No, I'm Not Okay

When I start writing a blog, I often write key bullet points of what I want to say. From there, I simply add in my thoughts to flesh out the story. This blog started in October of 2020. Thirty minutes ago, it was just bullet points. It's taken a bit of time to heal from how I (and how many of you) felt last October. I'm guessing we aren't completely there yet. But that's okay.

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October 26, 2020

I'm sick of the pandemic. I'm tired of working from home, from the screams of my children frustrated with their zoom classrooms, and from having seemingly zero purpose. I miss being at school with our staff and students. I don't think this is sustainable but while I'm sick of the pandemic, I don't want to get sick from the pandemic. And that's the dilemma. 

For most of the pandemic thus far, we've had all four of our children at home. All four children have special needs, although each in very different ways. Let me be blunt about online schooling: while it doesn't work for a lot of students, it really really doesn't work for a lot of students with special needs. 

There are some good point coming out of the last six months of the pandemic. My sons can now work the TV remote better than my wife or I can at this point. All four of our kids have figured out how to access YouTube on their iPad despite not having the app downloaded (hint: they go through Safari - pretty crafty of them). I haven't spent a penny on dry cleaning. I haven't spent a penny on dress shirts for work, although I'll eventually need to replace my entire wardrobe due to my current stationary-type life. My sons and daughter can sing each other to sleep through the hole in the wall they've busted open between their rooms. But for the most part, my days feel really empty. 

My wife is unable to safely go visit her father in San Diego.

Our daughters' special needs camp, which provides necessary respite for our family, is closed and will be for another 12 months.

At work, I'm finding myself in a constant bind between how to best support our students, staff, and community, which often begets three different outcomes.

The level of uneasiness about what the next few weeks and months will bring.

I have a palpable fear of students wanting to be back at school and then realizing that "new school" is nothing like "old school" - it's just distance learning in a classroom. 

I know that everyone is suffering in different ways right now. We are all feeling a sense of loss. I recognize that a loss of the upcoming spirit game for a 13 year old might feel less important in life's journey than the loss of prom for a 17 year old high school senior to many, but to that 13 year old, it's just as significant if not more. It's hard to compare one's loss to another's. Similar to grief, everyone gets to experience these emotions as they need to. It's what's real to them. 

It's weird. I thought working at home would be less stressful, but it's actually significantly more. I have a true appreciation for my staff in what they're doing to make distance learning successful while still hating the fact we can't magically return to pre-pandemic days. I hate being an online principal. I hate how I sometimes have to raise my voice at home to speak over the constant "kid noise". Most days, it feels like everything is falling apart, whether it's our school, the staff, our families, or even my hamstrings due to a kickball incident over a year ago. Yes, they still hurt.

I do know that the feeling of loss from not having our 6th grade participate in after school volleyball this year will pass. 

I know that my wife will eventually get to see her dad again.

I know that my worry over what the next six months will bring, especially as cases skyrocket this winter as many believe they will, should not and cannot paralyze how we remain connected to one another. 

I know I'm sick of the pandemic, but what I'm not is sick from the pandemic. 

Very clearly, I'm not okay... and I'm not going to be okay for a while... but that's okay. A lot of us aren't okay right now. We won't be okay when the quarantines are lifted and we return to some resemblance of our pre-covid lives. It's going to take a while to feel okay again.

But all of that said, I do know that one day it's going to be okay. We're going to be okay. 

Broccoli & Cauliflower

This might come as a shock to anyone who knows me, but I'm often sarcastic in my conversations. I'm told that I have a pretty good "serious face" during these moments, making it rather difficult to figure out if I'm just joking or not. One teacher once told me that they believed I disliked them with a passion because they couldn't get a read on my thoughts. The irony here is that I only have positive opinions about this educator and they're probably one of the best I'll ever work with in my career.

So you can imagine how challenging it must be for my wife to know if I'm serious or not, as she's around me quite a bit.

While some would offer the advice to just not be so sarcastic (and that's great advice), my wife and I instead decided that we would have a "truth" word that I could add to my conversations that would tell her that I was being serious. The word we chose was Cauliflower.

There is one main rule regarding Cauliflower: my wife can't ask for Cauliflower; it can only be given. If there is a moment where she's unsure if I'm serious, she can't say "is this Cauliflower?" Instead, if I'm serious about something I'm saying, I'll just simply add the word "Cauliflower" to the conversation.

For example, if I've purchased her a spa weekend for just her and her friends and she doesn't believe me that it's actually happening, I'll simply say "honey, Cauliflower" and she now knows it's true. This is incredibly helpful in our relationship. I even utilize "Cauliflower" with some of my staff members. I suspect they appreciate it.

Tonight, my wife and I added a second word: Broccoli.

As previously shared, our daughters have significant special needs. We're trying to make things work in our home, but it's increasingly challenging every single day. We have had more than one therapist recommend a residential placement for them. We just can't envision placing our daughters in such an environment; could anyone imagine doing that to their child? That said, we recognize that it's something that is approaching fast on our family's horizon, if only for the safety of our sons and selves.

Given the special needs of our daughters, of which reactive attachment is a huge component, we don't travel anywhere as a family. Every single time we try, we fail. Breakfasts outside of our house (and even at home) turn into a chaotic mess. I can't think of a single car ride that's gone on for more than 10 minutes with all six of us in the car that didn't involve a significant issue (such as vomit, hitting, yelling, throwing, etc). If you ever want to know what torture feels like, imagine a flight delay with all four kids coming back from a family trip. Please note I said "trip" as we don't ever have vacations.

This is our life now.

The challenge as parents is how to raise our age-appropriate sons with as many wonderful experiences as possible, as our daughters cannot attend these events (too loud, too far, too many people, too few people, animals, Santa Claus, wind, cheering, music, etc...). So we, as parents, either have to split up and only one parent goes with the boys... or we don't go at all... or we try to go as a family, even though we know it won't work.

Tonight, we went as a family. It didn't work.

For those local to the Bay Area, there's the Niles Train of Lights in Fremont. My wife heard it was a great experience and wanted to go as a family. I pushed against the idea (see above) but acquiesced as I share her desire to provide these experiences for our kids. To the surprise of no-one, it was a complete failure.

Horrible weather. Rush hour traffic. Disregulated daughters. Hangry sons. Exhausted parents. Crowds. Lines. Noises. Santa Claus.

During the event, I looked at my wife and said that we needed a new word. If either of us came to the other with an event for our family to attend, their spouse could say "Broccoli" with the understanding that we'd take a step back from the idea we were really excited about and figure out if it really made sense for our family. I shared the example that I wanted to take all four kids to a baseball game this Summer and how my wife kindly expressed all of the ways that it could go wrong with all four. I shared how horribly traumatic our attempt to take the four kids to a sensory-friendly Nutcracker performance last week went. It's just how things are for our family right now.

So now we have two words; one that helps our conversations and one that helps our solidarity in best supporting our family. We hope that things will get better in the future, but for now, it's just a lot of Broccoli. 

Molly and Her Bike

As shared previously, my wife and I adopted twin girls from Russia in the Fall of 2011. We were told by multiple doctors, both in Russia and via Skype, that while the girls were a good bit behind having been institutionalized in an orphanage for 16 months, they would surely catch up to their peers in three, maybe four, definitely no more than five years down the road.

My wife and I, blinded by our future daughters' adorable faces coupled with our own strong desire to build a family, ignored the obvious signs and moved ahead with the adoption process. Little did we know that our adoption agency would be investigated a few years later by the FBI and eventually close their doors after similar investigative pieces about their adoption practices. It turns out that the adoption agency we trusted may have been withholding medical information regarding our daughters. Looking back, we are stunned we didn't see all of the signs.

Neither Molly or Kenna could crawl when we brought them home. Molly eventually started to move a bit better but her words were increasingly delayed. Kenna didn't fully walk until closer to age three, and even then with an uneasy balance. My wife and I would spend our evenings sitting across from one another, feet to feet, teaching Kenna how to walk and balance back from mommy to daddy.

Doctor visits turned into multiple diagnoses which turned into multiple therapy appointments which turned into my wife a shuttle service for no less than six weekly appointments for the girls. When you add in our attempts to include them in gymnastics (they were the five year olds in the two to three year old class, often at the back of the line, working one to one with an instructor) as well as every service we could squeeze out of our somewhat stingy school district, the care that Molly and Kenna necessitated became a full time job for my wife.

Sometimes, they give the look of what most people would call "normal kids". They smile and laugh, try their best to make friends, and often ask questions that are age-appropriate. They also act like "normal kids" when they have nuclear meltdown tantrums in the chips aisle of Target because their father refuses to buy them their own individual Goldfish packages. (Dad gave in after a few minutes; the screaming stopped thereafter. I tried my best.)

But often, it is very clear that something is different with my Molly and Kenna to the casual observer. They stare a bit longer. They yell out at inappropriate times and for no reason. Their speech still struggles along. Letters and numbers seem to be their enemy.

And worse, due to just diagnosed sensory issues, they'll scream at any loud sound, such as a motorcycle's engine, and often run anyway to get away from the noise, even into oncoming traffic.

Due to a lack of social cues, they'll often hit when angry, especially if one of their siblings has taken something that they were playing with within the last 48 hours but hadn't touched in the interim.

With the severe attachment issues they have with my wife, our time spent together as a six person family often ends in tears, anger, and frustration for everyone.

My wife and I have come to understand that they may never live on their own, they may never be able to have sustainable jobs in the workplace, and that they may never be able to do just the normal things that all kids get to do... like ride a bike.

This is hard.

We want our kids to be successful, no matter what the level they can rise up to. We want to take away societal limits that falsely prevent our kids from reaching their true potential. My wife and I are both educators, both with a soft spot for the autistic, the needy, the lost. As parents of two very special needs kids, it is a challenge to accurately predict where they'll end up and how to best get them to where they need to be for a sustainable life, whatever that looks like.

Back to the bikes.

Molly and Kenna have been asking for new bikes for over a year now. We previously had some pink princess bikes bought off Amazon, put together imperfectly by moi, and eventually discarded without the approval of my daughters. The bikes just weren't safe, even with their lopsided training wheels. Molly and Kenna would often fall, often due to their inability to control their bike. Time after time, they would end up in tears after a horrible bike riding experience.

As a parent, I had given up on them ever riding a bicycle. Given their physical, intellectual, and sensory needs, it would just be something they could never do.

Regardless, with Christmas upcoming, Molly and Kenna had different ideas. Whenever they would get asked what they wanted from Santa, it was the same answer, every single time: We Want A Bike.

Knowing how Bike Riding went the first time, I had little desire to repeat the experience. I knew that it was just something they couldn't do.

Fast forward to the morning of December 24th and the question being asked one more time to Molly and Kenna. Their answer was the same. My wife looked at me and said, "we're going to have to go get them some bikes."

That morning, with the help of my father in law, the girls went to the local bike store and tested out a few bikes. Nothing was purchased until I returned later that afternoon to pick up their new bikes. Kenna was getting a semi smaller bike with training wheels. Molly, however, was getting a larger bike without training wheels.

Two thoughts at this time: (1) This doesn't make any sense; she needs training wheels, and (2) This isn't going to end well; prepare for doom.

The bikes were the last gifts of Christmas morning. The girls were thrilled. Immediately following the family breakfast, they wanted to go bike riding. I was chosen by my wife to be the one to take them. I did not get a vote.

We walked across the street to the park. I had a firm hand on both bikes and girls, not wanting the upcoming chaos to start too soon. We walked a half block to our starting point of the park's biking loop. Helmets were on. Girls got on their bikes. Dad was ready for kid tears. And then this happened.

Day 1 with a bike

No words.

I called my wife. MOLLY IS RIDING HER BIKE! SHE DOESN'T HAVE ANY TRAINING WHEELS! 

My wife calmly said, "yes, Todd, as I told you, my brother said she didn't need training wheels and would be fine."

BUT SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BIKE, I screamed back.

"Well, from the video you just sent me, it looks like she does," responded my wife.

And Molly did.

She rode around the park no less than 30 times, never falling once. She learned how to use the hand brake. She somehow figured out how to make tight turns. She slows down when she's approaching someone in the path ahead of her. It didn't make any sense to me at the time (and it still doesn't), but Molly somehow eclipsed my predictions of her potential.

Molly and Kenna rode to the library, all the way down Newell to Channing, across Channing to the other park, around that biking loop (with a hill, no less) so many times, and then back home. This was just the first biking experience of the day. We went out later Christmas afternoon as well and then again twice today. It's safe to say that tomorrow will be filled with biking opportunities as well.

I'm now wondering what other limits I've placed on my daughters that are holding them back rather than letting them soar. Maybe they are ready for the Stanford Dish. Maybe they can take on a few leadership roles (ie chores) in the household. Maybe they are capable of so much more than what I thought.

Maybe all of our students are capable of so much more than we think.

From Day 2 - Notice the "feet trick" Molly does

Happy holidays, everyone. Here's to another 12 days of nonstop bike riding!

They Don't Usually Get Invited

"We understand. Our son never does."

These six little words were said to me as my daughters and I were leaving a birthday party this past Friday night.

We had just attended a birthday celebration for a student at my daughters' school. This student spends most of his school day in a "Learning Center" classroom, code for "Special Day Classroom" (SDC) in my daughters' school district, with other learning disabled students. One student in the class has down's syndrome. Another student does not speak and is performing grade levels below their current age.

My daughters, each with their own significant needs, get academic support in this classroom as we try to fill in very basic content gaps whose absence is preventing them from accessing the general education curriculum.

Being a student in a SDC classroom can be difficult. For most elementary students, they know that they are different but they haven't exactly figured out why everyone else is in a classroom with 20-30 other students and one adult... while their classroom often has more adults than kids.

When you get to middle school, it gets significantly harder for all involved parties. Kids in middle school SDC classes long to be "normal" and in the "regular" classes. The students in these "regular" classes can sometimes be a bit exclusive toward students in need of extra support. Being different is hard. For others, being friends with someone who's different is even more challenging. Middle school can be a rough time.

The birthday celebration itself was a lot of fun. The majority of the students invited were from the SDC classroom. All of the kids had at least one parent present, a distinct difference from the other birthday parties I've attended with my daughters where kids can just be dropped off for the duration of the activity. There were balloon animals, painting activities, silly YouTube videos to sing along to, lots of snacks and birthday cakes, and everything in between. Most of the students did not interact with one another; social skills are a work in process for most elementary students, especially those with special needs. The SDC teacher even showed up for most of the evening. The kids treated her like a celebrity; it was pretty neat to see.

We were walking out the door at the end of the evening. The birthday boy's parents graciously walked us to the front door and all the way to the sidewalk. I thanked them profusely for inviting our daughters and said, "It's hard sometimes... They don't get invited to a lot of birthday parties..." The mom made eye contact and said very clearly, "I understand. Our son never does."

I went home and shared this moment with my wife. She nodded and said, in an understanding way that only a parent of a special needs student can, "I know. It's hard."

It's something that many parents never have to address as their child will at least have acquaintances and classmate friends that they can text, have sleep overs, go to their birthday parties, and sit next to during snack. A parent of a special needs child worries about what will happen when they can't take care of their child any longer. What if something happens to us; who will take care of our daughters? The layers of unpredicted stress that arrive when your child enters the realm of special needs is a challenge for the involved adult and their marriage. Everything about it is difficult.

And one of the hardest things to endure is when your child isn't included in basic age-appropriate activities.... like the birthday parties.

Looking back at my own childhood, my mom made the rules very clear when it came to my birthday parties. I could invite everyone from my class or I could invite no-one. I wasn't aware of these policies at the time (I was 10), but I remember how I would hand out invitations to everyone in my class and then post a list with their names to record their RSVPs when they called over the next week. Yes, this took place in the pre-Evite days.

It's different today.

Out of the 20-25 students in our daughters' general education classroom, I'm anticipating invitations to no more than 5 parties for my girls.

This year is actually better than last year as there are a few more "uniquely normal" kids in this year's kindergarten class with a few more inclusive parents.

I profusely thank every parent for inviting my daughters' to their child's birthday party. Most of the parents say "no problem, glad to have them join us" but very few truly know what it's like to have a child (or two) who's excluded from these birthday parties because their kids are a bit different.

Until...... you find someone who understands.

Odds are they have a special education student too.

A long road to travel, often alone but never by yourself...

If you asked any Union Middle School staff member what my three favorite things were, I suspect they would respond with the following answers: Costco, my iPhone, and my family.

They would answer Costco due to my weekly trips with my daughters...

They would answer my iPhone (recently upgraded to the 6+) because it's always in my hand and the object of my eyes...

And they would answer my family because they know how much I treasure them, specifically my wife, my dog, and my adorable twin daughters.

The story of how my wife and I "built" our family has been shared with our staff. It was a whirlwind of an experience. Even now, looking back at the 6 months, I'm not sure how we survived.

The timeline was as follows:

April - Meet with an Adoption Agency
May - Paperwork (and when I say paperwork, i mean more paperwork than I completed during my entire college career)
June - First glimpse of our future daughters in the form of four photographs
July - More Paperwork
Late August - Time to Fly to Russia
September - Another trip to Russia
October - Oh wait, two more trips to Russia.
November 4th - Home.

That's the short version. And as hard as it was, the hard work has been every day since.

See, while they mentioned that our daughters were prematurely born... and that their birth mother had little to no medical care... and that they each had minor developmental delays... nothing can prepare you for instant 16 month old twins.

The next three years were a whirlwind. We knew something was wrong with the older twin, Kenna. She struggled to use the right side of her body. Both of the girls have severe speech delays. Advocates. IEP meetings. Occupational Therapy. Physical Therapy. Speech. Special braces. Special shoes. Theratogs. Glasses. Ear infections. Tonsil operations.

They say that parents of special needs children have a higher rate of divorce. My wife and I, happily still married, completely understand why this statistic is true: it is hard.

It's not just hard at the playground where your children can't climb the stairs without support. It's not just hard at the shopping center when your four year old daughter throws herself to the ground in a two year old tantrum. It's not just hard when you see other kids in their pre school selected exclude them from participating in various activities.

It's hard when we're at home and your daughter with cerebral palsy loses her balance and bangs her head against the bookcase.

It's hard when you're awoken at 6 am by violent screams in their bedroom where you find one of your daughters unable to open their eyes and stiff as a board, followed by (amazing supportive) firemen, ambulance workers, and hospital staff who help everyone through future seizure protocols.

It's hard when you realize that perhaps college isn't in the cards and this road is going to be way more than what you bargained for.

There is a short story/poem by Emily Perl Kingsley that perfectly describes our journey. It was written in 1987 and remains quite relevant today.

"I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland."

I've actually found "Holland" to be an amazing place. In fact, my wife and I wouldn't change a thing.

This journey we are on is something that is going to challenge us on a daily basis for the rest of our lives. We often talk about how lucky we are to have them. I've had nightmares imagining what their lives would have been like as a product of the Russian orphanage system. Thank goodness we have family, friends, and so many supports available to us to guide us and our children through these years.

As an educator, being a parent has been quite insightful into how I work with our students and parent community. The perspective now available is something I admittedly lacked previously. I'm quite proud of the work we do with our special education students and families. I'm a big believer in a phrase that I've said many times during our IEPs: "Whatever your student needs to be successful, short of horseback rides in Montana (an actual request at a former place of employment), I'm going to make sure we can give it to them."

Because that's what I would want for my daughters.

Our kids deserve it.

yes, from a weekly trip to Costco, taken with my iPhone

The Loss of the Family Pet

If you are looking for the usual quasi-educational blog, this will be something a little different. Perhaps as a means of self-therapy, I've decided to write about our family pet and her recent passing.

The story begins on a random day during the summer of 1998. My father had in the weeks previous begun to bring up the idea of adding a dog to our family. I was enrolled in law school; my younger sisters were hundreds if not thousands of miles away. Knowing that the responsibility of the family pet would eventually fall onto her, my mother sternly reminded my father that under no circumstances was he to bring a dog home. Fast forward a few days, my mother and sisters left for a day of shopping at the Gilroy Outlets. Prior to her departure, my mother once again reminded my father "You are not to get a dog." What happened next is up for much debate.

From what I've been able to piece together over the years, my father went into his office for the day to catch up on a few medical reports. Somehow, he was detoured to the local animal shelter, ending up in the row of dogs that had been abandoned by their previous owners. According to my father, many of the dogs were barking, snarling, or otherwise overly excited. As he progressed past the cages, he came upon one dog who was sitting quietly in the corner. My father reached out his hand as to signal to the animal. The dog slowly approached and rested her head in his hands. It was all over at that point; we had added a family pet.

My dad later returned home and, I suspect, dreaded my mother's return. My sisters and mother returned soon thereafter and the bedlam began. My sisters and I were racing around the house, in and out of the yard, so incredibly excited to the new family addition. My mother stood silently, glaring at my father. She repeated over and over again, "I gave you one instruction: do not get a dog... and what did you end up doing? The one thing I said not to!" My dad just looked at my sisters and I, saw the smiles on our faces, and surely thought to himself that it was definitely worth it. Looking back, he was right.

We named her Casey.

Casey was an absolutely delightful addition to our family. While we joked about Casey's lack of intelligence at times, I was always impressed by the little moments where she shined. On our walks, she knew the exact route and would often drag me back to the house. Every evening, she knew when it was time to go to the park, often waiting by the back door or finding my father to slightly nudge him with a reminder. At the dog park, we became friends with other pet owners, a subculture in its own right. These were good times.

One thing Casey did not enjoy was being left alone at home for the day. Often, after the family left to dinner or event, we would return to find a single slipper, usually belonging to my mother, in the front entry way. Somehow, when we were gone, Casey found her way into my parents' closet and would retrieve the slipper. She would then carry it down to the front door, leaving us to find it upon our return. Whether this was an attempt from Casey to ingratiate herself into my mother's good graces or perhaps an act of defiance due to being left alone, we never could tell.

As the years progressed, my sisters returned to our home town and took physical custody of Casey. After one of the twins gave birth, Casey moved next door (my younger twin sisters live next door to each other and across the street from our parents) and resided for the last few years of her life with the other twin. Here, Casey began to need an increased level of care. She had to be carried up and down the stairs. She needed a special harness to be led on short walks. She needed special food, updated medical care, and slowly began to lose her hearing and eyesight.

Despite these medical and health concerns, Casey repeatedly received glowing reports from her veterinarian. "She's just getting old," they would say. Thus, with a seemingly clean bill of health, Casey continued to be a part of our lives. She was at every holiday and attended every family dinner. She even moonlighted as a cover model for one of my sister's wedding invitations.

And despite any health concerns, Casey continued to make daily appearances at our father's medical office, spending all day asleep along side my two younger sisters (both of whom work at our father's offices). It was rare for Casey to miss a day, often one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. Patients would often ask to see Casey and would refer to our father as the "dog doctor" even though physical medicine, specifically for humans, was his forte.

Recently, late one Friday night, I received "the call" from my sister. Tomorrow was going to be Casey's last day with us. Her health had taken a serious turn for the worse. She stopped eating. She couldn't move. The veterinarian said it was time. We scheduled family time the following day in the morning with Casey. Videos and pictures were taken with all of our blissfully-unaware-of-the-situation children and Casey. Soon it was time to go. Quick goodbye. Lots of tears.

My sisters later took Casey to the veterinarian to send her on her way. I can't imagine what they or any pet owner goes through in these moments. We still struggle to talk about our loss. Even in typing this blog, my throat swells and words struggle to be typed.

In a delicate administrator-parent conversation in what feels like took place eons ago and in relation to a discipline incident at school, it was shared with me that what their student was going through was the worst thing their family had ever had to endure. Reflecting on the past week of my life, I wonder if they've ever lost a pet... because to me, nothing compares to what we're feeling individually and as a family right now.

I miss you, Casey. We all do.

A Vacation is Good For the Educator's Soul

At some point in the previous year, the decision was made to make our school district's 2013-2014 calendar have a full week off for Thanksgiving. This means when you leave work on a Friday, you don't necessarily need to return until 10 days later. This was a new scheduling change for the school year and was not initially well received. Part of the reason for the early murmurs was having to start school a few days earlier or knowing that we'll have to end school a few days later into the Summer. While administrators are already back at school way before the official staff report-by date, I will go on record that if I complain about an extra two days at the end of the year, I'll stop and refer back to this blog entry... and how glorious having ten days off from work after the mad dash of October and early November can be.

For the ten day break, I made a few decisions on how to have the most relaxing, least stressful vacation possible.

1) Get Away

On somewhat of a last minute decision, I booked two nights at the Applewood Inn, located about 30 minutes west of Santa Rosa. With twin three year old daughters, my wife and I don't have the opportunity to get away (or as we often say "escape") from our daily routines. We scheduled kid coverage for the days we'd be away (split between our Au Pair and parents) and took off for wine country. There, we ate great food, walked around Healdsburg and Guerneville, read a few books (already have our next UMS Reads book Wonder completed), and just enjoyed the quiet. One thing that a middle school isn't during the day (and this is a good thing) is quiet, so the opportunity to listen to the silence of a sleepy town is a nice change of pace.

2) Walk Lots

In a future blog post, I'll talk about the revolutionary UP Band I'm using and how (and why) it has changed my life. Two of my daily goals are eight hours of sleep at night and 10,000 steps during the day. Over the course of those ten nights, I managed to sleep at least eight hours seven times. Two of the less-than-eight-hour nights were extremely close. It's amazing how refreshed one feels in the morning after a full eight hours of sleep. I've realized, after the push of October and early November, it's really nice to catch up on one's sleep to prepare for the December school push.

For my steps, I now have a 17-day streak of 10,000 daily steps or more. While on vacation, we ended up taking the long way around town, staying out a bit later to walk the streets back and forth, and on our first night, I spent 40 minutes in the parking lot, walking up and down the paved hill in order to get my 10,000 steps for the day. Despite the freezing weather, I felt amazingly successful and proud of my accomplishment, even though I surely looked ridiculous out in the parking lot that evening.

3) Family Time

After our vacation, I made every effort to spend as much time as possible with my daughters. They too will be a subject of a future blog post, probably more than one. We went to more parks than I could count. We walked around our neighborhood enough times that they began to lead the way. I think our Costco visits almost hit double digits (no, just kidding, only three times over the week off). After sometimes going three days with not seeing them due to work commitments, it was nothing short of glorious to wake them up first thing in the morning and again at the end of the day when they're falling asleep. One thing about toddlers is that the growth they'll experience in a week turns them into entirely different children -- and it's nothing short of amazing to watch the transformation. Spending these extra holiday moments with your family helps make those long nights at school that much easier.

4) Limit Work Emails

Ok, I didn't do so well with not answering work emails over the holiday break. I went in with a positive outlook, but part of my belief as a site administrator is that our staff and school community receives an email response in a timely fashion. I know there are pros and cons to this practice, but if I were the parent with what I felt was an urgent concern, I wouldn't want to wait 10 days for a response. For me, it's part of my professional expectations that as a  school administrator, I'll respond within 24-48 hours to an email... and usually it's within an hour. While this isn't always the healthiest option, occasionally a parent will respond with respectful kindness as one of our school community members did over the recent Thanksgiving holiday.

The first email from this parent was incredibly respectful and polite. They were inquiring about a possible elective change for their student for second semester. Their email began with the following line: "First and foremost, I would like to thank you for the high level of education my (student) is receiving at your school. (They are) thriving both academically and socially." When a parent starts an email with such kindness, I feel compelled to respond. The ending to the email was perhaps even better: "I realize that you are a very busy individual and have to balance the needs of hundreds of students, and their parents alike. So I do understand your challenges as well. Regardless, I do thank you for your time in this matter, and again complement you and your team on the fine work they have done at (your school)." Not only well written, but very complimentary as well.

The email was written at 1 pm on the first Saturday of vacation. I replied exactly two hours later with a 542 word reply (I counted), outlining every option and roadblock with their schedule request. I heard nothing for the next eight days until last night at 8:42 pm. I received a follow up email that said: "Again, thank you for your prompt response to my email -- I actually waited until after the holiday week so not to bother you during your time off." Their email ended with "I truly appreciate your time in the matter and thank you for your continued support for (my student's) growth and development."

Would I have received the same response if I had waited the full vacation break before responding? Yes, it's possible... but part of the culture at our school is that parents appreciate the quick reply and will be incredibly respectful of our staff's own personal time. And of course I followed up today with my staff about this student and was informed, perhaps to no surprise, that they are an amazingly talented, bright, compassionate young adult that we are very lucky to have at our school.

These four decisions helped me return to work today with a renewed outlook and rejuvenated mindset for the next three weeks of school prior to the holiday break. Having this time to get away, to walk, to spend time with my family, and occasionally limit my work emails is something that I'm quite thankful for. In fact, I'm already looking forward to next year's week long Thanksgiving break.