As I turned down my street on the way home from work yesterday, I noticed a man walking a dog. I immediately realized that this man wasn't one of the "usual" dog walkers in my neighborhood. You know that "sixth sense" we all have, the little voice that tells us that something isn't right? Well, mine was screaming. I pulled into my driveway and just sat there. I observed the man, with dog on leash, looking up each of my neighbor's driveways.
I had seen this on the news once. Crooks use dog walking as a way to get into a neighborhood, and evaluate who is home at each house during different parts of the day. Needless to say, goosebumps erupted on my arms as I realized this guy was "casing" my block. Should I confront him? Ask what he is doing? Technically, he hadn't done anything wrong. YET!
I watched him walk past my house, and stop at my next door neighbor's. He hesitated, then began walking toward her backyard. Once he was blocked by the fence that divides our yards, I jumped out of my car and flew into my front door, locking it behind me.
From my family room window, I could see this man depositing his bag of doggie "droppings" into my neighbor's garbage pail. "Who does that?" I thought to myself as my heart began to pound. Next, he let the dog off the leash and climbed onto my neighbor's deck. I ran to the next window to get a closer look. By this time, he was tugging at my neighbor's sliding door. The bastard got the door open and walked in!!!
With shaking hands, I dialed 9-1-1. My voice was quivering as I told the dispatcher I was witnessing a robbery in progress, and the cops should be careful because he has a big dog with him.
The dispatcher asked my address and that of my neighbor. My heart was thumping so loudly I could hear it in my own ears. I quickly glanced at the clock to see how much time before the school buses came. Surely, we didn't want them caught in the crossfire. The dispatcher asked me for a description of the perpetrator. "Tall, white male," I answered. Now she wanted a clothing description. How could I remember when all I was concerned about was this man rifling through my neighbor's drawers and personal items?
As luck would have it, the man came out of the back door and began walking toward the front yard again. I ran through my house to look out a front window and began describing his clothing for the dispatcher. Suddlenly, a woman appeared. I didnt see her arrive. An accomplice? They both walked toward a car parked in front of the house. She opened the trunk. Horror sprang through my bones as I realized they were going to load up the "getaway" car with my neighbor's possessions. IN BROAD DAYLIGHT!!
What's this? They weren't loading the car? They were UNLOADING it! Duffle bags, and suitcases. Huh? They grabbed some items and walked into my neighbor's front door.
"Ummmm... dispatcher? I may have made a mistake. Yes, I know the police are on their way, but I think maybe, just maybe, my neighbor has some relatives visiting, but I've been their neighbor for 19 years. I know 99% of their relatives. Who ARE these people???"
I ended my call and quickly dialed my neighbor at work. "Annette, do you have house guests?" She said as soon as she saw my number pop up, she realized she should have given me the heads up. Yes, relatives from Florida were arriving, with a dog. She had left the back door open, I guess. She wanted to know if everything was okay. "Sure," I told her, "except I just called the cops on them!" The two of us burst into hysterical laughter, so hysterical in fact, that we could barely finish our conversation.
I walked out toward the squad car, and explained the whole thing to the very kind police officer, who was clearly bemused by the whole thing. The "crooks" came over and introduced themselves as the people "who are not breaking in." I was mortified. When they walked away, the cop really tried to make me feel better. He praised me for looking out for my neighbors. He said the block was lucky to have me. (Which is what I have been telling this block for years!!! LOL) He told me that it very easily could have been a robbery, and asked how would I have felt if I didn't go with my gut?
Two minutes later, another car came, and I had to tell that officer the same story. He also was extremely kind, and told me I did the right thing. When I apologized for wasting his time, he assured me I did no such thing. I think he wanted to add, You gave us something to laugh about back at the precinct!"
Oh well, this is one for the books. I live on an awesome street with awesome people whom I love like family. We will be laughing about this for a long time to come, but I hope they all realize that I will have their grandma arrested if she looks the least bit suspicious. I will always be looking out for them.
Did you ever TOTALLY misread a situation?????
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Monday, September 10, 2012
Drowning in My Tears
I found myself at my parents' house today. In some ways, it feels like I'm walking into a museum. Things are mostly the way they were on the day my parents left. My dad needs a new eyeglass case, and he told me he has some at the house, so I began to look through some dresser drawers. This act in itself seemed kind of illegal. I was digging into things that are my parents' personal items. It's a creepy feeling, and I know it is only the beginning. I came across a few items that really hit me emotionally. One was a Valentine card I had made for my parents when I was in elementary school. The doilies I had used (and yes, you know you made things out of doilies too!), were all yellowed and the glue had dried out, but the message was there. In my childish handwriting, I had written a long note, professing my love for my mommy and daddy. And so began the tears.
The next thing I found was a card dated October of 1969. It was a birthday card to my mom, from her mom. Now my mother's mother died in 1970. I was less than 2 years old and have no memory of her, but the card said, "To my Theresa," and I thought about how much my mom's own mother must have loved her, and more tears came. I thought about the love that had been passed down from these women that I now pass on to my own children. And I realized that when she received this card, my mother had no way of knowing that in a matter of months, she would lose her mother. At this point, I began sobbing hysterically.
As I looked at these items, I sat on my mom's bed. This was the bed that I had sought refuge in from a bad dream, the bed I was allowed to lie in during the day if I wasn't feeling well. In those moments I became a child again. It was as if I was looking down at my younger self and all my childhood memories seemed to be happening over again all at once. I kept trying to calm myself by saying over and over in my head, "They aren't gone, you can just go see them." But in reality, they are gone. I can go to The Arbors and visit two people who look just like my parents, but the parents I knew are gone, and they aren't coming back.
I had the urge to go out to the backyard, and sit in the spot where I used to dig as a child. I remember always looking up from that spot and feeling like the back door of the house was so far away, as if I were off on my own island. Today, I could not believe the reality when I sat in that spot and looked up. The back door couldn't have been more than 10 feet away! I wandered over to the spot where my dad used to have a beautiful vegetable garden. The area is fenced in and has now become overgrown and unrecognizable.
Suddenly, it all became too much. I began to cry and gasp and almost moan at the same time. The sounds that came out of me were ones I can only remember hearing once before-when I lost my third child in the fourth month of pregnancy. Again, it was as if someone else were making the sounds, but there I was, all alone in the house, and this time my husband was not there to wrap his arms around me. After what seemed like an hour, but was just mere minutes, I composed myself somewhat.
I went back inside because my sister had texted me to say that she had found my birth announcement the last time she was there. There it was, dated Sept 1968, in the town newspaper. I saw my birth announcement and the announcements of four other kids that I would later meet in elementary school! Needless to say, I was intrigued with the ads and stories from my town 44 years ago. Want ads in the back of the paper specified that they wanted male or female workers--that would never be allowed today! There was also a story about local female high school teachers who wanted equal pay for coaching sports! There was an ad for a meeting of moms to discuss the topic of "Furnishing your home for a happy life!" Wow! I have always been a crazy fan of the show "Leave it to Beaver," and always felt I was born in the wrong era. Looking at this newspaper, and feeling the complications of life on me now, I so long for the time when things seemed so much simpler.
My heart is yearning to go back to a time before things changed so much. I am feeling change all around me, not just because of my parents, but because my kids are growing up as well. I'm feeling my own mortality like I've never felt it before. I feel like the sands of the hourglass just kicked it into high gear. I'm sure I am a downer to be around lately, and I know this isn't light hearted reading, but I feel it is cathartic for me, so I beg your forgiveness.
Thanks for listening.
The next thing I found was a card dated October of 1969. It was a birthday card to my mom, from her mom. Now my mother's mother died in 1970. I was less than 2 years old and have no memory of her, but the card said, "To my Theresa," and I thought about how much my mom's own mother must have loved her, and more tears came. I thought about the love that had been passed down from these women that I now pass on to my own children. And I realized that when she received this card, my mother had no way of knowing that in a matter of months, she would lose her mother. At this point, I began sobbing hysterically.
As I looked at these items, I sat on my mom's bed. This was the bed that I had sought refuge in from a bad dream, the bed I was allowed to lie in during the day if I wasn't feeling well. In those moments I became a child again. It was as if I was looking down at my younger self and all my childhood memories seemed to be happening over again all at once. I kept trying to calm myself by saying over and over in my head, "They aren't gone, you can just go see them." But in reality, they are gone. I can go to The Arbors and visit two people who look just like my parents, but the parents I knew are gone, and they aren't coming back.
I had the urge to go out to the backyard, and sit in the spot where I used to dig as a child. I remember always looking up from that spot and feeling like the back door of the house was so far away, as if I were off on my own island. Today, I could not believe the reality when I sat in that spot and looked up. The back door couldn't have been more than 10 feet away! I wandered over to the spot where my dad used to have a beautiful vegetable garden. The area is fenced in and has now become overgrown and unrecognizable.
Suddenly, it all became too much. I began to cry and gasp and almost moan at the same time. The sounds that came out of me were ones I can only remember hearing once before-when I lost my third child in the fourth month of pregnancy. Again, it was as if someone else were making the sounds, but there I was, all alone in the house, and this time my husband was not there to wrap his arms around me. After what seemed like an hour, but was just mere minutes, I composed myself somewhat.
I went back inside because my sister had texted me to say that she had found my birth announcement the last time she was there. There it was, dated Sept 1968, in the town newspaper. I saw my birth announcement and the announcements of four other kids that I would later meet in elementary school! Needless to say, I was intrigued with the ads and stories from my town 44 years ago. Want ads in the back of the paper specified that they wanted male or female workers--that would never be allowed today! There was also a story about local female high school teachers who wanted equal pay for coaching sports! There was an ad for a meeting of moms to discuss the topic of "Furnishing your home for a happy life!" Wow! I have always been a crazy fan of the show "Leave it to Beaver," and always felt I was born in the wrong era. Looking at this newspaper, and feeling the complications of life on me now, I so long for the time when things seemed so much simpler.
My heart is yearning to go back to a time before things changed so much. I am feeling change all around me, not just because of my parents, but because my kids are growing up as well. I'm feeling my own mortality like I've never felt it before. I feel like the sands of the hourglass just kicked it into high gear. I'm sure I am a downer to be around lately, and I know this isn't light hearted reading, but I feel it is cathartic for me, so I beg your forgiveness.
Thanks for listening.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Empty Frames
I'm back again, and while I am beginning to think maybe I am becoming a bit maudlin in my posts, I do have a few things to share and I'd love to know how you feel about them.
My sister and I made the first step toward "getting something done" at my parents' house this week. As I said in the last post, we have to begin getting the house ready to be sold. After moving mom and dad into the assisted living facility, my sister and I were so emotionally done that we agreed to just leave the house alone for a bit. But a month had passed, and we knew that there was a lot of food in the house-food someone could use.
We went to the house to go through the cupboards and salvage what we could. Upon entering my childhood home, the only home I knew until I married, I felt a sense of emptiness. Without mom and dad in it, as cliche as it is, a house is just a house. The lines in the carpet show where furniture used to be, the items there are proof that people once inhabited the house, but there isn't any life there anymore.
Years ago, a good friend and fellow english teacher, Laura, and I taught a poem about aging. The poem, though the exact words escape me, was about a wife who had to go through her husband's belongings after his death. The line in particular that really hit our hearts went something like, "and there lay his belongings like the frames of stolen pictures left behind." We were both newly married back then, and the thoughts of having to one day experience what the woman in the poem was experiencing was devastating to us. Our husbands were young and strong, and our protectors. We talked about this subject a lot.
Now entering mom and dad's home, I hear that line in my head. I see their things, the evidence of a happy life lived, but they are all just the "frames." The "paintings," my mom and dad full of life, are gone.
We went through the food, and tossed a lot of expired things, for people with dementia tend to hoard things and really don't check expiration dates. We were also able to donate about 7 full boxes to the food pantry, for people who lived through the depression, not knowing when their next meal would come, tend to collect canned goods!
I realize that mom and dad accumulated the normal stuff that we all do: pots and pans, linens, toiletries, books, etc., but at the end of the day, none of it is really important. We gave my parents only what they need in their studio room. The reality is, we all don't need very much to live. Many things we think we can't live without are really not necessary. We place so much importance on so many things-things that will just be left in an empty house for someone else to discard when we are gone. I don't want this for my kids. I came home after clearing out the food, and began going through things I'd like to get rid of as well. I feel this urgent need to live with less.
I've never been one to accumulate clutter, but this goes even deeper than that. I am feeling the slipping of time, the longing to be a child again with my old mom and dad back. I know things will never be the same again, and I am desperate to make this ordeal I am going through non-existent for my children. I keep promising them that I will get rid of my things, and my husband and I will leave this house long before we are forced to. It will make the transition much easier for everyone.
Each time I enter mom and dad's house, it is an emotional experience, and it can be exhausting having all these emotions hit you at once. We are planning to go through the items and then have a yard sale. Sixty years of marriage and 47 years in the same house--all sold at a yard sale! It would be funny if it weren't so sad. But what choice do we have, really? We have so much ahead of us. The personal items won't be easy, I'm sure, and having to say good-bye to items that remind us of our childhood and family will be brutal, but we will take it one day at a time.
The other day my sister and I were visiting with mom and dad. One of the old ladies who also live there said to my dad, "You have very good kids." My dad puffed up his chest a bit and said, "Yes, I do. I have three really good kids." I saw the pride in his eyes, and how much we mean to him. I guess that's what is left after 47 years in a house and 60 years of marriage. And that could never be sold at a yard sale.
My sister and I made the first step toward "getting something done" at my parents' house this week. As I said in the last post, we have to begin getting the house ready to be sold. After moving mom and dad into the assisted living facility, my sister and I were so emotionally done that we agreed to just leave the house alone for a bit. But a month had passed, and we knew that there was a lot of food in the house-food someone could use.
We went to the house to go through the cupboards and salvage what we could. Upon entering my childhood home, the only home I knew until I married, I felt a sense of emptiness. Without mom and dad in it, as cliche as it is, a house is just a house. The lines in the carpet show where furniture used to be, the items there are proof that people once inhabited the house, but there isn't any life there anymore.
Years ago, a good friend and fellow english teacher, Laura, and I taught a poem about aging. The poem, though the exact words escape me, was about a wife who had to go through her husband's belongings after his death. The line in particular that really hit our hearts went something like, "and there lay his belongings like the frames of stolen pictures left behind." We were both newly married back then, and the thoughts of having to one day experience what the woman in the poem was experiencing was devastating to us. Our husbands were young and strong, and our protectors. We talked about this subject a lot.
Now entering mom and dad's home, I hear that line in my head. I see their things, the evidence of a happy life lived, but they are all just the "frames." The "paintings," my mom and dad full of life, are gone.
We went through the food, and tossed a lot of expired things, for people with dementia tend to hoard things and really don't check expiration dates. We were also able to donate about 7 full boxes to the food pantry, for people who lived through the depression, not knowing when their next meal would come, tend to collect canned goods!
I realize that mom and dad accumulated the normal stuff that we all do: pots and pans, linens, toiletries, books, etc., but at the end of the day, none of it is really important. We gave my parents only what they need in their studio room. The reality is, we all don't need very much to live. Many things we think we can't live without are really not necessary. We place so much importance on so many things-things that will just be left in an empty house for someone else to discard when we are gone. I don't want this for my kids. I came home after clearing out the food, and began going through things I'd like to get rid of as well. I feel this urgent need to live with less.
I've never been one to accumulate clutter, but this goes even deeper than that. I am feeling the slipping of time, the longing to be a child again with my old mom and dad back. I know things will never be the same again, and I am desperate to make this ordeal I am going through non-existent for my children. I keep promising them that I will get rid of my things, and my husband and I will leave this house long before we are forced to. It will make the transition much easier for everyone.
Each time I enter mom and dad's house, it is an emotional experience, and it can be exhausting having all these emotions hit you at once. We are planning to go through the items and then have a yard sale. Sixty years of marriage and 47 years in the same house--all sold at a yard sale! It would be funny if it weren't so sad. But what choice do we have, really? We have so much ahead of us. The personal items won't be easy, I'm sure, and having to say good-bye to items that remind us of our childhood and family will be brutal, but we will take it one day at a time.
The other day my sister and I were visiting with mom and dad. One of the old ladies who also live there said to my dad, "You have very good kids." My dad puffed up his chest a bit and said, "Yes, I do. I have three really good kids." I saw the pride in his eyes, and how much we mean to him. I guess that's what is left after 47 years in a house and 60 years of marriage. And that could never be sold at a yard sale.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Here I am
Here I am, staring at my computer, not knowing where to begin. I haven't written anything since February, not by choice, but because of a bunch of crazy circumstances.
The short version of the story goes something like this: I became overwhelmed working full time and needed every single second of free time to tend to house and family; my parents both became ill and hospitalized, and my siblings and I spent a very stressful two months dealing with that. We have put my parents into assisted living, but the journey to get there, and all the physical and emotional stuff that came along with it has taken a toll on me. Every second of that journey is a story in itself, but for the first time in my life, I couldn't share how I was feeling. I think in any stressful situation, our bodies have a defense mechanism which allows us to get through it. I think I went numb emotionally because it was the only way I could handle it all.
I know some of you may be thinking, "You're parents are in assisted living, they didn't die. What is so stressful?" Well, like I said, that was the short version. And yes, they are physically alive, but they are not the same parents I once knew, they are only semi-recognizable versions of themselves, and I am mourning that loss.
We all have our own problems and I don't want this to be "woe is me," and come across as if I think I am the only one going through a difficult time. I just want to explain where I've been, and maybe share a few things I have learned about life and myself throughout this journey.
My mom has a form of leukemia, and her mind has been steadily declining for years. She still recognizes her family, thankfully, but her short term memory span is less than three minutes. She is easily confused and can't be left on her own at all. My dad, on the other hand, was the one who had all of his faculties, that is, until this recent turn of events. Sadly, dad seems to be declining at a faster rate than mom did. Mom has always been very pleasant throughout this ordeal, she takes direction, and is really easy to deal with. Unfortunately, with my dad, this was the exact opposite. Dad became extremely agitated and violent. He couldn't accept the fact that all these changes were happening, and he was fighting our every effort to help.
The strain of those weeks is something I will never forget. Finally, with the help of my dad's trusted doctor, and let's not forget medication, we were able to coax him into this assisted living facility. My siblings and I scrambled in the midst of all this to check out prospective places, and nearly had heart failure at the cost. I was stressed because I was just finishing up my first year back at work, and was trying to juggle that and hospital visits. When school ended I felt awful because my kids had to literally sit around and wait for most of their summer because I had innumerable things to deal with each day. Suffice it to say this is a summer we won't soon forget or ever want to repeat.
I had to sift through my parents' belongings and decide what they would and would not take with them because they couldn't do that on their own. I had to weed out my dad's socks and underwear with the holes in them, while he looked on helplessly. Basically, I had to take a 60 year marriage's worth of stuff and say, "Here's what is important, and it has to fit in this box." Thinking about it now makes my stomach flip, and as I said, I have learned a thing or two. I will save that for another day.
After a physically and emotionally draining moving day, we have them settled in a wonderful place. The care they receive is top notch, the workers who share their day are incredibly loving people, and the facility offers so much. They are limited in what they can do, but they seem content. Mom thinks she is in a hotel in Atlantic City, but if she is happy, then let her think that. Dad likes talking to the other residents, but the next day he doesn't even remember that he knows the person.
My brother had to go back to his family in Florida, and my sister and I are finally getting some sleep at night. At least we know they are eating three meals a day, and are getting the right medication. This journey is far from over because every day there is something that comes in the mail from their "old life" that must deal with, we are filling out about 600 forms just to get dad some veteran's benefits, and we still need to take them to medical appointments, etc. The biggest task that awaits us is going through our childhood home where mom and dad lived for 47 years to prepare the house for sale.
Reading this back, I realize I have left out so much, stuff that would make you tired just to hear it, but I think you get the gist. I'm rarely at a loss for words, whether it be spoken or written, but this experience has knocked the stuffing out of me. I'm hoping now that I have made this first start, I will be able to continue to share with you.
Summer is winding down, and that means back to work for me. I am slated to be the permanent substitute again, but I honestly don't know if I will be able to fulfill that all year. At every doctor visit, there is the chance we will be told that mom needs chemo again, and I need to be there through that. My saintly sister has been picking up so much slack through this whole deal, but even she has a breaking point, and I'm seeing it affect her health. Going through that house is going to be a job in itself, and not one I can do after school with kids by my side. With three kids and activities, weekends are just not an option. So I begin the school year really not knowing what lies ahead, and feeling very different inside. I don't want to parent the man who provided for me my whole life, or remind my mom, my mommy, to change her underwear. I don't want any part of it. But here I am.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Jo Ann
The short version of the story goes something like this: I became overwhelmed working full time and needed every single second of free time to tend to house and family; my parents both became ill and hospitalized, and my siblings and I spent a very stressful two months dealing with that. We have put my parents into assisted living, but the journey to get there, and all the physical and emotional stuff that came along with it has taken a toll on me. Every second of that journey is a story in itself, but for the first time in my life, I couldn't share how I was feeling. I think in any stressful situation, our bodies have a defense mechanism which allows us to get through it. I think I went numb emotionally because it was the only way I could handle it all.
I know some of you may be thinking, "You're parents are in assisted living, they didn't die. What is so stressful?" Well, like I said, that was the short version. And yes, they are physically alive, but they are not the same parents I once knew, they are only semi-recognizable versions of themselves, and I am mourning that loss.
We all have our own problems and I don't want this to be "woe is me," and come across as if I think I am the only one going through a difficult time. I just want to explain where I've been, and maybe share a few things I have learned about life and myself throughout this journey.
My mom has a form of leukemia, and her mind has been steadily declining for years. She still recognizes her family, thankfully, but her short term memory span is less than three minutes. She is easily confused and can't be left on her own at all. My dad, on the other hand, was the one who had all of his faculties, that is, until this recent turn of events. Sadly, dad seems to be declining at a faster rate than mom did. Mom has always been very pleasant throughout this ordeal, she takes direction, and is really easy to deal with. Unfortunately, with my dad, this was the exact opposite. Dad became extremely agitated and violent. He couldn't accept the fact that all these changes were happening, and he was fighting our every effort to help.
The strain of those weeks is something I will never forget. Finally, with the help of my dad's trusted doctor, and let's not forget medication, we were able to coax him into this assisted living facility. My siblings and I scrambled in the midst of all this to check out prospective places, and nearly had heart failure at the cost. I was stressed because I was just finishing up my first year back at work, and was trying to juggle that and hospital visits. When school ended I felt awful because my kids had to literally sit around and wait for most of their summer because I had innumerable things to deal with each day. Suffice it to say this is a summer we won't soon forget or ever want to repeat.
I had to sift through my parents' belongings and decide what they would and would not take with them because they couldn't do that on their own. I had to weed out my dad's socks and underwear with the holes in them, while he looked on helplessly. Basically, I had to take a 60 year marriage's worth of stuff and say, "Here's what is important, and it has to fit in this box." Thinking about it now makes my stomach flip, and as I said, I have learned a thing or two. I will save that for another day.
After a physically and emotionally draining moving day, we have them settled in a wonderful place. The care they receive is top notch, the workers who share their day are incredibly loving people, and the facility offers so much. They are limited in what they can do, but they seem content. Mom thinks she is in a hotel in Atlantic City, but if she is happy, then let her think that. Dad likes talking to the other residents, but the next day he doesn't even remember that he knows the person.
My brother had to go back to his family in Florida, and my sister and I are finally getting some sleep at night. At least we know they are eating three meals a day, and are getting the right medication. This journey is far from over because every day there is something that comes in the mail from their "old life" that must deal with, we are filling out about 600 forms just to get dad some veteran's benefits, and we still need to take them to medical appointments, etc. The biggest task that awaits us is going through our childhood home where mom and dad lived for 47 years to prepare the house for sale.
Reading this back, I realize I have left out so much, stuff that would make you tired just to hear it, but I think you get the gist. I'm rarely at a loss for words, whether it be spoken or written, but this experience has knocked the stuffing out of me. I'm hoping now that I have made this first start, I will be able to continue to share with you.
Summer is winding down, and that means back to work for me. I am slated to be the permanent substitute again, but I honestly don't know if I will be able to fulfill that all year. At every doctor visit, there is the chance we will be told that mom needs chemo again, and I need to be there through that. My saintly sister has been picking up so much slack through this whole deal, but even she has a breaking point, and I'm seeing it affect her health. Going through that house is going to be a job in itself, and not one I can do after school with kids by my side. With three kids and activities, weekends are just not an option. So I begin the school year really not knowing what lies ahead, and feeling very different inside. I don't want to parent the man who provided for me my whole life, or remind my mom, my mommy, to change her underwear. I don't want any part of it. But here I am.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Jo Ann
Sunday, February 26, 2012
The story continues...
It has been two months since I last wrote about my journey to substitute teaching. I am busier than ever, and am trying to manage my time. My blog has suffered, but my brain is swirling with tales to tell. My journey has continued, and I don't even know if I will be able to express all that I'm thinking and feeling.
When a teacher walks into a school building each morning, he/she takes on an unbelievably important role, and he/she takes that role seriously. Parents send their most precious and beloved children off each day to be cared for, nurtured, and taught by other adults. Those adults had better be ready, willing, and able! What I witness every day tells me that they are, and sometimes what I see brings tears to my eyes.
I know what I brought to the classroom all those years ago, but I guess after having been removed from the situation for so long, I needed to be reminded that millions of teachers, teacher assistants, and teacher aides all over the world, are "bringing it" every day as well.
What I have witnessed in the past weeks at the middle school shows me that all of our children are in excellent hands. It is a very different type of job than most people have. When you deal with kids, anything can happen on any given day. Teachers and administrators deal with a myriad of issues each day; kids who have conflicts with other kids, kids who are dealing with issues at home, kids who have developmental or social disorders, kids who are having trouble fitting in, kids who don't feel well, kids who didnt get enough sleep, and kids who are just plain having a bad day!
Did I mention anything about having to deal with these issues while at the same time trying to teach these children math or science or english? That is another part to this job. Let me tell you what I was quickly reminded of as I go through this journey: Teachers can't have a bad day! Every minute of the day counts, and every interaction with a child makes a huge impact on that kid. It's a lot to think about, and it is a huge responsibility.
I am seeing things in a much different light now than when I taught many years ago. The reason for this is that back then I had a very young baby, and school for him was years away. Now I have been a mother for a very long time, my kids are all in the school system, and I know what challenges they face each day just by being kids, dealing with schoolwork, and extra curriculars. I know how I want my kids to be treated by the adults with whom they interract each day, and I am so happy to say that this kind of treatment is what I witness each day at the middle school.
As a substitute, I have the advantage of being all over the building, meeting many, many teachers and students, and observing pretty awesome "ordinary happenings." The students and adults in my school have a special bond. I see kids seeking out adults all day long; they ask for advice, they just want to chat, they need a human connection. On the flip side, I witness the adults treating the kids with respect, listening to them, and being a constant in the lives of these kids. Teachers don't do this because they are paid to do so. Teachers do these things because that is why they became teachers in the first place. This is what many people, and those who berate teachers, do not understand and never will until they spend some time in a classroom with real kids and teachers.
I am only a sub, but I have become a familiar face to many of these kids, and it is awesome when I walk down the hall and hear kids calling my name. I am very, very attached to this school and these kids. My journey will continue, and I hope to share with you more of what I am learning about schools, kids, human nature, and most of all, MYSELF! (And I am learning a ton about myself that I never knew, or maybe just forgot!)
Just rest assured that your kids are in great hands when they enter a school building, wherever that building may be. Teachers are for kids. Plain and simple. What I see every day is confirmation of that.
When a teacher walks into a school building each morning, he/she takes on an unbelievably important role, and he/she takes that role seriously. Parents send their most precious and beloved children off each day to be cared for, nurtured, and taught by other adults. Those adults had better be ready, willing, and able! What I witness every day tells me that they are, and sometimes what I see brings tears to my eyes.
I know what I brought to the classroom all those years ago, but I guess after having been removed from the situation for so long, I needed to be reminded that millions of teachers, teacher assistants, and teacher aides all over the world, are "bringing it" every day as well.
What I have witnessed in the past weeks at the middle school shows me that all of our children are in excellent hands. It is a very different type of job than most people have. When you deal with kids, anything can happen on any given day. Teachers and administrators deal with a myriad of issues each day; kids who have conflicts with other kids, kids who are dealing with issues at home, kids who have developmental or social disorders, kids who are having trouble fitting in, kids who don't feel well, kids who didnt get enough sleep, and kids who are just plain having a bad day!
Did I mention anything about having to deal with these issues while at the same time trying to teach these children math or science or english? That is another part to this job. Let me tell you what I was quickly reminded of as I go through this journey: Teachers can't have a bad day! Every minute of the day counts, and every interaction with a child makes a huge impact on that kid. It's a lot to think about, and it is a huge responsibility.
I am seeing things in a much different light now than when I taught many years ago. The reason for this is that back then I had a very young baby, and school for him was years away. Now I have been a mother for a very long time, my kids are all in the school system, and I know what challenges they face each day just by being kids, dealing with schoolwork, and extra curriculars. I know how I want my kids to be treated by the adults with whom they interract each day, and I am so happy to say that this kind of treatment is what I witness each day at the middle school.
As a substitute, I have the advantage of being all over the building, meeting many, many teachers and students, and observing pretty awesome "ordinary happenings." The students and adults in my school have a special bond. I see kids seeking out adults all day long; they ask for advice, they just want to chat, they need a human connection. On the flip side, I witness the adults treating the kids with respect, listening to them, and being a constant in the lives of these kids. Teachers don't do this because they are paid to do so. Teachers do these things because that is why they became teachers in the first place. This is what many people, and those who berate teachers, do not understand and never will until they spend some time in a classroom with real kids and teachers.
I am only a sub, but I have become a familiar face to many of these kids, and it is awesome when I walk down the hall and hear kids calling my name. I am very, very attached to this school and these kids. My journey will continue, and I hope to share with you more of what I am learning about schools, kids, human nature, and most of all, MYSELF! (And I am learning a ton about myself that I never knew, or maybe just forgot!)
Just rest assured that your kids are in great hands when they enter a school building, wherever that building may be. Teachers are for kids. Plain and simple. What I see every day is confirmation of that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)