Severance Made Me Feel Seen

 I just finished watching the widely acclaimed, Severance, on Apple TV.  It is trippy and dystopian and weirdly reminds me of being a teacher. This is especially true of the ludicrous incentives for a job well done.

    Let me be clear, I am not hating on the incentives that we get at work.  I appreciate every single one of them.  I appreciate the time it takes faculty, staff, students, or even parents to get these things together for us.  This does not come form a place of ingratitude or even complaining. It's just an observation that when seen in terms of other professions it is considered trippy and dystopian.  A sure sign that we are in a crazy, cooky world.  In education, however, it is the norm. 

      In the show, Dylan G. talks dead-seriously about how hard he is working to get his prizes.  We see him playing with finger traps, and hear him talking about earning the big prize, a waffle party! At one point, for a morale boost, Mr. Milchick comes in with a 5 minute dance party. As viewers, we are confused as to what kind of world this is where those childish incentives are the rewards for good work.  As a teacher, I felt seen. Some of the incentives that we have gotten over my years at 4 different schools are jeans day, a drink from Sonic, an orange snack cart with all orange treats, a smore's bar, a taco party, a pizza party, free school supplies, and a free school T shirt.  Again, I will gladly take that over nothing.  I just wish we received things like money and promotions.  

To be fair, for the first time we are getting Christmas bonuses this year!  Like actual money, not just hot cocoa or a staff Christmas party. "The Board" approved it.  How do you like me now, Dylan G,?

To Be Called Mom

As a little girl I knew that someday I wanted 

to be called Mom. 

I couldn't wait to have kids.

A few, at least.

And then I got a little knowledge, and a little fear. 

So as young woman I still wanted to be a mother, but someday... down the road... after... 

As a young wife I got pregnant. 

Unexpectedly. 

And I cried. 

I felt still so young myself.

And it would be a Y2K baby which was a stressful anticipation.  

Computers and equipment potentially crashing as the ball dropped. 

Due 1/2/00. 

 I called my mom to tell her. I think my exact words were, “This is going to ruin Christmas.” 

And then I got sick. So, so, sick.  

Couldn’t drink, or eat, or swallow my own saliva without vomiting, sick. 

I lost 30 lbs in 30 days. 

I passed out in the shower. 

Just once. 

Mostly I didn’t take a shower. 

I thought I might die, and I made peace with it. 

I got a PICC line which gave me nourishment. 

And a pump that kept my body full of anti nausea meds.

I still had to spit in a cup.

But I heard the most amazing sound. 

A heartbeat. 

And that made it all worthwhile. 

Until the heartbeat wasn’t there anymore. 

Surely it was a mistake. 

Could we check again.

Suddenly just gone.

When it had been beating so strong.

I couldn’t believe it.  

After that, my heart beat a little differently too- 

because a piece of it was missing. 

Not just that day but every day since.

The hole is still there, but then so is the compassion. 

And the gratitude.

And the certainty. 

And the strength. 

And the love. 

And the empathy. 

And the grief. That never fully goes away. 

That baby, the one that I never held, changed my world.

Made me a mom- 

even just for 13 weeks. 

Taught me that motherhood is joy, 

and love, 

and uncertainty, 

and bravery, 

and fear,

and sacrifice.

And that there is beauty in all of it.

That even with no guarantee as to how it all turns out, that it’s an incredible journey to be on.

I’m grateful that my story didn’t end with that first baby. Almost 9 years later I got to hold our beautiful little baby girl in my arms, and the grief I had felt for all those years was redeemed in a moment.

Then two years later still, 

we were blessed with the son that made our family complete.

The peaceful, 

happy, 

super baby. 

The sweetest boy ever to meet my gaze.

I'm his forever, and he's mine, at least for now. 

Motherhood is a beautiful, creative partnership with God, 

And I'm truly so grateful for all of it.

For the three pregnancies, 

and for the 2 babies I held in my arms,  

plus one forever held in my heart. 

That's the one that helped to make me ready. 

Really truly ready, and oh so thankful 

to be called Mom.

Happy Mother’s Day. 

For a Moment

For a moment we were heroes.

In the midst of a global pandemic, teachers were hailed as beyond essential. Parents, politicians, and celebrities were declaring that we should be paid “a million dollars a day, and it still wouldn’t be enough”, or some similar hyperbolic declaration of our worth. With no warning, very little leadership from the federal, state, or even local government in many cases, teachers revamped curriculum and learned how to facilitate distance learning. More importantly, we let kids know that during this crazy, scary, uncertain time, when everything has changed, there is one thing that hasn’t changed. We are still your teachers, and we are still right here for you.

I want to let you in on a little secret. We weren’t being called heroes because we started doing things differently, but rather because the public caught a glimpse of what we do inside the walls of our classrooms every day. We love children. We teach them. With little to no warning we change the way we teach them because what we were doing before isn’t working for them. We evaluate their needs, and sometimes they need a heart to heart talk more than a lesson, so we stop what we are doing and listen to them. We see that they don’t have food, so we feed them. We see that they look sad, so we pull them aside in class to let them know that even though they seem to be going through a really tough time, we are here for them.

The moment has passed. The words of affirmation are gone, and not backed up by any sort of action. Teachers across the board are facing pay cuts, lack of normal step increases, and job insecurity. Some of us are facing technology challenges as we know that we will likely have some form of hybrid between distance teaching and face to face instruction when school opens back up. And it's ok. We never signed up for this to be heroes, or even to be fairly paid, but would help if people would stop sending us mixed messages.

For a moment, it felt good to be a hero. :)

Vikings and Bruins for Life

I have a 5th grader and 8th grader not getting to go back to their schools again, as students, ever. And guys. Hear me. They will be fine. This is hard. Life is hard. And amid this disappointment, they are going to see that they are still fine.

Thank you Prospect and LFMS. We miss you already! You took good care of my babies,
and I’m sorry our time with you was cut short. But don’t worry about us, or feel bad. Know this. The comfort, caring, guidance, and leadership that your teachers provided (and are still providing) my kids during this Covid 19 separation will never be forgotten. The way you reached out to help them feel safe, loved, and to help make sure they had academics to do, and food to eat has meant more than any class party ever could. You taught them more about life during this last month than you could have done in a thousand classes. You modeled the importance of showing up for people, of good communication, putting things in priority, and self discipline, laughter, and finding the familiar even when everything changes . We have felt your love. We have seen it on every zoom call and read it on every post card. We wouldn’t have chosen this as the ending for their middle and elementary school careers, but they are better for it. We will keep showing up for you too, for as long as you ask us to because we want to be your students for as long as possible.

Later, who knows how much later, we will celebrate their accomplishments and get those goodbye hugs. Until then, we are proud to be Vikings and Bruins for Life.

Happy Place

Sometimes they sell your happy place.

My childhood home is about to be for sale. The photo shoot is done. The listing will go live soon. All that’s left is to sit back and wait, and to reflect on what Miranda Lambert would say is “the house that built me”.

Val Terrace has been our family home since 1986. I was 10 when we moved in. It’s wasn’t our first house, but it was the first house I ever loved. I got my own room for the first time on Val Terrace. I got to pick out the yellow wallpaper with pink hearts, and pink wall to wall carpeting. I got a phone in my bedroom. It was lavender, and had call waiting, and I loved it! I got to live in a neighborhood for the first time on Val Terrace, with a cul de sac at the end of the street! I always felt safe there, and it was around that cul de sac that I learned that I could ride a ten speed bike in circles for hours. It was big, in fact it held 7 people in two slightly separate houses, my grandparents lived in the in-law apartment. Now I know that it’s bigness would be its downfall because 33 years later, what do two people need such a big house for? But back then, it was perfect! Safe, and welcoming, and the center for all of the major events of my life.

It’s not just my happy place from my childhood though. Even as an adult who has had 3 homes of her own, when I say I’m going home I always picture mom and dad’s house. Mom and dad standing in the driveway waving us in, or coming out from the back porch with big smiles. I always comment on how pretty mom’s gardens look, and not just because I know she’s been sprucing them up for company, but also because it’s true. That first hug in the driveway and I can literally feel all the stress of the long drive, or the current life messes melt away. It is the place where everything will be ok.

Val Terrace is special to my kids too! They have grown up vacationing there every summer. They love climbing the trees in the front yard, and playing hide and seek in the basement. I remember when we planted those trees. The back porch is one of my favorite places. With all the windows open you can enjoy the New England summer, without the mosquitos that lurk just outside. To me, it is the perfect place for a nice cup of coffee with breakfast, as I listen to the leaves blow on the trees and feel the cool ocean breeze. To my kids, it is the perfect place for hatching wild and crazy plans. There have been sword fights on that porch between kids in Viking helmets, and plays put on there. Oh, and I hope I never forget the summer of the chipmunk! The porch played a big role in that too! The chipmunks were everywhere, gorging themselves on the birdseed that fell from my parent’s bird feeders, so my sister’s kids and mine decided only one thing could be done. They must be caught! They used a clear bin, a stick, and a long rope, all of which they contrived into a makeshift trap that they thoughtfully set up right under the feeder. They would all sit and watch from their chairs on the porch. For fun there were binoculars involved, even though they were in no way needed. When a chipmunk came for his snack, zip, they’d give the rope a tug and catch him. Then they would all run out and get a good close look at him in his trap before lifting it up and setting up the whole game again. The next morning, Trevor came down for breakfast and said in his squeekly little boy voice, “It feels like a great day for catching chipmunks”. A line that is now part of the family.

I could go on probably forever, recalling weddings, graduation parties, family reunions, anniversary parties, vacations with family, and then with different friends joining in the fun. I could recall people dropping in for a visit because they always knew where to find you. I could recall snowmen in the front yard, and watching snow flakes fall in the light form the little lamp posts by the front walk. With a big smile I could tell of how my mom makes snow angel videos for the southern grandchildren in the yard after every big storm. I could tell you of the basketball hoop in the driveway, and of the driveway championships that were held there. And I’m not gonna say none of it would have been possible without that house, but I will say that none of it happened without the house. That house played a big part in my life over the past 33 years. It could have all happened somewhere else. I know that. But the fact is that it didn’t. It happened there on Val Terrace in Scarborough, Maine where my parents have had the same phone number since I was born.

Change is hard for people like me. I guess I could take the last half of that sentence off; change is hard. I’m thankful for the past that we have had there in our family home. I’m excited for my parents, and what lies ahead for them. It’s going to be all good things, happening in a much smaller, more appropriate setting for two people. What will become of my house on Val Terrace? I don’t know, but I hope the next little girl that lives there knows what a blessed little girl she is.

An Ode to Us

An Ode to Us

College kids.
Fun, friendships, freedom.
Falling in love.
Basketball, softball and soccer games. Street Fighter.
Bible studies. Dinners out.
Thinking we were all grown up.
Being so wrong.
Just kids.

Newlyweds.
Together. Stars in our eyes. Totally in love.
Dreams of the future. Not even sure what to dream.
One cold Maine winter, ice storms, radiator heat.
Money earned. Money spent. Laundromat, pizza place.
Thinking love was all we needed.
Being completely right.
Being completely wrong
Being completely in love.

Growing up.
First baby. Shock & excitement. Loss & heartache.
Innocence lost. Crying, Sadness. Solitude.
Leaning on each other. Loving each other.
Trusting. Doubting.
Too young for broken hearts,
but that didn't matter.
Believing "it is well" though it didn't feel well.
Being right.

Parenthood.
Completely worth the risks.
Definitely worth the wait.
Two perfect blessings.
Love like we have never known.
Worry, joy, laughter, pain...all magnified.
Juggling new hats. Daddy, Mommy.
Thinking we should have been required to take a test.
Knowing we would have never passed. :)
Learning day by day.
Smiling at them- at just the thought of them.
Smiling at seeing each other in their eyes.

Growing older.
Long in the tooth. :) Gray hair.
Aches, pains, sun damage.
Happy Birthdays for us...for them.
Finding our love has grown comforting.
Not thinking there is anything wrong with that.
Knowing our love is true. Still laughing, still happy.
More beautiful than ever.
Like good wine.
One Heart. Two bodies. 100 directions.
Always coming home to the same place.

Our Future.
Quickly becoming the past.
Wide open. Full of potential.
Uncertain. Unknown. Unlimited.
Planning.
Thinking we have time.
Being so wrong.
The future is not now.
The future was yesterday.

Together, we two.
In love. Happy. Side by side. Step by step.
Thinking we are blessed.
Being so right!

Jayme, I love the memory of falling in love with you, and the reality of staying in love with you. For the notes on my car, and the poems that you wrote. For the dinners you made, and the flowers. For when you get up with the kids, and when you chase them all around the house and make them laugh. For the smiles, laughter, and maybe even more, for the tears. Thank you. What we have done together, we never could have done apart. "...all because two people fell in love".

Being Ten is Tough

My ten year old did not miss a single math question on the Tennessee state assessment (TCAP) in 2nd grade. Not one. He scored in the 100th percentile. Who does that? Not me. (Not my students, that's for sure.) I am sure there are others. But he is one of probably not too many. Last year he missed one, but in his defense he had nowhere to go but down after he peaked in second grade. :) I don't say that to brag, but rather to give background knowledge for the next sentence that I am about to write.

Today, as fourth graders were packing up their things to go home, four of my son's classmates were voting on whether or not he was stupid. The ringleader would ask, "Who think's Trevor's retarded?" and the other three would raise their hands. "Who thinks Trevor's stupid?", all the hands go up. "Who thinks Trevor's dumb?", three out of three of the followers voted that he for sure is.

So my ten year old came home from school today with puffy eyes, and pink cheeks because of the words of these kids. Three kids voting against him. Three kids siding with the mean girl, and agreeing that he was dumb.

As he told me the story on the way home from school, so quietly I could barely hear him, my eyes filled with tears. I wasn't angry, I was just wounded. Wounded because I could tell that this one hurt him.
"Mom, you can tell me if something is wrong with me you know. I mean is it? Do I have something like how some kids have ADHD or things? Did a doctor ever say anything is wrong with me?"
More tears running down my cheeks. More broken heart forcing itself to beat as I listen to my son try to fit the words of his classmates into his view of himself. A view that now feels like maybe he is broken.

I told him, most assuredly, that he is not broken in any way. And that in some small way those kids must feel broken to be hurting him like that. Kids who are confident, strong, and kind don't seek to hurt others. That we may never know what is in them that feels fixed when they pick on him, but that it certainly isn't about him. It is about them.

Then we talked about how it would have felt if someone hadn't raised their hand. If someone had voted for him instead of against him. The relief he would have felt if just one person had his back. That was the word he used. Relieved. And I told him to always be that person.

And now, as he sits reading Harry Potter I am still teary. I don't want to send him back to the wolves tomorrow. I don't want them to hurt him anymore, just because they can. Just because there are four of them and one of him, and because he is too sweet to beat the crap out of them like I want him to. And I am teary because I feel like I have let him be too soft. I have let him be too into books, and I have let him love too much... animals, and bugs, and me. I have let him be too kind. I should have tried to change him.

But that is never true.

God made my son smart. He made him kind, empathetic, hilarious, and so exceedingly loving. I hope that the words from today don't scar him, but rather stay with him as a reminder to be the one person who provides another child the relief of just not being alone. The world is a tough place. Even when you're just ten.

Happy Sadness

My grandmother, Virginia Osborn, "Ginny", ("Armee" to her grandchildren) passed away last night, March 2, 2019.

She was a stubborn, and beautiful woman in life, and I truly believe she died because she decided it was time. I watched many people try to change her mind in my lifetime, but I don't believe it ever happened. She was classy, so she would quietly listen to the opinions of others, but had a way of just saying, "Oh is that right?" or some other similar phrase which basically meant, "I have heard you out, and have not changed my mind."

We knew a few days before she passed away that she had been approved to go to hospice, and the grieving process began then. It was hard before she was gone. It was hard just knowing she was going to be gone. I know I am blessed to be 43 years old when my grandmother died. I know that her 95 years were a gift, and that I should focus on the gift and not the loss. I agree with all of those sentiments. But also, having loved her for so long makes me that much more aware of what I have lost. My grandfather died several years ago, at 98, and I felt the same way about him.

I have so many cherished memories of my mom's parents. In 1986, they moved in with us. They had an in-law apartment, so they had their own space, but I just had to open a door and walk 8 or ten feet down the hallway to get to their living room. It was, I guess, just kind of special.

My life was a little different from most kids because of them. I had built in baby sitters, but I could basically stay home alone and only get them if I was lonely or needed something. I had a built in corner market. If we didn't have syrup or peanut butter (or more often, ice cream) Armee always did. :) From when I was almost 11 until I went to college, my home was their home. They lived in Worcester MA for the first ten years of my life, so I only saw them a few times a year, but then 1986 happened and suddenly they were there every for everything for the rest of my childhood...Christmas mornings, birthdays, and everything in between.

My brother and sister both left for college in 1989, and the house was so lonely without Chrissy and Charlie. But Armee and Ree Ree loved to spend time with me, and I spent a lot more time over there after they left. I would usually bring my dog Pepper for a visit and would throw her pink porcupine toy from my grandparents living room back across the hall into my parents living room so she could really get her speed up running back and forth playing fetch. We all three enjoyed watching the little toy poodle bound after the porcupine, "Pinky". She would jump over the threshold every time, and that was always good for a smile! Sitting with them, talking to them- it was captivating and uncanny. It was fun and educational. It was special. Horse drawn wagons, The Great Depression, World War II... I know I have forgotten more than I remember, but what I remember makes me so grateful...and makes me feel the loss all the more.

My grandparents had a love story that could rival any. One of the greatest gifts I have is my grandfather's journal. He wrote it back in 1999, when he was a young man of 83. It is basically a memoir. His children and grandchildren were given copies and I have read it cover to cover dozens of times in the past 20 years. When I got the call that Armee had passed away, I pulled it out just to remember again. Remember the stories I used to hear them tell, remember them young and in love, and remember that my Armee and Ree Ree being together in Heaven right now is such good news.

My grandfather was a gifted writer and poet, and his poems about my grandmother have made me cry many tears these last several nights. But they have helped to move my grief from sadness, to happy sadness- remembering their love and their lives, and knowing that they fulfilled their lives dream of growing old together, raising a beautiful family, and doing it well...as any job worth doing is worth doing well.

At the end of his journal my grandfather wrote the following:

"Ginny Grow Old with Me"
It seems so long ago
Written then my verse was meant to be
an anchor on which love could grow

The war is past our family grown
with pride we now can tell
our creed taught daily from the home
of a job worth doing well

My pride in you I want all to know
and my heart for all to see
My love and devotion will ever flow
Indeed you have grown old with me.

My grandparents grew old together in the most beautiful way. It was an honor to have a front row seat.

Until we meet again, Armee. I love you forever.

Dear Child

I have learned more from my students than I could ever teach them.

I have been changed more by my conversations with them than they could ever be changed by me.

The more lost they are, they more I find myself drawn to them. To smile at them, and laugh at their jokes. To act like their tragic stories don't shock me and tear my heart apart, and to tell them how proud I am of them.

I hear the things they say to themselves, and to each other.

Sometimes they look at me and say that they don't like teachers or school. This is just because somewhere along they way, some teacher or every teacher, at some school or every school, failed them. I don't want to fail them. I don't want to be there with a front row seat watching them give up on themselves.

To all of them, I write this letter. To each dear child.

Dear Child,

You are loved more than you know.

You are special. What you will do in this world, to this world, for this world...no one else can do.

You will make ripples in the lake of your life, that will vibrate out and touch people that you cannot even see. That you don't even know.

You feel weak. You feel like a failure. You feel like you can't do anything right. You are wrong.

You are stronger than you know. You succeed every time you choose to keep trying. You are doing great.

You look around you and see people who have it all together, and you feel like you are the only mess that showed up today.
Take heart. Everyone around you feels like a mess too, and they are all so afraid that someone will figure it out. They look at you and think you have it all together. They wish they were more like you.

You feel disheartened. People tell you these are the best years of your life, and that just makes you worry. Don't worry. They are wrong. These are the most awkward, confusing, insecure, walk-in-the-rain-down-a-dark-muddy-path at-night years of your life. It will get better. You will figure out who you are, and who your people are. Your world is small right now. You only know your family, your friends, your classmates, your teammates. Sooner than you can even imagine, you will enter a bigger world where there will be people like you. People who get you. This little world you are in may make you feel like you don't fit, but that's just because you are bigger than what you can see now. You will find your place, and you will thrive.

You believe the lie that it is best to be like the others, and it torments you that you are different. Whatever it is about you that is different, learn to love it. That is what will make the world notice you, and that is where you will bloom into the beautiful flower that you are meant to be.

You look around for someone to be better at life than you, and you always find someone. Your mistake was in looking around. Don't compare yourself to anyone. There is always someone better at something. Change your focus. Focus on what you have to offer the world. Just like there is always someone better than you, there is also always someone looking up to you that needs you.

Be kinder than necessary as you go through this world. We are all hurting. We can't fix each other's problems, but kindness builds bridges, and bridges lift us up above where the waves and waters can hurt us.

I am inspired by your life. Your little, oh so very significant life.

You have given me purpose.

And I am forever grateful for you, dear child.

Grief is Just Love with Nowhere to go.

Riding in the passenger seat, tears fill my eyes- blurring, elongating, and distorting the normally crisp reds, whites, and greens of the street lights. I am not crying in the usual sense, more like leaking from the eyes. No noise, no movement or motion, just tears without ceasing. It reminds me of videos I have seen of the tsunami in Indonesia many years ago. It wasn't the violent wall of water I expected to see. It was more the constant encroaching of the ocean upon the land, as though no boundary had ever existed between the salty depths and the roads where cars now floated. My cheeks felt cold as the tears dried on my face. I had so many thoughts and images that filled my mind, but only one feeling. Deep, gut wrenching, overpowering sadness. I happened upon a quote last week that said something about how grief is merely love with nowhere to go. That is what I feel. I feel all kinds of love with nowhere to go. And so it creeps out of my eyes, and down my face, and nearly takes my breath away.

My uncle Phil died today.
My dad's little brother, the one he spent his youth protecting, is now gone.
Without warning.
Inexplicably.
And I cry for my dad who could not call to give me the news. Who couldn't yet speak the words into being, that his only brother is now gone.

I cry for my aunt, Pam. She is my dad's older sister. Neither of them could have ever conceived a life without their youngest sibling. How lost and sad she must feel.

I cry for his kids- my cousin Luke who has now lost both parents in just a few years. I hate that he is now raising his kids without his dad getting to see what a great job he will do. And I cry for his brother and sisters because their kids won't grow up with their grandpa in their lives.

I cry for his friends. Friends who have loved him like family. People who, unlike me, had him in their lives every day. I cry for the hole they now have in their hearts.

Riding in the passenger seat, feeling all kinds of love with nowhere to go. And so it creeps from my eyes and down my face. Yet, in the midst of this blurry sadness, my heart, which is broken in a new way today, thinks of my Uncle Phil, and smiles. This is how I know his life was lived well. I am broken over the loss of him, but I still can't help but smile at the remembrance of time spent together.

What Time Was I Born?

Let's just get this out of the way right now. I was born at 9:06 pm. Shortly thereafter, the doctor said, "She's a beautiful baby girl with the prettiest little rosebud lips"...or maybe it was the nurse. I don't know, but I know someone said it, and I know when I was born.

The thing is, when my mom tells this story around my kids, they immediately ask, "Mom, what time was I born". My answers have varied. "That's a good question", "Sometime around 10ish and noonish, but I'm not sure which one was which time", and "Didn't anyone ever tell you kids aren't supposed to ask hard questions" are among my most common answers.

Then I always make a mental note to go home and check the birth certificates, or the baby book, and cement it in my head for the next time they ask. Spoiler alert: that never happens. Self reflection is soon to follow as I lay in bed at night remembering that I didn't look it up, and wondering what that says about me. What kind of mom doesn't know what time their kids were born? What kind of mom and I?

*I'm the kind of mom that was never sure she should have kids because I hated babysitting SO MUCH.

*I'm the kind of mom that prayed my whole life for a C section so I wouldn't have to go through water breakage or labor.

*I'm the kind of mom that spent my entire pregnancy SICK as a DOG, hating every minute, and thinking that "glow" everyone talks about is urban legend.

*I'm the kind of mom that HAD to find out what the gender of my babies were (even though I liked the idea of being surprised) because knowing if it was a HE or SHE made it seem less like it was an alien.

*I'm the kind of mom that tells my kids they are weird when they do weird things, like the floss dance, and tells them that they better not quit their day job when they tell me jokes they made up and those jokes are bad.

*I'm the kind of mom who painted the word DREAM and hung it where my little girl can see it as she falls asleep, and have moved it four times and hung it on four walls...so that she will know that no dream is to big and no dreamer too little.

*I'm the kind of mom who has made up unique little bedtime rhymes for both my kids, and sent them the recording of myself saying them, (and singing a Hush Little Baby) so they can hear me say goodnight to them when I am not home at bedtime.

*I'm the mom that stays up late to watch my kids sleep...and wakes up early to lay in bed beside them before I have to wake them up for school. (Slight stalker move, but it's OK if you're the mom.)

*I'm the mom that has always taken jobs at schools not depending on where I wanted to work, but depending on where I thought my kids would best be placed in school.

*I'm the mom that makes my son make his own lunch because I don't want him to grow up and think it's the woman's job to make the food, but I'm also the one who places my hand over his and spreads the peanut butter with him when he is frustrated that he can't make a sandwich like I can.

*I'm the mom who's not impressed with good grades, but gosh I love to praise hard work.

*I'm the mom that kills plants and fish, without prejudice.

*I'm wrong more than I'm right.

*I pray without ceasing, but only help conquer all of the worrying that I do.

*I fail on such a regular basis that I have stopped keeping track.

*I fight with my husband in front of the kids.

And I'm the kind of mom who loves. I loved them before I knew them. I loved them when I was sick and pregnant. I loved them when I thought they might be aliens. I love them when they are little weirdos just like me, and when they are smarter than I can take credit for. I love them when they are asleep (maybe most of all) and I miss them so much when they are at school. I love them enough to worry about what kind of man and woman they will grow up to be, and to talk to them (since before they could talk) about nurturing their dream. I love them enough to apologize when I fail, and to tell them how frustrating it is for me when I am wrong. I love them enough to let them see that love isn't always pretty, but that it never fails. I'm the kind of mom that believes that God has a plan for my two little people that no one else in this world can fulfill...

... and that has no idea at what exact time they were born.

:)

The Sweet Boy

A sweet boy stood and picked a flower for his mama. It was purple, and wild and free. It reminded him of her, for it and she were the two most beautiful things he had ever seen. He brought the flower in and gave it to her.

"Can you put this beautiful flower in some water, mama?" he asked. "I picked it for you, and I want you to keep it forever." And his mama did. "Thank you my sweet boy", mama said. And the little boy ran off happily.

Several days later, the boy came to check on the purple flower and found it gone.

"Where is your beautiful flower, Mama?", he asked.

"I had to throw it out, sweet boy", Mama smiled. "It was dead. But it was the most beautiful flower I have ever loved, and I thank you for thinking of me when you saw it."

The little boy cried.

"Don't cry boy", said his daddy. "Be strong. Don't cry over a little dead flower".

Some time later, the same sweet boy sat and colored a picture for his sister. He spent hours making it just right, knowing that she would love it. He used all of her favorite colors in it, so that she would know that he thought of her when he did it, and that he loved her enough to make it his best. When he gave it to her, she did love it! The boy felt so happy.

He said, "Will you hang this in your room forever, sissy? I made it just for you."

"You're such a sweet brother", she said. "I will".

Some weeks later, the boy went to get a toy from his sister's room, and saw that the picture was not on the wall anymore.

"Where is the picture that I made you?", he asked.

"It wouldn't stay on my wall", said his sister. "The last time it fell, it got all wrinkled up, and I threw it out". But it was the nicest drawing anyone ever made me, and I will love it forever", she said.

The little boy cried.

"Don't cry boy", said his daddy. "Be strong. Don't cry over an old picture".

And on and on it went, with the sweet little boy feeling things more deeply than anyone around him could understand. Crying over a lost stuffed animal, or having to throw out a sock with a hole in it. Every time, daddy said, "Don't cry boy. Be strong".

Many moons passed, and the little boy became a man. He didn't pick flowers anymore, for they all just ended up in the trash. He didn't' spend time making art for his loved ones, for it was much more efficient to just buy something at the store. He also didn't cry anymore. He had learned to be strong.

Then one day the man, much older now, got a phone call that his mama had died. He went home for her funeral. He sat through her service with his family, broken-hearted and lost. But he stayed strong for them. He held his sister's hand and he patted his dad on the back, and though his heart wept, his chin was stiff and his eyes were clear.

And his daddy said quietly, "What kind of son doesn't cry for his mama?"

And the man, who didn't think it possible, felt his heart break even more.

Live.

I was buying jewelry for my little Paparazzi jewelry endeavor, and I was struck by a yellow gold necklace with a little silver tree on it. On the bottom was simply written the word,"Live".

I try to pick out jewelry that speaks to me, and that I think my friends who buy the jewelry will also relate to. This one was a big one for me. So obvious, but for my tangled brain, so profound.

Life is such a gift. Some people realize it as they are fighting breast cancer at age 39. Tears come, listening to the pitter-patter of little children's feet down the hallway, with prayers to watch them grow. Some people realize it when a loved one dies suddenly and unexpectedly, with so many words left unsaid between them. There are some that realize it when they suffer a cardiac arrest at age 45, only to survive, and know that God isn't done with them yet. I imagine some don't realize it until the children are grown and gone. Children they didn't take family trips with, or play catch in the back yard with because there was no time. And some people, some lucky few, realize it every day that they open their eyes and put their feet on the floor.

But it isn't enough to know it! We have to do it. Too many of us really don't. Not well. Not abundantly. Not with the passion and reckless pursuit of our dreams that a full life is made of. We are so busy documenting our lives on social media, that we don't remember what we did, just what we took a picture of. We stand feet from legends at concerts, and we watch them perform on the screen we hold in front of us to record them, rather than live in the moment.

And "live" is profound to me because too often I choose worry. I choose self doubt. Sometimes, when I get the choice to sit it out or dance, I sit it out.

This necklace hit me in my heart because it reminded me of what I already know that I need to do.

Go forth, bravely, and relentlessly into this life...

and live.

This One Little Compliment

This is the story of my great day, and how it unfolded. Sunday morning I went to the bank kiosk to make a deposit. If you don't know what a bank kiosk is, its basically an ATM machine with a glass room built around it. When I went there I really didn't give it a second thought, but once I actually stepped inside I realized this seemingly innocuous place was truly an extension of hell. No air flow. Glass building. Tennessee in June. You do the math! As soon as I walked in the air was sucked from my lungs and my skin turned to dust. I realized in an instant that place must be where God sends you to test if you truly have the will to live, or if He should just take you now. The good news is, I made it out.

Now that you know where this story takes place, let me introduce you to the main character. It was me, and I promise you that I looked like a HOT MESS. I was wearing a baseball cap, and I hadn't brushed my hair since my shower the night before. As a result, my hair was doing that thing it does where it is neither straight nor curly. It just kind of wigs out. For clothes, I had on my lounge wear. (AKA, I went out in the equivalent of my pajamas!) I was also wearing my favorite necklace and earrings that I basically live in these days. I did stop to put on eye makeup before I left the house because even though I knew I would not see anyone in this tiny little bank kiosk, I don't even want to see myself in that ATM mirror without my eye makeup on. Whatever. It's fine.

So, I went into the bank kiosk and what happened? Well, another pour soul joined me in God's testing ground. I felt instant dread because she was not blind, and I was not prepared to be seen. I was in my pajamas for Pete's sake! And do you know what said when she looked at me? "I love your earrings!"

Guys. This random kindness absolutely made a, "Cha Ching", deposit in my happiness bank! We were both in an uncomfortable, if not poorly designed, place. But rather than just be grumpy about it, she said something nice to me. Rather than focus on all the hot mess swirling around me she picked out the one thing that wasn't visually offensive. I don't know her, and she could be a murderer. A compliment from a murderer probably doesn't mean much, but in my heart she is not a killer. She is a loving wife and mother just living the dream like me. They were just $5 earrings, but in that moment they were a part of me, and so it was my compliment.

I went home feeling like a million bucks. I putzed around for a little while doing laundry and other glamorous undertakings, and then got in the shower. Whilst in the shower I decided to shave my legs. Now what you must know about me is that this is not a daily occurrence. I almost have to know about a scheduled event before I shave my legs, but this particular day I thought someone with such cute earrings as I have should have smooth legs. I got out of the shower, and honest to God you guys, I put a workout video on the TV and worked out. I don't love working out, but my legs were shaved, and now that they were all smooth and pretty, I may as well work on making them look better. Then after my workout it was about lunch time, and I went into the kitchen and I fixed myself a healthy lunch. I had some chicken salad with lettuce to scoop it up with, and a big glass of water. I could have had swiss cake rolls with a side of Kraft Mac N Cheese because both were also in the house, but I made a choice to do good for myself. And as I did my dishes from lunch I thought about how I was on this incredible roll today, and I realized it really did all start with that stranger complimenting my earrings!

One act of kindness from one stranger set my day off on a positive note.

We have so much power! Our words can heal, can encourage, can motive, and can inspire!

So my word to you today is just this. Do better than just not being mean to people. Do good. Be kind. Be happy, and let others watch. Be the smile in a frowning world. Be authentically YOU, but don't stop the good that is in you from blessing the people around you because you are too quiet, too shy, too busy minding your own business. People need what you have! You could be the reason someone, maybe even someone you don't know at all, has a great day.

Worth It

We did our state testing this week. ✏️I walked around the room making sure not to look down 👀 enough to accidentally read any test questions, but often enough to not trip, and I thought...

Do they know they are worth it? 🤔

Do they know that they are worth the stress, the disrespect, the lip service, and the insults? 😫 Are they aware that they are worth all the apathetic shoulder shrugs 🤷‍♂️, eye rolls, 🙄and fruitless parent conferences? All the working endlessly to reach them only to have my worth ultimately determined by how they do in this one random test? 😶 What about the low pay, impossible standards, and everything else that teachers list as the most challenging parts of the job?

They are worth it all. 🤗

Already. Right now. Before they do their best. Before they pass. Before they mature and make good choices. Before they stay in school and graduate. 👨‍🎓Before they get a job or get into college. 🏫Before they say nice things and mean it. 🗣 Before they become famous actors and thank me during their Oscar acceptance speech. 🌟They are already worth all of the trouble. Just as they are.

Because they don’t show it, and some don’t even know it, but they need me. They need me to be their person. Their reason why school doesn’t hate them. Their reason why they don’t have to quit or feel like failures. The one who will be kind yet firm. The one that will demand greatness of them because I know it is in there. And it is.

They are worth it,and they are great. 📈

Even before there’s visible proof. 🌄

Little Girl

A Little Girl

A little girl saw a world rich with possibilities, but the people around her did not.

When it rained at bedtime, she got up to dance to the steady rhythm the drops made against her window. They frowned and told her that good girls stay in bed.

When there was nothing much to talk about, she made up stories to make them imagine and smile. They frowned at her for lying. Good girls do not lie.

Sometimes it was painfully quiet, so she sang songs to make their hearts dance. They frowned and told her to stop making noise. Good girls do not make too much noise.

To cover the empty white walls, the little girl drew pictures for them to remind them that the world is beautiful and colorful. They smiled for a moment, and then they frowned at all the clutter and threw them away. Good girls do not make clutter.

Whenever they went somewhere, she tried to go slowly to smile at the ladybugs and wave at the wildflowers. They frowned and told her they were in a hurry. Good girls do not waste time.

Every time she dared to imagine, they told her no. And every “no” was a stone dropped at her feet. Soon the frowns and the “no’s” had left so many stones that the little girl started piling them up. She crafted a lovely stone wall built entirely of stones cast by the people who loved her most. They were beautiful, smooth stones that were meant to keep her safe, and obedient and good. She smiled at the stones, and happily put them in place. The wall got so high that it was hard to see anything in the world at all. All around her, as high as she could reach and as low as the meekest insect were the “no-stones” and “frown-stones”. She didn't mean to, but the little girl frowned now too. She told herself no before anyone else had to.

Then one day, when the little girl was not quite so little, her teacher saw a drawing she had made on the back of a math paper. The teacher marveled at her talent, and asked for more drawings. She even wanted some to display! This made the little girl smile, and just then, a stone fell out of the wall. It surprised the little girl to hear the stone fall, and as she bent to pick it up, the little girl peeked through the hole it had left behind. She saw the world as she had once seen it, before the frowns of love and the no’s of good intentions had trapped her. It was a world where anything was possible. She decided that it was a better world.

And because the little girl was brave, as all little girls are, it was on that day that she broke down the walls she built sky high. She turned the pieces into roads leading her to never ending possibilities of what life has to offer.

Teach Your Heart Out

If you are doing it right, teaching is a work of heart. It sounds like something that would be put on a mug and given to you for teacher appreciation day, and maybe it has been. It just occurs to me as this school year draws to a close that teaching has become a very obtuse profession. What used to be a job with a clear focus is now clear as mud. I have been doing this job for 17 years. I remember when I knew my objective. It was to connect with kids, to make them have a dream, and believe that it could come to pass if they worked hard and chased it down. It was to teach them some math skills along the way, but mostly, to feed their souls. To feed their self esteems, and their imaginations, and their self confidence, and to be a safe person in their lives. The side effect of all of that was that they were not afraid to make mistakes, and in making mistakes, we learn. So, they learned as a byproduct of everything else that we did together. It was a beautiful, simple, easy circle. My principal came by my room to visit. I mean, actually just to visit. In the process, he or she sometimes saw a student they would talk to me about, or a practice they had some ideas for how to improve. Sometimes they saw something I was doing great, and they would share it with other teachers. It was very authentic.

Things are different now. Now administrators come with Ipads, a very scheduled amount of times, and their visits can be intimidating. Now they are looking for things I am doing right or wrong very purposefully, and it feels forced and awkward. The system sees kids as the conduits for information to go into, and then flow out of in the form of test scores. And test scores are why we teach. It's all about data. What we used to value as the "hidden curriculum" is now seen as off task teaching time. We must teach these "data processors" from bell to bell, and the "Ipad watchers" could come by at any time, and better not see you off task. Ugh! The stress. And so we do it. We are teachers, and thus we are rule followers. We do what they say, and a little bit of us dies a little bit every day. We dream of other professions. We work for summers. We feel betrayed by the system that we have dedicated our lives to. We hope and pray that our children do not become teachers.

But children are. Some children that were in our classes back in the good old days. They are now entering our beautiful profession, and I feel like I still need to teach them. To the new teachers of the world, I say this. Teaching is still about connecting with kids. About caring, and sharing, and making them feel safe and free to be themselves. The data is not reliable. The data for one kid fluctuates so much from test to test that the only thing I am sure of is that it is inconclusive at best. Keep your heart engaged. Do what you do for them, and for their parents who trust you to train them up. Teach them the way you would want your precious children taught, with love and developing a feeling of family and community. Don't worry about the data. Don't worry about where you fall on the rubric, or what your effectiveness level is. In time, this trend in teacher assessment will go the way of all the ones before it. If you are lucky, you will have principals like mine who remember the good old days too. Who are also following rules, but who want you to do right by your kids. Respect them, and pray for them. Above all else, teach your students the way they need to be taught. They all need something different from you, and for some of them, that won't fall on a rubric. Do it anyway! And teach from the heart. If you don't go home crying a time or two hundred because of the burden you feel for their little lives, then you are probably doing something wrong. Get your heart all tangled up in their learning, because that is when you change lives. And, bottom line, changing lives is what you are there for.

Life is Supposed to be Hard

Our move was an adventure of Jetsonian magnitude. Minus the flying car.



Life is hard.

Being a teacher at the end of the school year is hard.

Being a mom is hard.

Being a mom of a daughter who broke her foot two days before school got out is hard.

Moving is hard.

Moving the day after school ends is hard.

Moving with a kid who broke her foot three days earlier is hard.

Loading up a U-Haul trailer in June, in Florida, in the rain, in the absence of professional movers or strong civilian assistance is really hard.

Realizing that the 20 boxes you brought home from school aren't going to fit in the U-haul trailer, and fighting excessively about it with your husband is hard.

Him telling you the only way to bring your stuff is if you rent a second trailer and you also tow one behind your car, for ten hours, on I-75, with a broken daughter and 2 dogs. Hard.

Cleaning the apartment you're moving out of, in the morning, on moving day, to avoid a $250 fee, before picking up the two dogs to drive 10 hours in the back of the car with you is unimaginably hard.

Dealing with all of this while getting berated by family members because you're leaving them, well, it's nearly impossible.

Oh, and to do it with a smile on your face for your children, and joy in your heart because you believe in what you're doing...preposterous!

Things haven't been easy, but this is life, and life is supposed to be hard. I thank my parents for teaching me that. For teaching me that opportunities lurk in the shadow of obstacles, and that God speaks in a still, small voice. That no matter the bravery required, that you follow that voice and pray to find the path set before you. For us, that path didn't allow us to see around the corner or over the top of the hill, and sometimes we wondered if the path was clear at all, because it felt like maybe we were trampling through waist high grass. We weren't always confident. We weren't always calm, or kind, or pictures of peace. Sometimes I cried, and wondered if we were making a mistake, but that still small voice in my heart of hearts kept me steadfast.

Now, 14 days later, it is difficult to comprehend how seamlessly life is coming together here- the details of which give me goosebumps. That is not to say that it has been easy, because it has been full of challenging times, but it has been our heart's desire every step of the way. It has been our prayers met, our thoughts realized, and our quiet conversations coming to pass. It has been absolutely faith affirming, and I am so very grateful to be where we are today.

Tennessee. The place where God whispered for us to go to, and then faithfully brought us to. He never promised that it would be easy- just worth it.

The best is yet to come.

Inside Out

The movie Inside Out is on my mind a lot these days. When it first came out (and Trevor and I spent at least 5 minutes sobbing, at various parts) I thought it was the worst kids movie ever. I remember saying, "Thanks Pixar, for animating one kid's downward spiral into clinical depression." I like my movies happy and carefree because life is hard enough, and Inside Out was not that. It made me think. And since I didn't want to think during a kid's movie, I kind of resented it, even though I could see it's brilliance.

I put the movie in the back of mind, and just sort of inadvertently came to terms with the theme of Inside Out, which I think I have deemed to be "sadness is the key to happiness". When Joy wouldn't let Riley feel sadness, when she pushed her aside and tried to hide her out of the way, Riley couldn't cope. Instead of feeling sadness she felt anger, disgust, and fear which are much more volatile emotions. But it was Sadness that softened her. When Sadness was finally given her place, Riley's heart melted, and her loved ones could see her pain and rally around her. Anger, disgust, and fear are lonely feelings. They are defensive in nature, and try to keep us from being hurt which pushes people away and further isolates us. Sadness, however, is a bat signal for a group hug, and it draws friends and family in. Only when we show our sadness, can we clearly find the path to the happiness that we once had, or are dreaming about.

My kids picked Inside Out to watch last night before bed. We are moving in less than a week, and they wanted to watch Inside Out, an animated fictional documentrary of the world's worst move. It shows how a move breaks hearts, and friendships, and almost destroy a family. It felt like an impossible movie choice, but I just smiled and said yes. Then I reminded myself that it's ok if my kids feel sadness watching this movie. It's even ok if they feel sadness when we shake their lives around like little snow globes and move them 500 miles away. Sadness is their friend, and when I see signs of it, I will come running. I will be there to cry with them, and support them, and help them find a path to the happiness that we are all dreaming about.

Thanks, Inside Out. I like you a lot.

Stupid Florida, I Love You

It's a hard time in our lives right now. All for good reasons, but honestly, just very hard. We are moving out of Florida, our home of the past 17 years. Let me be perfectly self-aware here, I have never been a good Floridian. Now though, as I encounter some of the appetizers of goodbye, awaiting the full entree, I have realized something. As I have been here, living, loving, and sometimes uttering the phrase "stupid Florida", the peninsula has been quietly tattooing a little FL shaped imprint on my heart.

Our hearts betray us, and my heart betrayed me by falling in love with this place that I have detested for so long. The palm trees that have always been so cliche to me, now seem to hold an essence of unmatched freedom and beauty. The horrible flatness that plagues this land now makes it the only place that I want my daughter to learn to roller blade. The lack of seasons, horrific! Except it does get delightfully chilly in winter, without my kids having to have an entire second wardrobe, or me having to worry about snow tires and black ice.

I have no family in "stupid Florida", but in the Florida-shaped place in my heart, I have something even better. I have friends that have become family. Ladies who have chosen to be like sisters to me, even though there is no obligation of shared DNA between us. Jessica, Carla, Amy, Shelbie, Christie, Evelyn, Ashley, Bev, and Lori- you have made me laugh, cry, and be a better person. You and have loved me, and have loved my kids along side me. We have celebrated birthdays, graduations, summer vacation, children's accomplishments, and new opportunities. We have gone places together- mostly to Tijuana Flats, but also breakfasts at busy diners, concerts, concerts, and more concerts, movies, work trips, Disney, and sometimes just the grocery store. I have no choice but to take you to TN with me in my heart, because you can never, ever be replaced. Thank you for not being offended by my transparency, or humor. I doubt I will find more souls like you, should I search forever. You are more than I have deserved. There are no sufficient words, and I cannot bear to say goodbye.

So I won't...not yet. I will just ponder the past 17 years in my heart, and count myself one very lucky lady. Thank you, sweet Florida. Life here has been so, so good.