Who could I be talking about but my darling Gus? Almost from the day he was born, Gus has taken me to new places. Before Gus, I had thought parenting at times could be extremely challenging, but I soon learned I hadn't seen anything yet when my youngest boy became colicky at four weeks old. For sometimes three or four hours a night, Gus would howl inconsolably.
After the colic cleared, we had a few months' respite ... until Gus became mobile. A walker at 10 months old, Gus quickly became a climber. We have had to purchase every child-proofing contraption imaginable - locks of every kind - door knob, Lazy Susan, oven. We never needed these devices before Hurricane Gus.
When Gus turned 2, it seemed that things were improving a bit. Toys and activities could hold his interest for longer periods of time. He was still climbing, but less. Just when I was breathing a tiny sigh of relief, Gus devised new ways of torturing me. Here's a sampling of his latest tricks. He pushes toys over to the computer desk to give himself a boost so he can climb up and do a little victory dance on top of our desk. He loves to "help" me cook, so I can't so much as go to the bathroom without hearing the squeak of a chair being pushed over to the counter.
Gus's pièce de résistance, however, has been his discovery of the joys of taking off his diaper. "Go potty!" he'll exclaim. Naturally, I've set him on the toilet many times, and of course he never goes. When I tell people this, they tell me it's great, that he's showing potty-training readiness. At the risk of sounding like a completely unmotivated parent, I don't feel like potty-training him right now. I just want him to keep his diaper on! He can get a onesie open in no time flat, and he's been taking off his diaper a good dozen or more times a day. The worst part is that he's especially prone to doffing his diaper when it's filled with poop. I finally hit my limit and after lots of Googling discovered the Little Keeper Sleeper, escape-proof baby pajamas. The two pairs I ordered arrived yesterday. Hallelujah! He will be wearing his LKSs every day under his clothes. Let's hope they work, otherwise the you-know-what might just hit the fan.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
So, you can't be good at everything
It was last spring that I saw that our church was in need of faith formation teachers. I know it's perpetually hard for them to find enough teachers, and though the idea of it made me more than a little nervous, I decided to volunteer. I had envisioned maybe teaching Ben's third-grade class. Or if not that, I would have liked to teach first- or second-graders, an age group that's not too jaded yet and, let's face it, not too old to resent having to come to religious ed after putting in a full day at school. So when I got the call from the director asking me to teach fourth grade, the kids were a little older than I wanted, but I could handle it, I thought. Little did I know.
When I went into this, I thought it would be pretty straightforward, that we would have very precise lesson plans made for us that would take us through the hour of teaching each night. However, when I arrived, I quickly realized I was mistaken. Other teachers began talking about how they had their classes singing and dancing, doing all kinds of fun activities they had devised. I most definitely am not the singing and dancing type. I began to think that maybe this endeavor was more than I had bargained for, not because it's unreasonable to ask that much of me as a teacher, just because I didn't feel up for that at this time in my life.
Then I saw my class list. My class had 12 kids and was growing. I had been hoping for something more in the realm of eight, or maybe 10. By the time the first night rolled around, I was getting a little worried, but I convinced myself that it was just a case of the jitters, and I would be fine. I had read through everything and felt reasonably prepared. I do get nervous talking in front of a group, but I had reasoned that these were kids, different from the angst I feel with public speaking to a group of peers.
When I arrived Wednesday night, my class had ballooned to 14, they had moved my class into a double room with two large tables, and they had added an aide for me. All of these factors made me nervous. I don't have a loud speaking voice, and now my meek voice would have to carry even farther. I was grateful for the addition of the aide, but somehow it also contributed to my anxiety. Now I would be performing in front of a peer too. What if I sounded like an idiot?
Class started out well enough. We went around the room and introduced ourselves, shared something fun we did over the summer. Then the lesson began, and the night began its descent into the abyss of awfulness. I had the class begin to go through our readings for the night. I'd read through them but hadn't thought of how dry they would seem to the kids, hadn't thought of ways to embellish and thoughtful questions to ask the kids. It was too late for me to come up with anything, as I was now completely flustered. So onward I plowed, droning on and on. "Maybe now is a good time to stop and go through the key words," my aide added helpfully. Duh, yes, of course it was, but darn if I had come up with any good ideas.
I haven't even gotten to the kids. One boy was a really nice kid who probably also has ADHD. He talked non-stop from the beginning of class to the end. "Everyone says I have a big mouth," he babbled. I had to agree. At one point, he took out a cell phone and began to try to play games on it. Really, parents? You let your child bring a cell phone? Another group of boys talked amongst themselves the entire time. Then there was a cute tomboy girl who Big Mouth accidentally called a boy. "Dude, that's a girl," another boy said. I guess the tomboy had every right at that point to be disaffected, and boy was she ever. She did not want to be there. All night, she scribbled furiously in her book. I looked down and noticed that she had written "R U Dead," next to a picture of Jesus. The kids were doing some writing and I went over to the tomboy and said, per the written question, "Imagine you are walking with Jesus, what is he saying to you?" I asked this question in a sunny voice that belied the mounting panic I was feeling. She wasn't buying it. "He doesn't even know me," she mumbled. This. Was. Not. Going. Well.
I think it was the group of kids who were actually trying to be engaged for whom I felt most badly. I could hardly even pay attention to them. I've always respected teachers, and now I do more than ever. How do they do it day after day with all those needs and personalities? I couldn't manage for one measly hour, one night, with HALF the number of kids most teachers have to teach.
The night careened to its horrible end. I am not exaggerating when I say I did a woefully bad job. I was ready to beg out of this commitment. Lucky for me, the director of faith formation is kind and helpful, and she wanted to help me find a solution. So now the class has been split into two. I think I've come up with some ideas that will make me more comfortable with teaching my smaller group. But if you're inclined to do so, offer up some prayers for me to be a good teacher. God knows I need them.
When I went into this, I thought it would be pretty straightforward, that we would have very precise lesson plans made for us that would take us through the hour of teaching each night. However, when I arrived, I quickly realized I was mistaken. Other teachers began talking about how they had their classes singing and dancing, doing all kinds of fun activities they had devised. I most definitely am not the singing and dancing type. I began to think that maybe this endeavor was more than I had bargained for, not because it's unreasonable to ask that much of me as a teacher, just because I didn't feel up for that at this time in my life.
Then I saw my class list. My class had 12 kids and was growing. I had been hoping for something more in the realm of eight, or maybe 10. By the time the first night rolled around, I was getting a little worried, but I convinced myself that it was just a case of the jitters, and I would be fine. I had read through everything and felt reasonably prepared. I do get nervous talking in front of a group, but I had reasoned that these were kids, different from the angst I feel with public speaking to a group of peers.
When I arrived Wednesday night, my class had ballooned to 14, they had moved my class into a double room with two large tables, and they had added an aide for me. All of these factors made me nervous. I don't have a loud speaking voice, and now my meek voice would have to carry even farther. I was grateful for the addition of the aide, but somehow it also contributed to my anxiety. Now I would be performing in front of a peer too. What if I sounded like an idiot?
Class started out well enough. We went around the room and introduced ourselves, shared something fun we did over the summer. Then the lesson began, and the night began its descent into the abyss of awfulness. I had the class begin to go through our readings for the night. I'd read through them but hadn't thought of how dry they would seem to the kids, hadn't thought of ways to embellish and thoughtful questions to ask the kids. It was too late for me to come up with anything, as I was now completely flustered. So onward I plowed, droning on and on. "Maybe now is a good time to stop and go through the key words," my aide added helpfully. Duh, yes, of course it was, but darn if I had come up with any good ideas.
I haven't even gotten to the kids. One boy was a really nice kid who probably also has ADHD. He talked non-stop from the beginning of class to the end. "Everyone says I have a big mouth," he babbled. I had to agree. At one point, he took out a cell phone and began to try to play games on it. Really, parents? You let your child bring a cell phone? Another group of boys talked amongst themselves the entire time. Then there was a cute tomboy girl who Big Mouth accidentally called a boy. "Dude, that's a girl," another boy said. I guess the tomboy had every right at that point to be disaffected, and boy was she ever. She did not want to be there. All night, she scribbled furiously in her book. I looked down and noticed that she had written "R U Dead," next to a picture of Jesus. The kids were doing some writing and I went over to the tomboy and said, per the written question, "Imagine you are walking with Jesus, what is he saying to you?" I asked this question in a sunny voice that belied the mounting panic I was feeling. She wasn't buying it. "He doesn't even know me," she mumbled. This. Was. Not. Going. Well.
I think it was the group of kids who were actually trying to be engaged for whom I felt most badly. I could hardly even pay attention to them. I've always respected teachers, and now I do more than ever. How do they do it day after day with all those needs and personalities? I couldn't manage for one measly hour, one night, with HALF the number of kids most teachers have to teach.
The night careened to its horrible end. I am not exaggerating when I say I did a woefully bad job. I was ready to beg out of this commitment. Lucky for me, the director of faith formation is kind and helpful, and she wanted to help me find a solution. So now the class has been split into two. I think I've come up with some ideas that will make me more comfortable with teaching my smaller group. But if you're inclined to do so, offer up some prayers for me to be a good teacher. God knows I need them.
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