Ch-ch-ch-changes!

Yes, I know, my blogging has been suffering lately.

To the point of fans (yes, apparently, I DO have fans...) asking me what happened to my blog.

Alright, "fans" with an "s" might be a stretch.  But one person asked, I was flattered, and so I'm going with the notion that other people might also be on the same page and be wondering what happened to my writing.

What happened to my writing is what happened to my life!  Which is wonderful, exciting, terrifying, and exhausting all at the same time, but mostly, right now, exhausting.

For anyone who hasn't heard, I've accepted a doctoral assistantship with Salisbury University.  In exchange for working with the Salisbury education department faculty in conducting research in the field, I'll be granted a tuition waiver.

Yes, I was blessed enough to be given a full ride as I earn my doctorate.

Words can't express how excited I am for this opportunity.

But, it's also a bit scary.  Per the terms of the contract, I'm not allowed to be employed full-time elsewhere.  So, just like He has always done for me, God showed up in an incredible way and opened doors for me to make up the difference in income.

The Cottage Café, an awesome restaurant with which I've been employed as a part-timer server for the last seven years, made me a front-of-the house manager.  Full-time in the summer.  Dropping back to part-time around my schooling schedule come fall, with the understanding that my duties to the education department receive priority.

I'll still be coming up a little short of the teaching salary I was receiving, but when you consider that I should be coming out the other side of this four years later with a doctorate degree valued at approximately $120 grand for FREE?  I'd say it's worth it.  No questions asked.

Even my principal said I would have to be a fool to turn it down, so she understands why I'm leaving.

But in the mean time--with the end of the school year closing, and all the emotional implications and chaotic end-of-year work, with training for my new position at the restaurant on the weekends and having basically said goodbye to such a thing as a day off for the past two weeks and at least one more week to come, with trying to ensure my responsibilities to the Young Writers program aren't suffering in the process--well, to say the least...

Things have gotten a tad bit crazy.  Maybe even crazier than usual.

Here's an example of how exhausting last weekend was.

Saturday morning, Oak Ridge Baptist Church held the first ever Stride for Supplies, a 5k race I helped organize.  Because I wanted to be there to help set everything up, I got up at 4:30 am.  It was a great time of fitness, fun, and fellowship.  We also raised tons of money for our partner schools to purchase school supplies with.

Sidebar, I also won my age group--in my first race after October's full marathon!

After the race, I tried to manage a quick hour or two of relaxation at the beach, as Shieme and Kaliah were out of town for Rashieme's grandmother's birthday.  So I went alone figuring it would be some much needed down time to relax.

This didn't really turn out to be the case, thanks to the group of high school graduates lounging out behind me who were BELLOWING out idiotic conversations in which the F-bomb was dropped in every other sentence multiple times.  I heard not a single intelligent comment throughout the forty minutes I endured attempting to ignore them.  It was impossible to block them out, and it was as if it had never occurred to them that they weren't the only people on the beach, and that the multiple families surrounding them with small children might not be interested in hearing about their drinking, sex lives, drinking, and astute observations of the human condition that couldn't be expressed without multiple mentionings of the terms "Dude, f***, bro, yo, f****," etc.

I know I was once young(er) and dumb, but this sad, shallow example of "celebrating" life following graduation by perpetuating the stereotype of idiotic drinking as the norm for the 18 and over young people crowd really made me worried for our future.

Anyway, onward I went to work.  I ended up closing and getting home at a little after three in the morning.  I didn't fall asleep until after 4 am, at which point I realized (a little deliriously) that I had been up for nearly 24 hours.

All that to come to this point:  After working another shift on Sunday and then heading to one of my final days of teaching on Monday, I arrived home completely exhausted.  Rashieme took one look at me and ordered me to bed.  I complied, and when I woke up, I panicked.

The clock said 6:50.  Kaliah's bus comes at 7:15.  I flew out of bed, skidding into the dining room and immediately reprimanding my daughter.

"Kaliah!  It's 6:50!" 

Why was she wearing her clothing from last night??

Hmm... maybe because it was still "last night."

I had automatically assumed that I'd been asleep for the entire evening and somehow missed my alarm, when in fact, I'd barely been down for two hours.

Lifestyles of the totally exhausted.

But alas, all this is coming to an end.

Yesterday was my last day with students.  Maybe ever.  At least for four years.  My head and heart are full of emotions.  This was a great year to possibly end my teaching career.  I will truly miss these kids, and my work family at MMS.  But I'm looking forward to my next adventures.  I'm looking forward to new possibilities and opportunities.  I'm looking forward to a more flexible schedule, and to, eventually, more time with my family and less time grading.  Hopefully more time for my writing.

But mostly?

As far as the immediate future is concerned?

I'm looking forward to a few good naps. 

Conversations with Kaliah...

So I've been considering going back to school to get my doctorate... a decision that's been weighing heavily on my mind.  Rashieme and I have discussed it extensively, but as nothing's certain yet, there was no real reason to address the subject with Kaliah.

It's not like we've been hiding it from her--there's just really nothing to discuss with her, yet, since we don't know exactly what's going to happen.  Or how it will effect her.  But on Saturday, after I'd spent four plus hours of a beautiful day trudging through the GRE exam, Rashieme and I were once again chatting about the future on the car ride home.  This time, though, Kaliah happened to be paying attention.

"What are you talking about, Mom?" she asked.

"I'm considering going back to college."

"Then who will be my mom?"

Pause.

"I will be your mom, Kaliah."

It took me a moment to understand her concerns, to which I responded that I wasn't going away to college, but rather, that I would be driving back and forth to classes each day, if I even decided to go.

She considered this, then shrugged.

"I would have been happy with Miss WizB," she replied indifferently.

(Miss WizB is Kaliah's godmother.  Apparently, she's a lot cooler than me.  Also, she has a pool).

Just in case I didn't realize how uncool I was, Kaliah reminded me again tonight on the way to her science fair.  I jokingly teased her that she was very lucky to have such cool parents.  To which she responded, "Um, not really.  You're not with it."

"Not with it?" I asked incredulously.

"You're not with it, Mom," she corrected herself.  Apparently, her father is still "with it."

"I'm not with it?" I demanded.

I could start ranting about when "it" changed, and who changed it anyway, but maybe I was never really with it.  After all, I've always preferred reading to movies.  I've seen every single episode of Grey's Anatomy and could get into a heated discussion with anyone who cares about why I'm super excited that Burke is coming back.  I run ridiculous amounts of miles without anything chasing me, for what Rashieme would tell you is for no apparent reason.  There was a small part of me that actually enjoyed taking the GRE--especially the pressure that came with watching the timer in the corner tick down as I faced increasingly difficult reading passages.

I was nerdy before Napoleon Dynamite made it cool.  And the kids in my classroom don't even know who that is anymore, which just goes to further confirm how uncool I've become.

Such is life.  I think I'll keep my uncool mom status and see just how far I can take it while still maintaining some shred of dignity.  There's a part of me that could definitely take the rollers-in-the-hair, bathrobe-around-the-house style to the next level.

And since apparently I'm completely replaceable by the cooler, hipper Miss WizB, what have I got to lose?

 

Kaliah:  "You're so not with it, Mom."

2014, Week One Play-By-Play

So, Happy New Year everyone!

2014 is here, and for me, it's been pretty awesome.  If you're wondering why, check it out:

January 1st--No School.  Holiday.
January 2nd--Return to school.  Kids were out of their minds with excitement.
January 3rd--No School.  Snow storm.
January 4th--No School.  Saturday.
January 5th--No School.  Sunday.
January 6th--Return to school for a rather smooth-sailing Monday.
January 7th--No School.  Excessive... cold.

Anybody notice a recurring theme, here?

Now, I love my students.  Truly, I do.  But, like many human beings (I'd imagine) if given the choice between working and not working... well, you probably know which one I'd go with.

Which is why 2014 has been EPIC thus far.  The first week of the new year has included a ratio of two days of school to five days off, which, I have decided, in all my wisdom, is EXACTLY how we should fix the broken educational system.

*Note--This post, for these next couple of paragraphs, is not intended to be taken seriously.  I understand five days off per week would be a nightmare for working parents (And those who don't like their kids... just kidding, just kidding...).  I am merely entertaining a fantasy.

Think about it.  We spend BILLIONS of dollars on state and nationwide testing, on standardized measures to hold the teachers (rarely the students) accountable.  If we took all the money we spent on testing and hired a gajillion more teachers, we could get those class sizes down to, say, eight kids a class.  Furthermore, if we closed school five days a week, then it would be easier to keep those children focused on school, as opposed to on everything else they tend to focus on such as:

1) what everyone is wearing
2) what the other kids in the class are currently doing
3) who is going out with whom
4) what is for lunch
5) what is outside
6) what they want to do after school
7) any other issue that happens to cross their minds other than what they should actually be learning.

We could keep them focused because every time we saw a pair of those sixteen eyes glazing over, we could slap a ruler down on the desk and yell, "Hey!  Peggy Sue! You only have TWO DAYS to get this right!  That's it!  If you don't want to end up scooping ice cream for tourists your whole life, you need to get with the program!  Do you want to work at Candy Kitchen at age 40?!?!"

Of course, this is a flawed philosophy because no one on the Eastern Shore will ever eat ice cream again.  Not after this so-called "Polar Vortex."  I'm sure that in states that deal with this kind of cold all the time, they are rolling their eyes in disbelief that we've closed the schools due to a little wind and cold...

But, um, it's nine degrees outside.

With a wind chill below zero.  Which, you see, is not something we're used to dealing with in Delaware.  Even so, even I have to admit that I was a bit shocked at the school closings.  In my tenure as a teacher I've seen us shut our doors (or delay opening them) for just about everything:  Snow (even a dusting of it), threat of snow, heavy rain, fog...

But never before cold.

Having said that, I understand how serious the weather conditions are and feel glad to have a day home with my family.  I worry about some of the less well-to-do students in our population, and hope that they are staying warm and eating enough today.  In all seriousness, I know that some of them most likely are not.

I am spoiled in many ways, and I'd venture to say that perhaps many of you are, too.  I have a job.  A roof over my head.  No concerns about where my next meal is going to come from, or whether or not my family will be warm enough through the winter.  I am, compared to many people in our state, our country, and throughout the world, rich beyond measure.

I know this, and I thank God for it everyday.  Seriously--did you ever consider:  you have WON the birth lottery?  To be alive in this country, with all of our freedoms and opportunities, during this time period, with the incredible advancing technology and modern comforts?  Whatever your biggest problem at the moment (and I'm not saying you don't have one, because believe me, I know, that the rain rains on everyone without discriminating)... have you ever considered how amazing it is, that you are here, in this particular moment, at this exact time, perhaps even dealing with this specific problem, for a history-altering purpose?  That who you are and what you have in front of you were designed to intersect in a way that will impact all eternity?

Think about it.

So I pledge to make my 2014 as meaningful as possible.  Not just because I won the birth lottery (or got five days off from work out of the first seven of the new year).  But because I believe I'm here, and you're here, and we're all here, for a reason.  I no longer believe in accidents or coincidences.  I do believe in a sense of humor (see my earlier proposed two day school schedule), but I also believe that it all matters.  And I plan to make this year count.  Maybe I'll start by extending kindness to someone who seems to have a bit less to be thankful for, at this current moment, than I do.  Is that somewhere you could start, too?  What can you do to make this year matter?

And on a lighthearted note, 2014... thanks so much for the extra time off.  But I'd rather not be teaching in July, so, if there's any way we could calm down with this whole Polar Vortex thing...

That'd be great.

In Honor of Thanksgiving...

I am so thankful for my beautiful family, especially my daughter.

I am also deeply aware of how blessed I am that I have the ability to express myself in writing, and even more humbling... I am thankful for those of you who enjoy reading my thoughts...

So in honor of Thanksgiving (and the fact that I am now 100 PAGES IN!!! Woohoo!!) to my latest project, a collection of non-fiction...

I give you a crazy but true story of everyday life that celebrates the one, the only, Kaliah Rose McFadden:

The “Budding” Artist

            Considering how much crazy runs in our family tree, I count myself extremely blessed when I ponder how intelligent, compassionate, kind, and well-behaved our daughter has turned out to be thus far.  As a teacher, it is especially important to me that she treat her teacher and classmates with respect.  Rarely has she let me down in this aspect.  The one time she got herself in a somewhat serious bind occurred in the first grade.

            We were driving home from martial arts practice.  Each day after school, my daughter rides the bus to the martial arts studio, where she receives babysitting services and a tae kwon do lesson, two for the price of one.  So I hadn’t yet had a chance to ask her about her day when I picked her up from the studio.  She had barely shut her door and I had just climbed into the driver’s seat when she announced, “Mom, I have something to tell you.”

            “Okay,” I replied, backing the car up.

            “I don’t want to tell you,” she continued, seriously and honestly.

            I closed my eyes briefly before shifting gears and pulling out of the parking lot.  This had already been a long day (as most of my days dealing with seventh graders were).  I remember thinking, what now?, as I caught a glimpse of my daughter’s worried face in the rearview mirror.

            “Kaliah,” I said slowly.  “Whatever it is, I will still love you.  But you are going to be in much less trouble if you tell me the truth about it now than if I hear about it from someone else later.”

            “Well,” she began reluctantly, “I drew a drawing at school.  Because Kevin asked me to.”

            “Okay…”
            “It was an unappropriated drawing.”

            “Inappropriate how?” I demanded, feeling my blood pressure begin to rise, trying to keep my voice at an acceptable decibel.

            Silence answered me from the back seat.  I met my daughter’s eyes in the rearview.  They were shining with tears.

            “What did you draw, Kaliah?” I asked her, fighting to stay calm.

            “Well… Kevin asked me to draw a naked lady. So I did.”  She then burst into uncontrollable sobs.  “I feel so ashamed!” She wailed.

            For a moment, I nearly laughed.  My seven year old had drawn a naked woman, and now was beside herself, crying and apologizing.

            I grimaced to hide my smile.  “Kaliah,” I said sternly.  “You know better than that.”

            “Are they going to expel me?” she moaned.

            Again, I furrowed my brow to suppress a giggle.  “No, I don’t think so.  What else happened?”

            “I got into trouble with Mrs. Williams.  I didn’t mean to!  I’m sorry,” Kaliah melted into tears again, pressing her face into her hands.

            “We’ll talk about it when we get home.  It will be okay.  Thank you for telling me,” I practiced my best maternal discipline voice—firm but not heartless. 

            Upon arriving at home, as I fished my child’s folder from her book bag, removed her homework packet and placed Kaliah at the kitchen table with it, I rummaged through the take-home side of the folder, finding at once a handwritten note from Mrs. Williams.  I removed it from the folder, leaning over the counter to read the story according to Kaliah’s teacher.

            Dear Ms. Meister,

Today during reading time, Kaliah drew the following picture in her journal.  When I asked her about it, she claimed that a classmate asked her to draw it.  When I questioned her classmate, he denied asking her to draw this.  Kaliah approached my desk a bit later and claimed that actually, a family member had told her to draw it.  I sent a copy to Ms. Fox and explained to Kaliah that these kinds of pictures are inappropriate for school.

Thank you,

Mrs. Williams

            I could feel the blood rushing to my temples as I lifted the note to discover the drawing folded neatly underneath it:  Undeniably my daughter’s artwork:  The face, smile, and hair were mirror images of other artistic efforts she brought home.  The neck, the shoulders, and then, the reason she was in trouble:

            Two large round circles (each about twice as large as the drawing’s head).  Each circle had a carefully defined smaller, shaded circle within it.

            Boobs.

            The drawing continued to the end of the page with two long lines underneath the breasts to indicate the body, a dot in the middle of the parallel lines for a belly button, and then, thankfully, the end of the page.

            I spun around to stare at my daughter incredulously.  “You told Mrs. Williams a family member told you to draw this??” I waved the drawing in the air.

            Kaliah’s big brown eyes gazed up at me, swimming in tears.  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

            “Which family member?” I demanded, barely recognizing my shrill, squeaky voice.

            “Um… I just told her a family member,” Kaliah said quietly.

            “Why?” I demanded, panic gripping me.  Oh, my God, Mrs. Williams was going to think we were all perverts!  A family full of them!

            “Well, Kevin lied and said that he didn’t tell me to draw anything.  Even though he did.  And I didn’t want Mrs. Williams to think that I came up with drawing the lady on my own,” Kaliah was crying again, refusing to look me in the eye.

            “So you let her think that people at home told you to draw this?  Kaliah Rose!”

            “I’m sorry, Mom!” Kaliah was dissolving into full break-down mode again.  “I didn’t want to get in trouble!”

            “Well, it’s a bit late for that!  Who’s Ms. Fox?”

            “The assistant principal.  Are they going to expel me?  I don’t want to be expelled.  I like school,” she was sobbing inconsolably again.

            I stared at my daughter, a mixture of emotions ebbing away at me.  I was humiliated that Mrs. Williams might be viewing our family as group of perverts or nudist enthusiasts.  I was proud of Kaliah for confessing her wrongdoings, and a little amazed at the degree of regret and shame she was displaying.  I was angry at this other kid, Kevin, who clearly had more experience with getting into trouble and lying his way out of it than my daughter.  Of course I believed that she had been told to draw the nude—every single day, when she finished her work early, she drew, probably to date, thousands of people, most of them girls.  Not a one amongst the thousands had ever been naked before.   Also, she hadn’t drawn it in some obscure place, knowing what she was doing was wrong.  She’d put it directly in the journal that Mrs. Williams was sure to look at. 

            At a loss for what to do, I called her father, relating the tale to him while Kaliah was taking her bath.

            “I think I did that, when I was her age,” he said vaguely.

            “Drew a naked woman?” I asked dryly.

            “Yeah… it might have been in kindergarten.”

            I hung up the phone.

            That evening, I wrote a long apology letter to Mrs. Williams, explaining that Kaliah and I had spoken about the situation, Kaliah was deeply sorry for her actions, and now she knew that drawing anything like that was completely unacceptable.  (Of course, I also mentioned that no family member had suggested that Kaliah draw a topless woman, and that we had also discussed how lying to make a situation better will inevitably make it worse.  I managed to jot down my belief that she had drawn her picture at the other child’s suggestion, but concluded that nevertheless, my daughter should know better than to listen to every idea her classmates have).

            To my daughter’s relief, no further disciplinary actions were taken.  She was not expelled, as she dreaded she would be.  The rest of her first grade year passed by uneventfully.

            Recalling the incident to a bartender at the restaurant I work at part-time, my free-spirited friend shrugged.  “It’s art!  How dare they limit her right to express herself!  Can’t anybody enjoy the form of the human body anymooooore?” he demanded, winking as he shook his dred locks from side to side.

            All’s well that ends well, I reasoned.  Taking some comfort in the fact that she had been so hard on herself, I hoped that in the future she would think before she… well, drew.

            And to this date, she has yet to be reprimanded for any additional nude drawings, nor feared expulsion for any other offense.  She may be taking less artistic risks… but in my opinion, it’s a fair trade.  After all, one year is down, and only eleven more remain.  Then, Kaliah Rose, you can draw all the naked women you want.

            Just don’t tell anybody I told you to do it.