Tag Archives: blogging

The Aftermath

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It’s Friday and I am fortunate to have another guest blogger. My guest today is Penney whose blog authenticlifejourneys.com centers on her life as a working mom. She is a divorcee and raising her son Jake on her own.

Journey on her blog for a little while and you will discover her inner weirdness. I have enjoyed a number of journeys on Penney’s blog. I especially like those posts that focus on her sports obsessed son. I have found that he and my son have much in common (sports obsession is not one of them.

For those interested in learning more about Penney’s professional services, check out her website – www.innersocialmedianess.com site

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It seems that enough time has passed since the tragedy of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings that the feelings wouldn’t still be so raw. However my emotions remain frayed. I can’t seem to get past this tragic event. I continue to feel the aftermath of what happened in that tiny town.

Before the shootings occurred, there were some days when I felt like Bill Bixby from the old TV show The Hulk. When my 9 year-old son wouldn’t listen, I would repeat myself to the point where I would end up screaming to get his attention. There were many days when I would say under my breath, “Don’t make me mad. You wouldn’t like me when I’m mad.” The situation would escalate from there.

I never laid a hand on my son but boy could I yell. After the yellingfest ended, the guilt would set in. I promised myself that I would work on my behavior. But within days, something would set me off again, and I would yell. I felt terrible for reacting that way towards my son. “What are you teaching him? What is he learning from this behavior?” I wondered.

I tell you what he learned. He learned how to yell back at me.

So, while in the end, I always got what I asked for, I paid a cost. Was it worth it to feel this guilt to make sure he stopped messing around in the shower or finished his homework?

But then came the Sandy Hook Tragedy

I cried for days after it happened and was shaken to my core. I felt pain for the loss of children I didn’t know. I had to stop listening to the news. I couldn’t look at the pictures of those sweet innocent children who were just 3 years younger than my own son. And when I looked at my son, I could feel the tears starting to swell up in my eyes. My nose would start to twitch with that familiar feeling of a big cry coming on.

About two weeks after the incident, something inside of me snapped. I took a good look at my behavior and how I was reacting towards my son.

We were spending a Saturday together at a busy park, and my son was trying to get my attention. I can’t remember what I was trying to do, but my son was trying to grab my arm to hold my hand. I kept swatting him away while I was doing whatever it was that was so important at the time.

And then came the aftermath. I thought about those Sandy Hook parents. How many of those parents acted like this before they dropped their kids off to school that day? How many of those parents wish they had their kids trying to get their attention?

I could feel my nose twitch and the tears coming up. I stopped whatever it was I was doing, and I reached for his hand.

That was the day things changed in our house.

No, that moment has not turned me into a perfect parent. I still get mad and feel like The Hulk. However, now I remove myself from the room to cool myself down before I say something I’ll regret later. And if I do find myself yelling at my son, I do my best to apologize to him immediately for my behavior.

I have come to understand the effects the Sandy Hook tragedy had on me. It’s like the father from the Expedia travel commercial said “… and in that moment I realized … that’s my boy … this is my life and I’ve only got one of each.”

 

Not Routine

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Yes, I know it’s Valentine’s Day and so I am supposed to be romantic. However, I am not into this holiday – never have been. I don’t like being instructed on how I should behave/act because of the calendar. My wife is not so into the holiday either though she would never turn down flowers.

I want a quiet day. I need a quiet day. And I am sure wife shares my sentiment.

You know when you lose something and you are desperate to get it back? Maybe you lost your keys, or wallet, or phone, etc. Sure, it would be a pain in the ass and an unwanted expense to have to replace these items. However, ultimately, it is simply a pain, and there are no long-lasting effects. Yet if you find these items, you feel so lucky. You promise yourself you will maintain your newfound appreciating for the mundane. And you do. For a few days. Then, you slip back into normal.

Do you know how when things get crazy, you long for normal? You, or your spouse, or your children or everyone has been sick for a few days. Or the house is getting painted and everything is out of order. Or you have a project at work that is necessitating extra hours/stress. You have something like this going on and you long to be back in your normal routine.

That is where I am today. I armed myself with soda and chocolate to ensure my strength and energy. It’s days like these that I wish I sat in a cubicle and I stared at a computer all day. I would have been happy to have a slow day at work where I could have zoned out a bit.

Not the case.

Anyway, I am thrilled that my last class has ended, and I was relatively effective. The students may have learned something and no one got hurt. No huge goals or accomplishments.

There’s stuff going on with my older son’s school. If I was true to my blogger/writing self, I would provide details, but I don’t feel like sharing. I’m not in the mood. Maybe in the future.

My son is clearly bothered. He crawled into our bed last night. My night of sleep which began after 12 a.m. ended at 3:30 a.m. My wife is frustrated and angry. Me, well, I am longing for the routine and for everything to be fine. I want to hear my son’s typical monosyllabic replies to my question of, “How’s school?” And I want to believe his reply.

So, I hope you are enjoying this Valentine’s Day however you want to. May it be a normal day for you. Enjoy your routine.

Old House, New House

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Today I have a guest post from a blogger whom I have been following for a while. No, I don’t mean in the stalker way. That blogger is Jessie Clemence, a talented writer. I look forward to her posts as her range of topics is so diverse. However, she often comes back to sharing bits of her odd self.

Jessie blogs from southwestern Michigan, where she lives with her husband and two children. She writes about parenting, marriage, and faith, all from a slightly nutty perspective. She has written a book on motherhood and faith titled There’s a Green Plastic Monkey in My Purse, which will be released on March 2, 2013.
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When our daughter was a baby, my husband and I bought our first house. The three of us moved into the tiny little farmhouse and were happy as clams for several years. Never mind that the washer and dryer were in the kitchen, European-style. Never mind that the basement was perfect for a horror movie, or that the stairs wound upward in a spiral, too tight to fit much furniture and terribly dangerous for toddlers. We made it work. We even had our second child and tucked him into the cozy space with us. Really, babies don’t need much space. Their clothes are tiny, they have itty-bitty shoes, and they are happy to snatch all the toys their siblings already own.
But when our son turned about four, things became overwhelming. Suddenly he had big versions of everything his sister already had. We found ourselves with multiple pairs of snow boots, snow pants, and winter coats. Toys spilled out of tiny bedrooms and covered the living room floor. Books covered every horizontal surface. Our stuff, even the stuff we needed to live, was smothering us. The children grew physically, and their friends with them. Having a group of kids over was like trying to fit a pack of dinosaurs into an elementary gymnasium. The floor shook, and the walls vibrated.
We hit our limit this past summer and made drastic plans. We had a new house built and rented out the old one. I am deeply grateful for every inch of this new house. The lovely basement has carpet, sun-filled windows, and space to shoo the children when they get rambunctious. We can have a sleepover for ten girls with room to spare if I ever get up my nerve for such a thing. A bubble of giddiness wells up every time I go to the utility room with a load of laundry. I no longer have to worry that the cookies will be infected by dirty socks somehow.
And yet, there are things about our tiny old house that sneak up and surprise me with longing. I miss the way the cement of the front porch felt on my bare feet when the summer sun warmed it up. I miss the bathroom window that I used to crack open for fresh air, even in the cold of January. Come spring, I will long for the beautiful, fertile dirt of my old flower gardens. I lived with those small blessings for so long that they worked their way into me somehow, and now I find myself without them.
Well, I guess I’m not really without them. I can still remember what they felt like, and being thankful to have experienced them means I still have them in some fashion. And I know that as I live in this new house over the years I will grow attached to it. I will work the dirt, I will feel the fresh air through the windows, and it too will become part of me. I pray my heart will always be tender enough to let new things become a part of me, and grateful for the things that are already there.

Student Off Stage

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I teach five periods a day. In addition, there is one period where I am assigned to do something around the school. For this school year, I have been in the auditorium during “0” period (the first of the day).
My main job is to sit in the auditorium, tell students to sit down and remove their hats. It is thrilling. And fulfilling. You can only imagine. During the magical time of 7:40 to 8:24, I sit on the stage and watch the students filter in. My main hope is that they will stay sleepy and not cause any problems. I am quite content to see them calmly ease into the day. This part of my job is generally easy. There has yet to be a fight and the students generally respond when I ask them to take off their hat. So, I use the time to go on the computer (blog), mark papers, review lesson plans, etc.
Something has occurred during this placid time of the day which I did not plan for. There are a few students that sit on the stage with me every day. We did not talk about it. They simply chose to do so. We talk about school, life – whatever is on our mind. This type of banter is my favorite part of being a teacher. When students are outside of the classroom and you engage them in one-on-one conversation or in small groups, they are different people. No longer do they feel the need to impress their classmates. It’s often like you are meeting a kid for the first time. He may certainly resemble the student you have in the classroom but there are differences. Good differences.
Tyrel is one of the students who sits with me on the stage every morning. He is an 11th grader. He was a member of my class in the Fall of his 10th grade year. He did reasonably well in the class. We had occasional clashes as he could be moody and temperamental. When we crossed paths during the Spring term, we would exchange a brief “hey.”
Now, Tyrel is a regular on the stage. He walks serenely down the aisle, shakes my hand, wishes me a good morning, and then proceeds to put his backpack down and eat his breakfast. Sometimes we talk – about homework, our weekend, whatever. Sometimes, we don’t. Yesterday, Tyrel told me he was having a challenging term. He will be attending a family reunion in the Caribbean with 11 of his mother’s siblings and their families. This upcoming trip was exciting for him and challenging him in terms of concentration.
When the bell rang, he and the others said good bye and headed off to their classes. The next time I saw Tyrel he was in the dean’s office. He was explaining an incident that happened earlier in the day. The long and short of it is that he hit a fellow student, Malik, in the head with a pipe. Malik was bleeding and was ultimately taken to the hospital. Apparently Malik had stolen something from Tyrel last term, was making fun of TYREL’s family, and was acting like he was going to steal something else. I happen to know MALIK: he is immature and not overly bright.
Tyrel calmly retold this story, aware of what he did wrong. He said he couldn’t take it anymore and was tired of hearing it. Before I went back to my classroom, I spoke to TYREL privately. I told him I was sorry about all that had happened. I hoped he would be okay. And I would be a character witness for him.
While walking back to my classroom, I was shaking my head. What will happen to Tyrel? How could he lose it like that? I thought I knew him. He’s not that kind of person. I am worried for my students.
*Please note names have been changed.