Everyone at my work, including me, is working on a major stomach ulcer, and we're barely halfway through our first quarter. The first of school frenzy has not died down yet, as we have been negotiating new teaching arrangements, a new special activity schedule, and, most of all, a new curriculum that is causing us to re-tool everything we've done in previous years.
I've had administrators in my classroom for observations twice already, and we're having weekly meetings to try to brainstorm the most effective ways to implement our new objectives.
Most of this is to be expected for a school that is less than five years old and that is learning to accommodate a rapidly growing student population. We all know it's worth the effort, and that we are working toward a valuable goal, but it doesn't make the daily work any less grueling.
Today I thought back on a memorable line from the first sermon I ever heard at my current church: in life there are no finished symphonies. I feel the truth of this statement during the stress of my school life. A symphony involves synchronizing infinite possibilities of instruments and notes and harmonies, and there are always ways to make it more beautiful than before.
I reflected that this is true of all worthy endeavors, from marriage to child raising to running a school--as some issues resolve, others will arise, but the work will never be truly complete. In some ways this is frustrating, because I feel like I'm running on a hamster wheel and not making any progress. But in other ways it can inspiring--every day there is a way to do my job better, or to love my husband better, or to learn something new, if I look for those opportunities. Now, if I would only look for those opportunities...
Showing posts with label deep thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deep thoughts. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Mice and Men
One of my favorite poems is Robert Burns' "To a Mouse." It's a really sympathetic poem about a mouse who has planned for winter by building a snug little house. The speaker is a farmer who has plowed through the mouse's nest, destroying it, and it's too late in the year for the mouse to build another one. So, despite the mouse's careful preparation, he is still left out in the cold for the winter. The poem is timeless and classic, not because it's a sad animal tale, but because Burns connects himself with the mouse in the last couple of stanzas with his famous summary, "The greatest plans of mice and men often go awry/and leave us not but grief and pain for promised joy."
As my careful planning for the future is often thwarted by circumstances beyond my control, I really bonded with this poem. The poet doesn't offer any sort of solution, but he is very sympathetic to both mice and people who are left wanting despite their best efforts.
Now this post is not as sad as it could be, but I've been thinking about Burns' little mouse for the past couple of days as we've gone back to school for our work days. I vowed at the beginning of the summer to use my time off productively so that I would be organized and prepared for the new year. And I did work, pretty steadily, all summer.
Yet, here I am, one week and counting from the first day of school, in panic mode. My room is not ready, my lesson plans are not finalized, I need to choose reading lists and order books, and I have school supplies strewn across my floor. There are parent letters to write, a classroom webpage to build, worksheets to create, and meetings to attend.
This is the time of year that I love to hate. Right now there seems to be more to do than I can possibly accomplish, and the hours of the day race by. But I know that somehow it will all be finished on time, and that when my room fills up with hopeful little faces, I will know what to do with them. And even if I don't, I know they can't tell when I'm bluffing.
As my careful planning for the future is often thwarted by circumstances beyond my control, I really bonded with this poem. The poet doesn't offer any sort of solution, but he is very sympathetic to both mice and people who are left wanting despite their best efforts.
Now this post is not as sad as it could be, but I've been thinking about Burns' little mouse for the past couple of days as we've gone back to school for our work days. I vowed at the beginning of the summer to use my time off productively so that I would be organized and prepared for the new year. And I did work, pretty steadily, all summer.
Yet, here I am, one week and counting from the first day of school, in panic mode. My room is not ready, my lesson plans are not finalized, I need to choose reading lists and order books, and I have school supplies strewn across my floor. There are parent letters to write, a classroom webpage to build, worksheets to create, and meetings to attend.
This is the time of year that I love to hate. Right now there seems to be more to do than I can possibly accomplish, and the hours of the day race by. But I know that somehow it will all be finished on time, and that when my room fills up with hopeful little faces, I will know what to do with them. And even if I don't, I know they can't tell when I'm bluffing.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
40 Days
On Friday it will have been forty days since I removed the comments from my blog. That means my Summer Lent is over! I am going out of town on a school retreat until Saturday, and I will be enabling comments on the next post after I come back.
I feel that after my time away from comments, I am prepared to put them back on my blog without obsessing about them. I will continue to write whatever I want, without regard for feedback, and you can all entertain me and each other with your witty responsive comments. So check back next week, and comment on the post. Or not...whatever.
I feel that after my time away from comments, I am prepared to put them back on my blog without obsessing about them. I will continue to write whatever I want, without regard for feedback, and you can all entertain me and each other with your witty responsive comments. So check back next week, and comment on the post. Or not...whatever.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Mmm, facts
I love knowing stuff. I'm not determined enough to accumulate knowledge that is actually complicated, like quantum physics or microbiology or fourth-dimensional mathematics, but I do love to stuff my mind with simple, fluffy facts. I am pretty good at Jeopardy (depending on the category), I am almost always smarter than a fifth grader, I can get the pies in Trivial Pursuit, and I could hold my own in a discussion with a member of the paparazzi regarding celebrity comings and goings. (This last wealth of knowledge is because I've recently become hooked on a celebrity gossip blog that is often trashier than my old standby, People magazine, and almost always funnier.) Oh, and I always know the right answers on "Jaywalking."
I've recently been challenged to employ myself in more scholarly fact-gathering than what I happen to glean from quiz shows or late night television. Here are my three inspirations:
1. We are living in a house with an incredible study. It is a room with a big window on one wall that lets in natural light. The other three walls are filled with built-in bookshelves, which are full of heady books, some of which do not interest me (The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Yugoslavia as History), some of which I wish had a movie version or Cliff's Notes (The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: Vols. 1-3, A Manual of the Writings of Middle English), and some of which I like to pretend will interest me some day (all the works of T.S. Eliot, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and most other authors of note).
The pile of things that I brought to read while we were living here includes In Her Shoes, Harry Potter, and my Real Simple magazine. It's a little humbling for a person who imagines that she is smart.
2. We just spent a weekend with my friends John and KarenD. John is the type who reads Wikipedia and listens to NPR for fun, and we could always count on him to revive a lagging conversation with his favorite words, "You know what I just read/heard?" This question was always followed by some sort of trivia usually concerning fractals, technology, or what small percentage of the brain is utilized by the average human. As if I needed mathematical proof of how mentally lazy I actually am.
3. I am totally digging my latest book, as I've listed in my "Recent Reads." The Know-It-All is a surprisingly hilarious memoir of a guy who decides to read the Encyclopaedia Brittanica from A-Z. The first chapter is titled "A," the last chapter is titled "Z," and it's a witty commentary on the funniest, most random, or most interesting facts that he stumbles across along the way.
The story begins when the author, who is wanting to become a parent, pictures himself being asked a question like "Why is the sky blue?" by his child, and he realizes that he doesn't know. Now for a man who imagined himself to be smart and well-informed, it is sad and shocking to realize that that he could have told his child the names of Julia Roberts' children, but that he could not satisfy little Junior's first query about the world around him.
This story really hit home for me, and when I have not been waking Stephen up in the middle of the night by laughing out loud at this book, I've actually been contemplating delving into the EB myself. So if you call me and I don't pick up, or you notice that I'm a little slow to blog, it's probably because I'm engrossed in a scholarly article about the use of symbolism and irony in eighteenth century French literature. Unless I'm reading up on which celebrities attended the Beckhams' "Welcome to America" party. It would be a tough call.
I've recently been challenged to employ myself in more scholarly fact-gathering than what I happen to glean from quiz shows or late night television. Here are my three inspirations:
1. We are living in a house with an incredible study. It is a room with a big window on one wall that lets in natural light. The other three walls are filled with built-in bookshelves, which are full of heady books, some of which do not interest me (The Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Yugoslavia as History), some of which I wish had a movie version or Cliff's Notes (The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: Vols. 1-3, A Manual of the Writings of Middle English), and some of which I like to pretend will interest me some day (all the works of T.S. Eliot, Chaucer, Shakespeare, and most other authors of note).
The pile of things that I brought to read while we were living here includes In Her Shoes, Harry Potter, and my Real Simple magazine. It's a little humbling for a person who imagines that she is smart.
2. We just spent a weekend with my friends John and KarenD. John is the type who reads Wikipedia and listens to NPR for fun, and we could always count on him to revive a lagging conversation with his favorite words, "You know what I just read/heard?" This question was always followed by some sort of trivia usually concerning fractals, technology, or what small percentage of the brain is utilized by the average human. As if I needed mathematical proof of how mentally lazy I actually am.
3. I am totally digging my latest book, as I've listed in my "Recent Reads." The Know-It-All is a surprisingly hilarious memoir of a guy who decides to read the Encyclopaedia Brittanica from A-Z. The first chapter is titled "A," the last chapter is titled "Z," and it's a witty commentary on the funniest, most random, or most interesting facts that he stumbles across along the way.
The story begins when the author, who is wanting to become a parent, pictures himself being asked a question like "Why is the sky blue?" by his child, and he realizes that he doesn't know. Now for a man who imagined himself to be smart and well-informed, it is sad and shocking to realize that that he could have told his child the names of Julia Roberts' children, but that he could not satisfy little Junior's first query about the world around him.
This story really hit home for me, and when I have not been waking Stephen up in the middle of the night by laughing out loud at this book, I've actually been contemplating delving into the EB myself. So if you call me and I don't pick up, or you notice that I'm a little slow to blog, it's probably because I'm engrossed in a scholarly article about the use of symbolism and irony in eighteenth century French literature. Unless I'm reading up on which celebrities attended the Beckhams' "Welcome to America" party. It would be a tough call.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Questions, lighthearted and otherwise
When I used to work in the big high school, one of the recurring conversations that would come up over lunch in the English teachers' work room was, "If you were going to have a career other than teaching, what would you do?" Answers varied: "novelist," "art dealer," "comedian," "chef;" basically, a list that was as realistic as the career ambitions of our delusional students on the other side of the self-locking door. It always struck me as sort of amusing that all these women had such a ready answer; I guess sometimes daydreams of another life were the only thing that could give them the strength to go on.
Well, I found myself thinking through the same question, though, as the year wore on and the hellish start to my long-planned-for career never improved. By mid-spring, I had decided that I hated teaching and would not, for any amount of money, set foot in the classroom again after my contract was up. It was a very disconcerting thought, because since I was in first grade teaching had been my career ambition. I had never seriously considered doing anything else, and I certainly was minimally qualified for any other job, despite what my academic advisor in the English department promised.
When I moved to Waco, I pursued a job as a secretary. They were all at Baylor, and most of them included some amount of writing and/or editing, which I thought sounded do-able, and not too demeaning. Plus, I was attracted to the idea of a "professional" job- the smart business attire, a cubicle desk to call my own, phone calls from one brilliant scholar to another.
Due to some unexpected turns in my job search, my quest for a job as an administrative assistant ended when I accepted a position as a fourth grade teacher at Live Oak. So, for all my exploring, I ended up in the same career that I had started with, although in an extremely different context.
Recently in my home, the question of "What would you do if you had to pursue another career?" has been a topic of discussion yet again. This time, it's Stephen on the hot seat. Due to a variety of reasons, we've been tossing around lots of options about what sort of path we might take next. And, while this is fun conversation around a lunch table among people who are firmly entrenched in their actual careers, this topic can be very unnerving when you really mean it. And it brings up a lot of scary questions: What would he do? How do we know when to pursue this? How do we know our motivations are right? Could we really do this?
Stephen asked me two weeks ago, on our two year anniversary, where I saw us in another two years. I had to answer honestly, "I have no idea." We're at a significant crossroads with no clear answer. God only knows where we're going. We're going one day at a time, not always because of great faith, but because that's all we can do!
Well, I found myself thinking through the same question, though, as the year wore on and the hellish start to my long-planned-for career never improved. By mid-spring, I had decided that I hated teaching and would not, for any amount of money, set foot in the classroom again after my contract was up. It was a very disconcerting thought, because since I was in first grade teaching had been my career ambition. I had never seriously considered doing anything else, and I certainly was minimally qualified for any other job, despite what my academic advisor in the English department promised.
When I moved to Waco, I pursued a job as a secretary. They were all at Baylor, and most of them included some amount of writing and/or editing, which I thought sounded do-able, and not too demeaning. Plus, I was attracted to the idea of a "professional" job- the smart business attire, a cubicle desk to call my own, phone calls from one brilliant scholar to another.
Due to some unexpected turns in my job search, my quest for a job as an administrative assistant ended when I accepted a position as a fourth grade teacher at Live Oak. So, for all my exploring, I ended up in the same career that I had started with, although in an extremely different context.
Recently in my home, the question of "What would you do if you had to pursue another career?" has been a topic of discussion yet again. This time, it's Stephen on the hot seat. Due to a variety of reasons, we've been tossing around lots of options about what sort of path we might take next. And, while this is fun conversation around a lunch table among people who are firmly entrenched in their actual careers, this topic can be very unnerving when you really mean it. And it brings up a lot of scary questions: What would he do? How do we know when to pursue this? How do we know our motivations are right? Could we really do this?
Stephen asked me two weeks ago, on our two year anniversary, where I saw us in another two years. I had to answer honestly, "I have no idea." We're at a significant crossroads with no clear answer. God only knows where we're going. We're going one day at a time, not always because of great faith, but because that's all we can do!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Flex
When I was able to opt out of high school P.E. by taking a business co-op class, I thought that the awkwardness of forced athleticism was behind me. Unfortunately, I went to A&M and discovered the "core curriculum" which included four hours of P.E. credits. The first class I took was step aerobics , which I really enjoyed by pretending that the aerobics routines were actually synchronized dance steps, and that I was in the background of some cool music video. The part of the class that was not enjoyable was a series of physical fitness tests such as a mile run, sit-ups, push-ups, and flexibility.
Yes, flexibility. We had to sit (with the whole class watching) with our feet flat against the side of a wooden box, and reach down past our toes to a mark three inches past the edge. I still remember my embarassment when my instructor K.B. called out to the class-volunteer secretary that I could not even reach my toes. My memories have all come rushing back as I've been attending my new Pilates class, which involves lots of stretching and laying with one leg sticking straight (as if!) into the air.
When I shared my experience with my sister Laurashmaura, she said that she also has inflexible muscles, which means I can build my case for the mother of all excuses: genetics.
But as I've been complaining to various people about this, I've heard my own voice repeatedly declaring "I'm just not flexible!," and it's forced me to confront the fact that this is really true of my life in ways that are deeper than hamstrings.
It's the time of year on the school calendar when we start to look ahead to next year. I'm getting questions like, "Would you be willing to teach a different grade next year? Move to another classroom? Re-organize your class schedule? Take on some new responsibilities?" Stre-e-e-tch.
Or, even worse, with my husband's professional life in transition, "Would you be willing to sell your new house? Move to a new church? In a new town? Move so far away from your job that you can't commute? Start your life over somewhere else?" Stre-e-e-e-e-e-e-tch, and at times, snap! Those are the times that you can feel bad for Stephen.
They say that the way to become more flexible is to just stretch a tiny bit further every day. When it comes to touching my toes, consider it done! I'll be making beautiful large leg circles by spring break. When it comes to flexing my life...well...I'll have to let you know how that goes.
Yes, flexibility. We had to sit (with the whole class watching) with our feet flat against the side of a wooden box, and reach down past our toes to a mark three inches past the edge. I still remember my embarassment when my instructor K.B. called out to the class-volunteer secretary that I could not even reach my toes. My memories have all come rushing back as I've been attending my new Pilates class, which involves lots of stretching and laying with one leg sticking straight (as if!) into the air.
When I shared my experience with my sister Laurashmaura, she said that she also has inflexible muscles, which means I can build my case for the mother of all excuses: genetics.
But as I've been complaining to various people about this, I've heard my own voice repeatedly declaring "I'm just not flexible!," and it's forced me to confront the fact that this is really true of my life in ways that are deeper than hamstrings.
It's the time of year on the school calendar when we start to look ahead to next year. I'm getting questions like, "Would you be willing to teach a different grade next year? Move to another classroom? Re-organize your class schedule? Take on some new responsibilities?" Stre-e-e-tch.
Or, even worse, with my husband's professional life in transition, "Would you be willing to sell your new house? Move to a new church? In a new town? Move so far away from your job that you can't commute? Start your life over somewhere else?" Stre-e-e-e-e-e-e-tch, and at times, snap! Those are the times that you can feel bad for Stephen.
They say that the way to become more flexible is to just stretch a tiny bit further every day. When it comes to touching my toes, consider it done! I'll be making beautiful large leg circles by spring break. When it comes to flexing my life...well...I'll have to let you know how that goes.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Warning: a Serious Post
It is a little depressing to think of the amount of time I spend each day doing tasks that will either become undone or disappear the very next day. I get up each morning and make my bed, wipe down my bathroom counter, start a load of laundry, let the dogs out. I go to work and plan creative and meaningful ways to fill my school days, but no matter how good any given lesson is, I'll still need another one for the next hour, or the next day. I go home and shop for groceries, and cook dinner, and wash dishes.
Reflecting on this, I wonder how anyone ever gets around to having time for saving the world or leaving a legacy for the future. It can feel a little bit like being a hamster on a wheel, and I have been thinking recently about why it is that I keep up all this seemingly fruitless work. I don't have a choice for a lot of it. I keep finding food to make into meals because we keep getting hungry. I do the dishes and clean the bathroom and make the bed every day because it's a matter of daily sanity for me to keep my house clean. These are tasks that recreate themselves every day, and provide no benefit beyond their immediate completion, but they are worth the time that they suck up nonetheless.
But not everything falls into this category. I am willing to repeat many of my tasks, day after day, because I believe that eventually my work will produce some eternal result. It's what Andy Stanley calls the "cumulative effect" of a million tiny installations.
It's why I keep swiffering underneath the bookshelves in the living room, even though I know that a million spiders will shrivel up and die there, and an entire Phoebe worth of hair will accumulate in that same spot within twenty-four hours. I have faith that each small cleaning will produce the result of my home not being condemned by CPS one day.
It's why, STARTING TODAY, I force my body to exercise even though my fat does not immediately diminish and the Jennifer Aniston within does not immediately emerge. I have faith that one day, all of these Pilates 100's and Barrel Rolls will give me the energy to be a good mom, and minimally-incapacitated twilight years.
It's why I tell my students a million times a day to raise their hands before they blurt out their thoughts, or to be more thoughtful with their friends, or to sit up straight in their chairs. I have faith that each day brings them a little closer to a life that is characterized by self-control, thoughtfulness, and self-discipline.
It's why I keep struggling with questions of my own spiritual journey, even after years of feeling like the answers are long in coming. I have faith that maybe this conference, or this book, or this devotional will unlock the secret that I have been searching for.
And so the metaphorical wheels keep turning, and I return to these tasks each day, like Edmond Dantes chipping away at the walls of the Chateau d'If.
One day, I'm going to break through.
Reflecting on this, I wonder how anyone ever gets around to having time for saving the world or leaving a legacy for the future. It can feel a little bit like being a hamster on a wheel, and I have been thinking recently about why it is that I keep up all this seemingly fruitless work. I don't have a choice for a lot of it. I keep finding food to make into meals because we keep getting hungry. I do the dishes and clean the bathroom and make the bed every day because it's a matter of daily sanity for me to keep my house clean. These are tasks that recreate themselves every day, and provide no benefit beyond their immediate completion, but they are worth the time that they suck up nonetheless.
But not everything falls into this category. I am willing to repeat many of my tasks, day after day, because I believe that eventually my work will produce some eternal result. It's what Andy Stanley calls the "cumulative effect" of a million tiny installations.
It's why I keep swiffering underneath the bookshelves in the living room, even though I know that a million spiders will shrivel up and die there, and an entire Phoebe worth of hair will accumulate in that same spot within twenty-four hours. I have faith that each small cleaning will produce the result of my home not being condemned by CPS one day.
It's why, STARTING TODAY, I force my body to exercise even though my fat does not immediately diminish and the Jennifer Aniston within does not immediately emerge. I have faith that one day, all of these Pilates 100's and Barrel Rolls will give me the energy to be a good mom, and minimally-incapacitated twilight years.
It's why I tell my students a million times a day to raise their hands before they blurt out their thoughts, or to be more thoughtful with their friends, or to sit up straight in their chairs. I have faith that each day brings them a little closer to a life that is characterized by self-control, thoughtfulness, and self-discipline.
It's why I keep struggling with questions of my own spiritual journey, even after years of feeling like the answers are long in coming. I have faith that maybe this conference, or this book, or this devotional will unlock the secret that I have been searching for.
And so the metaphorical wheels keep turning, and I return to these tasks each day, like Edmond Dantes chipping away at the walls of the Chateau d'If.
One day, I'm going to break through.
Friday, June 23, 2006
"You Too?"
One thing that I do enjoy collecting is good quotes. I heard one a long time ago (I think it was by C.S. Lewis) that has really stuck in my head. It went something along the lines of..."True friendship begins with the words, 'You too? I thought I was the only one.'" While there are certainly exceptions to this rule (which would be covered by "opposites attract" or some other sort of cliche), I really tend to agree with Lewis, if he is in fact the origin of that quote. Uniqueness is nice, but it is a relief, at least to me, to discover some quirky trait of my own in someone else. I think, "Maybe I don't need to be in therapy after all."
For example, every time we would look at a house, I would ask about the street address. If it was a nice-sounding name, one that would look beautiful in the top left corner of an envelope (or even better, in the middle!), I was much more favorably inclined toward the house. But if it was something ugly, non-poetic, corny or a highway number, I would keep my eyes out for flaws to serve as a basis for my rejection of the house. For example, there are streets near my current home called "Hubby" and "Ethel." Gross! My brother-and sister-in-law lived near a street called "Mackerel." It grates on the ears! I assumed that this was only evidence of my shallow and picky nature. Then I met Teresa, and found out that I was not alone.
I thought I was the only one whose heart went pitter-pat when I saw magazines like "Real Simple" and "1001 Ways to Organize Your House"...then I met Karen, and now we chat about different ways to organize paid bills over coffee.
These are two of my very recent experiences with "You too?" I have more, at least about 10 for each of my most special friends, including my husband and my mom. I love friends!
For example, every time we would look at a house, I would ask about the street address. If it was a nice-sounding name, one that would look beautiful in the top left corner of an envelope (or even better, in the middle!), I was much more favorably inclined toward the house. But if it was something ugly, non-poetic, corny or a highway number, I would keep my eyes out for flaws to serve as a basis for my rejection of the house. For example, there are streets near my current home called "Hubby" and "Ethel." Gross! My brother-and sister-in-law lived near a street called "Mackerel." It grates on the ears! I assumed that this was only evidence of my shallow and picky nature. Then I met Teresa, and found out that I was not alone.
I thought I was the only one whose heart went pitter-pat when I saw magazines like "Real Simple" and "1001 Ways to Organize Your House"...then I met Karen, and now we chat about different ways to organize paid bills over coffee.
These are two of my very recent experiences with "You too?" I have more, at least about 10 for each of my most special friends, including my husband and my mom. I love friends!
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