Remembering

Just about five years ago, I started my very first practicum experience.  I was placed in a grade 6 class at Lavallee School, under the watchful eye of Alan Bielaszka.  Even though I was only there for half a day a week, that practicum had a surprising influence on me.  

Al was a wonderful cooperating teacher.  He was always so positive and fun to be around.  I would often hang out in his room for at least half an hour after school, just chatting.  Other teachers would wander into his room, just for that end-of-the-day boost he would give.

Even though I was only a first year education student, Al even let me teach the kids a bit.  I distinctly remember trying to teach them how to perform mathematical operations on fractions.  I doubt I did a particularly good job, but he never said so.  He just let me try.  

The students were great.  In fact, I still keep in touch with a couple of them.  We got to form some pretty good relationships there.  I'd have to say that a lot of this was Al's "fault."  See, every recess, when other teachers hid away from the students to try to regain some sanity, Al went out with his class.  In the winter, they played football.  It was Mr. B and the girls (and Mo Mo - without argument the best receiver in the class) vs. me (or Miss Pirnie, another student teacher) and the boys.  Nearly the entire class played.  The score was kept running all week.  The girls+ almost always won.  They were better organized, and each of the boys wanted the limelight.  But what a good time.

The students never wondered if Mr. B cared about them.  Not really.  I mean, every grade 6 kid will at some point accuse the teacher of picking on them, or not liking them, or being unfair.  But these guys knew - when it came right down to it, Mr. B was on their side.  

And he did his best for them.  He wanted all of them to reach their potential, whatever that may be, and did what he could to help them succeed.

I think of Alan often.  Whenever I drive by Lavallee.  Whenever I see one of the students from that class.  When I'm lesson planning.  When I see teachers interacting with students above and beyond the "call of duty."  When I see them avoiding any additional interaction.

We kept in contact over the years.  A couple of years ago, I popped into Lavallee to say hi.  A lot had happened in his life since I had seen him.  He had gone through treatment for cancer.  He was divorced.  Life was different, but he was happy.  It was on the mend.

Shortly after, I found out that he was seeing someone, and then that they were married.  It was so good to see him so happy.  We continued to chat now and then on Facebook, just keeping up on life.

And then today, I saw something.  I had been invited to join the group "R.I.P. Mr. Bielaszka."  My heart jumped into my throat.  I searched his name and went to his profile.  And there they were.  The last words to a great man.  He passed away on October 6th.  Almost two months ago now.  I wish I had known, but there's nothing I can do about that.  

I miss him.  I missed him before, but I miss him more now that I know he's gone.  But I was given some wise words.  "Don't squander what he taught you, but use yourself as a vessel to teach others what was important for him in what he taught you."  I can't go back and thank him one last time for everything he taught me, but I can do what he meant for me to do.  Care about my students.  Do my best.  Teach them well.  And teach them to do the same.

Goodbye Alan.  You are truly missed.

History...Not Cleared

I sat down at my computer today and started typing in various sites in the address bar.  These were websites I had visited recently, and was surprised when they weren't automatically coming up.  "How odd," I thought. At first I wondered if Caleb had accidentally cleared the history when he was on, and then I remembered that Darryl had been on last night.  (For any of you who do not know, Darryl is, for lack of a better term, my boyfriend, and probably the biggest reason I haven't written anything here lately.  To be honest, my mind has been pretty preoccupied by thoughts of him.  Yes, "young" love...sigh...)  Did he clear it?  Why would he do that?  My mind was suddenly flooded with various reasons why he might clear the browsing history in my computer, some less savoury than others.  I had no real reason to think he was doing anything inappropriate, so why would these thoughts come to mind?

Now, I know that in today's society, we have been raised to be very cautious.  In my opinion, oftentimes overcautious.  However, I blame my thoughts more on history.  Just like, when I type "pc" into my browser, it automatically fills in the PC Financial address, or plug in "mb" and Manitoba Cycling comes up, there are things that trigger my own relationship "browsing history."  I came out of a relationship that lacked trust.  More often than not, it was for good reason.  And now, when a similar situation came up that had been an issue in this past relationship, the same doubts and emotions came rushing back.

If something I'm typing in my web browser is consistently bringing up a site that I don't want to go to, possibly ever again, there is a simple solution.  Clear history.  Poof.  It's gone.  Oh sure, there are often ways that those techie geeks can get stuff like that back, but not me.  Nothing will bring that website up again unless I go there deliberately.  Problem solved.

But there's no "Clear History" button for real life.  I can't just erase the existence of past relationships, or the lasting emotional results.  Oh, how nice it would be sometimes to get rid of the emotional baggage that accompanies those failed relationships.  To not have to drag it into the new one and have it leave yet another attempt in shambles.  To be able to truly start fresh, not jaded.

But then I would also erase the things that I learned from each one.  I also would erase the good things, and quite frankly, that would suck.  Particularly badly for my current situation.  You see, Darryl and I dated way back in 1996.  He treated me like gold then, just as he does now.  But if I "cleared my history" that would be gone, too.  The knowledge of this amazing man - who he was then and how, essentially, it hasn't changed to this day.  I wouldn't have that history to draw on.

So what did I do about the computer?  What any rational person should do.  I simply texted him and asked if he had done it.  "Yes. Sorry. Habit." was his simple response.  I know I can trust his response.  How?  History.  So you know what?  I'll leave my history uncleared, thank you.

Out of the Darkness: A Race Report of a Different Sort

She picked up the gun and caressed it's cold steel.  The tears flowed freely, knowing what tonight would hold.  She could not leave her children to find her.  She couldn't go away, for when they awoke, they would be afraid when they couldn't find her.  And where would they go without her?  She shuddered at the thought.

She picked up the pillow from her bed.  With the pillow in one hand and the gun in the other, she crept into the youngest's room.  She gazed at her while she slept, peacefully inhaling and exhaling, unaware of what was to come.  Setting the gun aside, she whispered, "I love you," and placed the pillow over her mouth.  Without oxygen, the struggle began.  She braced herself against the thrashing of her child, muffling cries with the pillow.  She was sobbing now, wondering how it came to this.  It seemed like an eternity, but the movement finally stopped.  It was over.

She moved to the next room, where her son lay sleeping, and performed the same ritual.  And again with her oldest.  Now, completely exhausted and emotionally spent, she returned to her bedroom.  There, beside her bed, was the phone.  She picked it up and dialed 911.  "Hello, what's your emergency?"  She mustered up her strength.  "My children are dead.  I did it.  I will be next, but I am 8 months pregnant.  Please come save my baby."  And she hung up.  Within minutes, she heard the sirens.  As they pulled up to her house, she picked up the gun.  Placing it in her mouth, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

She opened her eyes.  There was no gun.  Her children were still in their beds, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of the turmoil in her mind.  Despite her longing, she knew she could not do it.  She could not make it end.  She was trapped.  And once again, in this realization, she rolled over and cried herself to sleep.

This was me, three years ago.  It is something I have never spoken about in detail like this, and even now, I can barely force myself to write the words.  I am still deathly afraid of what others will think.

I certainly did not speak of it then.  I was completely aware of the darkness that had overtaken my mind. I knew (or at least thought I knew) what would happen if anyone found out the thoughts that plagued me.  It was not until I made it through that I ventured to share a small piece of what had been in my mind.  Thank God none of them came to reality.  Thank God for the people who stood beside me.  Thank God for His grace.

Depression and other mental health issues still come with a great taboo.  Those who suffer do not want to speak out.  It is terribly frightening to have, and even more frightening to think of how others will react if they discover the truth of what you are dealing with.  It can change who you are, completely warp what you are willing to do.  Now that I am living without depression, I cannot even imagine harming one of my children.  The thought disgusts me.  I think it did then, too, but it became something that seemed a possibility.  Not because I didn't love them.  They were (and are) the most precious part of my life.  But because, in the confusion of my thoughts and feelings, it seemed more fair to take them with me than leave them without me.  And I did not want to be here anymore.

I don't expect most who read this to understand, though I know that some may.  In fact, it is very likely that someone will.  For those who do not understand, do not judge those of us who do.  We read in the paper of those who kill their families and then turn the gun on themselves.  It seems so foreign.  Why in the world would someone do that?  How can someone actually reach that point?

Even having been there, I don't have the answer to those questions.  I feel very fortunate that I found my way out of that dark place, and am living in a much brighter place now.  I can feel the love around me that, at the time, I only knew was there.  I knew it, but could not feel its presence.

And I knew my God was there.  Somewhere.  I felt that there was a big circle around me, and outside its perimeter were all the good things, God included, and that they could not reach me.  I remember lying in bed, imagining that circle, seeing God outside it, wanting to come in, but Something was stopping Him.  Knowledge of His presence without being able to feel it.  A distant presence, or so it seemed.

I do not wish that dark place on anyone, but I know that it finds many people.  And I know that those people are afraid to speak of it.

And for that, I run.

In 2007, Mona Stott lost her son to suicide.  She decided to take her story and turn it into something positive, so she started a run dedicated to the awareness of mental health, and uses it to support the Mood Disorder Association of Manitoba.

This is the third year of the Niverville Rock & Roll Half Marathon.  (I believe that in addition to those years, a group from the Running Room also did a full marathon in 2007.)  Last year was my first time running.  I decided then that, as long as I possibly could, I would run that half marathon.

Like last year, there is much I could write about this year's run.  It was special for many reasons.  I was able to travel and run with a long time friend who is and always will be very dear to me.  (By with, I mean on the same course - he smoked my butt by over half an hour.)

I was able to run the last mile with another long time and very dear friend, who did the half instead of the 10k because there was a surprise birthday party planned for her husband, and the 10k didn't fit the timeframe.  A teammate came back after he had finished to encourage me as I ran to the finish line.  Another friend was out there completing his very first half marathon.  A woman I went to high school came and ran Niverville on my recommendation.  I saw many people out there that I knew.  Some ran ahead.  Some behind.  But we all ran together.  

A long distance race is much like life.  When you start out, it feels pretty good, but then it gets tough.  Sometimes we can push through with a little self-talk.  Sometimes just seeing the others out there is enough encouragement.  Sometimes you need something more.  Somewhere around the 9-10 mile mark, my body just couldn't keep up to my mind anymore.  I was tired.  But I was also determined.  I kept on going.  I could see the people ahead.  I knew the path I needed to take.  Sometimes as people passed (or I passed someone else), we would speak encouraging words to each other.  It lightened the step.  Sometimes we would run together for awhile.  It was so much easier to run side by side than on my own.

When I hit the 11 mile marker, I had to walk.  My legs ached, my foot had a developing blister.  I was exhausted.  I needed rest.  I took a minute, and started to run again.  My pace started to slow.  I could see the marker for mile 12, but I just couldn't do it.  I slowed again to a walk.

Once I hit the marker, I started back into a run.  I wanted to run that final mile.  I took a quick look behind me, because I knew Rhonda hadn't been that far back.  And there she was.  "Come, run with me."  And she did.  "I am going to run this last mile.  We are going to do it together."  And we did.  There were times that I wanted to slow down, or even stop.  But running with Rhonda kept me going.  It wouldn't surprise me if I found out that she felt the same way.  It was my plan to cross the finish line with her, but as we approached the final meters, my competitive nature took over.  I ran.  I gave it all I had.  I was not going to stop until I crossed the line.  I finished 5 seconds ahead of her.  I hope she understands.  I think she does.

In life, just as in a race, the encouragement and support of others helps us through the rough times, keeps us going even though we want to throw in the towel.  I would never have been afraid to tell someone that I wanted to quit the race.  In the same way, we need to be able to not be afraid to tell others when we want to quit life.  We need people that will come alongside.  Who will run with us.  Or walk with us.  Or, if necessary, crawl with us.  They will guide us.  They will not be afraid of our darkness.  They will teach us to not be afraid of it either, but to walk through it.  They will show us the resources that can help us move out of the darkness and into a brighter place.  In doing to, they will help us find hope that there is life beyond the pain.  And then, there will be.

"It is not the mountain that we overcome, but ourselves."

Playing the game

There's a lot of talk these days about competition, particularly in education.  Some will tell you that you should never, ever promote competition within the classroom.  Others will say that life is competitive, and kids need to learn to both win and lose, so competition is extremely important.  I don't really fit in either of those courts.

If you ask anyone who knows me half-decently well if I'm competitive, their response will be something like, "Terri competitive?  Is grass green?  Is the sky blue?  Did the Bombers completely tromp all over the Riders at the Banjo Bowl?  Does the officiating in the CFL totally suck?"  (In case you're not sure, the answer to all those questions is a huge, resounding YES!)  I don't remember ever not being competitive.  I think part of it lies in a desire to be noticed and acknowledged.  A lot of it is just my personality.  All I know is that as soon as we started getting marks on tests, I would compare my mark to others' marks.

I quickly learned, even in elementary school, who the other top students were.  School came easily to me, so they became the ones I compared myself to.  From about grade four to seven, my main "competitor" was Danny.  He was the first person whose mark I checked.  I also had a crush on Danny.  I'm not sure if I had a crush on him because he was also at the top of the class, or if that was just a coincidence.  All I know is that in grade eight, he seemed to become less concerned with getting top marks, and at about the same time, I lost interest in him (though I still thought he was very cute right up to graduation).

I quickly found others who I could compete against.  The desire to be the best drove my study.  If I slacked off, someone else might do better.  I never wished for them to do poorly.  I just wanted to be better.  And it worked.  When I graduated, I also walked away with the Governor General award.

Then I got to college.  Suddenly I had no idea who was sitting at the top of the class.  The competition factor was gone.  I still made honour roll, but my marks were definitely not what they could have been.

My feelings about being the best have changed somewhat, but I still use competition to drive me.  Not so much at university.  I know that, given different life circumstances, I could do better than I do.  I have had to accept that my marks, even though they are still exceptional, are not what they could be.  But there are more important things in life.

Photo by Ryandavid Photography.

Triathlon, now that's a different story.  I know who is close to me in ability.  Rhonda, a close friend, has traditionally been one of them.  That's us.  I made a copy of that picture with the phrase "Come and get me!" on it.  I gave Rhonda a copy, and put the other one on my fridge as a training motivator.  This past summer, though, Rhonda's work schedule didn't mesh with the race schedule, so I focused on another main competitor - Kim.  Since we're also good friends, I also am well aware of how hard Kim trains.  Knowing the effort she puts in makes me work harder at my workouts.  And I am always conscious of where she is in a race.  In my drive to come in ahead of her, I have pushed myself until I was sick.  I know I definitely go harder to try to beat her.  But if she came ahead, it wouldn't upset me.  It would just mean it was her day.  She had put the work in, and reaped the benefits.

I'm not sure where I learned how to compete without wishing ill on my competitors, without cheating, without being hung up in the win or the loss, but I suspect it was from my mom.  It wasn't from school.  I don't recall it ever being dealt with.  I competed in the local music and arts festival, though, from the time I was six years old, and my mom was almost always by my side.

I won my very first class I was ever in.  I had been playing the piano for only a few months, but I was good.  But my mom always made sure that when I won, I did so humbly.  And lost without pouting or quitting.  I'll never forget my very first speech arts class.  I said my poem.  I didn't win.  I think I got 81 or 82.  (We got marked.  85 was good.  Anything above the was in the exceptional range.  80 was about as low as they would give you.)  I said that I was never going to do speech arts again.  Mom basically told me, lovingly, to not be a poor loser, and yes, I was doing that again next year.  It took some work, but by high school, I was scoring in the exceptional range.

I went to provincials.  I won some provincial classes and lost some.  I learned that marks are subjective.  I learned that, especially once you reach a certain level, adjudications are opinions.  You listen with respect, you take what you think will help you and you leave behind that which won't.  I learned that just because you are the best this morning, that doesn't mean you will be the best tomorrow.  Or even this afternoon.  And I learned not to place my worth in someone else's opinion, because that's all it is - an opinion.  I learned that if someone else beat me, that didn't mean I was a bad person, or even that I was bad at what I do.  Maybe I hadn't given the proper effort in my practicing.  Or maybe, in that moment, everything just came together for the other person in a better way than for me.  Or (as can be the case at festival), maybe the adjudicator was simply drawn to his or her performance more than mine, and it may have been for some reason that had nothing to do with us at all.

I wish, instead of arguing about whether competition is good or bad, we would focus on teaching healthy competition.  Not everyone is competitive.  I understand this.  But there are some of us who are, and telling us that we should be less competitive isn't going to work, nor would it even be beneficial.  That competitive nature is what drives us to be better on all accounts.  On the other hand, teaching how to use that competitive drive in a positive way, to use it to not only be better at what we are doing, but to be a better person through it, now that is a lesson worth teaching.

Virtual Friendship

Technology has certainly changed the way we do communication, and hence, friendship.  Ten years ago, there was no such things as IM.  Twenty years ago, we had no idea what email was.  Twenty-five years ago most people would stare at you blankly if you talked about using a mobile phone.  Thirty years ago, many people, at least in rural areas, still had party lines.

I could go on, but I suspect I have already lost some of you.  Party lines?  Like coke?  No, like you shared a phone line with your neighbours.  You only answered the phone when it was your ring.  Unless, of course, you wanted to find out the latest gossip.  But if you didn't want them to know you were listening in, you'd better be quiet!  Oh, and you actually had to dial, on a round thing.  No such thing as pushing buttons.

And back then, we wrote letters.  You had pen pals.  You took a pen or pencil, handwrote your letter on a piece of paper (you usually tried to find something nice), put it in an envelope, addressed and stamped it, and put it in the mailbox.  Of course, this is why I was never a very good pen pal.  Most of the time I would get to the writing part.  I would even usually put the letter in an envelope and address it.  That stamp thing, and getting it to the post office though, that's another story.  There were many letters that got thrown out (there was no such thing as recycling) because they were outdated.  Some just got stashed away.  When I was packing to move last summer, I came across quite a few letters that I had written.  Some were from college.  Some as far back as high school.  They just never got sent.

Quite often, after meeting someone, at camp say, you would exchange addresses and write back and forth, and that was when you really got to know each other.  Sometimes you had pen pals that you had never met.  I can't remember how that all worked, but I think that in magazines, people could leave little tidbits about themselves along with their address (and sometimes accompanied by a picture), and you could write to them.  After writing back and forth, you might make plans to actually meet each other.  Yes, it was a very different world.  You didn't worry about addresses getting into the wrong hands and giving out personal information.  Of course, a lot of those addresses were box numbers, so I guess you'd be reasonably hard to track down.  And if some creepy person was hovering around the post office all day, just waiting for you to pick up your mail, someone was bound to notice and do something about it.

Sometimes I marvel at how things have changed, and yet haven't.  For example, we still write to people we don't know and develop friendships with them after reading tidbits about them (and usually seeing their picture).  But we don't have to use pens, paper, envelopes, stamps or mailboxes.  At least not real ones.  We simply sign into our Facebook accounts and send them a message.  Or write on their walls.  If you get to know them well enough, you might actually meet.  And you can do this all without leaving your house.  (This is probably why I'm much better at maintaining connections now.)

The thing is, it's so easy to connect to people that we tend to connect to lots.  I have 549 "friends" on Facebook.  I have met most of them.  I could probably delete at least half of them without either of us really noticing.  I don't.  Mostly because it takes too much effort.  Partly because I do communicate with most of them at least once a year.  Partly because I have a hard time getting rid of things - even FB friends.

In some ways, this mass connection has made it easy to form shallow relationships.  At the same time, it hasn't really changed the way I do the friend thing.  I have always known lots of people.  There were very few people that I went to school with - grade school and college - whose names I did not know.  And if I didn't know, I asked.  I had a few close friends - people that I could talk to about anything.  People that I would hang out with.

I still have a few close friends.  One of them, Kim, was a friendship largely built through FB.  I really couldn't give you the details of the evolution of our friendship, but I do know that I can trust her with anything.  I know she's a ton of fun.  And we even hang out sometimes.

That "hanging out" component.  That's what I miss.  It's easier to sit in front of a computer screen and chat with five different people at once than actually get together with those people.  (Besides, they probably don't know each other at all anyway - except through your status comments, that is.)  Online has its benefits, but I miss just being with people.

When I was newly married, there were five of us who got together pretty much every Friday to have a games night.  We had so much fun - talking, laughing, competing.  I don't do that anymore.  I'd love to get together with a core group of friends.  I think people still do that on occasion.  Somewhere, that aspect of life escaped me.

I have also noticed that we seem to have developed an out-of-sight, out-of-mind mindset.  I think this is another product of social networking.  We get used to commenting on status lines and pictures.  We talk to the people we see.  We don't sit down and think, "Hmmm...I haven't talked to so-and-so for awhile now.  Perhaps I'll pick up the phone and give her a call to see how she's doing."  If we don't see them -either physically or virtually - we don't talk.

I have sometimes wondered, if I dropped off the face of the Earth, how long would it take before someone noticed?  Would I ever get a message asking how things were?  Would someone take the time to give me a call?  Would they even be able to find my phone number?

Similarly, would I notice if one of my friends disappeared?  To be sure, there are some I check up on regularly, even if they don't make it onto my current FB home page.  But there are many who could completely vanish and I would never know.  I probably would not bother to make the phone call.  And I probably don't have their phone numbers.  And I don't really like talking on the phone anymore.  Except for sometimes.  And to some people.

But then, is this really any different?  In years past, prior to all our technology, how many people would we have noticed if we hadn't heard from them lately?  Four?  Five?  (Not including family - my mom can tell you exactly when she last talked to each of us.)  About the same number I would notice disappearing now.

So, I guess the old adage is true - the more things change, the more they stay the same.  I think I'll go call someone...

My Life as a Student

For the past five years, I have been a university student.  About six years ago or so, I decided that I needed a career that would support my family.  As it turned out, that was a good decision as within a few months, I found myself separated and raising three kids on my own.

Being a student has been a great "job".  There's a great deal of flexibility in my schedule, and I can dedicate more time to my kids.  When I found out that I was pregnant half way through my second year, I was devastated.  How was I going to do this?  I still had two more years of school!  I couldn't afford to quit school to raise a child, so I did what most don't even think about (sadly).  I had a baby AND went to school.

Now, I did take a year (that turned into two years) out of the education program, but I stayed in school.  It ended up being a fantastic decision, as it allowed me to take courses I would not have been able to fit into my program otherwise.  If all goes well, I will end up graduating with a double major.  While raising four kids.  On my own.  But I digress.

Being a "mature" student, I have realized that there are an awful lot of things, especially in education, that I have learned on my own in life.  I told one of my profs in my first year that I didn't really think that there would be much I would learn in my ed classes, but rather, I would just learn a name to put to it.  He told me I was probably right, but that I should just suffer through and become a teacher.

It's funny, because looking back on the past five years, in many ways I was right, but in so many more, I was wrong.  Somewhere along the line, though I don't think it was conscious, I started to focus on what I could learn, not what I already knew.  I have been able to delve deeper into my learning because I could connect my own experience to many of the things we were being taught in the classroom.  Since I already had many of the basics, I was able to take the finer details and apply them to my teaching, which I could practice daily.  Another advantage to having kids while taking education - you get to put things into practice right away and use your offspring as guinea pigs.  ;)

Sometimes I come across students, seemingly particularly in education, who sit there and complain about how stupid the class is, and how they aren't learning anything.  (Come to think of it, I hear the same thing in staffrooms when it comes to SAG...)  How sad.  Really?  You're not learning anything?  You are choosing to waste the hundreds of dollars that you put into this course by not taking anything out of it?  Sure, there are classes that are chalk full of amazing things to learn.  But they are like diamonds.  A precious jewel.  Sometimes a lucky find.  I would be great if all classes were like them, but in reality, it will never be that way.

But even in the "worst" class, there is always something you can learn.  If you aren't learning it from the prof, you can dig deeper and discover it through the materials and resources that you are guided to.

A group of students were once talking about a certain prof, and saying how it never really seemed like he was teaching anything.  I realized quickly that it was a class that I had taken, and had really quite enjoyed.  "The prof always tells stories," they complained.  "I don't always know what he's getting at."  Somehow, I think they either missed the first class, or were not paying attention, because I know he told us that this was his teaching style.  And why does he teach that way?  It is his culture.  See, they were a part of the Aboriginal Education class, and the instructor was of First Nations background.  They teach through stories.  The lesson usually isn't explicitly stated, but rather left for the listener to discover.  The teaching is holistic.  So very different from our European education.

What a fantastic experience.  Reversal of rolls.  First Nations students have continuously put into our classrooms and expected to learn the same way as everyone else, when that is not the style they have grown up with.  Now we as students were expected to learn from an unfamiliar style.  Perhaps we could now identify just a little bit better.  If that was all that they had taken away from the class, at least they would have learned a valuable lesson.

In eight months, I will graduate with my B.Ed. and B.Sc.  After six years, my career as a university student will be over.  (Or at the very least, put on the back burner until I've paid off my student loans.)  However, my life as a student continues.  Just as I know I can learn from every class that I take, good or bad, I can learn from every experience.  I can learn from my colleagues.  I can learn from my students.  I can learn from my children.  I can learn from my mistakes, and the mistakes of others.  I can seek out learning on my own.  And I shall.  For if I cease to learn, I cease to grow.

From Strength to Strength

I am a single mother of four.

Now, I would venture that most, if not all of you who are reading this know this fact already.  But there are people that I meet outside of my life with my kids who don't.  At least not right away.  In many cases, they assume initially that I am younger than I actually am.  They figure that I am a typical university student, living on my own, working towards my degree.  Inevitably, at some point, I mention that I have a child of some gender.  This happened today.  "Oh?  You have a daughter?"  "Yep.  Two actually."  "Oh!"  "And two sons."  "Oh...wow...I never would have guessed."  No, most people wouldn't.  I often hear, "You don't look like you have four kids."  To which I usually respond, "Thank you," all the time wondering what someone with four kids should look like.  Because I have four, and this is what I look like.

Then there's the single issue.  Sometimes people just assume that I'm married (who would be crazy enough to have four kids on her own?).  "What does your husband do?"  "Um, well, I don't have one."  "Oh...sorry..."  Some people know that I'm single beforehand, which leads to more surprise on the four kids thing. 

Once in awhile, I like to spring it on people all at once.  Just for the shock value.  Like when I met with my practicum supervisor with the other students teachers.  We were to introduce ourselves and say one thing about ourselves.  "I am a single mother of four."  Jaws trying not to drop.  I enjoy watching people while they try to process it.  Amusing.

Probably the most common phrase I hear is, "I don't know how you do it."  You know what?  Neither do I.  All I know is that I certainly don't do it as well as I would like to.  I fail miserably at being a mother more than I fail at anything else.  Take this morning for example.  First day of school.  I get Caleb and Dani on the bus on time.  Charisma needs to leave half an hour later and either bike or walk.  I'm trying to get myself out the door, and she is taking forever to get ready.  "I don't have a lunch kit.  I don't have breakfast.  I can't find a bike lock.  I don't want to walk.  Can't Grandma drive me?"  And do you think I can find a bike lock?  At least one that has a key?  No, of course not.  I tear apart the shed.  I tear apart my room.  I yell.  I carry on.  She's in frustrated, angry, hurt tears.  I really don't give a rip because now I'm late for school too.  And I'm sick.  And exhausted.  And stressed.  I finally give my mom the van key and say that she can drive her today, and walk out the door, barely saying goodbye to Justin, who is standing there crying because I'm leaving again and I've been throwing a bit of a tantrum for the past 10-15 minutes.  Fail.

Thank God not all days are like today.  We have some great moments.  I love the little surprises kids give you - both the intentional ones, and the other ones.  The times when you get to see that yes, they did learn that lesson, beautifully, and you know what?  They may grow up to be an amazing person in spite of my failure.

How do I do it?  Like the psalmist wrote in Psalm 84 - I go from strength to strength.  More often than not, it's not my strength.  The strength of my family.  Of my friends.  Of my faith.  Of my God. 

Today, I don't feel strong.  Today, I am incredibly weak.  But there is a Strength that holds me, that will carry me into tomorrow.  That will bring us all through yet another day.