Happily ensconced in my fifth grade bubble, I posted this photo to a friend's Facebook timeline, giggling the entire time. This week she sent it back...probably giggling the whole time. She's the rock star that convinced me first graders could handle our summer STEM camp, and she let me come to her class to get my secret fix of little ones. I helped them bundle up for recess or listened to them talk incessantly about how they got the bandage on their finger. And that's how I saw it...a quick fix. I did not need to have preschoolers in my life. Turns out I was wrong, but I wasn't convinced when I was visiting. You see, everyone in education has strengths in different grade levels, and most teachers can quickly tell you the grade they won't go below or above.
After teaching six years in Kindergarten and First grade, I was sure my days of tying shoes and wiping snotty noses was over. I could quickly tell you my cutoff would be third grade. Holy smokes, those little kiddos are so. darned. needy! Plus it turns out that moving to upper grades wasn't so much of a huge scary jump as a warm welcome home. Fifth and sixth graders still love their teacher, and you can still conjure magic in lessons all while not worrying if you see them chewing something outside of snack time. The easiest way to explain it to someone outside of education is that a teacher will define their comfort zone of behaviors (nose-picking versus social network addiction) and level of student independence (tie my shoe versus motivate me to learn) and balance that with their strengths as a teacher. Contrary to belief, teachers love all students, they just know they can't teach in all grade levels. As for me, I admire teachers that choose grade levels I wouldn't wade into with full riot gear...cough high school...cough, cough. I fully embrace the idea that it takes a village to educate a child. So why leave my comfort zone, right? Real talk, I have myriad stories from teaching fifth and sixth grade that would tug at the sanity of a teacher that calls high school or primary level home and the heart strings of all. I've survived the great slime movement and the Fortnite/flossing fiasco. Rubik cubes were skillfully woven into my lessons even as I hid my Uno game so I could keep my reverse cards. I distinctly remember the day I reached down to pick up a chunk of "mud" from the floor only to find out it was poop. In one math class, the kids began screaming and formed a circle around what they swore was poop on the floor. I was in disbelief until I was pulling on the latex gloves to pick it up. And I have to say, the Vaseline high five on April fools was really quite clever. But, I also have a reputation of being able to bond with tough kids. Maybe because I raised some of the most strong willed souls to walk the planet. And no, I have no idea where they get it. So, inevitably, I get some tough to reach kids or kids that really need some extra love. In the last seven years, I have taught children who were beaten and abused at home. Students who struggled with divorcing and/or mentally ill parents. Students who have turned to cutting or dangerous internet behaviors. Students who are physically and emotionally abusive to me and their peers. And parents who range from apathetic to blaming me for their child's behavior. These events leave scars on a teacher's heart. I will never forget the day I had to send a student home to an abusive home. She begged me not to, and I asked my administrator to step in, but our hands were tied. I put her in the car with tears in my eyes as she pleaded to stay with me and promised she wouldn't be any trouble. I cried that night, as many teachers do on these nights, but I bawled when she came back two days later with a broken arm caused by her mom. One particularly rough year, I had the perfect storm of five boys who fed off of each other's energy. I ended up having to have the school resource officer come do weekly visits with them, had to call CPS on one family, and had a dad that all but stalked me causing me to have to be escorted to a safe area by the school secretary. And last year, I had a ten year girl get a "dick pic" from an adult man, two students call the suicide hotline, and a student explain in detail the racist, vile creature he called stepdad. My teacher heart was hurting. I have a box with student letters and pictures. I am sure every teacher has one, and if they don't, they should. I save this box for rough days, In it, I have a letter from a girl thanking me for giving her the confidence to see 6th grade as a do over and to start loving herself. A letter from one of the perfect storm five talking about how moving to a new school and taking the lessons from me had made his life move to a different track. A letter from a mom whose daughter lost her dad the year I had her, thanking me for being a rock for their family. But even that box wasn't enough to lighten the load this year. So when I interviewed for my new job, I asked for the young kids. I needed my faith in humanity restored. I needed the unconditional love that comes from a five year old meeting their first teacher. I needed to be able to pour all of the love I have into teaching and not feel empty. So here I am after teaching my first week of first grade since 2011. I slept for a solid 15 hours last night. There is a language barrier that means I add actions and slow talk to all of my lessons. It means we repeat and repeat, and we have tears. I forgot how hard it is when they cry when they have to leave mom, but I also forgot how they will hug you so tight your hurt slides away. To be honest, I wasn't sure I accomplished anything of value this week, and I was really doubting if this was the right place for me. But then I got an email from a mom of one of my students that doesn't speak English telling me how much she loved me and school; I found a student and dad peeking in the classroom windows and excitedly talking about everything in there; and I was on the end of a running hug where I heard a girl say the first English she used all week, "Hug my teacher". So bring on the blender! This is mess my heart can handle.
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The last two weeks I have been settling into a new school culture and absorbing all of the nuances that make the climate unique. Watching and listening are tools we use for learning, and I've been intentionally open and trying to reflect on all I see and hear that sparks my curiosity or hits a tone of dissonance in my mind. While I've been doing this since I've arrived, I have had a hard time articulating what exactly I mean. Today I'm going to attempt to give you a peek.
Of course moving to a new country provides a wealth of new experiences. However, this school environment presents a new element that I have never experienced, an international staff. It's been amazing to experience all that is the same about teachers and teaching...the attention to detail in setting up a classroom, the frenzy of laminating and copying, the bonding that occurs in a new team. Just as it has been eye opening to notice all that is different about teachers and teaching...perspectives, communication, priorities. I'm giddy wondering if and how the teachers' accents will have an impact on their students who are learning English. My grade level partner is from New Zealand, and I can't help but wonder how different our students will sound, and how wonderful it is that such variety exists in language and communication. But then again, maybe their home language will color their English more. These are the thinks that bubble in my mind. Every teacher has been incredibly open to meeting new people and curious to learn about their colleagues, but conversation in mother tongue is a comfort in times of growth and new challenges. These teachers wouldn't have applied to an international school if they weren't open minded and adaptive. This clustering around language isn't done as a means of exclusion by any means but truly serves as an additional bonding agent. It's fascinating to explore. This leads me to another observation. Often in blogs I read before arriving, Norwegians were described as standoffish or even cold. When I see how large the personal space is at the bus stop...think four people standing with a couple of meters between...I can see hints of why someone would say that. However, as a person who doesn't like people to stand too close or to sit in the seat next to me, I rather enjoy the Norwegian public transit. The fact is, everyone that I have approached to ask for help has been a level of friendly I rarely encountered in the states. When I was activating a Norwegian SIM for my phone, the clerk was afraid he might have messed something up, so he gave me his personal mobile number in case I needed his help to clear things up with the company. He told me it was his first time activating a phone, so he wanted to be sure I had everything I needed. In fact, I have been given a few personal mobile numbers from people working here in order to make things go more smoothly. The DHL delivery man even sent an SMS to let me know my delivery was scheduled for a certain day and wanted to know if I was available. So other than wanting personal space, how did this standoffish stereotype come about? This is when something finally registered on my radar. Norwegians are largely fluent in English, however, they are apologetic or even what seems to be curt to native English speakers if they feel their English isn't up to par. Once that initial discomfort is overcome on their part, they are the same helpful and inquisitive people I've encountered at every turn here. Perhaps another reason for the cold reputation is that Norwegian people speak directly which can seem off putting to people that prefer small talk. This is something I appreciate as well, so I think I see it differently than many people I know. I was reminded of this when I was filling out a form and had done something incorrectly. I apologized out of habit, a habit I've tried hard to break, and the man helping me put his hand on the form and said, "Don't say I'm sorry in Norway." Obviously, he didn't mean that there aren't apologies here, but simply that we are all human. There is no need to apologize for that. All this watching and learning hasn't been external though. I have learned new things about myself as well. One of the biggest is that I seek out comfort in routines and knowledge. I know I can go to ...could go to...my local Dillons and get anything I wanted. I also experimented very little with brands in my daily life. Believe it or not, shopping has become an anxiety ridden trip lately. I can't find the brands and items I want, and often I don't even know which store to go to in order to get said items. I realize now that by being more open to small changes, this big change could have been a much easier transition. I don't like excess attention or feeling helpless in simple situations, and by not speaking the language, I stick out and possibly even cause inconvenience to someone by asking them to speak outside their Native tongue. This is absolutely an internal struggle as no one has made me feel this way. But it did cause another annoying reminder to surface; I like being independent. I've been to therapy, so I know where this comes from. It is, however, a huge challenge in a place where you are faced daily with how much you need help and others. Relying on others isn't something I instinctively reach for in times of struggle and in the midst of the unknown. I've taken bigger risks with asking and relying on people since I have been here, than I can remember in a long time. It's both scary and reassuring because it signals a breakthrough for me. There are hundreds of thinks that bubble and burst in my mind, and many seem too small to mention. It reminds me how much our brain filters for us and focuses for us so that our lens of clarity remains intact. I want to step beyond that lens. I want to see more. So, what happens when we do more than stop and smell the roses but ponder who planted them and why? In the end I can't help but think, the big things, they bind us in our humanity, and the little things, they make life more enjoyable and fun. Those quirky little reminders that individuals have value and depth beyond their humanity. After all, isn't life more meaningful when you breathe in everything life has to offer? When you can experience and learn from the seemingly inconsequential things that too often are overlooked? Isn't it the little things that sometimes make the biggest difference? Apartment hunting sucks. There is no magical transformation that happens because you are looking in a new country. There are added layers of stress and confusion though. I do consider myself fortunate because there are teachers I work with that are still hunting for a place to call home. Finding an apartment in Norway starts at a website called finn.no. Here you can find properties for rent. The learning curve was steep for me. For instance, it is common practice here to live in homes where you have your own bedroom but share the rest of the house. Apartments are often much smaller than you would find in the states. Renters and landlords set up a joint bank account to serve as a deposit which is usually an amount three times your monthly rent. As I mentioned last week, you need your immigration papers done and a personal number before you can set up a bank account. There was one small misunderstanding that came from my rural upbringing. I used Google to translate the pages. I couldn't find any apartments that allowed pets, but there were several that allowed animal husbandry. I didn't want a damn cow farm with chickens, I just wanted to take my cat! So, in case you are wondering, "dyrehold tillatt" directly translates to animal husbandry allowed but really means you can have a pet. Sigh...oh, Nellie. My experience was relatively painless overall. My landlord is moving to Sweden and going through the immigration process there, so I think she is empathetic to my situation. She agreed to let me sign a short term lease while I finish up all the paperwork and such. I was also able to find an app called Transferwise that allowed me to pay directly to her bank without accruing high bank transfer fees or losing my ass in exchange rates. There are a few things that are going to take some getting used to. For instance, I have a washing machine and here is my dryer. There are no screens on the windows, but I have only had one fly and one bee come inside. The cross breeze is irresistible which is a good thing because there is no air conditioner in my apartment. Not that I need it. Yesterday Janus and I were enjoying the 17 degree (60F) weather. All in all, I love my little apartment. I can't wait to get a few more homey touches put in place. I did get bedding, towels, and food, so the rest can come slowly! I am about a five minute walk from a grocery store, gym, and bus stop. One of the town's bigger shopping centers is about a ten minute walk. Work is a longer walk, but mostly because it's uphill both ways. Rest assured you will hear more about this when it snows and is an appropriate time to tell that story. I believe I chose well, but fingers crossed I can get my person number soon so I don't have to start the search again. At least I know what dyrehold tillatt is now!
Where to start? I'm not going to say I had delusions of some easy process, but I wasn't quite prepared for the climb. While I'm still in the process, I thought I could give you an update on the process so far. For my readers who just want the fun stuff: TL;DR I did a LOT of paperwork only to find it is all dependent on other paperwork, but I can work and have a place to live for now while I sort it all out. Starting from the beginning, a teacher has to register with two separate entities in Norway for recognition of education and credentials. The first agency, which authorizes recognition of a person's education, has an easy to use website that allows you to upload files of your diplomas, passport, and supporting documentation. I was even able to send my transcripts straight from the colleges to the agency. That's the great part. The downside is they take July off which is fairly inconvenient in teaching circles. As of this update, they have yet to assign a case worker to my file. The other agency, which recognizes my teaching credentials, requires paper copies sent directly to their office. It was a straightforward process, however, they will not proceed with my case until the other agency approves my education. See the circle forming? Two interesting takeaways from this: mailing a business sized envelope to Norway with no special treatment costs $16 and Norway actually wants to see your diplomas from university! When I signed the contract with my school, they asked me to wait until I got to Norway to apply for my work and residence permits as it would be faster, and I could hand my paperwork directly to the police. (Yes, the police handle some parts of the immigration process.) The website where you start your application is helpful in that you answer a series of questions before you begin so it can tailor the application to your circumstances. At this point, I was able to pull up a checklist of documentation to compile. This checklist, which is required to be printed and handed in with the documentation, was FIVE. PAGES. LONG. Most of the items were easily accessible for me, and it was more a matter of gathering and printing than anything else. However, a couple of requirements are technically impossible to obtain before you have a residence or work permit. Cue more circular dependence. First, I had to have documentation of a place to live, but I cannot sign a lease until I have a work permit AND a tax number because I need to open a bank account with the landlord for the deposit. Another point on the checklist requires a skilled worker in Norway to hand in confirmation of recognition of higher education and credentials from the two agencies I mentioned first. Overall, the checklist was like bringing the receipts for what you claim in the application. The application itself is completed online and is a lot like an application for a passport, only they want so much more information. For instance, I had to list and give information about all of my parents, siblings, and children and whether I intended to apply for them to accompany me. There was also a section asking for specific information about my job and my credentials. It took probably a couple of hours to fill out completely, and I needed a representative from the school to help me with the employer section. The only confusing portion was when it asked me to upload documentation. When I went to the link provided, it said I could not upload documentation unless I had gone to an appointment with the police to hand in my paperwork. Wait, come again? haha
Once I was able to finish the application, I had to pay a $620 application fee before I could be ready to go see the police. And of course, in true Nellie fashion, snafus abound. (A friend recently started using #nellie when I get ready to tell a story....sigh.) So #nellie... While I really appreciate my credit card company's vigilance, blocking the transaction for my application only added stress to an already difficult process. I was able to get the THIRD card to work. Then I got sms messages asking me to confirm or deny that I had knowledge of the charges they had blocked. When I answered yes it was me, they released the money. Good. Lord. WHAT. I ended up having to call so that I did not have three charges for my application fee. That only took 45 minutes on the phone to clear up. The easiest way to finish up this process for now is to take your checklist and all of your documentation to the local police station, but you have to book an appointment first. #nellie...The representative from work had said we could just drop in at the police station which it turns out is a policy they have changed, and I need to book an appointment online. We found this out by visiting the police station. There was no option to book an appointment at the end of my application, so I used the email provided to contact the police to see next steps. I received an answer back that said, "Do not use this email and find a date online." So. helpful. I go back to my application a few times over their three day weekend to see if the option for booking pops up. Finally, on Monday morning it does, and the first available appointment is September 20th. OOF! I need to turn in my documentation and ask for early work permission before I can begin work. I email work, and they assure me it will work out. I am skeptical to say the least. It's also at this point that I realize said checklist says I need copies of all of my documentation. I do a search for a place to make copies and realize it is time for me to buy a bus pass because I am not walking four miles one way for copies. I mean, we all know how the trip to the pet store went. After searching and searching, I realize I am going to have to download the bus ticket app to purchase a ticket. I missed the half price summer sale by two days (figures) and went through three credit cards before finally linking my PayPal account to the bus ticket app. Electronic ticket on phone, I realize this app doesn't let me plan a trip. Turns out I need another app for that, AND I will have to activate data so I can use these apps to ride the bus. Fine, whatever, I'll pay $10 for a day of data. And why do I have to activate data? Because when I purchased a Norwegian SIM something went wrong in the process, so the phone isn't working. The company says they will fix it within a day..or so. Four hours, $40, and a walk in the rain to my airbnb later, I have the copies for my too-late-to-matter appointment. Needless to say, I am just a bundle of nerves about three quarters convinced I am going to be deported before I can even begin work. A Facebook group I belong to had a post with a suggestion to keep checking in with your application to check the calendar for openings from cancellations. Following that advice, I get my appointment moved to September 12, then September 2, and finally I think I strike gold with August 20th. It's before I start with kids which is what I was told I absolutely needed. Then I decide late one evening to check again and end up securing August 8th! The end of what I can "control" in the process is to go to the police station to hand in my documentation. I show up with my checklist and copies, organized with all the deliberation of a teacher handing plans to a substitute, and wait my turn. The police officer takes my packet and goes through and paperclips like documents together. She compares originals to copies and studies my passport to make sure it is me. All in all, maybe five minutes. She hands me my originals and passport and says to go wait and she will prepare my early work documentation. I left an hour later with permission to begin work. I was notified via email it will take up to five weeks before my application will be processed. At that point I will have more to do, but for now I can breathe. It's here I need to mention, I found an apartment that belongs to a young woman moving to Sweden. We realized through correspondence that we are in similar situations, and so I think she has a different type of compassion for me. She is going to allow me to sign a short term lease without a deposit and will keep the electricity in her name. This is what allowed me to have documentation of a place to live for my application. She is also willing to accept a bank transfer for payment and is leaving her apartment pretty much as is taking only her clothes and cat, so I will have to purchase very little. This will give me 2 months of breathing room to get my tax number so I can then sign a lease with her, establish the joint bank account for deposit, and have utilities in my name. My next post will likely showcase my apartment. Today is moving day, and I couldn't be more thrilled to have an actual home again after being essentially homeless since June 30th. A few final thoughts: The kindness and compassion I have encountered here has astounded me, and I am grateful to be able to hold onto my sense of humor and smile through the process. I'm also learning new things about myself which is scary and exciting. I leave you with the message I see every time I open my phone. Today I was hoping to post an entry about my experiences with filling out and filing paperwork for my work and residence permits. Instead, I'm going to give you insight into my reflections of my first week here because in a country that takes the month of July off for vacation you can expect exactly zero things to go at your pace. I have decided to take advantage of this to practice patience and letting go of things I cannot control. In the meantime, read on for my ramblings. For the time being, I am staying in the home of a wonderfully thoughtful man that rents a couple of rooms through Airbnb. When I say thoughtful, I mean this single, older gentleman has nail polish remover in his bathroom cupboard! He has asked how I am doing everyday and given me tips on how to get around and where to find supplies. He even offered to take me to the grocery store with him. He's been quite chatty and wonderful company. Yesterday, he left to go stay with his family for the weekend, so I have been cleaning around his home as a silent thank you. Bonus of the stay, the view from his balcony is stunning. The connection to nature in Norway is obvious. While I am walking through town, I notice that nature isn't relegated to neat little flower boxes or pushed to the wayside for roads and travel. It's clear that nature is important enough to be an integral part of the city. Wildflowers sprout and trees thrive; I even saw one growing through the roof of a garage! My walk to the store was more nature hike than trek downtown. Granted I managed to turn the two mile walk into five, so it was a rather long hike, but I was treated to beautiful lawns, hidden treasures, and extra time to notice the small things. For instance, in the trees along one path were hand-painted signs with birds and their names. While nature has secured a spot in the hearts Norwegians, planning for streets and sidewalks has not. One of the reasons I got so easily lost is that roads, my eyes are rolling even typing that word, that were marked on the map were not much wider than some of the sidewalks in a city in the States. Another quirky characteristic of roads is that they might turn a gentle curve only to slap you in the face with a new name. Sidewalks are just as carelessly planned and will suddenly cease to exist forcing you to cross the road to continue on or simply walk along the side of the road until it pops into place again. At least pedestrians actually have the right of way here!
In practicing patience, I'm also taking some time to notice the differences and appreciate the similarities. But I can tell you one thing, if I don't get used to the date format I am going to be eating a lot of questionable food! I was eating breakfast when I was struck by the shelf life of their milk. I mean this stuff was going to be good until October?? What is their secret? And speaking of eating and food, their spoons are the size of what I would use to serve mashed potatoes! I looked for a smaller one and found a small sugar spoon. So, I was faced with my bowl of yogurt taking me twenty minutes with the tiny one or looking like a full on starving hog with the large one. (oink) Food isn't the only stand out difference. I've caused great concern to several people in my clothing choice. Summer has arrived in Norway, and I am not partaking in the shorts and tank top weather. Folks, the highest temperature I have seen is 68 degrees. While I may come around to their way of dressing, my body is coming off of hundred degree weather thinking, "What oasis of relief have we discovered here?" There is a surprising amount of American television available to watch which is good because I can tell you that I didn't realize my brain was so tired from not hearing English. It's an odd sensation to explain, and I'm sure just something that needs experienced. It's almost as if my brain can tune into a conversation in English and then push it to the irrelevant portion of thinking, but if I hear another language my brain works overtime to decipher. Finally, I can say there is one thing I didn't expect. My host and people from the school have been curious about Kansas. Many have visited larger cities in the United States but not Kansas because of course Kansas is largely a flyover state. It isn't that I thought they would be disinterested in me or where I come from, but I underestimated their interest level in comparison to my own curiosity about Norway. So if you think about it, send those beautiful Kansas photos my way. All in all, it's been a great week for readjusting my sleep and learning. And next week if my paperwork still isn't complete, I'll regale you with my adventures in learning Norwegian. And, ender! (duck, ducks) English isn't the only language pulling that vowel changing plural nonsense! |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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