Explaining the Inexplicable

I've been thinking a lot lately about being pregnant.  Not actually about wanting to be pregnant (someone revive Dave).  More about when I was pregnant, and the giant expanse of future that lay before our growing little family at the time.

It was fun to imagine all the possibilities that lay ahead--everything from quiet nights rocking a crying baby in the middle of the night (which is much more picturesque when you are just picturing it and not actually living it night after sleepless night) to trips to Disneyland and rides on the Matterhorn (which in my idyllic world would not have been closed for renovations when we took our kids to the Magic Kingdom).

While I was pregnant, I had lots of time to anticipate all of these Kodak moments because it's darn hard to sleep when there is a small human being reclining on your bladder 24/7.  And it got harder and harder to get a good night's sleep the closer I got to my due date, 'cause now that small human being who was nestled on top of my organs was closing in on nine pounds.  I recall friends and family advising me that losing sleep before you give birth is nature's way of preparing you for the months ahead of interrupted slumber.  So sleep deprivation before the birth, as far as I could tell from what I was being told, was supposed to help me get used to being ridiculously exhausted, which in turn was going to help me be a better parent because I will be used to functioning in a state of ridiculous exhaustion when the baby comes. Because that's how we want our new parents, right?  Confused, terrified, newly responsible for another human being's every need, and delirious from lack of sleep.

But it turns out they were right.  Those long, sleepless night truly did sort of prep me for what lay ahead.  Who would have thought?

Seemingly inexplicable things, in hindsight, are much more explicable once you can see the big picture.  That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

So I was a new mom, and as it turns out, I could get by on five hours of sleep (which were not continuous, but divided up into 45-60 minute intervals).  I was young and enthusiastic and could not be happier to be starting a family, and I was used to not sleeping very much and still getting things done.  Good job, Mother Nature!  You get a "10" for preparedness.

This no-sleep phase passed, of course.  Steven began sleeping through the night, and even Olivia finally made it through her colicky period and we all began to get some much needed rest.

And although I did not see it at the time, that makes perfect sense in hindsight, doesn't it?  Yes, it does, and let me explain why.  Because right about the time our kids finally slept through the night, thus also allowing US to sleep through the night, they became mobile.

They rolled.  They scooched.  They crawled.  They walked.  They were gettin' around.

And I had to keep up with them.  I needed that rest that I was finally getting.  I needed every single minute of that continuous sleep to keep up with my kids.  Mother Nature would have gotten a big high-five from  me if she would have added a few hours to each night so I could grab just a bit more of that shut-eye.

I know, I know.  It doesn't seem like it would be that hard to keep up with toddlers.  But here's the thing: I could not take my eyes off of them--ever!  Not because they were so darn cute (which they were and still are), but because if I did, there was this whole world of things they could get into because they were no longer stationary.  Baby-proofing only goes so far.  Toddler mobility=Parental exhaustion.  That's my math skills at their very best right there with that equation!

Here's my proof to support that mathematical equality: when they were babies, I could sit them in their bouncy seat for an hour and cook dinner.  I could put them into the playpen and make a marketing list. They would sleep in their cribs for an hour or two during the day.  But once they hit toddlerdom (remember, I like to make up words?), the kids didn't take kindly to being contained or still.  Their curiosity kicked in.  They wanted to explore.  They got a kick out of climbing onto things they could fall off of.  They were partial to putting things other than food into their mouths (I, at one point, seriously wondered if CPS would be showing up as I had called the "anonymous" Poison Control Hotline three times in a two week period).  During their waking hours, they never, ever stopped moving.  And I am here to tell you that nothing will both bring on and require a good night's sleep like a day spent hanging with the 2-4 year old set.  Again, job well done Mother Nature!  Perfect timing on your part with that whole sleep thing.  The kids were so pooped at the end of the day (as was I) that they slept soundly, which allowed me to sleep soundly as well.

And then the kids got older still.  And while now everyone was sleeping just fine, thank you very much, there did not seem to be enough hours in the day for me to actually get our house clean, plus I was exhausted at the end of each day from the swirl of activity generated by the kids.  Sure, the kids were independent enough to sit at the kitchen table and do some fun crafts (word to the wise: glitter is your enemy), but they weren't quite old enough to clean up after themselves, or make themselves a quick sandwich, or play a game together without mediation--you get the idea.  So while I would clean up one activity and make a snack, they would head off to do something else (code for "make another mess for mom to clean up").  No rest for the weary.  And certainly not a lot of spare time to mop those floors.  Would my house ever get clean?  Yes.  It would.  Because the kids would go to school.  I can't thank Mother Nature for that one, of course.   But I do feel pretty sure that many years ago, there was a mother somewhere, with a couple of four to five year olds, who said to her husband, "Hey, honey, if you'd ever again like to see clean floors and me naked, you better think of some way to entertain these kids for a few hours every day."  And thus preschool was born.

That's right.  I am now convinced, looking back and finally being able to see the big picture, that kids going to preschool, while being completely unnecessary in the academic sense, is the sole contributing factor to moms being able to finally get their floors mopped and their lingerie out of mothballs.  Those precious few hours were invaluable.  I had some time to myself, and it really was a feeling of accomplishment to unload my dishwasher completely, instead of one dish at a time as I needed them.  It felt good to actually put the clean laundry away--I was beginning to think that my kids would grow up thinking that the laundry room was actually a giant walk-in closet.  And hey--not being so tired I was ready to cry every night was much more romantic...  Preschool came at just the right time!

Parenting is hard, though.  A few hours a day never seemed enough time to get everything done that needed to be done.  Plus, now my kids were getting older, and at that age when they were mobile, vocal, and cognitive.  Steven wanted to know WHY?  Why does the sun shine?  Why is the sky blue?  Why does the ocean have waves?  Why is there so much sand?  And Olivia was right there with him.  She was Robin to his Batman.  It was wonderful to see, but mentally tiring.  No longer were car rides what I'd call relaxing.  They were now non-stop question and answer sessions.  Dinner time was endless conversation, with down time provided during chewing and swallowing.  Now don't get me wrong--I loved that my kids were curious, and both Dave and I were happy to answer their questions.  But man, it was, here's that word again, exhausting.    Preschool was great, but the time flew by so quickly. What could help me quench their undying, unending curiosity?  What could possibly save me from going completely insane?

Elementary school.  All day.  Five days in a row.  Again, no thanks to Mother Nature, but a lifesaver none-the-less.  Curious, intelligent kids are fantastic, but I needed some help with the never-ending spirit of inquiry my kids possessed.  Plus, in addition to school providing them with constant challenge, it was also, at least for the first few years, like having a playdate with their friends every day (but I didn't have to clean up after all twenty of them! Yay me!).

Now, kids going off to school is a double-edged sword.  Again, I didn't see it at the time--all I could see looming was a bit of long-forgotten freedom for myself.  At first, just the mere thought of the kids both being in school each day made me giddy with excitement over what I might be able to accomplish.   Once both the kids were in elementary school, I thought I had it made.  Sure, I cried that first day as I sat at my kitchen table, all by myself.  It was a bit lonely.  That day.  And then I rebounded.  I had time to not only clean the house, I could grocery shop BY MYSELF, go for a run, watch the noon news while I ate lunch, even occasionally meet a girlfriend for coffee.

As time passed, though, I realized something was missing.  What was it?   House clean?  As clean as I'm going to get it.  Quick run to get a bit of exercise?  Check.  Groceries in the cupboard?  Got 'em.  An occasional (shut up, whoever just snorted) episode of Days of Our Lives while I ate lunch?  Very nice.  Hmmmm..... what was that little feeling nagging away at me?  What was absent?

Turns out it was the kids.  I did not see that coming.  Yep.  Those same kids that I had been so anxious to schlep off to school so that I could have a moment to myself--turns out I didn't quite know what to do with myself for seven hours a day.  So I did what all moms do: I worked in my children's classrooms.  I volunteered at the school library.  I went to some PTA meetings.  I worked at the school "spring fling".  I went on countless fieldtrips.  I filled that giant expanse of free time that I had longed for so desperately right back up--and I filled it up with those same kids who had originally made me crave that giant expanse of free time!  How's that for coming full circle?

I didn't see it at the time.  I see it now.  Every little part of life, no matter how ridiculous it seems to you at the time, does its part to prepare you for something yet to come.

Right now, I'm thinking about how my teenagers can drive me absolutely batty, what with their eye-rolls and their harumphs and their seeming inability to pick clothing up off the floor of their rooms.  Truly, some days, they make me crazy.  And I think this may have to be a blog entry all on its own as events unfold, but my current theory is that teens unwittingly develop these behaviors (again, a tip of the hat to Mother Nature), which culminate precisely at the moment of high school graduation, at which time we parents have been driven so off our rockers that we are compelled to send them off to college to go drive their professors crazy for a little while.

Now, I'm not quite there yet.  And truthfully, as insane as the kids may make me at times, I can burst into tears just watching a car with "Seniors, Class of 2011" painted on its windows for homecoming drive by me.  The thought of me eagerly anticipating the kids leaving home is beyond my comprehension at this moment.  Just can't imagine it.

But I know things happen for a reason.  Remember those sleepless nights I recounted at the opening of this little discourse?  They're back, with a vengeance.  No, I'm not pregnant.  But my fifteen year old son IS about to get his driver's license... think that may have anything to do with it?

Subbing

You know what the single most important thing is to having a good day when you are a substitute teacher?  Go ahead and take a few guesses.  I’m pretty sure you won’t get it.  Long lunch?  Nope.  No “rainy day indoor recess”?  Not it.  Helpful colleagues?  That’s nice, but not the answer.  A fool proof lesson plan?  So close, but still not correct. 

Okay, here it is.  The single most important thing to having a good day as a sub is… a seating chart.  That’s right.  A plain old seating chart.  It doesn’t have to be fancy.  It doesn’t have to be neat and tidy.  It doesn’t have to be to-scale.  Sure, grading programs can usually spit out diagrams that have all the little boxes/desks lined up perfectly and names are neatly typed inside each one.  Fantastic.  But if your grading program doesn’t do that, or if it does do that but you don’t know HOW to make it do that, if you just plain old don’t want to LEARN how to make it do that, or even god forbid if you do not use a grading program so you have no access to this option, may I let you in on a little secret? 

We subs do not care about your technological prowess or lack thereof.  We simply want to be able to know who is in the class and where they are in the classroom.  There are a number of reasons, as I’m sure you can imagine, why it is advantageous to know a child’s name, as well as where that child sits.  Let me spell some of them out for you. 

As a guest teacher in a classroom, I begin the day at a disadvantage.  I do not know the routine.  I do not know the personalities.  Students are well aware of this, and even the nicest of kids will alter their behavior somewhat with a sub in the room.  Side note: when I was in eighth grade, I was one of those "nicest of kids" (if I do say so myself).  And yet when we had a sub in history one day, I so much wanted to sit by one of my friends that I traded desks with another kid in the class--a guy no less--and proceeded to watch as that kid had to confess to the sub that, yes, it is hard being a boy named Kim, and no, he wasn't aware that Kim was a much more common boy's name in England.  It all worked out--we weren't discovered.  But still, you see my point that having a sub in the room changes things a bit from the norm.  Okay, anyway, back to the topic at hand.


As a sub, I’m pretty good at setting out my rules and expectations from the get-go.  I begin the day somewhat stern and serious as I want the class to know that I am in charge and will remain so throughout the entire day.  But I will say that after I’ve let the students know I expect them to raise their hands if they have something to say, it doesn’t sound very stern or serious to say to a student who has just blurted out a response, “You, girl in the back row with the Tinkerbell shirt and the pink scrunchy in your hair, what’s your name?”  Try a few of your own—it’s like a Mad Lib. Say them out loud, as if you're talking to a student—see how authoritative you sound.  

You, young lady/young man 

 ___________ (location preposition, i.c. near, under, on, next to, beside, beneath)

 the ___________ (piece of furniture in the classroom)

 with the ___________ (popular cartoon or TV character) t-shirt,

 and the ____________ (color)

_______________ (accessory)

on your _________________ (body part corresponding to above chosen accessory),

please raise your hand and wait to be called on before you answer.

Really, try a few of these.  Mix it up a little.  Say it loudly while maintaining a direct stare.  

A seating chart would dramatically change the impact of the above exchange.
Try the same thing, but insert a child's first name and omit everything else except the last line.

“Joe, please raise your hand and wait to be called on before you answer.”

Much better, thank you very much.

It's not, I don't think, a lot to ask.  But you'd be amazed how many teachers do not think to leave a seating chart when they are gone.  They will leave detailed lesson plans.  They will explain at great length how the kids should line up for recess (line leaders first, groups with the highest point in descending order next, kids with check marks next to their names last, etc..).  Really, that's a lot of detail for recess line-up (and not at all out of the ordinary, by the way).  May I gently suggest to you, absent teacher, that you reallocate your time to dashing off a quick seating chart for me instead of filling me in on which order the kids should line up to leave the room?

And one final plea for seating charts: I like to compliment kids who are hard-working and on-task.  It really takes the "oomph" out of giving kudos to a student when you can't give them the compliment directly.  "Hey, Sarah, thanks so much for having all your supplies out and being ready to begin math.  Great job!  And thank you also to Justin, Jose, and Lori for being on top of things... "  sounds so, so much better than, "Hey, thank you to this guy, and that girl, and that girl, and this guy over here for being ready to go."

So, again, to recap, best possible thing I can find on the desk of the teacher whose room I'm about to commandeer for the next seven hours?  Seating chart!

And just in case you're wondering, worst possible thing I can find on the desk of the teacher whose room I'm about to commandeer for the next seven hours?  Bags of candy.  Bags of candy means you think, no you EXPECT, that I'm going to  have to bribe your kids to be good.  And that ALWAYS means you've already told the kids that bribery is the plan.  Not super high expectations of your students, or your sub for that matter.  I am not a fan of candy as a discipline plan.  Kids know how to work that one.  In their little heads, when the teacher says, "And I'm leaving treats if you're good...", what they hear is "And I'm leaving treats if you can convince the sub that you should get them..."  Big, big difference.  I expect kids to behave well, not "good enough for a treat".

I can make it work for me, though.  IF (big IF here) IF you leave me the seating chart with the candy.  That seating chart is crucial to my ability to establish a rapport with the students, which in turn might just allow me to not actually have to use the candy at all in the end run.

So teachers everywhere, I implore you: make a seating chart RIGHT NOW! Scribble it out on a piece of recycled scratch paper, and tuck it in the top drawer of your desk.  The next time you have to make out a sub plan, paper clip it to the back.  I guarantee your sub will appreciate it--and you might even end up with candy left over as a little treat for you!