Trudging

My marathon training is keeping me running in circles. In about a month, we'll embark on a journey to trek 26.2 miles along a coastal highway.

And every year, I swear I won't sign up for another race the following year, only to find my heart betraying me by secretly planning the next grand footrace. Yet, it needs to be clarified that I'm not racing anyone at all! For me, the adventure of simply covering a large amount of miles is the point entirely. At one point, I had time goals, but now I realise that running a race is in and of itself the point. Just. . . running.

There have been plenty of times in life that I've wanted to step off of the course that has been set before me, but I have to keep plodding along. I might not be the fastest, the best, or the most graceful, but I'll move forward nonetheless. There's pain, plenty of setbacks, and inevitable disappointments.

Cliche? Of course. Overused? Yes. Still applicable? Well. . . for me? Yes. So I run, and I trudge, but I do move forward (or at least in circles).

Stepping out in Greek Underwear

It's dangerous to teach with an antihistamine hangover.

Ever since I began teaching, I've dreaded the day that I forget "who" or "where" I am and say something REALLY inappropriate. I've felt the danger escalate this year as I've become more and more comfortable in my role. Sometimes I notice myself letting down my guard. This is dangerous, indeed!

And really, when discussing Greek mythology, the mind really goes into uncharted territory. So when I started talking about "Greek Underwear" (instead of the Greek underworld) in class the other day, I shouldn't have been surprised.

Thankfully, the debacle provided me with a humorous anecdote to begin a speech that I was giving that evening. What wasn't so humorous, however, is that my microphone didn't work, so I was reduced to yelling and comparing my distinguished audience to a "group of ninth graders that I have to yell at anyway."

I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I cried a little bit that night.

Moral: "Don't speak publicly with an antihistamine hangover." Otherwise, you might feel like you stepped outside in your "Greek Underwear."

Crazy Ladies and Pears

How would Monica blog?

"Stiney stole pears from the neighbors. He's doing well with his Rhetoric and Classical Languages, but I'm worried about him. All I can do is hit my knees, and earnestly cry out to my Father God for his repentance."

I've never been a big fan of Christian "parenting books." Sure, I have my personal favorites, but somehow Christian "How-To" books really tend to irritate me. Sometimes I think that women of the past had the better idea. They weren't looking ANYWHERE BUT UP for their information. This crazy little thing called the Internet doesn't help matters. We're constantly trying to diagnose, figure it all out, and get a "plan."

Well, I have a plan, alright. As we enter the teen years with a crazy vengeance at the Fisherstines, beware. If you see me walking around Wal-Mart mumbling to myself, well, I'm actually holding a never-ending dialogue with the ONLY one who has the PERFECT answers.

And, again, please think better of me than my daughter does. Oftentimes, she hears me cry, "OH, GOD!!!" I'm immediately chastised for swearing, all the while explaining to her that unlike the flippant schoolgirls of the Disney Channel, I'm actually . . . PRAYING!!! IMAGINE THAT!

So, I'm going to pray like Monica, even if it makes me appear like the "Crazy Lady Down the Street, or a Disney Debutant"

Kleenex in My Back Pocket

The first full week of school ended the same day that my eldest daughter celebrated her very own "tween" birthday. Of all the presents she received, I think her favorite was a bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino. She drank it in "chug, chug, chug!" fashion, at which point it started squirting out of her nose. Very enjoyable to watch, but simultaneously painful for everyone present.

I've been thinking a lot about the next five or six years (I've also been thinking a lot about how alot is not a word, but a lot of people think it is...but I digress). Right now, I have two Jr. High children, and I would be telling a lie if I didn't admit that DRAMA is an overwhelming constant at our house these days.

But like any great stage, it's the DRAMA that keeps it interesting. Sure, we have our "Jerry Springer Moments," but there is also a lot of "Jerry Lewis Laughter," and there is certainly no lack of love. I know that the "teen" years are precarious, but I also know one thing for certain.

I know that my coffee-snorting ballerina is just the kind of screwball actress that makes me smile. And the best part? I've got the best seat in the house, and a box of kleenex in my back pocket. Bring on the show.

"It Must Be Hard Being Married to a Nerd"

I overheard a student make this remark after I told the following story (I have super-sonic hearing; it's my superpower.)--

My husband and I are training for a fall California marathon. It's going to be lovely. Beautiful beaches, cool morning air, and a bit of time away as a couple. With a race, there is of course training, and many hours of running and talking.

During a particularly difficult run, we were silent and steadfast. We stopped to walk for a minute or two, and I asked my gentle, sweet husband, "What do you think about when you run?"

With a glare in his eye and a fist violently shaking in my direction, he vented, "I was thinking about that teenager that is racing throughout the neighborhood. He's going to hit someone!!! If he comes by here again, I'm going to stop the vehicle and explain to him what's going to happen if he keeps driving like that!"

After an awkward silence, I replied, "That's funny, because I was thinking about introductory participial phrases."

It must be hard being married to a nerd.

My Very Own Jackson Pollack

Yesterday. When my eldest son graduates from high-school, I will look back upon yesterday. I was wondering what it would be like to be his teacher.

Well, now I know.

We're together for two classes: Literature (from the fall of Rome to the Reformation), and Logic. He's a reader. He likes abstract ideas. He enjoys a good discussion. And... well... apparently... he has no organizational skills, he wiggles, he doesn't listen, and he disconnects from the "general flow" of the class. I've never been so befuddled by a student in my life. Confusion reigneth.

Yesterday. Facebook privileges were banned. The cell phone was removed. The television was off. His bedtime came at the same hour as his baby brother. There were fingers in his face, lectures in his ear, and pleading glances cast his direction. Color me crazy.

Today. Today was different. The Logic teacher (me) asked the students to give the Latin word for the term "girl." The teenage boy had the answer, "puella" (obviously). I asked the students to give an alternative meaning to the term "belief." They all knew that "belief" means "accepting something as true," but could't quite take the next step. He raised his hand. "Well, belief originally meant 'to put faith or trust in.' " Ummm....yes. That is true (but how did he know that?). I'm quite confident that we can thank our resident PhD Bible teacher for that.

Tonight. Tonight I sleep better knowing that he's going to be fine. He may be a wiggly, crazy mess, but he's my personal Jackson Pollack. (And I love abstract art.)

Oh, and by the way, here's the history of the word "Belief"from the online etymology dictionary:

...[B]elief used to mean "trust in God," while faith meant "loyalty to a person based on promise or duty" (a sense preserved in keep one's faith, in good (or bad) faith and in common usage of faithful, faithless, which contain no notion of divinity). But faith, as cognate of L. fides, took on the religious sense beginning in 14c. translations, and belief had by 16c. become limited to "mental acceptance of something as true," from the religious use in the sense of "things held to be true as a matter of religious doctrine" (c.1225). "

I guess it's time I quit believing (accepting as true) that my abstract thinking, creative out-of-the-box kid is a befuddling mess, and start believing (trusting ) in the beauty of his unique character. Move over Mr. Pollack.

Eeyore or Theoden?

It's that time of year. I'll be spending a lot of time over the next few months watching the red table and all of the young minds and hearts who gather here to sup at the table of knowledge.

Frankly, that intimidates me. In the past, I've gone forward with confidence, sure that my enthusiasm and passion would be contagious. But that's just it. I fear my poor students might be immune to Mrs. Fisherstine.

Socrates says that being a teacher is a bit like being a midwife. Teachers are simply there to gently draw forth the knowledge that is waiting to be born in the student. Ah, Socrates. Nice plan, but where do you believe they got the knowledge in the first place? (Don't answer that. I know what you think and it is positively silly, but I like you anyway.)

***Sigh*** I think I sound a bit like Eeyore. What do melancholy Eeyoresque types do? Well, they plan. I might be able to cook something up that will spark a hearty appetite for learning. (At least that's what I keep telling myself.)

Logic, Ancient Literature, American Literature, British Literature, and the Moderns....breathe... Progymnasmata, Thesis Papers, Poetry, Grammar, Worldview, etc...etc...etc....

It's a good thing that I'm very comfortable with the war analogies. Perhaps it's time for me to read the Iliad once again. (Nah, teaching feels a bit more like Middle Earth.) Teaching is not like serving dinner, midwifery, or "catching" a disease. To me, it's about doing battle for the hearts and minds of the next generation. I'll answer that call. Today, I feel a bit like Theoden of Rohan running into battle: "TO DEATH!!!!"