Teacher Appreciation

I've always intended to write a letter of appreciation and publish it in the local newspaper to each and every teacher my children have had.  I also intended  to learn to levitate and spin dog hair into gold.    I'll practice while you get a cup of coffee - this post is long.   LONGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.

Recently a friend of mine that blogs about dealing with the challenges of grief and unexpected change wrote  about the school "merger" that is taking place in our community.  She noted that one rarely reads about the good in the schools anymore and that spurred me on to do what I had been wanting to do for the last few years. To publicly thank those directly and indirectly responsible for the education of two kids.  My children are both graduating this year, one from a graduate program in Journalism/Mixed media from UT Knoxville and the other from dental school at UTCHS with plans to continue into their pediatric program next fall.

These are but a few people who played an important role in their lives.  And mine too.

Bonnie Zwirlein kept both my children , one from the age of 6 months and the other 6 weeks while I worked full-time.   She was/is a brilliant sitter on many levels but from a harried new mom perspective she always let me believe I was the first to notice any changes in my babies, first tooth, first step, first words.  And for that I will be always grateful ( and hope to have learned this lesson for my future grandchildren. whenever.  I'm patient ) Bonnie was instrumental in the importance of nap time after lunch (no exceptions)no TV or videos before lunch/nap time. Playing outside daily, being nice to each other.  She was fair and just and taught me the value of following through with promises.  She also sold me on never cooking on a Friday. Both my children loved Bonnie and were so comfortable they sometimes called her mommy and wanted to stay the weekend.  I was smart enough to know this was a compliment not a slight.  I keep Bonnie's number on speed dial , you know, just in case.. 

Both my children experienced pre-school at Collierville United Methodist Church.  We waited until they were 4 as the only skill we thought they would really need is THIS IS A CHAIR - SIT IN IT - STAY.  So , kind of like doggie obedience school.  Actually a lot like doggie obedience school.  Again, Ms. Pat Larkin ( looked exactly like Snow White) and Ms. Stephanie and Ms.Annette (Heimbach) were a blessing. Our children were loved.   This school was also the catalyst for us joining the church.  Hey, they had our kids, what did you expect. 

Then came public school. You hear everything bad. You stress. You worry.  Then you let go.   On the way to our son's orientation for kindergarten at Collierville Elementary School  he announces from the back seat "I hope I don't get a brown teacher."  We were speechless.  We started mental exercises through each and every conversation we'd had in front of him since birth and could not for the life of us determine where this came from.  Still have no clue.  Inside I kept thinking, oh please , oh please, if she's a brown teacher don't let him say anything.  And of course as we rounded the corner in the school building toward the table with his teacher's name on it, there sat a brown teacher.  I almost died.  Andrew sat down and Monecia Johnson reached across the table and took both his hands in hers and said, "Andrew, I am so glad you are in my class this year, we are going to have the best time". And he was a goner.  The entire year every picture that he colored all the people were brown.  I had a great tan!  His sister also had Monecia when she entered kindergarten.  Monecia contacted us shortly after Katie had started school concerned she was perhaps too young and should wait a year.  This was based on Katie's fearfulness when asked to do things by herself.  Bill ( my husband) asked Monecia, does she look at you and tilt her head and make her eyes real big? and Monecia said yes.  Bill said this is the same child that begs to visit neighbors without any assistance or adult supervision, Monecia- you are being played.  After that Katie never seemed to have a problem if Mrs. Monecia Johnson asked her to do something.    Thank you Monecia, for having a rocking chair in your room to soothe those that need soothing.  For being a kind but firm voice.  For being a kindergarten teacher who clearly loved all her little people. And as ridiculous as this sounds for being "brown".

First grade Andrew was blessed to have Mrs. McClinton.  I'm not sure she felt the same way.  She was astonished that little boys played  with imaginary bats and balls and run and are basically dirty little creatures that never sit still.  Plus she had to get use to Bill giving hugs. Eventually she'd see us coming down the hall and she'd say, "Oh, Lord, here comes that man that hugs". Then she'd smile.  I think we should hug our teachers more.    It was a tough year as that was the year my mother was dying of cancer.  I was gone a lot traveling to Kansas City to visit for weeks at a time.  We didn't realize how deeply that affected Andrew until he entered second grade.  Wanda Kerschbaum told us he was a year behind in reading skills.  With her support and encouragement Bill bought the Hooked On Phonics learning set and Andrew went from a D to an A in the next six weeks.  Andrew was lucky to have a teacher that cared about him enough to tell his parents there was a problem.  Thanks Joyce for giving him consistency in a year of constant chaos and thank you Wanda for seeing the problem and offering a solution.  He's been a  voracious reader ever since. 

Katie had Phyllis Agnew in first grade. Phyllis just retired this year.  Another teacher that thought outside the lines.  This was the year they introduced "whole " language.  See a duck , say duck.  Whatever.  Phyllis taught both, whole and phonetics.  THANK YOU PHYLLIS!!!   Children need tools.  Some teachers KNOW how to use a toolbox. 

Both of our children had Donna Clayton for 3rd grade.  Donna instilled a love for healthy competition in her class and a love for math and science.  She always wore tennis shoes , even in a dress - AND found any excuse for extra time outside to run, jump and learn all the while giving them the right amount of win-win spirit and challenging them to do their best always. 

Liz Wilson was Andrew's 4th grade teacher.   Liz had her hands full.  A bright but challenging class.  Fortunately Liz was on to them and never let it get away from her.  4th grade---- I feel like this alone was a good argument for separating them by sex.  Half the problems came from some of the parents.  Mostly idiot mothers living vicariously through their daughters.  This was just the beginning.

5th grade was the year of group project teachers.  I hated group projects but more than that I hated parents that did their kids group projects.  Shame on you for stealing your child's chance to learn and feel good about doing it themselves.  I think one of the most valuable lessons both my kids learned was to be prepared when the other "participants" came empty handed.  Trust me they'll need the skills even in college where this lesson paid off the most.  They learned to pick people they could rely on AND still make sure they knew all aspects if possible. They also learned that sometimes you get graded unfairly based on group participation, also you can get punished that way as well.  This gave them insight into choosing their friends wisely.

I loved the elementary school years.  I served on a PTA board with women that I am still blessed to call some of  my very closest friends.  Our husbands also worked with us and became friends.  These were the golden years.  I miss them.  To Vicky Stewart, Becky Dennis, Natalie Vaughan, Julie Riley & Denise Shaffer - I'd do it again in a second. And the staff was one of a kind - Ronnie Jamerson, Cindy Pennington, Nita Armour and of course Sissy Loftin.

                    (INTERMISSION - "LET'S ALL GO TO THE LOBBY.......)

Middle school.  That year was the year of the Columbine shooting.  We (I) struggled with private vs public vs home-schooled ( and the last one I must have been heavily drinking as both kids passed me academically by 3rd grade).  No matter how we looked at it there really was no better choice then Collierville Middle School.  So they bloomed where they were planted.   Bill and I asked for a conference with all the teachers during Andrew's 8th grade year.( As we did every year)   All the teachers filed into the room - plus a couple of school reps.  They asked us why we called the conference.  We explained that even though Andrew was doing well we always liked to talk to all the teachers to see if there was any needs or anything we needed to be helping with.  Plus there is never any time to talk to anyone during Open Houses, etc.  They were stunned, and then visibly relaxed.  They thought we were lodging some kind of legal complaint.  Bill and I laughed.   AND then we learned that even though Andrew was an excellent student there were still some areas he could use help in.              Frankly I think every parent should be required to meet with every teacher no matter WHAT the current situation is.   It helped to meet in a group, one teacher would ask the other if they thought the same thing.  Oh, and btw - Andrew was with us.  When Mrs. Claudia Guthrie told him he was a slacker in the English department and to reconsider enrolling him in Honors English as a Freshman because even though he was MORE than capable he wouldn't do the work ----- I think we all nodded in agreement , including Andrew.    (side note - after his freshman year in standard English he was so bored he begged for honors the next year.) 

Thank you to all the middle school teachers, Mrs. Kent, Mr. Gray, Mr. Plummer, Mrs. Davis, Mrs. Hammond, Mrs. Talley, Mrs. Guthrie, Mr. Brown, Mrs. Talarico, Mr. Clinton and others I'm sure I've left out.

In high school Andrew did very well- except for his year in Chemistry.  He wasn't particularly fond of his instructor.  Bill was patient to a point and then told him to figure out a way to learn it on his own  because in real life you don't get to pick your boss.  Again, we knew he was capable. Then a miracle of sorts occurred, Andrew broke a rule at home ( which I can't remember at this point) and was practically grounded for life.  His grades went up.  The teacher pointed that out. Things work out.

Thank you to the high school teachers like Mrs. Martin who was one of the toughest teachers and the one both of my children liked a lot. And coaches like Roy Kirkland who manages the daily chaos with a firm hand and larger than life voice and an unmistakable presence.   But not to the woman that stood at the entrance and gave detention to kids whose shirts came untucked as they got out of the cars.    You were a much bigger problem than the shirts ever were.

Both kids went to college prepared in advance by the teachers that pushed them to do their best and to think for themselves.  Thank you to all the teachers at Collierville Elementary, Collierville Middle and Collierville High.

But of all the people that influenced my children the most it was and still is their father.  Bill attended every meeting. Let every teacher know that we fully supported them and then told our children the same thing.  He demanded 100 percent effort and the only mistakes that made him crazy are the ones they didn't  learn from.  He's never once humiliated them or made fun of them.  He's never tried to beat them or compete with them.  He has always ALWAYS been there for them.  He's always believed in them. He has never lied to them.  Ever. Once they went off to college  the phone calls to each of us became distinctly different - mine are emotional, relational, what are your thoughts about.......  The calls to him are solutions to problems, advice about classes, thoughts on career paths.  He has spent time with each of them just because.  Making unnecessary trips to "drop by" Knoxville on his way home from an Atlanta trip. They know without a doubt that they can depend on their father.

Today I watched our son graduate from dental school.  It was one of those defining moments.  Partly because I was watching my oldest achieve a long time goal but also because I got to see the man I married have the honor of "hooding" Andrew during the ceremony as they share the same degree.   With his sister in the stands who made the trip home from Knoxville to see him graduate.  And his sweet fiance Olivia who has waited patiently through all the college years and his wonderful  in-laws to be Brett and Marylynn who love him like he's one of theirs.      Our children have had the support of many teachers in their lives. And to ALL of them I say thank you.

musings about my mother

Before May is gone and another Mother's Day is completely forgotten......there are lots of things my children will never know about my mother. She died at 55 years of age in 1993.  Andrew was 6 and Katie was 4. By that time she was in considerable pain from cancer.   Her manic/depressive/bi-polar tendencies had made it nearly impossible to visit without some serious mood altering drugs.  For me.  But there was a time when she was not like that, at least not to me. She was funny and clever and terribly creative.  Sometimes when I'm just sitting and thinking about her the good stuff just fills my soul.

Things they should know:

Back in the early 70's my mother embroidered skull and crossbones on to the leather motorcycle jackets of the rather interesting biker boys/men in our neighborhood.  I believe Tindal was the last name.  She always had a heart for the misunderstood. More than once gifts magically appeared at our house.  Stereo speakers the size of refrigerators, stereos, lawn mowers, a goat.  I still don't understand that one. The boys adored her. 

My father came home to a tent that was erected in our living room because one of the bikers and his 16 year old girlfriend had been thrown our of their home. Mom felt so bad for them. My father not so much. He was not happy but did let them stay for a night.  Years later a bearded homeless looking guy approached our car smiling and waving.  I was mortified.  My mother on the other hand recognized him as the kid that once lived in our living room.  He still thought she was an angel.  ( of course she nearly shot him that time, yes, she carried a weapon).

My mom let the FBI set up surveillance in her basement to help catch a drug dealer that lived next door.  She help keep detailed notes- INCLUDING documenting a leopard that she saw living in the house protecting the upstairs.  When the drug house caught on fire she ran outside and cut up our water hose and was majorly pissed off when one of the other neighbors called the fire department.  She was willing to testify in court against this scumbag.  Fortunately it never came to that.

At a horse show she single-handedly took on a man that she saw beating  his horse with a tire-iron after he'd lost a race. Not one other person in the stands would say anything.  She threatened him within an inch of his life in front of the entire crowd.  I think she gave that horse courage.  A few months later that same horse  put his hooves through the back of the truck window he was being hauled in killing the man that had beaten him. 

She was abused by a catholic brother when she was just a teenager.  Something she never talked about until I found photos of her that were cut up.  They had been taken by the brother as "art".  She had told her parents who did not believe her.    I did.  This also explained her love/hate relationship with God/men/churches in general.

She could paint scenes on rice.  And knit thread with toothpicks.  She spun "wool" out of her dogs hair. She could make her own clothes from patterns she drew herself.

She was an excellent bowler who regularly beat any man who mistook her as a beauty only.  They always wanted her on their team for her looks.  But she always beat them first.  She taught herself to bowl left-handed because she thought it was better to teach left-handed students by knowing how herself.

She taught herself to ride horses and play golf.  Both things my father quit the day she beat him at it.  Including the bowling. 

She raised an abandoned newborn German shepherd puppy because someone had brought it to the vet to be put down when the mother dog gave birth in their yard running from something.  She bottle-fed him.  He was the runt.  He grew up to be HUGE and was a devoted protector of the man she gave him to. 

She was pretty good shot with a gun.  She hunted and fished and taught me how clean both a squirrel and any fish.. Though she wouldn't hunt deer. 

Once my father became interested in antique clocks and traded our Shetland pony , Silver, for a clock.  My mother found out about it and went and got the pony back.  Silver had been owned by the Dr. Pepper Company.  My mother could get him to kneel, roll-over, pray , count ,and pick out Dr. Peppers in a line up.  She'd then let him drink it out of the bottle.

She cooked pies in the middle of the night. 

She could put a dead stick in the ground and it would take root.  Our house was always surrounded by blooming plants and a vegetable gardens.  I still have the rose catalog where she hand drew the layout of every single rosebush in our backyard.  Flowers loved her.  They bloomed for her. Even when we lived in Texas where there was nothing but red clay and tumbleweeds she had garden.

Once while playing at my friend's  house and my mom was visiting with my friend's mom an uncle walked in. He was visiting from Italy. After an evening of good food , wine and laughter he offered her anything she wanted if she'd be his mistress.  She laughed and said she was flattered but no thank you.  He let the offer stand.   She had that effect on men.  She looked like Tippi Hendren and Doris Day ( the early years) with a Carol Burnett/Lucille Ball sense of humor.

She had a huge laugh.         

She was funny.  And I miss her.                     Miss you mom.

Carolyn about 1964.  Before she went blonde. 

Achieving Goals. Mehhhh....

Last year I failed dismally at achieving my 2012 Goodreads goal of whatever number of books I thought I could read.  It was probably a million because I'm idealistic that way.  Especially after a carafe of coffee.  The same kind of idealism that sends me out to the sports store to purchase a new running shorts. And shoes.  And a heart monitor.  And the exercise ball.    Maybe idealism and idiocy are more closely related than I care to admit.   So this year I thought I'd pace myself by setting a goal of 1 book for 2013.  That way IF I read more will have surpassed my own goal and I'll feel very very good about myself every time I see I've completed 100% on my goal wall thingy.   And then I'll holler out "Tahhh Dahhh" !

not a hardback. 

Of course I am a little panicked that I've waited until the end of May to even commit to reading a book, so the pressure is on before the end of the year sneaks up on me.  And it's not that I don't like to read, I LOVE TO READ!  And usually I tear through books like I do my pantyhose.  But why punish myself?  

Right now I'm reading "Epson Stylus NX420 Series - The Quick Guide."  Not because of it's clever writing but because all my programs were wiped out in the great laptop death of early May and all my printer connections disappeared.    I doubt I'll finish it.  But if I do ....."Tahhh Dahhh"!!!!!

I love sharpies. And stupid magazine articles

Some days when I'm sideways with the world in general.  Or specifically a family member.  Or even more specifically a husband. To clarify I mean mine.  Not anyone else's.  I take out my frustration on magazines.  Usually the ads , sometimes the articles.  Like writing my insights onto the page somehow gets to the person responsible for either thinking this was good idea or more to the point that children under the age of 4 should run the world.  Look around.  They already do.  Hey Marketing Guru....please stop.  I hope you have a dozen children . All under the age of 7.  At once.  And you're left alone with them.  Without your clever magazine articles.  --------also I do this because I donc't think writing my comments on my husband would solve any problems. And  I'd only  feel better for about an hour.  You know, while he was sleeping. Which is now.   

sharpies... better than therapy. 

Say Yes to the Dress so I can go get a donut.

At first glance into the sea of taffeta and satin and lace I was overwhelmed with all the choices. But worse was being overwhelmed in the dressing room that I shared with the bridesmaids and mother of the bride all glaringly the size of munchkins. Not the fat munchkins,  the tiny ballerina munchkin.  I felt like Glenda the Good Grief Kill Me Now Witch.    They were barely taking up space.  My oxygen intake threatened to suck the air out of their little tiny lungs.   I feared for their safety.  If they all weren't so darned delightful and just cute enough to put in my pocket and take home I would have left before the fun started.   And the key to having lots of fun when you're in an uncomfortable place is to smile really really big ,strike a ridiculous pose,  talk and laugh loudly and intentionally put things on wrong.  Then the staff just feels sorry for you and becomes extremely helpful.  Plus their level of concern increases when they see you repeatedly try to zip up a silk gown while asking " Are you sure this is a true size 8? "  While leaving the tag of the shirt you  just took off in full view displaying a stretched out size 12. Whatever.

This is the tale of finding the ever elusive Mother of the Groom dress.   In an even more elusive The Shop of the Mother of the Groom dress.  I'm a rather pessimistic person when shopping for clothes.  As in I'm not a fan. I prefer a sloppy pair of jeans and an old t-shirt.  But it was time to at least look. And so with the encouragement of the bride's mom I began my search.  First I eliminated anything the color of sherbet.  And knit.  And short.  And strapless.   That left 10 dresses.  Then anything that had more sequins than sense. Then anything that cost more than my monthly house payment.  That left 5. But one of those was on the saleswoman. Or girl.  She was maybe 19 with purple hair.  On one side of her head.  But I'm  not judging.  I've had hair the wrong color.  Green once.  But I digress.

After perusing the carousels of horrors I picked the a few out.  In my defense I had too much caffeine that morning, they're lucky I didn't try on hats.  Which I wanted.  I love hats.

This beige/lace dress was the first one I tried on. Those are MOG gang signs.     First I argued with the clerk as to whether or not that was the same gown in the picture that was on the wall.  I still have reservations.  And it smelled funny. I tried NOT to think about how many other people have tried on these dresses. I already have issues with bowling shoes. At least I have on socks.  If you look closely you can see the Mother of the Bride in the reflection of the mirror.  I'm impressing her with my runway skills.

Here we have the blue dress with brooch.  The brooch is specifically designed to distract the eyes from the hips.  And waist.  And chest area.  So people will be mortified at the amount of sun speckled neck skin you so bravely chose to share. I never know what to do with my arms.  I wish this had pockets. And a dickey.  

The while silk dress top was SMALL.  I was waging war with the buttons up the side while they were MIA.  I call this one my Helen Miren twin with a gland problem. Still don't know where to put my arms.

The third dress I've named "Right Boob Dominate".  I normally have a lot more loose skin on my arms but it got stuck in the dress after 10 minutes of tugging and pulling it onto my body.  Clearly my left arm has lost some of it's length.  I need combat pay.

There was a couple of other dresses.  But I'd lost conscientiousness by this time from lack of blood flow  I think they should make a wedding snuggie.  Hmm, they probably do.  I'll ask at the next shop.  After I regain blood flow in my arms.  . The adventure continues.............. 

laptop hell

I have been without my laptop.  It had a virus.  Or a nasty cold, whatever.  I got it back today. Personally I think this was God's way of keeping me from posting nasty comments about my marriage.  Or perhaps my marriage partner.  Since we've been in a marriage death match the last couple of months.  So I'm pretty confident that he's going to smite my laptop into oblivion after today.  Although I'm over my marriage frustration and have moved on to new and improved frustrations.  :

Like: 
Now that I have the laptop it's been wiped clean.  Of everything.   Like programs and connections and passwords and contacts. **&*#(@^**.    and that's all I'm saying about that.

Picking a song for my mother/son wedding dance.  I haven't found one yet that conveys the relationship I have with my son.  We're both so warped.  It's a challenge.  I like the "Yeah Toast" song, and it does address our shared love of warm crispy bread but it's hard to dance to.   I'm trying to talk him into a waltz with no lyrics, but mostly so I can twirl my dress.  All women like to twirl.  It's a fact.

Looking for that darn MOG dress.  Planning on going with the MOB to try on dresses this weekend.  She's a size negative 6, and lives in the gym and is in very very good shape.  And I love her which makes it doubly difficult to be unhappy about this trip.  She's going to try and talk me into a strapless backless slinky number which will look stunning on her and will only cause me to go into a deep depression.  I can't dance with back-fat flailing itself at guests  That's unseemly.  This should be great for my self-esteem.  I'm taking wine in a sippy cup. 

Hiring the fifth front desk person at our office in five years.  Seriously the fertility rate in that office is frightening. And it's even more frightening trying to use the phrase "working uterus" into interviews while not violating any federal laws.

But in case you were worried that I'd decided not to blog any more or worse you were hoping I would NEVER blog anymore .....fear/hope NOT!   I like venting into cyberspace.  And I've missed you all so much. And your uteruses.