tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53841206335407547982024-03-13T22:26:59.245-06:00The Art of ContentmentNext to faith this is the highest art - to be content with the calling in which God has placed you.
–Martin LutherHillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.comBlogger146125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-5344122288601336672014-09-24T15:54:00.002-05:002014-09-24T15:54:43.523-05:00A Birth Story (but seriously, if you don't enjoy people's birth stories, skip this post)People kept sending me birth stories before our little girl was born. Frankly, either they made me nauseous or they made me bored. I just don't enjoy reading birth stories. Or at least I didn't before I experienced birth myself. Maybe I would enjoy reading about birth now. I haven't had time to test this since Irene was born.<br />
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I still can't believe, in some ways, that our family of two is now a family of three. I can't believe that this little person I gave birth to is her own separate entity. She has her own birth certificate and her own health insurance card. Tomorrow it will be exactly one month from when Irene Samantha was born. I cannot believe that much time has passed. It's been a blur of bottles of milk becoming breastfeeding, stomachs full of milk becoming laps full of milk, clean crisp diapers becoming soggy stinky diapers, and storms of tears becoming cautious smiles as I gradually begin to think, 'Hey, I could maybe do this parenting thing.'<br />
<br />
Anyway, the birth story. By mid-August I was sincerely ready for the baby to be born. No matter that we were still packing up to move and wouldn't be moving until August 30, I wanted this baby <i>out. </i>People kept telling me that it would be easier to move with the baby still inside me, but secretly I thought, <i>It's one baby. I corralled 25 6-year-olds for 7 hours a day all of last year. How much more work could one eensy-weensy baby be? </i>So I went on praying for the baby to come early.<br />
<br />
On the night of Thursday, August 28, I was awakened periodically by what I thought were just strong Braxton-Hicks contractions. Only I wasn't sure they were Braxton-Hicks because 1) they were waking me up and my other Braxton-Hicks hadn't done that and 2) they kind of hurt a little all throughout my pelvic area.<br />
<br />
I woke up Friday morning thinking, <i>Today's the day! We are having this baby today! </i>I texted my friend Esther who was going to come along to assist with the labor and delivery. She said that was great, but it could really still be a few days yet. I deleted her text and pretended we'd never had that text-conversation.<br />
<br />
But she was right. I didn't go into labor on Friday. Mark and I went for a long walk by a nearby lake to try to bounce the baby out. No luck. Friday night, however, I had more strong Braxton-Hicks, which I began to tentatively call contractions. They woke me up every 15 minutes to an hour. By Saturday morning, having not slept soundly between contractions I was a little bit crabby and I felt more uncomfortable all over, like I just wanted to step out of my body and take a break from it for a while. I texted Esther again with an update and again she cautioned me that labor could still be days away. I cried.<br />
<br />
Mark did his best to distract me. Though we had been packing for weeks already, (Okay, Mark had been packing for weeks. I had been napping on the couch for weeks.) Mark stepped up his packing speed. I don't remember what I did on Saturday. Probably moped around the apartment wishing the baby would decide to be born already. We went out for lunch to celebrate our 5-year anniversary with Mark's parents and sister and brother-in-law. I was still crabby and continued to get contractions throughout our meal and time with them. I think someone (who shall remain nameless) made a light-hearted comment about contractions and I kind of wanted to smack them.<br />
<br />
Mark and I watched a movie in the evening and then headed to bed. Almost the minute I lay down the contractions picked up in speed. We had turned out the light and within 10 minutes I felt the sharp tug throughout my abdomen. I wasn't going to bother Mark yet, but when I got contractions like clockwork for the next 30 minutes I poked him and told him we needed to start timing. We timed contractions and I texted Esther for the next two hours. By midnight the contractions were about 5 minutes apart. We called the hospital and were told to wait until the contractions were 3 minutes apart consistently for at least an hour. Mark and I played cribbage. We called my sister Abby (who wanted to come observe the labor and delivery) to tell her to be on standby. By 12:30 the contractions were 3 minutes apart. At 1:30, we packed up and headed to the hospital. I remember watching the city stream by us, breathing deeply and thinking that if this is all labor was it was a piece of cake. These contractions were a little painful but totally manageable.<br />
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Upon arriving at the hospital I was admitted and then brought to a triage room. This practice kind of makes me feel like the hospital is saying, "You think you're in labor? Prove it." Monitors were strapped around my belly and my contractions were monitored for the next 30 minutes. My doctor, who happened to be at the hospital that night anyway, came in, looked at my contractions on paper, and said, "Nice looking contractions. This is what labor feels like, Hillary! I think we'll keep you." And thus, I passed the triage room test. When I got up from the bed to move to my labor/delivery room, we all realized my water had probably just broken too. Enough said.<br />
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Despite the contractions. I was excited. We called Esther and Abby to let them know we had passed the triage room test and that they could come whenever. By 3:30 both of them had arrived. We got comfy in Room 7 and then went for a walk around the maternity ward. By 4:30 I felt loopy with exhaustion. We all settled down for a nap. I woke up at 5:30 and realized my contractions had all but stopped. I almost didn't want to tell anyone. I think I was subconsciously afraid I'd get a response like, "You <i>lied </i>to us?" or maybe "You thought you were really in labor? You wimp! That wasn't labor! Obviously, since your 'contractions,' as you called them, have disappeared."<br />
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Needless to say, that was not the reaction I received, but my doctor did say that he was surprised since my water had broken and my contractions were so strong and close. He also told me that if my contractions hadn't returned by 9:30 that morning I would have to start a pitocin drip to help them along. He said that since my water had broken they couldn't send me home and we had to get that baby out within about 24 hours.<br />
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I was upset. I hate IVs. I had hoped to be able to move about freely throughout labor and delivery and did not, under any circumstances, want to be attached to a trolley of IV bags. Between 5:30 and 9:30 we tried everything we could think of to stimulate contractions: walking, stepping up and down off of a footstool, lying down, eating, and even thumb sucking. All to no avail however, because by 9:30 a pair of nurses came into my room with the dreaded trolley to get me hooked up. It hurt (more than the contractions, in my opinion) and I was frustrated. I cried harder than I can remember crying in recent history. However, it was done, I was attached, and I did my best to stop thinking about it and get on to the business of labor.<br />
<br />
Thanks to my doctor's sensitivity to patient desires, he started me on a very, very small amount of pitocin so that my body wouldn't be slammed with strong contractions and I wouldn't be tempted to give in to taking pain medications. There's not much to say about that Sunday other than that we gradually increased the pitocin drip throughout the day until it was ten times its starting amount. It was a long, very boring day, not at all what I expected my labor to be like.<br />
<br />
Because my contractions had disappeared after a nap, I was afraid to go back to sleep that day. I was beginning to be afraid that the baby would never come out, but when I voiced this fear to my doctor, he said, "Oh, don't worry. Your contractions will come back, I promise."<br />
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He was right, though. By 9:30 that evening the contractions were back, coming about 6 minutes apart. They were stronger than my contractions of the night before. The contractions of the night before were like playful rib pokes and these were like a clothes wringer. In any case, I spent a lot of time leaning over an exercise ball (dubbed a 'birth ball' when it comes into a maternity ward). I couldn't sit down. I could lean over the ball, I could rest on my knees, or if I wanted to torture myself I could lay down on my side, but I couldn't imagine sitting.<br />
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I can't remember when the contractions intensified, but by about 11:30, I guess, I had entered the transition phase of labor, where contractions are mere minutes apart and so intense that it feels like your body is being ripped in half from the inside out at each tightening. My memories of the next two and a half hours are hazy. I remember being drenched with sweat, shaking, and losing consciousness briefly between each contraction at points. (Honestly, I think I was just tired from not getting a decent night of sleep for the past two nights.) Because I was so exhausted, Esther kept offering me honey and I kept trying to refuse. Abby tried to shove spoonfuls of ice in my mouth, which I accepted. According to Abby afterwards, the things I would say during this time were right out of the book for the transition phase: "I can't do this anymore." "Just give me a C-section." I think I petitioned everyone in the room with me at one point or another to let me have a C-section. Needless to say, no one took my request seriously.<br />
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I spent most of the transition phase on my knees, leaning over the back of the elevated hospital bed. I felt like I couldn't move in between contractions. Really, any position hurt, but the idea of moving was overwhelming. Toward the end, a bath was drawn for me and I spent about 15 minutes in the tub. The contractions were a tiny bit less intense in the tub. In an effort to help me relax, someone came in with battery-powered tea lights and set them around the tub. It was a nice gesture, but I think if I had had the energy, I would have flicked them off the edge of the tub one by one. Compared to contraction pain they felt kind of pointless.<br />
<br />
After a little while Esther came in and said, "Hillary, Erin [the nurse] thinks that the reason you haven't moved from transition to pushing yet is because the baby's head isn't engaged properly. She thinks we need to get you to have contractions in different positions. When the contractions get more intense or painful then we'll know that we're on the right track." My brain had stopped on 'more painful' and couldn't move forward. "I can't do it, Esther," I said. "I just want a C-section."<br />
<br />
But somehow I found myself out of the tub a little later having contractions laying on my side, first my left and then my right, with a peanut between my legs.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NQLdq7kPOzf3EedpThyphenhypheneRBpcOYxjBUAvsFOjLfilkjEo6Ry3tBJng923x_9z5IM74uFRyj6vcDaAX4anANNBLvDKBEa_GMDkIrQbfKeMAWGJQCieXJ7ewo2qLKC_3c9u-eYB_-jNEwW7/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NQLdq7kPOzf3EedpThyphenhypheneRBpcOYxjBUAvsFOjLfilkjEo6Ry3tBJng923x_9z5IM74uFRyj6vcDaAX4anANNBLvDKBEa_GMDkIrQbfKeMAWGJQCieXJ7ewo2qLKC_3c9u-eYB_-jNEwW7/s1600/download.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kid would NOT be smiling if he had had contractions around this peanut.</td></tr>
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I only had one or two contractions on each side. By the contractions on the right side, I suddenly felt a strong <i>need </i>to push. Esther says I said to her, "This is it!" I don't remember that, but I do remember saying, "I have to push! Let me push!"<br />
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Pretty soon I found myself on my knees on the bed again, pushing. Compared to transition, the pushing was easy-peasy. It was mildly uncomfortable and a lot of work, but any pain I felt didn't seem like pointless pain, like during transition. I pushed for about 55 minutes, periodically asking, "Can you see her yet?!" Like during transition, I was so exhausted. I was drenched in sweat and shaking, but it was nice to have a crowd of nurse, doctor, Mark, Esther and Abby cheering me on to push. And after all that pushing, pretty soon, I felt the strangest <i>shlooping </i>sensation, and the baby was out, along with a whole lot of fluids.<br />
<br />
Someone helped me turn around and sit down and the baby was put right on my chest. She cried a few little cries and then just fussed. Holding her felt so surreal. She didn't look human: all gray-colored from birth and covered in the white clay-like vernix. The doctor asked, "What's her name?" I looked at Mark (because we had two choices for names) and said, "The first choice?" He agreed, and I said, "Her name is Irene Samantha!"<br />
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Pretty soon she turned pink. After a few minutes Mark was given some scissors had got to cut her umbilical cord. The doctor stitched up where I had torn during labor, but I hardly noticed. We basically spent the next hour staring at Irene. I nursed her for the first time. I couldn't believe that after all the craziness of birth she could think about eating.<br />
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We are so thankful for our little Irene Samantha. Irene means 'peace' and our prayer is that she will come to know the peace of Christ. Samantha means 'the Lord hears,' and we are thankful that God heard our prayers for a baby and answered them with a 'yes.' We are excited to get to know our little Irene Samantha. Even though the last month has had its share of parenting challenges, we are still loving our little girl and I'm still marveling at the miracle (and hard work) that birth is.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPjou-HsY0Au0RZ9Cy1gPb-s-NJkuTBtVJyf-4d4VyxL1KwrcVTStQU2g_6HQcGagnoGz5UaDEdh2FyJJ7lAilrit6Q9iuPdmvf7LqTphPS8Qwx0rqh8yXsJfSBadm6l9foLUb5X3hGa9/s1600/Irene+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixPjou-HsY0Au0RZ9Cy1gPb-s-NJkuTBtVJyf-4d4VyxL1KwrcVTStQU2g_6HQcGagnoGz5UaDEdh2FyJJ7lAilrit6Q9iuPdmvf7LqTphPS8Qwx0rqh8yXsJfSBadm6l9foLUb5X3hGa9/s1600/Irene+1.jpg" height="320" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irene, a few hours old.</td></tr>
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<br />Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-65906018194755786502014-07-03T15:06:00.001-05:002014-07-03T15:06:31.963-05:00No Crib for a Bed... But Amply Blessed All the SameI have been done with school now for approximately two and a half weeks. When I was in school, I pictured myself laying in bed as long as I wanted to, getting up with a leisurely cup of coffee, and reading or crocheting or writing or going for walks all day every day.<br />
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I <i>have </i>been laying in bed as long as I want to every day. That has been wonderful. With the pregnancy sleeping discomforts creeping up, it's nice to be able to sleep in if baby kicking or muscle spasms kept me awake the night before. And, honestly, after Baby #1, I'll never get to do this again, so I'm savoring. I haven't been drinking coffee, though, and I haven't been spending my days in leisurely activities like reading, crocheting, writing, and going for walks. I haven't been drinking coffee because I've still got some lingering morning sickness -- not <i>nearly </i>as bad as during the first trimester, but enough that I have to force breakfast down and then force lunch down before my appetite starts to pick up. And I haven't been spending all my time in leisure activities because my mind has been consumed with the great question of What Next?<br />
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After much deliberation, we decided I should take the year off of teaching. Teach For America makes it possible for us to be in the schools teaching without a teaching license, but the Department of Education in Minnesota requires that we be working toward our license in order to be teaching. Therefore, I would have no choice but to continue teaching <i>and </i>taking evening graduate classes next year. That nearly put me over the edge this year. With a baby? No way.<br />
<br />
However, that puts us in a difficult financial situation. We are <i>so thankful </i>that Mark has found a job he enjoys (and that his employer was willing to hire him on full-time when Mark asked -- otherwise, since we were on my health insurance, I don't know what we would have done when my contract with the school ran out). But the job just doesn't pay enough to make ends meet. So I've been spending a lot of time either working on my homework for my graduate classes or searching for part-time jobs that would work well with Mark's schedule.<br />
<br />
And in the meantime, we decided not to renew our lease because the apartment is too small for us and baby. After much apartment searching, we realized it's not financially possible for us to pay for a two-bedroom apartment right now. It's actually cheaper (or just as cheap) to buy a house in a lower price range. So, we're considering buying a house. Or living with my parents for a few months and <i>then </i>buying a house. But a lot of that depends on whether I find a job, and if so, what kind.<br />
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In the meantime, baby's due date approaches and all of her stuff is still in an unflattering pile in our bedroom.<br />
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And our living room.<br />
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<br />
We have been so blessed. I honestly feel like we have everything we need for baby girl. Or at least, everything we need to get started. We just have nowhere to set it up. And I confess, when I see all the adorable nursery pictures of other expectant friends on Facebook, I feel jealous. I <i>want </i>to have a room for the baby. I want to have the room set up and be able to step inside and look around and realized We Are Ready. Unfortunately, that's just not going to be the case.<br />
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Being in an insecure financial and living situation for the third time in five years has gotten me down, especially with baby on the way. It makes me feel irresponsible and incompetent. However, I've been thinking, and other people have helped me think more positively about our situation. One of my aunts said to me<span style="font-family: inherit;">: "<span style="background-color: #fafbfb; line-height: 15.359999656677246px;">Tough circumstances survived by grace are a precious gift to give to our children, a much better gift than expensive habits...</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17.940000534057617px; white-space: pre-wrap;">see so many kids that get so much material stuff early in life that sets them up for disappointment later. They're robbed of the pleasure of "yearning and earning," which is so much more satisfying than instant gratification.</span><span style="background-color: #fafbfb; line-height: 15.359999656677246px;">"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: #fafbfb; line-height: 15.359999656677246px;"><br /></span></span>
And then yesterday, after I got flushed from a job I was halfway expecting to get, I felt really disappointed. (Or, to be more honest, I threw a temper tantrum alone in my apartment and sobbed on the phone to my mom .) But when I got to thinking about it more, I was reminded of the Bible verses that have been my theme in every other precarious situation since our marriage:<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Ps-33-16" id="en-NIV-14383" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">No king is saved by the size of his army;<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-14383A" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14383A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-33-16" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">no warrior escapes by his great strength.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="text Ps-33-17" id="en-NIV-14384" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">17 </span>A horse<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-14384B" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14384B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></span> is a vain hope for deliverance;</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-33-17" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">despite all its great strength it cannot save.</span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="text Ps-33-18" id="en-NIV-14385" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">18 </span>But the eyes<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-14385C" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14385C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></span> of the <span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> are on those who fear him,</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-33-18" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-14385D" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14385D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></span></span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="text Ps-33-19" id="en-NIV-14386" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; position: relative;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">19 </span>to deliver them from death<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-14386E" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14386E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)"></span></span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;" /><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-33-19" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">and keep them alive in famine. (Psalm 33:16-19)</span></span></span><br />
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And I realized, too, that even though this little girl might not be born into a world where her room is already set up and decorated, she has already been blessed <i>amply </i>compared to so many children in the world. Not only has she been getting excellent medical care since her conception, she has been fed (mostly) healthy foods from the get-go. She has not been subjected to alcohol (except for the glass or two I had before I suspected I was pregnant, and except for the dip of wine during communion) or cigarette smoke. She already has a stable family with parents who love her and extended family who eagerly anticipate her and pray for her. She will grow up in a family where she is taught about Jesus from an early age. Because of the family that anticipates her and the church of her parents, she will never be hungry or living on the streets as a child. Barring unforeseen circumstances, she will get to live until adulthood with her birth parents and will never know the trauma of being separated from the voices she grew to know in the womb.<br />
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When I got to that point, I no longer felt sorry for myself or irresponsible. God is good. God planned for the time when this little one would be conceived and already knows the date of her birth. He loves her more than I do, and He is preparing rich spiritual blessings for her, even if she doesn't have a darling nursery. She is already richly and amply blessed.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-64013164096429005982014-05-18T18:31:00.001-05:002014-05-18T18:31:43.560-05:00Fear and Trembling at odds with Perfect LoveThis probably won't be a very good post. I write down ideas for blog posts all the time, in a notebook I have just for 'writing,' on post-it notes, in my prayer journal. Most of those post ideas are interesting. Some are about school, some about apartments, some about novel ideas that come to me in the middle of church. But let's be honest: most of my brain is taken up by Baby Thoughts right now, so most of the blog ideas are about baby stuff.<br />
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In any case, interesting post ideas aside, something I've been thinking about a lot this weekend is fear. I've had a very healthy pregnancy so far. Every doctor appointment has been uneventful in the extreme because all my doctor can say to me is, "Good growth, good heartbeat, and you're healthy!" He even went so far as to say, the last time I was in for an appointment and everything looked great, "A talent you didn't even know you had!" Of course, the health of my baby isn't really a 'talent.' Sure, I can eat well (or try, in between nibbling on chocolate chips while pretending not to notice), and I can exercise, as long as my 'posterior pelvic pain' isn't acting up, but the health of my baby is largely out of my control. Absolutely alarming to this control freak.<br />
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On Friday night I was getting ready for bed and thinking about who-knows-what when something made me put my hand to my abdomen. I wasn't in pain, I wasn't worried at the moment, but my absent-minded musings turned quickly to sharp focus when I realized that my whole uterus was rock-hard. Mark was in the bathroom or I would have yelled for him to come feel this bizarre soccer ball-sized mass. Within seconds the muscles relaxed and my uterus went back to feeling squishy-firm. I still wasn't worried. I was pretty sure I had just noticed a Braxton Hicks contraction for the first time.<br />
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I pulled out my baby book, read up on Braxton Hicks, and felt smug in my ability to diagnose the feeling before even consulting the pregnancy experts in my book. I kept reading, though, because the section on Braxton Hicks was followed by a section on discerning these practice contractions from preterm labor. I read carefully, felt confident that I was not in preterm labor, felt reassured that I could detect preterm labor if I ever needed to, and crawled into bed.<br />
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The Braxton Hicks door was opened. Even though I had probably been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions for weeks without noticing, I now knew exactly what I was looking for. I woke up at 12:30, sure I was feeling a contraction, then at 3:30, then at 4:30. By 6:00 Saturday morning I was a nervous wreck. Even though none of my 'contractions' had been in the least painful, nor had they lasted for more than 10 seconds, I was convinced I was in preterm labor. After getting up and showering, I read again, this time from an online source, about Braxton Hicks and telling these contractions from preterm labor. Again, I was reassured, although slightly less reassured than the night before, and tried to put the thoughts out of my mind.<br />
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I went to my niece's birthday party, I worked on grad school homework, and by mid-afternoon I had experienced one, maybe two, more contractions. Again, not strong or painful, but I could <i>notice </i>them now. Mark will tell you I worry too much. He's right. I called my doctor's after-hours number. My doctor, very kindly, confirmed that I did <i>not </i>need to worry and that what I was describing were harmless practice contractions for the real deal in a few months.<br />
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But even with my doctor's reassurance, I was not reassured. I became increasingly uptight as the evening progressed. To Mark's credit, he didn't roll his eyes and say, Here we go <i>again. </i>Can't you just relax and trust the doctor?" But I'm sure that's what he was thinking. I passed another restless night, half worried that I was going to deliver my baby prematurely (probably tomorrow and she'd be in the NICU for months and she would have severe developmental problems as a result and our finances would never recover from the enormous hospital bills). As with the previous day, my panic subsided with the sunrise and left me feeling only vaguely worried.<br />
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When we were at church this morning, my worry dogged my step. As I was sitting in the theater-style chair in the black-walled auditorium where our church meets, I was suddenly reminded that God loves this little baby more than I do. God loves <i>me </i>more than I do. And God is in control. I can't control when I go into labor, but I can trust God to guide the situation and I can trust God to be good, whether in preterm labor or full term labor. As I was thinking these things and reveling in the idea that God could love this baby more than me (I'm her <i>mom</i>, for crying out loud), a Bible verse that I've meditated on many times came into my mind. 1 John 4:18 says, "<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">There is no fear in</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">love</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">. But</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">perfect</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">love</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">perfect</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">in</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">love</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">."</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">When I am afraid in the middle of the night, I am showing God that I don't love him with a perfect love and I don't trust his perfect love for me. I am afraid of punishment. In short, I am not made perfect in love. I won't be made perfect in love in this life, but that doesn't mean I should ignore opportunities to <i>try </i>to grow in my ability to trust God's love. God loves me. God loves the baby. I can rest in that, even in the midst of the weird new sensations pregnancy brings, even in the midst of a Braxton Hicks.</span></span>Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-82176923944445168182014-04-04T14:44:00.001-06:002014-04-04T14:44:24.493-06:00Entering A New Phase, or God's SurpriseSo, on Monday I will be five months pregnant. <i>Pregnant. </i>For those of you who have been with me since the start of this blog in 2011, you will know that I started this blog partly out of a desire to find contentment through infertility. had wanted to get pregnant for about a year and a half and I wanted to find ways to encourage and distract myself during that time.<br />
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You would think that if pregnancy was such a big deal to me, I would have blogged about it before I was 5 months pregnant. It's not that I haven't thought about writing; it's just that our lives are so busy right now. But when I realized that the 5th month of my first pregnancy was approaching, I decided it was time. Bite the bullet, push other commitments aside, and write <i>something. </i><br />
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So, here's the story of why we're entering a new phase. Or, almost more appropriately, here's the story of God's surprise for us.<br />
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Back when I was accepted into Teach For America last January, Mark and I decided I should accept Teach For America's offer, fully knowing the decision would push our family-starting endeavors back a few years. The two years of Teach For America (TFA) is not the time to be thinking about starting a family. It's hardly the time to think about growing friendships or growing a marriage. And TFA in Minnesota is even more intense because TFA corps members are required to be working toward their teaching license through graduate classes at a nearby university. And, of course, you have heard me expound on some of the anxiety and stress these factors produced in me during the fall.<br />
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When we moved to Minnesota last April, I went to see a new doctor about my infertility and PCOS. The doctor works at a small Christian clinic in a nearby suburb. Two friends of mine living up in the Cities who didn't know each other at all had suggested this clinic and one of the doctors in particular at that clinic. Both friends had dealt with some complications in getting pregnant, met with other doctors who didn't seem able to help them, and then switched to this clinic and this doctor. Both friends found this doctor easy to talk to, attentive to their concerns, and a firm believer in natural family planning (charting basal body temperatures and whatnot). Both friends ended up pregnant. Since that seemed like too much of a coincidence and because I had been less than impressed with the way doctors I had visited with before had poo-pooed my basal body temperature charts, I was excited to go to a doctor who I thought would be supportive of me and understanding of my situation.<br />
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My first appointment with this doctor (and almost only appointment, until I went in to confirm my pregnancy) was great. He took time to look through the information sent up from Iowa, and when I pulled out my temperature charts, he exclaimed, "Oh, this is great! Look! I can see you ovulating regularly every cycle! I think that with just a little progesterone in the luteal phase of your cycle, you will have no trouble getting pregnant." He prayed with me, thanking God for my healthy cycles and asking God to bless Mark and me with a baby in due time. I started the progesterone right away. Because I'd had fairly regular cycles for the previous few months, I didn't notice any major changes with the progesterone.<br />
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Needless to say, after 2.5 years of infertility, I was fairly skeptical that my doctor's optimism was quite warranted. I was still fairly convinced that I could not get pregnant and never would get pregnant. So, even though my cycles continued to look normal on paper and my doctor was happy with the results on my follow-up appointment in September, I left his office in the fall fully expecting not to see him again until May, the month Mark and I had picked out as a good time to start 'trying,' since if a baby was conceived in the summer of 2014, it would be born towards the end of my two-year commitment to TFA. And because I still considered my body 'broken,' Mark and I didn't take any birth control precautions.<br />
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So, over Christmas break from school, I found myself in my luteal phase, watching my temperatures and waiting for the inevitable period that would come somewhere around day 16 of the luteal phase. When day 16 came and only brought a higher than usual temperature, I first began to wonder. Then, by day 19 and a repetition of higher than usual temperatures, I decided a pregnancy test was in order.<br />
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It was my last day of break before school resumed and I had just finished up with a nasty bout of stomach flu. My period still hadn't turned up, and I thought to myself, <i>Oh, I'll just check. </i>In my mind, it was more to stop myself from getting my hopes up needlessly. Mark left for work, and I was wandering around the house early in the morning. I took out the pregnancy test, kind of pretending I wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing, and went through the motions of using it to help bring my silly hopes back under control.<br />
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When the test showed up positive two minutes later, I gasped. Then I wandered out of the bathroom whispering, "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!" to myself. Then I went back in the bathroom and took a picture of the test. I was pretty sure I would never believe myself an hour later if I didn't have proof.<br />
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But there it was -- proof. I called my doctor, set up an appointment with him to confirm pregnancy, and lo and behold. Pregnant.<br />
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Here I am, a week after I made the discovery and had the pregnancy confirmed by the doctor.<br />
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Obviously, no evidence of Baby yet when this picture was taken. My emotions have been on a roller coaster since that day of discovery: wondering if the baby is healthy, wondering how my PCOS will affect the baby and my pregnancy, trying to sort through feelings of being someone who 'deals with infertility' when technically that's not true anymore. But those are thoughts for another post.<br />
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For today, I'm just amazed. Amazed that God could surprise me after <i>all </i>that I've learned about my body, amazed that His timing includes us having a baby smack-dab at the start of my second year of teaching, amazed that my body apparently is at least somewhat healed from its brokenness. I'm just amazed. Amazed and thankful.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-54764937105233369212014-02-17T19:12:00.002-06:002014-02-17T19:12:35.831-06:00Finding BalanceRight now I'm sitting on my couch watching 'You've Got Mail' for about the 50th time since I first discovered it when I was 12 or 13. Today we had an unexpected day off due to a snow storm that ended up dusting our area with only about 2 or 3 inches of snow.<br />
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We have currently had about 95 days of school (minus a few snow days in January and early February) and have 74 days of school remaining. Over Christmas break I wrote about dealing with anxiety and learning to find balance between my work life and my home life. In January I've been making an attempt to find that balance. I wasn't taking graduate classes so I got to experience what being 'just' a teacher and not also a student would be like. It was lovely.<br />
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Two weeks ago my spring semester graduate class (only one this time, thankfully) started up, and I've been doing my best to continue to find balance and not get sucked into the frenzied school vortex that smushed my soul into a quivering mass last semester.<br />
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I've made a point to finish my school work by 5:00 every evening so I have the rest of the evening to myself. Mark and I are also trying to take time to get together with friends and family almost every week. In fact, this past weekend, Mark and I went down south to visit Mark's parents and then had an authentic (or close to authentic) tea party with Mark's sister and brother-in-law and their kids. We had a wonderful time sipping tea while snow fell thickly outside. I felt like a human, part of a family, and not just a teacher.<br />
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I'm pretty exhausted still, but the school year and my attitude toward it have definitely picked up since December. I had one anxious breakdown in October, November, and December (ugh) but did not have one in January and have yet to have one in February. Altogether, doing better!<br />
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Unfortunately, right now my brain is just too tired and I don't have any stories to share. Hopefully soon!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-76389037897834646692014-01-06T23:30:00.000-06:002014-01-06T16:38:06.530-06:00Stomach Flu and Answered PrayersLast night I went down with a nasty bout of stomach flu. Oh, how I <i>hate </i>to throw up.<br />
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Anyway, after a night of flu beating up on my body (and mostly winning) I felt pretty exhausted this morning. And, given the temperatures in the -20s, schools had all been closed for today due to the extreme cold, so he really only needed to get one out of the two cars started. Unfortunately, even that proved too much for our little old vehicles. Mark was unable to get either of our cars started to go to work this morning. . By 9:30, he had still not gotten either car started, and as I lay down to try to take a nap, I was feeling pretty low. I was worrying about 3 things in particular:<br />
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1) Would I have sufficiently recovered from my flu to return to school tomorrow, especially with it being the first day back after a long break?<br />
2) Would we be able to get either car started tomorrow when we needed them both to be working?<br />
3) How would we be able to purchase a new car if we needed one soon (given that we are still trying to recover financially from 4 months of unemployment for me and 3 months of unemployment for Mark)?<br />
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By this afternoon, God had neatly answered each of these prayers:<br />
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1) Schools are closed again tomorrow because of cold. I will be able to recover at home.<br />
2) My dad drove down to our house with a portable battery that worked to start one of our cars (and which we will hopefully use to start the other car once the battery has recharged).<br />
3) Mark was able to do some crazy maneuvering with our finances and squeak just over $2,000 out of our working budget for next month to throw into savings in case of a car emergency.<br />
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So, neat as that, God provided for each of my concerns. Case closed.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-78961080953095312022014-01-06T16:14:00.000-06:002014-01-06T16:14:00.263-06:00Falling in Love with First Graders: A Case of Love and Hair Loss (Part 2)So, a few days ago I posted about how I love my students and I shared some stories about students I love. I also talked briefly about how I feel like I fail my students on a daily basis. This post is about the darker side of the last three months.<br />
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Mark and I moved into our new apartment about 2 weeks before I was needed for training at my school. It was just over this break that I realized that I think I'm still adjusting to life in St. Paul, Minnesota, compared to life in small-town, Iowa. I no longer walk to work; I brave the icy, steep streets between our apartment and the school. Every day I am confronted with at least 2 homeless men holding signs on exit ramps between home and school and the conflicted emotions seeing those men and doing nothing produce. Mark has created a white noise soundtrack that we play on repeat in our bedroom every night. I'm a light sleeper (even lighter when stressed) and early in the fall we had some trouble with neighbors playing music with a booming bass line late into the evening.<br />
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I spend hardly any time in our apartment, even though it's pretty nice (now that the noise issue has been dealt with). Our apartment would allow us to get a dog, but that poor thing. It would be alone in its kennel for at least 10 hours four days per week, if not more. Mark has firmly stated that we do not have the time or the energy for a dog right now. Even though he's right, I still cruise petfinder.com regularly because I know a pet would have a calming effect on me. (A cat would be the most calming, but there is no way Mark will let me get a cat. Poo.)<br />
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During these first three months of teaching, I have also been a student myself, taking two graduate classes at one of the local universities. This extra dose of craziness is required by the Minnesota Department of Education. Since we Teach For America teachers don't have our licenses yet, we have to be actively working toward them in order to teach full-time in public schools in Minnesota. This has meant that two evenings a week, besides the 10 hours at school and hour and a half of lesson planning at home, I spent an additional 4 hours in a classroom with other teachers. Though being with other first year teachers was deeply helpful to me, and though I learned a lot of great things in my courses, the additional time commitment and homework was hard on me.<br />
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I'm kind of an anxious person as a general rule. Mark can attest that even when we were dating I worried about things while he just shook his head at me, mystified. The stresses of teaching and graduate school has taken my anxiety to new heights (or lows, depending on how you look at it) since September. The anxiety tends to come in waves, and three debilitating waves have swept over me since starting teaching. Each time the waves of anxiety have climaxed with much crying, very little sleep, weight loss, hair loss, and a day off of teaching (usually with more crying and still very little sleep) to recover. Each time I felt like going back into the classroom would be like plunging into an icy black pit of despair and each time I questioned whether I could make myself keep going.<br />
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By the middle of December, when anxiety wave #3 hit, receded, and left a very insecure me in its wake, my TFA mentor, Emily, was concerned enough to alert some of the rest of the TFA staff. Mike, the TFA managing director, scheduled a meeting with me. I steeled myself for the meeting, expecting him to caution me against quitting and remind me of how detrimental that would be for my students. What he wanted to talk about, then, came as a complete surprise: anxiety. Based on some of his personal experiences, he had some great insights into dealing with anxiety.<br />
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His personal story, as well as his suggestions, gave me some renewed hope that maybe I wasn't a hopeless teacher and that maybe I could find ways to deal with the anxiety and keep teaching. Long story short, I overcame my feeble protests to seeing a doctor, met with a doctor over break, and was prescribed a depression medication that isn't actually used to treat depression but instead is used to treat insomnia. The solid nights of sleep since starting the medication have been so refreshing and have cut down on a lot of the anxiety. I'm also probably going to go see a therapist (although I'm not really sure <i>when</i> I'll have time) to try to come up with some coping mechanisms for anxiety.<br />
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In the meantime, though, I'm reading a book that Mike recommended called <i>Learned Optimism: How to Change Your Mind and Your Life </i>by Martin E. Seligman. Kind of an ostentatious title, but so far I've learned a lot from this book. Seligman has spent over a decade doing research on pessimism and its link to depression and, later, optimism and its link to fending off depression. Maybe sometime I'll do a complete review of the book, but in the meantime, I'll just say that I've learned that some jobs require a more pessimistic mindset (because pessimists have proven to have more accurate and realistic views of the world) and some jobs require a more optimistic mindset. I have a decidedly pessimistic view of pretty much everything, and my job requires an optimistic mindset. Therefore, I need to develop an optimistic mindset. Seligman's book walks the reader through a few 'tools' for developing an optimistic mindset. I'm still reading, but so far the book has been super helpful, and I'm gradually becoming aware of the pessimistic messages I tell myself.<br />
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So, my goals for the next five months of teaching: 1) develop a more optimistic view of life and harness the pessimism for use in specific situations and 2) find more balance and take better care of myself. I basically stopped exercising from July on, even though that's a great stress reliever for me, and I all but stopped getting together with friends. I'm going to try to pick up both activities again, as well as warm baths, burning candles, and chamomile lavender tea. I'm going to have to schedule those things in, but it will be worth it. Maybe I'll even get around to blogging more!<br />
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So, I'm still a teacher, still struggling with some anxiety, but more ready to face the next phase of teaching. Here we go!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-73657539205803894312014-01-03T15:39:00.001-06:002014-01-03T15:39:27.376-06:00Falling in Love with First Graders: A Case of Love and Hair Loss (Part 1)Blogging is fairly therapeutic for me. So, the fact that I <i>haven't </i>been blogging much over the last 2 months either suggests that I've been doing so well that I don't need therapy or that I simply haven't been taking care of myself. In this case, the latter is definitely true.<br />
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The first three months of teaching have gone by in a blur. I've experienced some successes as a teacher but more often I've felt like a failure (really, not too strong a word for how I've felt) and like I'm letting my students down in so many ways. My students are at vastly different levels, academically and socially. I have one student, A.H., who can read at a 4th grade level and got every single question on my math diagnostic test correct back in September. He's a really good kid, but I haven't been meeting his academic needs. Mostly he's bored, unless I let him read independently. He's one of the reasons I'm terribly happy I stocked my classroom library with books all the way up to a 6th grade reading level.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZBozvWu-ahhYXnn7GztkvBVAPuRrkxF8jmDib6infTkDtzxGDoxTLHwY-11686WHXRPOa4WUYMNCP1IQw5Cyj_MYLWL7CMEPFgSLqzn48XqeIH9T-rzhQIaSf87duhdJ-mk8qk3Nnxsp/s1600/blocked+for+blog+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZBozvWu-ahhYXnn7GztkvBVAPuRrkxF8jmDib6infTkDtzxGDoxTLHwY-11686WHXRPOa4WUYMNCP1IQw5Cyj_MYLWL7CMEPFgSLqzn48XqeIH9T-rzhQIaSf87duhdJ-mk8qk3Nnxsp/s320/blocked+for+blog+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A.H. Sorry, not sure if I can post pictures of my students on my blog. The eye blocking is my attempt to be legal but also share my darlings.</td></tr>
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On the other end of the spectrum, I have students who can still barely read a complete sentence, even a phonetic sentence with kindergarten-level high frequency words. And some of my students just didn't catch on to basic addition and subtraction our first time through it. Those are the kids I lay in bed at night worrying about.<br />
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I have two boys (three at the beginning of the year, but one was expelled...) who struggle with dealing with their anger in a constructive way. Interestingly, all three of them are the youngest child in their family and the only boy (in a Muslim home). From what I've heard from people who know their families, and from what I've observed, all three of them are spoiled at home. So, the behavior problems they have come more from spoiling than from abuse or neglect. At the beginning of the year, these three boys threw my class into chaos regularly. Daily. Hourly. Thinking back to that, I realize that they have come a long way in dealing with their anger, and I have come a long way in helping them. Yay for all of us.<br />
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A.A.-1 is probably one of my favorite students, despite his anger issues. He loves to learn and is often telling me random facts he knows about animals. ("Teacher, did you know sea cow and manatee are the same?") His anger is a lot more manageable too, which probably helps my opinion of him. When he gets angry (usually from not getting his way in something), he generally shuts down, crouches down by the table that he shares with 3 or 4 other students, and starts pulling on the table legs, making them exclaim angrily. Another time, when I didn't let him write with a pen on one of our assignments, he started ripping up his paper. I left him alone with his temper tantrum, and when I came back to him, he said, "Teacher, when I feel mad, I rip up one paper and then I feel better." He's learning, though, when he starts to feel angry, to ask to go sit in our Spot for Thought or go out and take one walking circuit in the halls with my aid. Those things usually calm him down.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Zs-bHmSclWumvSkLTxv_F5Ae3FxZqn6ofRfrRVpymKrzTSl5sTLtPO53PmczMPCIYFK_x9JD6BjxlNqD8PCAliOfxRMs1pBt4n_bxn2fo7YGHtoeCvOADvaySdD7EYbKrgbJHvXCpNGE/s1600/blocked+for+blog+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Zs-bHmSclWumvSkLTxv_F5Ae3FxZqn6ofRfrRVpymKrzTSl5sTLtPO53PmczMPCIYFK_x9JD6BjxlNqD8PCAliOfxRMs1pBt4n_bxn2fo7YGHtoeCvOADvaySdD7EYbKrgbJHvXCpNGE/s320/blocked+for+blog+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A.A.-1. All my pictures in this blog post are from a field trip. I want to try to take more in-class pictures this semester.</td></tr>
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A.A.-2 is my other 'angry child,' and he's been a more difficult case for me. Whereas A.A.-1 seems to get angry and then act without thinking, A.A.-2 is a little more thoughtful in how he creates havoc in the classroom. I find this a little harder to swallow. He's advanced in both reading and math, but unlike A.H., he doesn't passively resign himself to being bored in the classroom. (This is probably a good trait, if we can figure out a way to harness it and use it more productively.) In large group instruction time, if I don't acknowledge A.A.-2 about every 2 minutes, he starts to act up. And when he gets really angry, like <i>really </i>angry, he does things like throw chairs across the room, spit in my face or my aid's face, and emit a high-pitched wail that curdles the blood. He also is making progress toward handling his anger more effectively, but he had a relapse right before break and got suspended. Oh, A.A.-2....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcRaCT7q__qui5z8cOO5WG9aH_zR2ndMDmg6aVP9PCRceoreho7TkaGjGdeI1eMfmeMSrA9ZWGEHgQ4czUwaf2hFUPTj-90TqilU9_ZgsaMy8y0s4l8lQLVwQf2Wu4qhSiosJiEiR8Uyg/s1600/blocked+for+blog+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHcRaCT7q__qui5z8cOO5WG9aH_zR2ndMDmg6aVP9PCRceoreho7TkaGjGdeI1eMfmeMSrA9ZWGEHgQ4czUwaf2hFUPTj-90TqilU9_ZgsaMy8y0s4l8lQLVwQf2Wu4qhSiosJiEiR8Uyg/s320/blocked+for+blog+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A.A.-2, the little stinker. Doesn't he have an adorable smile?</td></tr>
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Even though I feel like I'm failing a lot of my kids academically, I've fall in love with most of them. A.A.-3 (so many A names!) is one little girl who I just couldn't get along with at the beginning of the year. In the last month, though, she and I have wormed our way into each other's affections. She's a tough little girl and walks with a swagger. At the beginning of the year, when most of my little girls would give me hugs at the end of the day, A.A.-3 would cock her head and extend her hand for a high five. Now, most days, she gives me a quick, hard hug before swaggering onto her bus. She has a problem with hitting other students and saying unkind things, but she so badly wants to please. Often I hear from her, "Mrs. Fuhrman, look! I did this all by myself!" For such a rough little girl, she has incredibly neat handwriting and takes pride in it.<br />
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Z.M. is tiny and is incredibly concerned with what everyone else is doing, even when she really has no idea what <i>she's </i>supposed to be doing. Sometimes she rubs me the wrong way, with how worked up she can get over what everyone else is doing, even when it has no connection to her <i>or </i>to school. ("Teacher! Her has candy from her's pack-pack!") She's one student that I lay awake at night worrying about. She's one of my lowest in both math and reading. Frankly, she spends a lot of the time looking around the classroom in a daze.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy29Qx86iUdASSvo1X_ewS3-ZCZg2khfxwe1gfKZA4wjTbiNlJfRuUtw1rWkkR0gPhEWgLYDOXFx6gk6NX3WxwkQgwjIg7OjpqURddNvzZhbrJUM4f7DA0Uug1yt_Pw00N7FS5mZm_hBa/s1600/blocked+for+blog+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy29Qx86iUdASSvo1X_ewS3-ZCZg2khfxwe1gfKZA4wjTbiNlJfRuUtw1rWkkR0gPhEWgLYDOXFx6gk6NX3WxwkQgwjIg7OjpqURddNvzZhbrJUM4f7DA0Uug1yt_Pw00N7FS5mZm_hBa/s320/blocked+for+blog+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Z.M and A.A.-3 at the museum. Love them!</td></tr>
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OK. I promise I'm almost done telling about my students. Just a few more. M.A. is another student who occasionally has behavior problems but who I've grown to <i>love </i>over the past two months. Actually, I think most of his behavior problems in October stemmed from the fact that his glasses were broken and he wasn't able to get a new pair for about 3 weeks. He was downright contrary during those three weeks. I'm not surprised, though. Judging by how bug-eyed his glasses make him look, I'm sure he's quite near-sighted. He has this way of cocking his head to the side, staring at me out of those bug-eyes, and asking me in a squeaky voice, "Mrs. Fuhrman, why are you doing that?" "Mrs. Fuhrman, why are you taking your coat off?" "Mrs. Fuhrman, why are you wearing those shiny shoes?"<br />
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A.S. is one of the tiniest kids in my class. He's <i>super </i>well-behaved all the time and is usually one to set a really good example for the rest of the class. His handwriting is atrocious, and I'm pretty sure he should be writing with his left hand. He does everything else left-handed. But I can't get him to stick with his left hand. He just switches back to his right and holds the pencil in a claw-like grip. A.S. is also a good morale booster for me. Whenever I try to be funny or super engaging with my class, I can always count on him to have an ear-to-ear grin on his face, like I've just let him in on the funniest secret of his life. I honestly haven't gotten to know him very well, yet, though. He didn't say a word to me for the first two months of school, and even now he only speaks about 4 words at a time. I think he just doesn't talk much, but I want to try to get to know him better.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvTQA-zjXbCVTvt0a9S34gIIx4Mqg7ISGY3IPzqFai39_GB1So3le1RibkouvlYWULLakZEcrIBLP_3Uw5nD0_KK3bQjGPrOLyZnVGK99MG7zA7sLiHzzEkB4pDxCeCbJbKN_UGIw7ehu/s1600/blocked+for+blog+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMvTQA-zjXbCVTvt0a9S34gIIx4Mqg7ISGY3IPzqFai39_GB1So3le1RibkouvlYWULLakZEcrIBLP_3Uw5nD0_KK3bQjGPrOLyZnVGK99MG7zA7sLiHzzEkB4pDxCeCbJbKN_UGIw7ehu/s320/blocked+for+blog+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A.S. and M.A. on the bus. I <i>wish </i>you could see M.A.'s eyes! Adds so much to his character.</td></tr>
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One final student I just want to mention. S.Y. is one of the most loving, happy, friendly children I have ever met. She genuinely wants to make other people happy. When I started a Kindness Heart board, she was practically jumping up and down at the end of the day, when there were 5 hearts up on the board. (Each heart had a student's name on it and represented a time that student had been kind during the day.) "Mrs. Fuhrman!" she said, "This is the best day of my life! Everyone in our class is so nice!" S.Y. is also one of the reasons that A.A.-1 began to deal with his anger in a more effective way. Somehow, despite the fact that A.A.-1 always says, "Teacher! I can't work with <i>girls</i>!" S.Y. managed to become friends with A.A.-1. Now, he loves to work with her and she has kind of become a mediator when he throws a temper tantrum and ends up in a turtle position on the ground. She will kneel down by him, whisper in his ear, put her arm around him, and in general, coax him back into classroom life. When I was telling my dad about her, he murmured to himself, "You are not far from the Kingdom, child." Honestly, those words brought tears to my eyes. S.Y. is one of the most Christlike children I've ever met.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiweRoc92TNsiEG2qIWTGZLNRTwQw-eoiKdDxtCoUvDhFKapTxiLDS5qTPex6xXS1R9dTtcPzpIsBs_rYtiPumjQYP6G-Qi26PzpCCN4NWgNRVAtkudMXzDGW6lpbvPZFS34F0Ycktc_1XG/s1600/blocked+for+blog+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiweRoc92TNsiEG2qIWTGZLNRTwQw-eoiKdDxtCoUvDhFKapTxiLDS5qTPex6xXS1R9dTtcPzpIsBs_rYtiPumjQYP6G-Qi26PzpCCN4NWgNRVAtkudMXzDGW6lpbvPZFS34F0Ycktc_1XG/s320/blocked+for+blog+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S.Y. at the museum offering me 'something to eat.'</td></tr>
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I had meant for this blog post to be about much more than the students that I teach, but this is now going to have to be a two-part post. Stay tuned for 'Falling in Love with First Graders: A Case of Love and Hair Loss Part 2", coming soon!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-44468650149360851052013-12-01T19:55:00.005-06:002013-12-01T19:55:50.813-06:00Things I Would Write AboutHello out there! It's me, the host of this blog! I know you haven't heard from me in a while and have probably stopped believing that I exist.<br />
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I probably am still going to be mostly silent for a while, but my two grad school classes are ending within the next two weeks and then I will be down to just-school crazy busy instead of school-plus-grad-school crazy busy until the beginning of February.<br />
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There are lots of things I would write about now if I had time:<br />
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1. Why I love my students (because it's super important for me to try to find positive right now)<br />
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2. Anxiety and how I almost quit teaching (which is what leads up to number 1 <i>being </i>number 1 in this list)<br />
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3. How being a teacher made me question my desire to be a parent (which is also what leads up to number 1 being so important)<br />
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4. Why rolling yourself up like a burrito in the class rug doesn't help solve your problems<br />
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5. How a bruised thumb reminds me I am not a patient person<br />
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6. How to get kids to interact in a positive way with the kid who eats his boogers (honestly, I'm looking for ideas here)<br />
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7. Finding teacher mentors and why that's been great for me<br />
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8. Hey! I love to read, cook, and even do dishes on occasion! I had forgotten.<br />
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9. My astonishing list of crochet and sewing projects for Christmas and New Year break<br />
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10. Why I'm thankful I'm experiencing my first year of teaching surrounded by friends and family (even if I never see them)<br />
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I wish I had time to write all these blogs now. Maybe over Christmas break. Or maybe when my grad school classes are done for the semester. I don't know. I know they would all be good for <i>me </i>to write. Therapeutic or something. Anyway, I am still here, still teaching.<br />
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Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-84346819885471587022013-09-26T18:19:00.000-05:002013-09-26T18:19:00.536-05:00Race: Learning to SeeSince Mark and I have moved into an apartment building where the residents are predominantly African-American in a neighborhood of apartment buildings where residents are more likely to be Asian, African-American or Latino than White <i>and </i>since I've been teaching at a school where all of my students are African or African-American, I've been thinking a lot about race and racism. Most of my thoughts about race and racism have been sort of in the back corner of my mind, as the front corners of my mind are taken up right now with questions of whether I'll be able to keep control in my classroom long enough for my students to learn the short /a/ sound.<br />
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My thoughts about racism have been a weird jumble. I think about the loud music vibrating our floors and how the picture I got in my head when I felt the first rumble was of African-American people partying in a poorly kept living room. I hate that about myself, that those were my first mental images, and what that says about racism that still lives in me.<br />
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It scares me too, especially when I think about my students. Because if the image I get in my head when I hear loud music is African-American people living in a dingy apartment spending all their time rocking out pointlessly to loud music, what does that say about my <i>expectations </i>for what my students are capable of and should accomplish? What they should be like when they grow up? I'm terrified that despite all of my best intentions I'm going to lower my expectations for my students and decide that the work they are producing is 'good enough' even if it's not nearly good enough.<br />
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Because, let's face it: in order for my students to succeed and thrive while living in the United States, they are not going to have to score as high as White children. They are going to have to score <i>higher</i>. They are going to have to prove a thousand times more often that they are capable and bright and able to contribute wonderful things to the world. Because the world is not going to believe it on first glance. Especially when they see my darling girls wearing their <i>hijab</i> or my boys wearing their<i> kufi</i>.<br />
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And when I start to think about my girls and their <i>hijab </i>and my boys and their <i>kufi</i>, I also find myself thinking about my nephew who was adopted from Ethiopia in 2011. Not because he wears a <i>kufi. </i>I just <i>know </i>that my nephew is a wonderful, brilliant boy who love to read books, has an amazing vocabulary, and loves to entertain people. But so many people will just see black when they see him. Just like people will just see <i>hijab </i>when they see my girl students.<br />
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Before I started teaching at this school, when I saw a group of Muslim women in the store I was shopping in, I would just see their long flowing dresses and their <i>hijab. </i>A few days ago, though, when I was out, I saw a girl in <i>hijab</i>, and I found myself searching her face to see if she was a student of mine or a sister of a student of mine. It struck me at that moment that before, I <i>hadn't </i>been seeing the women in <i>hijab </i>as women. I'd just been seeing Muslim. Or maybe even just the clothes. I don't know. But I do know that I hadn't been really <i>seeing </i>them as individuals.<br />
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I don't know if this makes any sense, and I know that I'm rambling, but the thing is, I want my students to grow up being seen for who they are, beyond their clothing. I want my nephew to grow up being seen for who he is, beyond his skin color. And I want <i>me</i> to really see<i> </i>people. I want to really see the neighbors who live below us and play obnoxious loud music; if not get to know them, at least acknowledge that their personalities, their joys and disappointments, have depth that I don't know. And I want to really see my students with all their gifts and potential.<br />
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This seeing. I can't <i>make </i>the United States at large see my students for the wonderful individuals that they are or see my nephew for who he is. Racism is so <i>hard </i>that way - I can't make anyone not think racist thoughts. And I'm still battling my own sneakily hidden racism. But I truly think that <i>seeing</i> a person is what begins to dissolve some part of the racism barrier. So, maybe the very best thing I can do is tell the stories - tell the stories of my students as individuals so that a few other people will see them as more than a <i>hijab </i>or a <i>kufi</i>. Maybe that's the best start for learning to see.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-88372238252253538652013-09-22T09:33:00.004-05:002013-09-22T09:33:46.892-05:00A Breath in the Midst of TeachingA stack of student papers is sitting by me, waiting to be graded, but for the first time since I started teaching on September 3, I feel like I might have enough time and enough energy to write a blog before I tackle the school work. I'm finally getting my feet back on the ground after reeling through the first few weeks of teaching. I'm beginning to re-discover that a pot of tea drunk all by myself with a book is an incredible delight, and I'm beginning to think about what book I'm going to read next, also an incredible delight. If I have enough time to think those thoughts, I decided I have enough time to write a blog. It's been a loooooooooong time since I've written anything here, though, to the point where I think to myself, <i>Where to start? Where to start? </i><br />
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We are adjusting to life in an apartment complex, surrounded by people who like loud music. Maybe not surrounded, exactly, but the neighbors below us vibrate our floors with their music on occasion and the neighbors next to us like their speakers too. I'm a woefully light sleeper, so our bedroom has become a white noise factory of late. The fan on overhead creates a pleasant hum. The white noise track Mark created for me sounds like heavy rain or clapping depending on what I'm dreaming about, and the bass track he added to the heavy rain white noise track makes me feel like a train is running by our window all night long. I'm just <i>that </i>neurotic about noises that I need different tones of white noise to effectively dull the various sounds we hear in our bedroom at night.<br />
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Teaching the last three weeks has been a roller coaster. I think the next time I blog, I will write a little bit about the personalities of my kids. That's the fun part of teaching so far: getting to know each of the kids and what makes them excited or frustrated, how to calm the impulsive ones down when they make bad choices, how to make them smile. But I'm only <i>just </i>starting to see their personalities. Up until a few kids were switched out of my classroom on Thursday morning, all it felt like I was doing was managing one large, loud, disobedient group.<br />
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Here is what my day looked like before my class was brought down to a more manageable size:<br />
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4:45am - Wake up before the alarm, worrying about today.<br />
5:05am - Get up, shower. Get ready. Eat breakfast. Read the Bible. Say desperate prayers.<br />
6:05am - Drive to school. Say more desperate prayers.<br />
7:15am - Students arrive. No time for praying. Crowd control.<br />
8:00am - Start lining students up to go to breakfast. Feelings of frustration.<br />
8:35am - Return from breakfast, frazzled by the difficulty of lining students up who are hyped up on sugar from their 'nutritious' breakfast.<br />
9:00am - Math. Technically. In reality, crowd control. Maybe yell a little. Finish about half of the math lesson.<br />
10:05am - Oops. Missed science time due to crowd control and discipline issues. Line students up for lunch. Even more challenging than lining them up for breakfast.<br />
10:35am - Late for lunch. Defeated, leading loud and energetic children down the hall to the lunch room.<br />
10:50am - Take a deep breath. Begin to line up students who are done eating.<br />
11:05am - Return to classroom. Spend a few minutes doing calendar math activities. Spend many more minutes managing the group, giving out consequences and trying to be heard.<br />
11:30am - Reading lesson. Also, crowd control. Also, trying to get kids to work on reading and not get out of their seats.<br />
12:00pm - Arabic or Gym class. If Arabic, leave classroom so Arabic teacher can come in and teach. If Gym, lead kids to bus. Take deep breaths. Cry, maybe. Try to eat. Fail to eat. Organize materials for the rest of the day.<br />
1:00pm - Arabic or Gym finished. If Arabic, students are mentally 'done' and need an active sort of brain break. Try to finish reading lesson. Attempt 'silent' reading. Ha.<br />
1:45pm - Recess time. Most likely miss most of recess time because students are too excited to line up quietly.<br />
2:00pm - Put on 10 minutes of Magic School Bus video for students to watch while they collect their backpacks, homework, and get ready to go out to the buses.<br />
2:15pm - Frantically try to keep track of 29 children in the crush of bodies. Try to get the right kids on the 13 different buses.<br />
2:30pm - Hand last child off to parents. Take a drink of water. (Have I drunk any water yet today? Can't remember.) Head to one of many staff meetings.<br />
3:30pm - Put classroom back in order. Begin to make plans for tomorrow. Maybe cry a little.<br />
5:30 or 6:00pm - Head home. Cry on Mark's shoulder. Try to eat supper. Succeed slightly.<br />
6:30pm - Work on planning lessons. Try to figure out what will work to get class to relax, stop chattering, and listen.<br />
9:00pm - Go to bed, exhausted.<br />
10:30pm - Fall asleep after tossing and turning. Music starts up through the wall. Wake up. Lie there feeling angry and exhausted.<br />
11:30pm - Music stops. Fall asleep for real.<br />
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Thankfully, since Thursday, there has been a lot less crying in my day. And since talking to my neighbors, there hasn't been much in the way of loud music at 10:30 at night. And as I mentioned above, things are looking up for my class now that I don't have quite so many students. In my next blog, whenever that is, I will spend some time talking about my students!<br />
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<br />Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-45315788866638528382013-09-01T09:38:00.001-05:002013-09-01T09:38:18.972-05:00My classroom is ready for action!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, it may kind of feel like I've fallen off the face of the earth. And that is largely true, except where my classroom and school-related work on my computer at home is concerned. I have never been this busy in my <i>life. </i>Not even during finals week of college. College feels like a walk in the park in comparison to getting ready to teach first graders. And I haven't even started the graduate classes I'll be taking this semester. But I'm not really complaining because, when I can muster up the confidence to imagine that I will be able to manage my first grade classroom, I am actually having a lot of fun. (If I'm having a less confident moment and imagining my students running around the room screaming while I watch powerlessly... then not so much fun.) </div>
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I've spent the last week setting up my classroom and preparing lessons for my first week of school (gasp). School starts on Tuesday. I still can't say that without a few heart palpitations. But I am pretty excited about my classroom. It's nothing spectacular compared to some of the classrooms I've been ogling on other first grade teacher blogs, but for my first year of teaching with virtually no resources provided by the school, I'm pretty proud of it. Let me take you on a tour! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj23I3pqXbQlH5OGdzE5j7dmPPIOWSGYaP1OH-DD1HXYBc6IP6J6iZoa60f2-fUl5BIvq-pDuJ2PMW5KgWyCpBXZTUCCTrkA1U1W31bGFMrO1tQDY9lYfVp-9diZXVyQXamSdEUhad4vVWB/s1600/IMG_3118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj23I3pqXbQlH5OGdzE5j7dmPPIOWSGYaP1OH-DD1HXYBc6IP6J6iZoa60f2-fUl5BIvq-pDuJ2PMW5KgWyCpBXZTUCCTrkA1U1W31bGFMrO1tQDY9lYfVp-9diZXVyQXamSdEUhad4vVWB/s320/IMG_3118.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
This is the door to my classroom. I'm sorry the picture's blurry. This is on the inside of the door so kids outside can't pick at it. Other teachers recommended that I cover over at least the bottom half of the window on my door so that when other kids are in the halls they aren't distracting my little ones from learning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tIytrm86NCefuLDYs9W90eQomHWaDG0gvYhO0LwiXBapEZRDX5rt85vWbNFcBGnXQKHOY2TXPU5p8RzEcNOtlJy2O32QX83YQIPnQk2Y0dC583ZcsitSlFLSWGFd5k2CrYfvEeHzOLHZ/s1600/IMG_3111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tIytrm86NCefuLDYs9W90eQomHWaDG0gvYhO0LwiXBapEZRDX5rt85vWbNFcBGnXQKHOY2TXPU5p8RzEcNOtlJy2O32QX83YQIPnQk2Y0dC583ZcsitSlFLSWGFd5k2CrYfvEeHzOLHZ/s320/IMG_3111.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
This is the big whiteboard inside my classroom. (The door you just saw is to the right, just outside of this picture.) I'm planning on not using the whiteboard for teaching, as you may guess. I just didn't find this summer that when I was up at the whiteboard my students could pay attention as well. There's a lot here. So on the whiteboard I have a spot for Team Points. Students will be divided into teams (their table) and they will earn points for good choices and lose points for poor choices. Underneath is a schedule. Moving counterclockwise, next is the job charts. Students will have jobs and earn 'money' for their jobs. The money they earn is tied to their behavior management system and they will have to pay money for poor choices they make individually. They will get to spend money they make at a class store on Fridays. Above the job chart is the Friday Celebration box. Students will have 15 minutes set aside for a Friday Celebration activity of their choice at the beginning of the week. (Friday Celebrations could be things like more reading time, games, an educational video, a dance party, etc.) If they work efficiently, they will be able to earn more minutes for the Friday Celebration. If they waste time as a class, they will lose minutes. And finally, in the center top of the whiteboard is our Voice-o-Meter. I'm hoping to use this to help the kids know how loud their voices can be when working on a given activity.<br />
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To the right of the board is our Behavior Ladder. Students will have clothespins with their names on them that will start at the top of the ladder at the beginning of the day. For each poor choice they make, they will be asked to move their clip down. Each move down has other consequences, such as paying me one Scholar Dollar, spending a few minutes in the Spot for Thought, taking Thinking Laps during recess, and so forth.<br />
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Below the board are two posters: "Growing in math together" is where we will track our achievement in math as a class. For each objective we get 80% on (as a class) we will get to put one green leaf on the tree. "We show character" is where we will record the character traits we learn about and that we are trying to show as a class. Pretty much all of my students are Muslim, which is why the little girl is wearing hijab. It <i>may </i>look like the little boy is elbowing the little girl out of the way, but he's not. I drew the little boy first, intending to just have one child on the poster but then I decided I needed a boy <i>and </i>a girl and I didn't want to start over. So my new plan is that the words for the character traits that we learn will go to the left of the little boy on the poster. Students who show those character traits and get nominated by a classmate (or me) will get their name put next to the little girl under the "Look Who" sign. I might take pictures, instead of having their name go up. I'm not sure yet.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoQI19ISLIK-fHQnKBku-ZB4iDiJ_Uk1GeIjL1MESlo0s3HDoXc1KCxz933dkGpZn98n2jVNSGuXibMGSucc5GDH-vbwAuZeTw6GNcRAy4J43TSEGveO-F0EOF3rI-dmJAm7Mxl0ewJlD/s1600/IMG_3112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoQI19ISLIK-fHQnKBku-ZB4iDiJ_Uk1GeIjL1MESlo0s3HDoXc1KCxz933dkGpZn98n2jVNSGuXibMGSucc5GDH-vbwAuZeTw6GNcRAy4J43TSEGveO-F0EOF3rI-dmJAm7Mxl0ewJlD/s320/IMG_3112.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
Over here is our Class Rules poster. On the first day of school we will brainstorm together as a class what each of these rules looks and sounds like and put those descriptors under the rule. The floating head is the beginning of our tracker for minutes read. For every 200 minutes read as a class we will get to add one length to the caterpillar. Since the students will be required to read at least 20 minutes a night and since I have 28 students, hopefully by the end of the year he will be one loooooong caterpillar winding his way all around the classroom.<br />
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This part of the room is also our 'organizational' corner. Students deposit their homework and Home-School folders here when they come in in the morning. The cardboard tray thing is for any mail that needs to go in the student mailboxes. Once the job system is up and running one student will have the job of checking that mailbox at the end of the day and putting mail in student mailboxes before we pack up our backpacks. I'm pretty excited about my student mailboxes too. They're made out of pizza boxes which I purchased from a Papa John's near my parents' house. (I say 'purchased,' but they were really cheap and the Papa John's manager who helped me was so friendly! I honestly left with a smile on my face.)<br />
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Here's a closer look at the mailboxes. Students will each have a number. They will put that number on every worksheet they do. Their cubbies outside the classroom also have those numbers.<br />
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This is our Calendar Time and Morning Meeting corner. I'll also be doing most of my large-group teaching in this area. Up in the left corner is a "Path to College" poster my sister helped me make. We'll talk during the first couple of weeks about how first grade is only the beginning and each grade they go through is a step toward college and what happens after college. I want to really stress the importance of doing your best in every grade so that you're prepared to move on to the next grade. Anyway, there's a <i>lot </i>going on by the Calendar Math Time bulletin board. There's the calendar (which I know is showing July in this picture), a weather graph, a pocket chart for yesterday, today, tomorrow, last month, this month, and next month, a hundred chart, a tooth-lost tally chart, a birthday graph, and a days-of-the-month tally chart. Oh, and the calendar itself and a clock. I'm still working through how I'm going to use each of these things and in what order. I won't start calendar time until the second week of school.<br />
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The rolling whiteboard cart is where I'll do most of my teaching. The students will be sitting on the carpet (which I know is a boring brown, but since I didn't have much to spend on carpets, I had to take what I could get). I'm not sure if I'll sit in the rocking chair all the time or reserve that for the read-aloud at the end of the day.<br />
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Oh, and the 80% Club is peeking through under the cart. Every time we have a test as a class, students who get 80% or more will get to put their names up on the chart. We'll see how this goes. I want this to be a motivational tool and not a source of discouragement. If I'm not a good teacher and am not giving my students what they need to succeed, then it probably won't be helping and will probably disappear.<br />
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This is in the back of our classroom and is our science tracker. Every time we master a science objective as a class at 80% we will add an animal or plant to this picture, so hopefully by the end of the year it will be a vibrant ecosystem.<br />
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Over here is my small group table and where students will pick up their pencils at the beginning of the day and deposit them at the end of the day. My teacher desk, file cabinet, and other organizational tools are back here. I love that open file box on the counter that I found at Goodwill. I'm using five of the spaces for each day of the week. So I can make my copies for the next week at the end of the week and put them in the slot for what day we're going to use them. That's all assuming I can stay one week ahead. Ha.<br />
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And over here is our classroom library. I've leveled the books according to DRA levels because that's what I'll be using to measure student progress throughout the year. A dear friend of mine got my church back in Iowa to put on a book drive for me, so I have more books coming today! I'm sooooo excited about that, as I really don't have enough books for 28 kids right now and our school has no library.<br />
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I realized now I didn't take pictures of my student tables and their chair pockets or my word wall. Oh well! I'll have to add those pictures later. In any case, despite being frightfully nervous, I'm terribly excited to start teaching on Tuesday!<br />
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<br />Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-85177642791475792072013-08-15T09:24:00.002-05:002013-08-15T09:24:23.766-05:00Getting Settled in St. Paul<div class="MsoNormal">
I just finished reading through my testimony, which I wrote
out to share at our annual family stay-cation with Mark’s family. Initially,
when I added that item to my to-do list for this week, I felt impatient. As you
may have guessed from my long silence, my application before the Board of
Teaching passed, and I am in the three-week frenzy before school starts, trying
to get everything done that needs to be done. Honestly, right now, being
terrified has eclipsed being excited. </div>
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We just got moved in to our new apartment in <st1:city w:st="on">St. Paul</st1:city>, just a bit north of Frogtown (if you’re familiar
with <st1:city w:st="on">St. Paul</st1:city>)
on Saturday. Because I hate boxes and being in transition, we got the last box
unpacked last night and pictures and clocks hung. This apartment is nice, much
nicer in looks than our little house in <st1:state w:st="on">Iowa</st1:state>.
It’s also more expensive, and what we gain in looks we lose in ambiance. The
neighbors living below us have what I imagine to be giant subs and giant
speakers and at times throughout the weekend they vibrated our floors and
furniture with their music. Our neighbors above are quiet, except that their
bedroom floorboards (which are also our ceiling…boards) squeak. I’m a light
sleeper, so being surrounded by so many abrupt sounds like a squeaking ceiling
and dogs barking, and people talking loudly as they walk through the halls has
been hugely frustrating. Mark, being the composer that he is, whipped up two
white noise soundtracks for me last night, which helped a lot.</div>
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So, besides moving, I’ve been trying to finish up my
behavior management plan, my investment plan, my long-range unit plans, my
first two week lessons, my trackers and displays for the classroom, my grading
system and documents, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. According to my mom, “You
were able to go to <st1:country-region w:st="on">Mozambique</st1:country-region>
and teach with two days of notice and you weren’t stressed at all! You’re
really letting this get to you.” Her words are all too true, and yesterday was
kind of a low point. I was trying to work on my behavior management plan for my
little first graders at a library about five miles from our house, when I
suddenly felt completely overwhelmed. Basically, I panicked, went to sit in my
car, and called my dad sobbing. It wasn’t pretty. And really not necessary. And
really not a good use of time or energy.</div>
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In any case, to get back to my original point, I felt like
adding ‘Write Testimony’ to my to-do list was just one more thing, and I was
impatient. But as I read through my finished product this morning (to make sure
it wasn’t too short or too long), tears came to my eyes multiple times. I <i>may </i>have new noises to try to sleep
through. Our budget and bank account <i>may </i>be
stretched beyond what’s comfortable. I <i>may
</i>have a whole lot to do before the school year starts. But God <i>has </i>been faithful, as reading my
testimony aloud reminded me. God has been so <i>very </i>faithful to me. I have no need and no reason to doubt Him now.</div>
Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-83138524350827589402013-08-01T21:41:00.002-05:002013-08-01T21:41:31.727-05:00One Month Count DownSo, you <i>may </i>have thought I was never coming back. I may have thought that too. But when I was sitting here tonight looking at cute first grade classrooms on blogs and feeling like my life would never be complete until I had a Beanie Baby reading display and cute reading chairs and lots and lots of books... I realized I probably was in need of a step back and a healthy dose of perspective.<br />
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The last couple of months have been crazy. Absolutely crazy. Part of the reason that I haven't written in a while is that I just haven't known what to write. Our lives were in such crazy suspension that my emotions wandered off into the hazy unknown as well. I was thankful, then peaceful, then raging, then crying... honestly, I don't know what a post during that time would have looked like. (And really, so far, this post is still pretty rambling!)<br />
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Mark and I have an apartment now. We move in next Friday. It's not the old-house-converted-into-apartments feel that I was hoping for, but it's big enough for what we need and it will allow us to get a dog (a smallish dog, not my greyhound that I've been fantasizing about). Mark has a job, albeit a temporary job, as a custodian at a school. His job search process has been, for both him and me, a bit discouraging. I mean, I know that he has lots of wonderful skills and creativity to offer in the workforce, but for whatever reason he's just been unable to find that good fit yet. But we have income, and that's something we're both thankful for.<br />
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I have a teaching job lined up. My first day of actual teaching is September 3, almost exactly a month from now (gasp). However, tomorrow my application, as well as many other applications, goes before the Board of Teaching in Minnesota to see if we can get permission to be in the classroom this year. If the Board of Teaching votes down my application, well... I guess I will join Mark in the job search.<br />
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But I'm honestly not too concerned about it. Not because it's not concerning (because it is), but because I only have enough space in my brain and right now all the space has been devoted to starting to get ready for my classroom this fall. I found out this week that I'll be teaching first grade, and I got the textbooks we'll be using. I have so much planning to do. I can't even believe how many details have to be ironed out before the first kid walks through my door. I'm alternately thrilled (because let's be honest - I love making plans) and terrified (because let's be honest - I've never had to plan so many details at one time before in my LIFE.)<br />
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So, anyway, that's where we are right now. Still about 75% in transition. Not where we wanted to be three and a half months after moving up to the Twin Cities. But we're forging ahead and things are getting worked out bit by bit.<br />
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Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go practice some excellent self-care techniques and <i>not </i>look at any more first grade blogs. I think I'm going to read<i> </i>in bed with the covers over my head.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-53143861493693330852013-07-04T15:12:00.000-05:002013-07-04T15:12:08.303-05:00Striving Forward for every little Kaylee<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: small;">
I have never been this intensely busy and stressed in my entire life. There are so many things I wish I could have reflected on in this blog over the last four weeks but haven't been able to just because I am always so. very. tired. But now that it's the 4th of July and we don't have school today or tomorrow, I have a little bit more wiggle room. </div>
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These last few weeks of teaching have not been what I had expected them to be. From Day 1 of having kids in my classroom I have struggled with managing the classroom and behavior, and teaching in a way that engages the students and keeps their interest. (Honestly, I've never been made to feel boring so often as I have in the last three weeks. Engaging 2nd graders in math and even reading apparently does not come naturally to me.)</div>
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Anyway, I've really struggled with balancing management and teaching. I honestly don't feel like I've been a good teacher for my summer school kids, and I can honestly say I think I'm one of the people struggling the most getting into teaching, at least out of all the TFA corps members at my school. So that's been pretty hard for me. I thought that with all my experience at the library and in Mozambique I wouldn't struggle so much. And what's worse is that I know my summer school kids <i>need </i>a good teacher. Oh, how they need a good teacher. </div>
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So, I've really been fighting a lot of feelings of self-doubt too over the last few weeks, wondering if I should even be here and wondering if I am really just doing my kids more harm than good by being here in their classroom. I love my kids so much, and I hate to think that I'm letting them down. There's little Kaylee, this tiny little girl who is already <i>so </i>far behind in everything. She's starting 2nd grade this fall and doesn't even recognize most of her numbers and can hardly read a word. (What 1st grade teacher passed her, is my question.) And there's Delana who's aunt forgets to pick her up because she's drunk 'too much kool-aid and has to take a nap' in Delana's words. I could go on. Each of my kiddos has a story that makes me desperate to be a good teacher for them. But Kaylee and Delana for me put a face to why I so want to be a good teacher. I love them and I hate to think I'm failing them.</div>
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But yesterday, someone said something to me that really made a difference in my outlook. At the end of the day everyday a couple times a week we have this all-school shout out time, where all the corps members who are teaching and the staff who are supporting them congregate in a room and share 'shout outs,' or encouraging words for someone else on our team. At the end of the day yesterday, Blair, one of the TFA staff people, gave me a shout out for being one of the people who's most committed to improving that he's seen. He said that the difference he's seen between someone who ends up a good teacher and someone who ends up a great teacher is that drivenness to improve and become a better teacher. He said that that is the kind of teacher who will really make a difference in the lives of our kiddos. </div>
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I don't say that all to toot my own horn, but it was kind of an epiphany for me. I realized I need to stop spending so much energy on comparing myself to other teachers and wondering if I measure up and start devoting all of that energy to becoming a better teacher. I may not be a great teacher now (or even a good teacher), but someday I will be and I need to keep striving toward that goal. Because it's not about me and my teacher ego. It's about the little kiddos like Kaylee and Delana who are already, at age 7, sliding through the cracks in the system that is failing them.</div>
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So, even though I'm not a good teacher now, and even though I may not be everything my summer school students need me to be (or even hardly anything that they need me to be), I'm going to keep on striving toward becoming a better teacher for Kaylee and Delana and all of the Kaylees and Delanas I'll be able to love and teach in the years to come.</div>
Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-10302516645459631592013-06-15T22:15:00.002-05:002013-06-15T22:15:42.145-05:00A Dorm + Little Sleep + Children on MondayMy life has been so drastically different for the last week, I hardly even know where to start.<br />
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I'm living in a dorm with 600 other girls and guys who are all committed to the same cause of equality in education for all children but maybe not of the same background or other values or lifestyle.<br />
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I've only gotten about four hours of sleep per night since arriving, which makes it feel like I've been here a <i>month </i>instead of a week.<br />
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I'm making lots of friends! Yay! But I also miss my husband so much that it hurts, really <i>hurts</i>, every time I have to hang up the phone.<br />
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Earplugs are my new best friend at night, living in this dorm.<br />
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I've learned so much about teaching that I seriously think my brain has overloaded a couple of times this week, leaving me unable to function for a good fifteen minutes at a time.<br />
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But at the same time, I've learned so much about teaching that I've felt empowered and excited and eager to have my own classroom.<br />
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I found out that Teach For America is suddenly super controversial in Minnesota, thus jeopardizing my being able to teach this fall. (If you're a praying person, please pray about this!)<br />
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College dining center food... oh how I miss cooking. Looking at all of my favorite food blogs right now makes me sad.<br />
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I will have a classroom full of 28 little 2nd graders on Monday. I can't believe it. There is still so <i>so </i>much to do before I'm ready for them. And it's Saturday night. But the funny thing (I'm realizing) about teaching compared to other jobs I've had is that all the work <i>will </i>get done because on Monday morning, it won't be just me and a computer screen. There will be 28 little faces counting on me to be ready to help get them ready for 2nd grade in the fall. That is the most effective motivator I've ever found.<br />
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<br />Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-13216194455042888542013-06-03T13:11:00.001-05:002013-06-03T13:11:16.632-05:00EmbarkingAs I sit here at my parents' dining room table, I have a piece of notebook paper next to me and a pen. These two things are meant to keep me from going crazy. As I try to review key chapters and essays before my TFA training starts, my brain is practically frothing with superfulous thoughts. Anything that seems of dire importance I write down on the notebook paper, and then the idea is that I can keep concentrating on the readings. In theory, this is great. In practice, I've had about four different pieces of notebook paper over the past few days and written 'pack jacket!' about six times and 'pajamas' at least three times.<br />
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For some reason, packing has been fairly anxiety-ridden for this trip. When I think back to packing for Mozambique, I know I felt pretty anxious as well, but <i>that </i>hair and sleep loss was mainly due to fear over navigating four different airports and how to be prepared for layovers or possible pick-pocketing.<br />
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I don't have to fly into four different countries for this trip (sad, but also much simpler), and I don't need to pack a variety of legal documents (definitely a relief). But I <i>do </i>have to be prepared to look teacher-professional five days a week in stifling Oklahoma summer weather. And I do have to pack other teacher items, like notebooks and folders and a printer. And I'll be carpooling with a couple other corps members, so all our stuff needs to fit in the car we take. I know this shouldn't stress me out, but I must confess that it does.<br />
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I also think that I don't have the most organized and efficient system for packing. (However, I <i>was </i>mostly packed for this first week in the Twin Cities by 9:30 this morning, and we're not leaving until 3:15, so I guess my system isn't all bad.) This is the fifteen-step system that has resulted in a suitcase packed for this week and a dufflebag partially packed for the next five weeks:<br />
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1. Read through the packing list that TFA provides.<br />
2. Start own list on notebook paper, incorporating the things TFA suggests that seem like a good idea.<br />
3. Write a series of question marks behind things not sure about, like what kind of dress shoes to bring.<br />
4. With paper in hand, start a few piles on the extra bed downstairs. Cross off items now present on bed. Then stop, due to heightened stress.<br />
5. Go back a day later and try to remember what's already been packed by looking at list. Try to ascertain whether items are crossed off because they are on the bed or because decided not to take them.<br />
6. Add more items to bed. Circle items on list that haven't been located. Write more question marks behind things uncertain of, like dress shoes.<br />
7. Go back upstairs. Read for a while to relax from stress of packing.<br />
8. Start a second list upstairs of things that may not be on first list (but don't go downstairs to check in case of increased stress.)<br />
9. Morning of. Must get packed today. Take second list downstairs. Put two lists next to each other and see what overlaps.<br />
10. Pack extra pants and shirts, just in case.<br />
11. Grind teeth. Randomly pick a few pairs of dress shoes. Pack tennis shoes too, for running, and sandals, for relaxing. (In case there's time to relax.)<br />
12. Stand in bathroom for full five minutes, making sure nothing is forgotten. Repeat process with bedroom and living room.<br />
13. Double and triple check really important things like medications.<br />
14. Decide to save space and not pack cleaning supplies for apartment.<br />
15. Keep paper nearby for the rest of the day to jot down anything that may or may not already be packed but which excites nervous stomach stress butterflies.<br />
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Alright? All packed? OK, I think I'm ready for TFA Induction to start this afternoon!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-78297060611913797862013-05-26T19:44:00.001-05:002013-05-26T19:44:23.203-05:00Bookshelf: April-MayDespite packing up and moving to a new state and preparing for Teach For America, I've managed to do quite a bit of reading over the last two months.<i> </i>I don't expect to read too much from now until sometime in 2015, so I'm enjoying this current state of reading freedom.<br />
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See my reading selections for April and May below. Just a warning: I probably should have separated this into two posts. But I didn't. (Also, notice the star rating next to the title for a cursory look at my opinions! All ratings are out of five stars.)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">April</span><br />
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<i>The End of Worry - </i>Will Vander Hart & Rob Waller - ***<br />
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Though a little simplistic, <i>The End of Worry </i>gave me a brief overview of the what worry is and ways to deal with it. The biggest thing that I took away from this book (and that I'm still practicing consciously) is to <i>be present </i>in the moment, especially if I'm feeling anxious or worried. This may seem overly simplistic, and for more acute cases of anxiety it probably is, but for me this works well.<br />
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<i>The End of Worry </i>is a fast read, so it's not a major commitment to pick up. I would recommend it to anyone who has wanted to give greater thought to the role of worry in their own lives, but I would also caution that this is in no way comprehensive. If you've already researched worry and anxiety disorders at all, none of this will be new.<br />
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<i>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - </i>J.K. Rowling - *****<br />
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I've continued my re-read of the Harry Potter series. (I'm hoping to finish up the last book before my TFA training starts at the beginning of June.) Re-reading these as an adult has given me a greater appreciation for Rowling's writing style. Not only does she use words in amusing and effective ways, but her story line is, well, <i>epic. </i>I kept noticing how details in this book tied back in with characters and events in the first three books and I wonder to myself, Did she plan this from the beginning?<br />
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<i>Between the Lines - </i>Jodi Picoult & Samantha Van Leer - **<br />
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I haven't read anything else by Jodi Picoult, but her books have been recommended to me on multiple occasions by people whose opinions I trust wholeheartedly. But I did <i>not </i>care for this book. The idea and the story line are interesting, quite fun for a bibliophile like me, actually, but the effect is ruined by the poor development of the characters. Even main characters fell flat for me. I think that if the authors wanted to develop characters more fully and keep the story as is, the whole book would have needed to be a little longer. Because of all the good recommendations I've gotten for Jodi Picoult, I'm going to chalk this disappointing read up to the fact that Picoult was working with her teenage daughter to write this. For a teenage writer, this is fairly impressive. For a 26-year-old reader, it's disappointing.<br />
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<i>And Then There Were None - </i>Agatha Christie - ****<br />
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I would have give this book five stars if it had been a little... <i>happier. </i>I think just the frame of mind I was in when I read this didn't lend itself well to a murder mystery in which every single character dies. I wanted something happy-go-lucky. But as mysteries go, this was top-notch. This was my first Christie mystery, and I was terribly impressed. It's kind of like the board game Clue, only more complex.<br />
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<i>The Bronte Sisters: The Brief Lives of Charlotte, Emily and Anne - </i>Catherine Reef - *****<br />
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The only books I've read by either of the Bronte sisters are <i>Wuthering Heights </i>by Emily Bronte and <i>Jane Eyre </i>by Charlotte Bronte. I loved them. This brief biography of the Bronte sisters made me love them <i>more. </i>Through this book I gained a richer understanding of how and why the two novels above were written. I learned about the distinct personalities of each of the Bronte sisters and the eccentric personality of their brother, Branwell. I am inspired both to live in 19th century England and read the rest of the works by the Brontes.<br />
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<i>Sorcery and Cecelia, or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot - </i>Patricia C. Wrede & Caroline Stevermer - ****<br />
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Patricia C. Wrede is a long-standing favorite of mine. Her Enchanted Forest Chronicles charmed me as a junior high girl and still manage to put a smile on my face. I hadn't read this in quite a few years, and I honestly didn't love it as much this second (or maybe third?) time through. Wrede and Stevermer wrote this book as a series of letters. If I remember correctly, they chose the time period and a few other general rules for their letter-story, but then kept a strict rule that they couldn't discuss what they wanted to have happen in the plot. They wrote back and forth, and <i>Sorcery and Cecelia </i>emerged.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">May</span><br />
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<i>Little White Duck - </i>Na Liu & Andres Vera Martinez - ****<br />
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This was the first of three graphic novels I read in May. This was a very fast read, about a child growing up in China during the 1970s. I learned a lot about Chinese history, legend, and culture in these few pages. I'm not generally a huge fan of graphic novels. It's just not the way I like to read. But I thought this was well-done.<br />
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<i>American-Born Chinese - </i>Gene Luen Yang - ****<br />
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This is a little longer and intended for a little older audience than <i>Little White Duck. </i>I liked how it dealt with issues of racism and stereotypes. The book alternates between three stories. Jin is a Chinese-American boy trying to navigate through high school despite the mild (and sometimes overt) stereotyping by classmates. Danny is a White American boy who has a cousin from China named Chin-Kee. Chin-Kee is an exaggeration of all of the worst stereotypes and misconceptions Americans have of Chinese culture. The Monkey King has mastered the arts of kung fu and the heavenly disciplines but the other gods do not accept him because he is a monkey. At times parts of each of these stories felt a little bizarre to me. But over all, this is a great and extremely interesting investigation into the challenges of growing up Chinese-American.<br />
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<i>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - </i>J.K. Rowling - *****<br />
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I just love Harry Potter. This was the book I remembered the least, and I simply loved rediscovering it. That's really all I have to say on Harry Potter.<br />
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<i>Wonder - </i>R.J. Palacio - *****<br />
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This book was <i>fabulous. </i>About a boy who is born with severe physical deformities because of a genetic mutation, this book deals with themes of bullying and self-confidence. <i>Wonder </i>is told from multiple viewpoints: Augie, the boy with the genetic mutation, Augie's sister, whose whole life has been defined and colored by having a little brother like Augie, and Augie's new friends at school. I'm pretty sure that if I end up teaching anywhere between 3rd and 6th grade, I'm going to read this book aloud to my class or have the class read it together. It deals with so many issues that would hit close to home for the kids I teach and cries out for kids to develop compassion and integrity.<br />
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<i>The Last Unicorn - </i>Peter S. Beagle - ****<br />
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This is a unique and beautiful story. What really sold it to me, though, was the quirkiness the author sprinkled on top of what was otherwise a pretty somber story. I first tried to read <i>The Last Unicorn </i>when I was about 13. The title, as well as the subject, of this story appealed to me. But re-reading it now has convinced me that this is not a fairy tale for kids. I appreciated things in the book this time, like learning to live with loss or regret, that I just found troubling as a 13-year-old. Lovely.<br />
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<i>Maus 1: A Survivor's Tale: My Father Bleeds History - </i>Art Spiegelman - *****<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I did not realize that </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Maus 1 </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">and </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Maus 2 </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">were part of the same story, and I am definitely going to have to pick up </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">Maus 2 </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">next. As graphic novels go, this has such </span>depth<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and breadth.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;">Not only does it introduce the horrors of the Holocaust in a way that's easier for kids to understand and digest, but it also introduces the subject to readers who might be less likely to pick up a book on the Holocaust otherwise. This true story told in an unconventional way is one I will recommend to my students (once I have them) and kids (once I have them).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; line-height: 19px;">Currently reading:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;"><i>Decision-Making and the Will of God - </i>Garry Friesen & J. Robin Maxson</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;">Yes, I'm still working on this one. I'm really close to the end though.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: inherit; line-height: 19px;"><i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - </i>J.K. Rowling </span><br />
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<span style="color: #181818;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><i>Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? - </i>Beverly Daniel Tatum</span></span>Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-62550752598706204202013-05-21T09:11:00.002-05:002013-05-21T09:12:20.683-05:00A Beautiful AmbiguityI don't really think ambiguity is beautiful. But I'm trying really hard. After much soul searching, I realized that most of the anxiety and nervousness I feel when faced with new situations or challenges has at the root a fear of uncertainty. I want assurance that everything will work out fine. When I do not have that assurance, I feel threatened by the possibility of loss or difficulty or suffering. A sense of anxiety follows. Maybe this seems really obvious and you're thinking to yourselves, <i>Oh, Hillary. Obviously! </i>But this was actually a revelation for me. I realized that when I choose to embrace uncertainty, then I'm not as anxious. It's like really cheap, really simple therapy. Mark and I have a lot of ambiguity and uncertainty right now, so I have lots of opportunity to practice embracing instead of resisting.<br />
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I had an interview at a school yesterday. Because I'm applying and interviewing for teaching jobs through Teach For America, I'm almost guaranteed a teaching position this fall. But not quite. I still have to interview and interview <i>well. </i>The school still needs to like me and want me. TFA can't force me on them. Unfortunately, I never feel like I interview well. I liked this school a lot. I could see myself teaching there. But I didn't leave the interview with a sense that my interviewers really wanted me teaching there.<br />
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During interviews, I always get this feeling that I should have taken speech in high school or forced myself to do something that required public speaking when I was in college. I just don't feel like I express my passion and excitement well. My nervousness makes me quieter and more reserved. I just want to stop partway through the interview and say, <i>Can I be perfectly honest? I'm not expressing myself well. But I would be a really good teacher. I promise. Just hire me and you'll see! </i>But interviews just don't work that way. So now I'm waiting (not very hopefully) to hear back from this school and waiting for more interview opportunities. I think I better force someone who loves me to ask me a bunch of interview questions before the next interview so I can practice conveying what I mean to convey.<br />
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Mark is also waiting. He's waiting to hear back on a job he's interviewed twice for already. We're hoping he makes to to the next round of interviews. He's continuing to search for other jobs to apply for, but this one looked good. (Yay! More opportunity for me to practice embracing uncertainty!)<br />
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When we arrived in the Twin Cities almost a month ago, I had hoped that before I started training with TFA on June 1 Mark would have a job and we would have begun to look at apartments. At this point, that doesn't seem likely. God is asking us to wait more and trust more. I'm practicing embracing this period of uncertainty.<br />
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I'm excited to start training for TFA. I know I'm going to learn a lot and be pushed hard. I'm excited to be in a classroom this summer and learning right alongside other new teachers. I don't mind that I have to spend five weeks in Tulsa, Oklahoma, for that training. What I <i>do </i>mind, what I <i>am </i>nervous about, is leaving Mark for that period of time. I haven't been away from Mark for more than three nights, I think, since we got married four years ago. Six weeks apart is going to feel like an eternity. Plus, Mark is used to my habits - embarrassing, irritating, and otherwise - and I'm just not excited about suddenly gifting those co-habitation habits to a stranger.<br />
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But in all of this, I'm trying really <i>really </i>hard to enjoy the moment. I'm enjoying holding and petting and feeding treats to my parents' cat. (I love cats. I <i>really</i> love cats. Mark <i>really </i>doesn't. But that's a post for another time.) And I'm enjoying sitting at the table by the sliding glass doors and listening to birds in the trees in the back yard. I'm enjoying spending time with my parents and siblings and family-in-law and niece and nephews. I have lots to enjoy now.<br />
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So, I'm trying to embrace this beautiful ambiguity. We don't know where we'll be living in two months. We don't know what our bank account will look like in two months. We don't know where either of us will be working, or whether we'll be able to get a dog. We don't really know anything. But we know that God is good. I know I can trust Him. I know He is leading us step by faltering step. God has arranged for us, right now, this beautiful ambiguity.<br />
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<i>The Lord is faithful to all his promises</i><br />
<i>and loving toward all he has made.</i><br />
<i>The Lord upholds all those who fall</i><br />
<i>and lifts up all who are bowed down.</i><br />
<i>The eyes of all look to you,</i><br />
<i>and you give them their food at the proper time.</i><br />
<i>You open your had</i><br />
<i>and satisfy the desires of every living thing.</i><br />
<i>-Psalm 145:13b-16</i>Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-74761665308121393352013-05-20T09:49:00.000-05:002013-05-21T09:11:59.832-05:00Lovin' the Fam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This weekend I got to see my little sister in the leading role in a musical at her school. I love hearing her sing. She has all the vocal abilities I <i>wish </i>I had and all the confidence on stage I never thought to wish for because that wish seemed too far-fetched. I wanted to post a video of one of her songs from the musical. I think I might be infringing on copyright laws to do that, but my sisterly pride is just too great.<br />
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One of the most entertaining parts of Abby being Cinderella for a weekend was all the adoring little girls who toddled over to her in awestruck wonder after the performances.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qVUWSYN0ypcxzTZ4LyTsofHzQSgzVp6ucRfCR5CA2ZLqz0hJuaiEHpZlwIbFCNdquemNkN3IGpCe5JhgBPE-HHFR4R2Q4mvLnpubXXWWyUpjn7DOLcIJO9DdyPYTUsinHDsGNtuddreu/s1600/IMG_2890-Mom+camera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2qVUWSYN0ypcxzTZ4LyTsofHzQSgzVp6ucRfCR5CA2ZLqz0hJuaiEHpZlwIbFCNdquemNkN3IGpCe5JhgBPE-HHFR4R2Q4mvLnpubXXWWyUpjn7DOLcIJO9DdyPYTUsinHDsGNtuddreu/s320/IMG_2890-Mom+camera.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little girl in awe at meeting Cinderella</td></tr>
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Even in church the next morning, the family sitting in front of us had brought their little four-year-old girl to the performances. When she first realized that Cinderella was sitting <i>directly behind her </i>in church, the little girl's eyes widened and she burst into hysterical giggles. Then throughout every song we sang the girl was turned around in her pew, gazing at Abby. </div>
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Mark and I also got to celebrate this weekend with our sister-in-law and niece, who both have had birthdays in May.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amy and Shirley, the birthday girls</td></tr>
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And, of course, at any family function I take every opportunity to spend time with and endear myself to my little niece and nephews.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creedence, learning from a young age that I am a <i>very </i>fun aunt</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Million, also learning that I am a <i>very </i>fun aunt</td></tr>
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<br />Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-40765839754683257002013-05-16T18:32:00.001-05:002013-05-16T18:32:11.607-05:00Kind of Like VacationThis morning Mark and I ran to Costco for groceries and PetSmart for cat food for my mom. Since we're trespassing indefinitely on my parents' hospitality, we want to be as helpful as possible. Our life right now is strange. That's the only word I can use to describe it.<br />
<br />
We're in the midst of rocking and rolling change. We're both going to be starting new jobs, but we don't know what they are. We're going to be moving into a new apartment, although we don't know where it will be. We're going to be joining a new church, although we don't know what it will be like. And, for us, those changes will happen in that order. Jobs first, then apartment, then church.<br />
<br />
So, even though big changes are taking place in the larger picture, in the day-to-day picture, we're just waiting. Waiting and running errands and doing chores around the house to make my parents' lives easier. We've both had interviews and are waiting to hear from this or that person, which makes the waiting portion of our lives that much more obvious.<br />
<br />
In fact, the waiting is so obvious to me that it's like a cat that wants to be fed. It's not always loud and in charge, but it always finds a way to get under foot. And if you're not careful, it will trip you up and you'll fall flat on your face.<br />
<br />
The weather has been beautiful the last few days. (In fact, as soon as I'm done writing this, I'm going to go for a long walk outside. Maybe I'll even run through other people's sprinkler systems.) Today for lunch I made a green smoothie following <a href="http://detoxinista.com/2013/04/cherry-chocolate-shake-vegan/">this recipe</a> that I've fallen in love with. Then, with a belly full of smoothie, I stood out on my parents' deck overlooking their backyard, soaking up the sun for a few minutes.<br />
<br />
I realized, if I weren't concerned about Mark and me having means of earning a living, this would be kind of like vacation. It's not totally like a vacation, because we <i>are </i>trying to be the most help we can be to my parents. (We don't want to be those kids who come home after college and play video games in the basement until we're 30. Not only do we not want to be those kids, we don't want to at all resemble those kids.) And I do have a lot of reading and 'pre-work' to do to be ready for my Teach For America training in a couple weeks. So in those senses, it's not really like a vacation.<br />
<br />
But I wish I could enjoy this time like a vacation. I know that once my training begins I'll probably turn into a nervous wreck and lose my sense of humor and maybe my hair. All the more reason to savor a few minutes of calm now. And my hair. Maybe I should do something exciting to my hair, like get highlights.<br />
<br />
So, that being said, I'm going to close my computer and go for a long walk outside.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-78164611315357761772013-05-12T17:27:00.000-05:002013-05-12T17:27:00.919-05:00Because I can't speak about infertility better myself on Mother's Day......here are two posts that have really spoken to my heart on this day that has come to be wrought with so much complex emotion:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://everydaydoxologies.blogspot.com/2013/05/about-that-holiday-oming-up.html">Everyday Doxologies: 'About That Holiday Coming Up'</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.messymiddle.com/2012/05/10/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/">The Messy Middle: 'An Open Letter to Pastors {a non-mom speaks about Mother's Day}'</a><br />
<br />
And now that I've completely (ha!) dealt with the emotional mess of mixing infertility with Mother's Day, I <i>do </i>want to take a few minutes to say how very thankful I am for the two mothers I have in my life because I, unlike so many people, have not only one wonderful mother but two.<br />
<br />
Mother 1 - my birth mom<br />
<br />
I am so very thankful for my mom. She is a thoughtful, kind, and generous person. She delights in giving gifts to her kids. Her seemingly endless supply of optimism have buoyed my melancholic spirit on so many occasions. My mom has the rare (at least it seems rare having lived in my own head) gift of being able to think the best of everyone, including her children, of whom she has seen<i> </i>the <i>worst. </i>I have always felt loved and appreciated for who I am with her, truly loved and appreciated for who I am. She's not faking it. And if her house is a little bit messy on occasion and the clutter piles up a little too much for my liking, I know its because she's busy with <i>people</i>. She has such a heart for people. My mom, along with my dad, taught me about Jesus gave me every opportunity to get to know Him as my personal savior, and I'm so thankful.<br />
<br />
Mother 2 - my mother-in-law<br />
<br />
Before I got married, I naively bought into the cultural stigma of mothers-in-law, and I expected that I might not get along with my own mother-in-law if I ever married. That has, by far, not been the case for me. My mother-in-law is kind and loving. She's super organized, which I love. She genuinely wants to help her kids if she can and does an excellent job of walking the tightrope between not really helping and helping too much. She has a genuine heart for service and blesses so many people through her acts of service. My mother-in-law prays for her kids. I've been blessed over and over again by her reminders that she is praying for me. I admire so very much her desire for God and I want to want God like she does.<br />
<br />
There are so many more things I could say about my two moms. They are both wonderful ladies. And I have the privilege of being able to look up to and emulate both of them. In this way, God has been so very good to me!Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-30614379526950522102013-05-08T16:59:00.003-05:002013-05-08T16:59:51.510-05:00You Can't Rush SourdoughOur sourdough starter #2 is up and running. Or bubbling, rather. We got it going a little over a week ago and had been feeding it twice a day since then to try to coax some life out of it. By Sunday I had just about given up hope. Our starter #1, at the end of its life, had such a delicious yeasty smell. When I gave it a good stir before making something sourdough-y, it smelled a lot like an open bottle of wine. On Sunday, starter #2 smelled like play-dough.<br />
<br />
Mark convinced me not to give up on it, though, so I let it sit and think about its actions for another 12 hours without adding any extra flour to it. That seemed to be the ticket. By Monday I was noticing a few more bubbles, and by Tuesday afternoon it was threatening to spill over the sides of its jar. I overheard my dad ask Mark if he should be afraid that the starter was going to attack him in his sleep. <i>That </i>was when I knew we were really in business again.<br />
<br />
However, as we expected, starter #2 doesn't have the delicious tangy smell starter #1 had after five months of living in our fridge. We made our sourdough English muffins this morning, and they didn't taste sour. They fluffed up, but barely. It's just going to take time for our starter #2 to come into its own.<br />
<br />
It's going to take a while for us to come into our own up here in the Cities too. The vacation effect has worn off a bit. Although we're still enjoying spending time with my family and are still thankful for how they've opened their home to us, we're beginning to wish that we had our own space some of the time. But Mark is still searching for a job, and I'm still not getting paid by my school. We just have to wait to become an autonomous family unit again.<br />
<br />
Also, I'm beginning to really miss my library. Yes, I still think of it as <i>my </i>library. I miss my coworkers who are actually some of my best friends. I miss the hustle and bustle, and I miss seeing people everyday. Right now Mark and I have a lot to do, but it's just stuff <i>to do</i>. While we're doing it, we're not very social.<br />
<br />
And the driving. Yeesh. It's really <i>really </i>going to take me a while to come into my own driving around here. Hopefully at some point driving to a new location won't feel like a major ordeal. I won't sit forward on my seat, clutching the steering wheel in a sweaty vice-like grip, my heart won't pound as I change lanes, and my lower back won't be sore from tension by the time I arrive at a new location. (Of course, I should qualify this by acknowledging that Mark does not experience these symptoms driving around the Cities. I'm the hyper-sensitive, ultra-stressed, uptight one in the relationship.)<br />
<br />
Moving to a new location is a little tough, even when the move was desired and anticipated. I'm not complaining about our situation right now. We're just like a new sourdough starter-- it will take a few months for us to find ourselves in our own place, begin working out how to make new friends and hold onto left-behind friendships, and drive without hyperventilating. But pretty soon we'll be making things happen confidently (and with a little tang).Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-82363712355043650202013-04-30T20:37:00.002-05:002013-05-01T08:30:23.475-05:00So... Many... Changes...I've been wanting to write a blog post for a couple days now, just to update on what's been happening in the Lives of Mark and Hillary since we moved up to the Twin Cities, but every time I thought I would actually sit down and do it, trying to decide <i>what </i>to write about was simply too overwhelming. So many things have happened, so many things have changed.<br />
<br />
So, instead of trying to <i>choose</i> what to write about, I'm just going to make a list of all the changes. Maybe this will be therapeutic for me. I always say I love changes, and I'm always terribly excited for changes up until the day of. Then, the day <i>of </i>the Change that I've been anticipating for months, I feel kind of numb. I don't feel happy or sad that the Change is happening; it just is, and I'm just doing what I have to in order to get through it. Then the day after the Change, when unexpected challenges start to crop up, I turn into an emotionally volatile sniveling lunatic who is absolutely <i>sure </i>that life as she knows it is at an end. Ergo, it may be both informative for you <i>and </i>therapeutic for me to write down all the recent changes that have taken place in our lives.<br />
<br />
In the list below, changes are numbered. Sub-changes are listed below each numbered change.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Mark and I moved into my parents' basement.</li>
<ol>
<li>We now have to compromise with two middle-aged adults (one of whom is a fairly picky eater) and one teenager (who is definitely a picky eater) on what we eat for dinner. I want vegetarian, more vegetables, and all bread products to be whole wheat. My dad wants ground beef, fewer vegetables, and is actually now okay with most bread products being whole wheat. We haven't talked about other grains yet, like quinoa. My sister wants Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, Doritos, and Cheez-Its. Thankfully, it seems so far like we can all be adults about this, except perhaps my sister who insists on being a strong-willed teenager, and heaven help us with <i>that. </i></li>
<li>We now have Internet all the time. This sounds like a good thing, and in lots of ways it is, but I have to re-learn how to have Internet in my life and not feel the constant need to check my e-mail. <strike>I kind of seem to myself like a dog that's been starved regularly. When the dog finally <i>does </i>have food, it gorges itself. It has to re-learn to eat in moderation, trusting that the next meal really will appear.</strike> I just realized how very odd and somewhat disturbing those previous two sentences sound. However, since I can't think of another more appropriate simile off the top of my head, I'm not going to delete it. I'm just going to strike it out in deference to how strange it sounds.</li>
<li>All of our stuff is in boxes. Except the books that are now airing out after their near miss with gasoline. Even in my parents' basement, the belongings we brought with us that we 'needed' for our time with them are still mostly in bins and boxes, as there's not really place to put them. (Did I <i>really </i>need to bring all those pairs shoes? I'm still not sure.)</li>
</ol>
<li>I went to a Teach For America hiring fair last Friday and Saturday.</li>
<ol>
<li>I got to meet many of the fellow corps members I will be working with over the next two years. That was a lot of fun except that due to a recent ovulation combined with stress, I have had a <i>killer </i>outbreak of acne. So I spent all of Thursday wishing it were socially acceptable to wear a paper bag over my head to meet fellow corps members and the school officials who would be interviewing me.</li>
<li>I learned more about the achievement gap, particularly in Minnesota. Did you know that Minnesota ranks <i>dead last </i>in graduation rates for African-American, Native American <i>and </i>Hispanic students? We are failing our kids, and that's really depressing. What's even more depressing is that Minnesota kind of has this reputation of having really great schools. Apparently this is only true if you are wealthy and white. However, on the plus side, I left Friday's discussions feeling completely energized about education and oh-so glad that I'm committing my next two years to combating this totally unfair gap in achievement.</li>
<li>I switched from planning on teaching English as a Second Language this fall to teaching general Elementary Education. Yep. I know what you're wondering: <i>So, all those hours studying for the ESL Content MTLE test... do they mean nothing now? </i>Yep, pretty much. Now I have to take a new MTLE test, the Elementary Education Content test. Surprisingly, I didn't start crying when I went online to register. In all honesty, though, the reason that I'm switching is the cost of obtaining the licensure. Over the next two years all the TFA corps members will be taking education classes through a university up here to get our teaching licenses. Because ESL teachers need to take not only general education classes but also linguistics and language acquisition classes, their degree costs more. Twice as much, in fact. After thinking very hard and praying about whether we thought we could/should scrimp and save over the next two years to pay for a $19,000 degree, we decided that it just wasn't worth it. Given our desire to adopt (and <i>soon</i>) combined with other financial obligations, the $19,000 is just plain too much. So, elementary education it is. But I'm not disappointed. I'm still very excited to teach!</li>
</ol>
<li>I gained new compassion for people with medical problems and little to no health insurance. I don't really even want to go into detail on this subject. We're still working things out, so the mere mention makes my blood pressure rise. But combining expensive COBRA insurance with an HSA that is entirely out-of-pocket until the deductible is reached with some PCOS-related medical issues that need attention is definitely teaching me to trust God with each dollar and making me more sympathetic to the plight of people with <i>big </i>medical needs.</li>
<li>Mark and I pretty much took over errand-running and grocery shopping for my mom. That has been fun, but the way we use gasoline up here is a rude awakening after being in a small town. However, being near Goodwill, Savers, Plato's Closet, and Half-Price Books definitely will have its perks when we have an income again...</li>
<li>We switched phone plans.</li>
<ol>
<li>Now we each have our own cell phone, which is nice. (Those phones were donated to us by Mark's sister and her husband. So we didn't even need to purchase new phones to start our new plan. Thankful, thankful, thankful!)</li>
<li>We have some texting now, which is also nice.</li>
<li>My phone is turquoise, which I love. </li>
</ol>
<li>My parents have Netflix and my mom likes the same kind of movies I do. (We're both BBC junkies.) I don't know yet whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.</li>
</ol>
<br />
I just reviewed this blog and realized it seems a bit<i> </i>long. But I was able to process some of the recent changes, so that's good! And you are now all caught up on our New Life in Minnesota. That's also good! If you leave a comment, I'll consider sending you payment for the therapy.Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5384120633540754798.post-57852909344644714202013-04-24T22:17:00.000-05:002013-04-24T22:17:22.918-05:00Not Stressed. I am NOT STRESSED.I haven't disappeared from this blog; I've just been moving. I'm now typing this from Minnesota instead of Iowa. We're at my parents' house. Most of our belongings are in storage in Mark's parents' basement. The rest of our stuff, that we thought we'd need in the next couple of months, is in boxes and totes here at my parents' house.<br />
<br />
Nothing is organized now. We have piles of papers. (I hate piles of papers. I want them in files.) But overall, things have gone well. We are here.<br />
<br />
In the two weeks leading up to our move I was really not stressed. I was <i>not </i>worried about the upheaval or the transition. Even as we packed boxes and approached the time when we would have no income I did not feel stressed. And I was so very proud of myself.<br />
<br />
Mark's parents came down to drive the moving truck on Saturday, and we weren't going to follow until Wednesday. This meant that we were camping out in our house for about four days. That was okay. All the cleaning was okay. No hiccups in our plans.<br />
<br />
We've had a couple of hiccups today, though, and I'm beginning to feel a little stressed.<br />
<br />
Well, okay, I'm pretty stressed. I feel a little bit like my life is over. It started this morning when the inside panel fell off of the door of our car, the same car that was hit by a tree branch two weeks ago. Mark knew what to do to get it back on and I helped him duck tape it on. That was alright. No big deal.<br />
<br />
Then when we stopped at Mark's parents' house on the way to my parents' (because my bin with essentials like underwear had accidentally ended up on the moving truck), we found out that a can of gasoline that we had packed in a box (yes, we know <i>now </i>what a bad idea that was) had gotten turned on its side and leaked a puddle all over my in-laws basement and our couch. Oh dear.<br />
<br />
I handled that alright, though, after apologizing profusely to Mark's parents.<br />
<br />
Then when we arrived at my parents' house, I realized that my sourdough starter had gotten sealed in it's container, thus cutting off its supply of oxygen. When I questioned Mark about it, he said he'd sealed it last night. The starter smells funny and there isn't a <i>hint </i>of a bubble. I think it's dead.<br />
<br />
That was the final straw. I cried. Tears dripped down my face as I unpacked the rest of our refrigerator items and nestled them into my parents' fridge. It wasn't Mark's fault. This is just one of those communication lapses that seem to happen during times of great busyness. But still. My baby.<br />
<br />
After we were all done unpacking, I opened the mail that had begun to accumulate at my parents' house for us. I was expecting to see the letter in response to the health insurance I'd applied for, since Mark's and my health insurance through our Iowa jobs will end on April 30. I was <i>not </i>expecting, however, to have our application denied.<br />
<br />
More correctly, <i>my </i>application was denied, because of my 'pre-existing condition' of polycystic ovary syndrome. I was not expecting this little wrench in things, and that was the final final straw that left me feeling like my life is pretty much over.<br />
<br />
I know it's not. I know there are things we can do and that we will probably be able to find health insurance before May 1, even if it's through a COBRA plan from our previous employers. We'll be making phone calls tomorrow.<br />
<br />
But tonight, I don't have much of a sense of perspective. I'm just tired and stressed.<br />
<br />
It wouldn't be a major life change for me if I didn't expend some good solid stress over it, right?Hillaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05986655550436264234noreply@blogger.com2