More work-related

I'm experimenting with this blog thing. Maybe someone out there will read it and start spinning tales about how what Happenstance is thinking about is just oh-so-interesting and you just *have* to read it. Maybe.

I am struggling to figure out how to balance social studies content with the workshop model. I am struggling to figure out how to push kids' thinking (which means editing the content so that they focus on the thinking part), with allowing room for independent inquiry and teaching research skills (which means less possibility for the thinking because the content is all over the place). Maybe the compromise is a spiraled year-- begin with very teacher-controlled content, allowing kids time to gain the thinking skills. And then slowly open up the field, teaching them how to tell if something is worth paying attention to or not.

Hmmm. I'm excited for next year...

Functionality

This is what it looks like when a school functions:

Exhibit A: After my rug was reclaimed the day before the start of school by the elementary school with which we share a building, my principal told me she'd order more rugs. And did.

Exhibit B: When I asked my principal where I could find an extra table for my room, she walked me over to the storage room, helped me root around and move furniture, and pulled out the table I needed. She then "borrowed" one of the elementary school's rugs (warning me to call the elevator and keep an eye out for the elem. school principal), carried it out of the storage room and into the elevator for me, shouting "Congratulations!" as the door closed.

Exhibit C: My staff developer sent around a memo to teachers asking us what WE'D like help with this year, what we would be working on, and how we would like her to help us (push in to our room, or visit other rooms with us). She then quickly emailed us a tentative schedule.

Exhibit D: The 6th grade teachers discussed having our trip in the winter instead of September, as we've done in the past. One of our principal interns agreed to contact the site to find out about available dates. Within a couple of days, we had a memo with possible dates, and a flyer to send to parents.

Exhibit E: Ah, forget it. I could go on and on, but that would make the rest of you jealous.

Notice from where most of the functionality stems: administrators. Their job is to help me do my job better. In schools that don't function, administrators mostly serve as obstacles to teachers doing their best work. Walking around with clipboards and giving unreasonable directives without any constructive feedback or real support is a recipe for a failing school with an unhappy staff. My principal is very demanding. She expects a lot from us, and so do our parents. But you've seen the evidence--she helps make my job easier.

unsent

Dear J,
It's now 2 years since that awful year began. September, 2003, so full of promise--a new love, a new school--and it turned out to be so horrid. Shortly after we broke up, I wrote to you that I was already feeling better, and you responded that things worked out that way for a reason--it was the only way to get to that point. At the time, I completely disagreed with you. I was devastated, scared, lonely. I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone who would be right for me.

But in the past two years, my life has changed so completely. I can feel it in the smile I have at the end of a satisfying day at school. I can feel it when I look at the mirror and like what I see, imperfections and all. I can feel it when I can laugh at the frustrations of the day. I can feel it when I don't let a stressful moment ruin my entire day.

I've met someone. His eyes sparkle when he looks at me, and when he puts his arms around me, I feel safe. He makes me laugh, he makes me think, he makes me feel wonderful. He is friendly and warm and sociable and he is a good cook. He is the love of my life.

So now? I'm starting to think you were right. Going through that year was the only way to get to this point. It's not so much that I've forgiven you, but at least I've taken what I needed to take away from the experience.
Fondly,
Happenstance

Just plain dumb

In addition to city-wide tests in reading and math, New York City students now have to take additional state-wide reading and math tests. The results of those state tests will be available in August and late September 2006, respectively, which means that the city still needs to test kids to find out who has to go to summer school.

What next, bureaucrats!?!

If you're happy and you know it.

The first time I was depressed it was the spring semester of my junior year of college. I lost my first love, and then I also lost his friendship. And then I lost the friendship of some other people whom I trusted and cared for, including J., who was one of my best friends in high school. I had never felt so alone or unlovable. I cried every day for months. When my mom called me, she would ask, "Is everything ok? You seem so...sad." I was so sad that I couldn't even speak it out loud, even to my mom. There was no one I felt I could talk to about it, and that part made me sadder still.

And then the summer came, and the quiet of a deserted university campus. Me and my journal and the Tao of Pooh (yes, really), and a lush, green Lawn. Pen to paper. Letters heartfelt and cathartic, never sent. Heartbreak and loneliness and heavy shoulders flushed out like the gutter after a particularly heavy rain.

And then I wasn't sad anymore. No drugs, no therapist. Just me, emerging from the sand, brushing it off and running back into the ocean with a newfound spring in my step. And the startling realization of how sad I had actually been. You can only tell that when you aren't so sad anymore.

The second time I was depressed was almost a couple of years ago (has it been that long already?). It was the happiest and saddest time of my whole life. I met a boy. "You are the boy I used to dream about when I was a little girl." I thought about how I would tell him that at our wedding. He told me he loved me first. He told me I enriched his life. He told me he had never felt this way about anyone, including his ex-wife. We spent every day and night together. I imagined our future and how happy we would be. Don't roll your eyes like that; it wasn't really as rosy as it sounds.

And then I went on the pill for the first time. But suddenly, little (and big) stresses that come at us every day seemed insurmountable. I couldn't cope with the job I disliked, the thesis I was writing under tight deadline, the frigid winter we were having, shuttling back and forth between my apartment and his. I felt rootless, neither here nor there. Missing the stop on the train down to his parents' house left me bawling. A Saturday spent in bed, alone, in my pajamas because I just couldn't get myself up. Ten pounds gained, no exercise besides the awful walk from Canal Street at 7:15 am. I retreated from my friends, didn't call or email, because I couldn't ever think of anything happy to say. And why would they want to hear how my life sucked so bad or how I didn't think I could last at my job one more week, much less till the end of the year? But he listened to me. He told me everything would be ok. We sat in front of the fireplace, drinking coffee. He held me and made me feel safe and beautiful. He taught me to love red wine and olives and Joseph Arthur and I loved him more than I've ever loved any other boy. And inside he was slowly and secretly building up resentment and disdain towards me until there was nothing left but that.

I will spare you the details (for now) of the rest of that story. Trust me, it's not pretty. But as I shed both the relationship and the pill (and soon after, the job), I once again emerged from the darkness without the aid of professionals or pills. I don't mean to make light of depression. Certainly mine was mild enough so that I could pull myself out of it. That's how it worked for me, but I don't judge anyone who deals with it differently.

I was reading Dooce's entries about depression, and it made me realize two things: 1) a boy who cannot love you when you are at your worst does not deserve to be with you when you are at your best; and 2) I am happy now, and I know it, and it is wonderful.

She got no game

I got no game. There, I said it. As much as I like to fancy myself a smooth, with-it, self-assured female, the truth is that when a perfectly perfect opportunity for flirting drops itself in my lap (metaphorically and/or literally speaking), I choke.

Case in point: My mom and I had returned from a shopping jaunt to Home-Depot. Cute little stackable cube furniture--check. Tough girl and bargain huntress that I am, we decided that playing $10 for a cab was a much better deal than $25 or whatever they charge for delivery. We got to my apartment, and I carried the two fairly heavy boxes over to the elevator. A very nice looking young man was waiting by the elevator.

"Do you need some help there?" cute boy asks, all chivalrous-like.
"No, I think I'm OK. They're not that heavy, just a little bulky," replies the Game-less Wonder Girl.
"Are you sure?" So subtle.
"Yeah, I got it, thanks. I haven't been to the gym today, so this is a good workout!"
We rode up the elevator, and he got out on his floor, somewhat awkwardly as he was watching me struggle to keep my boxes from dropping.

My mom nearly slapped me upside the head when we got upstairs.
"What the hell is wrong with you!? Why wouldn't you let him help you?"
"Uh, because I'm a dumbass?" At least now I know why I'm still single.

Hard to read

Some people say that there's no such thing as a person who is "hard to read," only a person who is "disinterested, but not blatantly so." In other words, if you can't figure out what he is thinking about you, it probably means that he is not thinking much of you at all. It's not that he is hard to read, it's that you don't like what's written on the page. As some would say, if a guy likes you, he will be Dr. Seuss-easy to read.

I've been told that I'm hard to read. Granted, sometimes it's because I'm not interested. But other times, it's because my nervousness and discomfort level around new people lead me to close myself off. I don't say the silly comments that I would if I felt more comfortable. My body language is not as open and relaxed as it should be. I'm stiff and ill at ease. It all comes from a fear of rejection, really. If you don't get to know the real me, you can't reject the real me, right?

Where is all this leading? The other night I had a second date with a (so far) great guy. He's smart, cute, funny, not-short, and we seem to have a bunch of important things in common. But something was holding me back all night. I couldn't tell if he was interested in me, just tolerating me until he could end the date, or looking for an opportunity to get some from a girl he thinks is cute but not very interesting. And of course my insecurity about the situation only made it worse. Am I talking too much? Not enough? Think of something funny to say, Hap, think! At moments like that, my brain literally freezes. By the time I put a coherent thought together, the moment is gone. I'm like George "The jerk store called and they want you back" Costanza: three hours too late. Did he think I was 'hard to read'?

I'm not. I'm just shy. Ok, and maybe just a teensy-weensy bit socially awkward, at least around new people. If you had met any of my grandparents, you would totally get it.

Maybe this writing thing will help exercise my communication muscles so that I'm more articulate and charming in the moment. I need to practice speed-blogging. This post took me three days.