A Funny Moment in Starbucks

Overslept by about THREE HOURS for work this morning... thank GOD it was only a work day. Anyway, I had to stop for coffee/breakfast at Starbucks on the way since I didn't have time to eat. I ordered my usual- blueberry scone and a plain coffee. I was in a rush, so I was totally in the zone when I went to the little add-in station for cinnamon and just a teeny bit of skim milk.

"Aren't you gonna want more than that?" I hear a man's voice say, but, like I said, I was in the zone so I didn't even look up.

"No, I like it black."

Then, when I did look up, I saw an older man... an older black man. He just busts out laughing, cannot contain himself at the fact that I just told a him that "I like it black."

"Baaaahahahh, she likes it black, she says."

He was still laughing when I walked out.

Life is funny, especially when you get to interact with older men who like to turn everyday language into sexual innuendos.

Courage

A quote, courtesy of my father:

"Courage does not always roar; sometimes it is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying,

'I will try again tomorrow.'"

Not on a Six Year Old's Level

On Thursday I was quite irritated by my little ones because they were whining and being lazy SO I told them a nice story about the importance of working hard (courtesy of my dad and one of his runners Bill Starner... I don't even know if what I was saying was true). Anyway, by the end of it I went off naming successful people who worked hard- Obama, Michael Jordan... then, on a long shot, I threw out another name.


"What about Sonia Sotomayor? Raise your hand if you know who that is." In my head, I immediately realized that they would not know who this is. Big mistake.

Long pause, and then...

"You mean Miley Cyrus?"

I wait, and choose to accept that a historic Supreme Court Justice is nowhere even close to their radar, as much as I would like it to be (being a pub pol major who had Supreme Court info jammed into my brain for my senior seminar).

"Yes, Miley Cyrus. She works very hard."

Jordan, the most challenging kid in my class- "Man, Miley Cyrus doesn't do anything."

Little shy girl that hiccups all the time- "She lives in Disneyland!"


Kids are funny.

Shared Misery

The bond of going through hell. I've thought about this theory for a long time, and I can't think of many situations in which it doesn't hold true.

Go through any awful experience with someone and chances are you'll come out of it best friends. When I think about the friendships I've formed over the years, I've realized that they usually stem from some really traumatic event, from the physically trying (3-a-day preseason practices) to the mentally stressful (this whole teaching without experience thing) to the really stupid (surviving champagne hangovers on Wednesday mornings). I think it's because if you can still stand someone after being in excessive amounts of physical/mental pain, you hedge your bets and figure you might as well keep them around. Think about it. It's easy to go to some perfectly lovely event and have a perfectly lovely time with even the most bland or boring person. BUT to be able to survive a hellish experience and be able to laugh about it with someone... now that's true friendship.

Just some thoughts. Maybe this means my kids and I will be best friends by the time May comes around...

In all seriousness, it's only hellish because I am a crazy control freak/perfectionist who hates being bad at anything. The kids are just kids.

Love for Old Friends

This is just a quick update before the week gets crazy (and I get crazy).

I took a little weekend trip to visit one of my best friends from... ever. We met on the bus in first grade, so I know pretty much everything there is to know about this girl. She's in med school at Wake Forest now (I know, impressive!) and we spent most of Saturday working. But it was so good to have that feeling of comfort back. It was like we were in high school again- watching bad TV, eating bad food, laughing about nothing. It's funny how different our lives are now, both really difficult but in totally opposite ways. She made me feel very, very uneducated, especially when her and her roommate discussed some kind of eye muscle pulley (I was seeing whether my kids could write their numbers correctly, haha).

Overall, a very relaxing and good weekend. It was my boyfriend's birthday today and it stinks not being able to celebrate with him. I love birthdays, particularly my own. But it's always such a happy time and I had to miss it. Ugh. Oh well.

Lame post, I know, but I'm tired. Keep checking for updates, the next one will be good... I promise!

Untied

Haven't tried poetry in awhile, so bear with me... I had one particular student in mind when I wrote this one.


Untied
The ragged ends of shoelaces drag on the floor
picking up the dirt and grime
left behind
by the newer shoes of others.

The backs slip off
slap
slap
as soles hit the tile
a steady beat of too big shoes
made bigger by the loosened strings.

He never ties them
just pulls the laces tight
only for them to come loose again
only for the backs to slip off
slap
slap
against the tile
only for the ends to drag
dirty and frayed on the floor
vulnerable
and waiting
to be stepped on.

The Importance of Running

I never liked running. Or athletics. Throughout my life, I have never considered myself to be an athletic person despite participating in sports and working out regularly. Part of the reason was my stubborn resistance to proving my parents right. Both are athletes who became gym teachers, my father a former marathoner and my mother a petite swimmer who sometimes practices her butterfly stroke on vacations, her aging arms slowly churning the water with the awkward motions of the movement. She, like my father, wears sneakers and lightweight sweat suits, mostly navy and black. Their occupations and general outlook on life are defined by this idea of being active, of competing in and following sports of all kinds, something that served as a major source of anxiety throughout my childhood and adolescence.

One event sticks out in my mind, a time that I'm still not sure if I actually remember it or if I have just heard the story so many times that I have internalized it as a tangible life experience. There I was, a nine-year old with a bad bowl cut, coming downstairs on a weekday and plopping myself down at our kitchen table. I let out an overdramatic sigh of surrender. My nine year old sigh was soaked in desperation, the kind of sigh that begs to be asked about.

“Sara,” my father had said. “What’s wrong?”

Again, the sigh was forced out. “It’s Wednesday.”

He was confused. “What’s wrong with Wednesdays?”

“It’s gym day.” I picked at my cereal. This is probably the last thing a P.E. teacher wants to hear their child to think, much less say out loud. Luckily, I’ve progressed from that day, learning slowly about the merits that fitness and athleticism had to offer.

It has taken me a long time to realize the importance of running. Going into college, I never thought I would be able to call myself an athlete, but a few years and couple hundred hours on the volleyball team forced me to become one. Still, I never got into running, pushing it away because I couldn't handle the type of endurance and mindset needed to be successful at it.

It wasn't until I reached a point in my life where I found myself hopelessly unhappy- unhappy with how I looked, with how I felt about myself, with how others saw me- that I found myself aching for something to pull me back up to a healthy state of mind. That something was running.

I started running while I was studying abroad in Italy, a semester away after a rough year involving my own personal struggles with body image and self-confidence. I didn't run that frequently- two to three times a week around a four mile loop on the Tiber River- but something about that semester changed me. Aside from gaining almost 20 pounds due to the excessive amounts of pesto, pizza, and red wine, I came back feeling completely different about myself. I was convinced the running had nothing to do with it, that the transformation came from the laid back Italian lifestyle and feeling of independence I cultivated while I was there.

But the running part stayed with me, increasing to five times a week. I ran my first race that summer. During all those miles I put in, I finally started to get it.

As long as I had thoughts to fuel my wanderings (and I have a lot of thoughts), I felt like I could run for hours. No wonder runners are so crazy. All they have to do on those outings was THINK. Just think. The only thing with you on those runs are your thoughts. And while running, I finally sorted my thoughts on the subject to figure out why it was so important. Here they are, as random as they came into my head:


-Sometimes there is merit in running away from things. Negativity, norms that hold you back, mindsets that keep you from loving yourself- there is no shame in running away from these things, so long as you are running towards things that are good for you.

-What a difference purpose makes. Run to a destination, and you always have to run back. Always. Run randomly, in circles, following back in steps you've already taken- you will never run as far, or as long, as when you run with a purpose and a destination in mind.

-You can always go faster. Or farther. Or longer. Very rarely do we push ourselves to our limits, and running reminds me of that. I just keep thinking, "A little faster. A little farther. A little longer." And usually, if I'm willing to put in the effort, I can do that.

-Running gives you balance. It's the one time in a day where it's just you, nobody else. You determine your pace (or lack of pace), you determine how hard you work. It's not that you can't make excuses, because frequently, you do. But every time that happens, you know it's an excuse. Every little "I just ate" or "I didn't get a lot of sleep" or "My leg's bothering me" lets you stop, but deep down you KNOW you're making excuses. I find myself doing that, justifying why I'm stopping or slowing down or going back home. But the bottom line is that I am in full control of whether I accept those excuses or overcome them, and that feeling of power allows me to gain confidence in myself when other parts of my life seem hopeless.


It would be dangerous if I could run and write at the same time. This entry would be much longer and more sporadic if that were possible. The bottom line is that I value running more now that I haven't been able (or willing) to do it. I miss that feeling of sweating out troubles, or just letting my mind go crazy while my feet hit the pavement. Even though I never ran all that fast, or fast at all, I have never given it enough credit in changing the way I thought about myself. That's where I found the importance of running.

A High Amongst Many Lows

One kid in my class can NEVER sit still. His legs are up, he's making fighter plane noises, banging pencils in his desks, wiggle-dancing in the halls, talking. Not a huge problem, but definitely an annoyance when others are being problems. After starting my new rewards system, he was AWESOME. Straightening up whenever I asked, shutting his little mouth and not making a PEEP. He ended up on the highest color today and when I called his mother to tell her what a great day he had, she told me:

"Oh trust me, I've already heard about it... in the car on the way home it was all, 'Mama, look at the paper, look at the paper, look at the paper, look at the paper. I was good!'"

So cute!

Another Blog from an Airport

This time it’s Bradley International in Hartford, a much less enjoyable airport to be in for a few reasons. First of all, there aren’t many people in it to people watch, and the people that are here are grouchy because they live in Connecticut. Then there’s the fact that the airport itself is a pretty bleak place, with bland gray walls and torn up generic carpet. There are still Fourth of July decorations up, cheap translucent American flags strung out on frayed plastic ribbon, their ends curling upward from too much time in storage. The employees aren’t much more cheerful than the airport’s sad décor. It’s times like these when I see the real difference between social interaction in the South and in New England. It just feels a lot colder and less welcoming than the places I go in Charlotte.

The main reason it’s less enjoyable is because I know that I’m leaving. I know, I know, Connecticut makes people grouchy (especially my father, who vowed never to return after I graduated), but being away this weekend was something that was much needed even if it was in CT. I’m realizing now that most of the good friends I got to see while in Hartford were former teammates of mine. When I was a freshman my coach told us to look around the gym at the people we were with, that they would forever occupy a special place in our lives, above friends and roommates in a special kind of family. She was right (although I don’t think she said it that eloquently). My best friends in the world are girls I played with, sharing the pain of early morning workouts, sharing cramped bus seats on buses as we traveled, sharing sweat, tears, and laughter. It’s the kind of bond that forms because you make sacrifices for and with each other. Now, those sacrifices seem petty—trading the Welcome Back dance for a team movie night, Halloween for an early bedtime before a game, sleep for sprinting drills—but in the end those things form a connection that I don’t think I could find in other places.

But being with my boyfriend was what I really needed. There’s the whole element of lacking physical closeness that makes distance so hard, because a lot of times what people need most isn’t the comforting words or laughter from a badly made joke (although I love those moments). It’s a hand on the back of my head, or a pat on the arm, or just the proximity of his leg to mine that seems to have the most calming effect on me. And now that I’ve had that for two days, I feel like I’m right back where I started, going into withdrawal because of my isolation from those very small forms of physical contact. It makes the week of work ahead feel daunting in a way it didn’t before, because now I’m stuck readjusting once again to this huge loss of support that I had this weekend, if only for a short while.

It brings up the question of whether seeing each other makes it better or, in a weird way, harder, because it just reminds us of how much we’ll be missing once we go back to our respective homes. Of course it’s worth it to me, otherwise I wouldn’t have bought a plane ticket and shipped myself back up North, but it’s a tough place to be in once it’s over. It’s more that I leave with a feeling that it’s all very unfair, that I’m being robbed of something that I should have, a feeling of happiness and contentment that belongs to me but is being kept away in a box on a shelf that I can’t reach for an undisclosed amount of time.

It doesn’t help that in twenty minutes I’ll be getting on a flight taking me farther away, most likely while sitting next to an overweight man who’ll unbutton his shirt from the bottom to make himself more comfortable and everyone around him significantly less so.

Thoughts from the Airport

It’s about time that I blog about something besides teaching. There’s no way that my throngs of fans want to hear ONLY about my experience with six-year-olds who throw up on themselves (true story). So I’m taking a break from it for a moment—after all, it is a vacation weekend.

Currently I’m sitting in the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport, Gate C17. I flew out of this same gate when I left for training this summer. I am a full two hours early for my flight. I tell people that I get to the airport so early because I don’t want to miss my flight, but in truth, I really just like hanging out in airports. I talked to the security guard at the checkpoint, the barista at Starbucks, and the bathroom attendant for about ten minutes each. I love it. I love sitting outside of Pizza Hut Express wondering if one of the workers could smuggle in a knife when they come to work. Overall, it’s pretty useless and stupid thinking, but I can’t help it.

Another thing I love about airports is the babies. Notice that I said babies in AIRPORTS, not airplanes. I sat next to the sweetest little baby on the shuttle bus from parking. He had a gigantic round head and huge blue eyes. And some drool crusted on his mouth. He was so cute. I wish I could let naptime drool crust over my mouth and still be cute. But, come departure time, and I’ll have done a total 360, but inside the terminals they’re my best friends. I like to give their parents that look of “How cute!” that also says “Good luck on the flight where everyone will curse your existence.”

People watching (and baby watching) in airports is top notch. Where else do all these people HAVE to come together and interact? You’re spending at least an hour together in these tiny tubes flying through the air, close quarters for even people who know each other well. I always try to guess why people are in here. There’s a woman in yoga pants Facebooking on a Mac. The guy in front of me at security had a huge skateboard in his carry-on, a black and red mural stenciled carefully on the bottom that matched his hat and his shoes. How cool! It made me want to learn how to skateboard.

And just now I’m watching a woman get off a plane from Florida with a HAT BOX. A hat box. I didn’t know woman actually still wore the kinds of hats that required a hat box. I’d like to think she just liked the look of it, strapped over her shoulder with its gold foil casing reflecting off of the stark white lights, but then what do you actually put in a hat box if there isn’t a hat box in it? Jewelry? Scarves? I’d love to go ask her, but I get a weird feeling from ladies who wear hats.

My normal routine for airports is to get a coffee and a trashy magazine, plop myself down in my terminal, and just stare at people. Now that I’m an adult, I made myself get a New Yorker instead of an Us Weekly but my routine is the same. Looking at military people usually takes up a large chunk of my people-watching because of all the stories they probably have. I picture them getting deployed, flying helicopters, taking shooting practice. I wonder if they like the luggage that their respective branches make them carry when they come to the airport.

"Can I Sleep in the School Tonight?"

Thursday wasn't all that bad, looking back. Actually a really cute/funny conversation happened between my class and me. I was very mad at them for taking such a long time going to the bathroom after lunch. They were messing around, being loud, being... annoying. It's the part of the day I dread the MOST and it's so stupid but really- bathroom breaks are the worst.

Anyway we were supposed to be in side for "physical activity" (aka recess) time and I had a fun little activity planned for them but I decided to read them that book, Big Plans, instead. Then I had a talk with them about how important it was to listen to me. See below (M is me, K is my kids, italics are my added asides):

M: How many of you have big plans to learn how to read this year?

K raise hands half-heartedly, not really paying attention

M: I'm serious!! Do you wanna learn how to read??

K get excited: Yes!!!!!

M: Well let me let you in on a little secret... come closer. Closer! (at this point I'm whispering) I KNOW how to teach kids to read. I'm an expert (psh okay Sara, keep dreaming. But fake it for the kiddies) and that's why it's so important for you to listen to me and pay attention and follow directions. I'm so excited to teach you how to read, but you all have to work hard and do what I say because I know what I'm doing.

K don't really say anything, so I keep going.

M: You don't even WANT to know what time I get here in the morning to make sure I'm ready to teach you how to read. I don't want your little brains to know because you're still all warm and snug in your beds dreaming when I'm at school. I don't even want to tell you.

K, yelling randomly: What time?? What time?!
Is it dark?
Is it cold?
What time?!?!

M: I don't even want to tell you. And you don't want to know what time I leave the school. Oh man, if you knew what time I stopped working hard and left the school, you would not even believe me.

K, yelling: Oh my gosh!! When? When do you leave?
Do you eat dinner here?
When when when?!

M: I won't tell you. It is just too late. And then, after I leave, when I get home after working so hard ALL day long to make sure I can teach you all how to read, do you know what I do?

One K: You take a little nap because you've been workin' all day? (hahahahha yeah right)

M: NOO!! I KEEP working!! Because I really want to teach you all to read. Do you wanna learn?!

K: YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!


hahahaha what a moment. Almost as good as when my "behavior challenge" (I'm going to call him Jordan from now on) told me at the end of the day that he wanted to sleep in the school.

At Least the Lunch Lady Told Me I was Pretty

Great morning, breakdown after lunch. Ugh. Will I ever get this teaching thing right?

Light at the End of the Tunnel

...or lull in the storm, clearing in the clouds, other overused cliche...

Today was a pretty great day. I think because my one "behavior challenge" kid was sick so I could really focus on the rest of the class. Not that I even did that good of a job with that, because I'm still letting way too much go with discipline. Ugh. I need to become much more explicit with what I want them to do, because 6 years olds can't really do anything unless they have exact directions. They're cute as hell, but tell them to stand in line and they'll look at you like you have 17 arms or something.

Anyway, the calm (er) day gave me a chance to actually look beyond the very minute I was teaching in to what the rest of the year would be like- what it will be like once I finally settle in. I'm starting to feel a lot more comfortable in front of my kids and I think the renewed confidence is making me a much better and more consistent teacher. And it's only day 7!

I need to get to that point though. Right now I'm just waiting for it to happen, and while I know that some of it will just come, I need to start working to make myself better for my students. I've been very self-centered about this whole process, and I think now I'm realizing the things that I have to provide for them

Looking for a book in my library, I stumbled on the Dr. Suess beginner book "I Can Read With My Eyes Shut." The inside cover was marked with my parents writing- "To Sari: never stop reading. Love, Mommy and Daddy."

Do these kids have that in their lives? Will they ever? Some of them do. Some of them APPEAR to have that, but who knows what's really going on. It's my job to be that person in their life now. Big shoes to fill. I should go plan.

My Brain is a Puddle

Can barely think right now due to multiple complicating/frustrating/emotional circumstances.

#1: Creepy downstairs neighbor Randy's bumping music. Why are you playing Poker Face as high as it can go at 8:30 on a Tuesday night? (it is Tuesday right?) Seriously. Our floor is vibrating. It's making it very difficult for me to staple together my decodables.

#2: These goddamn decodables. Tear them out, fold, staple, repeat. x21. x however many freaking decodables my little children have to read this year. And the illustrations- the one I just did had a little boy/girl that was a mixture between androgynous and demonic. Like a transgender Chucky or something. Eek.

#3: Sickness. It's summer, and I have a cold. That's always bugged me- being sick when it's warm and sunny out. For some reason I feel like that should make everyone immune to any kind of illness (clearly not true).

#4: Fatigue. Maybe if I was a normal person and didn't take 25 minutes to eat my little bowl of oatmeal in the morning I wouldn't have to wake up at 4:15. Oh yes, you heard me correctly- 4:15. This little girl needs to leave for work at 5:25 every day and if she isn't able to get in a relaxing game of Freecell before she goes, so help her.

#5: Freecell. Not so much the game, but the fact that I don't have time to finish my games. I can't X out of them because that would ruin my picture perfect 100% win rate. Yes, 100%. I work hard for that, and take pride in it.

#6: Impulsive purchases, along the lines of plane tickets that depart in less than 100 hours. That sort of thing (you know, much needed visits with people that I love love love) brings me up from the "I-woke-up-at-four-am-and-have-sneezed-16-times-in-ten-minutes" slump, but then realizing I have to plan and discipline my babies tomorrow, and Thursday, and Friday before that can happen makes it even more depressing.

#7: The whole teaching thing. Up and down. I think I'll like it once I stop sucking so bad. It's not even so much that I suck, but more so that I'm not really all that good. I don't know if it's the age group or me- probably a little bit of both. My mother (wow I really make her sound like a guru on this thing) tells me that in elementary school the adage is that September is a wasted month- kids take that long to get used to being in school and having a teacher that disciplines them. Good to know, because right now I don't feel as if they're really learning anything aside from the fact that Miss Fiorillo doesn't eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. Pretty soon they're going to start thinking that I live in my teacher cubby (in a week, they may be correct...)

Bedtime. No more emo fragmented sentences for the night, hope you can all survive.