Nightmare

I'm at work, trying diligently to juggle the aspects of my job description: assessment and evaluation, report writing, meetings, writing Individual Education Plans, returning phone calls from desperate parents, meeting with 80 students a week and trying to address their individual needs, consulting with parents and teachers, collecting behavioral data and graphing it, and bucket loads of paper work. All this while preparing for an audit and trying to renew my license. I become aware that I have no office and my principal gives me a student desk and says I can have a space in a third grade classroom. I choose a place in the back and try to get to work in spite of teacher instruction and 30 students talking to me. One of the legs on the desk collapses and so does my patience. I run out of the classroom and find the principal in the hall. I demand to have an office and he lets me scream at him while he walks down the hall but he gives me the stink eye. He then sees two plants and he asks me what is wrong with them, they don't look so good. I cease my diatribe and focus on the plants. He walks away. I continue my angry quest. I am more important than this! (Or not?) I go up to the room that was initially designated as my office, a spacious room with a view. There is another school psychologist that I know working there. There is no furniture. and she is shuffling some papers. She, unlike myself, is happy. I start my rant, using my "I Statements." The principal and the head of the District Appeals Committee show up and say I can have half of her office. (my office)

Interpretation: I have felt overwhelmed at work to the point of freaking out. Demands are becoming impossible because of an ever increasing focus on data driven intervention and law suit prevention. The necessary paper trails, and their required perfection, even though I understand the importance of them, are humanly impossible to create. Audits and evaluations loom over our heads. My other responsibilities have also become more demanding. More children are coming to school with more serious problems. They arrive at school with heartbreakingly impossible situations in their lives. Meanwhile the resources of the District to adequately address these additional needs, remain the same.

Some school districts have school psychologists to do assessments and evaluation, and counselors to do the counseling. This is sounding more attractive to me. Jordan District uses School Psychologists to fulfill both these roles.

In reality, I have the best, most supportive principal I have ever had, a brand new school with a lovely large office and a dream of a team with which to work. The rest of the dream, the nightmare part, is accurate. The day before Christmas break, my principal came to my office and asked how I was holding up. He told me that there was no wonder we were all overwhelmed. He had just made a list off the top of his head, of the students with severe disciplinary and psychological needs. There were twenty-nine and some of my caseload was not on his list. Before the day was done, we added two more. I hope that my nightmare pushed the reset button of my psyche and I am ready to go back and face my challenges with renewed energy and optimism.

I'll bet the plants died.

1980

When Michael and Noelle were teeny, the Equal Rights Amendment was an issue in the forefront. Its existence caused great alarm in the Mormon community and I was a victim of the scare tactics. Stories of women in foxholes were almarming, tand he feminists seemed like crazed demon-women, bra burnings were humiliating. To my way of thinking the feminists were not very feminine. Were these women really female? They were a different brand, that's for sure. It was a very polarizing, emotional issue. Not one woman I knew, including myself, supported the ERA and we were quite emotional about it, yes even crazed. There was a woman from Nampa named Helen Roelofs who wrote shocking, pro-ERA articles in the Idaho Statesman. I couldn't stand it. I wrote a Letter-to-the Editor in regards to one of her articles. It took me forever to compose and I thought it was a masterpiece. It was very emotional. You could hear the sobbing in the background by reading the letter. I was so proud when my opinion that a woman's place was at home raising children and supporting a husband was printed in the newspaper. A few days later to my surprise, Helen Roelofs called me. What a gracious, articulate woman she was. She thanked me for my response to her article and we chatted for awhile. I was confused. Helen Roelofs wasn't a crazed demon-woman. She was intelligent, mature and gentle. I went to the library and checked out a book, Having it All, by Helen Gourley Brown, a prominent businesswoman and feminist. I loved it, but now that I am older and wiser, I realize that women shouldn't have to have the impossible burden of thinking they can have it all. Why can't we just have what we want?

Spiritual Life History Part 1

I cried when I was confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The Baptism didn't effect me as much as the Confirmation. When someone is confirmed in our Church, many men form a circle around you and place a hand on your head and one of them gives you a blessing and confirms you a member of the Church. My Father gave me the blessing. This was such a powerful experience that after it was over I ran crying to my mother on the front row.

Max

Max is a third grade autistic student that I have known for three years. He is difficult. He doesn't want to participate in group activities, is devastated when he loses a game, and whines and complains the entire time. He spends most of the time with his head laid on the table, or his entire body under the table. Just a few days ago I told a colleague that I hadn't seen any progress with Max and was discouraged. This week I was making a video for the morning announcements. It was a skit modeling a social skill, and against my better judgement, I asked Max to be in it. He said he didn't want to. I said, "I don't care, you are student #4." So we practiced and the more he practiced the better he became. He was actually cooperating and following directions. When the camera girls came, he performed beautifully. I was amazed! Later I learned that he was so excited about doing the skit, he told everyone he saw! The cockles of my heart are warm.

Happy Game

I love being a school psychologist because I am a moody person and when I'm down, I follow my own advice and do mood elevators in my groups. Sometimes I do yoga stretches, deep breathing and meditative visualization. Last week I was a little down so when the cute little boys came for group, I suggested we play the Happy Game. We went around the table and told about things that make us happy. We did this for the entire time and those little guys thought of the most wonderful things. I did, too. When it was time for them to leave, a little autistic boy, not giving me eye contact said, "I like the Happy Game." It made me feel better, too.

It snowed today. It's cold, and windy. Last winter was dismal and lasted well into Spring. Winter seemed claustrophobic last year. We're probably not moving to Redwood City, California which was on the Top 5 Climates in the World, no less. So I'm trying to brainstorm ideas to make winter tolerable. Here goes:

1) Go outside anyway.
2) Eat winter foods
3) Light a fire
4) Enjoy winter clothing
5) Write
6) Meet up with friends
7) Have a summer hobby and.......a winter hobby.
8) Observe the weather, it's fascinating

The Pink Dress and the Snorting Contortionist

I snoop in thrift stores and cheapy stores and in these environments, creativity just oozes out of every pore. Take, for example, my pink dress. I found a long flouncy lace pink dress at the thrift store, and it took my breath away. I guess it spoke to my inner 60's flower child, but, ugly and outdated, I had to have it. First of all I cut off all those multicolored lace roses that served as buttons, because even with out the buttons, this dress is ridiculous. Then I took about five inches out of the sleeves, which made them more snug and and appropriate for this decade, if that is possible. Since then, whenever I shop, which is often, I have finding accessories to go with this dress in the back or front of my mind at all times. I have found some fabulous things. A Tommy Hilfiger denim vest that will lower the gook and raise the funky quotient of the dress. A muted pink and grey plaid cowboy shirt to wear under the vest. I found, get this, a pink sparkly animal print belt that looks absolutely stunning with the garb. Two scarves, and a grey sweatshirt for less formal occasions. I have been into the pink-dress-zone so deeply I forgot to notice that it didn't come with an under slip, so I shopped for something creative to wear underneath to make it modest. Actually you would have to be somewhat of a show off to wear this get-up, but not wearing anything under the dress would be crossing the line even for me. I settled on a long black slip. Sizzle. I'm having a more difficult time with shoes. If I were really brave I would wear high-topped Converses, but maybe I will just settle for some glitzy flip flops.

Once when Miriam had just come home from Spain, we went to the library together. We each went our way. I found a book about dogs and something funny made me want to laugh out loud. But, dang it, I was in the library so I tried to stifle it. That made it worse. It was so hilarious that my stifled laugh came out sounding a lot like a pig snorting. Which made me laugh and snort so hard, tears started streaming down my cheeks. Of course, I wanted to share all this hilarity with my daughter so I stood up and started walking toward her, snorting all the way. It was so funny that I had to cross my legs and bend over to keep from peeing my pants. Miriam said she heard the strangest loud noise in the library, and when she looked up to see what it was, to her alarm, it was her mother walking toward her, bent over, cross-legged and snorting like a pig with tears running down her face. She paused. She couldn't decide if there was something wrong with me and that she should get me to a hospital, or if I had completely gone off my rocker and she should get me to a hospital. She thought about calmly getting up and walking out of the library, not acknowledging any relationship with the snorting, contorted, crying woman. But, bless her heart, she accepted the humiliation of being my daughter to see if I was OK. I showed her the joke. "It's not funny, mom."

I think if I wore the pink dress in public, it would cause a similar reaction from my loved ones.