If you're like any 30-something mother, you go to Target on a weekly basis. I take James there every Saturday morning for something. Today, it was to look at Cozy Coupes (you know you're a mom when...) and pick up some baby sunscreen, since I couldn't seem to find the other one I had bought not too long ago. This was after I went to Target yesterday, to pick up some wipes, deoderant and a card for the wedding we went to today.
If you're like any 20-something college graduate, in your first job, you go to Target on a weekly basis. You need this kind of make-up, and maybe a cute, cheap skirt to wear to school the next day because you're sick of your own closet. You go there to pick up tanning lotion, tank tops, pantyhose, new sunglasses, some jewelry.
Target has everything. So that's where I shop. It doesn't draw the Wal-Mart crowd, they carry clothes that keep up relatively well, and it has everything a child could want in their toy aisles. They have good deals, and with coupons, even better deals. I can buy food, something to cook the food in, and something cute to wear while cooking said food... if I want. Which I usually do.
One day, I went into Target, and she was there. Working the register. I thought it funny, considering that when I was a high school student, Target was my first job too. I mentioned that to her as I checked out, while she scanned my things and put them into my plastic sacks.
But as things got weird, and she apparently worked more hours there, I tried to avoid her line. At one point, while standing in line behind four other people, a lead cashier pointed me toward her line. "It looks like she doesn't have as many people in her line, if you'd like to jump over there."
"No thanks, I can wait."
And that's how it usually went.
At some point, I started walking into Target and if I would see her working the registers, I would turn around and walk out. I didn't want to take the chance of 'something' happening. It wasn't worth the $10 bottle of foundation that I needed when I could just run across the street and buy it at Wal-Mart. It wasn't worth the feelings of incredible anxiety. 'Incredible anxiety' being an understatement.
One day, I walked in and she wasn't working. In fact, it was summer, very early in the day, and there was only one register open. And that check-out lane was being manned by one of her friends.
This same friend of hers had, a few months prior, asked to talk to me in the hallway after class. So standing in the hallway, I let this student berate me, telling me that I needed to stop being so negative to the class, and that he didn't appreciate it. I needed to be more positive. I needed to come into class with a big fucking smile on my face. Two months after my dad died. Two months of agonizing hell I was going through, all while trying to plaster a big ole' smile on my face when I walked into my classes.
Then he said to me, "We know what you're going through. We've all lost someone Mrs. Engels." Did I mentioned my dad had just died?
If anyone has ever described to you what the stages of grief are like, they cannot do it justice. Any description they give is a gross understatement of what it's like. When you experience it, you don't go through the typical stages as described by health professionals who have spent thousands of dollars studying it. Grief is not something that happens to you. Grief becomes you.
And I sat there, and took his verbal beating. A beating that I later found out was on behalf of his "friend." The one girl who was making my life hell.
The only response I could muster was, "No. You have no idea what it's like." And I walked off so they couldn't see me cry. And minutes later, had to splash water on my face, suck it up in my office, and walk into another choir and teach them for another 50 minutes. With a big ole' smile on my face.
A few days later, this friend and this girl wanted to have a meeting with me and an administrator in regard to my response to their "talk" they had with me in the hallway.
When brought to light what really happened during that conversation, my administrator simply said, "That was unacceptable, and that's kicking someone while they're down." He then promptly ended the meeting, and following the students leaving, I told him we needed to get this girl out of my classroom. He agreed.
Long story short, it was agreed upon, by the administration, that this girl would not be in my top ensemble the following year. In fact, she was not going to be in the Vocal Music Department at all. And since I was to not put her name on the "list" for the top ensemble, they would be contacting her to tell her and her parents themselves.
Only they never told this girl. They never told her parents. I remember going into my administrator's office and asking him if he had contacted the parents. He said yes. He said yes. They didn't have the common decency to call the parents and tell them that this girl had been harassing me beyond measure, therefore she did not have the right to be in my classroom anymore.
So when I put the list up, and her name wasn't there, the administration had put a target on my back. And the parents took aim.
A few days later, this friend of this girl came rushing into my office. My heart started beating faster, my palms got sweaty, and I had no idea what was about to happen. He was crying, wanting to talk. I kept my office door open as he spilled apology after apology regarding everything that had happened. I was his favorite teacher, he said. He was sorry, he said. He wanted me to know that I had changed his life is so many ways, he said.
He was sorry, he said.
So that day, in Target, when this friend was working, I felt safe going through his check-out lane. I asked him what he was doing that summer. He was quitting Target to work at Wells Fargo, he said. I asked him how his summer was treating him. He was having a lot of fun, he said.
He was sorry, he said.
On July 22, 2009, I got a phone call from my administrator, asking me to come in to school and talk to him. This administrator stated the parents of this girl had come forward and complained that I had gone through her friend's lane at Target, and had spoken badly about this girl (not true). I had said some "pretty horrible" things (not true). Some things about this girl not being in the top ensemble (not true). Because I had decided not to put her in the top ensemble (not true). Because she was gay (NOT TRUE).
Anger becomes you.
And I became a different teacher after that day. I felt like I could not trust anything students said. I didn't know what students were her friends and therefore, on her side, and what students could see through the bullshit. I didn't know who I could trust. Not necessarily in what I said, but what I did. All of a sudden, all of my movements were being scrutinized, and I had no idea by whom.
It was a slippery slope that left me devastated, paranoid, and a different human being. I didn't walk into Target for two years after that. Even after I left Southeast Polk, where I knew she would not be able to do anything more. Even after I knew she had graduated, and I knew she could do nothing more. She was still tormenting me, in my own head.
All of a sudden, she was everywhere. She was in my mouth, putting words there that I had never said. She was in my head, making me think twice about everything I did. She was in my sight, always thinking she was lurking somewhere. And then, when it had been a few months and she hadn't truly been in my sight for awhile, she was there in real life. Hy-Vee, in the card aisle. Driving alongside me on the road.
Walking into Target now, I still do a double-take. It's better than it was for a long time, and I know that if I were ever to come into brief, passing contact with her, I would be safe. I have hundreds of pages of documentation, rulings in my favor, blatant lies she told that were proven false. I was victorious, after all.
And that is an understatement.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Memories and Feelings
I'm a little late in this post, but what's a couple of days? It's already been a year!
As the year birthday approached, I kept thinking of everything I was doing that day a year ago. The Thursday before you came, I was having horrible cramps, so inconsistent, but trying everything I could to make them continue! I remember cleaning the windowsills, washing the floors in the kitchen. Waiting. The waiting was the worst part.
The day of your birthday, I kept looking at the clock. "At this time a year ago, I was..." It was bittersweet to relive those feelings, but awesome all the same.
It was my seniors' last day of school today, and as I walked by the gym, they were setting up for graduation. All of a sudden, I was back at my own high school graduation, not necessarily remembering the actual graduation, but the feeling of about to jump off into the unknown. I remember thinking to myself, as the doors to the gym opened and the graduation song started, "Oh. My. God. I'm graduating."
Those same butterflies were felt when the doors to the church opened and I thought, "Oh. My. God. I'm getting married." Those same butterflies were felt when the nurse said to me, "We've got a room for you! Looks like you're going to have a baby today!"
I can't explain how incredibly exciting it is to now be able to have those same feelings that I've so intermittently in my life, every day. Every day is a new adventure with you. It's a feeling that washes over me, like it did when I graduated high school, got married, and eventually had you. It's a feeling that keeps me incredibly happy and grounded.
I no longer have to worry about what my sole purpose in life is. Because that sensation that washes over me assures me that although there is no definitive answer, it has something to do with my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby boy, who stole my heart.
I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life. I was afraid to be a mom. I remember telling Eric once that I am a selfish person and it was going to be hard for me to give up my shopping trips with the bestie, my lunch dates, my dinner dates, the $8 glasses of wine, all so I could sit on the couch and be a mom.
What I thought would be lonely Friday nights with nothing to do have turned into relaxing Friday nights, planning what I am going to do with you the next day to make you see the world in a special way. To help you become a good person, understand others, make sure you are a productive member of society. What new things can I teach you this week/weekend? How can I get that look of amazement in your eyes again? And then, in the midst of all that, on my lonely Friday nights, I always turn on the video monitor to stare at your incredibly peaceful face.
I cannot imagine life without your smile. I cannot imagine a day without your giggles. I can't think of life before you. I feel like I have a direction. I have a path to walk. I won't be walking to Pomp and Circumstance, or wedding music of any sort. I'm walking with you. And you're all I need.
I love you, little man.
As the year birthday approached, I kept thinking of everything I was doing that day a year ago. The Thursday before you came, I was having horrible cramps, so inconsistent, but trying everything I could to make them continue! I remember cleaning the windowsills, washing the floors in the kitchen. Waiting. The waiting was the worst part.
The day of your birthday, I kept looking at the clock. "At this time a year ago, I was..." It was bittersweet to relive those feelings, but awesome all the same.
It was my seniors' last day of school today, and as I walked by the gym, they were setting up for graduation. All of a sudden, I was back at my own high school graduation, not necessarily remembering the actual graduation, but the feeling of about to jump off into the unknown. I remember thinking to myself, as the doors to the gym opened and the graduation song started, "Oh. My. God. I'm graduating."
Those same butterflies were felt when the doors to the church opened and I thought, "Oh. My. God. I'm getting married." Those same butterflies were felt when the nurse said to me, "We've got a room for you! Looks like you're going to have a baby today!"
I can't explain how incredibly exciting it is to now be able to have those same feelings that I've so intermittently in my life, every day. Every day is a new adventure with you. It's a feeling that washes over me, like it did when I graduated high school, got married, and eventually had you. It's a feeling that keeps me incredibly happy and grounded.
I no longer have to worry about what my sole purpose in life is. Because that sensation that washes over me assures me that although there is no definitive answer, it has something to do with my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby boy, who stole my heart.
I love you more than I have loved anything in my entire life. I was afraid to be a mom. I remember telling Eric once that I am a selfish person and it was going to be hard for me to give up my shopping trips with the bestie, my lunch dates, my dinner dates, the $8 glasses of wine, all so I could sit on the couch and be a mom.
What I thought would be lonely Friday nights with nothing to do have turned into relaxing Friday nights, planning what I am going to do with you the next day to make you see the world in a special way. To help you become a good person, understand others, make sure you are a productive member of society. What new things can I teach you this week/weekend? How can I get that look of amazement in your eyes again? And then, in the midst of all that, on my lonely Friday nights, I always turn on the video monitor to stare at your incredibly peaceful face.
I cannot imagine life without your smile. I cannot imagine a day without your giggles. I can't think of life before you. I feel like I have a direction. I have a path to walk. I won't be walking to Pomp and Circumstance, or wedding music of any sort. I'm walking with you. And you're all I need.
I love you, little man.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
April 2010
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.
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.
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.
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