You want to be a teacher?

 I could tell you how I always knew I wanted to be a teacher. My dad was a teacher, and I helped him grade papers when I was probably too young to be helping. As I marked multiple-choice questions, I tut-tutted the students who obviously hadn't studied for the test. My favorite author as a child, Laura Ingalls Wilder, was a teacher, and I had great visions of being just like her. By the time I was in second grade, I had taught three friends of mine who were immigrants from Czechoslovakia and Vietnam how to speak English. I don't remember ever being without a book in my hand, even at the end of the bench when I was part of the B basketball team in 7th grade. Let's be honest; I knew I wasn't going to play, so I thought I would read. Win-win if you ask me. Being a teacher has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. 

I could tell you how hard it was when I stopped teaching in the classroom. Trevor and I moved to Lexington after we got married, and I gave up a French program at BFMS that I had fought hard to save. Not only had I saved it, but the numbers were steadily growing. I had every intention of teaching in Lexington after taking some time to get to know my new home, and then two kids in two years happened and I was happy to be at home with them. Even though I was still teaching my children, I missed being in the hallways of a bustling school. 

I could tell you how excited I was to start a new chapter in education when I became a field supervisor for student teachers for Purdue University. Not only would I be in classrooms again, but I would be teaching teachers how to teach. I did that for five years until the pandemic made e-learning necessary, and I couldn't really visit schools anymore. I recently started working for Valparaiso University as a field supervisor, and walking into a school again made me feel like I was home. Sitting in classrooms for the first time and watching "my" student teachers work with middle and high school kids made my heart soar because I knew that there were good people who were still choosing to teach. 

I could tell you that I understand that parents want to know what is happening with their children's education, and well they should want to know. However, if parents think that HB1134 is the way to go, they're simply wrong. What this bill is going to do is cause teachers to quit in droves, and then the parents will complain when they're left up a creek. I can't think of another profession that would put up with being told to publicize a work plan months in advance. Let me tell you this: I'm a trained teacher, and I'm not arrogant enough to think that I know better than someone who has written curriculum for a modern literature class or someone who has a Master's degree in US History. I know a fair amount about education, but I sure don't know everything. I trust the people who know more than I do about their areas of expertise whether it be teachers, doctors, plumbers, lawyers, or mechanics. Anyone who doesn't know about state standards and curriculum doesn't need to be choosing what should or shouldn't be taught in a classroom. 

I could tell you that I have unwavering faith in our public schools and our teachers to do what is best for our students. If that means that they have to swerve away from a lesson plan to embrace a teachable moment, so be it. I have faith in my own children to take what they read, hear, and study and decide for themselves what is right. Trevor and I have worked hard to instill morals and values in both kids, and I trust them to stay true to who they are. Why bother doing all of the work just to shield your children from a world outside of your own home? I expect my kids to go out and make their own decisions and even their own mistakes. 

I could tell you that parents who oppose history curriculum or literature curriculum often have some issues of their own to work through that have nothing to do with what is actually being taught. One person or small group working to have a book removed from the curriculum that is allegedly offensive goes against everything we claim to have fought for as a country.  I remember my sixth grade teacher taking To Kill A Mockingbird from my hands and calling my mother to see if she knew I was reading it. (Apparently he had some strong feelings about me reading it at that age.) My mom just laughed and told him that she had given the book to me herself. If I had questions, I just asked her. She, you know, like, parented me. If more parents would sit down and have conversations with their children about certain topics or books, they might be less offended by something happening in a fictional world.

I could remind you that there are so many ways to be involved in your children's education. Look through their backpacks and ask them about their assignments. Become an observer on Canvas. Talk to their teachers. Watch their grades on Skyward. Volunteer in the classroom. Donate your time or money or baking abilities to the staff on special days. Vote for people who support public education. 

I will tell you that getting rid of HB1134 and any other bills that pop up like it is of the utmost importance to public education. The problem is that if you know, you know, and if you don't know, you're not likely to listen to me anyway. To the naysayers who think they deserve to see lesson plans months in advance, I issue you an invitation or a challenge: if you think you know so much about what should be happening in our schools, go teach. If you don't have a license, hit me up and I'll talk you through different transition to teaching programs. Not willing to do that? Take a good, hard look at yourself and leave education and policy to the experts. 

Under pressure

There is a lot of pressure in being a parent: pressure from society, pressure from other parents, pressure to be perfect, pressure to know exactly what to do at all times.  None of that compares, though, to the pressure parents get from their children.  They don't necessarily mean to do it, but when they turn up the heat, they turn it up high.

Lottie was a little apprehensive about going back to school this year because of some issues she had last year with frenemies.  (Why does this start in 4th grade?  Why does it start at all?  I mean, sheesh. Can't kids just treat each other with a modicum of decency?) She was worried about how to deal with mean girls, what to say, what to do.  I told her that I expect her to always be cordial and polite to people, but no means do I think she has to be friends with every single student in her school.  She replied that it was easy for me to say because I like and get along with everyone I meet.  I laughed and laughed when she said that because um, no.  I certainly don't want to be besties with everyone, but neither am I outwardly rude.  If she really thinks that, I'm doing my job well of teaching my children how to be cordial to others, but it also means they're watching all the time, every minute.  Talk about pressure.

Then, the other night around bedtime, both kids came to our bedroom in tears.  They both wanted to talk to us alone, so Lottie paced in the hall while Dal took the first turn.  He was trying so hard to be stoic, but I could see tears welling in his eyes as his chin began to wobble.  He said that he and Lottie had been talking about college, and she told him that college lasts for four years.  When I said she was right, his head slumped down to his chest.  His breath hitched, and then he said he never wanted to live away from us, so college just wasn't for him.  Oh, boy.  I told him that there were a lot of people who lived at home while going to college, so that was always an option for him.  Trevor chimed in that he had lived at home during law school, so Dal could stay with us as long as he wanted.  I also reminded my sweet boy that he's only 8 years old, and we had plenty of time to think about his college years.  Dallas got some hugs and kisses, walked out the door, and told Lottie that it was her turn.  I had approximately four seconds to restock my sympathy.  PRESSURE.  (And, yes, I know he won't feel that way forever.  I didn't want to diminish his feelings by telling him that, though, so I left that tidbit out for now.)

Lottie was lamenting her sisterly behavior: she said she just couldn't help yelling at Dal sometimes even though she tried to keep it all inside her head.  I reminded her that spending a lot of time with someone meant that sometimes there were fights, and that's okay as long as they remember that they love each other deep down.  She nodded slowly, and then she said she didn't think it was fair to have to share a bathroom with him.  My sympathy broke a little then, and I enjoyed seeing her gobsmacked face when I told her we only had one bathroom when I was growing up, so there.  I sent her off to bed, and then I proceeded to think about both conversations all night.  In the morning, they had both basically forgotten about the night before, and I was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep.  And not for nothin', sometimes I seriously wonder who on earth approved my motherhood status because I have no idea what I'm doing.  How do you spell parenting?  P-R-E-S-S-U-R-E.

The thing that is the most pressure is that although Trevor is almost always around when these meltdowns occur, both kids will basically climb over him to get to me.  I am pretty sure I could be in another country, and they would both hold out until I got home to lose their ever-loving' minds.  They come to me for comfort, for homework help, for fashion advice, for questions about the world, to make them food, to fix Nerf guns..to fix everything.  What IS that?  Truth be told, I don't *hate* when they want me or need me because I know that those times will slowly disappear as they get older. And it felt pretty darn good when we picked Lottie up from her week-long camp to have her run to me first.  Sometimes, though, it would be nice to step out of the histrionics and just hear about the drama later.  Of course, each time I have a little getaway or time to myself, I miss the insanity that is my house more than I ever thought I could.  What do I want you to take away from this blog post?  No idea.  My brain is too scrambled to come up with a good ending, so I'll just say to the dads, solve some of the problems on your own from time to time, and moms, revel in the fact that although you find yourselves stuck in the pressure cooker, you usually manage to keep your cool.  Pat yourselves on the back, but don't get too cocky because tomorrow is another day.

***Edited to add that Lottie just called me into the kitchen to ask me for help with a project when Trevor was standing in the kitchen 5 feet away from her.  5 FEET AWAY.

Makin' her getaway

We dropped Lottie off today for her first sleepover camp.  She is attending a volleyball camp at Valparaiso University, so she is close to home.  In the days leading up to this momentous event, people have been asking me how I'm handling it and if I'll cry and if I'm feeling sad.  Maybe I'm just an emotionless automaton, but I'm fine with her being gone.

Look, this isn't the movie version of life.  Of course I'm going to miss my girl while she is gone because she is a pretty amazing kid.  I mean, she drives me bananas sometimes, but overall, I love being around her because she is a fun person to be around, my kid or not.  But I'm not going to mope around the house and gaze wistfully into her bedroom while I lean on the door frame.  Mama's got stuff to do!  I'll wonder what she's doing and how she's doing, but I'm not going to worry about her.

I have spent ten years getting her ready for this.  Well, I guess I wasn't exactly thinking about volleyball camp, but I have been doing what we all do as parents: preparing my kids to go out on their own.  Granted, going to an overnight volleyball camp isn't getting an apartment and starting a job, but it's her first foray out into the world without me.  If anyone was born to go out into the world and devour it, it's Lottie.  The bigger the party, the bigger the adventure, the bigger the hoopla, the happier she is.

My job as a parent is to get my kids ready to be responsible citizens who will somehow contribute to society and the world at large.  They won't be able to do that if I keep the umbilical cord wrapped around them so tightly that they can't move.  If I don't let go, they're not going to go anywhere but my basement, and I don't really want them living down there when they're forty.  (Who am I kidding?  Dallas might be there anyway because he is much more of a homebody than his sister is.  But, ideally, I would like for him to at least live in a shed in the backyard.)

This is only the beginning.  At the end of the month, she'll go to an overnight camp further away from home for an entire week. So instead of crying, I'm going to rejoice in the knowledge that Lottie is most likely having the time of her life, making new friends, and maybe even learning how to play volleyball.  When I pick her up later this week, I think I'll find someone who is ready to have more new experiences and spread her wings a little wider.  I'm going to be ready to give her lots of hugs and encourage her dreams, even when her dreams lead her away from home.

Week of firsts

It has been a busy start to the school year chez Wells, and overall, it has been a good one.  Well, it has been a good one for the kids.  I'm not sure I have been the most stellar school parent, though.

Lottie's first day of Kindergarten was, to be expected, insanely exciting.  She was all ready with her backpack and her new dress, ready to conquer Flint Lake Elementary.  The whole family walked her in, gave her lots of hugs and kisses, and left.  No tears from anyone, not even me.  Does that make me cold-hearted?  I saw a squadzillion posts on Facebook of kids' first days of school and parents wiping away virtual tears.  No tears for me.  I didn't exactly do a happy dance, but after the crazy summer we all had, I was ready for routine...and quiet.  And frankly, I knew Lottie was ready to start Kindergarten.  She is a bright, friendly, sweet little girl, and I knew she was ready for something new and exciting.  No one loves an adventure more than my girl, and adventure is calling her.

To add to the excitement, Lottie lost her first tooth!  After a few days of wiggling and angst, the tooth fell out.  Man, she is cute with it gone.  Serious cuteness, no?

So, let's get to the non-stellar parenting.  I'm so used to the preschool way of doing things that I didn't realize that Kindy is a whole different ballgame.  For instance, kids in preschool have drinks provided to them; that doesn't happen in Kindergarten.  Lottie had lunch for the first two days of school without a drink of any kind.  Whoops.  The kids are also supposed to take a snack to school because it's a pretty long day for a bunch of five year olds.  I did, indeed, provide a snack for the first three days, but I didn't find out until the morning of day four that Lottie had no idea that the snack was in her lunchbox.  This despite the fact that I had told her specifically on the first day where her snack was in her bag.  Apparently, she assumed that I hadn't been packing her a snack, so she told her teacher she was snackless.  Miss J probably thinks I'm a total dolt: no beverages, no snacks.  And so begins my reign as WORST PARENT EVER.

Dallas has had a good first week as well.  He likes his school and his teacher, but he's far less effusive about it all than his sister.  His views on school are pretty monosyllabic, but that's just Dallas.  He occasionally gets loquacious about what he did on the playground, but most of his three hours a day of school is kept a closely guarded secret.  I suppose he'll share when he's ready to share.  And just so he's not left out, here's his cuteness, too.

I hope the good times at school continue for the kids because it sure makes my life easier when things are going smoothly for them.  And, you know, my happiness is paramount to everything.