Back to school

Last Monday my youngest son, age 6, started school. He has been ready for that for so long, and the anticipation was sky high! I loved to see how much he was looking forward to be a schoolboy, and when we finally bought his satchel, it was a moment of serious consideration and delight. It was so obvious it was important to him. 
My only worry is that I and his teachers will fail at keeping this excitement alive, other than that I am happy to see my baby-boy enter a new chapter in life.

A new school year is coming up. We, the teachers, started this week having planning days; preparing to welcome and how to teach the students.

When you’re a teacher you are never completely grown up; you still dread for school to start after the summer. Fall is not about struggling through autumn gale when out for a walk, or sitting inside enjoying the rain tapping on the windows. Fall is new books, new students, a new start.

It’s not only the students who enter the classroom meeting new peers and teachers; we, the teachers, enter the classroom facing new classes. Since this is a vocational training school, there are only 15 students in each class, but these fifteen students are individuals, each with their own background we have to take into consideration, we have to learn a lot of new names and learn how to meet their personalities and planning the lessons right in order to keep up progress of learning, for each and every one of them.

I love it! But even though I have been a teacher for quite some time I face the beginning of each year with excitement and nervousness. Just like the students do.

One of most important preparation routine for a new school year is to go shopping for rubber-soled shoes… with high heels. They are not easy to find, but to me that is important. Thinking about how much I dislike shopping, I am surprised how patient I am when choosing shoes for work. It is an important choise, though. I have to like how they look, they must be comfortable and they should not make any clicking sounds when I walk through the corridors. (I have had students complaining about me walking around the classroom, because all they could think about was the sound my shoes made....)
I like wearing heels. I am 5”3’, which is not very tall, but with heels I can imagine I am taller. It makes wonders for my self-esteem, cause I always find myself being the shortest person in the classroom. Maybe it’s just the impact of a better posture asserting itself (stooping is more or less impossible when wearing high heels; straight back and chin held high comes naturally), to look confident makes a lot of difference, it’s like the feeling itself sneaks into your consciousness and makes itself known in your appearance. For my part that is important for executing good classroom management. (I just made myself come across as a very strict teacher... I'm not. I don't say like many, with a wry smile, do: "Never smile to the students before Christmas". I actually have problems being angry, and when I do get mad it never lasts for long. I still keep my students focused, though... touch wood.)

The excitement of being back is not just related to the students and the subjects I teach. I really enjoy the teachers’ lounge, the fellowship between the teachers on a place safe from the “enemy”. Students are demanding, just the way they should be, but in the teachers’ lounge we relax, exchange stories, experiences and methods. Sometimes a student has made a great comment… maybe it’s not a good idea to reveal the secrets of that part of work…

We discuss common rules and regulations for the classroom, the students and us, the teachers. We demand nothing less from each other than we do of the students, which makes us able to face the students standing firm and with no doubt our colleagues back us up. The sense of loyalty is reassuring and comforting.

All together the entire package embrace the hope I have for my own son: That each student will experience how much fun it is to discover progress in knowledge and personal abilities, both in subjects and as an individual.

The sound of me is....?

As a mother I constantly have these moments of feeling bad about how I think, feel and act, in some situations, with my kids. It might be because I feel I’m being unfair to them: they don’t know that even though they don’t really do something wrong or bad, they do something wrong or bad. Complicated, but still true.

I have always been one of those individuals who need alone time. Time when I can gather myself. Find myself and become at peace with me and my life before I stray too far into a state of discontent. I know myself, and I know that if I let myself do that, I turn into a shrew not pleasant to be around at all. If mum is unhappy, no one else is allowed to be happy.

I am always very present in our home, when I am at home, but never as strong as when I feel like I’m on a “warpath”. Not sure who to be displeased with, but with a strong feeling there is something or someone not quite at place.

The unfairness in this is that deep down I know that what’s not at place is me, and that it is my disability to arrange alone-time for myself which causes me problems, and my shrewish behavior.

By alone-time I mean a short time, an hour, and if I am lucky maybe even more time of continuance, when I can choose what to focus on.

Time when I don’t have to deal with laughing and playing (and the clanking that brings about), and constant talking: questions asked in search of answers and help. Friends add to the number of children running through the doors and up and down staircases, opening the fridge in search of something cool to drink. They chew, swallow, slurpe, talk, sing, play games, watch TV…

They make the dog click his claws excessively on the wooden floor, makes him growl, he also barks when he hears someone outside, or at unsuspecting passer-bys with a dog, almost causing nervous breakdowns with his harassing attack… To merely live creates sounds and noises. I can’t very well blame my kids for living, can I.

Often I miss to surround myself with my own noise and sounds; the turn of the pages of a book, the music complimenting my taste and mood, the whisker from my socks when I cross a room, the sound of breathing (especially from my dog), the soft clicking of my keyboard… all the sounds I know are there, but which drown in the sounds of life and living in my house.

One of the sounds I like the best is the sound of silence. There is something healing about listening to emptiness holding the history, the stories, the truths about forever. You sit there and listen, and you can feel the knowledge of how all the answers are in it so tense you can almost taste it.

Crisp, early Sunday mornings with a mug of coffee, sitting on my porch, is magic as well. No man or engine to break the sounds of nature reviving.

Ok, maybe a bit weird, but everything is changing. Nothing is like it used to be, and with changes sounds are added or removed from our surroundings. It’s always been like that, but silence has always been the same… I think. Maybe I am wrong, but I imagine it is so.

I wonder what is the sound of me. When people think about me, what sound do they think of defines me?