Blogger Wants to Know If I'm Still Alive

I found out that if you don't post for awhile (okay, for forever), Blogger will send you e-mails to make sure you are still around.  Who knew?!?  Yes, Blogger, I'm alive.  Thanks for checking up on my slacker self!

Since I needed to verify that my heart is indeed still beating, I suppose I should make my check-in worthwhile and actually write something.  Since it has been...cough, a few months, cough, since I've posted anything, I do have things to report. 

I taught summer school (again).  I have new wood floors (not a fun process, but they look nice).  I started grad school (paying for torture).  My roommate moved out (sniff).  A new roommate moved in (yay!).  I wish I could find another roommate but have been unsuccessful (anyone know anyone?).  I tutored a student during the summer (she fills my soul in a way I can't describe).  School started again (best kids and co-teachers ever).  I want to move closer to my sister more than anything, but it's too expensive ($$$).  I have once-and-for-all decided to adopt.  And that is where I will expand some.

As previously noted, I have a great desire to have children.  I have accepted that biologically it isn't going to happen.  It's been a very difficult path to acceptance, although it I will say it helps considerably that I am the biggest pain wuss you'll ever meet.  This was always a possibility for me, but marital circumstances and then divorce nailed that coffin shut.  I have never given up the dream of having children, though.  Whether it was by being a stepmom or through adoption or both, it is something that I have wanted.

Not too long ago I made serious inquiries about international Deaf adoption.  I tried every which way I could think of to make it work, but in the end I just couldn't imagine paying $30,000+ to adopt when we have kids here who need homes and those adoptions are free.  I thought about fostering as a way of dipping my toes in, but in the end I decided what I really want to do is provide a permanent home for kids who otherwise might not find one.  I went to an information meeting and signed up to take the mandatory 35-hour class.

Then school plus grad school started.  I QUICKLY realized I could not do it all.  My plan was always to adopt as close to after grad school as possible but not before. That is December of 2019. I also remembered that adoption licensure has to be maintained.  I have to take 20 hours of classes every year after the first year of licensure.  Since December 2019 is a year and a half away,  I would take the 35 hour class, get my license, and then have to take 20 more hours a year later.  On top of that, this summer I actually don't have any grad school classes because of the way the schedule worked out.  That would be a MUCH better time to take that class.  Taking all of that into consideration, I decided to put my plans on hold.  The only reason I hadn't done so sooner is that I have gone back and forth on this so many times, I didn't want the doubt to creep in yet again.  That and I looked at photo listings and fell in love. But it honestly is not quite the right time.  Close, but not quite.  So the plan is still in place with the original time table.  It will happen.  Just not yet.

June Gloom

In my past life, I lived in Monterey, California for a couple of years.  There is a phenomenon in California knows as the "June Gloom."  Because it rhymes.  Sort of.  Get it???  Due to whatever weather and landform conditions exist there, June and July are the gloomiest months of the year.  Overcast and just sort of icky.  Which always makes locals laugh just a little at tourists' expense because that is high tourist season.  But the worst weather of the year.  It's a cruel trick, really.

As it turns out, every year I have my "June Gloom" experience.  It is, after all, the month of marriages.  Including mine.  It is also about the time of year HeWho asked (rather, demanded) for a divorce.  And in a world of Facebook where we constantly show off only the best parts of our lives, it is a month of anniversary posts.  It is a triggery minefield, and I have a love/hate relationship with them.  I truly do love seeing the happiest moments of my friends' lives.  The pictures are beautiful and full of light, life, and love.  The best parts of the human existence.  Of course, it is the part that no longer exists for me.  I've mostly come to terms with it, but that doesn't make me immune to setbacks.  Every June my own fog comes rolling in, and I tend to wallow in it for a bit.  Until I realize that I am WAY too busy to even maintain a causal online conversation with a man, much less a relationship.  (Grad school is no joke, y'all!)  And I'm okay with that.  Most of the time.

*I just reread the description of this blog.  I claim I'm not letting my divorce define me anymore.  And yet my last few posts are a bit contrary to that bold declaration.  Have no fear...I may have a bit of the June Gloom at the moment, but there are plenty of good things happening as well.  I'll be sure to share some of those things next time!

The Annual Mother's Day Post

I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be a Mother's Day without a post from me about it.  I actually wasn't going to this year.  I've pretty much said what I wanted to in previous posts.  Granted those posts don't exist online anymore because I did a blog reboot, but I still got it out of my system.  Mostly.  I will end this with a bit of a PSA that I like to give regularly.  But really, what drove me to my blog today was my students.

When I got up this morning, I was feeling melancholy but not weepy.  For once, I thought I was going to make it through church with my "public face" intact.  Then, as one of the speakers was up there giving his talk, I started thinking about the kids I do have in my life.  I absolutely despise the "every woman is a mother" line (see PSA at the end), but I do play a very large role in a few special kids' lives.  To understand that role, you need to understand the life of the average deaf American child.  (And possibly other countries.  I just don't know, so I can't speak to that.)

95% of deaf children are born to hearing parents.  And while there are no absolute numbers that I know of, VERY few of these parents learn to sign.  Anyone who is involved with the Deaf community in any way can attest to this.  I can't go into specifics in a public venue due to confidentiality, but suffice it to say I can estimate the number of families that sign, and I would guess it's under 20%. These kids go home and sit at their computers/tablets/phones/TVs in isolation.  That's not a life I even want to imagine living, but it is what I see every day.

This means that as Deaf Educators, we develop relationships with our students that are perhaps even more meaningful than the relationships they have with their families.  Now, it's important to note that most of these parents do clearly love their children.  There are many extenuating circumstances and situations that I probably don't even know about it that are obstacles in learning to sign.  I have some pretty strong opinions on this issue, but I never want to discount the love the parents have their children.  And their children love them in return.  They are family, after all.  But the fact remains that without language, that love is hard to convey.  Those relationships are almost impossible to form.  So when you can communicate clearly with a person, a bond forms.  A bond that has only strengthened for me by virtue of the fact that we have had years together.

Well, this is their 5th grade year.  In just a few weeks, they will be graduating and leaving me.  I knew this was going to be hard for me, but I got a taste of just how hard today at church.  I thought about these students and how deeply I do love them.  I want to take them home with me.  I want to give them all the language and experiences that they are missing out on.  I want to play an even larger role in their lives as they prepare for adulthood.  But the fact is, they are not mine and I can't.  And that hit me in the gut today.  I will see them occasionally over the next few years, but it is almost certain that eventually I will just be a memory for them.  I hope it's a good one, but a memory all the same.  With a prayer and A LOT of determination, I managed to hold it together for the hour I stayed at church.  Then I went home.  It was just too much.  Maybe next year will be the year I stay the entire time.

PSA Time:  Please, please, PLEASE don't tell a childless woman who is hurting that "all women are mothers" or "it takes a village" or anything else along those lines.  I know you think you are offering hope and encouragement, and I do appreciate the feeling behind the words, but the words simply hurt.  I don't want to be a mother figure to someone else's children.  I want my own.  I can't raise a child the way I want to when they belong to someone else.  I do somewhat fill the hole at my core by being an influence in the lives of children, but it is only a partial filling.  They are not mine, as much as I might wish some of them were, and all the words in the world won't change that.   A hug.  A "that would hurt, and I'm sorry you are hurting."  A invitation to do something fun (because singles rarely get invited to do things with the married women and that hurts too).  Those all work.  Empty words really don't.

P.S. to the PSA:  Also, asking if I want to take yours because they are driving you crazy doesn't help either.  I am happy to babysit if I am available.  I do like to use my relative freedom to help those in need.  But you aren't seriously offering me your children.  They are still yours.  And it still hurts that I don't have my own.

Disclaimer to the PSA:  Not every hurting childless woman feels this way.  Some are perfectly fine with the sentiment and even offer it themselves.  (Although that one is hard for me to understand--how do you not know?!?)  But I know many who feel hurt by this.  Those words hurt me, and it's my blog.  So I share.  :)

Puns and Unicycles

I hold a great appreciation for the pun.  The dumber, the better.  I especially like it when I think of a really so-bad-it's-good one myself and crack myself up.  Which leads me to yesterday...

I was reflecting on my life, as I am wont to do at times.  This time I was thinking about the circle of my life.  In high school and college, I was hopelessly awkward and rarely went on dates.  When I went out, it was often as the third wheel.  Somehow I managed to get married (a miracle that baffles me even after the demise of said marriage), and it was good-bye third wheel.  Which was pretty nice.  Third is really not an enviable position to be in.  So then I started down the pity path yet again, and the thought popped in my head that now I'm third wheel again.  Immediately, my silly side derailed that train of thought because the next thought was, "No, you're not a third wheel.  You're a unicycle!"  Now, to some that might sound like a depressing thought, but I seriously laughed at my silly punniness with that one.  And then promptly took my unicycle self out to see Black Panther.  It turns out, the unicycle life has its perks.  One is that you don't have to work around anyone's schedule or wants but your own.  I hadn't seen the movie yet but wanted to.  It was a Saturday night.  So what was stopping me? 

This actually brought me to a moment of awareness of healing.  It caused another reflection of the last time I tried going to a movie alone.  I was in the midst of the divorce process and fighting against it HARD--and hitting a pretty painful brick wall now known as the ex.  I was working in a school, and at that time all anyone was talking about was the movie Frozen.  I really wanted to see it but had no one to see it with.  I decided that I needed to learn to do things alone anyway, so I went.  It was a disaster.  I was the only childless adult there, and I cried the whole time.  I was a wreck!  And I never went to a movie alone for the next 4 years.

Last night was my first new attempt.  I went to a church youth fundraiser for dinner and then left early to catch the movie.  I enjoyed every minute of it.  Well...almost every minute.  There were some political anvils I didn't care for very much.  But putting that aside, I am a big fan of the comic book movie, and this one did not disappoint.  And being an action movie, it got my blood pumping a bit so I decided upon getting home at 10:00 pm I should put that to good use and get a short spin workout in.  So I did.  Very not my usual weekend activity/bedtime, but it worked for me.  I was so proud of myself.  This really was quite a milestone for me.  And I get to do it all again this next weekend when I go see Infinity War.  I thought about seeing if any of my friends wanted to go, but tickets are actually a bit hard to come by right now, and I REALLY must know who is dies RIGHT AWAY!  So score a point for the single ticket...much easier to buy than a pair or group...Unicycle for the win!

It's Okay to Cry...Really

One thing I've thought a lot about over the last 4 years is the importance of being allowed to feel things.  I truly believe that societally we have stunted personal growth by making it unacceptable to express true emotions in public.  We women have it better than men, at least, but even we are expected to reign it in and put on a happy face for the world.  I often think about this at church, because it is where I do most of my public crying.  I hate it.  But I shouldn't hate it.  It's the real me.  On Sundays I think the Spirit is closer, and the Spirit is a thing of emotion.  It makes sense that we would be more vulnerable on that day.  Add to that the fact that mine is a church of couples and families, and it can be tough.  Really tough.  Then the tears start, the embarrassment follows, and I wonder why I ever even left my house.  I end up spending the rest of my time reassuring people that I am actually okay when I'm not really.  Not completely.  But everyone wants to think I'm doing okay, so I give them what they want.

The problem is, how is this helping me?  How is this helping the people in my life know what is truly going on in my life so I can get the help I need?  How is this helping others know that they aren't the only ones going through tough times?  One thing that gives me joy when I might not otherwise feel it is helping others.  If I can help those who might need to cry on the shoulder of someone who truly gets it, I feel like my pain has a greater purpose.  We need to learn to be more comfortable with the wide variety of emotions that life causes.  We need to let people be vulnerable.  We need to truly mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.  We need to let people feel safe enough to cry.

Be the Change

Deaf students have challenges.  From Gallaudet University Press: 

Most Deaf and hard of hearing children have parents who are not Deaf or hard of hearing. According to Mitchell and Karchmer (2004), 92% of Deaf children are from families with two hearing parents, and 8% have at least one Deaf or hard of hearing parent. Only 4% of children have two Deaf parents. The high percentage of Deaf children with hearing parents is significant for several reasons. Although a signed language may be the most logical choice for a student who cannot hear a spoken language, most hearing parents with a Deaf child do not know sign language. Some researchers suggest that “young deaf children of hearing parents frequently do not have any truly accessible and competent language models, either for sign language or for spoken language” (Marschark, Lang, & Albertini, 2002, p. 12).

(More Than Meets the Eye:  Revealing the Complexities of an Interpreted Education)

Good numbers simply do not seem to exist, but very, very few hearing parents with deaf children sign at home.  Deaf children often do not have consistent access to language until they enter the school system, which at its earliest is typically 3 years old.  As it turns out, the ages 0-3 are some of the most critical years for language acquisition and development.  Even then, they still don't have the access at home that their hearing peers do.  This creates significant social and academic delays, to say the least.  My job as their teacher is to figure out how to overcome those delays, and it is a daunting task.  Insurmountable, at times, and certainly frustrating.  We as teachers have so much influence but so little at the same time.

I, with my colleagues, have often bemoaned the disadvantages our students have as well as the effect that has on us as teachers.  But now that I am halfway through my 3rd year, complaining about things that are not in my control is not productive and something I don't care to engage in anymore.  Those complaints aren't going away, and I can't pretend that I will never do it again, but I ache for something more.  A solution I can be a part of.  

So I turned to research.  Lots of googling.  Lots of reading.  Lots of frustration again, but this time it is because the research just does not seem to have what I am looking for.  There are pieces here and there, and certainly some good ideas I hope to implement.  But the research-based, large-scale impactful changes are lacking.  I have talked with like-minded coworkers to see what they are studying, and they seem to be in the same boat.  The buzzword these days is research-based best practices, and it's a buzzword for a good reason.  We want to make sure we are not doing simply what is good for our students but what is best, and the way to go about sifting through all that is out there is through data.  But what do you do if the data isn't there?  How did the pioneers get the data in the first place?  Where does this research actually come from?

All of these frustrations and questions have brought me to my post title:  Be the Change.  This was already a bit of a mantra for me within the work I do to improve life for singles in Houston.  I am now thinking it might be time to apply it to my professional life.  If the research doesn't exist, then perhaps I need to change that.  Perhaps it is time to consider doing it myself.  I can't even express how much fear that instills in me.  It would require at the least a certification but preferably a masters.  I don't really want to go back to school.  I enjoy NOT working and being a student at the same time.  It is also a math-heavy program, which is not my forte.  My top fear is money.  I have other places that I want that money to go to.  I am enjoying fixing up my house the way I want it, and I don't really want to stop doing that.  And yet maybe I am being called to serve the people I love in a different way.  Maybe I am being called to serve in a way that will leave a true legacy...

Obstacles In My Way...To The Bathroom

Thanks to some bad weather and a school cancellation, I actually have some time to look at my blog again...how was my last post in November?  Is that even possible???  I really need to find a regular time to do this...

It's time to get real about one of the less polite realities of life:  the inconvenience of having to go to the bathroom.  Especially when at a movie.  For some reason, my bladder has the uncanny ability to know when I'm at a movie and decides that's a problem. Every. Single. Time.  I can drink nothing for hours beforehand.  I will still need to interrupt my movie.  I can go before leaving the house and right when I get there and still, movie interrupted.  Of course, this doesn't happen at home when "pause" is an option.  Nope.  Only at the movie theater.  And always about 3/4 of the way through.  So the exciting part.

Recently I went to see "Jumanji" with my mom.  Of course, at the final climactic scene (about 30 minutes to the end), that familiar sensation hit.  I refused to give in.  I literally sat at the edge of my seat and danced in it up until the end.  The credits hit, and I shot up.  People were standing and chatting to my left.  Okay, that's the fastest way to the door but the right is an option as well.  I look to my right.  Same.  Frustration and fear of impending disaster started to bubble up.  I resolved not to give in--a solution would be found!  I (politely) pushed my way through the people on my right--including my mother--and practically ran down the steps.

From there I still had a turn to the left and a bit of a walk to get to the door.  I made that turn and saw, again, a crowd of people causally talking and SLOWLY walking to the door.  Whatever.  I'm a small person and am actually quite adept at weaving in a crowd of people.  I can find all the small spaces to squeeze through.  Seriously.  Ask my roommate.  She and her boyfriend were impressed at a concert we went to together.  ANYWAY, I get down there, start plotting out my path, and a lady pulled out her walker.  Her walker!!! In my way!!!  I can't run the risk of mowing down an older woman with a walker!  So I continued my potty dance until I could find a way around this mindfield.  And find it I did.  Until...

I turn into the bathroom and see a line.  Of children.  I don't think there was an adult in that line.  At this point I really was courting disaster.  I REALLY wanted to run those kids over to get to the front of the line.  I was so close to doing it.  Then I thought of how that would look on the news.  "Teacher of Children Maims Them Rushing to the Front of the Line."  Not good.  I am pretty sure my posture looked like a balloon that just popped.  All the air rushed out of me and I just sagged with the weight of my fate.  Then I turned around...

And angels started singing.  All the lights in the hallway dimmed except one:  the one that says "Restrooms" at the other end of the small theater.  The air was back in my balloon.  I practically skipped my way over to the line-less bathroom.  And I am happy to report, this story had a happy ending!