Your Encouraging Word of the Day

A "single" working mother-teacher hears very few words of encouragement. I came fully to this realization when I thought back over my day yesterday.

The boys generally ask, "where's my laundry?" and "what's for dinner," but it's fairly rare to hear them offer up words of encouragement.

Writing up discipline reports, grading papers (and realizing that a large percentage of your students failed a test), and picking up crumbled homework papers and worksheets folded into airplanes from the classroom floor really wears me down.

My husband is the guy who offers hugs at the end of the day and small acts of kindness (like helping with the dishes). I miss that when he is away on his out-of-state work rotation.

I'm grateful for the teacher who works in the classroom next door. Yesterday she surprised me with a gift bag full of treats from my favorite gourmet food store, "Honey Girl." (As fate would have it I stepped in that same honey this morning, after the boys had helped themselves to my treats and then spilled it onto the floor next to the microwave that isn't currently in service after I blew the circuit trying to make dinner last night).

I feel as if I will NEVER finish my research (I can't, after all, even finish washing up a dirty laundry pile).

A male student in my college courses is acting inappropriately toward me and toward other students in the class. He is aggressive and volatile. I reported his behavior to my mentor and the tutoring department after experiencing horrible nightmares (he called me to vent and spew bizarre complaints like "those Spanish people didn't give me a strawberry milkshake and it was hot out!")

Still, God sent a beautiful sunrise this morning.

I'm reminded to be an encouragement to others - chances are there's another "orphan" mom of boys/teacher like me out there somewhere.

The Missing 6th Grader

6th Grade (between eleven and twelve years of age) is such a clutsy time of life.

This morning, our 6th Grader almost placed his full glass of milk on the counter. Instead, it fell to the floor, spilling all over his new tackle box, the cupboard doors, the kittens and...all over me (dressed in my clean work clothes). In a rush to meet the bus, he had no time to clean up the mess.

Getting to the bus stop on time has been a hit and miss activity as well. On Monday the bus passed by without picking up W. I yelled and screamed at him and then drove him to school, an "errand" that made me late for work. This was the most stressful part of the situation (arriving late to work). I took all of my frustration out on W - delivering far more "discipline" than I should have given the circumstance.

On Tuesday he left for the bus without eating breakfast or saying goodbye. In fact, I went to his room to wake him, and then I couldn't find him five minutes later. There was no evidence that he had gotten dressed. His shoes were still in the entryway. It was a good 30 minutes before the bus was supposed to drive by; I called and called outside but there was no answer.

I left for work wondering if he had been abducted, or if he was hiding. It was a terrible feeling.

Later, I called the school. The secretary assured me that he had arrived to homeroom.

I don't remember going through such a difficult period with our two older boys. It has, however, been 7 years since we last lived through this phase. I remember "Harry Potter" and the "Twighlight" series, football and basketball practices, and watching movies with friends. This time around there is a smart phone, heavy metal music, and a real "hit and miss" with visits with friends (largely due to our work and travel schedules).

It's time to give some thought to how we can slow down and help this young man "hit the mark."

The New Terrible Two

Saying "no" at work is not part of my nature. I tend to be the creative, enthusiastic type who, when asked to generate an idea or share an opinion is perfectly willing to do so. I tend to share food, share a smile, share humorous stories, and so on.

However, after being told by my boss that I needed to "step up" my game and share more, I'm feeling resentful and cranky.

I ripped all of the photos and technology tips that I'd posted on my office door down. I packed up ALL of the the silverware, coffee, salad dressings, apples, candy, and flavored water that I'd purchased for the office.

I'm boxing up my collection of ed tech books (that I keep on my office shelves to lend out). They go home with me today as does the groovy paper I'd stocked the supply room with.

The walls are bare. When asked about my ideas for projects during this morning's one on one meeting with my Dean I firmly (ok, feebly) stated, "I'm no longer interested in those projects."

And I feel miserable.

In fact, I found myself walking through the halls of the Theater building practicing my "NO" like a two-year-old.

Self talk, "Stay firm, sister!"

"I'm as proud of what we don't do as I am of what we do." -- Steve Jobs

The Black Mold on My Shiny New Job

My "dream job" has turned into a disturbing, bad dream.

Several of my co-workers are covered with skin irritations and open sores. Our eyes burn and sometimes people go home with crusty, "mucous-covered" eyelashes. Migraine headaches. Coughing and wheezing.

Since I started this job six months ago, the suggestion of a "sick building" has been a constant topic of conversation, especially after a long weekend when people start to feel better (once they have spent some time on the outside).

Yesterday a mechanical closet near our office suite was quarantined by maintenance personnel after it was found to have walls covered in black mold. Ceiling tiles, upon removal and inspection, also show evidence of insect infestation and pervasive mold.

The institution could move us to another area, perhaps, but to date there has been no official communication about the topic. My boss seems blind-sided by this and other serious situations.

I have ideas about the mold, team-building, the workplace bully, office communication, marketing, student advisement, technology, and more.

But nobody seems to listen.

Hidden from Sight

If there was a "recurring theme" to Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad's last business trip (the period of time while he was away) it would be "on fire." The theme for this trip, I would have to say, is "hidden."

My cell phone went missing, somewhere in the house. I searched for it for six or seven days and then finally ordered a new one.

The boys hid dirty dishes under the cellar stairs, instead of washing them. They also hid some around the kitchen garbage on the floor. Or course, I found those. My eyes were immediately drawn to the pile, as I walked into the room...with the company that had just arrived.

My friend Diana is rediscovering her (our) home town. She continues to marvel at the wonderful restaurants that we visit together and the "hidden stories" of amazing people who came from the area. She wonders why these places and faces were always hidden to her.

Diana has introduced me to some wonderful "discoveries" as well. Last night she gave me some sheep's milk feta cheese imported from Israel. DEEELISH!

This week at gymnastics I made a new friend. This is significant because I have been praying for a long time that I would find another Christian mom to socialize with.

Diana and "Mrs. W" - two formerly hidden treasures.


I will go before you and make the rough places smooth; I will shatter the doors of bronze and cut through their iron bars. 3"I will give you the treasures of darkness And hidden wealth of secret places, So that you may know that it is I, The LORD, the God of Israel, who calls you by your name. Isiah 45: 2-3

A Whole New Low

Last night I hit a whole new low.

After leaving work late, forgetting that I needed to pick the boys up from the sitters and learning that I had missed a visit from my Godmother by ten minutes, I dropped W off at home to get ready for football and headed off to the chiropractor.

It was an EXCELLENT adjustment. Our chiropractor, a personal friend, is also a football mom. Last season her son was badly injured during a game. He had surgery and then sat out of all sports for several months. Still, he was choosing to play again this year.

When I picked W up from practice he was definitely "HANGRY," complaining that he KNEW he had a concussion because he could feel his brain jiggle.

At home the "first day back to college" student had passed out on the side porch. I had to steop over his body to go inside.

The 8 year old was SCREAMING. When I examined his foot I found toe that was swollen to twice its size, purple and striped. I feared infection.

The 17-year old agreed to do chores, while informing me that the team trainer had diagnosed him with a sprained shoulder-rotator cup-something.

Standing water in the basement. I found boxes of photos and books covered in a thick, green mold.

I took a bottle of wine and a glass up to bed with me. Turned on Food Network and then Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad called.

"The house sold today!" he reported.

I repeated/mumbled. "The house...closed...sold..today...yay."

"Can I call you back tomorrow?" I asked. Seriously. I couldn't drum up even an ounce of excitement.

This morning, however, I'm elated.

Kittens and the House(s)

I sent the 8-year-old upstairs to put some clean, folded laundry on his brother's bed. He returned downstairs quickly (this was the first sign that something was "amiss" since the boys often scatter when there is work to do). I overheard a whisper but couldn't make out the content of the message.

Giggles. Loud footsteps. Doors open and closing.

Finally, a boy put out the challenge..."Mom. There are kittens upstairs."

I say "challenge" because my family is well aware that I do not relate well to felines.

They found three "gooey-eyed," "too little for their collars" kittens living in a closet in the oldest boy's bedroom. The mother cat was, I later learned, hit by a car.

All five "kids" enjoyed playing with the kittens through the evening.

While they cuddled with the babies and took pictures to post on Facebook, we also talked about B & J's plans for purchasing a house or renting an apartment after their wedding.

It was quite a different experience to be on the listening end of plans to search for and buy a first home. I appreciated the fact that their plans did not involve any choices or financial obligation on my part.

Mr. WestBerryDad and I are still waiting to sell our own House1, a smaller farm house we brought our second baby home to over 17 years ago! Once it sells, we may be able to buy a snow-blower or a tractor and, perhaps, a new couch. The couch we have now has seen 24 years worth of pets, kids, and winters and its arms have been emptied of all of their stuffing.

The cats can stay...for today.