped the plan. This would usually look like a sweatpant wearing, fast food eating, sleeping, reality tv-ed version of my usual pretty put together, marathon running, yogic, semi-vegetarian, academic self.

And here I was, on the tail end of my second year of graduate school, with a plea to my parents to have faith in their daughter embarking on yet another new city and another new experience. Leaving graduate school, is finally and knowingly, dare I say conscientiously stepping out into adulthood, two years too late. In the minority of my college friends, I stayed the extra laps, to cool down before actually letting go of the leash extended by my parents and teachers. My life experiences were beginning to be less relatable to that of my friends and gaps began to exist between souls that I thought I would always consider the best. They were experiencing this undefinable secret called adulthood. I just didn’t get it yet and I didn’t know what it was I didn’t get. But I understood school, so I stayed a bit.

Graduate school was a time where I took the baby steps to be a true adult. Move to a new city, but still in the school environment, therefore making friends would be easy. I got a scholarship working as an intern, getting a small monthly stipend on which to live, Yet my parents were still there in case my car had trouble, I overspent, or lets be honest, they still paid my rent at a beautiful apartment complex downtown. The work was hard, but the living was easy. I could focus everything on my academic inspirations (my first love) and spend no energy fretting about money or fear of what could happen in the next month because I already knew I had 4 papers due, 2 tests, and a trip to see Pat scheduled in April. My instability was at a minimum.

This conversation with my parents will define what will become of the next years of my life. Will I go home, save money by living at my parents, reconnect with my old college friends that stayed local, and teach special education at a public school that I used to play soccer against down the street? Will I move north to Wilmington, Delware to live closer to my boyfriend of 2 years, not knowing anyone, blindly accepting a job at a public self-contained school that looks as if its falling apart? Will I stay in Nashville, nuturing the wonderful friendships that only just began, working in an urban public middle school downtown, still being away from my family and Pat? Or will I accept my admittance into Harvard’s doctorate program, continue my stable life and ignorance of adulthood, yet propelling my carefully planned career in educational research or politics (I really don’t know yet, but I’ll figure out which route to take when I get there)? This is what we will decide.

That old fashioned, 80’s, Zach Morris, telephone ring fills my room yet I click the accept button on my computer screen to see my Mom and Dad’s Jetson connection pop-up.

“Hi,” I say in the only way I’ve ever said hi to a member of my family, with a tone that is 1/3 squealy like that to a dog, 1/3 inquiry, 1/3 excitement.

“Hey baby girl,” my mom begins. She continues with a cocked head. “How’s it going?”

“Its going good. Things are good. Its beautiful here. Hows it up in St. Louis?”

“It’s nice, just beginning to warm up, Dad and I were out in the yard today,”

“That’s nice. Great.” I stop, clear that there is only one reason for our call today. My loving yet business minded father breaks it down.

“Well, baby girl, I, uh, understand, that we’ve got some talking to do. We need to talk about what you are going to do next.”

This is not unusual for me. After compiling every possible outcome, I consult my parents on every decision and wait for their immense and undoubted agreement on the choice that I make. If they do not perform a convicing enough performance on my pronouncement, I will fret for weeks about making a wrong choice, thinking that they wanted me to do something different. That’s still a lot of support for a 24 year old. But for my whole life, what do you think about this outfit? What do you think of my boyfriend Andy? What do you think about this movie, should I rent it? could never be answered on my own without approval from atleast 2 members of my family. I could run my questions by Mom and Dad, Julie and Dad, Mom and Mark. If I could get two of them to agree that it was a good choice, I was golden. I had figured out a way to full proof always staying on the “right path.”

Months of Arbys and MTV’s The Hills went by as I campaigned my heart out in sweats over the phone to various family members on my decision to date my boyfriend Pat long distance. After a movie-like summer fling, Pat was moving from his undergraduate city of Nashville back to his hometown outside of Philadelphia. Our time together in Tennesse was short but it was obvious to us, as the two partys involved that it was something different and special and must continue, taking on the bulk of the relationship over Skype, phone, instant message, text, email, packages, and Southwest Airlines. Needing to know all the facts, until my family met this prince, I’m sure they all thought I was dating a criminal. An hour after finally meeting the mystery man, my family accepted Pat’s considerate and gentleman ways with open arms yet not fully taking off their sleeves of doubt. The distance relationship is the major bust in the practical next step of either moving home or staying in Nashville and adds a complete uprooting into the mix of decisions.

Pat is ever supportive of every decision I make and does his best to stay neutral on this all encompassing decision. My parents, as well, despite their bias, really try to take their feelings out of the verdict. Deep down, before it is discussed, I fully know what I want to do, but everytime I mention the option to Pat or my parents I don’t get the commemorating song and dance I hope for, and search more for facts to back the decision.

“Well, did you get the charts and tables I sent?”

“We did, they look great. According to your charts, moving back home to St. Louis and living at home seems to be the logical choice.”

“Before we get there, I think it should be noted that Harvard and Nashville are out of the questions,” I begin as if a proof to a jury. “First, I think I’m going to rule out the Boston area. I’m going to postpone my doctorate program a few years. Its definitely something I want to do, but I want to know more about what aspects of education I want to focus on and in order to figure that out, I need to get into the field. Second, Nashville wont really propel me forward in any certain way. I’m still away from family and Pat, doing a job I could do in any of the cities. So it’s still between St. Louis and Delaware.”

“St. Louis seems like a good choice. You’ve got your family. You know the schools. You have a group of friends. You’ve got your friend Lori. Hows Lori doing by the way?”

“Shes good, Dad. Just talked to her the other day. You know shes already buying a house in Soulard, got a new boyfriend too. She’s doing really well.”

“That’s great that’s great. You can save enough money like Lori did by living at home and maybe buy a house in a couple years. What do you think of that?”

“Yeah.” I say with a head nod and a tone of uncertainty. “That sounds good.”

“What about Wilmington?” asks my mom. “What does Pat think of that?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t like to really talk about it. He wants me to make my own decision.”

“He doesn’t? That’s weird. You think he’d really let you know he wanted you up there? Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” I respond brashly. “He’s just trying to let me make my own decision so I’ll be happy making the big move up north and that he doesn’t have to hear me say, I did this because of you, everytime I’m unhappy with my job and location. That makes sense to me.” My mom’s doubts about Pat even moving away in the first place will always exist and I will always get defensive when a question about Pat arises. Many months went by as I tried to lay the facts on the table about an unexplainable mystery I know as love. It is impossible to take that love out of the decision at hand. I have spent ages 21, 22, and 23, going to bed saying “I love you. Goodnight” to one boy only to wake up 6 hours later to give him my hope for a good day. To be able to expand a relationship based purely on words in conversation into dinner and a movie would be heaven. How many points do I give that on a chart of table?

“I like Wilmington,” I expand. “It’s got really great parks, and I know some of Pat’s friends..”

“Pat’s friends,” my mom intersects. “What if something happens between you and Pat, you have no family near by.”

“I don’t know.” I’m getting shaken up and I can feel the tears of my overemotional self-forming quickly.

“Don’t cry. Crying doenst get you anywhere,” my dad recites the mantra that is engrained in the minds of the three Didion women with never ending tears. “We don’t need to cry about this.”

Despite his words, the tears continues to come.

“I want to move to Wilmington,” I blurt out between heaves. The cry continues over to my parents in my dad’s den.

“I am going to move to Wilmington,” I say once again softer, not only for my parents but for myself.

And there, I sit, wrapped in the Tshirt memories of my childhood, in my bed, the place of most comfort, staring at a computer screen and a decision with mascara running down my face.

Seeing my parents’ reactions in front of me, I know that there will be no champagne openings just yet with the decision I have demanded. But there is a sense of forced support between them toward me. My mom rambles on about my having to trust my instincts, revisiting the St Louis option a couple times, but by the end of the conversation she does her best to talk herself into liking the decision made for her daughter’s sake. My dad goes on like business rerouting my trip to see Pat in April from pleasure to securing a living situation and signing my job contract. By the end of the Skype date, we have set a weekend in which to move me, figured out the exact cost of the move in whole (including fast food stops and motel visits), and decided on how my furniture will be set-up with the dimensions on the blueprint of my future home.

My overactive imagination begins on what life might be like as a Wilmingtonian, a first-year special education teacher, a girlfriend, and a long-distance daughter.

How you sit in a car for a 13-hour drive north…

Strapped into my bright blue two-door car I’ve driven since I was 16, preplanned playlists on my ipod plugged in, starbucks in the cupholder, gps wired up, boxes to the ceiling, boyfriend by my side, I put the car in drive behind the UHaul my parents are navigating. My chest tightens as I drive away from my beloved apartment complex. Nashville was my training wheels city that got me where I am. This is where I met Pat, realized my potential, and found my strength.

I was all about my independence and starting the world on my own. For two weeks into my Nashville life, I, routinely mind you, talked to everyone and anyone, smiled constantly, and went places to just sit and hope people would approach me. I found myself reading books at Starbucks, looking up from the pages every 10 minutes to make eye contact with the strangers around me. While ordering my latte, I found myself lingering on words with employees just a little too long about how much I love soy milk, or the weather in Nashville, or being newly plucked from St. Louis. Only when they would give me one word answers, looking over my shoulder at the next customer, would I realize, I was being “that girl.”

For the most part with this approach, I attracted creepy lonely people like myself. This resulted in giving out fake phone numbers and looking over my shoulder for fear of being followed. One day, I changed up the routine. Instead of going to the pool between 10-3 (peak sun hours), I was late and went to lay out around 3:30. Propped up on my chair, large iced water, incredibly intimidating Abe Lincoln “Team of Rivals” novel, US Weekly Magazine, and my sun block, I was prepared to relax. Relaxation is not something that comes naturally, and the entire time I kept thinking about how I off my day had been. Frustrated at my inability to zen, I began packing up my things, when in walked two cuties with a case of beer in tow. I changed my mind and decided to veg just a little longer to see where this could go.

“Is that incredibly large book just a cover to appear intelligent?”

I looked up from my book at the scruffy 20 something smart ass eyeing me from the waters edge.

“I see you’re a Vandy girl through and through, did ya read that US Weekly cover to cover yet?”

Always timid around cute boys, I replied, “You caught me. But I really am reading this book. Abe Lincoln is my favorite.” Ugh. Abe Lincon is my favorite. I sounded like a complete ditz.

“Wanna beer?”

“Uh…” contemplating messing up my planned evening workout, “Sure.”

“I’m Pat.”

“Lisa,” I said, abandoning my man Abe and going to soak my legs into the edge of the pool. This is the first of many plans that Pat would coax me to break, showing me the fun in relaxation and what life was really about (Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans, right?)

From there the conversation was easy. The usual chit chat about where you’re from, whats your major goes from there. I’m surprised at how witty and confident I am talking to these boys, Pat and Mike, both competing for the attention from the bikini clad intellect. They continue to try and impress me about their Nashville knowledge and their positive traits. A few beers and laughs later, a new plan is in place, that they are both taking me out for my first night on the town.

“Can you be ready in like 30 minutes?” Mike asked. Clearly, he hasn’t been in too many relationships and probably has no sisters, considering most girls think an hour is quick to doll up for the evening.

“Sure,” and soon enough numbers are exchanged as I quickly gather my things and sprint up to my apartment.

I jump in the shower to get the suntan oil and lemon off my body. No one knows my clothes so outfit choice is a breeze, makeup is applied in the same routine as always (foundation, bronzer, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lipgloss with a final blot), throw a few curls in my long hair and I stare at my 25 minutes satisfaction.

I then made a quick call to my mother. “I made friends!” I start.

“What’s her name!?” my mom’s excitement seeps through the wires.

“Pat and Mike. They are taking me to dinner.”

“Boys! Lisa, be careful!! Don’t drink too much, and be carefuil.”

“I will, Mom,” I ensure, “They are totally nice.”

“Call me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

In short, the night was perfect. Not following my mom’s advice, I probably drank too much wine but I couldn’t deny the safety I felt next to Pat. Everytime he got up from the table, Mike and I had nothing to talk about. When Mike was absent, Pat and I could not stop talking, feeding eachother on the beautiful way we could string words together. Between the dancing and the laughing, I was one smitten kitten.

To Mike’s dismay, I chose Pat and we were inseparable for the next weeks. He knew me so well without knowing me at all. On our first official date, my clumsy nervous self dropped my turkey avocado sandwich down my shirt and spilled my water, only to look up to his kind smile as he referred to the mishap as “endearing.”

Weeks into the fling, he broke the news to me that he was moving back to his home in Delaware. As quickly as he came, he packed up his blazer and his pup Riley and with one final embrace, we exchanged hope for a shaky and unsure future.

Peanut butter with icecream and sappy love music filled me up for the next week. A day before the beginning of my graduate degree, I snapped myself out of it, got my running shoes on, and started to plan how to be the perfect student. Schedules were printed, books bought, notebook, pens, and outfits were laid out for my first week of school.

It’s easy to understand from a professional stand-point why I went to graduate school to begin with. I love to learn. Words and Numbers show you a black and a white, however ambiguous that may actually be. Therefore I found myself at a research one university to become a behaviorist: one who watches and interprets through other peoples behaviors exactly why they did what they did or feel how they feel. Something directly causes it. To ever why question there is another statement that follows with a because.

This is a passion that developed early on in life. I realized that whatever questions I asked there was an answer. You get the typical Why is the sky blue? But as you go on and on ask questions to these adults and big siblings and they answer you. It was intoxicating. Why never stop asking why. It worked and my reputation as a blabber mouth began. I can remember the day in 6^th grade, when we received our Science experiment notebooks. I had to hide my secret excitement and push aside my nerd obsession to try to achieve middle school cool (it never happened, they saw right through it). Besides getting locked in bathrooms, stolen lunches, I did my best to interpret Why people did what they did and for the most part was ok with their reasons and continued forth as a hopeless optimist.

This however not exactly turned out healthy.

It was a whole new world of control and it bled into every aspect of my life, unfortunately. If I melt these ingredients together and put them in the oven, whala a thanksgiving feast which led to, but what would happen if I added more cheese, less butter, a little bit of paprika, and wow that’s even better. Beyond my kitchen experiments, I became rigid in x calories in, x calories out, pure science based teenage dieting. In highschool, I made friends easy, regardless of constant bullying by them, and made the life decision to understand bullies to help other kids through the mess of emotions that is childhood.

Special Education, more specifically behavior disorders, became my passion. I became a listener and a people watcher, making myself a motherly/advice figure to my friends. I learned the early skills watching the case studies of my friends, constantly overanalyzing their lives with them to help them understand why. Failure ensued sometimes, when I didn’t have the guts to tell them what I really thought, watching people I love get hurt, knowing all the while it was coming.

In graduate school, I was able to focus my knowledge in the books and my middle-schooled research subjects. My friendships were no longer my hobby and became something different, relaxed, girl time minus drama. There was an exact science to the people watching and I loved every word of every text book I owned.

Pat and I made it through the doubts, perfecting long distance dating. We saw each other every month, putting miles under us as we flew back and forth from one romantic weekend to the next. He was right there with me through all the up and down stressors of grad school. As the end of my term approached, we knew we needed to take a step further and give the relationship the step it needed to continue.

I glance over to my co-pilot in the seat next to me, rocking to the indie hits he’s dosed me with for the trip. Nerves are pulsing all through my body as I imagine our life face to face. Having many insignificant relationships prior, I’m stepping into a whole new world of unknowns. Our caravan cruises past Vanderbilt and the tears start to well up at the unknown. I don’t even know the whys that I will ask in the next year and the unexpected is terrifying....

I'm still working through my chapter two roadtrip....

Cheers!

Goodbye is not forever, Farewell is not the end, bc in my Heart is a Memory, and There You will Always be...

I got my last "handshake, high five, or hug" from my kiddos, it's 4:00 o'clock and they just left on the bus for summer break. They had an amazing fanfare farewell with honks and waving from every teacher in the building. I had to immediately write, bc I'm just a bottomless pit of emotion. I cannot stop crying and I cant understand why...sad? joy? relief? I'm going to miss my little buggers, and I've cared for them so much. There were days, I would cry on the way to work and then I would leave laughing. You could be having a great day and then 10 minutes later, be looking for the nearest exit or hiding in the bathroom for a moment to breath. As a teacher, you put all of your emotion in the classroom and in the kids to get through the day. And being that open and ungaurded takes a lot out of you. I think every emotion I felt this year is just pouring out at once. One thing is for sure, I will always always, remember my "wild things, the wild rumpuses, the roaring of the terrible roars and the gnashing of the terrible teeth." No matter how crazy my monsters were, we loved each other and everyone supported each other through everything in our own special ways. We were everything my class theme lived up to! We were every line of the story. We were "Where the Wild Things Are!"

Cheers! (Heres hoping I stop crying soon!)

Before He Cheats...

In no way, shape or form do I EVER EVER condone cheating...but it is kinda funny how our kids go about it. Some of our kids are not very good at cheating or lying, although they try, and I love them for their innocence.

Besides the obvious sit up straighter and peer out of the corner of the eye method, some of my kids go to great lengths to deceive me. Glen, my child that refuses to break any rules and does not like to be rushed, is probably the most innocent and funniest "cheater" I have. For instance, sometimes, he'll get really upset if we dont have enough time to finish an activity and I have to say, "Don't worry, about it Glen, we did a lot of the hard work, we dont need to finish this worksheet," and he'll respond with much concern, "No NO!! I have to finish! If I dont finish I'll be in trouble." I have to remind him to look at my face to see my smile and that I'm the one that gave him the assignment and I'm ok with it if he doesn't complete it. Often he is still perplexed and continues to think I'm mad at him no matter how much I reassure him. But at the same time, I'm semi-pleased to see him try to get away with small mischevious acts (which sometimes he then tattles on himself for doing). The first time was when he was playing hangman with Eduardo and he didnt mark a letter correct when Eduardo guessed it. Keeping in mind, Eduardo's limited language and academic ability, he had no clue how to play hangman or spell the word (Wilmington) that Glen had picked. For the remaining 20 min of recess, Glen was sure Eduardo didnt want to be his friends bc he cheated. Eduardo had no clue, but Glen was in such a fit about the situation. Other times, he also tries to switch his chair with the empty desk next to him (for what reason, I have no clue) when I'm not looking. He's pretty bad at being sneaky. He'll push it a little and then stop in a huff, drawing attention to himself. When I look at him, he stares at me straight in the face like a deer in headlights. When I look away he'll scoot it loudly again. This continues until he has successful switched chairs. If I stop him, it's a much bigger deal to calm him down for "being so bad" so sometimes I just have to let him get away with it. His final uprise against the man, was when he pushed the door handle a bunch of times repeatedly for the loud noise it makes while looking at me directly in the eye. When I asked what he was doing, he shouted "I didnt do it!!! I didnt do it!!" With which, "But Glen, I saw you, its no big deal, I'm not mad, but just dont do that again." He was pretty concerned he was going to be sent to the discipline room, but with all the punches I dodge and cuss words I ignore, a confrontation with a door is the least of my worries.

I am not the only person in my building with a multitude of crazy stories. My good friend Jamie is a fourth grade teacher. Recently, one of her students, we'll call him John came up to her to ask her if two dimes and a nickel was 25 cents. When she confirmed, she watched him walk back to Mike and give him his change. John then began copying the answers to the previous nights homework Jamie had assigned. The sad part of the story was that the kids involved in the answer black market, had not yet learned how to count money, yet understood the supply and demand. Further, to increase his popularity and power, Mike gave away some of the answer for free to the cooler students in exchange for friendship on the recess playground. Goodness gracious, where do they learn this!

Cheers!! May no one cheat you in the near or far future!

Where the Streets Have no Name....

So, I took Hayikan on as a home school student three days a week for 1.5 hour sessions, starting at 4. It has been rather interesting and pretty sad.

Day One:
My school did not feel it safe for me to go into Hayikan's home, so therefore we are meeting at a neutral location, which apparently is a halfway house for narcotics anonymous. I completely support what they are doing at this location, although its just down the street from his home, so its still not exactly the safest local. Mom shows up, Hayikan is excited to see me. He tells me how he misses his dad because he's visiting Grandma, but said his Mom said Dad will be home soon. He is talking to his "friends" throughout the entire lesson. He asked me if I ever had an imaginary friend, and I said, yes I did have a friend once and her name was Megan (short for Megan Sugarjuicertrucker). He confided that he's friends are from under the ground and that God didnt make his friends, which was upsetting to hear him say. Because he does have multiple personalities and hears voices, its hard to know which kid you are teaching. It was apparent on this day, that I was working with the real Hayikan. Mom takes him to church to cure him, and I hope one day it works. Until then, this poor little boy believes he is possessed by the devil instead of getting help for his mental illness. At one point, he was talking to his friends so much and I couldnt get any instruction in soI asked him to ask one of them what the answer to the math problem was (and he got it right!).
We completed our session and waited for Mom outside, when he proceeded to yell at me that he "HAS TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!" He persisted that he could just go in the bushes because his mom lets him. Considering my location, I didnt really want to wander this house looking for a bathroom. It was really embarrassing being the minority, with about 30 men sitting outside this house watching me get yelled at by this little boy and see how I would handle it. We did find a bathroom and as I waited for him to come out, Mom came in. She talked to me for about 5 min while Hayikan was playing in the water. When we got outside to her car, she had her 8 month old and 6 year old sitting in the front seat, unsupervised, windows down, doors unlocked. Baby was in a car seat, but was not buckled in, Hayikan got in and the car rolled away with smiling grateful faces with no seat belts on. It was something I've never experienced to say the least.

Day Two:
We continued at the same location. Mom called at 4 and asked if we were meeting. I said I was already there and she informed me she needed to find Hayikan from the street and shed be right over, 20 min later, we began our session. Mom asked to watch and respectfully sat in the back while I worked with a grouchy Hayikan. He does not understand that he is punished from school and thinks he's on summer vacation. He was "mad Hayikan" which he told me before is "a white man inside him"(whatever that means) and proceeded to berate me. It was nice that his mom got to see us interact. I have learned to completely ignore him and continue to repeat my question as if his "ugly hags" and "dumb b****" are inaudible. At the end of the session, Mom asked if he was always like that, and I said, yup, that's what we've been telling you since October. She then yelled at him to the point of tears about disrespecting me. It was very uncomfortable and made my guilt rise. I tell Hayikan that I care about him very much and can't wait to see him again, get in my car, and drive into my safe neighborhood, with my stable life, and go to dinner at a nice restaurant. Such is life.

Other happenings:
Pat's team made it to state finals but unfortunately lost at home.
I found out I will work most likely with the 4th and 5th grade, lower functioning kids next year!

Cheers.

Tiny Dancer...

On Monday, my class and I went on a field trip to Longwood Gardens! Its a beautiful park with tons to do. I've included pictures from the trip of some of the flowers that we saw.




My dancing days are not behind me and I find myself tip tapping around the hallways while waiting for the kids to finish in the bathroom. Eduardo has caught me doing my falaps and shuffles and now tries his gangly version of my tap dances! It is absolutely hilarious. I wish my school had a talent show, cause I think my kids would get a big kick out of me tap dancing. Who knows, maybe I'll get my mom to send me my shoes and I'll do a little jig for the kids..hahaha.

Finally, I'll post a picture of my latest painting. I've been trying to find ways to wind down after work. Pat gave me a beautiful paint set and easel for my birthday and I did my first picture in years last night. I'm a bit rusty, but it was a lot of fun.


Cheers.

Hoooomeward Bound, I wish I was, Hoooomeward Bound...

So, eventful little week. After his episode on the recess playground on my birthday, (the final of many) Hayikan has been deemed "too dangerous to himself and others." To complete the story of my birthday, Hayikan threw two desks, attempted to hurt me by twisting my arm several times, attempted to run away, and threw a chair at our big teddy bear of a man, Mr. White, who is called in for restraints. This was not even the most severe of his behaviors and I have been trying to get him into another setting for the safety of the other kids since October. It's May, and its finally being taken seriously! (mini victory for me!)
He is now on homebound instruction. What this means is that he will now be homeschooled until a spot opens up at the behavior institute to help him with his mental issues. What does that mean for me? I volunteered to be his homeschool teacher for 5 hours after school. I figured, I've come so far with him and I know his triggers and where he is academically, I can make the most of the 4 weeks (20 hours) I have left with the boy. It was also decided for my safety that we would meet at a neutral site (public library) so that I dont have to go into his home (phew!)
I'm pretty excited bc that means I'll have more money to put toward saving for a new car! Also, I'm pretty attached to the cause of Hayikan and hopefully in a one on one situation can make some academic and behavior breakthroughs. Finally, all my kids get more of my attention during the school day, which will do wonders for Kenan. I only wished they got more of my time more of the school year.

Other news, Pat's baseball team (he's the coach) are conference champs and will be playing in state. Because the coach is pretty cute, its been a lot of fun going to the ball park and watching from the sidelines.
My cousin, Danie, comes to visit from Joooisey tonight before she jets off to study in Paris. So jealous, and I cant wait to share with her the details from my trip overseas.
On Sunday, I'm going to Washington DC (just an hour's drive) to visit with a college friend, and watch a new Delaware friend, Maggie, ump her first game as an international field hockey umpire. She is just about as cool as they come.

Happy Friday! Cheers.

Just another Manic Monday...

So...I had this big long post giving everyone an overview on my kiddos to post on my birthday, but one of my lovely little ones, Hayikan, decided to wish me "a dumb birthday you old ugly hag, because I hate you and your heart." I can't lie, it got to me and thus worked my weekend to try and get over the emotion of being attacked by a 9 yr old on the recess playground.

But nonetheless, before I can enter you into the reality of my classroom, its important to start my first post, giving you a who's who of my class.

My graduated, newly certified-self moved her booty to Delaware to embark on adulthood. Living near my boyfriend, Pat, and Philadelphia <3, things all fell into place. I live in a little cottage guest house near a beautiful park in a wonderful part of town. It's truly a blessing to walk the dog (Pat's originally, but adopted as my own), Riley through the neighborhood and check out all the beautiful architecture of the homes around me.

Starkly contrasted, I work in a poorer part of town as a 3rd grade special education teacher. Keep in mind as I narrate my days all my kids are between 8-9. The homes my kids are from are sad and allow me to appreciate everything I have on a daily basis. My kids deal daily with the emotions that go along with drugs, abuse, illegally living in AMerica, homelessness, rape, poverty (none can afford the 75cent daily cost to eat at school) and multiple personalities. We had epic snow fall this past winter and most of my kids did not have winter coats, and did not play in the snow (or if they did, the most they had for the 8 degree weather were jeans, tennis shoes and old sweatshirts).

My school is wonderful in dealing with all these issues, because well, I'm just one teacher in a building with over 30 classrooms (preK-5th) and every kid here has a sad story. We have lots of funds to buy kids curriculum, clothing, snacks, and bus tokens.

All names of people for the sake of confidentiality have been changed.

I currently have just 6 kids in my classroom (9 if you count the three personalities of Hayikan).

Hayikan: Perhaps my most consuming child, Hayikan has three personas that fight with him all day long. He tries desperately to win the battle but is very angry when "his other friends in his head" win. My most exhausting child, he is the one I've put the most effort with. He also suffers from severe OCD and will shout nonstop for hours the same phrase. I leave my days with expressions such as "I have to go to the bathroom," "I hate you," "I dont wanna go outside," "I hate homework," ringing in my ears. To paint the picture further, it is at an earsplitting volume and I just have to teach over it. This last week, it was recorded that he screamed "I'm itchy," 102 times in a span of 45 minutes. He is still learning his letters and reverses all of his numbers, but with all that is going on in his head he is slowly able to learn. Hayikan is actually every intelligent and if his intellect wasnt focused on death or murder things would be a lot less creepy.
We work with Mom to try and get him outside help but the state makes it difficult if you yourself have difficulty with reading, organizing, and schedules. Dad is in jail, while Hayikan believes he is just hanging out at Grandma's. he once asked me if there were men with guns on my street and whether or not I was allowed to play outside. Personally, I believe a lot of his issues stem from his home environment, gun shots, drugs, but I have to continue to believe that Mom is doing the best job that she knows how.

Eduardo: The oldest of 5 with a 21 year old mother, Eduardo is my sunshine and my comedian. He is believed to be an illegal immigrant who was conceived under horrific circumstances. Mom was taken advantage of by her brother 8 years ago (as a 12 yr old). This has taught me that even good can happen from bad, because Eduardo draws me a picture everyday and is just an absolute wonderful little boy! This year, he has excelled leaps and bounds! He came in this year knowing no English and very little Spanish. Through this year, he has picked up so much, to the point, his mother has cried bc he no longer speaks Spanish. It was a bitter sweet excellence because I've helped him learn so much about the English world around him, he can no longer communicate with his Spanish-only speaking mother.

Maria: Also speaking little English, Maria can get herself around the classroom just fine. You actaully have to watch it because she has sticky fingers and can have a box of Kleenexes, Eduardo's glasses and all my pens in her book bag in 10 seconds. Maria is down syndrome and as sassy as they come, dressing in pink from head to toe and teasing my dad about his hair when he visited. She is one of my stronger readers and keeps me on my feet all day (shes my new workout plan).

Glen: My highest functioning child, I hope to see Glen in a regular education classroom in the near future. he can spell better that I can, do Math on grade level, and read with amazing intonation. He's about as big as me with a happy round face. Unfortunately, he forgets to pull up his pants before leaving the bathroom, tries to eat salads with spoons, and spills his milk daily. His mother is wonderful and has been a helpful lady in my many ways in my classroom.

Kenan: Kenan, also referred to as my mini-Kanye West, flirts with a room brightening smile. Although Kenan began my year by launching a shoe at my head, he needs a ton of teacher attention and most all my behavior strategies from my Master's program work with hiim (can't say the same for Hayikan). He is very typical attention getting emotional behavior disturbance. He can flick me off one minutes and tehn ask me to tie his shoe the next, whever gets my attention first (of course I try to give it only for the positive). he's working on his letetrs and simple math but he gets an A+ in street skills.

Javier: Javier holds my whole classroom together. when Hayikan is yelling at me most minutes, Glen gets upset and cries often. But Javier and his kind heart has picked this up and will say "Look at me Glen!!" and dance like a goofball, while I handle to situation. Eduardo will join in with an on key monkey impression, working together to keep Glen calm. I love them for it. The kindness of children still exists. Javier would be in a regular school if he was actually in school more.

Heaven, Jason, Manuel, and Jalel are no longer in my classroom. Heaven and Jason went to a school that focuesses more on functional and live skills and both are doing well in their current placements. Jason's absence has allowed a lot of my kdis to progress. he was non-verbal, jumped on a trampoline all day long for sensory, and screamed over and over again. Although I miss him, my brain has time to think.
Manuel was believed homeless and has been in 5 different schools as a kid that bounces from one couch to the next.
Jalel was a handful, violent, and the cause of a school lockdown. He was arrested twice and removed from campus in an ambulance for out of control behavior. Jalel was the most terrifying and the cause of a lot of tears. I hope the best for him because he really was a nice kid most of the time. He has since moved to his 9th school.

The days are never boring and its hard not to sound dramatic when a good day is only one kid told me they hated me. But there are moments of happiness and enjoyment. I've got my yoga studio, my new friends, and my boyfriend to thank for my sanity.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother's Day Weekend! Thank you thank you thank you to all the wonderful mothers I know that raised wonderful students.

Love you all. Cheers.