Guest Bananas – Tough Bananas

April Then and Now

Cliches are frequently used because despite being tired and worn, they ring true. I often do wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I teach my students to read between the lines. Hindsight really is 20/20.

Hindsight, you fickle thing. Our current state of shelter-at-home has given a completely new lens with which to view our present circumstances as well as perspective on our past. If January me knew what was coming, she would not have gotten so upset about the mess in the basement or the piles of laundry needing to be folded. She would have spent her time hugging friends and buying stock in Lysol.

Alas, we do not have the ability to truly view our alternatives and their consequences in the moment, but we can learn from them. Our mistakes, disappointments, failures, successes, joys, and triumphs all shape us.

Today’s post is penned by a guest writer, my friend, Charmaine. We all have our “then and now” moments and I’m grateful she has allowed me to share hers.

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“April 1992 included the wedding day I remember in vivid detail. I give it the place of honour and respect it deserves because it changed the trajectory of my life. Now that date has a new importance. While It still reflects change, it also mirrors growth and healing. April 2020 me is okay. More than okay.

The 1992 version of me could never have imagined the Covid-19 reflections of the 2020 me. Then again, none of us were prepared then or even a few months ago for our current daily lives.

Now some people I love are on the front lines, at risk every day to help and support our communities. Others are at home, minimizing risk. Some of the people I love are out and about with little concern for risk while some live in almost constant fear of this unpredictable virus. People I love are dealing with significant health concerns unrelated to Covid-19, while others are battling anxiety, depression, and loneliness as a result of it. Many of the people I love are healthy and thriving – well, most days.

Hey, 1992 Me, did you know that in twenty-eight years people I love will include educators doing a crash course on distance learning? Not likely. People I love are students doing what they can (sometimes) to keep up. They are pastors shepherding their communities and law enforcement officers keeping us safe. People I love are essential workers doing their under-appreciated jobs. They are engineers developing new technologies to assist in crises and scientists researching and recording Covid-19 data. And there are skeptics in my circle, too.

1992 Me could not have predicted that people I love are now struggling to provide services and keep businesses afloat due to a pandemic. Some are unemployed and under financial strain while others are unfazed by current economics. I care and weep for those who are grieving loved ones they could not say goodbye to in meaningful ways. We reach painful milestones of past losses without the presence of friends and family. People I love are displaced due to border closures and immigration bans.

People I love are living fretfully and in tension with the restrictions imposed on their lives, waiting anxiously for a return to normal. Some live chaotically with more responsibilities than before. Some live in resentment and defiance of current restrictions and legislation. People that I love are also living calmly in spite of restrictions and promoting peace.

Some believe these are the end times. Conversely others believe that the future will be a better normal than the past. How do I respond to these polarizing and painful perspectives? I don’t need to convince anyone of my version of truth. I don’t need to have all the answers about science, eschatology, human behaviour, politics or grief. People wouldn’t listen if I did.

Instead I choose to live gratefully for every day I am given; for people I love whose life experiences are different from mine, who challenge my perspective and check my privilege; for God’s grace to cover my mistakes, His abundance to provide for my needs, His presence to give me peace, His blessings to give me joy, His promises to give me hope. I choose to be kind and generous, humble and forgiving, faithful to my Creator and to those entrusted to me.

We are lonely, at times. We are scared, at times. But we are not alone.

I am grateful for all these people that I love. Thank you for influencing my life and shaping me into this 2020 version.”

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A note from Charmaine:

Jan is an unsung hero of mine who I met teaching Bible stories to 2&3-year-olds. She was the voice of intrigue behind the puppets. I was the arm of comfort to the kids afraid of them. Okay, that sounds worse than it really was, but I think she would say “just go with it”. Please don’t blame her. Another spring day while I navigated my squad to hockey games, she enlisted her’s and mulched my flower gardens. In exchange for pizza that was more than 30 mins late. She drew the shortest straw that day.

There are lots of things we don’t know about each other, but they probably aren’t important anyhow. Mostly we share a virtual friendship, as old school as virtual can be. Messenger and email are just fine for us. I rarely process my thoughts on paper, and if I do they are awkwardly penned and endlessly critiqued. She creates delightful works of art that bring healing to my soul and normalcy to my life. Even now, during her own reflections of loss, she graciously offered to turn my left aligned bullet points into her signature style. She transformed them into another gift and drew the short straw once again.

Everyone Matters

The school my husband and I teach at has an unofficial motto, “Everyone Matters”. We encounter situations and behaviours daily that can challenge this credo. Recently, Bearded Husband wrote a journal entry for a course he is taking. He was asked to respond to his quote:

“Creating a non-threatening environment in which students are emotionally and physically safe has a significant impact on student learning and achievement.” Marzano (2003)

I’m proud to teach with this man and to have his words shared here. Thank you to my fellow teachers for the dedication you bring to your job, even when it’s tiring, even when you want to give up. You matter.

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It can be a tough process in life. We all have a basic need for it. Identity issues or a negative sense of self can arise if we don’t have a deep sense of it. Without it, we don’t function as we were meant to – we fall apart; we ache; we hurt others.

A sense of belonging.

If one lacks a feeling of belonging, it can negatively influence who we are, how we act, how we treat others. As educators, we are called to ensure that students in our care feel safe, secure, and valued. That they belong. We want students to have the courage to be authentic and put themselves out there. To feel like they’re allowed to be imperfect, that they don’t always need to be right. To realize that it’s okay to struggle, to feel imperfect. That’s important. We foster that attitude through our actions, words and beliefs.

Teachers matter to student achievement more than any other aspect of schooling. Us. We matter. Our knowledge, our skill, our leadership, our commitment to students. We develop students’ potential to become contributing citizens of our society by modelling care, trust, respect, and integrity. We are called to ensure our learning communities are safe. We want students to see themselves as an important part of a diverse community of learners where differences are valued – where it’s okay to display our strengths and needs. We all want to feel included. To belong.

Coming to this realization has made me a better teacher. It’s a tall task to meet a child’s basic needs. I encounter children daily who may not feel safe for several reasons: they are bogged down with problems related to financial distress, family dysfunction, health and well-being concerns, and neglect. I’m proud to say I’m part of a school team that does our best to alleviate these worries by providing programs beyond the call of duty. Attendance is a real issue for some. But we know that students are less likely to miss school if they feel safe. A big part of that is up to me.

Through reflection and dialogue with colleagues I continually refine my teaching practice. I try to be sensitive to the factors that influence student learning. As a teacher, I do my best to provide a non-threatening environment to relieve students’ anxiety and tension. I encourage students to take risks, to speak their ideas, to feel like they belong and are valued. I foster this through my actions and words – by modelling it. We engage regularly in class meetings, we set fair but firm expectations together. We seek ways to put others first by volunteering our time and effort. But ultimately, it’s up to me to set the tone. So I establish high expectations and insist they be met. I treat students equitably and with respect. I take time to establish a sense of trust. I ask students to focus on what we can do for others rather than on what we can “get” from doing something. I find effective resources to plan for and respond to the needs of individual students and learning communities. I provide whatever accommodations necessary to enable them to succeed. I do these things because I want my students to grow and learn and achieve more. I want them to have a chance to succeed in life. So I do what I can to create a sense of belonging.

We’re all in our own little communities with people who aren’t the same. Being different needs to be seen as a good thing. We all have strengths and needs different from each other. Everyone matters.

We are all worthy of belonging.

Local Mom Under Scrutiny

Dear readers,

Today we feature a submission by rookie reporter, 8-year-old Moyer. He is an up-and-coming journalist with a knack for digging deep into his topics. Mr. Moyer is not afraid to tackle any subject, no matter how sensitive or inaccurate.

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In addition to being a crackerjack writer, he also does his own illustrations.

Editor’s note: the views expressed in the above article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of Tough Bananas, Jan Moyer, or most Starbucks consumers.

Create Your Own Village

This post has been on my mind for months and I finally put it into words. Honoured to have it posted on BonBon Break (a new community I am excited to join). Click here to check it out and while you’re there, get inspired by other posts. Stay a while.

A big thank you to all the friends, neighbours, and coworkers in my life who inspire and encourage me. And thank you to this month’s theme sponsor, OurPactApp.

1 Simple Trick…

It’s my most Buzzfeed-like title to date.

Today I’m posting over at What The Flicka and sharing some thoughts on getting your kids to pitch in with household chores. Here’s the link: http://whattheflicka.com/1-simple-trick-to-convince-your-kids-to-pitch-in/

Thanks – you guys are the best.

Happy Anniversary TB – a working title

Today marks two years of blogging. That’s kind of a milestone, right?

Thank you everyone who takes time out of their lives to read Tough Bananas, comment, and share. I never thought that blogging would introduce me to so many great people and new friends, but here we are. And aside from teaching, marriage, and parenting, I think this is longest I’ve stuck with anything. And coffee. And chocolate. You get the idea.

You can find me over at MomBabble where some of us moms share how we knew we were pregnant. Even though I did that four times, I only have one exciting backstory. Enjoy.

Pretty big for a single serving, but you can do anything if you believe.

And thanks. Seriously.

Double Double Guest Posting

It’s a two for one!

Today I’m guest posting at the always delicious and freshly-brewed Coffee Shoppers again. It’s fun and delicious. Ever wonder what people really mean when they ask you to go for a coffee? Wonder know more – I explain all over there: Let’s Have Coffee. If you like that, take a minute and read past guests posts, a review of “Balzacs“, and some thoughts on Tim Hortons.

And, I have a post up on What the Flicka for the first time. I have four boys and find I get a little punchy when it comes to stereotypes about “boy” and “girl” toys and stereotypes in general – you can read that right here: But That’s For Girls.

As always, thanks for coming along for the ride.

The Sting

A big welcome to guest writer, Andi. You can’t find Andi anywhere on social media, but take my word for it, she’s real. She even buys me American Reese, so you know she’s a solid person. A true friend. And she has some great stories – like this one.

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I’ve never considered myself an unlucky person but the last few years of my life are tempting me to reconsider. I think that what may have sealed it is what I have started referring to as “the wasp incident”.

I was driving home from a rather discouraging day at work. It was one of the last lovely days of the season so I decided to pull my day out of the dumpster: tunes turned up and windows rolled down. Five minutes from home and my spirits were lifting when suddenly I went, “Ow!” immediately followed by, “MY BACK IS ON FIRE!!!”

Now I may or may not have been moving at a good clip in the passing lane at this point and in the excitement, may have transferred my stress to the accelerator. I reached behind me with one hand to hold my wildly waving shirt (reference wide open window comment above) away from the spot on my shoulder that felt like it was pumping fire into my back. It’s amazing how quickly your brain can fire when you feel that level of pain. After about two seconds I deduced that I had been stung by a bee. I also realized that I needed to get home as quickly as possible to make sure that the stinger was no longer in my back as it felt like bursts of electricity were shooting into my shoulder blade.

A few seconds later I decided I should close the windows to prevent the wind from working against me by blowing my shirt against said ‘ring of fire’. I switched hands to hold my shirt away from my back while trying to roll up the windows and that’s when I realized that this was not a bee sting but a wasp sting. Fun fact: Wasps do not die after stinging their target. I can confirm this as the wasp flew up and stung my finger and then fell down the back of my shirt and stung me under the waistband on my pants. Thankfully, the music was loud to muffle my loud exclamations of surprise.

For the record, I did consider pulling onto the side of the road to get rid of the wasp and try to address the fiery inferno on my back, but quickly decided that was a poor choice. I was only two minutes from home and to address the stings, I needed to remove my shirt. Although I live in Ontario where it is legal for women to go topless, I’m not comfortable personally applying this legislation to the side of the road two minutes from where my kids go to school.

When I got home I quickly (and likely a bit distractedly!) dismissed the babysitter and then dragged my eleven-year-old daughter into my bedroom to take a photo of my back since no other adults were around. The photo showed an angry red rash the size of a dessert plate so I did the logical thing and rushed to Dr. Google for advice. This was when it was confirmed; the first webpage I clicked on read, “Bees and wasps inject their venom into unlucky people.” Clearly, had I been a lucky individual I would have been wasp-proof.

Easily one of my most exciting rides home ever and clearly, I will not be wasting my money on lottery tickets any time in the near future. As well, no more open windows. Ever.

Boo

Whenever my twitter notifications start blowing up it can mean only one thing – someone is talking about scaring people. And that someone is usually me, Cindy Warren, or Jessica Buttram. Who knew that social media would let those of us with a passion for frightening friends and family celebrate this well-honed skill together? ONLINE? It’s a technological miracle, really.

There are some among us (Ricky Anderson) who feel it is cruel to hide under your child’s bed and jump out unexpectedly, or lurk around a corner as they exit the washroom unaware that you are about to pounce. To those people we say “it builds character.”

And so, in honour of Ricky and Halloween we will share our favourite frightening stories with you, kind readers.

Be afraid

Let us begin with Scream Queen, Jessica.

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There’s something so rewarding about crouching in the dark lying in wait so long your muscles start to cramp and you suddenly have to pee like SO BAD. I never have to pee as urgently as I do about ten seconds into hiding.

My son is my favorite to scare. He’s ten now, and naturally skeptical. My daughter, age four and a total wimp, just cries when I, or her brother, try to scare her. Just the other day when I picked her up from preschool, I hid in the girls’ bathroom right outside her classroom while she grabbed her stuff from her cubby, and before I could even get a good crouch going she ran out into the hallway in hysterics. I’m hopeful she’ll outgrow that reaction, but meanwhile, scaring my daughter makes me feel like the terrible parent I am for hiding in the dark peeing myself.

And my husband is virtually unscareable. He’s the worst. The one time I can remember actually successfully scaring him, he just sat up a little and said, “you scared me,” so the payoff isn’t even worth it.

But my son is a FANTASTIC mark. His reactions are emotional GOLD. He is the reason just last week I crouched behind his dirty, smelly basket of laundry for like, TEN MINUTES waiting. He’s the reason I’ve bought a pack of adult diapers. (Just kidding.)

I’ve tried to get it on video for this post, but the lighting is always pretty bad, and the video always turns out shaky from trying not to pee. So here’s just a little taste of the joy I experience.

Again, he is ten, skeptical, and alllllll prepubescent boy. Timing is EV-ER-Y-THING with his scares. It has to be in a dark or dimly lit room, and I have to space them out just right so he doesn’t expect them.

I realize everyone responds to fear differently. Like, I squeal and literally jump in the air. My daughter has an emotional breakdown. My husband shatters my dreams of being a professional scarer.

My son, however, screams and tenses up with a pure and unapologetic RAGE. The fury that flashes across his little face is AMAZING. I have no doubt he is more Fight than Flight, and if he were to ever TRULY believe there was a monster in his closet, I guarantee he would instinctively try to karate kick it before running away. In the split second before he realizes it’s just his sweet mother lurching out at him, I imagine his thoughts going, “I AM SO TERRIFIED AND THAT MAKES ME SO ANGRY oh wait, —it’s just you, that was hilarious, let’s do it to Dad.”

I look at it as reward for all the thankless jobs that come with parenting.

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Dear readers, Jessica is right that scaring husbands is challenging, but with commitment and stealth it can be done. Here’s my story.

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When I go for the scare, I don’t shy away from the long game. I’ve been known to fall asleep in my hiding spot on more than one occasion. Limbs going numb will not deter me. I will lie in wait with the patience of Job.

Keep looking, you'll see it in a second. — Keep looking, you’ll see it in a second.

One evening, Bearded Husband came home late from his baseball game and clearly assumed I was already in bed. I heard him unlock the front door and panicked at all the possibilities at my disposal. Do I lie on the floor and play dead? Sit on the couch and silently turn the light on? SO MANY OPTIONS. My indecisiveness forced my hand – I lurked in the living room watching him unpack his gear hoping he would glance over and then be terrified by my silent presence.

No. He was oblivious. So I did the obvious thing and just casually followed him into the kitchen and whispered, “how was your game?”

Turns out he has the same terrified range as Buttram’s son, and IT WAS AMAZING. His revenge was swift, but it was completely worth it. And rest assured, he had it coming.

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This tribute is wrapped up with perhaps the best spontaneous scaring I have heard and I tip my hat to the one and only, Cindy Warren. I wish she lived closer so I could shake her hand.

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If you can tour a church building at 9:00 PM with friends, and NOT take advantage of the opportunity to scare said friends, then we need to have a conversation about missed opportunities. My church was given a building this year, completely free of charge. One night, before it was officially ours, the pastor took several of us on a tour of the building.

Churches are not creepy after dark. Not at all.

As we walked around in the dark (why did we not have lights on- I really couldn’t tell you), I wandered off on my own and happened upon the nursery before the others did. There it was in all its glory, a terrifying room full of cribs, with the light from the moon (or maybe from street lights- who can say) coming through the window.

So I did what any good person would do. I sat in the lone rocking chair and slowly rocked while staring at the door looking like the ghost of nursery workers past. I heard the lighthearted discussion as my friends got closer.

“What’s this room? Ohhhh, it’s the nursery. That’s so creepy…I don’t wanna go in…”

*unsuspecting friends slowly push door open*

They scanned the dark room from right to left, and landed on the moving rocking chair lastly. There was screaming and genuine fear. It was glorious.

Y’all- greater joy hath no me than this: to watch my friends fight each other to get out the door the quickest.

My only regret is that I didn’t video their reactions…and that they didn’t swear. A swear is the only thing that would’ve made it better.

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We have one year, ladies – to accomplish the ultimate scare, preferably on video.

South Meets North

Okay, fella, time to head back.

Just a second. I need to process this. THIS outpost is on the Canadian side of the border, right?

Yup, it sure is.

So that means they have unlimited maple syrup?

Yes.

Ketchup chips?

I guess so.

Bacon?

Well, Canadian bacon – yes.

Grrrrr…

Settle down, settle down – we need to go now, come on.

I’ll leave when I’m ready, Wrangler. I need to hear more.

Maybe just tone it down a little, no need to get so excited.

What about poutine?

I think that’s more of an East Coast thing.

Toques? Hockey? Smarties? Overly apologetic patrons?

Yes, yes, yes, and I guess so?

But I’m tired of salmon. Every night it’s salmon, salmon, salmon. I could even settle for the cherub-looking forest ranger – he looks tasty.

He is not on the menu. Let’s go.

In a minute. So let me get this straight: this outpost has all those things plus they get free health care, Don Cherry, and ketchup chips? I don’t know what to with all these feelings!

It’s true, they do have all those things.

Do they have running water? Heat? Drive-thru Starbucks? Cable TV?

They aren’t savages. Yes, of course.

If they have all of that, why would I bother going back? What does the US have to offer that I couldn’t possibly get in Canada?

Special edition Oreos. And M&Ms.

Start the Jeep, let’s go home.

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All photos are property of Burrill Strong photography. This is the second collaboration Burrill and I have done. You can check out this talented, bearded photographer at his blog and on twitter @sgtwolverine