Tag Archives: teachers live at school

>Vouch for this, Senator McCain.

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Senator McCain, poor families don’t need vouchers.

Poor families need food. They need housing. They need jobs. They need security.
When a girl in the class down the hall couldn’t come to school because she didn’t have shoes, we asked her little sister what her mom did with the paychecks from her job. She said, “She saves all her money so we can get a house.” Get a house meant find a place to rent, not buy one. They were crowded into a small flat with their uncle (four kids and a mom) and wanted to rent an apartment on their own. They owned no furniture, no appliances, no basic supplies. All they wanted was to establish their independence.
This girl wanted to come to school. When her shoes broke, she worried that she was losing her record of perfect attendance. Despite her poverty, she wanted to be here. School for her was a safe and secure place to be, a place to be a part of things. A place to learn.
Senator McCain, do you know who found shoes for her? Her teacher found two pair of spare gym shoes and brought them to her house so she could try them on. I found another pair in my closet after I found out we wore the same size. This girl doesn’t need a private school; she needs financial security for her family. She needs inflation to ease so she can buy shoes as her feet grow. We’re not talking about designer heels or peep-toe pumps; simple sneakers will do. She needs gas prices to stabilize so her mother can go to work each day and consistently earn money that will pay the rent.
Senator McCain, look past your expensive shoes and your multiple houses. Look beyond your wealthy colleague and her privileged lifestyle. Look at those who are already suffering and fear the potential of an oncoming depression.
When your volunteers called asking for support, I told them, “Not a chance” and hung up the phone. I’m on the front lines seeing families suffer. Trickle-down economics won’t help these families. Neither will your private-school vouchers.
Senator McCain, you are woefully out of touch with the real world.
I’m voting for Senator Obama.

photo by La Petite, June, 2008

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>Dreams…dream, dream, dream…

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>Over and over, night after night, my dreams have had the same theme. It’s a different location, different people, but always the same. A labyrinth of hallways, traveling here and there, steadily, quickly, sometimes alone and sometimes with a guide who knows the way. In last night’s variation, it was actually a walled city of sorts or a ritzy parking garage, because I drove part of the way in a sporty little car. At one point I could see the outside, a large lake (Michigan? Green Bay?) in the distance, but I couldn’t find the exit.
Saturday night the maze was a set of hallways in and under a hotel complex. I was leaving a restaurant and heading outside and a hotel staffer was helping. It seemed that was part of his job, like a bellboy or other customer service type person. Near the end, he got called away briefly (paged? cell phone? don’t remember) and told me to wait. I didn’t. I got lost again, within sight of the end.

Every night my dreams have included something like this. It could be work-related stress. Parent-teacher conference preparation, multiple meetings on the same day, turning down committee work that I know I’d enjoy because there simply aren’t enough hours in the day…it all creates an overwhelming feeling.
It could be family. Amigo’s health issues are ongoing. We don’t know what’s causing his problems, and we expect news soon. Is that why I can almost see the exit? It reminds me of the light at the end of the tunnel turning out to be an oncoming train. I’ve forced the “What ifs” to be quiet, but that doesn’t mean I’m done worrying.
Could these dreams also mean concerns for our country, the election and how it’ll affect me and my loved ones? It may seem abstract, but it’s not. The economic woes of the federal and state governments have a direct impact on my job. I have a job, a fairly secure one, but we’re counting paperclips to keep to our budget, and it’ll get worse before it gets better. Election results matter; not doubt about it. The Democrats must win and win big, or the families I work with will suffer even more than they are now.
The first night I had this dream, I woke up thinking the hallways represented Children’s Hospital. The physical appearance of the halls made sense. But now that I’ve dreamt this a few more times in a few more variations, the book isn’t as easy to read.
Maybe I need to make myself more comfortable within the walls instead of looking for the exit. Maybe if I focus internally instead of toward the external, I’ll relax and find my way.
In the meantime, I’d better update my gradebook, make sure Amigo’s prescriptions are in stock, and check on my campaign signs.
After all, it’s better to do what I can than to stew over what I can’t.

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>The shoe doesn’t have to be a glass slipper to break

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>The kids were starting to line up for breakfast before school. Intermediate teacher, let’s call her Ms. Conduct, noticed that Jenny and Johnny were there, but their sister Jeri (in her class) was not, so she asked.
Johnny: “She has an appointment.”
Jenny: “No she doesn’t. Mom’s going to call her in sick and say she has an appointment, but really her shoes broke. She doesn’t have any shoes to wear, so she can’t come to school.”
Jeri had been wearing the same pair of strappy sandals since the first day of school, so we weren’t surprised to hear this. But stay home for lack of shoes?
Ms. Conduct took Jenny by the hand and said, “Let’s go check this out.” They walked across the street to the rental the kids & mom shared with a relative and talked to Jeri. The story was true; she had no school shoes. Ms. Conduct, never at a loss, asked, “What size do you need?” She raided the stock of spare shoes in the gym office, brought two pair to the needy girl and asked her to choose one.
On the way to school, Jeri commented, “I’m so glad you came over. I didn’t want to ruin my perfect attendance.”

To add to the backstory: I found a spare pair of shoes for the younger Jenny earlier this year. She, too, had sandals and nothing else. The boy was a little better off.

And then….a week later, the family moved. The kids will attend another school across town.
At least they all have shoes.

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>When all else fails, bake.

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>I’ve been coughing so much my ribs hurt. I slept past noon Sunday, and I never sleep late. Never.
Amigo still has a sore throat from his endoscopic tests. We may have more clues to solve the mystery of the stomach pain, but for now, he’s still coping one day at a time.
A major virus hit our main desktop computer overnight. We are rebuilding from scratch, from what husband and his engineer pals call “First Birthday.” Nothing, but nothing, survived.
I spent 45 minutes cleaning up and responding to my school email — on a Sunday night!!
My world is spinning out of control.
I cope by accomplishing something simple: I bake. This time, I baked cookies. The dough was pre-made, a tub in the refrigerator from a choir fundraiser. Turn on the oven, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheets, and fifteen minutes later, voila! White chocolate macadamia nut cookies.
Bringing things down to a more elemental level helps me feel better in control. It takes the spinning world of emails and illnesses and work-family balance and lets me accomplish something worthwhile in a short period of time. Baking allows me to simplify, to slow down in a speeding world.
No recipe this time, folks. The recipe here isn’t for cookies: it’s for simplifying a complex life, taking down the stress level by focusing on a small success.
I think I’ll go have a cookie now.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

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>Walk a mile — in my shoes, not your privileged pumps.

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>Three young women, all coworkers, celebrated a colleague’s pregnancy by sharing their own baby stories.

“Shelly” told about finding herself pregnant at 18 in her senior year of high school. When the young couple decided to become sexually active, she looked into getting birth control. It was too late. She found out that the old wives’ tale wasn’t true: she did get pregnant the first time. She made plans to marry her boyfriend, got prenatal care, and gave birth to a lovely baby girl. The wedding plans were cancelled when she realized they were not really suited to make a lifetime commitment, and raised her daughter through toddlerhood before meeting and marrying the man who would adopt the girl as his own.

“Lily” was in her early 20s when she found out the baby was on the way and pushed up the wedding plans already in place. Soon after her son was born, she found her husband cheating on her, realized the shotgun wedding had been a mistake, and left to raise her son on her own.

“Jenny” was in college when her birth control failed. Her boyfriend left her, and she decided to give the baby up for adoption. Nine months later, she did so.

These three young women could have opted for abortion. None did. But not all young, pregnant women have the resources, the family, the health insurance options that they did. All three worked in a low-paying field (child care) that nevertheless allowed them some crucial benefits such as health insurance and discounted child care. They lived in a city with good access to low-income housing and many support networks for families in need.

Many, many girls and young women don’t have the advantages that these three did. Many girls and young women have no options: no insurance, access to prenatal care, even housing for themselves and their children.

It is for those young and younger women that abortion needs to remain safe and legal. I fully believe that no one wants to abort, but some, very few, simply must. For those few, the law must preserve the option to control their own bodies, their own outcomes.

Governor Palin, do you hear me? Many families lack the privileges you and your daughter enjoy. The health insurance, the securely employed and supportive family members, the opportunity to continue working without discrimination for becoming pregnant. When you chose to raise your child with Down Syndrome, you knew you could handle the challenges. When your daughter Bristol became pregnant, she also enjoyed health insurance and a supportive family.

Walk a mile in the shoes of the pregnant teen who gets kicked out of her home. Walk a mile in the shoes of the mother with an illness that makes pregnancy risky for both her and the baby. Walk a mile in the shoes of the family with no insurance who can’t afford prenatal care and will have to go into debt to give birth in a hospital. Walk a mile in the shoes of the victims of domestic abuse, trying to protect their children, unable to provide for and protect another. These are the women for whom support needs to be in place. And for those without options, abortion needs to be there: safe, legal, and rare.

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>Fortune smiles on those who — clean?

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>”Mom, the computer sounds different.”
“Maybe because the speakers are no longer muffled by piles of papers.”

Yes, we cleaned the clutter. I pulled out piles and piles of papers, sorted them into piles for each of us, and then put away all of mine. Husband found the right places for all of his. Amigo’s Camp Awards went up to his room, and La Petite had a couple of items to file, too. Most of the clutter pile was mine or Husband’s. Why do we keep all this, and why was it randomly piled behind the desktop computer? No, don’t answer that. I’m sure there’s no valid response.

In the pile I found several fortunes from fortune cookies. Again, why did I keep these? For future blog post, of course! What other reason could there be?

To Decide Not to Decide is Often a Very Wise Decision.
Oh, just what I need – an excuse to be more indecisive!

Others look up to you.
Well, I’m a short person, so it can’t mean height.

An unexpected event will bring you riches.
I remember this cookie: I taped the fortune to my computer monitor at school because it turned up the day I found out my grant had been approved.

People say you have a sharp sense and superb intellect.
Do they? I’d like to think they’re right. But then again, why am I sitting around watching baseball and writing about fortune cookies? Not the most intellectual of pursuits.

Ignorance never settles a question.
It doesn’t? Why not?

The star of riches is shining upon you.
See above. This was also taped to my monitor at school. If I’m really taking the Cookie thing seriously, it might mean we’re in for more grants. Or maybe, just maybe, it means I’ll find something worth $$ in the next pile of clutter I’m bound to attack.

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>Working Mother, also known as Multi-Tasker

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>Or…a typical Saturday in Daisy’s life

Make coffee.
Feed rabbit.
Read paper and have breakfast.
Chase rabbit out of La Petite’s room.
Check email, Twitters, and Plurks.
Empty dishwasher.
Sort dirty laundry. Start washing laundry.
Reload dishwasher. Again (is that redundant?).
Take out compost. Pick tomatoes. Search unsuccessfully for squirrel Husband reported was lost in garden and couldn’t get out.
Find recipe; bake muffins. Contemplate posting new variation on recipe. Print carrot cake recipe; potential use for extra carrots, now that two bunnies are gone to live with La Petite at her school apartment.
Continue laundry process while cleaning kitchen while muffins are baking.
Lunch: BLTs with L & T from garden. We’ll miss this when the first major frost comes!
Remove muffins from oven. Mmmmm.
Clean kitchen (again), continue laundry cycles (still), and start schoolwork.
Browse two books scavenged from Throw Away table in lounge. Sort out and copy several usable ideas for vocabulary instruction, math centers, readers’ workshop, and more. Recycle the rest. Teaching budgets, like all state funded budgets, will get more stringent before they’re more generous. Creative scavengers spend time, but save money. Maybe I can apply that to my own life and budget as well.
Grade penmanship papers, using star stickers scavenged from Throw Away table.
Continue laundry process (still, yet, again).
Take out recycling. How many cans and bottles can we generate in half a day? No, don’t answer that.
Fill snack basket. Remind self to bake cookies or bars. Look for easy and nutritious snack recipe.
Move old recipes to new box (scavenged, of course). Recycle old cards, recipes no longer current, and good intentions.
Correct and grade vocabulary worksheets and spelling tests.
Fold a load of clean laundry: the end is in sight!
Post three more books to Paperbackswap.com and hope someone will want or need them.
Fold more underwear and socks, my least favorite load. Amigo says “Underwear! You said underwear!” I say, “Put a sock in it, Buster.”
Wonder if I should text message Husband, who took his bike to the library, and tell him it’s getting cloudy and the storm is moving in. Nah. He’ll say I was worrying too much and whining at him. Let him get wet; he won’t melt.
Check on status of washer, fill dryer, and start planning supper, all in a few moments’ time.
Make supper, feed family, clean kitchen, make soup stock for freezer (and future), take break to watch baseball team lose. Again.
Fold yet more clothes, back up Husband as he censors Amigo’s choice of tunes on YouTube, finish wiping down kitchen table.
Drop off Amigo at Homecoming dance. Do the weekly grocery shopping, this time with two to three weeks in mind because of increasingly busy work schedules. Gawk at huge bill. Wonder who eats all this?!
Go home. Put away food. Decide that the storms can move in, pandemic flu can shut down the city, and we could still feed the family.
Pick up Amigo at dance, exhausted but happy.

Tomorrow? I’m getting tired just thinking of it.

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>Does history repeat itself?

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>I was teaching a story in the school reading textbook. The teacher’s page, full of sidebars and notes, suggested teaching the time period of this historical fiction piece.

The Great Depression: Point out the date of the letter on page 25 (August 27, 1935). Explain that this story takes place during a period known as the Great Depression, when as many as one out of four working-age people were unemployed. Many families could not afford even basic necessities. The Great Depression lasted for more than ten years. It began in 1929 and ended in the early 1940s, during World War II.

The story follows a young girl sent to live with her uncle and aunt in a faraway city while her parents seek work. As I looked out on the class, I recognized an unfortunate level of understanding in their eyes.

“As many as one out of four working-age people were unemployed….” More than half my class qualifies for free or reduced price breakfast and lunch because their families have little or no income.

“Many families could not afford even basic necessities.” I’ve provided folders, crayons, pencils and more to at least one third of my class. Only half brought in the requested box of tissues to share with the class.

“The Great Depression lasted for more than ten years.” My students are nine and ten now. Will they struggle with their families throughout their education? Will they learn what they need to in order to make their lives better? Or will they end up working dead-end jobs right out of high school or, worse yet, drop out of school?

The idea of living with relatives isn’t a foreign concept to these kids. Several are doubled up with relatives because their parents couldn’t pay the rent on a place of their own. Some are barely making it and may be evicted. The list grows for our service club’s Adopt-a-Family project even as donations decline.

It’ll take a lot more than a few Box Tops to make things right for these kids. These are the very children who need more schooling, not less. More stability, not less. Yet they’re the ones suffering the most, and they’re the ones most likely to fall further and further behind.

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>Box Tops for Bail Outs! Of course!

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Note: prepare for major snarkiness and a significant dose of sarcasm.

(Actual letter to the editor)

“It seems that The (insert local newspaper name here) could provide an extremely valuable service to the schools and communities by placing a reminder every week on the front of the paper for everyone in the Fox Valley to save the “Box Tops for Education” that come on so many grocery items. If everyone saved all the box tops that are in their house and turned them in, the schools could make thousands of dollars and help alleviate the budget pressures. Save all your box tops, help the schools, and you won’t have to listen to all the budget debate. And it doesn’t cost anyone anything extra. Just cut the box tops you already have.”

I was momentarily speechless. Then I nearly snorted coffee out my nose as I laughed out loud, even as my blood pressure rose. This is the solution? Box tops! Of course!

If Box Tops will solve the school budget crunch, what about Fannie Mae and Freddy Mac? Washington Mutual? And more? Box Tops for Bail Outs! Of course!! Buy enough cereal and granola bars, and those golden parachute executive packages will be fully funded.
$700 billion bail out? Cut out your box tops! Can’t you see it? Treasury SEcretary Henry Paulson goes down on one knee to beg for…more box tops!!
McCain won’t have to suspend campaigning (not that he really did) and back out of a scheduled debate. No one in Washington will need him: Box Tops are the answer!!
The so-called Government Accountability Office (an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one) will be able to solve all the issue by recommending a trip to the grocery store! Grocery stores will then thrive as their customers flock to the aisles with the brand name items that carry the economic magic of Box Tops for Bail Outs. It’s a win-win!!

Meanwhile, my classroom windows still don’t open and close properly, the pencil sharpener doesn’t work, our school office can’t afford another shipment of copy paper, and the state funding formula is still a wreck. Maybe I need to rethink this Box Tops for Bail Outs idea, and keep those pennies for my school. After all, if the economy is fundamentally sound, the BigWigs in charge of finance really don’t need the help, do they?

Do they?

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>We bicker like family.

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>Our staff meetings are loud. Passionate, enthusiastic, fast paced, argumentative. People interrupt each other, speak forcefully, gesture with their clipboards and coffee and pens and knitting needles (knitting needles? I thought knitting was supposed be calming?!). No one wants to give in; each and every one of us wants what we need and what we want. Bend an inch? No, thank you. Putting together a testing schedule, accommodating requests, making class lists, establishing services for special groups, balancing budgets, determining goals or mission statements, and getting enough supplies… all take cooperation and compromise. Somehow, we get it done, and we do what’s best for the children we serve.

Lunch periods are rushed. I usually spend my 40 minute lunch break making copies, setting up math materials, cleaning up science labs, and returning phone calls and emails. That is, if I’m not fielding concerns from one or two of the many teachers in my team or listening to colleagues rant because they know I’m a safe sounding board.

But when push comes to shove, I cannot imagine a more caring, spontaneous, and supportive group of coworkers.

I walked in last Friday morning exhausted, lugging my heavy schoolbag, my purse, my lunch bag, and a special treat for surviving a challenging week: a cup of hazelnut coffee from Jo to Go. I walked down a few stairs to put my lunch in the lounge refrigerator, back up those same three stairs and tripped. Hard. Down on my knees, rammed my right wrist on the floor, and lost the entire cup of coffee. As I watched that precious liquid coursing across the floor, I felt ridiculously close to tears.

Immediately, before I even stood, I was surrounded by five people sporting rags and paper towels, helping me stand, asking if I was okay, wiping up the coffee, moving my bag and purse so they didn’t get damaged, and generally taking over to make sure all was well with the world again.

And then the physical education teacher brought me a fresh cup of coffee from her own personal stash in the office off the gym.

Again, even as I laughed at my klutziness, despaired of my bruised knees and ego, I had a sense of gratitude and a feeling of being very, very lucky.

If I had to have a bad day, I’m glad I work here.

Happy Love Thursday, everybody.

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