On a Soapbox

I’ve been missing in action again, and that is because I have been focusing on everything but stamping and writing lately.

Two weekends ago, we had our master bedroom and another bedroom painted.  If you don’t think that was a mess, well then…  It took the painters two days to get the two rooms done and me another week to get them put back together.

In the process, a local school district called me about a possible long-term substitute assignment beginning April 27 and ending May 28.  I agreed to a one week trial (my thinking) since I knew I was qualified for the position.  In Colorado, a long-term substitute (longer than 10 days) must be highly qualified to teach the subject in which they will be substituting.  This was a 7th grade Language Arts position in a very low-income middle school.   If I remember correctly, the school’s exact words were, “So we will schedule you for a week and we will see how it goes after that.”  What I heard was, “This might be a tough assignment, so if you don’t want it at the end of the week, we will understand.” The sub they had initially lined up for the job decided he/she didn’t want to do it after all.    I spoke with the teacher with which I would be teaming and she said there had been several subs in the position since the beginning of April.  The students hadn’t had any consistency since their regular teacher left on maternity leave.

Let me clarify something…Low income meant nothing for me; it didn’t scare me.  I spent my entire public school teaching career teaching in a low-income middle school.  Eighty-six percent of the students in this school qualified for free and reduced lunches in 2014.  Forty- four percent of the student population of the school from which I retired qualified for the same program.  The ethnicity of the student population in my old school was also very diverse just like the school I was planning to work in for the next five weeks.  I didn’t know any of these statistics when I agreed to the assignment. I only knew where the school was located in town and knew that it was low income with a very diverse ethnic population. I don’t like going into anything with a pre-conceived notion.

During my time as a teacher, I never had any severe behavior issues with my students.  They were good kids that knew the value of a dollar because they learned its value from their parents.  The majority of their parents were hard-working blue-collar adults that were doing the best they could for their kids, like my family when I was growing up.  Most of my students earned everything they had.  I taught advanced kids, and I taught kids below their grade level.  On a few occasions during my last year the behavior of some of the students in one of my classes prevented me from teaching, but for the most part, I never really had any behavior issues.  I was out for a day or two here and there and had to get a sub to cover my classes.  I remember one time a few of my students decided, they would act up with the sub, and the consequences were severe from both the building administration and from me because I had pre-warned them.  The deal was always, “get in trouble with a sub; get in trouble with me.”

Anyway, to make a long story, which has already gone on too long short, by the end of the week, I decided not to return to the long-term position.  The students’ behavior was reprehensible, to say the least.  I was hardly ever able to teach because of it.  I spent most of my time trying to get the students to listen to me.  Not all were this way, but the majority was.  I even had one tell me to “shut-up.”  He didn’t like the fact that I was asking him to stop talking so I could teach, so he told me, “Why don’t you shut-up?”  Another told me I was “stupid.”  Finally, the student who told me to shut-up then attempted to tell me the reason the students talked back to subs was because they were, “advanced students and bored.” “You haven’t taught us anything new!” he exclaimed.  I told him to tell himself whatever he needed to justify his poor behavior, but I  taught advanced students before and I know what advanced student behavior looks like.  It is always easier to blame our actions on something or someone else than to take responsibility for ourselves.

By the end of the week, I told the principal that I would not be back.    He understood my reasoning perfectly well.  Funny thing is, I was offered the position again via the district’s automatic sub caller for this week.  Needless to say, I turned it down.  Now I know why the original substitute and all of the others that came before me did not stay.

Here is my question.  Why?  Why do the kids in this school behave so poorly? Here is what I think.  I think student behavior relates to parental involvement. I think the rate of parental involvement goes up with the amount of education and financial means of parents.  I don’t think it is a good enough excuse, but that is what I think.  I wish someone would do a study on this.  Maybe someone already has.

As I raised my children, I felt their behavior reflected directly on me. You know the old saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”  I had a university professor tell me once that if I ever wanted to know why a child was they way he or she was to look at his parents.  If my kids learned good manners at home, they would use them elsewhere.  If they didn’t, they would have to answer to me.  That is what my parents taught me.  My parents weren’t educated by today’s standards.  Neither one of them went to high school!  I probably would have qualified for free and reduced lunch when I was a kid.  I never told any of my teachers they should shut up or they were stupid…not aloud anyway.

As a single mother, I was low-income, and my children qualified for free and reduced lunch.  They never told any of their teachers to shut up or they were stupid because if they had, they would not have lived to tell about it.  They may have acted up at home, but when they were away from home, they were expected to behave appropriately.  I had a friend tell another friend of mine once he thought my children were afraid of me.  Her response was, “She is their parent, not their friend.”  I think children need to be a little afraid of their parents.  I don’t mean kids should be afraid because their parents abuse them, but afraid because their parents give them negative consequences because of poor choices they might make.

I am off my soapbox and ready to share my project. 🙂

Today’s creation is done using a piece of the Moonlight Designer Series Paper Stack and two current stamp sets found in the Occasions Catalog; Crazy About You and Butterfly Basics.  I also cheated a little on this card and used an already retired item.  I used the spriting tool we used to have with the Hello Honey Stampin’ Write Marker to spritz the background of the card.  Hope you like it.

Mom's BirthdayI had to fussy cut the flowers, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.  I also used only a small piece of the Striped Scallop I cut out using the Striped Scallop Thinlit Die.

Hope you enjoyed your visit today.  Until next time…

Happy Stamping!

Josie2

Best Breakfast

Some of the best memories I have of my children are from when I was a single mom and struggling financially.  That’s because when you don’t have much money, you have to get creative in order to make $1.00 buy what normally would take $2.00 to get.  One way I used to save money was to use the ends of loaves of bread to make breadcrumbs.  The kids refused to eat the ends on a sandwich, and I wasn’t very crazy about them myself, so I used to set them on a cookie sheet in the oven and let them dry out.  Once dry, I’d crumble them, add seasoning, and I never had to buy breadcrumbs.   And, I didn’t waste those two perfectly good pieces of bread.  Now if it were homemade bread from my mom’s table, we would have fought over who got to eat those ends, but this was plain white sliced bread from the grocery store.  So, what does this have to do with the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten?  Let me tell you…

One of the best gifts I ever received from both my children was on Mother’s Day morning in 1993; my first Mother’s Day as a single mother.  It was breakfast in bed.  My daughter was 9 years old and my son was six.  In retrospect, my mind remembers my children as being much younger than nine and six, but still…they were pretty young. On their own, my two young children prepared and served me breakfast in bed.

I didn’t hear them that morning  as I slept soundly.  I awoke to their soft whispers of “Mom…wake up.  Happy Mother’s Day!”

As I opened my eyes, there stood my two beautiful bare-footed and sandy-haired babies in their pajamas holding a tray containing the breakfast they made for me.  On the cookie sheet that doubled as a serving tray, there was a cup of hot black (lukewarm and light brown) coffee, toast (bread that had been sitting on a cookie sheet drying out so I could make breadcrumbs) with butter and jelly, a bowl of instant oatmeal (made with a little too much water), and juice.  Everything “looked” delicious!  I made sure I ate every bite!  In addition, with each bite I told my children how much I love them. I also made sure I mentioned that this breakfast was the most delicious breakfast I had ever had.

That breakfast was 21 years ago.  Today my babies aren’t babies any more.  My daughter is 30 years old and my son will soon be 28.  We’ve celebrated many other Mother’s Day breakfasts together at some very fancy places, and I cherish those times.  I cherish any time I get to spend with my children. But, no coffee has ever tasted richer, no bread ever sweeter than that Mother’s Day breakfast in bed!

Today’s card is one I made using the leftovers from my Perpetual Birthday Calendar kit.

Perpetual Birthday Calendar Note CardAgain, this is a 3-1/2″ x 5″ notecard, but it can be easily turned into a regular size card.  Hope you enjoyed your visit today.  Until next time…

Happy Stamping!

Josie2

Place an order using hostess code FDHBZ7W9 in my online store and receive my Painted Petals & Blooms tutorial FREE.

Getting Off A High Horse

Last weekend, my husband and I along with friends visited Estes Park, Colorado. Estes Park is the home of the headquarters for Rocky Mountain National Park.  I would have to say that Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park are two of my most favorite places to visit in Colorado.  The town has a population of about 6,000 and it is a popular place for visitors during the summer.  It is probably popular because of the park, which is a great place to camp and admire nature.  I have been there many times to do both.   Although we did not camp this time, we did visit Bear Lake in the park. In addition, we strolled along main street and visited many of the specialty shops Estes Park has to offer.  We also planned a little horseback riding expedition on Sunday morning.  We had an excellent dinner Saturday evening at Smokin’ Dave’s BBQ & Taphouse with our friends.

Sunday morning, as we were waiting for everyone in the group to arrive at the ranch where we planned on riding, I happened to mention to the woman in charge of the event that I was always a little nervous when I rode a horse. To be honest, horses frighten me.  They are bigger and stronger than I am, and what frightens me is that I might lose control of the horse.   I told her that I had ridden several times before. I mentioned I always felt a little frightened of the horses. As a matter of fact, one of the times I went horseback riding when I was younger, it was at night and my horse got a little frightened by something and took off running, or galloping and I was knocked off the horse when it ran under a tree and I was struck by a low hanging branch.  I told her I was not hurt, but I was frightened to death.  Just as an aside, in my life whenever I have enjoyed doing things, it seems something has always happened to take just a little bit of the joy out of it.  Falling off that horse took some of the joy out of riding.  I know when you fall off you are supposed to get right back on, and I did.  Nevertheless, it still scares the bejesus out of me.  As I was showering that morning I was wondering why I agreed to horseback riding this weekend in the first place.

While conversing with this woman, the wranglers start bringing the horses to the corral. I comment on one of the horses being pretty and she says, “That’s Pearl.  She has been with us about 20 years.”  I could see over Pearl.  She was light chocolate-brown in color and petite and about four hands tall. That would be 4 feet in regular language because one hand is equal to four inches. One measures a horse’s height from the ground to the top of its shoulder. I said, “That’s what I need.  A horse that’s small, and old, and slow…just like me!”  We had a good laugh together.   I am 5 feet tall and you could say…older.  J  Notice I did not say old.  Ninety is old, and I have a way to go before I am 90!

Finally, the wrangler in charge of our party starts assigning horses. He mentions we needed to remember our horse’s name because that would be the one we would be riding.  My friend Karen, about my height, gets a horse first.  The wrangler says, “Karen, you will be riding Pearl.”

“Okay,” I am thinking, “I am cool with that. There are other small horses.”

Everyone has a horse when he finally looks at my husband and me. If you know my husband, you know he has a slight physical handicap, but nothing that keeps him from being active. It does make it difficult for him do some things, but it does not stop him from trying.  My husband is about 5’10” and he gets Dillon, a big horse.  My husband and I exchange quick glances.

The head wrangler looks as me and says, “Ma’am, you will be riding Oleo.”

“Okay.” All the smaller horses assigned, I ask, “Which one is Oleo?”  .

“This is Oleo, Ma’am,” says another wrangler. “He is my horse.”  I could tell by the way he said, “He is my horse” that this man truly loved this creature.”  I almost felt guilty for having to ride him.  Who was I to come between a man and his horse?

I look at Oleo who is a beautiful golden brown color and bigger than a house! My husband says teasingly, “Oh, Josie. Oleo?  Smooth like butter.  You are going to slide off!”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie.” He knew I was a little nervous because I had told him so earlier.

Oleo stood about 17.75 hands tall. That is taller than I am! I mentioned earlier that I am only 15 hands tall (60” or 5’).   I am not exaggerating when I say I COULD NOT see over Oleo!

The wrangler asks, “Can you put your left foot into the stirrup, and I will help you mount?”

Seriously? I respond, “Ahhhh, No!” I have not been able to elevate my leg so my foot would be even with my head since I taught aerobics when I was in my 30’s.  Even then, I was not able to do that without any kind of trouble.  I have never really been THAT flexible.

He says, “Let’s go over to the steps then.”

HELLO! I am assessing the situation to myself, “If I have to climb a stepladder to get onto this mount, then that is a horse of a different color!”

I climb to the top step, and I mention to the wrangler that I am a little scared and concerned. He says, “Don’t be scared, Ma’am. If you are scared, Oleo will sense it, and he will think he has reason to be scared.”

Well, that reassured me. NOT! No matter how much I tried, I now was even more anxious.  I had visions of this horse being petrified  of me and doing menacing things as I rode him. I put my left foot into the stirrup, grabbed onto the saddle with both hands, and heaved myself up whirling my right leg around back to the other side.

“You’re kidding, right? “ Oleo’s back was about as wide as the Grand Canyon. It smarted to sit with my legs spanning such a wide expanse.

“You know what? I think I am not going to do this,” I said to the wrangler.  “My feet don’t even reach the stirrups.”

“We can adjust them, Ma’am. It’s gonna be just fine. Oleo is a good horse.”

“I’m sure he is.” I know I offended him, but I insisted, “No, that’s okay…I don’t really have to do this. My gut tells me not to do this today.  It’s not as if I have never ridden before.” And I am thinking to myself, “Not no how! Not no way! This ain’t happenin’ today!”

I have learned to follow my gut. Had I learned to do so earlier in life, it would have saved me a great deal of trouble.

Getting off a high horse is just as difficult as getting on it.

Another Christmas card is posted here.  It is a simple one.  Sometimes the simpler the better as far as I am concerned. In other words, less is more.

Cut Out Festival of Trees

When I made this card, I punched the tree image out of the white card stock before I ran it through the Texture Boutique Machine.   I then stamped the tree image on another smaller piece of Whisper White card stock and lined it up with the cut out.  I then adhered it to the card base.  I used Stampin’ Dimensionals to adhere the embossed card stock  to the Garden Green base.

Hope you enjoyed your visit here today.  Thanks for stopping by.   Until next time…

Happy Stamping!

Josie2

 

 

 

 

 

Not a Diplomat

I am not always diplomatic.

Most people that don’t KNOW me probably think I am a WITCH with a capital “B”.  The people that do know me will tell you that sometimes I can be. Just ask my husband.  What woman isn’t when she feels she has been treated unjustly or wronged in some way? I am sure the people that don’t know me well think I am this way because I have a tendency to be aloof until I begin to feel comfortable around whomever I am associating at the time. That’s a fault I have. However, the people who do know me will tell you that I am a kind person. I am a good person. I am a generous person. I am a moral person. I can also be funny. But, I am not always diplomatic.

I have more faults than one person deserves! Another of my faults is that I bottle the feelings I have until I cannot hold them in any longer, and then I explode like an ugly vomit that just will not stop. I will tell it like it is, and I can be less than diplomatic when I am telling it. Nevertheless, I believe I HAVE gotten better as I have grown older. I have strived to become more like my mother and father as I’ve aged. My father never said much, but when he did, he always hit the nail right on the head and said exactly how things were. He spoke the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear for the person that was hearing it. He could on occasion be tactless. That’s where I get it. My mother has always been the opposite. She has always been able to “keep her mouth shut”, but speaks up when something needs to be said. So, she was just like my father; although, she always had more sensitivity in how she comes across to the other person.

I used to feel bad when I would speak my mind. Even if I was tactful in the speaking, I would feel bad. I felt bad because I was afraid it would make the people to whom I was speaking my mind feel uncomfortable. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. The truth hurts, you know. I know, because I have been hurt by it on many occasions. Now, at my age…I do not feel bad anymore for speaking my mind, because there is nothing wrong with telling people how you are feeling or have felt. I still do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings, and I strive to be diplomatic. However, sometimes I just am not! L In addition, I have realized that if what I am saying makes another feel bad, that is THEIR problem. Do not get me wrong, I would never INTENTIONALLY be mean to someone. Perhaps that was why other’s perception of me has always mattered. I do not want others to think I am a big meany head! That is not who I am. If a person thinks I am a bad person for speaking my mind, I have learned, that is also THEIR problem. If I don’t stand up for me, who will? I will even speak my mind when the “standing up” will not benefit me. We should all “stand up” when necessary because our “standing up” might make it better for someone else. And, if my lack of diplomacy makes a person feel bad, I am sorry for that! That’s my “bad”!

Now you know that I can sometimes be less than diplomatic.

I know I haven’t imparted any new pearls of wisdom here. You have to admit, though, I had to write about something. If you can think of a topic, I am always open to suggestions. .

Oh, and I can be sarcastic too…but that’s another blog entry.

Here’s today’s project.

Starburst Thank You-1

Starburst Thank You-2

A word about the card.  I made it by cutting the star bursts out of the white card stock and placing a piece of  the designer series paper underneath the white.  I attached the dsp flat onto the card base and used dimensionals to pop up the white piece.  The vellum piece is stuck on flat, and glue dots are used to attach everything else.

I hope you enjoyed your visit here today.  Until next time…

Happy Stamping!

Josie2