Boston to Honduras!

My little brother (who is a legal adult and taller than me--just for clarification) has a blog about his upcoming missions trip to Honduras. He and two friends from his high school will be traveling for about 1 month to Costa Rica for intensive language training and then will spend 8 months in La Ceiba, Honduras with a missions team from Mission to the World that is working on church planting, practicing medicine among those who can't afford medical care, working with street children and orphans, and many other projects. Obviously, this is shameless big-sister promotion on my part, but I think it's pretty exciting. If you're interested, check it out!

http://bostontohonduras.wordpress.com

(And this is a picture of him fussing at me for taking his picture. That's probably how he feels about me publishing his blog too. Oh well!) :)

Neighborliness

I have always struggled with how to answer the question, "Where are you from?" I really shouldn't complain because I haven't lived too too many places; I have another friend who has to choose between four continents when asked that question, and I'm really only choosing between states. I've found, however, that I cannot fit seamlessly into either northern or southern culture. I am northern in that I walk, talk, and drive quickly; own three pairs of long underwear, ten scarves, and a heated mattress pad (which may be the best invention ever); and assume everyone from the car mechanic to the tailor is probably out to cheat me. I am southern in that I love fried food way more than all this organic nonsense they can't get enough of up here; do not know how to communicate directly (as my sweet roommate from North Carolina told me recently, "You are way too passive aggressive to be from Boston!"); and like to smile and make eye contact with people as we walk by on the street.

This last item (character trait? preference?) has really posed a problem up here. No one--and I mean no one--makes eye contact and smiles while they pass on the street. You know how you turn your head to the side and pretend to be really interested in some little speck of dust on the sidewalk when you're passing someone who you hope doesn't see you? Everyone does that up here with every single person they pass. It's kind of remarkable, particularly given that I live in one of the busiest pedestrian areas of the city (it's called Central Square), but I really can walk around for 30 minutes and not even make eye contact with a single person (except if they are asking me for money; they have great eye contact).

I find I am left with several options when I am walking around town. I can search for those brief moments when a passerby--unwittingly--looks up, and catch him or her with a smile in this unguarded moment. I try this method regularly, and get some smiles, some mildly embarrassed looks, and lots of awkward stares. (One day in particular, I was convinced I must have spilled something all over my shirt because I couldn't believe people would look at me that way for any other reason.) If I don't want to be dependent on moments of unguardedness, I can also just call out greetings and see if the person looks up; I've found, however, that normally he or she doesn't. Meanwhile, the people across the street actually do look at me--but only to see who that crazy girl is who is talking to herself. Or finally, I can just accept this as a cultural norm that I am not going to change, and start averting my eyes like everyone else. (Or better yet, look straight forward; no one else is, so at least I won't trip.)

But herein lies a larger problem: how do I get to know my neighbors? Because this was one of my goals when I moved here, and I do not believe that the inability to greet people on the street means that Bostonians are actually unfriendly. I just think they (we?) are not randomly friendly, and there is a difference. My neighbors will sometimes sit out on their porches and return a wave or two, but they never seem to invite more than that and I still haven't totally figured out how to bridge that gap. If I had a puppy or a baby things might be different, but unless my life circumstances change really quickly, I am going to have to learn new ways (besides sweet southern charm) to get to know the people who live around me.

So, I have begun praying about it. I know many of you don't believe in prayer, and while I don't necessarily believe that it always works in the ways we want it to, I do believe in a God who hears prayers; furthermore, I believe that He does respond, albeit sometimes in divinely mysterious ways. Case in point: yesterday, in a fit of frustration after another awkward walk home, I prayed that God would find some way--any way--for me to strike up a conversation with my neighbors. Later that afternoon, after running some errands in my car, I pulled up to park...and slammed, hard, into the curb. I immediately looked to see if anyone had seen, and sure enough, one of my neighbors was sitting across the street in her car, smirking. Our street is only about the width of one car, and she wasn't pulled all the way up to the curb, so she was close enough to me that I probably could have reached out and touched her. It was fairly humiliating. I fumbled with my keys in my lap for a moment, and then stuttered out my car window, "You'd think it would be easy to pull up to a curb..." Immediately her smirk turned to a softer smile, and she replied, "Oh honey, I don't think anyone knows how to do it well; we're all so worried about getting close enough." (This is a real problem up here since the police ticket you if you're too far off the curb; I have always been bad at this, but I didn't bother to tell her that.) I smiled back and didn't even think to try to prolong the interaction--I was too embarrassed--but as I was pulling books out of my backseat she began asking me what I know about the new school opening on our street. I don't know why she assumed I would know anything about it, but as it happened, I went to the community meeting with the principal last week (in another desperate--and failed--attempt to meet neighbors), and so we started up a conversation about the school, where she had gone to school, where I worked, her family, etc. At the end we introduced ourselves and I found out her grandmother lives a few houses over from me, and her son comes and stays there some afternoons.

Now, you can go the spiritual route and believe this was a surprising and perhaps unconventional answer to prayer (which I do), or you can go the psychological route and conclude that northerners respond better to displays of human weakness than to outright friendliness, which is perceived as overconfidence (and I think this might be correct as well). Either way, in spite of all my best efforts, it turns out that my southern charm is not actually that charming, whereas my crappy parking skills might actually be one of my assets in practicing neighborliness.

And if I ever do learn how to park, I know for a fact that I am very good at baking cookies. It doesn't matter where you're from or how organic you like your food; everyone likes cookies.

God's Economy, or Why I Am Frustrated

My knees are healing nicely, for all of those who were as concerned as I was. ;) I do think I'm gonna have a pretty awesome scar on the left one in the shape of the continent of Africa (look at the picture below and tell me that's not what that looks like)!

A missionary was visiting our church today and said something that really crystallized for me a truth I have been struggling against. He was discussing his frustrations with ministry and said, "You know, efficiency in God's economy is just not the same as it is in ours." And I thought, "Amen. And that is why I am so frustrated, so much of the time." I have been more discouraged lately, or maybe more apt to get discouraged more quickly. I think all the stress of newness in my life (new city, new home, new job, new schedule, new hair color--just kidding) just makes my general intolerance for things "not going my way" more visible. Specifically, I was really excited in the spring because I felt like I had a renewed sense of hope for lots of things that I really believed (and continue to believe) were things that were important and valuable in God's eyes: the rebuilding of broken relationships; entering into and loving the Church; dealing with personal sin in my own life that I was just seeing; reaching out to my neighbors; working for justice; loving my roommates well. And then I got here and while many of these things have been phenomenal, I've also noticed over and over how each of my hopes has been let down--sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Sometimes I've been disappointed by situations out of my control; sometimes I've been hurt to realize that other people don't share my hopes; many times I've realized that my own hopes for change are short-lived when I'm faced with the brokenness of the world around me and the devastating reality of my own sin. I was getting to the point earlier this week when I realized I was having a hard time seeing the blessings around me, because I was just so overwhelmed with the disappointments. I even fell asleep a few nights ago gritting my teeth, muttering to God about how I knew I was supposed to be grateful for certain things, but I just couldn't be because they weren't enough, because He was not holding up His end of the bargain and helping me live out all these beautiful dreams that I thought He had for me. (Thankfully, His mercies are new every morning--Lord help me if they weren't!)

But what that missionary said just rang so true and reminded me that I need to humbly acknowledge that my beautifully-crafted plans (and my hopes in my own effort and goodness and dreams) do not dictate the ways in which God works, and that His work is not going to always occur in what I would consider the best, most efficient means. But I know so little, and He knows all things; my hope is so short-lived, and His goodness and redemptive power are endless; my excitement wanes, but His faithfulness continues throughout all generations. "For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men" (I Corinthians 1:25). Lord have mercy; I need a lot of it!

"Bruised and broken by the fall..."

...both metaphorically and literally.

This is what I did to myself today during "field day" at school. It rained, so field day had to take place in a gym. Combine that with the fact that I am really bad at "dizzy bat," and, well, you can see what happens. I had also been meditating this weekend on what it means to live with the constant disappointment of a fallen world, and then today when I walked home with my bloodied kneecaps, my roommate announced to whoever she was on the phone with, "Oh, no, Sarah fell down!" (Side note: I think it's important that she didn't even ask what happened; she assumed I did it to myself. And she's only lived with me for 3 weeks now--is it that obvious that I'm a klutz?!) Anyways, the lyrics to the hymn "Come, Ye Sinners" popped into my head, and I thought it was a clever enough metaphor to post.

Plus, I want someone to feel sorry for me. These hurt!

Cantabridgian

This weekend has been my first chance to explore my new neighborhood since I've moved in. I am officially a Cantabridgian, but seeing as I just learned that term, I think I have a lot left to learn about my new home.

I've decided, however, to write down my first observations and impressions, in spite of the risk of sounding incredibly dumb. Wait, let me rephrase that. In spite of the certainty of sounding incredibly dumb. Because the truth is that I know I will go back and read this in a few months, and have an entirely different image of the place I am living, and be shocked by my own naivete. Nevertheless, it is fun to remember initial impressions, and it may be fun for the two people who read my blog to have any impressions of the place I'm living. So forgive me if this all changes in a few months, but here is what I have seen so far:

1) General location: I live between Magazine Street (which makes me happy because it reminds me of New Orleans) and River Street. I am exactly a 7 minute walk from the T station, which is pretty much right in the middle of Central Square; multiple people have timed this, and we all come up with 7 minutes, so although that seems arrogantly specific I think it's actually just accurate. My street itself is a very short one, and my building (a three story house-turned-into-apartment building) is across from a long section of row houses, painted many different bright colors, and next door to an abandoned elementary school that, this fall, will become home to an alternative high school and a family resource center. (The crowd at my first ever neighborhood association meeting seemed very concerned about this one, but that's an entirely different story...)

2) Churches: I'm pretty sure I live in the district of churches. Directly across the street from my street is the large white Methodist Church. Two blocks down is the Korean Church, which also serves as a homeless shelter. Two blocks down from that is the Greek Orthodox Church, which last weekend held a 3-day Greek festival that shut down a whole block, with tables and lots of Greek food in the middle of the street. One block down is the large Baptist Church right in the heart of Central Square, with two signs: one proclaiming their 190-year existence and another proclaiming the existence of a "new kind of church" that meets in the afternoon. A block and a half past Central Square is my church, although given the plethora of options on my walk to my church, part of me wants to re-evaluate my church membership.

3) Restaurants: According to Wikipedia, Central Square is "well-known for its wide variety of ethnic restaurants." I haven't gotten the chance to try almost any of them, but my two favorites so far are the India Pavilion and the Falafel Palace. Ok, I confess, I haven't eaten at the Falafel Palace and I've only tried India Pavilion once. I think I mostly like them because the names are so fabulous and they're right next door to each other, increasing the fabulousness. I also discovered an Indian grocery store on my way home from the India Pavilion and kicked myself for just having bought the expensive version when I probably could have gotten roughly the same food more cheaply. Oh well--there's always next time. More on restaurants to come soon hopefully...

4) Public spaces: There is a park on Magazine Street just about a block away from where my street lets out. I haven't yet been but it seems very pretty--lots of benches and greenery. (Although, I have been warned by the neighborhood association, it's also a prime spot for teenagers to hang out, which can only mean trouble! Please reread that sentence again if you didn't hear the sarcasm the first time.) My favorite park, though, is the one that I discovered yesterday, which is in the middle of the sidewalk in Central Square. Yes, that's right--a park on a sidewalk. It is basically two rows of trees with benches between them in the middle of the brick sidewalk outside of the 190-year-old Baptist Church, with a plaque verifying that it is, in fact, a city park. (I think it's named after someone, although I also believe the plaque was placed there for confused passersby like myself. Then again, every street corner up here seems to have a special sign denoting it a "square," so I think maybe we're just a little overzealous with our awarding of honor to public spaces.) As much as I am mocking, I really thought the benches were cute and was hoping to go read there this afternoon--but alas, it is thunderstorming. Thankfully, the "park" is right next to a very fun-looking coffee shop, so I'm sure the idea will tempt me again sometime soon.

That's all for now! Hopefully, if you read this and are far away, it will tempt you to come visit (particularly if you know how to cook your own Indian food if given the proper ingredients--which I could supply!) Above is a picture of my building (from the outside, which my much more aesthetically-inclined roommate informs me is ugly, but I kind of think it's cute), just in case you're visual and all these words get annoying after awhile. :)

Teacher Moments

A couple of "teacher moments" to share:

First, I have been amazed over the past few weeks that I have not yet had what I considered the quintessential first-year teacher moment: the feeling of being totally, completely out of control in the classroom. In fact, I was beginning to congratulate myself on not having reached that moment, and believing that I must be pretty amazing. Turns out that instead, I've just been fortunate--until today. Today I gave numerous students after-school "homework club"--basically a detention where you have to do your homework--even though we do not normally give this to 8th graders. I figured this would make them take me (and their dwindling math homework grades) seriously. Instead, it made them declare war against me. First, I had not totally calculated in my head how many students were receiving this consequence until I got to the classroom, where there were more students than desks, making me outnumbered in just about every sense of the word. This lack of desks caused the first bout of chaos; something about not sitting at a proper desk makes a child imagine he does not need to be a proper student. So once I had finally created enough makeshift desks, the whining began. Shockingly, despite the fact that I had clearly explained yesterday the consequences of not bringing in homework today, they all felt that I was just horribly unfair. And the more complaints I heard, the more bold other people became to complain: hearing other people whine about how unfair I was made them feel more confident to voice their complaints at the horrible injustice of staying 30 minutes after school to complete their math homework. (As one student told me, she had "so many more important things to do." I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I did, too.) Then, the hands started shooting up. Those students who had finally decided to give in and do their homework now had questions about that homework--but as soon as I could move to a student to answer a question, another student would begin whispering across the room and I would need to leave to deal with that discipline problem. Then more hands would shoot up with more questions, and soon even my behaving children were very disgruntled customers--the service was just not quick enough. In the middle of all the chaos the bell finally rang; before I let them go, I gave them a talk about how disappointed I was in them--a desperate grasp to make it seem like I had control over the situation the entire time, but was choosing not to respond until this moment. I don't think they bought it, considering that one student, as she exited, informed me that there would never have been an episode like this with their normal math teacher.

The good news out of all of this is that 1) I felt totally justified in buying a chocolate cupcake for myself after work; 2) I had a chance to see some areas where I struggle and need to improve; and 3) I had some great conversations with teachers in my office about their first years teaching, which were encouraging, insightful, helpful, and community-building. Still, as I left work today, I felt much less like the confident, bold new teacher I was last week, and more like a kid in dress-up clothes.

But on the funnier side of today, there was another moment that made me feel very much like an actual teacher--and a smart one at that. My students were required to make up their own study guides for their exams, listing at least 5 concepts that they need to review and 2-3 questions for each concept. In order to save time, I have been in the habit of simply scanning homework for completion, which may have prompted today's episode. But as I was (more carefully) grading homework today, I noticed that one student had written on his study guide the following:

#4) Using properties
--What is the Commutative Property of Addition?
--What is the Zero Product Property?
--What is the Multiplicative Identity Property?

#5) Anything that comes
--More things
--Will come up
--During class.

It was the dashes that really made me laugh, because they demonstrated to me that this was not a sincere attempt at concept #5, but rather a hopeful assumption that I would not be looking too closely at anything besides format. After laughing about it at my desk for several minutes, I handed back his paper and in a stern voice asked him if he really thought he was going to trick me into thinking he completed the assignment. He looked pretty sheepish and did not argue, but took the incomplete homework grade. It was a funny moment because I remember being on the other side of those interactions--wondering if I (or, usually, my more gutsy classmates) would get caught riding the line, wondering how the teacher always found out, wondering why she didn't think it was as funny as we did. Turns out, she probably did, but she also probably thought it was more funny that we assumed we wouldn't get caught.

So, very low lows and some moderate highs all in one twelve-hour period that we call a "school day." A few more hours and it starts all over again!

Stolen blog-post

Ok, they're not really stolen, except from myself, and I think that's allowed if I give myself proper credit. :) A few of my college friends have started a blog documenting our different experiences in the professional world. I've posted a couple of times to that but have neglected this blog as a result! So I'm just reposting them here in case anyone else reads this. I apologize again because my writing is always so "weighty," as a friend said. I promise I'm not just sitting around philosophizing all the time--in fact, I'd say my number one occupation over the past few weeks, apart from the one for which I am paid :), is eating ice cream. And while ice cream may increase my physical weight, I find it adds a great deal of levity to every other area of my life, which makes it worth it right now.

Here is my most recent two blog posts about my transition into the working world. Again, read with a grain of salt, given what I said above about my writing tendencies:

TOUGH LOVE
I am now three weeks into teaching, and one week into teaching eighth grade math, specifically. Who would have thought this is where I'd be a month after college, or anytime after college for that matter? I ran into my high school calculus teacher this weekend, who still remembers me as the student who morally objected to finding the surface area of revolution because the only possible real-world application of that equation is how much paint to put on a cooking wok. I simply wrote at the top of my classwork papers, "I promise never to go into the wok-making industry" and turned them in blank. He did a decent job hiding his surprise when I told him my new occupation, but he still was pretty close to laughing. (He also, I found out, has since ceased teaching his students how to find the surface area of revolution.)

While math is certainly challenging, so far I remain about one step ahead of my students; at least I have solved quadratic equations before, even if higher-level calculus was never my thing. My bigger challenge these past few weeks has been not the material itself, but the students, and specifically how to manage the behavior in my classroom while I teach the material. I hear this is extremely normal for first-time (and even veteran) teachers, which gives me hope. And my school is possibly the best place to be learning, because there are already many sound structures in place for me to use to promote classroom discipline. For instance, demerits: each day, I receive a sheet with each student's name on it, next to several boxes where I can record merits and demerits based on their behavior during the day. At the bottom of the sheet is a key with a number code for (I kid you not) about 39 demerits and 15 merits. There is a demerit for not tracking the teacher with your eyes; for not having proper posture; for not having all the necessary materials at your desk; for speaking out of turn; for being in improper uniform. If you disrespect a teacher or a peer, that is an automatic detention, as is an inappropriate response to a consequence (i.e. "No I was not!" as opposed to, "Miss, I respectfully disagree.") I had to try to figure out this week what response was appropriate to a student coloring on his uniform -- there is not, shockingly, a numerical code for that one -- so I made it an "other unprofessional" demerit and pretended like I knew what I was doing.

As my brother pointed out when I described this system to me, it sounds not only strict but downright cruel when you only hear about it and can't see it in practice. In reality, the system is probably a lot less cruel than many school discipline systems. It is clear and consistent; the students know the rules, and every teacher has the same merit/demerit sheet. It does not require yelling or anger to control; I can remain very calm while redirecting my students with a quick and clear consequence. It allows for positive reinforcement as well--I've given out many merits for "excellent posture," which I find much more productive than giving out demerits for poor posture (since my students all immediately sit up straight, mistakenly thinking that I will be giving them all merits, too).

Nevertheless, while I agree with the merits (no pun intended) of this system, and can't even begin to imagine how chaotic my classroom would be without it, I have to agree with my brother in my gut reaction to it. I feel cruel standing in front of a classroom, regularly handing out consequences because a pencil has not been sharpened, an eye goes astray, a rude remark slips out. I feel badly because I know that I easily have made (and continue to make) the same mistakes. I want to give my students warnings; I want to prevent them from making the mistake that requires the consequence; I want to save them from having to take such regular and immediate responsibility for their actions.

But then as I type this this, I have to stop myself. I know that this is what I want in the short-term; it seems more sympathetic, more gracious, more how I think I want to be treated. But in the long-term, is it actually the most loving? Is it loving for me to teach my students that it is acceptable to roll their eyes at me now, if the reinforcing of such behavior is going to get them fired from their first job in a few years? Or is it more loving for me to make them face a small consequence (30 minutes after school) now, in order to teach them the importance of respect and give them the best possible advantage in a job market which is already going to be unfairly predisposed against them because of race, socioeconomic status, English-language capabilities, etc.? Is it loving for me to allow them to sleep in class, if such a habit will cause their grades to drop? Or is it more loving for me to administer a small consequence (a demerit and a call home), which may cause them to get in the habit of sleeping more and thus being better prepared to perform at the level they will need to in order to get not only admission but scholarships to great high schools and colleges?

These are only a few examples. They point to a larger reality though, which is that my love for my students cannot only be sympathy and excusing their behavior. It needs to be tough, because the world is tough. Their world, in particular, is tougher than what I have had to face. The challenges they will come up against are large, and in many cases are the results of injustices that can and should be amended. But the fact that they shouldn't exist does not mean that I can afford to ignore them, because my students cannot ignore them. In reality, I've realized, when I want to love them by sympathetically excusing problem behavior, I really am not loving them. I'm loving myself. I'm protecting myself from their anger; their frustration; their dislike of me. I'm protecting myself from having to be the adult in the room who cares for them enough to teach them hard lessons, even at the expense of my own popularity. This kind of "love" is easy, because it is my natural response. Real love is more difficult--it is tough, not just for them, but for me to give. It doesn't feel loving, because I, like my students, don't enjoy receiving consequences. But when I think of where this tough love leaves them--and me--I know that both of us are better off with it than with the watered-down versions I am tempted to give.

There is some hope at the end of week one. My first day, I had to give three demerits to the same child in one class period--a pretty big deal. Later that week he landed himself in in-school-suspension, where I had to meet with him in order to get him caught up on his math homework. He seemed a little more timid in the ISS room, so we actually had a very good session and by the end of it I could tell that he was actually understanding the concepts that he had struggled with earlier in the week. After completing one particularly difficult stretch of problems, I bent down and looked him in the eye and told him, "I can tell you are smart, and that means you are smart enough to not only do your math homework but to stay out of this room for the rest of the year. I do not want to see you in here again. Do you understand me?" He actually smiled at me and nodded vigorously. That smile was not one of nervousness or an attempt to please me; I realized that because of my stern demeanor, he understood that I cared for him. He later found me to turn in his previously-failed quiz--corrections completed, all perfect. Granted, a small victory at the end of many consequences, but a hope. I hope that not only he continues to succeed in math, but that he can continue to see the love behind tough love, and to grow because of that rather than shy away from it. And I hope I can grow to have the courage to love in a way that may be costly for me, because the cost of not loving in this way is so, so much greater.

And another one...
THINK FAST
As I reflect on this past week, the soundtrack the Nationwide Auto Insurance commercials keeps playing in my head -- a deep voice repeating, "Life comes at you fast," just as two cars collide (or, in my favorite commercial, simply fly off of a cliff). This short sound bite is probably sufficient to describe my life at the moment. In spite of that, let me continue to ramble.

Two weeks ago, I was a college student. I woke up and went to bed when I pleased, and I was the only one who suffered the consequences of any resulting sleep deprivation. I walked everywhere or, when I was particularly lazy, I drove a measly five minutes and parked somewhere for free. I went by my first name. I peppered my days with random appointments--coffee shop dates with friends, meetings with advisers, errands, naps, quiet time alone--all scheduled neatly in my day planner, just to increase my sense of control over my life. And, in the midst of it all, I claimed to be (and actually felt) stressed, tired, and yet delightfully grown-up.

In this past week, I feel like all of that freedom and the resulting self-importance and imaginary adulthood has vanished in the swarm of reality. I suddenly find myself in the "adult world," where it feels like my own agency is indeed very small. I am now a commuter--it takes me 30 minutes each way to get to work, and I drive down the same crowded highways, pay the same $5/day tolls, listen the same morning radio shows, and sip the same iced coffee (ok, I lied, I make mine at home) as all of those other people. I started to complain to my mom this evening about rush hour traffic, only to realize that I am no longer an innocent bystander trapped in the midst of the chaos--I am the cause of rush hour traffic. Not only that, but I have very little control over my day planner. I arrive at work, and there is an email in my Inbox waiting for me with my agenda for the day. Errands are no longer a random and spur-of-the-moment diversion; rather, they must be planned with what I can only imagine is the precision of a covert military operation. (Can anyone help me try to figure out how a teacher who works 7-5, Monday through Friday, makes time to be at the apartment to meet the cable and internet installation guy, who also works 7-5, Monday through Friday). I go to bed at 10 in a desperate attempt to mitigate the harsh effects of the 5:30 am alarm; thus far, it hasn't worked, but I'm told that's "social jet lag" and it will pass. Casual coffee dates with friends have been replaced by urgent coffee runs for coworkers before the afternoon staff meeting. Most importantly, my first name is gone; I now exist on a last-name basis. This last change, I believe, is supposed to make me feel more like the adult that I suddenly am, but I feel more like a child playing dress-up in grown-up clothes that don't quite fit.

I re-read this and it sounds incredibly depressing. I'm not actually meaning to sound that way. I think "shock" is probably a better word for the emotion I'm feeling right now. Much like the poor drivers in the Nationwide commercials, life came at me fast, I've been hit head on, and I am in shock. Unlike the drivers in the commercials, however, I vaguely knew this was coming. I even chose it. And I am looking forward to the day, sometime in the near future, when I will continue living this life and it will no longer be shocking. In fact, I fully expect for it to be good, just in an entirely different way than my life has been good for the past 23 years.

I'll have more specific updates related to my job soon, although I should probably clarify that for the sake of my own employment status within the school system as well as child protection laws, I won't be able to post many identifying details about who I am/where I am/with whom I'm working. I'm sure there will be plenty of sufficiently non-identifying stories to share, though. Looking forward to hearing yours--and if any of you wants to come up next week and meet the cable guy, you're more than welcome to my couch and some homemade iced coffee while you wait!