It's My Anniversary!

Crazy to say, but this week marks the anniversary of the week that changed my life forever.  I recently downloaded the app Timehop and it's been interesting to see my posts from this time last year - before everything blew up.  And that's pretty much the best phrase for it.  You see, I've always heard you have to hit "rock bottom" before you can go up.  And this time last year - I hit rock bottom.  And then, because I'm a slow learner, I hit it over and over again in the year that followed.  And I'm not sure whether it's ironic or cyclical that this time last year, I was getting ready to attend an AP Conference and here I am - prepping for this year's conference.  I like to stay (for the most part) vague on why my marriage...imploded, but I thought the anniversary of its death would be a good time to reflect on the past year and what it has meant for me.

First, "2013 Christy" would never have been able to guess where I'd be today.  And that, my friends, is an awesome thing to be able to say.   Because while I've had to continually be thrown down over and over again, I am a much stronger person emotionally, spiritually, and even physically than I was last summer.  It all seems like a distant memory now, but I can remember everything about that week.  I remember the pain, the exhaustion, and fear - there was a LOT of fear.  But when I compare to where I am right now, at this moment, I can actually smile.  I know I had to go through that to get to here and have, dare I say it?  A pretty peaceful and successful life.

Second, this past year has proven to me over and over that I have the most amazing support group in the world.  My friends and family have been there every step of the way and have yet to say they are tired of talking to me.  And trust me, I  was tired of listening to me talk at some points. :) Chances are that you are the only people who read my blog anyways so I want to extend the biggest "thank you" I can across the cyber world.  It's in the dark times that you find out who your true friends are, and I not only kept the ones I had, but gained new ones as well.

Third, I can not put into words how humbled and grateful I am to God who opened my eyes to a lot of things that were pulling me in the wrong direction.  For the first time in my life, I feel like there is a purpose to me, my life, my actions.  It's not just a scramble to survive, it's a chance to make the world a better place.  Truth and love is all that really matters in the end, and I am glad that I went through these experiences so that I could learn that.

I know that it's not all peaches and cream from here on out.  (That being said, I'm still NOT divorced - yay Texas laws...) But I feel so much more equipped to handle what comes my way.  I am not the scared, hopeless girl I was last year.  For the first time EVER, I truly feel like an adult.  And I know 27 years is a long time to grow up, but I'm pretty confident I still beat some people.  I know a lot of you are now struggling with the same issues I have been dealing with and it's important for you to know that things do actually get better.  They work out - sometimes better than you had even dreamed of.   So keep up the fight and cross the finish line.  The race is worth the pain and doubt that you have to experience.  Life is beautiful, my friends.  Keep living it.

Father's Day

I wanted to do a Father's Day series, I really did.  But this past week has just been a tad chaotic, to say the least.  So this post may end up on the lengthy side.  You see, only one of these men is my ACTUAL father.  The rest are those who have definitely played a major role in my life and deserve the recognition.

First - my Daddy.  If you know my father, you quickly learn that he is a man of few, if any, words.   But over my lifetime, I have become quite adept at translating grunts and huffs of breath. :) My dad was never the outwardly expressive dad.  But just this morning, I sat thinking of how EVERY holiday (St. Paddy's, Valentine, Thanksgiving, etc.) he left us all a card and a piece of our favorite candy.  Without fail.  I still have the cards in a box somewhere.  He never wrote out long paragraphs.  Usually just a quick "Hope you have a good day, Love, Dad".  But I remember getting them from the time I was little bitty.  And it was enough.  I didn't need more than that - I enjoyed getting every single one and looked forward to it.  He sparked my love of history with his giant coffee table books on Vietnam (who makes coffee table books on a war??) and his sometimes strange, rambling stories on the "good ole days".  Summers meant a trip to visit his family where we would gather arrow heads and see the stock yards in Ft. Worth.  And I loved every minute of it.  Now he is PawPaw to my kids and a pretty good one at that - Oliver adores his PawPaw, and Layan has him wrapped around her finger.  And I am so happy that they have that relationship.

Next is my handsome PawPaw - Nowadays, (especially when I've let my anger get the best of me) I'm told I'm just like Mom and him.  I can remember a few times when I saw him really let someone have it.  But, for the most part, I remember the man who drove me to school every morning for ten years straight.  Who read Bambi to me in his chair and gave me peppermints at church.  I seriously had the best PawPaw ever and I think all of my siblings and cousins would agree. Every morning, he would make whatever we wanted for breakfast and he would even let me change out of the awful outfits Mom made me wear to school! (yuck)  There was honestly NOTHING he couldn't do.  I can remember the math problems he would solve for fun (obviously not inherited) and his handwriting.  He had beautiful handwriting.  Sure, he was a short fuse at times, but he was the literal center of our family for as long as I could remember.  I only wish my kids could have known him.

My Big Daddy (I'm not the first grandchild on either side - so blame other cousins for the names) - unfortunately, I was still very young when he passed away.  But my Big Daddy was the tallest man I knew.  He had knobby hands from arthritis but I remember making bullets with him and Dad in his garage. He smoked cigars and told stories of Dad getting into trouble as a kid.  Apparently the lack of words is inherited, because I don't remember him talking excessively.  But I can remember climbing up into his massive desk chair and watching Sesame Street.

Finally, there are a few fellas who need recognition for the roles they play in my kids' lives.  First, Papa Chad has really stepped up to be a part of the kids' lives.  He keeps Oliver in check and is Layan's Protector (which she knows - first sign of trouble = head for Papa Chad).  On that note, I'm pretty sure that Layan will not have a dating life in the future - because Papa Chad will scare them off... It's pretty awesome that he makes time for my kids: he listens to them, plays with them, threatens to take them into the pasture, and even pulls the occasional role of babysitter. I am so blessed to have him in our lives, and especially Layan's and Oliver's.

Then there is Uncle Phil - Oliver regularly tells me he is going to grow big-big like Uncle Phillip.  There's something pretty cool about a twenty-four year old guy who will roll around on the floor with two toddlers.  He's been pooped on, thrown up on, slept on and everything in between and keeps coming back for more.  When Uncle Phillip is around - it's adventure time, and I am thankful he plays the role of uncle well.




What I love about Father's Day is that you don't remember the pricey gifts or the amount of money your dad or the men in your life made.  You remember the time, the attention and the interactions you shared.  The values of hard work and dedication.  All THAT makes a father.  And it's something that I have spent a LOT of time thinking about. I'm so grateful for all of these men who understand what it means to a child to take a moment and notice them.  You guys rock! Happy Father's Day.

The End of the Chapter

This school year.  It has definitely been one I'll never forget.  But tomorrow is the LAST day for students.  I really thought that was enough.  But then I got the call I had been dreading - STAAR results.  Everyone in the state of Texas has an opinion on STAAR and I have yet to hear a good one. STAAR is supposed to measure student performance.  To prove whether or not a student has mastered the subject material. And while we can all agree that the accountability has to be there, we ALL agree that standardized tests are not the way to get it.  In fact, the ONLY ones who do are state legislators and Pearson.  Last year, my results were not stellar.  I ended the school year depressed, and feeling like a failure.  You see, whether we want to admit it or not, teachers are given ownership of their students' results...when they're bad.  When you succeed, you get a pat on the back, and you get to hear the accolades of what the district and everyone else did to get you there, even if you never see one other person in your room ALL YEAR LONG.  Or even worse, told that the test was easy - that must be why your students did well.

No one hesitated to come to me when the scores were less than perfect.  Where were my tutorial logs?  What did I do?  What was wrong - with me?  And there are teachers being confronted with those questions right now as we speak.  When I moved districts and entered one of the largest districts in the nation, it didn't take me long to figure out that this is a number game.  Produce the numbers or sink.  To compound this, I somehow landed a job at one of the up and coming schools in that district and it was crystal clear that the results - good or bad would be all on me.  Benchmark after benchmark, results came back that were not promising.  I mean, I got my first gray hair this year and I partially blame that stupid test.  I freaked out at home, got frustrated at work.  I was one massive hot mess.  I was in a new subject, teaching AP for the first time, and would be setting the bar for the school's first EOC on that level.  I know the students are more than a number.  I know I am more than a number.  But in the end, people I didn't know would look at a number on a piece of paper and decide if I was a good teacher and if my students were "smart".  (And THAT is what made me try for a spot at a private school.)

I am proud to report that 100% of my students passed.  I give them full credit.  Because by the time they took that test, I was emptied.  I had done everything in my power to get them ready and was still AFRAID that it wouldn't be enough.  The morning they took the STAAR, I prayed that God would just let them do they best they could and give me the courage to just accept whatever percentage came out of that.  I didn't want another year of sub-par scores on my record as a teacher.  I didn't want the students to have to face summer school and retests so they could graduate.  And I had secretly decided that a bad performance would mark the end of my teaching career, because the tests were showing I was not a "good" teacher.  I was going to use the next year to figure out a new career path.

I went through all this to say one thing - if your scores were not what you wanted or were expecting, this does NOT make you the failure.  It is a failure of the state system.  My desire to help students this year was no different than last year.  My knowledge of history was not greater (in fact, it was less - being my first year in U.S. and AP).  My teaching methods hadn't changed.  Students want to pass those tests.  There is not one student who goes into a state test and purposefully fails the test.  And they are no more failures than we (teachers) are when the scores are bad.  There are bad teachers, sure, but the STAAR doesn't point them out any better than the TAKS test did.  It just discourages those who DO care.  I also don't want to belittle success stories.  Those girls were obviously doing some hard, behind-the-scenes work to throw out a number like that, and I am beyond proud of them.

Finally the Weekend

This has been a long week, in every way possible. Thankfully, it wasn't anywhere near the drama I was going through a few months ago. We seemed to have settled in a peaceful period, no matter how brief it may be. The quiet, however, seems to have it's own challenges. Loneliness for one. And I recognize that to some extent that this is a self imposed exile but I'm starting to feel the cabin fever seeping in. Which is odd, because I'm hardly ever home. We are always on the go.  Lately, though, I feel like I have nothing new to say. The divorce? Not settled. Work? Not fun. The kids? Happy. I've had the feeling that I was starting to get boring but this week just confirmed it. I don't want to be the person that no one wants around because they just bring down the mood. As much as I try, however, I've become just that. 

The beginning of this week also brought me face to face with reality that even though things are starting to fall in place, I can't rewind time. My past is always there. And some mistakes will haunt you a life time. There will always be the nagging question of "what if?". And in my case, it was more damned if you do, damned if you don't. (At least from my perspective - two choices and both ended with "what if?") So these slightly pessimistic thoughts have left me wanting a little solitude and at the same time- hating it. This probably makes absolutely no sense, but I'm forcing myself to write. Hope you have a wonderful long weekend!

Looking Back

It is finally May!  I'm so excited that I'm not even bothering to hide it anymore.  Part of me wishes I was a time traveller and I could go back to myself a year ago and just give me a pat on the back.  I could not have ever imagined that I'd be where I am today.  Next week will be a BIG week for me.  I've got an interview that could lead to a very awesome job.  And that darn STAAR test is on Tuesday.  The end of next week will mean I only have TWO weeks left!  Nine months ago I thought this month would never come.  It's been a roller coaster of a school year.  For teachers, MAY is the end of the year.  Not December.  I feel a lot more closure when I pack up my room and leave for the summer.  And this year, I'm closing the door to my old life and starting a brand new one.  Not everything about this year was horrible.  I enjoy the majority of the girls I work with and have made some great new friends with the teachers I work with.  But this place was just a transition.  It began the year that would change my life.  Deciding to leave Hardin was the first leap.  It was my first break out of my comfort zone.  It gave me the courage to try new things.  That a risk could be worth it and good things could happen.  I needed that.  This year has taught me that I am strong enough.  I'm strong enough to be a single mom.  I'm strong enough to be a teacher without the awesome coworkers I had at Hardin.  I'm strong enough to drive to Houston five times a week and on the days I didn't go, deal with one of the hardest parts of my life - my divorce.  I haven't had a break.  Despite my attendance records, every day I was not at work, I was dealing with a lawyer, an ex or my sick kids.  I have every intention of making the most of this summer.  I'm going to make it to the mountains.  Even if it's just for the weekend.  I'm going to meet new people and bring the kids somewhere new.  This will not be a lazy summer.  I'm going to get to work on the house and finish my projects (and probably start some new ones...you know me).  I can't wait to get going.  Less than a month now....let the countdown begin.

Mother's Day Tribute Part 6: My BFF

I have covered several of my inspirations that are older than me, here's the first mom that is my age.  My beautiful friend, Leslie.  I can't tell you how excited I was when Leslie told me she and Charlie were expecting.  And then, 2 months later, I found out I was pregnant too!  We have gone through every part of motherhood together, and it is awesome (and not planned).  I have been surrounded by little kids for as long as I can remember. Leslie, was not.  I can remember going to visit her and Ro for the first time and being bathed in germ-X.  Oh, and this little baby turned my BFF into a woman who would cry at the drop of a pin.  I kid you not.  Our pregnancies were super fun.  She was crying and I threw up.  :) But then, both the boys were here and they were oh, so epic.  It's been a blast watching my best friend take on the role of mom.  She totally rocks at it too.  I also have fun comparing our parenting styles.  It only goes to prove that there is no one right way to parent.  Leslie is patient, attentive and always on the look out for ways she can help her son be a better person.  She makes about 85% of his food from scratch!!! And makes me totally jealous when she can get him to eat a bowl of gumbo.  (Meanwhile, I'm celebrating ONE bite of a chicken nugget)  Most of the time, we sit around and wonder when we got old enough to have kids, and what the heck happened to the two teenagers that would stay up too late and get in trouble.  But a lot of the time, I just stand in awe of all that she accomplishes.  She is so talented.  Super mom, awesome cook, great wife, and best friend on the planet.  Did I mention she owns a great coffee shop/bakery??? (#brewedawakening #govisitnow)   I'm so thrilled that I can force my son to be Ro's friend and not have to worry about what he's doing or who he's with.   I look forward to seeing both of them grow up into the awesome young men they will be some day.  Love you, Leslie!  You're amazing.

Mother's Day Tribute Part 5: the Greats

I'm writing this series completely from memory.  In other words, my mom and family are only chiming in after they are written and published.  I'm trying to take a good look at what I remember from each person and really evaluate what I have learned from them. The next three women are together because I a. wasn't as close as I'd like to be to them or b. Didn't spend enough time because of their age and mine.

First, my great grandma Nola.  By the time I came along, she had already raised kids and grandkids, and it was her turn to be taken care of.  I remember spending time at her house while Mom helped watch her. She didn't like the smell of popcorn so we would eat it outside in her garage at night.  I distinctly remember the smell of bengay in her house but this could just be my imagination.  I didn't know her well personally.  I do know the people she raised and the stories they tell lead me to believe she was a tough cookie who kept her family in line and taught them the value of a hard day's work.  My PawPaw was her baby boy and the typical Mama's boy if there ever was one.  He built a house right next to hers and took care of her and his family together.  All the family tells me that Mom and PawPaw were just like her, so I'm going to interpret that as sharp, honest and hard working.  I do know she made our home what it is today.  We enjoy beautiful oak trees and the most wonderful piece of land in the world because of their dedication and hard work, and that's a legacy to pass on.

Next - Great Grandma Granny. No, I have no idea why she needed two titles.  I was not the first grandchild to come along so she was already named. I did have the pleasure of knowing her.  Everyone says I have her eyes.  My grandma, Mildred, could speak French and was local nobility.  She and my great-grandfather were some of the old rice farmers who made this area the rice capital of the US.  I remember going over to her house as a kid and admiring her doll collection.  She would slice apples for me and sprinkle them with salt while she made gumbo and talked to MawMaw.  My great grandfather died young, and I never met him.  But together they had 7 kids, who all had a couple of kids themselves, and are, to this day, one of the largest families in the area.  I have cousins I have never met and a family reunion looks more like a rally.  By the time I showed up, she was married to Leon, who would always call me "my girl" in his thick French accent and tell me all kinds of stories.  I treasure my heritage from that side of the family.  It gives me roots and culture and I love it.  I'm not one of the many Americans who don't know their cultural ties - I wear it proudly and remember Granny's grace and charm.

Finally, there is Nanny.  Nanny isn't my grandma, but she is the kids' great-grandma. Thankfully, she is still around and I have every intention of getting to know her.  This gal has some spunk.  I have never seen her down.  She is always cheery and wearing a grin.  She loves each of her grandchildren and dotes on them like a mother hen.  She, unfortunately, lives far away so we don't get to see her as often as we would like.  But I have seen the impact she has on her family.  She is a hard worker who likes to laugh.  She, too, has taken care of children and grandchildren, and has never slowed down.  I always enjoy her visits and cannot wait for her to meet Layan.  I know Matt loved her dearly and all of her grandchildren do.  Everyone who knows her, loves her.  And I like to think Layan has her cheery demeanor.