Newbie (23 page)

When we start class, I let the children know Jade moved. Glancing at my students’ faces, I can’t help but imagine the sorrow and fear they would have to find themselves without their moms. Tears are barely behind my eyes, burning with heat, and my voice is soft and low. “If you would like to send Jade a letter to tell her goodbye or that you’re glad she was in our class, I will gather them up and mail them to her.”

During reading time, Paul pushes Ruby’s wheelchair into our room. “Class, this is. . .” I pause and look at Ruby, wondering what she would like to be called when she visits our class.

“Grandma Ruby,” she says.

“Class, Grandma Ruby will be here today and will visit us now and again. During independent time, you can take turns reading to her.” The students begin their independent work, and I call a small group to come read with me. During my lessons, I look over to see Grandma Ruby’s full attention given to her current reader, laughing, reading, and talking. Then a new student steps up with a book. I notice that Anna has taken her writing book and a reading book over to Ruby. She reads the book first, then opens her writing book and reads a story she’s creating. At the end, Ruby gives Anna a one-armed hug. “Sometimes people move, and it makes us sad doesn’t it.” Anna nods and goes back to her chair.

Yes, it’s going to be very good for everyone that Grandma Ruby will be part of our class.

On Thursday, I had a real estate closing on that freak FSBO contract. Yay, an extra paycheck! What shall I do with an extra $3000? It’s like found money. Whatever I do, it should include something spontaneous and fun. My partner and I also have several other offers in from short sales—more found money in my future.

As soon as I step in the front door of the real estate office, Kevin meets me and asks if we can move the meeting to a restaurant so he can eat while we talk. That actually sounds good—I’m starving.

After the server takes our order, we start exchanging information about appointments, listings, offers, and leads from this past week and for the coming week. Business is picking up. We have been doing this for a month and have listed ten homes. We’ve also submitted offers for six homes to banks to consider for short sales. I have listing appointments set up for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday evenings next week, and Kevin has two appointments during the daytime. Kevin’s inputting the info into a spreadsheet as we talk, though he clears the table as our breakfast arrives.

“I didn’t peg you as a red-chile-for-breakfast person,” he comments as I dig into the house special—loaded hash browns topped with two over-easy eggs, chile rojo, and melty cheese.

“Only when I’m not cooking,” I say, taking another bite.

“Are you from here?”

“Yes, I grew up in Denver. How about you?”

“I grew up in Pueblo and have been living in Denver until last month.” We exchange a few high school and college stories until the server clears away our plates. “I think we should come here for our future meetings,” he says.

“I agree. Attach the spreadsheet to an email and I’ll update it as I go along next week. I’ll send it back to you before our next meeting.”

“Speaking of, we won’t have another partnership meeting until the twenty-ninth since I’m gone next week and you’re flying out the following Saturday. You’re going to miss the office Christmas party on the twenty-second.”

“I will. I’m flying out that morning.” Considering Mom had no idea how much I’d need a vacation about now, this is a huge blessing.

“Put it off a day. Hawaii will still be there.”

“Let’s see.” I hold out my left hand. “Hawaii.” I drop my hand lower. “Or office party?” I pop my right hand out. “Hawaii or office party?” I pretend to move my hands as if they are scales to weigh the options. “No, not even close. Hawaii wins.”

“Okay, but we’ll miss you.”

“Thanks.” I’m not going there. This is déjà vu of every relationship I’ve ever had. We meet as colleagues. Business picks up. We meet to discuss some deals. A less-than-romantic relationship follows. Not again.

“You can make it up to me.” He pauses and looks seriously at my face. “I really haven’t been in town very long, and I haven’t met a lot of people who aren’t trying desperately to sell a home. I wondered if you have plans for New Year’s Eve.”

I don’t. I might. I haven’t talked to Liam about that yet. Do I even want to open the conversation with Kevin that I’m seeing someone? Instead I respond, “Kevin, I don’t want to mess up our partnership. You know—if we dated and it didn’t work out. The partnership is going well. I think we should leave it at business.”

“It wouldn’t technically be a date—just the company of someone I feel comfortable with at a party where I may not know anyone.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll keep us business-only.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. I’m sure I’ll be open that night.”

I give him a smile and slip out the door. As I’m driving home, I think about how well the partnership is going. Kevin makes the initial contact with the sellers and sets up appointments for me to do a listing call. Then I transfer the paperwork back to him. I mostly do showings and presenting offers, then he communicates with the banks and title companies. The way it looks right now, we are set to have two or three closings a month. Since we’re splitting the commissions, I will see about two to three thousand a month. Yes—doubling my current income with only three evenings of effort each week. This partnership is definitely working out well.

December 8, 2007

Newbie Blog:

Life Goes On Even When it Doesn’t

The mother of one of my students died this week of a drug overdose. My student was gone the next day. No hug or good-bye—just whisked off to a new life. She hurts, and I hurt for her. A young mother died and we wrote a note to the survivor, then had a math lesson.

Teachers have a front-row seat to the consequences of adult choices on child victims.

• An adult does drugs…a child grows up without a mother.

• An adult is violent…a child is broken and bruised.

• An adult breaks the law…a child is sent to live with strangers.

I know this is a simplistic and narrow view of social challenges. If they were so easy to define, we would have solved them already. But for most of each day, I live simply in the wonder of childhood. Teaching is so important. For a few children, the best thing that happened to them on a given day happened with a teacher at school. They were safe, noticed, fed, warm and loved. Sometimes a teacher’s gift to the world is one good day for a child, and I sincerely hope it’s many more than one.

Something I’ve learned:

In a previous blog, I wrote that one child matters and one year matters. Can I change that?

One child matters.

One
day
matters.

“C
had, could you come read to me today? Everyone else, start reading the books in your boxes.” Chad sits beside me, holding the book he read yesterday during his reading lesson. I read the title out loud. “Where is my boot?

Chad opens the book to the title page and reads, “Where is my boot?” I settle beside him to take notes. He begins reading on the next page.

“Mom, where is my boot?” Then he turns to me and says, pointing to the character’s foot, “See, he only has one boot on and he wants to go outside to play in the snow or build a snowman. I built a snowman in my backyard. My Uncle Ron helped me. First you have to make a snowball…”

“Chad, could you come back to this story?” I say, putting my hand on the page. “Please keep reading.”

“Is it u-u-u-n-d-un-d-e-r…what’s that word?”

“Under.”

“…the bed—b-bed?”

“Go back and reread the page now.”

I tap on the book to draw his attention back to the last page he read.

He struggles for several more minutes, on every page, on every sentence, on practically every word. “Thanks for reading to me, Chad. You can go back to your desk.” Oh. My. Gosh. That was painful. It should have taken like one, maybe two minutes to read that little book instead of the seven minutes we just spent. I need to plan in some extra practice time for Chad with Mrs. Milton on Mondays and Wednesdays and with Ruby on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

December 15, 2007

Newbie Blog:

’Twas the Week Before Christmas

’Twas the week before Christmas

and all through the school,

The students were bundled;

the days were so cool.

The jackets were hung

on the hooks without care.

Gloves, mittens and scarves

were thrown everywhere.

And each time at recess, just like I said,

They went out with hats—

but came back with wet heads.

I too am wrapped up

with boots and a cap,

While the warm days of springtime

are taking a nap.

The least mention of presents

draws out noisy chatter.

The holiday’s coming.

Now what else could matter?

We are singing some carols

and coloring elves,

We’ve read every holiday

book on our shelves.

Next week, parents (?)

will throw us a party again

With hot apple cider

and gingerbread men.

Then children will dream

of a sleigh with reindeer.

When the bell rings on Thursday,

the teachers will cheer!

Something I’ve learned:

1.
Holidays are here for the sanity of the teachers. Oh, and the students probably enjoy them too.

2.
It was eighty-two degrees in Oahu today!

Last night, I woke up several times panicked, dreaming that Mrs. Duran, our parent volunteer for the class holiday party, didn’t show up. Mina is on alert, as is Mrs. Milton, just in case. I’ve checked with Anna’s mom though, and she assures me that everything is arranged, and she will be here on Friday to set up half an hour before the party.

Mrs. Hays has been saving the best for last. She’s worn a different Christmas sweater every day this week, getting more outrageous each day. I’ve seen crazy sweaters on some of the other teachers, but Mrs. Hays takes it to a different level. I really don’t know how she’s going to top today’s sweater, which looks like a simple variegated green garland design. The yarn is loose on the edges and the garland has a sort of 3-D effect. However, the wow factor is dozens of little colored lights strung through the garland in the front panels that actually light up and blink.

I will never buy a teacher sweater. Never.

On Friday, precisely at one, Mrs. Duran enters with Mrs. James, Kyra’s mother, for our class party. (Yay! I’ll call Mina to let her know to stand down.) Each of them is carrying bags and towing a toddler, who must be joining us too.

The party is wild fun. First, we act out Alvin and the Chipmunks while listening to a CD. Then, when they’re keyed up, we send them to their desks and give them graham crackers and piles of candy to make gingerbread houses. I feel like an octopus during this event, trying to reach everyone and be everywhere.