For the past three months I have been walking on eggshells, uncertain about a future no one can guarantee. The cards are stacked against me. A laundry list of maybes have to be crossed off, in the correct order, for my life to settle in place. It was not in my plans to move again. I am a nester. I like a little (lot) of stability. But, that isn't where education is at right now. Not with the incessant changes that have come about as a result of elected legislators.
Near the beginning of April one of the maybes finally flew from the list. My predecessor had left on a year's sabbatical after signing a two year contract. When renewal came about, she was sent letter, after letter, requesting her response. She sat on her signature for over a month, costing me sleep and focus. Finally she sent the contract back, turning down the position that would have immediately cost me my job. One down.
A week later, the School Board made a decision that would further impact not only my future in the district, but also the jobs of many of my coworkers. Anyone who had been hired to the district in the last eleven years would have to pick up a sixth class. That means their jobs will look like mine. One hour of prep, six hours of teaching, 25 minutes for lunch, and 30 minutes of resource. At my school, I am counted safe. In the district I am not.
That leads to the third maybe. Not only do I have to worry about the jobs of my coworkers in my building, I also have to consider the jobs of the educators with the same license within the entire district. La Crosse has a policy that allows teachers to move within the district, using seniority to bump out lesser experienced teachers if laying off becomes less of a scare tactic and more of a reality. Since I am the district baby for the English license, I am at risk. I could be bumped at any moment if Central needs to move one of their teachers to a full time position at Logan. Happy thought.
So here I sit, wondering if my haphazard schedule of cast-off classes will be enough to keep me solid in the district. I really don't want to uproot my life again.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Chapter 2: Settling In
Finding an apartment was the next big feat. Since I was moving to a college town, my hope was that I would luck out with a decently cheap and/or moderately comfortable apartment. Unfortunately, with my position confirmed at the tail end of July, I had missed out on the majority of the reasonably priced accommodations. Between packing, finishing up at the Boys and Girls Club, and wrapping up the final weeks of my second semester of Remedial English 11, I hunted housing. With a little luck, I happened across two potential candidates. With appointments booked, I made my third trip of the month from Eau Claire to La Crosse.
The first place I looked at was nothing special. The efficiency boasted a rather reasonable price, but smelled a little stale and gave off a retro motel vibe. As if moving to a new city wasn't enough. I passed.
The second place looked much more likely. It was set off from the river and came equipped with a rather hunky swimmer. I would have made the place an option had the landlord and I not mixed signals. I never made it through the door. Calling it an ultimately failed trip, I made the hour and a half drive back to Eau Claire.
As time ticked by (far too quickly), I put the search into overdrive. By the first week of August I had an appointment to sign my contract. To make the trip worthwhile I scoped out and slotted two more showings.
The first place I looked at was lovely. The carpets were new, the patio was inviting, and the price was on the high end of reasonable. I liked it, but I wanted to keep my options open.
From the get-go, the second place raised concerns. After waiting an unnecessary amount of time for the landlord to appear, I was transported to the showing by way of golf cart across the lumpy, grassy lawn. As we drove, my host ensured me that the roofing racket would only last into the first few weeks of September. What a deal, right? But that wasn't even the worst of it. After being shown the laundry room and the chicken wire storage units, I was led into the apartment itself where I was greeted with a smell that could only have been the mix of animal urine, cleaning supplies and dank. I looked around, pretending to give the place a shot. In my head I was dialing the number for the first place, ready to sign the lease.
It took one more trip from Eau Claire to La Crosse to make the new place final. On that trip, I doubled up a two hour jam session with my coworkers in the Health Science Academy. That portion of my future position sent me white, but I buckled in, strapped on the big girl shoes (yes, they velcro) and revved up for my fast approaching reality.
As July wheedled to a close, I packed up the rest of my life and finalized the arrangements to make the big move. On August 15, with the help of my wonderful family, I shipped my life south west to a new city and a new life. My big adventure was beginning.
The first place I looked at was nothing special. The efficiency boasted a rather reasonable price, but smelled a little stale and gave off a retro motel vibe. As if moving to a new city wasn't enough. I passed.
The second place looked much more likely. It was set off from the river and came equipped with a rather hunky swimmer. I would have made the place an option had the landlord and I not mixed signals. I never made it through the door. Calling it an ultimately failed trip, I made the hour and a half drive back to Eau Claire.
As time ticked by (far too quickly), I put the search into overdrive. By the first week of August I had an appointment to sign my contract. To make the trip worthwhile I scoped out and slotted two more showings.
The first place I looked at was lovely. The carpets were new, the patio was inviting, and the price was on the high end of reasonable. I liked it, but I wanted to keep my options open.
From the get-go, the second place raised concerns. After waiting an unnecessary amount of time for the landlord to appear, I was transported to the showing by way of golf cart across the lumpy, grassy lawn. As we drove, my host ensured me that the roofing racket would only last into the first few weeks of September. What a deal, right? But that wasn't even the worst of it. After being shown the laundry room and the chicken wire storage units, I was led into the apartment itself where I was greeted with a smell that could only have been the mix of animal urine, cleaning supplies and dank. I looked around, pretending to give the place a shot. In my head I was dialing the number for the first place, ready to sign the lease.
It took one more trip from Eau Claire to La Crosse to make the new place final. On that trip, I doubled up a two hour jam session with my coworkers in the Health Science Academy. That portion of my future position sent me white, but I buckled in, strapped on the big girl shoes (yes, they velcro) and revved up for my fast approaching reality.
As July wheedled to a close, I packed up the rest of my life and finalized the arrangements to make the big move. On August 15, with the help of my wonderful family, I shipped my life south west to a new city and a new life. My big adventure was beginning.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Chapter 1: The Interview
I had my ninth interview today. I think it went well. I was the last one on a list of many. I was nervous. There was a tiny hole in the left arm of my jacket--somehow I had snagged it on the trip from Eau Claire.
When I arrived, they were still in the middle of an interview with the applicant before me. She came out while I was filling out some paperwork. We sat awkwardly across from one another. We didn't talk.
After what seemed like decades, I was taken through a maze of hallways to a classroom behind the offices. I was asked to sit, front and center, in the half-circle of English teachers and principals. Then the questions started. They went round robin, popping off questions about my teaching style, my experience, my most recent reads, my classroom management--the list was endless.
As the interview ended, I was asked to leave the room. They needed to talk about the candidates. Anxious and clueless, I perched in the main office waiting to hear anything. Finally the principal made his way over, offering me a tour of the school. He showed me (all three of) the rooms that would become home for me. He complimented me on my interview while grilling me just a bit more.
I left that day without any real idea as to where I stood. Days later I would receive a call asking me back for a second interview. This time I would have to prepare a lesson on Compare and Contrast to teach to a pretend class of students. I prepared for twenty, but ended up only teaching to three: the Principal, the Associate Principal, and the head of the English Department.
The interview went well, and while I anxiously sat in the Associate Principal's office, waiting for any sign about my future, they talked. Before I left it had been decided that the job was pretty much mine. Within a few days, I received the call that confirmed those suppositions. I was hired.
When I arrived, they were still in the middle of an interview with the applicant before me. She came out while I was filling out some paperwork. We sat awkwardly across from one another. We didn't talk.
After what seemed like decades, I was taken through a maze of hallways to a classroom behind the offices. I was asked to sit, front and center, in the half-circle of English teachers and principals. Then the questions started. They went round robin, popping off questions about my teaching style, my experience, my most recent reads, my classroom management--the list was endless.
As the interview ended, I was asked to leave the room. They needed to talk about the candidates. Anxious and clueless, I perched in the main office waiting to hear anything. Finally the principal made his way over, offering me a tour of the school. He showed me (all three of) the rooms that would become home for me. He complimented me on my interview while grilling me just a bit more.
I left that day without any real idea as to where I stood. Days later I would receive a call asking me back for a second interview. This time I would have to prepare a lesson on Compare and Contrast to teach to a pretend class of students. I prepared for twenty, but ended up only teaching to three: the Principal, the Associate Principal, and the head of the English Department.
The interview went well, and while I anxiously sat in the Associate Principal's office, waiting for any sign about my future, they talked. Before I left it had been decided that the job was pretty much mine. Within a few days, I received the call that confirmed those suppositions. I was hired.
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