Sometimes snacks are necessary

So I drew a card this week-

I interviewed for a first-grade maternity leave on Friday at Shipshewana-Scott Elementary. (One of my college roommates is pregnant with twins and will be taking a leave, at least for the first semester but she says it's "90% sure" that she'll be gone the entire school year.) I couldn't tell how the interview had gone when I walked out of the room. In teaching there are enough different styles and philosophies that one is never sure about what the "right answers" may be. Did I miss any of the "essential academic and social goals of first grade"? Was my "thumbnail sketch of the four-blocks method" adequate? Apparently no and yes- the principal called me back two hours later offering me the job.

I also found a dirt-cheap apartment about a mile from the school, living in the basement of a couple from my church. It's small, simple- partially heated with a wood stove. The country road they live on is beautiful- woods on one side, a lake on the other, perfect for evening walks. I can move in before I leave for Cameroon and start paying rent upon my return.

I do feel less pressure, grateful that I have some structure to come back to when I return from Cameroon, grateful for the way the pieces seem to fit together. Yes, it is somewhat disappointing that the decision feels like choosing a good snack in order to hold me over until I can gather supplies and create a more satisfying, nutrient-giving, hot entree. However, before my hand moves toward the table to return this card and draw again, I know the time for be-laboring the pros and cons is past. Instead the time has come to savor the snack.

The pressure cooker

As it turns out, I'm not such a great decision maker. I'm good at things like waiting tables, writing papers, storytelling, asking other people questions, math problems, baking bread...... I suck at decision making. It's like a table with a deck of cards spread randomly over the top, each card symbolizing a possible option for my future. I pick up a card, examine it thoroughly, talk about it with others, analyze the pros and cons, consider all the variables.... then I realize that there are a lot of unknowns so I put the card back on the table and pick up a new one. This process then gets repeated until I am exhausted and overwhelmed; I get up from the table, only to be met the following day with the same cards, the same picking up and laying back down. Every once in a while I end up pitching a card onto the floor (to be forgotten in theory); however, a week later on my way to sit at the card table, it catches my eye and I feel sad that it got discarded. So yep, you guessed it- the card gets put back up on the table.

The deck of cards and table imagery is relevant because I am trying to make some decisions about the fall- where to work, where to live, where to invest my time and energies, how to settle on a long-term plan. Ideally I would love to have portions of these things decided before going to Africa in a little over 2 weeks-- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, the pressure! (all self-imposed, of course)

Obviously the healthy alternative to this pressure is t0 put all the cards in a hat and ask someone else to randomly draw one out; whatever they draw that's what I will do. Ooo, plus if it doesn't work out perfectly I will have someone else to blame (pressure brings out some of my most charitable thinking).

Field trips

We took a field trip to an animal park this week.




I think it was a successful trip. We played games with the chimpanzee Tarzan who would clap and stomp several times, waiting for students to mimic him. We didn't stumble upon any animals mating, thus also avoiding awkward questions (apparently that happened last year). We fed bread to the emus, goats, rheas and llamas. No one stuck their fingers in the tigers' cage; the tour guide warned that one tiger had already consumed two kids' fingers (only peaking curiosity in one student's mind). "Johnny" managed to have "on-topic" questions; in the classroom he sometimes feels prompted to tell me his mom's name during a math lesson on fractions. Oh yes- no one asked me if I was traveling with the pilgrims. A co-worker recounted a field trip to Chicago where an adult asked her if the Amish children were pilgrims.

The low point for me came today. I gave my students a quiz over the animal park brochure (it's an Indiana state standard to read all different kinds of literature). So the quiz was "open-book"- all they had to do was find the information on the brochure in front of them. In fact, we even read the brochure together first. Nonetheless, here are some of their answers (no joke):

What months is the park open? weekends
How much does it cost for children to enter? yes
On what street is the park located? 1/3 mile

You can see that perhaps a few kids have checked out for the year- 10 1/2 more days!

Commitments and crushes

I decided today that I like my job- the revelation hit me during writing block. Writing block is the time of day where you get a peek into the minds of your students because they end up writing their thoughts down on paper. Mostly this is a fascinating privilege; occasionally it's just a little disconcerting. I also like writing block because it varies from day to day, avoiding the monotonous and routine. For example, today I helped to write Mother's Day acrostics, acting angry and indignant that old could be considered an O-descriptor for their mothers (some of whom are my age). Yesterday I helped a student brainstorm for a narrative he's writing about his newborn sister who died last month during heart surgery. One day this week I read a "fable" about Sponge Bob; another I edited a piece about a terrifying wolf taking over the job of the Easter bunny. I work with students to find "name brand" words (ex. appetizing, untidy, spectacular) to replace the generic ones in their stories (ex. good, messy, nice). I helped Bradly who was "puzzled" about what happened to the sloppy copy of his story from last week; while cleaning out his desk, we found a note written to his mom in January and a pizza certificate from December. I whooped and hollered when students read their published stories in the author's chair. I think it was during the last whoop today that it hit me, I was made to be a teacher.

It may be fortunate that I had just re-affirmed my vows to the classroom because tonight I went to a professional dance contest with my Ecuadorian sister at Notre Dame. There were lights, rhythm, airy dresses, high heels, twirls, whirls, swishes and dips- they made it look effortless and exhilerating. If the classroom and I ever have a big fall-out, maybe I'll become a dancer. For tonight, I'm not going to mar this evening's "crush-from-afar" by actually signing up for dance classes.