on making new friends.

When you’re a kid, riding bikes and sharing Skittles makes friend-making easy.  

Growing older, I realize how my various friends reflect so much of who I’ve become.  There’s my homegirls, sisters till the end, the ride or die crew that would cover up a murder in the name of loyalty.  Homegirls don’t need to keep in touch on the regular...they are simply in touch.

Then there’s the college crew, the post-college posse and soon after, the career comrades.   

Hopping from city to city for most of my twenties opened doors to some lifelong friendships but also offered short-term ones that provided the strength, trust and all-out silliness I needed, we all needed, especially in the teacher trenches or celebratory triumphs.  

Tearful goodbyes evolved into, “Until next time…” and whether or not we crossed paths again, we knew that the things we’d miss most about each other would live on...somehow.  Maybe even through our future students.  

Spending most of my career in the charter world, I’m no stranger to teacher turnover.  Every once in awhile though, you encounter a core-shaking friend that just gets you, who embraces your moments of hopeful cynicism and brushes off your “two-hours of sleep ‘cause the baby’s teething” brain farts.  

When those special teacher friends come along, you feel less alone on the tough days.  You feel fiercer on the great days and inventive, rather than crazy, on the unexpected days.  

As New Orleans’ summer PD’s roll out their team builders, meeting norms and planning protocols this month, I’m forced to face the reality that my number one comrade is gone.  No glares, giggle fits or ELA epiphanies.  Just me laughing at my own jokes.  

And shortly after my sporadic pity parties, I remember that I have other pretty amazing teacher friends on staff, and there’s potential for some new positive professional relationships.  Maybe even new friendships.   

In these moments, I remind myself that:

1. We might make new friends, but we won’t replace old ones.  
2. Real friendships take time.
3. Being open about our passions and values give opportunity for like-minded people to gravitate towards each other.
4. Career comrades aren’t mandatory for workplace happiness; non-teacher friends and family have a whole lotta love and support to give.  

For most of us, friendships just happen.  And for such a natural process, it’s incredible how much friendships can empower us to be who we never thought we could be.

True friends see the strength in you when you don’t see it...the potential in you when you don’t feel it...and have the faith in you when you just can’t.   

Past, present or future, our friends become part of who we are.  We become apart of who they are.  As the school year approaches, I need to remember that for our kids, too, good friendships are essential to daily life.  

And since my number one teacher comrade is on to new adventures, maybe a new friend will keep me in check...Power to the teacher!

on momentum.

You can sleep when you die never vibed with me. I can fall asleep on a plane, on a bus, on a train or in the middle of a PD (well, almost).  I love sleep so much I often fantasize about it.

Last night, though, my new “big idea” cost me one hundred eighty minutes of potential blissful rejuvenation as I dedicated three hours to hashing out pros and cons, jolted by one delirious thought after another.  Tossing and turning, I wondered, how can I execute this idea ASAP?

This school year, I want to turn my classroom into a cozy coffee shop.  Well, sort of.  

You know, the feeling you get when you walk into a Starbucks or your favorite tea room?  Comfy chairs, rustic coffee tables, The Avett Brothers on the JBL’s and soft lighting to keep you in the mood to stay highly productive, without feeling rushed.  Books, journals, artwork and laptops galore.  

I want my kids to get that feeling in my classroom.

This is a far cry from my usual tight structure where sixth graders must get permission to throw away a piece of trash, but I’m starting to think that a coffee shop ambience with a few exercise balls and pillowed seating just might empower my middle schoolers to take ownership of their learning.  

Perhaps the more choices they have, the more comfortable they feel, the more academic risks they’ll take.   The research is there and so is my enthusiasm.  Who knows though. Who really knows.  

My purpose, here, is not just to share my new “big idea,” but to be honest with you and myself that the momentum of my summer-inspired big ideas usually breathe their last breath by October.  Reality disappoints my original vision and I abandon it for the next “big idea.”  

Although three months shows some solid dedication, in education time it’s really not that long.  Depending on the idea, changing behaviors of one student or yourself is hard, but changing a class of thirty, plus giving your own habits a make-over is quite a feat.  

Sustaining momentum is crucial in education, yet it can also feel impossible.  Teachers know that exhaustion and self-doubt can be reason enough to let go of summer-inspired visions.

This year, I plan to fight the uncomfortability of it all,  in hopes of a better learning experience for my students and professional growth for myself.  

Tonight, I’m sending love to all of the visionaries who dream the dreams.  Now let’s make them happen!  Power to the teacher.     

on holding on.

Flight cancelled.  Awesome.  Seconds later, sarcasm turned into tears. Hearing my husband’s voice on the other end of the phone just cut deeper.  Shuffling back through passport security...

“Oh sweetheart, do not cry.  It be ok. Come wit me.  I take care of you.”

The sympathetic airline worker sensed that the mother traveling solo with her one-and-a-half year old overseas could use a kind gesture.  Okay Berlin, what now?

There I was.  Left hand on the mega-stroller.  Baby strapped to my chest.  Backpack full of now-spoiled Frozen themed organic yogurt and just enough food and entertainment for our supposed 10-12 hour commute back to New Orleans.

Exactly fifty pounds of suitcase pulled behind me by, no not anything other than my reliable right hand.  

Amidst the dehydration and regretful experience of changing my kid’s diaper on an airport bathroom floor, (the old German lady just had to mom-shame me..in German...thanks), some good ‘ol cliches began to run through my head…

This too shall pass.

It’s always worse when you’re in it.”

It could be worse.

One cancellation, one delay and one misassigned baby later (yeah, the airline mistakenly assigned my daughter to another woman causing us to miss our new flight), we found ourselves in Frankfurt.  

This is a joke, right?  I could feel panic set in.  

“Yes, officer.  This is my daughter.  She has a passport but I don’t carry her birth certificate.”

All I want is to go home.  Why can’t we just go home?

I rummaged through my exploded backpack and offered whatever personal identification would shut up his tough guy smirk.

“Ok.”  He waved us through.   

 

Insert sweat-framed eye roll.  Taking a light jog to our gate with a too tangled baby carrier and  twenty pounds in arms now, fearful of a missed connection, people began to stare.  

Tears poured and delirium set in.  The flat escalator type airport moving things were broken.  I couldn’t catch my breath and the Happy Baby Puffs  were long burned from my body.  

The silver lining was the upgraded flight from Frankfurt to Chicago.  Nine hours in first class wasn’t too shabby.  If only they had deodorant in the hotel-grade airplane bathroom.  

Blessed with free alcohol and fancy food for me, my daughter still hadn’t thrown a fit since leaving Berlin. Maybe it was all of the gummy bears the flight attendant was feeding her.

Eighteen hours later, after an overnight in a Chicago airport hotel and a turbulent flight to New Orleans, we were finally home.  

The experience felt like a cruel joke, but really wasn’t that big of a deal in the end.  We were safe.  My daughter was nothing less than a goofy little angel who seemed to know when I needed a cheek full of kisses and planted them so sweetly right before my many almost meltdowns.    

Like most people, I’ve faced dark times, good times and everything in-between.  In the teacher tunnel of darkness, though losing complete control of my classroom or being screamed at by an angry parent is awful, it doesn’t ever compare to some of my worst life moments.  

Then there are so many special teaching moments.  Like witnessing that time when you, very likely, heard your student read their first full page in a chapter book.  Ever. Right before your eyes!  It feels like it doesn’t get better than that!  

The good and the bad are very real, and as teachers, it can feel realer than real.  

In the end, though, it’s just a job.  A job with the weight of twenty-eight futures riding your shoulders, and unconditional care for all twenty-eight of them, but still just a job.

Teaching is IN my heart, but my daughter IS my heart.

 In those moments where I throw my hands up and surrender to classroom chaos and failed lessons, I remember that what I do is not who I am.  This may not be true for all educators, and honestly, I might’ve gasped at this declaration ten years ago, but it’s my truth.  

Each year I fall in love with my new set of students.  I put all that I can into hopefully inspiring, encouraging and pushing them to be learners for life.  Recognizing that some moments are heaven and some are hell, reminds me that the extremes of teaching are so for real.  

And everything’s gonna be alright.  

Dare my husband ever call me dramatic, my sharp eyes will hiss at him faster than he can rephrase his comment, but I’m allowed to tell myself in my worst moments, “Don’t be so dramatic.”  Again, only I can tell myself that.  Beware.  

But really, in retrospect, our meltdowns can seem dramatic no matter how real they are in the moment.  My nightmarish flight episodes still brought us home safe.

In the end, the big stuff is what really counts.  Happiness and health for family, friends and loved ones.   

So as we reflect this summer and push out any pre-anxieties of crazy bad work days, just have faith that the cliches will get you through.  

I hope you’re breathing in your sweet summer moments.  Power to the teacher.  

on authenticity.

I woke up in hangout heaven yesterday.

Imagine an environment with cold beer so aromatic and fresh, panoramic views of promise, art, music and food wrapped up in one pretty package of realness, so much that you pinch yourself before realizing that the friendly Berliners surrounding you are even more genuine than the atmosphere itself.  

The authenticity of this place was unreal.   I wished I got this feeling more often.  

Klunkerkranich, Berlin, Germany

Not always, but other times, when you walk into a food and beverage establishment, it just feels forced.  Not just kitschy, but more of a... we’re not trying to be kitschy, we are witty and ironic and our space and menu reflect our signature quirky taste.

When it comes down to it though, the bacon-infused brussel sprout bake, with a Sriracha kale whip sometimes misses the mark.  Mason jar cocktails, rimmed with rosemary-infused jalapeno salt might look pretty, but often end up tasting ugly.  

It’s like our moms used to say, why are you spending sixty-eight dollars on a pair of ripped jeans from Urban Outfitters? Why don’t you just take some scissors to your old denim shorts?

Image is everything, right?  There are multi-million dollar branding agencies dedicated to this slogan.  Instagram and Facebook filter our lives for the world to view our best versions.  I mean, just today my comrade and I spent twenty minutes hashing out a hashtag with, not only alliteration, but (wait for it) also a pun.  

No matter the root of the image obsession, like most other social and cultural factors, it trickles into our classrooms.  Kids, in this department, have it harder than any of us.  Adolescence is all about image and it isn’t until we’re older that we realize how much it doesn’t matter.  Be yourself, and the right people will like you for the right reasons, right?

Absolutely.  For some reason though, teachers find themselves doing things to please others or jazzing up regular routines for a scheduled observation or district visit.  Sometimes we do things without even knowing why we do it, it’s just a norm that we follow.  No questions asked.  

As I grow, I do this less and less but still rev up the dog and pony show from time to time or teach mason jar lessons with Urban Outfitter materials.  

What’s wrong with a good ol’ fashioned solid lesson with rich student discussion and thoughtful questioning techniques?  Nichts. It may not get a NY Times rave review or a reservation wait list during its first month of operation, but it’s authentic goodness pleases the customers.  

Our customers are our students.  Not our bosses...not elected officials and not even the parents.  Satisfaction, though rarely recognized immediately by students, should be guaranteed.  

I’ve never won Teacher of the Year and probably never will.  And I'm cool with that. Striving for a classroom rich in critical thinking, discussion and debate is hard enough.  

I appreciate a quick shout out at a morning meeting, though that only lasts me through the morning. Praise from other adults feels nice temporarily, but staying true to authentic learning feels better.  

Popularity is over-rated anyway.

For now, I’ll tuck away my BBQ Rib flavored Lay’s potato chips for the night and check how many likes I have on my recent Instagram post before drifting off in this Berlin hotel room.  

Mason jars in moderation, teachers.  Happy summer!  Power to the teacher.