Tag: school

Foothills

Sophia and I went to register her for Kindergarten on Friday. She got a new t-shirt, which made her extremely proud, but I had a hard time getting her to stand still for 20 seconds to snap a photo:

[Sophia sidebar: I was telling my dad that I was concerned about Kate making the move and all the changes, and he said, "Don't worry about Kate. It's Sophia you need to worry about." I was like, "Sophia? She's cool." But as it turns out, dads are always right. Kate's been fine; she made friends quickly and is adjusted and having a blast. Sophia? Overtired, overwrought, overeverything, and the whiniest of whinies. I'm trying to be extra-patient with her, but it's been difficult. This, too, shall pass.]

Multiple times a day I am blown away by the stunning views we have here. In Knoxville, our kitchen window faced Sharp’s Ridge, a beautiful line of trees that I mourned for when we moved. Now, everywhere we go, we are truly in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. They are on two full sides of the city, and I am forever stopping the girls’ conversations to tell them, “Look at the mountains!” and remind them that they are blessed to live in such a beautiful area.

Here is Kate’s new school next year:

And the view from her school:

Sophia’s school:

And her view:

They’ll either be inspired or distracted.

On another note, the kids and I went up to First Lutheran this morning. Kate’s school choir was singing, and we were all excited to visit. It was wonderful, worshiping there and seeing everyone again, but I felt so sad as we drove away. Even good change is hard. Then we came back here and spent the afternoon with Maryville friends, and I thought about how God fills these holes in our lives in unexpected and different ways. And how, being a German Lutheran, I just want everything to stay the same.

But we are getting into a nice routine here, which will ease up in 2.5 weeks when the girls get out of school. Little by little, pieces of the puzzle are falling into place (or, as I like to tell Derek when he says that, they are falling into place because I have orchestrated them to). Either way, we’re looking forward to summer: trips to the library, walks on the Greenway, wading in the Little River, exploring Chilhowee Lake. School starts August 1 here, so we’ve got to have our fun fast.

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May 6th, 2012
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Road Rage

I’d forgotten how much I hate driving.

Not driving per se, but the dumb drivers all around who don’t pay attention, yap on their phones, text on the interstate, drive ten miles below the speed limit in the left lane next to someone else driving ten miles below the speed limit in the right lane, and…oh, never mind.

I just hate having to be on the road. Our last year in Fort Wayne, I had to take Derek to school, then head downtown to work and then back. That drive drove me crazy until I discovered books on tape, and suddenly I was so absorbed in chick lit that I barely noticed what was happening around me.

In Knoxville, we purposely bought a house a mile from First Lutheran so Derek could come home for lunch and we wouldn’t waste huge parts of our day burning gas. And now I’m on Alcoa Highway (aka “I’ll kill ya Highway”) every day taking the kids back and forth to school, and the road rage is mounting, and I’ve got to stop yelling at drivers and speeding because my kids are picking up on it. Books on tape are out because Sophia hates radio noise in the car.

Our countdown is 4 weeks. I’m sad that our time at First Lutheran School is coming to an end, but all those hours back in my day, the anger evaporated, and time to make decent meals will be worth it.

Meanwhile, if you happen to notice a van or small SUV with a “Visit the Lutheran Church Near You” front license plate careening around you with the driver mouthing something angry, just pretend you didn’t see it, and know that not all Lutherans are as bad on the road as I am. Is this what Luther meant by “Sin boldly?” I’m guessing not.

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April 25th, 2012
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And, they’re off.


I always have mixed feelings about the first day of school.

There are the bright, shiny new backpacks and stacks of supplies and freshly-washed uniforms (good). There’s getting up early and packing lunches, and the long, quiet weeks after lots of summer time together (bad). There’s putting the kids to bed earlier (good). Work-wise, I can get back into a productive routine (good).

This year, my girls are going into ECE/4 and grade 3. Sophia’s last year of preschool is sort of an “eh” year, in the sense that she’s already done two years of part-time preschool, she knows her letters and numbers and is starting to read, and she had to watch all her friends move up to Kindergarten without her. Her birthday is in November, so she missed the cutoff. It’s hard for her right now, but she’ll be fine in the long run. This year isn’t momentous for her, though; she’s comfortable in ECE, she’s known her teacher literally since she was born, and life is good.

Kate is going into third grade. She’s in a combined classroom again with the same teacher she had last year, so she’s also comfortable. I’m glad; last year she was a nervous wreck and couldn’t sleep the night before school started. This year, she’s excited to be in the “big kids” grade.

But. I look at my girls, and the saying that when you’re raising little kids, the days last forever but the years fly by is so poignantly true.

Sometimes I wish I homeschooled. In my head dance visions of classical Lutheran education–Latin, an emphasis on language and rhetoric and dialectical thinking and literature and grammar and…–oh, all those nerdy things an English major and lover of literature would be expected to geek out over.

We would turn my office into a classroom, with work tables for the girls and play space for the boy. We would read together and bake cookies and listen to podcasts and I would supervise their studies and….

…and then I come crashing back to reality, which is

  • I am not a good teacher. I myself pick things up intuitively, and am not good at breaking down the steps to anyone under age 16. There’s a reason why Kate, at 8, still can’t tie her own shoes. I can’t seem to show her the steps, because in my head they don’t break down. It’s easier to do it myself.
  • My children go to a wonderful school with smart, hardworking, dedicated Christian teachers. The school is their second home; we love it and have no reason not to send them there. For that, I’m grateful: it would be a bit awkward if the pastor’s kids didn’t attend the church school, after all.
  • I have to work. I like to work, too, but even if I didn’t like to work, I would have to. Trying to work and homeschool would be a scramble, and if I’m perfectly honest, would likely trigger stress-induced bad behavior from me.

If we were to, say, move to a third-world country where there simply weren’t any appropriate schools, I could probably step up and homeschool, and do a decent job.

But we’re here, we have a great school, and I need to spend the time when the girls are there working.

It’s a win-win.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a little teary and ambivalent.

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August 17th, 2011
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