Sissy-fuss

Sisyphus had it tough, so they say

Shoving that boulder day by day.

Come evening, he’d reach the top of the hill

But during the night, down it would spill.

But Sisyphus’ job was for the best

When the rock would roll, he got a rest.

Each day I push and pull and shove

Teaching writing, and grammar, and books to love

When one class exits stage left, with grace,

Another class enters to take its place.

At night, I can’t let my life roll,

My family home, too, demands its toll.

While Sisyphus rests, and the rock descends,

I vacuum, wash dishes, and clothes without end.

So though each Sisyphean day follows another,

At least Zeus didn't make him a mother.

Almost Perfect, but not Quite

My yearbook students think I'm too picky about their pages. Apparently that's my only flaw.

You're in my Heart, You're in my Soul...but not my Head

Years ago, I was driving a pre-schooler home when, out of the blue, he said, “Sometimes I use my mom’s.”

“Your mom’s what?” I asked.

“Toothpaste,” he replied, the incredulity in his voice implying that, of course, I should’ve seen the activity going on inside his head.

Coming home from work is a little like that. The other day, Fred showed me a photo on the digi-camera screen and said, “Guess what I did today.”

Hmm…I looked at a photo of what appeared to be two identical pieces of stainless pipe, each about 6 inches long, lying on the kitchen counter. “Um, you got all the plumbing supplies to nap at the same time?”

Turns out, he’d fixed a vexatious garbage disposal that has, for the three and a half years we’ve lived in this house, “burped” semi-disposed waste into the left hand sink while we were trying to dispose of glop in the right hand sink. It’s never been at the top of our repairs list, because, while it is annoying, we are composters so we don’t in-sink-er-ate much, and, having a septic system, we need to keep it that way. However, Fred had happened to see the perfect solution while visiting the local hardware store for some other need, and he’d solved the problem. The problem of the garbage disposal, that is. The problem that I can’t read his mind still remains.

The truth is, when I leave here at 6:15 to travel the 11.5 miles to work, I flip to a different channel. The problems of home generally stay at home, as my time, mind, and attention change channels to meet the demands of administrators, colleagues, parents, and well over a hundred students, all of whom seem to have pressing needs that demand my (immediate) attention. I don’t flip back to the home channel until I’m retracing my steps along I-97 some 10 or 11 hours later.

Now, the channel switching analogy probably won’t answer to Fred, who watches TV with remote in hand, giving partial attention to two or three shows at a time. But I’m a DVR watcher. I plan my viewing ahead of time, record the show, and rarely start watching until it’s far enough in that I can flip through the commercials. When the show’s over, I delete it from the DVR.

So for me, focusing on the problems at hand are sufficient – in fact, sometimes more than sufficient, as it takes all my admittedly limited personal resources to cope with the variety of tasks required for the 10+ hours in which I hope to complete them.  There are days at work when the sheer enormity of what needs to be done RIGHT NOW overwhelms me, and I scarcely accomplish anything. The only way I maintain sanity is be making lists, creating priorities, and assigning each task a specific time slot. And then I WORK – as in, full focus, all out, no interruptions brooked, work. Okay, I do get a lot of interruptions, which is why that planned 10 hours often stretches into more, but that’s work life.

Home life is different. Tasks are not as immediately demanding. If something doesn’t get accomplished today, it can be completed tomorrow. There will not be class after class of 30 rowdy students entering at the sound of bell for whom lessons must be planned and copies must be made. Administrators do not pop in unannounced, clipboard in hand, ready to score parents down for failure to have outcomes prominently posted and explicitly embedded in each aspect of the day's lesson. Sure, the boys have to be fed, laundry has to be done, but it’s not all predicated on the relentless schedule of a bell, and if beds aren’t made, or kids are late for their appointments, Fred, for one (emphasis on the one) is fine with that.

He can enjoy the serendipity of the moment – oh my, the perfect piece to fix the garbage disposal, will you look at that – and instantly change his priorities for the day.

Truth be told, I’m envious, but I can’t spend time thinking about it. After all, I have 63 essays to grade by Tuesday when grades are due, and yep, someone will be checking up on me.

Must Maintain Sanity

When my three older kids were young, I ran a home day care for seven years. I frequently had six (most days, in fact) young kids in my care and I sometimes had up to nine for short bursts of pandemonium. Somehow, I felt pretty much in equilibrium, even as the chaos of kids swirled about me.I would even take the usual six on outings to stores, zoo, and lots of parks. I had a cool seat rotation plan in the mini-van, and things seemed to work relatively well (though for years, my map book was indented with the writing of one child who must've used it under a piece of paper as she wrote "Dustin is an idiot, Joe is an idiot, Elyse is an idiot, Ryan is an idiot...") so we all had our moments.
Fastforward to now, and I am the full time working mom of my youngest two, Austin and Trevor, who are 10 and 4. They are so much farther apart in age than my first three, who were all two weeks short of two years apart, yet they get along like cats and water. Each one is an interesting boy in his own right, but put them together and you have a train wreck.
What's worse, somewhere in those years between home day care and working mother, I lost my equilibrium. It may be because my job requires SO MUCH of that - the 10th graders I teach come from a mix of circumstances, but there is a high population of at-risk-kids in the school, and they need a lot of me. Maybe I'm just too drained by age and job stress to handle the bickering that permeates the air of mi casa.
So, if anyone has a good recipe for equilibrium, send it my way.

Adjective Therapy

One of my teacher duties is to stand in the hall near my classroom before school and during class changes, and this can be quite an education. Judging from the number of f***-ing objects and scenarios students observe and comment upon on a daily basis, the inanimate objects in my school must have sex lives that would put rabbits and hamsters to shame. I’ve heard that bonobos are known for their almost constant promiscuity, but I’d hazard a guess that even surrounded by a veritable hoard of bonobos, students could not find as many legitimate uses for the f-bomb as they find in the halls of high school.

So, I’d like to declare an “F-free” zone around the door of my room, and no, you in the back, this has nothing to do with your grade. Instead, all  I’m asking that you curb your atrocious, horrific, alarming, appalling, dreadful, deplorable, vexacious, revolting, execrable desecration of the English language. Thanks.

The Zen of Teaching

After every yoga class, the instructor thanks us profusely for coming and practicing with her. She sounds sincere and kind. I wonder how that would go over as closure in the 10th grade classroom?
"Thank you so much for taking the time to practice English with me today. I am truly honored by your presence - yes, even you there, in the back, the one who would NOT SHUT UP" - oops, I think I slipped out of the karmic moment.