20 Years and Counting

I have been with my husband for over half my life.  And tomorrow, we will have been married for 20 years. I met him when I was 20, a sophomore in college, and he was a freshman.  We both played basketball and for most of the season, he was dating one of my teammates. I didn't consider him as dating material because of that, and also because I knew he was WAY out of my league.  He looked like Vanilla Ice (before the dawn of reality tv when Vanilla Ice was still somewhat reputable), could rap, was majorly handsome, talented in basketball, and could dance like nobody's business.  

I rode with his girlfriend to our end of season team gathering at our JV coach's house. I asked how her boyfriend was, and she said, "Matt? Oh we broke up." "Reeeeeeeaaaaally......that's too bad," I said, not really sorry at all. (In my head I was thinking possibilities.) 

Long story short, we met up again at another end of year basketball party, we smooched, I made him spell my last name, convinced that he would never look me up in the college directory.  The next day, I purposely spent all day out of my dorm room, just in case he didn't call. Or just in case he did.  And call he did.

The rest is pretty much history. Our trajectory was fairly predictable. We had our ups and downs and before his senior year in college and during my first year of teaching, he proposed and I said yes.  We were babies really, 20 and 22, and had more bumps in the road along the way. A car accident, a terrible first year of teaching, a year of being separated by physical distance as he finished college, and a postponed wedding.  After the car accident in October of 1994, I could barely decide what to eat and what to wear, let alone plan a wedding. 

In an act of complete faith, on the phone one night, Matt told me quietly to take my ring off and set it on the dresser. He told me to put it back on when I was ready. I sobbed, told him I loved him, and hung up. 

I never took off my ring. We postponed our wedding from July 1995, to December 1995.  I was flooded with relief and things started looking up. 

My husband is an incredible man. This demonstration of his faith in me, in us, is just one of the many reasons I love him and admire him.  Here are some more.

1. He thinks I am beautiful, even when I am decidedly un-beautiful. He has loved me through high waisted jeans, stirrup pants, over sized everything, and big hair. 

2. He puts up with my family, even though we are very un-perfect, my siblings, my parents, my step-parents, and me. He appreciates the great things about us and quietly tolerates the crazy parts.  

3. He is a great dad who loves all three of our kiddos fiercely and would take down anyone who tried to hurt them. He also demands a lot from them, and knows they will rise to the challenge. He understands that they will disappoint him, and he knows he will forgive them. My favorite all time line from him came from our first trip to Disney World on day 3. "Let's start the day with hugs and kisses, because we know it will end in spankings."

4. He is so smart, even though he doesn't think he is. It isn't every guy who can get through undergraduate school with an A- average and graduate school with a 4.0.  

5. He is good with people, especially where I am not. We are both introverts, believe it or not. But, he is better in large group social situations. I tend to sit on the sidelines and observe gratefully while he takes over and shields me from awkward situations. 

6. He is an excellent teacher, a teacher who believes in the value of physical education and its benefits the whole child. He has integrity and knows that his PE class is not an "easy A." He makes kids, high schoolers, work for their grades and is great at holding them accountable.  He calls parents when kids aren't meeting his expectations and doesn't back down when the student tells a different story.  

7. He is a phenomenal coach, one who truly allows athletes to believe in their gifts, even if their gift is hidden.  He has pulled more talent out of kids than I can believe. We plan workouts together, and then he'll turn it around in head all day long, come to practice and change the plan. Annoying sometimes, yes, but it works! He is successful, but more than that, he has made the relationship with the athlete more important than anything else. 

8. He thinks I am funny, and even if he doesn't, he pretends.  I have a strange sense of humor (thanks Dad) and he has come to appreciate that in me over the years.  

9. He knows that it's okay to argue, and has brought me also to that point. For a long time, I wouldn't argue, I would just acquiesce and seethe inside. He won't put up with my passive-aggressive junk, and draws me out so that we can get to the heart of the issue.  He never swears at me, and he knows that divorce is a sacred word.  We both know NEVER to throw that around in a casual way, and have never used it as a tool in our fights.  

10. He makes a mean tuna casserole. Okay, so that one's a joke. I mean, he can make tuna casserole, but I beg him not to. I hate tuna casserole. He does push my food boundaries though. He enjoys attempting to hide mushrooms in a bite of stir fry, and makes me try seafood even though I have never liked it.  

11. He's adventurous.  If it were up to me, we'd probably only go to the mall and Target. But, with him, I have been to France, England, Aruba, Antigua, and Puerto Rico. I have been to 41 states, I think.  Plus, he's forced me to be adventurous in two of the best purchases of our lives. One was our Chevy Tahoe, which we bought in 2002 and we still have. The second was our current, and forever, home.  Even though it was a foreclosure, it was still out of my comfort zone. He pushed me through that zone and I thank him all the time for forcing me into this amazing house and 17 acres of woods. 

12. Finally, and most of all, he loves me and my imperfections and he forgives me daily. We both understand that marriage isn't perfect, that it matters more what's IN the marriage, than what people on the outside think.  We trust each other and believe in each other. We encourage each other to be the best versions of ourselves. 

Every day, I am grateful that he chooses me to spend his life with. I choose him every day, too, and in the end, that's how it works. Happy Anniversary, Matty. I love you.

Memories on the Tree

Putting up the tree in my house growing up was not an overly joyous occasion. It should have been, but as I've found since childhood, we humans try to make an occasion ultra meaningful and in our quest for perfection, just end up creating conflict and stress. Don't feel sorry for me, I would guess that many have similar stories to tell.

We would try to put the tree up around the time of my oldest sister's birthday, December 10th. We couldn't have a real tree because my middle sister was allergic to them. Inevitably, I began the season already feeling a bit deprived.

SIDENOTE - When I got married we were determined to get a real tree. And we did, for a few years. Until I got tired of the dropped needles and the dog drinking out of the tree water (or worse). When we started our family, we reverted back to the artificial tree, so as to avoid the baby eating the needles or worse, getting them stuck in his head.

A SECOND SIDENOTE - To my parents - say no to over sensitivity about this post, I know that my children will have occurrences like this to pass down to their kids. I often wonder how I've scarred their childhoods each day that I attempt to parent them appropriately.

There were other reasons my growing up Christmases weren't overflowing with joy, but here are some specific events that occurred each year while putting up the tree.

The tree was always crooked.
The lights never worked correctly.
Swearing happened, once even over a coke bottle that fell into a newly made pie. Oops.
The lights, once working, were never evenly distributed.
We could never remember whose turn it was to put Grandma's angel on the top of the tree and fighting ensued.
We could never remember who got to set up the manger scene and fighting ensued again.

And so, I have been determined to make our family's tree putting up experience much less stressful. Only, reality takes over.

The tree is always crooked.
If the lights don't work I throw them away without even checking to see if I could fix them.
Swearing occasionally happens, but I don't make pie, so I am safe there.
We argue a little bit about colored blinking lights vs. white solid lights. I usually win and our white lights shine on.
The kids insist they remember whose turn it is to put the star on the top of the tree. And fighting ensues.
And Baby Jesus disappears from one of three manger scenes because there is arguing over whose turn it is to place him in the manger.

I have always said that someday, I will have my very own Christmas tree. I want one that has a theme, like "Up North," or "Gold Things," or something equally creative. I look at our tree with a bit of a sigh and a bit of frustration. Nothing matches. Much to my chagrin, some years colored lights blink. And each year that we go home, our respective parents load us up with more ornaments from our childhoods.

The first years we put up Christmas decorations in our house, it looked like the Christmas Fairy had thrown up in every room. Literally. I mean, there were snowmen of all kinds, Christmas dishes, Christmas rugs, tinsel, fake green garland, lighted houses, placemats, table runners, signs, I could go on and on.  Gradually, we've pared things down so that it's not quite as overwhelming and there is still room for us to move.  I still have lighted houses and garland and table runners and snowmen. However, some of it remains in storage until I can load my kids down with it when they are adults. Now, the only thing that is overly decorated, is the tree.

This year, we just, literally, just put up our tree last weekend. December 14th. So, pretty much par for what we would do growing up. Only this year it was less about tradition and more about not making time until then. I am thinking that maybe we need to start a new tradition of after Thanksgiving like others do. At least if we set that as our target, we may get the tree up earlier in December.

Putting up our tree is always an experience. And that's the nice word for it.  Here's how it went down this year....After 6th grade basketball practice, I went into the cave and started pushing tubs out for the boys to bring upstairs.

Ben was helpful, Gabe was flustered because I hadn't given exact instructions, and Matt was on his phone (darn fantasy football). I told Gabe to bring up the green tub with the red cover. Which one? The one right in front of you. Where do I put it? In the office. Where in the office? Just, in the office. What do I do after that? Come back down and get another tub.  Matt came down and chastised Ben for putting a (minor) dent in the wall with a tub.  I sighed, pushed out a few more tubs, and followed the boys upstairs. Matt noted to me all five dents Ben has put in the walls over the last four years. Ben shrugged, and we carried on.

We started sorting the color coded branches.  Gabe put in a few and then had to go and get gloves to finish the job. Mr. Sensitive we call him.  Ben started putting them in, too. Lyndee and Ben argued about who was putting them in correctly.  Matt had to leave the room in order to not get frustrated.  Matt returned. I laughed. Wrong thing to do. I shrugged. Matt left again.

The branches finished, I attacked the lights. Since Matt was outside, I chose white lights, non-blinking.  The first strand I tried didn't work. I threw them away.  Then the other strands went on. Matt returned and to help
me. No blinking lights? Nope. No colored ones? Nope, you snooze, you lose.  I got half way through and realized that my lights ended in the back with no way to plug them in. Sigh. Matt left me to problem solve.  I went to the laundry room, found a white (oh well) extension cord with the appropriate ends and plugs, and plugged them in. Yay! Lights!

Matt said, "You missed a few spots." I smiled, determined not to make a frustrated comment. I succeeded, gritted my teeth, and smiled again. "Mommy, what's wrong? You don't look so good." LQTM. (Laugh Quietly to Myself).

And then it was on to the ornaments. I like to be organized and go about things in a sequential manner. To me, that means putting up the ornaments from the top tray in the box first and then working on the lower tray. Kids don't necessarily think like that and pretty soon, there were ornaments everywhere. All. Over. Everywhere.  I finally lost it. "CAN YOU GUYS JUST HOLD ON A SECOND? CAN WE DO THIS IN AN ORGANIZED WAY?!"

Silence. Matt said, "What do you want me to do?" Deep breathing ensued and I smiled, albeit not a natural smile. Back to the ornaments. And gradually, I relaxed. It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be. My goal this year is to embrace the messy in my life and this was the first step.

I started putting on ornaments, randomly, on random places, from random places. And I realized, this isn't MY tree. It's our tree. It tells a story. Many stories really. It tells the story of me as a little girl, and Matt as a little boy.  It tells the story of us as teachers and coaches. It tells the story of our kids - their first Christmases, the ornaments they've made in school, the ornament gifts from their cousins.  I found the ornament my childhood best friend, Sarah, had engraved for me and hung it on the tree, a bit tearful. You see, she lost her husband this year and by putting this ornament on our tree, I remembered US and I prayed for HER and her boys.

I realized, that we were decorating our tree, not with ornaments, but with memories. And each time I placed something on the tree, I was remembering the person who gave it to me or the event it symbolized. Here's a rundown of some of my favorites from this year:

• the brass piece of mail engraved from Sarah
• the Christmas Nail buried deep inside the tree
• the lace heart from Matty for our 8th anniversary with the gift tag still attached
• the Christmas ball with hand prints from 3rd grade for each of the kids (Thank You, 3rd grade teachers!)
• Baby's First Christmas for each of the kids
• Gabe's ornament from daycare with his buddy, Derek
• the angels each year from my dad
• the homemade basketball ornament from my athlete turned colleague
• the hummingbirds from China from my sister
• the Thomas the Train for G from my other sister
• the White House Ornaments from the MD Northrops
• the Eskimos from Gma and Gpa N.
• the silver ball from Gma and Gpa Devitt, that held a gift of money one year for their poor, newly married grandchildren
• the rocking horse that my dad cut out and I painted in 1981
• the Minnesota Twins ornament of Matt's from 1987
• the "Best Big Brother" ornament from Matt's little sister, Courtney

Truly, the list could go on and on.  I'll stop now. But, I think this gives the reader a good picture of our tree.  

Perspective is everything, in Christmas, and life.  I'm working on things that cause me frustration, like a messy and unorganized tree, and trying to change my perspective. Here is what I've come up with so far. Christmas is filled with expectation, both personal and public.  Trying to live up to that expectation is what causes the frustration.  Perfection is not possible, but an altered perception is very doable.  This year, I'll do my Christmas as imperfectly as possible, preserving and appreciating the memories on my tree along the way.

Northrop News 2015

Dear Family and Friends,

Every year, I debate about whether or not to write a letter. And, every year, I guilt myself into writing it.  Mostly, I think I end up putting my thoughts on paper so that our kids can have a written documentation that we actually did observe their childhoods. Matt and I say often, that we are “living the dream” and reflect on the tangible and intangibles that fill our lives.  We are always busy, and we choose that. My parents worry about us, that we are “too busy,” and wish that we would slow down. I think that sometimes, they forget that I have always chosen busy. Busy brings me joy, purpose, and inevitable challenges. Here is what our “busy” consisted of in 2015.

Gabe - 12

It’s been one of those –wherehasthetimegonehowismylittleguygottensobigihopehelovesusforever - type of years. G is in 6th grade, so I get to see him every day, as one of my students! He is a good friend to others and loves to read. Last winter he played basketball, coached by his dad, and followed with baseball in the summer, and football this past fall. He enjoyed summer Bible camp with his best bud and his brother. Gabe takes piano lessons, is a percussionist in the band, is a talented artist, and last spring was chosen to be part of a 4-5-6 boys all state choir.  He also loves watching sports with his dad and cracking jokes with his mom. Gabe bought his own bow this season and loves spending 1-1 time with Matt learning the finer points of hunting.

Ben - 10

Benjamin will always be his own person. He has a deep ability to care for others, while still daily annoying his sister. He is creative in a messy, dragon, 3D sort of way. He has a way with pop up books, stop motion videos, and enjoys drawing mutants to add to his collection. Ben loves imaginext and action figures and legos. He enjoyed playing Champion Basketball last winter and baseball this summer. He loves to read books about super heroes and magical creatures and most recently declared his love for Beverly Cleary and her chapter books. Ben started piano lessons last winter and can make a mean piece of toast.  

Lyndee – almost  9

We are getting a glimpse of the challenge of a strong willed, perfectionist daughter. Lyndee does her homework without being asked. If I sign my name to her homework messy or upside down, she erases it and makes me start over.  She loves her brothers and wishes she could marry Gabe. Lyndee loves to read, still cooks in her kitchen, and has numerous birthday parties for her babies.  Lyndee was forced by her mean parents to play basketball this winter (there are some things you HAVE to do in this family honey, and one of them is play basketball). She was also forced to do track and field camp (run by her mother), but did not play baseball or softball this summer. She wants to play piano soon, and she has a beautiful singing voice.

Matt

In his second year teaching at Century High School, Matt has settled in and his enjoying the chance to influence teenagers in positive ways.  I am so proud of the work that he does and the great role model he is to the young adults that he interacts with each day. He also is amazing at holding students accountable in and out of the classroom and communicates well with the parents of his students and his colleagues. As a Pine Island Track and Field coach for 19 years, Matt led an amazing team of athletes last spring to 3rd place in the State True Team Meet, and 3rd place in the MSHSL State Meet in June.  Two of the relay teams earned state championships and several school records were set. In addition to coaching, he loves the woods and hunting. He got several deer during shot gun season this year, but chose to spend his fall teaching Gabe about bow hunting instead of shooting his own bow.

Amy

My house is messy. All. The. Time. It bothers me, but apparently not enough to really do anything about it. Laundry from 5 people paralyzes me and sometimes, I just buy more socks instead of pairing the ones that are already clean. I tell my students and my athletes that I am a lot of things, but perfect is not one of them. I am perfect in my imperfection. It’s a good thing my family loves me anyway. Love drives what I do. My family is first, although sometimes they fail to recognize that meals and clean underwear are one way I show my love for them. I adore the ages of my kiddos right now – their conversation, imagination, and humor makes me grateful. My job teaching 6th graders makes me smile, challenges me, and gives me purpose. Not many can say they are passionate about their jobs. Count me among those lucky few. I coached Cross Country this fall for the 8th year and loved each minute. And, I assisted Matt with the track and field team and loved most moments. ☺ When your husband is a demanding head coach, you sometimes have your differences.

Family

Matt and I trained for, and completed our first marathon. It was painful for sure, and by far the toughest physical/mental thing we have ever done.  It was great to experience it all with Seth and Kaela and their girls. We can’t wait for our next adventure with them. We also adventured out west this summer, right after the state track and field meet, with our good friends Ben and Lisa and their girls, to Big Sky, Montana. We hiked and rested and enjoyed the amazing scenery and conversations with good friends.  We spent some time at the lake and Matt enjoyed 6 vacations (wife of the year, I know). Fishing with Chris, WE Fest with Chris and Bree, Football in MD, Huskers/Vikes weekend, SEC weekend with Seth, and hunting weekend with friends. Me? Well, I did travel to Kentucky for my nephew’s graduation AND I went to Target alone a few times!

Pets

We have some sort of predisposition to having dogs who are each just a bit quirky.  Dash – is 4 years old with a wanderlust and a short attention span. He’s sweet, huge, and is not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Tucker – our Craigslist purchase – is 3 years old also with a wanderlust and a devious streak. He fiercely defends his daily IAMS (dog food) kill and runs away whenever he gets the chance.  Mia - Ben’s tortoise is alive and well despite a near smoldering from a light that fell into her dwelling. Russell – sadly Gabe’s gerbil went to the great running wheel in the sky after a short 16 months as a Northrop. It was a tragic funeral as gerbils are supposed to live a few months longer.  And now, introducing Wrigley. Wrigley found us at the lake.  He is a yellow lab of unknown origin and unknown age.  He is a lovely boy with a habit of barking at any noise outside and whining when we are in his spot on the couch.  And, even though Matt mentioned getting another iguana just tonight, we are “never, ever, ever, getting another reptile.”

Peace to you. May your homes and lives be messy, for it is in the messy that we find the grace and the life we were meant to live. Merry Christmas!

Love,

Matt and Amy

Gabe, Ben, and Lyndee

Dash, Tucker, Wrigley, & Mia

A Love Story with Teaching - Episode 1

When I started teaching, I thought I would teach for a few years and then….well, I didn’t know, but I sure wasn’t going to be one of those old teachers who stay in teaching because they don’t know what else to do.

I scoff at my younger self often. How silly I was to think that experienced teachers didn’t know what else to do, because now I am one of those old,experienced teachers. Only I’m not that old, unless you think 44 is old, and don’t lie, some of you do. It’s okay. Don’t feel bad for a minute. I can handle pretty much anything you throw at me now.

Because not only am I old, but I am tough. Much tougher than I used to be. I care much less about how people think about me or what they think about me. If I think something is a waste of time, I’ll tell you. If I think an idea is fantastic, I’ll tell you that, too. I mean, after all, what are they going to do, fire me?

Maybe, but probably not.

Because every day, I am still trying to be a good teacher.

When I first started, I thought I was going to massively change the world. “Why are you becoming a teacher?” people asked me. And I would say, “Because I love children.” Barf. That’s the answer of some poor girl who has no idea what she is getting into. That would be like someone asking a newly engaged person why they are getting married and them saying, because I love so and so. Well, I guess that’s what we do say, because we don’t know any better. And believe me, I do love so and so after 20 plus years together, even more than when we first got married.

It’s like that with teaching, too. I do love children. All of them, just not all of them on all of the days and just not all the time. I love them more than I ever thought I could. I love the smelly ones, the dirty ones, the cute ones, the ones who do their homework, the ones who don’t, the ones who have parents who make a hot breakfast at home for them and walk them to school, the ones who eat at school and set their own alarms and get themselves to school, the ones who love to learn and the ones who don’t, the ones for whom learning comes easy, and the ones who struggle for every piece of knowledge to stay put, the ones whose parents volunteer and the ones whose parents I never see all year face to face. I love the ones who are friends with my own children, and those that sometimes aren’t very nice to my own children. I love the children that everyone else loves. And I love the children who it seems that no one else loves. What do I do with all of that?

I carry it with me daily. Some days it lifts me up and other days it drags me down and I wonder if I am making any difference at all.

At a recent staff development, don’t groan inwardly. It was actually pretty awesome, and I can say that exactly one time of all the staff developments I have been to over the last 18 years. Our presenter seemed to be speaking my language. Mine! Yippee! Someone understands how I think about teaching! It wasn’t about reviewing data or closing the achievement gap or new mandates or interventions or test scores or new standards. It was about creating relationships with students that go beyond the classroom. And it was about telling our stories. Our real teaching stories and why we still are teaching when somedays, we wonder if we are making any difference at all. It’s really many stories within a story. So, I’ll just tell them one at a time. Here we go. Here’s the beginning of my love story with teaching.

My first year of teaching was hard, harder than I ever imagined it would be. I thought I was prepared. I had done well in my undergrad and my student teaching. The opportunity to teach when I graduated came in the form of a graduate fellowship. I and 17 other recent college graduates became employees of Winona State University and signed on for $11,000 over 15 months plus tuition. We took classes and taught in our own classrooms for those 15 months. Some of us were amazing. Some of us were overwhelmed. All of us were poor.

We came together as a group after our first day of teaching. Everyone was gushing about how wonderful it was and how they just KNEW it was the thing for them. All their dreams of teaching in their own classrooms were coming true. And me? Well, I went home and called my mom and my fiancé and cried. I felt like an imposter. I struggled with classroom management and felt like I was steam rolled all the time. I was excited, enthusiastic, and really unprepared for the realities of teaching.

I am surprised that I survived that year in a classroom of kids with complicated needs for which I wasn’t prepared. I am also surprised if those students took much out of our shared time. During that year, I referred a child for special education services. That same third grade student told me to (expletive) off and he didn’t give a (expletive) what I thought. I called another student over to talk with him about a repeated behavior infraction and he said, “What do you want, Chicken Head?” Funny now, but then? Not so much.

Numerous other not so great things happened that year. I forgot to give a little boy a message about walking home and heard the wrath of a parent. I was in a car accident and fractured my pelvis in two places. I wore a hard cervical collar for six weeks. I finished my master’s. I completed my capstone project in the 11th hour, saved my paper, and left the school at 11 pm the day before it was due. The next morning, I booted up my computer, put in my disk, and found that my disk was corrupt. My paper and my project were gone, completely. Thank goodness I kept my handwritten copies of everything and retyped it, footnotes and all, the next day.

There were wonderful things that happened that first year, too. I hosted a families and fairy tale festival after hours where the kids served punch and families came to celebrate their precious kiddos and listen to them as storytellers. I held conferences with three families that needed interpreters. A mom came in to make sticky rice and teach my students how to eat with chopsticks to go along with our thematic unit built around a book called Everyone Cooks Rice. We built Conestoga wagons out of shoe boxes and spools. We made gingerbread people.

At the end of that school year, each of us graduate fellows interviewed with the school district that we had been teaching in for the last year. I wasn’t one of the lucky ones who were offered positions. My assistant principal said it was because I had missed school during my car accident recovery and that the students suffered because of that. I interviewed for a position out in western Minnesota and didn’t get that one either. When I called to inquire about what I could do better, the committee chair said that I was the first choice, but they had had to pick the hometown girl instead. With my 4.0 and my master’s degree, I resigned myself to subbing for a year to try to “get my foot in the door.” Again.

A phone call came in late August. Did I want to interview for a position in an EBD Day Treatment? Nope. I didn’t. But, I did anyway. And I got the job. It turned out to be one of the best things that I ever did.