For three years I fought tooth and nail. I documented everything that had happened in regard to this student, from her bringing me a cookie, to her driving by my house with friends, to her writing me notes and making horribly inappropriate comments during class.
And every time these parents came to my school administration with allegations of something else, I had documentation to show it didn't happen. Or, in my best case scenario, I had witnesses in my favor.
Students are attracted to my office everywhere I go no matter what. I take a vested interest in all my students and I take a vested interest in everyone I meet. I like to get to know people, their stories, and that includes my students. I give good advice because I've gotten good advice, and students enjoy having conversations with me.
I was having a lesson, and thankfully, it was with two boys and two girls. We were nearing the end of the semester, and it was getting close to graduation. The students were in my office, watching a video on proper singing, only it was a humorous video showing someone improperly singing (Miranda Sings - look her up if possible because she's hilarious!).
And then I saw her. She had come down to the music wing, even though she had been told by administration (so they told me) that she was to stay away from the music wing, since she was no longer a part of the music department. But there she was, peaking into the choir room, while I sat in my office looking in dismay, a clear shot of her.
I'm not sure if it was fight or flight that made me suddenly get up from my seat around the computer, but I told the students to keep watching and went into the music library, which was an internal room surrounded by my office and four others. My first thought was to run the other direction, but I knew I couldn't possibly see her as it would throw me (or had already thrown me, whichever way you want to look at it) into a tailspin.
So I took a deep breath as the video came to a stop, and asked one student to close the door. I didn't want to give this girl any reason to think we were talking about her or any reason to make anything up about what she "thought" she had heard or seen. I began asking the students various and sundry things about "next year" just so I could keep them in the office. I didn't want to risk opening my door. I'm sure they thought it was a weird lesson, but I just kept the conversation light. Really, my heart was beating horribly, I was shaking, and I was trying to keep my cool in front of my students.
Finally the time came for them to go, and I dreaded them having to open my door. So as they did, I went back into the music library and hid, hoping and praying that nothing would come of this awkward encounter, if you can even call it that.
Oh, but something did come of it and as the day came to a close, I was called down the principal's office. How many times had I made that trip? How many times had I made that trip with these exact same feelings? How many times had I wondered what he was going to say to me?
And when I got there, he asked me to sit down and closed the door. This time, instead of saying, "What happened today between you and this student?" he said, "This student came forward (again). She stated (for the millionth f-cking time) that you were in your office with some students. What is it that you were doing with those students?"
"I was giving a lesson."
"What was the lesson about?"
And I proceeded to tell my administration the story. Again. The same story I had been telling for the last three years. "I didn't do anything wrong."
And then they threw a curve ball at me.
"SHE alleges that as those students were leaving your office, she spoke with Student A and Student A said you had asked HER was she was doing down in the music wing (yeah, what the f-ck was she doing down in the music wing? Didn't you tell her that she wasn't supposed to be down there?) and then proceeded to make some snotty comment about how she's not allowed to be down there. So we called in this particular student and questioned him, along with the others who were in your office for that lesson."
WHAT?! And again, the feeling of the floor coming out from underneath me that I knew all too well began, the room started swimming and I was in shock. They conducted an investigation, within hours of this girl coming down the music wing, without my knowledge? They questioned "witnesses" and allowed this girl to, yet again, sit in their office and spew her dirty, dirty lies? Witnesses that may or may not have been friends with this girl?
I had been shaking the entire walk to the principal's office with pure anxiety. What was he going to say to me? What had happened now? But after he told me what had transpired that day, I started shaking with anger. How dare this school official act in this incredibly unprofessional manner. How dare this school official make me feel like I am the problem? How dare this school official, who is supposed to make sure I have a safe work environment, create an environment where I am threatened, scared and quite frankly, sick of?
But I had a wild card that this girl hadn't thought of. I take a vested interest in my students. I like to get to know their families, I love hearing their stories of their shopping trips to the mall; I genuinely care about everyone student I see on a daily basis. Even when I have to kick students out of class, I still like them as people. Even when I have to discipline a student for a stupid decision they make, I still like them. They still have a clean slate with me the next day.
I had taken a vested interest in these students who were in my office that day, and because of that, when questioned by the administration, stated that they had no idea what this girl was talking about. And then, all of a sudden, the tables had turned.
Here I was, a victim of this girl, her wicked lies, her witch-hunting parents, her sick and twisted friends. These students saved me that day. They proved this girl was a liar. They proved that this girl was out to get me. They told the truth. The truth about how I was professional in every sense of the word. The proof that they were truly having a lesson, and learning something from me. They spoke the truth when they said that this girl was the liar. They pointed the finger, which broke the camel's back.
In the next days, I felt like I had won. I was done with this girl. The administration had had enough. My union representative had stated that this was probably the last I would hear from this family. Finally, she told the lie that sealed her fate and I had won. I had won. I had won.
But this was April. July had yet to come.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
Don't Forget Your Underwear!
In talking with some colleagues, we realized today that our seniors only have 18 days left of school. Eighteen.
And every year, it's about this time that I start thinking back to my own senior year. I was so excited to get out and experience the world. I was on my way to Iowa State University, without a clue in what I might major in, and just trying to get through those last weeks, days, hours, minutes, until I was finished with high school.
The day I left for Iowa State was a beautiful August day. My older brother, Allan, was headed back to Iowa State for his Master's Degree, so he and I rented a U-Haul, packed up our stuff, and headed out. I left a few boxes in my closet for when I came home for Thanksgiving Break (there was no way I was coming home any earlier) and double-, then triple-checked that I had everything I needed.
We got to my dorm in Ames, Allan helped me haul up the few things that I really needed and then left the rest of it on the front lawn of my dorm. I systematically, one by one, carried those boxes, totes and bags up to my fourth floor dorm room. I didn't mind doing it myself because doing so signified the independence that I was so badly craving.
I unpacked some things, but shortly after my brother called and asked if I wanted to run to Target to get toiletries and anything else I might have forgotten. We grabbed what we needed, went out to eat, and my brother left me at my dorm.
I awoke the next morning excited for the day ahead and the things I had planned (really, nothing. But I was still excited that I was going to be able to nothing on my own). I grabbed my new toiletries, robe, shower sandals and headed to the showers.
When I got back to my room, I searched through the totes where I had cram-packed my enormous wardrobe. I knew I had to have packed my underwear somewhere...
Alas, I had not. I was without underwear. I repeat, without underwear. The most essential piece of anyone's wardrobe, and I did not have it. I repeat, without underwear.
One thought crossed my mind as the realization of the situation dawned on me... "F--k." And I could see the clear tote where I had packed my underwear sitting on the floor of my closet in my room at home in Nora Springs. Not in Ames. F--k.
What the hell was I supposed to do??? Luckily, I knew my dad was driving through Ames on business that day, so I called him. After he got done laughing at me, he said he would grab the tote and bring it down.
Saved by the 6'5" 350 pound underwear fairy.
So I did what any educated college student would do - put my worn underwear on inside out and got ready for my day.
My roommate was bringing the TV a few days later, I had no computer of my own and had no idea how to use the computer lab, and quickly became bored of unpacking. Allan called and asked if I wanted to come and meet some of his roommates.
So I headed over.
I stayed there for the better part of the afternoon, hanging out with Allan, who was helping me map out the route around campus for all my classes. I finally headed to my dorm, got off the elevator on the fourth floor and got to my dorm door. And there, on the marker board I had so proudly hung on the door the day before was a note from my dad.
"I left your underwear next door -------------->"
What?! Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. A flood of horror washed over me. I had some really cute underwear in that clear tote. But also in that tote, I had underwear that you couldn't really tell if it was underwear or a rag. The fabric worn thin, elastic wasn't really elastic anymore and it was that underwear. Like... that underwear.
Ohmygod.
I quickly unlocked my door and when safely on the other side, shut it and leaned my back against it. What the hell was I supposed to say to this person who apparently held my underwear captive?
"Umm, hi. I'm Laura, I live next door to you, and I think my dad left my underwear with you?" And that's exactly what I did say. It was one of the most embarrassing, life-changing moments I had ever had.
That first introduction between Melissa and I opened up doors to experiences I never thought I would have. We partied hard, we laughed, we cried, we endured a lot together. We were fast friends, always together, had late nights, early mornings, studied for finals, didn't study for finals.It was a friendship that was found through new independence for the both of us, excitement for what the future held for us, and underwear.
My dad taught me a lot of things, but one of the most impactful, significant life lessons that I, to this day, have always remembered, was to not forget my underwear.
And every year, it's about this time that I start thinking back to my own senior year. I was so excited to get out and experience the world. I was on my way to Iowa State University, without a clue in what I might major in, and just trying to get through those last weeks, days, hours, minutes, until I was finished with high school.
The day I left for Iowa State was a beautiful August day. My older brother, Allan, was headed back to Iowa State for his Master's Degree, so he and I rented a U-Haul, packed up our stuff, and headed out. I left a few boxes in my closet for when I came home for Thanksgiving Break (there was no way I was coming home any earlier) and double-, then triple-checked that I had everything I needed.
We got to my dorm in Ames, Allan helped me haul up the few things that I really needed and then left the rest of it on the front lawn of my dorm. I systematically, one by one, carried those boxes, totes and bags up to my fourth floor dorm room. I didn't mind doing it myself because doing so signified the independence that I was so badly craving.
I unpacked some things, but shortly after my brother called and asked if I wanted to run to Target to get toiletries and anything else I might have forgotten. We grabbed what we needed, went out to eat, and my brother left me at my dorm.
I awoke the next morning excited for the day ahead and the things I had planned (really, nothing. But I was still excited that I was going to be able to nothing on my own). I grabbed my new toiletries, robe, shower sandals and headed to the showers.
When I got back to my room, I searched through the totes where I had cram-packed my enormous wardrobe. I knew I had to have packed my underwear somewhere...
Alas, I had not. I was without underwear. I repeat, without underwear. The most essential piece of anyone's wardrobe, and I did not have it. I repeat, without underwear.
One thought crossed my mind as the realization of the situation dawned on me... "F--k." And I could see the clear tote where I had packed my underwear sitting on the floor of my closet in my room at home in Nora Springs. Not in Ames. F--k.
What the hell was I supposed to do??? Luckily, I knew my dad was driving through Ames on business that day, so I called him. After he got done laughing at me, he said he would grab the tote and bring it down.
Saved by the 6'5" 350 pound underwear fairy.
So I did what any educated college student would do - put my worn underwear on inside out and got ready for my day.
My roommate was bringing the TV a few days later, I had no computer of my own and had no idea how to use the computer lab, and quickly became bored of unpacking. Allan called and asked if I wanted to come and meet some of his roommates.
So I headed over.
I stayed there for the better part of the afternoon, hanging out with Allan, who was helping me map out the route around campus for all my classes. I finally headed to my dorm, got off the elevator on the fourth floor and got to my dorm door. And there, on the marker board I had so proudly hung on the door the day before was a note from my dad.
"I left your underwear next door -------------->"
What?! Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. A flood of horror washed over me. I had some really cute underwear in that clear tote. But also in that tote, I had underwear that you couldn't really tell if it was underwear or a rag. The fabric worn thin, elastic wasn't really elastic anymore and it was that underwear. Like... that underwear.
Ohmygod.
I quickly unlocked my door and when safely on the other side, shut it and leaned my back against it. What the hell was I supposed to say to this person who apparently held my underwear captive?
"Umm, hi. I'm Laura, I live next door to you, and I think my dad left my underwear with you?" And that's exactly what I did say. It was one of the most embarrassing, life-changing moments I had ever had.
That first introduction between Melissa and I opened up doors to experiences I never thought I would have. We partied hard, we laughed, we cried, we endured a lot together. We were fast friends, always together, had late nights, early mornings, studied for finals, didn't study for finals.It was a friendship that was found through new independence for the both of us, excitement for what the future held for us, and underwear.
My dad taught me a lot of things, but one of the most impactful, significant life lessons that I, to this day, have always remembered, was to not forget my underwear.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
July 7, 2010
July 7, 2010 is not the date where my world came crashing in around me. Those dates had already happened. October 18, 2008, July 28, 2009, February 6, 2009. If the world had crashed in around me on July 7, 2010, it would mean there wasn't any world left. Rather, July 7, 2010 was a date where my world as I knew it completely changed.
It was an exciting day for me. I had taken the job at Waukee and I was meeting my co-worker for lunch to discuss the year. My three years of hell were behind me and I was thrilled to leave them behind.
I was wearing my bracelet that said, "Live, laugh, love." I had bought the bracelet on a shopping trip the month prior with my best friend. It was something that signaled my new beginning, and something I wore every day to remind me that I was a fighter and that I had made it through the gauntlet.
I was wearing my green skirt, white shirt, sandals.It was a beautiful day, only a few clouds in the sky, and hardly any humidity, which was rare for July. We met for lunch, discussed the year, and overall had a very pleasant lunch. We talked about new beginnings, for the both of us, and our lunch was filled with excited chatter and laughter.
It was a Friday, and as I got home mid-afternoon and putzed around the house, I kept thinking of my new beginning. The things I would get to do, the name I was building for myself. The world I was leaving behind. I picked up the house, read a few of my professional magazines, and when the mail came, went out to the mailbox.
It was weird that I should get a huge envelope from the Board of Educational Examiners for the State of Iowa. Those are the people who grant teachers their licensure. I knew that I didn't need to renew my license, nor was I expecting anything from them in regard to my license.
The envelope was at least an inch thick and I had no idea what could be in it. So I opened it and from there, tried to make sense of the letter at the forefront of this stack of papers. And as I read, it was like someone had found a string in my confidence, and I was watching someone ever-so-slowly pull this string to unravel me.
I couldn't figure out what the letter was saying. Too many big words, a ringing in my ears and blurry vision. Concentrate. My mind began racing. What was this letter saying? Concentrate. I remember starting the letter again, "Dear Laura" and again, getting lost in the second paragraph. I read words like, "investigated" and "harassment" and "discrimination." What?
Still not making sense, I flipped quickly through the stack of papers that had come addressed to me. Again, I read words like, "harassment" and "discrimination." I saw dates, I saw accusations, I saw red.
This letter, followed by the diatribe of accusations that followed blurred together. I remember picking up the phone and calling someone. Maybe it was my husband, possibly my best friend, but I remember the first person to answer my frantic phone calls: my mom.
Part of me didn't want to tell her what I thought this letter was saying. Part of me was embarrassed. This only happens to teachers who really did something wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG.
I don't know how often in my three years of hell that I repeated those words. "But I didn't do anything wrong," became a mantra for me that I began nearly every sentence with. I had people working in my defense, but clearly, with this letter, all had been in vain. That mantra had never, truly, been heard by anyone of any importance. Because this was still happening to me.
So I talked to my mom. I'm sure she said some comforting, motherly words that I will never remember. But I do remember my mother asking if I needed a lawyer. Yep, I think I did.
But I had tried a lawyer. In fact, I had tried several times. Several times, I had been turned away, after being told that it was a "school issue" and I needed to take it up with "school officials." You mean, those school officials who continue to let this happen to me? Several times over? These school officials treated these issues like they were a stain you cover up with a rug - you can't see it, but it's still there. These parents and their child, they were still there. And these school officials were still not doing anything about it.
So I hung up with my mom. I re-read the letter, now only seeing red and ready to fight. How dare this student and her parents accuse me of the things they were accusing me of? Discrimination? I had only opened up my door and my teacher's heart for this child. I had handled her delicately, and with every ounce of professional being I had. For three years. And this is how I'm repaid for it?
"But I didn't do anything wrong." It didn't matter.
I called my new colleague, who probably felt like I hit her with a ton of bricks. She advised me to call my union representative. So I did. My representative gave me the number to the Iowa State Education Agency, which is, essentially, the union that I belonged to. The union who was a rug, to cover up the stain. They never once got rid of the problem. They didn't do a damn thing for me.
Being it was Friday, I was only able to leave a message. I remember when Eric got home, having to tell him what happened. He was furious. We thought this was behind us. We had been fighting these exact same allegations for almost 2 1/2 years.
I remember my best friend calling me and me telling her what had happened. I remember later that night she called again, telling me that she had done some research and in allegations such as these, not a single accuser had won. Not a single one. But that didn't mean that I couldn't be the first defendant to lose, right?
As we went to bed that night, myself exhausted from crying and crying and crying, I whispered to Eric in a tiny, shaken voice, "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't know if I can keep fighting." Eric rolled over, embraced me, and told me that I had to keep fighting, because there was no other option.
July 7, 2010 was not a date where the world came crashing in around me, because, as I said, that would mean there wouldn't be a world left. But there was one. A new, scary, shaky world. And as I closed my eyes that night, that new world opened.
It was an exciting day for me. I had taken the job at Waukee and I was meeting my co-worker for lunch to discuss the year. My three years of hell were behind me and I was thrilled to leave them behind.
I was wearing my bracelet that said, "Live, laugh, love." I had bought the bracelet on a shopping trip the month prior with my best friend. It was something that signaled my new beginning, and something I wore every day to remind me that I was a fighter and that I had made it through the gauntlet.
I was wearing my green skirt, white shirt, sandals.It was a beautiful day, only a few clouds in the sky, and hardly any humidity, which was rare for July. We met for lunch, discussed the year, and overall had a very pleasant lunch. We talked about new beginnings, for the both of us, and our lunch was filled with excited chatter and laughter.
It was a Friday, and as I got home mid-afternoon and putzed around the house, I kept thinking of my new beginning. The things I would get to do, the name I was building for myself. The world I was leaving behind. I picked up the house, read a few of my professional magazines, and when the mail came, went out to the mailbox.
It was weird that I should get a huge envelope from the Board of Educational Examiners for the State of Iowa. Those are the people who grant teachers their licensure. I knew that I didn't need to renew my license, nor was I expecting anything from them in regard to my license.
The envelope was at least an inch thick and I had no idea what could be in it. So I opened it and from there, tried to make sense of the letter at the forefront of this stack of papers. And as I read, it was like someone had found a string in my confidence, and I was watching someone ever-so-slowly pull this string to unravel me.
I couldn't figure out what the letter was saying. Too many big words, a ringing in my ears and blurry vision. Concentrate. My mind began racing. What was this letter saying? Concentrate. I remember starting the letter again, "Dear Laura" and again, getting lost in the second paragraph. I read words like, "investigated" and "harassment" and "discrimination." What?
Still not making sense, I flipped quickly through the stack of papers that had come addressed to me. Again, I read words like, "harassment" and "discrimination." I saw dates, I saw accusations, I saw red.
This letter, followed by the diatribe of accusations that followed blurred together. I remember picking up the phone and calling someone. Maybe it was my husband, possibly my best friend, but I remember the first person to answer my frantic phone calls: my mom.
Part of me didn't want to tell her what I thought this letter was saying. Part of me was embarrassed. This only happens to teachers who really did something wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG.
I don't know how often in my three years of hell that I repeated those words. "But I didn't do anything wrong," became a mantra for me that I began nearly every sentence with. I had people working in my defense, but clearly, with this letter, all had been in vain. That mantra had never, truly, been heard by anyone of any importance. Because this was still happening to me.
So I talked to my mom. I'm sure she said some comforting, motherly words that I will never remember. But I do remember my mother asking if I needed a lawyer. Yep, I think I did.
But I had tried a lawyer. In fact, I had tried several times. Several times, I had been turned away, after being told that it was a "school issue" and I needed to take it up with "school officials." You mean, those school officials who continue to let this happen to me? Several times over? These school officials treated these issues like they were a stain you cover up with a rug - you can't see it, but it's still there. These parents and their child, they were still there. And these school officials were still not doing anything about it.
So I hung up with my mom. I re-read the letter, now only seeing red and ready to fight. How dare this student and her parents accuse me of the things they were accusing me of? Discrimination? I had only opened up my door and my teacher's heart for this child. I had handled her delicately, and with every ounce of professional being I had. For three years. And this is how I'm repaid for it?
"But I didn't do anything wrong." It didn't matter.
I called my new colleague, who probably felt like I hit her with a ton of bricks. She advised me to call my union representative. So I did. My representative gave me the number to the Iowa State Education Agency, which is, essentially, the union that I belonged to. The union who was a rug, to cover up the stain. They never once got rid of the problem. They didn't do a damn thing for me.
Being it was Friday, I was only able to leave a message. I remember when Eric got home, having to tell him what happened. He was furious. We thought this was behind us. We had been fighting these exact same allegations for almost 2 1/2 years.
I remember my best friend calling me and me telling her what had happened. I remember later that night she called again, telling me that she had done some research and in allegations such as these, not a single accuser had won. Not a single one. But that didn't mean that I couldn't be the first defendant to lose, right?
As we went to bed that night, myself exhausted from crying and crying and crying, I whispered to Eric in a tiny, shaken voice, "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't know if I can keep fighting." Eric rolled over, embraced me, and told me that I had to keep fighting, because there was no other option.
July 7, 2010 was not a date where the world came crashing in around me, because, as I said, that would mean there wouldn't be a world left. But there was one. A new, scary, shaky world. And as I closed my eyes that night, that new world opened.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Debt Free Update
I just paid my DirecTV bill, that was a whopping $41. Which is awesome. Much better than the$90 that I was used to paying.
I have discovered live streaming TV. There are a ridiculous amount of websites that live stream cable TV shows as they happen. Although we're missing some of our favorite shows, we're not.
I just sent off a massive check to one of my loan providers, paying off one of my student loans. I will now have an extra $50 to put toward another student loan payment, should I so choose.
Keeping a budget has been incredibly difficult, considering that on any given month, Eric has no idea how much he will make. Sometimes, it's a large amount. Sometimes, it's not. It all depends on the size of the project and how fast/soon he can get it done. Some projects will bring in $600 in one day. Other projects might bring in $5000 a month. It all depends what he is working on.
So we've been diligently writing down everything we've been spending, which makes you really think about what you're going to buy. Do you really need that pop today? Do we really want to get pizza after church tonight? Should we really buy that particular item for our home improvement projects right now?
And we've been doing pretty good. We're holding each other accountable, and I have a handy excel spreadsheet to write everything down.
We are absolutely, 100% determined not to take out any sort of loan for anything we do. I don't know if it's really just the fact that we don't want to, or if we really don't want that other payment, or if we're just really stubborn. Or, let's face it, the fact that it's incredibly time consuming to go and get a loan. I don't have time for that.
I have sold $75 worth of my clothes on ebay, and it hasn't been that many! I started with the good stuff first, so that probably helps. I haven't listed anything lately, but I plan to hit it again this weekend.
I have been very careful about what I buy for groceries and am shocked to see that I have only spent about $250 this month. That's it! It helps that we bought a quarter cow, and hopefully, we'll be able to do that again soon, since we're running low!
Otherwise, we're doing pretty well and it's interesting to see what we spend money on. I have about a dozen categories where we file things, and it's interesting that we have only spent $48 on "fun" which is pop, buying toys for James, etc. If I weren't keeping track, I know it would have been a lot more than that.
So far, so good. Only $8,000 more to go... minus the house. Ha.
I have discovered live streaming TV. There are a ridiculous amount of websites that live stream cable TV shows as they happen. Although we're missing some of our favorite shows, we're not.
I just sent off a massive check to one of my loan providers, paying off one of my student loans. I will now have an extra $50 to put toward another student loan payment, should I so choose.
Keeping a budget has been incredibly difficult, considering that on any given month, Eric has no idea how much he will make. Sometimes, it's a large amount. Sometimes, it's not. It all depends on the size of the project and how fast/soon he can get it done. Some projects will bring in $600 in one day. Other projects might bring in $5000 a month. It all depends what he is working on.
So we've been diligently writing down everything we've been spending, which makes you really think about what you're going to buy. Do you really need that pop today? Do we really want to get pizza after church tonight? Should we really buy that particular item for our home improvement projects right now?
And we've been doing pretty good. We're holding each other accountable, and I have a handy excel spreadsheet to write everything down.
We are absolutely, 100% determined not to take out any sort of loan for anything we do. I don't know if it's really just the fact that we don't want to, or if we really don't want that other payment, or if we're just really stubborn. Or, let's face it, the fact that it's incredibly time consuming to go and get a loan. I don't have time for that.
I have sold $75 worth of my clothes on ebay, and it hasn't been that many! I started with the good stuff first, so that probably helps. I haven't listed anything lately, but I plan to hit it again this weekend.
I have been very careful about what I buy for groceries and am shocked to see that I have only spent about $250 this month. That's it! It helps that we bought a quarter cow, and hopefully, we'll be able to do that again soon, since we're running low!
Otherwise, we're doing pretty well and it's interesting to see what we spend money on. I have about a dozen categories where we file things, and it's interesting that we have only spent $48 on "fun" which is pop, buying toys for James, etc. If I weren't keeping track, I know it would have been a lot more than that.
So far, so good. Only $8,000 more to go... minus the house. Ha.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
11 Months!
Every step you take is one step further away from the little butterball turkey we brought home. How is it that already, 11 months have gone by?
Tonight, you zoomed across the floor with Mr. Lion in front of you (thanks L&R). It was amazing to watch! You've been trying your hardest to take steps, but every time, you fall over. You'll stand and bounce, trying to get your little legs to move for you and it just doesn't work. But when I put Mr. Lion in front of you tonight, you were off! Across the floor you went, and then again, and again. You were so excited after every run, that you would stand and clap so vigorously, you would then fall over! It was amazing to watch!
I have hated our pear tree in the back yard since we moved here, but it's a good thing we have one since that seems to be your favorite food. We will put an entire pear in front of you, and you'll eat it in no time. You love sharing food with me, and your dad, and you eat everything we do. Beyond that, you don't just eat what we do, but tonight you had two pears (two!) and the equivalent of one and a half hamburgers. Holy mackerel, kiddo. You're going to eat us out of house and home.
You have had your eighth tooth pop through, finally. It seems like you might be getting some others too, as you love to gnaw on your fingers. Not really sucking, just biting down on them. An interesting habit, to say the least.
I've started looking at the pictures we have taken of you more and more, starting with the pictures of when you were born. You have turned into such a beautiful little boy. It's so exciting to watch you grow and learn and play! I also keep thinking back about where I was a year ago - 36 weeks pregnant, starting to get to the uncomfortable stage, and ready to have you in my arms.
The excitement I feel when I know I can leave school to go and pick you up is amazing. I am giddy just thinking about it. I'm looking forward to the summer and can't wait to play with you in your pool, eat popsicles and go to the park. What an amazing summer it will be!
I love being a mom, but especially your mom. I am so truly blessed.
Tonight, you zoomed across the floor with Mr. Lion in front of you (thanks L&R). It was amazing to watch! You've been trying your hardest to take steps, but every time, you fall over. You'll stand and bounce, trying to get your little legs to move for you and it just doesn't work. But when I put Mr. Lion in front of you tonight, you were off! Across the floor you went, and then again, and again. You were so excited after every run, that you would stand and clap so vigorously, you would then fall over! It was amazing to watch!
I have hated our pear tree in the back yard since we moved here, but it's a good thing we have one since that seems to be your favorite food. We will put an entire pear in front of you, and you'll eat it in no time. You love sharing food with me, and your dad, and you eat everything we do. Beyond that, you don't just eat what we do, but tonight you had two pears (two!) and the equivalent of one and a half hamburgers. Holy mackerel, kiddo. You're going to eat us out of house and home.
You have had your eighth tooth pop through, finally. It seems like you might be getting some others too, as you love to gnaw on your fingers. Not really sucking, just biting down on them. An interesting habit, to say the least.
I've started looking at the pictures we have taken of you more and more, starting with the pictures of when you were born. You have turned into such a beautiful little boy. It's so exciting to watch you grow and learn and play! I also keep thinking back about where I was a year ago - 36 weeks pregnant, starting to get to the uncomfortable stage, and ready to have you in my arms.
The excitement I feel when I know I can leave school to go and pick you up is amazing. I am giddy just thinking about it. I'm looking forward to the summer and can't wait to play with you in your pool, eat popsicles and go to the park. What an amazing summer it will be!
I love being a mom, but especially your mom. I am so truly blessed.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
PTSD
"You are a walking poster child for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."
What? I remember saying something like, "But I've never been in combat."
The psychologist looked at me and said, "Yes, you have. You've been in combat for the last three years."
And then I wept. Finally, there was a name for these feelings. There was a name for my debilitating, jagging crying episodes. There was a name for the out-of-body experiences I kept having. I wasn't losing my mind.
But I was.
After more conversations, more sessions, and more comprehension behind those words, I finally came to grips with the fact that I, indeed, had endured three years of things that someone should never endure.
I am not a soldier. I am not a prisoner of war. I am not supposed to have this disorder.
But I did.
So thus began the long road to where I am today. There were days where I felt like I couldn't even get out of bed. I was tired from not being able to sleep the night before, having had horrible nightmares that kept me up once I was able to finally fall asleep. I leaned on my friends, husband and sometimes family to help me through the toughest days. There were days, a lot of days, where I really felt like I couldn't.
But I can.
And I can say that now. I did overcome this. After many sessions, I was more accurately diagnosed with Acute Stress Disorder, which is a subset of PTSD. Mainly, it's all the same symptoms, with greater emphasis on dissociative states.
I remember describing the dissociative state to the psychologist like I wasn't in control of myself. I knew what was going on around me, and I was responding to those things around me, but it was like the walls were closing in. I would get incredibly dizzy, I couldn't focus on things and God only knows how I was actually able to hold it together in front of those who had absolutely no idea what was happening. I was able to hold conversations, do daily tasks and generally lead a normal life. But while holding those conversations, I could barely hear the person who was talking at me, and I couldn't make eye contact. I would shake, have to grab ahold of something that would keep me upright, and generally, get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My brain was waging war on the world around me as a way to protect itself from the dangers that I had been enduring for the last three years.
A dissociative state happens directly after being stimulated by a dangerous reminder of what I was battling. That dangerous reminder was the classroom. The school. The thing that I had to walk into every. single. day. The thing that I had had such a passion, energy and drive to get into. I wanted to get out.
So I dissociated. Frequently, I couldn't remember exactly what had happened while I was dissociating. I remembered who I had talked to, but I didn't always remember what was talked about. I remembered trying to make my mind focus on what was happening around me, having to concentrate on my breathing, trying to hide the fact that not just my hands, but my body was shaking.
It was like a really bad panic attack. Almost every day. Add in sleepless nights, a diet that consisted of Oreo Cookies and water, and I was on the precipice of a dangerous downward spiral.
It took several months and love and support from my closest friends, family and amazing husband to trip through the realization of what had, and was, happening to me. There were early morning and late night phone calls, several nights where I really wanted to give up, and self-realization that I was truly in one of the darkest places I had ever been.
So I left teaching. Although partway through that last year, I began to get back to myself as a human being, and by March, I saw brief glimmers of my confidence, my sense of humor and most importantly, my happiness. When I walked out of those school doors in June, it was a huge sense of relief. I had no job, I had no idea what I was going to do. I would be paid through August and I didn't have a care in the world until then. I was going to concentrate on me.
That was the most transforming decision I have ever made. I found a job with a non-profit, working a desk job, still working with students and students with disabilities, but very distantly, and by August, I felt strong again. I appreciated my life again. So Eric and I decided to have a family.
But in the healing depths of my mind, I missed music. I missed teaching every day. I loved going to work at my non-profit organization, screwing around with my boss, going out to lunch every day, being paid a below-mediocre salary to answer phones, scour the internet and generally, focus on my pregnancy.
In reality, I am so thankful I was pregnant nearly the entire year I worked for this non-profit, because it allowed me to focus on that, rather than what I was missing most. I never had weekend commitments. I was able to spend an entire week at home with my family over Christmas. I was able to decorate the nursery on weeknights instead of being so completely exhausted that I could hardly stand upright.
I needed to give myself, and my brain, time to heal from my ordeal. And I did. It was a year of rest and relaxation. There was going to be another year of rest and relaxation with my non-profit job, and my new baby boy, but God had other plans.
Long story short, insurance for my non-profit job was not bad. We only had to pay $250 out of pocket to have James. That's it. A $15 co-pay on prescriptions and doctor appointments. But once we had James, prices sky-rocketed. We looked into private insurance, but that too was going to be astronomical.
Eric and I had a blow-out one night about the cost of this insurance, and he dropped the "if you were still teaching" bomb. Oh no, he didn't. *snap snap snap*
So to spite him, I looked on the internet. I remember a couple years prior, I had mentioned to a friend that maybe I would be good in a smaller school. If the small 2A/3A school just north of us had an opening, maybe I would try for it. And as I scoured the internet that night, I tripped across that opening. There were only 72 hours left before the job closed. I called a few friends, crying as I asked them what they thought. I scrambled the next day to gather references and letters of recommendation. I was still on maternity leave, and with James being so young and sleeping all the time, I was able to scrounge everything together.
And then I got an interview. And then I got the job.
When I said I would take it, I was terrified. I felt ok. But was I really ok? This was the doubt that would creep into my mind daily when I was in the clutches of PTSD. And it was creeping it's way back. Could I really come back from this? Was I truly ready?
I felt ok as I went into the main office to get my keys at the end of July. I felt ok getting my classrooms ready for my students. I felt ok getting my offices together, and picking out music, and rearranging the rooms. Maybe I was ok.
Eric is the most supportive person I have ever met, and I remember on my first day of school he said, "Good luck, you'll be great."
And I was.
That first day of school was exciting because I met my new students. My students had fun in my classes. I joked with them, I got to know a few of them, and here I was, with a smile on my face while walking out of the building that afternoon.
It wasn't the "it's going to be ok" moment I was hoping for. It was the "I am ok" moment I never thought would come. I am ok. I am a survivor, in one of the greatest senses of the word.
Someday, I'll be ready to share, fully, the ordeal that put me where I was two and a half years ago. I have never actually written it down. I have boxes upon boxes, copies upon copies, reminding me of what exactly happened. But I have never written it down beginning to end. There are details that only Eric knows. Part of me is still scared of the other shoe dropping, as it had so many times before. But other parts of me knows that it won't, because it can't. So many things happened, there is nothing more left.
So many days I felt like things were falling apart. But maybe, just maybe, things were actually falling into place...
What? I remember saying something like, "But I've never been in combat."
The psychologist looked at me and said, "Yes, you have. You've been in combat for the last three years."
And then I wept. Finally, there was a name for these feelings. There was a name for my debilitating, jagging crying episodes. There was a name for the out-of-body experiences I kept having. I wasn't losing my mind.
But I was.
After more conversations, more sessions, and more comprehension behind those words, I finally came to grips with the fact that I, indeed, had endured three years of things that someone should never endure.
I am not a soldier. I am not a prisoner of war. I am not supposed to have this disorder.
But I did.
So thus began the long road to where I am today. There were days where I felt like I couldn't even get out of bed. I was tired from not being able to sleep the night before, having had horrible nightmares that kept me up once I was able to finally fall asleep. I leaned on my friends, husband and sometimes family to help me through the toughest days. There were days, a lot of days, where I really felt like I couldn't.
But I can.
And I can say that now. I did overcome this. After many sessions, I was more accurately diagnosed with Acute Stress Disorder, which is a subset of PTSD. Mainly, it's all the same symptoms, with greater emphasis on dissociative states.
I remember describing the dissociative state to the psychologist like I wasn't in control of myself. I knew what was going on around me, and I was responding to those things around me, but it was like the walls were closing in. I would get incredibly dizzy, I couldn't focus on things and God only knows how I was actually able to hold it together in front of those who had absolutely no idea what was happening. I was able to hold conversations, do daily tasks and generally lead a normal life. But while holding those conversations, I could barely hear the person who was talking at me, and I couldn't make eye contact. I would shake, have to grab ahold of something that would keep me upright, and generally, get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My brain was waging war on the world around me as a way to protect itself from the dangers that I had been enduring for the last three years.
A dissociative state happens directly after being stimulated by a dangerous reminder of what I was battling. That dangerous reminder was the classroom. The school. The thing that I had to walk into every. single. day. The thing that I had had such a passion, energy and drive to get into. I wanted to get out.
So I dissociated. Frequently, I couldn't remember exactly what had happened while I was dissociating. I remembered who I had talked to, but I didn't always remember what was talked about. I remembered trying to make my mind focus on what was happening around me, having to concentrate on my breathing, trying to hide the fact that not just my hands, but my body was shaking.
It was like a really bad panic attack. Almost every day. Add in sleepless nights, a diet that consisted of Oreo Cookies and water, and I was on the precipice of a dangerous downward spiral.
It took several months and love and support from my closest friends, family and amazing husband to trip through the realization of what had, and was, happening to me. There were early morning and late night phone calls, several nights where I really wanted to give up, and self-realization that I was truly in one of the darkest places I had ever been.
So I left teaching. Although partway through that last year, I began to get back to myself as a human being, and by March, I saw brief glimmers of my confidence, my sense of humor and most importantly, my happiness. When I walked out of those school doors in June, it was a huge sense of relief. I had no job, I had no idea what I was going to do. I would be paid through August and I didn't have a care in the world until then. I was going to concentrate on me.
That was the most transforming decision I have ever made. I found a job with a non-profit, working a desk job, still working with students and students with disabilities, but very distantly, and by August, I felt strong again. I appreciated my life again. So Eric and I decided to have a family.
But in the healing depths of my mind, I missed music. I missed teaching every day. I loved going to work at my non-profit organization, screwing around with my boss, going out to lunch every day, being paid a below-mediocre salary to answer phones, scour the internet and generally, focus on my pregnancy.
In reality, I am so thankful I was pregnant nearly the entire year I worked for this non-profit, because it allowed me to focus on that, rather than what I was missing most. I never had weekend commitments. I was able to spend an entire week at home with my family over Christmas. I was able to decorate the nursery on weeknights instead of being so completely exhausted that I could hardly stand upright.
I needed to give myself, and my brain, time to heal from my ordeal. And I did. It was a year of rest and relaxation. There was going to be another year of rest and relaxation with my non-profit job, and my new baby boy, but God had other plans.
Long story short, insurance for my non-profit job was not bad. We only had to pay $250 out of pocket to have James. That's it. A $15 co-pay on prescriptions and doctor appointments. But once we had James, prices sky-rocketed. We looked into private insurance, but that too was going to be astronomical.
Eric and I had a blow-out one night about the cost of this insurance, and he dropped the "if you were still teaching" bomb. Oh no, he didn't. *snap snap snap*
So to spite him, I looked on the internet. I remember a couple years prior, I had mentioned to a friend that maybe I would be good in a smaller school. If the small 2A/3A school just north of us had an opening, maybe I would try for it. And as I scoured the internet that night, I tripped across that opening. There were only 72 hours left before the job closed. I called a few friends, crying as I asked them what they thought. I scrambled the next day to gather references and letters of recommendation. I was still on maternity leave, and with James being so young and sleeping all the time, I was able to scrounge everything together.
And then I got an interview. And then I got the job.
When I said I would take it, I was terrified. I felt ok. But was I really ok? This was the doubt that would creep into my mind daily when I was in the clutches of PTSD. And it was creeping it's way back. Could I really come back from this? Was I truly ready?
I felt ok as I went into the main office to get my keys at the end of July. I felt ok getting my classrooms ready for my students. I felt ok getting my offices together, and picking out music, and rearranging the rooms. Maybe I was ok.
Eric is the most supportive person I have ever met, and I remember on my first day of school he said, "Good luck, you'll be great."
And I was.
That first day of school was exciting because I met my new students. My students had fun in my classes. I joked with them, I got to know a few of them, and here I was, with a smile on my face while walking out of the building that afternoon.
It wasn't the "it's going to be ok" moment I was hoping for. It was the "I am ok" moment I never thought would come. I am ok. I am a survivor, in one of the greatest senses of the word.
Someday, I'll be ready to share, fully, the ordeal that put me where I was two and a half years ago. I have never actually written it down. I have boxes upon boxes, copies upon copies, reminding me of what exactly happened. But I have never written it down beginning to end. There are details that only Eric knows. Part of me is still scared of the other shoe dropping, as it had so many times before. But other parts of me knows that it won't, because it can't. So many things happened, there is nothing more left.
So many days I felt like things were falling apart. But maybe, just maybe, things were actually falling into place...
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