A Day at Dilly's Deli

Nickelback is playing at Dilly's Deli at 12:36 on a Thursday. I find a spot at one of the only available checkered tables and pull out my laptop. It acts as a shield, so I don't make awkward eye contact as I sit with my back to the wall.

The employee with a soft-spoken voice tries to announce my bread bowl is ready over the room crowded with voices. She has written my name on the order with an "i" using a heart instead of a dot.

A woman with a collared red dress and black heels sits stiffly in the metal chair across from a man in scrubs and Reebok sneakers. She nods and smiles politely at his animated stories. After 10 minutes, he says, "Thanks for taking the time to speak with me today" and I wonder if he knows the difference between speaking and listening.

A father and son walk in with matching ASU t-shirts and slightly crooked gaits. They both order a large Coke.

The bearded man at the table to my left has pawprint tattoos running up his arm. I wonder if he will go home to those dogs tonight or if they are prints lingering from friend she said goodbye to long ago.

Working men and women rush in and out with brown paper bags of sandwiches to go. On the way out, one man stops to order a root beer float. I hope this addition makes his day a little sweeter.

Four people are staring at their phones in this room, swiping their thumbs across the screens. A man in a black apron sneaks around them to swipe a rag over their tables.

John Denver is playing at 1:05 on a Thursday as a line again begins to form at the counter of Dilly's Deli. I close my laptop. A girl walks by and I call out, "I love your glasses." She turns. We make eye contact and smile. 

Rain in the Desert

 Tonight, I lie on my bed on my stomach, spread across the width of my queen-sized mattress so that my face can feel the breeze of a desert storm from the open window.

It smells like dirt and the neighbor's front porch light glistens in the rain-streaked glass. My phone and book are pushed away as I listen, as if each drop hitting pavement calls out for my undivided attention. A car passes by like a wave. I close my eyes to hear it better. 

I never understood the fascination with ocean waves. Maybe this unexpectedly cool, wet suburban street is my ocean. A steady drip from the roof reminds of my time as a percussionist for middle school band. Keeping time as the music played all around me. 

I try to take a snapshot of this moment. Can you take a auditory snapshot? I had an ear worm all day today. I sang the same line of a Noah Kahan song. Maybe I can hold nature's symphony just like that to play again and again. 

"If you like rain so much, why don't you live in Seattle or Florida?" someone once asked me. But I never loved rain until I met Arizona rain. Not a rain that comes to stay and soaks into the soil and leaves lawns wet. But instead a rain that seems to just be passing through. A friend with a melodic laugh and a wild heart. She brings reprieve from the heat for a moment and then dances away, leaving no trace by morning, or maybe just her muddy prints all over my car. 

Be Careful How You Compliment

When I started my career as a teacher, I was always trying to prove myself. I was the new blood in a hallway full of veterans. Every professional learning or planning meeting involved other teachers ignoring me or telling me the best way to do everything. Looking back, I know that I was SO lucky to have mentorship and experience all around me. I could have asked more questions and listened much better. But my 22-year-old self desperately wanted them to respect me. I wanted them to see that my ideas were good and that I was a good teacher. Just to clarify, I was most definitely NOT a good teacher in those years. I had no classroom management and spent most days after school crying in my car because I felt so overwhelmed. Yet, instead of asking for help, I kept up this act that I had everything under control and I was doing "fun" things my students would appreciate later. 

In my 2nd year of teaching, I lost a lot of weight. This was partly due to the stress of my job, but mostly due to my stricter and stricter calorie rules. Went over your calorie limit today? Better not eat at all tomorrow as punishment. Had frozen yogurt with friends? You better walk 5 hours tonight instead of sleeping tonight to burn that off. 

One afternoon at lunch hour, I skipped the staff lounge to avoid the temptation to eat and started walking up and down the stairs to my 2nd floor classroom instead. After 20 minutes, I started feeling faint. As I began to get more dizzy, probably without calories for a very long time, I grabbed the hand rail for support. Just as I was doing this and thinking maybe I should give in and grab something from the vending machine, the veteran teacher from next door to me started walking up the stairs behind me and said, "I saw you walking those stairs and I wanted to let you know how impressed I was. You look great and I can tell you've been working hard. Keep it up." 

That was the first and only time he ever complimented me and I held on to those words for YEARS. I thought of that when I was pushing myself for hours on the treadmill or eventually throwing up my dinner. He respected me. He thought I looked great. I must be making the right decision. This was what hard work looked like. 

I thought about him for the first time in a long while today after a friend told me about her own compliment. She said people in her life were often telling her how "strong" she was and how she never let anything bring her down. While well-intentioned, these compliments started to define her life. She felt like she could never be sad or vulnerable in front of friends and family because they wouldn't respect her anymore. She didn't think she needed to talk to anyone because she was "strong", right? But that built up over time and made her miserable. 

We aren't meant to be happy all the time. Nor are we meant to look picture perfect. Obviously compliments are a good thing, and I try to hand them out regularly. This isn't a post to say compliments are bad. But I'm also trying to remind people who I love that I love them in any circumstance, not just at their "best". Their worth and my love are not conditional. Remember that your words always, always matter. 

 

What We Notice

 Have you ever learned a new word and then suddenly you see this word everywhere? Or had a conversation about a certain place and then see that place in a news story the next day? "What a coincidence!" we say. But I honestly don't think it is. I think those words/people/places were always there and we become tuned in and notice. The world is so full of details that we can't always notice everything. What I believe is that we can choose to notice the things that make life better.

Once I was staying with my grandpa over a break during college. We went out for lunch and grabbed a few things at the store. When we arrived back at his house, he said, "Another day of terrible luck." I asked him what he meant. He listed all the "bad luck" of the day: he hit every red light, they forgot to add fries to his order at the fast food restaurant, the store didn't have the bottles of Pepsi he preferred, a bird had popped on his vehicle, the machine wasn't working at self-checkout and we had to go to another one. This list startled me...because I honestly hadn't really noticed any of those things. I had enjoyed the warm Arizona sun (visiting from Nebraska at the time), had a nice lunch, and successfully picked out all the items we needed at the store. But my grandpa was always convinced of this "curse" he had and because of that, every outing was filled with details to support it. 

One great habit I learned from my grandpa, though, was people-watching. He used to take me to the mall and let me shop while he sat at a bench or at the Wildflower Café and just silently watch people. I honestly don't know what he was watching for or what he enjoyed about this activity specifically, but it taught me to slow down and take things in. We, as busy humans, can be very self-absorbed and not think about all the lives passing by ours on any given day. Over the past 2 years, I've been noticing beautiful things every day in my 1-second-a-day picture project, but in the last few months, I've added to that and started trying to notice beautiful human moments too. The kind cashier or the friend who checks in. The kids laughing together on the playground or the lady who bends down to clean up trash. There's no doubt that a lot of things are very wrong in our society, but I also believe in the goodness of people, and I'd much rather gather evidence of goodness than that of the world going to hell. 

The next time you are getting bogged down with all the inconvenient or unlucky or plain bad parts of your week, take time to notice the good things too. Once you start, it usually snowballs. We just have to take the time to look. What we choose to notice matters. 

Happy to Be Waiting

There is an exit to my parents' neighborhood where there is no stop light. If you need to turn left, you do so against 4 lanes of busy traffic. As I pulled up to that stop sign the other day and saw cars flying by in both directions, my immediate reaction was to feel stressed. 

I will have to wait so long. 

Then, I took a deep breath, and turned my music up and sang along. I was right, I had to wait. But would I rather waste those minutes of my life being anxious about the trip taking a little longer or make those in-between moments filled with as much joy as I can squeeze into them? 

As I returned to my parents' home 30 minutes later, I watched another driver taking the same left turn. She had pulled out into the middle island area and I could see her face was red and her hands were gripping the steering wheel. This small moment would surely bring tension to her entire day. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she'd already had a terrible day and this impatience was incited by that. But what is the worst that could have happened if she sat at that stop sign 4 extra minutes? 

For my job, I often host mental wellness workshops with students. In those workshops, we practice staying in the moment to calm stressful thoughts. So often, we get caught up in worrying about what will come next or dwelling on something that happened in the past and so I teach grounding techniques like using all 5 senses or looking around for something that is 3 different colors. These tasks may sound silly or juvenile (the high schoolers often roll their eyes at me), but they help us to remember where we are right now and make the most of it.

Over the past few years, I have made a task for myself to notice something beautiful and joyful every single day and take a video or picture of it. This has helped me so much to stay grounded. I now literally "stop and smell the roses." Well, not roses usually. I live in Arizona. 🤣 But I find myself grabbing my phone to capture the birds flying or the clouds and it makes even mundane tasks like driving special. 

This is not a new concept. Everyone is always talking about living in the moment. I think, though, we imagine "the moment" to be the big things like enjoying a vacation or spending time with friends and family. But every moment is a moment that we can't get back. I want to savor every sing-along to the radio and smile at every quail crossing the road. I want to notice the stranger's tattoo and guess its meaning. I want to roll the windows down and feel the breeze. 

So, here's to waiting happily at the stop sign. I'm so grateful I got that moment. 

You're an Adult. You Make The Rules.

 A few weeks ago, I was watching Matilda: The Musical and there was a song called "When I Grow Up". In the song, the kids dream about the things they will be able to do as an adult that they can't as a kid. I remember that feeling so well. The feeling of being restricted by all these rules and dreaming of a time when you no longer had to follow others. The dreams those kids have of watching cartoons all day or eating candy on the way to work might not be my own dreams, but I do find myself often telling myself that I "can't" do something I want to do. Who says? 

I remember realizing this for the first time in high school when everyone would wear the same type of clothes every day. School T-shirts and jeans were the norm, but there wasn't a rule. I could wear a dress and still be within the dress code. So I started doing that. I wore bright colors and hats (when not inside) and whatever made me feel pretty. A lot of peers said it was attention-seeking, but honestly it was much more to do with free will and having some choice within my very controlled environemnt. As a teacher, even in schools with strict dress codes that I taught in, you'd find kids with crazy-colored socks or charms on their shoes or wrist bands that showed their personality. We can stick to laws/rules/expectations and still do what we want and I love that. 

The line in the Matilda song I like the most is "I'll play with things that mum pretends that mums don't think are fun." I loved that because I see so many adults say that a movie or show or activity is "for kids." I turn on Disney animated movies often to feel better. I like to go to the zoo, not with kids, but on my own. I think the world would be a better place if we spent more time coloring or playing or using our imagination. We tend to think that in order to be "responsible" we need to be less childlike. I don't think that's the case at all. I can show up on time and keep a job and pay my bills, but still play video games after work or buy myself a sno cone. Life is so short and I'd rather fill my days with bubbles and Halloween costumes than worrying about which insurance to choose, rewriting an email until it's perfect, or ironing my clothes (if it needs to be ironed to look nice, I don't want it.)

There also isn't a universal timeline for everyone's day. This is something I have been reteaching myself a lot lately. If I want to eat my lunch at 10:00am, I will. If I'm tired at 6:00pm and am done for the day, I go to bed. If I'm not tired until 2:00am, I got to bed then. I've even turned on a dance workout video at 1 in the morning because I was struck with the urge to move my body. I do understand that I don't have kids, which heavily impacts daily schedules, but I always maintain my responsibilities. Like with the high school dresses, I can do what I want and still be a great contributing member of society. 

So here's your sign to live for you child self today. Eat a Gogurt. Build with some Legos. Watch Spongebob. Jump on a trampoline. Take a nap. Start a Nerf gun war. It's never too late. 

To Be Known Is To Be Loved

 First of all, I'm back. 2025 was the first time in 12 years I never once blogged. The only writing I did were book reviews and work emails. My self-talk shouted, "What's the point?" and I couldn't seem to drown out that doubt. The point isn't quality writing though. It isn't about the number of readers or if I have any original thoughts or ideas. Instead, it's about me taking the never-ending monologue in my head and releasing it. It's about giving myself an outlet to create rather than always consume. I attend a lot of author panels and the most common advie I hear over and over again from those authors is, "Just write anything. Don't stop and edit. Just write." And that's what I'm here to do. This post will undoubtedly meander and not be concise, but that's okay. 

I've always been the kind of person who is looking toward the reaction, not the action. At the movie theater, I want to watch my friends and family laugh almost more than I want to see the movie. I want to watch the concert-goers dance and sing. I want to see the sports fans jumping up and down. I want to watch the groom's reaction, not the bride in her gown. For me, the most beautiful things in life aren't the sights and the feats, but the emotions and the connections we make. 

Oftentimes, this can be negative for me. I can be so worried about everyone else and their feelings, that I forget to consider my own. But I think this "looking back" also helps me to know people. I remember what songs bring joy to my friends faces when we're driving in the car. I catch the smirk of my brother when he thinks no one is looking. I notice how someone leans into their partner to calm their nerves. The more I watch people, the more I love them. While we fear the things we don't know, we care more for those once we really see them. 

We, as humans, also love to be known. Some of us pretend we don't. We can close ourselves off and not share easily. There's no greater feeling, though, than someone remembering us. A text out of the blue, an invitation, a check-in after a difficult time or just taking the time to listen are such powerful actions that can make all the difference in our lives. I know I'm not alone in this, because I know how popular romance books are. Every romance book I've ever read involves a partner knowing something personal about the main character. Every single one. They might remember their favorite take-out food or take them to their favorite concert. They might buy earrings or a dress in their favorite color. Right now, Heated Rivals is the most popular show on HBO Max. Most of the viewers aren't gay athletes like the main characters, but we all relate. Why? Because the show is shot after shot after shot of them looking at each other. Them seeing each other and knowing each other and loving each other. Millions of readers and viewers eat these stories up. Because we crave to be known. 

I was recently asked what I am the most proud of. For years, my automatic response to that question has been either obtaining a Master's degree or the students I helped in my 7 years of teaching. And that's true. I am proud of my efforts and my work. But honestly, I think I'm more proud of the people I've surrounded myself with. So many people I know lose touch or fall away from friends, but I've tried to make a point of reaching out, noticing, remembering, and listening. I may not talk to some friends very often, but I am confident that if I really needed something, I'd have 15 people that wouldn't hesitate to help. 

As a single person, I have people concerned all the time about me being lonely or sad. I am rarely lonely and enjoy my own company, but I every once in a while I fall into this sadness about not having a person that knows me. No one knows what the last show I binged was or what song I am playing on repeat. No one knows my current snack obsession or my favorite scent. I don't have anyone to care about what keeps me up at night or how to calm me down when I'm feeling stressed. But I swear anytime I feel like that, a friend swoops in to show me I'm wrong. Skye sends a Marco Polo to say, "I was just thinking of you. How did ___ go?" Hillary snaps me with a simple "It's 12:34!" because she knows it's my favorite time. Bailey texts to tell me she is at my favorite restaurant in Lincoln and remembers I always ordered Pollo con Arroz. Someone in my book club chats to ask if I want to go to an event. Sarah texts almost every Tuesday to tell me that I work too hard then watch a horror movie "together." And those simple moments show me that I am known. I am loved. What a privelege. 

Losing a Grandma, Losing a Friend

Yesterday, I sat in a room listening to Elvis croon as I watched my grandmother take some of her final breaths. While she could no longer react to the music she loved so well, I like to imagine she heard his soulful voice as she drifted out of this world. 

I was blessed enough to grow up with six grandparents. Grandma Donna is the last to leave me and in many ways the hardest to let go. 

When I was growing up, Grandma Donna was an enigma. Unlike more maternal grandmothers, she never baked me cookies, took me on a trip, or even showed me much affection. Her home was filled with Jeff Gordon memorabilia and craft supplies and Native American art. I was fascinated by her because she was so different than anyone else I knew. She still is.

Grandma had strong opinions. She told you exactly what she liked...and what she didn't like. And while this caused annoyance in the family at times, I often admired her directness. Recently, my sister said of Grandma, "She doesn't compliment you often, so when she does, you know she means it." I think there is a lot of truth to that. I took her feedback to heart and was often trying to make her laugh. She did love to laugh.

Also, when I think back to childhood, I often group Grandma Donna together in my mind with her mother, my Grandma Marj, because for many years I never saw one without the other. And while they seemed so utterly different in personality and interests, and they bickered constantly, it was so obvious they cared deeply about one another. In her final days, my mom and aunt witnessed Grandma Donna having conversations with her mother once again and I hope she now feels that strong bond again with her mother, who I know she has missed for so many years.

As I moved into adulthood, Grandma continued to be a family member I loved, but didn't really feel extremely close to. She sent me checks each month that I was in college and then called to reprimand me often when I didn't cash them in a timely manner and threw off her checkbook balance. I sent occassional emails and she'd send some back and that was the extent of our relationship. Then something happened. I can't pinpoint when or how it started, but for whatever reason I started calling Grandma just to talk. And then I called her more and more often. She grew from a person I was content seeing once a year to someone I was eager to call anytime I had something to share. Sometimes we talked for hours and I never felt a lull in the conversation. 

She has truly been my friend over the past several years and I feel so lucky to have had a friend in her. But losing a friend is hard. I'll never again be able to call her on a car trip and have her say, "Where in the world are you off to today?" I'll never hear her whine about her stupid phone that she'll "never get the hang of" (she was right on that account). I have a draft in my inbox of the latest "Sports Report" a weekly email I sent about sporting events to watch each week. It will never get sent. 

While I already miss Grandma Donna terribly, she will not be an easy person to forget. She loved Elvis and coloring and the Green Bay Packers. She gave the most ridiculous Christmas gifts. She loved the thrill of gambling or winning a game of bowling. She was very particular about things going exactly in the place she had assigned to them. 

And although my family likes to tease about her OCD habits and routines, she wasn't always as set in her ways as we'd like to believe. Until the very end, Grandma loved discovering new things. For a while, she was obsessed with online bird-watching. She toggled between several live nest feeds and always had stories about the current eagles laying eggs or facts she learned about the hummingbirds she was watching. A few years ago, she tried to learn Spanish. At over 80 years old. She got really into Ancient Aliens for a time. This past year, she decided she wanted to become a true NBA fan. She would ask me questions about all the players and kept extensive notes. I hope I always have that same curiosity until the end of my life, delighted to learn and explore new hobbies and interests.

While I have lost a friend and a grandmother, I am so grateful for everything I gained because of Grandma. She brought more color into my world. My life is better because of it.

A Toast to the Bride and Groom

 This weekend, my baby sister got married and I am so happy for her. Friday, April 12th marked the official signing on to the team. Just like Mahomes and Kelce on the team that brought them together, these two make great teammates. I look forward to all the games I will witness in the days and years ahead. 

I know personally that Brigitte is the very best teammate because she was my first one. My very first vivid memory was holding Brigitte as a baby. She was wearing some frilly pink outfit that she would definitely hate now and I was so proud to be her big sister. Some things never change. I never wanted to let go. As years went on, I kept her close, dragging her to play princesses and rock band and Power Rangers. Every game was better with her by my side. Unfortunately, I lost some signing-day battles for her attention as she often chose her big bro Josh's side in our hallway wars of Pokemon or Beanie Babies. 

Brigitte is such a good teammate, not just because of her willingness to take on any adventure, but also her ability to listen and sympathize. Although she might not always agree with your decisions or opinion, no one in the world has ever understood me better than Brigitte. She listens and remembers and I know she will do the same for Diego throughout their marriage. This also makes her pick out the best gifts. 

As a protective older sister, I have a very hard time thinking anyone is good enough for my intelligent, driven, funny siblings, so when Diego suddenly appeared in our apartment during the shut-down of 2020, I was probably not instantly the most welcoming host. I remember the first time I really understood that Brigitte had met her match. I was taking a nap in my room one afternoon when I was woken up by a loud noise. I opened the door to my room, irritated and ready to snap at them, but then I heard that the noise was laughter. Those two were laughing so hard that they looked like they couldn't breathe. They were leaning into each other on the couch with such trust. I never remember seeing two people so absolutely joyful in each others' company.

Over the years, I watched Diego jump in to every situation. I watched them play intensely competitive matches of sand volleyball and take Ollie for casual evening walks. I watched them work together and go on adventures. And obviously his cooking for me occasionally did not hurt my opinion of him. This weekend I didn't "welcome Diego to the family" as is often said at weddings. To me, he has been a member of our family for years now. But I hope we continue to enjoy each others' company...and maybe I'll practice speaking in Spanish with him occasionally to frustrate Brigitte. 

I hope these two newlyweds continue to embark on adventures and constantly compete to keep each other on their toes for the rest of their lives together. I'm thankful I got to be part of this beautiful weekend full of love. 

...And Remember, Grandma Loves You

My Grandma Velma passed away yesterday at the ripe age of 99. I hadn't seen her in quite some time, but the last time I visited we sat in her nursing home room for several hours. We talked about birds and the show on television and photographs on the wall. But mostly we didn't talk at all. She was tired and I knew she was forcing herself to stay awake for me. I suggested I could leave several times, but she pleaded for me to stay. I stayed as long as I could, but finally said goodbye. I leaned over her chair to hug her and she grabbed my hand (with quite a grip for her age), looked me in the eyes, and said, "Come back and see me....and remember, Grandma loves you." 

I knew, even then, I probably wouldn't be back to see her, but I did always know that she loved me. On the long drive back to Omaha that night, I remember thinking the visit felt so strange to me. At first, I couldn't understand the feeling, but it finally struck me that it was strange because it was so still. 

My grandma was 68 when I was born so she could have been considered an older grandmother my whole life, but I never felt that way because she was constantly in motion. I never remember a visit where she just sat. She was always running to get something from the kitchen or moving to clean something up. She always always wanted to go somewhere. It made me a little sad that the woman who was always moving couldn't move much at all anymore. I started imaging a day when maybe she could do all the things that gave her life again. I hope that time has come now.

I hope she has her car back. And she can drive to the grocery store or the drive-in or a friend's house just to chat.

I hope her hair is perpetually dyed and curled to perfection. Not a trace of gray. 

I hope she has a swimming pool and water aerobics are open at 5pm each day.

I hope there are always cookies in her freezer, packed in Ziploc bags to send away with anyone who's leaving her home.

I hope she's surrounded by photos of her family in which we all stand just right with no "goofy looks" on our faces. 

I hope she has an endless supply of Word Jumbles that she is able to solve at her table each day.

I hope she can call for Jack anytime and he will be there for her.

Most of all, I hope she remembers that I love her too. 

Sit Still, Look Pretty

When I was a kid, my grandma would often call the house on summer afternoons. My siblings and I would see the number on the caller ID of our home phone and sigh. "Should we answer? Are you up for it?" we'd ask each other. Usually, at least one of us would volunteer to take the trip to get ice cream. You would think kids would be chomping at the bit to get ice cream with their grandma, but that wasn't the case for us. Those trips to grab soft serve weren't a carefree afternoon, but instead a performance. I won't speak for my siblings or cousins. Their experiences may have been very different, but my ice cream afternoons always started with an evaluation. Grandma would look me up and down and make a comment on something with my appearance. Sometimes the comments were small praises. "Your hair is so pretty." "I like your shirt." "You look so thin." Other times, more cryptic comments. "You wear those flip-flops a lot." "Are you wearing your hair up like that because you are playing a sport?" "Is that a new t-shirt? It's different." I smiled agreeably. After we ordered ice cream, Grandma had us sit at a table near the door. She watched for any person who walked through the door and immediately intercepted their trip to the counter to place an order. "This is my granddaughter, Roxanne. She's in ___ grade. I'm just so proud of her" was a usual interjection. We lived in a small town and most people already knew who I was, but they politely would assure my grandma that I was a fine young girl and I would smile politely back and thank them. 

I never understood why those afternoons bothered me so much. I got free ice cream. I didn't have to do any chores. But twice this week, a song called "Sit Still, Look Pretty" by Daya popped up on my randomized playlist and, for whatever reason, both times I thought back to those ice cream days and even the memory made me feel drained. I think what bothers me was the lack of worth outside of being pretty and obedient. I wasn't a "fine young girl" because I was intelligent or well-spoken or kind or funny. My grandma (or the many people that walked into that dining establishment) didn't know if I was imaginative or hard-working or brave. They never asked me anything about myself. I was only "good" because I didn't speak at all. I was valued for my appearance only. 

This feeling wasn't isolated to interactions with my grandmother. I was a "great student" at every parent teacher conference, not because of my innovation or leadership, but because I never spoke up and complained or made problems at school. Teachers liked me, not because of my actions, but instead the lack of them. My parents would get compliments from doctors or waitresses about how "well-behaved" I was. I learned early on that silence and complacency were praised and I would feel overwhelmingly guilty every time I would cry or make a mess. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone in any way. I was more worthy of love if I didn't cause anyone any inconvenience at all, right?

Unfortunately, I have taken those standards for myself into my adult life. At work, I can't remember a single time that I met with a manager or boss that I spoken up and said anything except to answer a question. I always smile and nod and tell him/her that everything is great, even when it's not. I don't want to create problems. I want to be a "good" employee. In almost every job I've had, I've been assigned more tasks than I can juggle, because each time I'm asked if I can do something, I smile and say, "Of course." 

Even with friends and family, who I know love me for much more than my appearance, I often try to make myself still or invisible. I'll have the urge to call a friend and tell them about an experience, but then convince myself they don't want to hear from me. I'll vent about something to someone and then immediately feel terrible for not shutting up and just keeping my feelings to myself. I regularly tell myself that it's okay to take up space and that my feelings are important too, but I'm not very good at listening to my own voice. I hope I can get better. My voice matters. Yours does too. We don't have to contort ourselves to fit what others prefer to see. We can be loud. We can move. And I think we'll still be pretty.

A Lifetime of July 4ths

 Tonight I am sitting on my 4th floor balcony, watching fireworks light up the city with the mountains in the background. Nothing too special on this Tuesday evening, but with a warm breeze and a cold beer, I feel content. My favorite fireworks are those that start out as a small golden spark. I love the anticipation of them. Will their explosion be blue, green or yellow? Will they be big or small? A short flash or a lingering crackle? There's no real way to predict. You just have to wait and see. That's a lot like my Independence Days. I can never predict them from one year to the next, but they always turn out spectacular in their own way.

The first 4th of July I remember was in a park in the tiny town of Bloomington. I sat on a blanket. I remember it was so loud and so smoky, but I was so enamored that I wanted to cry when the booms went silent. I think we probably went to this show more than once, but this is the only memory that lingers. The warm night, the grass, the smoke, and the feeling of never wanting to leave. 

In high school, Independence Day took on a new purpose for my family and me. My mom took initiative and started a firework business out of our shed. For the week leading up to the 4th, I woke up every morning, grabbed the cash box and a book and walked barefoot across to the shed to open up for business. While I didn't enjoy the spectacle of fireworks in this season of my life, I enjoyed many things. I will always remember those afternoons sitting on a picnic bench as my sister meticulously organized and reorganized the shelves and my brother and dog chased bunnies. I'll remember when we were slow and I walked around, grabbing a drink from the garden house or picking pears off the tree in the yard. I'll remember the days when my grandpa brought Casey's pizza over for lunch and we all complained about the mosquitoes. I will always be thankful for those memories as well as the money we earned that helped make my college experiences possible.

Speaking of college experiences, I ended up spending one Independence Day in Scotland as I studied abroad. I remember that the residence assistants felt bad that this group of students from the U.S. were missing the holiday and set up a tea party with plates of scones decorated with American flags. We thought a tea party was the least patriotic thing we could think of and laughed about it, but the thought was nice. We threatened to throw all the tea into a nearby loch, but the RAs didn't appreciate that idea.

The following year, I spent July 4th with friends. I was so excited to get back to Lincoln after weeks at home for summer break that I actually left my entire suitcase in the driveway. I had to make a trip to Walmart when I arrived in Lincoln to get the necessities. I remember I bought a $5 sun dress to wear to the house party we went to. It didn't fit right and I spent the whole night adjusting it, looking completely ridiculous. That's why it was so funny that after way too many red, white, and blue jello shots, a boy at the party told me I looked "lovely" in my dress. He then proceeded to kiss my neck like a very sloppy vampire. Hillary, always the best friend, decided maybe now was time to go home. Unfortunately, I proved just as sloppy as my vampire friend as I pranced around and spilled macaroni salad all over her parents' driveway. Hillary has never let me live this moment down.

After college, Hillary once invited me to Seward, Nebraska, 4th of July City. After hours of walking around booths and watching the parade, we took a break from the sweltering heat and popped into the air conditioning to watch a movie at the local theater. As the sun finally set, we headed to the park. As I sat on the grass, I watched the smoke fill the dark sky and was taken back to that moment in the Bloomington park long ago. 

This Independence Day may not be a core memory like those I'm remembering tonight, but it's beautiful nonetheless. Each year, like each firework, brings something new. I know my future Julys hold many memories full of new locations, different people, and experiences I can never predict.

Happy 4th of July, all!

...So I Go Alone.

 I went to a concert tonight and as I slid into my seat, a single seat between two couples, the girl next to me asked if I was riding solo tonight. I said, "Yes, I don't let a lack of a date hinder me from having fun with Kelsea." (Kelsea Ballerini was the concert we were at).

She laughed and we talked for a while about concerts we'd been to recently. Eventually, she said, "You're so brave coming alone. I made my boyfriend come even though he doesn't know any of her music because I couldn't show up by myself."

This is not the first time I've heard this sentiment. Friends tell me I'm "brave" for going to movies or hiking or restaurants alone. In fact, it's quite the opposite. 

Ever since I can remember, I've suffered terribly from social anxiety. I never felt like my classmates or my cousins or even my siblings wanted me around. This may have been a false perception, but I'd get so worked up with worry in social settings, that I discovered coping mechanisms. Sometimes I'd take on tasks that made me feel helpful; volunteering for classroom tasks or handing out drinks or desserts at birthday parties. Sometimes I found solo activities. I would spend recess reading or swinging alone.

I wish I could tell you I have become more confident in my 31 years and handle social gatherings better, but I generally fall into my usual patterns. I start to panic. I begin to feel overwhelmed and unwanted, so I tell myself to be helpful or to get out of the way. At my brother's wedding rehearsal, I started greeting people at the door and directing people to the bathroom. No one asked me to...it just made me feel less awkward and out-of-place. At the reception, I couldn't find any tasks or any corner to hide in, so I probably drank too much to calm my nerves.

I do activities alone not because I'm confident and brave and don't care what people think, but because I care too much. Going solo means avoiding rejection. Going solo means not spending the entire interaction anxious. When I do actually go to movies or restaurants or hikes with others, I spend the entire time wondering if they are happy. Have you seen the scene from New Girl about Jess worried about others' feelings? (I'll share it below). That's me. All the time. And it's exhausting. So to avoid it. I just go alone.

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8e9cVjJ/

People aren't always how we perceive them to be. I once worked with a woman who I admired greatly. She seemed to exude confidence. I'd watch her teach or even walk through the hallways and thought she had it all together. I wanted to be just like her. Then, I went to grab a drink after work with her once, and I realized how much she relied on external validation. She was telling me stories asking me to assure her she did the right thing. I later noticed she posted good deeds on social media to incite compliments and went out of way to impress our principal. It didn't make her a bad person. It just made her more relatable.  

We're all human. We all have insecurities and flaws. I'm not "brave". No one has it "all together." As Kelsea Ballerini said at the concert tonight:

I'm doin' my best
I'm lettin' the rest roll off my shoulders, baby
Don't always get it right
Hey, and that's alright
That's what I'm learnin' lately, I keep
Growin' up, I keep
Rollin' up my sleeves and I think
That showin' up is good enough for me

Looking for...

 I've always been somewhat opposed to online dating. This is not because I don't think it works. I know it does. Many of my friends met their significant others this way and they have wonderful relationships. What I dislike is the importance of appearance in connection. I hate how I feel when making quick judgements about other people. But most of all, I feel like an imposter in a world full of those who know exactly what they are looking for. I remember during my first year of teaching, I had a coworker that constantly asked me if I was dating someone. I told her that I didn't want to date because I wasn't sure what I was looking for. "Exactly why you have to date. You have to figure out what you are looking for."

I've downloaded all the dating apps. The first question is always "What are you looking for?" I tried to make a blanket statement about being open to meeting people, but then guys would message me and ask me the same question. I'd make up some vague answer and guys lost interest immediately. The truth is all I was really "looking for" was approval from others. I wanted to be able to respond to the constant inquiries from friends and co-workers and family members. I felt like some kind of effort was expected of me. But I was never the little girl who planned out a wedding growing up. I do not have any aspiration to have children. Instead of sounding like a dream, the idea of sharing my home with another person sounds suffocating. 

So, a few years ago, I deleted all my profiles filled with false platitudes and masks over who I am. I started focusing on what I need to feel successful or relaxed or joyful instead of what others wanted for me. I traded fakey text chains with strangers for conversations with myself. As Miley Cyrus says in her latest single, I can "talk to myself for hours...say things you don't understand." But as soon as a friend or co-worker asks about my dating life, I still react instinctually and make up an excuse or flat out lie. It's like I'm apologizing for not wanting the same things as them instead of accepting we have different life goals. 

I've spent a lot of time trying to make excuses for my lack of desire for the things everyone around me wants. I've spent WAY too much of my entire life working to be complacent and helpful because I thought I needed to fit in. But being needed or being liked are not the same thing as being understood.  So, what am I looking for? I'm looking for:

-Self-assurance 

-Kindness and acceptance of all lifestyles 

-Honesty with myself and others

Hoping you all find what you are looking for, even if you don't know what that is yet. Have a great week!

When the Best "Discipline" Is Just Showing You Care

When I was a teacher, I had people tell me all the time that kids today are so "spoiled." Yes, kids were, and are, out of control sometimes at school. For me, though, almost all of my students who acted out weren't spoiled. They were neglected. They were screaming (sometimes literally) for attention. 

When I first started teaching I was always trying to impose some sort of discipline. I thought that was how you got kids to behave. You had to take away a privilege or sent them to detention, right? This was NOT working. Kids continued their bad behavior and sometimes got worse, resenting me for embarrassing them in front of peers or not listening to them. I blamed the "out of control" kids for quite a while. 

In my second year of teaching, I remember one student very vividly. He was defiant and aggressive and rude every single day. He was the first student I ever yelled at. And I really lost it with him. I regret it to this day. Then one day, I happened to go down to the gym after school and watched his basketball game. Afterwards, I told him how impressed I was by him. He actually smiled. "You came to watch me?" he asked. Truthfully, I had no idea he was on the team before I walked into the gym that day, but I nodded and smiled back. The next day in class? He didn't argue. He didn't talk back. I was stunned. I later learned that his parents had never come to see him play. Of course, this wasn't a cure-all solution. He continued to act out, but each time, I would make a comment about being disappointed in his work or his behavior and I could tell he didn't like disappointing me. 

I remember being the same way with my parents and teachers. If you showed you cared for me, I didn't want to disappoint you. I wasn't motivated to do well in school because I was disciplined for getting a bad grade. I don't remember my parents ever being angry about a grade I got. I do remember my mom asking almost every day how I did in school that day. I remember her hanging assignments from the fridge. I remember her offering to help with homework. I was motivated because I knew she cared. 

On the other hand, I remember one teacher who lectured me in class for not paying attention. He called me "irresponsible" in front of my peers. I never tried in that class ever again. I'd say most of my teachers would call me a good student, but I truly was bad in his class. He didn't realize that the day he lectured me, I was being bullied by a classmate. The intention of his "discipline" was to make me rethink my actions and be better, but instead it signaled to me that he didn't care about me so I no longer cared about his class. I thought about that encounter a lot after I did the exact same thing without considering why students might be acting out.

Of course, I never perfected the right way to respond to unwanted behavior with my students. Shortly before I quit, I sent a student to the principal and he screamed at me that I was the "worst teacher ever" before slamming the door. A little harsh, but a decent call-out for a day when I had little patience and didn't follow my own beliefs about student interactions at all. I don't think any teacher (or parent) ever gets it right all the time. 

As someone who is no longer a teacher and does not plan to be a parent, it's probably strange that I'm so invested in this topic. But honestly, this reaches far beyond interactions with children. Just this week, I had a coworker call me crying. A manager had reprimanded her for a mistake. The manager hadn't called and asked for my coworkers side of the story. She hadn't made a plan to work together to fix the problem. She, like so many other managers/parents/bosses/teachers, was trying to be "tough." She was most likely trying to command respect, but instead communicated she cared more about the perception of our team than this person. And now this very good employee might leave. 

Almost all of my friends and family members have the same complaint about work: "they don't care about me at all." Almost every complaint I hear about marriage/relationships stems of a perceived lack of caring. So, if you interact with people at any capacity at all, maybe think less about being right or being perfect and more about recognizing the efforts of those around you. I've honestly never known anyone that responds well to being "disciplined." We might behave better out of fear (of being hurt, of losing our job, etc.) but I truly believe we all, adults and kids alike, want to know that we are appreciated; that people care about the work we are doing. For those who care about us, we are willing to listen and willing to change.

When You Don't Have a Passion

 Once, I was in a college class and I overheard two boys discussing the show Survivor as we waited for our professor to show up.
As a fan of the show, I spoke up. "I'm a huge Survivor fan!" I interjected.
One guy turned toward me and said, "Well, who do you think is going to win this season?"
I hesitated. The season hadn't started yet. I didn't even know the contestants' names yet. "Well, I don't know yet. I'll sure I'll get a better sense after the first episode."
"If you haven't researched the cast, you're not that "huge" of a fan, are you?"
I sat silently as he proceeded to tell me about his weekly Survivor podcast, numerous auditions for the shows, and an actual Survivor contestant he had interviewed. 

I still think about that moment a lot. Before that precise moment, "Survivor fan" was a part of my identity. I think I even had a Survivor reference on my online dating profile at the time. Though I am fully aware now that that guy was an asshole, he was correct. In comparison, my fandom could not be considered "huge". I dedicated no time outside of show hours obsessing over the cast or challenges. I'd never even applied to be on, despite saying I wanted to. 

This has been a somewhat common trend throughout my life. I thought I liked journalism until I took a single journalism course and was even a tiny bit as excited as my classmates. I love watching sports, but can't even tell you who won the Super Bowl 5 years ago and fall behind in conversations with my dad and brother. I have always been an avid reader, but in an interview for a high school English teaching position, I was quizzed and told in no uncertain terms that I didn't have enough knowledge of literature to fit the position. I recently joined a trivia group in town and told them that I knew a lot about music and movies, but it turned out my knowledge was not deep enough and I couldn't answer a single question in either category. I like hiking, but I don't track my trails and set goals. I like baking, but I've never made anything to brag about. I feel fairly tech-savvy, but when my cousin talks about computers, it's like a different language. I'm a casual gamer, a mediocre bowler, a blog-once-a-month writer. 

I don't have a "passion."

At my current job, we have people called Subject Matter Experts. If we have a question about a specific product, we find the SME for that product and they will have the answer. I thought, Wow, wouldn't it be amazing to be the person that had the answers? What would I want to be an "expert" in? I can't think of anything. There's a river near where I grew up that was often described as "a mile wide and an inch deep." Recently, I've started to think of myself like that river. I love a lot of things. I'm curious. I'm inquisitive. I love to learn and I'm willing to try new things, but nothing in my life has ever really been my expertise. My interest only goes so deep.

Does this bother me? A little bit. I think we are told to follow our passions in life and realizing you don't have one is like going through life without a map. But sometimes it's when you're off the path that you discover the most beautiful things. Sometimes when you're not buried deep into something, you're free to run after a new opportunity. As J. R. R. Tolkien said, "Not all those who wander are lost." So I'll keep wandering. 

Joyful, Grateful, and Kind

 In January, everyone wants to be something new. The month is like a big reset button. I think that's great. I'm the kind of person who actually likes Mondays because of that "new beginning" feeling. Over that past year, I've done a lot of reflecting on who I want to be. I think that comes with the territory of quitting a career you thought you'd spend a lifetime doing. I know what matters to other people. As a people-pleaser, I'm always attune to what others are talking about the most: money, appearance, job title, home's appearance, etc. The problem is I've spent my life trying to be what everyone else admired that it was difficult for me to specify what means the most to me. 

My parents have always put a lot of weight into being successful. Our grades were important and we were always encouraged to our best on every assignment. Honors programs and awards were praised, and now degrees and promotions are touted. 

In the community I grew up in, involvement was important. I remember how often I heard adults in my life publicly talk about kids that weren't on the football/basketball/volleyball team in disgust. Since sports weren't my forte, I tried desperately to hit the right involvement percentage by joining clubs and plays and student council and even videotaping sporting events so I didn't seem lazy. 

To my friends, loyalty has always been important. I want to always show up with open ears and arms. I want to be on their side no matter what. I have dropped everything else at their request. 

My bosses always respect a go-getter attitude. I constantly volunteer for extra tasks or responsibilities. I stayed after school doing all kinds of tasks to show initiative. "Whatever you need me to do" became a common mantra. I never wanted to be disagreeable. 

And I can't deny that I've tried to be what several guys wanted in my life. For the guy always speaking up in class, I wanted to be intelligent. How many nights I spent poring over the reading so I'd have something insightful to say! For another, I tried to be helpful, always offering my time and energy to drive him to the airport or help him move or bring him a treat after a bad day. 

I want to be clear. None of the previous examples are bad. I am so glad I worked hard in school and was involved in so many activities. I'm glad I have been a loyal friend and a good employee. But I think our ideas of who we want to be change throughout the stages of our lives. These qualities served me well in the past, but I have new priorities.

There are people I know that always have a beautiful house and are great hosts. Some that always look beautiful, with hair and makeup and clothing meticulously thought-out. Some that are in great shape. Some that are amazing leaders and are moving up in their careers. I have idolized all of those kinds of people. I could strive to be any one of them and with enough effort, I could probably be successful. But, right now in my life, I don't think any of those is the person I hope to be.

In 2023, I want to be 3 things: joyful, grateful, and kind. 

Joyful comes first for a reason. Life isn't worth living if you aren't prioritizing joy. I want to always be laughing (even if it's loud and obnoxious). I want to be the person who finds the joy in situations that lack hope. I want to continue seeking adventures and consuming stories and seeing the world and not taking life so seriously. I've seen too many people, 20+ years my senior, worrying about the number on a scale or the number of steps they've taken that day or the number in their investment account. We don't remember numbers of anyone when they leave us. We rarely dwell on their mistakes or inadequacies. We remember the memories of joy. So, I hope I have created a lot of them.  

Grateful is next. Over the past few years, gratitude has helped me a lot. I try to think about 3 things I am grateful for every day. It helps me to not fall into feelings of despair. It honestly helps me sleep...or get out of bed in the morning. I also think it's important for me to express my gratitude to others vocally. I think we can assume that those we love know we are grateful for them, but sometimes they need to hear it. We all want to be appreciated.

Kind will always make my list. The world can always use more of it. It is probably the thing that I am attracted to most in others as well. I will be kind to a waitress even if the service hasn't been superb. I don't know what her day has been like. I will be kind to coworkers because we work better if we are working together. I will be kind to strangers, but also to family, who have the power to frustrate me the most. To me, this is essential to who I am.

I hope your 2023 is everything you want it to be. 

When It's Not a Wonderful Life

 A few days ago, I pulled myself out of bed and sat at my desk to start work, still in my pajamas. I looked around the apartment, taking inventory. The sink was full of dishes. There was trash on my desk from yesterday. The laundry was piling up. The stove was dirty. "You're officially in a funk," I told myself.

I've been having these self-diagnosed "funks" for many years. The only way I can describe the it is that I feel heavy. I feel like everything (and I mean Everything) will take an enormous amount of energy. Even the simplest tasks like putting on shoes or taking a shower suddenly seem like too much work. I have no idea what triggers these episodes. Sometimes they last a day and sometimes weeks, although I've gotten better at finding my way out of them. 

On this particular day, I sat in front of the computer for several minutes, just staring. "You can do this. You can do this," I kept telling myself. Finally, I opened the web browser. And the first thing to pop up was the news story about tWitch's suicide. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I have no idea why the death of someone I had never met, that I knew very little about, could hurt like that. But it did hurt. Hadn't I seen him and his wife dancing in front of the Christmas tree just days ago? I opened my phone and found that recent video, played it on replay. I cried the funk right out of me. I set my status to Busy and got up. I cleaned the kitchen, started the laundry, took a shower, and came back and had a productive day of work. But his grin in that video has haunted me ever since.

I've seen and heard all kinds of reactions to the news since that morning. Lots of judgements and assumptions. One of the most common sentiments is, "he had so many people that loved him." I don't have any idea what caused him to pick up a gun and shoot himself. I never will. But I do know that having people love you doesn't always make mental illness better. In fact, it can make things more difficult. When other people care about you, you can feel like you aren't deserving. Because they care, you can be a burden. I want the people I love to be happy, not worrying about me. 

Today, I watched It's a Wonderful Life. The scene that really got me thinking wasn't George's thoughts of suicide of the revelations that came after. It was actually the scene when he comes home from work after losing the money. He is gruff with his kids and wife. He yells at a stranger on the phone. He let his own stress and anxiety boil over and hurt other people. I do the same thing. I think we all do that sometimes. It was obvious that George felt guilty. He felt like a bad father and husband, which probably contributed to his decisions. We don't all have a far-reaching impact on the world like George did in that movie, or like tWitch did in real life, but we are all allowed to forgive ourselves for our emotional reactions.

Neglecting my chores doesn't make me a bad person. Snapping at my family doesn't make me a bad daughter or sister. Forgiveness is so important. For yourself and for others. Actions aren't always intentional, but rather side effects of something else going on in people's lives. Saying "I'm always here for you" is a nice gesture, but it doesn't mean much if we hand out criticism and advice easier than understanding and patience. Today might be terrible. Maybe tomorrow will be too. But every morning is an opportunity for something unexpected, something wonderful, something worth sticking around for.

It Get So Good Video

Being the Right Version of Myself

 For my 30th birthday this year, my friend Ashley visited me and we went to a Renaissance fair. While there, Ashley treated me to a palm/tarot card reading. You should understand I'm a very skeptical person. In the court system, everyone is innocent until proven guilty. In the mind of Roxie, everyone is false until proven accurate. The psychic recognized this. Her first descriptions of me were "stubborn" and "guarded." These assumptions are fair, but I did listen. Over the past 6 months, I have thought about that moment under a tent with my hand open in this lady's hand quite a lot actually. 

As she said, "You could meet someone special this year..." I truly had to force myself not to roll my eyes. She saw an absence of a ring and told me what she thinks single people want to hear. I don't need to meet anyone. I have lots of amazing people in my life. But how she finished the sentence is what made me soften. "...but only if you can be your authentic self. Not the selves you transform yourself into based on what you think others want you to be."

I've always been an exceptional liar. My parents can attest to how often I would spin an excuse to keep myself out of trouble. I never lie because I want to be deceptive. I lie in order to have the "right answer." Whenever anyone asks me a question, my first response is to think, "What answer do they want from me?" I often feign interest in subjects I know the other person is interested in. I complain about things that don't even bother me because I know it bothers the other person and I want them to feel camaraderie Sometimes this impulse gets out of control. I once told my chiropractor that my favorite restaurant was a place I had literally never stepped into, only because I remembered him mentioning it at a previous appointment. 

As I've grown older, I've realized that I easily mold into different personas depending on who I am around. Sometimes this chameleon-like behavior has helped me discover new passions. I wanted to fit in with people in my dorm during my freshman year of college, so I became a football fan, pretending to understand until I truly did. Now, football season brings me great joy each year. I absolutely hated beer, but a friend in college loved craft beer and I wanted to be around him, so I forced myself to buy the drinks he suggested. Then, I fell in love with one and continue to seek out new beers to this day. 

Other times, my pretending causes me great anxiety. That automatic response of, "Oh yeah, I completely agree" has led to me really beating up on myself. I don't actually believe that exercising every day or drinking protein shakes makes me a better person, but I've expressed my enthusiastic support for it so many times, I sometimes start to hate myself each time I sit on the couch after work. I don't think I need to pay off all my loans as quickly as possible or buy a house or seek a promotion, but the more I express support for other people in these endeavors, the more I question myself. 

As I sat in that wam tent on that weekend 6 months ago, the term "authentic self" kind of hit me in the face. Have I lost that self? Can I define who I really am and not the self I pretend to be in front my family or friends or coworkers? Do I know what is really important to me? What makes me an individual? My friend Sarah tells me often that I say, "I'm fine with anything" too often. She's probably right. I try so hard to "go with the flow." Maybe if I expressed what I want or don't want more often, I would meet the "special person" the psychic referred to. I remain skeptical. However, I will continue to reflect on this idea of "myself." I don't want to lose that person.

Things Teachers Deal with That Other Professionals Don't

 This August was the first August in my entire life that I don't remember "starting school." My year has always been organized by school start and end dates. This year, as I drive through my neighborhood, I see kids walking home from school and I feel the strong feeling that I'm late. I'm missing something. While I still work with school districts, I never had that "first day of school" feeling and it's left me a little disoriented honestly. I miss getting to know new students' personalities and planning out the year (I know I'm weird, but I loved lesson planning a unit.) I miss the feeling of "starting again."

But there are a few things I don't miss. There are tasks that teachers do without even thinking that are unknown to most professional communities. Here are a few things I no longer deal with at my non-education job:

1. Sneaking to the Copy Machine Before/Between/After Work Hours: 

Copies were literally the bane of my existence. Lots of jobs make copies, but most do it during their working hours. They also don't get reprimanded for making them last minute. I can't tell you how often I woke up early and didn't have time to even brush my hair because I knew I had to make 100 copies of a test before anyone showed up. Or how many times I skipped lunch to print something. Also, in every single education job I had, I was reprimanded because my lessons changed and I didn't have my copies sent out to the print shop a week in advance. In my current job, I was sent a printer that I don't have to wait in line for and can order ink whenever I want. 

2. Someone Walking in Mid-Presentation:

Principals or Instructional Coaches will just walk in your room as an educator with no notice all the time. I had nothing to hide, I assure you. But do you know how distracted a class of middle school kids can get when the principal stands in the back of the room? It also threw me off. Does he see the kid that's falling asleep? Does this lesson seem rigorous enough? Are my objectives posted on the board? Now, my manager might join a meeting that I am running, but she never pops in mid-presentation. I am very grateful.

3. Internet Outages Ruining Your Whole Day:

Everyone experiences computer problems or Internet outages. It is always an inconvenience in every job. Imagine this, though. You have planned an entire hour of students working on a project online. 5 minutes into the period, no access. All your plans are out the window. Think on your feet. Should they read something? You don't have enough books for every student. You can't leave and make copies (see #1). Should you give them paper to write a paragraph? That will only like like 15 minutes and then what? Think fast because the kids are starting to get loud and aren't staying in their seats. I hated those days. 

4. Creating a Substitute Binder:

Last month, I went to a birthday party in Vegas. How did I prepare for the day of work I was missing? I told my manager and set my email automatic response to say "I will be out of the office and will respond to emails when I return on Monday." That's it. When I missed a day of teaching, I had to create an entire binder before I left. The sub needs to know how where to find the materials, what the seating chart is, how to keep students occupied the entire period (and remember it's 3-5 different lessons each day so make sure he/she knows which period does what), where to take them for lunch, how to deal with the student who may or may not start screaming for no reason, what to do in a fire drill, what times the bell rings... Get the picture? 

5. Committee/Duty Requirements:

I like to volunteer and be helpful. I just don't like being forced to do it every day and to get a sub if I can't fulfill the duty. Every education job I know of requires participation outside of the classroom. You might be assigned to parking lot duty in the morning on Monday and recess duty on Thursday (leaving 10 minutes for lunch tops). Oftentimes, you are required to be part of a committee. I was part of a social committee, school improvement committee, and curriculum committee. I was assigned "door duty" where I just watched to make sure kids made it out of the school building each day and a "bus duty" where I made sure students didn't miss their assigned bus. It was exhausting.

6. Contacting Parents:

This probably should have been #1. The thing I miss least about teaching is contacting parents. I know some educators live for this. One of my coworkers called home every single time a student didn't turn in an assignment. I'm not a phone person anyway, but calling parents about a child's behavior are the worst calls I ever made. It was always a gamble. Sometimes they would politely said they would talk to their child. Phew. Other times parents cried and told me their hardships. Sometimes they yelled at me and wondered why I made their child feel bad. No matter what, I couldn't avoid the calls. I couldn't give a student a failing grade without notifying a parent. I once called an admin on my school phone to tell her that a student was trying to climb out the window of my classroom. She asked, "Have you called home?" 

Stay strong my educator friends. I hope the school year is off to a wonderful start with less of the stuff above. Stay tuned for Part 2.