Teacher Appreciation

It's usually around this time of year that I wax poetic about teachers.  

About my own teachers, about my kids' teachers, about my role as as teacher, and about the ongoing challenge of being in a classroom as an actual teacher. 

If you've been paying attention to the news over the past few years, you'll know that the teaching profession is struggling as a whole. There are more people leaving the profession than there are joining it. And while I have my own thoughts and feelings about all of that, I just want to take a few minutes to share some feelings about my experiences of teacher things. 

I have nothing but the highest regard for every. single. teacher. I've had the privilege to learn from. People are right when they say that students may not remember what they learned, but they DO remember how they felt. I can say without hesitation that I always felt safe and supported in every classroom I was in as a child. 

I remember learning the pledge of allegiance in preschool, reveling in the magic of watching chicken eggs hatch in kindergarten, sitting on the special couch for the day of my first grade birthday, and making (or at least attempting to make) raisins in 2nd grade. I remember beaming with pride the first time I got to pick something from the treasure box in 3rd grade, and performing in my first play in 4th grade. I sang my first solo as a 5th grader in a concert, and could sing it for you today if you asked. And I still go on a wildflower walk every spring with my own children after all the fun I had making my pressed wildflower books as a 6th grader.  

I learned how to work with others in music, and how to set a goal and work tirelessly toward it. I learned how to construct and diagram a solid sentence, a skill that has surprisingly come in handy more times than I ever anticipated it would. I know how to use a sewing machine, and while it would be a bit of a struggle, I think I could still navigate a woodshop for some basic things. I remember to be careful when capitalizing words so that the lower case letters are *actually* smaller...  (I can still hear Mr. Wilkerson telling me to "Get your big S up to the board and fix that one" when I told him that the S I'd written on the chalkboard was actually a lower case one...)  I'm still waiting for the time when I may need to use the quadratic formula in my life--but maybe that day is still coming? And those are just things that I can thank my own K-12 teachers for teaching me!  

I remember every single teacher's special teacher handwriting, and how pleased I was to get a smiley face, a star, or a sticker on my work. I remember birthday crowns and science labs; research papers and clay sculptures. I remember being supported as I found my way as a student and as a person. 

I know that everyone's experience is unique, and I know that things are lots different now than they were way back in the "late 1900's" when I started my school journey. But despite all of the noise in the media with words like "indoctrination" and "agendas", I really do think that if people looked closely, most things remain the same.  

Kids are still learning their letters and how to read. They learn how to express themselves in art class. They are encouraged to move their bodies in PE. They are learning to do math in ways that have been at times like mental gymnastics to me--but that are improving their understanding. They are reading books, making music, making friends, and figuring out who they are as people. The only agenda that I can see where I teach is how we as teachers will make these students they best people that they can be so that when they leave our halls they are ready to go out into the world and to make their mark upon it. 

I encourage you to think about all of the things you do in a given day, and think back to when you first learned how to do those things. The influence of teachers isn't probably something that you ponder with regularity, but maybe it should be. If you're a student--thank a teacher.  If you're a parent, thank your child's teacher.  If you are a teacher--give a fellow teacher some encouragement. 

If you think you have no horse in the race and no need to consider teachers, you're wrong:  Teaching is the profession that creates all others. So whether you are a teacher, you have children who have teachers, you know someone who is (or was) a teacher, you live in a town where there are teachers, or you appreciate well educated people entering the workforce... Somewhere, teachers were behind that. 

Thanks today to all of my teachers, many of whom I consider treasured friends today.

Thanks to all of my kids' teachers, and to those people who plan to one day become teachers.  

You're appreciated today, and every day. 

Silver linings

Its safe to assume that I have had better weeks. Nothing about the whole business of having a fire is fun unless maybe you’re in the business of putting them out. So there’s some heavy and crappy stuff. But I’m doing my level best to try and be a glass half full kind of person at the moment. It is a conscious choice. I’m afraid if I start to get bogged down in the hard stuff—and there is a lot of that, that it will be even harder. So if you talk to me and I seem like an insane optimist more than usual, know that it’s a coping mechanism and that I haven’t fallen totally off my rocker just yet. 😊

That said, I am trying to keep at the forefront of my mind good things that may come from this, and there are lots. Here’s a quick highlight reel. Some serious ones, some less serious ones.

The bats in the attic should no longer be an issue. Basement ones are slowed down some, too... I can’t quantify how much I dislike bats.

I’m getting a heavy dose of humility. I don’t like asking for help, and I am being forced to really work on that. I’m trying.

My most precious things are safe. I will make myself lose sleep over the what-ifs if I think about them for too long. My kids are all safe and sound. I’m hugging them extra tight.

And finally. I live in the best community and my kids get to see how good people are. I have been here most of my life, so I’m not surprised. I stood outside watching the house burning and thought of how well I knew people would come to help, and my Winfield did not disappoint. And I knew they’d have my back. But my kids don’t have that same knowledge of their community yet. And they see it now and they are noticing and they are feeling loved and supported and held up by everyone in this community. When I think about this, I get a little teary. You always want your kids to see the good in the world and I’ve been a little cynical about a lot of things in the past couple of years. And this town and these people have restored my faith that people are good. I know I sound like a ridiculous hallmark card or something. But people are good, and my family is blessed to experience this amount of love and care from our Winfield friends and neighbors and people we’ve never met.

And if you are reading this and haven’t checked your smoke detectors yet recently... seriously, go do that.

❤️

The Fire

If you've ever thought to yourself that you think a house fire would be a fun adventure to go on, let me assure you that it is not. By now, most people know that on New Year's Eve, we had a fire in our home.  And because so many people have asked, and I am generally better with writing stories than telling them...  This is what happened.

We slept in.  We were all up late just goofing off and not doing anything important, other than some tidying up of the kids' rooms upstairs. I kept thinking that I should be doing stuff, but lounging ended up being the theme of the day.  I was prepping a meal for my cousins...  Cheese stuffed pasta shells, and a huge pan of chex mix (with Bugles and bagel chips... It was going to be REALLY good chex mix...)  I was set to go out to my mom's to take food to go to Columbus City at 3, and it was around 2:15 I think when we decided we should go do another load of laundry before heading out.  Kids and I went upstairs, I changed the laundry, picked up some stuff, and was in the bathroom tidying some things up in there. 

Next thing I know, Collin is screaming that there is smoke in the house. Being the homeowner who's always on the ball... I knew that sometimes the dryer vent could become blocked, and since we were running that, I went and stuck my head in the dryer but it smelled fine.  I ran downstairs to see if the oven was still on and I'd forgotten to shut it off...  It was off. I ran back upstairs to screaming and terrified children and then I saw it.  

(Our house was formerly two apartments, and so we have a room upstairs which was the kitchen. Technically it still could have been; but we only ever used it for storage and for a litter box for our cats.) Smoke alarms were blaring, and I see the flames on the counter in that back room.  I yelled at the kids who were in varying states of fear to go downstairs.  In my totally irrational thinking, I assumed that even though we never use that room, something must have spontaneously combusted right there on the counter.  I grabbed for the fire extinguisher, did that whole thing, and got the fire out (or at least what I could see of it.)  [Edited to add:  I'm told by the firefighters who were in the house that what we saw was likely just the tip of the iceberg, and that there was more fire in the wall that we couldn't see.  So what I thought was just a small fire was not by that point.]

I made sure the kids were downstairs, they were wide-eyed, terrified, and surprisingly compliant.  Miles didn't have any shoes on, or a shirt... so one of the kids put a coat on him.  They went out onto the porch, and were crying but safe. I ran back upstairs with the phone and called 911, opened up a couple windows to let smoke out, and by then the smoke was heavy.  

Fire department personnel showed up, and went upstairs and very shortly came back down and said that they needed water.  And so I went outside.  And neighbors showed up.  And firefighters.  And more firefighters.  And friends.  And my parents. And neighbors.  And church members.  

And it wasn't a small fire. At all.  And it was so fast. SO fast. 

And we are all OK.  The house isn't.  But we are all OK.  That's what happened.  We weren't even supposed to be home.  Could have been worse.  Could have happened in the night.  That would have been worse.  We could have been downstairs and not realized there was a fire until much later.  That would have been worse.  I'd planned to leave my big kids home alone for a bit while I ran some errands, as they wanted to play with their new christmas toys. They could have been home alone. That would have been worse.   

Here is to a new year that hopefully has only one way to go. 

Check your smoke detector batteries. Have extinguishers. 

The Procedure

Sometimes you have an experience that is too surreal for words.  And then you try to apply words.  And don't fully do justice to the experience, but you feel like the experience needs to be documented.  This is one of those stories...   One that I won't soon forget.

I’ve had issues with dry eyes for years.  Maybe even decades by now… I’m old enough to measure my life in decades these days.  Anyway, my eyes are always dry. I can’t think of the last time I’ve cried a real tear.  Not my wedding, not the birth of any of my children, not a sad movie… I just don’t. Because my eyes just don’t. And so after being even more miserable than usual for several months with my dysfunctional non-tear-producing slacker eyes, I decided to go seek professional help.  Since I’ve had this issue off and on for years, with little relief from the standard treatments, my ophthalmologist recommended something that she referred to as a “gentle type of heat treatment” (trade name withheld intentionally) that I could try out as a new option. And being a fan of both my ophthalmologist and new treatment options, I decided it seemed worthwhile, and the appointment was made.

I arrived on time, and cheerfully greeted the somewhat less cheerful receptionist.  I checked in, waited only a few short minutes (which in this clinic is nothing short of miraculous), and then I met Marcia.  Oh, Marcia…

We walked into the treatment room, and the fun began.  “Have they explained what exactly we’re doing today?” I have a pretty well-known habit of playing Dr. Google on the interwebs, and so I gave a confident “Yep! Sure have!”.  Her chuckle should have given her away, but didn’t. “Well, our treatment is in four parts…” she continued. Given my full confidence in my google-ing the previous night, I didn’t pay it much attention.  She handed me a couple of brochures, sat me down in the chair, and tipped me back. Within a couple short minutes, I was ready for what I expected to be something akin to a spa treatment for my eyelids. “If any of this is too painful or you need me to stop, just let me know, and I will stop…” she said.  It was then that I realized that maybe there was a red flag off in the distance. Like… Did I really need a safe word for my eye spa experience? Really? REALLY MARCIA!?

Phase One.

“This part is what one gentleman jokingly referred to as “The Dremel”...” she said with a light chuckle in her voice.  [Uneasy laughter from me] “It’s kind of like going to the dentist.” [Internal panic level rising quickly] “See, look. (she showed me what looked like a polishing tool at the dentist but with a little flat disk on the end instead of the rubber one that holds the tooth polish.)  It’s kind of like the tooth polisher at the dentist. This little silicone disk with these cute little nubbins on it will clean your lid margins.” I realize the term “nubbins” was supposed to make it seem less like a medieval torture device, but to no avail. “And if you need me to stop, I can.” Oh no, Marcia… I’m good.  I pride myself on my relatively high pain threshold. I’ve given birth after all, I can handle pain.

And then it began.  

If you could imagine the sensation of purposefully turning your eyelids inside out and then walking into a sandstorm in the Sahara?  Maybe. Broken glass crumbs blown by gale-force winds directly into your eyes? Could be. A Dremel rotary tool? That gentleman hit the nail right on the head.  I’m not sure the type of pain was even remotely similar… If it was possible for eyes to curl into the fetal position, they would have. They’d be rocking in a corner somewhere. A normal person would have been in tears I have no doubt… But since my eyes are effectively the Atacama desert as far as ocular moisture is concerned (thanks David Attenborough for the knowledge to toss that name around), there was only a wish I could cry.  A wish and no tears. If I was a smoker, I’d have needed a cigarette after that. But I’m not. And so I didn’t… But if I were…

It’d be a hard call on whether or not being in labor was worse than this. No exaggeration. I’d have to give it some serious thought.  Imagine someone filing out the rough spots on the inside of your eyelids with a small power tool. Sounds unpleasant? Sounds like something you’d steer clear of?  Well, dear reader, that’s exactly what it was. And then imagine that the person is trying to make cheerful small talk about her (presumably lovely) grandchildren.  Because she was.

Phase one complete.

Phase two.

 

My new friend Marcia then gladly informed me that we were moving to the next phase of treatment.  I asked if she meant “the part where you melt my eyelids?” and she chuckled and said that they preferred to call it a “heat treatment” or “eye spa treatment”.  Whatever the title, it sounded less traumatic than the violation I’d just survived. And for 10 minutes, she held the little heated device over my eyelid to encourage the tear-production fairies to get their crap together and start functioning (my words, not hers).  “Are you asleep yet?” she asked, assuming i was in a deep state of relaxation. “No ma’am, pretty sure all hopes of relaxation left when you used the previous torture device.” She chuckles again. “I keep thinking I should get some relaxing music in here to help people relax more.” I don’t have the heart to tell her that she’d have to follow that with a full bottle of wine in order to make that even a remote possibility.  This part of the treatment wasn’t awful. I remember naively thinking to myself, “I can get through this.”

Phase two complete.

Phase three.

“This next thing, which was designed by one of our very own staff is affectionately called the shoehorn.” THE WHAT?!?  She shows me what does indeed look like a small metal shoehorn. What in God’s creation does my eye need a shoehorn for?! “I’m just going to slide this in between your eyeball and your eyelid so I can apply some pressure to eyelid and not injure your eyeball…” Great, Marcia.  You just go ahead and GENTLY SLIDE THAT PIECE OF SHOEHORN INTO MY EYE AND I WILL JUST BE SITTING HERE FULLY FRIGGIN’ RELAXED.  “Here, I’m just going to give you one of these eye drops to numb up your eye.”  Small favors. She puts drops in, and goes right to shoehorn-ing my eye. And pressing on it so that it feels like she’s trying to more or less scoop out my eyelids.  I’d be lying if I said it was a great feeling. But she’s cheerfully chatting on, and so I assume that I’m not mortally wounded yet. “Did that hurt?” “Yeah. That really hurt.”  “So do you mind if I do it one more time??” Did Marcia really forget the &%@#$ safe word?!? “Oh, look at what I got out of THAT one….” she says as she gleefully shows me the freshly removed shoehorn… Generally that kind of thing doesn’t bother me, but after feeling like my eye has been violated for the past 20 minutes, I can’t even really feign enthusiasm.

Phase three complete.

Phase four.

“Ok, my dear.  Time for the last part.  I’m going to put some coconut oil on a cotton swab.  Just the generic brand of coconut oil, no need for name brand.  Put it on the edge of your eyelid just so, put a tissue over your eyes, and then this heated mask will stay on for 10 minutes. You should order one of these for yourself… You can charge it by USB.  Pay attention to laundering instructions, though, if you have to wash it too much, you’ll lose the lovely lavender scent…” Lavender is not my scent. But the ten minutes of relatively undisturbed eyes under the mask wasn’t terrible.  Not compared to the dremel. Or the shoehorn.

Then there was some more small talk and the discussion of when she’d see me again and then I escaped that fresh hell.  I can’t say I didn’t learn some lessons, though. Ask for more detail. Be skeptical of everyone named Marcia (Sorry, people named Marcia.) Pick out a safe word for every procedure well in advance.  

Make sure there’s a coffee place on your way home so you can drown your sorrows.

What a difference a year makes.

Tomorrow marks an anniversary that we never knew we'd look forward to.  Not because it marks something that's super worth celebrating, but that we've survived.  Collin has survived, the other kids have survived, and we've survived while getting everyone from point A to point B for a year.

A year ago tonight, I went to bed a normal frazzled mom of four healthy and normal and wonderful kids.  I woke up the next morning to a three year with with an earache and a six year old who'd peed the bed again, a day's worth of sub plans to scramble to get together, and if you know me, you already know what happened.

What a difference a year makes.  It would have been very easy for us to wallow and feel sorry for the hand that Son Number One was dealt, but as we've told him hundreds of times, we love him just as he is, and Type 1 Diabetes is a part of him now. Some days it would be easy to grouch, gripe, or wallow, and then I remember how much easier it would be if I were a 7 year old kid.  And so we will plaster on our smiles and press onward, and do our best.  Some days it's good, some days it could be better, and every day is a new day.

From the very first day of his diagnosis, I've been blessed countless times by the kindness of others.  From our awesome pediatrician who doubted my mom-diagnosis, and then stayed extra with us to tell us about her Type 1 son once our diagnosis was all but sure.  Every staff member we interacted with at the University during the hospital stay, especially our amazing nurse Laurie whose laugh was a bright spot in some tough days.  The friends who took great care to prepare some diabetic friendly meals in the days after we came home from the hospital.  The nurses and researchers who have helped care for him when we're at the hospital for clinical trial visits, and who take great care to make sure he picks something really cool from the prize closet.  The staff--teachers, associates, bus drivers, secretaries, and our school nurse--at school who constantly are going above and beyond for him. The local Lion's Club who came to me within a couple of days of being home from the hospital to tell me that they'd love to send him to a summer camp for kids with diabetes.  The staff members at Camp Hertko Hollow--every single one of them.  To the parents of other Type 1 kids who have been a source of information as well as support. To our family and our friends who have been learning so much right along with us... People I didn't know would find their way into our lives, but to whom we are eternally grateful.

I've administered more shots to my child than any parent should have to, become a pro at counting carbs for meals and predicting the subsequent changes in blood sugar.  Our home has sharps containers sitting around, and you'll probably find more than one diabetic test strip laying around (because 7 year olds...).  We've learned the difference between sugar free and no sugar added... We know we can carry OUR bag into Kinnick stadium when others can't (this was kind of a big deal!)...  We've come to rely on technology to alert us of high or low blood sugars, and a plethora of other details that we never expected to be important.  But that's not the big stuff.

We've learned that we can count on our seven year old to know what to do and how to respond in a situation that may be scary to others.  He knows when he needs to eat carbs, when to test ketones, when to calibrate his glucose sensor, how to administer his own insulin, and how to tell others about diabetes.  We've learned that the emotional roller coaster he is sometimes on must seem bigger and scarier to him than it does to us, and so we have to model calm as much as we can.  We know that he is still destined for greatness, even if the path he's on to get there may have gone a slightly different direction.  We've learned that he probably won't be an astronaut or a fighter pilot--and we are ALL good with that.

Everyone would do well to take a page from Son Number One's book.  Be grateful always, even when you're 7 and have more shots every day than most people have in a year.  Be kind.  There's literally no reason not to be.  Look on the bright side.  Could things be better?  Always.  But they could always be worse, too.  Take every opportunity you can to educate yourself and be your best advocate. Doesn't matter if you're 6 ot 60--knowledge is power, and the sooner that you realize that, the better off you'll be.  Ask him, he is really active in his care.  (He has an appointment next week and "can't wait" to see what his A1C is...  Because of course he can't.

Anyway.  It's been a year.  It's been a long year, and a year that I didn't hope to have, but that I'm grateful to have survived along with one of the best kids a mama could ever hope for.

Camp Hertko Hollow, C’s First Year

It’s been amost 6 Months since Son Number One’s Type 1 diagnosis. He was diagnosed on a Monday, discharged from the hospital on a Wednesday or maybe Thursday, and by the Sunday after he was diagnosed, I had already been approached by a community member I’ve known since my own childhood about camp. I was on my way out to run an errand, and Ruth was walking by and stopped me to ask about how Son Number One was doing, as she had heard of his diagnosis. I told her we were doing as well as we could be. And in the next breath, she said “Well, The Lions Club will help send him to camp in the summer.” And that was that. We got materials for camp and got him signed up VERY early, and life happened for a few months... and then last week, he went to camp.

And it was the best experience for him.

Camp Hertko Hollow is held at the Des Moines Y Camp outside of Boone, Iowa. It’s a drive out into the country, down some nondescript Iowa gravel roads. Being our first year as a Diabetes camp family, we didn’t know what to expect after driving 3 hours to drop off our 7 year old for a few days with strangers. As soon as we turned into the parking lot, his eyes got big, and he was more excited than nervous. He saw that there were cabins with two levels, and he wanted to be in one of those. After a thorough check-in process that included meeting with medical staff, talking about insulin dosages, and the obligatory camp head-lice check (which he passed—thank goodness! Ha!), we set off to unpack his stuff and get him settled. Much to his delight, he was in the top floor of the very cabin he hoped for—Deer Valley. (It was the one we hoped for, too, since it’s the one we parked right in front of....!) We met one of his counselors and he picked his (obviously top) bunk out. There were already a couple of other campers there, so he was at ease right away. And then his other counselor offered him a snack of Cheetos (only 14 grams of carbs, mom!!), and he grinned and that was that.... he was hooked, so we gave our hugs and were on our way home.



I picked him up on Wednesday morning and the highlight reel is as follows...

1. Food was good! I loved it all!
2. They came around and checked blood sugar every night, which was weird, but fine.
3. The rock climbing wall was awesome.
4. My counselors were awesome, one has Type 1 like me and was diagnosed when he was 2!
5. We had S’Mores!
6. Even my nighttime insulin was in a cool pen here.
7. Swimming was fun. I didn’t pass the test... but they had cool goggles.
8. I for sure want to come back next year for a whole week.
9. The girls wouldn’t let us see the frogs they found... (this really bothered him!)
10. “I think I’d like to be a counselor when I’m older, like my counselors. I could help kids, too!”

There were more, but it sounded like an amazing time, and we’ve already made plans for him to hang out with his “BFF” (his words) from camp who lives pretty close to us. I am so grateful he had this opportunity to go and become a part of such a community. Type 1 is not a blessing... but getting to know all of these awesome people certainly was. I can’t say enough good things about the camp experience for him... it was just that good. My mom heart was bursting when I saw his huge grin when I picked him up, and it still is when I think of what a whirlwind the last 6 Months have been for him, and how far we’ve all come.

I am having issues getting photos to upload; I will work on it again when I’m by my laptop. Technology on my iPhone is holding me back tonight.

Only 51 weeks until next year’s camp! ;)

Hello Summer!

As one would reasonably expect with a family like ours... there is always something going on. The past couple of months have been full to the brim of activity for all of us as the school year FINALLY wound to a close.

We participated in our first JDRF OneWalk for Diabetes research and had a good time with that. Our team raised over $2000 this year, which was a great accomplishment in our minds! Son number one was delighted seeing all of the other teams there, and said it was good knowing he’s not alone. I think that while we can tell him this until we are blue in the face, it is so much more real when he sees others like himself . Great event, we are already planning for next year.

All four kids have had birthdays since I last wrote here... so we now are the proud owners of a 9 year old, a seven year old, a four year old, and a one year old. I can’t believe how fast time is flying.... and how slow it seems to go some days. The days are long, but the years are short. I still try to soak up all of the things they do at all of their ages, though... because I know youth is fleeting.

We have done a little bit of traveling in summer so far, but most of our vacationing is still upcoming. Collin did go to camps but I am saving all things camp for another post. Mostly, we are staying up late and sleeping in, and loving life without strict schedules. 6 weeks left of break... :)