In their latest issue, they featured a blurb from the Harvard Business Review: The Trouble with Bright Kids. Never mind how hilarious it is that this article comes from the Harvard Business Review.

Ironically, writes the Review, “gifted children grow up to be more vulnerable, and less confident, even when they should be the most confident people in the room.”

Read more: http://www.utne.com/mind-body/gifted-children-zm0z12mazwar.aspx#ixzz1rHZd8bzH

Yes, I did just quote something quoting something else. Not a ‘best practice’ of, well, anything, but I’d rather encourage people to check out Utne than HBR. Harvard Business Review tends to be stuffy and boring and really involved with itself, whereas Utne is interesting and only a little involved with itself. But I digress!

I was really happy to find this and not entirely because it confirmed something that I have long known. It’s not really a secret that I have a thing for writing, or that it’s something at which I’m usually pretty good. And yet, there have been plenty of times I have been paralyzed with the inability to actually write. Plebes might call it writer’s block, but it’s not. It’s not that I don’t have any ideas, which is truly what writer’s block is about. It’s this odd fear of doing writing it wrong.

And I think it stems from years and years and years of being told how good I am at it. Also the years and years and years of personal and educational evidence with little-to-no professional validation. Even though I know there’s nothing wrong with my writing, there is always a small piece of me that is going to think that I must be doing it wrong if there are no fruits to my labor.

I wish this was the sort of thing we talked more about it education. We’re overly concerned with making the data work, getting our students to be successful, and being good cheerleaders for the good work and effort we see that we completely and totally forget that words matter. I’m guilty of this myself.

Reflecting on how I talk to the group of the first graders I work with who are struggling with math, I wonder how much damage I have done that counter-acts the good.. They do not struggle with math because they are unintelligent, or are bad at math. They struggle because the way they think about math is not the way it is being taught.

A lot of what I do is reassuring these 6- and 7-year-olds that they don’t have to do math the way their teacher does. If that method doesn’t work for them, it is okay to do something else that does work for them. The kids that are terrible with numbers? I show them how to see patterns on a modified number grid. (Side Note: whoever decided the first row of a standard number grid should be 1-10 and not 0-9 really doesn’t understand the way some kids think.) I show them different ways to manipulate number sentences to make them make more sense to the kid. I identify misconceptions they have and correct them, because the misconceptions they have were taken for-granted by adults that they were obvious.

But the thing I do a lot is say things like “you’re really good at math” when something clicks for them. I’m trying to build their confidence as mathematicians, but what if that’s not what I’m really doing? What if I’m setting them up for that sense of fear I feel when it comes to doing math in the classroom? I do know that a teacher has said about a particular student “He does so well with you, but when he’s with me, it falls apart.”

I’m going to really have to think about the words I say. Perhaps “You are working so hard” is something I should say more often.

I’m happy. I’m excited. I’m scared to death. It’s a beautiful, weird, eccentric house with a tree in the living room and a garden out back. I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut about it because that’s what The Russian wants. But seriously, it’s two weeks away. It’s not like we can keep a secret as big as “Oh yeah, we bought a house and now live there” from everyone know forever. They’re going to find out. In fact, some of our friends we hadn’t told found out. Grrr. Remind me to shake my fists angrily at whoever let it slip. We wanted to tell everyone in person.

Oh well. C’est la vie.

The other good news is that the job market out there looks a lot better than it does over here. I’ve applied to a few. Some I’m more excited about than others, and I’d really like to have a job I’m in love with that also utilizes my strengths and abilities to their fullest potential. I’m just hoping that the Illinois government gets itself sorted out in a way that doesn’t prompt more mass layoffs in education. I know pension reform is some sort of politcal cure-all. But seriously guys, you think you’re mad about class sizes now?

Okay, I guess I owe more of an explanation. It’s been awhile since I’ve had the time to write here. My bad, I know.

Long story short, we’re in the process of buying a house. And I cannot even begin to tell you how much I hate bad school districts with amazing houses. Seriously. I had to strike out so many beautiful houses that were within the budget because the schools were just not up to par. And what with all the no-new-taxes stuff I’ve been hearing lately. Well, I thought it was pertinent.

This picture just makes me so happy. Every time I see it, I can’t help but feel a little giddy.

I think it’s time to own up and say that I am incredibly, incredibly frustrated. And part of that frustration has to do with a lot of the resentment I feel towards life and this blog. It seems that I stop writing here every time it becomes very obvious that the purpose of this blog will not be fulfilled. I started this blog two and a half years ago to talk about moving back to Nowheresville, Illinois after graduating from New York University in May 2009. And for awhile I wrote here regularly and happily. And then it became rocky. And that rockiness has coincided with every turn that has made it clear that I would not be leaving this place when I earned my Masters Degree.

I am frustrated. I wasn’t supposed to be in my parents’ house for more than two years. I’m still here. I was supposed to be able to support myself with a Masters Degree in Education. I make $12.00 an hour and am supposed to feel “lucky” for it. I have found a field within education that I am absolutely in love with (Special Ed), would really like to pursuit that and bonus, there are positions open in it! However, getting my LBS1 to do that would make me ‘too expensive’ to ever hire.

I’ve worked my butt off my entire life to be successful. I worked hard to get into a world-renown boarding school, then to get into the best college in the world for my field. There was lots of opportunity  and money in that field until about 6 months before I graduated. I moved home to get into a Masters program which I paid for out of my pocket. I don’t have debt, not even on my credit cards. I did everything right.

I did everything right and yet everything is going wrong.

Even the little things aren’t going my way. All my knitting mojo has left the building. How many times have I had to restart the same gift for my sister? (Hint: The answer is 5.)  How many students do I miss because of a crazy merry-go-round job switch? (Answer: 46.)  Though let me clear, I am absolutely in love with the six students I see every day now and with my job. I just miss my 46 Kindergartners, too.  And how many sticks of butter did I put out to soften that were the wrong kind? (Srsly: 4.)

I’m completely head over heels for a man, but I cannot afford to start the life with him we both want. I refuse to be a kept woman. It’s just not something I can do. And let’s not get started on how much we’re be jerked around by the credit union when we are actually trying to see if we could afford to move in together.

I’m just so angry and there is no place to direct my anger. To be honest, it’s not really anyone’s fault unless we want to start glaring at bankers and mortage lenders. Well, I perhaps could be angry with the Illinois government for jerking around Education funding and not paying their bills. But the problem is, there’s no one I can walk up to and scream at them and get them to make this right.

There’s no customer service for when everything sucks.

And a short while later, I was spinning. Spinning as in making yarn.  Oh dear. Textiles are very rapidly taking over my life.  I suppose there are worse fates to have, but I do think I may be hitting the point where it’d be embarrassing to show all the unused yarn I have to, well, anyone.  The only problem is I’m not sure how to ply and/or set the twist, so I can’t actually do anything with all my brand new yarn. Rats!

This will be the most interesting, perhaps, because I’m actually going to be working in the very same building where I went to elementary school. Though now I’ll get to be in the sooper sekrit teacher rooms, like the forbidden lounge. Zomg!!11!. But it will be neat to see what has happened to the building in the 13+ years since I was last there (beyond dropping things off at the main office).

I just know I’ll like it better than the last building I was in. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved all my coworkers and the kids, but the physical building was just…meh. Same reason why I was not too fond of the building where I student taught. I really, really, really don’t like buildings that don’t have lockers and/or cubbies in the hallways. They seem far too sterile. I guess I just like seeing students in the hallways getting things. Perhaps I’m weird like that.

Most importantly, though: I’ll have health insurance. Right now I have a $740/mo COBRA payment. It’s pretty crappy, but thankfully I won’t have to pay it that much longer. Healthcare reform apparently didn’t apply to my parent’s retirement insurance plan, so I’m not covered anymore. And as an added bonus, I’m being charged as if I were 77. This is great. Just great.

Some friends and I went bowling on Tuesday. My highest score was a 114. I never claimed to be good at it.

Why yes that is the shirt I was making last month. It made its debut that night. And yes that is a birthday crown I made for myself. Birthdays shouldn’t happen without a crown.

As for being twenty-four and all…let me present you the bucket list to do before being twenty-five.

1. Finish book of poetry
2. Knit a (real) sweater
3. Redecorate the spare bedroom
4. Spend more time outside
5. Eat less bad ice-cream and more good ice-cream
6. Climb a 5.9 route consitently
7. Hell, let’s make that a 5.10
8. Guess I’d better learn how to belay, too
9. Practice more Random Acts of Kindness
10. Move out
11. Learn how to sew
12. Pull my hair out less
13. Cook more
14. Don’t mind the dirt
15. Find a real job
16. Take more pictures
17. This includes the polaroid
18. Figure out how to walk in heels real good
19. Ride 30 miles in a day on a bicycle
20. Lay in the grass.
21. Be more consistent about posting to the blog
22. Twitter, too
23. Finish reading War and Peace
24. Continue to not grow up

I got my teaching certificate today. K-9, elementary and middle school certified. Also, they seem to think I’m qualified to teach Language Arts and Social Sciences. That’s pretty neat.

I nearly freaked out when I saw that I wasn’t endorsed for Drama.  I mean, if there’s anything I’m qualified to teach it’s Drama.  But then I realised my university wasn’t qualified to endorse me in that. Time to figure out who is qualified to do that endorsement.

But squee! I’m a real, certified teacher now. There’s no possibility of something going horrifically wrong and getting denied for some reason. I’ve got it!

In other news…anyone aware of open teaching positions?

You see, when I met him, he was not registered to vote. While some might not care, to me this was an issue of great and dire importance. It still is. He finally caved and registered right after last year’s elections (sigh). The compromise was he very adamantly insisted that though now he was registered and I should be happy, he would never, never, ever exercise his right to vote. And, as far as I know, he hasn’t.

And this still troubles me. Perhaps even more so than it did a year ago. Why?

I’ve noticed–and I’m not the only one–that politics is become a lot more like TMZ every day. And no one seems to care. We happily swallow up Trump’s birtherism, giggle about Jon Kyl’s ‘non-factual’ statements, and snicker about Rep. Weiner’s…well…weiner. And while we process what is happening with these news bits, we simply move on without, well, doing anything.

But then things like this happen:

They happen and we don’t notice because there’s nothing entertaining about it, and we want to be entertained. LZ Ganderson wrote on CNN:

It shouldn’t really matter which side of the fence you stand on regarding abortion: that tone, that rationale, has no place in the debate. That more people, more women, were not angered by DeGraaf’s statements only highlights just how little we are paying attention to lawmakers.

He’s right. We’re not paying attention, and crazy whackadoo lawmakers have figured that out. As long as political news coverage is actually entertainment in content, these politicians can do and say whatever they like. My 4th grade teacher always said that who you are is the person you are when no one is watching.

No one is watching what’s going on. No one is watching and the masks are coming off. And since no one is watching, no one notices when they change the law in ways we don’t like, to reflect values we don’t believe in.

I am shocked and horrified that it’s okay, politically and socially, to say things like that, to say that you should plan ahead for rape. I’m upset this isn’t more news worthy. I’m ashamed that we could stand for it in this country.

Politics isn’t entertainment, people. It’s real life, and it has very real consequences. And sadly, punishing women and making the lives of women more difficult has been a common theme of late (or almost forever, really). But it’s not just women, it’s happening to the poor and to the brown, too. It’s only going to get worse if we continue to view politicians the same way we do celebrities.

As a side not, it was pretty ingenous of DeGraff to sugges his wife and daughter would “never need an abortion” if they were raped. Last time I checked, ‘never need’ was not synonymous with ‘I will forbid’.