Voice

There has been a major focus on the 6+1 traits if writing in my life lately. Ideas, organization, voice, word choice, sentence fluency, conventions, presentation. Yes, I can recite them in my sleep.

I have determined that voice is my favorite because I absolutely love reading writing that sounds like the author. I give my students the example of reading my sisters' blogs and how joyful it is or was to read their words and hear their voices because the writing is so inherently them.

I think about the time I took a class with Gary Schmidt and about listening to him speak at the Teacher Commissioning Ceremony about his book, "Ok For Now". Now, when I read it, I hear his voice, his stories come out.

I spent most of the day reading my 7th grader's stories. Some of them just made me smile because they were so clearly THEM. It's exciting to watch this trait develop, and middle school is prime time for it.

Still, all this leads me to think about me, and my voice in my writing. Do I sound like me?

To some extent, probably yes. Nearly run-on sentences and bad grammar? Fragments? Sounds like me. And I talk about myself a lot, which is definitely normal for me, even though it probably shouldn't be.

So I'm thinking about my voice, and how to develop and grow even though I'm not technically a middle schooler (although, let's be serious; I'm awful close). I'm thinking about the words I chose both in speaking and writing. I'm thinking about the shallowness of my topics. I'm thinking about the emphasis on me, and the balance of excepting that, yes, the stories I tell are often my life stories and I happen to be the main character of my life, but also, yes, there is more to the world than me.

So I don't know. Still praying an working through that one, as I probably will be for approximately forever.

Exams happen this week-- I have one day left with each of my classes. Pray for them as they study and demonstrate their knowledge and abilities. Pray for me to be the best guide and steward of their time that I can possibly be this week and that the peace I've felt for the last week and a half will continue.

Today, as I was unlocking the door to Room 4, it hit me.

I am a teacher. I have a classroom that is mine to invite students into. I have ridiculous amounts of work to do because I get to do my own planning and create my own lessons. I have students who I know by name.

I've been doing this for 8 weeks.

I am a teacher.

It makes me smile. And, yes, I knew it before today. Do not be alarmed.

Still, sometimes, it just hits me. And I love that this is for real.

I'm not going to lie, I don't spend much time thinking about what I'll wear in the morning. I'm tired, I'm cranky, I'm not ready to start a day. Whatever is lying around is probably good, provided I didn't wear it the day before. I'm pretty sure that would be noticed. Although, maybe I should test it for science. They notice when I don't wear purple. Don't ask how often that happens, I can't tell you.

Anyway, today was a day that made me sad. Yes, I was wearing black, no, this was probably not the reason. My socks were purple. Anyway. Today made me not want to go back tomorrow, not want to try to love those students. Today they hurt me.  


There's a verse written on the wall over my bed. Actually, it's multiple verses, but same difference.

 Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.  Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.  And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.    - Colossians 3:12-14


So I'm going to bed soon. I'm laying out kindness and patience and I'm forgiving my grievances because when it comes down to it, Lord knows I have been forgiven, both by him and by those precious children who drive me insane. 

The reason I post this? Not because I'm super spiritual. I promise, that is not really a thing. Not because I want you to think I'm humble or wise, although, a little bit I do, even though I know it's not true.

Honestly? The real reason?

One of my students offered me up as a prayer request today. She wanted us to ask God to give me the strength to be a good teacher and to do everything I needed to. And I needed that. Still need it. 

Pray that I can put on love. Pray that I'll have patience. Pray that I'll be willing to forgive. Pray the same things for my students.

I've been e-mailing one of the other teachers every night with 3 things that I'm thankful for. It's a good reminder of the good that sometimes gets hidden inside the day to day struggles of being a first year teacher. Some days are easier to find those things than others.

1. Overall, my students did a lot better on the last round of tests and have been turning in more work. I still struggle with figuring out how to deal with students who really seem not to care at all about how they're doing, and to let some of that go instead of internalizing all of the failure. But also there have been some students who have made some really good progress. Like, super good. They would recognize that last group of words as a fragment. Hopefully.

2.  I was out subbing yesterday and it was so good to come back into my room and see my students again. I'm thankful that for the most part, they were excited to see me too. I'm thankful that seeing them is almost always a highlight of my day. That lets me know that, despite the grumpiness about how much work I have to do always and how much I hate not feeling successful, I'm probably right where am supposed to be.

3. I'm thankful that I live with roommates who understand what it is like to be a first year teacher. I'm thankful they listen to me and put up with me and encourage me. I'm also thankful for a silly puppy who thinks she owns my bed but still lets me take up all the room I want. That one is a bonus.

I am overwhelmed. There is a puppy sleeping on my pillow, I have one last section to grade quizzes for, I have tomorrow's lessons to look over, I have summer reading projects left to be graded, I have a study guide left to type up, I have tests to create, I have parents to respond to, and I need to make plans for next week.

And my head says "If you do one more thing, I will explode, thank you very much."


The puppy just stretched and gave me a look like "are you coming?"

And I suppose I am, because I missed those babies today while I just proctored exams. I want to be excited to see them tomorrow because they are lovely. For that to happen, I need sleep.

Everything gets done eventually, right? Oh dear. I totally just typed write instead of right. Don't explode, brain.

Teaching 12 year olds

Do you remember being 12?

I remember having big bushy hair and large glasses. I remember trying to fit in with the cool group at Home School Performing Arts and West Michigan Home School Bands. I remember the drama that went on every time I hung out with my best friend - the kissing pillows, mad crushes, and ridiculous ideas. We were going to create a make-up company called Av-OFF, and we tried various "beauty products" made of household ingredients. Thank goodness this was pre-zits.

Every relationship was a big deal. It was like a new world that I'd been living in for years. Instead of only caring about the people who I was with at the moment, I started caring about EVERYONE and their opinion.

12 year olds are hilarious to spend time with. They have opinions about nearly everything having to do with pop culture (did you know Justin Beiber threw up while performing, which also outed him for lip synching?) They are super interested in your life, especially if you are old (but not too old), beautiful(ish), and single (this is clearly the most exciting of the three). 

I teach 12 year olds. Approximately 80 of them, with 40 up and coming 11 year olds following closely behind.

This is the best thing in the world. There is no other age group I would choose to spend my days with.

I teach 12 year olds. As much as they care about everything else... school WORK is not always that important to them. Responsibility is dumped on them... but they're just babies.

Failing 12 year olds? Detending 12 years? 12 year olds who you KNOW are struggling to figure out how they fit with their friends, in their bodies, in this world? 

This is the worst thing in the world. It breaks my heart.

I'm thankful I live in a world where mees is a word.

I'm thankful for students who are willing to be honest with me and to come in on their lunches to catch up on reading.

I'm thankful that I can come home to a clean home on Mondays and that I never have to clean my floor or shower.