I Need a Pause Button

My Spring Break is coming to a close and I am not sure how I feel.  One part of me wishes I had done more, accomplished something substantial, completed a project -- anything I could point to and say, "That's what I did with my time." Another part of me longs for even more time to do very little, to sit and watch silly sitcoms with my boys, hear their wild stories, watch them dance their goofy dances.  And there is even another part (albeit, a very small part) that wants to be back at school because it uses parts of my brain that get mushy even after only a few days off.


When Spring Break started I thought that as a teacher I am lucky because I get to feel that excitement of Spring Break nearing, that anticipation of a week of frivolity.  Most people leave the joys of Spring Break behind as they enter the world of adulthood.  But tonight I don't feel so much lucky as I do conflicted.  It is always near the ends of these breaks when I have these fantasies of taking my family off to some remote small town in the middle America, spending our days working a farm, taking long bike rides and preparing impromptu picnics while our nights are filled with reading aloud to one another from great books and maybe singing together while one of us plays an acoustic guitar.

And then I remind myself that true happiness comes from finding satisfaction not only in the pursuit of dreams, but also in the delights of the present moment -- my four year old's head on my knee, an extra hour of sleep in the morning, nowhere to be tomorrow.

Joy is a Hockey Game

Joy that comes from another's happiness has got to be the sweetest joy there is. My middle son just got back from a minor league hockey game. He was invited by a friend from church. He had such a great time and to his six-year-old self, this probably ranks up there with Disneyland. We only had a few minutes before he had to get to bed (time change tonight, church tomorrow) but in those few minutes his delight became mine. I realized I was smiling so hard I strained my eyes.

My little guy is already lost in dreams, but I think I'll be smiling for quite a while.

Tell Me What You Want

My husband and I have been married for almost 12 years.  We are starting to figure each other out.  Just now.  Recently, we had a very long, emotional "discussion" at 1:00 in the morning -- when most of our relationship breakthroughs occur.  I will spare you the details and simply say that in the end, I realized that if I want my husband to be the husband I need, I need to tell him what that means.  This is not to say that he has never been the husband I need.  In fact, with as little direction as I have given, he has done an amazing job of figuring it out.  But ultimately, he can only do so much when it comes to reading my mind, and even more difficult, my heart.

As hard as it was, though, for me to tell him exactly what I need from him in our relationship, the impact it has had on us has been tremendous.  Now, for some, being as direct with someone about what you want or need is not a challenge.  I have always struggled with it, though, because I feared hurting him.  I worried that sharing what I needed would make him feel judged or betrayed.  What I had to realize was that what I saw as protecting him was actually keeping him from growing.  It was like giving a plant water and food, but hiding it from the sun.  When we do not tell people what we want, we diminish their capacity to meet those expectations.

With my parenting, I have had far less trouble with this.  In fact, I work quite hard at not just telling my children what I need them to do, but modeling for them the appropriate responses and requiring them to practice.  For example, if one of the boys demands, "Get me some milk!" I do not say, "Please ask more nicely next time," have them agree and then proceed to get the milk.  Instead, I try to say, "That was not a nice way to ask for milk.  Instead, you should say, 'Mom, could you get me more milk, please?' Now, let me hear you say that." This does not always translate into perfect behavior (what an understatement!) but I am confident that the boys are  clear about my expectations and because of that, the likelihood of them responding and interacting in appropriate ways is increased.

In the classroom, I have been somewhere between these two ends of the spectrum.  I believe my students always sense the expectations that I have for them, but I do not think I have been as conscientious as I need to be in this area.  Over the summer, I read a number of books by Dr. Marzano.  While much of what I read matched up neatly with my philosophies and practices, I realized that in terms of clarity and focus in terms of what I need my students to learn, I had some growing to do.  Not only do I think my students in the past have been fuzzy about exactly what they were expected to know, I was fuzzy, too.  I had a sense of what I wanted them to be able to do, but truly showing them how to get there was a leap I wanted them to make without the kind of direct instruction they needed to do so. 

Recently, we have been working with the concept of archetypes and their influence on literature.  Giving students a list of common archetypes is useful and all, but the skill I expect is that they can analyze the influence archetypal characters, images, and motifs have on a work of literature.  That step, from recognition to analysis, is one I have asked my students to make in the past without ever actually showing them how.  Honestly, the process is so natural for me, I had to slow down, and really think about what I do to move from one to the other.  This sharpened my ability to transfer this knowledge to my students and, in the end, resulted in their success.

Telling the people in our lives what we want or what we need is not selfish or hurtful if we are doing so to help them grow and if we do so with a heart and spirit of kindness, encouragement and love.  I believe this is happening with my children, with my students and with my husband (You can read his blog about our recent date to hear more!). Success is sunshine to their flowering confidence.  And if it makes me happier, too -- even better!


 

Blue Plate Moments

N. gave me the blue plate right after college.  We each had our little apartments and not nearly enough of what we needed to make a home.  Tight budgets and even tighter spaces meant we got by on very little.  When I opened my birthday gift that year and inside was the blue plate, I did think for just a moment that it was an odd present.  A plate?  Not a set of plates, but one single blue plate with a large yellow sunflower right in the center. "I saw it and it reminded me of you," she said, which is my very favorite thing to hear when I open a gift. It made me smile and it still does.

Fifteen years later, I have moved four times, married my best friend, had three children, taught more than a thousand teenagers at two different schools, and I still have my blue sunflower plate.  I am the only one in my family who eats from it.  I never decreed this or announced it as a household rule -- in fact, I don't think I have ever mentioned it at all -- but if the blue plate is clean, I am the one who uses it. My food always looks more delicious and mealtimes have a bit more joy on the nights I use my plate, much needed when I share the dinner table with boys who sometimes behave more like monkeys than children.  It may seem silly or inconsequential, but my blue plate makes me happy. It is my little reward at the end of the day, a dollop of evening sunshine.

Sunshine is certainly something we need!  It seems each day becomes crowded with bad news, gloomy forecasts and  plans gone awry.  At school, budget woes cause worries and we wonder what else can be cut.  In class, students may be unprepared, disengaged or defiant.  At home, tempers flare, toilets break, tantrums erupt.  If we let ourselves, we can be completely filled up with what is wrong.

Instead,  I try to seek out what is right.  A freshman smiling after reading his Cisneros-inspired vignette to the class.  A senior sharing news of her college acceptance, her voice giddy with pride and anticipation.  My almost three-year old asking me to marry him and my husband taking my hand in his while we sigh from exhaustion on the couch. Right now, the quiet that allows me to hear these words in my head and the Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Sorbet waiting for me in the freezer.

I  look for the blue-plate moments.  More often than not, they are sitting right there, just waiting for me to notice them.