Moving on?

After my interview with the Fulbright committee last weekend I realized a few things about where I am standing at work. I walked out of the interview feeling confident about my skills, knowledgeable about education , and as if someone might actually appreciate what I had to say. It was very enlightening. I haven't felt that way in a long time. I originally went into education to feel like I could make a difference, and although I have my reservations about what would happen if I was lucky enough to receive the scholarship, I feel like I might actually be able to make a difference if I did.

I work with a wonderful team of people. we all get along quite well, do things outside of work together, and actually revel in each others successes and make ourselves available when there are problems. What I have started to notice this year has been my innate need to question every decision I make. Not to myself, but to those that I work with. I find this so strange, because while there are definitely areas in my life I don't feel confident about, teaching has never been one of them. When I started to think about why I did this, I realized that part of the reason I do it is that I have always been corrected, shot down, and otherwise told I was wrong in not so many words when I was around my teammates. I'm not sure they do it purposely, but it is the way I feel. It will definitely get you thinking that you are not good at what you do, which is sort of how I've been feeling lately.

As I sit and wait to hear about whether I am lucky enough to spend a year overseas, I am also pondering what I'll do if I am not. I think it is time for me to move on; not because I am unhappy at my school, or because the people I work with are horrible people, or even because I'm ultimately unhappy with my job. But, it is because I need to spread my wings; I need to figure out where my confidence in teaching went because I know I have it. I love trying things out, and knowing there is not one, and only one way to do things.

I can't...but I have to

I always tell kids that they can't say "I can't." They can do it, it just might be harder to complete. I truly believe in that concept and try to live by it. This week, thought, I have found myself saying, and thinking, those words more often than I should.

My mentor, friend, and our special ed team leader left last year. It seems as if the workload has fallen on me. We have several new teachers, and one teacher on her way out the door to retirement, and I'm somewhere in the middle. At my seventh year, I've been here just long enough to sort of know what I am doing as a leader, but still not completely feel comfortable in that skin, which is where I am right now. Plus, as a close friend with my former mentor, I helped, joined in, and had somewhat of an understanding of what happened as "team leader." I just don't know if I can do it.

I love what I do. Probably more than most. I love that I get to see kids each day. I love that I can change lives. And I love that I can advocate for children in a way that a general ed teacher cannot. But, these last few weeks, the things that people have been asking me to do are far from any of that; and the words that keep coming up in my head are "I can't." I am handed paperwork, and documentation, and asked to run meetings that I don't yet know how to do. I have always wanted to be an administrator, because my belief is that you can't complain about how things are run if you don't have any desire to change it yourself. But, as people start throwing things at me, things that I stare at and am fearful that I'm going to botch up, I have dissolved into tears more than once while sitting on the blacktop of our school. Maybe I'm not cut out to lead. Or maybe this is how you learn.

I realize that this task is up to me, and despite my perfectionist attitude, I'm trying to understand that I'm going to make mistakes as I figure it out. As I walked out of our school last night at 8pm (a 13 hour workday), I had added to my to do list by 12 items; but I'd also crossed off 8. I have always been a list maker, but never a prioritizer. I'm not sure where this school year is going to take me, but I have a feeling after it, I am going to know where I'm headed next year and beyond. But, one thing is for sure, I'm going to try to stop saying "I can't."

Big City View, Small Town Charm

This weekend I took my best friend to my hometown of Grosse Ile, which is an island just south of Detroit. She'd never been there, but all through college, I spoke of "the island" and all it "had to offer." Ok, not really.

It was a very interesting place to grow up, with a little bit of small town charm, a little bit of snobbishness, and a lot of love and everyone knows every one's business. Two bridges on either end get you on the island (although one is currently shut down for repairs), there are three golf courses (two are country clubs), and boating is quite prevalent, as well. There are no sidewalks, but you can walk or bike most places by travelling down the bike path that runs smack down the middle of the island from end to end, although it wasn't there until I was in high school. It was a wonderful spot for us to run on, it it is flat as a pancake, and we found ourselves churning out 9:28 miles, even on our "long" runs. But most of all, it was an island. And there isn't much there. You have to go off the island to do absolutely anything. It wasn't, though, until she came that I really realized how bad it was.

As we were driving from the airport, she was looking around, and her comments all centered around the fact that there is nothing around, as we made our way toward GI. I had never thought of it that way. There were farms, and houses, and a few strip malls, but when I was in high school, there was always something to do. It was nothing like growing up in a big city, but we always found something. It was quiet in the house as we sat, no hum of cars from every which way, and even getting home in the evening, if you sat and listened for traffic, you couldn't hear any. And as we went out to do things, and had to travel up to 30 mins to go to a movie, or sat at a local bar where there were a total of 4 people, I started looking at it through a different set of eyes than I ever had.

I have lived in a "big city" for the better part of the last 7 years. I love living in the city. There is always something to do, it is constantly changing. And I loved where I grew up. It had everything I needed at the time. I played golf, I went to school, I went to parties, and hung out with my friends. It was what I knew. But, as I started to look at it through Tiffany's eyes, there was nothing there. It was very dead. It was still all the wonderful things it was when I grew up, but it really had nothing there to do.

I love that my friend came to my home so she could see where I grew up; it shaped me and made me who I am. She said that on more than one occasion. I will always respect the island and all it has to offer, but I will definitely view it differently now; through very different eyes.

Brother, Brother C'mon Back

My little brother and I fought unmercilessly when we were kids. And I was horrible to him. I beat him up, I convinced him he was a test tube baby, and would pick at him and pick at him until he snapped. When I went to college, he was going to be a sophomore in high school, and he didn't think I was cool, and I only thought he was annoying.

Somewhere around the time he went to college, we started talking. Sometimes we'd talk several times a week. We talked more, and emailed more, than we had for most of our lives. It was as if we had finally gotten on a common level. Since that time, our conversations have become slightly less frequent, as we only get to talk once or twice a week, but we try to keep to that schedule, and email in between.

This summer, he's been in the DC area as a summer associate between his second and third years of law school. It has made me more happy than I even realized, having him here. Despite the fact that we only got together a handful of times, it was the knowledge that he was here, and that we had the option to make plans, that made me happy. I liked knowing he was in my zip code. We got to do very relaxed things like go to baseball games, be picky about restaurants, and sit around and play cards at night; unlike when he is doing a fly by visit and I have just a few hours to visit with him.

So, tonight, when we took a jaunt into the city for our second meal during DC's Restaurant Week at Charlie Palmer Steak House, I found myself getting a little sad. We had a really great meal, a lovely chat, and he was sweet enough to pick up the tab for his old sis, but I couldn't help thinking in the back of my mind that I wasn't going to see him for a few months, that this was it for us. It makes me sad. I miss him already. I miss just knowing that family is close by.

For the longest time, I wondered if we would ever get along, now I can't imagine my life without our weekly chats. My brother has his own life, and I have mine. In a few years, he will be back here permanently with a job offer in hand and I can't wait, because it is a beautiful thing to find how wonderful family can be.

Sing, Sing, Sing...

My grandmother can sing. In fact, she has a beautiful voice. I didn't get the genes from that side of the family. When I was a freshman in high school, I joined chorus. I knew the teacher, I had grown up with him, as my mom was a teacher at the high school. Two days into the class, he pulled me aside after class, and encouraged me to find another class. I was devastated at the time, but I got it; I can't sing. But damn if I don't love to. And sing I do.

I sing in the shower; in my head when I workout; with my Ipod on while I'm cleaning the house; when I'm drying my hair; and I sing in the car. That is my favorite, and when I am the most boisterous. And it is also when I get caught.

I will often find myself singing quite loudly in the car, and then look over and realize that there are people looking at me. The only thing I can do is smile sheepishly and stop...for the time being. I know I'm bad, but it makes me happy. In many social situations, even around people I know and love, I don't feel very confident. I am not outspoken, I keep my opinions to myself, and I let people walk all over me. I know that it is happening, but I'm not confident enough to stop it. But, when I am in the car, when that music is playing, all of a sudden I don't notice anyone else. All my confidence that I keep hidden other times washes over me, and I enjoy myself for the entire length of the song.

So, riders with me, and drivers in Northern Virginia beware: If you are going to keep your windows open, you're going to hear me. Be prepared for some bad singing, and some happy emotions coming from my car. But, maybe, just maybe, instead of laughing at me, you can join in. I hope so.

Can Drew Do It?

I remember the days of being sick and staying home from school. I think most everyone does. And I had strep a lot, so I spent hours away from school when I was little, just hoping to get back to school (yes, I admit it, I was a bit of a brownnoser). I would lay on the couch, if I could con my mom into staying home with me, it would be a fabulous day filled with soup, pop, TV, and quality time with mom. If it was dad, then I would have to do some reading, because he would eventually get tired of hearing the TV. But, let's stick to mom, for a moment.

On those days, the mornings would be filled with talk shows and game shows. This was before the days of thousands of cable channels and DVR to record a years worth of a show. My two favorites were Press Your Luck and The Price is Right. On The Price is Right, I would always hope that I had lucked out enough to be sick on the day that someone was going to play Plinko, which was my favorite game. And the end of the game when they made their guesses for the big prize. I would always hope for someone to get so close that they would win both prizes. That was always so cool. I loved the show. And I loved Bob Barker.

Last night, the announcement came that Drew Carey will replace Bob Barker as host of The Price is Right. Drew Carey? I think he can be funny, but he is the polar opposite of Bob Barker. And I know I cannot be the only person thinking this. Who knows what Bob is like off camera, but on camera, he has class, and charm, and everyone loves him....while Drew is funny, and dumpy, and as charmless as I can imagine. Maybe that was what they were looking for, maybe they didn't want a similar show.

While I still have the occasional sick day, and I still lay on my couch, they are different. My mom isn't here, and neither is my dad. Sometimes I wish they were. Sometimes I watch The Price is Right, but mostly I watch shows I recorded on DRV, do work I feel guilty about missing, or sleep. Being sick as an adult is so much different. But now, I know I may tune in once out of interest, but that is all it is, just interest. I give the show a year, a year to collapse, a year to lose its fan base that followed Bob Barker, a year to realize that Drew Carey can't possibly do all the things their long time host did. Because we all know, you can't replace a legend.

Refinancing. Who knew it was so hard?

I am currently in the process of refinancing my home. So, I took all the info to the beach, reviewed what I could with my parents, and they gave me a list of stuff to do and who to call. This morning I did my research on all the types of loans, I made some notes, and wrote down who I needed to call. Knowing that I was going to feel stupid about these loans, I did thorough research, and felt like I knew inside and out what to ask and say, I knew the equity of my home, the value, and how much I still owe on my loan. I was prepared. Then I made my first call.

The first guy I talked to, TJ, from Bank of America, was very nice, but he starts throwing around terms, and dates, and percentages, in response to my questions. And I'm trying to write it all down so that I can look it up and review it with my parents later, but damn if I couldn't get it all down. There's just so much information.

So, now I am knee deep in information from two different mortgage lenders, and I still have two more to go. My head is spinning, and I can't even process it all. Too much information and it is all so technical, and all so related to my money! All I know is my really fine mortgage payments are going way up. Way up.

The Ocean Is My Fear

I love the ocean. Actually, that isn't completely true. I love to be at the beach, to walk on the beach, to fall asleep to the sound of the waves, and to forget about all my cares until I drive away from the beach. I am slightly afraid of the ocean. The animals and critters and such in there freak me out. Even on the hottest of days, I will be scorching on the beach, resisting the urge to swim. I'm so afraid of an animal touching me. Unrealistic-maybe; but, my own personal fear.

For as long as I can remember, my mom has always been the opposite. She was the one who played in the ocean with my brother and I; she was on the boogie board catching waves; she loves the ocean. She will stare at me longingly trying to get me into the ocean with her, knowing what my answer will be. I'm much happier sitting on the sidelines watching her, reading my book. She just sighs and drags her boogie board in.

This trip, my uncle wrangled us a kayak from the people down the beach. They had rented it for the week, and couldn't use it the entire time and offered us use of it one day. While it was such a kind offer, they only had one life vest (kinda strange for a 2 person kayak, but...). My uncle can't swim, which didn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be out in the ocean on a vessel that can flip. So, after two days of begging, I went out with my mom. My fears were the same, and fear was overwhelming, but I went because she does so many things for me.

We made it back without flipping, and I'm happy I did it. I can't say I'm going to be venturing into the ocean with every trip, but at least I know I can do it if I want.

Desire Runs Deep

Five years ago, I had a stroke. One that took almost a year to diagnose. It was in my spinal cord, which is rare, and it caused permanent damage to the nerves on my right side to the point that first I had no feeling on that side, then I had such excruciating pain that I could barely move out of bed. I lost control of my limbs, and would drag my right leg when I walked. I have a very supportive family, who lead me to the best doctors they could find-Mayo Clinic, Georgetown, University of Michigan hospital. Everyone sent me away not knowing what was wrong, implying I needed psychological help, that I was a hypochondriac, that it was all in my head. I was 22, I had just gotten my first teaching job, and I was broken.

I would spend my days pushing away people at work who wanted to help, because I just wanted to forget what was going on and do my job, and my nights sobbing because of the pain. I missed so much work that first year that I went without pay for a month. I was misdiagnosed three times and drugs were pumped into me I didn't need, and I went to a therapist, who helped me with my frustration, but couldn't find any cause of the pain. It was horrible. And a good example of the fact that medicine isn't perfect.

I went home for Thanksgiving that year, eight months after it all began, and my uncle suggested I try acupuncture. It had been successful for him, and he thought I might find some relief for my pain. I was skeptical, but he gave me a name, and this office also specialized in family medicine and pain management. How bad could it be? Little did I know, they would be my rock for the next five years.

Every month I return to that office for some acupuncture. They made the diagnosis, they manage my pain, and listen when I tell them something is wrong. They listen. All those big hospitals, with all their wonderful research studies, hot shot physicians, and diagnostic tools, but the one thing they didn't do was listen. They had a predetermined idea of what was wrong with me, because the prior "big" hospital also couldn't figure it out. Not here; here, they spent hours with me working it out, and while I still have pain, it is managed, and it is liveable- most of the time.

About a year ago, I went to my doctor and told him I was planning on walking 40 miles for the Avon 2 day Breast Cancer walk. He said great, go for it, it's a great idea. He will often tell me about how much respect he has for me considering what I've dealt with, and my lack of complaining and my desire to do so many things. I don't believe in limitations. My philosophy is that life goes on, and so do I. I am not going to be stopped by a fluke. I started training; I felt good about completing something I worked toward, and started looking toward a new goal.

Four months ago, right before the walk, I told him I planned on starting running, with the goal of doing a half marathon. There was a long pause, with a stare, and then he told me he didn't like that idea. He has always, always been straight with me. He was concerned about my pain level, that while it wasn't going to physically harm me, it would cause me more pain, and my pain has been under control. I am stubborn, and I didn't listen. I finished the walk, and started running.

I will run the Miami half in January with two other friends. I have been training for this for about a month and a half. As I ran this morning, I was thinking about the lack of sleep I have been experiencing lately because I'll wake up in pain, and the shooting pain down my right side. It doesn't hurt when I run, but as soon as I stop, it is there. This is enough to make me want to quit, it is pain so deep in my body, in the nerves, that you want to crawl back into bed and stay there until it goes away. But, a goal is a goal, and the memory of achieving it lasts forever, while pain will eventually go away. I will do this, and I hope to do it again. I quit one time in my life, and it haunts me; I will never do it again.

There are many reasons I decided to run this half marathon, and none of them are related to my health. My health is good. But the desire runs deep, deeper than the pain.

Big Order of Chaos

Today I got back from a very restful five days at the beach in the Outer Banks. For the last several years, we have rented the same home in Southern Shores. This week, though, we were down there two weeks earlier than normal, which lends to an entirely different crowd, much to us being there in an entirely different time.

Sitting on the beach on Wednesday morning, my mom pointed out to me a family from the house next to us with six kids. Four boys in the middle and an oldest and youngest girl. All of them looked alike, and there couldn't've been more than 2 years between any child above or below. As you watched them, it was almost in amazement, because I never thought I would want a family quite that large, because it would be so disorderly; more children than adults would outnumber you and take things over. These two parents had things more under control than friends I have with two children. Now don't get me wrong, these kids were playing in the ocean, having a blast, and there was definite competition for mom and dad's attention, but it was just so orderly.

Then, as you are taking it all in, you notice dad playing in the water with the kids, and what appears to be the oldest, or second oldest boy, wearing a life vest and clutching his dad's hand. All the other five kids, including the baby, who is no more than 1.5 are dodging in and out of the water, with the exception of this boy. It doesn't take too much observation from our special ed eyes in my family to come to the realization that he is a child with autism.

Over the course of the next few days, we would often watch this family cause these kids were so darn cute. They did what appeared to be their holiday photo on the beach walkway from the house all dressed in Polo (navy tops and khakis for the boys and navy dresses for the girls) and it was a 20 minute comedy to watch these parents get 6 children in position, smiling, and staying, all at the same time. But, again, it was orderly chaos if there ever has been such.

On my drive home today, I had a lot to think about, but I was thinking about why this family captured us so much. I cannot speak for my mom and dad or my aunt and uncle, although I suspect it has something to do with commandeering a certain amount of respect for these young parents along with a great desire from both to have grandchildren. I can speak for myself. I watched longingly because there is such happiness when people love what they are doing; and this family loved what they were doing with their big family.

I never thought I wanted a big family, and maybe I still don't. But, for now, I can keep those images that big can be orderly.