More Reflections on Teaching

I wonder (as I approach the middle of my 13th year) if I am approaching burn out. I find myself reflecting on an offer to manage a B & B or I catch myself wondering about that management position that is posted at the local fast food joint. Do I want to take on that second master's degree and move out of the classroom or, perhaps, up to the college level? Am I really ready to devote the time and money required to make that step? Have I reached the end of my rope or is this just a passing phase?

How do we, as educators, address these issues? The public education system, administrators and teachers are (it seems) constantly under attack and sometimes, it gets personal. It's hard not to take offense when your character, your professionalism, is called into question by folks who have no idea what your job entails. Trying to enlighten those folks is often frustrating and, most of the time, thankless.

Sometimes I feel like Don Quixote tilting at windmills. I wonder what would happen if all the teachers just walked away from our classrooms and let those folks, who believe they have all the answers, take over. All those public "officials" who've only experienced a classroom from a child's point of view, but who believe that somehow we need their instructions in order to educate the children "the right way."

How many other professionals, doctors, lawyers, dentists, etc. would put up with the constant interference in their profession? Can you imagine going into the operating room and explaining to the surgeon, "Well, according to all the research I've read the first step is...." Perhaps, as you stood in front of the judge, taking your lawyer to task because you believe have a better understanding of the law and your rights?

What makes these folks think that they know more than the person who has devoted their life to learning about education? Those same people who are consistently taking classes to improve, taking part in conferences to learn about the newest developments, technology and tools to reach the students under their supervision and often returning to share that new information with their colleagues.

Many teachers have Master's degrees and there are those few who have more than one degree. The equivalent of 7 or more years of college (typical Bachelor's of 4-5 years + Master's) add to this the number of workshops, conferences and educational conventions we attend, in addition to the extra classes that are constantly added to the requirements for maintaining certification and you soon reach the equivalent of a medical or law degree.

Underfunded Education Issues

I've just been informed that teachers may not leave the classroom (students) for any reason. This may not sound like a big deal and you might even agree with the sentiment, I do in fact understand the reasoning behind the rule. However, I am concerned about basic human needs, such as a bathroom break. Teachers get to school at about 7:30 am, children enter the classroom at approximately 7:50, teaching begins at 8. Children get a bathroom/snack break at 10:00, for about ten minutes. Lunch is at 12:10, teaching resumes at 12:30. PE (you are the teacher) at 1:35, 20 minutes, bathroom break and journals take up the remaining 20 minutes or so. Pack them up, walk them out to the buses and you finally get a breather at about 2:30-2:35. The last hour of the day is your preparation time. Specials are supposed to be at 11 am, however, they are hit or miss. You may or may not have it and you will probably be teaching it. So, again, I ask -- when do we get to take care of our own bodily needs? I was told by administration that "In an emergency, you can ask a fellow grade level teacher to watch your class. However, this should not become a habit." Really? Who knew using the restroom was a "habit" that we should not have to take care of on a daily basis? Then they inform us that we have no money for substitutes so "don't call in sick" and don't ask for personal days. Yes, they are paid and yes, they are included in our contract, we will not be paid for any unused days. If, in an emergency, you must call in, then your grade level will have to split your class. So this means, in our case anyway, that you will have your 24 students plus 12 more from your colleague's class. You should prepare a packet of material for your students, in the event that you have an "emergency." Is it any wonder that teacher are burning out so quickly? Just my thoughts, zaggrad

Some days

I have days and days to go before I sleep.
I don’t know why today was so difficult; I don’t know why it was so hard to rest last night. Some days are like that, I guess. What is it about a simple comment, said in jest, that just hits your heart? Thankfully it doesn’t happen as often now as it did back then, but today was spent dwelling in the past…so I have to get it out somehow and this is my method.

“Why don’t you take that boy home and teach him some manners?”
“You need a son. Chet needs a boy.”
“Are you going to try again? You should try for a boy this time.”
“Wow, how did you stop with all girls, you should keep trying for a boy.”

Most days, I can let it go. Just let those words waft over my head and smile good naturedly while they all guffaw at the jest. But some days, once in a while, the words take root and fester. Today was one of those days.

So for my family and friends that maybe don't know and for those that do know but may have forgotten, this is why those days are so very difficult for me (for us).

(Feb 23, 1983) I remember walking into the hospital, seven months pregnant, Chet pacing at my side. The perky little nurse came running up to us and called out to the entire waiting area. “Are we going to have a baby today?” Feeling dead inside myself, I felt Chet tense beside me. I abruptly told her “No,” and continued to walk on, struggling to maintain my emotions. I am not a “public person,” my emotions and tears are not something that I am comfortable sharing with just anyone. So now we were a parade, the perky little nurse, now a bit taken aback trailing behind us, and I felt as if all eyes were on me. What a weight that was…but it was only beginning.

We were escorted to the birthing room where, thankfully, we were the only ones in attendance. The doctor came into the room and described how things would proceed. He offered the services of the chaplain, but this wasn’t something we were ready to deal with. For several hours, I lay writhing in pain waiting for the inevitable. Praying that we would be left alone in that room but the whole time the other bed was mocking me. Apparently God wasn’t done with us yet.

Soon we were joined by a happy couple expecting their third child. Curtains were pulled but we were forced to endure the happy sounds coming from across the room. I lay there weeping quietly while I listened to the other mother bring her little girl into the world. No body came to check on us, the nurses all stayed and cooed over the new mama and baby. Finally, when we could stand it no more, Chet told them that I needed to be moved. They all acted surprised, as if it was a shock that I might be suffering in the wake of such joy. How could I not rejoice? How could I?

The evening passed in a blur. Soon they were telling me that I would have to go home and return in the morning because things were not progressing. I don’t remember going home; I barely remember returning to the hospital. I was in a daze, wrapped in my own thoughts. Questions, so many questions, revolving around in my mind, I could see the words in my head…but they had no answers. No one had any answers. Perhaps that is the most difficult part of all.
Finally, we had him. I cradled little Clarence Joseph in my arms for the first and last time. He was so small, and yet he looked so perfect…it was so hard to realize that he would never draw a breath, never catch a ball, never try my patience, never….

I was so sick the first few days home from the hospital that I don’t remember very much. I remember insisting that my mom bring our daughter, Leigh-Ann, home. I was distraught without her there but Chet was loathe to leave us home alone. I know that he was worried, for a while she was my only reason for getting up in the morning, but somehow we muddled through.

I’m sure that we were a huge burden on Chet for the first little while, I was barely functioning and my world revolved around Leigh-Ann and Chet. Finally the day came; I remember standing in the shower and watching my milk leak down the drain as I cried uncontrollably. It suddenly dawned on me that Leigh-Ann was sitting on the floor crying outside the shower. I was doing this, dragging her down into this pit with me. I could continue the way I was going and destroy her happy world or I could figure out how to get up and move on.

It didn’t happen overnight, I don’t even know how it happened. One day we were grieving and one day I woke up and saw spring outside, so I took Leigh-Ann outside and we played. The next day came and we went outside again, finally, finally, we were playing outside. Soon it was as normal as anything else to hear Leigh-Ann talking to her dolls about her little brother in heaven.


Then, months later we decided, or rather I begged and pleaded, to try again. I had read an article about the best “positions” to ensure a male child. I thought “What do we have to lose? We’ll get pregnant and this might give us a better chance at having a little boy.” Little did we know that we were setting ourselves up to relive the pain, I guess we were just chasing butterflies and rainbows.

This time about 6 months into the pregnancy I began to experience some strange feelings. I was closely monitoring movements, and constantly comparing my symptoms to my sister-in-laws’ complaints, all seemingly typical concerns but subconsciously I think I knew that something was wrong.

Just before the 7th month of my pregnancy Chet went out hunting, it was deer season, his mother's birthday and Thanksgiving dinner, surely no reason to stop him from following an age-old tradition with his father and brother. However, when I got up that morning and started gathering up our things to go out to his mom’s I noticed that the baby hadn’t been moving much. I counted movements, “OK,” I thought “7 in an hour is low but acceptable.” The day continued on and I got busy, so many family members to visit with, many hadn’t seen Leigh-Ann in over a year. She would soon be turning 3 and she had grown so much, we were happy to show her off.

The day continued on and just before dinner I realized that I hadn’t felt movement for a while, so I went in and lay down. I carefully counted movements, one, two…..nothing. I calmly got up and picked up the phone, carried it down the hall for a little privacy. Back then telephones were tethered to the wall and often there was only one phone in the house because the phone company charged you per connection (even though they all used the same line.) I called the doctor’s after hours line, explained the situation and she insisted that I come right in (an hour and a half drive to the hospital in normal weather.) I pulled Chet aside as he came through the door, explained what was going on and watched as he made things happen.

In short order, Leigh-Ann was sitting happily in her grandmother’s lap and we were driving into another horror story in our short married lives. It was snowing when we left the house. I sat close to Chet in the car, even though the heater was working well, I was cold, so very cold and scared to death. We had been married a bare 3 years at this point and yet we would soon be saying goodbye to our second son.

This time I was insistent that I would NOT leave the hospital that night, I planned to stay there until they had delivered my son. At this point I was positive that it was a boy, even though they refused to do an ultrasound to tell us the child’s sex, we knew. We knew.

They sent me upstairs after the ultrasound determined that our son was not moving, his heart was no longer pumping. Like soldiers marching to a death camp, Chet and I held hands and trudged upstairs to await the next ordeal. The nurses in “Labor and Delivery” placed us in the last delivery room, but it wasn’t far enough away that we couldn’t hear the happy cries of newborns and their parents throughout the long night.

We labored for hours as my body fought to hold onto our son and the doctors fought to convince my body it was time for him to come out. Inducing labor that early in a pregnancy can often be hard on your body and my body was tenaciously holding onto that last connection.

Finally in the wee hours of the morning, Nov. 25, 1984 we delivered our son, Joseph Jeffery Coleman. I held him and cried as Chet held us both. He was perfect. We could find nothing wrong with him, his fingers and toes, his little head, everything looked perfect, he looked so perfect and yet he never took a breath of air, never cried, never smiled.

Chet was my rock; he stayed with me until I slept. When I awoke he was there still, holding my hand, petting my hair, just silently being there while I, once again, came to grips with the idea that I would be leaving the hospital without my baby boy. I’m sure that I was selfish, at least I don’t remember inquiring about how he was doing, and that was bad of me. I regret that I wasn’t more solicitous of his needs at the time.

I'll add more to this later.

Wow, what is with this?

I'm just amazed at the way people assume that tipping servers is a MUST-do rather than a gratuity for excellent service.
I worked for more than 15 years (1975-1995) in service industry jobs, from waiting tables and bar tending to prepping food. There were many times that I left at night with $30-40 but most nights I left with more, sometimes much more. My policy is always based on service, if you want my tip (and it IS a gratuity not a right,) I expect good service.
What is good service? My coffee cup is kept full. If we are having drinks I expect to see you before my glass is empty. I don't have to ask for things more than once. My server comes back and checks at least once before our meal is served and a couple of times after we've been served. My bill should be on the table BEFORE we are finished eating (you can always add to it if we decide on desert.) If these things don't happen then it's not good service.
If I don't leave a tip, at least a small one, then you haven't earned it. Check your behavior, snotty attitude, poor service (and/or all of the above.)
If I thought it would be worth my effort of course I could track down the manager however, in my experience, they generally know who their poor servers are and my informing them of it won't change a thing.
I know some very good servers, in modest businesses, who earn more money than I do, and they work their butts off to get it, and more power to them.
As for the increase in the % it's a "guideline" and I choose to use it as a such. I generally tip 10-15% for excellent service and I reduce the tip as the meal goes on, although I have been known to leave more, if the service warrants it.

I remember when...

I remember when I was growing up we had to drive for hours to visit our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I remember going to stay with a different set of cousins, for vacations from the time that I was about 10. I don't know, because I never asked, why these little trips occurred, but I do remember enjoying them immensely. What awesome adventures we had, my brother, sisters and I.

One summer we went to visit my cousins, who lived on a farm. We tended gardens, slopped the pigs, fed the chickens and gathered eggs. We entertained ourselves playing in the duck pond, chasing each other around the farm and climbing in the barn to check out the new kittens, swing on the rope and land in the hay at the bottom. Wonderful rites of passage that we would have missed, if it weren't for our "country" cousins.

This may be one of the many reasons that we, my husband and I, chose to live in the country to raise our children. The adventures that we had as children, the trust we had in our community, knowing who was around, who we could count on and who to avoid. Small towns are the best for growing up, and growing old, truth be known.

I remember sending our eldest daughter to visit her aunt and uncle (who lived in a big city) for a week or so, so that she could experience her own adventure. It worked so well that she asked to go visit another aunt and we worked that out too. It's hard to explain the feelings that we experienced, watching her walk through the airport gate to get onto the airplane. A bit of pride, some terror, some envy and sadness that our little girl was growing up. She was heading out, away from our watchful eyes and this was just the first time she would walk away. Sometimes the most difficult part of being a parent is watching your child grow up and away from you.

Why Great Teachers Quit...

I just finished reading Katy Farber's new book, "Why Great Teacher's Quit...and How we Might Stop the Exodus."

I have to say that I wanted to read the book because I have seen so many excellent teachers choose to leave and... I've been feeling the pressure myself. I was hoping for affirmation, inspiration and perhaps some hope to see me through the next few years. However, I have at least ten years to teach before I can consider retirement....do I have it in me? We shall see.

I was happy to see that I am not the only teacher who resents the lack of breaks (bathroom and otherwise) during our day. We are "ON DUTY" from the time we enter the school until the time we leave, and for those of us who live in the community where we teach, we are never "OFF duty." Bathroom breaks are intermittent at best, no wonder so many teachers have medical problems. We rarely have a "free" lunch period (and who decides what is free anyway?) Often we have students in our room while we are trying to eat our lunch...or waiting in the hall for us to finish so they can come in and get help.

How many professionals do you know who are interrupted after business hours while shopping, eating out or attending some community function? If you've ever wondered what it felt like to be a celebrity, teachers have a unique perspective on that, and let me tell you that there are times that I would happily walk away from it all. I am frequently stopped at stores to discuss little Johnny's progress or behavior while I'm trying to finish my own shopping. In fact, I have had diligent mothers follow me into public restrooms to talk about their child! There the time that I went to dinner with my husband and his parents when we were interupted by an obnoxious parent who sat down at our table (uninvited) and proceeded to rant about how his child was mistreated at our school. (His child had recently been suspended for beating up another student.) There are many other incidents that I could share but I'm sure you get the idea.

It's so hard to describe the burn out to folks who have no idea what we teachers "do" in a day, week, month, or even a year. I wondered, before I picked up the book, if anyone else would ever be brave enough to shine the light on our work load. I'm happy to say that Ms. Farber did an excellent job of stating the facts without getting into the "he said/she said" quagmire.

Many folks have no idea just how much time teachers put into their careers, if I have to hear again, "I wish I got to work from 8-3 every day;" or "I wish I had the WHOLE summer off." I just may scream in sheer frustration. It is that mentality, that assumption that we have it so easy, that builds dissatisfaction and contributes a great deal to the high burn out rate in the education (teaching) field. How about..."Well, you knew what you were getting into when you chose it!" Really? So because I love children and teaching, I should just deal with the poor pay, the obnoxious parents, the disrespect, etc.?

I am happy to say that I now teach middle school reading/language so my day isn't quite as hectic as if I were still teaching fifth grade (or any self contained class for that matter.) Although teaching middle school presents other challenges, I truly love my kids and their age group.

So for those who have some idea, and those who have no idea, bear with me while I walk you through my day. (I apologize profusely for those who know EXACTLY what we do every day, feel free to skip ahead!)


6 am (well, let's be realistic, lately it's closer to 6:45) Get up, have a cup of coffee, prepare for the day.
Check my school email, respond as appropriate, flag those that I must deal with but don't have the time for at that moment.
Arrive at school, prepare for the day, discuss issues with administration re:my students, pick up attendance folder, check on paperwork that must be filed/completed, meet students in the gym for morning meeting, get everyone respectfully in line and paying attention to the announcement/pledge.
Start class with attendance, lunch count, morning meeting re: class expectations for the day, assignment due dates, and upcoming events.
Teach, manage etc. while grading papers, assisting with problems, listening to students read.
In between classes, monitor passing time and bathrooms. Watch for horseplay, bullying, PDAs, and make sure that only one child at a time is in the restroom.
Lunch, eating at desk while working on paperwork, grading, writing IEPs or checking email. (Sometimes I rebel and play a computer game or check my other email accounts. I might even squeeze out a few minutes to pay a bill online or check my bank balance!) Oh yes, and run to the bathroom!
After lunch I meet my students at the door, at help them prepare for class. My "prep time" is the last class of the day this is really only the second time I have a chance to use the restroom. Generally, I am able to use this time to work on my IEPs, grading and preparing for the next day's lessons. Sometimes I end up covering for another teacher though and this means that any work I had planned to complete during that 50 minute period must go home with me.

At the end of the day, I am usually up front helping to monitor behavior and watching the students load/leave on the buses.
After school meetings for whole staff occur once a week, sometimes lasting an hour, most of the time an hour and a half. If I have an IEP meeting, I must prepare for the meeting, collect the paperwork, round up the other teachers, host the meeting, take notes and prepare a copy for the parents to take home with them. These meetings can last an hour or two, depending on what needs to be addressed. I try to limit them to an hour but sometimes it's just not possible.
After meetings I pack up my remaining papers, IEPs that aren't done, and my lesson planning book and leave for the day. (No, I'm not done.)

Arriving at home I spend an hour or so relaxing and playing online before grabbing my bag and starting the tedious task of reviewing papers, grading and preparing for the next day. Often I spend two or three hours at home working however there have been times when it's been five or six hours. I discovered though that I could not maintain that level and I have trained myself to stop after three hours.
By the time I finally call it a day I have put in 10-12 hours. If I have a carnival, report cards, open house, celebration, conferences, assembly, or IEP meeting to plan for that time can quickly climb to 15-18 hours.

On weekends I try to avoid doing any "school"work, however, I have only two days to catch up on my housework, laundry, floors, etc. Must be taken care of unfortunately the cleaning fairies don't come to my house. Sunday evening I have learned to set aside a couple of hours to prepare for the next week, wrap up any grades, lessons, etc. to help ease the work load for the following week.

Have I reached "burn out"? I don't know. However, lately I have found myself falling asleep in my chair when I get home from school. Often that little 20-30 minute nap is enough to keep me going until 10:30 or 11:00 when I stumble down the hall to bed. It is getting more and more difficult to get out of bed at 6 am.

Granted I've had some health problems the last couple of years, dealing with major surgery twice in three years has definitely affected my stress levels. Part of the problem? Possibly. I just keep telling myself that anyone who works would have had to balance recovery time/work time so who am I to complain?

Educational conferences, professional development, additional classes for recertification must be completed at some point and I prefer to do those things over the summer. I have found that trying to attend a conference during the school year increases my stress (and my work) because in order to go, I must prepare my class, develop lessons that the substitute can handle, make copies of any worksheets or instructions before I go and when I return I must deal with all of the grading, and deal with behavior problems that occured while I was gone to ensure that the next time I have to be absent they remember that there will be consequences for misbehavior when I return.

My point is: If you are a teacher or administrator, even a staff member at a school your life is constantly under the microscope of public approval and your reputation is up for discussion every minute of every day. You never know when something is going to crop up and someone will take aim at your career. This is a stressful job that is highly under-rated, unappreciated and unfunded. If I burn out it will not be because I lack the enthusiasm to teach or stop caring about the children and the mark I can make on the future, it will be because I can no longer deal with the stress and heartache of constantly defending my career while fending off misguided attacks against my character and professionalism.

I just wonder sometimes, how much longer I can maintain this level of committment and would I be happy teaching with anything less? I don't know if I have an answer to that yet.

What do I make? Shadow poetry Taylor Mali

What do I Make??
In 2006, while attending the Alaska State Writer's Consortium, I was introduced to a wonderful teacher and poet, Taylor Mali, via his poem What Teacher's Make. We were then asked to shadow his poem, come up with our own version, or write something else in the same vein. While I shadowed his poem, it nagged at me, haven't we gotten beyond this nit-picky attitude? Well, based on my own experiences and some that friends have shared...no, not so much.

I am so tired of hearing from well-meaning friends and family..."I wish I had summers off" or the ever popular, "I wish I got to leave work at 3:00." They truly have no idea what it takes to be a teacher. I spend part of every summer taking classes, attending workshops or other education related conferences, squeezing in doctor visits, procedures, and a host of other important things that just don't get done during the school year. Why? Because it's important that I model good attendance, I believe that if I want my students to take school seriously I need to be there 100% of the time. I haven't taken a summer "off" since I started teaching full time in 2000. It takes commitment, perseverance, and attitude. You wonder why so many new teachers leave in the first five years? Here are some of my thoughts on the topic.

Teachers burn out faster than other professionals. How many other professions require you to spend your summers and breaks taking classes to maintain your credentials? How many of those jobs pay more than a teacher's salary? How many professionals are there, who have an MA or a PhD, and yet continue to take college courses (for credit) because they want to learn more about how to do their job, to the best of their ability, and stay current of the newest research? How many of them would listen patiently while a parent complained about how you do your job? I don't know that many.

It takes commitment to be this motivated to make sure our students get the best that we can give them. We go to school an hour before school starts, stay at school until 3:30 or 4:00 (many teachers are there much later.) Then I take a satchel of work home with me to grade and record; sometimes I'm grading papers until 7 at night, sometimes later, it depends on the assignment. Then I spend an hour or more each evening modifying my lessons to address the areas that they need to review/learn. Another (at least) hour a week is spent contacting parents, again it depends on what is going on at school. Other days I stay at school until 6 or 7 pm to attend programs, help with projects, monitor students in an extra-curricular capacity or work with other teachers. We spend hours outside of school at off campus fundraisers, community events, parades, contests, and other things to model community involvement for our students. If you're looking for a 40 hour week, you won't find it here.

It takes perseverance to be a teacher. You must be willing to stick to your ideals when others don't believe it can be done. You must be willing to offer a student as many attempts as they need to get the story right before they turn it in and praise every attempt. You must be willing to seek out others for guidance when your ideas don't succeed, we never admit defeat, it's not in our vocabulary. Your child will learn because I won't give up. I will find a way for them to be successful. I will not give up on my students, if they fail it is because they gave up. I teach them that they can do anything that they set their minds to and they come back years later and tell me that I made a difference. How cool is that?

It takes attitude to be a teacher. I don't mean just any attitude, I mean attitude! I believe that children need structure in their lives and I teach them how to follow that structure. I believe that children need to know that the world isn't always structured and they need to be able to follow my structure even when they aren't in my room. What is my structure? R*E*S*P*E*C*T If you treat them with respect, expect them to be respectful, they will be respectful...and it will carry over into other areas, outside of school. I will forever remember the day that I walked up behind one of my students at the county fair just in time to hear her ranting about someone. Her language was poor to say the least. I didn't say anything, I just waited in line, suddenly she realized that her friends were no longer listening. She turned around, spotted me, and turned beet red. "I'm sorry. Mrs. C!" I accepted her apology and the line moved on. At school the following week, she again apologized. I just smiled and asked her if she were embarrassed about her language why use it? I doubt that it was a life altering conversation but I found it very interesting. You see teaching isn't just about books!

So why do I teach? Because I love the kids, I love learning, and by choosing to teach I get to do both. It's true I won't know how much they've truly learned until long after they've left my little room...but I hope, no...I know, I make a difference.

(I have a copy of my shadow poem somewhere, I will post it when I get it onto this computer.)

The Grieving Process, just for me

I have days and days to go before I sleep. I don't know why that refrain keeps running through my head. Some days it just does, I can't remember if I heard it or read it somewhere, but today especially it seems to be circling in my brain.

I don’t know why today was so difficult; I don’t know why it was so hard to rest last night. Some days are like that, I guess. What is it about a simple comment, said in jest, that just hits your heart like a semi sliding broadside on a slick road? The week started out pretty innocuously, I thought. A friend is dealing with the death of her mother. Another the death of his father and yet another the death of her son. Maybe that's why things are so close to the surface for me, maybe it's the upcoming surgery that will permanently end my childbearing years. I think, perhaps, that it's just a pile of sand that has grown taller, steeper and like sand dunes everywhere, it's time for some of it to slough off. Thankfully it doesn’t happen as often now as it did back then, but today was spent dwelling in the past…so since I have to get it out somehow and this is my preferred method, here goes nothing.

We've all heard it, well, we've probably all said it at some point. No harm was intended and none taken.

“Why don’t you take that boy home and teach him some manners?”
“You need a son. Chet needs a boy.”
“Are you going to try again? You should try for a boy this time.”
“Wow, how (why) did you stop with all girls, you should keep trying for a boy.”

Sometimes we forget the power of our words, I know that I do. I don't always think before I speak. So my apologies if anyone takes offense, I wouldn't wish for anyone to feel that they had to watch every little thing they say, for fear of offending. I'm sure that I'm just as guilty as the next person when it comes to saying something that might strike a nerve.

Most days, I can let it go. Just let those words waft over my head and smile good naturedly while they all guffaw or snicker at the jest. But some days, once in a while, the words take root and fester. Today was one of those days. Suddenly I was in my early 20's and struggling to make sense of a senseless world.

I remember walking into the hospital, seven months pregnant, Chet pacing at my side one arm around my back. I'm not sure who was supporting whom at that point. The perky little nurse came running up to us and called out to the entire waiting area. “Are we going to have a baby today?” Feeling dead inside myself, I felt Chet tense beside me. I abruptly told her “No,” and continued to walk on, struggling to maintain my emotions. I am not a “public person,” my emotions and tears are not something that I am comfortable sharing with just anyone. So now we were a parade, the perky little nurse, now a bit taken aback trailing behind us, and I felt as if all eyes were on me. What a weight that was…but it was only beginning.

We were escorted to the birthing room where, thankfully, we were the only ones in attendance. The doctor came into the room and described how things would proceed. He offered the services of the chaplain, but this wasn’t something we were ready to deal with. For several hours, I lay writhing in pain waiting for the inevitable. Praying that we would be left alone in that room but the whole time the other bed was mocking me. Apparently God wasn’t done with us yet.

Soon we were joined by a happy couple expecting their third child. Curtains were pulled but we were forced to endure the happy sounds coming from across the room. I lay there weeping quietly while I listened to the other mother bring her little girl into the world. Nobody came to check on us, the nurses all stayed and cooed over the new mama and baby. Finally, when we could stand it no more, Chet told them that I needed to be moved. They all acted surprised, as if it was a shock that I might be suffering in the wake of such joy. Perhaps it was guilt that they hadn't thought of us, I'm trying to be charitable. But at the time I got the impression they were thinking: How could I not rejoice? Honestly, how could I?

The evening passed in a blur. Soon they were telling me that I would have to go home and return in the morning because things were not progressing. Today I'm sure that this would never happen, but in the early 80's it was apparently common practice to "allow nature" to do it's thing. I don’t remember going home; I barely remember returning to the hospital. I was in a daze, wrapped in my own thoughts. Questions, so many questions, revolving around in my mind, I could see the words in my head…but they had no answers. No one had any answers. Perhaps that is the most difficult part of all.

Finally, we had him. I cradled little Clarence Joseph in my arms for the first and last time. He was so small, and yet he looked so perfect…it was so hard to realize that he would never draw a breath, never catch a ball, never try my patience, never…be.

I was so sick the first few days home from the hospital that I don’t remember very much. I remember insisting that my mom bring our daughter, Leigh-Ann, home. I was distraught without her there but Chet was loathe to leave us home alone. I know that he was worried, for a while she was my only reason for getting up in the morning, but somehow we muddled through. My little brother came and stayed with us for a while and he helped when he could, but he was clearly out of his element.

I’m sure that we were a huge burden on Chet for the first little while, I was barely functioning and my world revolved around Leigh-Ann and Chet. Finally the day came; I remember standing in the shower and watching my milk leak down the drain as I cried uncontrollably. It suddenly dawned on me that Leigh-Ann was sitting on the floor crying outside the shower. I was doing this, dragging her down into this pit with me. I could continue the way I was going and destroy her happy world or I could figure out how to get up and move on. I come from good solid stock, practical stock, I could hear my grandfather's voice in my head telling me to pull it together and get back to the living. "Life is for the living." I remember hearing him say these words or something to that effect often as a child.

It didn’t happen overnight, I don’t even know how it happened. One day we were grieving and one day I woke up and saw spring outside, so I took Leigh-Ann outside and we played. The next day came and we went outside again, finally, finally, we were playing outside. Soon it was as normal as anything else to hear Leigh-Ann talking to her dolls about her little brother in heaven.

As she grew up we often teased her about having guardian angels, once as a youngster, she said, in all seriousness, I have three and they watch over me all the time. Well, out of the mouths of babes...but boy did (still does) she keep them busy!

This is global warming?

http://www.adn.com/nation/story/1131632.html

I just have to comment somewhere, so I'm going to do so on my own blog. I'm not a scientist, I do not have a degree in climatology. However, this "global warming" folderol is just driving me crazy.

How can they say that we are in the middle of global warming when we are experiencing the "worst winter" in decades? (see link at the top of the page) Let's just look at some of the more recent news articles, by and large they all state that we are in the middle of the worst winter the US has seen in many, many years.

We know that the world has experienced many cycles of temperature changes. How is this any different than any other cycle that the earth has had in the past? The fact that people are now involved does not alter the fact that the earth has cycles of temperature changes.

Yes, of course there are gradual changes, the world turns and as it does so certain hemispheres move away from or closer to the sun. This would then lead to climate changes in those hemispheres. Therefore, over many years, we will have seasons that begin and end in different months. I can't be the only one who recognizes this. Why are more people not saying so? Think about it.

Just my thoughts

This post is a little scatter-brained and I'm going to apologize now! Life at my house has recently become very hectic...hence my scattered thoughts. :)

First my mom and step-dad showed up.......and stayed. Things were nice the first few days, we caught up on happenings and settled in for a bit of a visit. Nice to have them here where we can visit whenever we want.

Then, their RV wasn't fixed on time. Now we are looking at week four (staring us in the face.) Things are a bit different.

It is very strange to be in the position of caring for your parents. It is often very similar to dealing with one's small children. Dad's dementia certainly gives us fits and starts, not to mention that he will get stuck on one idea and worry it to death.

Mom is not willing to admit that he shouldn't be making decisions so she invites his opinion on everything, which often leads to misunderstandings and frustration for everyone. For instance, the motor home doesn't run, I mean the motor died. However, he wants to drive "up the mountain" and coast it down. Yes, you heard right. He wants to coast a motor home down a mountain road -- that is the mountains in California to our house on the Colorado River. Yes, from California through Nevada to Arizona. His grasp of reality is just not there most of the time. He told C, "It's all down hill, I don't know what the problem is." With a straight face!

The really hilarious part though is that mom is sitting on the couch trying to explain that it has power steering and brakes. She can't stop it or steer it if the engine isn't running. He says, in all seriousness, "Well, C is a lot stronger than you; he could do it!" Totally oblivious. This has been a common refrain in our house for the last three weeks.

Ah, you better laugh...it's just too funny.

Second, the sewer pipe broke. I guess having four people in the house was just too much for it and well, one thing led to another and it finally failed. So C is out there digging it out, trying to assess the damage. Discovers that it is a major repair and tells them both: "Don't use the water. Don't flush the toilets." Understand that this is after he's had to run to the local hardware store and pay three times the price of a cheap plunger to unplug the toilet in their room. Clearly they have knowledge that there is something wrong with the plumbing.

Now, he has to run back to the hardware store and pay top dollar for a new pipe connector. He steps outside just in time to hear the toilet in their bathroom flush. Yep, open pipe in the yard. Just make the leap, you can guess what happened.

Ok, so he cleans up the mess. Pieces it back together, obviously leaving it open is not an option. Runs up to the store, returns and tells them, again, not to run the water or flush. He then proceeds to repair the pipe as quickly as humanly possible. This time he manages to get it in place, if not buried before he hears the toilet flush. He tells me, after I've come home from school, at least the glue held.

Ok, by this point you have to be laughing this is just too funny!

The next night rolls around. I hear the shower turn off in our bathroom and a shout, he is standing in ankle deep water. Sewer pipe is backed up. First thought is he worked too quickly and the pipe didn't seal. Sure enough the ground around the pipe is wet, standing (stinky) water all over. Of course, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

He moves over to the clean out and discovers that some helpful soul has filled the open pipe with rock, the cap is missing. Many hours later, he finally has it cleaned up and working. Now all that is left to do is clean up the mess left behind.

Oh yes, life is an adventure! :)