Husband and I met in college, as many of you know. Happy, happy college times, they were, as we could sleep in until eleven, meet for lunch at one, part ways for class, and re-convene for those meaningful and heartfelt late-into-the-night talks that we all know so well from college. We were, in essence, on the same exact page most every single day.
And then.
I remember it was November and we were in the "Tavern," the food hub on campus where you could use your meal plan to buy a cheesesteak or a Chick-fil-a salad (though the Chick-fil-a option had been taken back two years prior.)
We were standing in line when a friend approached me and Topher and asked us if we knew what we were planning for our embarkment into the real world in May. I had recently applied and been accepted to Teach For America and told her so. Boyfriend hesitated.
It was in this moment when I realized that Topher and I were about to enter a period in our life, and relationship, where we would be very much on different pages. While I was about to do the hardest- and the most significant- thing I could imagine, he wasn't sure what his next steps would be. He had a hope, an idea, a desire for what he wanted, and it didn't include grad school or a normal job just yet.
What he had planned and wanted was a common dream we shared, but one I postponed when I agreed to join this other great organization. When we first met, it was this path, this plan, this idea that cemented us even further together- it was another thing we had in common, illuminating the ever clearer truth that our life goals aligned nearly perfectly.
With me moving to another city, however, Topher (and I) deferred this dream, to avoid spending two years on separate continents, both battling what might be the most difficult challenges we've ever faced.
Now, I'm happy, overjoyed and incredibly excited to say that this hope and dream husband and I both shared is coming true.
To put it quickly, as my dearest friend Paige said, we're finally back on the same page. After two years living in separate cities and counting the hours to the joyful thirty we got together each week, and another two years spent driving off in opposite directions each morning working drastically different hours and making the most of our weekends, we now get at least twenty seven months sharing the same book and page.
We're moving to Cambodia. We've applied, been invited to, and decided to join the Peace Corps.
We leave in July.
Until then, you can expect regular posting as you've (hopefully) come to know and love, and if you'd like more consistent updates on life as we prepare to become Peace Corps Volunteers, please check out my Peace Corps blog HERE. I can't promise some thoughts or experiences won't overlap, but I'll mainly keep my ramblings over there.
I know some of you might not be looking to read the likely inconsistent (it's very unlikely I'll have access to regular internet in Cambodia) goings-on of a married woman learning how to speak Khmer, temper her feminist ways in a very conservative culture, and maintain a sense of humor as she learns to bucket shower and toilet squat. However, if you are, I hope you'll stick around, even after July.
I'm pretty much walking on cloud nine. Any questions or thoughts out there?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Vlog Friday: Spring into Spring!
Hootenanny!
Also, happy Friday! This week, we're celebrating spring with our most happiest of wardrobe choices for when the warm rolls in!
I didn't much enjoy this week's because I FEEL FAT and nothing I want to wear really looks good on me. Looks like I'm recommitted to the gym!
Ah, oh well. You can't really tell, but my outfit of choice is violently yellow!
What say you? Anyone have a deep love of jersey skirts as I do? I think I have five...eep!
Next week's prompt:
Also, happy Friday! This week, we're celebrating spring with our most happiest of wardrobe choices for when the warm rolls in!
I didn't much enjoy this week's because I FEEL FAT and nothing I want to wear really looks good on me. Looks like I'm recommitted to the gym!
On second thought, this is what I'm looking forward to. Long, flowy, happy dresses. |
What say you? Anyone have a deep love of jersey skirts as I do? I think I have five...eep!
Next week's prompt:
- What are your three favorite books? Show us! ALSO, if you had to choose a husband from literature, who would it be and why?
We Vlog Friday. Do you?
- Adventures in Love and Happiness
- Folly Life
- Forget Me (Not)
- Blogimony
- Of Food and Friends
- Heart on Homestead
- Kimberly Michelle
- The Little Things
Even if you don't vlog, tell me:
What are you excited to break out come warm weather?
Also! Rose and Sprinkles! I sent you both emails ( I think!) many moons ago, but I think I did it wrong. Can you reply with your email addresses so I can send you your pashminas? Yay!
Also! Rose and Sprinkles! I sent you both emails ( I think!) many moons ago, but I think I did it wrong. Can you reply with your email addresses so I can send you your pashminas? Yay!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
when chris said his wife can't sing
Yesterday, I wore my glasses because I think I'm going to be doing a big amount of it over the next few years and I had to get used to the adjusted depth perception and how it pinches my nose and such. Ouch face. I also immediately regret not paying for anti glare stuff. But really, that should be just all jiminy-crack-dandy included, don't you think? Scalawags, those opthomalogists.
Topher and I have this weekend tradition. We venture out of the house and do something goofy. At some point in the car, I say something very Kate-ish (that is, completely wack, uncouth and/or incredibly brilliant after a moment's pause) and make the hubs giggle. He says I should blog about it and then I say, what if I blog about this funny thing you said seven years ago that I remember perfectly because I'm an elephant, I mean, I have the memory of an elephant and I think it will be funny now that we're all married and the like?
Topher does not enjoy this tradition very much, because then he gets posts written about him, or threatened to be written about such things as the fact that he does not believe in pms. I do not think this is quite so true, but it is the draft title I jotted down to input into this here blog someday. Only problem is, I don't quite exactly remember what he did or said that led me to that title. But, obviously, the husband does not believe in pms. The scoundrel.
So here we have this post.
After much thought, I've decided to keep the title of this post the same as it was when I saved it as a draft idea a month ago, as it very nearly essentially sums up nearly all I'm about to say.
Some time ago, when Topher had more hair and I weighed a hefty lot less, he told me that some day he wanted his wife to sing lullabies to his chill'ens. I batted my eyelashes and sighed so pretty, because he was obviously alluding to me singing such sweet hymns to his future spermies.
Wouldn't you know, just the very next day, I was doing the best Gwen Stefani you ever did hear, and what did he up and say?
"Oh, that's just terrible, please stop singing."
Mine eyes did screw tight and mine eyes did well up and mine brain did scream out:
"He doesn't want to marrrryyyy meeeee!"
Touche, dear husband, you threw me off your tracks for some six years or so. Touche.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
and he asked, 'how often do you shower, even?'
I find that I owe some people an apology. Am, Al, Courtney, Claire, and now, Chris. I'm sorry.
I'm a horrible, terrible, awful, no good roommate.
I am shamefaced. I am hang-headed. I am regretful. I am!
I'm possessive (it isn't nice.) I need my space. I'm messy. I tell you, I'm just a horrible roommate.
I believe it all began in kindergarten. Everything traumatic begins in kindergarten. I say, they must put something in those graham crackers, like LSD because life is never the same after kindergarten.
Or in could have been birth, you never really know.
Anyway, in kindergarten. I missed that day where you learn how to share. You know, when we all play in the sandbox, and you have to take turn using the scoop to have fun? Yeah, no. Buy your own scoop and leave my alone. I still think sharing is overrated. And, for the record, when you ask to SEE something, you SEE with your EYES not with your HANDS!
You see, I always knew I was (am, whatever)...particular. I just didn't realize how challenging I am to live with.
Like this one time, I had some beer. And some food. And my roommate had some people over. They drank my beer. And ate my food. And I was livid. Nevermind that she replaced it and apologized for her random friends drinking my beer. And eating my food.
(It's the principle of the thing.)
I made my roommates agree to separate shelves in the fridge and cabinets for food after that.
I'm horrible.
Sad thing is, nothing has changed. Even worse now, because I realize it, and I have to face my roommate every single morning and night.
I'm messy (oh, did I mention that?) I leave my water cups by the bed for days. I sometimes forget to pick up my shoes when I toss them off at the door, and really, who doesn't do this, I say?
I forget to unload the dishes. I never fold the blankets on the couch the right way, so usually I just don't try. (For the record, this is bad roommate behavior.)
I know, at this point, you're thinking, well, if she's knows it, why not shut up about it?
BECAUSE!
Because I never give up until I win. I like winning. Winning's my favorite.
While I may lose, repeatedly, as a roommate, I win as a wife.
I may be the roommate from hell (but I promise I won't steal your identity like in a Lifetime movie, or the new Leighton Meester one), but I'm one damn good wife.
To begin with, I wear a tank top and underwear to bed. JUST a tank top and undies. Points there.
I watch Family Guy EVERY NIGHT as we fall asleep and only complain once every two weeks. Points.
I try to cook. When I fail, I make cute sad faces that make forgiveness all too easy. Points.
I then make up for it baking cookies, including oatmeal raisin cookies at hubs request at ten pm at night. Major pointage.
I make crude jokes that make Topher's friends laugh. Points (right?)
I back scratch as husband falls asleep. Points.
I point out hot girls. Points. (and only sometimes do I stick out my tongue at him when he looks.)
And when husband makes dinner, I almost never spit it out (you know, except for than one time I couldn't eat the quinoa.) Also, because if I did, I'd be a bad roommate.) Points.
Hubs, on the other hand, is a fantastic roommate. He cooks, he cleans, he hardly ever complains. However, he also has to love me (HAS TO LOVE ME!), which I think makes all the difference.
So again. For the record. Bad roommate. Good wife. Just sayin.
Where do you land?
I'm a horrible, terrible, awful, no good roommate.
I am shamefaced. I am hang-headed. I am regretful. I am!
I'm possessive (it isn't nice.) I need my space. I'm messy. I tell you, I'm just a horrible roommate.
I believe it all began in kindergarten. Everything traumatic begins in kindergarten. I say, they must put something in those graham crackers, like LSD because life is never the same after kindergarten.
Or in could have been birth, you never really know.
Anyway, in kindergarten. I missed that day where you learn how to share. You know, when we all play in the sandbox, and you have to take turn using the scoop to have fun? Yeah, no. Buy your own scoop and leave my alone. I still think sharing is overrated. And, for the record, when you ask to SEE something, you SEE with your EYES not with your HANDS!
You see, I always knew I was (am, whatever)...particular. I just didn't realize how challenging I am to live with.
Like this one time, I had some beer. And some food. And my roommate had some people over. They drank my beer. And ate my food. And I was livid. Nevermind that she replaced it and apologized for her random friends drinking my beer. And eating my food.
(It's the principle of the thing.)
I made my roommates agree to separate shelves in the fridge and cabinets for food after that.
I'm horrible.
Sad thing is, nothing has changed. Even worse now, because I realize it, and I have to face my roommate every single morning and night.
I'm messy (oh, did I mention that?) I leave my water cups by the bed for days. I sometimes forget to pick up my shoes when I toss them off at the door, and really, who doesn't do this, I say?
I forget to unload the dishes. I never fold the blankets on the couch the right way, so usually I just don't try. (For the record, this is bad roommate behavior.)
I know, at this point, you're thinking, well, if she's knows it, why not shut up about it?
BECAUSE!
Because I never give up until I win. I like winning. Winning's my favorite.
While I may lose, repeatedly, as a roommate, I win as a wife.
I may be the roommate from hell (but I promise I won't steal your identity like in a Lifetime movie, or the new Leighton Meester one), but I'm one damn good wife.
To begin with, I wear a tank top and underwear to bed. JUST a tank top and undies. Points there.
I watch Family Guy EVERY NIGHT as we fall asleep and only complain once every two weeks. Points.
I try to cook. When I fail, I make cute sad faces that make forgiveness all too easy. Points.
I then make up for it baking cookies, including oatmeal raisin cookies at hubs request at ten pm at night. Major pointage.
I make crude jokes that make Topher's friends laugh. Points (right?)
I back scratch as husband falls asleep. Points.
I point out hot girls. Points. (and only sometimes do I stick out my tongue at him when he looks.)
And when husband makes dinner, I almost never spit it out (you know, except for than one time I couldn't eat the quinoa.) Also, because if I did, I'd be a bad roommate.) Points.
Hubs, on the other hand, is a fantastic roommate. He cooks, he cleans, he hardly ever complains. However, he also has to love me (HAS TO LOVE ME!), which I think makes all the difference.
So again. For the record. Bad roommate. Good wife. Just sayin.
Where do you land?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Gooey Goodness: Happy, Happy Hippos!
Le sigh. After trying to get serious about this fit into my forty pairs of jeans things (aka, lost the twenty pounds I've gained since the wedding- SAD!), I had to make a hard choice.
I didn't bake anything this weekend.
What's funny is that when I bake, I don't even normally over indulge in the goodness I create. Something about being around the ingredients for two hours that takes out the desire.
However, if I'm serious about this, I have to find healthier outlets for my gooey goodness desires. Do you have any awesome recipe ideas that are gooey, yummy but shall also refrain from deepening the craters in me bum?
In the mean time, a bestie best best friend came to stay last weekend, and happy wonderful woman that she is parted herself with a happy gift: Kinder Happy Hippos.
In story land, let's visit why I doth love thee so much, happiest of happy hippos.
My first evening across the Atlantic nearly six years ago, I was lamenting my poor soul's loneliness. One cold basement apartment in Rome had me shivering and simpering. I ventured out, so quickly, for a bite to eat, so that I could pity myself even more, eating alone.
I happenstanced across a loverly little side store (which, come many months, would supply me a never ending stream of liter Coca Cola's and Peach Nestea's), and jaunted myself in, puffy eyes a-glistening. The happy man who ran loverly store helped me locate a tomato and mozzerella sandwich, my very first ever beer purchase (a Heineken,) and gifted unto myself one little Happy Hippo.
Wouldn't you know, happy man who ran the store did gift unto me a Happy Hippo each time I entered thus store, for five months after. What a jolly, happy hippo of a man was he, in turn making me a happy hippo foreigner.
Have you had a Happy Hippo?
I didn't bake anything this weekend.
What's funny is that when I bake, I don't even normally over indulge in the goodness I create. Something about being around the ingredients for two hours that takes out the desire.
However, if I'm serious about this, I have to find healthier outlets for my gooey goodness desires. Do you have any awesome recipe ideas that are gooey, yummy but shall also refrain from deepening the craters in me bum?
In the mean time, a bestie best best friend came to stay last weekend, and happy wonderful woman that she is parted herself with a happy gift: Kinder Happy Hippos.
In story land, let's visit why I doth love thee so much, happiest of happy hippos.
My first evening across the Atlantic nearly six years ago, I was lamenting my poor soul's loneliness. One cold basement apartment in Rome had me shivering and simpering. I ventured out, so quickly, for a bite to eat, so that I could pity myself even more, eating alone.
I happenstanced across a loverly little side store (which, come many months, would supply me a never ending stream of liter Coca Cola's and Peach Nestea's), and jaunted myself in, puffy eyes a-glistening. The happy man who ran loverly store helped me locate a tomato and mozzerella sandwich, my very first ever beer purchase (a Heineken,) and gifted unto myself one little Happy Hippo.
Wouldn't you know, happy man who ran the store did gift unto me a Happy Hippo each time I entered thus store, for five months after. What a jolly, happy hippo of a man was he, in turn making me a happy hippo foreigner.
Have you had a Happy Hippo?
Sunday, February 20, 2011
when life hands you lemons...
or, when life hands you frustrations...
...when life hands you free time...
...when life hands you....well, anything...
...read Harry Potter for the tenth time, breaking in the new paperback set your husband gifted you because you've destroyed the originals with too much enjoyment, cheetoh fingers and chocolate smudges.
If you get a long weekend (Happy Presidents' Day!), enjoy. If not, I'm reading HP for you!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Vlog Friday: My First Kiss (to the third power)
Why hello there again! I am very much excited for this week's Vlog Friday post- I LOVE reminiscing. I also love kissing. Especially le hubs.
Ah, young love. First kisses. I decided to tell you about three of mine- the first one when I didn't mean to have in first grade, the REAL first one, and me and Topher's first.
Sweet sighs of joy.
Did you enjoy my re-enactment of my very first first kiss?
Join us next week for SHOW and TELL, in honor of Spring coming SOON (please, Spring, please!):
Even if you don't vlog, tell me:
what was your first kiss like?
The VERY very uber beginning. |
Ah, young love. First kisses. I decided to tell you about three of mine- the first one when I didn't mean to have in first grade, the REAL first one, and me and Topher's first.
Sweet sighs of joy.
Did you enjoy my re-enactment of my very first first kiss?
Join us next week for SHOW and TELL, in honor of Spring coming SOON (please, Spring, please!):
- Show us your favorite spring outfit. Sass it up. Tell us why you love it.
Did you join in this week? Comment below and let me know so I can link to your wonderful vlog!
We Vlog Friday. Do you?
- Adventures in Love and Happiness
- Folly Life
- Forget Me (Not)
- Blogimony
- Of Food and Friends
- Heart on Homestead
- Kimberly Michelle
- The Little Things
Even if you don't vlog, tell me:
what was your first kiss like?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
making a mockery of the city of love
You see, it has been nearly four years since the day that I decided I wanted to marry Topher. Lucky for me, the hub a dub came to the same (obvious) conclusion at some point during that same time period. And now here we are.
Alas, here I sit, pulling at air and sucking at strings for a loverly topic for my loyal 143-279 page viewers and it comes to me: this one time, in Paris, we fought. A lot.
We got so mad, infuriated, flugurgitated, that we separated. Split up, just like that, poof!, we did, on the dirty streets of a busy city we had never explored with our non existent French skills.
(In case you're the type that reads the last page first, we found each other again.)
We got so mad, infuriated, flugurgitated, that we separated. Split up, just like that, poof!, we did, on the dirty streets of a busy city we had never explored with our non existent French skills.
(In case you're the type that reads the last page first, we found each other again.)
I should say, we really just went to opposite ends of this giant garden outside of some museum and sat. For an hour. Pointing in different directions, waiting for the other person to cross the beret-wearing and thin-moustached Frenchies to come apologize. And NOW!
Somehow, we did make up. Someone crossed a low hedge and approached the other with crow in hands, ready to eat, table for two.
And I realized that if we could fight, split, and find each other again in a foreign country, this must be love.
Sometimes you just need to LEAVE ME ALONE BECAUSE LOOKING AT YOUR FACE IS SO RIDICULOUSLY ANGER INDUCING THAT I COULD LITERALLY PUKE A BRICK AND HURL IT AT YOUR SURLY EYES CAUSE I'M AGONNA MAKE YOU FEEL THE PAIN OF MY FURY.
Ya know?
Funny thing is, we were somehow still irritated at each other at some point on this excursion when we wandered our way to the tacky (says the Parisians) Eiffel Tower. Here we are, in the most romantic place on earth, besides Cinderella's castle, and we want to punch each other in the ovaries.
Which is why the best picture we have of the Eiffel Tower, and us, are included in this post. Le sigh.
Don't fret though, I promise we love. The Arc de Triomphe proved an industrious place for our growing love to bloom.
What's your favorite personal love story?
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
of boomer and plops
Ok, so this little note has little nothing to do with plops. (Must reserve plops for most important occasions, like half birthdays.)
But it does have to do with Boomer. It's not your average look at how cute my little pupper is.
Because, really, Boomer has a face only a mother could love.
She's awkwardly shaped, all long like a wiener dog, but with a scruffly, rat like tail. A rat tail that's overgrown with sad long hairs that should be black but are becoming all white like. She's growing a little white beard but it's not quite Santa or even dignified.
Her one ear just. sticks. out. Like, all up in your face, making you turn your head sideways to catch it all. It's panoramic.
And she's got the crazy eye.
And she's mine, all mine.
Sometimes, though, she just takes my love- the love that sustains me through her shmugly face, her pooping on the carpet, her barking at air vent, her eating of my favorite grey old navy flip FLOP- and flings that love back at me, covered in her smug doggie poo.
Poo flinger, she is.
Because what she does is be all cute up in YOUR hizzouse and all DUMB up in mine.
She's all running around, letting herself out to pee, smiling and giggling in YOUR house.
Then she's all scurrying and flitting and fleeing and peeing in OUR house.
Dumb dog loves our parents' houses more than her own. She's angelic and adorable at THEIR house and demonic and fugly at ours.
Fugster. If she wasn't only so damn cute.
Does your pet fling their poo back at you (metaphorically speaking, after all they lack opposable thumbs)?
But it does have to do with Boomer. It's not your average look at how cute my little pupper is.
Because, really, Boomer has a face only a mother could love.
Her one ear just. sticks. out. Like, all up in your face, making you turn your head sideways to catch it all. It's panoramic.
And she's got the crazy eye.
Sometimes, though, she just takes my love- the love that sustains me through her shmugly face, her pooping on the carpet, her barking at air vent, her eating of my favorite grey old navy flip FLOP- and flings that love back at me, covered in her smug doggie poo.
Poo flinger, she is.
Because what she does is be all cute up in YOUR hizzouse and all DUMB up in mine.
Then she's all scurrying and flitting and fleeing and peeing in OUR house.
Dumb dog loves our parents' houses more than her own. She's angelic and adorable at THEIR house and demonic and fugly at ours.
Fugster. If she wasn't only so damn cute.
Does your pet fling their poo back at you (metaphorically speaking, after all they lack opposable thumbs)?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Gooey Goodness: On Love
Did you know yesterday was Valentine's Day? Oh, you did.
Well, me too.
I think I used to hate Valentine's Day. It felt like the cool thing to do. Like all, being like, "Man, I hate Valentine's Day! It's a Hallmark holiday!"
Which is true, but besides, oh well. Ug a lug.
Now I'm all "Man, I love Valentine's Day, even though it's a Hallmark holiday!"
Of course you might be thinking I hated this day because I didn't have a love. But really, I don't think that's true. (You see, I'm a chronic -shipper.)
I love love. I love chocolate.
How can I NOT love Valentine's Day? It's like, made for me. Giant chocolate kisses? Yes please. Boxes upon boxes of truffles. Um, yes. Mini chocolates in fun shapes like lips and hearts? OBVIOUSLY I NEED IT ALL NOW SHOVE IT IN MY MOUTH LIKE I'M CHUBBY BUNNY ALL UP IN YOUR CHEEKS.
(Side note: my hips don't appreciate Valentine's Day. They whine a lot, though, so I ignore them.)
This post had a point, I swear.
I like Valentine's Day. Most especially I love Topher and his yummeriffic cooking skillz.
Yum a tum tum and hub a lub lub!
Five courses. Two humans. One hour.
Ah, all us lucky gals out there, sing to the heavens. Thank you oh spirits for ensuring that little sperminator found that little egg to create them!
Too far.
On a final note, for what may be the second time ever, Topher even wrote on my wall for Valentine's Day. Oh, sweet romantic technological declarations of darling love.
How was your V day?
Well, me too.
I think I used to hate Valentine's Day. It felt like the cool thing to do. Like all, being like, "Man, I hate Valentine's Day! It's a Hallmark holiday!"
Which is true, but besides, oh well. Ug a lug.
Now I'm all "Man, I love Valentine's Day, even though it's a Hallmark holiday!"
Of course you might be thinking I hated this day because I didn't have a love. But really, I don't think that's true. (You see, I'm a chronic -shipper.)
I love love. I love chocolate.
How can I NOT love Valentine's Day? It's like, made for me. Giant chocolate kisses? Yes please. Boxes upon boxes of truffles. Um, yes. Mini chocolates in fun shapes like lips and hearts? OBVIOUSLY I NEED IT ALL NOW SHOVE IT IN MY MOUTH LIKE I'M CHUBBY BUNNY ALL UP IN YOUR CHEEKS.
(Side note: my hips don't appreciate Valentine's Day. They whine a lot, though, so I ignore them.)
This post had a point, I swear.
I like Valentine's Day. Most especially I love Topher and his yummeriffic cooking skillz.
Yum a tum tum and hub a lub lub!
Five courses. Two humans. One hour.
Course 1: Lobster Salad.
Lobster tail, tomato, avocado, paprika and mayonnaise. And a dash of f-ing amazing.
Course 2: Wedge Salad.
Iceberg, tomato, bacon and homemade bleu cheese dressing.
I forgot to take a picture.
Course 3: Palette cleanser.
Strawberries.
Course 4: Filet Mignon.
Parmesan red mashed potatoes; roasted turnips, carrots and corn wit cayenne pepper; gorgonzola cream reduction.
Course 5: Chocolate mousse with whipped cream and strawberries.
Ah, all us lucky gals out there, sing to the heavens. Thank you oh spirits for ensuring that little sperminator found that little egg to create them!
Too far.
On a final note, for what may be the second time ever, Topher even wrote on my wall for Valentine's Day. Oh, sweet romantic technological declarations of darling love.
How was your V day?
Monday, February 14, 2011
what's your role?
Some of you know this, and others may have figured it by clicking through the links I sometimes use to allude to the organization of which I am a part, both as an alumna and a staff member. That organization is Teach For America.
As such, this is a sponsored post.
It's sponsored by the sixty students I taught in Baltimore and the 9,000+ I affect each day in my current role.
These 9,000 students have been limited and defined by their income level, race and zip code because of the strangling education system in our country, and the confines of poverty that we allow to exist in housing, health care, transportation, and most of all, education.
I am a 2007 Teach For America Baltimore Alumna, and I taught 7th and 8th grade social studies and English language arts for two years in South Baltimore. I now work in a position where I directly support 40 new teachers who mainly teach social studies and I love every minute of the exhausting, challenging work.
This weekend, I and 10,700 alumni, corps members (teachers), and supporters descended upon the Convention Center in my backyard in DC to focus our energy on bandying around the question of HOW do we take this movement, this belief that all children deserve an equal education, to scale in this nation?
You see, the question is no longer CAN WE or WILL WE, it's now HOW do we do it FASTEST?
There was great discussion around charter schools, controversial laws ending teacher tenure, the effectiveness of young teachers, the impact of race on the enduring achievement gap, who is best to get this all done and how Teach For America teachers, alums, and supporters across the nation can lead the charge.
The best part about this gathering, this anniversary celebration, is that there is no one clear answer. Not from the hundred or so panelists, from Joel Klein, former NY Superintendent, to Beverly Tatum, President of Spelman College; not from the thousands of alumni both in and out of education; not from our CEO and Founder, Wendy Kopp.
There are thousands of opinions on how to accomplish our mission that one day, all children will have the opportunity to attain an excellent education, and we all had the chance to listen and share this weekend.
It will take every single one of us, those part of education organizations like Teach For America and not, to attack this issue and to dismantle the oppressive systems low income and minority children are forced to fight against every day.
Because my students and every single child in this country is a brilliant mind just waiting to be filled with knowledge.
Because my children are just as smart as your children.
Because just because my kids are black and from South Baltimore doesn't mean they don't deserve the same amazing education you and I were given.
Because I know that the 11,000 people at the Convention Center this weekend can't be the only ones who care, and the only ones affected by this civil rights issue.
To say that this weekend was inspiring is an offensive understatement. I have more to do, you have more to do, this country has more to do.
We all have a role to play in ending the severe injustice that plagues hundreds of thousands of American children every day. Insist on better. Please click on that link and read it.
Volunteer. Donate. Join the fight to change policies, laws, and regulations. If you're in health care, serve the areas that need it the most. If you're in school, study this and write about it. If you teach, teach the students who are being left behind.
If you're human, just share this story. It's a movement made of people, and we can grow the tide with our words, stories, and truth.
Get involved.
All pictures in this post of my classroom. |
As such, this is a sponsored post.
It's sponsored by the sixty students I taught in Baltimore and the 9,000+ I affect each day in my current role.
I would love to show you my amazing children. However, it's illegal and I'm not down with putting them up all over the 'nets. |
These 9,000 students have been limited and defined by their income level, race and zip code because of the strangling education system in our country, and the confines of poverty that we allow to exist in housing, health care, transportation, and most of all, education.
I am a 2007 Teach For America Baltimore Alumna, and I taught 7th and 8th grade social studies and English language arts for two years in South Baltimore. I now work in a position where I directly support 40 new teachers who mainly teach social studies and I love every minute of the exhausting, challenging work.
This weekend, I and 10,700 alumni, corps members (teachers), and supporters descended upon the Convention Center in my backyard in DC to focus our energy on bandying around the question of HOW do we take this movement, this belief that all children deserve an equal education, to scale in this nation?
You see, the question is no longer CAN WE or WILL WE, it's now HOW do we do it FASTEST?
There was great discussion around charter schools, controversial laws ending teacher tenure, the effectiveness of young teachers, the impact of race on the enduring achievement gap, who is best to get this all done and how Teach For America teachers, alums, and supporters across the nation can lead the charge.
The best part about this gathering, this anniversary celebration, is that there is no one clear answer. Not from the hundred or so panelists, from Joel Klein, former NY Superintendent, to Beverly Tatum, President of Spelman College; not from the thousands of alumni both in and out of education; not from our CEO and Founder, Wendy Kopp.
There are thousands of opinions on how to accomplish our mission that one day, all children will have the opportunity to attain an excellent education, and we all had the chance to listen and share this weekend.
It will take every single one of us, those part of education organizations like Teach For America and not, to attack this issue and to dismantle the oppressive systems low income and minority children are forced to fight against every day.
Because my students and every single child in this country is a brilliant mind just waiting to be filled with knowledge.
Because my children are just as smart as your children.
Because just because my kids are black and from South Baltimore doesn't mean they don't deserve the same amazing education you and I were given.
Because I know that the 11,000 people at the Convention Center this weekend can't be the only ones who care, and the only ones affected by this civil rights issue.
To say that this weekend was inspiring is an offensive understatement. I have more to do, you have more to do, this country has more to do.
We all have a role to play in ending the severe injustice that plagues hundreds of thousands of American children every day. Insist on better. Please click on that link and read it.
Volunteer. Donate. Join the fight to change policies, laws, and regulations. If you're in health care, serve the areas that need it the most. If you're in school, study this and write about it. If you teach, teach the students who are being left behind.
If you're human, just share this story. It's a movement made of people, and we can grow the tide with our words, stories, and truth.
Get involved.
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