Lately I’ve been doing the homebrew thang (no time to stop anywhere because I’ve convinced myself that I really AM having a summer and trying to sleep past of Sumatra or Kenya but this morning I went for broke and tried the iced Mocha Raspberry from Starbucks and wow. Yum. Dessert in a cup. With a straw.

When I disclosed to my children that I was indeed taking a business trip to California that would be in Anaheim, I left out the part about Disneyland because I wanted to see their faces when I said it. When I did, I was met with disinterest and a whole lot of, “Meh. Unnhhh. Whatev.”

Shocked, I replied, “No, guys. Seriously. Disneyland. Who wants to go to Disneyland?” When I said this I raised my voice two whole octaves to show my own excitement.

Mason: We’re probably going to go with band next year, Mom. I don’t need to go.

Morgan: Nah. I’m good. I don’t have to go.

After I recovered from the shock and picked up the falling hair from the floor in my incredulity, I asked again.

Me: Guys. For real. FOR REAL FOR REAL. I said “For Real” twice just now for your own benefit. A free trip. To Disneyland. Who wants to go? Who? Anyone? Bueller? Huh? Otherwise it’s just you two sitting here watching the corn grow in central Illinois and you know who that’s fun for? NO ONE. Nope. Not fun at all.

Fine. I’m going to hang with Goofy on my own. Is that Chip ‘n Dale Treehouse thingie not what I’m thinking of, people? Who cares. I’m going. By myself. SO THERE.
Bibbity bobbity bah humbug.

Have beans, will grind. Have Kona, will drink until every last drop is gone and cup looks clean again. Have coffee, have good life. I need to write fortunes for a living, don’t I? There are yummy smelling beans that will make me a great cuppa this morning and I’m not one for adding anything lately (that 1/2 marathon thingie) so it’s pure, hot, dark, rich Kona coffee for my cuppa. Have some with me? Tell me how things are? No, no… how are you?

I have always been mildly amused at people who like to qualify all their statements so that you are sure to think the best of them.

I don’t watch a lot of television. I’m too busy. However, have you seen that one episode of The Office when Dwight gets a concussion or the final Sopranos? How about the new reality tv show fill-in-the-blank? Yes? Yes? You’ve seen it? Wow. Yeah, I just caught those one night when I wasn’t refinishing my kitchen table or putting on the rear differential on the toy car I’m building. But you? You watch a lot of television.

Right. Because you fakes me out by starting your sentence with “I don’t watch a lot of television.” I can tell you’re just dripping with compassion for your fellow man who must sit on his tush all day counting the number of times he inhales. I don’t count exhales, I just multiply by two. It’s the new math.

It’s also very comforting when those same people (is it me or are they all type A and why do I have such an ISSUE with type A people, huh? They’re often nice and kind and I’m sick with it) tell me just how busy they’ve been. They’re BUSY attending to the BUSINESS of their BUSY lives and the reason they didn’t call or email? They are BUSY, people! Haven’t you been listening?

Qualifier: I’m NOT a type A person.

Case in point: I cleaned out my former office in the most ADHD manner. Boxes were opened everywhere and I would start to put things into it and then walk to the garbage can where I needed to throw this old notebook away and LOOK! something that I have from my first year of teaching that I have to have and where is that box that’s labeled Stuff From My First Year Of Teaching That I Shall Keep Because Somehow I Need It? Then, there was the smell of cheese. Do I have cheese in that fridge or is it the Cheese Nips box from my bottom left drawer (I can type with my right hand pretty fast and stuff some Cheese Nips in my mouth with my left hand - a talent that I learned on the job. I’m a PROFESSIONAL. Don’t forget that.) and OH MY GOD how old are these? Are they still crunchy? Yes. Ok they’re good.

See? This is why I can’t get any work done. None. But there are boxes and they’re ready to be moved today or someday in the near future.

Now, I have to tell you how busy I’ve been and I also owe you a book reading list (but how can I compile it when I’m also busy reading them?) and a decent definition of my new job.

I’ll go with New Job For Less Than Six Figures, Alex.

Disclaimer: Stop reading here if you only come to Mocha Momma for the pictures of my fantastic legs or the dialogue with my kids or the passionate defense against racism or the slutty coffee descriptions or the discourse on learning disabilities and the Holy Trinity of ADHD: Lazy, Bored, and Crazy.

I’ve moved from being one kind of coach to another. First, it was literacy to help support a school with the literacy efforts and to look at their instructional practice as a way to improve student achievement. Three years ago, when I started this work, I was mostly excited that I could make this my own since I was the first person at my school to do this work. It was exciting and I seem to have found my niche, though nothing will replace how dear the kids are to me in the classroom and, even counting that last entry, I wouldn’t ever want to be far from them.

Now, however, my new job consists of that and ever so much more. The title is School Improvement Coach (hello Googlers! Welcome! This is everything you wanted to know about School Improvement Coaching and somehow got stuck with so stick around and read on…I can be interesting at times, but I can also lay the smack down. You might be amused.) which means… uhh… it means…. I guess it’s best to say that my repertoire has expanded. Now I’m going to work with a middle school and a high school (WHAT!? Two schools instead of one? That’s C-R-A-Z-Y and for my sake I hope Gwen Stefani or Fergie makes a new song out of that one so we’re not all relegated to singing B-A-N-A-N-A-S or G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S because thanks girls, spelling in my school with those words has improved).

I’m off track again. Why aren’t you doing a better job at keeping me on task here?

Now I have to learn about ALL of the assessments middle and high school students take, how to effectively coach principals on leading their schools, and dang. Doesn’t that seem like ENOUGH at this point? It should, but it’s not. I will have to work with data again and take it to the different teams I work with ready to be taken apart and that’s not so much a challenge for me because I deal in disaggregated data all the time (Attention, Teachers? You should be, too.) and now I’m taking it to a whole new level.

Is this a promotion? Yes. Will I chronicle it for you as I learn just what the heck I’m doing? Absolutely. Will you continue to ask me questions about my work? Probably. I’ll try answering in comments, but you know me and my ADD. Well, it’s not MY ADD, but it’s SOMEone’s who is beginning to rub off on me.

Oh, and to add to my BUSY life, I just got an offer to go to California (all expenses paid, because promotion doesn’t necessarily mean a lot of money) from a company I’ve been consulting with and I can smell it already. I know that scent. That is the smell of opportunity and opened doors and I swear, if they offer me a job traveling the country doing consulting for schools then I will have to start taking Ritalin for this ADD that I don’t have and keeping Cheese Nips in my briefcase.

I’m moving into my office next door to the administration center for our district. It will be crowded with 6 other School Improvement Coaches (SICs. Cute, huh? No, notsoverymuch.) Someone said there would be cheese? Is there cheese?

You know me. I just need a coffeepot.

Dear Student X,

I really do understand. Life is hard, unfair, and you hate the cards you’ve been dealt. Nothing is like it’s supposed to be or is portrayed on reality television. The guy doesn’t always get the girl, the single mother doesn’t win the lottery and have an easier life for herself and her baby, and the inheritance check isn’t always handed over to the deserving heir.

What I’m trying to say is that I understand. I sympathize. Hell. I empathize because I’ve known hard times myself. You have, however, still had a very hard life. You’re being raised in a foster home and that must be hard. Once, when I was inquiring about you, I learned that you’re the eldest of a large family and have many siblings who are scattered all over and being raised by lots of different people. Those are things I don’t even comprehend and your feelings of abandonment must be intense.

When I saw you as a mere 6th grader, though, I liked you instantly because you had a spunk that I admire and you are a leader whether you want to be or not. That’s quite a gift and one that comes with much responsibility. It’s taken me three whole years to get you to even recognize it, but I don’t think I convinced you that you could use it to your advantage and be positive with it. For that, I feel that I failed you. Still, you were always happy to see me and greeted me by name even when you were having a bad day.

So your final send off on the last day of school puzzles me.

As soon as I witnessed your behavior leaving school I was upset. Angry at you, even. The flood of time I spent with you seemed to calculate itself in my brain and I realized that the effort was enormous. But I’m not mad about that, so please don’t worry. It’s what I do and I like participating in the lives of students. Of children. Of growing adolescents who are figuring out who they are in life, on this planet. You’re not the first student I’ve cried over and you won’t be the last. Maybe those are the wrong words: I don’t just cry over you kids. I mourn for you and weep sorrowful tears for all the things I cannot change in your lives.

Then I remembered the time I gave you a book and your cherished it and my heart began to forgive you because the joy in that act was immeasurable. Normally I just tell students how much a book means to me and they want to read it. But you? You kept it in a plastic bag and clutched it to your chest and stopped me every time you saw me in the hallway to tell me how it was changing your life. I believed you.

Every time I saw you in the discipline office I gave you my Disappointed Face. I’ve been perfecting that since I began teaching 13 years ago and, I’ll admit, I’m pretty good at it! If I can see a speck of guilt in a student because they’ve dismayed me, then I know I’m striking at the heart. Yay! I’m a successful teacher!

Except this isn’t about me. Or is it? Isn’t this about the effort and energy I’ve put into you? Isn’t this about how hard I tried to build you up, smile sweetly and show you kindness? Being kind doesn’t cost me anything, so I willingly give it away. Like an obedient child, you complied and smiled through all the pain you wade through every single day.

Every day. It’s long, this life. I’m sure that’s how you feel, right? That it’s taking forever to grow up? Let me impart this to you: it is but a blip, honey. It will be gone far too soon.

But dear, sweet student…I would do it all again. Know this.

The last day of school is usually a big relief for me, but one that I can’t say comes without some sadness for the growth I see in students. Especially when I’ve been watching them for three years. That’s a lot of growth! You’re taller, prettier, and are quite the beanpole these days. I feel like I should have been marking your height on my wall so we could talk about it and take pictures and create a record. Like a mother would. But I know. Don’t cross that line. Just be supportive and caring.

Supportive and caring don’t come with any guarantees that it will be reciprocated. Again. That’s ok. I can’t possibly expect you to do that.

I watched all the kids walk out the door, wish me a nice summer, tell me goodbye. Even some students who I thought didn’t even knew my name. They hugged me and I always hug back because I know how important that human connection is. You see, I have a bit of rebel in me, too: we’re always told not to do that, but I do it anyway. We, you and me, have hugged almost weekly! Let’s see…. 36 weeks of school for three years is at over 100 hugs. I would give them to you all over again.

So your words cut deeply. There was no blood, but it still hurt. Maybe if I hadn’t caught your eye it wouldn’t be so bad, but you saw me looking right at you when you screamed your rant.

Fuck this school and everyone in it! I hate this place! FUCK YOU ALL!

Maybe you’d have been stronger than me to take that, but I couldn’t. You devastated me, shocked me. You disappointed me and Disappointed Face failed to work on you this time. And I’ll never let you know just how many tears I shed after that. Perhaps it was 100 like the hugs. Perhaps not. All I know is that the hardest part of my job is knowing that you needed to reject me and this place first. You needed to be the one who abandoned this time. You needed not to remember how much I’ve cared and loved you and that’s ok.

It’s ok.

It’s really ok. I know. I get it, honey.

This was your safe place and you needed to renounce it. I was your safe person and you needed to disown me. You want to withdraw. So I let you.

Go on and be well and learn lots and try to find peace.

I’ll be here.

Love,

The Teacher