The Obligatory Resolution Post

Well, 2013 was quite the year. I don't even remember if I did resolutions last year. If I did, I can't find them anywhere.

In order to avoid losing my resolutions, this year, I put them on Padlet. It's an online tool that I should probably use in the classroom, so I decided to mess around with it over break...and this is what I got.

http://padlet.com/wall/my_resolutions_2014 <-- there are pictures, too. Please click it. It's super cool.

Pretty 21st-century learning friendly, huh?!

Anyway, I am STOKED about 2014! I'll continue working on my master's degree, become an aunt, finish my third year of teaching, and hopefully accomplish all the goals set forth on the above Padlet. I'm so thankful for the many blessings 2013 has brought and can't wait to see what God has in store for 2014!

I Don't Need a Penis to Open a Door

Some women are deeply offended when a man opens a door for her. How dare he! the woman might think indignantly. I can open my own effing door! What a chauvinist pig!  What decade are we living in, the thirties?!

Some women gasp and sputter when a man doesn't open or hold a door for her. How rude! He has no manners! What did his parents teach him about how to treat women? Nothing, obviously! 

Despite the title of this post, I don't fall into the first category. In fact, I believe both of the above reactions to be presumptuous, unkind, unfair, and judgmental.

If a guy holds a door open for me, I smile and say, "Thank you." And if a man doesn't hold the door for me, I do not assume he's rude or wasn't raised properly. I assign positive intent in both situations.

Early on in our relationship, Randy always held the door for me, opened my car door, and so forth, because this is how he was raised, which is fine. It was nice, at first, though sometimes rather inconvenient. As we continued to date, though, I realized there were MANY times I didn't like him to hold the door.

Sometimes it was impractical (like in bad weather or when his hands were full).
Sometimes I wanted him to enter somewhere first.
Sometimes the car was parked next to a shrub and it was impossible for him to have room to open the door without sitting on top of a holly bush.
The list could go on and on.

So, I had a conversation with him and told him that I would prefer if he didn't always open the door for me, but I liked it if we were, say, out on a date.

And, because he loves and respects me, he listened.

I have to mention the two blood-boiling issues I've encountered since we had this conversation several years ago. The first is when people assume my husband isn't a gentleman because he doesn't open my car door or whatnot. These individuals don't know the private conversations my husband and I have had.

The other issue I've faced is men and women telling me I need to wait for a man to open the door for me. Grrrrr, I can't even tell you how that irks me. You may want me to because those are your beliefs. But no, I don't need to.

I really think the heart of the issue is this: our actions should be loving.

I do not believe it would be loving or kind of Randy to say to me, "You know, honey, I hear you say that you don't like me to hold the door for you for these various reasons. But I was raised this way, and I'm going to keep opening all your doors for you, whether you like it or not. I'm not going to abandon my upbringing because of your personal preference."

Sadly, I know some guys who have said that to the women they love.

Opening a door for someone can be loving regardless of one's gender. You see, I--a female-- also hold the door open for others out of kindness and the desire to bless them.

Example A: The other morning, there was a man walking out of Starbucks with his hands full of drinks and pastries, so I held the door for him.

Example B: Today at Barnes and Noble, a dad was carrying a screaming toddler, power-walking towards the door to try and exit the establishment before causing too much of a scene, so I paused and held the door for him.

Sometimes, it's just easier to pull a door open and hold it for whoever's approaching, so I do, because I think it's a nice thing to do. 

Am I not allowed to do this simply because I have female parts and not male bits? 

I've decided that I am absolutely allowed to open whatever doors I would like, for myself or for others.

Because I don't need a penis to open a door.

Why did I do it?

I admit that I can be rather impulsive. 

My decision to chop off twelve inches of hair, however, has been a loooooooooooong time coming. When I cut my hair a few months before my wedding in 2010, I regretted it and decided to grow it out until I was 25. 

My 25th birthday came and went this past September...I pinned pictures of Katie Holmes's cute bobs on Pinterest and found myself looking at other women's hairstyles in church when I was supposed to be listening to the sermon. 

But I couldn't quite decide if I wanted to take the plunge. 

Then, I thought, What's the worst thing that could happen? I don't like it and I grow it out again.

So, after getting a referral to an amazing hair stylist from my friend Emily, I went from this: 

To this: 

I love that I can't hide behind my hair anymore. I feel more confident, like people see me and look me in the eye. 

I haven't regretted cutting it, not for one second. Here are the pros: 

1) Even on a "bad" hair day, a messy pixie looks better than a greasy ponytail. 

2) In the winter, I never have to go out with wet hair. With my long hair, I sometimes was forced to go to work with it wet because I didn't have 45 minutes to dry it and then style it. 

3) I don't look like I'm 12 (you think I'm joking? Scroll up and look at me with braided pigtails). The short hair makes me feel more sophisticated and grown up. 

4) It's easier to change up. I'm getting a trim in a few weeks, and I can play around with the style and color a little bit. I'm thinking of doing a fun wine red streak in the front, because, why not?

5) I actually WANT to fix my hair and style it. My long hair was just SO thick and SO...much...and literally the ONLY thing I do is blowdry it and put some clay in it. Presto! Good to go! 

The only real downside so far is that I wake up with crazy hair and have to run a damp brush or straightener through it. But that's no big deal. Better than waking up with huge rat's nests, like I used to!

Don't you want a fun, short haircut now, too?! 

"Libtard"

I don't know if others should call me "conservative" or "liberal." I believe I am neither, and I'm quite confident in that belief, despite the fact that many of my friends/family are extremely conservative and a number of my friends are extremely liberal. I classify myself as a moderate and a libertarian, and I don't really need others to label me.

I try to step away from political conversations that I know will rile me up and tempt me to be ugly.

When I was at SAGU, I was often labeled as "too liberal" and "having unbiblical beliefs."

When I was at EMU, I was often called "too conservative" and "closed minded." I wrote a political piece for our school newspaper, and some old man who read it kept emailing me (and when I stopped responding, writing letters and leaving them in my school mailbox) to try and convince me I was wrong and that if I were older, I'd have his beliefs, and that my conservative beliefs were a result of young ignorance.

Whatever.
I do not swallow propaganda that is presented to me, and I don't merely go along with popular beliefs.

All I know is that I love Jesus and I let that influence the beliefs I have, no matter what others call me or what others tell me.

His example was one of love and grace and mercy.
He came to serve, not to be served.
He was utterly selfless and laid down His life for each one of us.
He did not come to earth and try to change the political climate, even though that's the kind of Messiah the Jews were looking for.
But I digress...

I don't know if I'm right or wrong about some political issues.
There's a lot I don't know. There's a lot YOU don't know.

But here's what I DO know: name calling based on political beliefs is unkind, rude, desperate, and low.

Truly, folks, I am sick and tired of seeing people called names because of their beliefs, and frankly, I am tired of being called names.

Especially, I'm tired of seeing Christians call people names just because those people believe two committed gay men should be able to get legally married, or because they don't believe in the death penalty, or because they are pacifists.

And I am tired of seeing some of my liberal Christian friends calling conservatives names because they believe that abortion is wrong, or that the government should not be responsible for providing certain services, or that the Second Amendment gives us the right to keep and bear arms.

I am tired of the ignorance and inflammatory speech from everyone but especially from those who profess to follow Jesus. And I know I fall into this trap, too...this post is a reminder to me, too, to remember how it feels to be harshly judged and called names because of politics.

Shane Claiborne writes in Jesus for President, “The Christian icon is not the Stars and Stripes but a cross-flag, and its emblem is not a donkey, an elephant, or an eagle, but a slaughtered lamb.” 

So why do we let others' political beliefs offend us so much that we stoop to name calling and insulting? 
I don't know. 

But here's what I do know: I just can't see Jesus calling someone a "libtard" simply because that person has certain beliefs.

Speak Life

Today's the day before Thanksgiving break, and I'm not going to lie: I did not want to work today. I wanted to stay at home on my couch reading Inkheart or watching a Harry Potter movie.

This morning before school, one of my students brought me a thank you note today that just said, "Thank you, Mrs. Suders"...and that was all. Frankly, when I saw it, I was a little disappointed. I wasn't prepared for what came next.

She handed me the paper.  "I wanted to write you a thank you note, but I didn't know exactly how to word it, so I just wanted to come to you and tell you in person," she said, pausing to take a deep breath. "Thank you for telling us that we're just as good as the other schools and that we're not bad..."

At this point, she began tearing up; her voice broke, and her lower lip started to tremble, so I blinked back tears and stood up to hug her.

So often, my students are told they are "bad" because they go to this high school. People don't have high expectations for them because of their skin color or the fact they attend an "East End" school. I am guilty of falling into this mindset sometimes, but today, I was reminded that it's a self-fulfilling prophesy.
 If I treat my students like they are "bad" kids, if I have low expectations for them, then I am failing at my job. For some, I might be the only person who believes in them, who cares enough about them to push them, and who really does think they can graduate high school or go to college or go into the military or be anything other than a drug dealer or thief.

It's my job, my calling, to speak words of life to them and to uplift them and encourage them, NOT to tear them down.

I am SO thankful for this amazing student who reminded me of the awesome responsibility I have as a teacher. THIS is why I teach. Today, I am humble. Today, I am thankful.

Go Ahead. Read Instead

I know I've been a whiny, grumpy teacher this fall. I've complained about the 12-hour workdays and that lack of appreciation and the increased demands and the spreadsheets and the new rules. I've chosen to focus on how miserable I am and how I feel like I really could be making more money doing something else (and working fewer hours).

But my job is really, really great, guys.

I get to work with kids each and every day. They walk into my classroom, and I get to influence them, teach them, listen to them, correct them, and learn from them.

We begin each class with independent reading. Twenty to thirty minutes of pure silence. Just the kids and their books and me and my book. In that moment, we are all equal. We are all just readers.

The other day, our thirty minutes of reading time came to an end, so like I always do, I said, "OK, guys, find a good stopping place and write down your progress on your reading log."

No.one.budged.
No one moved a muscle.
They were all too entranced in their books (or, for the few who forgot their books, they were into their magazines). All nineteen of my kids.

I just paused and smiled. These are the same kids who, at the beginning of the year, whined and grumbled when I told they we'd read every class. The same kids who fought me when I told them they needed to actually read a book and finish it. The same ones who used to check the clock every 2.7 seconds and roll their eyes, annoyed that reading time wasn't over yet.

I just savored the moment, took a deep breath, and grinned from ear to ear, my eyes tearing up, but none of my kids saw me to poke fun at me, because their eyes were glued to the pages of their books.
"What were they reading?" you may ask. "What amazing book did you find to captivate them for so long?"

No, no, no. I didn't find them an amazing book. They found their books themselves, and this, I believe, is the key to successful independent reading in the classroom.

Finally, some kids stirred and reluctantly put their books down. But one student didn't.
He read his book while we did our grammar mini-lesson, oblivious to the world around him. And I let him read. I didn't redirect him. I simply let him read while we moved on. In fact, he didn't budge until we started moving desks so we could sit in a circle for our reader's theatre of The Crucible.

GASP. What?! You, a teacher, let a student BE OFF TASK during class!

Uh, yeah.

There are more important things in teaching than getting every single student to do every single activity all the time.

Like instilling a love for reading.
Like letting a student fall in love with a book, get sucked into the plot, become attached to a character, and then come to me at the end of the book asking if there's a sequel.

It is truly amazing what students will do when you meet them where they are and give them freedom and choice.

Yes, I am the teacher, and yes, I am in "charge" of my classroom. I am the authority figure, and I enforce rules and plan lessons and all that jazz.
But I cannot MAKE my students learn.
They make that choice. And they will be more likely to choose to read, to choose to learn, if they actually get to have some say in the matter.

You know what's really great?
My job, and my kids, and my coworkers, and the fact that I have helped at least one student become a reader this year.

That is the best feeling in the world, guys. It really, truly is.

I Want Too Much

I want to write creatively, for pen and paper to meet, sparks igniting the tip of the pen until a cloud of smoky words drifts into the air, inspiring anyone who wanders into them.

I want to sing, in German and Latin and Spanish, and to sing covers of pop songs and versions of original songs, and to have someone tell me to be sure to keep my shoulders back (look in the mirror when you practice!) so I can fill my lungs with air and not be breathy and flat, and to focus when I'm sight-reading.

I want to play, for my fingers to glide over the piano keys as I close my eyes and forget anything else exists. I don't even want an audience or a YouTube video or a compliment.

I want to take an art class, since my clumsy hands have never learned to paint or sculpt or draw; I just think I should know these things.

I want to take a math class, since I stumbled through pre-calculus with a "C" and no trigonometry background; I want to prove to myself that I can master the unit circle and Pythagorean identities.

I want coffee in the morning and running in the evening and baking gluten free cupcakes in between; I want to clean with homemade, nontoxic cleaners and sew with a sewing machine.

I want volleyball with friends, and glasses of wine as we watch reality TV or play card games.

I want to volunteer on weekends, do Bible study on weekdays, and sit through a church service without thinking about how much work I have at home.

I want books and crossword puzzles to keep my mind sharp and my vocabulary expanding; I can feel myself getting dumber and dumber with time. The brain's a muscle; you have to work it.


But what do I have?
Papers to grade, piled so high I could cry.
Data to analyze and turn in to bosses.
Meetings in the morning and meetings at lunch and emailing over the weekend.
Lessons to plan...if I even have time.
A dusty piano.
Cobwebs covering my vocal cords.
A looming mountain of laundry.
Yogurt for dinner, and lunch, and sometimes breakfast, if I have time.
Little time for who or what I love.
Friends scared to call because I keep flaking out.


I do not know exactly what life is supposed to be, but I know it is not supposed to be all work and no peace, all punishment and no pleasure.
Family, friends, fellowship...these are the important things...right?

I think life is too short to live this way.
Or maybe, I just want too much.

To Be a Superhero

A couple weeks ago, someone quipped, "You're like a superhero! You just do it all!"

No, I'm not, and no, I don't. Far from it.

When Randy and I first got married and lived in H'burg, we NEVER ate out. I mean, seriously. We ate out maybe TWICE in our first year of marriage. I cooked from scratch every single night; Sunday was always homemade pizza night. I cleaned our tiny apartment at least once per week (vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed the bathroom, dusted, etc.). I had a "laundry day" (mostly because I had to go to the laundromat) and always made sure laundry was folded and put away promptly.

Then we moved, and he started school, and I started teaching for real. And coaching. And playing volleyball two-three nights a week. And hanging out with my friends every weekend. And now, I'm in grad school. And teaching is harder and more time consuming than ever. And I'm coaching five nights a week.

And somewhere along the way, homemade soup gave way to Campbell's, and homemade pizza became frozen pizza, and it became acceptable to eat yogurt and cereal for dinner.

And instead of laundry being done once a week and completely folded and put away, I now frequently pick out outfits from clothes draped over the drying rack or sitting in the dryer. Just last week, I rummaged through a few laundry baskets to find a pair of clean underwear.

Despite all of this, my sweet husband still tells me I'm the best wife ever.

But last December, I realized life was going in a direction I didn't like. I don't want to have a reputation as a workaholic who is busy, busy, busy all the time, and frankly, I didn't want to give that label to myself, either.

That doesn't make me happy anymore. It doesn't bring me joy or peace. 

Life is short, and we only get one chance. To me, that used to mean "cram in everything while you can."
Now it means "don't waste time on the small stuff; pick and choose what's really important."

Choose what brings true joy. Choose what brings peace.
Choose family and fellowship. Choose God.

I know this is not what American society tells us to do. Society dictates that we work ourselves until we are exhausted, and then we bring home work and work some more. We do, do, do and go, go, go.

I think the real superheroes are those who defy these expectations and live simple, quiet lives.
I want someone to say, someday, "You're a superhero! You stopped doing it all and now do only what's important! You take time to go on walks with your husband and write songs on your grandmother's piano. You take time to volunteer in your church's soup kitchen and visit the old folks' home. You spread JOY to others!"

THAT is the kind of superhero I aspire to be. I don't want to DO more. I want to BE more.

Let Them Read What They Want

At the end of last year, I wrote a post about independent reading and how excited I was that it worked in my classroom last year! Several people asked me, “How? How did you make it work?” and so I decided to take some time after this second week of school to tell you how I’m making it work in my classroom.

Just for some background: I teach 11^th and 12^th grade, and in Virginia, there is a state standardized test in 11^th grade. So for teachers who say, “Oh, I don’t have time for independent reading because we have a state test,” please reconsider. We can always make time to infect our students with the reading bug.

I also teach at a low income school. Many of my kids come from single parent households. Many are African American. A few are pregnant or already have babies of their own. I’m saying this so you don’t think my kids are the perfect angels, the easy kids to reach. They are not; they’re tough, most days.

That brings me to my first point.

1.       You, as the teacher, MUST buy into the value of independent reading for it to work. You must fully and passionately believe that, as B.F. Skinner said, “We shouldn't teach great books but great love of reading.” Yes, there are numerous arguments for reading the “classics,” and yes, they are of some value. But if your students "SparkNote" their way through Great Expectations and The Scarlet Letter (like I did, because they were terribly boring), and then they never read another book again…are we really doing our jobs, as English teachers? I argue that no, we are not. WE must believe that reading is more than trudging through classics and the books we THINK we should teach.

I'll be honest: I despise most of the classics that I am supposed to love. They sucked away my love for reading for many years. But then, I read The Book Whisperer by Donnalyn Miller (thanks to my cooperating teacher, Mrs. Reynolds). From August of 2010, when I started student teaching with Mrs. Reynolds, to August 2011, when I got hired at the high school where I’m currently teaching, I read over 50 books! I rediscovered a love for reading, and I decided I never wanted to be the English teacher to inadvertently killed reading for my students.

You have to know your students. For instance, most of us who are Language Arts teachers took all the AP English classes and majored in English in college, and sometimes we forget that our students are not like us. I teach some great kids, but my kids are not honors or AP. They are the kids who will probably be fixing your car someday or wiring your house for electricity because they are more interested in trade school, and that is completely fine! But very few of them are going to be English majors.

This past summer, my little (well, younger) brother and I went fishing, and he asked me why teachers teach “the classics.” You see, he’s an extremely smart kid. He took advanced classes in high school and graduated with a good GPA and has enough common sense and street smarts for ten people. But unlike his nerdy, bookworm sister (me), school is just not his passion. 

So, I thought about his question and finally said, “Uh…I guess some teachers feel like they have to. It’s just expected. They think it’s good for kids to be exposed to certain books and to be educated so they can pick up on references and stuff…” And even as I was saying it, I realized what a ridiculous answer it was.

“That doesn’t seem like a good reason at all,” he quipped

And he’s right. It’s a terrible reason. It’s not good enough for me. I want better for my kids

So, here’s what I do: on the first day of school, my students take a Reading Interest Survey. This gives me an idea of what kind of reader they are. This survey, which I created after looking at dozens of reading surveys online and in books, also asks them about movies and television shows, so that even if they have never read a book in their life, I know what they’re interested in. Last year, I had my students complete a Book Recommendation Sheet, and I have these in a binder on my bookshelf, organized by genre. One of the questions on the sheet asks the students to complete the following: “If you like…you’ll love…” That way, kids can find books that their peers actually read and enjoyed.

                Then, I bring in books from home (I’m working super hard to build my classroom library on a budget, but for now, I’m just bringing in my personal books and loaning them out). So, on the second day of school, I did a “book tasting” by setting six books around the classroom: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore, The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher, and Deadline by Chris Crutcher. I chose these books because they are high interested young adult literature.

The kids divided into six groups and spent 2-3 minutes with each book, reading the summary, looking at the front cover, reading the author bio, skimming the first few pages, and so forth. At the end, they voted for their top three books, and I read the first chapter of those three books aloud to each class. After I was done reading, they filled out a little Reading Reflection sheet for only TWO books. I told them they could just “chill and listen” for one book, and they liked having that freedom. They also enjoyed having a fluent, expressive reader read the book aloud. Some said it reminded them of their childhood, and so we laughed and shared some stories about being read to as children. We enter into a conversation not teacher to student but reader to reader. What a great way to build a relationship with your kids!             

                The next step to building a successful independent reading program is giving your kids access to books. We have a fabulous school library and a wonderful group of librarians who let me bring my kids in to look at books during the second week of school. During this visit, the kids fill out a Book Preview Sheet. Again, like the other assignments, it’s very minimal. The reason I have them fill this out is to teach them HOW to pick out a book and how to decide if the book is a good fit for them; it’s not just busy work. After the kids are done with their sheets, I ask them to go check out a book or two and begin reading. If they can’t pay the $1.00 it takes to buy a library card, I buy one for them or check out a book on my account. I also tell them if I have a certain book at home and that I’ll bring it in for them if the library doesn’t have it. Like I said earlier, I’m working hard to build my classroom library, and next semester, I plan to have a check out system, but for now, I just kind of write kids down and tell them to just make sure my classroom books get back to me.

                The next step after giving them access to books? Prioritize reading! I start every class, every day with 20-30 minutes of silent reading. And what do I do during those 20-30 minutes? I read. I’ve warned my kids that sometimes we may read for more than 30 minutes if I’m really into my book, and they just rolled their eyes, but I’m being serious. Sometimes I’ll do a quick walk around the classroom and nudge people who have drifted off, but I don’t shame or scold them. Occasionally, I’ll give a small participation grade for reading, but I try to just expect them to read because it’s the right thing to do during that time.

                The students track their progress on a reading log I got from a coworker, Matt. I love it because it is SIMPLE and doesn’t feel like a lot of work, and it’s a great way for a student to estimate how long it will take them to read a book. Once a week, they have to write about their books in their journals, and sometimes I teach characterization, plot, and other literary concepts (and state standards, honestly) through their independent reading books. I also plan to have them do book commercials and book trailers so they can share their best books with their classmates (and hopefully I can put these on my school blog and we can share them with the world). Last year, I did massive projects, and it was such a waste of time. I’m sorry I ever did them; I just felt like I had to.

                So, to summarize

1)     Buy into independent reading and its value.

2)      Know your kids and get to know their interests.

3)      Allow them to “taste” books.

4)      Help them find books that are appropriate and interesting.

5)      Read aloud to your students frequently.

6)      Give students access to books.

7)      Make time to read every day!

8)      Encourage students to create  and share authenticate projects.

9)      Teach literary concepts, such as characterization, through independent reading.

10)   Lead by example. Model reading for them, and they will often follow.

               

Resources: 

The Book Whisperer by Donnalyn Miller  (by the way, I recommend you follow her on Twitter) 

Summer's Over

And just like that, summer is over, and it almost feels as if it were never here. Vacation Bible School in June is a foggy, distant memory. The 10 days in Texas with mom and sister is a blurry dream. Volleyball started on August 5th, but I feel like I've been practicing these girls for months and months and months.

People always used to tell me that the older I got, the faster time flew. I never believed them until recently. Like, for example...I'm almost 25 years old. This is a monumental age in my life for two reasons:

1) My mom had me when she was 25, so for as long as I can remember 25 is "the age to start having kids." And obviously, Randy and I are not at that place yet. Most of the time, that doesn't bother me. Sometimes, though, I have mini-panic attacks where I think, "OMG OMG OMG, I'm 25 and we're not having kids yet. I'm going to be an old mom." Which isn't even true and is completely illogical. But sometimes I think that.

And secretly, I'm kind of grateful my little sister and her husband are having a baby first...I'll have a sweet, squishy niece or nephew to practice on come January :) 

2) I am going to cut my hair. I forget how it started...I think Randy kind of dared me not to cut my hair until I was 25, or maybe I decided to be stubborn and not cut it until I was 25. Either way, the weekend of my 25th birthday, I am free to cut it.

I'll be sure to post pictures, because I'm thinking about doing something very drastic and fun.

Because how else will I celebrate turning 25 later this month? Grading more papers? Having my girls run an extra suicide?

Summer flew by, and 25 years flew by, and I've never been more grateful that my life is exactly the way it is.

From the Beginning

Some of you have known us from the beginning, and some of you have no idea of our past, so I figured this year would be the perfect one to share our (abridged) story with you.

 I first saw him almost fifteen years ago.

My family was at the local rec center; we ALL (mom, dad, brother, sister, and me) played volleyball, so we practically lived there. I was probably 11 or 12 at the time, and I was SO not interested in boys unless it was to be best friends, because then we could play Capture the Flag together or go fishing together. Or to get their hand-me-down clothes because pink was “ew” and tight clothes and dresses were “ick.”

OK. Back to the boy. I saw him while he was at volleyball practice, and I could tell he was athletic and competitive but new to the sport. His team was doing digging lines, and he made a bad dig, and kind of slapped the floor in frustration before jogging to the back of the line to go through the drill again. I'll never forget that moment. I felt this weird spark.

Call me crazy, call me a fool, but I know what I felt. It was like I instantaneously just knew in my gut that he was different from all the other boys out there, in the best way possible. I don’t know…whatever it was, it briefly seized my attention. And then I left the gym and didn’t see him again. I didn't see him again until several years later, when I started attending a certain church because the music minister, whom I've known since second grade as my piano teacher, asked me to be in the church's Easter musical.

 It just so happened that this boy’s dad was the pastor of this church, and so, of course, the boy was very involved there.

Weirdly, my dad asked me if I was going to this new church for a boy, and I adamantly replied, “No!” Complete with an eye roll, I’m sure. Looking back, Dad knew something I didn’t know.

My first conversation with this amazing boy happened at the cast party for this Easter musical during the spring of my freshman year of high school (I was sporting frizzy hair, braces, zits…you know the deal). "Do you go to CLC?" he asked, wanting to know where I went to church. Unable to meet his deep, blue eyes, I responded, "No, but I used to.” Yeah, that was pretty much our first conversation. Romantic, huh?

 I could write pages and pages about our relationship, but we’ll fast forward a couple years and do the Spark Notes version of this story. There was the amazing homecoming dance in 2004 where he caught me alone after youth group one Wednesday night and said that he “enjoyed my company” and felt like I “reciprocated” the feeling – yes, these were his exact words—and would I like to accompany him to homecoming?

 Later I found out that the only reason he decided to ask ANYONE to the dance was because his football teammates pressured him, so THANK YOU, if you were on the JHS football team in 2004!

Homecoming 2004

  So, yeah, I went to homecoming with our high school quarterback, and it was SUPER amazing, and we were supposed to go to Busch Gardens sometime later that week, kind of like a date, but then we saw each other at church the next morning, and we felt all awkward and scared and didn’t know what to say to each other…so we said nothing to each other. For, like, two months. This was tough because we saw each other six days a week because of choir class and church, but somehow, we managed to avoid speaking to each other.

Jamaica mission trip. In this moment, I realized that I really, really liked him because of his willingness to serve.

Then on a mission trip in Jamaica over Christmas break, we spent nights looking at the stars, reconnecting, talking things out, and swearing we wouldn't be stupid and immature anymore.

Next, there were the months of being stupid and immature.

 After those months was the summer right before he left for college, when we were asked to sing a duet together at church. Through that encounter, we finally apologized, began talking our issues out (via AIM), and became friends. The summer before he left for college, he asked me to wait for him, and of course, I said I would. So, then August came, and he was off to college, 2000 miles away.

When he came back for Christmas break, he asked me to be his girlfriend on Christmas Eve. And literally fifteen seconds later, we shared our first kiss. And when I say “first kiss,” I mean it was my first kiss. And his first kiss.

And as we sat on my parents’ couch, with the Christmas tree lights flickering behind us, I thought life couldn’t get any more perfect.

New Year's Eve 2005, literally a week after we started dating! Photo credit- Lauren Collins.

 Throughout college, we dated long distance. We made our own friends and did our own thing but visited whenever it was possible. Over the four years of college, I broke up with him, and he broke up with me, and both times, our relationship grew because we did.  

Now, this man has been my husband for three years. And they have literally been the best three years of my life. 

  I'm reminded every day of how utterly amazing he is. Like the other night, when he stayed after his baseball game to help clean up the dugout, throwing away at least twenty empty water bottles, strewn about by careless teammates.

 Or this past Monday, when he cooked me eggs and pancakes for breakfast because I was exhausted from driving home from Texas on five hours of sleep.

 Or every time he holds me when I cry over whatever I feel like crying about, whether it’s my grandpa dying or the crazy girl hormones at work or the fact that teaching is just plain hard sometimes. He is my rock, and he’s taught me that being strong doesn’t mean denying my feelings, and that it’s ok for me to have my big feelings.

He has taught me what it means to love and forgive unconditionally. There is nothing as scary as being completely vulnerable with someone and telling them everything about you, hoping and praying they will accept you, and he always has.

He's shown me how to laugh off the little things, like when we're running five minutes late for church or when we come home to cat barf on the carpet. Really, in the grand scheme of life, not a big deal, and he's taught me how to let these things go.

He listens to me no matter what. I can babble about going to get a manicure and all the colors of nail polish I considered, and he would never once tell me to be quiet. I can vent about my job and he will hold my hand and nod. He does not try to offer a solution unless I ask him, and I do ask often because he gives wise advice.

He demonstrates that he loves me by helping with the dishes, laundry, trash…by cooking for me when he gets home from work before I do…by watching HGTV with me sometimes, even though he hates it.

No, our love is not a fairy tale. We have hurt each other, said ugly things to each other, and folded the towels wrong (him, not me). But really, I don’t want a fairy tale. I don’t want a Nicholas Sparks love story. I don’t want the perfect relationship. I want exactly what I have with Randy.

Thank you, my darling, for the past three years, and here’s to as many as God chooses to bless us with. I love you, cherish you, and adore you.

When you drive to Texas

1. It's perfectly ok to stop at Starbucks twice in one day.

2. It's acceptable to read two books in the same series and then stare wistfully out the window when you realize you have to wait until flipping OCTOBER for the third book to come out. In case you were wondering, these AMAZING books are Divergent and Insurgent by Veronica Roth. Read them, and be prepared for a Hunger Games-esque experience.

3. It's completely normal to look for baby names for your niece/nephew on road signs. Cameron...Jackson...Pumpkin Center...

4. It's ok to change the radio station all the time. Even if every station is country.

5. There's no shame in counting the number of giant trucks that almost run you off the road.

6. It's ok to wish you'd flown.

...here's to driving all the way back this weekend, friends!

League of Legends Analysis

Here is my blog about an awesome League of Legends game I missed.
There was some jungling, ganking, Olaf, Janna...some minions spawned...Miss Fortune probably tried to seduce my husband. Champions bought things and then used them in battles. Champions went into the brush and got lost...like, I couldn't see them anymore; they were invisible.

And yeah. That's all I know.

You're welcome.

Tune in next time when I compare and contrast two of the best champions, Ashe and Nunu.



OK, so I'm obviously no expert when it comes to the MOBA (Multiplayer Online Battle Arena) genre. Everything I wrote in italics is me taking phrases and names my husband has yelled while playing this game, League of Legends, and putting them together into one pile of nonsense.

One time I pretended I was interested in learning about LoL.
I sat at the computer, palms sweaty and fingers ready to click.
Yeah, I could barely even make my "champion" (character) walk the right direction.

But sometimes, because I love Randy, I'll ask him about LoL. Because it's cool that we have our own interests and hobbies. We share a lot of interests, yes. But it's also healthy to pursue what WE want to do and to support each other in those endeavors.

So, when we have to eat dinner a little earlier so he can catch some epic LoL match (hey, I know his favorite team is CLG)...it's no big deal. He supports my addiction to House Hunters and reality TV; I support his intersts in LoL and talking about (legal) drugs.

It's one of the beautiful, amazing realities of marriage: the freedom to be who you are but the security of having the support of someone you love.

...I can't type anymore because Randy's sitting next to me watching a stream of some dude playing LoL...back to watching HGTV it is!

Do you and your spouse/significant other have any different interests? Or are you total twinsies?

At Least...

Moment of complete transparency here: I'm a huge complainer.
No, seriously. Nothing is ever good enough for me, and I naturally tend to be a pessimist. I'm kind of ashamed of this, but it's been true my whole life.

Got a 3.9 GPA? Should've had a 4.0.
Did four rounds of exercises during my timed workout today? Nope, should've done five.
Basically, I expect perfection from myself and others, and I'm always pushing and searching for more, more, more.

So, my new favorite phrase for focusing on being thankful for what I do have is "well, at least."

Let me explain with an example:
My poor, good ole faithful car, Gertrude, hasn't had AC since last August (yeah...). I didn't fix it...and didn't fix it...and said I'd fix it, but it's just too expensive and inconvenient...and now I am regretting it. As I got in my sweltering car after Vacation Bible School today, sweat immediately started beading on my arms, like dew on the morning grass, and I could literally feel my makeup sliding down my face.

I slammed the steering wheel and exclaimed, "GRRR! Why can't I be rich enough to afford AC?!"

Immediately, I felt guilty. So, I took a deep breath and decided to look for the positives. "Well, at least I have a car.
At least my car can fit four other people in it and is safe.
At least my car gets great gas mileage.
At least my car has a CD player.
At least the heat works in the winter.
At least I'm not walking or taking the bus everywhere around the city!"

And I found myself smiling as I thought of silly things:
At least my car is Japanese, because I am too.
At least my car has a sweet name.
At least my car isn't a stick shift!

And I actually laughed...my anger dissipated when I shifted my attitude from one of frustration to thankfulness.

When you put it that way, we have so much to be thankful for. All of our "at least" lists will be different, of course. And this is just one small tool to use when cultivating an attitude of gratitude. At least I'm able to share it with you :)

What other tools do you use to focus on the positives in your life?

Not For a Moment

This song has been stuck in my head since we sang it at church on Sunday, especially this refrain:
Not for a moment
Did You forsake me.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qoh26pC2RT8

Timely reminder of His grace and love. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. Not our own decisions, our failures, our missing the mark. Nothing. He will always love us.

That's just amazing and so, so humbling.

I WILL Become Organized

Remember how I was talking about simplifying my life this summer?
Well, I have decided my number one project for this summer: create a home management binder.

Yes, there are apps to assist with organization.
Yes, it's kinda old fashioned.

But by golly, if I'm going to survive coaching, grad school, and teaching this fall (please, Lord Jesus, give my sweet husband patience to deal with me), I need to stop flying by the seat of my pants.

I'm going to be painfully honest here: I am not organized.
I try super hard, so some people think I am. I can organize one event, like a party or grad school application. I can "color-code-Excel-spreadsheet-post-it-note" those bad boys.

But I cannot seem to oragnize my life.

Like, I'll put some things in my phone calendar and others in my written planner and then forget where I wrote down "volleyball tournament" and where I wrote down "so-and-so's birthday." And then when the two coincide and I have to skip one, I feel awful.

Or, I'll cook dinner one or two nights a week, but have to get really creative to just use whatever's in the house, instead of planning things out ahead of time.

While looking for home management binder worksheets (so many cute ones on Pinterest, y'all), I stumbled across this verse (or, God threw it straight into my path so I'd trip over it):

"Careful planning puts you ahead in the long run; hurry and scurry puts you further behind."
-Proverbs 21:5

Planning takes more time up front.
But it would save me a heck of a lot of time in the future.


So, step one: buy a binder, plastic sheet covers, and tabs.
Step two: find amazing printables for grocery shopping, bill paying/budgeting, and cleaning.  
Step three: print printables and put into binder.

Goal: have step three complete by June 17th!

Do you have a home management binder? If so, how is it organized (especially if your Myers-Briggs type is INFP or ENFP)?

Ever in your favor

So, I decided to copy this idea from an elementary school teacher last year. It's a letter I write (brand new for each year) and give to my students. And, on each letter, I write a handwritten note to each student. Yes, it takes some time...but when my former students were coming up to me and telling me they had last year's letter on their wall, or seniors I had last year were asking, "When are we getting our letters?" well...I knew I had to keep up the tradition.

So, here it is:

Dear Senior of 2013,

I’m sure on the first day of school, I came across a lot like this: 

Hopefully, as we’ve gotten to know each other, I’ve been able to show you not only my passion for teaching, but also how much I care about you. Even if we don’t necessarily get along all the time or you think I don’t like you, be assured that I do care about you, your education, and your future. You are, and always will be, very precious to me. You’re one of my kids, and nothing could ever change that (sorry for going all “mom” on you; I’m getting sentimental in my old age).

            This was your last year of high school. Wow! That thought should excite and motivate you, and maybe even scare you slightly. I want to avoid the cliché “keep working hard” or “dream big” advice, so I’ll give you something slightly different.

Here is my NUMBER ONE piece of advice to you: read! Read books, read magazines, read newspapers, read blogs. You have all read at LEAST three books this year (supposedly)…think about how many you could read this summer! And you could ENJOY them, too! I remember you all looking at me like I was a crazy person when I told you that you’d be reading three books in one semester, but guess what? YOU DID IT. I watched you read silently throughout the year, annoyed when I’d say it was time to move on. I watched many of you read more than you have in your lives, even though it sounded impossible at first.

That segues into my second piece of advice for you: aim high. This is different than “dream big.” To me, dreaming big implies that your head is full of ideas, but you don’t take action. Aiming high means you have aspirations and goals, and you take the appropriate steps to get there. You work hard. You make sacrifices. You suck it up and do what it takes to go somewhere and do something productive, influential, and meaningful with your life. Set the bar higher, not lower, and you will achieve more than you ever thought possible.

Whatever your plans are, outline the steps you must take to get there. Additionally, remember that it’s normal and acceptable to alter your life plan numerous times. It’s ok to change your mind! You CAN reach your goals, but you must work hard and plan appropriately. As John Wooden (my personal role model) once stated, “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” Be prepared this coming year, and take the summer to reflect on where your life is going and if you are becoming the person you want to be.

Finally, I want to thank you for all you’ve taught me. I’ve learned what the Harlem Shake is. I’ve listened to Trey Songz. I’ve discovered the beauty of your writing, the depth of your passion for your family and friends, and the desire you have to make a difference in the world. I’ve learned about your job interviews, your struggles with your relationships, and your favorite TV shows (which are mostly ones I don’t watch, but that’s ok). You have each taught me something, and for that, I am forever connected and indebted to you. I have learned patience, for sure! I’ve learned how to apologize when I’m wrong and accept your apologies when you’re wrong. I’ve learned that I am, in fact, overboard, and that I “do too much” and that sometimes I “be wil’in” (not even sure if that’s how to spell it…but you probably don’t know, either).

You’ve made me laugh. You’ve impressed me with your kindness, maturity, and thoughtfulness. You’ve taught me never to judge based on appearances or first impressions and to always give second chances.  You’ve taught me to be a more creative, hardworking teacher, and for that, I thank you.

I hope you have learned something from me, too, even if it wasn’t academic. You probably learned that sarcasm is my second language, that I love cats and reading, and that I can bake a pretty delicious cookie. You’ve learned I’m the only person in my family to graduate from college (you and I may even have that in common someday) and that I love learning. You definitely learned that the second person always gets caught and that being tardy isn’t the best idea ever ;) Truly, if learned something in my class this year, then my year was a success.

            Please stay in touch…come back and visit…find me at graduation (I’ll be the blubbering mess with mascara streaking down her face)

            And, of course, no letter from me would be complete without some poetry:

“You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

You're on your own.

And you know what you know.

And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...”  - Dr. Seuss

I wish you all the best, and may the odds be ever in your favor.

Love,

Mrs. S.

The grass is greener

Let me preface this by saying that I LOVE teaching high school English and could not see myself doing anything else at this time in my life.

I'm not complaining.
 I'm not unhappy.
I'm just trying to offer some perspective.

Anyway...it's about this time of year that many well-meaning people offer their thoughts about how I get the summers off because I'm a teacher. The grass is always greener...you know how the saying goes ;)

Why yes. Yes, I do get the summers off. And forgive me if I sound a tad bit "ranty" here, but I'm tired of people implying that I am OH SO LUCKY to get a couple months off. Let me remind you of a few things...

1) If you wanted the summers off, you could become a teacher, too. Just sayin'.

2) My "hours" are, technically, 8:30 a.m - 4:15 p.m., but I work some more in the evenings (grading and planning) and on the weekends (grading and planning). I have never, ever worked less than 45 hours a week and, when I sit down to calculate it, I work closer to 55. I bring work home, and I take it with me to volleyball tournaments, and it is constantly on my mind.

3) But can't you grade during planning? Ah, yes. I get 90 minutes of planning...every other day. During that time, I also have to make copies, call parents, run errands around campus, have meetings with parents/counselors/administrators...you get the picture.

4) I didn't get a raise this year (technically, yes, but that money went right back to the state retirement fund) and won't next year. I don't get bonuses or make commission.

5) The county no longer has the budget to do tuition reimbursement. So, getting my Master's will come out of my own pocket.

6) If I ever want to schedule an appointment during the day (doctor, dentist, etc.), I have to take a personal day or half-day from work. No leaving early or coming in late or going during lunch.

7) It's emotionally exhausting to love and pour yourself into 125+ kids every day. If I didn't get a break, I'd break down, literally.

8) I spend some of the summer teaching to make some extra money; this year, that money will go to saving for grad school/paying for my summer class. Most teachers I know either teach summer school or are involved in educational endeavors over the summer.

So, yes, I get some of June and July off, and if I didn't coach volleyball, I'd get most of August off. I am SO THANKFUL I do, because if I didn't, I would not be able to do my job.

My point is this:
All jobs have their pros and cons.
Comparing is foolish.
The grass is always greener on the other side.
Please stop making comments about how lucky I am to have the summer off. I busted my tail for ten months and earned it.

Am I a good enough teacher?

This has been a tough week. My SOL test scores dropped so much compared to last year. A few seniors are going to fail my English class, and I've been BEGGED to make exceptions and provide extensive extra credit (I've said "no").

I've been losing sleep and not eating well, wondering, "Am I a good enough teacher for these kids?" and "Am I making the right decision by still working them at the end of the year, even if that makes them hate me?" and "Is letting them fail the right thing to do?" Many tears have been shed, and many med ball slams and runs have been done with great zeal in order to release frustration ;)

Then, the following verse came to mind... "For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." Galatians 1:10

I can't be someone else.
I can only be me.
Others may be richer, more popular, or more successful, but I shouldn't measure myself by comparing.
I shouldn't be trying to seek others' approval.
I should do the best I can with what I've been given.
I should teach in a way that maximizes my gifts and talents.
I should love and serve my kids every day the way the Lord calls me to, whether or not it's popular.
I should do what is right and ethical, even if that means a kid fails 12th grade English.

I should...but I don't.

This past year as a teacher has truly, honestly been a "character building" experience. When I was in college, I thought I was just going to naturally be the most amazing teacher ever. Real life has been a RUDE awakening. My kids have, literally, been "rude" awakenings, if you catch my drift ;)

But, I can't imagine anything else I'd rather be doing right now.

Here's to a three-day weekend with time to reflect over a cup of coffee and a good book, and a fresh week next week to impact the lives of young people!

The Farmer's Market!

Today, I went to a local farmer's market. It wasn't nearly as good as the one in Harrisonburg, but it was pretty darn neat. If you've never checked one out, definitely look and see if there's one in your hometown; it's a FANTASTIC way to support local businesses!

A few tips...

1) Bring your own bags. Some vendors have plastic bags, but if you want to reduce impact on the environment, bring your own. I have some bags I made out of t-shirts and some other bags, like one I got for participating in a 10K, so I didn't even have to buy any :)

2) Ask questions! Talk to vendors about their products. Get to know the vendor's business philosophy. If organic produce is important to you, ask about whether or not their produce is organic.

3) Ask where else you can buy their products. I discovered the DELICIOUS AnnaB's Gluten Free Bakery today and learned they sell their products in a few local markets. P.S. Their cranberry orange muffins are to die for. Yum!

4) Bring cash!

5) Sample new items! Who knows? Maybe you'll like strawberry rhubarb pie or goat cheese?

What's your local farmer's market like?

Don't Skimp On Toilet Paper...and other life lessons from Mom

A few weeks ago, my students read "Girl" by Jamaica Kincaid. In it, a bitter mother gives advice to her daughter, advice that's supposed to successfully guide her into womanhood.

And it got me thinking about all that I'd learned from my mom. So, over the past few weeks, I've been working on the following post. In honor of Mother's Day, and with loads of appreciation for my sweet mother, I bring you MY version of "Girl"; enjoy!

Set your glass in the middle of the table; you don’t want to knock it over, do you? Never rub stains; always dab them. You don’t want them to set in your clothing. This is how you squat over a public toilet seat. This is how you brush the tangles from your hair; start at the bottom and work your way up. This is how you compare prices; look at the price per ounce, not the total price. This is how you use coupons; this is how you buy generic. Don’t skimp on toilet paper, though.  

This is how you sift flour; this is how you measure a cup of flour by scraping the top with a knife. this is how you crack an egg and separate the whites; this is how you test the griddle to see if it’s hot; this is how you cream butter and eggs and sugar together. Always make sure the butter and eggs are room temperature.

Do your schoolwork before you play outside; don’t ride your bikes in the middle of the road. Always wear a helmet; don’t ride around the sharp curve! Come in when the streetlights come on; be careful of snakes in the woods. This is how you check your body for ticks; this is how you check between your toes for ticks; this is how you check behind your ears for ticks.

This is how you shape your fingernails; this is how you braid your hair; this is how you fishtail braid; this is how you French braid. This is how you put on mascara, but you can’t wear it until you’re in high school; you don’t need makeup right now. This is how you tan without burning (sorry I gave you my pale skin). Watch old movies and cartoons; stay away from raunchy TV shows; you don't want to fill your head with garbage, do you? This is how you dress without attracting unnecessary attention to your body; this is how you put on pantyhose without tearing them. Please don't jump over anymore bushes in your tights, Christine! This is how you wear shorts under your skirt so you can play soccer during recess.

This is how you memorize Bible verses; this is how you memorize all the books of the Old Testament (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy…all the way through Malachi). This is how you memorize the Ten Commandments. This is how you sing lullabies; this is how you rub your daughter's back when she's throwing upon the toilet; always throw up in the toilet and never the sink, because the sink will get clogged. This is how you make a REALLY YUMMY peanut butter and jelly sandwich; butter the bread and cook it like grilled cheese.

This is how you pray for your kids; pray for their future spouses; pray for their safety. You won't be perfect, and you will make mistakes, so pray a lot. This is how you serve a family; this is how you love unconditionally; this is how you be the mother God has called you to be.

Love you, Mom <3

Busy, busy, busy!

You know those people who complain all.the.time about how busy they are, but secretly they love that they're busy because it makes them feel accomplished and successful? And maybe even the slightest bit prideful that they can juggle so much?

I was am one of those people.

I think it's a personality thing; I get bored easily and always have to be on the go. Until recently, I hadn't learned the value of taking time to rest and just BE instead of DO, DO, DO.

Then, I wrote down my schedule:
Monday: work 8-4, coach volleyball 4:30-6:15, play volleyball for two hours (game times vary...sometimes I wasn't getting home until 11:30).
Tuesday: work 8-4, coach volleyball 4:15-6:00, workout from 6:45-7:45.
Wednesday: work 8-5 *YAY! A day to stay after school and grade!*, coach volleyball 5:30-6:45, play volleyball 7-9.
Thursday: work 8-4, coach volleyball 4:15-6, workout from 6:45-7:45.
Friday-Sunday: half of my weekends, travel out of town to coach volleyball all weekend. The other half, try desperately to catch up on grading, planning, laundry, dishes, cooking, cleaning, and sleep.

Then it hit me: I AM OUT OF CONTROL. I am a slave to my overbooked schedule.

My whole life, I've taken pride in being busy. I loved when people heard my schedule and exclaimed, "Oh my word, how do you do it all?"

But I am not doing it all well.

I'm not a good teacher, because I'm too busy coaching.

I'm not a good coach, because I'm having to skip practice to teach/tutor/grade and play.

I'm not a good player, because I'm exhausted all the time. 

 I'm partially exhausted all the time from the workouts twice a week and lack of sleep.

I'm not a good homemaker, because I'm just trying to keep up with laundry so we have clean underwear for the week. Literally, that is my life right now.

It's time to simplify, to grow up, and to prioritize. It's time to make some tough choices. And it's time to just have some quiet time, some rest. What's wrong with that? Why do I feel like a failure if I let myself relax? Why do I feel guilty for not being "productive" every minute of the day?

I don't know, but I suspect many of my blog entries this summer will be about me trying to introduce simplicity and margins into my life. Be gentle with me, folks. Hold my hand, and offer advice if you have any.

Enough is enough. And honestly, I don't like that I've bought into the American mindset of "busy busy busy = success." I don't think that's God's best for me, or you, or anyone.

Here's to the journey towards simplicity and purpose!

It's ok to not know

"Mrs. Suders, when are you having kids?"
"Mrs. Suders, are you going to teach here forever?"
"Mrs. Suders, what is 'benna'?"
"Mrs. Suders, are you ever going to get your Master's?"
"Mrs. Suders, are all homosexuals going to hell?"
"Mrs. Suders, do you think I'll see my grandma in heaven?"
"Mrs. Suders, is it ok if I take shawtie to McDonald's for dinner before prom?" <-- can't make this stuff up, folks.

"I don't know, guys. I just don't know. "

And for the control freak in me, that's hard to say. I'm tempted to make up an answer sometimes, or to regurgitate what I've been taught my whole life or give an answer that sounds really, really good.

Admit it... you have a touch of control freak in you, too. I think we all do, some more than others. You know what I'm talking about :)

I used to think a sign of maturity was having your life all figured out- what you were going to do, where you were going to live, what you were going to name your pets and kids, what you were going to have for dinner every night.

Now, as I toss around master's degrees in my head (theology? administration? reading? curriculum development?).
As I entertain the idea of someday having a squishy bundle of joy (and think about the immense sacrifice it entails).
As I ask faith related questions, since I'm not scared to anymore.
As I wonder, "is this where I want to be right now?"

I realize this:
Maturity isn't have it all figured out.

I don't even know what maturity IS anymore.

And you know what? It's ok to not know.

The day that changed my life

It was the first Monday of spring break. After many years with my flip phone and a couple years with my Samsung Intensity, I joined the iPhone family.

I kind of hate that I can't pride myself in being unqiue and old-fashioned now.

But I kind of love having Google Maps everywhere I go, and being able to respond to school and work emails immediately, and taking a hundred pictures of my furry, adorable cat.

I love being able to see my friends' sweet babies on Instagram or getting important news updates immediately because I follow CNN on Twitter.

However...

I know having a smartphone is dangerous. How many times have we all seen people GLUED to their phones? Out to dinner, watching their kids' sporting event, in church (unless they're reading the Bible on their phone, which I did this past Sunday and loved), in class, waiting in line at Wal-mart...

May I have the self-discipline to leave my phone home sometimes, to resist the urge to browse Pinterest just for the heck of it, and to never let my smartphone impede my real life relationships. May I never be so glued to my phone that I cannot smile at the clerk who is checking me out at Target or truly listen to the friend who sits across the table at Starbucks.

And to all you people out there who ARE glued to your phones: try locking in a drawer for a few hours. You'll survive. You'll watch people, have real conversations, and give your eyes a break from the screen, too. And I say this not in a judgmental way, but in an encouraging, "just try it" cheerleader way.


Having an iPhone has changed my life, a little. But I don't think I'll let it change me a lot.

A Book is a Man's Best Friend

I'm curled up on our couch with a cup of peppermint tea and dinner.
I was counting on a snow day, so instead of grading, I made homemade chicken tenders (coated with crushed corn chips) with homemade french fries and Annie's Cowgirl Ranch. Yum, yum, yum. Then I dyed my hair.  And THEN, I finally got the call: SNOW DAY TOMORROW!

And the first thought that crossed my mind was this: "Yesssss. Maybe I can finish my book tomorrow!"

Let me tell you how I found this book. It's kind of a long story.

Fall 2010: I was student teaching in a sixth grade Language Arts class, and my cooperating teacher (who was and is one of my teaching heros) did independent reading with her kids. Her classroom had bookshelves full of all kinds of books. Students could check books out from her and keep them as long as they wanted. We also went to the library a couple times a month. It was amazing.
I learned that she had read The Book Whisperer by Donnalyn Miller...when I left that placement, she gave me this book (this is one of many reasons why she is one of my ultimate teaching heros).
I can't say enough good things about it; I have read and reread it at least ten times.

Fall 2010: I switch student teaching placements and try to implement independent reading at my new school, a high school of...rougher kids. I have both regular English and Advanced English classes. I didn't think it through. I didn't plan very well. But it still went ok.

Well, actually, it turned into naptime for most students. Yikes.

Fall 2011: I have a teaching job! ALL OF MY KIDS WILL LOVE READING! WE WILL READ EVERY DAY, ALL THE TIME!
October 2011: Screw this independent reading.
My kids won't do it. I have an SOL in here. I don't have time for this. I'm a failure.

August 2012: I reread The Book Whisperer and realized that I CAN do independent reading with my students...I just need to be better prepared.

September 2012: It's the first day of school. I'm so nervous, probably more nervous than the kids. I'm teaching three 12th-grade classes (no SOL test in these classes) and two 11th grade classes (with an SOL). But my syllabus says all my students in both classes will read, so...here goes...

Student reactions were as follows:
"HAHAHAHA! We're going to read? Good luck with THAT!"
"I haven't read a book in years."
"I hate reading. No way I'm doin' this."
"Can I read Dr. Seuss?"

March 2012:
"Mrs. Suders! Are we reading today? We haven't read all week!"
"Mrs. Suders, I'm already done with my second book...can I go to the library and get another one?"
"What do you mean we're only reading for thirty minutes? Can we read for an hour?"
"I rushed through my work in my other classes today so I could read. THIS BOOK IS SO GOOD."

And, finally, to tell you how I found the book I'm reading (The Alchemyst by Michael Scott, if anyone's interested).
"Mrs. Suders, you HAVE to read this book. It is so good. Seriously, I know you are going to Barnes and Noble this weekend because you tell us you go every weekend. You have to get it."

So, I did. Because in these moments when we talk about books, we are no long teacher-student.
We are speaking reader to reader, debating the ending of Perks of a Wallflower or agreeing that the book My Sister's Keeper  is SO much better than the movie adaptation.

So tomorrow, I hope to finish (or at least make significant progress in) The Alchemyst. I want my kids to know I listen to them. Their opinions are important to me. I care about them.

And I LOVE that they are becoming readers, and I hope they will be readers even after they leave my classroom. May we bump into each other at book fairs and Barnes and Noble for years to come.

The GF Plunge

Ugh.
I was hoping I wouldn't have to write this.
But here goes.

For many, many years, I have felt like my digestive system hates me. Cramping, bloating, and all other sorts of yuckiness have pestered me since at least late middle school, and even before that, I think I had a pretty sensitive stomach.

There have been nights I can't sleep because my stomach feels like its tying itself into knots. Or days that have been ruined by too many (or not enough) bathroom trips.
There have been numerous dietary changes. No red meat- that's been since high school.
Very, very limited soda- also since high school.
No dairy-I've done that on and off.
I'm trying to stay away from soy, but for this to be successful, STARBUCKS needs to get ALMOND MILK.

I've researched, I've talked to health care professionals, I've talked to friends and acquaintances who have had similar issues and experiences.

And the same suggestion kept surfacing: "You should try going gluten free."

So here I am. Not because it's a fad or trend, but because I am desperate for something to work.

It's been ok so far (I can feel a difference, or so I think, although I've read it takes a month or two to get gluten fully out of your system).

It's only been three days, and my diet consists of chicken, fruits, veggies, egg whites, sprouted English muffins (not 100% GF, but the gluten is kind of "pre-digested" and therefore easier on the gut), delicious GF cookies from Trader Joe's, rice crackers, hummus, fish, shrimp. I take Kind bars with me everywhere, because I'm gone at least 10 hours a day and only pack one full meal for the day. I'm not good at planning meals yet.

 I can see where it'll get tough, though. People will probably think I'm rude for refusing their homemade cookies or a cup of beer from a pitcher they bought. They'll think I'm more weird than I am. I'll probably have to take my own food places.

I have a whole new respect for people who do this stuff. Seriously, y'all are awesome.

What dietary restrictions do you have? How do you deal with them??

We Got Somewhere.

On Friday, I typed out a huge, long, ranty, negative post about how depressing the day was. It was lunch time, and I was eating my Amy's organic spinach lasagna alone in my room because sometimes I just need peace and quiet and time to decompress. So I ranted in a blog post and then had the sense to hit "Save" instead of "Publish."

But then after lunch, my kids came back. They're seniors, but the ones who will struggle to make it through community college, just because of life circumstances and choices. They're the ones who tell each other to "shut the hell up" even when I tell them not to, so I have to rescript them. The ones who are already having babies and working part time to help their families pay bills. The ones who sometimes don't have anything to eat, so I always keep granola bars in my classroom so they can have a snack throughout the day.

They're also the ones who HATE POETRY. We've been trying to scan iambic pentameter and trochaic tetrameter and anapestic trimeter for a couple weeks now. We've been trying to ANALYZE figurative language, not just identify it. We've been trying to differentiate between exact, slant, and eye rhyme.

They just don't get it. It's tough for them. And they don't see how it's relevant to their lives because, well, frankly, it's not. They tell me that poetry "sucks" and is "stupid," and I commend them on their skillful alliteration.
But poetry can be so ENRICHING that I just feel compelled to expose it to them so a poem can breathe life into them, so it can hold their hands and lead them to exotic and breathtaking places, so it can punch them in the gut so they can't breathe.

Well, Friday, we had a little breakthrough. We read the following sonnet:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

And at the end, one of my students goes, "That was really beautiful."

I didn't want her to see that I had tears in my eyes. She gave me a glimmer of hope on a day when I felt like I am making zero difference in these kids' lives. Yes, I love teaching, but it's so depressing sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I'm a bumper car, stuck in a corner, ramming myself against walls and other cars to try and get somewhere, but staying in the same place.

But Friday, we got somewhere. Praise the Lord, hallelujah, we got somewhere.