New Year's Everything

Today is New Year's Eve.  It has never been my favorite day of the year - too much pressure.  Too many expectations for an epic experience.  Too much letdown.  A few years ago, I got smart and quit putting all of that expectation out there and I've been happier for it.  Tonight I will see some wonderful friends and drink some delicious wine.  I will probably eat too many snacks and I will go to bed a little later than normal.  The whole time I will miss Matt.

Maybe the reason New Year's Eve is a bummer is because of the usual holiday high.  Or the holiday crash afterward.  The season is almost over and I have to say I'm feeling relieved which is not like me.  Enduring was harder than I thought it would be, but I'm not sure why.  I went into the season thinking it wouldn't be that difficult since every day is already a gauntlet anyway.  How could it be harder than that?  It was.  To explain is also difficult.

My friends and family were nothing short of amazing to us during this season.  The support and the rallying of Christmas cheer have gotten me through when I didn't think I could participate anymore.  Matt and I were overwhelmed with love and good wishes on and near our wedding day.  We talked about it - man, are we lucky.  Then when we had Daphne, we were overwhelmed and surprised all over again.  Those two experiences pale in comparison to the support Daphne and I feel from all around us - even from unexpected, dusty and far away places.  Thank you, universe, for the gift of friendship.  Make sure everyone has a little bit even if they don't have as much as I've been lucky to have.

Despite all of this, I never before have I felt so alone in a crowd.  Lost is more like it.  Like I'm missing a limb, or forgot something essential.  It's the uneasy, the anger, the sad, the future, the bone-weary that I'm having a hard time with now.  They say there are many stages of grief and that they are recursive instead of linear.  How about simultaneous?  The only one I haven't reached for even one second is acceptance.  I'm guessing that any book or therapist would probably tell me that one day I will reach it, but right now I can't see it.  Maybe I don't want to because I'm right in the middle of "anger" and "bargaining"  or all the stages at once.  So I'm stuck where I'm at - feeling everything and nothing and trying to keep it all together.  I had a thought once or twice near Christmas that it was difficult to be around so many people because crying isn't always so accepted.  How long is that phase going to last?  The bruised peach phase...  Anything can set me off and everything reminds me of him.  Every song, every place, every road, every color, every meal.   I want to talk about him all the time, but I can't bring myself to say anything about him at all.  Keeping that in is going to make me burst.

I am still sleeping at the foot of the bed.  I do not use our down comforter, but another blanket instead.  The light from our master bathroom stays on every night.  I have not touched one item from his side of our double-vanity sink.  His side of the closet is still full.  His referee shirt still hangs in our laundry room.  For over a month, I left the small pile of clothes and hats he left in the living room exactly where he left them.  After I picked them up, I spent a blurry half hour just standing in the living room trying to breathe through panicked tears.  Now they are with his other closet things and the living room no longer looks lived in by him.  I am incredulous that life and time can just move on without him.  And now a new year.

Because I am stuck, because it is another holiday that I have to endure without him, I have decided that my New Year's resolution is just to be okay.  Not great, but alright.  I resolve to be okay in 2014.

• I will try to be okay with the unknown, because that sometimes feels like all I have in my future. 
• I will try to be okay with my lack of control, but control the things I can like caring for Daphne.
• I will try to be okay with the passage of time even though the more time moves, the farther away from him I feel. 
• I will try to be okay with asking for help when I need it.  
• I will try to be okay with not being okay.
• I will try to be okay with missing him and knowing that there is no end point or relief from that feeling. 
• I will try to be okay with finding my own peace and not getting it from outside sources. 

Two Months

Two months.  Multiply that by six and I'll make it to a year.  Just one year... It may take a lifetime to make it through just this one.  I catch myself thinking that if I can make it a year with this this anxious, sad, rage rattling around in my body, I'll be free.  I'll level up in some way.  Maybe I won't have to focus on evening out my breath while I drive us home for the night.

For now, I'm just watching the world fly around me while I am safe inside a bubble of my own reality.  Am I camouflaged enough to participate in that world?  Am I acting normal?  I'm sure people see right through me, which makes me uncomfortable.  I'm not good at being vulnerable - at least not around most people.  I know there was probably a time when I was still trying to impress him, but I can't remember it.  I can't remember a time when feeling vulnerable around Matt made me squirm - he was  never a threat to my ego or my heart.  Just safe.

Daphne started to self-potty train last week.  Matt would have been so wonderful at talking with her about this.  While he would have found her hilarious as she squirmed on the toilet, he would have made her feel comfortable and relaxed.  I didn't even know she knew what it meant to really go on the potty.  Well, she does.  She asked to go.  And she did.  And Matt missed it.  He's going to miss everything.

I guess I could go on being nice to myself about it and tell myself that he can see her and that he's always with her, but I feel like it will start to hurt less if I just yell at myself.  He's gone!  He can't ever know that she is putting together three word sentences or asking to poop on the potty.  He won't know that she screamed, screamed, screamed when I took her to see Santa.  Or that she doesn't really like to put things in the trash can like she did before.  Or that she likes to check for packages at the front door.  I have to navigate her new toddler tantrums by myself and he won't get to see her in her Christmas dress.  I will decide where she will go to pre-school next year and what to do about this whole potty training thing.  He will never hear her say, "Daddy?  Love him.  Miss him" to his picture in the living room.

So instead, I make myself listen to ugly, pain-filled words inside my head like widow.  Single mom.  Late husband.  I now know what "words cutting like a knife" feels like.  I had to tell my new dentist last week.  He was a nice man, but he referenced my husband in a way I couldn't avoid.  I was traumatized for the rest of the afternoon by my having to tell him that he was gone.  Telling people is hard.  I think it's because most of the people I now tell are people who don't really know me.  So when they act sad or gentle with me, it sends me into a tailspin.  I'm not sure why kindness when I need it makes me cry, but I've been like that my whole life.  Right now anything makes me cry - especially the overeager dental assistant who acts horrified that my daughter is only 18 months old and  tells me that "crying heals the soul."  Saying ugly, horrifying words in my head won't help my situation, but maybe I'll stop being as shocked as the person sitting across from me when they come out of my mouth.

Today I am thankful for a routine.  Going to work helps me take an emotional break so I can focus on healing and peace and Daphne when I come home.  I am thankful for my coworkers who do incredibly thoughtful things for me and who act normal even when that is difficult, so that I can, too.

First Thanksgiving

Yesterday was the anniversary of the day Matt and I met.  We also called it our dating anniversary which we celebrated every year with Christmas decorating, pajamas, hot chocolate and cheesy Christmas music.  I asked some friends to be with me this year, so I wouldn't sit and cry all night. They came bearing the most wonderful ornament crafting materials in case I couldn't bear to hang our sentimental family ornaments.  There was a lot of glitter and paint and laughing - they are really wonderful friends.  I opened and shared the bottle of wine I bought the week I met Matt - we had been saving it for a special occasion which seems like a waste now.  It was a DaVinci Chianti that I purchased at a wine tasting with a friend.  I think he would have really liked it.

I am realizing that he is everywhere, and that I cannot escape the world he and I built around ourselves even if I want a break for one second.  Thanksgiving and this time of year are worse than I thought.  I've been thinking a lot about our usual holiday events and I realized that I can count on one hand the amount of Thanksgivings I was able to spend wih him.  How is that it? 

2007- I met Matt (through email) during the week of Thanksgiving. We exchanged a few emails over my break from school - emails I received on a laptop in my parents' living room, all the while concealing any reaction or commentary. He was my exciting secret. I remember him telling me in one of those emails that he spent one of his holiday break evenings watching football with a friend in Kentucky, but I really knew nothing about him at that point.  That's a strange idea - to go back to a time when I didn't know his Matt-ness.  We used to say that it felt like we had known each other our entire lives even though we had memories that were obviously of times before we met.  We would say we couldn't believe the number of years we had known each other was so small since it felt like we'd known each other forever.  Now those conversations are haunting me.

So he was at a bar or restaurant watching football while I was in a living room in Saint Peters, watching movies with my family. I didn't see him, but he told me he wore Mizzou gear from head to toe just to get a rise out of the locals. I remember the dress I wore to Thanksgiving dinner because it still hangs in my closet as something I'd love to fit into again one day.  After about a week and a few long phone calls, we met in person.

2008- Our second Thanksgiving almost didn't happen- not with family.  After his 3-week stay in the ICU for his flare-up of Hemilitic Anemia, ITP and an emergency splenectomy, he was released from the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. We made it to visit family in Saint Peters, but returned to home for the rest of the weekend so he could rest.  We decorated our duplex for Christmas on Saturday (our one-year anniversary), but took an overnight trip to the emergency room because he was having a gall bladder attack that felt like a heart attack. A month later on Christmas Day, he was admitted to the hospital again. Secondary infection from the splenectomy.  I gave him the board game of Mancala and a pair of black Chuck Taylor's.  

2009- The third thanksgiving was the first time we saw his family after our engagement on September 29th. It was fairly normal. We saw both sides if the family and ate way too much. I made his mom's recipe for Miracle Pie.

2010-  First major holiday as a married couple.  I wore orange. Matt wore a grey hat, purchased because he saw the style in New Orleans on our honeymoon.  It made his eyes sparkle - most hats did that for him.  Over the break he tried duck hunting with my family for the first time. He shot for fun once, but didn't hit a bird. He looked ridiculous in camo hip waders, four shirts and giant gloves with hand-warmers stuffed inside.

2011- This was the first big holiday after Matt's mom passed away.  He was sad that she had to miss the big family announcement we brought with us.  To each family gathering we went to, we handed out our Christmas card - a picture of two adult pairs of Chuck Taylor's and one tiny pair in the middle.  May 28th, 2012.  It was an exciting and exhausting couple of days.  I was 14 weeks pregnant and Matt could not contain his excitement.  This year, Matt's side of the family came to Columbia to celebrate.  I made a ridiculous and huge meal.  

2012- Daphne's first Thanksgiving. We had a bib that said, "Grandma's Little Gobbler."  She had some teeth, but she had not started eating solids yet.  We took a family picture - our only Thanksgiving picture - on the steps of my Grandma's house not knowing that by one year later she would have sold it and would be living in her new condo. 

2013- Our first Thanksgiving without him.  There are too many yet to come. There are not enough years in the list above. 

Relative Bravery

People keep telling me I'm brave. I'm really not sure why as I've never before felt so phony. That person who gets to go to work or who spends time with friends and family is a totally different person than the sad version of her who goes home at night. I think that this is part of it, but every once in a while I can't stop fixating. Not only am I sad, my insides are a child mid-tantrum, kicking and stomping. I think sad and terrible thoughts.

How could people who were so happy to be together deserve this kind of punishment when horrible people who are horrible to each other get to go on? My brain is pretty good at telling me that's not how it works. I know it's not really punishment, but it feels like it is. I sometimes think about how, if it had to happen, it should have been someone else's husband who died suddenly - someone who was cheating or lying or abusive. It should have been someone older who had already lived a full life or who didn't have a kid who needs him, needs him, needs him. Someone who didn't have a plan to have more children. Someone who was not mine...

I'm not proud. And by the time I've had all these terrible thoughts, I have to remind myself all over again that this is real.

What I wouldn't give to hear the garage door open because someone is coming home.

I've started writing in a journal recently. At the end of each day, I try to think about someone or something good to be thankful for that day. I can use all the reminders of good I can get. 

Today I am thankful for friends and family who continue to check on me with visits, food, texts and cards in the mail even though I seldom answer and try to act normal when I'm in person. I don't care if I'm fooling anyone because I think it helps me. I'm flexing some emotional muscle that I hope to strengthen enough to make it real. So thanks for continuing to be gentle and check on me. Makes me feel like I'm not crazy to be floundering the way I am.

So Many More Than 30

As I sift through my shattered life, I am also trying to gear myself up for the holidays.  Today, I remembered my Thanksgiving gift to Matt last year - the email copied below.  Now it seems superficial and small and way too short.  I am not okay, and I fear I will never be, but maybe remembering these small things will help.  More importantly, I hope these memories help me answer Daphne's questions in the future.

From: Carolyn
Date: November 22, 2012, 9:03:21 AM CST
To: Matt
Subject: Reasons I am thankful for you

Reasons I am thankful for you:

1:  You love me despite my dervish (his nickname for my cooking messes)

2:  You are so in love with Daphne 

3:  Our lazy Sunday afternoons at home 

4:  You work so hard to stay healthy and have overcome so much 

5:  You share the load of dishes and diaper laundry 

6:  You listen to love songs, think of me, and share the song with me 

7:  You are supportive of my career and where it might take me 

8:  You want to provide for our family even if that means changing jobs 

9:  You pursue your own hobbies and are really good at them 

10:  You love my family and go hang on the island (to hunt deer) even though it's not your thing 

11 :  Watching tv is more fun with you because you laugh freely and it is contagious 

12:  You take care of me and make sure I have what I need  

13:  You kiss me very time you get home and every time we part 

14:  You appreciate good food 

15:  You snuggle me before we sleep 

16:  You call Daphne "sleepy beepy" when she is tired or asleep

17:  You like my skinny jeans 

18:  You are so gosh darn handsome 

19:  You are smarter than you give yourself credit for 

20: You tell me everything 

21:  You are so slow, but you are trying to be more on time :-) 

22:  You clean up my water glasses 

23:  You are good at long-distance driving 

24:  You are really good at job interviews 

25:  You use grammar when you text 

26:  You tell me you love me every time we part in person or on the phone 

27:  You gave our daughter your deep blue eyes and long lashes 

28:  You read to me before bed 

29:  Daphne lights up when she sees you 

30:  You make me feel important and needed and loved.   

I love you Matt Foster. And I'm thankful for you every minute of every day.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Mighty Words

I really like words.  I think I've mentioned that here before.  Reading is one of my loves.  I value a precisely chosen word over a paragraph of filler description any day.  Some of my greatest jokes and zingers are mere syllables long.  Words are important.  Mighty.  Difficult to take back.

We can't be afraid to wield them, but we need to be careful with their weighty power.  

Today I overheard a conversation at a coffee shop that bothered me.  It boiled down to a parent speaking to a child in an ugly, careless way.  Two months ago, I saw a parent tell his son who was less than two years old to stop crying and shut up when we were visiting the zoo.  Calling his delivery gruff is an understatement.  These kinds of fleeting moments make me cringe and they haunt me for many months after.  My imagination gets the best of me and I think of all the other things they might say behind closed doors, of what their kids are learning about themselves and about the world and about how we talk to one another. 

Since before Daphne was born I have been especially aware of ugly talk.  I've heard teenagers tell their parents to shut up.  I've heard my students use terms "gay" and "retarded" in the most hurtful of ways.  I've heard young ones repeat words that make movies earn a rating of "R."  One of my unspoken rules as a classroom teacher was that we had to speak with respect and believe me, my students offered me plenty of teaching moments on the subject.  And it wasn't until I was a teacher and I heard my students using words they didn't understand that I understood why I was never allowed to say "this sucks" or "shut up" or "crap" at my house as a kid.  Thank goodness my parents had some sense.

An unsavory word from a little mouth is ugliness magnified and a symptom of something much larger than letting that word slip out at the wrong time.  

Now that Daphne is a toddler, I feel like I live under a microscope.  She watches and listens to everything with a curiosity that is unwavering.   Yesterday, we realized she was using sign language for "more."  We've never taught her this, but learned that another toddler at daycare has parents who are teaching him to sign.  Our daycare provider tells us she has never taught the sign to Daphne, but that she learned by observation and knows exactly what it means.  The first time we brushed her teeth, I told her what we were going to do before we did it.  She mimicked the noise I make when I read  the page about brushing teeth in "Little Pookie Goes Night Night."  We hadn't read that book once in the week prior to her making that connection.  Almost every day she says a word I didn't know she knew.  She says "yes" when she wants something.  She says thank you or "ank ooo"  when she receives it.  "Out" and "up" are differentiated.  She even tells me "poop" after I hear her grunting from across the room.  This girl knows language and she understands that it is her greatest tool.  Watching her grow is my only experience with a language learner, so I assume this age of 14 months turns most kids into super absorbent language sponges.  I am completely fascinated.  

Since she seems to understand so much, I am careful about what she hears coming from me when I can control it.  She can tell me "dadda dadda dadda" is home before he even walks in the door because she heard the garage door and she points out birds that I would never notice because I tune their tweeting out.  Obviously I'm not perfect and have probably had conversations I shouldn't in front of her.  I bet they were about bills or the schedule conflicts or car repairs - not always relaxing conversations.  But when I can, I work on making sure most of my instructions are positive.  Instead of saying  "no" all the time, I've been saying what should be happening.  There are plenty of opportunities for practice with a toddler around.

During a slight tantrum because she wants to stand on the arm of the couch, instead of saying no, I might say, "Couches are for sitting"  or "We need to be safe on the couches. Please sit down."  Sometimes this is really hard.  And, of course, when something dangerous happens really quickly and I need to get her attention or stop her in her tracks, I break out the "No!"  

I want to tell her so many things, and sometimes I just talk and talk and talk.  I know she doesn't understand every word I'm saying, but she will soon.  She sometimes stares at me blankly when I tell her that I think it's pretty silly that driver next to us is looking at her phone.  I'm sure she doesn't really know much about which shirt matches my cardigan, but I still tell her all about it.  And I know she really likes to hear about my grocery shopping list.  

Last year, when a frustrated student told her classmate to shut up, I asked her to find another way to tell him what she needed.  She already knew my rule about not using that term and she complied.  At the end of class, she asked me what I said to my husband when we were arguing and I didn't want to listen anymore - as if she understood that English class was not right time, but that during a fight it might be okay.  I explained that we like to try and communicate without hurting each other's feelings and that we had never, ever told one another to shut up.  Ever. She was astonished.  I don't think anyone in her life had ever expressed an opinion about their choice of words the way I had that day.  By golly, Daphne might be sick of hearing it when she is 16, but she will have had these conversations with me. 

Anyway, I'm just thinking a lot about talk lately.  Talk, talk, talk.  We do a lot of it and it is easy to do carelessly, but I'm making it my goal to teach my babe that words can hurt, heal, create change, unify and divide.  

Freshman Media Specialist

Notes written after my first day on the new job:

"I’ve worked my first day as the sole media specialist for summer school!  On my list of tasks accomplished?  I helped a teacher add her school email account to her iphone, I checked out some laptops to teachers for their students to use, processed about 100 hdmi cords and added them to our collection, checked out a number of books to students (mostly Manga or anime for today’s crowd), helped supervise a computer lab, consulted with a tech about a malfunctioning computer, scheduled a few laptop carts and computer labs for teachers, signed for a delivery of computer monitors, chatted with a member of the custodial staff about New Orleans since she is from Louisiana and saw my NOLA drinking glass, fielded a few reshelved a whole cart of books (again, mostly Manga and anime for this crowd) and....ate lunch.  

What a change from my job as of two short weeks ago!  I had a great, if not very quiet, first day in my new role.  I admit it is already an adjustment to be here instead of with the kids in the classroom, but I don’t think that’s a negative thing.  Will I ever get over the feeling that I’m supposed to be somewhere else?  That I’ve left a group of expectant people unattended? I would like to know the students’ names or at least something little about them, but I expect I will find news ways to build those relationships.  

I also admit to being a little nervous.  For that reason, I spent as much time as possible in the new building to make myself feel more comfortable over the last two weeks.  I wanted to soak up as much information as I could before my first day alone - I observed everything and asked as many questions as I could.  I can be a situational spy when I want to be. Plus, I am such a creature of habit that I knew I need to just be in the space for a while to acclimate.  After doing that by attending a few training sessions held in the buliding, and making a little cheat sheet for myself to use (passwords, important phone numbers, procedures, etc.) I was feeling pretty solid about my start.  

Of course the first person to come to me was a teacher asking about how to add her email to her iPhone.  Could I help her?  Yes...  Could I remember exactly how I did this on my own phone, my own iPad, my own computer at the time that she was right in front of me?  Not exactly...

So, I looked up the server on my iPad.  Step one.  We added that to her phone but the email account still wouldn’t verify.  Whaaaat?  So I thought I was pretty clever by looking up the server name I had forgotten on my own device.  Well, maybe not clever, but resourceful.   And when that didn’t work, I was afraid I would be revealed as a fraud!  An imposter!  A phony!   I was stumped just long enough to tell her I’d work it out and email her the solution.  And don’t you know it, about three minutes after she left I figured it out.  It was a silly mistake that equated to not having the right box clicked.  

I don’t think I seemed overly flustered when this very nice teacher was with me, but I annoy myself when I let the fact that I have an audience knock me off my game.  Something to work on while I learn the ropes, I guess.  Goals are good to have, and mine are basic.  Survive with some grace leftover at the end of the day.  Luckily, my partner in the media center is a confident and knowledgeable woman who has been working in this role for over a year.  So while I get it together, she will be able to fill in my holes.  I only hope I can help her the same way soon.  

What do I have to prepare for tomorrow?  Nothing.  Sure, there are some things that we need to accomplish before the beginning of the school year.  Tutorials to plan, iPads to distribute, instructions, support materials, procedures, best practice lists, mission and vision statements as well as Media Center expectations, etc.   But for tomorrow, I just need to come in and continue to help students and teachers as needed while I knock out my to do list in between.   No lesson to plan and no known challenges or schedule ahead of me.  I think I like this deal-with-whatever-comes-at-me part of the job.   And the school bells -  really, they mean nothing to me since I don’t have to live by their decree the way a teacher does.  What a freedom, a luxury in the world of education.  As for my classroom?  I just keep telling myself that I no longer have one in the traditional sense.  I have a beautiful Media Center full of gorgeous windows, 9,000 brand new books and plenty of couches and tables for working, reading, lingering, meeting.  I no longer have one classroom full of kids who need me.  Even though they may not need me often or for extended periods of time, I have a whole building of students and a whole faculty of teachers and administration to serve.  I’m excited for day two!"

Best Practice?

I don’t usually write a lot about my work, but today I must.

Best practice. What does that mean anyway? And when someone asks you if what you’ve done or what you are doing is best practice, what are they really saying? Are there unspoken implications behind that question? Or has curiosity simply taken over?

We use this term a lot in the education world. We are always working toward and sharing best practices. We go to professional development sessions about them and we analyze and share them with our colleagues in professional learning team meetings. It’s kind of what we do. Best practice.

The problem lies when there are different philosophies about what is best. Who gets to decide on best vs. all the rest? What if you really believe you are doing what is best, but the climate is changing or trending in a direction you cannot support? Best practice is also one of those terms that starts to lose all meaning after you say it so many times for so many years. A quick online search will produce many answers, but I think this one from TechTarget.com is fairly sound:

“A best practice is a technique or methodology that, through experience and research, has proven to reliably lead to a desired result. A commitment to using the best practices in any field is a commitment to using all the knowledge and technology at one's disposal to ensure success. The term is used frequently in the fields of health care, government administration, the education system, project management, hardware and software product development, and elsewhere.”

So if I’m using best practice at my job as a high school English teacher, I am committed to using all of my resources to ensure student success. Well, then we must define success and how it is measured. The idea that success is measured by one answer, one score, one performance, one assessment is antiquated. Really, success is layered and individual. It is also dependent on the situation. Are we talking about success in my class? On an assignment? As a whole person?

I like to think we are working with the whole student and not just the piece that pertains to our subject area. Instead of teaching Language Arts, I am raising Language Arts learners. So is my end goal that every student get one hundred percent of my work correct? Not necessarily. The goal should be to teach skills – language arts skills like comprehending what we are reading, writing with supportive evidence, thinking critically about a source. I believe in giving students second, third, fourth chances when they are learning. Who among us has learned everything and done everything perfectly the first time? Would I expect a student do to that? No. If I did, I wouldn’t be teaching them one of the most important lessons – to reflect and change and grow when it is necessary.

I have crafted an entire course on this idea in the past seven and half years. In the beginning it was difficult. I struggled to figure out what I believed was best for students. Through collaboration and practice, I got better. I figured out my teaching philosophy. When I did, I was confident – a completely different teacher. And even though the way I ran my class was controversial and not accepted by all of my colleagues, I stood by it and the way I was trying to teach kids the value of knowledge over points. Years later, not only is it accepted, it seems to be the way to making sure all students achieve at my school. I believed my class was one small step toward a new style of assessment, that it was respected and that my superiors were supportive. I still believe that.

But recently I was asked a question that really bothered me. A series of events led one of my superiors to ask me through an email if I thought I was using best practice in a situation she knew almost nothing about.

The answer inside my head:

“Of course! You have no idea what is really going on in this situation. What about my history and reputation make you think that I would do anything but strive for best practice in regard to my students and their learning? How insulting can you be about all I’ve worked for during my time here?! How many teachers in this building give students a complete list of learning targets at the beginning of every unit - learning targets that are printed on EVERY single class activity or assessment to which they are linked? Do all of your teachers use backward planning so they know how every skill and lesson will be assessed before they teach it? Does every single person on our faculty try to find a way to make every day, every lesson relevant by consistently bringing in contemporary connections? Do all of your teachers allow for and require students to revise and relearn instead of moving on to the next skill no matter what? And for this particular unit you are asking about: Do all of your teachers have an average of 98% of all research papers turned in over the last five years? I do.”

My actual answer was not forceful or rude. It was not arrogant. It did not poke the bear. This question was in an email, so I replied by thanking her for the “feedback.” I know most of my colleagues strive for best practice every day. I would never say I have all the answers or that I am the best teacher. We all have our days of greatness and days that humble us. There is a great amount of reflection as well as pride in our work so we are flexible. When reflection reveals a weakness, we change to make it better. We are proud enough that we want to do it right, flexible enough to change when it is required. It’s when an outside force makes me feel like my options are to change to a philosophy or best practice I don’t believe in, or be left standing alone that I am uncomfortable.

Lately I’ve been sad to see this school year end, but I feel that sadness lifting. That seems like a positive thing, losing sadness, but when I realize that I’m happy for the year to end, I’m sad about the reasons I’m happy to go. That sends my mind reeling about how much we all define ourselves by professional successes and failures, and how many times I’ve recently said I’m looking for balance in my life. The subject of balance sounds like a completely different post. The short version? I need it. We all do. There are 32 weekdays before finals. I guess I have that long to figure it out.

Flashback Surgery

Matt is in surgery right now.  As I write, he is on the table and they are repairing an abdominal hernia that developed after his splenectomy.  That was just over four years ago - hard to believe.  It feels so far away but close, details are blurry and painfully vivid, all at once.

On November 2nd, 2009, I went to work leaving a tired Matt in bed to sleep a little longer.  At some point that day, he called to tell me he had taken a sick day and would go into the doctor. After school he called to tell me he needed a ride home, but when I got to the office I was told to take him straight to the hospital.  They told me before they let me see him.  He was bright yellow.  It was exactly one month shy of our one-year dating anniversary.  

Looking back, we were a fairly new couple in the eyes of the outside world.  It was a done deal for us and we unofficially decided we'd marry in that ICU room.  After I witnessed some sort of embarrassing procedure Matt said, "I guess you have to marry me now."  I told him I had already planned on it.  Weeks later, when my mom and sister came to visit us in the hospital, Mom confessed she thought we might have gotten married in the chapel.

By the next night, he was transferred to the ICU.  It was presidential Election Day and we had been watching coverage of the polls in his hospital room when his vitals dropped too low and we were shuffled upstairs.  The ICU is like a prison with smiling wardens.  You buzz in with the patient's legal name.  Who is James, anyway?  The efficiency is alarming - too efficient, too planned for the worst.  And somehow everything is a secret.  Staffers know the secrets of procedure and you aren't made privy until it's the right time.

I walked into the ICU with a small cactus, a plastic bag of Matt's personal belongings and a card with a now inppropriate joke - something about how I knew he was an MU fan, but highlighter yellow skin wasn't the way to show it.  Cacti aren't allowed in the ICU.  I was acutely aware and my irrational mind was worried I'd be kicked out for having that spiky plant.  I took it home later that night and it lived on our sill for two years.  I was happy when it died.

They shuffled me out into the waiting room with couches that work double time as pull out cots, a coffee and snack room , pillows with those sanitized paper pillowcases.  This is a place where people camp and wait unconcerned with physical comfort.  It was around 9:00pm as I sat in the corner, wearing my sky blue Obama rally t-shirt, hiding from the cowboy boots and trucker hats who outraged for what seemed like hours at the election coverage under the tiny television that was bolted to the ceiling.  My guy won  - that had to be a good sign, right?

During those weeks, I was kicked out of the ICU every night at 11:00pm. I went home, yelled at Griffin who had no doubt peed on the floor, fed the dogs whatever I could find (I admit to peanut butter on saltine dog dinners for more days than I'd like), and sent an email to my friend and teaching partner with the next day's lesson.  He graciously led my students through a disjointed Transcendentalism unit that year.  When I taught it again one year later, I had no memory of those lessons.  I woke as early as I could after going to bed around 2:00am and either checked in at work or just went straight to the hospital.  On the good days, I would stay and try to teach a bit.  The morning of Matt's surgery followed a good day.  His oxygen levels were good, his red blood cell count had improved, the plasmapheresis treatment had seemed successful. He told me to go to work.

Around 9:30am I called him to check in and he casually mentioned surgery, but I knew that had not been the plan the day before.  This was an unexpected twist.  I left work immediately so I could hold his swollen hand as they dumped unit after unit after unit of blood into is draining body in preparation for his emergency splenectomy.  The sudden rush of fluids made his wrist a baseball-

sized water balloon.  

A week earlier, he had called out for me when they added the direct line - the IV that went from his neck straight to the heart. That had been added to administer cytoxin, a chemotherapy drug they hoped would stop whatever was attacking his red blood cells. .  Hemolytic anemia.  Apparently his spleen was acting as a giant net, catching all of those fragmented red blood cells and he didn't have a lot of blood to get him through the surgery.  The surgeon, the newest of the secret-keepers, was quick to tell me that he might not make it and that he hoped Matt had enough blood to make it through.  He also seemed surprised that I'd be waiting alone. Everyone I knew was out of town or at work so this unplanned surgery in the middle of the day was not on the radar for anyone but me.  They gave me a pager, let me sit with him for a few minutes while the OR was prepped and they sent me packing. 

I wandered.  First to the waiting room where I found too many people. Happy, smiling, planned surgery, outpatient people in groups, making jokes, talking about People Magazine articles.  That lasted for about five minutes before the horror of my isolation grew too big. Instead of hanging out with them, I went to the bathroom and crouched in the corner of the handicap stall.  I called my mom, but I'm not sure I was making much sense. She offered to come sit with me, but I told her not to. 

I had hours to kill, and I hadn't eaten since the day before.  Through blinding tears I found my way to the cafe that used to be on the lobby level of the hospital.  I kept thinking that the people passing me must have wondered who this lost, smeary girl was,  but no one even flinched at my twisted face or choked voice.  What was this place where fear, loneliness and pain were commonplace?  I ordered a full order of fries and a bowl of ranch dressing with a Diet Coke since they didn't have Pepsi.  I ate the whole disgusting mess and felt sick for a new reason.  Somehow the waiting didn't kill me and I was paged by a doctor who brought me to a small room to tell me the surgery had been successful, but more difficult than anticipated.  Matt's spleen was the size of a football and they had to make a much bigger incision than was normal.  

At least it was done and I would get my Foster back.  This was not the end as there were follow-up surgeries, gall bladder spasms, infections, medication changes, etc.  At that moment I wasn't sure, but I hoped we had reached our peak.  

Today I wait with those  smiling, People Magazine talkers and not even in the same hospital.  This time I am not sobbing uncontrollably in the bathroom stall.  I grabbed a cup of coffee, read my book, answered a few work emails and phone calls, and am now writing this post.   There were no French fries in my diet today, although I did indulge in some locally-made trail mix that had some white chocolate pieces in it.

Still, the memories of our last time through this were enough to make me tear up when I left Matt with his surgeon in that room with the far too efficient furniture.  If the splenectomy was the peak, maybe this will be the base of that mountain. The trail that leads to the base.  Even better, maybe the parking lot at the entrance to that trail.  

Stay at Work Momma

I have a friend who came back to school yesterday after a two-month maternity leave. She is a strong and proud person and I have a feeling she’s hurting a little more than she would like to admit. No shame in that, I say. Leaving Daphne at home after our first summer together was harder than I ever thought it would be.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea lately – staying home with a babe. Daphne was sick a week or two ago and because I am salaried, I stayed with her while Matt went to work. What a tough week with a feverish baby – the worry, my cabin fever, the sad. I also work with two women who are choosing to stay home next year. One is going to open her own in-home daycare including her brand new wee one just born last week. The other is going to stay home with her son who will be here any day while she teaches online college courses. I both recoil and have to suppress the green monster of jealousy when I think about their new adventures.

Would I like to spend every day with Daphne? Yes! No!
Our first summer together was a unique time in my life for a lot of reasons. Matt and I were new parents, I’m sure my hormones were out of control, it was my first summer without a summer school gig to occupy my time and it was literally 108 degrees for much of July. Four-week old babies don’t love that sort of heat in case you didn’t know. Just getting into the car from the grocery store would send little Daph’s cheeks to a brink pink hue.

After the first few difficult weeks of figuring out feedings (damn you, breast pump!) and sleeping, and finding time to shower and eat, we settled into a new schedule. Schedules are funny, aren’t they? I’ve have more “routines” in the last ten months than ever before. As soon as I realize we are in a new pattern, Daphne decides to change it. I guess that means we are just going with her flow, but I didn’t even realize we had cut out her third nap until about two weeks after it happened. FYI: we are now down to two long naps every day. Now that I’ve said that, I’m sure she’ll start to change it again. Thank goodness Mother Nature knows what she’s doing, because if she didn’t, I’m not sure Daphne would have increased slowly to three solid meals per day. She probably wouldn’t be cutting out naps as she grows older and she wouldn’t know how to use a cup or eat with her hands. I know I took a part in all of those developments, but really, Daphne and nature are running this show.

I was blessed with 10 full weeks of summer break as my maternity leave. I didn’t have to take any sick days and I had an extended time with her before going back to work. I was so lucky.

And it was so hard.

I have a friend who told me once, “It’s lonelier to stay home with a child than it is to stay home by yourself.” Sounds bleak, but I am starting to agree with her. When I’m home by myself I am free to do what I want, when I want, how I want and with whom I want to do it. When I’m home with Daphne, she is my world and sometimes I realize that at the end of the day I haven’t spoken to another adult, looked up or left my house at all. About halfway through my maternity leave, I realized I was stressed out about this and needed to regroup. Poor Matt. For a week or two, he was greeted by an unshowered me, holding out our babe for him to take as he walked through the door. The stress was downright tangible.

Even so, going back to work caused an ache I didn’t know I would feel. I knew it would be tough. Everyone from my friends to my hairstylist said it was one of the hardest things they’ve done. Matt and I dropped off Daphne together that first day. We were utterly out of all groceries so he stopped at McDonald’s before meeting me there to grab me a coffee and an Egg McMuffin (this was pre-egg allergy diagnosis). When we left our daycare provider’s house, he handed me my muffin before we said goodbye and parted ways. I held it together until I saw that darn breakfast sandwich. What is that about? I’m not really sure why that triggered tears, but I cried and stuffed my face with eggs and cheese on an English muffin until I got to school. Have I told you the story about crying and eating an entire plate of fries with ranch dressing while I sat by myself and waited for Matt’s emergency splenectomy to end? I’m pretty sure I have a stress eating….problem. But that story is for another day.

[Picture: first day of school]

Just like most areas of life, this one is totally grey for me. I want more time with Daphne. I want to feel like I’m connecting with the outside world. I want to make sure she is getting everything she needs to develop into a well-rounded, level-headed and kind person. I want a reason to shower and put on something other than yoga pants every day. I want to read Daphne stories. I want to read something other than board books. I want to make Daphne’s food from scratch. I want to eat lunch with other adults. Balance it is. Balance is what I want. Maybe that statement applies to every part of my life.

I’m lucky enough to have a job to go to every day. I have my routines and my job that allows me some unstructured time in the summer to be with my girl. I’m happy for my colleagues who have figured out what they want because the decision is so unique and personal. I’m happy that they are financially able to pursue their desires and sad for those who cannot. For me, I’ve decided that this is the right choice and that we are going to continue to do just fine as we continue the hunt for balance.

Time Travel

I am on Spring Break.  It is Sunday night and I still have one full week of freedom.  I won't deny that this is awesome, but I don't know if I can take being cooped up in the house all week.  Why on earth would I do that?  

This is why.

View of the back yard March 2013. 

It is March 24th, people.  Last year was a totally different story.  I was pregnant and therefore, hot, all the time.  Over spring break, we broke 90 degrees and I found myself lamenting the fact that most of my maternity clothing had been purchased with winter in mind.  C'mon Missouri.  Get it together. 

View of the back yard March 2012.  

Due to our new nine inches of snow, I've been throwing myself a big ole pity party.  Daphne has been sick for a week.  Roseola.  Since Matt is paid hourly and I'm on a salary with quite a few days built up, I'm the default person to stay home.  I'm generally okay with that, but little girl had a fever for four days!  We were miserable and cooped up in the house with no option go to anyplace at all.  I'd consider myself a homebody, but five days without going outside is too much!

So instead of being sad that we decided not to go on a spring break trip this year or chiming in on Facebook with my whining about how Punxsutawney Phil is one lying sack of groundhog, I've decided to be grateful for all of my past travels.  That is easier for me, knowing that I already have a trip planned with a big group of friends for the end of July.  So I just have to wait - that just means more time to work on my beach bod, right?!

I don't have pictures from all of the trips I've taken in my life.  And many of these were not digital until I took a photo of a photo this afternoon.  Here is what I found on my afternoon trip down memory lane.

Gulf Shores, Alabama  

1990-ish.  I'm not exactly sure of the year, but since these are all of my siblings I know I wasn't ten yet. Mary, sibling number five, was not born and she was born when I was ten!

Top Row:  brother Mark, cousin Justin, me, cousin Brooke
Bottom Row:  sister Sommer, sister Audrey

Girl Scout Camp, Camp Cederledge

I think I was about nine years old here.  I know I had a terrible disposable camera with me.  Sommer was there, too, but I have no pictures of her.  I do, however, have some sweet pictures of my bunk which I remember staging very carefully before taking pictures.  Oh geez.  Get a load of that archery stance.  I think the long hair and Umbro shorts are key.  

                             

Florence/Assissi/Arrezzo/Rome, Italy

There is a break in my photo collection here.  The next trip I have evidence of was my trip to Italy with the All Saints Youth Group.  It was 2000, and I was 17 years old.  The photos from this trip are not great.  There are a ton of them, but they capture my limited 17-year-old focus instead of the amazing trip this was. 

Pictured in Florence:  Friends from the youth group.
 I am wearing the backpack (top right) and Sommer is sitting exactly in the middle on the curb.

Chicago, Illinois

As a senior trip, I went to Chicago with my friends, Laura and Megan.  We were graduating form high school and I was 18.  Again, there is not a ton of photo evidence that actually makes it clear that we were in Chicago.  This was our commemorative photo after our trip up to the top of Sears Tower.  We planned this trip from start to finish by ourselves.  This was my first time on a plane without a parent or guardian who was in charge, we took a shuttle to our hotel on Michigan Avenue and we found our way around the El Train.  It was liberating!

Daytona Beach, Florida 

I believe it was the summer of 2002 when we went to Orlando, Florida.  I was 19.  We were totally immersed in Disney and found our way to the beach for a short bit.  Mark let his feet get utterly sunburned so we only went for one day.  Here I am with Sommer, reluctantly posing for the camera in our swim suits - proof that she has always been thinner and blonder than me.  Jerk.

Estes Park, Colorado

One of my favorite family trips was our vacation to Colorado over the fourth of July. I was 21 years old.  For half of the trip, we camped at the base of a small mountain that was a two minute drive from the entrance to the Rocky Mountain National Park.  

Again, these pictures don't show my parents or much of the awesome trip.  My favorite moment of any vacation I've ever been on was the moment I saw the sun come up over the Rockies.  So cliche, but true.  After meeting a shuttle at 6:00am on one side of the national park, we drove through the mountains to get to a white water rafting drop-off point.  Dang.  It was gorgeous.  Most of my family was sleeping and it was impossible to take pictures from inside the van but it was stunning.  

     

Various Cities, England

In August of 2004, I flew across the pond by myself.  Sometimes, I still can't believe I did that.  Or that my mom let me.  Or that I wasn't scared at all!  I navigated Heathrow airport for god's sake.  The thought of doing that now makes me anxious...

It was a great trip to visit my friends Rachel and Phil.  Rachel was a foreign exchange student living in my dorm during my first semester of college and we have been friends ever since.  I haven't seen her in a year or two... maybe it's time to plan another trip to Britain!  

At the replica of The Globe theater in London.
We had just watched Romeo and Juliet live from the pit - it even rained on us during the performance!

Exploring Warwick Castle

Stonehenge

Representing MU at London Bridge

Road Trip to the Smokies 

After finishing graduate school in July of 2007, I went on a road trip with my newly married friend and roommate.  It was our last roommate hurrah before we parted so she could live with her husband and I could live in my own place.  We loaded up our camping gear, took an old school atlas and just left.  We knew we wanted to head east instead of west since the thought of driving through Kansas didn't sound fun.  The whole week was spent looking for the perfect piece of pecan pie.  A trip launched by pie quickly became one of my favorite road trips ever.

Posing with Jacqui in Nashville for a few hours of pie-hunting.  No luck. 

Hiking at Fall Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee.  My gosh we look young.  

We passed this giant cow on a trailer as we drove down the highway.  Hours later, as we stopped for gas and to search for pie, we were reunited!  It was visiting the Cream City Crankin' ice cream contest which we happily participated in as judges.  No pie, but delicious ice cream and a story!

Metropolis, Illinois was a town along the way.

Hermann, Missouri

We took a long weekend trip to Hermann in 2009 for the BBQ and Berries Wine Trail Festival.  Each of the six participating wineries paired BBQ dishes with a specific wine from their vineyard.  Delicious!  This little trip was our solution to not having the time or cash to go on a long vacation that year.  For one of our nights away, we stayed in the Alpenhorn Gausthaus and we vowed to return someday.  It hasn't happened yet, but I think it probably should soon!

At Oak Glen Winery. 

In the wine cellar at Hermannof Winery.  

Nashville, Tennessee

Over Christmas in 2009, we visited family in Kentucky and decided to take an excursion around Nashville.  Matt went to grad school there and wanted to show me around.  My previous trip was short and disappointing since we couldn't find any pecan pie - he wanted to turn my opinion around!  We found the Loveless Cafe which had been featured on the Food Network.  Two hours later we were seated only to have a retired couple approach us and ask if they could avoid the wait by sitting with us at our four person table.  They were a wealthy couple from New Orleans who visits Nashville every winter.  And in exchange for crashing our table, they  bought our lunch!

Loveless Cafe

Lovelss Cafe

New Orleans, Louisiana

Our honeymoon was in New Orleans!  What an awesome road trip.  The food, the culture, the architecture....  I love this city.  It was so hot in July so I'd like to go back in the fall sometime soon.  We stayed at the Frenchman Hotel at the very end of the French Quarter.  We walked or took the street car everywhere.  It was all we could do to fit in all of the restaurants we wanted to check out, but we managed to visit Cafe du Monde twice without falling into a food coma.  

Just married!

Getting on the Saint Charles line street car. 

At Pat O'Briens on Bourbon Street.  

 

Dauphin Island, Alabama

In 2011, we went on a spring break trip - my first ever!  I haven't been on one since and I am sad about that fact.  This was a huge group of friends who rented a beach house, on stilts, in the sand, with the beach as the front yard....  As a winter storm rained down on Missouri, we skipped town and watched the car's thermometer rise, rise, rise as we went South.  

I had never been on a vacation that had so much unplanned time.  It was wonderful and exactly what we needed - a break from the hustle and bustle.  We read, walked the beach, played in the sand, jumped waves, played cards, cooked.  It was so lovely.  

In our "front yard" for the week. 

The Rib Shack in Mississippi - We had to find some good BBQ on the way home!

Kansas City, Missouri

Okay, okay.  I know this isn't much of a travel for us, but it was all we could swing because of the baby bump.  I was almost 8 months pregnant and we just couldn't make a real trip happen.  So, we went to Kansas City for the day.  We hit up a famous sandwich shop, visited Nelson-Atkins, did some baby girl "going home" outfit shopping, and walked around the zoo.  Oh and ice cream.  We had some great ice cream.  

With our loot from Buy Buy Baby.
The outfit on the right became Daphne's "going home" outfit.  

Me (and Daphne) in front of the Nelson-Atkins shuttlecock.

Chicago, Illinois

In June of 2012, our dear friends moved to Chicago.  At the end of July, we went to visit.  It was Daphne's first trip!  We walked around with the baby carrier and she slept most of the time, but I think she liked it!  We packed the two days we visited with lots of catching up and a few tourist attractions. I have always really liked the city  and we have friends there now, so we have plans to visit again - hopefully this summer.  

The train exhibit at the Museum of Science and Technology.

The electricity exhibit at the Museum of Science and Technology.

There you have it.  These are the places and trips I revisited today.  So, while I am not the worldliest of travelers and I would certainly like to do a LOT more glob-trotting, jet-setting and world-exploring, I realize I have been fortunate enough to make these trips happen.   Even though I am stuck at home without a dry sidewalk to stroll on, I will try to shake off the funk and look forward to my next adventure.   Next up?  Seacrest, Florida in July 2013!