Poop Happens

Yesterday was a TOUGH day at work.  Sometimes being a middle school resource room teacher puts you in situations that show you just how hard life can be for for some people.

My personal strategy in dealing with stress is usually to push through until I get home, and then sleep it off.  Unfortunately, my body's strategy to dealing with stress is a bit different--it dumps (pun intended) everything.  Quickly and quite dramatically.

So yeah.  There I was, in a panic, rushing to the staff restroom, only to discover someone else was in the other stall.

Yikes.

If there's one thing you want to avoid, it's having a witness for a dramatic pooping incident at your place of employment.  My hopes of a quiet in and out were gone.

This was happening.

It was awkward.

So.  Incredibly.  Awkward.

Finally I decided to do what I encourage my students to do:  embrace the awkward and own the situation.  So I named it and owned it and said, out loud, "This is NOT awkward at all.  I'm SO sorry."

And you know what?

A friendly voice came from the other stall.  Someone I knew wouldn't judge me or my situation.  She even offered encouragement, "Are you okay?'

And boom.  Embarrassment gone.  It was what it was.

I remembered that everybody poops.  Poop happens.  It really does.

Look.  Poop is messy.  And stinky.  And really NOT a great thing to share with others.  We definitely SHOULD try to keep our poopy experiences (trouble with spouses, kids, coworkers) to ourselves.  I think we all try to show the world our best selves, and I think that in many ways this is good.  I mean, my best self is someone who is kind and thoughtful and creative and encouraging of others.

But I am not always strong.  And I definitely have dramatic mess ups sometimes.  And sometimes as much as I'd love to, I can't take care of it privately.  And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this.

What if, when faced with the public poops of our lives, instead of pretending they aren't happening or hiding in silence, we just own it and do our best to fix it and move on?

Poop happens.

There's a Hole in the Bucket

September as a special education teacher can be tough.  There are students to support through transitions and teachers to support as they learn new students and meetings.  So many meetings.

I've been thinking a lot this month about my students and the challenges they face.  It's like all students come to school with a bucket.  Picture one of the five gallon bright orange ones from Home Depot.  Our students come to school with their bucket and teachers create the very best learning they can and pour it into the bucket.  When the bucket's full, we show the students how to work with what we've poured to make something meaningful out of it.

Work with me here.  Imagine Johnny coming into math class.  His teacher wants him to learn how to add and subtract mixed numbers.  She creates an awesome lesson that involves modeling and fills Johnny's bucket up with adding and subtracting mixed numbers.  Then she shows Johnny how to use what's in his bucket to solve problems.  Presto chango!  Johnny's got adding and subtracting fractions down.

Except that some kids can't get their buckets to school.  There are lots of reasons for this, but most of them are adult created. If the bucket's not at school, it can't be filled.  Schools typically try to solve this problem by calling the parents, sending letters, and using truancy officers to try to get the bucket to school.  When the kid finally arrives carrying the bucket, teachers pour like crazy--filling the bucket to overflowing, trying to make up for the lost days.  The kid leaves school that day with a bucket full of pieces that don't connect, overwhelmed and not super motivated to figure out a way to come back.

And some kids have a lid on their bucket they can't get off.  Maybe it's hunger or the fact that they slept in a tent last night or the fact that the police were at their house.  Again.  That lid is stuck on, and nothing is going in.  Sometimes educators don't notice that, though, and try to fill it up anyway.  Everything just spills all over the place, making a mess of the kid, the classroom, the teacher's shoes.  Everyone gets frustrated, and the kid leaves with an empty bucket that still has a lid on it.

Sometimes the bucket is missing its handle.  For a variety of reasons, some kids can't manage the load they are being given.  The kid WANTS to learn, so badly, and lugs that darn bucket to school every single day.  But managing a really heavy and full bucket when you are just a kid is HARD WORK, and things--important things--are going to spill out.  Messes are going to happen.  Learning opportunities are going to be lost.

Some kids were handed smaller buckets at the bucket hand-out place.  They faithfully bring their bucket to school every day, holding it out for the teacher to fill.  At some point, it's going to overflow and things will get dumped.  Unfortunately, the kid has no idea what to dump and what to keep, so the dumping is pretty random and haphazard.  When it's time for the magic to happen where all the pieces come together, this kid is going to be missing important parts.

Oftentimes there are holes in the bucket.  It's getting filled, but is leaking.  Some kids have more holes in their buckets than others.  Some kids have really small pinholes and others have big gaping holes.  Teachers are working hard to fill buckets, and important components are spilling out on the floor, and the kids don't have time to patch the holes.

And then there are the kids whose buckets don't have a bottom.  There aren't a lot of these kids, but they are in our schools.  They faithfully bring their bucket to school each day and show their teachers their bucket that's been destroyed through poverty and violence and abuse.  Teachers try to fill the buckets of these kiddos and it just pours straight through--making a mess everywhere.  They can't figure out where the mess is coming from.  Sometimes they blame the kid.  Sometimes they blame their aim.  Either way, they just keep pouring.  They get annoyed at the mess and lose their patience with the kid.  The kid gets annoyed and communicates that annoyance with his behaviors.  But they keep pouring.

Thirty or forty or fifty years ago, the kids with problems with their buckets ended up leaving school.  They dropped out or we kicked them out or they ended up in jail or we put them in "special" school or facilities.  The problem buckets made things hard and messy, so we fixed the problems by getting rid of them. A lot has changed since then.  Now, ALL students have a right to a free appropriate public education.  Not some students, not the easy students.  ALL students.

That means that sometimes school's going to get a little messy from the spills.  It just is.  Sometimes teachers are going to need to change the way they pour so that every student can get their bucket filled in a way that makes sense for them.  

I am so blessed to work at a school that recognizes that every kid has a bucket that might need some attention.  Walk into my school on any given day and you'll see lids being taken off via access to food and clothes and school supplies.  You'll see kids who are just getting their bucket to school for the first time in days being supported while teachers carefully decide what should go in first.  You'll watch as kids who are struggling to hold their handle-less buckets get help via flexible seating options and copies of notes.  You'll notice kids who have smaller buckets have content that is specially designed for them poured in carefully.  You'll see lots of duck tape and other mending agents pulled out to close the holes.  And you'll watch kids, distressed by their bottomless buckets, being supported and loved on as the bottom is slowly repaired.  

Here's the thing:  kicking the buckets that aren't perfect out isn't going to work.  In fact, because of the world we live in, I'm certain we're going to see more and more buckets without handles or with holes or without bottoms.  As educators, we are tasked with taking each kid and her bucket and working with it.  It's what our kids are legally entitled to.  It's what we're tasked to do.  It's why I go to work every single day.

Our Flag Means Something

In 2014 I went to a local football game on a Friday night.  It was a great game, but something bugged me that night that I couldn't shake.  The next day, I penned this public letter:

Dear Young Person,

I lost sleep over you last night.  That's probably weird to hear, since you don't know me.  I was the mom in the family that was standing near you during the National Anthem at the game.

You see, as my family was standing with our hands over our hearts and our eyes on the flag, I noticed that you and your friends were not.  Instead, you were laughing, joking, poking, and in general doing what young people love to do.

At first I was angry and offended.  Then I felt sad for you, because I realized your behavior was probably NOT due to a lack of respect and recognition, but due to ignorance.  I'm not calling you stupid--I think you just don't know.

You don't know that my husband is in the military.

You don't know that of my daughter's fifteen birthdays and Christmases, her dad has missed seven of them while serving our country.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Nearly half of her birthdays and Christmases have been spent without a father because he's been elsewhere serving and protecting America.

You don't know that since my kids were little, we've flown a flag on the front of our house to remind us why we are making these sacrifices.  When they were in kindergarten and preschool, in an effort to explain WHY, yet again Daddy was gone, I'd point to that flag and explain to them that it represented all of America:  YOU, your family, your friends, and how their Daddy had the important job of helping keep EVERYONE safe.

You don't know that to my husband and the other men and women who serve our great country, that flag represents all of their sacrifices and hard work, or that YOU matter to them.  I watched last night as my husband, a man who has likely coached you or your friends in a sport, tried really hard to ignore your fun play during the anthem.  I saw his shoulders sag just a bit, and it broke my heart.

You don't know that even as I write this, my family is aware of an upcoming deployment and another long separation.  You don't know that we cling to symbols like the American flag as a way to ground us and give us hope.

So maybe that's enough for you--just hearing one family's story.  Maybe the fact that you have a classmate with a parent who serves will be enough to help you recognize that standing for four minutes respectfully is the right and easy thing to do.

Honestly, I want more for you than that.

I want you to understand that in America's darkest moments that flag has been a symbol of hope and freedom.  I want you to remember that picture you saw of the flag in the 9/11 rubble and I want you to talk to your parents and grandparents about how that picture made them feel.

I want you to understand that the flag represents the abundance of freedoms and rights offered to you as an American citizen:

The freedom to attend church where you want to (or to not attend church at all).

The right to a free education.

The right to make your life ANYTHING you want it to be.

The freedom to speak your mind, even when you disagree with me.

The freedom to gather and protest peacefully.

The freedom to put into office the person you believe will best represent you, and the freedom to disagree with that person.

The list goes on and on and on.  You only have to watch the world news for one evening to realize these are not available to your counterparts in other countries.  Did you hear about the young people in Iran ARRESTED because they made a fun video using the song "Happy"?  Google it.

I want you to understand that thousands and thousands of men and women have served our country for YOU--America's future..  Many (too many) gave their lives for you.  They all pointed to and trusted in the promise of our flag and what it represents.

I want you to join me in attention and respect during our National Anthem because you recognize what that flag represents, and you are proud of it.

Look, maybe you've never considered this stuff before.  Maybe you haven't had a parent, grandparent, or teacher explain exactly what our flag represents.  Maybe no one has ever told you that proper etiquette during the National Anthem is to stand at attention facing the flag, remove hats, and put your hand over your heart for the entire duration of the song.  I get it.  I feel like we (the adults in your lives) have failed you in this area, and I feel so terrible about that.

So now you know.  You don't have all the information, but you certainly have enough to make a decision and take action.  You have enough to start your own research on our flag and what it represents.  

I hope that at next Friday's game, I see you standing respectfully alongside my family and me for the four-ish minutes it takes to play the National Anthem.  I hope that you'll continue to have your fun afterwards, because what's not to love about a good home football game on a Friday night?  I hope that you'll share your new-found knowledge with your friends, either by sharing this post, or in another way.  Maybe you're a student leader and you'll come up with a fantastic idea to share this information with your school.

I really hope so, because that flag represents you, too.  You are America's promise and future, and America needs you and the amazing things you are going to do with your life.

Sincerely,

Just One Mom

Since this letter was written, my husband missed two more holiday seasons in his service to our country, and two more birthdays.  That's nine missed birthdays in  my daughter's nineteen years.

In the last few years a whole lot of attention has been given to the behavior of some football players during the playing of the national anthem, increasing awareness of flag etiquette.  As a result, people in America are talking about what our flag means, how it should be used, and how to respond to our flag appropriately.  

I love it.  I love that people care enough to have the hard conversations.  I love that people love their country enough to wonder  and ask questions and take stands about these things.  I have always held that the reason our flag is so special is because it represents freedom for ALL Americans, including the ones who disagree with me.  While I would never choose to not fully engage with our flag during the Pledge of Allegiance and national anthem because it means so very much to me, intentional and thoughtful protest that doesn't disrupt others is, to me, evidence that the values our flag represents are still active and present.

And yet, we still seem to be missing knowledge about the most basic flag etiquette:  how to respond to the flag when it is presented, how to rise and face the flag, what's expected during the pledge.  It's evident every time we say the Pledge of Allegiance or hear the national anthem.  You can see it at the beginnings of events, at parades, and at the beginning of athletic contests.  I STILL firmly believe that this isn't happening because people are choosing to be disrespectful.  I really think they just don't know, and I think society in general has failed to teach these things.

Last week I had the opportunity to share a very brief version of our military family's story with a bunch of really cool 4H kids and some of their families at our morning meeting during Fair.  I was impressed by the way they listened, took me seriously, and applied the information I shared with them for the rest of the week.

And on Saturday night before our Fair's auction, I watched nearly every person in the barn stop what they were doing, face the flag, and show honor and respect during our national anthem.  It was a beautiful thing.

I hope these young 4H members carry that respect forward into their school and athletic events.  I hope they continue to be the leaders I know they can be.  I hope they share their knowledge and respect with others.  I hope they grow to love and cherish our flag and what it represents.

The Kind of Mom I Want to Be

This afternoon I went out to the barn to check on our momma goats and their Fab 4 kids.  I needed a dose of cuteness.  The moms, tucked safely into our two kidding pens, were doing exactly what I expected to see them doing:  loving on their kids.  Cricket and Ivy are great experienced mommas, and they know exactly what to do with their babies. (We built the kidding pens a couple years ago to provide mom and babies some time away from the herd to bond and establish nursing while accessing free and plentiful food without competition.  The pens also give us a chance to monitor mom and kid health for a few days.)

While I was out there, I decided to check in on the ladies in the barn and noticed that Astrid, a first time momma expected to kid any day, was in active labor.  We only have two kidding pens, and they were both in use, so after a quick conference with my two Sapplings, we decided that Cricket could easily handle her kids in the barn.  She is, after all, the one all the other momma goats count on to help with childcare when they are grazing.  She'll fiercely defend anyone's kid from a perceived threat, and her girls were already thriving after just one day in the kidding pen.  So we moved Cricket and Opal and Bea to the barn and moved a very panicky Astrid to the empty kidding pen.

Once we got her settled, I went back into the house to give her some time.  When I returned an hour later it was to find Astrid really distressed.  Labor is HARD and PAINFUL, even when you are goat.  Especially when you are a goat, maybe, because you have no idea what's going on and there's nobody to give you ice chips and rub your feet.  Astrid was struggling.  I felt so bad for her, and despite my best efforts to calm her, I knew she just had to go through it.  That's when Ivy poked her head through the little crack that separates the two pens and "talked" to Astrid.  I don't know what she said, but Astrid calmed after that for a bit.

When Kid #1 (Thunder) started crowning, it was clear that he was REALLY big.  Strain as she might, this guy was NOT moving.  Thankfully, he was positioned correctly and I was able to use a little pull and the force of gravity to assist in his birth.  His teeny brother Kid #2 (Storm) appeared shortly after with no issue.  As I vigorously rubbed down the kids to get them clean and dry and breathing, poor Astrid just stood there, forlorn.  Can you imagine?  WHAT THE HECK ARE THESE THINGS THAT JUST CAME OUT OF ME?!?  WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THEM?  I would have been forlorn too.

When you have farm animals, one of the first things you want to do with new babies is get colostrum in them.  This life-giving substance is so important to newborns.  Sometimes with new moms they are so freaked out that getting a kid to nurse is a fight.  Sometimes you have to hold the mom and force her to let the kids eat.  Sometimes the kids are too weak and can't latch on.  Sometimes they are stupid and can't find the teat.  There's a lot to worry about, especially with new moms.

So there I am, sitting on the floor of the kidding pen, babies just getting dry and alert enough to stand, trying to get Astrid to agree to let them nurse.  She's nervous, and does NOT want me to put those things under her.  The babies are dumb and weak, which means that not only are they not finding the teat, but they can't even hold themselves up to look properly.  We've got the makings for a super frustrating moment. 

Then Ivy did that thing again.

She put her nose into the crack separating the pens and she "talked" to Astrid.

I don't know what she said, but here's what I saw: Astrid calmed down.  She started licking her babies.  She let both of them nurse.  She started momming.

I've honestly never seen anything like it. 

I know I'm a weirdo, but at that moment I totally thought of all the moms in my life who have talked me out of being crazy.  The moms who were there for me during the newborn phase.  And the ones who talked me through scary medical stuff.  And the ones who stood with me during life's most stressful moments. Those moms were with me.  Not judging.  Not comparing.  Just present and talking.

I'll admit I've had moments where I was the judgy mom.  I'm not proud of those moments.  I remember thinking that *my* kid would never...whatever the thing is.  Or that my kid was a better...whatever.  In those moments I isolated myself and my kids, and we lost out.  We were the family standing there scared and alone and not knowing how the heck to do the next thing.

I'm glad those moments didn't last long.  I'm glad I had moms who loved me and my kids anyway and were there for us anyway.  And I'm glad they showed me how much nicer it is to be a part of a whole tribe of moms who support and care for each other.

I want to be the kind of mom Cricket is--the mom other moms trust with their precious treasure.

I want to be the kind of mom Ivy is--the mom who quietly and patiently advises and coaches without judging.

And I want to be the kind of mom Astrid is--the one who has no idea what the heck is going on, but has a tribe of strong and powerful women she knows she can trust and rely on.

Cheers to you, awesome moms!  I'm glad you are part of my tribe.

What Does Support Look Like?

I've been thinking a lot about this question over the last two and a half years.  In the victim's statement I gave at the sentencing last March (and shared here) I mentioned to the judge that we were not surprised (and were even glad) that the defendants had a support system, but that they way those people chose to support the young men they loved was way different than the way we chose to support Chelsea.

When we first heard about the crime in September of 2015, we simply circled the wagons and figured out what Chelsea needed.  We didn't have all the details, but as discussed in my statement, she needed lot, so we focused on that.  There were the nightmares and panic attacks to deal with, and the friendship issues to navigate and support through.  Figuring out how to deal with school staff and their varying degrees of information was a challenge. There was the line of boys (including some who had seen the videos and others who had heard about them) who suddenly saw her as some kind of challenge to conquer.  Then there was the very real biological response to stress.  She stopped eating.  She started vomiting.  She lost twenty pounds in a week.  She was so weak she couldn't open a water bottle. She cried in pain.  We took her to the emergency room.  They evaluated her and sent us home with instructions to come back if it got worse.  She got worse so we took her back to the emergency room.  They evaluated her and sent us home with instructions to come back if their was blood in her vomit.  There was blood in her vomit so we took her back to the emergency room.  They said, "Unless she's vomiting a cup or more of blood or is unconscious, don't come back."  Then, a nurse pulled me to the side and said, "Take her to a pediatric ER in Portland.  They might be able to help."  So that's what we did.  They admitted her and we stayed there for a week while she recovered.

So yes, back in 2015, we circled the wagons.  We didn't post about the crime on social media.  We didn't make jokes about it.  We didn't brag about getting away with anything (though we heard the defendants were doing this).  We didn't talk about the defendants--we let them go through their senior year of high school without interference from us.  We just quietly cared for our kid.

At the beginning of 2016 I remember having a conversation with the DA.  They'd investigated and had enough to go forward.  We agreed with that decision.  We didn't see the police reports at that time, and didn't go over the details of them with the DA, so we didn't know yet that the crime hadn't been the "practical joke gone awry" the defendants were telling everyone about.  At that time we still thought that Mr. Jones (still changing the names, as we're not looking to get even here, just looking to educate) was just as unaware of the filming as Chelsea was.

In June of 2016, after the grand jury indicted the defendants and they were arrested, we still weren't clear on what had actually happened.  What we did know was that the local newspaper ran a big article about it and it was on the local news stations, and things got ugly.  The newspaper is how we learned that it had been planned, but we didn't understand the details.  What we did understand is that having your name and picture on the front page of a paper for committing a sex crime must have been really really embarrassing (not as much, maybe, as being filmed without your knowledge or consent and having it shared, but embarrassing nonetheless).  We understood that the parents of the defendants must be heartbroken and sad and scared.  So we did what we thought everyone should do:  we started praying for them.  I posted daily quotes and reminders about kindness on my social media accounts, hoping to remind my friends and family that despite the incredibly ugly situation we found ourselves in, the best option was kindness. We continued to not discuss the crime or the defendants on social media or in public.

We were not prepared for the ugly storm headed our way.

It was just a few hours after the local newspaper ran the story that it hit.  At first, the adults supporting the young men were just angry at the system.  They still believed that this whole thing was just a harmless prank gone wrong, because that's what the young men had told them.  Mr. Jones had recently had his eighteenth birthday, so an assumption was made that the DA and law enforcement had stalled until then so he would be prosecuted as an adult (this is a false assumption for a whole lot of reasons, but mostly because Oregon law requires they be prosecuted as adults starting at age 15 in crimes like this, but I get the anger).  The first bashing was definitely towards the DA and the newspaper, which they believed had published lies.  Those angry outbursts in public and on social media were uncomfy, to be sure, and understandable, even if they were misguided and misinformed.  What happened next was unfathomable.

I can't pretend to understand what shifted in the minds of the defendants' supporters, but there was a clear shift, and it clearly started with adults.  It started, at least from my perspective, with someone on Facebook saying something like, "Stop saying bad things about Matt and Josh.  It was just a prank and just a few seconds and none of you know anything."  I think this was in response to people sharing the newspaper story on their pages.  In the comments of that post, one of the defendants' parents posted that since Chelsea's face wasn't visible, and she seemed fine at school, and she wasn't raped, this wasn't a big deal at all.  I think that comment is what opened the floodgates, because shortly after that, I saw kids posting the same thing.  When that wasn't enough and people said, "But it's still a crime," they (I'm talking about all of the defendants' supporters in general as a group now, and understanding that not every person did each of these things, but that they supported each other as these things were done.) took it a step farther and called Chelsea a slut and other awful names.  They said she had lured the boys in and that it was all her fault.  They said she wasn't the victim.  They said she deserved to be in jail too.  They said we (her parents) should be coming forward to explain ourselves.  A woman who used to babysit my kids and LOVED them even joined in, probably unaware of who she was talking about. Someone revealed Chelsea's identity, ensuring that she would continue to be at the center of everything.  I remember going to the bathroom at least twice during that time and actually vomiting after reading some of the comments.  The behavior was SO counterintuitive and SO different than what I was trying to promote that I couldn't grasp it.  It made me physically ill.  I'm including one example here.  There are more on my March 13, 2017 Facebook post shared above.

During that time I got a couple of messages from friends.  They told me how sorry they were and encouraged me to not go on social media.  Mostly, though, as a family we felt under attack.  People who had approached us in a friendly way in public before made obvious attempts to avoid us now.  We didn't understand why.  Others messaged me and talked about how they hoped Chelsea had learned something from all of this.  I was so confused by what they meant I usually didn't respond.  There were a few people who messaged me and said something like, "Please know that I think what is happening is awful, but I can't say anything because I'm afraid of what they'll do to me."  I understood that.  Looking at what we were facing during that time, I can't imagine anyone else seeing that and wanting it for themselves.  Some of the supporters approached us and Chelsea's closest friends when we were out in public, resulting in really uncomfortable moments where Chelsea actually worried about her safety.  Some people messaged Chelsea, saying things like, "You do know they were joking, right?"  The whole situation was so crazy at times it felt like a bad movie.  We started changing our habits:  picking a new favorite family restaurant, implementing safety procedures, limiting Chelsea's time out alone.

We read the police reports and were shocked and horrified.  The story the young men had told everyone about the reason why they had done this horrible thing, and the extent of its seriousness, was very different than what we'd heard.  They'd planned it.  They had the goal of doing this, and they carried out their plan.  They worked together to get it done.  They conspired against Chelsea.  It wasn't a SnapChat.  It was a lengthy video and some shorter ones.  It was shared more widely than we were first told.  The whole situation was more disgusting than we had imagined.

Then something unexpected but lovely happened.  A very small group of people started publicly correcting and supporting Chelsea.  It started with Meisha, a young woman who had just graduated from high school that summer of 2016.  While in high school she had been the victim of a sex crime and had loudly and proudly taken a stand for herself during her high school graduation speech.  Meisha said, (and I'm paraphrasing here) "The time for boys will be boys is over.  We can't excuse crimes like this."  She was immediately attacked.  People called HER a slut.  They told her she was just looking for attention.  They called her a traitor.  They threatened her.  Because she was so young, I honestly expected her to crumble and hide.  She didn't.  She stood her ground, and continued to be threatened and name-called by her community.  We watched the whole thing play out in front of us.  It seemed ironic:  the attacks against Chelsea started with adults, but the stand for Chelsea began with a person most would consider a kid.  Meisha's stand emboldened others to take a stand, and provided an opportunity for people unaware of the situational specifics (former teachers, adult friends, etc.) to support her and Chelsea.

Meanwhile, two moms privately connected with me and offered support.  They asked what we needed.  It was different than the standard "let me know if I can help" so many of us offer friends during difficult times.  I could tell they meant it.  I told them we couldn't go to the hearings that summer because of how ugly things were, and they offered to go to them for us.  Amanda and Christal took time off work and rearranged their schedules to go to every hearing they could:  quietly observing and collecting information for us.  Because of their presence at those hearings, they were gossiped about.  They were accused of just looking for entertainment and harming the process.  Yet they kept going, quietly attending the hearings and sharing information with us.  Christal began countering some of the social media posts with facts, and asserting that she stood for the victim.  She explained, without naming Chelsea, what Chelsea was going through, and asked people to be kind.  She was attacked.  Her parenting skills were called into question.  She was accused of looking for attention.  She was accused of lying.  These moms'  faithfulness to support Chelsea and our family through that very ugly time was like a beacon of light.

Sometime during that summer I was approached by another mom in the grocery store.  She was someone I would consider an acquaintance.  I honestly remember feeling terrified as she approached me, because I'd had some hostile interactions in public that summer.  As I was bracing myself for what she was about to say, she told me, "I just want you to know that I'm with you."  I was so overwhelmed I cried.

As the summer ended and the defendants were released on bail, things calmed down a little bit.  There was a brief fundraising attempt on a crowdsourcing site for a defense attorney for one of the defendants.  People still seemed to avoid us in general.  The defendants were told to have no contact with Chelsea, but she still saw them everywhere:  at stores, at high school games, while she was showing her animals at the county fair, and around town.  One time we were at Costco and she had to use the restroom.  She called me after she was done, telling me that one of the defendants and a large group of friends were blocking the pathway she needed to take to get back to me.  I had to go get her and walk her by this large group of people and the anxiety and panic were so real.  When we asked for help from people to limit exposure it was like they didn't think it was that big of a deal.  It felt like people were annoyed with her and us for bringing it up.   She chose to miss many of her senior year activities because she was afraid of running into them and not having someone who would protect her from them.

As sentencing approached in March of 2017, Chelsea knew she wanted to attend, and she knew she wanted me to make a statement for her.  I started reaching out to strong women I thought might be willing to support Chelsea at the hearing.  We asked them to wear purple, Chelsea's favorite color, so that she'd be able to spot her supporters in the courtroom.  The response was overwhelming.  This group of people, who we dubbed the Purple Posse, took time off work or out of their schedules to come to the courthouse not once, but twice, after the original sentencing hearing was postponed due to a technology issue.  They filled the courthouse with faces of support and strength and encouragement.  They said nothing--they just sat there and were physically present for Chelsea and our family, and it made all the difference. Their presence gave me strength when I was giving Chelsea's statement and the defendants' supporters were laughing and scoffing.  Their presence gave Chelsea encouragement to know she wasn't alone.  Their presence calmed Mike, who was so upset about what had happened to his little girl. Just being there--physically taking up space in a room, wearing purple, and having calm and supportive faces made a difference.  

Months later I wondered how things might have been different if the defendants' supporters had been more like the Purple Posse.  What if they had said things like:
* We're having a really hard time right now, but we love and support our sons.
*  We understand this is serious, and we love and support our sons.
*  We feel like the newspaper got it wrong.  Having that article published was really hard on our families.
*  We won't talk about the victim.  She deserves privacy and respect.
*  We don't understand why the process took so long, and that's frustrating.
*  We're going to work with these young men to make sure they have good outcomes.

What if, instead of liking or commenting on or ignoring some of the worst social media posts, the friends of the people attacking Chelsea had said things like:
* Wow.  This really stinks, but you probably shouldn't talk about the victim that way.
*  I'm on your side, but let's not make things worse here.
*  I don't really understand what's happening.  Let's focus on the facts.
*  This isn't going to help your son.  Why don't you try...

Maybe I'm being too hopeful and optimistic here, but do you see the difference?  It would have been entirely possible to express support and frustration and confusion and hurt and disappointment without further hurting Chelsea.  As a teacher, I spend a lot of time on the power bystanders have in bullying situations.  I teach students that when they stand by and let someone get hurt, they are part of the problem.  I think most adults can imagine a bullying situation with kids at school and understand this idea.  I think most parents would want their kids to stand up in situations like this to support another kid who was struggling.  If that's true, I just have such a hard time understanding how adults would allow their friends--other adults--speak so unkindly and so viciously about a child.  It baffles me.  Were they afraid of losing these people as friends?  Were they afraid of losing business connections?  I really believe that if someone close to those who were being the most awful had privately expressed concern about the direction things were taking, Chelsea's experience would have been so much different.  It just makes me so sad.

In the summer of 2017 I was approached by someone who I know is friends with the defendants' families.  The conversation was almost surreal.  There was some expressed disappointment over kids in general making bad choices, and no real understanding of what had actually happened.  When I tried to explain, I was cut off, "Well, I don't know anything about that.  It was all just too much."  It was almost like the person was intentionally trying to NOT KNOW how bad things really were, because not knowing is easier than knowing and having to make a decision.

Here's the thing:  we can't go back in time.  What's done is done, and somehow, miraculously, Chelsea got through this storm and came out a stronger, braver, and kinder person.  But as much as I want for Chelsea to be the very last girl something like this happens to, I don't think she will be.  We have a long way to go in shifting our culture to value and respect every human being, including girls.  I'm just not convinced it can happen.  I think what CAN happen, however, and what SHOULD happen, is good people standing up for what's right:  refusing to allow victims to be blamed and shamed. That's why I won't shut up about Chelsea's story, and why I hope you won't either.  No young woman should ever have to go through something like this.  If enough of us agree to stand against victim shaming, we can shut it down.  We really can.  I hope you'll join me on this mission.

An Open Letter to Gregory Salcido

Dear Mr. Salcido,

You've made quite a name for yourself this weekend.  I first heard about your rants when my husband, an Air National Guardsman, sent me a link to a news article.  The headline was so astonishing, I really thought it was going to be click bait.  It wasn't.  As a fellow educator, I'm so disappointed and frustrated and disgusted by your behavior that I have to address it.

Let's begin with where your rant began.  A student, a minor child you are responsible for educating, walked into your classroom wearing a shirt that said "Marines" and you decided it was time to go on a tirade.  Is this for real?  You used instructional time not to instruct, but to single out a student who was wearing a clothing item you didn't like.  I'm so appalled by this.  At my school if a student's clothing does not comply with the dress code, we approach them privately and quietly, treating them with respect, and asking them to change.  We don't stop teaching to address student clothing.  Teachers are responsible for creating a culture of respect and rapport.  Even if you had ONLY publicly called the student out on his clothing, regardless of the reason, I would be disappointed.

Next, you openly disparaged other cultures, referring to people who wear "robes" and "throw rice" in an effort to establish that those cultures are not people to be respected and valued.  Do you not have a variety of cultures and backgrounds in your classroom, Mr. Salcido?  How on earth can you call yourself an educator when you are blatantly racist towards your students?  I'm completely baffled.

In your rant, you called members of the military dumb shits.  You said the ONLY reason they went into the military was because they couldn't do anything else.  You called them the lowest of the low.  Mr. Salcido, do you even know any military members?  Your ignorance is astounding.  Our military universities are some of the most elite schools in the United States.  Only the best of the best are admitted.  The training and education provided to our military is rigorous and intense.  Our military members are some of the finest citizens our country has.

You also told your students (again, we are talking about minor children) that if they went into the military it was because their parents didn't love them enough to support them academically.  How dare you?  One of my most favorite young men just joined the Marines.  He decided at a young age that he wanted to be a Marine, and he pursued that dream with passion.  His parents got behind him and supported his decision, helping him meet the rigorous physical and academic requirements.  His parents love him fiercely.  That's what good parents do, Mr. Salcido:  they help their kids meet their dreams.  That's what love looks like.

Mr. Salcido, my husband has served our country his entire adult life.  He has worked tirelessly in training exercises.  He has supported this country during domestic emergencies and natural disasters.  He's served honorably  overseas, sacrificing time with his family.  Of my daughter's 19 birthdays, he's missed eight of them in service to our country.  When he's home, he volunteers in his community.  He helps with 4H.  He coaches track and basketball.  He helps neighbors with big jobs.  Mr. Salcido, my husband, and the men and women like him, proudly serve our country so that you and your family can sleep well at night.  They defend your right to spew racist, bigoted, ignorant bullshit.  The reason you get to speak like an idiot, Mr. Salcido, is because of this country's military members who protect your right to do so.

Mr. Salcido, I have many hopes for you.

I hope you lose your job and your seat on your local city council.  No one who speaks to children the way you speak to children should be allowed to spend that amount of time with them.

I hope you stop, and think, and get it.  I hope you really get it.  I hope you apologize to your students, your community, the large groups of people you sweepingly disparaged, and our country's military community.  I really do.  I hope that you take the time to realize how ugly and ignorant your comments were, and I hope you start to work towards making things right.

I hope you raise your child to do better.  I hope you teach your son about kindness to everyone.  I hope you show him how to not abuse power he has been gifted with, and to instead use it to lift people up.  I realize this is a really big hope, and so I hope that if you don't get it, your wife does, and that she works to counter the harmful impact you are surely having on him.

Mr. Salcido, to stand in front of a group of students is a gift.  It is a privilege.  To be entrusted with someone else's child is not something to take lightly.  The weight of this responsibility overwhelms me sometimes, as it does all excellent educators.  It is clear, based on your comments and the comments of your former students, that you have never taken this role seriously.  As a professional who works so many hours making sure my students get exactly what they need to have successful and fulfilling lives, however they choose to do that, it crushes me that you will, at least temporarily, be seen as the voice of American educators.  You do not represent me.  You do not represent my colleagues. You are a disgrace, and you do not deserve to stand in front of students.

I Made This T-Shirt Quilt, and You Could Totally Make One Too

Kids collect t-shirts.  Every camp they go to gives them away.  They get t-shirts for their sports teams and clubs.  They get t-shirts to show school spirit.  They win t-shirts for being awesome.  There are t-shirts everywhere.

We used to just pass these on when the kids grew out of them.  I mean, what do you do with a t-shirt you'll never wear?

Then a few years ago I noticed that people were making memory QUILTS out of these things!  Stop!  Hold the presses!  Don't put that in the Goodwill bag!  I'll save it!  We'll get a quilt made!

So when Chelsea graduated last June, my intention was to send all of those t-shirts into a company that makes these things professionally.  I mean, I can sew a straight line, but I didn't have a working sewing machine then, and even if I did, there's no way I could do the quilting part.

Then I got a new sewing machine for Christmas this year, and  I walked by this quilt that I made for Micah in my young-kids-don't-leave-the-house phase and had an idea.  Why not make a rag top t-shirt quilt?

I googled it and realized it had been done before.  I read a couple of blog posts that weren't exactly complete, but put the pieces of them together and decided to give it a try.  It worked!  It's amazing!  My goal is to convince you that you, too, can make this awesome quilt, explain how to do it, and share some things I learned.

Here's what you need:
*  A sewing machine
*  Straight pins
* A good seam ripper
* Two spools of thread (I used white)
* Good fabric scissors (although the crafty ladies in my life are telling me a good rotary cutter would be better, but I can't tell you how to use it)
* An extra needle for your sewing machine
* Basic sewing skills (you need to know how to turn on your machine, cut fabric, sew forward and backward in a straight line, thread the needle and bobbin, and pin patterns to fabric)
* Enough t-shirts/hoodies to give you 40 pieces that have patterns on them
* About 13 yards of flannel in colors that you like.

Here's what I did:

1:  I figured out how big I wanted the quilt to be.  I decided I wanted it to fit on Chelsea's bed at school, which is a twin xl, so I googled the measurements of twin xl comforters.  Based on that, I figured that I wanted a quilt that was about 5 feet wide and 8 feet long.  Knowing that I could probably get squares that would finish to 12X12 inches, I decided I needed 40 blocks for the front of the quilt.

2:  I went through Chelsea's shirts and started counting out forty designs.  She had regular t-shirts, hoodies, and shirts from track and cross country in that stretchy/slinky fabric (Note:  if you are relatively new at sewing I'm going to strongly recommend NOT using the running shirts.  They proved to be trouble later.).   If one shirt had stuff on both the front and back, I counted it as two squares.  She had a long sleeved shirt from a run she did with a design down the sleeve, and I decided I could probably use that as well.

3:  Once I had the shirts picked out, I found the SMALLEST shirt in the pile to see how big of a square I could get from it.  It was a kids-sized shirt from Jump Rope for Heart, and I realized I could get a 13" square from it.  I made a 13" square pattern using a piece of newspaper.  Just to be sure, I placed the pattern over the t-shirt that I thought had the BIGGEST design and it fit! Cue mini celebration.

4:  I started taking the shirts apart.  I cut the collar and sleeves off at the seams.  I separated the front from the back by cutting up the shoulders and down the sides.  I discarded any pieces that wouldn't be a part of the quilt.  (Side note:  some very crafty ladies pointed out that I could have saved the scraps and done something like make a crocheted or braided rag rug, but I'm not quite there yet.)

5:  Using my newspaper pattern, I pinned the pattern over the design of the shirt and cut out the square.  This took a long time.  I seriously wanted to figure out a way to speed this up by doing multiple squares at once but decided against it because every pattern was centered on shirts differently. For the sleeve design, I cut down the sleeve opposite the design and then used the pattern to cut out the square.  It totally worked.  I should point out here that I actually ended up using 3 newspaper patterns total.  When my newspaper square started getting rough on the corners where I was pinning, I made a new one.

6:  With forty t-shirt squares made, I took Chelsea to the fabric store and we headed to the flannel section.  She picked out 7 different fabrics she liked:  two solid colors and five patterns.  I got 3 yards each of the solids, 2 yards of the two "favorite" patterns, and one yard of each of the remaining three patterns.  We took the flannel home and used the newspaper pattern to make squares.  There were some leftover scraps from the edges, and I'm sure there's some brilliant mathematical formula to reduce this, but I just embraced the process and went with it.

7:  I had Chelsea create a 5X8 design of both the t-shirt squares and the flannel squares for both the front and back of the quilt, and carefully picked up the design in rows, labeling each row in a very sophisticated way with paper and a pen. 

8:  Taking the square from Row 1, Block 1 from both the t-shirt pile and the flannel pile, I made a "sandwich": t-shirt square, followed by "extra" flannel piece, followed by "back" piece (for a total of three pieces of fabric) and pinned them WRONG SIDES TOGETHER.  That is, when I looked at the t-shirt design and flipped over the "sandwich," I saw the design that was supposed to be on the back.  This is important:  normally in sewing you are putting right sides together, but you aren't doing that here.

Also important to note:  you want to make sure if there's a printed design on the flannel that has a "top" and a "bottom," that you are making sure the top on your t-shirt design is on the same side of the square as the "top" of your flannel design.  For example, one of Chelsea's prints was a pirate design ('Sco Bucs!) so we made sure the tops of that square and the t-shirt square were facing the same direction.

For the squares that were made of sweatshirts, I didn't put a middle piece of flannel in the sandwich.  Those squares were JUST sweatshirt square on one side and flannel on the other.

For the squares made from the dreaded silky/slick running shirts, I added another piece of flannel.  Those squares were t-shirt square, middle flannel, middle flannel, back flannel.

I used the lighter colored flannel as lining/filler for white t-shirts.  I tried to mix up the colors/patterns I was using for the filling flannel to ensure the fringe would look fun.

As I was making my flannel sandwiches, I was still keeping track of where each square went in the order Chelsea designed.  I separated them into eight stacks of five.

9:  Now that all of the sandwiches were pinned, I celebrated that I had enough flannel (phew!  just 10 extra squares!) and started sewing an X through each sandwich.   I made sure to reverse at the start and stop of each line sewn to keep things solid.   I noticed that this went MUCH easier if I sewed with the flannel side facing up.  The t-shirt fabric and slinky fabric were less likely to move and pucker and look weird.  I still had to pull out several seams and redo them, but doing the flip to flannel side up saved me a lot of time and grief.  I didn't worry if the Xs were a little crooked, but did worry if the fabric didn't lay smooth.

10:  I took a break for a couple days.  This next step made me super nervous. Starting with Row 1, I pinned squares FLANNEL SIDES TOGETHER and sewed them using a 1/2" seam.  It's important to note that the finished product had raw edges on the t-shirt side.  That's what I wanted.  I followed this process for all eight rows, keeping them in the right order.  As I completed each row, I also sewed a 1/2" seam at the edges of the quilt (that is, anywhere that wouldn't be connected to fabric).  For rows 2-7, that was just the outside edges.  For Row 1 I had to sew the top and for Row 8 I had to do the bottom.

11:  Now that I had eight rows, I started combining rows, again pinning flannel sides together and using a 1/2" seam.  For this part, I had to be sure that I was pinning the bottom of Row 1 to the top of Row 2 so that nothing would turn out upside down (it did once, and that was a giant pain to rip out and redo).  Now I had 4 strips that were five squares long and two squares tall.

12:  Following the same process, I combined my double rows to make quad rows, then the two halves to make the entire quilt.  This step was the most challenging because at this point the sheer weight and thickness of the quilt made it difficult to sew through and move.   Somewhere in here I broke a needle, and that was a super fun side adventure figuring out how to change it.  The end result was pretty awesome to look at, raw edges and all.

13:  I used scissors and snipped little tabs on all the raw edges.  This took forever and really hurt at some points, so I did it over several sessions.  Someone told me I could use a rotary tool to do this, but that idea freaked me out so I didn't.

14:  I washed and dried the quilt, which created a nice soft fray on the tabbed rag top, and got rid of the extra fuzzies.  The result was amazing, and Mike immediately went to our bedroom and started finding his old t-shirts so I can make him the next quilt.

Overall, this project was fun, just the right challenge level, and turned out pretty stinking awesome if I do say so myself.