Seeing the Great Gatsby

I have a personal relationship with the novel The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  That book defines my love of American Literature in a way no other novel does.  But let me back up.

I first read the book as a junior in high school.  I don’t remember much of that experience.

I read it again as an undergrad at Western Michigan University in an American Lit class.  And that is where I fell in love. Hard.

With the Roaring Twenties. With the cynical outlook on The American Dream. With the emptiness of wealth.  With the debauchery and moral-less actions of the characters.  With disliking characters but LOVING the novel.

I went on to teach it every year except one during the past 12 years.  One of those years I had five sections of American Lit meaning I read through the novel five times that year.

I have watched both the 1974 and the 2000 film adaptations of the novel, despising both for a variety of things.  I tend to show the 2000 (by director Robert Markowitz) to my juniors for the sheer ridiculousness of it and because the 1974 version (with Robert Redford, directed by Jack Clayton and with Francis Ford Coppola as a writer) is so boring I would rather watch paint dry.

I think the thing that was most disappointing about both of those films was that I didn’t walk away feeling like I had actually seen the Great Gatsby.  Yes it was a retelling (mostly) of the plot, but the plot is not even primary to the novel.  The plot is not what The Great Gatsby is about.

Both films portrayed a love story…almost a glorified soap opera.  That was not Fitzgerald’s intent at all.  He did not write a story about people loving each other. At all.

When I heard that Baz Luhrmann was working on a screenplay of the novel, I had hopes.  High hopes.

I adore his modern music meets Elizabethan iambic pentameter in Romeo and Juliet and his over-the-top cinematography of Moulin Rouge!  Going in to the movie theater on Sunday, I expected a combination of both.

I was right.

I must also admit to stalking the movie trailers and predictions for months before the film came out.  I waited a week to see it and in that time drove myself batty reading all the fun satires and the scathing reviews.  The critique that I kept hearing over and over was “it doesn’t stick to the time period. It’s not the 20′s.”

Even though I had not yet seen the film I couldn’t help but silently cry out, “You’re wrong. I KNOW you’re wrong.”

Because The Great Gatsby is not a novel about the 20′s.  Although Fitzgerald put as much pop culture in the book as he possibly could.  He was a fan of the boisterous, the loud, the showy…look at his lifestyle and his wife for proof of that.

Fitzgerald was the one to coin the term “The Jazz Age” and use jazz music and the “black movement” in his novel…even though the people around him told him not to do it.  The warned him that it was a passing fad and that it would make his book unrelateable and out of fashion quickly.

Guess who was right?

The choice to have Jay-Z do the score–and include a contemporary “black/street” music injection to the movie–was not just genius, it was exactly up Fitzgerald’s alley.  It was totally Gatsby of Luhramm to do.

Hip hop is not a passing fad, just like jazz wasn’t.

The music also tied the novel to 2013 by showing how much has not changed about greed in America.  We are shown a 20′s setting with music of today and it fits. The 1920′s, especially in The Great Gatsby, were full of debauchery and greed.  How is that different from today?

But it wasn’t just the music I liked, I also liked the casting.

The men were the best cast. Leonardo DiCaprio is a “great” Gatsby.  He has all the created polish and manners that Jay Gatsby worked so hard to pretend to have in the novel.  Tobey Maguire is a good fit for Nick with his wide-eyed worried nature.  Joel Edgerton is by far the best cast Tom of all three movies.  He is aggressive an actually carries himself in the “hulking” way Daisy describes him as.  And Jason Clarke is a perfect George Wilson from his build to his hair to his bright blue eyes.

I was not as impressed with the female character casting. Carey Mulligan is an Ok Daisy. I’m not sure any actress can portray the Daisy Fitzgerald creates with his words.  There is always something lacking, and in this case Mulligan lacked The Voice.  She was too… likable.  I actually found myself feeling sorry for her, which I never EVER do when I read the novel.

Isla Fisher plays the voluptuous Myrtle, and does it well.  Luhramm has made her into the brightest, most gaudy spot in the desolate Valley of Ashes, just as Fitzgerald does in the novel.

Of all the film versions, Luhramm gives the best impression of actually having read and analyzed the novel.  He gets all the tiny details right: the way Catherine’s bracelets jingle on her wrist in the apartment party, the way the phone book drops to the floor in the hotel room, and the way the clock tips and falls at Nick’s house.

Speaking of Nick’s house, my favorite scene in the novel is when he has Daisy over for tea and Gatsby “drops by,” so when the scene was approaching in the film, I sat forward with my elbows on my knees.

(By the way, this is also where I started to look like a weirdo being e alone in the theater and saying the lines along with the characters.)

Luhramm gets this perfect.  From the way Gatsby is totally distracted, almost angry as he waits with Nick in a room that is packed with white flowers to how tense it is when Gatsby stands against the mantel (and the clock) looking down and Nick and Daisy with unease.

It is exactly…exactly…how I picture it when I read.  In fact, I found myself laughing at Gatsby standing in the rain at the front door the same way my students do when I read that section out loud.

For all the criticism the film is getting–when you do an adaptation of the Great American Novel, you sort of open yourself to it–I think Fitzgerald would have been happy with the outcome.

Of course there are things I didn’t like.  While I like the frame that Nick is writing this story down after the fact (that is true to the novel, by the way.  Nick actually says to the readers, “as I glance over all I have written so far…”), I can’t get behind Nick writing the story from the inside of a sanitarium.

I don’t believe Nick “cracked up” at the end of the novel.

I don’t believe he was an alcoholic, let alone a recovering one.

Nick is one of the most infamous unreliable narrator of all time, but I do not believe he was a boozer or insane.

There were also things Luhramm left out of the movie, and things he added that sort of held the hand of the viewer the way you don’t get when you read the book, but after rolling it all over in my mind, I think it’s Ok.

For instance, I think it’s Ok we don’t get the scene with Gatsby’s dad or the scene of Gatsby’s funeral.  Those points were made in other scenes in other ways and to add these would be redundant to the film.

I was bothered that Jordan’s dishonesty was all but left out instead leaving her as just an aloof, jaded character.  I did like that everyone in the book is a careless driver, and that you only understand the symbolism of that you read the book.

I was also bothered that Gatsby didn’t meet Pammy the way he does in the novel. I think seeing her brings a different kind of twist in his “perfect” plan that Luhramm leaves out almost completely in the film.  He has Nick mention her, but only so Daisy can say the “little fool” line.

In the end, as I repeated those final lines of the novel along with Nick, I realized I didn’t have the same sense of empty delusion that I have when I read the book.

In fact, I sort of liked all the characters in the movie. I don’t think that is supposed to happen.

But maybe it’s because I was so pleased with how they portrayed the characters from the novel.

What I do know is that actually seeing The Great Gatsby is a different medium than reading it.  Images affect me differently than words do.

So I don’t think anyone will ever get a version that is just right.  Because you can’t do in images what you can do in words.  Oh, it’s beautiful and it’s wonderful and it’s a grand movie, but you almost can’t compare it aesthetically to the novel because to do so, you would be discounting something important and special from each medium.

The message of social class difference comes through in both though.  And of carelessness.

And of Gatsby symbolizing a great hope that might very well be pointless.

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter–tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther….And one fine morning–
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

 

How to Read With Your Child

Eddie is only 3 and a half and he has already been dubbed “Teacher’s Kid.”

He was counting up to 20 by age two and now sounds out the first letter of words.  He can count up to 40 without help and backwards from 12.  He is VERY interested in words and has also taken an interest in learning to subtract.

People say to me, “well of course. He’s a teacher’s kid.”

Sometimes this is flattering, but mostly I brush away the compliment and put it back on Eddie.  He has a natural curiosity and flair for learning.  It has nothing to do with my being a teacher.  I mean, I was naturally bright and my parents weren’t teachers.

I will admit, however, that because I am a teacher, there are strategies I use with him when we read that I know will help him be a more critical thinker and better reader as he gets older.

I thought I would share those with you today.

How To Read With Your Child

1. Read Read READ! 

I know we have all heard it before, but it is NEVER too early to introduce your children to books.  I used to read to both Eddie and Charlie before they were even born.  Plus because they both had the extra bonus of having an English teacher as their womb, they both heard some fascinating American Literature while they baked away in there.

The nursery is also filled with books.  Our living room has my bookshelves, but it also has lower shelves filled with kids books.  Eddie’s room has shelves of books.  Literally every room that you can relax in in our house has books in it that are accessible to the kids.

2. Ask Questions

I have a wall in my classroom that says “Good Readers…” and at the top of the list is ASKS QUESTIONS.  Even before my boys could talk, I would ask them questions about the books they bring me.  With Charlie, he will have a board book and I will ask “What is this book about?  Do you see the duck?  What does a duck say?  Quack Quack?”  He can’t answer my questions yet, but hearing them asked helps him associate books with inquiry.  It’s also a good opportunity to model language.  I don’t usually read a whole book with him, but I let him flip the pages and I will ask questions and point to things as we “read”.

With Eddie the questions are more complex because he can answer, and because we have always asked questions with books, he now asks most of the questions. His questions are usually “what is that?” or “why is that like that?”  And I usually ask him questions about the pictures or about what happens at the end.  For example we have been reading the board book version of Peter Rabbit lately, and I will ask him “What happened when Peter didn’t use his listening ears and do what his mommy said?” and “Why did Peter have to go to bed earlier than his sisters?” or “Why is Peter running in this picture? Do you think he is afraid or excited?”

3. Make Predictions

This is easiest with new books, but we do open ended predictions with old books too.  With new books we do a lot of “Oh my!  What do you think is going to happen next?” and then we talk about if we were right or not.  With books we’ve read a zillion times, I’ll ask that question at the end of the book, when we don’t get an answer given to us. “Do you think the boy will plant a new Truffula tree with that seed?  Why?  Were would you plant it? Why?”

4. Make Connections

Eddie and I do a lot of “hey, you have a bike like that!” and “that is just like in this book/show/movie/etc!”  and “what happens when you are not kind?”  Making connections between pieces of literature, other media, and their own life is a critical thinking skill that will help with problem solving later on.  When kids can naturally connect new things they learn with previous knowledge, they will be able to understand new concepts quicker.

5. Have Fun!

This may seem obvious too, but reading should be seen as a fun thing.  We never force books on either of the boys.  They are available, and have become part of our daily routine.  Every night Eddie gets to choose either a “real” book, or a book on either my Nook or Cort’s tablet.  If he didn’t want to read, we wouldn’t make him, but he has never said he didn’t want to read.  In that same strain, we don’t make him finish a book if he doesn’t want to.  Some nights we start a book and he says, “I don’t really want to read this one.”  So we quit.  Finishing a book shouldn’t be a chore. At Charlie’s age, if he brings me a book we look at it until he doesn’t want to.  I don’t force him to sit and listen to me read the whole book.  He’s too young for that kind of focus.  I’ll read the words until he flips the page or flings the book down and moves on to something else.

My hope is that my children will love to read as much as I do, but I know that might not be the case.  But even if they are not devouring novels by the pile, I want them to be good readers.  I want them to have critical thinking skills.  I want them to be able to problem solve.

What kinds of things do you do when you read with your kids?  What are their favorite books?

praying in the shadows

Last week my 11th grade English students finished reading The Crucible by Arthur Miller, and Friday we began watching the movie to analyze various differences in a play for a live audience vs a movie version.  None of that is either here nor there.

Today {Monday} after the tragic events of the weekend, my students are watching the conclusion of the movie and finishing their assignment.

As I graded papers, the movie boomed through my classroom.

I have probably read this play a thousand times and watched the movie almost as many times.  But today I paused and watched as the actors portrayed the mass hysteria of the people of Salem.

I’m not sure if you are familiar with the movie or the play, but there is a scene where the hangings of the “Salem witches” reaches a fervor of excitement.  People cheer and laugh and root on the hangings of the so-called-witches. The young girls of the village are convinced they are instruments of God cleansing their town of evil and the Devil, when in reality they are carrying out beefs their parents have or vengeance they have on innocent people.

*************

I’ve been struggling, like the rest of the country, with how to…what? deal with this?  That doesn’t seem right.  Sort it out? Make sense of it in my mind?

See, I still don’t know what I am supposed to do with it.

But this is what I know: The public reaction to the entire thing sickens me almost as much as the killing of innocent children and school staff members did.

Friday afternoon, after my last class left, I got on the internet and saw the news.  I didn’t read any of it knowing that my desk at work was not a good place for me to read something so triggering to my anxiety, instead I did the super dumb thing…but the habit…and checked facebook before signing off for the week.

I wish I had stayed off facebook all weekend.

There were people calling for bullets to be put in the heads of all people with mental illnesses.

There was a massive uproar to get rid of all the guns.  And consequently, there was an abundance of MOAR GUNS! ARM THE TEACHERS!

There were those praising the teachers, and people calling those of us who shared stories illustrating our bravery and heroism selfish and insensitive.

There were those making personal connections because they too had children that age. And they, like myself, let the tragedy seep into their imaginations and play out the “what if’s…”

There were those immediately posting pictures of candles and holding vigils.  There are those who are taking a blogging day of silence today to honor those who died.

There were links to posts people passionately hammered out in the moments after the news and impassioned debates under those links with personal attacks and name-calling and finger-pointing.

Accusations started flying about the intents of people and why they would post things.  Passions ran at an all time high on the interwebs.

Friends…family…started turning on each other.

The cyber yelling that I could hear in my head that I couldn’t sort out or understand was echoed in the movie today.  The people of Salem calling for public hangings and turning on one another over politics and beliefs all while tragedy took place around them.

I still don’t know what to say.

Cortney respected my need to not watch the news, but last night {Sunday} after the lights were turned out, I tossed and turned because the intrusive, anxious thoughts began pouring in.

I imagined it happening to my children.

I put myself into the shoes of the parents…having presents under their trees for children who will never receive them. I can’t…I can’t even go on.

I had nightmares of horrible people doing horrible things in the world.

I woke up to people yelling at each other on the TV, the radio, and the internet over beliefs.

I can’t make the noise in my head go away.

This weekend we took the boys to visit Santa. We celebrated Cort’s graduation with family.  We watched Eddie sing in the church Christmas program.

It is the holiday season.  It’s always been my favorite season because it brings out the best in humanity.

Except when it doesn’t.

So on the outside we celebrated.  But on the inside…at least on my insides, I started to lose faith.

As I sat in church watching my little boy sing, “Wake up, Shepherds!” tears formed in my eyes.

What does my heart feel?

Overwhelming grief for those not watching their little ones sing.

Confusion that my profession has become a “dangerous” one.

Anger…oh the anger..at so many things. The shooter.  The system that failed him, his mother, the students, the teachers…us as a country.

I am mad at guns. There, I said it.  My beliefs about gun control haven’t changed other than right now I would probably be glad if I never saw one again. I am sure someday I will be more rational about it.  But right now? I hate them.

I’m angry at those who think that people with mental illnesses should kill themselves.  I have a mental illness.

I am pissed off that people are claiming that if we had more God in our schools, this wouldn’t have happened.

I harbor a deep rage for people who think in order to honor someone, we can’t say our personal opinions, while at the same time hating some of those personal opinions.

I hate the call for silence, but I can’t function through all the noise anymore.

I keep thinking…”if it were me. If that was my class. If we were all sent to heaven…”  But I can’t get past that. I can’t let that scenario play itself out because then I have to imagine Cort raising our boys alone.  Sleeping in our bed alone.  Charlie never knowing me.  Eddie only having vague memories.

Damn it.  See? I can’t do it.

But I wouldn’t want silence.

But this noise that is happening? Is not what I would want either.

I have thoughts on all the political views this tragedy has stirred up…but I just…I can’t. When I voice them, I get roared down and I just don’t have the stones right now to take it.

*************

Saturday night Eddie couldn’t sleep because he was afraid of the shadows.  I was too…different shadows though.  So when he asked me if I would lay by him, I got under the covers and held him close to me. I traced his face with my fingers and pushed my nose into his hair.

I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer, and he said yes.

So we thanked God for our lives and for our family. We asked him to bless “mommy, daddy, Eddie, and Charlie.”  We asked forgiveness for “our sins yike being mean.”

And we asked him to keep us safe from the shadows.

In this season of hope and charity…I am losing my faith in humanity.

There is one thing I know for sure…destruction does not heal destruction; Hate does heal hatred.

As Mary Warren says in The Crucible “We must all love each other now.”

watching the leaves fall


*************

See that tiny figure in this picture?  That would be my Eddie.

Last night after dinner, he wanted to go outside, and after about 20 minutes of not seeing him running anywhere in the back yard or driveway, I went in search of him.

I found him in our side lot with his little folding chair right on the edge of where our lawn meets the weeds before turning into the line of trees.

He had set himself up as if he was just sitting back watching something…and he had been sitting that way for awhile.

“Hey bud. Whatcha doin’?”

“Hi mom! I’m watchin’ the yeeves (leaves) fall.”

It was quite warm and humid yesterday and he had a layer of sweat on his little forehead.

“You’re just watchin’ leaves fall?”

“Yup,” and then he went into a string of questions that must have come to mind in the time he had been sitting there:

“Why is that sign on that tree?”
“What does it say?”
“Why are those leaves red and those orange and those green?”
“Why do some fall?”
“Where is the sun going?”
“Do the deers live in there?”
“Where do they go?”

I was going to tell him to come inside.  I was going to change laundry around.  But I stopped and got eye-level with him.

“I love you, Eddie.  You are so very smart and I am so very proud to be your mom.  I will miss you so much tomorrow.”

“I am proud of YOU, mom.  And I’ll miss you too.”

Later that night at bedtime he asked me to “yay by me a yittle bit and talk.” (Lay by me a little bit and talk).

And so I did.  We talked about leaves and deer and school and pillows.

When I left I squeezed him tight and told him how much I love him.

This morning I found him crying on the steps.

“What’s the matter, bud?”

“You’re getting ready to leave!”

“Yup, but I promise to pick you up from Renae’s and take you home for a snack.”

“And juice?”

“Yup. And juice.”

“Have a GREAT day, mom!  I love you!”

Then I left most of my heart behind in the bodies of two little boys.

And went to work.

Quick Share

If you follow me anywhere in the internet world…or in real life…you know this week has been back to work and back to crazy busy.  Even crazier busy than normal.

I don’t have much to share, but I thought I would highlight a few things.

If you read NOTHING else this weekend, please read Every 26 Seconds a Teen Drops out of High School by Stephanie at Ooph. Her amazing story reminds me of why I work SO HARD to be a consistent smile and encouraging word in the lives of my students and children.

And since we are on the subject of back to school, you should really go read P.S. To Kill a Mockingbird Rocks, Right? by Julie at By Any Other Name. She writes a loving and honest letter to her freshman son’s English teacher.

And if you want more of my words, I was featured on Care.com this week talking about teaching my sons manners in Being the Model of Good Behavior.

I also had a piece syndicated on BlogHer this week: How to be an Irresistible Blogger.

That is it, friends.

Happy Labor Day weekend to my friends across the US and happy weekend to my friends everywhere else in the world.

 

the tested teacher

Tests have always given me anxiety.

I remember cramming for math tests and physics tests in high school.  Not really knowing how to study, but staring and my crappy notes and homework and trying to read the gobble-de-gook that was the textbook.

My hands always got clammy as the test was handed out as I prayed that something looked familiar.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was pulling all-nighters in college studying for tests in my Gen Ed classes or my Spanish classes.

Even when I knew that I rocked at the subject and could write great essays and discuss literature with gusto, the TESTS came close to giving me hives.

It was the lack of control over what to expect.

It was the not knowing if what I prepared was the right stuff.

I took notes, I studied the text, but did I know it well enough to not just pass a test, but rock a test?

I was never sure.

I very much preferred take home tests.  Even better were projects or papers to demonstrate what I learned.  How I would apply it to my current life.

I guess I haven’t changed much.

Today I was issued an unexpected test.

As you know, I went back to work this week.  Teachers reported Tue-Thur this week, and next week the students will be back.  I was given my schedule, assigned a classroom in the new high school, and I’ve logged a LOT of hours since last Thursday getting ready.

I spent two full days last week building my classroom from a bare room to nothing short of awesome.  This is the third classroom I have been in in 10 years and it is BY FAR the best as far as layout, room, technology, decor, etc.  I won the jackpot of rooms.  It was formerly a computer lab, so it is quite large and it has AC (something 95% of the building does NOT have).  I covered the walls in a great mixture of American Literature/English class things and Spanish things.  I put up an American flag.  I created areas for grades, missed work, due dates, viable teaching/learning objective…all things I had to sort of half-ass in my other rooms.

Nothing about this room is half ass.  It is full awesome booty, people.

I had a great schedule: four sections of Spanish 2 and one section of English 11.  I had a nice afternoon prep and I was one of the very few who did NOT have to share her room during her prep.

I smiled big every time I came in the building.

I felt blessed.

All while this has been going on, I have been busy keeping up on #SheReadsTruth.

I have been finding MANY passages about letting go of worry and fear, being a quality leader, making good choices, etc.  I have been furiously copying down verses and making notes trying to fill my heart and prepare myself to be the best possible teacher and co-worker and employee that I could possibly be.  I want to be a light to those around me.

And then today happened.

Today I was called into the principal’s office and told that due to low class sizes and the need for another Spanish teacher at the Junior High for two hours, two of my Spanish classes would be combined with our other Spanish teacher’s classes and I would be headed to the Junior High for the second half of my day.

I would teach two sections of Spanish 2 and one section of English 11 in the morning at the high school.  Because of the change in schedule, someone would now be in my room during my planning period, and during the last two periods of the day while I was out of the building.

It felt like time stopped.

I was handed a test I wasn’t ready for.

Or was I?

I had read the text and taken furious notes about not worrying.  about not giving in to being brought down. about being a good example…a light…for others.

Why did I do the studying if I didn’t think I would be tested?

My first reaction, of course, was to worry.

That is how I am hard-wired to react. So much of my classroom is filled with personal items, will the teachers I share with respect that?  Will the students?  Will all the traveling take away from my precious planning time?  I only have so much time after school before I have to run off to get the boys, would there be time?  And the big one…will this affect my teaching assignment/room assignment from now on?  Will they do this to me again next year, and consequently decide someone who is only there part doesn’t need such a big, glorious room?

But then I had to stop.  I had to.  I was on the verge of a full on anxiety attack (and I didn’t have my “emergency meds” with me).

I started to slowly count my blessings:

  • So many in my schools have to travel and do not have any room to call their own. I have two.
  • The room I am sharing at the junior high is just me and the french teacher, and we never overlap, so i can go there to plan in peace.
  • My planning hour, lunch, travel time totals almost 2 hours in the middle of the day.
  • I can schedule myself so that I am at the Junior High during the lunch my teaching bestie has lunch (we were separated this year, much to our horror)
  • I get to see how both buildings run
  • I will get to know almost 60 of the freshman, so they will know a teacher (and I will know them) when they come to the high school next year.
  • I will have to step up my game to show Ideserve the awesome room I have at the high school.  That I do amazing things with and for students and their learning with that space and SHOULD have it next year…full-time!

This will be ok.

It is not ideal, no.

I have allowed myself to be sad and disappointed and completely useless today since I got home from work.

Eddie and I watched a movie and ate popcorn before dinner.  Charlie and I laid on the floor and giggled for 30 minutes.  I shut my work email and ate dinner at the table with my boys while Cort was at class.

Tomorrow is a new day.  A gift, as my friend Trisha reminded me.

Tomorrow I will take control of this new schedule and really sink my teeth into doing amazing things this year.

Because I am being tested.

And I’m going to ACE this mother.

GO WOLVES!

ps. It does not escape me that my ability to clearly think about the Bible passages I have been studying is possible because I sought help for my the issues I have been having with depression and anxiety.  Without my new meds, I am positive I would not have been able to clearly recall or care about the lessons I have been absorbing each morning let alone apply them.

advocacy vs avoidance

Over the past week, five totally unrelated people who know nothing of each other’s existences asked me similar questions:

“Do your students know about your blog?  What do you do if they find it?”

“Do you think your students know about your mental issues?”

“What if parents or administrators found your blog?”

“How can you advocate for being open about depression and stuff on your blog, but not talk about it in real life much?”

“You don’t talk about depression at your school, do you?”

In a nutshell, no I do not advertise my blog at school, but I like to think I write in a way that if a parent or administrator were to find this site, there would be no issues.

I mean, when you google “Katie Sluiter” I am the entire first page of search results (at least I was the last time I checked which was not just before I wrote this, so things could’ve changed).

But yes, kids find it.  Usually while we are in the computer lab doing something that has nothing to do with google searching your Spanish or English teacher.

This is how it usually goes…

Kid: Hey Mrs. Sluiter!  I just found you on google!  You have a blog?  HA HA HA HA!
Me: Yup.
Kid: What’s it about?
Me: It’s on your screen; read it.
Kid: Looks like mom stuff.  BOOOORRRING!
Me: Are you done with this part of your assignment that you should have had done 10 minutes ago?
Kid: Wait. What are we supposed to be doing?
Me:  O_o

And that is all I hear.

Except when I hear this:

Kid in hall to me when no one else is listening or after school in my room: Um, Mrs. Sluiter?
Me: What’s up?
Kid: I saw you had a blog.
Me: Oh yeah. I do.
Kid: I like it.  You have really cute kids.
Me: Aw thanks.  Yeah, they are handsome guys.
Kid: Um, I like that you talk about your depression.  I am on celexa (or other antidepressant) too.
Me: Oh yeah?  Small world! I hope it’s helping.
Kid: Yeah. It does. {insert longish, awkwardish pause} I like that you wrote about it.  Thanks.
Me: No problem. It helps to write it out.  You don’t have to put it on the internet like I do, but it does help.  You should try it.
Kid: Yeah. Maybe I will.  Thanks, Mrs. Sluiter.
Me: You are always welcome.

I have had a total of one parent comment on it.  It was a parent/teacher conferences and it was one of my writing students.  One of the coolest, most supportive moms I have had the pleasure of working with.  She told me she loved my open, honest writing and that my school and students were lucky to have me.

I’ve sent the link to my principal so he knows it exists.  Pretty sure he has never read it, but maybe he is just silent about it. I don’t know.

I don’t talk about my depression and anxiety in school at all.  Sometimes with a few co-workers, but not with students unless they bring it up.  And I never stick my hand out to parents and introduce myself as the English teacher with PPD.

Consequently, I don’t talk about it much with my family or friends either.

They either read the blog and know about it, or know about it because they have been made aware of it.  Either way, it’s not a conversation we have much.

I’ve been accused of being hypocritical because I don’t shout it from the rooftops.

I am all about breaking down the stigma.  It’s why I talk about it here.  But I don’t know how that translates into “real life”.

It’s uncomfortable to bring up out of no where with people, but if someone asks, I am good about dispelling myths or telling them what my experience is like.

But I don’t go to restaurants and order my burger and then tell my server about my PPD, PPA, and OCD.

I don’t let the dressing room attendants at the GAP know I have Generalized Anxiety.

I don’t let the cashier at Target in on my PTSD.

And I sure as heck don’t put any of that stuff in my syllabus in the About Mrs. Sluiter section, nor do I introduce myself that way in my welcome email to parents.

If someone asks about it, I don’t lie.  I mean, duh. The google search.

Do I hide it?

Do I fear stigma?

Am I afraid parents won’t want their kids in the class of someone who suffers from depression and anxiety?

Do I think parents/students would blame ME when their child gets called out for behavior because I am the one with a problem?

I guess yes a little to all of these things.

But only as much as I feared these things being a pregnant teacher too.

Kids all the time would say, “You’re just mean because you are pregnant.”

No, I am being mean because you have been talking to your neighbor ALL HOUR WHILE I AM TEACHING.

You see what I mean.

So where is that line?  It seems to be a mighty light, hard-to-see line between being ashamed and being an advocate.

For me, it’s easy to “talk it out” here because I am not talking out loud to a face.  I can think about my words. Pace myself.  Say things exactly how I want to.

In real life I am awkward and nervous and can’t look you in the eye well when I talk about it.

Here I bring it up. Over and over and over.  Mostly so I can process it and document it, but also so YOU can feel less alone and YOU can know how your best friend, sister, wife, mom, whomever is feeling.

In real life I don’t bring it up, but I definitely don’t run from it.

Here it is natural.

In real life it is awkward.

Why is that?

preparing my heart

Hooray for Popsicles!

Today is my last day before putting the boys in daycare full-time to get ready for the first day of school (which is Sept 4 ’round these parts).

We are off frolicking at the zoo with a bloggy friend to celebrate an awesome summer.

I’m trying not to beat a dead horse here, but hey, it’s my blog and I can beat whatever dead animals I want, right?

Wait. That didn’t sound right.

Anyway. School starting.

It’s a big transition for me every year.  It’s always brought on my anxiety in a big way.  If I were to create for you a nice graph of the past 10 years, you would see a giant, angry anxiety spike every single August.

That’s right.  10 years.

This fall starts my tenth year as a contracted teacher in my district.  I also did a semester of student teaching there and a total of 3/4 of a year long-term subbing in the high schools (over 2 school years).

This year, though, brings lots of changes.  Our district is down to one high school, and since we have combined the two we had, we are actually a brand NEW school.

We have a new mascot: The Wolves

We have new colors: Purple & Black (with Silver as an accent)

We have a new fight song, uniforms, paint in the building, gym floors, outside signs.

Tomorrow I go into my new room in the new building to begin creating my new space.

We are not allowed to put up any artifacts from either of the old high schools.  Not even any pictures of former students.

We are starting new.

No old traditions will be continued.  Everything will be created fresh.  We are starting the traditions that we hope will live on for generations.

You see, the two high schools that are coming together were rivals.

We need to now make them one.  One community.  One family of students.

It’s hard on me to not bring the past 12 years of students with me into this new room of mine.  But it’s time to start over.

And at the same time, I am preparing my heart to leave my boys.  Eddie for the 3rd back to school, Charlie for the first time ever.

It’s harder this year than it’s ever been.  Probably because of the sheer amount of change looming before me.  I don’t deal well with change…even when it’s super exciting and positive.  It’s hard for me to process.

Hence the anxiety spikes ever August, which have only gotten worse since having kids.

I have to prepare my heart to endure the pain of letting my boys go, and to expand it a bit to hold the students I will gain this year.

Each morning I have been spending time quiet and with the #SheReadsTruth assignment for the day.  I want to start the year with a good attitude toward my new school and the leaders.  I want a positive start to the year with my students and their parents.

And I want to come home and still be a happy, loving mother to my boys and wife to my husband.

I am letting myself grieve the loss of summer and time with Eddie and Charlie.  I am allowing myself to feel the sadness of having to switch Charlie from what he has known his whole life to a completely new routine with  new people.

I’m taking my new meds regularly to help control the depression that wants to creep in and the anxiety at bay.

But I am also letting myself be excited and happy to get back to the job I love.

And to look up and see the vacations from school that I am blessed with throughout the year to love on my boys…until next summer.

When we are together again.

So today, we are at the zoo.  I am not thinking about my classroom or lesson plans or what new school shirt I will order for casual Fridays.

Today I will be present for my boys so we can enjoy this last adventure of the summer.

You know, until next weekend when it’s Labor Day.

summer ending: a letter

Dear Eddie and Charlie,

Over the past 5+ months we have developed a routine for our days.

In the beginning, it was just me and Charlie.  We spent our days napping between feedings and diaper changes.  But as he grew and Eddie started staying home most days, our days grew more full as well.

Charlie, you are still usually the first one awake, calling for me with your little yells through the monitor around 7am.  You greet me with a smile each and ever day, like you are SO happy that I came to get you up.  No matter how tired I am, I melt a little at that wide smile.  And once you know I am there for you, your tears immediately turn to coos as you play with your feet, my hair, anything you can reach while I change your diaper.

We migrate to my chair with a warm bottle in hand and watch the first hour (the only one really worth watching, in my opinion) of The Today Show.  Many times you are dozing off an hour after you originally woke up.

Eddie, that is when you usually make your appearance for the day.

Each day that you don’t have daycare you come slowly creeping up the stairs and peek your face around the corner and say, “hi mommy!”  I love it.  And I love that Charlie is usually back in bed so that I can scoop you up in the chair to me and get a big, sleepy hug.

We spend the next couple hours watching TV, playing cars, and eating breakfast.

By that time Charlie is usually up again wanting to eat.  This is when one of two things happens.  We either get dressed and head out for an adventure, or you head downstairs to play by yourself while Charlie helps me do a lot of nothing with whatever the day’s chores are.

Lunch is usually around noon and all three of us love to listen to some tunes while Eddie eats.  A dance party has been known to break out and Charlie has been known to screech-laugh.

Eddie, you like to watch Calliou.  I am just going to tell you. I hate that damn show.  Calliou is a whiny, weird child.  But you love it and it winds you down for nap, so I let it fly.

Charlie, you wind down during this time too.  Sometimes you pass out before daddy comes home for lunch, sometimes you wait until he leaves to go back, but there is usually about 30 minutes or so of nap overlap.

You would think I would use this time wisely.  That after almost 6 months, I would try to squeeze every second out of this time.  But the truth is? I usually waste it online.  Not even accomplishing anything like meeting a deadline or doing any promo.  Nope, I just dork around.  Oh and I usually try to eat something. Maybe shower…but that is pushing it.

Eddie, you usually get up between 3:30 and 4:00 to me and Charlie just hanging out watching TV.  I have been big into Friends re-runs this summer.  I have no idea why, well, other than the show is awesome.

Once Ed is up, we usually change it to Tivo-ed Loony Tunes until daddy gets home around 4:45.  Then he takes over while I get dinner ready.

It’s a nice routine.

It’s comfy.  We are all used to it and the number of meltdowns have great decreased because Eddie, you know what is coming.  And Charlie just does what he does.

But guys?  This week all that we have known this summer comes to an end.

Thursday you will both start going to Renae’s house full-time.

Eddie, you love it at Renae’s. The biggest struggle for you will be adjusting your sleep schedule.  You REALLY hate to be woken up, and prefer to do a slow wake up on your own.  And you’ve been going to bed around 9pm this summer, so that will have to change.  I expect some crabby evenings/mornings for a week or so while we get on this new schedule, but then you will thrive because you love to play with your friends.

Charlie, you are always so good when you go to Renae’s from time to time.  And I know you will do great.

I, on the other hand, am already starting to cry about it.

Each time you lay your head on me because you are getting tired, I tear up thinking of you doing that to someone else.  Each time you giggle at how crazy your brother is, I catch myself getting jealous that Renae will get that every day and I will not.  Every time you smile at me when you wake up from a snooze, my heart counts down one more thing I will miss each day.

You are on the verge of sitting up.  I want that to happen with me.  I don’t want to miss milestones.

I don’t think I missed any with Eddie, but Amy Jo was very good about not telling me if I did.

You boys need to know I love my job.  I love it.

Working with other kids is what I was born to do.

Plus I am just a better version of me when I have a purpose other than our home and family.

But I love you two MORE.

And this summer has been so good.

It is the first summer since becoming a mom that I realized that I can do this.  I can DO this mom thing AND do it well.

We had fun!  We did adventures: zoos, parks, beaches, play dates, library trips, errands, and endless cake pop/coffee runs.  We had dance parties and made parking lots with cars.  We put all the toys in the bounce seat with Charlie.  We played with legos and trains.  We swam and ran through sprinklers.  We ate outside and went on walks.

I very rarely said no to invites to do things because, well, I wanted to make up for the last two summers of doing nothing because of my anxiety.

But now I have to go back to work. I have to.  Both because we need the income/insurance coverage and because to be the best version of me I need to think about more than diapers and toddler lunches.

I am a little excited, and a lot sad.  I have no desire to be a stay at home mom, but I do miss you both fiercely when I am away.

This mom thing is way harder than I ever expected it to be…

…but also way better.

So pardon me if I cry over you a bit the next week. And kiss and hug you after everything you do.

I am just trying to soak up every little bit about each of you.

So I can take it with me to get me through the days until I see you again.

Just promise to act excited to see me when I come to pick you up from Renae’s, Ok?  For me?

I love you,

Mommy

Yes, this was our life the summer of 2012.

unmoving tragedy

She and I shared a birthday.

March 27.

Every time birthdays came up in conversation she would remind me that ours was on the same day.

She expressed displeasure that I would be gone on maternity leave for our birthday.

Then she dropped my class.

She told me she loved me as a teacher, but just “sort of hated” Spanish class.

And there was the whole being switched to 3rd hour with none of her friends.

That bummed her out.

But she still made sure to stop and see me in the hall.

To pat my growing baby bump.

To tell me she missed me and my stories.

She had the weirdest sense of humor.

Like “laugh out loud and the goofiest stuff” sense of humor.

She never minded asking questions before thinking about them.  And then if we laughed, she laughed too.

“Mrs. Sluiter!  You’re getting HUGE!”

That is one of the last things I remember her saying to me back in March.

“Have a good baby!” she would say and then crack herself up.

Boys were a distraction she found hilarious.

Not shy, she would tell any guy he was being a dweeb.

Although she would never say “dweeb,” but she would totally laugh all hour long if she heard ME say “dweeb”.

I don’t know what to do when these things happen.

I tend to get obsessive.

Clicking every. single. link. to make sure it’s really her.

And feeling my stomach turn each time she smiles back at me through my screen.

I hold my boys’ faces in my hands…too long.  They wiggle away.

I am all to aware of the “away” part.

My heart longs to yell, “DON’T EVER GET IN A CAR WHERE ANYONE HAS BEEN DRINKING!  EVER!”

But they are too little yet to understand.

However I am painfully aware of how fast they grow up.

She was 15.

On March 27.

Kids know from very, VERY young that drinking and driving don’t mix.

They KNOW.

But just a couple weeks ago I watched, on the Today Show, as kids who KNOW got into a car with someone pretending to be drunk.

I remembering wishing I could share this with my students.

Because it was them that I thought of first.

I am so tired of tragedy.

It crawls in my heart and sits like an overweight sloth.

Unmoving.

Cumbersome.

My life is so wonderful.

I am blessed in so many ways.

And yet…

Tragedy is shredding people I care about.

And I can’t help but be affected by it.

I keep stepping into the shoes of mothers who have lost.

I want to kick off the shoes.

I want to be an unfeeling ass.

Wouldn’t that be easier than this?

Time moves so quickly for me.  My boys grow so fast.

And yet for those mothers, time has all but stopped.

She was 15.

She will always be 15.

I will miss your smile, Krysta.

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