Cue The Circus Music

Well, it's time. It's time for me to face the fact that I am indeed stuck for another year in a career I despise more than anything in the world. If you have children, you probably know exactly what I'm talking about, because you've been saving up money for a few months to pay for this major event: Back to School.

I'm not going to get into all the reasons I hate teaching, or everything that's wrong with kids today. There are two main problems, and that's it.

1. A lack of parenting, values, and integrity. Character and self-respect not being taught at home. Apathy on the part of the families. Parents too lazy/tired to do the right thing, because the right thing is hard work.
2. The educational system in this country and this state. If kids can't meet these standards, that's okay...we'll just lower the standards. Can you reach them now? Good. Because your district's yearly allowance is based on how many kids attend class each day, standardized test scores, and retention rates. Nevermind that passing kids who don't deserve to pass is NOT doing them any favors.
   

My administration has no backbone. Regardless of what they personally believe, they've basically become mouthpieces of ignorance; yesmen of the district overlords. To Hell with what's right, what's best for the kids...what's best for our school and its bank account? I wonder how many of my superiors used to have ideals and standards and stick with them in their own classrooms. I wonder how many of them didn't just pass a kid to help out the numbers, but helped the kid that legitimately failed because they needed to learn the material one way or the other.

I hope they're happy. At the end of the last year, I sold my soul. They got what they want. They beat it out of me. I graduated from a Christian university. I made a promise to God, my grandmother, my professors, and myself that I would never take the easy way out, that I would raise the bar for expectations both with academics and behavior, and that I would do what it took to be involved in my kids' lives so that we could have fun as a classroom family and learn at the same time. I was going to demand personal responsibility, be firm yet fair, and be consistent regardless of the kid.

All of that was pounded out of me by the multiple conferences, walkthroughs, surprise visits, threats, and requests for grade changes. These came from coaches, as well as assistant and head principals. They made my life miserable because I would not lower my standards. I adhered to my guidelines and, honestly, THEIR policies, but my failure rate was still high. My kids severely lacked in two areas: attendance and turning things in. Zeroes were the main cause of failures. I was instructed, in some cases, to allow students to make up those assignments 8 months after the fact. That's practically the whole school year! And, if they still didn't pass, I was supposed to give them a 70 because of their 'effort' for coming in during lunch and after school to make this stuff up.

They hounded me about this shit for so long that I finally had to give up. They were calling me into the office probably 3 times a week to discuss one kid or another. Sometimes, they'd even interrupt my classes and send someone in to cover them while they bitched me out for not bending my rules for some kids (athletes*cough*athletes) and...it was just surreal. I was so stressed out that I was physically sick with headaches and stomachaches and I couldn't sleep at night because I was being bullies by administration. And, trust me, I may be cute, but when there's an angry coach waiting for you at your door in the mornings, it'll make you wonder if physical violence really does happen between coworkers.

Here's another point I must make: I had 143 students take the standardized test. Only 3 failed. Two of those were receiving special services for dyslexia and uncategorized learning disabilities, and the other just really doesn't know English well enough. If I wasn't doing my job, I wouldn't have had a success rate like that. Mine was the highest in the school, thank you very much. Do you think even one administrator took that into consideration? Of course not. Because the bottom line was about our failure rates.

Teachers are given so many conflicting messages by our administration. A principal tells the teachers to be polite to the students and parents, yet the principal is rude to the staff all the time. Our trainers tell us we need to build relationships to get into the kids' good graces (which I happen to believe, btw) so they feel safe and secure and want to learn in your class. They say it takes 5 minutes at the beginning of class to set the tone of a family-like setting. Our administrators insist on bell-to-bell instruction and want to see teaching 100% of the time. We're told to remember that the kids are humans and need us to care, yet we're bombarded with "all of this content we just have to cover before" a certain day, and it's never enough time. How can I be a holistic teacher when I'm not allowed to foster that environment?

Even in Teacher School (heh), we learned about how letting kids write in a journal for 5 minutes a day and sharing for another 5 will build relationships, create a safe climate, and break down emotional walls and allow for lots of learning. So I did. For a few years, that's what I did. Then my supervisor came in and observed my little "write-n-rap session," as I affectionately called them. My kids were engaged, interested, participating, and I'd even tied it into the lesson. I skillfully moderated a short class discussion, and we moved on to the lesson. I was thrilled she'd gotten to see me in action!

Until I read her report.

She was full of criticism, telling me that we didn't cover enough content in the class period, that I allowed for too much discussion, and that the writing they were doing was pointless if they never "revisited" that material to revise, recycle, or reflect. She told me (and all the others doing journals at the time) that we were to scrap the journals and get down to "meaningful teaching."

What in the world is more meaningful to an "at-risk," "economically disadvantaged" student? Learning how to narrow down 4 test questions like they do on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, or having an adult treat them like they're valued? To have an adult actually LISTEN to them and CARE about their opinions? And it's only 10 minutes out of a 72-minute class period!

When I told the kids that there would be no more journals or rap sessions, they were mad. With me, at first. But I eventually did just blame it on the administration. I couldn't bear to think that my kids thought I had lost interest or didn't care anymore. They never did get over that anger and feeling as if I'd abandoned them in some way.

Since I've had to stop doing that, my school years have been horrible. I have not been able to build those meaningful relationships and get to know my kids. As a result, we butt heads, they act out, they don't care about me at all, they don't care about each other, and they don't want to participate or do group work, except with their friends.

So here we go again. School starts Monday, and I'm already considering doubling up on my new Wellbutrin prescription dosage. I know I should probably go to an AA meeting - hell, I NEED a shrink - but I'm going to try to power on through it. At least let me get through the first week with kids, right? I haven't even STARTED yet!

There have been a lot of changes to our school over the summer. I've been trying to look at every single one of them as a positive, and I'm hoping I won't be proven wrong. I think it's going to be chaos this entire year because of the changes, but we'll see.

Protection

I am now fully protected. Or, at least that's what my ADT installer said before he left. So, yay for protection.

My stress level increased threefold after becoming a homeowner. I'm sure there were several contributing factors for that like, oh, my husband being addicted to cocaine and alcohol and the fact that my bank account seemed to have a leak in it somewhere. But what I found is that as soon as you own a home, all you do is worry about that home when you're not at home. My home is located in an extremely good neighborhood. We have little to no crime, and no violent crimes. If I call our city police, someone is at my house in less than 3 minutes. Those're the perks of living in a town smaller than most shopping malls.

I have always had a massive amount of firepower within reach since the first time I moved out. The first piece of home protection I had was a 12-gauge Remington pump shotgun. It was a really bad idea to leave it out when I wasn't home. I lived in a terrible neighborhood and the last thing I wanted to do was arm the criminal that broke into my apartment while I wasn't home. I was lucky to get out of there before anything major happened. Unless you consider getting shot at on Thanksgiving while carrying a huge platter of deviled eggs 'major.' Because that did happen, and it sucked. And I was gone before Christmas.

I keep a Kimber .45 by my bed and there's a little 410 Snakecharmer in another part of the house. I have 2 gun safes that are smashed full of guns and that's where the other two go when I leave the house. If anybody breaks in my home while I'm there, I will not become a victim. Not only do I have the right equipment, but I have a lifetime of firearms training under my belt. I am not going to miss.

Many people keep dogs for security. I feel like it's wrong to train a dog for protection, because criminals in the 'big city' carry weapons that will easily dispatch your family pet/protector if they try to attack. I have 3 dogs: a 15 year old, 7 pound terrier that sleeps so hard you can shake her and she won't wake; an 11 year old Australian Shepherd who had laryngeal surgery and doesn't have a voice anymore but still gets on high alert when she hears something outside; a 3-year old double-merle Australian Shepherd who is as deaf as a stone but has a bark that can scare the shit out of just about anyone. If the two Aussies could work together, they'd be one complete burgler-foiling machine. But these dogs aren't meant to be protection, they're meant to be pets. That's why they live in the house and get better health care than I do. I pray that if anyone ever does happen to break into this house while I'm gone, the dogs will run and hide and save themselves from any potential harm.

Of course, the deaf Aussie has bitten my cousin's boyfriend's peter - through his jeans - and almost caused an ER visit, and also attacked the satellite installer, who had left his cordless drill behind and came back unannounced to retrieve it. Oops. But I still hope he runs with the other two.

The main thing about the guns, however, is that they're ineffective if you're not home. So I had the ADT people come out and give me an estimate. A few days later, my home phone quit working. I had to call AT&T to come out to repair it and said that someone had crossed the wires inside the box mounted on the side of the house. Like, it was intentional or something. I keep big padlocks on all 3 gates into my backyard so, short of jumping the fence, no one can get in. I thought the little snippy-snippy was a little strange, so when they came to install the alarm, I made sure they used the cellular uplink dealie just in case I get a smart thief who cuts the outside phone lines.

The hardest part about this whole situation is trying to come up with a 4-digit master code memorable enough for 2 people with horrible memories to remember it. We have to have a master code, and then I already programmed in 3 user codes: mine, The Boy's, and my parents'. But I just can't figure out 4 digits meaningful enough to us that we can remember it. Gah.

I have this horrible fear that I'm going to forget to set the alarm. I've lived so many years without one and I leave for work so exhausted in the mornings...Or that someone who has had an ADT system installed will break in and use the factory default master code, on the off-chance that I am too forgetful to come up with a different master code, which is my current dilemma! Does anybody else get Alarm Anxiety? If it's not a real thing, it should be.

Now...I just need to figure out how to get this stupid thing to quit chiming every fricking time I open the door to let my geriatric dogs outside!

Is This a Joke?

I'm waiting for that one punch to just take me down. I've been teetering on the edge of sobriety for several weeks now, trying to plot some way to go out and get drunk and yet still make it home in time to shower and sober up before The Boy gets home. Then, they put him back on the day shift, so that sort of helped keep me from making stupid decisions. But he was still working 12-hour shifts for 7 days a week, so I was alone more often than not.

I had to go away for 5 days. For as many summers as I can remember, I've been a camp counselor. As an adult, I've shifted into being a group leader, but all that really means is that I try to break up all the hi jinks the counselors enable. It's a specialized camp - not just a fun-in-the-sun kind of camp - and so the schedule is a bit more rigorous than your leisure kind. I don't mind the hours; I truly believe in the camp program and we always have fun.

The problem came in right around Day 2, when I took a break to call The Boy. He was panicky and nervous and very angry. Apparently, the dogs don't do too well when I'm gone for too many nights. I didn't know that. The last time I left, they were just fine. It seemed to me that The Boy contributed greatly to the canine unrest because he just couldn't stick to the routines we've had in place for years. The dogs were freaked out because of the break in schedule, and made The Boy's life a living hell. But being 5 hours away doesn't give me much pull, and talking to the dogs over the phone didn't seem to help.

The last day of camp was excruciating. The kids were keyed up that night, so I got 3 hours of sleep. We had a formal awards ceremony where all the parents attended this banquet, and I had to meet with each set of parents...it was exhausting. Typically, the staff and counselors and everyone stays that final night after the kids are gone. We clean up camp, tidy up, maybe a few people get shitty drunk and we play cards, and then we all wake up at 8 and leave to go home on that Sunday.

The Boy wasn't having any of it. When I talked to him on Saturday after the ceremony, he was almost in tears. He was begging me to come home. I explained that it was too dangerous; I hadn't had enough sleep and I wouldn't be getting on the road until about 9pm, which would put me at home at 1:30 or so, if I didn't wreck and kill myself. He continued to beg. So, against my better judgment and the protests of all the staff, I took off Saturday night to go home and fix all the unnecessary BS that had been occurring in my absence.

Everything seemed to be fine until the middle of Sunday. The Boy had decided to go to work anyway, and I went off with my Dad to do some stuff. Then The Boy called, screaming and crying, telling me he was moving out, that he just couldn't take it any more.

Needless to say, I was confused, befuddled, and slightly annoyed. How dare he completely mismanage a household of ONLY 3 dogs for 5 days and 4 nights, and then make it sound like it was all my fault and freak the fuck out and walk out on me!

It didn't take a genius to figure out he was having a nervous breakdown.

When he finally decided to talk to me - only in the presence of my parents, if you believe that one - he threw a lot of accusations at me. Mostly about my irresponsibility and depression. I will totally take ownership of the depression, but I've been holding the home together for months while he abandoned me for voluntary work hours, so that thing about irresponsibility isn't even remotely true - I've been doing everything by myself. He put a lot of the blame on me, and requested some pretty unreasonable things in order for him to stay around.

I didn't give in to him, though. He was being unreasonable, I told him so, and I told him that if he didn't feel like I was being fair, he was more than welcome to walk out. But he didn't.

There was no way I could resist from mentioning the long list of things he said he was going to do help his wellbeing. He was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety and depression. He was taking a medication that was ineffective and causing nasty side effects. He simply wouldn't ask his doctor for new meds. He refused to get counseling or even attend a support group, even though he told me he would. There were many gross inactions on his part that led up to his breakdown and, in turn, caused my parents and me ridiculous amounts of stress and heartache.

Things have gotten better in a little less than this week's time. His medication change has begun to take effect and he's pleasant, calm, and reasonable. His libido has returned and I have actually had sex twice. Yes, with HIM! He's helped me around the house as much as he can between work and the AA meetings he's decided he must attend. He agreed to cut down to 10-hour days and 6-day work weeks. He's willing to give me one whole day - just us and the dogs - and I guess I'm happy with that.

I can't say what the future holds. I am assuming that he's got this under control. He promises me that after he gets this one credit card paid off, he will begin attending regular counseling sessions. If so, then I guess things will stay fairly manageable. His biggest thing is that he needs some serious stress management skills and he needs to quit trying to do it all. The Marines made him believe he's a machine. Machines are almost flawless. Machines never quit. Machines can do all things to perfection, every time, and have no problems. (of course, we know even machines need maintenance and do break down on occasion, but try convincing The Boy of that...) I think once he realizes that he simply cannot do it all, he'll be fine.

For awhile, there, I was beginning to think that my life was just one big joke. The Universe was throwing all these horrible things at me, laughing about it, watching me and my failed attempts at management. I felt like I couldn't catch a break. For me, that's where the desire to get drunk and high was coming from. Has it disappeared completely? Nope. But I'm still working on that part.

I never really expected my blog title to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.