A Quiver Full of Arrows

I'm not sure we even made it out of our wedding reception without some form of the infamous question, "So, have you thought about kids yet?"  Well, to be honest, I've been married for approximately three hours, so no; all I have been thinking about is taking off this stifling dress and sitting on some beach somewhere with my guy.  

Then, before Piper's adoption was finalized, "(When) do you plan to adopt again?"  I don't know, maybe that will be up for discussion when my kid actually has my last name?

Or, in the hospital when Caroline was one day old, "Do you think you'll have more?"  Hmm.  Right now, I can't even walk correctly, and my baby is making her existence known to everyone on the third floor.  Do I think I'll have more?  I think for now, I'll have more Phenergan and maximum strength Tylenol, please and thank you.

People mostly mean well or are trying to make conversation when they ask these types of questions, and I'm rarely ever offended by them.  Timing is a funny thing, though.  For example, it is completely appropriate to ask a lady if she's pregnant when she clearly is 9+ months along but a total disaster to ask her the same question if you're not positive that the extra pounds around her midsection are, in fact, a baby and not a burrito.  Likewise, it may not be the ideal time to ask a couple about children at their wedding, (or even five years into marriage when they don't have any children but, unbeknownst to you, have been trying for months).  In premarital counseling, we discussed having three or four children, but then we actually got married and had one.  We quickly discovered that having four children is not an option in the Fenrick household.

I have often felt guilty about this.  My friend wants to have 4-5 children, and I think she would be a rockstar at it.  She recently posted a picture on Instagram with this caption: 

"Stepped in to start laundry.  Stepped out to find the baby feasting on marigolds and the toddler dumping water on his brother's head.  And somehow the underwear came off in the process too. Haha."  

There would be no "haha" or posting on Instagram if this happened in my house.  In fact, there would probably be tears and time-outs, because I'm the most type-A mom you'll ever meet and Laura is a laid-back gem of a parent.  I've wanted to be a perfect mom to many children, but I am coming to realize that being a good mother to two is okay.

"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth.  How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them!" (Psalm 127:4-5)

This verse is often used as reasoning for having 12 children, and maybe it means that, but perhaps it doesn't.  The Bible is unmistakably clear about some things but slightly ambiguous about others.  I may get to heaven one day and realize that I was totally off base on this (in which case He would still let me in!), but I do not believe that "a quiver full" designates a specific number.  Otherwise, the verse would say, "Blessed is the man whose quiver contains ten children," which it does not.  

Perhaps people have "quivers" of varying sizes, in the same way that some humans are tall while others are short, and I have blue eyes while my husband has brown.  One way isn't inherently better than another; it's just the way we were made.  It also may be true that certain arrows take up a considerable amount of space in a quiver, while others occupy little.  If the verse is viewed in this light, as I think it may be intended, then having more children does not equate them to badges of honor to be held above everyone else, but as gifts to be treasured.  I'm not better or worse than the next mom because of the amount of people who live in my house.

I've got two sweet little arrows, and my quiver is full.  For now.  Quivers have been known to stretch.

List of 25

My running buddy, prompted by an essay for entrance into grad school, recently posted a "list of 25" things about herself on her blog.  I've been close friends with Jessie for years and didn't know about half of the facts on her list prior to reading her post.  Then I realized, "I spill my guts at times on my blog, and most of my readers probably don't know the most basic things about me."  So, in random order, here's a list of 25 of the things that make me who I am.  Interestingly, I can usually write a blog in an hour or two, and this one took me four days, off and on.  Maybe I don't even know the most basic things about myself, ha.

1. I have had four major surgeries in my life (three, if you don't consider wisdom teeth extraction a "major surgery") but have never broken any bones.

2. As a general rule, I hate orange flavored things, but my two favorite non-chocolate candies (circus peanuts and orange slices) are orange.  I'd rather vomit than eat an orange Starburst.

3. I played the flute in high school and part of college.  Some of my favorite memories from college are of traveling to football games and marching with the Pride of Oklahoma.

4. I was a lifeguard for three summers and a swim instructor for two, but I hate to swim and have no idea how I passed the swim test to become a lifeguard.  I also have a fairly significant fear of deep water.  Scuba diving sounds like a nightmare.

5. I once ate a PB&J sandwich for lunch every day, not always including weekends, for over two years.  I still eat PB&Js at least a couple of times every week, by my own choice.  They just never get old.

6. I speak Spanish moderately well and have visited Peru several times.  It is a dream of mine to live there one day to do mission work.  My brother speaks Spanish better than I do, and we practice by only texting in Spanish.

7. My grandfather was an incredibly strong, kind, and intelligent man of God.  He worked for NASA on the Apollo 11 and 13 missions, and he knew the Bible better than anyone.  He spoiled my brother and I rotten, and even though he passed away during my freshman year of college, he has had more influence on my life than any one person on this earth.

8. People do not understand my name.  To clarify: I do have a double name and I expect people to call me both Mary and Rachel.  Together.  All the time.  However, I will not continue to correct someone who continues to call me by the wrong name.  I also typically tell the Starbucks barista to just put "Rachel" on my cup because I don't want to get into a whole discussion about my name before I've had my coffee.  I'm from South Texas, where double names are more common than in other parts of the U.S.  I am not Catholic.

9. I only ever listen to country music (and, unfortunately, Veggie Tales).  I have made an honest effort to branch out at several points in my life, but I keep coming back to Blake Shelton, Zac Brown, Jason Aldean, and Tim McGraw.  My current favorite country song is "Humble and Kind."  I do also love hymns, but I'm not sure if that is really considered a genre of music.

10. I have had a tattoo on my wrist for about a year.  It says "grace."  This is significant for several reasons.  Caroline's middle name is Grace, and Piper's middle name, Anna, means "grace."  (Anna is her birth mom's name, too.)  It is also significant because of the grace that God has shown me throughout my life, particularly in my marriage.  Incidentally, I originally had an appointment to get my new ink on the day I found out that I was pregnant, which doctors had said was impossible.  More grace.  I decided to get the tattoo on my wrist because I want to see it.  I am a forgetful person and need a constant reminder that He has been good.  But others will see it, too, and this gives me a chance to talk to people about grace when they ask about my tattoo.  I hesitated to get one initially because of what it will look like when I am old and wrinkly, but I think this will make it even more beautiful.  Even while my body is withering, grace is permanent and will have manifested itself for many years.

11. I have a condition called hypoglycemia, which is abnormally low blood sugar.  I did not know that I had this for several years, during which time I would randomly lose consciousness and scare everyone around me and myself.  A normal blood sugar range is 70-100; mine occasionally gets down between 40 and 50.  My heart rate is also abnormally low.  When I was in the hospital after giving birth to Caroline, I scared the nurse who woke me up to take my vitals because my heart rate was 41.

12. My first car was a silver convertible Volkswagen Beetle.  It was a terrible mistake.  I have since become a big advocate of reading Consumer Report and of listening to my dad's advice.  I am very stubborn (see #20).

13. I am normally a very mellow, monotone person...until it comes to watching sporting events.  Then all bets are off.  I get particularly loud and volatile during OU football, college or Thunder basketball, car races, Olympic swimming, and gymnastics of any type.  I may or may not have burst into tears when the U.S. women's gymnastics team won gold at the Olympics this year and thrown my shoe across the room when OU lost the national championship to Florida in 2008.

14. I drove a school bus during college.

15. Aside from hypoglycemia (see #11), I apparently have a propensity for acquiring odd health issues.  I got shingles when I was 16 and a kidney stone at 19.  I also grew over two inches in less than four years in my twenties.

16. At one point in time before kids and after I quit The World's Most Stressful Job, I was a serious couponer.  I probably could have been on "Extreme Couponing," had we stored the same size stockpile as many people on the show do.  I once spent $13 at Homeland for a month's worth of groceries.

17. I am obsessive about nearly everything except for hanging things on the wall and cooking, in which case I nail pictures haphazardly and just throw things in the bowl, respectively.

18. I am one of those weird people who actually loves mornings.  I would say the earlier, the better, but that really isn't true.  I don't like seeing a 4 at the front of my alarm clock, but anytime after that is my prime time.  Give me a cup of coffee, my Bible, a sleeping house, and (usually) a run, and I'm good for the rest of the day, until about 9:00 p.m., after which point I am basically useless.

19. I keep New Years' Resolutions, but I only make ones that I know I will keep.  About eight years ago, I made a resolution to floss every night (I NEVER flossed previously), and I've rarely missed a day since.  Ask me to go for a year without ice cream, and I'm doomed.

20. I worked at a camp for people with disabilities during summers in high school and college.  It is still one of my favorite places in the world, as it is the place that made me decide to go into special education as a career, gave me a passion for being with people with special needs, and allowed me to meet some of my best, lifelong friends.  (By the way, special education is VERY different from working at Camp Summit, but that's a rant for another day.  My mom tried to tell me this, but I'm stubborn and don't listen very well.)

21. I am obsessed with the grocery store, Aldi.  Sometimes people ask me if I secretly work for that company because I sing its praises so much.

22. I love to go new places, but I am a terrible traveler.  I don't like sitting still or feeling greasy, and I get annoyed by every little thing that goes awry.  I also am a big fan of my own bed.

23. My first job was at Chick-fil-A, and it is still one of only two fast food places that I will eat of my own accord (the other is Jimmy John's, which I consumed literally three or more times per week when I was pregnant).

24. I love most outdoor activities and am generally not bothered by weather, except for extreme cold.  Some of my favorite things to do outside are running (obviously), watching dirt track car races, hiking, boating/wakeboarding, taking walks, and laying out by the pool (see #4: not swimming in the pool) or on the beach.

25. I was born in Houston, where I lived for 9 years, before moving to the Dallas area, where I lived for another 9 years.  Now, I'm a Texas transplant living in Oklahoma, but, unlike many Texans, I would not say that Texas is absolutely the greatest state in the Union.  I could probably live just about anywhere except for places where it is extremely cold (see #24).  Home is where your people are.

Now tell me about you.

On Pinterest Parties and Perfect Grades

Yesterday marked the end of The Great Summer of Birthday Parties 2016.  Piper turned three in June, Andrew turned 30 in July, and Caroline turned one on Thursday.  Me?  I planned all of the parties.

Don't get me wrong; I love a good party, my three family members are definitely worth celebrating, and the summer's events were wonderful successes.  However, I do not foresee any more Pinterest parties in my future for a long, long, time.

There's this thing called "Mom Guilt" by many, but you don't have to be a mom to experience it.  It's really just comparison.  Her kids have nicer clothes than mine do.  Their house is gorgeous, and ours is okay.  Her kid eats organic tofu, and mine just ate three donuts.

The problem with comparison, aside from it being "the thief of joy" (Teddy Roosevelt), is that it causes us to draw inaccurate conclusions about someone's life based on what can be seen.  My friend and I always joke about some of the signs that Hobby Lobby sells for this reason.

"Pardon the mess but my children are making memories."  

"Good moms have sticky floors, messy kitchens, laundry piles, and happy kids."  

So, does that mean that my children aren't making memories if they aren't making messes?  Or that they aren't happy if my house is clean?  I often find myself thinking, "Since they have a nicer house than us, they must have a better life."  And on the flip side, "Because I planned the best games and bought the fanciest decorations, my child will have the perfect party."

When we visited my parents several weeks ago, my mom pulled out an old recording (side note: on VHS!) of my brother's first birthday party.  There were precisely five people sitting around the table.  Tim wore a party hat on his head and cake on his face.  My parents told stories and laughed with my granddad.  I ate ice cream (no elaboration needed on that one).  There were no decorations, no gourmet hors d'ouevres, and no handmade party favors.  The whole shindig was just us, celebrating Tim, and eating dessert.  Tim was having the time of his little life.

Fast forward 25 years to Piper's third birthday party in June of this year.  I spent literally hours in the kitchen making her silly s'mores cake, when she truly prefers ice cream and has no opinion on the appearance of her "special treats".  The "Camp Piper" theme exploded all over our house, thanks, in large part to the 28 pins that I had meticulously been sorting through and saving all summer.  The party looked flawless and went off without a hitch.

I didn't get a single picture with my daughter that whole day.  Not one.  Embarrassingly, I have 15 pictures of the party decorations.  I have become so preoccupied with planning experiences that I miss out on the actual experiences entirely.

I am sure that Pinterest is not a problem for most people, but it fuels something in me that whispers, "You can do it better.  Use all of these ingenious ideas, and your kids will have the happiest birthdays, your husband will love every dinner you cook, and your hair will be the envy of all of the women on the street."  Comparison.  Thief of joy.  Illogical conclusions.

I do frequently compare myself to other people and, obviously, to Pinterest ideas (which is really comparing myself to other people, too), but lately I have noticed that I also compare myself to previous and/or future versions of myself.  I am rarely thankful for who He has made me to be in this moment.

An example of this is grades.  I do not often talk about this next confession because I think that it leads people to believe certain things about me that I am not, but I graduated from college with a 4.0 in 3.5 years.  Now that I have started back to school for dental hygiene, a terrible, irrational fear lives in the dark places of my heart that I will make a B along the way, and that I will be a failure because of it.  I am comparing my current self to when I had no husband, no kids, and no job, and suggesting, "You did it then.  You're somehow worse if you can't do it now."

Though I need to remind myself of these truths more, I am thankful that my children's lives do not consist in the quality of their birthday parties, or that my worth is determined by my grades.  (I am also thankful that the next person in our family to have a birthday is me, in 10 more months.)  Incidentally, I remembered to take a picture of something beside decorations at Caroline's Carnival yesterday.  That's progress, people.

 

A New Career

I start school again on Monday.  As in, I'm starting school as a student, not as the teacher.

When I packed up my classroom in May, I hauled my many boxes of teaching materials up to our attic, not ready to get rid of everything just yet.  If I went back to teaching in a year or two or five, I didn't want to have to start over again, which was probably wise, considering that I literally spent thousands of dollars on my classroom over the past few years.  But after several weeks of being home with my girls, I knew that I wouldn't go back.

I never thought that I'd say this, but I love staying home.  I recently realized that while I was teaching, I was so stressed and busy that my children were simply two more people on the schedule, adding to the chaos that was my life.  Now that the most trying (and time-consuming) piece of my life is eliminated, I have found that I actually enjoy my children.  They definitely cause their own chaos; in fact, I feel like they bring it with them everywhere they go.  But, I now have time to notice the sweet little quirks that make them who they are instead of being annoyed by those same quirks and by the fact that they constantly need something.

Some people are really great at being able to shut off their work when they get home.  I am not one of those people.  On the rare occasions when I was not physically bringing work home with me, I was still carrying it emotionally in the forms of worry, control, and perfectionism.  I was never content with being a good teacher; I was constantly striving to be the best, and my family suffered.

I knew that I needed to make a career change, but I had no idea what else to pursue.  All of the career aptitude tests that I had taken before said that I was made to be a teacher.  I decided to take another one anyway, thinking that my results could have changed in the past ten years.  Guess what.  I'm apparently still made to be a teacher.

As I kept reading down the list, I saw several options that were initially intriguing but that I ended up eliminating.  Counseling.  Nope, I've got enough problems of my own without making it my duty to solve someone else's.  Pharmacy.  Sounds great, but too much school.  Nursing.  Not great hours and too gross.  Carpentry.  Um, what?  Who made this list?

Near the end of the list, two words caught my eye, and I knew that this was the career.  Dental hygiene.  

I don't feel like I need to justify my reasons for leaving teaching or for pursuing something else so soon that is radically different, but when I am waist-deep in anatomy, pharmacology, or Oral Radiography II (I mean, really, what even is that?), I may need someone to remind me of why I chose this.

1.  I love people.  Though I am painfully introverted at times, I really do enjoy connecting with people, and I will have thousands of chances to get to know all types of individuals who come to sit in my chair.  Every patient is an opportunity.

2.  I love helping people.  People's smiles are often the first thing that others notice, so I want to help everyone have pretty teeth.  Also, I have seen the effect that poor oral hygiene can have on the whole body, as several of the students I've had during my six years of teaching were unable to learn due to their urgent need for good dental care for an abscessed tooth or some other obvious ailment that could have easily been prevented.

3.  Dental hygiene fits my personality.  I can still be meticulous.  Hygiene is one of the few careers, I feel, in which I can be a perfectionist, and it will affect people positively instead of negatively.  I know that I want my own hygienist to be a perfectionist about my teeth!

4.  Since everyone has teeth, I could literally work anywhere in the world.

5.  The schedule.  Oh, the schedule!  I've been shadowing several hygienists this summer, and many of them only work 2-3 days each week.  Nobody works weekends unless they want to.  One office near us closes at 4:00, and all of them get a mandatory hour for lunch.  Y'all.  I don't even remember what it's like to eat, uninterrupted, in more than seven minutes.

6.  Okay, it has to be said.  The money is great.  If I can get paid the same amount to work two days per week as I got paid to work five days per week in teaching, why would I not do that?  Less work, more family, richer life.  Yes, please.

7.  I can leave at the end of the day and be completely finished with my job.  I want to have a job that I can do really well while I am there, but I do not want to think about it anymore once I walk out the doors at the end of the day.  Dental hygiene will let me do that.

8.  I still get to teach.  It is a different kind of teaching, sure, but some patients will need instruction on how to take care of their teeth.  It is also not out of the question that I could teach aspiring hygienists one day, too.

There are reasons why I shouldn't pursue this, but as I've analyzed them, they all stem out of my pride.  I had a lot of identity wrapped up in being a teacher.  I would not have said this out loud, but I knew that I was doing a job which few people could handle, and I was doing it well.  Everyone tends to think that you're things you are not when you teach.  For example, people thought I was patient and life-changing.  I am neither, but it sure felt good to hear them say that.

In addition, I really am not thrilled about going back to school.  I'm sort of annoyed that I will work on prerequisite classes for two years, complete two years of an intense program, and get...another bachelor's degree.  I'm also humbled to think that I might be the oldest one in my hygiene class.  But, as my teaching assistant and friend always says, "It's never too late to start something new."

So, here we go.  

Gymnastics

"Again.  You will get up on the bar and try it again."

Her hands were bloody and torn in several different places, but she didn't dare ask questions.  She got up and tried it again.  Time after time, her feet slammed the bar as her body peeled away from it, or she fell flat on the mat, knocking the breath from her lungs.  With each rotation around the wood, her hands became even more shredded, and she was no closer to accomplishing the skill than she had been when the bar rotation began that evening, or when she had first started working on it weeks ago.  As her whole arms began to shake from the pain of her bloodied hands, fear crept into her mind: fear of falling the wrong way and breaking a body part or collapsing from sheer exhaustion, but mostly fear of disappointing her coach.  She fought back tears as a teammate walked behind her and whispered, "Come on, girl, you can do this!"

She could not. 

Another coach, the Brazilian one who actually had a heart for the young gymnasts under Coach R's lead, had been watching the girl struggle and, concerned for her safety, approached Coach R.  In his thick Portuguese accent, he said, "I think that's about enough."
Coach R looked at the Brazilian coach, and when he looked at the young girl, she thought he might burst into flames.  No one ever dared challenge his authority.  He took a deep breath before asking her, "You need a break from bars?"  

The gymnast, trembling, nodded that she did.  

"Alright, you may take a break from bars.  Push-ups should not hurt your hands.  Go do 1,000."

Coach R had been known to administer this punishment before, primarily to the gymnast on the team with the most natural talent who chose not to work hard.  Never to her, though.  She walked to the corner, hands still throbbing, and began.  One, two, three, four...

9:00 p.m. approached, and the girl's dad arrived at the gym to pick her up.  She was nowhere near 1,000 push-ups, and she wondered if her coach would make her stay until she could no longer move in order to finish.  He did not.  He always put on his best face for parents.  She showed her dad her battered hands, climbed in the car, and went to bed.

Less than 12 hours later, the girl was back at the gym for her Saturday morning workout with her hands bandaged, dreading bars but determined to impress her coach.  She swung the bar several times and finally completed the skill for the first time after weeks, months maybe, of trying.  She felt sure that her coach had seen her do it, but he never said a word.  And she was never able to do the move again.

The gymnast quit the sport altogether less than a year after that incident, but the previous years of verbal (and borderline physical) abuse had already caused damage that she would fight to undo for the rest of her life.

That gymnast was me.  

I quit gymnastics at age 14 and had been training 22 hours per week at the time.  I had completely blocked the above story out of my memory for 15 years or more, and though the particular incident I mentioned was probably one of the more extreme examples of negativity that I endured throughout my 10 years in gymnastics, it is not out of the ordinary range of events that took place at my gym.  Tiny girls were routinely told that they barely fit in their leotards, hard workers were made to believe that they were lazy, and second place was never good enough.  While I was a gymnast, I spent my early teenage years in front of the mirror, pinching my "fat" (skin) through tears; and after the bars skill saga of 2001, I came to believe that the only reason I couldn't accomplish something was because I didn't work hard enough.  That single event proved, in my mind, that I needed to just bandage my wounds, dry up my tears, and try again.  

Today, I still overanalyze every angle of my body, hating the imperfections that I see, and running marathons (literally) in an attempt to get rid of them.  I still fight a tendency to work beyond the point of excellency until I become a frantic mess at the expense of everyone around me.  I still aim to please people because my coach's voice resonates in the back of my head, "That is not good enough."

My daughter is starting gymnastics in the fall.  I will not let this happen to her.  

My parents have asked me what they could have done to prevent gymnastics' residual effects on my life, and I can honestly say that I don't blame them at all.  They couldn't have done anything.  They sat behind glass walls during my workouts and listened to me talk about how much I loved the sport (which I now realize was not actually the love of gymnastics but of winning).  I never thought to tell them about the abusive things my coach said and did to us because it was all I knew.  Everything he did as a coach, to me, was normal.  

Right now, my Piper can't wait to start gymnastics.  When I took her to the gym to enroll, she was mesmerized by the girls doing handstands on the beam and is now asking to walk on the "balance beams" (curbs) in every parking lot.  She begs us to "watch this move" in the living room nightly. I guess it's a wonder that I'm enrolling her at all, but I don't believe that every girl has the same experience with the sport that I did.  I'm naturally bent toward people-pleasing and perfectionism, so gymnastics simply brought that out in me more.  My daughter is as stubborn as they come, and she's a huge ball of energy needing to be burned.  I think she'll be fine, but you better believe that I'm going to be that "helicopter mom" who is glued to every gymnastics practice and constantly praying that God will protect her where I cannot.

Why I decided to stay home

I felt completely crazy when I emailed my boss, the early childhood coordinator for our district, to tell her that I needed to talk with her about next school year.  I felt even crazier when I sat down in her office and turned down a job at a gorgeous school with friendly teachers and tons of parental involvement, a job that I'd competed against quite a few people to get and had accepted only two weeks earlier.  I already knew that I had made the right decision before I went into her office for many of the reasons I'll discuss below, but her reaction after I told her secured my thoughts even more.  She smiled, admitted that she had guessed how our conversation would go, and said (in addition to some other nice things), "Mary Rachel, this doesn't have to make sense to anyone else if it makes sense to you."

And it does make sense to me.

Teaching is hard work, but it is good work, to be sure.  Though it is often a thankless job, I always felt that I was doing something productive and valuable for society.  There were many small moments when I felt that I was doing my job well.  Staying home to raise children is inherently not that way for me.  I struggle to feel like doing laundry is as useful and productive as writing an engaging lesson plan, or that raising two children to be kind and generous is as valuable as teaching 15 children how to write their names and count to 30.  But, in the quiet moments, I know that it is.  God gave my girls to me, and I know that I have a unique opportunity and responsibility to mold their little minds and hearts like no one else can.

Another hesitation I had about staying home was how we are going to make our finances work and, to be honest, I still question how that is going to work out when I am not getting paid through the summer anymore.  However, I don't want to ever make a decision out of fear, and continuing to teach for the primary purpose of receiving a paycheck (however small) was a fear-based decision.  When I think back to starting the adoption process with Piper, I remember having no idea how we were going to come up with $15,000-$20,000 to bring our daughter home.  But, because my husband is braver than I am, we jumped in with both feet and watched God provide, beyond what we ever could have imagined, like He always does.  I am under no illusions that money will just start falling from the sky when the paychecks end in August.  I might have to find creative ways to work, and our date nights might be $4 cups of coffee at Starbucks instead of $50 nights out at our favorite restaurant.  I might have to go back to couponing (ugh), and marathon money will probably most often be spent on Mother's Day Out and gymnastics.  Priorities change, we will make sacrifices, and the Lord will provide.

Eventually, what my decision really came down to was this: My family was getting my leftovers and not my best.  Even on good days of work, I did not want anyone else saying my name another time or asking me to do something for them (or, heaven forbid, crying over nothing).  And then I would go home to my sweet girls with that same attitude.  Our time together had hardly started and I was already exhausted.  Our house was a hot mess because I simply could not keep up with everything, and having people over for anything was always a huge ordeal.  I always felt like I was dropping the ball on something, and the three people who love me the most experienced that the worst.  I can't do it all.  That has been a very humbling realization.  I do believe that there are people who are able to be wonderful mommas to littles and also work full-time, and I am not one of them.  I could do both of those things okay when Piper was my only child, but two kids is a game-changer.  What I've had to realize is that being a stay-at-home-mom is actually a full-time job.  Providing for all of the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of a child, not to mention taking care of household responsibilities (cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc.) is more than enough to keep me busy if I'm really making an effort to do it well.

I don't agree that staying home is the hardest job there is, at least for me.  People really get defensive about that one.  I do think that it is challenging because there are many times when I am at a complete loss for how to handle my own children, and because I rarely get a break from them, and because I am always doing multiple things in the same moment.  (About needing a break, no matter how much you love your children and spending time with them, no one can spend every waking moment with her family and remain completely sane.  That isn't a reflection of how much you love or don't love your kids; it's a manifestation of being human.)  But, it is one full-time job, not two.

There were two distinct moments when I knew that I had to stay home this coming year.  One was over Spring Break, when I got to wake up and spend a whole day, every day, with my kids, and, to my surprise, I loved it.  The other was when Caroline woke up one morning with both of her eyes swollen shut, and I had to go to work because I had taken all of my sick days for maternity leave.  I bawled my eyes out the whole way to the school that morning, thinking about my little girl not even being able to look at me, and I couldn't be there to take care of her.  

I don't know how long I'll end up staying home.  We are planning to just take one year at a time, and I feel committed to really slowing down this year and just being with my family.  (I'm not very good at that.  I feel guilt over the dumbest of things, such as taking a 30-minute nap, because I'm so accustomed to running around like a chicken with its head cut off all the time.)  I have some ideas about what I might like to do in the future, but I'm in no hurry to decide.  This is the last year I'll have before Piper is in school for the next 13 years of her life, and I keep going back to what my mom always says, "The days are long, but the years are short."  I don't want to miss these years of them being small.  I know that it's time I'll never get back, and though I might miss leaving the house for a "normal" job at times, I am sure that I won't get to the end of my life and wish that I had spent more time working.

Also, you don't get to do stuff like this on a Monday when you're working.

The last day

Again, it has been forever since I've blogged.  Right now, I'm capturing one of those rare moments when complete silence and daytime intersect at my house.  When I say "rare," I mean, like, "seizing-a-unicorn-rare".  I'm hoping to get back into writing again.  I recently was listening to a sermon about filling your life with things that stir your soul, and writing is one of them.  So are running, podcasts, pages, coffee, Bengal Spice tea, the back patio, and early mornings.  I'm hoping to have a lot more of all of those in days to come because... I'm staying home with the girls next school year.  More on the reasoning behind that decision another time, but for today, I just walked out the doors of teaching in the public school system for the last time, maybe ever.

I need a year to decompress and reevaluate, but after that, I'm really not sure that I'll ever go back to teaching again.  I've mentioned that to several people and, not to toot my own horn, but the response is typically the same: "Oh, but you're so good at it!"  At some point,  it doesn't really matter how talented you are if you've completely lost your sanity and six years later, I've reached that point.

During this last year of teaching, I worked at an extremely low-income school, which was much different than any school at which I've worked in the past and also much different than any other school in my district.  I'll make a few observations about working at that school specifically and then about teaching in general.

About teaching at a low-income school:

The good:
-The friendships I formed at Title I School were fewer but deeper than friendships I formed at other schools.  The relationships I built with my assistant and with the kindergarten teacher across the hall are the kind that last a lifetime.  That statement, "It takes a village to raise a child" is really true.  When the needs of students are so great, you really do have to lean on other people to meet them (and your own).
-I learned a ton.  I mean, wow.  The past year of teaching opened my eyes to more than I learned in all four years of school, student teaching, and my first five years of teaching combined.
-All students can learn.  The home lives of some of my students were a disaster.  Most of them came in at four years old, not knowing any letters of the alphabet and unable to recognize their names or count to 10.  A couple weren't completely potty-trained.  All of them learned astronomical amounts.  None of them were the same as when they came in.

The bad:
-Gifted kids get overlooked in a classroom and school where there are so many needs.
-Our school didn't have any walls (thankfully, that is being fixed), so anytime someone ran down the halls yelling the "f word" (which was often), everyone heard it.
-What are parent volunteers?  At other schools where I've worked, parents came up to help make copies, cut out lamination, read with the students, and work on other projects.  That just didn't happen this year.  I had some sweet parents of students in my class, but many were single parents who worked long hours, which is completely understandable but also a huge change from where I worked across town and never made a single copy for myself.

The ugly:
-I literally spent thousands of dollars on my classroom and my students.  I'm grateful that my husband and I have the kind of money that made that possible, but I wasn't just buying fancy art supplies or materials for science lessons (though I did buy some of those); I often bought copy paper and snacks.
-I had students in my class with urgent dental needs, as in, major toothaches and infections that prevented them from being able to focus.  I had students with bed bug bites, rashes from sleeping in urine, and only one pair of shoes that was worn for every type of weather.  These are basic needs, y'all.  And these are kiddos who are expected to perform at the same level as the kids across town whose parents make six figures.
-Because Title I School doesn't have the test scores of other schools in the district, a disproportional amount of attention is focused on testing grades 3-5, to the neglect of the younger grades which could benefit from the same services such as tutors, reading and math specialists, and behavior interventionists.  This is a problem because when small gaps in academics or behavior are not noted and served early, they become major gaps by the time those students actually do reach testing grades, and so the cycle continues.
-Due to the problems mentioned above, teachers at low-income schools work harder than teachers at wealthy schools (and get paid the same amount).  At least I did.  Thus, teachers at low-income schools get burned out quickly and the consistency that these children need is obsolete.
-Since my class was partly special education, I was supposed to have two assistants.  One quit in December, and I can count on two hands the number of subs who came to my classroom for her during the entire second semester.  The position was never filled.  At times, my other assistant needed to be gone for legitimate reasons (she has 3 kids), and it was rare that she would ever have a sub, either.  There were two women who would consistently sub in our building, and one had to bring her 3-year-old daughter every time.  Everyone else would typically sub at Title I School one time and never come back.


A random, neutral observation:
-White children often have as many struggles as minority children.  The struggles are different, but they are definitely present.  Title I School does not have a minority majority, and almost everyone qualifies for free or reduced-price lunches, low-income housing, and Sooner Care.  Many have incarcerated parents, and some don't have parents involved in their lives at all.

About teaching in general:

The good:
-It is darn rewarding.  Gosh.  It is unbelievably challenging, but when that lightbulb goes on for a kid for the first time, or sometimes even the hundredth, or when a parent thanks you with tears in her eyes, or when debilitating shyness turns into confidence...those are good, good moments.
-This profession allows you to meet some truly inspiring people and develop deep friendships.
-Two words: Summers off.

The bad:
-Obviously, the pay is terrible.  But honestly, most people don't teach because of the pay.  You know what you're getting when you sign up.

The ugly:
-To be an effective teacher anymore, your job almost has to consume you.  My mom, who teaches in Texas, does not agree with this, but she teaches middle school math and basically covers the same material seven times a day.  In elementary school, every subject must be planned every day.  The people, it seems, who are the best teachers these days are the ones like my mom, who don't have children at home anymore, or single people straight out of college who can devote tons of time and energy to their job.
-I do think that I made a difference in the lives of my students this year, but the truth is, I didn't change their lives forever.  It takes year after year after year of teachers making a difference to truly make things different for a child.  And even sometimes, year after year of good teaching cannot change a life.  The problem is systemic.  I have no control over what happens to a child when he goes home.
-I also cannot make a child's disability go away.  Yes, all students can learn astronomical amounts, but not all students can learn at the same rate as others.  I went into special education because I loved the way Camp Summit gave children confidence and provided them with opportunities to experience things, with support, that other children get to experience on a regular basis.  The public school system crushes these children and does not provide teachers with the support they need to reach them.

If you know a teacher, especially a teacher in Oklahoma, give her a big hug today.  It's good work, but it's hard and thankless, too.  Even in the summers.  I had my last day, and I plan to spoil all the teachers I know in my time off next school year.  I know there will be days when I miss the most rewarding job on the planet, but I don't think I'll ever look back.