Well, then fix it, Dear Lizzie, Dear Lizzie...

So, I have recently taken on a new role at my school.  I am excited about it.

In order to do this new job well, I need to listen...to many people... in many meetings...  

For the past year or so, I have been wanting to serve this way.  I have been watching what was happening around me and just itching to get in there and help.  And I am hopeful that I can help.

However, I remembered today that I need to be aware of my limits.  

I am a problem-solver, a fixer, a people-pleaser...  Those traits can be strengths or weaknesses, depending on how well I can find balance.

I can't fix every problem I see.  That is not my job.  

I have learned this lesson from the Universe in other ways.  "Fixing" Anthy was my goal for way too long.  Every other zen momma out there figures out that there is no "fixing" our children - special needs or typically developing.  These shorter humans are who they are - our gift, our lesson, our joy.

Professionally, it will be worth my time to invest energy and thought into this lesson of "how to empower, not fix".  In my new role, I think my biggest challenge will be feeling where those boundaries are found among helping, empowering, and intruding.

It is so easy for me to swoop in and tell everyone what to do.  (It's the best thing about being a math teacher... x = 5, darnit!)  But I don't believe I was put on this earth to do the easy things.  I wasn't elected by my colleagues to remain in my comfort zone.  I was elected to serve.  Serve, I will...

I have faith that I can find that balance and maintain healthy and helpful boundaries.  I might need help though.

My wise, sister-in-law Rose preaches well that it takes a village.  

Turns out I might a need a village soon...  Who's in?  The only requirements are that you're willing to (1) call me out if you sense BS and (2) help me be better at this human being/teacher/leader thing.  If interested, let me know as soon as possible.  The pay is not competitive, BUT there could be cookies in it for you...

For the birds...

Anthony is doing pretty well these days.

He is able to express more of his nervousness (and other feelings) through speech.

For him (and us), this is a huge relief.  It means that there is significantly less screaming, and that Chris and I can have the opportunity and privilege of helping him make sense of situations that make him nervous.

Sometimes it can be taxing though...

About three weeks ago, Chris boiled over a pot while making macaroni and cheese.  From Anthony's perspective, it was pretty traumatic.  It sounded loud when the water boiled over, it looked scary with all the bubbling water running over the stove, and it smelled bad.

Last week was Spring Break, and Anthy has had a bit more anxiety since Tuesday readjusting to the school schedule.

Luckily, he has been able to talk about it...kind of...  

Mainly, he talks about the pot boiling over.  He talks to us about the pot boiling over often...very often.  We (as patiently as we can manage) keep encouraging him to vocalize.



We listen to him.
("Daddy boiled the pot over with macaroni.")

We respond, trying to comfort and give context and predictability.  
("Yes, Daddy boiled the pot over. The pot was too small.  Next time, he will use the big pot.")

We listen again.
("Daddy madeamistake.  He learnedalesson.")


We respond again.    
("Yes, whenever we make a mistake, we learn from it.")

Sometimes he talks to us, and sometimes he opens the cabinet and talks to the pot.
("Daddy boiled you over with macaroni.  You are cool now.  I can touch you ifIwant.")

This morning we had about 20 minutes of the pot/macaroni conversation...then he got quiet.

Anthy: "What's that noise?"
Me: "Those are the birds.  It's spring!  Yay!  Don't they sound great?"
Anthy: "They are loud."
Me: "Do you want to talk to them?"  
(Goal: always talk about what's bothering you, preferably to the one that's doing the bothering.)

So, he walks over to the window and holds on to the windowsill.

"HEY! BIRDS!"

*long pause while he thinks about what he wants to say*

"Don't use the small pot for macaroni..."

As I left the room trying to stifle my laughter, all I could think was that I am SO proud of him...

Don't Take This Personally, But...

At Sophie's kindergarten parent-teacher conference, I heard that her only challenge in class was an unwillingness to tell the other students when she had a problem with them.  She could go to an adult to "tell on" a student, but had difficulty confronting the child directly.

When I openly laughed at this point in the conversation, her teacher asked if my daughter came by that honestly, and was I uncomfortable with conflict?  I admitted that she did and I was.  I confessed that I did not easily find my voice in confrontations, that I also struggled telling people directly when I have a problem with them.

Fast forward four years and a few life experiences, and I am still struggling.  Although I have found my voice, although I do not shy away from confrontation, I really really still struggle for wisdom in conflict.  I struggle deciding how much to verbalize my feelings to someone who is frustrating me and how much to process internally and privately.

One of my favorite books is The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.  It is an amazing book that helped put much of the noise inside my head in perspective.  His second agreement is "Don't Take Anything Personally."  The idea is that anything anyone else tells you, even if it is about you, even if they know and love you, is about them.  That is a very powerful idea to me...and a very freeing one.

People who are giving me compliments, people who are giving me advice, people who are giving me criticism...  Those people might think what they are telling me is all about me, when, according to Don Miguel Ruiz, each statement is all.about.them.  The truth is that no matter how clearly someone thinks they see me, they are looking through the filter of their own history, their own accomplishments, their own failures, their own joys, their own sorrows, their own fears, their own hopes, their own Life.  

What I understood today?  That is totally ok...  Because I do the same.

So, back to conflict...

In my perspective, conflict happens in an atmosphere of trust or an atmosphere of distrust.

Atmosphere of trust

Open, honest, respectful conflict is a gift.  When I have disagreements with people who love me, I learn something about myself and about my relationships.  I know that all the anger and fear coming up are all mine and not theirs.  I can see that the uncomfortable soul opening process is just the lesson I need breaking free from the walls of my ego.  And those who love me give me space to handle that privately.  In the end, all we have left are the lesson and the love, and the rest we can let go.  The second agreement is easy to uphold because we both trust each other.

Atmosphere of distrust

And sometimes I have conflict with people who don't trust me - people who are sometimes disrespectful, unkind, and have unacceptable behavior.  These people do not trust my perspective and I do not trust theirs.

This is where I struggle the most inside myself.  I might see unacceptable behavior...but am I seeing clearly?  I am hearing a lack of respect, but is there some overlay keeping me from understanding the other person's point of view?  I might even feel attacked, but is it possible I am just unhappy with how they are phrasing their disagreement?  

Even if I do see the situation clearly, is this a battle I should choose?  If I truly see unacceptable behavior, when is it appropriate to demand better and when should I walk away? Where is the wisdom inside me to make that decision?  Is that wisdom always going to be hidden inside my sticky ego?

Again and again, I feel like I circle the same question here.  

Where is the balance?  How do I live what I know?  

What does a wise woman look like when she feels disrespected?  

How will I know when "doing the right thing" has veered into pompous self-righteous territory?

How can I balance the Toltec wisdom of the second agreement with the refusal to accept someone else's crap?  

I don't see that chapter...  :)

Tell me if you find it.

S.S.S.S. - In the classroom

In an earlier blog post, I talked about my opinion of all advice:

 S.S.S.S. - Some Things that work for Some People Some of the Time and Some Reasons why.

I love being a teacher.  I truly cannot imagine work that would make me happier or more fulfilled.
The blessing and challenge about my job is that, when I am in the classroom, I am on my own.  I have the freedom and responsibility to create the best possible learning environment for my students.  

I still have moments where I stare at my desk five minutes before class searching for that key - phrase, activity, worksheet, graph - that will unlock the students' understanding of this particular concept.  

(I should probably mention here that I have been teaching for 15 years.)

Tenure-track teachers are now required to write a teaching philosophy at my college.  I have never been required to do that, and I am quite intimidated at the thought.  

Teaching philosophy?  

The smart-aleck Kentucky girl in me quips "How about...Learn'em real good?!?"

A quick Google search leads me to several sites that talk about addressing the needs of my students and department...which sounds really good.  BUT...don't those needs change?  From class to class?  From year to year?  From student to student?  I just cannot fathom one philosophy statement that would serve for me in all situations.

I don't know if I can articulate everything I want to accomplish inside my classroom throughout every semester, every class, for every student.  Maybe that comes from not really being able to articulate what I feel my role always is.

Am I the "guide on the side"?  Am I an academic personal trainer?  Am I a grader, tutor, cheerleader, counselor, bureaucrat, really good talker?  In any given semester, I feel that I match all of those descriptions at one time or another.  Which one is the main one?  What should I be reaching for most of the time?  I just don't know.

Sometimes I feel that lecturing is best (there, I said it).  Sometimes I feel that hands on discovery works well.  Sometimes I feel that all they need is to try these problems next to another student and talk them out.  Sometimes a rallying speech around "you can do it!" works wonders.  Sometimes a pleading "For goodness sake, please think!" gets us through a rough patch.

The real difficulty is that to do my job well (I think), I have to make everyone uncomfortable.  My students need to struggle a bit to hone a skill for their academic toolbelts.  I need to stretch my comfort zone to keep from sounding stale.  The college needs to offer professional and technical support, which requires money, time and space (which we don't always have).

It helps to talk to my fellow teachers...all of the different viewpoints of what exactly we should be doing in there are SO very interesting and very diverse.  The conversations highlight that teaching is a very personal activity for all of us.  We all have our own visions (SSSS).  And those ideas can change and evolve as we get more experience.

A teaching philosophy whose themes are "learn'em real good" and "make everyone uncomfortable" might not get published in a journal, or be well-accepted by my dean, but it is all I have got right now.

If I were better at writing maybe I could make it sound better?  ;)

Words and Phrases That Hurt, part I

I was raised to treasure the idea of free speech.  My mother was a product of the 60s, and I am most certainly a product of my mother.  She detested the idea of banning a book, no matter how disturbing.  The rule in our family was that I could read any book in the house, as long as I discussed it with her.

(As an aside:  When I was nine I asked her what the word irony meant.  Normally, she would have made me look it up in the dictionary.  This time, she went to the shelf to get a book, and insisted I read A Modest Proposal by Jonathan Swift.) J

I write all of this as an introduction because I want you to understand that my intention is not to ban words or dictate feelings.  I merely want to open up a conversation about how the word retarded makes me feel.

My son is six years old, and he has some fairly invisible disabilities.  After about 30 seconds of talking with him, however, anyone over the age of four could see that he is severely speech delayed.  I have every confidence that he is treated with kindness and respect by every child and adult at his school.  My concern is NOT about what names people call him to his face right now.

Many years ago, I forwarded an email with the word “retard” as a joke.  That was before I was a mother.  I was wrong.  A colleague gently tried to tell me I was wrong, and I could not hear her.  It was not a shining moment for me as a human being, and I am not proud of it.  Although this email was not directed toward a specific person; although I was not pointing and laughing at someone else, it was (and is) unkind to have that word in my vocabulary.

For those who do not have a developmentally delayed loved one, I think it is difficult to empathize with us.  It is difficult to understand how uncomfortable this word might make us.  It is easy to think (as I once thought) that this word does not inflict pain if it is not aimed toward a person. 

Lately, here are a couple of contexts that I have heard this word from thoughtful, caring people:

Fellow grocery shopper:  I was trying to finish that report, but my computer started acting retarded.
College student: Crap, I missed that negative sign.  I am so retarded!
It seems that some people feel that this word is ok as long as there are no names called at people.

They were NOT pointing at my son and laughing. 
They are NOT mean people. 
That word was NOT meant to hurt anyone.
BUT…

·        In that moment, that word cuts me emotionally.  It is a small cut, but it is a cut based on the knowledge that “retarded” is exactly what some people would objectively call my sweet, amazing boy.

·        In that moment, I recognize that the word “retarded” is not dead.  Every time I see how easily someone uses it in everyday language, I fear for the day that he will face children in a schoolyard who easily aim it at him.

·        In that moment, I am hit again with the realization that some people will think my child is less than because he has challenges.  I face again that most people think “retarded” is a thing to be feared and avoided. 

·        For some, it represents things not working or mistakes in thinking.  It represents viewing of Life as a crazy race in which my kiddo cannot keep up.

Again, it is not my intention to police words.  I am not offended when people use it in my presence. 

But it hurts a little…every time. 

Have I Told You Lately That I LOVE You?

Have I told you that I am grateful for you?  
Have I told you that I am so appreciative of you in my Life?
Have I told you that I am not taking my Life for granted?

If so, you are not alone.
I say that often.
To many people that are awesome.  
(Seriously, you didn't think it was just you, right?)

Hello.  My name is LizzieC, and I am addicted to gratitude...  

These are authentic feelings.
I am grateful for my friends and family; I am appreciative for my blessings; I am happy to experience every blessed moment on this crazy Journey.

But today I peeled back the layers of joy and gratitude and found an major infestation of fear.  I think that my attempts at "gratitude and loving of Life" have had a mildly manic quality to them these past few weeks.  As my days have gotten calmer, my head clearer, and my heart more healed, I have tried to rejoin the living.

I have consistently told everyone how much I love them (just in case).
I have been consciously present in as many moments as possible (you never know).
I have expressed my deep gratitude for every blessed thing
(I'm grateful...  really...  Get it?  All is good...  I'm fine...  I'm handling it...)

The reality is that "living" looks different after a tragedy.  Always.  I will not be the same person I was before John died.  Ever.  That is not necessarily bad; it is just uncomfortable.

And every now and then, the sum of all my losses catches up with me.  

To be this age and have experienced the death of all grandparents, both parents, aunts and uncles, and a brother, sometimes makes me feel a little lonely... and scared.
The cumulative effect of all these people that I love dead sometimes takes its emotional and psychological toll.

I have spent the last few months working hard at being grateful.
I am scared to stop being grateful for one moment, or else everyone I love will disappear.
Superstitiously, I hope if the Universe sees how appreciative I am for these people, they won't be the ones to disappear.

When the memories of those I have lost wash over me, it comes with the realization that I have so many more to lose.  

That realization becomes fear - a cowering beast inside me that is silently, unconsciously begging God to not smote this one.

I need to figure out how to live beside that fear.  There will always be loss.  Then, we begin again.  We love again.  We trust again.  We heal again.

"You can talk the talk, but can you walk the cake walk?"

Here is a confession...

I am most intimidated in a room full of moms.

I have felt this way since Sophie was a baby (ten years ago) and have never quite shaken it.
I consistently feel like a fraud when attending elementary school events.
I always have the notion that the other moms see me as inadequate.

I know...

...it is me.  
...it is not them.  
...they are not doing or saying anything that a rational person would see as judgmental.

These are my crazy issues - they are sticky and not easy to pin down  (working, being a mom, trying to balance, failing to balance well, having a special needs child, not accepting help graciously, and so on, take your pick...).  

I have gads of issues and consider them fodder for years of blogging.  

The important aspect to me is how I deal with this challenge.  I want to be good.  I want to do good.  I want to serve the school and these fabulous children and their wonderful families.  So, I keep trying.  I keep going.  (I keep being very uncomfortable.)

Here is what I don't know...  

How long and far should I take the discomfort?  How much can I contribute when I keep sending out emotional pricklies in my aura?  Should I just accept that my best contribution is to send the cookies/check/napkins/M&Ms and stay away?  Do other moms feel this way?  How can I hide my feelings better until I get past these issues?

Again, I my struggle is with the practicality of living my beliefs.

(Subtitled)  How do I model for my kiddos acceptance of who I am, while also modeling willingness to be uncomfortable for emotional growth?

In other words,
How hard is too hard?  How uncomfortable is too uncomfortable?

This is an answer I have to find for myself.  And I will...probably the day Anthony graduates. sigh.