@ell, folks, it's May. May is always an exhausting time of the school year. in addition to all of the mayhem (no pun intended) of walking around a building full of roaming hormones, dress code violations, and behavior pushbacks on a daily basis, there is also the frenetic pulse of increased professional responsibilities humming in the background. Filling out end of the year data spread sheets, field trips, schedule planning, supply ordering and trying to purge and close down one's own classroom all suddenly need to be fit in around increasingly needy students. Quite frankly, it's a hot mess.
I find this time of year a little bipolar. Some days, my students are in great moods- funny, lovable, dazzling me with the learning risks they take and the journeys they've traveled as they near the finish line. These moments, I can't imagine how I will survive ten weeks without seeing them; I wistfully hope that they will visit me next year. I wonder who will light up my classroom for me the way so and so did after he graduates or she transitions. Other times...well....those times are trying. Every word I say is met with an eyeroll or an undercutting comment. Behaviors and routines that the students mastered in November are cast aside, and in their place comes a regression of the worst kind. Prepubescent whisperings and gossip coupled with a kindergartener's need to always have attention from SOMEBODY. Spring fever clubs us all over the head. Everyone becomes preoccupied with the lasts. The last project. The last dance. The last grades. The last yearbook.
What nobody ever told me before I started teaching was how much I would grow to love these disgusting (I mean it) balls of angst. How hard I try to savor the last moments of the school year. How frustrated I get when they don't appreciate an end of the year activity I've planned. How much it hurts to have them blow me off and run out the door on the last day of school. How proud I am when I compare their fall to spring data. How I worry about their familylivesstealinghabitsinternetviewingsdrugexposuredatinghabitshygiene when I don't see them every day. How relieved I am when they come back to me the next year. Taller. Friendlier. Full of Summer Stories. Because no matter how much they irritate me, or how ready I am for break, or how outwardly I brag about the small number of schooldays left to my friends, secretly I love this job. I a
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Tuesday Things
1) Last week was Pie-a-Teacher-for-Charity day at my junior high (yep, exactly what it sounds like, run by the student council). After much cajoling by my kiddos, I entered my name in and lo and behold, ALL the punks on the bus entered for a chance to pie me, along with my usual peanuts. Even though none of my eighth grade "special bus friends" won the privilege, they did all make sure to jeer me as I performed my bus duty, whipped cream still in my hair. Punks. Hilarious punks, I tell you.
2) Did you know that having whipped cream in your ear feels like a wet willy you can't quite get rid of? Now you know.
3) I think that one of the unknown seasons in the Midwest has to be Rain and Road Construction. I really think it goes Fall, Winter, RainandConstruction, Spring, Summer. Let me tell you, Focus Pocus and I have spent a LOT of time together sitting between those orange and white cones. I may have to start listening to audiobooks. What should I start with?
4) I am mildly obsessed with the song "Cruise" by Florida-Georgia Line. Except, until I saw the band name in writing, I thought until today their name was "Florida-Georgia Lime." Explains why I can't add them to my summer Pandora station. Oopsies.
5) Spring has arrived at my junior high. Just this week during bus duty, I have received two proposals of marriage, one offer to buy me ice cream from the ice cream man, and several hearty booings as I ask them to sit down and not bring food on the bus. 26 school days.
6) We have graduations three Saturdays in a row in May. Pray for my sanity. I love my siblings, but sweet yeebus. Did they all need to get educated at the SAME time?
7) I've started a new fitness minigoal in May. Every day, at some point, I am going to do 10 minutes of holding a plank. I can start and stop whenever I want, but at the end of the day it has to total ten. Momma needs to get rid of this here muffin top before some upcoming weddings.
8) Speaking of weddings, I just bought this dress at a SUPER discounted price, with tags on eBay for summer weddings. If that's not workout motivation, I don't know what is. It is peeking out in silent judgement daily. So excited. Love it so much.
2) Did you know that having whipped cream in your ear feels like a wet willy you can't quite get rid of? Now you know.
3) I think that one of the unknown seasons in the Midwest has to be Rain and Road Construction. I really think it goes Fall, Winter, RainandConstruction, Spring, Summer. Let me tell you, Focus Pocus and I have spent a LOT of time together sitting between those orange and white cones. I may have to start listening to audiobooks. What should I start with?
4) I am mildly obsessed with the song "Cruise" by Florida-Georgia Line. Except, until I saw the band name in writing, I thought until today their name was "Florida-Georgia Lime." Explains why I can't add them to my summer Pandora station. Oopsies.
5) Spring has arrived at my junior high. Just this week during bus duty, I have received two proposals of marriage, one offer to buy me ice cream from the ice cream man, and several hearty booings as I ask them to sit down and not bring food on the bus. 26 school days.
6) We have graduations three Saturdays in a row in May. Pray for my sanity. I love my siblings, but sweet yeebus. Did they all need to get educated at the SAME time?
7) I've started a new fitness minigoal in May. Every day, at some point, I am going to do 10 minutes of holding a plank. I can start and stop whenever I want, but at the end of the day it has to total ten. Momma needs to get rid of this here muffin top before some upcoming weddings.
8) Speaking of weddings, I just bought this dress at a SUPER discounted price, with tags on eBay for summer weddings. If that's not workout motivation, I don't know what is. It is peeking out in silent judgement daily. So excited. Love it so much.
9) Over the weekend, we had Kev' s 30th birthday
party at US Cellular Field with the White Sox. Photos to come (maybe- I
am an unreliable blogger at best), but we had a blast. The first really nice
spring day, and we were out tailgating. Heaven. I could care less about the
actual game, but I love all the EXPERIENCES of a baseball game. So apple pie.
So classic.
10) I cannot, cannot believe that my guy is going to be turning 30 on
May 6th. I remember his countdown for his sixteenth birthday. Yowza.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Weekdate Night
I have the best husband for me in the entire world. Even so, it's easy for us to flop during the week. We come home from work exhausted, frazzled moreso by our long commutes, and its easy to just throw on sweats, pop on a few hours of streaming Netflix shows, and veg before bed. Once a week though, without either of us saying it, we have a weekdate night.
Last night, we went shopping for a new stove. Purchased it. Celebrated with a more expensive than normal dinner out, where we talked. and talked. and talked. and talked. Later that night, when I suffered another round of frustration with my crazy RA body, he held me while I cried, made me laugh again, and played with my hair while we watched tv.
This past weekend, I went to a bachlorette party where we solicited marriage advice from everyone we came across for the bride to be. From the hot waiter advising her to "just not do it" to the cabdriver that mournfully advised us ladies to always "dress with jeans and makeup" around the house while simultaneously keeping his belly full, we collected some gems. Really, though I think a great marriage comes down to really, always making the other person feel important. Sounds simple, but hard to do. When you live with your one and only day in and day out, the tedious minutae can take over. It's easy to just flop, and take for granted. It's harder to listen when you are tired, harder still to go out of your way.
In the wake of a fall and winter full of losses I never thought I'd sustain, Kev has reminded me over and over to stop. To look around. To take things one day at a time. His biggest complaint about me is that I'm always excited about the next awesome thing. After we booked our Peru tickets and I speculated endlessly about the fabulous things we'd be doing in eight months, Kev slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he drove our battered Ford Focus down Lincoln.
"Just STOP," he implored. "Be HERE. Why do you always need to rush to the next best thing?"
Since then, he's had to remind me of that multiple times. Here isn't bad. Here is quietly wonderful. Six years after our second-first date, he knows what I need. When to listen. When to cut me off. When to let me veg and when to draw me out. I'm the hurricane and he's the eye- a quiet place to rest, a steady pulse forward. He makes me mindful. He reminds me to stop marking time and to start getting my damn head really, honestly back into writing. Into happiness.
And for that, I am a really freaking fortunate gal.
Last night, we went shopping for a new stove. Purchased it. Celebrated with a more expensive than normal dinner out, where we talked. and talked. and talked. and talked. Later that night, when I suffered another round of frustration with my crazy RA body, he held me while I cried, made me laugh again, and played with my hair while we watched tv.
This past weekend, I went to a bachlorette party where we solicited marriage advice from everyone we came across for the bride to be. From the hot waiter advising her to "just not do it" to the cabdriver that mournfully advised us ladies to always "dress with jeans and makeup" around the house while simultaneously keeping his belly full, we collected some gems. Really, though I think a great marriage comes down to really, always making the other person feel important. Sounds simple, but hard to do. When you live with your one and only day in and day out, the tedious minutae can take over. It's easy to just flop, and take for granted. It's harder to listen when you are tired, harder still to go out of your way.
In the wake of a fall and winter full of losses I never thought I'd sustain, Kev has reminded me over and over to stop. To look around. To take things one day at a time. His biggest complaint about me is that I'm always excited about the next awesome thing. After we booked our Peru tickets and I speculated endlessly about the fabulous things we'd be doing in eight months, Kev slammed his hand on the steering wheel as he drove our battered Ford Focus down Lincoln.
"Just STOP," he implored. "Be HERE. Why do you always need to rush to the next best thing?"
Since then, he's had to remind me of that multiple times. Here isn't bad. Here is quietly wonderful. Six years after our second-first date, he knows what I need. When to listen. When to cut me off. When to let me veg and when to draw me out. I'm the hurricane and he's the eye- a quiet place to rest, a steady pulse forward. He makes me mindful. He reminds me to stop marking time and to start getting my damn head really, honestly back into writing. Into happiness.
And for that, I am a really freaking fortunate gal.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Brain Break?
If you have been anywhere near a teacher in Illinois, you know that
this past week was ISAT week. A week in which students take multiple
tests daily to measure how much we, as their educators have taught them.
It is hard for me to explain to them why, exactly, they should do their
best on these tests, particularly for the eighth graders, whose high
school placements have come and gone, but I try. Many of my kids
struggle- the linguistically modified version of the test does not
appear to be particularly modified, and my people all read below grade
level. It is stressful. But that's not really what this post is about-
I'm trying not to dwell on the bs I can't change. It's a new thing I'm
doing. I'll let you know how it works out.
During testing weeks, the students test in the morning and the rest of the day is truncated. The students are fried when they leave testing. Different teachers do different things with these slush days. Some show movies related to the curriculum. Others (like me) give a bigger, long term assignment for the week and lots of work time, so that the students can proceed at their own pace. However, on the Friday after testing, you can always find my students and I doing one thing: playing games.
Because my kiddos didn't grow up in the United States, they are missing some crucial experiences with Americana. They've never felt the sheer joy of bumping another pawn while delivering a sarcastically drawn out "Sorry." They've never agonized over which home to purchase in Life. They've never tried to cheat and use words creatively in Scattergories, or tried to figure out whether a classmate would deem Albert Einstein or bees are more cheerful in Apples to Apples. They don't know how to trash talk. I would bet none of them have ever threatened to flip a board game in sheer anger over the outcome of a game.
The truth is, when I stop to think about it, that I'm not sure how many "real" American kids have these experiences any more, either. Yes, my husband and I adore playing Monopoly on the iPad (it's fast! it does the math for you! you can auto mortgage), but in doing so, we miss out on the experience of actively plotting against one another. Of calculating and recalculating what to mortgage just to strategize based on the intricacies of the other's game. Games on the iPad feel cleaner, so the trash talking by extension becomes more clinical. Minimal. Cold.
Maybe I'm nostalgic, but when I think back of visiting my grandparents, we always played real honest-to-goodness playing cards. One of the few memories I have of my paternal grandfather is him teaching me how to play chess, slowly. Thoughtfully. Deliberately. Kev and I still play Gin Rummy at the highs and lows of our lives: everywhere from on our honeymoon to waiting in the doctor's office for scary news. When you are sitting and looking your opponent in the eye without turn timers and with literal objects with which you can defeat them, you gain an experience of shared joy and triumph that playing the same game on an iPad or tablet may not offer. It's more personal. You are more invested in the outcome because you've really seen every reaction to your moves.
So, we play. I get to appreciate my students in new and different lights. Turns out, the girl who cheated on a major test last week is a strategic whiz kid at Sorry, who can beat me handily twice before I even get one piece out of start. The quietest kid in my room is the best at reading people, and always collects the most green Apples to Apples cards. It might not help these peanuts pass the ISAT, but I'll fight hard for the opportunity for an occasional "brain break" any day. Playing a physically present game allows them to present their thinking to me in a whole new light.
Plus, sometimes I get to kick their butts.
During testing weeks, the students test in the morning and the rest of the day is truncated. The students are fried when they leave testing. Different teachers do different things with these slush days. Some show movies related to the curriculum. Others (like me) give a bigger, long term assignment for the week and lots of work time, so that the students can proceed at their own pace. However, on the Friday after testing, you can always find my students and I doing one thing: playing games.
Because my kiddos didn't grow up in the United States, they are missing some crucial experiences with Americana. They've never felt the sheer joy of bumping another pawn while delivering a sarcastically drawn out "Sorry." They've never agonized over which home to purchase in Life. They've never tried to cheat and use words creatively in Scattergories, or tried to figure out whether a classmate would deem Albert Einstein or bees are more cheerful in Apples to Apples. They don't know how to trash talk. I would bet none of them have ever threatened to flip a board game in sheer anger over the outcome of a game.
The truth is, when I stop to think about it, that I'm not sure how many "real" American kids have these experiences any more, either. Yes, my husband and I adore playing Monopoly on the iPad (it's fast! it does the math for you! you can auto mortgage), but in doing so, we miss out on the experience of actively plotting against one another. Of calculating and recalculating what to mortgage just to strategize based on the intricacies of the other's game. Games on the iPad feel cleaner, so the trash talking by extension becomes more clinical. Minimal. Cold.
Maybe I'm nostalgic, but when I think back of visiting my grandparents, we always played real honest-to-goodness playing cards. One of the few memories I have of my paternal grandfather is him teaching me how to play chess, slowly. Thoughtfully. Deliberately. Kev and I still play Gin Rummy at the highs and lows of our lives: everywhere from on our honeymoon to waiting in the doctor's office for scary news. When you are sitting and looking your opponent in the eye without turn timers and with literal objects with which you can defeat them, you gain an experience of shared joy and triumph that playing the same game on an iPad or tablet may not offer. It's more personal. You are more invested in the outcome because you've really seen every reaction to your moves.
So, we play. I get to appreciate my students in new and different lights. Turns out, the girl who cheated on a major test last week is a strategic whiz kid at Sorry, who can beat me handily twice before I even get one piece out of start. The quietest kid in my room is the best at reading people, and always collects the most green Apples to Apples cards. It might not help these peanuts pass the ISAT, but I'll fight hard for the opportunity for an occasional "brain break" any day. Playing a physically present game allows them to present their thinking to me in a whole new light.
Plus, sometimes I get to kick their butts.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
10 Things Tuesday
1) First and most importantly, we have a snow day today. Stolen from Jessica, I am currently documenting the day with one picture per hour. Really, I want to play with my new camera lens- I'm not actually expecting people to be fascinated by how little...I mean much...I do when left to my own devices.
2) I love to mess around in the kitchen, but I enjoy it the most when Kev is not home. You see, he is a beyond excellent cook, and he wants to help me, but he ends up just making me nervous. I will say, I am the by far better baker of the two of us.
3) Somehow, I have a butt ton of oats in this house. Send me your favorite recipes, please. They are taking up too much space on our counter. I think I bought them in a fit of I'm-going-to-be-healthy and then they lost the battle of I'm-too-sleepy-to-cook-myself-breakfast-at-5-am. Oops.
4) I'm reading my first Stephen King book, 11/22/63, and I have to say, I'm a bit underwhelmed by the writing. I know people are obsessed with him, and I even know a girl who has his face tattooed on his arm, but I don't get it. Plots? Maybe I need to get into this one farther before I judge.
5) I wish Smash and Nashville were on every day. In unrelated news, I also wish I had Connie Britton's hair and Megan Hilty's swagger. Oh, and that I lived in a world where everyone broke out in song constantly, not just me.
6) Do you read this blog and have rheumatoid arthritis? If you are an RA badass like me, take this survey. We are actually getting asked OUR opinions on something. Yay. Do it.
7) I made this amazing and easy beer mac and cheese for Kev's and my date day Saturday. Yes, date DAY. We started with brunch, napped, watched three movies, ate beer mac, and followed it up with Pixies and wine for dessert. So wonderful. So fat kid. This is why I have to be so darn healthy during the week.
8) My cats spent the entire morning FREAKING out at the approaching storm, and then when it actually started to snow, they curled up on the couch together and have been asleep for the last ninety minutes. I guess there are only so many times you can claw your owner's face and/or jump into the washer and/or sprint around the house before you wipe yourself out. Weirdos.
9) It really irks me when people give shout outs to their or other children on Facebook. Example: "Birthday shoutout to my favorite five year old princess, Avery" Um, no. This child is not on Facebook, you are doing it to impress her parent(s). If you really want to make the kid feel special, pick up the damn phone and call her. SHE IS NOT FOLLOWING YOUR STATUS UPDATES. File this under irrational social media irks next to people posting their ultrasound pictures. If I have to see another uterus on my newsfeed, I'm going to start posting MY internal organs. Starting with the spleen.
10) That's all I got. Time to go paint my toes. Happy Tuesday!
2) I love to mess around in the kitchen, but I enjoy it the most when Kev is not home. You see, he is a beyond excellent cook, and he wants to help me, but he ends up just making me nervous. I will say, I am the by far better baker of the two of us.
3) Somehow, I have a butt ton of oats in this house. Send me your favorite recipes, please. They are taking up too much space on our counter. I think I bought them in a fit of I'm-going-to-be-healthy and then they lost the battle of I'm-too-sleepy-to-cook-myself-breakfast-at-5-am. Oops.
4) I'm reading my first Stephen King book, 11/22/63, and I have to say, I'm a bit underwhelmed by the writing. I know people are obsessed with him, and I even know a girl who has his face tattooed on his arm, but I don't get it. Plots? Maybe I need to get into this one farther before I judge.
5) I wish Smash and Nashville were on every day. In unrelated news, I also wish I had Connie Britton's hair and Megan Hilty's swagger. Oh, and that I lived in a world where everyone broke out in song constantly, not just me.
6) Do you read this blog and have rheumatoid arthritis? If you are an RA badass like me, take this survey. We are actually getting asked OUR opinions on something. Yay. Do it.
7) I made this amazing and easy beer mac and cheese for Kev's and my date day Saturday. Yes, date DAY. We started with brunch, napped, watched three movies, ate beer mac, and followed it up with Pixies and wine for dessert. So wonderful. So fat kid. This is why I have to be so darn healthy during the week.
8) My cats spent the entire morning FREAKING out at the approaching storm, and then when it actually started to snow, they curled up on the couch together and have been asleep for the last ninety minutes. I guess there are only so many times you can claw your owner's face and/or jump into the washer and/or sprint around the house before you wipe yourself out. Weirdos.
9) It really irks me when people give shout outs to their or other children on Facebook. Example: "Birthday shoutout to my favorite five year old princess, Avery" Um, no. This child is not on Facebook, you are doing it to impress her parent(s). If you really want to make the kid feel special, pick up the damn phone and call her. SHE IS NOT FOLLOWING YOUR STATUS UPDATES. File this under irrational social media irks next to people posting their ultrasound pictures. If I have to see another uterus on my newsfeed, I'm going to start posting MY internal organs. Starting with the spleen.
10) That's all I got. Time to go paint my toes. Happy Tuesday!
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
10 Things Tuesday
1) I got my hair trimmed today in the suburb where I used to live, by the same gal that has cut my hair for nearly 10 years. She looks like Barbie, boobs and all, and I look like...well...me. We are an amazing team and have a surprising amount to talk about. Talk about an odd couple, but damn if that woman doesn't know my hair.
2) Afterwards, I went to Marianos and bought ALL OF THE THINGS. Discount Cheez-its, a teensy pot-pie for Kev and I, stuffed portabellos. Yes, I could make all of those things, but they were just so cute and affordable. I think I'm in trouble when the one behind my house goes in.
3) A fantastical work friend and I got roped into a committee with the person I am most scared of in my entire professional life right now. I made myself busy taking notes on google docs. Gotta stay out of the line of fire somehow.
4) Speaking of work, I put up the classroom March calendar on my door today and marked spring break. You would have thought I marked free-unfortunately-patterned-skater-hoodie-or-dark-eyeliner-plus-straight-A-giveaway day. Chill, people. We still have 6 weeks to go.
5) I vividly remember sitting on a bus to Jackson Hole with Iowa's Ski Club and shrieking "SB '05!!!" while clutching my first lukewarm beer of umpteen on the 18+ hour coach bus ride. Sweet yebus. I think this year I'm going to yell "SB '13" obnoxiously on my road trip with my husband and favorite father in law as we head up to Minnesota to see my brother in law and his gal pal. They should love that. Maybe I can bring a warm PBR?
6) Two weeks ago, I started a diet and exercise challenge with two friends. Winner gets $100 bucks. What came today? Why, my order of six boxes of Girl Scout cookies. For Kev and I. Self-sabotage, you are my truest friend.
7) We also have a two pound box of Fannie May Pixies in our fridge, courtesy of my mother in law. Help me.
8) Let's be honest, if I won that $100, I would probably just spend it on Pixies and Girl Scout cookies anyway. My inner fat kid rages are strong.
9) It's not like I need to be bikini ready for SB '13 BITCHES. Minnesota don't care none.
10) No, no. Sssshhhhh inner fat kid, calm yourself. Think of all the Bare Minerals and fancy hair products you could buy with $100. Actually, think of the gloating you will be able to do. That may be what really fuels you anyway. You do love to gloat.....maybe you should just gift Pixies and Girl Scout cookies to your competitors.
Yes, that's the ticket. Glad we had this talk, invisible friends. Thanks for the ideas.
2) Afterwards, I went to Marianos and bought ALL OF THE THINGS. Discount Cheez-its, a teensy pot-pie for Kev and I, stuffed portabellos. Yes, I could make all of those things, but they were just so cute and affordable. I think I'm in trouble when the one behind my house goes in.
3) A fantastical work friend and I got roped into a committee with the person I am most scared of in my entire professional life right now. I made myself busy taking notes on google docs. Gotta stay out of the line of fire somehow.
4) Speaking of work, I put up the classroom March calendar on my door today and marked spring break. You would have thought I marked free-unfortunately-patterned-skater-hoodie-or-dark-eyeliner-plus-straight-A-giveaway day. Chill, people. We still have 6 weeks to go.
5) I vividly remember sitting on a bus to Jackson Hole with Iowa's Ski Club and shrieking "SB '05!!!" while clutching my first lukewarm beer of umpteen on the 18+ hour coach bus ride. Sweet yebus. I think this year I'm going to yell "SB '13" obnoxiously on my road trip with my husband and favorite father in law as we head up to Minnesota to see my brother in law and his gal pal. They should love that. Maybe I can bring a warm PBR?
6) Two weeks ago, I started a diet and exercise challenge with two friends. Winner gets $100 bucks. What came today? Why, my order of six boxes of Girl Scout cookies. For Kev and I. Self-sabotage, you are my truest friend.
7) We also have a two pound box of Fannie May Pixies in our fridge, courtesy of my mother in law. Help me.
8) Let's be honest, if I won that $100, I would probably just spend it on Pixies and Girl Scout cookies anyway. My inner fat kid rages are strong.
9) It's not like I need to be bikini ready for SB '13 BITCHES. Minnesota don't care none.
10) No, no. Sssshhhhh inner fat kid, calm yourself. Think of all the Bare Minerals and fancy hair products you could buy with $100. Actually, think of the gloating you will be able to do. That may be what really fuels you anyway. You do love to gloat.....maybe you should just gift Pixies and Girl Scout cookies to your competitors.
Yes, that's the ticket. Glad we had this talk, invisible friends. Thanks for the ideas.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Getaway
We went away this weekend, just Kev and I, up to my parents' lake house in a very tiny part of Wisconsin. Usually when we go up, the house is filled to the gills with my family, or we choose to invite as many friends as will fit. But not this time. This time it was just us two.
We drank champagne and ate frozen pizza. We dove into a box of Pixies and made hot chocolate spiked with marshmallow vodka and added Frango mints to that. I whooped his behind at Monopoly, then again at cards. I wolfed down two cheesy YA novels (Crossed, by Allie Condie- disappointing end to a trilogy, and The Indigo Spell by Richelle Mead, who I unapologetically love when I need Twinkie books). He read The Economist. We talked.
More than any of that though, we listened. To each other. To country music. To snow crunching on a frozen lake. To our eighteen (yes, I said eighteen) year old bartender's unspoken-yet-heard nerves about having her first party at her parents' house and getting ready for college. To an elderly man at the bar talk about his cheesemaking days on that same lake forty years ago, and his pride in his childrens' accomplishments. To how much we need each other. Love each other. Respect each other.
I'm trying to learn to value the listening more. I've always been known for being a notorious talker, but I'm beginning to realize how much I miss this way. I don't get to know other people's thinking or experiences, because I'm busy sharing mine. The truth is, sometimes I'm scared to listen. It's uncontrollable. Unpredictable. I might hear something I don't like, or something I don't like to think about. Putting myself out there is much easier for me. I can control the pace the conversation moves, what kind of mood we have.
I think listening is letting go. I'm always pleasantly surprised by what I hear, whether it be a plan to drink Mike's Hard Lemonade for 12 hours (oh, 18 year old bartender who has never had a hangover, I think your luck may have changed), or about hidden artesianal cheese wells in a tiny lake town. Most of all, I open myself up to letting my husband and others I love surprise me. For a teacher, especially, I suck at listening, but I'm working on it. It's hard, so hard, for me. I'm trying to get better.
I'm glad I had a weekend to re-learn to listen, and a husband smart enough to remind me to do it.
We drank champagne and ate frozen pizza. We dove into a box of Pixies and made hot chocolate spiked with marshmallow vodka and added Frango mints to that. I whooped his behind at Monopoly, then again at cards. I wolfed down two cheesy YA novels (Crossed, by Allie Condie- disappointing end to a trilogy, and The Indigo Spell by Richelle Mead, who I unapologetically love when I need Twinkie books). He read The Economist. We talked.
More than any of that though, we listened. To each other. To country music. To snow crunching on a frozen lake. To our eighteen (yes, I said eighteen) year old bartender's unspoken-yet-heard nerves about having her first party at her parents' house and getting ready for college. To an elderly man at the bar talk about his cheesemaking days on that same lake forty years ago, and his pride in his childrens' accomplishments. To how much we need each other. Love each other. Respect each other.
I'm trying to learn to value the listening more. I've always been known for being a notorious talker, but I'm beginning to realize how much I miss this way. I don't get to know other people's thinking or experiences, because I'm busy sharing mine. The truth is, sometimes I'm scared to listen. It's uncontrollable. Unpredictable. I might hear something I don't like, or something I don't like to think about. Putting myself out there is much easier for me. I can control the pace the conversation moves, what kind of mood we have.
I think listening is letting go. I'm always pleasantly surprised by what I hear, whether it be a plan to drink Mike's Hard Lemonade for 12 hours (oh, 18 year old bartender who has never had a hangover, I think your luck may have changed), or about hidden artesianal cheese wells in a tiny lake town. Most of all, I open myself up to letting my husband and others I love surprise me. For a teacher, especially, I suck at listening, but I'm working on it. It's hard, so hard, for me. I'm trying to get better.
I'm glad I had a weekend to re-learn to listen, and a husband smart enough to remind me to do it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)