A Month in Review

I've had such a hard time making myself sit down and write anything over the past month. I just don't "feel" it. When I started this blog I had such a need to journal about the path my life  - and our family life - was taking. Now some days I feel swallowed up by life. After a day at a job that is emotionally and intellectually exhausting (intellectually because I feel like I'm in over my head in my first year of teaching), and then trying to be something of a wife and mother after I get home, I really don't have room for something like journaling. I think that I currently have no creative juices flowing, and having to contrive something that will make a good entry really isn't something I'm capable of right now. So, here are a few photos - for posterity's sake. At least I will have chronicled what a month looked like for us, right?

Kirby and his friend Rachel cheer on their brothers at a soccer game.

Gavin enjoyed some time with his Godfather, Uncle Joe (Joe-Joe)

I just love this photo and had to put it in!

Halloween with cousin Ollie. It seems like just yesterday that Connor was Buzz Lightyear and Ollie was a pirate.

Gavin had his first haircut...my beautiful little red head

Not too crazy about the haircut!

After the haircut...much improved!

We spent a lot of Saturdays watching Connor play soccer

I got to go with the boys on their annual field trip to Miller Farms.

We've had many Saturday mornings that look just like this.

A Devil Of A Problem

Sometimes things happen in my life that just instantly insinuate a blog entry. It used to happen a lot more often than it has lately, but tonight such an instance did occur, and I had to take the time to document it for Kirby...and for me.

The boys have been dying to go pick out Halloween costumes and this evening, Stephen offered to take them. In our house, I am not exactly known as the "Queen of Halloween". You might even say I'm the anti-Halloween. For this girl who still has yet to view more than 5 minutes of a horror movie and makes her husband change the channel during scary movie commercials, Halloween is just one long nightmare waiting to happen. It was no secret that if Husband took the boys to pick out their costumes, they would probably have more fun and might even get to pick out something that I might not approve of (I've been accused of trying to make Halloween too "cute" around our house).

The boys were gone for about 2 hours and came bounding through the door clutching their little Wal-Mart bags and smiling. Connor was first. "Mommy!" he said. "Look at me! Look at my costume...it's so scary!" I had to laugh as I saw him in his jumbo-sized ghost mask. He was thrilled with his costume. Kirby waited patiently, all smiles, with the package holding his costume turned around so that I couldn't see the picture.

"Mommy! Guess what mine is!" He said through his very proud grin.

"Hmmm..." I said, catching a glimpse of what looked like a gold plastic key. "A pirate?"

"No!"

"A knight?" I asked, thinking to myself "How many costumes have gold plastic keys?"

"No!"

"Okay Kirby, I think you're going to have to show me. I can't imagine what else it could be!" 

"It's...the Gatekeeper!" he announced proudly.

Instantly, a thought passed through my mind, and while it only took .2 seconds for me to think it, I knew that this was not going to be a costume I approved of. I mean, how many "Gatekeepers" do you know of? I can think of two, and they are: Saint Peter, keeper of the Pearly Gates, and Lucifer, keeper of the Gates of Hell. Now, I don't know about you, but I haven't seen a lot of Saint Peter costumes around my neighborhood over the past couple of years.

One look at the package confirmed my suspicions. It took me a minute to get my bearings and make sure that I didn't react too strongly. What I saw before my eyes was this:

Now, I realize that this picture makes the costume look rather benign. It's not so much the bloody skeleton in the midsection, or the red scales coming up out of the shoulder pads. The key itself disturbs me a little, but that's not even the worst part. The mask was SO MUCH WORSE than this picture makes it look. Having not taken it out of the package in the store, Husband was shocked at how completely diabolical it looked (although, I have to mention here that how someone can be shocked at a diabolical mask coming out of a costume package that is in fact, for El Diablo is beyond me). It really looks like a cross between Darth Moll and Skeletor, with blood red horns sticking out of the sides and the top. One look at Husband's face and I could see that he knew they blew it.

"Oh, that's a scary looking costume! Very scary. Demonic, actually." I was the epitome of cool.

Kirby was all grins. You see, it's common sport in our house to tease Mommy about her dislike of Halloween and scary things. That's what he thought was going on here. 


"Kirby," I began, "I would like to take you to the store to pick out a costume that's more appropriate for someone your age."

"That's appropriate Mom!" he replied hotly.

"No Kirby. We cannot take you to the Assumption Catholic School Halloween party dressed as Satan. It just doesn't work."

About 10 minutes of heated discussion ensued wherein Husband and I tried to explain to him that the costume was not only designed for older kids, but that even if he was older, it is not exactly the kind of thing you would wear around Father Peter. More specifically, it's not the kind of thing we're trying to promote by sending our kids to Catholic school. The fact that Husband was immediately with me on this one told me that the costume was indeed, really bad. We offered to let Kirby wear the body of the costume and we'll paint his face and he can call himself a "monster". That didn't seem to fly.

Crushed, Kirby stomped up the stairs and got ready for bed, crying the whole while.

"I guess I'd better go up there." Husband said.

"Yes. I think so. I'll give you a couple minutes, and then I'll head up."

Lying in bed, crying the broken-hearted sobs that only a 7 year-old with dashed dreams can cry, Kirby said to me, "It's the best costume I've ever had in my life and you guys won't let me have the mask!"

Coming back downstairs I couldn't help but ask Husband what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks he was thinking letting our 2nd grader pick out a costume like that. His response?

"I had to go to the bathroom REALLY badly and I needed to get out of there! I didn't think it looked that bad!"

What do you do with that? Anyone? 

Climbing Mountains

Today, I had the realization that sometimes I make mountains out of molehills. Every Sunday since the middle of August, I have spent the entire day with a knot of anxiety in my stomach - gripping at my throat - in anticipation of returning to work the next day. Yesterday, it seemed almost crippling. Today, as I began to churn through my daily schedule, I had to stop for a moment and wonder what all the hype is about?

Sure, my job is quite stressful. I have more to do than there are hours in the day (like every other teacher in America). I'm still trying to figure out how to balance work with family. I still get very little sleep. But you know what? My job is actually not as bad as I tend to make it out to be each Sunday. My sister suggested that maybe I'm going through a little bit of a grieving period every weekend because I actually have to go to work. I will say that's possible. After being able to call my own shots for the past six years, it is hard knowing that I absolutely HAVE to be somewhere by 7:10am. I may be feeling a little fenced in. Regardless, by the end of the day I realized that I essentially wasted my entire Sunday this past weekend feeling anxious and nervous.

My boys seem to be settling in too. It hasn't been an easy adjustment, but I am proud to say that they've really come through. They are absolute troopers about being at school until 4 or 4:30 every day. They never complain (okay - they did complain the day that I didn't pick them up until 5:30pm - I felt so guilty - but it was only one time!). I think we may even be settling in to a routine here. It is though, a very precarious routine at best. It kind of reminds me of a teeter-totter. We've got things balanced just right, but don't put anything extra on either side, or someone is bound to sink! For instance, don't try to throw in extracurricular activities - we've all but given up on those! There simply isn't time. Connor still plays soccer - but Kirby has decided to take the season off (with the blessing of his parents). I'm holding it together, but if I had stayed enrolled in my master's class? NOT PRETTY. We've pulled Kirby out of piano lessons - a move that absolutely devastated me - and he's being intermittently tutored by me (unfortunately for him, his lessons never surpassed my experience!). I just simply cannot take on anything more than we're doing.

I figure that as working full time and being a full-time mom become a more familiar balancing act, and as Gavin gets a little older (and sleeps more), we will gradually be able to add back in the elements that give our life a little variety. We will inevitably spend our spring at baseball or soccer practices and games, and I hope by that time, I feel like a little bit less of a rookie.

And incidentally - my baby has one and a half teeth!

Item #217 On The List...

Add this to the list of things to never say to a class of 8th graders:


"All right! Who's banging the mouse?"

It didn't even cross my mind...but it sure crossed theirs! Seriously, somebody would not stop banging the mouse (from the computer) on the computer table. Very annoying. Can I help it that the above statement has another meaning in our vernacular?
 

Still Here, Still Kickin', Still Cyclin'

Whew! It's been 20 days since my last post, and an attempt to bring you up to speed on the ups and downs of the past three weeks would probably make you think that I am either mentally unstable. Heck, sometimes I think I'm mentally unstable!

Actually, there have been some very up "ups" and some very low "downs", but it all comes with the territory; the territory of being a first year teacher and a mom who is working full-time for the first time in 6 years - and getting an average of 6 hours of sleep each night. There have been a lot of tears on my part (which tend to come on at the height of exhaustion), but there have also been some wonderful highs - those moments where the reason I chose this profession becomes so clear to me. And sometimes, amidst all of the feelings of incompetency, I get a momentary sense that I am actually TEACHING.

Throughout all of this, I have continued to cycle, albeit intermittently. I do hate that I go 1-2 weeks between rides since school started, but the pinnacle of my cycling hobby to date was two weeks ago. That is when my sister Heather, our sister/friend Beth and I all rode in the Good Sam Bike Jam - a 45 mile charity ride around the Boulder/Lafayette area. Wow! I don't know if words can do justice to the experience. We started off just as the sun was climbing into the sky and turning from purple to pink. There was a very heavy fog, and the rolling foothills, dotted with cows and goats and so much beauty that reminds me of home (except there are mountains - instead of bluffs!). As we began I couldn't stop commenting on just how beautiful it was. The air actually tasted sweet from the fog and the fields ready for harvest. I so enjoyed it, that I almost didn't mind the first monster hill that we had to climb. Actually, I didn't really mind the hill at all, until I got to the top of it and realized that there was yet another hill beyond it. And yes, at the top of that 2nd hill I discovered that there was yet one more hill to crest. I made it without having to stop, but only barely.

The four hours of riding were a great time to catch up with my girls. We sang a few show tunes, and even practiced a fun group cycling maneuver that Beth taught us. That is, until we saw the next big hill - at which point I believe Beth screamed out, "Okay every man for himself!" and we quickly dispersed to pedal as hard and as fast as our little hineys could. I'm going to tell you right now that riding 45 miles is every bit as hard as I imagined it would be. I actually had a fear that I would throw up (the Kirby girls kind of have a legacy of throwing up during intense work-outs), but I didn't do that. There was one point (the second of 3 hills that really were noteworthy) where I actually would have gotten off of my bike and just walked, but I couldn't get my darn foot unclipped from my pedal!

As difficult as a 45 mile ride is, it is nothing for someone who is using the proper equipment (I was, thanks to the sponsorship of my sister, who has loaned me an entire setup). Poor Beth did not have her own bike on hand for the ride - it was still in Texas, where she had shipped it for her 100 MILE RIDE. She was so supportive of me doing my first ride, and so wanted to have that girl-time, that she borrowed my brother-in-law's ginormous mountain bike with gargantuan tires. This bike was not only large, but had possibly the world's hardest seat. I think it was actually made out of concrete. Beth rode 45 miles on that jumbo yellow bike - which we lovingly dubbed "The Yellow Sub". She is the only person I know who is not only tough enough to do it, but who can simultaneously ride like that and giggle for most of the way. One of the funniest moments was when Heather and I were synchronizing our odometers:

"I've got 22.1 miles!" Heather called out.

"I've got 23.3!" I called back

"I've got 6 leagues!" Beth chimed in as she blazed past us on her huge yellow contraption.

Yes, we had a great time. We laughed. I cried (I know. You're shocked). I did not throw up. I did not have to walk my bike. I did feel one of the greatest senses of accomplishment that I have ever felt. I am now officially addicted. I can't wait to do another big ride. Now, when I'm having the kind of day where I feel like I might not be up to the challenge of my job, I just think back to what I did two weeks ago. I will carry that feeling with me for a very long time.

You want to know my favorite part? That was when Beth, who was herself dying from such a long ride on such ill-fitting equipment, blazed past us and disappeared during the last 2 miles of the ride. Completing the ride with my sister, who had patiently and lovingly coaxed me up the last massive hill as I thought I couldn't go any further, was a joy. But, riding side-by-side past our lifelong friend, who had raced us to the end to stand there and cheer for us was...priceless.

"Yeah Kirby girls! Kirby girls rock!"

I love being a Kirby girl. I love feeling like I did something tough. I love that I did it with two people I love so much. 

Why I'm Going Private

My absence from this blog over the past month has been very intentional. You see, now that I'm working with students, I feel very conscientious of the fact that a simple Google search on their part will unearth a wealth of personal information about me. Now mind you, it's not as if I've been posting anything I would be ashamed of on this blog - no "Moms Gone Wild" - none of that sort of thing. But, I want to be free to write about the feelings that I'm experiencing during this new leg of my Journey, and I don't want to have to worry about young people (or their parents, for that matter!) taking my personal experiences out of context. Know what I mean? I need to feel able to bare my soul. Besides, I owe them some privacy too. Although, you'll note that I do not put any specifics about students or schools where I've been into this blog.

As a result of the above, I have decided to make this a private blog. If you received an invitation by e-mail for this blog, it's because you are someone who has read it from time to time and indicated that you enjoy keeping up with me and my family this way. To tell you the truth, I only sent out 15 invitations, and I love that. It feels nice to know that I'm now sharing myself with an intimate little group, and the spammers in Ghana and Bulgaria can't reach me anymore! (I was getting really tired of their comments!)

So, I've had some e-mail prompts from a few people asking me how school is going. I want to try to sum it up for you - for myself - and I just can't find any better words to articulate it other than...IT IS SO DAMN HARD! (there's a first - cussing on my blog!) Think about the last time you did something that was just hard no matter which way you slice it. I mean, there is not one part of my job that's easy, and some days that's so exhausting that I just feel like I have nothing left over. Does this mean that I'm not enjoying myself? No. Does it mean that I want out? No. Look people, I knew this was going to be hard from the day I first stepped into a classroom as a student teacher three years ago. The thing is, when everything feels hard, you start to doubt yourself. You think, "Can I just get a break here? Can just one thing go smoothly or come easily?" As the wise person I was talking to today said, I am now a journeyman - no longer an apprentice - I've got more experience and knowledge than that. Still, I've got a long way to go until I'm a master.

Humbling. It's just all so humbling. And yet, I have (cue my favorite word) perspective. I know it won't always be like this. One day, five years from now I will look back and remember how hard this was, and thank God that I don't have to be a first year teacher ever again. I will actually take my lunch in the teacher's lounge and try to work on my relational skills instead of wolfing down a Lean Cuisine while standing over my desk and running back and forth from the printer to my office during my 30 minute lunch break that always - and I mean always - ends up being more like 15 by the time I've helped students find their ID's, their planners, their lunch money and open their lockers. I feel confident that I will get there one day, but still, my little ego could really use a dose of "Gosh, you sure know what the heck you're talking about!" self-talk right now. Trouble is, I don't want to lie to myself.

Humbling. I'm teaching kids things that I still have yet to wrap my mind around. Take long division, for example. Today I was trying to explain how it works; why you don't just find how many times 3 "goes into" 12. I was trying to explain that we are actually looking at groups of three, and trying to see how many groups of 3 are in one ten and 2 ones (or, 12 for those of you educated pre-No Child Left Behind). I really thought I had it. I was on a roll, and then all of a sudden my mind twisted up on itself and I heard myself saying things I couldn't even identify. I looked out onto a sea of stunned confusion. I had officially confused them more than they already were to begin with! Please...can I get a break here?

Perhaps this is why I'm still cycling. No longer a dabbler, I've adopted it whole-heartedly. And while I haven't been able to get out more than once a week (I'm a true weekend warrior), I now consider it my hobby.  In fact, I'm smitten with cycling. I love the release that it's given me over this past month. When I'm staring down the barrel of a hill that seems like more than I feel capable of, I just tell myself, "Are you kidding? You teach middle school! You teach middle school SPECIAL ED! You are doing the hardest job you've ever done...on so many levels. You can do this!". Conversely, when I'm in school, I sometimes have to transport myself back to that hill and remind myself, "You just rode 33 miles yesterday, you can handle this 13 year old with a self-destructive attitude."

And so, while this entry lacks any sort of detail whatsoever, it does tell you where I am personally with things. The details will come in time, when I feel ready to approach them in writing, and when they will seem to fit more naturally.

A New World Opens Up

It's interesting that I've officially been a teacher for the past week and a half, and yet I haven't even seen my kids yet. People ask me how my job is going, but I haven't really gotten to do my job yet. Last week was spent in New Teacher Orientation for the district. I must say it was a very thoughtful, well put-together training. I met some wonderful people and it got me focused on the year ahead.

On Monday I reported to my school, where I met the staff and we spent most of the day in professional development. Since then, there's been time to prepare (not nearly as much as I had hoped for!) and more professional development. Each step of the way - through last week and this week - my decision to work in this district, in this particular job, was validated. I know in my heart of hearts that I am in the right place.

As I type this entry, it is now Sunday. My exhaustion, combined with our busy-ness has kept me from being able to sit down write, let alone gather the thoughts I would want to express.

My first two days of school were a whirlwind. They were exhausting, exhilarating, emotional...you name it. All I know is that for the whole three years I was in school, people tried to prepare me for what it's like to be a first year teacher. I went in expecting stress and exhaustion. However, it's about 3 times harder than I expected. I've decided that in order to survive it, I need to look at it as a sort of boot camp. I imagine that going to boot camp is completely overwhelming for some people; it's a complete change to one's life. I too am feeling like my whole life has changed, and the newness of my job has completely assaulted all of my senses. I think the one thing that is making it even harder for me is that I still am not getting good sleep, and anybody who knows me knows that I simply cannot function when I'm tired. And for me to not be tired, I need to regularly get 8 hours of sleep. Gavin, in making sure that he gets his quality time in with Mom and Dad, has resorted to middle-of-the-night parties. Knowing that this is just temporary, and too exhausted to combat it, Husband and I have instead chosen survival tactics: taking turns getting up, trying to let him cry it out, and even bringing him in to bed in the early morning hours from time to time. Suffice it to say that it's a very ironic situation in that those survival tactics probably just leave us more tired than we were to begin!

Realizing just what a busy, overwhelming time it is going to be as I adjust to my new job, I have decided to put off finishing my master's. This is a really hard decision for me, but one that I'm proud of. Being a bit of a perfectionist (just a bit), it's hard for me to change course sometimes. In my mind I had planned to finish my final class this semester and be done by Christmas break. There's a part of me that worries that I'll never finish this last class (and that is probably what Husband is thinking to himself - and I don't blame him). I have to remember why I went back to school in the first place, and that is to be a teacher. Right now I need to turn my focus to that, and in delaying the completion of my master's, I will hopefully still be a strong presence for my family.

All in all, despite the rough start (I haven't even gone into the challenging behaviors I endured in one of my classes!), I know that I have chosen the right profession. I feel it in my heart; just like I know in my heart that I chose the right job, the right school district. The people I work with have been amazing in helping me transition, and I'm grateful that I haven't experienced the "cliquey-ness" (made up word) that I've seen among staff in some of the schools I've been in. The people I am now working with are a real bright spot in a new and challenging time in my life. Of course, the kids are too - and that's what it's all about.