8/4/11

It's the most wonderful time of the year (Well, at least for the parents...)


Well, it’s that time of year. (Parents, you know what I’m talking about!) It’s the time of year when parents of school-aged children are doing the happy dance!


Oh, I know the happy dance- I’m doing the happy dance myself! I might be the teacher, but I am also a mom. The happy dance comes at the end of a long, fun-filled summer- a summer filled with wet bathing suits, mildewed beach towels, empty wallets, fresh cut grass tracked across your hard wood floors, endless sleepovers, pool dates, golf dates, play dates and movie dates.

Parents are quite ready for school to start and frankly, so are most of the teachers. (Come on teachers, you know we are….) We have a pretty good idea what you are thinking at the end of the summer, but here’s a glimpse into what we are thinking.

Come the middle of August, my batteries are re-charged, and I am thinking ahead to the coming year. What kind of group will I get? Will anyone cry on the first day? Will I cry on the first day? Will they hit each other? Can they write their names, stand in a line, raise their hands, speak English, listen when I’m talking, and more importantly, find the bathroom in time? These are just a few of the questions that are beginning to creep into my brain.

As I brush these questions aside, I begin to think about what a teacher’s goals are for the year. Our most important goal is to help children love school. We want them to wake up in the morning excited about the coming day, and at the end of the day we want them to want to come back! (And it would be nice if we looked forward to coming back, too.) We want them to learn to be kind to their classmates, their teachers and their friends. We want them to not be afraid to try something new, and to not be discouraged if they fail. To that end, I try to make at least two or three mistakes a day, just to be a good role model for them. We want them to be curious about their world, be inquisitive, and be open to new ideas. We want them to take turns, to share, to play fair and we want them to want to learn.


On a more personal note, there are certain goals I have for myself. This year, I would like to make it to school in the actual car I purchased for myself, and not the beat up ’89 Honda Accord we got for our 17-year-old daughter. (Okay, it was free.) I would like to make it to school without spilling my coffee all over the floor of said Honda, or my clothing. (Psst…always wear something brown or black.) It would be nice to make it through the day without getting called to the principal’s office for a completely honest mistake. I will try to not take my students early to art or music, or pick them up late. I don’t know why, but the special teachers tend to frown upon that. In addition, I want to be sure to clean up all the glitter, play dough, paint splatters and permanent marker before the janitor shows up. (It would be nice to have him in my corner this year.) These are just a few of my “new year’s resolutions.” I’ll keep you posted.

Technically, there are certain things we as teachers are paid to do. You know, teach the kids to read, add numbers, write their name, define photosynthesis, do calculus, write a book report, speak another language, stand in line without pinching their neighbors, and other good stuff - all that mandatory. (Well, most of it) But as many of you know, we all perform some added duties that are incidental to our job. There are many little bonuses that your tax dollars are paying for. Here’s a peek into what we do in between the “good stuff.”

As soon as the children come into the room in the morning, we hit the ground running. We collect permission slips, lunch money, tissues, notes for the teachers, box tops for education (keep ‘em coming), excuses about missing items, stories about the night before, (sometimes a little TOO much information about stories from the night before.) news of the tooth fairy, who has a loose tooth, and the lo-down on birthday parties. This all occurs in the first five minutes, and typically all at once. If you can’t listen and respond to 7 or 8 kids at once, just throw in the towel right now. As the day progresses, we will bandage the cut, console the broken heart, hug the weepy, discipline the unruly and counsel the angry. We will try very hard to fill their every moment with a love for learning, while trying to raise their self-esteem, teach them good sportsmanship, fair play and instill a sense of pride.

All the while we remember that each of these children in our care is very special to someone. They are someone’s grandchild, niece, nephew, son or daughter. They are unique, they are fragile, and they are loved. They are loved not only by their family, but each and every day by their teacher.




(This was one of my first columns, and I am thrilled that I am still able to write for the local paper. Yeah. I'm moonlighting. Oh, and don't forget to enter the scooter contest. But don't tell Sara Henry I'm reminding you.)

8/3/11

Oh my GOODNESS, I can't decide who I love more.

Oh sure, you KNOW I love Taylor Mali...






And Jon??? YOu kick @$$!!!




But frankly today, Mr. Damon and his mom have become my new heros. Matt has won the DAY.







Well done, mama Damon. Well DONE.






8/2/11

Bring a bag, cause they ALL throw candy. (Even at old ladies.)



I’m a creature of habit.


I’m not sure how this strange event occurred.


I haven’t always been that way. I drove across the country when I was 21 with TWO people I barely knew for God’s sake. We left Ocean City, Maryland after a summer of working and playing hard, ready for an adventure. We stopped at every watering hole, town and city from here to Hollywood- and it took us over TWO WEEKS.

I’m also the person who, after landing in San Diego, was convinced to attend the “all-call” for Playboy Bunny wannabes at the new San Diego club. I stood for twelve hours in high heels and a crazy bathing suit, along with a gazillion other GORGEOUS people, and had a blast.


I sailed in boats to Catalina Isle, Mexico, and dove off of the top of yachts while moored at Yacht clubs. I became a private investigator and tracked down people committing insurance fraud and evading subpoenas.


And now I sit home each night wrapped in the comfort of my home, my pets and my children. I have my nightie on by 8:00, and enjoy watering plants in the garden and screaming at my dog when he runs up the road.


I’ve decided, after taking responsibility for my own life, that I need to live each day. I need to be present, and say, “yes” to any invitation that might come my way. Frankly, I need LIVE LIFE and experience more things - things that are right in my backyard!


And last night, I did.


I have a lovely friend – who I’ve known since 6th grade - SIXTH GRADE for God’s sake. She’s a beautiful woman- inside AND out. She tells it like it is, listens intently, has experienced her own struggles, offers great advice and reminds me of what friends do; they listen, they don’t judge, they hand you a glass of wine and they help you laugh like crazy.


She emailed me yesterday and invited me to make the forty-minute drive to my hometown to watch the annual County Fair Parade with her. Sassy encouraged me. (GO GO GO, Mom!!!)


And so it was that two giggling fifty-year old women sat along a curb and watched as American tradition marched by.




We were drenched in sweat and memories as we saw well-worn fire trucks and marching bands filled with young people in uniforms that were too large and bulky for their youthful frames. We watched young girls twirl batons with all their hearts, and moms trailing along side spraying water into their excited faces. We saw white patent leather boots by the hundreds, vendors selling various light-up contraptions and parents opening their wallets.


We saw Shriners on their four-wheelers, and little league teams riding atop flatbeds waving to their neighbors and friends. We saw dance teams, drill teams, football teams and softball teams.


But in the end, I saw something more.



I saw and felt the spirit and soul of small town America. It was MY small town America, and it made me proud.




(And Elaine? Thank you for kicking this fifty year olds’ butt, and reminding me that each day is important. But this time it’s your turn to make the drive. )