Part of my new job involves supervising the library for a couple of periods a day. That means helping kids with homework, checking books in and out, and keeping the peace. It is not that exciting unless the students need help; most of the time they do not, although one of the classes has way too many students in it and they would rather throw things at each other than do work. A few weeks ago our librarian resigned. Until they hire someone to replace her, I am filling most of the time slots. It is nice to be working more, but there are more than a few problems associated with me working 5 hours a day in a room full of books.
First off, there is the temptation problem. I am constantly faced with the choice to teach or get lost in a book: unfortunately for the students and the people who are paying me, reading often wins.
Second, there is the boredom problem. While one or two periods have students that need a lot of supervision, most of the periods are host to members of the AP English club who ask me to proofread their essays once in a while but don't need me on a daily basis. And not having anything to do, encourages problem A.
Third, since when has anyone thought I would be good at crowd control? When things get crazy, you try telling three teenage boys to quiet down and respond in a strong but controlled manner when they tell you to "stop getting all up in my grill." (What does that really mean anyway?)
Fourth, what are we letting kids read these days? I have taken the liberty of pulling some of the books off the shelves, because there are quite a few that are just not appropriate for youth. We've got books that I would be embarrased to read. I'm kind of disappointed in authors of teenage books right now.
And finally, reading during the day leads to me being caught up in some novel or another and just wanting to find the ending out; which means that I have lost a lot of sleep to words on the page. The internal struggle within me at night goes something like this:
You should put that down and give in to sleep - you are really tired and have to do this all over again tomorrow.
But there's only 200 pages left and you could just skim through it and find out what happens.
You are terrible at skimming and so tired! Be responsible and put it down.
Just 10 more minutes...
Its been an hour already.
Hopefully by the end of the week we will have hired someone and I will be back to spending two hours in there a day. Trust me, it will be better for all involved.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Snapshots of September
Ultimate Frisbee with the track team
Playing Apples to Apples with the volleyball team in The Dalles
Janet Hodgin (Emily's mom) and my mom wearing the exact same outfit without realizing it
Wakeboarding in the rain
Visiting Tori in Baker City
Hmmm...... :)
"Lifting" on a Friday afternoon: Lizzie, Cindy and I skipping practice to engage in more important activities
Monday, October 5, 2009
October 1
In so many ways the past two years have flown by. So much has happened since the world flipped on its head and I said goodbye to my dad for what turned out to be the last time. Two wonderful new additions, Sadie Pearl and Ephraim Alvis, joined our small clan, and two more are on the way. Ryan and Emily finished their track careers, graduated from college, and found full time jobs. My mom moved to Oregon, learned how to be a florist, and now helps lead a Grief-Share group. Colleen started working as a nurse again. Amy hasn't slept a full night in over a year. I spent one summer in Europe and one in Jackson, lost a teaching job and found a new one, started coaching high school volleyball and started working with my church youth group. The whole family took a trip to Hawaii together last August, and then were together again this summer for the Willcox-Godfrey wedding.
Yet equally striking is what hasn't happened: my dad never walks through the door of his dream home. He never drives Grace down the Willamette or teaches eager track stars how to waterski. The good people of Newberg have never known what an incredible orthopaedic they almost had, and GFU athletes have been hurt countless times without someone there to take care of them. Ephraim and Sadie never met their Boppa, and none of the grandparents want to stay up late playing Mario-Kart on New Year's Eve.
I miss my dad the most at times when I feel he should be there, and isn't. Times like this past summer at Bailey and Alfred's wedding; I remember how much he loved teasing them when they first began hanging out. Times when one of my athletes goes down and I know he could have fixed it, or provided them care when they couldn't afford it. Times when I want to crawl into his lap on that big lounge chair and be a little girl again for a few minutes. Times when my mom is alone and he should be by her side. Times when strange silences fill the space where he would be laughing, and making us laugh too.
Other times I don't miss him anymore - at least not in the physical, heart-wrenching sense. I always miss him in that soft, wish-you-were-here way, in that place where sweet memories are just beneath the surface and echoes of what is lost don't have to hurt. But now the times when I ache for him to be with us are fewer, and the moments when I am thankful for where he is now come more easily and more often.
Being together this October 1st was mostly being thankful. Thankful that we could again be together (although poor Colleen was stuck in a 13 hour shift at St. John's); thankful that it was a beautiful day; thankful that we had all of these great memories of being places and enjoying things with him; thankful for all the prayers sent heavenwards for us; and incredibly thankful that God still provides and heals two years later.
At the cemetery, early morning:
At the beach, outside Lincoln City:
At Mo's, eating my dad's favorite clam chowder:
Evening sun on the river:
Yet equally striking is what hasn't happened: my dad never walks through the door of his dream home. He never drives Grace down the Willamette or teaches eager track stars how to waterski. The good people of Newberg have never known what an incredible orthopaedic they almost had, and GFU athletes have been hurt countless times without someone there to take care of them. Ephraim and Sadie never met their Boppa, and none of the grandparents want to stay up late playing Mario-Kart on New Year's Eve.
I miss my dad the most at times when I feel he should be there, and isn't. Times like this past summer at Bailey and Alfred's wedding; I remember how much he loved teasing them when they first began hanging out. Times when one of my athletes goes down and I know he could have fixed it, or provided them care when they couldn't afford it. Times when I want to crawl into his lap on that big lounge chair and be a little girl again for a few minutes. Times when my mom is alone and he should be by her side. Times when strange silences fill the space where he would be laughing, and making us laugh too.
Other times I don't miss him anymore - at least not in the physical, heart-wrenching sense. I always miss him in that soft, wish-you-were-here way, in that place where sweet memories are just beneath the surface and echoes of what is lost don't have to hurt. But now the times when I ache for him to be with us are fewer, and the moments when I am thankful for where he is now come more easily and more often.
Being together this October 1st was mostly being thankful. Thankful that we could again be together (although poor Colleen was stuck in a 13 hour shift at St. John's); thankful that it was a beautiful day; thankful that we had all of these great memories of being places and enjoying things with him; thankful for all the prayers sent heavenwards for us; and incredibly thankful that God still provides and heals two years later.
At the cemetery, early morning:
At the beach, outside Lincoln City:
At Mo's, eating my dad's favorite clam chowder:
Evening sun on the river:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
