I was raised in a family that celebrated Christmas to the fullest. We were never in danger of overlooking or forgetting the real meaning of Christmas, but my preacher daddy was more excited about Santa Claus than any of the children. I remember being awakened at 2 am to see what Santa had brought! My dad even made up an enduring story about one of Santa's elves, "Skinnypoo", who to this day, lives in the pinky finger of every good little boy and girl. Skinnypoo is only happy when he is helping, so girls and boys who want to make Skinnypoo happy need to be good helpers.
Is Santa a lie? Maybe, but it's more about the magic of childhood. Is Cinderella a lie? What about Spiderman, the Velveteen Rabbit, Harry Potter, and Mary Poppins? Are children so fragile that they must only be given factual heroes? I think not. If children can only handle reality, then you'd better be careful about what books and movies are allowed in your home, to say nothing of television!
My own children were raised with a belief in Santa Claus, but always knew that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. They were also taught that parents pay for the presents Santa brings, so their expectations wouldn't be unrealistic. I don't remember any crushed or damaged psyches when they learned the reality of Santa Claus - no one said, "Well, if Santa isn't real, then Jesus must not be either!"
I have no problem with what parents choose to teach their children. If you don't have room in your life for both Santa and Jesus, I truly hope you're choosing Jesus! But I don't believe it has to be one or the other. I think there's room for both.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Making Connections, Renewing Memories
I had the most amazing experience today. I was in Nashville for a meeting at the Youth Opportunity Center. Erin Daunic, who works for STARS Nashville, was giving us a tour of the building. She showed us her office and I stepped in to admire the view of downtown Nashville from her window. As I turned back towards the door, I saw her framed diplomas on the wall. One was from Vanderbilt, the other from Washington and Lee.
I said, "I see you went to Washington and Lee." She said yes, and I said, "I used to live in Buena Vista." She said, "When? Why?" I said, "In the 60's, because my dad worked at Southern Seminary." She said, "I worked there my first job out of college! I worked in the Admissions office!" She said, "Where did you live?" I replied, "Across the street from the campus." She exclaimed, "In that big beautiful white house?" I said, "No, the Robeys lived in that house. We lived next door." She said, "In the white house? That's where my office was!"
I asked Erin if she happened to work in the room upstairs on the left, and she replied that she worked in the room upstairs on the right. I told her that was my brother's bedroom, and mine was on the left. I said that I actually had the room on the right until we remodeled the house when my dad became president of the college.
Erin said, "That house had an unusual walk-down bathroom." I said yes, that bathroom opened into my parents' bedroom. I told her that before we moved there, the house had been used as faculty housing. Each bedroom had its own sink, and the bathroom had a shower and 2 toilet stalls. When we remodeled, we put in the tub and opened it up to the bedroom next door. I said that was when I moved across the hall, because I had a tiny powder room and lots of built-in shelves and closets. She said, "Yes! That was the financial aid office!" I told her we added on the family room at the back, and the big kitchen.
Erin asked if I went to Buena Vista (pronounced "byoona vista") High School, and I said, "Yes, Parry McCluer." She said, "Yes! Parry McCluer! That was at the bottom of the hill!" I agreed that it was, indeed, at the bottom of the hill. I told her I lived there when the big flood came through with Hurricane Camille. Erin told me that she also grew up on college campuses, and so did her husband. We agreed that it was a unique lifestyle, and nobody could understand unless they did.
We talked a little bit about the campus, various buildings on it, and memories. I mentioned that the college had a good equestrian program while we were there. She said it did when she was there too, and asked if I were an equestrian. I said, "No, but my dad always loved horses." Then I said, "My brother spent a lot of time on the tennis courts," to which she replied, "Which were right across the street from your hous!" Yes, they were.
We moved away from Buena Vista in 1970, and Erin went there in 1994. In the 43 years since I moved from there, I've never come across anyone who lived there. Erin's lived in Nashville 17 years, and said she's never met anyone from there in those years. Now we have, and not onlly someone who lived there, but someone who shared the same house, many years apart. Amazing.
I said, "I see you went to Washington and Lee." She said yes, and I said, "I used to live in Buena Vista." She said, "When? Why?" I said, "In the 60's, because my dad worked at Southern Seminary." She said, "I worked there my first job out of college! I worked in the Admissions office!" She said, "Where did you live?" I replied, "Across the street from the campus." She exclaimed, "In that big beautiful white house?" I said, "No, the Robeys lived in that house. We lived next door." She said, "In the white house? That's where my office was!"
I asked Erin if she happened to work in the room upstairs on the left, and she replied that she worked in the room upstairs on the right. I told her that was my brother's bedroom, and mine was on the left. I said that I actually had the room on the right until we remodeled the house when my dad became president of the college.
Erin said, "That house had an unusual walk-down bathroom." I said yes, that bathroom opened into my parents' bedroom. I told her that before we moved there, the house had been used as faculty housing. Each bedroom had its own sink, and the bathroom had a shower and 2 toilet stalls. When we remodeled, we put in the tub and opened it up to the bedroom next door. I said that was when I moved across the hall, because I had a tiny powder room and lots of built-in shelves and closets. She said, "Yes! That was the financial aid office!" I told her we added on the family room at the back, and the big kitchen.
Erin asked if I went to Buena Vista (pronounced "byoona vista") High School, and I said, "Yes, Parry McCluer." She said, "Yes! Parry McCluer! That was at the bottom of the hill!" I agreed that it was, indeed, at the bottom of the hill. I told her I lived there when the big flood came through with Hurricane Camille. Erin told me that she also grew up on college campuses, and so did her husband. We agreed that it was a unique lifestyle, and nobody could understand unless they did.
We talked a little bit about the campus, various buildings on it, and memories. I mentioned that the college had a good equestrian program while we were there. She said it did when she was there too, and asked if I were an equestrian. I said, "No, but my dad always loved horses." Then I said, "My brother spent a lot of time on the tennis courts," to which she replied, "Which were right across the street from your hous!" Yes, they were.
We moved away from Buena Vista in 1970, and Erin went there in 1994. In the 43 years since I moved from there, I've never come across anyone who lived there. Erin's lived in Nashville 17 years, and said she's never met anyone from there in those years. Now we have, and not onlly someone who lived there, but someone who shared the same house, many years apart. Amazing.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Kidnapped!
Twenty-five years ago today, October 6, 1987, was a beautiful fall day. My children were 3, 5, and 8. Nathan and Courtney were napping, Elizabeth was at Girl Scouts, when the phone rang. A woman said, "Do you know a Sidney Sandridge?" I said, "Yes, he's my father, is something wrong?" The woman answered, "He's here on my porch, and he says he's been carried from Birmingham in the trunk of his car." I said, "Did he pick up another hitchhiker?" She said, "Well, I don't know, but he's here, and he wondered if you could come and get him." I asked if I could speak with him, and she replied, "I didn't let him in my house, but he's here on my porch." I asked if he was okay, and she said he was. I got her name and address, and told her, "He's a preacher, you can let him in" and that I would be on my way.
I looked at the clock - 4:30. I checked the refrigerator for Mike's itinerary. He was on a plane to Akron, departing at about that time. I was on my own. I called my friend, who had a daughter in the same scout troop as Elizabeth. I asked if I could take Nathan and Courtney to her house, and if she would pick up Elizabeth and keep the children until I got home. She asked where I was going, and I told her what I knew. She tried to talk me into taking the children to someone else's house, so she could ride with me, but I refused. I had said I was on my way, and I didn't want to delay.
Having no GPS in 1987, I looked at my trusty Roadway Atlas, and found the street, Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive. I saw that I could get on 265 and either take Highway 20 across town and then go south, or take 265 all the way around the south side of Atlanta. I turned on the radio, praying, "Lord, please tell me which way to go." Almost immediately I heard a traffic update. It said 265 south was slow, but I20 was clear all the way through. I said a quick "Thanks!" and headed west on 20.
In spite of the 5:00 traffic on a Tuesday afternoon in Atlanta, I got to Anna Henderson's house on the south side in about 45 minutes. Daddy was waiting there for me, along with what seemed like half of the Atlanta Police Department. He had called my mom, and told her what had happened. He got in my car, and we followed the police cars to the Police Department headquarters. When we got there, he tried to call my mother, but for some reason the call didn't go through. After that, we were there for hours. The FBI was called in, because it was an interstate kidnapping. Paramedics were called, because he had cuts and bruises on his face, neck and arms.
That's when I heard what had happened. Daddy had been walking at lunchtime, on a track at Avondale Park. Usually he would go to the Y, but it was a nice day, so he decided to walk outside. Two men came out of the woods near the track, beat him up, strangled him with his tie, took his keys, and put him in the trunk of his car. Then they started driving. They had the radio playing loudly, so he was unable to hear any talking, but made several stops, and he thought they were putting things in the car. They drove around for several hours, and finally he could tell by the radio station that they were approaching Atlanta. He heard them driving through tall grass, and stop the car. One of the men came around, opened the trunk, and told him to get out. Daddy got out of the trunk. His shirt was torn, but there was a flannel shirt in the trunk of the car, which the man gave him. Daddy said to the man, "God bless you, and He loves you both." Then the man got back in the car and they drove away.
Daddy looked around, and saw that he was in a vacant lot near a neighborhood. A woman was sweeping her front steps. He walked over near her and asked if she could help him. She was suspicious, but he simply asked her to call his daughter who lived near Atlanta. After she called me, Anna Henderson took my dad a glass of water and a warm wet washcloth for his cuts. Then she called the police.
Finally, we were able to leave the police department. We called Mama, and she met us at a Waffle House halfway between Birmingham and Atlanta around midnight. Then we found out what she had been going through. She had called Daddy's secretary around lunchtime, and the secretary said he wasn't in, but she didn't know where he was. It wasn't unusual for him to be out, because he worked for a savings and loan, and visited branches all over the city. When he called her from Anna Henderson's home, it was about the time that she was expecting to hear from him. When he told her he had been kidnapped, she didn't believe him, because he was a big practical joker. Finally he convinced her, and then she didn't hear from him for hours. She had called her brother in Atlanta, and his son-in-law, an attorney, had been calling police precincts, trying to find out where we were and what was happening.
I headed back home, and had to stop for gas in Atlanta, around 2 am. I would have to say that was the scariest part of the night. When I got home and went to pick up my children, I learned that my adventure had been the talk of the neighborhood. Since Mike was out of town, my friends were convinced that someone had lured me out of my house for a nefarious purpose. There were no cell phones at that time, so they couldn't contact me. They did the only things they could do - the men went to my house to make sure nobody broke into it while I was gone, and the women took care of my children and prayed for my safety.
The next day, Mike called from Akron. When I told him of my adventure, he was outraged. Not because my dad had been kidnapped, but because I had handled the whole situation on my own. He said I should have called the airport and had him called off the plane, and I should never have ventured into south Atlanta by myself. I looked at it differently. My dad needed me, and I was there for him. I never considered that what I was doing was dangerous in any way, and if I had it to do over, I would do exactly the same thing.
I looked at the clock - 4:30. I checked the refrigerator for Mike's itinerary. He was on a plane to Akron, departing at about that time. I was on my own. I called my friend, who had a daughter in the same scout troop as Elizabeth. I asked if I could take Nathan and Courtney to her house, and if she would pick up Elizabeth and keep the children until I got home. She asked where I was going, and I told her what I knew. She tried to talk me into taking the children to someone else's house, so she could ride with me, but I refused. I had said I was on my way, and I didn't want to delay.
Having no GPS in 1987, I looked at my trusty Roadway Atlas, and found the street, Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive. I saw that I could get on 265 and either take Highway 20 across town and then go south, or take 265 all the way around the south side of Atlanta. I turned on the radio, praying, "Lord, please tell me which way to go." Almost immediately I heard a traffic update. It said 265 south was slow, but I20 was clear all the way through. I said a quick "Thanks!" and headed west on 20.
In spite of the 5:00 traffic on a Tuesday afternoon in Atlanta, I got to Anna Henderson's house on the south side in about 45 minutes. Daddy was waiting there for me, along with what seemed like half of the Atlanta Police Department. He had called my mom, and told her what had happened. He got in my car, and we followed the police cars to the Police Department headquarters. When we got there, he tried to call my mother, but for some reason the call didn't go through. After that, we were there for hours. The FBI was called in, because it was an interstate kidnapping. Paramedics were called, because he had cuts and bruises on his face, neck and arms.
That's when I heard what had happened. Daddy had been walking at lunchtime, on a track at Avondale Park. Usually he would go to the Y, but it was a nice day, so he decided to walk outside. Two men came out of the woods near the track, beat him up, strangled him with his tie, took his keys, and put him in the trunk of his car. Then they started driving. They had the radio playing loudly, so he was unable to hear any talking, but made several stops, and he thought they were putting things in the car. They drove around for several hours, and finally he could tell by the radio station that they were approaching Atlanta. He heard them driving through tall grass, and stop the car. One of the men came around, opened the trunk, and told him to get out. Daddy got out of the trunk. His shirt was torn, but there was a flannel shirt in the trunk of the car, which the man gave him. Daddy said to the man, "God bless you, and He loves you both." Then the man got back in the car and they drove away.
Daddy looked around, and saw that he was in a vacant lot near a neighborhood. A woman was sweeping her front steps. He walked over near her and asked if she could help him. She was suspicious, but he simply asked her to call his daughter who lived near Atlanta. After she called me, Anna Henderson took my dad a glass of water and a warm wet washcloth for his cuts. Then she called the police.
Finally, we were able to leave the police department. We called Mama, and she met us at a Waffle House halfway between Birmingham and Atlanta around midnight. Then we found out what she had been going through. She had called Daddy's secretary around lunchtime, and the secretary said he wasn't in, but she didn't know where he was. It wasn't unusual for him to be out, because he worked for a savings and loan, and visited branches all over the city. When he called her from Anna Henderson's home, it was about the time that she was expecting to hear from him. When he told her he had been kidnapped, she didn't believe him, because he was a big practical joker. Finally he convinced her, and then she didn't hear from him for hours. She had called her brother in Atlanta, and his son-in-law, an attorney, had been calling police precincts, trying to find out where we were and what was happening.
I headed back home, and had to stop for gas in Atlanta, around 2 am. I would have to say that was the scariest part of the night. When I got home and went to pick up my children, I learned that my adventure had been the talk of the neighborhood. Since Mike was out of town, my friends were convinced that someone had lured me out of my house for a nefarious purpose. There were no cell phones at that time, so they couldn't contact me. They did the only things they could do - the men went to my house to make sure nobody broke into it while I was gone, and the women took care of my children and prayed for my safety.
The next day, Mike called from Akron. When I told him of my adventure, he was outraged. Not because my dad had been kidnapped, but because I had handled the whole situation on my own. He said I should have called the airport and had him called off the plane, and I should never have ventured into south Atlanta by myself. I looked at it differently. My dad needed me, and I was there for him. I never considered that what I was doing was dangerous in any way, and if I had it to do over, I would do exactly the same thing.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Growing up on a College Campus
Growing up on a
College Campus
Ahhh, you’re thinking, this is a coming of age story. But
it’s not.
Welcome to my world, you say, meaning you understand how I
feel. But I wonder…
Do you really understand? There were only a few of us who
grew up this way.
Did you play hide and seek under the administration building
on a college campus? Were the fountains and walkways, benches and shrubbery
your playground?
Did you ever walk into the Dean’s office or the President’s
office, sure of your welcome, and say, “Hi Daddy”?
Did you sell Girl Scout cookies in the boys’ dorm? Man,
those guys bought lots of cookies!
Did you take baton lessons from the college majorettes or
ballet with college students?
Did you wear a frilly white dress with a crinoline and a
wreath of flowers in your hair on May Day as you watched the Queen crowned?
Were sophomore, dormitory, and commencement common words in
your vocabulary?
Did you spend hours upon hours in the college library with
no papers to write, just for the sheer pleasure of getting to know Louisa May
Alcott?
Did you get married in the college chapel at age 5?
Did you learn to swim in an indoor pool under the gym?
Were Founder’s Day, Parents’ Weekend, and May Day regular
celebrations in your life?
Was your father ever burned in effigy by angry students?
Did you have students from faraway lands spend Christmas and
Thanksgiving in your home because it was too far for them to go home?
Did you learn to butter one bite of a biscuit and which fork
to use in the faculty dining room?
Did you get to rummage through the dorm rooms after the
students had left for the summer, finding treasures of old makeup, cheap
jewelry, and countless issues of Bride’s magazines?
If you grew up in a neighborhood where fathers went to work
at different jobs, if you lived in the same house all the years that you were
growing up, went to the same schools, and had the same friends, I envied you at
times. Every time we moved to a different college, many things in my life
changed. The constants were my family, our faith, and the fact that we were
“faculty” – the college, whichever college it was at the time, was not just
where my dad worked. It was central to our lives. “The college” was always home
to me.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Dreary December
December has not been a great month so far. In my last blog, I said we were getting bikes for Christmas. Now Mike says we are not. I told him I would try, but if he was going to talk about the way I ride a bike the way he talks about the way I drive, I'm not doing it. I guess he couldn't promise that, and doesn't want to spend the money for me to try and see if I like it. So now, for the rest of our lives I'll be blamed for him not getting what he wanted this Christmas. He's hard to live with sometimes.
Also this month, my sister Sandi was diagnosed with breast cancer. She's in liver failure, and has been on the transplant list for a year and a half. The cancer diagnosis takes her off the transplant list. When we thought there was just one lump, doctors were talking about a lumpectomy. But the next mammogram showed multiple lumps in both breasts. With her liver failure, she can't withstand major surgery that involves general anesthesia. Tonight I learned that the doctor said radiation would just make her feel worse, and hormone therapy would not help much. So right now, it seems there's nothing to be done except pray.
When I went with Mike to visit his parents after his surgery, they asked about my parents. When I said they were doing well, his mother said, "Don't they have anything wrong with them like we do?" I cannot explain how much that hurt me. I've known for a long time that his parents care nothing for mine. That fact was really brought home in 2006 in the choices they made around Courtney's wedding. This is in spite of the fact that both fathers are retired Methodist ministers, and my parents have never been anything but kind and hospitable to his. But to hear her say that, at a time when I was doing everything humanly possible to take care of their son and making a huge effort to be friendly and loving towards them as well, was just too much.
I wanted to say, "Yes they do, but they don't let their weaknesses define them. They live their lives as they always have, in service to others. They stay active in their church and other groups, even if that means my dad is there in a wheelchair. They think more about other people than themselves, and live a truly Christian life." I wish I had said those things, because Mike's mother refuses to use a wheelchair, even though it would make things easier for those around her. They do nothing for anyone else, just sit in their little apartment waiting to die. They are the poorest excuses for Christians I've ever seen living in a parsonage. It's no wonder Mike has no interest in attending church. But of course, I was polite.
Since that time, my mother has been hospitalized with arm pain, and has been blacking out. She's been to several different doctors to try and figure out what is causing these spells, but right now, we don't know the cause, and consequently, she can't drive. Since Daddy can't drive because of Parkinson's, this makes it very hard for them. In my brain I know there's no connection between Mike's mother's question and my mother's problems, but my heart can't help blaming her just a little bit. I wish she'd never asked that question.
I thought the hard part was in October, when Mike had his transplant, but I have to say, November and December have just gotten worse and worse. On top of everything else, the weather has been dismal. Not rainy, just a constant mist, which freezes if the temperature drops low enough, but otherwise just hangs in the air. Umbrellas don't help, because it's not really falling from the sky, it's just all around. If I wanted to live in weather like this, I would move to Seattle.
Also this month, my sister Sandi was diagnosed with breast cancer. She's in liver failure, and has been on the transplant list for a year and a half. The cancer diagnosis takes her off the transplant list. When we thought there was just one lump, doctors were talking about a lumpectomy. But the next mammogram showed multiple lumps in both breasts. With her liver failure, she can't withstand major surgery that involves general anesthesia. Tonight I learned that the doctor said radiation would just make her feel worse, and hormone therapy would not help much. So right now, it seems there's nothing to be done except pray.
When I went with Mike to visit his parents after his surgery, they asked about my parents. When I said they were doing well, his mother said, "Don't they have anything wrong with them like we do?" I cannot explain how much that hurt me. I've known for a long time that his parents care nothing for mine. That fact was really brought home in 2006 in the choices they made around Courtney's wedding. This is in spite of the fact that both fathers are retired Methodist ministers, and my parents have never been anything but kind and hospitable to his. But to hear her say that, at a time when I was doing everything humanly possible to take care of their son and making a huge effort to be friendly and loving towards them as well, was just too much.
I wanted to say, "Yes they do, but they don't let their weaknesses define them. They live their lives as they always have, in service to others. They stay active in their church and other groups, even if that means my dad is there in a wheelchair. They think more about other people than themselves, and live a truly Christian life." I wish I had said those things, because Mike's mother refuses to use a wheelchair, even though it would make things easier for those around her. They do nothing for anyone else, just sit in their little apartment waiting to die. They are the poorest excuses for Christians I've ever seen living in a parsonage. It's no wonder Mike has no interest in attending church. But of course, I was polite.
Since that time, my mother has been hospitalized with arm pain, and has been blacking out. She's been to several different doctors to try and figure out what is causing these spells, but right now, we don't know the cause, and consequently, she can't drive. Since Daddy can't drive because of Parkinson's, this makes it very hard for them. In my brain I know there's no connection between Mike's mother's question and my mother's problems, but my heart can't help blaming her just a little bit. I wish she'd never asked that question.
I thought the hard part was in October, when Mike had his transplant, but I have to say, November and December have just gotten worse and worse. On top of everything else, the weather has been dismal. Not rainy, just a constant mist, which freezes if the temperature drops low enough, but otherwise just hangs in the air. Umbrellas don't help, because it's not really falling from the sky, it's just all around. If I wanted to live in weather like this, I would move to Seattle.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
December already???
Well, it's not quite December. It's actually November 29, so there's one more day before December. I can hardly believe it! So much has happened since September when I wrote the last post.
Mike had his kidney transplant on October 25. It went really well, and he continues to do well. We've had a few scary moments - when the nurse ordered his blood tests "stat" because she was concerned about his creatinine level; when he started running a fever - but for the most part, things have gone well. The nephrologist is very pleased with his lab results and progress so far. His sister Denise has done really well too. They will both be going back to work in December, and neither one really wants to, but life goes on. It's been a stressful time for me, but I think our relationship has grown stronger.
School is going amazingly well. We did 2 group presentations and a book review for one class, which is over. The other class meets one more time. We had to do a self-assessment for that one, and meet with the professor individually. She asked 10 questions. I expect to have A's in both classes - much easier than my Master's!
Grandchildren - Jack has turned 3. He is less interested in talking to Gran on skype than he used to be. Makes me a little bit sad, but I know he is growing up, and seeing someone on a computer screen is not as good as seeing them in real life.
Clara Beth is a little marvel! She is so independent and laid back - so unlike her brother. I can't wait for us to have "girl times" together - I look forward to those days of makeup, dolls, and dress up. I have 3 wedding gowns here - I remember as a young girl, finding my mom's wedding gown in the attic and playing dress up with it. I'm all in for that!
Cooper is just starting to walk. He is such a happy boy. I so envy his Australian "Nana" who gets to see him whenever she wants. I can only hope to have a good relationship with him, so that he will be comfortable when he visits here.
Work is so difficult this year. We are still seeing the effects of the recession, with more and more families experiencing homelessness. It is heart-rending to hear of 4 unrelated teenagers living in a car together. I wasn't able to attend the NAEHCY conference this year, because of Mike's surgery. That conference always puts things into perspective for me, knowing that so many others share my passion for the work we do.
My mom is having some health issues, as she enters her 80's. Nevertheless, she and Daddy never let their weaknesses define them. They continue to live their lives as they always have, in service to others. My sister Sandi is not only waiting for a liver transplant, but has now been diagnosed with breast cancer. As difficult as this is for me, I realize it's incredibly more difficult for my parents to see their child going through these trials. Their faith sustains us all.
Am I ready for Christmas? Well, in some ways I am. Most of the shopping is done, although there are gifts left to buy. My children and grandchildren are done, so that is the largest part. I guess Mike and I are getting bikes. I'm not all that excited, but if he will be patient with me as I learn to deal with hand brakes and gears, it will be okay. He's never been patient with me in 37 years, but he says he can. We'll see...
Mike had his kidney transplant on October 25. It went really well, and he continues to do well. We've had a few scary moments - when the nurse ordered his blood tests "stat" because she was concerned about his creatinine level; when he started running a fever - but for the most part, things have gone well. The nephrologist is very pleased with his lab results and progress so far. His sister Denise has done really well too. They will both be going back to work in December, and neither one really wants to, but life goes on. It's been a stressful time for me, but I think our relationship has grown stronger.
School is going amazingly well. We did 2 group presentations and a book review for one class, which is over. The other class meets one more time. We had to do a self-assessment for that one, and meet with the professor individually. She asked 10 questions. I expect to have A's in both classes - much easier than my Master's!
Grandchildren - Jack has turned 3. He is less interested in talking to Gran on skype than he used to be. Makes me a little bit sad, but I know he is growing up, and seeing someone on a computer screen is not as good as seeing them in real life.
Clara Beth is a little marvel! She is so independent and laid back - so unlike her brother. I can't wait for us to have "girl times" together - I look forward to those days of makeup, dolls, and dress up. I have 3 wedding gowns here - I remember as a young girl, finding my mom's wedding gown in the attic and playing dress up with it. I'm all in for that!
Cooper is just starting to walk. He is such a happy boy. I so envy his Australian "Nana" who gets to see him whenever she wants. I can only hope to have a good relationship with him, so that he will be comfortable when he visits here.
Work is so difficult this year. We are still seeing the effects of the recession, with more and more families experiencing homelessness. It is heart-rending to hear of 4 unrelated teenagers living in a car together. I wasn't able to attend the NAEHCY conference this year, because of Mike's surgery. That conference always puts things into perspective for me, knowing that so many others share my passion for the work we do.
My mom is having some health issues, as she enters her 80's. Nevertheless, she and Daddy never let their weaknesses define them. They continue to live their lives as they always have, in service to others. My sister Sandi is not only waiting for a liver transplant, but has now been diagnosed with breast cancer. As difficult as this is for me, I realize it's incredibly more difficult for my parents to see their child going through these trials. Their faith sustains us all.
Am I ready for Christmas? Well, in some ways I am. Most of the shopping is done, although there are gifts left to buy. My children and grandchildren are done, so that is the largest part. I guess Mike and I are getting bikes. I'm not all that excited, but if he will be patient with me as I learn to deal with hand brakes and gears, it will be okay. He's never been patient with me in 37 years, but he says he can. We'll see...
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Back to school!
Going back to school - am I insane?!? No, just hoping to increase my salary, and therefore, my retirement income. Our local university has started a cohort program for the Educational Specialist degree in Administration and Supervision. It's not a degree I need, in order to keep my job, but it is the only way for me to get a substantial raise. In education, the only way to make more money is to get another degree, and this seems to make the process as painless as possible. So, here we go!
I went to the organizational meeting in January, and 2 good friends, Leigh and Tommie, were also there. We agreed to stick together, and determined to start this journey. Since that time, both Leigh and Tommie have changed jobs. Leigh took a position with a different school system, and Tommie moved into Leigh's job. Now they both have even more motivation to get this degree. I'm still in it for the money.
This weekend we had our first class. We hadn't heard anything from the professor, so it was with great trepidation that we showed up at the class location on Friday. To our surprise and delight, this first class is mainly a process of gathering paperwork that we already have, and putting it all together into a portfolio, both in a binder and on a flash drive. No papers to write, no research, other than into our own accomplishments. We can do this!
After another 3 hours of class today, I'm excited about the prospect of broadening my perspective on education. I'm the first to admit, everything I see and hear is filtered through the lens of homeless education. Maybe it's time for me to look at the bigger picture, putting my program into that broader perspective, rather than the other way around. I'm ready!
I went to the organizational meeting in January, and 2 good friends, Leigh and Tommie, were also there. We agreed to stick together, and determined to start this journey. Since that time, both Leigh and Tommie have changed jobs. Leigh took a position with a different school system, and Tommie moved into Leigh's job. Now they both have even more motivation to get this degree. I'm still in it for the money.
This weekend we had our first class. We hadn't heard anything from the professor, so it was with great trepidation that we showed up at the class location on Friday. To our surprise and delight, this first class is mainly a process of gathering paperwork that we already have, and putting it all together into a portfolio, both in a binder and on a flash drive. No papers to write, no research, other than into our own accomplishments. We can do this!
After another 3 hours of class today, I'm excited about the prospect of broadening my perspective on education. I'm the first to admit, everything I see and hear is filtered through the lens of homeless education. Maybe it's time for me to look at the bigger picture, putting my program into that broader perspective, rather than the other way around. I'm ready!
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