What I Did On My Summer Vacation

It's summer. You know, the time of year that teachers look forward to with anticipation and a slight giddiness. I would love to be on a beach somewhere, or in the mountains, or exploring the French countryside...or even accomplishing some of my summer projects from "the list". I'd rather be doing anything other than fighting anxiety and depression accompanied by chronic pain. But for the past 5 years or so, that's how I spend my summer vacation.

It's out there now. For all to see.

I have decided to go public about something that most people would prefer to keep hidden--whether they're the one afflicted, or the one hearing about it. But you know--hiding just isn't working for me anymore. The pain aspect is somehow easier to put out there, though I don't like to. But start talking about depression and anxiety, and yikes. It doesn't help that I have one of those double whammy lifestyles. "You're the preacher's wife. You probably need to keep those things to yourself." "Whatever you do, when you step into that classroom, leave your personal issues at home." And I've done just that-- to the best of my ability. I have suppressed feelings, swallowed anger, and cried in the bathroom. But you know what? That still leaves June, July, and part of August--minus workshops, meetings, Sundays, Wednesdays, VBS, and assorted and numerous other church activities--to contend with. The void. I have approximately 45 days every year to drop the mask. Scattered days in June, July, and August to slow down and process. Add a healthy dose of severe chronic pain to the mix, and let the battle within begin. It never goes well.

I have tried medication. But the side effects range from inconvenient to alarming. I have tried to relax, but I am overcome with guilt. I have adjusted my diet, cut caffeine, added supplements, pushed my water intake, experimented with everything from gluten free to you name it. I have prayed more, watched television less, read books, and started my lifetime exercise program for the hundredth time. I have been to the doctor, who sent me to the neurologist, who sent me back to the doctor, who sent me to a rheumatologist, who sent me to another neurologist, who sent me to the gynecologist, who suggested I dabble in Eastern medicine for a while. Unfortunately, insurance is not keen on Eastern modalities. While I wouldn't object to trying something new...money is an issue.

I don't know if it's age, or circumstance, or weakness, or (I've been told) lack of faith. I'm not sure what age has to do with it, other than certain seasons of life are just more difficult. Circumstance is huge in this case. As much as I wish I could say otherwise, I've not healed or recovered from several years of being a caregiver. Maybe you never do. Weakness? When people tell you forever that you're strong, you feel obligated to be. Whether you are or not. Faith? You can tell someone all day long to have faith. But it doesn't work that way. Oh the countless platitudes.

When we went from the hell of RSD with Conner, to a complicated form of epilepsy with Caleigh, RIGHT into stage 4 cancer with Russell--there was no stopping to catch your breath. Our oncologist sent us to a psychologist, because he was worried about the stress level in our lives. When I think back on that day, it was just that. One day, at one appointment, after one question, I let a single tear fall in front of the oncologist. He made an appointment for us, and after a fifteen minute meeting the psychologist said we were fine. And maybe we were at the time.

 So many people did so many things for us during the worst of the storm--and I am eternally grateful for every single act of kindness. But there are things that no one can do. Things that no one can see. No one, and I'm sorry but I don't care who you are, no one can prepare you or adjust you to the new normal. You can call it self pity, you can call it a lack of faith--I've heard it all. I think, and feel free to disagree with me, but I think that families in ministry are sometimes held to a different standard. Is there a font for sarcasm? I'm human. I'm tired of internalizing. And yes, I internalize. I'm an outspoken introvert. Things that seem small have a way of being magnified these days.

As an example, one of the things that is just so painful for me at the moment is the whole ordeal with my driver's license. Most know, but just in case--during the craziest of crazy times for us, my DL expired and I never saw the reminder that they send in the mail or had ANY idea that it was expired. About a year ago, I was cashing a check and the teller noticed. I was mortified--thought I would have to pay a fine, but more than that I was just so angry with myself for letting that happen. I had no idea what renewal would require. I am still trying to get the paperwork together to go and take the written test as well as the driving test. If you haven't tried calling the DMV lately, you have no idea. Just trying to finalize some things today, I called the DL office in Floresville 93 times trying to get through. That kind of time during the school year is hard to come by. During this past school year we just decided to operate with two vehicles. One going to the prison every day, and one going to Runge. It worked for us. I have endured everything from good natured teasing, which I'm fine with, to all out ridicule that this happened. I do not enjoy feeling out of control of the simplest things in life, nor do I enjoy being ridiculed. Or being told that I'm an inconvenience to my family. In all honesty, part of my anxiety is directly related to the issues we have on the roads in our county. I have attended three heart breaking funerals. And I know what the Bible says about anxiety. I promise I do. 

I'm going to stop here. While I'm okay publicizing my own issues, I'm going to respect my family's right to some semblance of privacy. If that's even possible. I just felt like today was a good day to announce to the world that I'm a real person, with real emotions, and real struggles.

The One Called "You Just Get Special Treatment Because Your Mom Is a Teacher"

I decided to become a classroom teacher in 2002ish...when Conner was in 1st grade and Caleigh was an adorable, albeit feisty, toddler. I had played with the idea, and talked myself out of it, multiple times. I was blessed to enjoy a couple of years at home when Caleigh was born, and I watched the children of two of my good friends to make ends meet. Truth is, when Conner started school, I found myself there more than I was at home. I had been told for years that I belonged in a classroom--so I ignored the voices in my head and enrolled in a post grad program through LeTourneau University. Somehow, through an unexpected move, Caleigh's terrible twos, and various other life curves...I graduated with a 4.0 just in time to apply for a teaching job in the summer of 2004. Being new to the area, not knowing TOO much about Karnes County--and not believing half of what I heard--I applied at every school in the county and then waited. For about a day. My first interview happened to also be my last. I started teaching 2nd grade in Runge in the Fall of 2004 with a happy heart and stars in my eyes.

My entire 10 year (public school) teaching career has been in Runge. The community has completely captured my heart. I've been asked to come and apply at other schools, but I just haven't been willing to leave. Caleigh has known no other school, Conner has been at RISD since 3rd grade. They love it. But every once in a while--okay, maybe more often than I care to admit--we are visited by enemy #1 of school teacher families. "You just get ____________(special treatment) because your mother/father is a teacher/principal/whatever at the school." Allow me to tell you what my children have received--all thanks to my job.

1. An exhausted, stressed, monetarily strapped parent. There are easier jobs, higher paying jobs, and jobs where I wouldn't spend an unbelievable amount of our own money on a regular basis.
2. A school day that lasts, often, from 7 a.m. to 5:30 or 6 p.m. Those are normal days. It gets worse.
3. Days upon days of time "hanging out" at school during the summer when they were little. I have carried my sleeping 3 year old into school at 9 o'clock at night and she took many a nap in my classroom library on a bean bag.
4. Thankfully it doesn't happen often, but they have even been targeted by a teacher BECAUSE I work there. Those people don't last long at our school, but it stinks when you are an easy target.
5. Excluded from a citizenship award because "You're always getting something." (That was not in Runge by the way, but during my student teaching. SERIOUSLY?)
6. Shooed away by Mom because she is frantically trying to get grades entered into the computer--when all my child wanted was to have story time before bed.  Yeah, I haven't forgiven myself for that one. I could still cry about it.

You get the idea. And yet...those cries of "Unfair!" persist. It might surprise you to know that I don't even have an access code to check my kids' grades. If I want a conference, I schedule it. Not that my doing so prevents people from stopping me in the hall to discuss things best left for a conference. I sincerely believe that Conner and Caleigh make good grades in large part because they have been read to since, well, since they were in utero. As often as possible, we still believe in the family dinner table. We have conversations. I try my dead level best to make sure that their assignments are up to date and complete. If they need tutorials...they go. If they are scheduled to take medication, I make sure they take it. If it's a school day and it is at ALL possible, they are present. If there are tryouts for something, GASP! they try out. Sometimes they make it, and sometimes they don't.

I don't know how else to explain that teachers' kids are just like any other kid...when they work hard they succeed, and when they slack off or quit trying, they don't. When I as a parent do what I am supposed to do, their success comes more easily. When I slack off or fail, it shows. So yes, I guess my kids are pretty successful. In spite of the fact that I am a teacher.

Here's The Deal...

I know that by putting this out there I am opening myself up to ridicule from the sports world. I know this. And yet...I know at least 2 or 3 people who want to know why I went all, well, you know, on a  basketball coach tonight. I know trash talk is the norm. I know, I know, I know. But he got personal and he did it right in my face and well, you know me. As our guys took the court tonight against this 4A team...we're 1A for those who don't know...he turned around to his team, looked at us, and laughed and said, "Forget the plan we had. This is just a bunch of fat kids. Just run. Wear 'em out. They can't keep up with us. Look, 1...2...3 fat kids, at least. Ha. Just a bunch of fat kids. We got this." His team laughed and the tone was set for the rest of the game. My son was not even on the court. I went all spider monkey for other people's sons. I do that on occasion. I'm no hero, but I AM a believer in respect. Those "fat" kids are boys that haven't been out of football playoffs for very many weeks. We don't have the luxury to have a "basketball only" team. Our kids do EVERYTHING. And they do it well. It was interesting, every time he told his team that they needed to work on something tonight, the response he got was something like, "WTH Coach. Look at the scoreboard. We don't need to work on anything." I bet I heard one kid say that at least 15 times tonight, and he wasn't the only one. I don't know. I just think that he could have handled things a little differently. Yes, it's a sensitive area for me. I informed him, during our little visit, that I KNEW he wasn't talking about my son. My son who, by the way, lost over 85 pounds using sheer willpower, hard work, and determination. No surgery, no pills, no gadgets. He wanted nothing more than to play basketball his senior year. And he's doing it.

So here's the deal...I told Coach Whatshisname he had a talented team. That they played an excellent game tonight. And that he was classless. I sort of just feel sorry for him.

Reasons I Think God Relates to Third Grade Teachers

Seriously.

1. I said this today:  "WHY do I have to tell you everything OVER and OVER? Why can't you just do what I say? I GAVE you the instructions. I read them to you. Four other people asked the same question before you and I answered THEM. WHY MUST I SAY IT AGAIN?"

2.  I find myself saying this (inwardly) all the time:  "I want SO badly for you to succeed--for you to want what I want for you. And it hurts to watch you not care."

3.  I say this:  "WHY ON EARTH can you not all just get along? We are a classroom family. We are in this together. We need to be kind to each other. Words hurt. Your actions hurt. Ignoring people hurts. JUST BE NICE."

The point? God is in charge of the universe while I (try to) manage a relatively small group of 8 year old children. I am human, impatient, irritable, and sometimes unforgiving. I feel helpless when it comes to cultivating any type of intrinsic motivation in my students. He can, and does, change hearts. I'm not sure what the lesson in number three is, other than I'm pretty sure that NEITHER God nor I like this trait of humanity. I just have to keep following His instructions--and letting His work be completed. Above all, I need to remember that while they may not see Him in all areas of their lives, they see me. Let my treatment of them be a reflection of His love and care for me.  Because He loves me even when I ask the same questions over and over. Even when I seem to have blatant disregard for His will. Even when I'm not a shining example of getting along with others.

Dear People in the Stands

As badly as I want the next line to be "who think you know everything"...I'll refrain. These thoughts have been wandering around my heart and mind for several weeks now. I shouldn't have to write this post, but I feel that it needs to be said--for a multitude of reasons.

I find myself wishing that you were required to pick up a special pair of glasses at the entryway of the gym/stadium. Glasses that would enable you to see the athletes on the court/field for who they really, truly are. Because you see, all is not as it seems from your lofty seat. You think you know, but you only know in part. To your untrained eyes, you see what looks like lack of effort or refusal to be quick on your feet. My eyes see a child who just took the maximum dosage allowed of anti-epileptic medication and is struggling through a fog of medication induced haze, jolts of electricity every five minutes from the stimulator placed in her chest/brain, and the occasional break through seizure. Not to mention residual headaches from the pseudo tumor which has left her optic nerves swollen.

She doesn't HAVE to be out there. She WANTS to be. No one made her. She has the sheer will and determination to continually operate outside her comfort zone in an effort to be all she can be. And she isn't the only one with a story. Some stories play themselves out on the athletic field/court, some in the classroom, some in a child's home life. Rest assured I don't cringe when your child steps up to take a standardized test--so reciprocity would be nice.

I'm not looking for sympathy, just understanding. I think I speak for most if not all student athletes and their parents when I say that all any of our kids are seeking is really quite simple--a cheer and a pat of the back when things go well, and encouragement when things don't go so well. For the most part, that's the way we operate at our sports events--celebrating each individual and loving them all through the wins and the losses. But there are some, and I am confident that they will not be the ones reading this, who just don't get it. You see, in a way, I DO have those special glasses. As the parent of a child who has obstacles to overcome, I see things in a different light. And whether you realize it or not, I see and hear things clearly.

I don't know why God chose my family to experience the things they have experienced. You don't know either--although you may think you do. Certainly our goal is to live life in a way that focuses attention not on the difficulties we have faced, but on the blessings we have received. For that reason, my children set goals, set them high, and go after them with abandon. They have been encouraged to find what they love doing, and to do it. Sometimes best effort takes on a different form than your limited vision can encompass.  And if you choose not to embrace that, you are the only one who loses. 

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

I'm afraid, as usual, that I have more questions than answers in this blog post. Straight to the first question--Whatever happened to plain old respect?

I have had one of the most difficult days ever in the classroom--as a matter of fact, it has been a rough start to the year.  On top of that, my son is beyond upset after coming home from YET ANOTHER failed band practice. He is learning a tough lesson at a young age as assistant drum major--that kids these days have little motivation, scant attention, and zero respect. Not all of them, but enough of them to ruin it for the rest. I live in a small town, teach in an even smaller town, and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. But quite honestly, we have a problem here.

I have learned over the years, that it is best if I am transparent with my students and their parents. Ask my students if I make mistakes, and they won't hesitate to tell you that I do. I admit my mistakes, apologize when necessary, and then we move on. And I expect the same from them. Unfortunately, there is a growing trend in our world AGAINST ownership and accountability. Instead, we make excuses or just flat refuse to talk about it. This is not to say that all students are irresponsible and rude. I have many respectful kids in my classroom, and there are many more in our school. But the trend is not going in the way that I would hope. It's early in the year and I'm still getting a lot of "huh, what, yeah" and the like. And that isn't the worst of it.  It won't be this way at the end of the year, but it is hard to handle in the here and now.

So we say, regarding my third graders, "They're young, they just came back from summer break, they'll learn." But what about 14, 15, 16, year old young men and women who can't give an hour to the band leaders? Just one hour of their respect and attention? I'm not talking just playing around, I mean serious disrespect and misbehavior? Doesn't really seem fair to those who have given hours and hours and years upon years of their time to band, does it? We're all about "rights" and yet, my senior band member is defenseless as he watches his last chance for advancement be ruined by rude and unacceptable behavior. Where are HIS rights? Where are the rights of my students in the classroom who are trying to learn? It breaks my heart to see them struggle to tune out the disruptions and distractions.

No answers. Just an increasing number of questions as the days advance. More and more responsibility placed on the teacher, to the point that I fear the breaking point is near. More and more demands that I "hit the mark" with STAAR scores, and yet I can't even teach a 20 minute lesson because of the disruptions. And no one seems to be able to do anything about it.

Our senior band members will graduate and move on to bigger and better things. The hard work and hopes for advancement will be a distant memory. But it still hurts that what "might have been" is obscured by "how it is". And I, for one, feel that it could be different.

The Blog Post That Will Probably Get Me In Trouble

Couple of things before I let my heart flow onto this page. #1. I had a wonderful first day of school today. The kids are sweet, we have new energy flowing through our staff, and I know that I'm where I am supposed to be...for now. #2. I know without doubt that I am blessed. I enjoy things that many only dream of. I get this. But........

I still get really frustrated.

I'm called to teach. It wasn't a bolt of lightening calling, but rather a long, drawn out, tugging kind of calling. It started when I was young, but it was easy to ignore back then.  Even as I sat in pre-med classes for the first two years of college, something pulled at me. But here's the thing. Never once did I seriously entertain the thought of being a teacher. I could imagine myself working with children and families, but in a classroom? Never in a million years. So, after earning a BA in Psychology and a BA in Modern Languages, I decided to fore go graduate school for the time being and I landed in my first career of Child Development Specialist/Family Consultant. There. Doing the education thing without stepping foot in a classroom. And the story goes on from there--three different Early Childhood programs in my early years moving around Texas and doing life as Mrs. Briley-- then substitute teaching, late night talks with God and with myself, and a decision to enter the PACT program through LeTourneau University. I told myself that, even though I was earning a teaching certificate I wouldn't teach for long. I would take more classes and be a diagnostician or a counselor. Anything but teach a classroom full of elementary students. And yet...one more move, a mountain of student loans, and a smattering of employment applications all over Karnes County led to a phone call from a lady named JoAnn at Runge ISD. A midsummer visit to a quaint PK-12 campus in a town that you don't even have to blink to miss...and I was hooked. Love at first visit. Started my 10th year at RISD today, and it has been quite the ride. I've met people that I can't imagine being without in my life. I've taught entire families of siblings. I spent most of Meet the Teacher night this past week with a 7th grader and a 6th grader--brothers that just needed to talk for a while. They both came and got hugs today, as did several other "big" kids that have outgrown my third grade classroom, but not their teacher.

The frustration is not with my students. Many try me. Some succeed. I've had parents that I'm pretty sure couldn't stand me for a while...now we share hugs and long conversations in the grocery store. I think the root of my frustration is feeling that I've made a career, a life, of trying to make others feel valuable-- and somewhere along the way I became part of "the teachers". Nameless, faceless, even unidentifiable. I taught all day, worked on paperwork from 4-6, then sat through a three hour board meeting tonight. My main interest in the meeting was a salary discussion, and after waiting through a complete agenda rearrangement and a long recess, I sat and listened to talk of "the teachers". I'm grateful to the three board members who shook my hand, called me by name, and made eye contact during the evening. Bottom line--I just sometimes wish that I had a name and a face and an outlet for my story. I do what I do for the kids, but I have a family to take care of as well. Medical bills. A son about to graduate. I wear the same clothes over and over. I rarely get any type of vacation. My "raise" last year was entirely wiped out by increases in health insurance and other "perks". "The teachers" have stories. I'm just not sure that many people understand the sacrifice. I don't want praise, I want respect. I don't want to get rich. I want to be able to survive. I want to teach and guide children, without losing my identity and sacrificing my own family along the way. I want to answer my calling, without losing my voice.