Breakfast together is not a normal occurrence in our household. Josh really isn't one to want cereal or fruit- he usually goes straight for burgers or Ramen, which takes place around noon. I'm really the one in our family of two who wants some sort of breakfast before heading to school.
Today, though, Josh woke up and got to work on breakfast.
A few weekends ago, a friend came over and spent the night because Josh was gone for Men's Retreat. She brought two packages of bacon with her for our one-night slumber party, and I'll just level with you: I do love bacon, but there are some things I have abandoned for the greater good. When you live with IBS, there are certain food groups you just learn to live without, and bacon, well- pork of almost any kind, is on my "NO" list.
The friend was slightly hurt, I think, that I only ate one strip, so she left the second package in our refrigerator since it was purchased for our slumber party.
If I'm being totally honest, I also hate cooking bacon. It makes your entire person smell of greasy swine all day long, leaves you with a pan full of grease you have to find creative ways of throwing out, and pops you with a vengeance every single time you fry it.
While it does make me feel like Mt. Saint Helen's erupting in my colon, it also just makes me mad. It stinks, leaves disgusting amounts of melted fat, and injures me. While it may taste yummy, the cons outweigh the pros.
So we just don't eat it often, which hurts my husband's heart, because he is a lover of bacon.
Because Josh was the one to make breakfast this morning, I let him have the kitchen to himself, and I took a few extra minutes sleeping in on this very rainy and gray morning. I had a feeling he'd find that package of bacon, and sure enough, our house began to smell and our bedroom began to get a bit smokey.
Josh was quite proud of himself, and I had to laugh a bit, because as he finished the last tasks of frying, he made the proclamation, "I love bacon...it's like meat candy!" If you know this guy at all, then you know he bleeds Starbursts and jelly beans, so comparing bacon to candy was the closet picture of heaven he could make.
But today's breakfast menu was bacon and pancakes- a mixture of two worlds.
As we sat down to eat, Josh made yet another proclamation. "I hate pancakes. You have to be a starving lumberjack to eat them."
Now this bacon candy lover of mine is putting together a chair for my classroom, singing to himself and making plans of putting Ivan in the chair box once he's finished his project.
Today is a good day.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
What a Whirlwind
Finally- spring break! Call out the band and baton twirlers, we've made it!
Between Master's work and Union negotiations, new jobs and ordinations, Josh and I have been running the race of our lives. I'll try to recap what I've failed to blog...
As Josh continues to get in the groove of bus driving, I cannot help but laugh at his stories of students. A few weeks ago, one little girl was trying to finesse a toy from another little boy, so Josh intervened and asked the boy to put his toys away so he wouldn't lose them. This made the little girl angry. Josh said she looked him square in the eyes and said, "What are you? His uncle or somethin'?" To which Josh responded, "No- I'm the bus driver."
Josh and I went to the first track meet of the season, and I must admit, it was strange to be cheering for red and black and not Josh's youngest brothers' black and gold. At this meet, though, I had my first interaction with one of Josh's bus riders.
A very awkward 13 or 14-year-old girl made her claim to fame.
Josh was buying two hamburgers, and I was watching a race, so to a stranger, it probably didn't register that we were together. Out of the nowhere, I hear this teen say, "HEY!" Thinking nothing of it, I continued to watch the race, but then heard my husband respond, "Oh. Hey." I found this odd, as Josh is generally a fairly genial person, so turned to look, and found the teen holding a fist mid-air ready to be pumped, and saw Josh, one burger in each hand, just staring at her. She finally walked away and Josh resumed his burger perfection.
The girl walked off, met up with teenage friend, and then said something shocking.
"See! I told you he was cute."
I nearly died!!!! Josh was, of course, oblivious, so I enlightened him and we both had a good laugh. I told him we were going to have to buy him a blingier ring so girls would know he was taken.
Two weekends ago we drove to Hermiston, OR for Josh's ordination interview. After an hour with a panel of six, Josh passed with hugs and a few tears, and eagerly awaits his ordination service in July. I could not be more proud of this man I get to call mine.
Josh's life has been one thing after another, and life for me has been entertaining as well.
Union rights are in question with new Idaho legislation, and about four weeks ago, our Union leader called a spur of the moment meeting, telling members there was going to be a walk-out and he needed a 'yes' or 'no' count by the end of the day. In a frenzy, I called the most knowledgeable people I could think of, including my mom and mother-in-law, my nana, and a beloved professor from college.
The wisdom and counsel was unanimous- don't walk out.
My first year of teaching has inducted me to the very raw reality of education reform, and the brazen attitudes of some union members and leaders. As a Christian, I didn't feel I could be a part of such an action, especially when I view education as a ministry, not a statement. From our school, only two union members said 'no' to the walk-out, myself being one of them. As a first-year teacher, I determined I had a lot to lose, and the four women I talked with confirmed that.
The walk-out was canceled, but now I know how to respond should this happen again. And as my professor pointed out, I can use that as an opportunity to share a bit of Light with my students when they ask the question, "Why didn't you walk out?"
Friday, the last day before break, I had another raw reality: parents make personal assaults on teachers.
One very angry mother unleashed her fury on me, telling me I wanted her child to fail and that I was a horrible teacher. We're talking screaming through the phone. And then she hung up on me.
I called her to touch base- I've been in touch all semester- and it still wasn't enough. She began an altercation. And I was crushed.
After an hour with my principal- documenting, counseling, reaffirming, and praising- I was sent home. We may not always agree with our bosses, and our bosses may not always agree with us, but I am so thankful for a boss who takes care of me, backs me up, and notices the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into my job. And I am thankful for a boss who occasionally sends me home.
I came home and, with my in-laws en route to South Dakota and my husband, cried a bit more, went to lunch, came home, and crashed.
If teaching were just about teaching, anyone could do it. But teaching is also about humility. And relationships. And love. And passion. And humanness.
And I botch it up horribly sometimes. The last thing on my mind was loving this mother...or her child.
This week is a much needed reprieve.
Twelve more weeks of Master's work. Nine more weeks of this first year of teaching. A few days before baby Lesslie makes his debut in Missouri. Then ten more weeks before I can set aside my 'teacher' hat and don my 'Aunt Ashley' hat. Four weeks after that, Uncle Josh will get to razz up a very cute nephew named Martin.
Life is so good. Even when teenagers think you're cute, unions have melt downs, and parents think you are the embodiment of wicked.
I'm convinced- spring break makes it all better.
Between Master's work and Union negotiations, new jobs and ordinations, Josh and I have been running the race of our lives. I'll try to recap what I've failed to blog...
As Josh continues to get in the groove of bus driving, I cannot help but laugh at his stories of students. A few weeks ago, one little girl was trying to finesse a toy from another little boy, so Josh intervened and asked the boy to put his toys away so he wouldn't lose them. This made the little girl angry. Josh said she looked him square in the eyes and said, "What are you? His uncle or somethin'?" To which Josh responded, "No- I'm the bus driver."
Josh and I went to the first track meet of the season, and I must admit, it was strange to be cheering for red and black and not Josh's youngest brothers' black and gold. At this meet, though, I had my first interaction with one of Josh's bus riders.
A very awkward 13 or 14-year-old girl made her claim to fame.
Josh was buying two hamburgers, and I was watching a race, so to a stranger, it probably didn't register that we were together. Out of the nowhere, I hear this teen say, "HEY!" Thinking nothing of it, I continued to watch the race, but then heard my husband respond, "Oh. Hey." I found this odd, as Josh is generally a fairly genial person, so turned to look, and found the teen holding a fist mid-air ready to be pumped, and saw Josh, one burger in each hand, just staring at her. She finally walked away and Josh resumed his burger perfection.
The girl walked off, met up with teenage friend, and then said something shocking.
"See! I told you he was cute."
I nearly died!!!! Josh was, of course, oblivious, so I enlightened him and we both had a good laugh. I told him we were going to have to buy him a blingier ring so girls would know he was taken.
Two weekends ago we drove to Hermiston, OR for Josh's ordination interview. After an hour with a panel of six, Josh passed with hugs and a few tears, and eagerly awaits his ordination service in July. I could not be more proud of this man I get to call mine.
Josh's life has been one thing after another, and life for me has been entertaining as well.
Union rights are in question with new Idaho legislation, and about four weeks ago, our Union leader called a spur of the moment meeting, telling members there was going to be a walk-out and he needed a 'yes' or 'no' count by the end of the day. In a frenzy, I called the most knowledgeable people I could think of, including my mom and mother-in-law, my nana, and a beloved professor from college.
The wisdom and counsel was unanimous- don't walk out.
My first year of teaching has inducted me to the very raw reality of education reform, and the brazen attitudes of some union members and leaders. As a Christian, I didn't feel I could be a part of such an action, especially when I view education as a ministry, not a statement. From our school, only two union members said 'no' to the walk-out, myself being one of them. As a first-year teacher, I determined I had a lot to lose, and the four women I talked with confirmed that.
The walk-out was canceled, but now I know how to respond should this happen again. And as my professor pointed out, I can use that as an opportunity to share a bit of Light with my students when they ask the question, "Why didn't you walk out?"
Friday, the last day before break, I had another raw reality: parents make personal assaults on teachers.
One very angry mother unleashed her fury on me, telling me I wanted her child to fail and that I was a horrible teacher. We're talking screaming through the phone. And then she hung up on me.
I called her to touch base- I've been in touch all semester- and it still wasn't enough. She began an altercation. And I was crushed.
After an hour with my principal- documenting, counseling, reaffirming, and praising- I was sent home. We may not always agree with our bosses, and our bosses may not always agree with us, but I am so thankful for a boss who takes care of me, backs me up, and notices the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into my job. And I am thankful for a boss who occasionally sends me home.
I came home and, with my in-laws en route to South Dakota and my husband, cried a bit more, went to lunch, came home, and crashed.
If teaching were just about teaching, anyone could do it. But teaching is also about humility. And relationships. And love. And passion. And humanness.
And I botch it up horribly sometimes. The last thing on my mind was loving this mother...or her child.
This week is a much needed reprieve.
Twelve more weeks of Master's work. Nine more weeks of this first year of teaching. A few days before baby Lesslie makes his debut in Missouri. Then ten more weeks before I can set aside my 'teacher' hat and don my 'Aunt Ashley' hat. Four weeks after that, Uncle Josh will get to razz up a very cute nephew named Martin.
Life is so good. Even when teenagers think you're cute, unions have melt downs, and parents think you are the embodiment of wicked.
I'm convinced- spring break makes it all better.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Bus Driver
Well, It's official folks, I, Joshua James Bartholomew, am the newest bus driver employed by Kamiah School District.
Ash and I see this as such a clear reminder of God' provision. Around August or September, I had inquired about any open positions at the bus garage. They were looking for a substitute, and would be happy to train me, after I passed my written test with the DMV. Well, life went on, and it never happened. Months passed.
About two months ago I called in and asked if they still needed help and if they would still train me. They said yes.
There was a new position opening up because they were adding a new route and needed a driver fast. When I started training there was also someone else training, and one of us would be a sub and one of us wound get the route position.
When I went into the district office to get the application, reference forms, fingerprint cards, etc., I brought up the fact that I had applied to substitute teach in early 2010. They pulled up my file, and all of the paperwork I had filled out earlier was exactly what they needed. I had been approved to work already, and the only thing I lacked to start working was my CDL, which was in process.
Two weeks later I was driving a new route for the school.
I am amazed at how God provides. All of the pieces fell into place at all the right times.
It's an interesting job, and the students keep me on my toes, but I'm enjoying it, and I'm thankful for God's provision.
Ash and I see this as such a clear reminder of God' provision. Around August or September, I had inquired about any open positions at the bus garage. They were looking for a substitute, and would be happy to train me, after I passed my written test with the DMV. Well, life went on, and it never happened. Months passed.
About two months ago I called in and asked if they still needed help and if they would still train me. They said yes.
There was a new position opening up because they were adding a new route and needed a driver fast. When I started training there was also someone else training, and one of us would be a sub and one of us wound get the route position.
When I went into the district office to get the application, reference forms, fingerprint cards, etc., I brought up the fact that I had applied to substitute teach in early 2010. They pulled up my file, and all of the paperwork I had filled out earlier was exactly what they needed. I had been approved to work already, and the only thing I lacked to start working was my CDL, which was in process.
Two weeks later I was driving a new route for the school.
I am amazed at how God provides. All of the pieces fell into place at all the right times.
It's an interesting job, and the students keep me on my toes, but I'm enjoying it, and I'm thankful for God's provision.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Parent Conferences Change Perspective
I'm not gonna lie- every time parents call my room, or email asking for a conference, my heart skips a beat or two. You just can't tell when a parent is going to come in as Godzilla looking for innocent prey.
I have one student who hasn't been doing so hot, and his mom and I have been emailing back and forth all semester about his progress.
Yesterday the email read, "We need to meet."
Cue the defibrillator. I think my heart stopped.
After an hour-long conference with both parents, I am both pleasantly surprised and crushed.
These parents have restored my faith in good conferencing. They were positive, and weren't on the attack. We had a very encouraging discussion about goals and accountability for the student, as well as methods of praise at home.
I'm broken, though, over why my 10th grade student is drowning right now.
A mentor, a man this boy admired and trusted, burnt his own home down, and shot himself two weeks ago. It was all over the news- the school- the town- the paper. It's tough enough to deal with death in general, but suicide? How does a 15-year-old even begin to deal with the emotion and loss of that, especially a 15-year-old who doesn't know Christ?
My head has been reeling since my talk with the parents. College doesn't prepare you- student teaching doesn't prepare you- for the heartache you take home for your students. They are broken, therefore, I break for them.
Last night was a restless night for me. I'm usually the one to punch the alarm clock six times before finally rolling my body out of bed, but not today. Today I got up because I couldn't shut my brain off. This semester is throwing one thing after another.
I love my job, and I love my students. But I carry their pain, and it's weighing on me.
I was reading from Ruth this morning, and my eyes fell to the words "I will go where you go, and where you stay I will stay." Ruth made that declaration to Naomi. How much greater must God's declaration be to us? I find myself in constant prayer that God dwell in my classroom, because I just can't do it without him.
Would you mind writing my name on your hearts? This first year of teaching is more humbling and taxing than I ever anticipated. But it's also way more fulfilling than anything I ever dreamed.
I have one student who hasn't been doing so hot, and his mom and I have been emailing back and forth all semester about his progress.
Yesterday the email read, "We need to meet."
Cue the defibrillator. I think my heart stopped.
After an hour-long conference with both parents, I am both pleasantly surprised and crushed.
These parents have restored my faith in good conferencing. They were positive, and weren't on the attack. We had a very encouraging discussion about goals and accountability for the student, as well as methods of praise at home.
I'm broken, though, over why my 10th grade student is drowning right now.
A mentor, a man this boy admired and trusted, burnt his own home down, and shot himself two weeks ago. It was all over the news- the school- the town- the paper. It's tough enough to deal with death in general, but suicide? How does a 15-year-old even begin to deal with the emotion and loss of that, especially a 15-year-old who doesn't know Christ?
My head has been reeling since my talk with the parents. College doesn't prepare you- student teaching doesn't prepare you- for the heartache you take home for your students. They are broken, therefore, I break for them.
Last night was a restless night for me. I'm usually the one to punch the alarm clock six times before finally rolling my body out of bed, but not today. Today I got up because I couldn't shut my brain off. This semester is throwing one thing after another.
I love my job, and I love my students. But I carry their pain, and it's weighing on me.
I was reading from Ruth this morning, and my eyes fell to the words "I will go where you go, and where you stay I will stay." Ruth made that declaration to Naomi. How much greater must God's declaration be to us? I find myself in constant prayer that God dwell in my classroom, because I just can't do it without him.
Would you mind writing my name on your hearts? This first year of teaching is more humbling and taxing than I ever anticipated. But it's also way more fulfilling than anything I ever dreamed.
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