We're Back on the Air Folks!

Let me preface this post with a scene from my classroom.  It happens every day.  It's 7:00.  I have my coffee in my hand, I have just greeted all of my students at the door, and they are sitting in their seats looking toward the front of the room where their bell work is being projected on the screen, when someone in the class chimes in, "M'Wehr! M'Wehr!  The date?"  And there it is.  Yet again I've forgotten to change the date.
You see, I'm not one of those "with it" people.  I wish I was.  I try and try and try.  I organize and reorganize.  I color-coordinate.  I alphabetize.  I make lists.  I write myself notes.  But I always miss something.  In my classroom, I never change the date.  Maybe subconsciously I'm protesting the march of time.  I don't want to move forward, get older, run out of time for the things I need to get done.  I think maybe that's what happened to this blog this summer.
I forgot to change the date.
Summer happened so fast!  I don't think I can do my summer justice by trying to summarize it here in one post on my blog... but here's the short version:
Mark and I worked for an organization called Next Step Ministries.  We lived in the basement of a church in Milwaukee along with 6 other people and we hosted week-long mission trips for middle school and high school aged kids.  They would come from all over the country and stay with us for a week and we organized service projects for them.  We worked in the inner-city and did things like landscaping, trash clean up in allies, and construction in a warehouse.  In the evenings we had a worship service where Mark was the worship leader and one of the other staff members taught.  It was an exhausting but fantastic opportunity to serve and give of ourselves this summer.
(Check out nextstepministries.com for more information)
So now I'm back and I'm trying to reconcile this gaping hole in my blog, but the only thing I can come up with is, "Forgive me.  I forgot to change the date!"

Mush

I just started a new summer job that is more like a summer life than a job.  There is no clocking in or out.  Mission work is like that.  It consumes your life.  There's no compartmentalizing.  That bothers me.  I like compartments.  For example, my favorite stores to shop in are the ones that are organized neatly by color with spaces between all the clothes so that you can see each individual item of clothing as unique.

They are compartmentalized.  They make my brain take a deep breath and say, "ok, Katie, relax."

The opposite of compartmentalizing is mush.  

Mush = Stress.
I wish I could say that it's not good for me to be under stress.  I wish I could say that God never wants stress in my life so that I'll be healthy and happy, but I know that's a lie.  To be honest, I think the mush has started clearing things up for me.  It's almost like I've compartmentalized things a little too much and now the mush in my brain is sticky and it's mixing things up but while it's mixing, some things are actually being put back in their proper places.
And here's where I need to get real with myself.  One of those things the mush has discovered tucked away on the wrong shelf was God.  My Creator, my Master, my Everything.  I have put Him on a shelf when He should have been the One reigning over the shelves of my life.  Granted, it was a pretty big shelf I had put him on, and I decorated that shelf quite nicely.  I really cherished that shelf above all the other shelves in my compartmentalized world.  But that's not really good enough, is it?
So God turned my life into mush for a reason.  Thank God.

On Disappointment

I'm staring at one of my student's French projects, unwilling, unable to open if for fear of what I'll read in there and I'm beginning to think that God is trying to teach me something on disappointment.  It started Friday when I was trying to make copies during my planning period.

At 10:45 I made my way to the office to make a copies for the rest of the school year.  Yes, the rest of the school year.  It sounds so good, doesn't it?  Needless to say, I was pretty cheerful.  I was thinking as I walked, "This will take 5-10 minutes, then I can go back to my room, eat a snack, and finish grading all of my papers.  It's going to be a fantastic day!"

Then I get to the copier and nobody's there!  It's really going to be a good day!  I even start thinking, "What will Mark and I do tonight?  Maybe we'll have tacos.  I love tacos."

I put in my copies and wait for the magic to start happening.  I wait.  And I wait.  And I wait some more.  After 9 minutes (yes, I was watching the clock) I can't find anyone else in the deserted office to help me so I decide nothing is going to happen and I just walk away.  It's 11:00.

I walk to copy machine #2 a little less enthusiastic, but remember, technology can smell fear, so never let it know how you feel.  Always keep your cool.

As luck would have it, nobody was at copy machine number 2 either!  Hooray!  I did my little happy dance as I put my copy in and...

...the machine cut off the top 2 inches and the bottom 2 inches of every copy.

Calmly I hit stop.  It kept copying.  I hit stop again.  It kept copying.  I hit stop/cancel job/clear/54380187-0309475 all while yelling "No!  No!  No!  No!"  Still my copies were coming out sans the top and bottom of the paper.

Finally, I yanked the paper out of the feed and ended the print job that way.  The copy machine could tell it was getting to me.
The clock read 11:15 now.

I grumbled about how the buttons on the machine that are supposed to prevent wasting paper don't work while I changed some settings and tried to problem-solve my way around the situation.  Nothing worked.

My colleague walked in and he fiddled with some buttons.  That didn't work either.
It's now 11:45.

It was time for backup.  11:45 means it's time for Stacie's lunch break.  She's the tech-queen and also a member of the cutest department in the school (everyone calls us that).  I called her while colleague x was still pushing buttons to no avail.  

"Help!  I'm in the teacher's lounge by the cafeteria and the copy machine is the devil!"  Stacie knows me well, and she came running to prevent damage to myself, the copier, and colleague x.

Stacie changed the settings, changed the margins, changed the direction of the copies, changed the orientation of the original copy.  Nothing worked.  I watched from the other side of the room as all my hopes and dreams were cut 2 inches at the top, and 2 inches at the bottom.  I thought about how now, instead of eating tacos we would probably have macaroni and cheese because I would need to stay late at work to finish all the grading I wouldn't be getting done during my planning period which was only about 10 minutes from over now.  I thought about what I would do if I couldn't make copies for the rest of the year.  Would I use the projector and make my students handwrite their exams?  Would I pitch a fit until the copy machine maintenance workers came and fixed the machine?  Would I hire a monk to make copies for me?

I figured the situation was hopeless and the next logical thing to do would be to flip the copier upside down and start beating that smirk off it's face.

That's when Stacie said, "Hey wait.  Don't you usually feed the paper in the other direction?"
Sure enough, there was no crazy setting that was messed up, just the paper going the wrong direction. Which, the copier should be advanced enough to detect and adjust to.  The copier in the other office is the exact same copier and it can adjust.  But apparently this one's special....

So I say all of this to illustrate a point.  I am disappointed.  I'm disappointed that the copy machine never seems to just make copies for me in a timely manner.  I'm disappointed that people I care so much for let me down.  I'm disappointed that dear friends are struggling with things I would never wish on my worst enemies.  And frankly, I'm disappointed that my students write sentences like, "Le Kilo(gramme)" in their projects and think that it's both a correct and complete sentence.

I mentioned earlier that I think God is trying to teach me something.  I can't help but realize that I wouldn't be disappointed if I didn't have high expectations.  And I expect a lot out of life, my friends, my colleagues, and my students.  If I gave up these expectations I would never be disappointed.  If I expected tragedy, disease, rejection, or utter failure I would not have to deal with nasty old disappointment any more.  But there's God again, tugging at my heart.  He's reminding me that my life with disappointment is also full of hope.  The disappointment can only exist because I trust.  And trust is a sign of growth.

And as I open the project in front of me, through all its mistakes and disappointments, I can still see growth.  And that's the most important thing.

Teacher Appreciation

You may not have realized, but this week was Teacher Appreciation Week.  In honor of this, the greatest of all celebrations that I don't get out of school for, my students (and several others) wrote notes to their favorite teachers.  Here is a sampling of notes I received, in honor of those precious babies who thought I would give them extra credit for writing their note to me.  I shall categorize them for you.

1. Some were short and to the point:
"you're special to me."
"you are awesome."
"you are nice."

2. Some were very matter-of-fact:
"you work hard in teaching"
"you are always smiling :)"
"you're so fun and understanding, and intelligent."
"you teach us what we need to know and you are very nice and respectable lady."

3. One was a little odd:
"You're Awesome...Meow" -this one included a hand-drawn cat licking it's paw.

4. Some had cute and endearing grammatical errors:
"Youre the awesomestest"
"The 2 years I've taken your class had have been fun!  You always have a positive attitude & you always know how to make any lesson fun :)" -she corrected her own mistake!
"Merci!  Tu a une prof magnifique.  Not only do you teach us french But you allow us to have fun with it <3."-for my non-francophone friends, she wrote "you has a magnificent teacher" and I'm pretty sure she meant "you are a magnificent teacher"...  maybe not?

5. And then there were my favorites:
"Cause you are a wonderful teacher and you are patient and very understanding and you take the time to make sure every student learns something everyday."
"You are my cousin and you have a great way in teaching.  I love you Mrs. Wehr"-this particular student calls me "Cousin Wehr" on a regular basis because she knows that we were meant to be family... it's particularly funny that she calls me this because she's black, and I'm the pastiest white kid you've ever met.
"You were my teacher for two years and if I didn't think I'd fail French 3 honors I'd take it just because you teach it."
"I love you so much and you love me the way I am and I know you wouldn't trade me for nothing! :)"

And I really wouldn't trade my kids for "nothing"!

Cute Kid Story #1

Being a teacher is probably the hardest thing I've ever done.  It's exhausting.  When I get up every morning I have to become a mother, a counselor, a nurse, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and a strict disciplinarian to 140 high school babies.  Occasionally I feel like ripping my hair out.  Quite often I feel incompetent.  But then my kids provide me with little nuggets I can chew on for a while that make me fall in love with them all over again.
Here begins my cute kid story #1.
So my students were working on a worksheet about reflexive verbs.  (If you don't know what these are, it's alright.  Understanding French grammar is not imperative to the story).  They were talking quietly and working together while I was walking around helping them with any questions, when, out of the blue, Little Billy (names have been changed to protect the sometimes-innocent) says, "Nous nous maquille.  C'est la vie."  Translation: "We puts on makeup.  That's life."
There are lot's of things wrong with this statement.  First, it's not grammatically correct.  Next, Little Billy is a thug.  He's got tattoos, sags his pants, and is an all forms of the word a "tough guy".  I wish I could say that I'm a brilliant French teacher and I had taught the kids to make funny jokes in French, but unfortunately I'm not that teacher.  This kid, after further examination, had no idea what he was saying.  He saw some words on his paper that sounded cool when he said them all together and then he blurted them out.
But maybe Little Billy had a point.  I know I "puts on makeup" every day.  Why?  I'm not really sure.  I mean, I could make up a bunch of reasons like, I need to look professional at my job, I like the colors of the eye shadow I have, a lot of my makeup was given to me and it would be rude not to use it, you get the point.  But when it really comes down to it, for me putting on makeup (and many other things I do) are just things that I do because, well, "that's life" and that's what we do.
And even though Little Billy does not "se maquille" every day, he get's it.
C'est la vie.

I'm stuck in Oz

A strange thing happened to me tonight.  I went to see my students' fabulous performance of "The Wiz".
The musical was just starting and here comes Dorothy, talking with Auntie Em about a storm that's coming and poor Dorothy gets caught up in the tornado.  And I started to cry.
"What's wrong?" I asked myself.  "Why are you crying?"
I paused to let myself collect my thoughts...
"I'm just... so... " and then it hit me, "homesick".
Now, you might be thinking, "Hey, this girl is deep!  She relates to Dorothy's plight before she even makes it to Oz!"  Sadly, friend, you are wrong.  It's much more simple than that.  I recently moved across the country from the one and only, Kansas.  You may not know this, but when you live in Kansas there are Wizard of Oz references everywhere.  Dorothy, Toto, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow and that lovable Cowardly Lion are there to greet us at every gas station, gift shop, and grocery store.  They become a part of your everyday life whether you notice them or not.  And watching Dorothy tonight be swept away from that place I once called home just did me in.  She and that "little dog, too" are literally reminders of my old home.
But my homesickness isn't about a physical location because Kansas is, after all, horribly boring.  (No offense, guys).  For me the wave of homesickness that hit me was more of a grieving over the loss of a chapter in my life.  Kansas represents so much for me.  It's where I spread my little baby wings of independence.  It's where I started my life with my husband.  It's where my cats are from.  It's where I met some of my dearest and closest friends.  It's where I grew from a teenager, to a young woman.  I can never go back to that precious time in my life where everything felt so fresh and new.  I cannot live in the dorms of my alma mater with those sweet young girls and contemplate with them, "Where exactly does the freshman 15 come from if you have to walk everywhere in this town?".
The doors have closed and I've moved on.  And unlike Dorothy, I can never really "go home".  I have to grow up and make my home somewhere else.  My heart is having a hard time with this.  But I think that's ok.  I'm learning more and more how important it is to be gracious with ourselves because we are all, to some extent, stuck in Oz.

Welcome and Hello

For my first post, I'd like to address the issue that I have briefly commented on in my "Let me introduce myself" page.  You see, I'm going through a quarter life crisis.  Everyone has always told me that I can be whatever I want to be.  As a result, I was the (overly)well-rounded high school girl.  I danced, rode horses, sang in the choir, acted in a drama team, played piano, participated in youth group activities, had a boyfriend, and maintained a good grade point average because the name of the game was, after all, get into college to become whatever I wanted to become.  I never thought to narrow down the field.  Isn't that what college is for?
Going into college I had a few ideas: Vet School, International Business, Anthropology, and Architecture just to name a few.  So I didn't declare a major until my second year.  I looked over all the classes I took as a Freshman and picked the one I liked the best.
And that's how I became a French major.
It only took 2 years of college to find out that speaking French and reading French literature and studying abroad in Paris in and of itself does not pay the bills.
And that's how I ended up double majoring in French and Secondary Education.
Now I like teaching and all, but can I, like my mother, do this for the next 35 years?  What happened to all those open doors?  Aren't they still open, just waiting for me to go through them?  Can I really be anything I want to be?  Am I living up to my potential by settling into my career, buying a house with my husband, and having 2.5 children?
So here's where this blog comes in.  I have this friend from work and she has a blog (check it out, it's amazing: aquirkaday.blogspot.com).  Before her blog I had this idea that blogs were written by people with important information to convey to the public, like personalized PSAs or blogs that teach you how to cook.  But her blog is not one that boasts importance, but transparency.  I've learned more about my friend by reading these insights into her world through her blog.  One day, while reading her blog, I found myself pining after the outlet she has found in her writing.  "Wow, Stacie is so lucky.  She can blog to process how she feels!  I wish I could... wait.  I can do anything.  I can blog."
Hence, the ramblings of a girl in progress.