I Don't Know.

It's almost October in my final year of college. By January, I'll be student teaching. By May, I'll be licensed with a diploma. And it's all so exciting to dream about what might come. I love to dream about it for hours. Until someone asks that ever dreaded question...

So Bethany... What are your plans after this? 

And I'm torn between several answers. The reality of what I want (which everyone thinks is crazy), the many probable and stable options (which everyone is quick to recommend), and the truth that I have absolutely no earthly idea (which no one allows themselves to accept). They offer advice. They tell stories of their personal experiences. All of which is fine and dandy until I bring up one important piece of information: I'm not them. 

God's plan for me might look different than His plan for them. Do they like that answer? Nope. Do they withhold any more of their opinions because of this new piece of knowledge? Nope. But has it ever really been their place to chime in? Hah... Nope.

So to answer those questions for any reader who's waiting to ask... What grade do I want to teach? I don't know. What city do I plan to teach in? I don't know. What school will I get a job in after this? I don't know. Will I go to grad school? I don't know. (Though I am currently applying, and am waiting for admission. Fingers crossed.)

So that opens up more questions. Will I work while I get my Master's? I don't know. Probably. Really? Where? Public school? Or something with less hours until I get the degree? Will I start gaining experience while in pursuit of another degree? A-hem. Didn't you hear me?

I don't know.

Oh. Well in a perfect world... What would you want? 

*Pauses to take a deep breath.* In a perfect world, I would fly to New York City to attend a job fair in April. I would land a job in a preschool classroom, and fly up again over the summer to secure an apartment close to said job. I would return home to pack up my apartment and move. I would use June to set up my new apartment. I would use July to set up my classroom. I would take the beginning of August to attend teacher trainings and get my teaching license transferred. I would start my job when school starts, spending my free weekends walking around the city and entering the Broadway lotteries. I suppose a few years after that I would meet an awesome man, get married, move out of the city into the suburbs so it would be safer to raise my own kiddos.

Wow! the questioners will respond, Why NYC? Do you really think you can live there? Do you think you'd make enough money to support yourself? How do you plan on moving? How do you plan on securing a job? How many interviews will consider you flying out for? Would you consider moving to transition cities to make the leap of faith easier? Why is this so important to you? Would you move with a few months' support in order to secure a job? Or would you attempt to battle finding a job before you moved into an apartment? What would grad school look like with you in New York? 

And I'll flash a big smile and bat my eyelashes. Can you guess my answer? Yep...

I don't know.

Does it give me an anxiety attack every day? Yep. Do your innocent questions help me out any with that? Nope.

I'm still trying to figure it all out while also enjoying my last year of college. That's what the last year is for. Do I have all the answers? No. I don't have any. And that's okay. Yes, I'm examining all my options. Yes, I'm listening to your advice (with no promises that I'll take it). Yes, I'm trying to make what I want happen because I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. But I'm letting go and letting God. Trust me. I want to know the answers just as much as you do, but unfortunately, sometimes He makes us wait a little while. When He reveals it to me, you'll be the first to know.

Just know that I don't have the luxury to sit around all day and think about my future. I'm trying to sort this out while pushing up to 20 credit hours when you count my student teaching practicums with my lectures. That doesn't count guard practice, which I get one credit hour for but spend at least ten hours a week rehearsing. I work. I babysit. I blog three times a week. I send out newsletters, market, promote, and update all social media sites for the blog on a weekly basis. My grad school application isn't done. Neither is my teacher certification tasks, prompts, or paperwork. I spend time in my bible and journal at least once a day. I pray every time I'm speeding somewhere in my car for the hope of a peaceful mind.

This post isn't me throwing myself a pity party. It's me attempting to do something about it all.

I'm too stressed. I'm too tired. It's too much. I like to pretend I'm superwoman, but man. I can't do it all. After all, I'm only human. I don't remember the last time I ate a meal without running somewhere. I don't remember the last time I watched a movie without also doing homework. I definitely don't remember the last time I went out for a dinner or a night with my friends.

One of the biggest aspects of self love is self care. One of the best ways to show yourself and the world that you love your soul and the body it lives in, is to take care of that soul and the body it lives in. Yes, you should feed it healthily. Yes, you should rest it often. But you should also eliminate unnecessary stressors that are taking a toll on it and you.

As much as I don't want to, I am cutting back to writing once a week again. I will also cut back my weekly newsletter to once a month. Three times a week is too much for posting, and once a week is too much to orchestrate an email when I've done nothing that week but run around like a madwoman and try to get everything done. Writing is my release. Writing is my therapy. So, the moment I begin to dread and stress drafting a post, I know it is time to cut back. I refuse to lose this awesome outlet.

One of the best aspects of blogging is having a diverse community that you built yourself, who is dedicated to supporting and encouraging your mission. One of the most difficult aspects of blogging is potentially hurting or losing a few of those readers when you begin to post less often. But, as a dear friend recently told me, you can't pour from an empty cup. 

Thank you so much for bearing with me as I get my crazy unknown life together. As a challenge, why don't you take a little break with me? Cut out a little something this week you can use to give yourself a little free time. And as a reward? You'll be the first to know the updates and answers to all those previously listed questions.

As soon as I have the answers, of course.

Catch ya next week, beautiful.

The Build-A-Bear Bond

A strong sense of community is crucial in any large group of people who need to work together. Coaches and camp counselors have known this forever, always incorporating new and exciting games and activities to get to know teammates, form memories, and eventually create a lasting bond between members. Leadership trainings are purchased and implemented at great expense to companies and staff. Why do teachers expect our classrooms will be any different? 

One of the best things I ever witnessed in an early childhood practicum classroom was the incorporation of a daily morning meeting. It’s something my early childhood professors recommended on a weekly basis, but my cooperating teacher bit the bullet and decided to incorporate it every day. I was a student teacher, after all, so I was about to witness a leap of faith first hand.

In the first couple of weeks, I thought we’d lost our minds. Everyone was talking. Everyone was sharing stories that weren’t relevant to our class at all. One prompt about helping their community turned into a tragic story of one girl attempting to save a friend’s cat that died falling out of a tree. The class began to riot. Many wailing tears were shed by my empathetic 6-year-olds. I thought my cooperating teacher was going to cut all future morning meetings right then and there. 

I rushed to my car that day after my student teaching, flying down the highway to make it to a rehearsal for the high school color guard I coach separately. I peeled into the parking lot and jerked my open bag from the passenger seat. Every single item scattered all over the pavement. Electrical tape, fabric swatches, feminine products, music scores, drill sheets, choreography notes, 14 tubes of red lipstick… You name it. If a guard member needed it, I had it in the bag. I collected all the contents threatening to blow across the parking lot before moving to pick up my team’s favorite possession: their Build-A-Bear mascot. She was dressed like them. She traveled with them. She was there to cuddle with when one of them was having a bad day. She represented them, too; that little bear contained a wish and a goal and a heart from every member on that team. 

My thoughts jumped back to the kiddos I’d just left crying over a cat. Why hadn’t I thought of this before? If my high schoolers could love and appreciate something I thought they’d perceive as completely juvenile, why hadn’t I considered its effectiveness for my first graders? 

Just for the record, there’s absolutely nothing stranger than a grown woman in slacks and a professional name tag waltzing into a Build-A-Bear store, standing in line with a bunch of eight year olds, and then requesting to buy an unstuffed animal, a bag of cotton, and sixteen fabric hearts. But out I walked with all of it stuffed inside one of their signature cardboard houses. I bought a couple of outfits too, outfits that matched the culture and preferences of my students. I went home and dug out some of my old Build-A-Bear outfits from when I had one as a little girl. Then I turned on Netflix and spent the next three hours stuffing and dressing our new classroom cat. Named Lacey, of course, in honor of the tragic story shared in our classroom circle. 

My practicum teacher loved the idea, and I introduced Lacey the next morning. I called everyone to attention in the classroom circle and sat the cardboard Build-A-Bear house on my lap. “Who’s seen one of these before?” Every hand went up: from the girl who got a new bear every year to the little boy in the back who’d dreamed of having a Build-A-Bear since his best friend got one the year before. I pulled Lacey from the box and heard everything from gasping to cheering. It was a major hit. I explained the tradition to my bright eyed kiddos as I handed out a single fabric heart to each child in the room. 

“Lacey is our classroom mascot,” I said, explaining what a “mascot” was. “One of the first things you do when you make an animal at Build-A-Bear workshop is choose a heart. Lacey will have a heart from each and every one of you. So before we get started, I want you to close your eyes, and make a wish. It can be about anything.” 

The children closed their eyes and wished on their heart. I did the same with my heart. 

“Now, I want you to think about our class, and the friends you have sitting around you. I want you to set one goal for yourself this year. It might be to read a whole book by yourself. It might be to make three new friends this year, or write your own story, or to get better at math.” 

The children closed their eyes again and set their goal. I did the same. 

Then we all stood up. “Now rub your heart on your head so Lacey will grow to be as smart as you!!” 

The kids giggled and rubbed their hearts vigorously on their heads. 

“Now rub it on your shoes so she has a soul!” 

The kids hopped around laughing, rubbing their hearts on their shoes. 

“Now rub it on your knees so she needs you!” 

That one was a favorite. 

“Now hold it close to your heart, so she’ll never forget how much we love her.” 

The students held the heart close to their chest and I opened the back of the stuffed cat. Each child took their turn placing their heart inside the cat, and watched with big eyes and smiles as I fastened the back of the animal. 

We took Lacey everywhere. She accompanied field trips as a “chaperone.” She walked around the school with us as a “hall monitor.” She traveled to the computer lab to monitor online safety. She also gave several rewards to children. We used positive reinforcement in the classroom through Class Dojo rewards, so they could cash in their reward points for multiple activities with Lacey. 50 points can be exchanged for being the one to carry Lacey in the hallway for a day. 100 points can be exchanged for changing Lacey’s outfit for the week. 300 points can be exchanged for keeping Lacey with them at their seat for a day. That little stuffed cat turned out to be a pretty strong motivator.

She’s good for assignments too. She sits in the reading corner when she’s not traveling, and guards the “prompt bucket,” where students can go to pick up a prompt during free writing if they can’t think of anything to write about. She helps us count the number line during math and loves to operate the timer for center time. But my favorite assignment she’s involved in is the weekend trips, where each weekend, a different student takes Lacey home and writes about all the fun adventures they have with her at home. She is returns to the class on Monday, along with the best writing some of my kiddos did all semester. 

By the second month of school, our first graders really started seeing some major benefits. Not only were discussion prompts far more focused in circle time, but friends were being made. My egocentric students were becoming enthralled with their classmates' cultures and lives. Lacey broke down every diversity barrier that could’ve possibly affected the class. If there was one thing everyone had in common, it was that they all loved Lacey. My creative kiddos lived for show and tell. My analytical ones were making comparisons and connections on the spot. The diversity in our classroom wasn’t just embraced, it was celebrated. These kiddos were smiling. Laughing. Resolving conflicts that arose without the aid of a teacher. They were loving school. They were loving learning. 

I probably don’t need to tell you how rare that is. 

I know what you’re probably thinking. “Build A Bears are expensive!” But when you don’t buy a sound effect, thirteen outfits, and all the furniture they sell, they really aren’t that expensive. Basic bears are 12 to 15 dollars. Hearts are about 50 cents a piece. They gave me my bag of stuffing for free, and you really only need one outfit. I even sew my own build-a-bear costume for my color guard girls so the mascot’s uniform matches the one they wear to competitions. 

Stolen from my high school guard instructor, that little build-a-bear bond has made all the difference, and truly has the potential to make or break your class or team. For my first graders, it was the difference in motivation and excitement for learning. For my high schoolers, it was the difference in stupid drama among teammates. And for the sake of my sanity, I’m not sure which I was happier to see. 

If you love the idea, but aren’t sappy and creative… No worries. Colorguard season is en route once more, so for the first time, I have documented the build-a-bear ceremony for all to steal and adapt. 

Meet Bentley! {Pictured above.} He’s our adorable mascot for our high school color guard, named after their show concept, Bent Outta Shape. He was chosen with love, stuffed with care (by a spoon and some chopsticks…), and breathed into life by the wishes and goals of ten hearts. 

THE HEART CEREMONY IDEAS

Put it on your side so your friend is always by your side! 

Put it on your head so it’s super smart like you!

Put it on your muscles so it’s big and strong!

Raise it up high so it grows big and tall!

Put it on your knee so you know it needs you!

Put it on your tummy so it never goes hungry!

Put it on your lips for lots of smiles!

Put it on your toes so it’s TOE-tally cool! 

Put it on your hair so it never has a bad fur day!

Put it on your ears so it always listens! 

Drop more suggestions in the comments! 

I’ve found that the more significance you can give it, the better it will be. And if you’re worried about your high schoolers not receiving it well, I’m here to tell you… The second I brought out a bear that was dressed like them, made for them, and was soon to contain a part of them, they turned into six year olds again. Some really bought into the whole thing. Sure, some of them think it’s cheesy, but I have yet to complete the ceremony yet without each person doing every movement. They may talk like they think it’s stupid, but they wouldn’t rub a silk heart on their head, their knees, and their shoes if they truly thought it was dumb. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that there’s a little kid in all of us, especially when we’re contributing to something on a personal level that ten of our best friends are doing with us. 

It’s worth the extra time. It’s worth the extra pennies. It’s my students' favorite part of the year, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite as well. 

If you have any questions, don’t hesitant to email me at bethany@taxistotsandpolkadots.com, and make sure to show off your own adaptation on the tradition by tagging me {on instagram: @taxistotsandpolkadots} {on twitter: @ttandpd} {on facebook: Taxis, Tots & Polka Dots}. I can’t wait to see what you guys come up with, but more than that, I can’t wait to hear the stories that come along with it. 

(Though I seriously doubt you can beat my cat story. R.I.P. Lacey… ) 

Kristen's Story

If you're new around here, I'll let you in on a little secret. I never planned on being a blogger. When I first started writing publicly, there was no guarantee anyone other than my parents was going to read it. Did I want to be well followed? Sure. Did I think I could write enough that a reader could relate to? I hoped so. Did I ever think I would be a public beauty distortion warrior? Heck. No.

It's easy to forget the impact of the things we do. As a teacher, I get so caught up in lesson planning, classroom management, and teacher trainings that I forget I'm literally changing the lives of children on a daily basis. They're learning because of me. They're growing because of me. 

Being a blogger is really no different. There are nights I wake up in the middle of the night to write something profound, and there are nights I sit at my computer twiddling my thumbs because I have no idea what to say. I throw around important words. Important topics. Beauty distortion. Toxic culture. Self love. Depression, eating disorders, suicide... You name it. I seek to provide positivity and comfort for these dark subjects because while they are not ignored in today's society, they are not fully considered either. The real impact of them remains unseen because these warriors feel it is necessary to struggle silently. After all, they're better seen and not heard. Right?

I write about these things so often that I find myself numb to the subjects themselves. Have you ever noticed that a good majority of the people fighting for these things never seem to have dealt seriously with the issue themselves? That's because most of the self-help supporters are fighting while hidden. Because it's okay to fight for someone else who's hurting, but it's somehow not okay to fight for yourself.

One of my favorite things about blogging is hearing from my readers. I love getting emails and social media comments about everything from their stressful day to their identity and purpose in life. But every now and again, I have a reader who feels compelled to share her story. I usually listen with eager ears, because people fascinate me and each story is a little different. I find myself responding in an email with a thankful introduction, an empathetic body, and an encouraging conclusions. That's the  inevitable anatomy of a testimonial response.

But I recently received a story that threw me for a loop.

When Kristen Arata messaged me on Facebook saying that she had written a little something along the lines of my beauty distortion platform, I thought she was interested in appearing as a guest writer. I didn't know she was ready to share her story with me...and all of you.

*THIS PERSONAL TESTIMONY MAY CONTAIN TRIGGERS TO EATING DISORDER WARRIORS* 

I, like so many people -- young, old, male, female -- suffered through an eating disorder. For a decade, this illness controlled my life. Not a day went by that I didn't plan out everything I put in my mouth or even worse; didn't follow the plan and then felt guilty to the point where I had to do something about it.  

It completely consumed me. I missed so many dinners with family, conversations with friends, and unforgettable memories to sit at home and either decide to be stronger than my temptations or spend twenty minutes in the bathroom afterward because I couldn't hear what anyone was saying over the sound of the voice in my head.  

As I have grown older, I'd like to think that I have outgrown these habits; that I am more mature and in control of myself, but this is completely off base. Eating disorders are not something that you simply outgrow or conquer over time. They can affect anyone no matter how old or in-control they may seem.  

Each day is a task in itself: a fight with yourself to either do what you know you should, or do what your brain is telling you to do.  

Every shower I take after a big meal is a fight to keep my food down. Every day I choose to eat three meals, and I have to remind myself that I should be eating that often. Every delicious dessert I consume is followed by a necessary pep talk that I should love myself the way I am.  

The more I think about these daily battles, the more I have realized that eating disorders are not something that you simply get over. They are not something that can be conquered and forgotten. Instead, they are lifelong struggles that you live with for as long as that voice is inside your head. They are choices you make each day to live a healthy life.  

An eating disorder is daily fight. One that I will continue to win. 

Now...

Some stuff I knew about Kristen prior to this story: 
-- She attends Missouri State University with me.
-- She loves colorguard.
-- She is ridiculously flexible...
-- She has a boyfriend who golfs.

Pretty normal gal, right? Now...

Some things to note about my relationship with Kristen: 
-- Outside rehearsal, we've talked very few times.
-- I have been admittedly jealous of how she looked.
-- I see her every day. 

Mondays and Wednesdays I'm with her for an hour and a half. Tuesdays and Thursdays are two hours. Fridays are sometimes more. If we have a game or a competition on Saturday, I'm with her from sun-up to sun-down. And winter practices on Sundays have us together for a solid four hours. At least. I've known Kristen for four years now.

And I never knew.

I won't sit here and tell you that you probably know someone fighting an eating disorder. I'll blatantly tell you that you do know someone fighting an eating disorder. At least one. Probably more. The statistics are frighteningly high.

I don't write about this stuff because someone out there in another state might need to hear it. I write about all this because there are people in our class, in our workplace, and in our families who fear we don't consider their biggest fight to be worthy of our time. And I truly don't believe anyone is that heartless; I just think they're uninformed.

Why did I share her story with you? Well, a lot of reasons. One, because she felt it was important enough to share with me. But mostly to give you a wake up call. Friends, I'll say it again... I see this girl every day. The warriors I speak of each day on this blog don't just exist in rehab centers and TV shows. They live in your town. They go to your school. They laugh when they're happy and cry when they're sad. They're really no different than you.

The only difference is: they're hurting in some ways you might not be able to understand. That's scary sometimes. You might not feel prepared to be confided in. You might not feel like listening. But if they choose you, it's important that you take a moment to consider how difficult, how frightening, and how downright-nauseating that might have been for them to do. If you are in a position to help someone, please lay down your pride long enough to listen. If you feel a love and compassion in your heart towards someone, you are being handed an opportunity to make a difference in that person's life. You have to follow that love. Don't ignore it. Act on it. Somebody needs what you have.

Before I go, I want to personally thank Kristen for sharing her story. It is so rare to see someone confident enough to share a private struggle without letting it define them. To be so strong, yet so vulnerable, is a powerfully beautiful thing. Thank you Kristen, for the wake-up call that I, and so many of my readers, need to be reminded of. Stay strong. Stay powerful. Stay beautiful.