This ain't gonna be pretty...

Today was not an enjoyable day. I think there was a secret meeting over the weekend - a conspiracy, a plot, a plan for my demise. Never since my substitute teaching days has a student run away from me. In the past two days, on two different occasions, two students have run away from me rather than do what I asked them to do (one: pull up his pants; two: take off his hat). Two other students have bluntly refused to do what I asked them today. What am I doing wrong this week? Why the sudden lack of respect? Was respect ever there to begin with, and, if so, why did it dissipate this week? What happened, and is this the way things are going to be until the end of the year?

Also, I feel a little set up and then handled. Like, someone set me up for failure, and now they are "handling" me. They won't tell me they disagree with me, but they will manipulate and drop hints. I feel like the subject of a behavior modification plan.

March is going to be a long month. March has always been my least favorite month. TS Eliot said April is the cruelest month, but March is more oppressive, heavy, and bleak. The kids at school are tired of each other and the teachers. The teachers are tired of each other and the kids. Energy is gone, and we are gloomy, weary spirits walking around in exhausted shells. March is not good. The number of discipline referrals skyrocket in March. Kids act up, and teachers aren't nearly as patient as they used to be. It's a volatile environment.

I'm not looking forward to March. I am tempted to stew about it and play the part of the disgruntled teacher; I know I could play the part well. I'm trying to step outside of myself though. I'm trying to look at this coming month of March through the perspective of eternity, through the eyes of Christ. Grace and submission would never be so sweet as in a gloomy, dreary month of March. A gentle touch, a word of peace would never be so healing as in a time of weariness. Selflessness is never so hard, yet never so valuable, as when I just want to fight for myself in a month such as this. I still feel tired, though. I still long for spring, a shorter stack of papers, respectful and grateful students, and joyful, hopeful hearts everywhere. That's why I need God's strength to get me through this. Denying myself is going to mean not allowing myself to walk around grumpy all month. This ain't gonna be pretty...but it might at least have some grace.

Mom

I miss my mom. She calls me “pretty girl” and “princess,” and not in a derogatory way either. She says it because she thinks I’m the prettiest girl in the entire world, and she makes me feel that way too. And I can make her laugh. There is no one in the world I can make laugh as consistently as her. And, though I have that power, I know I could break her heart just as easily. And she could mine.

When I go home for a visit she makes me breakfast of French toast or pancakes or sausage or something and stands there and watches me eat, ready to spring into action if I should face, let’s say, an empty saltshaker. She didn’t smother me like that growing up; trust me, she saw the value in my learning how to get the saltshaker on my own two feet, but something about the way she dots over me when I visit home secures me in the knowledge that I am treasured – delighted in. I miss my mom incredibly. I miss the way she lets me bury my little-girl fears in her embrace, yet makes me feel like the strong, competent woman I always saw in her. I am a girl and a woman in her eyes, and she knows how to meet the needs of both. I wish I lived closer to my mom. I really do miss her right now.

I can stand cheering for Pittsburg

I didn't know who to cheer for in the Superbowl tonight. I wasn't at a party or anything; I was just sitting at home grading papers, watching the game for any teachable moments I could add to classroom discussion tomorrow. I didn't know who to root for. I decided that I would rather live in Seattle than Pittsburg, so I thought that was just a good a reason as any to support the Seahawks. However, I later discovered that the white jerseys for whom I was cheering belonged to Pittsburg - not Seattle, but by that time I had already emotionally invested in the Steelers, whether I knew their true identities or not, and I could not abandon them. So, for three quarters of the game I cheered for Pittsburg. Annie Dillard wrote about her childhood in Pittsburg. She spoke of the glory of football, the magical moments of throwing off all hesitation and fear and plunging yourself at the back of someone's legs to bring them down - it was all or nothing - the way life should be. I can stand cheering for Pittsburg.