Drama. Ugh.

I forgot how much drama there is in middle school, especially middle school choir.

Choir teachers become a bit more emotionally involved than, say, a math teacher.  We get to know our students on a much more personal level.  99% of the time, that's awesome.  The other 1%... not so much.

My middle school choir program currently has 130 students.  115 of them love me.

The other 15... DRAMA.

"Miss, it's your fault we messed up at the concert," they say.  "You didn't direct us right."

"You should treat us the same as the other classes," they say.  "You say you hold us to a higher standard because we're the varsity group, but that isn't right."

"It's not fair," they say.  "We're the only ones who get in trouble."

They weren't in trouble.  They didn't mess up that badly.  And they're usually the ones demanding special treatment because they're the "varsity" group.  Sigh.

I'll win someday.  Maybe it will take a few years, but one day...

Sigh.

Remember that book I wrote a long time ago?

You can buy it now!  (The one about Vanessa and Max and saving the world.)

Here it is...

Of sausage and yearning...

I have splurged over the last few days.

The first few weeks of school were very stressful for me.  I'm not sure exactly why, but the why doesn't matter, really.  The point is, I was very overwhelmed.  I lost 5 pounds in the first three weeks of school.  I was beginning to get those looks.  You know the ones: the slightly furrowed brow, the smile that didn't quite reach the eyes.  The comments were, "Are you sure you're okay?" and "You know, you look great, you don't really need to lose anymore weight."  Right.

So I had a rough patch.  Fortunately, I found the way to counteract stress.

Sausage.

The last few days at work, I have indulged in a fast-food breakfast.  Namely, a sausage and egg croissant (with cheese) and hash browns from Jack 'n' the Box.  Calories: close to 1,000, which is supposed to be my daily caloric intake.  Weight gained: 3 pounds in 5 days.

Done and done.  I can gain weight, if I try.  Now all I have to do is get back down to my pre-fast-food weight and all will be well.  If I need to gain, I know the secret.

Drive-thru.  It has worked for generations.

It will work for me.

Where I Was

On the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was sitting in my 8 a.m. music history class.  The class met every Tuesday and Thursday and, as is often the case with 8 a.m. classes, was often dry as dust. All of us in the class were upper-level music majors and had the same basic schedule.

I remember that day was clear and gorgeous.  The sky was that perfect, crystalline blue that comes to Southeast Texas every fall for a few weeks, then disappears for another year.  Our music history class had ended and we were waiting for the next class to start.  The sunlight was streaming in through the windows and we were all just chatting, trading stories across the room, when one of the student assistants ran into the room.

"Someone attacked the World Trade Center," he blurted out.  "A plane flew into one of the towers and then another one.  They're saying another one hit something in Washington."  He ran out of the room.

The class was silent for a few seconds, then the conversation started again.  We had no idea what we had just heard.  The guy who came in (who is now a top-level administrator for fine arts education) was known as something of a jokester, but none of us really thought it was a joke; we just had no idea what was going on.  A few minutes later the department chair, who taught the 9:30 class, came in and told us what had happened and said he was canceling morning classes.

My car wouldn't start.  We had to have it towed to a place to get a new starter put in.  I cried the whole day; the TV kept showing images of people falling (or jumping) from the towers as they burned beneath them.  The mechanic who worked on the car kept nodding at me and saying, "Don't worry, we'll get 'em."

It took about a week for things to get "back to normal" at Lamar University in Beaumont, but all of us who remember that day know that things have never gotten back to normal, not like it was the day before.  We were all adjusting to a new normal, a normal in which we were living with the knowledge that we were just as vulnerable as anyone anywhere.  In the petrochemical industrial area (where I have lived just about all of my life) we began to realize that not only were we vulnerable, we were potential targets.  And there was nothing we could do about it.

That being said, it was a surprisingly short time before we were able to laugh again, and enjoy the things we always have.  Everything changed, but we survived.  It's hard to believe that the students I teach don't remember that day clearly.  The world has always been the post-9/11 world to them.  I wonder if they will ever understand the fundamental change we all went through that beautiful morning.

I wonder if I do.

Gossip and good deeds

Added to the list of ways Seinfeld made my life better: it made me long to be a mentor, so I can have a protege.

I was honored last year to be entrusted with a student teacher, whom I will call Marvelous.  Marvelous is a young woman with an extraordinary voice and a real talent for music education.  She and I have grown to be friends, but I feel a certain pride in her as one of her instructors, thus, she is my "protege."  (Deal with it.)

In the state of Texas, music educators all receive the same certification: Music All-Level.  That means that elementary music teachers and secondary directors of band, choir, and orchestra all take the same test and hold the same technical qualifications.  (Yes, that means I technically *could* teach advanced orchestra, if there was an administrator stupid enough to hire me.  I will not follow that comment with another.)  This means that younglings looking to earn a degree and a teaching certificate in music must, in the course of their final (student teaching) semester, complete two cycles of student teaching at two different levels.  For vocal majors, this usually means a cycle at the secondary (choral) level, and a cycle in elementary music.

Marvelous did her time in high school and loved it.  She was awesome at it.  My friend Berry, the high school director who had her first, let me know that she didn't want to let Marvelous go.  Marvelous taught private voice lessons, helped organize music and uniforms, helped run auditions, and generally made herself indispensable to the program.  She came to me with friendliness but a lack of enthusiasm I only noticed because I saw her with Berry and could see how much she loved it.

In short, Marvelous believed she had seen her destiny, and it was high school.  She wasn't thrilled about wasting time in the elementary classroom.

I don't blame her!  I was in the elementary classroom and wasn't thrilled about it.  But Marvelous heard that I was "great," and resigned herself to the process.

I really think that we meet people for reasons.  I think Marvelous and I came into each others' lives for a purpose.  Marvelous was there for me at a very busy, crazy time: I had just had my surgery and was adjusting to my new life.  I still wasn't eating solid food and didn't feel great all the time.  At the same time, I was having unprecedented participation in my after-school choir and was trying to deal with that.

Enter Marvelous.  She came to rehearsals, she helped with the fund raiser, and she was there every day.  She took over classes, at first following my plans, then offering her own suggestions.  By the end, there were days when I actually put my feet up (under the desk) as I watched her, because I was so confident that she wouldn't need me to step in.

The kids were upset when she left.  "When is Miss Marvelous coming back?" they would ask.  "She's not," I would whisper.  "But we miss her!" they wailed.  "I do too!" I rejoined.

Now I'm back at the junior high level, but at one where I've never taught before.  Here's my office:

Isn't it cute?  Back to the matter at hand...

I found out today what purpose I am serving for Marvelous.  She's in a very scary place: she's a college graduate who can't find a job.  Texas is like that right now for teachers.  Nobody is hiring.  She has a couple of long-term positions lined up for this year, but the really big questions aren't answered: should I just keep looking?  Should I go to grad school?  What if there aren't any jobs next year?  What do I do?

That's when you need a mentor.  Marvelous came to my school today, and even though it meant I got behind on my preparation for the first day, I'm so glad she did.  We had a long talk and I got to tell her everything I thought she needed to hear:

• You're amazing.
• You're talented.
• You're smart.
• You're a gifted natural teacher.
• Did I say amazing?  Good.

After I made that all clear, I shared with her one of the few bits of genuine wisdom I feel I have acquired in my 26 years on this earth.  (Just go with it.)  I know it sounds like a cliche or fortune cookie, but I swear it's true and sincere:

What looks like adversity when it's ahead of you will look like unbelievable luck and opportunity once it's behind you.  I didn't say it like that (I took much longer, because that's how I roll), but that's the most concise way I can say it: sometimes God kicks us a little to get us on the road we need to be on.  Getting fired from or not being able to find a job is devastating, but it makes you consider pathways you wouldn't have otherwise.  Being separated from your spouse, family, or friends can seem like a terrible hardship, but it can strengthen those bonds by making you a stronger, more secure person on your own.  Struggling with infertility or otherwise having to wait to start your family can make you appreciate your children more, making you a better parent than you might have been if you'd had your children easily or at a younger age.

And that's just me.  We all have heard or lived those stories that end, "...and it was the best thing that could have happened to me."  I've heard people say it about everything from divorce to cancer.  Terrible, uncomfortable, horrible things can end up being the catalyst we need to make positive changes in our lives.

Marvelous seemed to like what she heard.  I don't know what she's going to do.  She doesn't know what she's going to do.  But that's the point.

That was the "good deed."  The "gossip" in the title comes from Marvelous letting me know that I had become the hot topic of conversation among some of the other choir directors in our district.  I am, I realized, the oldest choir director in our district (we have 9: 5 middle school and 4 high school directors, and I am the oldest of all of them by two years).  Marvelous said they were talking about me, and Berry pointed out that I am the skinniest one, and then another director (Sonya) said, "Well, Deb told me she's the oldest one, too."

Marvelous said they all agreed that my being older was just unbelievable, because I look so young.  I have a so much energy, and I'm so excited and happy, they said, that it's hard to believe I'm even in my 30's, let alone older than them.  (Sonya and Berry are the next oldest to me; they are both two years younger than I am.)

I'm not sure there was anything Marvelous could have said that would have made me happier.  I love my life.  I love my job (even though it really doesn't start for two more days).  I love my husband and my kids.  I love my family.  Life is pretty sweet.

I guess it shows.

Sunrise, Sunset

I just got home from a concert by the Southeast Texas Chorale.  This is a community choir that meets over the summer.  It is conducted by a former student of mine and many of its members are also former students.

At the concert I had the opportunity to see The Duchess, a friend and mentor and generally fabulous person, and her daughter, Lady Mary.  The Duchess continues to be a living example of what it means to be a Southern Lady.  I adore The Duchess.  Lady Mary is equally fabulous.  Both of these ladies looked gorgeous and I have forgiven them for how tall they are.  Fortunately, I was wearing The Outfit with a pair of boots, so I felt a bit taller.

I cannot tell you how truly inspirational it was to see this concert.  The conductor and artistic director, Mel Montanez (his real name) has turned from that fun, snarky, sometimes-awkward kid I knew into a poised, mature artist.  His conducting was so fluid and graceful that I found myself envying how easy he made it look.  He didn't just get up there and lead a choir.  He was part of the music in a way conductors sometimes cannot be; it is a testament both to his leadership and to the talent of his singers that there was so much great music.

My students are all grown up.  I get new ones every year, of course, but I never forget the "old" ones.  My students from Anahuac, TX have kids now; some of them have kids older than mine.  They're teachers and nurses and doctors and pastors.  They are homemakers and Scentsy salespeople and marketers.  They aren't my kids anymore, yet they are.  I am so lucky to have two beautiful children I raise in my home, but I have also had hundreds (maybe over 1,000) who are just a little bit mine.

That pride I feel doesn't go away.  When I see them on Facebook or run into them in the mall, I'm proud.   I love them all.

PS: Here's a picture of THE OUTFIT.

Who's That Girl?

Princess has, over the course of the summer, become quite a princess.

I do not mean that in a complimentary way.

Her vocabulary has expanded to include such teenage-isms as:

"Well, duh!"

"Mom, you're embarrassing me."

"That's just lame."

"You treat me like a servant!"

"This is stupid."

"I hate you."

Yes, it has been quite an eventful summer, seeing as how my 5-year-old has aged about 10 years in the course of 9 weeks.  I have to confess, I was beginning to despair.  If she is acting like this now, by the time she's 15 I'll be ready to send her to some awful Hogwarts-style boarding school where, I'm sure, she would be a Slytherin.  I went from feeling like this:

To this:

At least Mrs. Bates got to rest sometimes.

But then, as I was in despair, things began to lift.  We (meaning I) cleaned Princess' room last weekend when an infestation of ants made it necessary to remove her painstakingly-collected cache of Pop-Tart crusts from beneath her bed.  Her room is still clean, because she has been picking up after herself.

Then she began VOLUNTARILY clearing the table after meals and scraping the plates and putting them in the sink.  Then she cleans the table.

Then, last night, I called her to come to me.  She didn't come for a few minutes, and I was ready to be upset with her, but she explained that she HAD BEEN PICKING UP THE TOY ROOM.  When I went upstairs to check, EVERY TOY WAS PUT AWAY.

I didn't quite know how to react.

Despite a few lapses into teenage territory, the past few days have been wonderful.  I know it is smooth sailing from here on out.

Shopping Adventures

Last week my wonderful Aunt Amazing and Cousin Firecracker took me shopping.  They met me in Houston's Rice Village at a store called White House Black Market.  This is a store I've seen but have always been afraid to set foot in, due to my fear that I will have a Pretty Woman-style encounter with snooty saleswomen who will refuse to serve someone so clearly out of her element.

Since my weight loss I have stuck to Old Navy, mostly, with occasional adventures into The Gap.  My wardrobe consists of "kid clothes": jeans, chinos, polo shirts, and tees, mostly.  These are cheap and the sizes are fairly forgiving.  My aunt, who is, after all, amazing, got me right into the world of fashion and fit.

I gravitated immediately to the clearance section of the store and began to make some selections.  My salesgirl, Kim, offered to take my things to a dressing room.  She walked off, then returned immediately.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I can't let you try these on.  None of these things will fit you."

"Buh?" I managed as my bowels loosened dangerously.  I could just imagine the security force that would take me from the store, chanting "Not one of us!" as I struggled in futile protest.

"You've chosen things that are too big," she explained apologetically.  "You should really be looking at smalls, maybe mediums."

"Buh," I agreed.

"I'll pick out some things for you," she said.  I met her in the dressing room and tried on size 6 jeans.  They didn't fit.  I needed a size 4, which were fine.  The top and cardigan, each a small, fit perfectly.  For the first time in years, I looked at myself in a full-length mirror.

It was pretty awesome.  I was tall and lean, fashionably attired and not at all stupid-looking.  I felt that I had finally "made it," somehow.

I couldn't afford to buy much, but I bought that first outfit.  I don't know when or where I will wear it, but I wanted to have it to remind me of the day I saw myself for the first time.  I wish I'd had a camera, but if I get a picture of myself in it, I'll post it.  Kim brought me tons of outfits, none of which really measured up to that first one, but I got a few more things (and was gifted with a gorgeous cardigan from my aunt and a delightful skirt from my cousin, who are wonderful amazing generous beautiful blindingly intelligent women) and wore high heels for the first time since prom.

Life is pretty sweet.