My day started a bit later than usual...just another Sunday.
First, coffee. Then turn on CBS...just another Sunday.
Breakfast, shower, let out the neighbor's cat...just another Sunday.
Defrost the meat for dinner, make some lunches...just another Sunday.
Wash the towels, make the bed...just another Sunday.
Check the weather, plan my clothes...just another Sunday.
Plan the week, catch up on homework...just another Sunday.
Write the last post for my seventh Slice of Life Story Challenge...not just another Sunday.
Congratulations to all of my fellow Slicers! It's been a pleasure sharing this journey with you!
We just finished a two-hour-long video chat with our Japangirl. She is halfway through her five-year-maximum JET-ALT job , and is already researching and planning for her return back to the United States. I think back to what I was doing at the age of twenty-five...
Japangirl: Budget plans for next three years
Me at 25: Sale at Target!
Japangirl: Paying the bills AND saving for the future
Me at 25: Paying the bills and...sale at Target!
Japangirl: Unsure of what job to pursue back in the U.S. (but in possession of a variety of great future-ready skills), already gearing up for the job hunt
Me at 25: Unsure of whether or not I had the fortitude to keep teaching (but in possession of...teaching skills, not really valued in the 80s-90s), no clue what I could or should pursue
Japangirl: Fully bilingual in Japanese and English
Me at 25: In possession of excellent...English skills
Japangirl: Living abroad, traveling, maintaining great friendships from high school and beyond
Me at 25: Living in my college city, traveling only to visit family, friendships mainly with colleagues and occasional phone calls/ letters with high school and college friends
Japangirl: Pursuing musical and art hobbies
Me at 25: Some crocheting here and there, some baking...nothing really connecting me with others
I'd like to think that in some ways, I was the same--hardworking, responsible, kind to others. But in many ways, she is far more well-rounded and mature than I feel even now! And I couldn't be more proud.
Way to go, Japangirl. Keep up the good work; we look forward to having you back home in a few years.
A former colleague of mine from another school is a parent on my current campus, so I have the pleasure of crossing paths with her every now and then, mostly when I work late and she's picking up her children from afterschool care.
Yesterday, I asked how things were going back home. "STAAR," was her first reply, the time-consuming, all-important-but-we're-told-is-not-important state standardized testing. I nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders, feeling her pain. Then she mentioned that we have nine weeks left (well, eight now), a whole quarter of the year--and people are acting like we don't.
"It's all the looming deadlines before then," I replied. The stress of the last nine weeks is palpable, even in the library.
***************
Looming deadlines:
Time-consuming STAAR
Budgets needing to be spent
Accounts needing to be balanced
Inventory, inventory, inventory
Monthly infographics
Annual report
So much still to do:
Lessons to teach
Books to read
Professional development
Next year's events to be scheduled
A conference to attend
A mentee to guide
Club meetings to hold
Hunt for missing materials
Before children and teachers
Go missing for the summer
Evaluation--what have I done this year?
I turn on the kitchen light at four twenty-five a.m., startled a little when a large-ish pouf of gray and white comes to its feet on my windowsill, a reverse silhouette against the darkness, pupils large and black staring plaintively.
"Mew," it says to me.
"Awww, Gracie, did you sleep there overnight? You need to go home!" I say, pointing next door as if she needs directions. She paws at the window. "You know you can't come in. Is there no furniture left in your garage for you to sleep on? I know, honey, it's hard." Gracie continues to watch me make my coffee and unload the dishwasher.
I leave her at the window. On my way to the study, I think about my neighbor moving and giving Gracie away. If I weren't allergic, resistant to vacuuming everyday and in possession of wooden furniture that I wish to remain relatively unscathed, I'd figure out a way to keep her. I hope my neighbor has talked her daughter-in-law into taking Gracie in.
Within minutes of sitting down at the computer, a soft mew comes from the front windowsill. I spy Gracie through the space between the blinds and the window, lounging as I type this post. A few minutes later, I turn and she's gone, probably hunting a moth attracted to our porch light.
I will count Gracie among my losses, when my neighbor moves.
Camp Write-a-Long is in full swing at my school, and I was honored to be the guest reader of the prompt above on Tuesday morning. I promised to try my own hand at a response, to be subjected to the students' critique after posting. Here goes...
I didn't want to turn eighteen. I cried the night before my birthday, because I was afraid of being an adult, with all the vexing responsibilities that grown-ups have, worries that would replace all feelings of the hopeful, carefree moments of my youth.
I was afraid that I would forget how to play and have fun.
In some ways, my fears came true. I worked really hard in college and through my first years of teaching, too tired to go to many parties. My weekends were spent catching up on sleep and schoolwork. And truthfully, it's hard sometimes as a teacher to really let loose and have fun, because you worry about your students and their parents seeing you and how they might view you as a professional afterward.
Then I had children, and I re-learned how to play. My home was filled with toys and Play-Doh and Legos, dolls and cars and craft supplies. We went to a playground every week, had playdates with friends, and took field trips to zoos and museums. Having small children can be really fun, when you join in on the playtime!
But children grow up, and start playing more with their own friends. I was back to working hard at my job, and working hard at home taking care of my family and chores. Sometimes I would stop and realize that I needed to have more fun. I even read books about the importance of play, looking for ideas on how to have fun.
I realize now that the definition of fun can change as we get older. I have fun creating picture collage cards with a group that meets monthly. I have fun volunteering at the hospital, rocking and feeding newborn babies when they're fussy. I have fun meeting my friends for lunch, or sitting on the porch and just talking. I especially have fun reading! There may not be as many parties, or toys, or nights out dancing, but I'm still enjoying myself. No matter how old I get, I will find ways to fit fun in my life.
So, my fourth grade writers, how did I do? I'm looking forward to my plus/ delta chart, and reading some of your responses, too! --Ms Margocs
I wrote a post this past weekend promoting scrubs for teacher workwear. It struck a chord, because I got a lot of supportive comments. But lest I offend those who are lucky enough to already wear scrubs to work...here are some words of affirmation for the earthbound angels who have crossed my path and marked me with their kindness and compassion.
These are the nurses that have my heart:
The nurses from labor and delivery, who faxed a request downtown every Friday for nine weeks asking for updates on their 26 weeker, and wanted to see their miracle baby on our way home from the NICU downtown. We gladly obliged.
The NICU nurses, so gentle with our daughter in the isolette, loving on her with extra cuddles when she graduated to a crib. A couple even babysat her when she came home, spoiling her even more. One has become an honorary aunt in our family. We spoiled them with cookies, and many, many thanks.
My husband's niece, a PICU nurse who told us to bypass the ER at the hospital and come on up to her floor after our daughter projectile vomited across my father-in-law's kitchen, 1400 miles from home. It took the doctor just minutes to diagnose a double ear infection. My daughter felt better by the end of the trip, thanks to her cousin's care.
I count even more NICU nurses among workmates, during my years as a unit assistant and desk clerk in the same space my daughter occupied before. They accepted me as a colleague, and appreciated my perspective as a former preemie parent. I was honored to be in their presence almost every weekend for three years.
A special nurse, Seel, worked at our birth hospital. I'm not even sure how her name is spelled. In labor with my secondborn, four-and-a-half-years after the first, I called L&D and heard,"Did you say your last name is Margocs? You wouldn't happen to be Gaby's mom, would you?'
"Yes," I replied.
"Honey, this is Seel. Please tell me you are past 27 weeks this time!"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, "they've got me at 37 weeks."
"Then you get your hiney in here, we'll take care of you!" And take care of me they did, through a delivery complicated by HELLP syndrome and followed by strict bedrest in the hospital.
Patty, my mother's home health nurse, will always hold a special place in my heart. She took care of my mother's health and emotional needs. Skilled at tracheotomy and wound care, she also scheduled my mother's haircuts and made sure her nail polish and earrings matched her nightgowns. Even my father's coffee and vitamins were laid out and ready for him in the morning. When my mother had to be taken to the hospital to end her life support, Patty insisted on accompanying her in the ambulance, to say her final goodbyes at her bedside. A nurse willing to stand at death's door with her patient, Patty was no mere guardian; she was an Archangel in scrubs.
I'm sure there have been more--school nurses, hospital nurses from my childhood and that of my children that fail to come to mind. But I am thankful for their care, nonetheless. Scrubs are the uniforms of angels; I'm not sure my work makes me worthy of the garb.
First day back to work after Spring Break, so you know what the main topic of discussion will be this week.
"How was your break? What did you do?"
Me? I did quiet. Lots and lots of quiet.
Quiet mornings, sipping coffee, writing and reading Slices.
Monday was punctuated by a lively lunch with old friends and some raucous radio-sing-along in the car to and from the restaurant, but otherwise quiet.
Tuesday found me back at school for five hours, catching up on work in the quiet of the library. I played mellow 70s music for a time, but even turned that off after awhile.
Wednesday, gardening. Thursday, some spring decorating. Friday, taxes; I started to play music, but turned that off quickly. Saturday morning was spent running an errand with hubby, Saturday afternoon in the quiet of the newborn nursery, where the squeak of my sneakers seemed harsh.
Yesterday I played catch-up a bit and needed some energy, so I put some CDs on shuffle as I did laundry and test-administration-prep modules. I watched some PBS travel shows while I made lunches for the week, then dinner. Even then, the energy was subdued, as the week has been. It wasn't unwelcome.
This isn't the first quiet spring break I've had, and it makes me wonder about post-break Mondays of the past. It often felt as if I was dragging myself to work...but now I wonder if it was just the quiet I was trying to bring back, the lovely sense of calm that I wanted to continue. My true introverted self, floating in a peaceful bubble, not wanting it to burst.
On an elementary campus, with nine weeks to go and testing season in full swing, can I make the quiet last?
Will this feeling even make it through today, at our district librarians' meeting? Or will I feel the pressure to be an extrovert, and tune into the chatter and energy of those around me, like switching radio stations from Muzak to heavy metal?
I guess I'll find out in two-and-a-half hours. Until then, I'm enjoying these last moments of quiet.
