Dear Younger Me

I was in the middle of a run the other day and a song came on my playlist that nearly stopped me in my tracks. I'm speaking literally here, I had a good pace going. Now, I listen to a lot of contemporary Christian music because that's just simply what I like. I love songs about redemption like people love songs about booty-shaking, call me crazy but I do. So, the song is called "Dear Younger Me" and even though I've heard it a few times it was different this listen. Different in the this-made-me-cry-I-can't-cry-while-I'm-running way.

The song is pretty much what you'd expect from a Christian band with a title like that. It's telling yourself "Hey, sometimes I wish you hadn't been so stupid"...only nicer. But just a little.

If I had a lot of money or were a betting person, I'd be willing to put some cash on the fact that we all feel like that sometimes. I know I do. There are things in my past that I am definitely not proud of. Some skeletons in my closet that I don't really care to share. It's taken years to get over some of the things that have happened in my past; there are some things that I might not ever get over. You know what, though? I'm okay with that.

The song talks about how if we could tell our younger selves all we've learned so far and tell them, then they'd be one step ahead. I think about that sometimes. Like, if we could go back in time and warn ourselves about things. For example: "On (this day) in 2006 you're probably going to get your heart ripped out, just don't answer the phone, okay?" That's not realistic, however, and that's okay. We can't change things that we've done or that have happened to us; we can only learn and grow from them.

I think that sometimes people have a hard time letting go of the past but, like, it's gone. You can't change it, you can't fix it. Sure, it messed you up, but you are better than that. Get over it.

Not sorry.

Sometimes I tend to be a little harsh in the "get over it" sort of way. I just don't see the sense in dwelling on the past. Unless your past has been really, really horrific, then I'm sorry. 

I wish I could say that everything stupid thing I've done has made me a better person, but I'd be lying. (Sometimes I'm really an ass.) I wish I could say that everything that has happened has provided an opportunity for growth, but that would also be a lie. Sometimes things just happen, you know? I'm not a big believer in "everything happens for a reason". I believe that things happen, we learn from them, and we move on. If we spend time worrying about the reason, then we're going to miss out on everything else! 

Instead I believe in growth and change. In hope and perseverance. I believe in being strong when people don't think you can be. I don't believe our past defines us. 

So, if I got to say something to myself it would be this: 

Thanks. Thanks for being stubborn and stupid. Thanks for making those mistakes, because now I know that I can do better. Thanks for not giving up, because our life is good. Thanks for loving your family, even though they're really crazy. Thanks for finding Jesus, he's helped us a lot. Thanks for being awesome, it's only going to get better. 

Tell yourself something good this week, okay? 

All The Things

Oh, hey. You're still here? Yeah, me too.

It's been a month since my rant about honking at runners and I don't actually have an excuse except that I've been really, really tired. Like, really. I kept thinking I wanted to write a post about how tired I've been but I don't want all those "Hey, at least you don't have kids" and "But you don't have anyone to go home to" comments. I know I don't have a family or anything to come home to (do you seriously think I don't?), but that doesn't mean I don't have a life. Okay, so my life isn't that interesting...but I also don't like to complain, so I've put off this post for a while.

It's not that I'm tired per se, but more like I'm stretched too thin. Honestly, this is my own fault. I like to do things. I need to do things. No, I don't have this sick need for recognition, I just actually like doing stuff for people. (One of my spiritual gifts is Helps - a blessing and a curse, let's be real.)

Sometimes, though...sometimes doing stuff gets tiring.

Most of the stuff I do is for work because I love my job. I love it. There is nothing else I'd rather be doing, which is great because most of my waking hours are actually spent at work. Sometimes I think back to summer vacation and to those moments when I used to get a little stir crazy and wish for something to do. Those are times when I also wish I could kick myself. Sometimes I get the "You need a life" or "You work too much" talk (thanks, Mom), but I don't really mind. I do work a lot. But I love it.

I talk a big talk about being alone, hating everyone and pants, but the time I get to spend with my people helps to alleviate some of work stress. Praise band on Tuesday, life group on Thursday, people in my books on the weekends. The weeks where everything runs together smoothly are like magic. Especially if I get to train in that week since I'm supposed to be running a half-marathon in two months. That's a whole other post entirely. But, of course, the weeks aren't always perfect.

There are days when I feel like I've bit off more than I can chew. Like I really can't do all the things I've committed to and that kind of scares me. It scares me because I want to be able to do all the things. This weekend was the first weekend in over a month when I actually didn't have anything I was committed to. No school functions, no family parties, no races...IT WAS AMAZING. But still, I love doing the things.

Actually me. 

One day I want to be able to do all the things I want and do all the things people think I should do. You know, get married and have kids and get a dog or something. I don't know what the kids are doing these days. 

Anyways, back to doing stuff. I love doing stuff! Sometimes I see my coworkers all freaking out and having bad days and I just want to hug them. I really do because I love you guys and you're all so awesome. Yeah, it's a hard job and we do a lot, but it's the best job. It's not a job you can walk out on and not think about again. Maybe it's just me, but I take it home every night. I take it home mentally, because I'm also thinking about what I can do better, how I can fix something that might not have gone well, how I can try to be better the next day. Sometimes I'm a grump and I want to turn it around. Sometimes nothing goes right so I have to put in a little extra effort to make sure I'm doing my best. 

Sure, sometimes your best is hard. Maybe you don't think things you do deserve your best, but they do. Perhaps the people don't deserve your best, but you should give it to them anyway. Not because they deserve it, but because you do. 

I hope you're doing all the things you want to do. And that you're drinking a lot of coffee while you do it. 

Also me.

Don't Honk at Me

Ugh, I'm annoyed.

I started the first week of September training for a half marathon and so far it's been going okay. I say okay because, ugh, running. I love running, but it's the worst, okay? I also have been working, like, fourteen hour days so it's hard to get my training in sometimes.

Anyways, that's not the point.

The point is that while I'm running, or rather, since I started running, I've had to deal with some things and at this point I'm kind of over it.

I hate when people honk at me while I'm running. There, I've said it. The truth is out. I think it's rude, disrespectful, and to be honest it makes me feel unsafe. I don't live in a super great part of town so any extra attention already freaks me out. Also, I'm fluffy and barely five-feet-tall. I can't take care of myself, and it isn't like I run quickly.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but this has been bothering me for a few weeks. I know that I have had people tell me they saw me or said "hey, I honked at you" and yeah, okay. Maybe it's a little bit of motivation for me and that's cool for you. But for me to be a woman, alone on a busy street, and hear honking, it's a little scary.

Perhaps the strangers that honk also think they are helping me be motivated, or maybe they just feel sorry for the poor, slow girl who looks like she wants to die or is going spastic with some random dance move. (It happens.) It just doesn't really feel that way.

Honestly...it feels like I'm being objectified and it scares me. Last week someone actually cat-called at me while they were driving at 40+ MPH. I mean, really? Really? Is that supposed to be sexy? Am I supposed to be flattered? Because all they got was a very non-Methodist gesture and a dirty look. It isn't sexy, and it isn't flattering. It's rude and disrespectful. I'm a woman and an athlete (lolz) and I feel that we, as women and athletes, should be respected as that. On a run with my sister tonight we were yelled at once and honked at three times in a thirty minute period. We were not amused.

Seriously. This is what I look like after a run. I'm not cute, okay?

You're probably thinking I'm going all feminist on you, and that's okay. Point is, I should be able to do what I want with my body, when I want to, and be able to feel safe doing it. If that means I can run down the street in sensible clothes that show minimal skin without feeling like I'm being ogled, then so be it.

Is that too much to ask?

#respecttherunner

Oh, and don't even get me started on people who don't look before driving through crosswalks!

Happy honking.

If you're a friend who has honked I'm sorry and I love you.

Be Cool

I yelled at my kids last week. Not all of them, just a few. (Okay, I've used my teacher voice a little more than I'd like this year, but that's another post entirely. Or maybe that's just a happy hour conversation to save for later.)

This is my confession. I yelled. I felt bad. I tried to make excuses for my behavior, and then I felt guilty. Maybe they deserved it, but that was really no excuse for my behavior. I mean, I felt really bad. Here's the thing: I had a bad reaction to an already bad situation and I lost my cool.

But I really did. 

I know it's hard to believe, but it happened. If I were using that as a teachable moment I would have said to myself: "You did not seek first to understand, then to be understood, Ashley". Then I would have yelled at myself for being an asshole when I was already feeling bad.

It's been a week and I still think about it and get a little embarrassed because I hate losing my cool. Haaaaaate it. It sounds a little ridiculous, but if I lose my cool it's like they've beaten me. And the thing is, is that they always will if you let them.

Now, I'm not saying this like everyday is a constant battle, even though sometimes it feels like it can be. What I mean is- and I mean this is the most professional way possible- you have to show them that you are the boss.

Losing your cool does not show them you are the boss. It show's them that you have a short temper and they can get to you quickly.

Don't be a spaz, okay? 

I really feel like to key to any well functioning classroom is respect. Not just respect between teacher and students, but also students and other students. Hell, I feel the key to anything working well is respect. Respect, not fear or coercion. I guess the hard part is: how do you earn that respect without being a hardass? How do you do it without being mean and loud? How, how, how?

One thing I like to do is embarrass myself as much as possible. By the end of the first week students know which books I like (Harry Potter), who my favorite superhero is (Captain America), what's my favorite animal (turtles, but I have a cat), and so on. Sometimes we sing and play silly games, or sometimes I sing just to make them laugh. It breaks up the monotony of the day and I think that, by me acting like an idiot, they get to see a different side of me.

Of course, I still have to be tough. I still don't put up with BS. There are consequences for all actions, good and bad. That's something that we are still learning about and understanding here in the fifth week of school.

It's a process, though, and I'm working through it.

Someone mentioned after my last post that they were looking for the positive piece in it. The thing is...sometimes there isn't a positive piece. Sometimes they day is just shitty and you have to move on. Sometimes the next day isn't any better. But maybe, after a few of those bad days, some kid comes up to you and smiles and hugs you...and maybe that's it. Maybe that's your positive. I've learned in my life that not all things happen when and how we want them to. The same goes with teaching. Teaching is a lifestyle, it's a life. It doesn't always go the way you want it to, but sometimes it's pretty sweet. I hope I can remember that the next time my cool threatens to be lost. ;)

Keep on truckin', y'all.

Stand Tall

This week sucked. Like, really sucked. 

The first week back to school after summer vacation is always the hardest in my (most teachers') opinion. Kids have been running willy-nilly for two months and we're expected to just jump right on in and get to teaching. 

Yeah, right.

First, we have to go through the rules. Then, the procedures for basically EVERY MOVEMENT YOU MAKE. After that, we have to go through the rules again because OMG JUST RAISE YOU HAND IF YOU WANT TO TELL ME SOMETHING. 

Oh, I'm shouting. Sorry. See, I'm not a voice-raiser in my classroom. The louder I get, they louder they get and that just doesn't work for me. You know how I know it doesn't work for me? Because that's all I did this week. My students love to talk. I don't even know what they're talking about, and most of the time I don't even think they were talking to each other. Seriously, I'm pretty sure these kids were just making noises to themselves. 

What. Even. 

Anytime I turned around I heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice in my head: "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

Rest in Peace, Moody! 

Basically I spent so much of this week redirecting in a positive manner that what the hell did I even teach? But it's okay. I mean, eventually it will be okay because I really have to remember a few things. 

Number one: They're kids. Kids are impulsive and loud (ugh, and messy). Just because I haven't been around them in two months doesn't mean they haven't changed. This is my eighth year teaching, so I should know better than to think that everything is going to be sunshine and roses the first week. If anything, I should read my own words and think about herding cats because that's all I did this week. 

Number two: They don't know me yet. They don't know my class rules fully or my teaching style or the jokes I have. (I have jokes, okay?) From what I've learned over the years I know that kids are eager to please. I'm looking forward to them getting to know me and for that to (hopefully) make my class more fun for them. 

(Sidenote: While playing a game called "Walk the Line" with my class I gave them a choice between Captain America and Superman and told them to choose wisely. All but one of them did. Yeah, they'll know me soon enough.)

Number three: I don't know them. I can complain until I'm blue in the face about how my kids don't know how things work in my classroom, but if I don't take the time to show an interest in their lives then what am I even here for? I know them academically but I don't know their strengths yet. I know what I've seen in the hallways from previous years and what other teachers have told me, but that doesn't matter. Just like students, all teachers are different, too. I got a "you've got your hands full" comment this week, but in the next 175 days that might change

Number four: It's a good job. As in: it's a job that does good. (Not well.) Kids, man. They're everything. 

So, I'm ready for week two. I'm all stocked up on coffee (Starbucks blonde roast, to be exact) and I'm feelings pretty good. I mean, all my laundry is clean and that's really all I can prepare for. I don't know what's going to happen in my classroom but at least I'll be caffeinated and have on clean pants. 

Godspeed, 

Your Tired Teacher Friend

Summertime Blues

I love my job. See, usually when I start a post out like that it means something important is coming. This might be that post, I'm just not sure yet. School started back officially this week. I say officially because I've technically been at work in my classroom for over a week. I tend to be a bit of an overachiever on some things whereas others seem to fall by the wayside (laundry, dirty dishes, feeding the cat...). My classroom is one of those things I like overachieve on. I'm going to be practically living there with twenty-something little ones for the next ten months so I like to make it fun and pretty. Okay, so my room is all set up and this week is a full week for teachers. Summer is officially (there's that word again) over. It's a little sad, but at the same time I'm kind of excited about the new year. And now I'm going to tell you why. I mean, if you didn't already know that.

A routine. Basically I do nothing all summer. Last summer I spent quite a few hours doing some private tutoring that was pretty much torture, so this summer I decided against all that.

Summer goes like this:
8AM - Maybe get up.
9AM - Probably drink two cups of coffee.
11AM - Should I eat breakfast?
12:30PM - Is it lunchtime?
3PM - Did I just fall asleep for three hours?!
5PM - Maybe shower.
9:00-12AM - Bedtime?

In between I'm usually reading (52 books so far this summer!) or watching television. Or cleaning things out.

During the school year I set an alarm! I shower every day! I eat on a schedule! Trust me, my pants need this. They are rebelling against my waistline.

School supplies. I absolutely love new school supplies. Sure when they come out in July I want to run through the displays and knock them all on the floor, but come August 1st I'm all for them. My wallet is not, just an FYI. No one appreciates the smell of Crayola crayons like a teacher. The way a fresh Expo marker smoothly glides over your whiteboard. Opening a new planner to put everything ever in it. Man, I love school supplies.

I did my own school shopping, too. 

Friends. I work with some pretty cool peeps and I got to see most of them sporadically this summer, but there's just something about seeing those faces every day that really gets me. I feel like it's this idea that everyone is there for the same reason you are that really draws us together. We're there for the kids, not the paycheck or the time off, and it really builds on the workplace camaraderie when you're all working toward the same goal.

Which I guess brings me to my last point. I'd originally wanted to do this at a Top Ten List, but I'm on my third day of training and my second beer (in a Captain America Tervis with a straw, thankyouverymuch), so I'm going to quit while I'm ahead.

Kids. Look, I don't teach because I "love kids". I am an avid learner. I love to read and research and find out new things. I teach because I want to share that love of learning with others. "Others" being children, got it? Also, I'm not being insensitive when I say that. It's just a very strong feeling of mine that people don't go into teaching because they "love kids". That's not to say that I don't love them, because I do. I have a godson and little cousins, as well as friends who have kids that are beautiful reminder of how amazing little people are. They are the inspiration for what I do, if that makes sense. I teach because because I want to inspire. I want to change and shape the future. I want a kid to feel valued when they normally don't. To feel smart even though the struggle. To be a leader when and to gain confidence that will help them in the future. It's not the reason I went into teaching, but I do love those kids. If you've read any of my other posts you know that.

So, I guess I'm ready to go back to school. I'm ready for those fresh, smiling faces. I'm ready for the stress and the long hours and less sleep. I'm ready to work with people I love and do the thing I love. I'm already exhausted and stressed, but I'm feeling empowered and I'm ready. (It's probably the beer, right?)

And besides, I'll always have the weekends, you know?

I 

I hope you're inspired this year. And if it's awesome, share it with me. 

What's Your Story?

When I was halfway through the education program at my school I had a run-in with a professor that almost made me quit entirely. I was in block four (out of five), meaning I was almost at the finish line. At Florida Gulf Coast University during block four you are supposed to be part-time interning and taking a full course of classes. At this point I was working a full-time job, so I was only taking the classes and putting off the internship a semester. The only problem was that I was also taking a class from block two, which was basically and introductory reading course. With this course you were supposed to do a field experience and work with a student on reading strategies. I'd been in a classroom, but didn't really feel welcome or that the classroom teacher was making time for me to work with the student I needed to be with. Also, I was working a full-time job and taking a course load of classes, so it was rough. 

It just so happened that the classroom teacher and my professor were friends. The classroom teacher made it a point to tell the professor how unprofessional I was and that she didn't feel I was taking the project seriously. This resulted in a meeting with myself and the professor which ended with me in tears and seriously thinking about forgetting everything I'd worked so hard for over the last four years. Especially when the statement that haunts me (and by that I mean severely pisses me off) still was "Maybe it's time to think about if teaching is really for you". 

Now, I say that I was seriously considering quitting, but that really only happened for a hot minute. The thing was (is) that I've always known teaching was for me. I didn't need this woman, who knew absolutely nothing about my situation, to tell me it wasn't. But here's the thing: she knew absolutely nothing about me. She didn't know that I worked a full-time job. That I was incredibly socially anxious, especially when put into a classroom of a person I didn't know who didn't even seem to want me there. She didn't know that I was helping take my dad to weekly radiation appointments across the state or that I was dealing with a an on-again off-again idiot boyfriend. Or that I was struggling with horrific management at my job and people who were determined to make life an actual living hell. 

All this woman knew was that her friend thought I was unprofessional. Of course, had she known all of that she probably would have just said "Suck it up, Buttercup", and moved on. 

So here's the thing: we don't all wear our stories on our sleeves/faces/other places. It's not really in everyone's nature to spill your deepest, darkest secrets with strangers. Sometimes it isn't easy to tell these things to our closest friends or family. It is, however, so easy for us to judge someone before we know their story. 

Here's an example: A couple of years ago I had a student in my class who always wanted to be the center of attention. He called out, said inappropriate things, and was always trying to make jokes at the expense of learning. He got quite the reputation. But..the more I found out about this kid, the more I understood his behavior. It didn't make his behavior anymore acceptable, but at least I had a new way of looking at the situation. 

I think there are things in our lives that are unavoidable. I don't believe in the sentiment of "everything happens for a reason", but I believe that whatever happens to us helps us to be who were are supposed to be. What's sad is that even though we all have skeletons in our closets- we all have our unavoidable things- we still judge others based on what's hiding in theirs. Trust me, I'm not judging the judgers, because I'm guilty of it too. It's hard not to think about people's past mistakes and not to judge them based on something that can't be changed or undone. But as the one who has made the mistakes, it's even harder. Moving on is difficult, especially when your skeletons are bountiful. 

Not sorry. 

Judging someone is easy. Being that person who doesn't care is easy. Taking the time to be kind, to listen, to be a friend...that's the hard part. Sometimes people don't want to open up. Sometimes we think that we're too good to be kind to someone who was messed up so badly. You know what, though? You're never too good to be kind. Like, really and truly never too good. If you think that's true then I'm seriously judging you right now. 

Just kidding. 

Mostly.