Summer Retrospective, Part One

As families prepare for the possible return to school, I am inspired to sit down and write out my own reflections of this past summer. In countless movies, we see children, hard at work on their first day of classes, writing out their first essay of the school year. And so, I take a page from that to bring you...

What I Did On My Last Day of School, by Busy Little Bee

To begin with, this year ended abruptly. There was no year-end party in the classes, no wind-down, no closure for anyone in that school. It just felt wrong.

As the wife of a BC Public school teacher, I was in a unique position. I knew that I needed to pay close attention to the BCTF website on June 16th; when the announcement was made, I did a few things to end the year right:

- I had purchased the teacher's gifts at least a week before, so I made sure to wrap them up that night
- I tucked two fabric shopping bags into each child's backpack, to pack up their desk
- I stuffed a dozen plastic shopping bags into two other bags to take to the school for the end of the day
- I sat my school-age children down to explain to them what was happening, and to prepare them to say goodbye to their teachers and friends for the summer
- I gave them cards to write in to accompany the gifts
- I checked our pantry shelves and freezer to take stock of what food we had
- I prayed for fiscal responsibility, to successfully get us through to July 15th, when Hubby's summer payroll savings would kick in. And I prayed for strength.
- I prepared to call our landlord, to ask him not to cash our rent cheque for July

What do you mean, this doesn't look like your summer preparation list? Normally, it doesn't look like mine, either. But this year was different. I can't say special, because there was nothing exciting about it, nothing to look forward to but financial uncertainty and enormous stress and anxiety.

On the last day of school, I went in early for pick-up. Tertius and Quarta were with me, and we gave the bags full of bags to their siblings and sent them back to their teachers with offers to help deconstruct their classrooms. See, we knew they were only being given 45 minutes by the government before they would be locked out of their classrooms, or their schools, and I noted that most teachers had elected to park in the church parking lot just off the school property in anticipation of that deadline. Tell me, how exactly are teachers expected to clean out their classroom properly in 45 minutes? The quick answer is that they can't. I knew that when I walked into Secunda's classroom and asked, "What can I help with?". The look on her teacher's face was an odd mix of panic, sadness and mirth. She smiled wryly, and said, "Well, everything's got to be cleared out of the cloakroom. Can you stay to help with that?" I told her that we would stay the full 45 minutes, and it looked like she was about to burst into tears. I know she's not one for emotional outbursts, so I quietly took the kids out of the room and began work. We stayed as long as she had work for us, and at some point, she looked around the room, sighed, and said, "I think that's all we can do. The rest will just have to be done in September." That afternoon, I cried.

I cried for my children, who didn't get the chance to say a proper goodbye to their friends in the schoolyard, because unlike past years, people didn't stick around. Children were scooped up and whisked off school property like there was an outbreak of leprosy. I cried for their teachers, likewise denied the chance to give their students that important sense of closure, to give them one last supportive gesture to send them on their way. I cried for the other kids, who had come to school wholly unprepared for that day. Not in the, “Gee, sorry you forgot to bring a bag to clean your desk with” kind of way, but real grief for the confusion and hurt they might be feeling, the sense of disconnectedness, and the uncertainty about the following school year. I cried for my husband, who went through the same thing as the other 41,000 teachers in this province. He couldn't leave anything behind; his contract was only for that year, and we still didn't know where he would be teaching in September, if at all. I cried for a lot of reasons that day. And I did it while hiding in the bathroom, because I knew that I had to present a brave face for my kids, and a strong one for my husband, should he feel the need to cry.



I don't ever want to have a last day of school like that again. And as a citizen who has been fully awakened to the realities of public education in BC, I know I won't.

Cautiously Optimistic

I couldn't sleep on Monday night. Twice, I ran the battery down on my phone, checking for updates on the bargaining between the BCTF and BCPSEA. I had been experiencing some stomach discomfort, but I chalked it up to too much garlic in our dinner. Then the excruciatingly painful cramps started and I knew I was in the grips of a full-on colitis attack.This doesn't happen too often for me, thankfully. It is only in times of major stress that it rears its ugly head and renders me a whimpering blob of flesh, rocking incessantly back and forth, trying to self-soothe. 

And then the song starts. 

I blame it all on Amaz-Aine (name bungled to protect the individual). See, she made me a CD a few years back, and its my kids' favourite thing to listen to in the car. The first half of the album is Great Big Sea songs, but it's the second half of the album that has them so captivated. She knows me so well, and gave me a bunch of Arrogant Worms songs to enjoy. On this particular disc is a catchy little jazz number, called "IBS" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc6m0fqUzds&index=4&list=PLgX4Lji6mCw8OzgBrFJykd-ysqRikMw-t). Yes, whenever I have a colitis attack, I now have to suffer the further indignity of having this ear-worm stuck in my head until the colitis has worked through my system, typically, 24 hours or so. I suppose it helps to pass the time...

Anyway, all of this is to illustrate for you, dear reader, what the government's strike against teachers is doing to people. I'm not even a teacher, but I am married to one, and the stress of not knowing where rent was going to come from, combined with trying to be the taskmaster for the kids (teachers have earned even MORE of my respect for their phenomenal classroom management skills), keeping up with the housework and being a support to Hubby have taken their toll. And Monday night, I hit the wall.

And so it was that I was up in the middle of the night, in the throes of another round of "ohpleaseletmejustdiesothispainwillstop" when I refreshed my phone's Facebook app and saw that a tentative deal had been reached.

Colour me cautiously optimistic.

I knew that the BCTF would not let E80 stay in the language of the agreement, so I figured it was probably a good deal, or at least, as good a deal as the BCTF were ever going to get out of this government. And while I forsee this being ratified, I don't for a moment think that the BC Liberals have backed down from their plan to dismantle public education in BC.

As the wife of a teacher, and the friend of so many others, I can assure you that teachers want to be in the classroom as soon as is feasible.

This strike was not about pay raises, as the government would have you believe; it was about something far more fundamental - it has been about protecting the constitutional rights of teachers, and the charter freedoms of children. It was about preserving public education to prevent the ever-growing chasm of haves and have-nots. Teachers took an enormous financial hit to stand up for the right of BC children to receive the education that the Charter of Rights promises them. And it took an immeasurable emotional and mental toll on them all to do it.

I expect that these excellent men and women will need continued understanding and support, even encouragement, to move past such a fractious time and refocus their considerable energies on what they truly love: educating our children. So when you have the opportunity, hug a teacher and say thank you. I know I will.

What Class Size and Composition Issues Mean To My Family

We are now at the beginning of our third week of strike action in September. Exploratory discussions collapsed just over two weeks ago, with the mediator declaring that the two sides were too far apart for mediation. While they are once again holed up at a hotel in Richmond, discussing things, I'm not holding my breath for a satisfactory resolution. And so, it's time for me to talk about how the real sticking point for the government affects a real family.


I'm neither a teacher nor an EA. I am the stay-at-home parent of four, two of which (so far) have been designated gifted. I have watched as year after year, I sit in IEP meetings to set up goals for my children, only to have the year-end IEP print-out say "Insufficient progress to meet goals". This is not the fault of the teacher, who is forced to perform triage in the classroom daily; this is not the fault of the student, who would self-direct if only the resources were made available. This is the fault of the government who has sought to systematically underfund public education for over a decade. If my children's classrooms were funded properly, there would be an EA present to assist the struggling students, and the teacher would have enough time to implement the strategies put in place to augment my kids' educational experience.  

Time for The Tide To Turn

I was so heartened the other day to see an open letter from a Port Coquitlam school administrator to school parents, detailing the increasing fiscal constraints placed on the public school system here in BC by the BC Liberal party. Their school annual budget plummeted 87% between 2002 and 2014, from $181,000 down to a paltry $23,000 This is a district that had 30,000 students when Hubby worked there in 2007. Were he still working there, he would have been laid off this year, along with the 800 other teachers that had less than 8 years' experience in their district. To put it into perspective, that would be the equivalent of laying off EVERY SINGLE TEACHER in our community of 70,000 people.

This government is not putting families first. It is systematically destroying public education, attempting to break the teachers' union, and using shock doctrine tactics to prime the voting public for a privatized education system that creates a larger divide between the "haves" and "have-nots", and removes choice for children whose families cannot afford the private system.

Can we afford the BC Liberals?

Tertius explains his sign to the art teacher at his big brother's new middle school

Fighting Despair

We are fully in support of the teachers in the current labour dispute and government lockout. And we are going broke to do it.

And I'm sure we're not the only ones.

We were lucky; because Hubby had the foresight to sign up for payroll savings, 12% of his paycheques from Sept to June were banked, to be paid out over the summer months. Thank God for that. Even so, with no paycheque at the end of June, I had to get creative to keep us from going broke then - literally.

I have a unique skill set. Our family plays in the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA), a not-for-profit society devoted to the research and re-creation of the Middle Ages. As such, I have developed the cross stitch I learned from my mother into pretty competent blackwork embroidery

I've also learned how to do tablet weaving, to make trim for Hubby's 10th century Norse persona.

Other people seem to want to buy my work.

I've made just over $500 selling trim, and it has gone either directly to the grocery store to feed us, or to the dairy for milk, or into our gas tank, or into our savings account, trying to set enough aside to keep a roof over our heads in October. I feel like I can't weave fast enough, because we're running out of time, and money.

And that strikes fear in my heart.

The hobbitses can see the strain Hubby and I are under, and I know that it's affecting them, too. Not being able to attend school is taking its toll. So I've developed some study units for them, and will try to implement them while trying to weave as long as my tendonitis will allow. Primus has been experiencing some insomnia this past week, and I know it's due to stress. I just wish I could make it better for him, but he was already given to feeling anxious about starting middle school; now we have to throw the uncertainty of an unknown start date and no orientation into the mix. Secunda is mostly just wanting to find out who her teacher will be - Ms C or Ms H - and is digging in to the material I've worked up for her. Tertius asks almost daily when he will be able to start Kindergarten; he seems to take the delay in stride, but I know he'd rather be at school. Quarta seems to be least affected by it, and I started her on printing practice and letter recognition today.

And it appears that my colitis has resurfaced.

The roiling, gurgling and excruciating pain assault me at night. I stay awake, hoping one more trip to the bathroom will settle it, and then I tell Hubby that I have insomnia instead of telling him that my guts are trying to turn themselves inside out so that he won't worry.

We have been fortunate in that we have received amazing support from people. Our church family gave us a gift card that has fed us when nothing else could. Our union local had a $50 grocery card to hand out to us. Friends have dropped by with vegetables and fruit, pasta and sauce, tea and sympathy, and one friend from over 8 hours' drive away is express-posting a grocery card as I write this. Other teachers in better financial situations have gifted us with money, and opportunities to work for money. All of this is appreciated more than I could adequately express. But I still don't know how I'll keep the power and heat on, how I'll keep the phones or internet running; how I'll keep the water flowing.

I am beginning to despair, and I am looking for something to hold onto.

The Price Of The Labour Dispute In My House

Here we are, teetering on the precipice of a new school year, and for the first time, I dread what is to come.

Normally, I eagerly await the beginning of school, buying school supplies (I always pick up a few office supplies for myself, because a compulsive list-maker needs notepads), finding a new outfit for each child, and spending time sorting out snacks, re-setting sleep schedules and returning our home to an oasis of relative calm from the usual summer chaos.

But not this year.

Instead, I have purchased the barest minimum of school supplies to get my kids started off for the year, and I am left wondering when that will be. I have not bought any new clothes, because whatever money we have has to last us until this dispute ends. Back-to-school shopping has been replaced with food stockpiling; Secunda needs a new bike, but we need to make sure we can pay rent and utilities to keep a roof over our heads in the face of being virtually penniless by September 15^th. Why do I sound so alarmist? It's simple: I am the wife of a BC public school teacher.

We are still working to re-pay 11 years of student loans for Hubby's three degrees. There is no nest egg, no rainy day fund. We live simply; we don't have cable, we eschewed a landline to reduce our phone expenses, we don't go to the movies unless it's at the second-run theatre, and even then, only on cheap Tuesday. Our kids have handheld devices thanks to the largesse of grandparents, when they upgraded their own phones. Our home is filled with second-hand furniture and electronics, and our big expenditure this year was a $70 splash pool so that we wouldn't be paying out of pocket to take the kids to the rec centre. We buy our gas and dairy south of the line, because that's how we can afford gas and dairy. We cancelled the kids' martial arts lessons, and they have not been replaced with other activities. Secunda would dearly love to take piano lessons, but I just can't justify the expense right now.

We are members of a hobby group and have had to significantly curtail our activities in it, even though up until the lockout, we played very active roles. This is a hobby that has been a great source of enjoyment for our family for a number of years, and serves as a stress release for me and Hubby. The unofficial motto of our group is “Real life comes first”, and we have really put that to the test this year, forgoing events and delegating responsibilities at them because it just wasn't financially responsible to go.

We are careful with our money. I have a calendar where I write down every bill, every due date, every time money comes into our house, and painstakingly monitor when each gets paid to ensure that we are never at risk of having our power cut off, or of getting an angry call from the landlord.

These past three months have been an exercise in spinning plates, deciding what bills must be paid now and which can sit for a month; making those excruciatingly embarrassing phone calls to utility companies to ask for extensions, explaining our circumstances and hoping for an understanding and lenient person on the other end of the phone.

I can't help but shake my head, because shouldn't teachers with their professional training be able to make ends meet better than this? Should we still be living hand to mouth 8 years post-grad?

We have four children. The oldest is 12 and will enter middle school this year; the youngest is not yet four and is at home for another year. The agreement we made was that while the kids were small and at home, one of us would be at home with them. Hubby's earning potential is higher, so it was a no-brainer. Even so, this summer, I have secured some very part-time work, and I am earning some money doing commission crafts. I have also made a preliminary inquiry about a job that would give more hours, and hopefully, keep the wolves from the door for long enough to see a resolution to the dispute. Hubby would already be out there, doing something else, but no employer in his right mind would hire someone who would leave as soon as the labour dispute ended.

I have watched him throughout this whole thing; I have seen him run the full gamut of emotions. Many days, I have seen him bring home a bag weighed down to the breaking point with marking. I have watched him formulate letters to parents and segregate himself from his family to make phone calls home, and I have watched him organize strike shifts; I have seen his face light up when reading a student's essay, and I have seen him despair in the face of the government's contempt for his profession. It breaks my heart to see that a government that is supposed to be representative of the people of BC would vilify the very people who educate our children and bring forth generation after generation of critical thinkers, decision makers, artists, athletes, and public servants. To watch as they seek to dismantle one of the best education systems in the world in order to churn out worker drones for their pet projects.

I have lost all faith in the provincial government. I have no belief that they have any interest whatsoever in resolving this. I see my children being denied their right to an education while the BC Liberals wait out the appeal of Justice Griffin's decision in October.

How long must my children wait for their rights to be protected? How long must my husband be denied his livelihood? How long must we all suffer at the hands of people who have no thought for the people they purport to serve?

How long are you willing to wait?

10 Day Writing Challenge - Day 8

This month has truly been a blur. I've been working my tail off preparing for our church's VBS (Vacation Bible School) this last week. As a result of this, my blog fell into disrepair, which I aim to remedy now. 

VBS involved a lot of painting on cardboard and styrofoam, a lot of thinking outside the box, a lot of creative ideas for how turn our Sunday School classrooms into different habitats for the Weird Animals we introduced (I got the underwater room, which I felt was the most thought-out and the coolest, though not in temperature, as the windows couldn't be opened), and admittedly, a lot of time perusing Pinterest for inspiration. It took a lot of hours on a lot of days, and the week leading up to it was close to 8 hour work days. The camp itself was a blast, but I found myself mentally exhausted afterwards. I needed a few days to recover. We broke it all down this morning, and two months' work was dismantled and re-located to storage and the recycling bin in a matter of two hours.

Now that I've had a rest, slept in on at least one day, and spent some time recharging my mental batteries, I'm ready to finish off the writing challenge. So, without further ado, here we go...


Day Eight: Three turn-ons

1) Intelligence. Nothing is hotter to me than an engaged brain. While I felt that Hubby cut a nice figure in the first photo I saw of him, it was his mind that really attracted me to him; the way he spoke, his thought process, it all made me fall deeply in love with him before I ever set eyes on him in person.

2) Kindness. My heart melts when I see the man I love being kind and considerate to someone.

3) Confidence. Not that annoying full-of-yourself, "aren't I such a prince among men" kind of confidence. True confidence doesn't boast; it is quiet and sure, it does not seek to build itself up at the expense of anyone else. A person that possesses that quiet self-assurance is a person that draws others in, in a way that those drawn in don't even notice.

Stay tuned for Challenge Day Nine: Two smileys that describe your life right now (I will be substituting two emotions for the smileys, as I feel that emoticons are woefully inadequate for conveying mood).