Let Them Stand on Your Shoulders

I don't care how much they weigh.  Let them stand on your shoulders.  I don't care if you're so petite that you shop in the petite section and still have to get your pants hemmed.  Let them stand on your shoulders.  I don't care if you're tired and busy and have paperwork that needs, I don't know, filling and filing.  Let those precious children stand on your shoulders.  The world has taken their power and their platform, and they need some shoulders to stand on. 

You may not have the President's ear, or know people on Broadway or be a millionaire, but at least you have  a voice.  They don't even have that.  They're too young, too small, too inexperienced, too whatever.  Their ideas are discounted and put on hold until they "mature".   They are disqualified and disregarded… unless. 

Unless we let them stand on our shoulders.  Unless we stand in the gap for them.  Unless we are their advocates.  As teachers, we have the incredible chance to be the first person to listen to their ideas - some of which are really good.  We could be the first person to tell them they could be a great writer or engineer or marketing exec some day.  We could be the first person to tell them they matter or we're happy to see them.  We could be the first person to unlock a talent or a passion or a skill they didn't know existed.  We could be the first person to show them how to lose gracefully. 

Chances are statistically solid that they don't sit down to meals with their parents.  That means they not only don't know how to use a knife and fork, but they don't know how to ask for the butter or make appropriate small talk with adults.  With school, homework, soccer, violin, swimming, dance, chess, and Cub Scouts, who has time to talk anyway? 

We are raising a whole generation of orphans.  They aren't the rag tag bread thieves of previous centuries.  They are scarred by divorce, relegated to the babysitting of technology.  They are perhaps the first generation of orphans made so by the choice of their parents.  When sex becomes recreational as opposed to procreational, children become inconvenient byproducts. 

Some days, they might not need to stand on your shoulders as much as stand in your shadow.  Life doesn't always dole out heavy loads to strong shoulders.  Sometimes children bear things they were never meant to, and they just need a little shade to rest in, or someone to hide behind when life seems downright terrifying.  We could be the only person standing between them and the carnivorous forces that would tear them apart.  We could be the only person on their team.  They might have busy or indifferent parents, no friends, no siblings who care about them.  We could be the one human being who stands up for them, who helps them get their first job or teaches them to look someone in the eye and shake their hand.  We could be the difference between defeat and victory in that child's life.

So please, before you get back to teaching them about square roots or what a gerund is - heaven knows that's important - remember to stand up for them, to plead their case, to let them stand on your shoulders.

Love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Room 8 the Great's Expiration Date

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I am here to announce that Room 8 now has an expiration date: May 24, 2013.  It's quite the adult experience, garnering your first grown up job and then losing it within a year.  There are so many sitcom episodes and movies about getting and losing jobs.  I feel like I should take a bow or get a membership card or something to the grownup club.

I found out yesterday.  They told me a few weeks ago that because of when I was hired, I only had a one year contract, which meant that my job was up for grabs, and I was third in line behind inter-district transfers and people coming off of leave.  Our school is one of the best in the district, so it's not a shock that teachers were flocking to take up residence in Room 8. 

When I found out yesterday after school, I went back to Room 8 and did a little more work before getting in my car and driving home.  During that drive home, I don't know that I have ever been more acutely aware of the power to choose.  Bitterness, discouragement, anger, disappointment, sadness, despair, defensiveness were standing at the ready, waiting to throw me a pity party.  Meanwhile, hope, faith, courage, vision, patience, peace, and resilience were standing by cheering me on.  Sure, I'd just been told I didn't have a job next year, BUT

...I still had a place to live

...it doesn't mean I suck at teaching

...I learned so much in my first year there

...God isn't going anywhere

...if I give up now, I forfeit the things learned in trying again… and again… and again

(Yeah, I did come home and eat half a stack of whole wheat club crackers.  At least it wasn't a whole stack, right?) 

So I can choose.  I am free to get all bent out of shape and sulky, and I'm free to trust God and sign my name on the dotted line of the next adventure.  As much as emotions seem to be thrust upon me or inevitable, I trust a God who is greater than my circumstances but has also lived through them.  I don't know if Jesus ever got let go from his carpentry job, but I'm pretty sure He has a good imagination. 

What's next for Miss Sunshine?  Great question.  It's not one I have an answer to.  So far, my list of ideas looks like this…

- Apply to other schools in the district

- Apply to other districts close to home

- Run away and join the circus

- Consider other states

- Get an office job where I can wear heels and do those desk workouts magazine writers rave about

- Be a cowgirl

- Be a Zumba instructor

- Get a PC related/non-classroom job

- Apply to charter and Christian schools

- Apply to artsy schools where they encourage drum circles and handstands

- Write a book

Plenty of options, and that's only half of them.  There's always overseas stuff, becoming a princess or an astronaut, or working at camp.  All good options.  I'm sure you're full of ideas.  Feel free to pass them along, though I disentangle myself now from any obligation to take them on. 

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Stuff Kids Need

As a teacher, I hear a lot about what kids need.  PE teachers say kids need more exercise.  Art teachers say kids need more art.  Math teachers say kids need to use their hands while they're doing math.  Reading teachers say kids need strategies to help them remember what they read.  Doctors say kids need more vitamins.  Counselors say kids need social skills and processing strategies.  Parents say kids need experiences like yoga class, soccer teams, dance lessons, outside tutoring, taking care of a pet. 

This week is parent/teacher conference week.  I'll be sitting down with parents all week talking with them about how their kids are doing and what they need.  We'll talk about whether or not they understand fractions and how well they listen to instructions.  I might recommend that they put their kid in music class to help them learn to focus, or that they put them in sports to help them develop a better team mentality. 

All that stuff is fine.  I agree that art and sports and vitamins are good for kids.  Yep, wouldn't disagree with that.  I love all of those, and I hope kids get the chance to participate in some of the fun things that I got to be a part of growing up.  But I think in all the flyers for this camp and that club, we're overlooking some things. 

When I sit down with parents at a conference, they'll ask me things like, "OK, so how can I help them at home?"  "What can we practice so that my kid will be more organized or successful?"  I kind of want to tell them, "Kiss in front of your kids."  "Have dinner together."  "Cook."  "Stay married."  "Teach them how to fight redemptively."  "Read to your kids and in front of your kids so they know you like reading too."

Those are the things kids need.  They don't need the newest Justin Bieber hair gel.  They don't need the shiniest shoes.  They don't need a cruise to the Bahamas.  They don't need to have a busier schedule than the President.  They don't need a perfect little happy family.  Kids need real parents.  They need parents who model fighting fair.  They need parents who make mistakes in front of them and ask for forgiveness. 

Sure, you can practice hands on math until your fingers bleed.  You can go to dance class, golf lessons, space camp and have customized monogrammed Ugg boots.  You can have all the stuff people tell you kids need, but if that's all you have, you're just a calculating, dancing, club swinging, boot wearing spacey 8 year old who doesn't know who they are, who loves them, or what safe feels like.

Now, there are situations where sad lives.  People get sick, people leave, people do cruel things.  We aren't always in a situation to prevent disaster, and sometimes we're just there in time to see a lot of broken pieces.  Perhaps instead of trying to make that situation better by giving that kid stuff, we should start with love.  Sure, experiences are good, art class is good, yes yes yes, but let's start with modeling common courtesy, safe relationships, healthy conflict resolution, active listening, family dinner. 

So sure, get out those math flash cards, parents, but only if you have time after family dinner? 

Little Miss Sunshine

You Could Possibly Survive Being a Teacher If...

1. You like kids.

And I don't just mean, you "kinda" like kids.  If you like your adorable, demure nieces and nephews who crow your name and shower you with kisses, that doesn't count.  Everyone likes that.  If you like cute kids in the grocery store, that also doesn't count.  I don't mean the idea of kids, either.  You have to really like kids - the ugly ones, the pretty ones, the snotty ones, the sassy ones, the rich and poor ones, the ones that are just a little weird, and you have to like being with them ALLLLL day.

2. You can deal with messes.

And I don't just mean "Miss Sunshine, I'm having a difficult time organizing my reading folder" messes.  I'm talking about snot, poop, blood, puke, tears, mud, grass, sand, and any other nasty thing you could imagine a kid getting into.  It'll happen.  Think through that one before you sign on for "Freshman Seminar in Education".

3. You have thick skin.

Kids are precious.  They will tell you things like "I love you, Miss Sunshine", "You're my favorite teacher ever, Miss Sunshine", "You're so beautiful, Miss Sunshine".  That's nice.  They will also tell you things like "I hate school", "Why are you so mean?!", "This is boring", "Why don't we ever get to do fun things like they do in Ms. ___'s class?".  That's not the end of it.  You'll catch criticism from their parents too.  "Why isn't my child on the honor roll this week", "You need to do something about this", "My kid needs more personalized attention".  If you have onion skin, forget it.

4. You like having fun.

Fun-haters, beware.  This is not a job for you.  Maybe try cardboard box making instead?  Kids are hilarious, and they'll have you rolling on the floor in riotous laughter.  They have good ideas.  They are whimsical.  They like to play.  If you can harness these qualities and turn them into learning, you will have minds aflame with curiosity and interest. 

5. You are smart.

And I don't just mean book smart, although you have to be that too.  Kids are sneaky, tricky little rascals.  They will get away with as much as you will let them.  They will push buttons, tell lies, and do things behind your back that become the stuff of kid legend.  While it's helpful to have eyes in the back of your head at the time of application, it's not necessary, as they'll develop as you teach.  

6. You're OK with making mistakes.

If you're all about being perfect, flee the teaching field.  The job is never done, the lesson is never perfect, the standardized test is never aced, and your low kid might not be in the gifted program by the end of the year.  You will make more mistakes than you'll care to admit.  If that makes you want to puke, that's OK, just so long as you're willing to face that fear and get over it.  It's hard, but it's not insurmountable.

 

7. You're a spork.

 That is, you can handle doing lots of different things.  Sporks can bore holes in snowbanks, stir hot chocolate, dollop some Daisy on a baked potato, dig a seedling hole in a garden, and complete a miniature 3D version of "American Gothic".  If you think all a teacher does is read picture books and give spelling tests, well, you're silly, and you don't know any teachers.  There's the teaching side of teaching, which involves presenting difficult concepts in multiple ways.  It involves looking at trends and data and assessment and figuring out if what you're doing is even working.  Then there's the business side of teaching, which involves a forest of paperwork, keeping good records and emailing parents.  Then there's the professional side of teaching which means keeping your license up to date and improving your mad teaching skills.

Being these  won't guarantee that you'll be a great teacher, but not being any of them is a pretty sure sign you should find something else to do with your life.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

PS.  #8 is "You can live cheaply"   :)    

Dear younger, louder, unemployed self,

 

Dear younger, less wise self still wondering if you'll ever get a real teaching job,

You do.  You sign a contract that says you'll be in charge of precious children, but you don't know you'll call them that yet or that they'll practically have their own Twitter feed.  Get excited, the way you get hired is perfect… (ly) crazy.  You'll sign the contract on Friday and start work Tuesday.  The night you sign the contract, you'll meet the parents.  Yeah, you don't even know what time school starts, where the bathrooms are, or really anything else except that this is a day you've dreamed of most of your life. 

You'll have a room full of real fire crackers.  The first semester, you'll give them too free of reign.  The end of the first and beginning of second semester you'll regret not hammering procedures into them for the first few weeks of school.  Hopefully you'll do better next year, if you survive that long. 

On the topic of survival, you'll have a lot of days where you'll want to quit and be a waitress.  You'll be confused, discouraged, tired, and think that people are asking too much of one human.  It's odd, but somehow the insurmountable gets surmounted and you live to see another sunrise.  It'll behoove you to plan ahead.  Sometimes you will, and sometimes you won't.  Sometimes you'll wing it and soar, but sometimes you'll wing it and crash.  You'll comfort yourself with the fact that kids are resilient and first year teachers are only first year teachers once.  Second year HAS to be easier.

You'll grow a lot.  Being a teacher is kind of like being on stage.  Your flaws and features are on display for your kids, their parents and your fellow teachers to see.  Sometimes you'll be so mad at your kids that you'll shout.  You don't lose your temper much at all, but work on keeping discipline redemptive but firm.  Keep the parents in the loop.  I know, they sort of terrify you.  It's OK.  Sometimes they'll get upset at you, but don't worry.  It's just because they love their kids, mostly. 

Oh, those kids.  Sometimes they will sort of make your breath catch in your throat when you think about the things they've been through or the way their life is hard.  It's second semester and you still haven't figured out how to keep PC18 from shouting out the answers.  Oh well, keep trying.  You'll call them your children affectionately, and when sad, heavy things happen, a great wave will well up in you that just wants to love and protect them.  Don't get me wrong, they'll frustrate you to no end.  They have to learn how to think.  Video games and fast food don't really improve higher order thinking skills.  Up day or down day, though, you love them dearly, and that's a start, at least. 

You'll learn how hard it is to balance being a first year teacher with the other stuff you want to do.  You'll work a lot of weekends and nights and holidays.  You'll realize you really haven't done anything hard in your life until now.  That's OK.  You survive that too, and you learn that God is faithful to provide what you need.  No exceptions.  Your RC will be awesome.  You'll talk through lots of things with them, joke with them, decorate cookies with them, roast marshmallows with them.  It's a pretty eclectic little band, but you'll get close. 

Believe it or not, YOU, LMS, are old enough to make grown up friends.  And you WILL make grown up friends.  Not college friends or high school friends, but actual people you meet as an adult and do things like have dinner and grab lunch and talk about work.  It's kind of weird, but you're pretty blessed to have people like Michelle and Greg around. 

The olden and golden friends haven't gone anywhere either.  Zanna is still your BFF.  You still hang out in Dallas on long weekends when you can.  In fact, SG is getting MARRIED to Alexander in May (I know, I know, it's about time), and you're in the wedding! 

So hang on, kiddo.  You're in for a wild ride.  It's a good one, and well worth the struggle. 

Your, uh, self,

Little Miss Sunshine

*image from http://www.mytypewriter.com/

Confession 63

My bloggery has been sorely neglected this past month, and I do apologize.  It's not that the PCs (precious children) have not been saying funny things or that I've run away and become a lion tamer, it's just that I haven't been writing much in the last few weeks.  Last night I posted a small adventure in Pinterest testing, but I have a hunch you really read this blog to hear about my 22 children and other outlandish scrapes and escapades… not how to take a layer of dirt off your face. 

If you ask me how teaching is going, I'll say this: "Oh, so great.  It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's great."  I know I'll say this because people keep asking, and that's what keeps popping out of my mouth.  I won't talk too much about the depths of difficulty, but you can read about that here, if you really want to. 

I have successfully survived being a teacher for 1 semester and 1 week.  YAY.  What's more, my 22 PCs have survived my tutelage for that long.  You might shrug that off and say that I'm made to be a teacher and of course they survived.  Why should I be surprised that they're all still there? 

Confession  #63: Buoyant, chipper, optimistic Little Miss Sunshine often finds herself riddled with self-doubt. 

The task seems a mountainous one, nearly insurmountable.  Educate these children.  Take them as they are, broken and wacky or sometimes sad family lives, unique talents, quirky as a chameleon, and teach them how to multiply, write a persuasive essay, what the Judicial Branch does, and what it means to live with integrity.  Make sure you're treating them fairly, but not equally, as each one needs something different.  Make sure you're pushing them hard, but don't wear them out.  Bring the low ones up to grade level, but challenge the advanced ones so they don't get bored. 

Make your teaching active, hands on, interdisciplinary, connected to real life.  Give them practice working solo and in groups because they'll need that when they go out into the real world.  Teach them how to read a science text, but also how to identify the rise and fall of plot as their favorite fictional characters live out their dreams.  Love them.  Be firm.  Be creative.  Be punctual.  Be organized.  Be intuitive.  Be professional.  Be personal.  Be sympathetic, but don't let them walk on you.

And I chose this.  It's my dream job.  Who am I to admit that "living the dream" scares the socks off of me and makes me want to stay under the covers some mornings.  Who am I to complain that something I chose is really hard. 

Inadequacy follows me like a shadow.  When friends reassure me that I'm a good teacher, all I can think of is how I could have taught number lines with leap frog instead of just using white board games.  When people say I'm a natural, all I can think of is how I forgot to write the parent newsletter last week.  I discount their praise because I know they don't know the full story.  I know how I failed today and yesterday and the day before that. 

Is that fair?  Is it fair to set myself up as a goddess, knowing better than the wisest people in my life?  To discount their encouragement because I don't think it's warranted?  Hold the phone.  Is all this fear stuff really just a bunch of pride and faithlessness? 

What I'm thinking:  I can't do this.

What I'm really thinking:  God will not actually keep His promise to sustain me in what He's called me to do.

What I'm thinking:  This is too hard!

What I'm really thinking:  I don't really trust God to give me the strength to survive difficult circumstances.

What I'm thinking:  I suck at teaching.

What I'm really thinking:  I have unrealistic expectations for a first year teacher, and I'm ignoring the encouragement of my coworkers, principal, family and friends. 

When you put it like that, the mask of inadequacy comes off and just looks like pride.  Maybe my job isn't that huge, or hard, or insurmountable.  After all, I serve a God who calls the stars by name.  

Overcome by grace, again,

Little Miss Sunshine

School is not Camp

I love camp.  I love it, I love it, I love it.  I love the way it is loud and messy and exuberant and full of music and Bible study small groups and kids who are dealing with a lot.  I love the community meal times, the counselor bonding, the fervent prayer and the tie dye and bandanas. 

I love school.  I love, love love it.  I love the way it is filled with children and freshly sharpened pencils and the smell of the laminator machine.  I love reading and math and science and social studies and the way kids pick up on your speech patterns.  [Every day at the end of read aloud, I say "and that, students, is where we will conclude for the day".  The other day one of my precious children beat me to the punch line and asked "Miss Sunshine, is that where we will conclude for the day?"] 

Sometimes I get confused and think that I'm at camp instead of work.  Just to set myself straight, I thought I should make a list of ways that school is not like camp.

1. Camp is all day and all night.  Miss Sunshine should not sleep at school, nor work there so much that people get the idea that she sleeps at school.

2. Tie dye/flannel/bandanas are allowed, but mostly just casual Fridays or on days that you're studying hippies, art/lumberjacks/rock climbing, cowboys.  In my class, those topics wouldn't be too unusual, but I've got to balance with the teacher cardigans and pearls. 

3. Don't eat the food.  I was spoiled staffing at Summit and Compass because at Summit we had Mrs. Mom's wonderful recipe book to work with and at Compass we just made our own food.  I'm not saying the cafeteria food is bad - as cafeteria food goes, but it's still a public elementary school cafeteria.

4. Yelling is not OK.  At camp, you can bellow and holler a great deal more than at school.  The crazier you are, the better.  There's some crazy idea about needing to be quiet because students are learning, or something.  Maybe it's just a rumor, I don't know.

5. Holy Spirit work.  At camp, you're always praying, singing, studying, encouraging, and having d&ms (deep n meaningfuls).  At school, the Holy Spirit is there and quite at work, but your terminology changes a little.  I can't just go around telling kids they're being bullied because of a sin problem or that their Father loves them way more than their imperfect parents.  I have to figure out how to use every teachable moment to declare the truth of the gospel implicitly. 

6. Camp is not a profession.  I know, some of you would consider yourselves professional camp counselors, but camp isn't a profession for most people.  Teaching is a profession, and sometimes you have to be, well, professional.  Bring on the power suit and heels, clip board and teacher lingo.

There are just a few reminders for yours truly to keep herself straight at school… this makes me miss camp.  I wonder, since teachers get summers off, if… well, it's too soon to tell.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

News from Room 8

That last post was a bit of a, uh, downer.  This week, however, was absolutely God sustained.  (Am I really surprised?)  I survived, and the PCs did too.  Sunday night, all I wanted to do was cry, quit, and be a waitress.  (My Australian taco joint was that fun.)  At small group on Monday night, we talked about living life with the end in mind.  God wins.  Love wins (not in the you-know-who-starts-with-R-and-ends-with-obBell way).  Jesus and people who follow Him win.  No tears.  No discouragement.  No sadness.  Dancing and singing and running in fields and everything good about life here will be there.  Living with that in mind makes it a little easier to get through the sad and the lonely and the broken here.  Every morning this week, my alarm has gone off at 5:28AM and the first thing through my mind and my mouth is WE WIN.  I may lose every battle from here to the end of the world, but by golly, our good God has won the war. 

 

Happenings in Room 8 have been neither crazier or more mellow than usual.  Kids say funny things.  Kids say insightful things.  Kids call you out if ever you say one thing and do another.  Kids push the envelope.  Kids envelope you in tight squeezes.  They make you proud, and they embarrass you.  They're sneaky and impish and dramatic and sensitive and wonderful little terrors. 

I'm learning all kinds of things about teaching and myself and my PCs.  PC1 is absolutely obsessed with ninjas.  PC2 will catch any loophole you never knew existed.  My kids are too loud.  The reading specialist told me that yesterday.  She gave me some ideas for expectation posters… something I should have had from the beginning, and might have if I hadn't gotten hired 4 days before school started.  Teaching is a competitive sport.  Pride has to be crushed if you're going to be a good teacher.  You can't go around thinking you're awesome.  That attitude doesn't lend itself to collaboration and growth.  Planning and prep is the skeleton of teaching, but passion is the lifeblood.

Some days I don't want to be a teacher.  I'd rather have an office job where I can wear clothing that you can't sit on the floor in or run around or jump rope in.  I'd rather be a waitress where I leave work at work.  I'd rather be a sky diving instructor or rock climbing guide or dance teacher - one of those hobbies that turns into a job.  I'd rather do ministry or travelly jobs mingled with camp and fling stability to a young wind. 

Most days I want to be a teacher.  I want to be there to see PC5 make a jump in her reading score.  I want to be there when PC13 is crying and just needs to bury her face in someone.  I want to be there when PC7 tames his temper.  I want to jump rope.  I want to teach my PCs why the Gettysburg Address matters.  I want to read aloud to them.  I want to be there to tell them failure isn't failure unless they stay down and don't grow because of it. 

It's hard.  I have a few tough nuts to crack.  I feel young.  Half of the time, I feel young and inexperienced and adrift, and half of the time I feel young and part child myself, able to enter into the lives of my PCs.  Oh, I love them so much. 

Little Miss Sunshine, Room 8

Doing a Hard Thing

Friday night, I got home from work around 7:15.  Where I work, school gets out at 1 on Fridays.  I kind of wanted to collapse in a blubbering heap on the tile.  Instead I ate tortilla chips, a banana, walnuts, ice cream and an apple - in that order - for dinner and watched TV for the remainder of the evening.

I don’t really do hard things.  In the history of my life, there have been rare instances (I can't think of one right now, but surely somewhere there was one) when I have done a truly hard thing.  There's not a shred of modesty in this.  I'm being honest.  Growing up, it wasn't difficult to avoid hard things because I lived a moderately fairytale-esque life.  It was the whole white, middle class, happy family scenario.  There was no gang war to live through, no digging through trash for breakfast, no babysitting five younger siblings and trying to do geometry homework. 

In school, it might have appeared like I was doing a hard thing.  I got good grades, scored high, gently kicked the SAT in the face, graduated from college with honors, blah blah blah.  It's not my fault I'm a driven first born who picks things up quickly.  That's not something I did.  I could've chosen a double major, or at least a major and a minor like some of my friends.  I took fun classes with my extra time instead.  There was Tap Dancing, Nutrition, Public Speaking, Spanish, to name a few. 

I've run a couple half marathons.  I didn't have the gusto to do the real thing.  I probably couldn't run five miles today.  I played volleyball for a little team and did a lot of bench warming.  I took piano lessons for almost ten years but don't play much now.  I love gardens, but I'm not so good at keeping plants alive because I forget to water them.  I paint my nails one color, forget the chevron or the plaid or the Indonesian ladybug design.  I read my Bible most mornings, but still have trouble putting it into practice. 

Enter big girl teaching job… Now this, this is a hard thing.  Boy howdy, is it a hard thing.  I can pretty safely say it's the hardest thing I've ever done.  The sheer physical demands of it are hard.  I'm up at 5:30, running around with kids from 8:15 to 3, working until 5:30 or sometimes later.  There's always work on the weekends.  Every sense must be heightened.  Crisis can be averted with a quick preventative shake of the head while having a conversation about what a noun is.  It's like being 15 again listening to my dad's driving advice - my head is perpetually on a swivel.  Thankfully, I have been blessed with a heaping lot of energy, so keeping up with 23 eight year olds isn't too far out of my ability range. 

Aside from being physically demanding, there's the great weightiness of being a teacher.  For one year, I am in charge of the education of 23 children.  People keep reassuring me that I can't ruin a kid in a year, and I hold tightly to that.  It is on my shoulders to help them excel, catch up, maintain, or whatever verb describes them at their level of learning.  It is on my shoulders to manage (if not meet) their parents' expectations of what their kid should be able to do.  There are meetings with specialists, emails to counselors, forms to be filled out regarding behavior management and individualized spelling lists.  All that aside, I am also responsible for modeling character, integrity, grace, justice, good vs. evil, and absolute truth for kids who may never hear the Gospel anywhere else. 

All those things are hard, and I haven't even mentioned teaching yet.  There are 23 levels, 23 personalities, 23 different gifts and combinations of learning styles to work with.  There are 23 little people that I love dearly and want to see succeed to the best of their capabilities in a world that has rigorous, dynamic demands.  Where do I even begin to make sure I am teaching to the whole child, pushing my high kids and my low kids, challenging them to take ownership of their own education, planting in their minds now the potentials for higher education?  Sure, I've seen videos of great teaching, and I can tell you all about great things to try in your classroom, but when it comes to applying all these great things, it's HARD.  I can talk all day long about great teaching, but then I hand out worksheets to my kids instead of giving them PlayDough to work on their spelling words. 

It's hard when you have a kid sobbing and explaining to you that she didn't want her brother to be born with a broken heart or Down's Syndrome or Autism.  It's hard when you have a kid sobbing because kids are spreading rumors about them or yelling at them or excluding them.  It's hard when all you want to do is love them and tell them all about Jesus because He's the only one who can fix that hurt. 

Sometimes I don't know if I'll survive this year.  Teaching takes things from you that other jobs don't.  It also gives you things that other jobs can't.  Tuesday, my kids had a rough day at P.E.  I picked them up from the gym only to find some of them crying, most of them sullen and upset, and a bad report from the coach.  We had a thorough talking to after that and before they went to P.E. on Thursday.  When I picked them up Thursday, I found them in the same state as Tuesday.  The coach was shaking her head, and most of them were sitting staring at the floor.  I launched into a lecture, only to be interrupted by the coach who said, "Nah, Miss Sunshine, they were fine" and all of my blessed precious children chimed in with jubilant shouts of "we got you Miss Sunshine, we tricked you!".  I was the proudest, gladdest, relieved-est person on campus that day, giddy with glee and so happy for my little P.C.s.  It's worth it when there are PCs fighting over who gets to hold your hand as you walk from class to the library, or one who says, "Thank you for teaching us today, Miss Sunshine, have a good weekend!" or "Miss Sunshine, I'm going to miss you at summer break" when it's only October.

Maybe I'll survive another three quarters, slowly, one meaningful day at a time.  For once, maybe I'll do a hard thing.

Only by God's grace,

Little Miss Sunshine

Being Peter Pan

Sometimes I think my soul is too young to be a teacher.  It's too hard.  Too hard to stand on the sidewalk during playground duty when all I want to do is kick off my shoes and run through the field catching passes with the boys playing football or tuck in my shirt and hang upside down from the monkey bars with the little girls in their pigtails.  It's too hard to be fierce and stern and dare them to make a sound while I'm trying to teach them two digit subtraction when all I want to do is lead them in a rollicking singing dancing frolic. 

Oh, I know, teachers ought be firm and not smile until Christmas.  That's a lot of hogwash.  I have trouble not laughing at their ill-timed jokes in class.  They're too funny, too alive, too uninhibited.  I get nervous just thinking about someone walking into my classroom during snack time or dance party time.  There are children sitting quietly in their seats happily crunching away on their granola bars.  There are also children forming conga lines to a verb rap or hollering requests for "Oh, Say Can You See"  ("The Star Spangled Banner" - their favorite song).  Will the teacher or administrator or (heaven forbid) the superintendent understand that this is childhood happening?  That NeverLand exists for moments during the day in my classroom? 

 

I feel like Peter Pan with my Lost Boys (and girls), co-conspirators on a mission of adventure and discovery.  It is my job to teach them to be brave and bold and live lives of honor.  I must lead them to be lovers of poetry and investigators of physics and chemistry.  They ought to know that whether done in a team or alone, work is something accomplished with passionate creativity and excellence.  Whether they are now or not, they ought to leave my room as connoisseurs of literature, whether the Gettysburg Address or The Magician's Nephew.  If they look at Renoir and say Ren-oy-er, I will have failed.  

Sometimes, teachers get confused.  They get the idea that school should be a quiet place.  They think that the important thing is children doing what they're told.  They think that the AIMS or Stanford15 or whatever standardized test it is must be studied for.  Being a new teacher, other ideas are still alive in my memory.  Walking in a straight, quiet line is not a life skill.  When's the last time you had to do it?  Probably 5th grade, unless you've been in a chain gang recently.  What is the class you remember the most material from?  It is not likely the one where you sat silently listening to a teacher lecture (aka daydreamed about what's for lunch, unless you had class with Dr.Mrs. Sonheim, Motl or Wight).  The purpose of education is not passing tests, but understanding what it means to be human through history, geography, geometry, chemistry, music, art, literature and jump roping.  If students can artfully express themselves and carefully examine ideas, don't you think they'll survive that test, whatever it is? 

Sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing, no one's listening, and no one is interested in learning.  I want to cry and read Shakespeare and run down a grassy hill and climb trees instead of be a teacher.  I must have to crack down on them and be harsher.  I will never be a good teacher.  A good teacher would be more organized.  A good teacher would this and that.  After some moping and self-lecturing, I remember the difference between Peter Pan and Charlie Brown's teacher.  One has a young soul, and one does not.  You cannot teach children to fly and loathe being among the stars.

Muddling through the first year of being Miss Sunshine,

LMS

Living the Dream… mom, tests and tears

Oh, friends, I always knew teaching wasn't an easy job, but now I'm seeing it for myself.  Ideals sparkling with collegiate naiveté suddenly look like a fairytale castle, nice but not reality.  I wanted my kids learning plays, designing and building things, doing experiments, and solving the worlds problems.  What I'm finding is a gap between ambition and physical limitations of time and energy, oh, and having to be at P.E. and such and such a standardized test and lunch and deal with bloody noses and children who can't stand in a straight line. 

How in the world can I be what each student needs?  How in the world can I differentiate for precious child 1 and 2 and 15 and 23?!  Kid 7 keeps trying to spell words without vowels!  Kid 2 invariably forgets to use punctuation!  Kid 13 could probably do high school geometry!  I can't let any of them slip through the cracks - not Kid 10 because she's so quiet, or Kid 5 because she's about as hyper as a chihuahua puppy! 

I've decided, as a first year teacher, I don't have to do it all at once.  My priority is my precious children.  If they're learning, I'm satisfied.  If my room wins cutest classroom (which it likely never will), if I get enough box tops to buy a chemistry set, and if every one of my kids gets put in the gifted program next year, fine.  For now, I'm just going to focus on figuring out how to be a classroom teacher that can explain things in enough ways that it gets the point across to every student, treats her students fairly, keeps her promises, and ignites a fire for learning in the guts of the 23 kids in Miss Sunshine's Room 8. 

Friday, we were with our first grade buddy class working on the commutative property (flipping around addition facts), and I almost lost it.  There were my kids, some of them a little crazier than others, working carefully with their buddy to explain the concept and play the dice game.  I was so proud of them.  They were being responsible because they were given responsibility! 

Also Friday, we took a nasty long standardized reading test in the computer lab.  Afterwards, I had a little sweet one crying at her desk saying she didn't like reading.  I about started crying with her right there.  WHAT?!  Don't like reading?!  Next to loving Jesus and having a stable social network, reading is just about the most important thing in life.  We had to have a little chat about how she didn't really hate reading, she just needed a little practice.  Oh, but they pull on your heartstrings! 

  

Monday, I have my first big test.  I'm leaving my darling hooligans with a sub.  She has specific instructions in an attempt at preventing them from taking her to the moon.  Haha, they might take her there anyway, but I did my best to label things and give her a ship shape ship to run while I'm at a curriculum training day.  It's like leaving your kids with a babysitter for the first time.  You know there's the potential for them to be helpful and responsible and show her where the lunch box bin goes by the gate.  You also know you could come back to a warzone and a hastily scribbled note on your desk that says, "I tried to keep them from putting glue in each other's hair, it just didn't work out, sorry.". 

Thursday, a student called me over to his desk with a question.  He looked up at me with his wondering brown eyes and said, "Mom?  … I mean… Miss Sunshine? … uh sorry"  Later, the same precious child was wriggling around on the carpet like an earthworm.  When I asked him what he was doing, he replied simply that he was trying to get up with no arms.  Of course.  No arms.  Yes, that's life in 3rd grade. 

Well, if you want to pray, pray for wisdom and gumption, but most of all, pray that I figure out how to ask for help.  Everyone at school is so kind and helpful, but often I don't even know what to ask for! 

Loving being Miss Sunshine of Room 8 escapades,

LMS

Living the Dream… Puke, Blood, and Recess

Well, friends, I've officially survived my first week as a 3rd grade teacher.  You're all wondering, I'm sure, how it's going, and you'd probably rather read it from the comfort of your sweatpants and morning coffee than hear it from me (silly technoisolationist culture that we've built ourselves into…).

I am living my dream straight out of college (plus or minus a year in Australia).  That's unheard of with today's economy and the fight to out-resume the next guy.  In college, I represented the skinny piece of the pie who knew what they wanted to do with their lives.  I've always wanted to be a teacher.  Somehow, I just knew.  Of course, when I started looking at colleges, I went through a short nutritionist/journalist/Spanish phase, but teaching won out.  I wasn't exactly short on circumstantial evidence either.

• I LOVE mornings.  The alarm goes off at 5:45, and I'm hungry for a new day to dance in.

• I'm all about learning.  I don't care what it is… physics, Plato, pepperoni pizza making.
• I love kids.  Gee whiz, they're funny and genuine and precious… sort of like dogs, but more fun because they can talk.
• Volume is one of my spiritual gifts (or curses, depending on who you talk to).
• My energy level is… above average.

• Multitasking is interesting.

• I'm really hard to gross out. (I've already had bloody noses and an upset stomach)
• Small paychecks don't scare me.

So, I think being a teacher might be a good idea.

For now, I'll just give you a topical overview of the questions I know you want answered.

The School

The place I'm teaching is amazing.  There's a great teacher culture, lots of involved parents, plenty of demographics represented, and high standards.  I have a great mentor who saves my life at least once a day.  My classroom is spacious and well equipped.  I'm absolutely spoiled.

The Commute

My daily sing along/pray along time is about 20 minutes.  It's perfect for getting prepped for the day (and drinking 77% of my morning coffee).  If you ever drive up beside me, odds are I'll be drumming on the steering wheel and giving a mini concert. 

Living at Home

I know, people get a bad rap sometimes for living at home, but it's been great.  I wasn't so sure about it, coming off of a year in Australia and a year at school in my own apartment, but it's been easier than I thought.  The plan is to stay at least a semester and figure out what the heck I'm doing after Christmas.  And yes, Mom does cook dinner. 

Teaching

I love teaching.  I don't love all the transition time and management time that isn't active learning time.  In the big picture, that's on me because I need to plan awesome things and make my children behave so we can do them.  :)

Stamina

Yep, being with 23 third graders from 8:15-3:05 takes it out of you.  I'm still finding time to have a small life (dancing, church, all the good stuff in life) outside of school!  I sleep hard at night, but invariably I have dreams about school.  The first night, I found myself in my bathroom at home looking for a bandaid for a student.  Last night I dreamed all my children were in my bedroom and I kept thinking I couldn't send them out because they wouldn't have anyone to look after them.  Then I realized it was 3AM and they couldn't possibly really be in my room. 

Oh friends, pray for my kiddos!  I love them so much already and ache when they don't understand they're specially made or when they hurt each other without thinking.  Pray I model what I know and what I'm trying to teach them. 

Much love from the school front,

Little Miss Sunshine

Contracts and Construction Paper

It happened.  Glory, Hallelujah, dear goodness, meohmy, it happened.  That interview that I went to on Thursday?  Yeah, well, it worked out.  This has been my week…

Wednesday: Fill out district application

Thursday: Turn in application and interview

Friday: Get hired, have Meet the Teacher Night

Saturday: Work like a headless chicken

Sunday: Work like a headless chicken

Monday: Staff meeting and work like a headless chicken

Tuesday: First day of school and play volleyball with friends (important grownup time)

Wednesday: Second day of school, Bible study, dance the night away

Thursday: Third day of school, everyone's still alive!

It was as if God thought to Himself… She really doesn't think I can find her a job, and she really likes to be in charge and plan ahead, so I'm going to give her a job and no time to plan.  This will grow her faith.  Yes, that's what I'll do.

Well, I'd never claim to know the mind of God, but for some reason He decided to work it out this way.  I'm so glad He did.  I'm working with a great teacher mentor at a school with high standards and a great staff!  It's a little insane being hired four days before the first day of school, but hey, I'm a little insane myself. 

I have 23 beautiful and unique children to teach and lead.  Somewhere during the last 15 years, I've gone from Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and Christy, thinking about my ideal classroom and binders chock full of lesson plans to introducing myself as Miss Sunshine.  I'm living the dream, and it's weird.  I keep thinking it won't be real, that something is too good to be true.  I mean, who am I that I get to do exactly what I want right out of college?! 

So I'm a teacher now, and I love it.  I can foresee some challenges, but I'm already getting that intrinsic reward payoff that makes up for the all encompassing job description and incongruous paycheck.  I'm also beginning to understand how teachers quickly become workaholics.  When there are 22 journals sitting on your desk full of the musings of young writers, not to mention those grammar pre-tests that are supposed to be "informing your instruction", time flies.  Then there are parent communication letters to be written, curriculum to be previewed, oh, and that committee you're on as a part of the "you will teach this grade and be involved in any other activities deemed necessary" part of your contract.  We'll see how I go with keeping up with that.

Much love,

Little Miss Sunshine

Tumult of the Soul

I was a mess yesterday.  I don't like being a mess, even a hot one.  I like to be either contentedly placid, knowing everything is going to be fine, or fervently elated, knowing everything is going to be fine.  What I don't like to be is desperately broken over circumstances, knowing everything is going to be fine, or feeling like I'm the only sparrow in a flock of magpies, knowing everything is going to be fine. 

Did you catch the consistency there?  I know everything is going to be fine.  Jesus is coming back.  He's going to do an Extreme Makeover: Planet Edition that would make Ty Pennington green with envy and the most hardened criminal cry his eyes out with joy.  Things are going to be better and brighter, just the way they were supposed to be.  Yay.  Great.  Got it.  So excited. 

So why in the big why world, do I get myself worked up into a mess?  (And when I say mess, I'm talking 2 year old got into the jars of paint while mom wasn't looking mess.)  I was steaming mad, terrified out of my mind, frustrated, excited, stressed, hopeful, and put out with myself that I couldn't just pick one emotion.  Hang emotions, who needs them anyway. 

Here's the story. 

Yesterday, I got scheduled for two interviews for teaching positions.  Enter the terrified out of my mind/excited/hopeful/stressed emotions.  I felt sick.  I had no appetite.  Yeah, all this from the girl who's quotable for saying "stress is optional, not required".  Yay!  It could be a paycheck!  AH!  School starts next week!  There was so much cognitive chaos, I felt like I was having a lightning storm in my brain.  Of course, it wasn't just the truth that was making me nervous - wow, this could be my first real job; what if they ask me hard interview questions; it was those dang lies bouncing around in my head.  There's no way I'll ever be a good teacher.  I'm too young, they'll never hire me.  God has much bigger things to think about than helping me with this job mess. 

Chaos. 

That still, small voice was talking away, but I'd have none of it.  Admitting I was a quivering, shivering little kid would only make me feel more vulnerable and a mess, or so I reasoned.  Poor reasoning, I know.  My saving grace came at 7 that night when I sat myself down for Beth Moore Bible Study at church.  Mmmmm.  That woman has a gift for showing you how God brings light into dark places.  I walked out of there reassured that God does care what the heck happens to me, and it's worth the fight to keep reminding myself of that. 

Today, I scrubbed my face shiny, globbed a professional amount of makeup on, and shrugged on my power suit.  The first interview went well.  Their questions were more theoretical than "tell us about a time when you…" which are always easier for me to answer.  Tortilla chips for lunch.  Took a nap.  I recaptured all my flyaway baby hairs with an extra shot of hairspray and set off for the second interview. 

Their questions were harder, more along the lines of "tell us about a time when you captured a runaway llama in your classroom".  I know, terrifying.  I barely got out alive.  A few phone calls to licensure and fingerprint people later, and I was thoroughly discouraged.  My license is still weeks away from being ready.  I would swear, but it wouldn't help, and you wouldn't like it.  My paperwork is taking longer than I expected.  There's nothing I can do now.  I feel like I neglected things that I should have done at Christmas.  Feeling irresponsible makes me feel like I fail at life, or at least at being a grownup.  Enter, more mad, frustration, tumult of the soul.

Either I will have a job that starts on WEDNESDAY, or I won't and I'll be in Texas hanging out with friends.  Either I have a classroom to decorate and routines to conjure up, or I'm going to the mountains tomorrow to relax while camping with the fam.  Oh, how I love uncertainty.  Not.  

During dinner I got the call… we've filled the position, but thank you for applying.  It was mostly the fingerprint card not being ready issue, etc. etc.  I thanked them and hung up.  I finished my pasta.  What's a little rejection, I thought to myself.  If you can't handle that, you'll never make it.  You're fine.  Fine.  Everything's always fine.  There's even a chance the other interview will turn into a job.  Just wait it out.  

It's one thing to know that and feel that because you're just chugging along in life.  It's another thing to feel like you're lost in the creepy Beauty and the Beast woods and know that Jesus hasn't gone anywhere.  Where is this faith that I claim?  When things get sticky and tricky, am I really that quick to doubt?  HE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE.  Why do I even let myself question that?  He's right where He's always been.  It's a tumult in the soul, a wind screaming, wave tossing soul storm. 

The sun will come out tomorrow, whether or not I have a job and whether or not I feel great about my life.  Stay in the game, kids, Jesus isn't going anywhere.

Adamantly determined to think what is true, 

Little Miss Sunshine

Some day, I will be a teacher...

Dear Explorer,

Welcome to the Laboratory of Life, Expedition Jumping Off Point, Team Training Grounds. Some people would call this a classroom. If they are talking about a room where people learn what it means to be classy, then it could be called a classroom. If they are talking about some place where school happens, then it could not be considered a classroom. This is a place where learning happens, not school.

I'm not sure yet who you are, whether you like socks with purple stripes, or socks that are brown, or socks that have athletic company logos on them. I don't know if you have ever heard of Mr. William Shakespeare or Socrates or Florence Nightingale. I don't know if you are good at painting or building things or communicating ideas in ways that help people understand. I don't know if you've lived here all your life or if you've just arrived from halfway around the world. Maybe you have ten sisters, or maybe you have no family at all and live with your pet zebra.

What I do know is you have a brain that is capable of extraordinary things. I also know that this year will not be easy, but it will be fun. I will ask you to try things you might never have thought about trying, or to think about things you've never thought about. I know that I'm glad you're a part of this expedition discovery exploration adventure.

This year, we will be doing things like throwing dinner parties, building rockets, and memorizing poetry. It's ok if you've never done any of these things before. There's a first time for everything. Also, this year, we will be learning a lot about our team. If you don't like someone on the team, that's ok. I'll probably have you work together on a project so that you can find some reasons to like them. I love projects, but only fun ones, so we'll be doing some of those this year.

If your mom or dad or Aunt Lucy wants a supply list of things you'll need, you can give them this list. If they can't find these at WalMart, that's ok.

1. Good attitude

2. Willingness to participate

3. Sense of adventure

I will see you bright and early on adventure trek day 1. Don't be late, or I might feed you to the crocodiles I brought back from Australia.

Your Adventure Trek Expedition Leader, which some people might call a "3rd grade teacher"

Little Miss Sunshine