Hurry up and wait.

The end is growing near. Today marks 10 days until I defend my thesis and 62 days until graduation. Though I've never been a very quantitative, numerically inclined kind of girl, for some reason, I have taken comfort in knowing exactly how much time I have left before my self-imposed torture comes to an end. Yet at the same time, those very numbers... well, for lack of better words, scare the bejeezies out of me. So once again, I find myself at yet another contradiction in my journey.

Perhaps that would make more sense if I had actually posted since last November. About 58 days ago, I began a post that I never published. It went something like this:

Today is the last day of the first week of the last semester of my life as a student. *deep breath*

Yeah, it feels just as confusing as it sounds. This week has been a chaotic storm of emotions, most of which are totally contradictory.

I'm relieved to know it will all be over in 120 days, but overwhelmed to know I have only 120 days to get it finished.
I'm ecstatic to start my career as a teacher, but terrified that I won't be any good at it.
I'm inspired by my research findings, but worried that they may never make a difference.
I'm proud of my accomplishments, but scared I may not live up to others' expectations.
Excited to get this semester started, but sad to know that everything is getting ready to change.

I spent most of this week trying to make sense of all of the contradictions, but to no avail. So as I write this, I'm not really sure what my point here is.

I don't think I realized then (no, in fact I know I didn't realize then or else I may have crawled into a ditch somewhere along the way to hide) that all the contradictions would jump on the bandwagon, haunting the rest of my journey and recruiting others like them along the way.

Though I know without a doubt that in 62 days I will graduate from NC State University and that in 10 days I will have successfully defended my thesis (bear with me... I'm trying to stay positive), the road leading up to those mile-markers and beyond is a pretty foggy. In fact, I think I may need a fog horn.

You see, even though I know the end is near, there is still so much I don't know. Ah look, some more contradictions.

• I know my thesis will be finished in 10 days. But as it's fate is currently in the hands of my committee, I don't know when I'll have to drop everything to to put on the finishing touches (which could range from touching up the paint to gutting the whole infrastructure... I don't know that either.)
• I know that it's finally time to get a big girl job and really be a teacher. But I don't know what positions are opening up, where they'll be, or if any of them will be the right fit for me.
• I know that as of May 31 I can no longer live in my house. But I don't know where my job will be and where I'll need to go.

Go ahead, contradictions, jump on the wagon. I'd hate for you to feel left out.

And besides, the only thing that can clear the fog of contradictions is time. Just as the morning fog clears as the day goes on, this fog too will clear. I just have to be patient and pay attention. There may be intersections of opportunity hidden in the fog. Or there may be boulders and potholes waiting to trip me up and make me fall on my face, who knows. But eventually, the contradictions will clear and then it will be time to make some decisions. Until then, I just have to hurry up and wait.

Look at that, another contradiction. What's that, Contradiction? You want to drive the bandwagon? Oh alright, go ahead.

Nothing.

nothing is ever as it seems... nor is it otherwise.

I

When I was a senior in high school, my English teacher gave us the assignment of writing and I poem. An I poem is simply a serious of statements about yourself each of which begin with the word "I" or some variation of it. I found the poem today as I was rummaging through some old files. I smiled as I read and remembered. I realized how I'd grown and changed, how I'd stayed the same, and was reminded of all the things that make me who I am. So in case I forget again, here "I" am.

I'm probably too optimistic for my own good.
I am so incredibly proud of my big brother. I wish I was more like him.
I love my mom, even in all her cooky overprotectiveness.
My dad is my role model.
I love the ocean; The sand, the salt water, and the sounds are so therapeutic.
I'm a sucker for gorgeous eyes, good smells, and cute accents.
I like my hair most of the time, but that's about it.
I love movies with happy endings.
I love music and its ability to transcend language, culture, and experience.
I sing when I think no one's listening or when I don't realize I'm doing it. It usually means I'm happy.
I'm happier when I'm around people.
I try to make everyone happy, but I don't think it works most of the time.
I'm a completely hopeless romantic.
I love flowers; planting, growing, picking, giving, and receiving.
I'm way too addicted to my computer.
I have the most amazing friends.
I hate being bored; it makes me feel like I'm wasting my time.
I'm a terrible dancer...but I love to dance anyway.
I'm amused by the littlest things... and I like it that way.
Sometimes I just want to cuddle.
I believe in God; His love and grace get me through each day.
I believe that true love never goes away, even if a relationship seems to.
I worry that people are upset with me, too much.
I like good surprises as long as I know they're good ahead of time.
I love to laugh and smile.
I love life.

Writing about Fear seemed appropriate so close to Halloween...

As I once said, this blog used to be just a random collection of my ramblings about daily life, the things that bugged me, the things that made me laugh. Okay, well, now that I think of it, it hasn't really changed much. But when I switched over from random ramblings to random ramblings about teaching, I took down the old blogs and hid them in a word document I have saved on my computer. The other day when I was practicing my activity avoidance techniques, I stumbled across this file and started reading. I came across one particularly spirited entry from a day when something had bugged me.

The story went that my dog, who, though now is very large and ferocious, was a puppy at the time, escaped my apartment and ran out into the yard where a burly man was walking from the parking lot to his apartment. Upon seeing my puppy, Jasper, he proceeded to squeal like a little girl and began running. Now, anyone who has ever had a puppy or even a full grown dog knows that if you run from a dog, he will chase you. So of course, the moment "the man" started running from my dog, of course Jasper playfully chased after him. I watched dumbfounded as "the man" ran toward no apparent safe haven from an animal that could not possibly cause him any harm... well, not much anyway.

Reading back over the story, which in it's original form was far more drawn out and amusing (even if a bit insensitive,) I realized two things. First, it wasn't Jasper who made "the man" run. Jasper was a 4 month old puppy who was more interested in the grass than anyone walking across the parking lot. What made him run was his fear. His perception of something mostly harmless caused fear... and so he ran. And secondly, once Jasper realized that, for whatever reason, "the man" was running away, it was nothing but instinct to chase after him.

At that moment, like a ton of bricks, it hit me. My brain started whirling thinking about all the things I'd been running from lately. And every single one of those things was, without a doubt, chasing me down. In fact, most of them were gaining on me because my fear of them was holding me back; fear that an attempt, no matter how valiant, might end in failure. Fear that pain might be seen as weakness. Fear of taking the next step not knowing exactly where it lead. Fear of accepting a challenge I might not be able to overcome with flying colors. 

So now, it's time to stop running. Running takes a lot of energy. If we were using that energy to run in the right direction, imagine what amazing things we could do. If we can just get past the fears that hold us back, chances are, the thing we feared isn't really that scary after all. Most likely, our fear blew it all out of proportion anyway and we had nothing to be afraid of in the first place. And even if there is something to be afraid of, there's no way around it so we might as well face it, head on, and on our own terms. One way or another, we'll work through them and past them. You may not always come out looking too pretty on the other side, but at least you'll be on the other side, with your fears behind you and no where to go but forward.

"Now, THIS is the life..."

I absolutely love days like today. Not quite summer, not quite fall, the breeze just cool enough to give you goosebumps every once in a while if you're standing in the shade. And I was fortunate enough to be able to spend the afternoon in one of my favorite ways: at the park. Even better, I got to spend it with a pretty inspiring 13-year-old young man.

I sat on the swings, my favorite park installment of all time, and my friend sat beside me pushing the empty swing beside me back and forth a bit haphazardly. (Yes, there was an incident in which I got hit and while it's funny, it's not exactly pertinent to the story... but you can totally ask me about it later.) Though we had been talking as we were swinging, we both grew quiet and my mind wandered back to where it had been all morning. Writing my thesis, fixing my instrument, paying my bills, juggling my responsibilities as a graduate assistant, teaching myself fertilizer calculations, trying to NOT kill my plants in my greenhouse management class. Trust me, the list goes on.

As I sat swinging, staring off into space and probably looking very silly as my list played pinball in my brain, I was suddenly jarred back to the real world when my friend said something that has echoed through me all evening. He said,

Liz, THIS is the life!

It's one of his favorite lines. He says it when he's at the beach, the pool, the park,walking on the green way, and anywhere that he's spending time with his friends or family. I've heard him say it a million times. Yet today, for the first time, maybe because I needed to hear it, it finally sank in. I finally understood. Though he has his plate full, even for a 13 year old it's REALLY full, with his own tasks and concerns and responsibilities, he is wise enough to realize that that plate full of stuff is just that... stuff. My thesis, my classes, my job, all the things that have been stressing me out the past few weeks: while it's all really important, it's just my plate full of stuff that at the end of the day won't matter at all if there's not a life to carry the plate.

But the life... the life is the time spent enjoying the September sunshine. The life is swinging as high as you can because even at 23 years old you still get a rush from the flip your stomach turns. The life is talking with a friend. The life is everything outside of the stuff that you'll miss if you're not careful.

I know as well as anyone that it's easier said than done. But as your plate piles up with all the stuff that life serves you, you have to remember that when it's all that's said and done, it's the life that matters. Nothing else. And when you become overwhelmed getting ready for your fall plant sale, planning your class field trip to the state fair, collecting fruit orders, teaching classes, supervising FFA members at their annual tailgate social, AND running the ticket booth at the high school homecoming football game, remember what truly matters and make time for the life. And chances are, you'll be better all around once you do.

Giggle of the day

From a friend of mine who teaches middle school science:

"Once you become as famous as Cher, then you can just put your first name on assignments. Until then, it is First and Last names. Please and thank you!"

Lessons Learned from the Battle of the Bulletin Board

I knew early on in my life that I wanted to be a teacher. Though there were lots of red "future teacher" flags that went up (reading to my stuffed animals, creating pretend grade books and lesson plans, even making my stuffed animal students change classes at predetermined times... yeah I've always been a nerd,) the one that was always most evident to me was the excitement I felt the closer we came to the start of the school year. Shopping for school supplies, the smell of the freshly buffed hallways, the feel of the pages of a brand new spiral notebook... mmmmmm.

Gearing up for this school year as both teacher and student was no different. I shopped for school supplies, labeled my notebooks and dividers, and purchased my ceremonial new package of writing utensils for the semester (yes, there's a new package each semester. See? Nerd.) And since I'm also TA-ing this semester, I also had some teachery preparation. I fine tuned the syllabus, created the course webpage, helped proof the course materials, planned activities, assignments and guest speakers, but of course, as fate would have it that before all was said and done, I would have to have it out with a bulletin board. Now, while there are a lot of teachery genes I have, there is as least one that I just don't have: the bulletin board creator gene. There's a reason I didn't go into elementary education: you have to have the bulletin board creator trait before they'll even think of admitting you to teacher candidacy. 

I started by taking down all the old pictures and articles that were push pinned to the cork board. As I did, I piled them neatly on the floor so as not to lose them as I intended to reuse them to hold up the new displays. Five hours of struggle later, I finally finished. I had stabbed myself with push pins, stapled my fingers, and suffered the world's most painful paper cut ever, but I was finished. While I'd like to say I learned loads about bulletin board design and construction throughout this whole fiasco, I didn't. But I think what I did learn might be even more helpful.

1. You can not pick up a handful of push pins at a time. If you try, you will be stabbed in the palm of your hand, it will hurt, and you will most likely bleed. Such is life. One of the hardest lessons I've learned of late is that you can't force things to happen all at once. You can't always be in control and expect everything to happen on your time and your schedule. Life and learning happens one step at a time, each step building on the last. If you try to take too many steps at a time, you get tired, confused, and overwhelmed. Instead, you have to pick up one push pin at a time. It will take longer than you want it to, but eventually you'll have them all in the palm of your hand without an ounce of bloodshed. Which is always much nicer.
2.  It takes more than two push pins to securely fasten almost anything. You can try only using two, but whatever it is you're trying to secure will almost always fall off, if not immediately, then later on when you're not there to fix it. Just like picking up the push pins, fastening down anything takes time and patience and if it's not done right, eventually what you were trying to secure will fall down. Likewise in teaching, it's important to ensure that your subject matter is securely attached to your students. Just sticking enough pins in to make sure they can pass the test isn't good enough because, eventually, they'll forget whatever it was you were trying to attach. They need a firm, secure foundation to really make sure it sticks and to make sure that they carry what you taught them with them when they leave you.
3. No one may notice, and that's okay. You made a difference anyway. You may never get a "Thanks!" or a "Oh, you did a nice job" but somehow for someone you made a difference. Even if you never see the fruits of your labor, they're out there.
4. Stapling yourself in the finger hurts. And what hurts more is that you have no one but yourself to blame. There are all kinds of other ways to say this which makes me think that humans as a species are prone to doing this. You know, shooting yourself in the foot, sticking your foot in your mouth, stapling yourself in the finger. It's hard to hold up the paper with one hand while loading the stapler with the other and then pulling out the jammed staple and then stapling yourself with the first staple as it shoots out after being jammed while still holding up the thing you were trying to staple to begin with. Personally, I tend to think that I can handle way more than I actually can. I agree to participate in activities, take on extra responsibilities, commit more of my time than there are hours in the day. And what almost always ends up happening is that I overwork myself and burn out or some aspect of my life falls to ruins as I try to "do it all." But I have to constantly remind myself that it's okay to say "no" sometimes. Sometimes, you already have a full plate and to add anything more would throw everything you're working for off balance. Decide what's MOST important and do that. Let someone else take on the rest. Otherwise, you'll just end up stapling yourself in the finger and the only person you can be mad at... is you.
5. When someone offers to help, it's okay to let them. Should you run into a situation in which you find yourself trying to hold up the paper with one hand while loading the stapler with the other and then pulling out the jammed staple and then stapling yourself with the first staple as it shoots out after being jammed all the while still holding up the thing you were trying to staple *deep breath*  and some kind soul notices that you need help and asks if you would, indeed, like some help... SAY YES! It's okay to need and accept help. That's why we network. That's why we have mentors. And for the most part, I'd be willing to say, that's the reason we're all here... to help. (By the way, thanks @countrywandering.)
6. Finally, it's never going to be perfect. Give up on that immediately. Before you go insane. Nothing is ever, ever perfect. Not bulletin boards, not a day class, not a paper, not a thing. And while it's always good to strive to improve, striving for perfection is just silly and impossible. All you can hope for is that this time will be better than the last and that next time will be better than this.

So, while I still hate bulletin boards, it's done. It's proudly displayed on the first floor of Patterson Hall. Feel free to stop by and admire my handy work. It's the one with my blood, sweat, and tears all over it. It was a vicious battle, I'll admit, but I learned more about teaching from that board than I have all summer. Now, if only it had taught me something about creating bulletin boards....

A Mother's Day Message to Teachers

One day last week I got a text message from my teacher friend, Deana* :

Hope your day turned out better than mine.

My teacher senses tingling, I concluded that something had gone horribly wrong for her and wrote back:

Awe! What happened?

As it turns out, she wrote a student up for telling her to lick his... well, you can imagine. He received 3 days of detention until his parents came tromping down to the school insisting that he had done nothing wrong and that all 17 year old boys talk like that to their teachers. They also asserted that if they kept having "so much trouble with these Ag teachers" there just wouldn't be an Ag program anymore. They stomped their little feet away with the famous last words: You haven't heard the last of us! Mwahahahaha! (Ok, I added the evil laugh, but the rest was true!)

Deana ended her story with these words that shook me to the core:

Not sure I want to do this anymore...

Shocked and a little angry myself, I tried to encourage her as best as I could but it was hard. There are always going to be kids like that and parents like that. There will always be times when you feel like quitting. So what keeps us steadfast when it seems that everything is pushing us away?

My answer came a few days later when Deana sent an email:

Today I got a Mother's Day Card.

The Front of the Card says: Mother's day is for every woman who's ever made a difference in the life of a child.


The inside says: Mother's day is for incredible women like you.

Then one of the students wrote...

Although you're not our mother, you're still an amazing person and teacher and we all look up to you! It's nice to know we have someone so close everday that we can count on for simple advice or just someone to listen. You've made a difference in all our lives and we couldn't have asked for a better person to spend our mornings with. We love you!

Some friends and I went to see "The Backup Plan" last week. In the movie, one of the characters describes parenthood. "Awful, awful, awful, awful, AWFUL... and then something amazing happens."

Thinking about it now, teaching is probably a lot like that, too. There's a lot of awful out there. But what keeps us there is that moment of amazing that reassures us that we're in the right place. It's those moments of amazing that really make a difference in the lives of the children we teach. It's those amazing somethings we have to remember when we just want to quit. It's the heartfelt gratitude, the moment when they understand, the moment when they make discoveries all on there own that keep teachers teaching in spite of the occasional awful. And lucky for us, awful can always be overshadowed by amazing.

Good fences make good neighbors, not good education.

A couple of months ago, the boyfriend brought home another dog. Though Edison, who we affectionately call "Eddy," was already 7 months old and mostly grown, he was the epitome of a new puppy. He ate everything, eatable or not. He woke me up at the crack of dawn nearly every morning by scratching whatever unfortunate part of me was sticking out of the covers. He wouldn't come in from the yard when it was raining until he was COMPLETELY covered in mud. No manners, no commands, no good.

Perhaps at first I was biased because I had raised Jasper and Helen from puppies. They know how to sit, lay down, and speak on command. They know what I mean when I say "Go to bed!" And they know how serious I am just by the tone of my voice. So needless to say, I had a hard time warming up to Eddy. By the time I did warm up to them though, I think he already knew that he wasn't my favorite. Whenever I was home alone, Eddy wouldn't come out and play in the living room with me and the other dogs. He laid in Michael's room until he got home. When Helen and Jasper cuddled up in bed with me, Eddy laid on the floor. It broke my heart that I had judged him so harshly and hadn't put the effort in but he seemed to have accepted it and just waited for Michael.

Last week, I was sitting at home alone catching up on Dr. Quinn. All of the dogs were in the fenced back yard. Just as Dr. Mike rushed off to rescue passengers injured in a train wreck, someone anxiously knocked on my door. A nervous man who I recognized as one of my neighbors all but shouted before the door was even completely opened: YOUR DOG GOT OUT! I asked him to describe the dog and knew immediately that it was Eddy. It seemed that he had found a way to jump the back fence and had landed in the apartment complex on the other side.

I grabbed the leash and followed the man to where he'd last seen Eddy and there he was: sitting, staring up at the fence, trying to figure out how to get back inside. He saw me and immediately hung his head in shame but I couldn't be angry. He was TRYING to get back to where he was supposed to be, he just needed help. I rubbed his ears, told him he was a good boy, and picked up all 50 pounds of him and carried him home.

Since then, Eddy has learned to sit and he doesn't jump on my head anymore when I bend over to pour food into his bowl. He follows me all over the house and lays at my feet in the bed now (much to Jasper's dismay.) So what made the difference? The only thing I can think of is that when Eddy was stuck on the outside of the fence I went after him. When I came to his rescue, maybe he realized that I do care, that my house is his home, and that he can be a part of what's going on inside the fence.

More than one of my wise professors has told me, "Kids don't care what you know, until they know how much you care." How many of our students today are just like Eddy? Sitting outside the fence, knowing that they need to be inside, they NEED an education, and wanting to be inside but not knowing how to get there? As teachers, it's our job to go after those students outside the fence. They need our guidance to help break down those fences that stand between them and their education: learning disabilities, lack of motivation, family responsibilities, sickness, worry, doubt, fear. They need our encouragement to know they can learn and succeed on the inside. And they need to know that they're not just another test score, IQ, or ID number; that they're cared about and they deserve an education as much as anyone else.

When I was student teaching, I taught a student named *Mark. When I met Mark, he was 15 years, 324 days old. Mark was only in school because the law said he had to be. I didn't know anything about him when I started teaching him, so I taught him the same as the rest of the students. I had the same high expectations and the same amount of respect. Though at first he was reluctant, he became really interested in Horticulture. He did well on his tests, answered questions and participated in class often. Even though it was first period, he rarely missed a day. When he DID miss a day, I always bugged him until he completed the makeup work. Though more than one teacher in the school had said that he was just biding his time until the day he could drop out, I was optimistic. What I didn't realize is that even though I had gone after Mark, everyone else had given up on him. He had been outside the fence for so long that no one else thought it was even remotely possible for him to make it inside the fence... and no one tried to find out.

The day that Mark turned 16, he came to my first period class, then he left the school and never returned. And I can't help but wonder, if more teachers had gone after him and would go after those like him, how might things have been different on both sides of the fence?

Go get me a bucket of steam...

Some thoughts:

**If you're not prepared to be wrong, you'll never do anything creative.

**If you're green, you're growing. If you think you're ripe, you're about to rot.

**You don't know what you don't know.

**What am I doing as a teacher to get my student's best efforts?

**If someone questions my students about agriculture, I want them to be able to confidently, accurately, and passionately defend it and advocate for it.