Yesterday was my dog's annual vet check-up. As you can tell from the photo- she was not thrilled about it. I wasn't thrilled either. I'm not a mom. I know having a baby and having a dog are not the same. BUT... I do relate with those early stage doctor visits. It's impossible to explain to a pup that the shots will hurt for a second, but they're good for her in the long run. I can't explain that she shouldn't freak out about her nails being trimmed, and it will only last a minute. It's hard to see my sweet girl scared and confused, knowing there's nothing I can do to help. Callie is getting older, too, and so her vet visits are getting more expensive. This time, the vet recommended that we schedule a dental procedure. Every time I take her to the vet, I get a little more concerned that something serious will be wrong. My husband and I often marvel at how odd it is that we have this creature living with us. She's a member of our family whom we love and we know loves us, but she doesn't speak any English, and only understands a few words of it... yet somehow seems to understand our needs better than most humans. |
Trips to the vet remind me that our time with Callie is finite, and that as each year passes, we need to continue to love her while she's here, but also prepare ourselves to cope with the loss when she leaves us.
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From the start, I knew something was going to be off this morning. I could feel the impending chaos in my bones as soon as my alarm went off. The day before parent-teacher conferences is usually a little crazy in my reading strategies classes- my students often struggle to complete work on time and study for tests, so interim reports send them into a tailspin. But that's normal chaos... and this felt like something more.
Sure enough, when I arrived at school, I sat down at my computer to get ready for morning announcements and I saw it. A pile of shredded paper under my desk. A trail of hershey kiss wrappers, in smithereens. Tiny pellets of... well, you know. I shrieked. Unfortunately, I shrieked right at the moment when my 8th grade students were arriving to TA (our homeroom). One student stopped in her tracks, "Did you see a rat?" 'No, just... evidence of... a mouse. Sorry for startling you, it's nothing, don't worry. It's not here right now." By the time I finished my sentence, more students had entered and were gathering around my desk to catch a glimpse of the creature, or at least what it had left behind. "You know, Ms. **** stood up on a chair and screamed last week when one crawled across her floor." "Yeah, this place is really infested!" One student said, as she grabbed my clorox wipes and began wiping down her desk. "How did it get here?" One boy asked, looking up from his iPad to check out the action. "Well, I think I left some hershey kisses on my desk yesterday." I admitted. "It's my fault, really. Who can resist chocolate?" "I think that'll kill it anyway." He replied. "If chocolate kills a dog, it'll probably kill a mouse." I don't know if that's how it works, but I couldn't help but hope he was right. "Well, if it's dead, we'll smell it soon." Another student chimed in. On second thought, hopefully it survived the chocolate. A small group of 8th grade girls helped me clear off my desk and wipe it down, trying to keep the heebie-jeebies away for another day. They might not be as prepared for student-led conferences as some of their peers, but I'll be there to vouch for them- "They were spending too much time practicing the IB learner profile trait, caring." I'll say. Of course, by 4th period, the rumor had blown up. "Ms. Bennett! I heard you have rats in your room!" One student exclaimed, her curly pigtails bouncing as she entered my room. "If that's true, I'm out!" "No, you're not out, and neither am I. If I have to work among mice, we all do!" We sat down and got to work, trying not to hear scratching inside the walls. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever feel like an actual grown-up person. I remember being 17 and thinking ahead to my life at 30. 30 seemed so old. So mature. So wise. Now here I sit at age 31 still wondering when that magical feeling of being an adult will hit me.
Sometimes I think I enjoy teaching middle school so much because I still feel like a middle schooler on the inside. I can be disorganized. I sometimes feel like I'm juggling a ton of plates that might also be on fire, and I never know when one or all of them might fall. Sometimes I do a good job holding it together. Kind of like when a friend says they're coming over only 5 minutes before they show up (maybe this is another non-adult thing I do) and to create the illusion of cleanliness, all the clutter gets shoved into closets, baskets, under beds, etc. If you can't see the clutter, then it isn't there. Right, Konmari? (Just kidding, she'd have a heart attack if she walked into my house.) Sometimes I can go a full day or even a week without feeling lost, overwhelmed, or like I made any poor life choices. But then something creeps in... like having a trader-joes ice cream sandwich and a glass of wine for dinner because I don't feel like cooking. Forgetting to re-order my dog's heartworm pills and making her go 2 or 3 days after the recommended application date before she's properly medicated. Not understanding retirement accounts at all- 403B? 401K? Who knows! Laughing when a 7th grader makes a fart noise. Letting my laundry baskets pile up to an unreasonable degree... you get the idea. Sometimes I wonder if every adult actually feels this way and everyone else is just concealing these thoughts and habits too. I guess I may never know the truth. But if you're a little like me, a middle schooler in a 31 year old body, then hopefully this slice makes you feel a little better. Tuesdays really tire me out.
I don’t know why, but I find them even more exhausting than Mondays. At least Monday is a new beginning... Tuesday is just an uphill climb. Almost halfway. I start my weeks strong, usually. Ready to take on anything. Then Tuesday is a reality check. I don’t feel like cooking, cleaning, reading, writing, working out... I just want to take a nap. My Tuesday slice is small and tired, just like how I feel after a long day. Tomorrow will be better. For now, I’ll just let myself space out and be lazy. A documentary, a glass of wine, and the promise of a night’s sleep. I teach middle school reading strategies.
This means I teach middle school students for whom reading is difficult. The level of difficulty varies wildly between my classes and also between individual students within my classes. But most of my students wouldn't rate reading as a preferred activity. Truly, who likes to do something that is really hard? It doesn't feel good to not be successful. A lot of what I try to do in my class is get students excited about reading. Doing hard things is good for your brain! It helps you grow! Books are windows! Books are an escape! Etc etc etc. Since Friday was a "snow" day, our school's Booktopia Read Across America Day celebration got pushed to tomorrow. I decided to celebrate Read Across America day in my classes today with a longer-than-usual read aloud time. I'm currently reading Dear Martin by Nic Stone out loud to my 8th grade class. It gets a little awkward at times because it has a lot of edgy YA content, along with tough issues about race and police brutality, but the tough moments are worth the payoff- it's one of several books I've read with this group of 8th graders that has them hooked. This morning, however, when I said I was going to celebrate Read Across America Day by reading aloud for longer than usual, my students groaned. "WHAT?! You guys have been loving this book! What's going on?" They were silent. One brave soul spoke up, "Well, Mrs. B, it's just that... I was hoping to have some time to read Odd One Out." "Yeah, and I'm just getting to a good part in My Family Divided..." another student chimed in. I tried not to let myself look too excited. "So you mean, you want to celebrate Read Across America Day with a longer-than-usual SILENT INDEPENDENT READING TIME?!" "Yeah!" They cheered. Teaching struggling readers can be emotionally draining, but this morning's cheer for time to read... that felt like a big win. Happy Read Across America Day! It doesn’t happen often. But about once every winter, I am overcome with a strange and compelling urge- the urge to start a puzzle.
Once I start a puzzle, a chain of events is set into place. First, finding all the edge pieces, then sorting pieces into like colors and patterns, then putting together chunks of puzzle until the pieces I have sorted out are gone. My family used to get out puzzles on snow days or boring winter weekends stuck inside. I guess my husband never had this experience, because when I had the idea to do a puzzle yesterday, he was indifferent. “I want to get a really hard one! Will you do it with me?” I asked him, excitedly. He shrugged. We walked to the toy store in Shirlington (a local business we love to patronize), and I should have been alarmed when my husband thought a 500 piece puzzle would be hard enough. “Are you kidding?!” I exclaimed. “No less than 1000 will do.” Puzzle in tow, we came home and I began the process. “Help me sort!” He looked at me like I was crazy. He turned on a movie and left me to puzzle alone. He feigned interest, half-heartedly putting together a few pieces, but I could tell he wasn’t into it. Now I’m left with a puzzle about 1/4 finished. I could do more productive things today... but I feel like I have to finish it- with or without any help. This morning, I had to get out of the house. It’s the part of winter where I am ready for spring, and antsy almost daily. Normally I am content to sit home and read, but today I decided to visit a coffee shop for a solo brunch and reading session.
I got to Junction Bakery in Del Ray and was thrilled to find a seat at the bar. The place is often crowded because it’s adorable, instagrammable, and the food is delicious. I ordered my caprese toast and latte and sat down to read (for no more than 45 minutes as per the store policy, of course). No sooner had I opened my book than a couple sat down next to me. I tried hard to focus on only Bryan Stevenson’s words and the square foot of bar space in front of me, but I couldn’t help it. I knew there was a break-up happening less than a foot from where I was supposed to be enjoying a peaceful solo brunch. Junction was clearly the neutral territory they had chosen for a hard talk, and fate placed me in the involuntary eavesdropping zone. Should I have moved? Well, I would have, but the restaurant was pretty darn crowded at brunch time on a Saturday, and frankly, I was there first. Was it rude to overhear pieces of what sounded like a very dramatic and rocky relationship being post-mortemed? I couldn’t help picking up some details. I read the same paragraph of Just Mercy over and over again, trying to block them out, but also subtly choosing a side in the breakup. I became invested, and despite my best efforts to ignore the conversation, I decided who was truly at fault and began to silently root for the other party. After a few minutes, I decided to finish my food quickly and leave. I didn’t mean to overhear this private moment, but when you have an intimate conversation in a public, close quarters location, aren’t you kind of inviting others into it? Where’s the line between being creepy and finding yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time? I took my bookstagram photo and moved on. I never looked up from my book to see the strangers arguing next to me, so I wouldn’t even recognize them if I happened to cross their paths another day... but I hope they’re both okay. I didn’t sleep much last night. Recently, I’ve been extremely sensitive to any noise, and I’m not sure why. I used to be able to sleep through just about anything... but much to my tired teacher’s dismay, the sound of little ice pellets tapping my windowsills at 1 am was enough to wake me up last night. Once I am awake, getting back to sleep is no easy feat.
The vicious cycle begins. “If you don’t go back to sleep now, tomorrow is going to be horrible! Sleep! Sleep! Sleep, dammit!” My mind tries to force itself to shut down, and in doing so, awakens even more. I was not optimistic about a 2-hour delay being changed to a closure. I knew that I’d be zombie-walking through a shortened day, often a more-chaotic-than-usual-even-for-middle-school day. I turned the volume up on my ambient noise app and closed my eyes, listening to waves hitting an imaginary shore, drowning out the sleet outside my window. At 7, my alarm went off, only an hour later than usual because on a delay day, I like to drink my coffee warm and in bed instead of cold in my classroom, and I picked up my phone. Then, I saw it. The email declaring my school district closed. I looked out the window expecting a worse than expected weather event, but nothing. My school district’s facebook page is blowing up with angry parent comments, but I’m grateful for a day to recharge, mistake or not. |
AuthorI'm Katlyn Bennett- a middle school reading specialist, and bibliophile. Archives
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