Slice of Life Story Challenge

First SOLSC of August

Stacey Shubitz
Please link the Slice of Life Story you write today to this post by leaving a comment.

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Published by Stacey Shubitz

Stacey Shubitz is a K-6 literacy consultant and former elementary teacher. She is the author of CRAFT MOVES and other professional books on writing workshop. Her forthcoming book, MAKE THE SCHOOL SYSTEM WORK FOR YOUR CHILD WITH DISABILITIES (Guilford Press, 2026), empowers parents to navigate the special education system.

19 thoughts on “First SOLSC of August”

  1. I had marked it as private, I think that’s why that happened. Sorry, I will just repost it here:
    Chris, Anthony and I went to see our old house that mom foreclosed on, was sold and has been remodeled. We just called up our Realtor and asked him to take us through it.
    It was very weird to see all the changes they made, but it was still fundamentally the same house. It still had the same smoke smell and many of the remnants of John’s construction on the house over the years. They put in carpet, where it was lacking, they remodeled the floor with ceramic tile, they put in new counter tops, new appliances and paint throughout. The bathroom was redone with new tub and tile and a new window. They even added in a new bathroom in the basement!
    They also painted the outside, took down the bushes and put on a new roof. This tells me that there wasn’t that much that needed to be done to make the house livable again, and yet there was much that needed to be done to make the house livable again. In many ways, that house can never be livable again for us.
    As Chris said today, in some ways it might have been better if the house had burned down, leaving all those bad memories behind. One thing that Chris and I commented on repeatedly was how small the house appeared. It felt tiny, which is actually kind of weird because of the fact that there was nothing in it, so it should have felt bigger.
    We used to have water beds in two of those rooms, there was a large TV, a large couch, all in the living room, but today I was having trouble picturing that. The kitchen felt tiny and it used to seem cavernous to me.
    I remember that hallway being endless, whether it was for when mom used to walk up and down the hallways as a way to exercise, or when I was walking the long way to my mom’s room after she called to me to come to her, in that voice loaded with chastisement. I was scared and the hallway gave me a brief reprieve.
    I remember Chris’ room being a palace in the basement, but today it just felt like a small square. I remember my room being my sanctuary that held my dresser, desk and bed, plus a closet full of clothes and memories. In its emptiness, it seemed as though it never held the bed with the large brass headboard. It seemed as though it was never a place I could go and live and hide from all that was outside its door.
    It makes me wonder if the smallness of the place, represents the size of the role that mom plays in our lives now. Perhaps as I have been imagining the house as this huge place, I have also been imagining her power and control over us as much larger than it actually is.
    As Anthony and I have spent much time looking at houses, we have seen more and more the variety of houses out there and have been able to see that there are many configurations, many arrangements and houses with much more influence than that house seems capable of having over us now. I can remember so vividly the times I would drive down that street with my heart in my chest, pounding away, fearful of what was going to happen there. I can remember feeling tied down, breathless, suffocated by that house. I would escape to the park, to the backyard (which is consequently still just as big as I remembered it) to a neighbor’s house, anywhere but there.
    So I can see now how much I have grown out of that house, how much it was never able to contain me, to hold me back and make me less than what I was capable of being. After going through it today, later while in therapy, Chris and I commented on how simply that house was able to be turned around. Some paint here, some carpet there, a few tiles and a small addition and suddenly that house is livable again. We wish it were the same way with my mom. It often feels like there could just be minor changes, some awareness here, a little less drinking there, some therapy and she could turn things around. It always feels as though it is so close to happening, that tipping point is about to be reached, the one we have hoped for so endlessly and worked so tirelessly for, but it never happens. In fact, with the house, an outsider had to come in and do it and truthfully, that would never work for our mom.

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  2. @Jenny: I just tried going to your blog post, but it says I have to log in to view your entry. Unfortunately, I don’t have a Live Journal account. Is there another way around this?

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  16. Tuesday, August 3, 2010
    Try Something New
    There is nothing quite like embarking on a new adventure. It brings all emotions to the surface. Whenever I feel I need a little shake-up, I volunteer or apply for a new job. This has been going on for my entire professional career. I have changed grade levels, become a specialist (resource room, Title 1, technology integrationist, technology director), chaired committees, and gone back to school, twice. I am beginning year thirty-two and obviously needed a little more, I am not sure why. I have agreed to teach a course at the university, take on a student teacher, and complete a capstone project for my CAS. I guess I forgot to say, I don’t usually take on one new job, it is often two or three. I know this is going to be a phenomenal amount of work. I know that I will have to be extremely organized in order to keep these projects going and be the best teacher I can be to eighteen six year olds. I am scared, excited, frenzied, pumped, overwhelmed, and my brain is swimming with ideas, connections, and possibilities. I am growing as a learner and as a teacher. That is what the shake-up is facilitating; GROWTH. Growth is my fuel. It ignites me as a person, keeps me charged, and defines who I am.

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