Tag: middle-aged mom

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Reading Logs and Other School Crap

meanderingthroughmidlife
abc books chalk chalkboard
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

*In full disclosure, I am not just a middle-aged mom.  I happen to teach for a living.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel the need to rant from time to time.

Education has become a business.

And a part of that business includes endless amounts of paper for parents to sign, not to mention dozens of emails a day for a parent to read.  But let’s leave that for another time.

Reading logs, practice logs, and other such forms that require a parent to sign daily are a waste of time.   Period.

I can hear you already, but aren’t you a writer?  Don’t you want your stories read?

Sure I do.  Not that they will be read in schools anyhow.

How else is the teacher ensuring that the child studies, reads, practices, etc?

Blah. Blah. Blah.

The problem is twofold.  First, my son got the message, from a very early age, that you don’t read for pleasure.  You read to record a number in a tiny box that requires you to ask a parent for a signature nightly.   I’m not against keeping track of activity, such as reading, eating, and exercise.  But for a kid, it becomes one more thing to worry about.

Mine worried so much that there was one time when he forged my signature because I wanted to finish a yoga DVD.  He might have been 8.  When I asked why he forged my name,  he said “I’m afraid of getting into trouble.”

Fear.

That’s what these logs can bring to a child.

Second, the logs can be used to “grade” students.  The recent one we have indicates that the log must reflect a certain amount of instrument practice per week, with a signature,of course.  The kicker is that the completed log is worth 50% of the grade!

My son did not understand the implication or importance of the log.  It took him three weeks to show it to me.

Yeah, I should have done the nightly SHOW ME YOUR STUFF ritual.

And I wondered why his grade in the class was lower than the other classes.

My problem with this is that I KNOW many parents just fill it out regardless if their child practiced at all.  Lying to get a grade is nothing new.  But the teacher is depending on the parents’ integrity.

Look at our world today.  Our much integrity do the adults have?

Worse, grading should be used to assess skill.  Did my son master the skill that was presented?  Did he surpass expectations?  Did his ability to produce a C sharp fall short of expectations?  No idea.  He just did not practice enough at home, or he didn’t write it down and remember to ask for a signature.

Practice should be practice.  NOT GRADED.

Logs should be a personal tool to measure growth towards a goal.  Not the end assessment.

And the business model in school needs to be busted out.

These are children. NOT WIDGETS!

close up photography of microphone
“Mic Drop”

 

 

 

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Changes

meanderingthroughmidlife
abc books chalk chalkboard

Changes  by David Bowie has been haunting me of late.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything.   And that’s because I’m about to make a change, a big one.  A work one.  For years I have waited for this.  Many years I cried about this not happening.  But now that it is here…

Change in middle life is both invigorating and disorienting.  For the past month I’ve had one foot out the door, and the other running to keep up with end of the school year activities.  It’s no easy feat keeping 8th graders engaged in June.

And in between their demands, I’ve been thinking about my next teaching adventure.  Textbooks have been mailed to me.  I had the opportunity to visit my new school.  New curricula has been bound up in binders and put in my hands.  I’ve been able to meet a few new colleagues.  And I’ve been recording question after question as they pop in my head.

But this week I will leave the job I’ve had for the past seventeen years.  Yup.  Seventeen.  I’ve plucked seventeen years worth of stuff from my room, tossing much of it, and saving some.  Old projects.  Essay prompts.  Worksheets. Books.

Saying goodbye to my colleagues will be the most challenging.  I’ve had to commit to the end of the year party, because it is my end.  Just like I dropped in on the 8th Grade dance, because it was my last.  And bought a yearbook too. Because I want to remember this class.

But part of me just wants to walk out the door on Thursday as if nothing has happened.

The excitement for THE CHANGE is still there.

But it is pushed back by GOODBYE.

And then I think about the WHY.

For this is about ME.  Not my students.  Not my colleagues.  Just little old me.  Midlife crisis?  Maybe.  But I feel confident enough at this stage to figure out what I want.  And to go after it.  Some of my colleagues look at me and wonder.  Why am I not sticking it out until I retire?  Because I am worth it.  I am worth the risk of CHANGE to increase my happiness, to reinvigorate my passion for teaching, and enjoy my life.

So I challenge you to not just be content.  Be awesome!  Change.  Life is short.  And you might be like me…in the middle of it.

Happy Writing!

JMonell

 

 

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Aging Up

meanderingthroughmidlife

images (1)

Saturday is that day, the day I age up.

So many people say, “You’re only as old as you feel.”  But as I dash closer to the fifty yard line, I can feel a new urgency.  Anxieties have taken up residence in my brain, spinning thoughts faster than I thought possible.  How will we afford retirement?  What about the Munchkin’s college?  And a new urge to get healthy, which is chased by fears of illnesses one sees nightly on pharmaceutical advertisements that are crammed between scenes of my few favorite shows.

Oh shit.  I am getting old….er.

Switches are going off.  Do I really need work shoes with only a few weeks of school left?  Should we really invest in an extended warranty for the computer?  Gotta get the eyes checked…can barely read my favorite books anymore.

Sure there have been signs.  Like the shock I had after blowing out my knee two years ago while stepping out of a tree.  Or the fact that my newest colleague was a student when I first started teaching.  Then there’s the dryness of my skin on the back of my hands that reminds me of my grandmother.  And then my husband reminded me that we have been together for nearly half of our lives.

But somehow, I ignored these signs and focused on the day to day tasks that seem to have defined my life for the past ten years.  Work. Cook. Care for Munchkin.  Care for hubby.  Work.  Clean.  Volunteer when possible.  Soccer.  Church.  School. Soccer. Church. School. Write.

Damn.  What happened to my dreams? How did I let them slip away like sand?  Have they slipped away?  Is there still time?  Langston Hughes wrote of a “Dream Deferred”.  Maybe that’s what has happened to my dreams.  Not dead.  Just deferred.

It’s funny that for this birthday, all I want is time.  Time to relax.   Time to meditate.  Time to figure out who is this new old…er me.

Happy Writing!

JMonell

 

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Stress and Writing, or the not of…

meanderingthroughmidlife

stress

 

I am blessed.  I thrive on stress.  Usually.

But as I get older, I have noticed that just behind Stress is Distress.  Burn out actually, which is followed by RAGE.

There was a time when working full-time, going to graduate school, and trying to write felt like juggling oranges.  Sweet ones.  But now, I feel like the oranges are on fire.

So I make deals with myself.  I will start writing again when… the house is cleaned, the students’ essays are graded, Nana’s party arrangements are made, make it to the gym once per week, sign Munchkin up for camp, soccer season ends, school calms down, etc., etc., etc.

My life becomes like the pet hamster in his exercise ball.  I can see the end, but I keep rolling over and over and over.  I can’t break through the clear block to actually do something.  The frenetic energy makes me feel like the Taz from Looney Tunes stuck in slime, the kind you make with your kid on a rainy day with food coloring and Elmer’s.  Insert image here.

Writing during these moments rarely happens because as I plod along further into middle age, my tolerance decreases and I fall back to “But life was supposed to be like…”  Thoughts spin. My body twitches, especially the left eyelid.   And then I just want to drool in front of the TV.  If I am lucky, I will pick up a book.

But write?

It seems easier to call up a friend and vent.

Writing down those erratic thoughts can make my hand cramp.  And for the story I’ve been working on for three months?  Well, that is just about as disjointed as a bad sitcom.

But writing down those troubled thoughts in the privacy of the page makes you face the truth, whatever shape and size it is.  No matter how ugly it is. Truth is truth.  Mostly.

I need to be calm when I sit down to write.

Life needs to be somewhat neat and organized for me to punch words onto a page.

That’s what middle age has done to me.  Slowed me down.  But maybe that’s what’s supposed to happen anyway.

So dear audience, tell me how you do it.  How do you write when your life is enveloped in chaos?  Love to hear from you!

Happy Writing,

JMonell

 

 

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Kids and Reading: for Parents’ Eyes Only

meanderingthroughmidlife

download

Happy Sunday everyone! And hopefully, happy Spring too.

A few times this weekend I have had conversations with moms who moan about their child’s ability to read, or lack of desire to read.  It’s nothing new to be asked questions about reading instruction, since it is the day job, but what struck me was how the moms approached reading as something little Johnny or Jane should do well because of school.

Somehow, reading = school.

And that’s a shame.  Really.

As an educator, I admit that the literacy systems in place today do little to encourage the love of reading.  Recently, school has been seen as a business and there are days I feel much more like a data analyst than a teacher.  High stakes testing has accelerated a stressful learning environment that focuses on getting from A to B, not on enjoying the journey of learning.

But when a parent continues that message at home by quizzing Johnny or Jane about what happened in a story just before bed, Johnny and Jane are taking school to sleep.

So here’s my two cents.  Do read with your child before bed.  Get into bed.  Snuggle up.  And read.  That’s it.

 

See, reading before bed is not so much about the book.  It’s about the time they spend with you.  Taking fifteen minutes to read aloud while sitting together will tell your child that you value them enough to take the time be with them.

It’s about your relationship with your child.

So when Johnny and Jane go to school the next day and are asked to read, they remember spending time with you.  The positive emotions you had while reading together transfers to the school experience.  And a “spoon full of sugar might help the medicine go down.”

Show your child that you value reading.  Let them see you read.  Fill your house with books.  Take them to the library.

DON’T JUST GIVE THEM A TABLET.

But that’s just my two cents.

Now, you’ll have to excuse me.  I’m off to continue The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler with my nine-year old.

Happy Reading!

JMonell

 

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Chaos Theory

meanderingthroughmidlife

Chaos theory word cloud glowing

It’s almost 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday night. Time to watch XFiles.  Be back later.

Bet you weren’t expecting that were you…  I love the Xfiles.  The show grounds me in a simpler time.  DH and I used to watch it as part of our “date night”.  And tonight, I need grounding.

Most of the time things run pretty smoothly, but this week Chaos Theory has reigned.  It began with some bumps in the road of my life last week with a sick grandmother and a frozen water pipe.  But then all hell broke loose.  Microwave died.  DH accidentally sliced off part of his thumb.  Cell phone software was corrupted and required an hour phone call with an Apple tech.  And today, Munchkin, who rarely rides the bus, but needed to because of the delayed opening, banged his head pretty hard when a Mercedes rammed into the back of the bus.

There is nothing like getting a phone call at work telling you that your child is being taken to the hospital.  Nothing.

And being middle-aged, I found myself unnaturally calm.

I had the wherewithal to scribble assignments on the white board in the front of my classroom and label the handouts for the remaining classes.  I even turned off the computer, locked up my laptop, and grabbed a diet coke from my mini-fridge along with some pretzels.

Don’t judge me.  I was starving.  And I know how long emergency room visits can be.

I didn’t even speed on the way home.  Or panic when DH got to the hospital to find out that Munchkin wasn’t there.  I was really good.

Until I saw my Munchkin red-faced and teary-eyed standing next to the other injured child.  And then I felt his fear and his relief in seeing me.  The tears welled up and my hands shook a bit.

And then Mommy mode took over again.  Fill out forms.  Hand over insurance card.  Listen to PA and her instructions.

All the while my poor DH who had just had a very difficult follow-up for the thumb with his doctor sat in disbelief.  How much shit can one week dole out?  “My boss isn’t going to believe me,” he said.

The twenty-something me would have been hysterical.  The thirty-something me mad as hell at the woman driving the Mercedes.  But the late forty-something me has had some experience under her belt.  I’ve been through rough patches before.  And I’ve got a little faith.

Late forty-something me lives by “it is what it is”.  I have been practicing non-judgement and mindfulness.  Meditation is important to me.  And so is surrender.  We can’t control what happens to us.  We can only control our reactions.  The rest we have to let go.

If only I knew that when I was younger.

We live in a world where you hear about nuclear missile drills and false alarms.  We witness Mother Nature’s wrath in her crazy weather patterns.  We have leaders who toss words about like cheap dirty underwear, not caring about the repercussions of their word choices.  Every day we hear about human horrors: abuse, murder, corruption.  We are at the whim of corporations and their greed or politicians and their policies.

And truthfully, we cannot control these things.  We can only control our reactions.  Trying to be calm in the middle of the storm is like sitting in the middle of a merry-go round.  If you slide toward the edges, you will fall off.  If you sit in the middle of your soul, you will still witness and feel the effects of Chaos, but you will be able to control your reactions and give yourself the space to breathe.

Namaste,

JMonell

 

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SPACE

meanderingthroughmidlife

 

spaceHappy New Year!

Today I have been thinking about space: space to write, space to read, literal and metaphorical space.

Yesterday I took some time to clean out my “writing room”, a third bedroom in our suburban ranch that houses books, this computer, a few chairs I’ve inherited, and my Reiki supplies.  It felt good to rustle through the desk drawers and chuck things I haven’t looked at in over a year.  It felt even better to find lost stories in the closet, ones I would like to revisit and possibly revise.  Spending an hour cleaning up the room felt right on New Year’s Eve.  It felt like throwing out the old to make space for the new.

My Reiki training has helped me make cleaning spaces a priority.  If I want something new to show up in my life, I need to make space for it.  Clutter in a room can muddle a mind.  Heavier energies can get trapped in piles of “things” that I may not need.  Letting go of stuff is important.

Space is time.

Tomorrow we return the chaos of everyday life.  Back to work and school, sports, meetings, and more gatherings with friends.  It is a tricky time for me because I give more than I’ve got at work.

One of my resolutions for 2018 is to give myself SPACE.  Space to write.  Space to read.  Space to be ME.

This holiday season has been magical as a middle-aged mom because I felt as if I had space to just BE.  I read when I wanted to.  I ate when I was hungry.  I laughed when something was funny.  I said “No” when I just wanted to stay inside and binge watch TV.  I was spontaneous when my son asked me if we could see The Last Jedi for a second time late one afternoon.

Most importantly, I did not worry.

And this made me happy.

Space is necessary for writing.  It takes more than just duct taping your ass to a chair in front of the writing tool of your choice.  Writing requires giving your muse some space amid the text messages, social media, to do lists, and other “important” things that causes your brain to spin.  Imagination requires time to slow and the mind to wander.  Doubt needs to take a hike.

Reading requires space too.  Taking the time to read aloud to my nine-year old before bed is still a sacred time for us.  Allowing my mind to slip into story and see someone else’s characters interact in their plot is still priceless.  It is in that space that I lose time, but it’s worth it as I come out feeling connected to another writer’s world.

I dare say that giving yourself space, allows you to connect more deeply with others.

Best wishes for giving yourself the SPACE to be you in 2018!

JMonell