Life in the Book Lane

Today I turned 45 and I got all these books for my birthday. Actually there are a few more not on this stack. Best birthday ever! Now I just need hours and days and weeks and months to get through all of them. Barnes and Noble had a "buy two classics, get one free" deal going on, so we took advantage. They were not expensive to begin with. So happy day. As I an thinking of being a teacher someday, there are so many books and I haven't read, and I am just not feeling prepared! So many books, so little time. At least they make a great centerpiece.

Life in the School Lane

Wow. My head hurts. It is not used to the information that is being crammed between is flabby, squishy walls. It is used to being filled with light, airy subjects like books, family, PTA and how to get out of making dinner and the second hour of church. Or whether to order the pork salad OR the burrito at Cafe Rio. Not things like common core, scaffolding a lesson, unpacking a standard, objectives, rubrics and accountability. Sheesh.

My brain is stretched beyond capacity. So when more data tries to find a spot it strains the walls and causes inflammation and discomfort that can otherwise be called a headache. In other words, I am having a medical reaction caused by a foreign ( and how!) intellectualism. Like a pebble in a shoe. A similar analogy is the class sizes in today's English classes. The brain is like a classroom that  can't get bigger. Students have to adapt by sitting at tables instead of desks, and it is often uncomfortable.

Here is the conversation I have been having with my brain:

Brain: (with conviction) This stuff is hard to absorb. If nothing else, there's too much of it. Get rid of some of it. You are not sleeping, and when you don't sleep then I don't sleep, remember? You  do remember those REM patterns that I HAVE to have to function? I cannot process all this!!

Me: (sheepishly) I know. I can't get rid of all this stuff.  If I get rid of it, I will not pass this class. I will do all I can to sleep better so you can perform better.

Brain: (with resignation) OK, just this once I will try to stretch a bit more. But I can't make any promises. I get tired, too.

Me. (with gratitude) Thanks for trying as hard as you can. When we are through with this tough part you get to do some fun stuff like watch a movie (you like that, right?) stare off into space, look at pretty leaves and sleep more.

Then under my breath I say, " Until the next round of info comes barreling down the track."

Brain: Goody!

And so it goes.

A side note: Thirty five to forty kids in a class is standard not the exception. I kept hoping to see some smaller class sizes when I switched from high school to junior high last week, but no, they are packed in like sardines, too.

An observation: Some teachers measure the stacks of papers to grade by inches and feet. No kidding. But today a teacher from Orem High came to our class to teach us his technique for handling the paper shuffle and I will definitely adopt his method. There is hope.

This class ends in two weeks. I can't believe how fast and furious it has been.

Mama Goes Back to School Part 3

Here is my report of my first day in high school.

Here are the words that represent my experience: acne, BO, zits, yelling across the room, flirting, hiding, reading, texting, blushing, laughing, kicking (desks) and tapping (pencils). Apparently the tapper thought he was in band class.

Many times I heard, "What are we supposed to do?"

And the most alarming: 39 kids in one class. 39 kids that don't really want to be there. English is one of those classes that you HAVE to take. So there is no choice. ALL of the 39 were there, just not really there. If they were there mentally, they were faking it.

There are not enough desks. Three students were sitting at a table in the corner. One had her flip flops off and was smacking gum loudly. Her "neighbor" was voraciously reading "The Hunger Games." At least she was reading. That's a good sign.

Here are words that I said during both classes of 39 students: stop touching each other, don't kick his desk, don't throw the gum wrapper, and SHHHHHHHH about a hundred times.  I sounded like a deflating tire. Do you need a piece of paper. Maybe if you like her so much you should ask her to Homecoming. (This just resulted in more blushing and laughing.)

I walked around and stood by students who were talking and laughing. I got more exercise than I've had in a week. When I stood by them, they talked and laughed less, but only until I moved away.

One girl came in and just laid her head on her desk. She got out a piece of paper and wrote a bit, then stopped. Then she laid her head down again. You could tell she had "stuff" going on. She was one of the saddest girls I've ever seen.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to figure out these kids' "stuff." And if so, I hope I can help somehow.

Mama Goes Back to School--Part 2

Well, I'm glad there is a Part 2 to this ridiculous undertaking. It almost ended in Part 1. But here I am back in the saddle after being bucked off the horse several times this week.

Yee-haw?

I almost quit my class Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday--really and truly Thursday. It was all just too much. I had sat in class for 20 hours. Twenty hours in the same class. I did homework for this class for probably 16 hours. Instead of asking my kids how much homework they had each afternoon, they asked me. "Mom, do you have a lot of homework?" I just looked at them sort of glassy-eyed. "Yeah, I said, see you in a couple of hours. Or maybe tomorrow morning. Have a nice life."

On Thursday I had hit a low point. My brain hurt, literally hurt. I think it probably hurt as much as a migraine, although I never have had one. But that was what I imagined it might feel like. I could tell it wasn't just a headache, it was a a message from my brain. The message said, "I am overloaded, my message box is full. Stop stretching me." I told it, "I know, I am sorry. Bear with me for one more day and then you can have three days off." It was kind. Thank you, brain.

That was just the physical part.There were also the emotions that gurgled and bubbled over like a Yellowstone Park hot pot multiple times during the week. The thing is, you can talk to your brain and reason with it about hanging in there. You can persuade it to let a little more information in. But you can't talk to your emotions and tell them to STOP IT, THAT THEY ARE RUINING YOUR LIFE! Well you can, but they don't listen. They do what they want.  The are unpredictable and embarrassing. They are fickle. They make you look and feel older than you are, something I definitely didn't want in this class of 20 somethings.

And then there's the sleep issue that I can barely talk about sometimes. I hadn't slept well Wednesday night. My brain hurt, I kept getting teary. I was beyond tired. What was I going to do? Was this how I would feel for the next two years? Shoot me now, I thought.

"You'll get used to homework," my Mom told me. "You'll be able to do to do it faster in a while." "If you quit, I'll kick your butt," my sister told me. "You're going to be just fine," one of the professors told me. She had been a non-traditional student like me. She said I'd be able to find part time work and that I wouldn't have to work 10-hour days like full time teachers. That there were jobs out there. I began to smile a bit. This kept the tears from flowing. My brain stopped cramping so much. Bless you, Professor Rawlings. Bless you Mom and Lisa.

Friday at noon arrived. The sun came out a bit. I would have some time to pull it together.

Friday night I watched "Princess Bride" with Nathan. I totally related to Miracle Max when he said, "He's not dead, he's just mostly dead." Yup. That's how I feel. Then came Saturday with its mundane housecleaning and grocery shopping. We went to the Storytelling Festival and laughed and laughed and that made me feel better. Today was relaxing. Tomorrow is a free day. I am well again.

Tuesday I go to good old Orem High just down the street to spend three weeks with Mr. Johnson in his 10th grade English class. I will try not to let anyone know I am Sammie's Mom so as not to embarrass her. I may have the neighborhood kids down the street in my class. They already think I'm strange, so oh well. I am told I will do anything from teach the class to make copies. I do have to do at least one lesson while I am in his class.

I hope I like him and he likes me. I hope it is a good experience.

Baptism by fire.

Mama Goes Back to School--Part 1

I sent my kids back to school last week. And then I went.

Back to school.

It’s been 21 years and I am back in the classroom hoping my brain still functions. Actually I am hoping my brain functions way better than when I was a student at the U of U all those years ago. It had better because there is a lot riding on it this time around.

I have been a little worried lately about the brain thing. I keep asking the same questions over and over and my kids keep answering me over and over. I don’t listen to their responses so I have to keep asking. Here is an example:

“Are we picking up Zack for the game?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Five minutes later: “Are we picking up Zack for the game?

“Yes!”

Five minutes later: “Are we . . . .”

“Yes!!!!!!!!”

This resulted in my son telling me I had Alzheimer’s. This only increased my anxiety about returning to school as a geriatric patient who wants to be a high school English teacher.

After forgetting the pressures of school for two decades, I have new respect for my own kids who work hard every day and excel beyond what I was capable of doing at their ages.  How I ever produced such kids is beyond me.

I practically worship the ground my high school senior walks on because she is taking three AP classes, one of which is Statistics. I have a panic attack when I think about anything number-related (ex. I often have to pass the fifth grade math homework off to someone more competent in my family). So the fact that she can take this kind of a class shows her grit and intelligence. It also proves that she has a lot of her Dad in her as far as how her brain works. What a blessing for her.

She does her stats homework and she hasn’t pulled out one strand of her beautiful hair. She just does it.

Today was my first teaching certification class. I felt like my classmates were teenagers. I was old enough to be their Moms, and I told them so. I told them I had a daughter their ages. I hope I didn’t look or sound too matronly. I tried to dress a little bit fashionably, but sometimes when you’re 40-plus those efforts fall flat. My oldest daughter who counsels me in these matters has recently moved out. I got my hair done so there wasn’t a gray hair visible. After pulling myself together as best I could, all I could do was hope.

My class is four hours, five days a week plus homework. Brutal. Its main goal is to weed out people who really shouldn’t or can’t be teachers. Was I going to be one of them? This thought was almost unbearable during the first two hours. The last two hours I settled down a bit.

About mid-way through the class, one student raised her hand and said, “Does anyone else feel like they want to throw up?” This resulted in uproarious laughter.

When I walked out of the class at 11:50, my head was swimming with info and caffeine withdrawal. Sometimes there are major blessings right down the hill. Thank you, Wendy’s.

When I got home I did homework for two hours. An hour of it was spent trying to figure out how to print off a pdf document so the font was big enough to read without a magnifying class. This was a huge effort, and to my credit, I stuck with it until I figured it out. I didn’t wait for more tech-savvy people to come home to help. I did it.

That was a good first step—independence with tech things. No more, “How do you turn on the DVD player?" Life is changing.

Papers, journals, textbooks, annotating articles, (I had to ask my daughter what that was) teaching in the public schools, dressing professionally, resumes, etc. And the real nail biter--exams. This is what my life has become.

And yes to the brave student in class today. I do feel like I'm going to throw up. But you can only throw up for so long right? 

To Sleepover or Not to Sleepover

Teresa and me at our 20 year reunion in 2005

School starts tomorrow and the one thing that I will NOT miss is the question, "Can I sleepover at so and so's house?" ) Or, "Can so and so sleep over here?"

So and so is, of course, a most beloved and cherished person, without whom the world would cease to turn. Why have there been so many so and so's around this summer?

There seems to be three schools of thought on sleepovers: never under any circumstances, occasionally with close friends, and what the hell, they’re only kids once. This last school of thought seems to be what many parents thought in the 70s and 80s, and my friends and I took full advantage. Their parents thought the same thing. It’s a different world now.

Here’s what I have heard the hardliners say about sleepovers. Their stance is that nothing good can come of them. They don’t like the “sleepover hangover” in which kids are good for nothing the day after. They have heard “horror stories” of kids who have major issues later in life because of something that happened at a sleepover. A stake president said something once about the evils associated with them.

I tend to fall into the second category. I hate the hangovers, but I know of the potential fun and euphoria of a sleepover under the right circumstances. My parents, however, should have never let me have sleepovers when I was young because of my negative reaction to them.

On several occasions I was so homesick that I would call my Dad to come get me. Usually at about 3 am. I remember sneaking into my friend Kristen’s kitchen so that her parents wouldn’t hear, calling my father on her rotary phone (the noise, noise, noise!) and begging him in a whisper to come get me. I did this again with my other friend Kristin (must have been the name). On both occasions the Kristens’ parents were awakened to my utter embarrassment as we waited for my Dad to arrive. And I am sure the Kristens always wondered if I hated them all of the sudden or if I was just a wuss.

When I got older I had tons of sleepovers with positive outcomes, but there are some things I learned and saw that were maybe not so positive. These are for sure the things that the hardliners of today are warning against that we didn’t even think about then.  Maybe that is why I am a damaged adult today!

Here are the highlights of my teenage sleepovers, which almost always involved my best friend Teresa. (see above photo.)

Once Teresa had a 50s birthday party where we put on American Grafitti and her Mom donned her 50s clothes and taught us the jitterbug.

Everyone brought tons of candy and pop and we gorged. Three girls ended up throwing up and having to go home, and that was a major downer for the rest of us. One by one they fell victim in the middle of the night like an Agatha Christie novel. After that, Teresa couldn’t have another sleepover for years it seemed.

 Murder in the dark in Teresa’s woods was one of the best. There were hand-picked boys who were invited to play in the woods with us but then “left” at a certain time determined by Teresa’s parents. I remember Teresa not coming in the house for a long time after the deadline, and then all of us peppering her with questions about a certain boy (who she later married).

Truth or dare. The thrill of learning intimate stuff you wanted to know about your friends, but wishing you’d never confessed the stuff you did. “We swear that what we say tonight, will never leave this room” was the standard safety net to get you to tell, but later someone blabbed your secrets and you were busted. Never mind, you blabbed theirs, too.

There was the old standby ritual of putting a sleeping girls’ fingers into a glass of warm water to get her to pee in her sleeping bag. The perpetrators always claimed success, but the victim always ended up crying and hating the mean girls who did it. They were out of sorts for the rest of the night, understandably (especially if they really did pee in their sleeping bags).

Why did we have sleepovers with mean girls? So stupid.

Sometimes we slept on the trampoline and giggled so loud the neighbors complained.  We told some hand-picked boys what we were doing, and they scared us to pieces and got us screaming in our jammies. The boys were banished by annoyed parents and we were threatened with having to go home.

I don’t know how our sleep-deprived parents stood it. Maybe that’s why many parents today are saying no. Some have come up with a great alternative that I have used as well: lateovers. Sleepovers are fraught with unknowns, but lateovers are safe. A kid is retrieved by his or her parents at around 11 pm. They have still had fun, but they will get their sleep and not get into trouble. Parents today are smarter than parents of my day! This works!

So I am torn. There is a closeness and a deepening of friendship that comes about at a sleepover with a best friend that often doesn’t happen other times. There are the amazing memories (both good and bad) that make for great stories then and later in life.  There are life experiences that shape ideas about friends and fun. There is the feeling of doing something special with people you care about. It shouldn’t be something that happens often, but that happens with the right people at the right times.

Friends are the cherished people who won’t be around forever like families, and so it’s nice to take advantage when the time is ripe. When’s the last time you, as an adult, had a sleepover with your childhood best friend? Probably years ago, but I bet you still remember every vivid detail, and sometimes wish for those carefree summer nights

Mother Google




Artwork by Mary Lee click to enlarge






I have been thinking about how Google is really too good to be true for lazy parents like me. Three times this week my kids have asked me some questions:

1. When did Disneyworld get started?

2. How many people live in the United States?

3. Do black bears attack people as much as grizzly bears?

I had sort of a rough idea of the answer to these questions, but like most, parents I don’t know for sure (and I know I can’t fake it). Sometimes I don’t even have the slightest idea (and they know it).

So instead of saying, “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” or “Go ask your father,” I took the slacker Mom way out. I just said, “I don’t know. Google it.”

And they jumped on the computer and Googled all the questions and found their answers and a whole lot more than I could have told them. Simple. Easy. Too easy.

Sometimes when I’m feeling even more "slackerish" I tell them to read Wikipedia when they want a bunch of information on a certain topic. I figure if I do it, so should they. This is the Age of Finding Out Things Fast. Wikipedia is oh so fast and informative and fills my mind with meaningless trivia that I promptly forget. It’s sadly more entertaining that going to the library even. Never thought I'd say that.

I should feel OK about this practice, but I just can’t shake the knawing feeling that this is a big Mom copout on my part, and not exactly how I should be interacting with my children—at least not very much.

Yes, Googling things is quick, convenient and makes it so I can continue reading my novel on the couch or flipping through aromatherapy catalogs, but. . . . . it also limits the valuable connections and discussions I could potentially have with my children.

My Dad used to answer my questions by pretending he knew everything about the topic at hand and then somehow morphing the conversation into his own loosely formed connections. It was entertaining but not necessarily informative. I appreciate him now, even though I suffered through his long-windedness back then. I might give anything just to have one more of those conversations.

To the brown bear/grizzly bear question my children asked this week, I could have responded: “Well, I think it might be grizzly bears because they are bigger and stronger and seem to be more aggressive. We have a book about different kinds of bears. Remember what we saw in that pamphlet we got in Yellowstone Park last week? It talked all about this. I will see if I can find it.” Then I would have to get up off the couch.

That would have been the "non-slackerish" way to answer the question. It would have required eye contact in which I could have ascertained the general physical condition of the child, like if he or he needed to take a shower or change his clothes or brush his teeth.

If I am sitting on the couch absorbed in an Eddie Bauer summer sale catalog, however, I have no way of knowing these things and other important things like why they need this information. Is there a report due tomorrow or have they made a bet with a friend? Or are they so fascinated by this information that it may open up a lifetime of inquisitiveness and study that could lead to a career as a park ranger or wildlife biologist?

These are good things that parents should know, and can find out fairly easily if they pay attention and get up off the couch--especially slacker Moms like me!