Fifth grade

I hated 5th grade. It was 5th grade at my private, Christian school that convinced me that I was ready to go to public school. My teacher, Mary Perry, was allegedly human, but seemed more like a monster to me. It wasn't just her physical unattractiveness, though she was physically unattractive (complete with a hairy mole on her lip and an awful white-girl-afro), but her personality too. She didn't talk nicely, and she had a way of making us feel dumb no matter what. She never smiled, or laughed. She just oozed meanness. She also had a mean younger brother, as monsters typically do, who was much older than we were and who sometimes came as a chaperone on field trips. I don't know what his first name was, but it started with a T because his initials were T.P. I still recall the day we first met this T.P. fellow because,in my eleven year old mentality, I made the remark, "Oh T.P. like toilet paper". My initials were J.A. and his response to me, this 20-something-year-old molder and shaper of lives said to me, "Oh, J.A. like jackass." Yep, that was my first time meeting Ms. Perry's brother. He made my insides feel like broccoli mixed with molasses, and I have never forgotten it. At that point in my life "jacksass" was definitely the meanest, ugliest word I had ever heard. And not only did T.P. say it around me, but he was directing it at me. He pretty much was the wax seal on the envelope that declared Ms. Perry was officially a monster. That was it for me that year, and no amount of dulcimer playing that Monster Perry might do could change my mind that she was the enemy.

So, here we are, 26 years later, and I find myself back in Fifth Grade. God has an interesting sense of humor. When my boss asked me to take on this job, I almost burst into tears. Not like I thought Miss Perry would be in my room with me, but hearing "Fifth Grade" brought back that broccoli mixed with molasses feeling in an instant. There was no way I could be a fifth grade teacher. That would make me the Miss Perry to a whole new generation of kids, and that is more than I could bear. I begged God to open another door. I asked him to find me something else to do. Another grade, another school, another career path altogether...just not fifth grade!

He didn't. I opened the door to this school year as the Fifth Grade teacher, and I was terrified. And then, the kids walked through the door to meet me. And they were not frightening. They were definitely not the impetus that would cause some inner monster to emerge in me. They were...precious. Unspeakably precious. Nervous, shy, adorable, smart, and nice. I knew one thing, after my first five minutes with them. I would not ever be their monster. All I wanted to do was love them. For the one who's mom just died a couple of months ago, I wanted to give her extra long motherly hugs, and for the boy who's dad doesn't come around much, I want to listen to his dreams of owning a classic GT Mustang one day. I want to dazzle them with my impressive faux British accent, and give them high fives when they come running in on Monday morning with bright eyes, sparkling, telling me their mom was so proud that she cried when she saw they got a B on their math test. I want to pay for their field trip when the only other option is that they can't go. I want to be the anti-Miss Perry. In every way. In every opportunity. I want to make them feel funny, and smart, and proud of themselves. I want to watch them be the best version of themselves that they can be. I have realized that fifth graders are wonderful.

I have no doubt that God placing me in 5th grade this year has been a gift to me. After a few tough years with some really tough kids, I find myself working with teachable, happy spirits who (so far) have very supportive and logical parents. And, maybe there is another gift for me embedded in this year. The chance for me to see, through my students, how innocent, and undeserving of cruelty I was in 5th grade. To take away that self-condemning voice that I always hear when I remember TP calling me a jackass, and to give me a new batch of fifth grade memories. After this year, when I think of Fifth grade I will no longer have to head back to broccoli-molassesville. I will, instead, be able to smile as I think of my encounter with the coolest class on campus, Fifth Grade!

I miss me

It occurred to me today that there are days, like this one, where I miss me.

I sometimes feel like I am just going through the motions of my own life. Smiling at the right times, because I know something was funny, rather than FEELING that laughter take over my soul. Kissing the boo boo that needs kissed on my kid's knee...because it needs kissed. But not feeling that warmth that comes right up from my heart and flows through my lips to offer all that I can to heal. Hearing a heartbreaking story and saying, "that's sad", but not feeling broken. Or my biggest pet peeve of all, saying "that's funny"! Everyone should know that if it was funny, I would be laughing. SAYING it's funny is like giving a person confirmation that it is only funny to them.

I don't know what it is. Is it the repetition of doing the same things over and over and over...laundry, cook, clean, make beds, kiss boo boos, run, work? Maybe. Is it the loneliness of being virtually without any family, save a well-timed phone call or two here and there from my mom and sister? Maybe. Is it missing friends so much that if I really thought about it I could cry for a solid day? Perhaps. Is it too much rain? Couldn't be! I love rain!! I really have nothing I can put my finger on.

What I do know, though, is that sometimes I see me from outside of me, and I feel sad for "her". I feel like she has so much to offer to the world, and maybe, on this day, she forgot. I wish I could snap her out of it...but there would be no use in trying. On days like this...she just pretends to hear, but she isn't listening at all.

I think I better sit at the feet of God tonight. I don't know anyone else who can find me when I'm so completely lost. Plus, my track record shows that I am no good with directions, even those that lead to the me at the end of the tunnel. :)

I hope I can find myself tomorrow!

:) Goodnight.

For no reason whatsoever!

I think my favorite reason for doing things is simply "for no reason whatsoever".

I want to call my husband sometimes, in the middle of the day...for no reason whatsoever. That's what we used to do! It's a big part of how our friendship started, and then dating, and falling in love. We just talked. He never called my purple dorm room phone and had me answer it and ask what he wanted! How ridiculous! He wanted to hear my voice and let me know he was thinking of me. He was calling for no reason whatsoever.

I want to treat my friend to a latte...for no reason whatsoever. Because she is amazing, and she likes lattes. Because I am getting one, and I have an extra $4.54 in my wallet. Because I can get them iced and it is blazing hot during a Florida summer. Just, you know, no reason.

Sure, a card on my birthday is nice, but how much nicer is a card...for no reason whatsoever.

I love when I am thoughtful, just because my heart is full of love and gratitude for someone. Or with compassion for their situation. Or with thoughts of wanting to be with them. I love when other people are too. So unexpected, and undeserved. That kind of kindness is so special---the kind that comes for no reason whatsoever.

It is so nice to be nice for the appropriate reason...to send flowers when someone is ill, or to stop by and drop off a meal when a friend has a new baby. Gosh, without those acts of kindness life would be a bummer. But I still have to agree with myself that it is even nicer when those things happen...for no reason whatsoever. What better reason could there be?

My Favorite Child- A Mother's Day Reflection

Siblings everywhere, since the dawn of time, have fought with each other over who is the favorite child. In our family, it was me. I remember my older, and less loveable, brother and sister sending me in to ask for things because "Dad won't say no to you, you're his favorite". My siblings were insightful for their young ages. :)

I have two children of my own now, and they are too young to verbalize the fight over who is the favorite, but I see them battling with the feelings. Taryn will say things like, "Why can't Trevor color as good as I can?" or "I am not as cute as Trevor", and Trevor will say things like, "Am I funny, Mommy?" What they are trying to say is, "Who is the favorite???" Since the writing is on the wall about them springing the question on me one day, I have decided to be prepared. I will use a simple point system to score and determine once and for all who is my favorite child.

Taryn is the first born, so that gets her a point.

She is very tender-hearted and worries about people and how they feel more than Trevor does, one more point.

Taryn loves to spend time with Daddy working on the car, or practicing Ninja moves which gives me some time to clean and do schoolwork without her, one point.

She does chores now, point for Taryn.

Taryn is funny. She tells funny jokes, and oinks like a pig. She can always make me laugh when I am having a bad day. One point.

Taryn has the cutest little wrinkle in her nose when she laughs, and I have to give her a point for that because it makes me smile.

She hates the dentist, which earns her a point because I feel that hatred of the dentist has a direct correlation to intelligence.

She hugs me in a way that squeezes away all of my worries and cares, and that has to be worth about five points.

Taryn asks hard questions though, and for that I might have to deduct a point. Questions about God, and dying, and why she can't marry her brother. Those really put me on the spot, and it is usually at bedtime, minus 1.

Oh, but she's a girl so she gets a few girl points for how I get to paint her nails, but bows in her hair, and shop with her for things that make her feel pretty. I will add three for girl power.

Trevor is the baby, so that gives him an easy point.

He has been talking since he was 9 months old, and that made it much easier to take care of him when he was little since he could tell me what he needed, point. It was also super cute!

Trevor loves me. He wants me to "cuddle him" all the time because his bare feet get cold on the hard floors, and he snuggles right into me, one point.

His life is a musical. Literally. It is like he went and took a class on how to live like you are in a musical, and he got an A. Whatever we are talking about causes Trevor to break out into a song of that theme. At dinner, we had to implement a "no singing until you finish eating" rule. Pure awesomeness. One point.

Trevor is my comforter. If I hurt myself he runs to kiss my boo boo, and if I have to yell at Taryn for something, he acts like a perfect angel and tells me how much he loves me as soon as I am done. He says, "I don't like Taryn right now, because she is bad". I teach him that we both still love Taryn because everyone makes mistakes, but I appreciate that he wants to be on my side. Point and point.

Trevor has the softest skin. I like to rub my cheek against his and just smile, point.

Trevor is fearless and carefree. He will try anything, talk to anyone, and not hesitate to tell me how funny he is. He changes regular song lyrics to make the funnier, and does "cool tricks", like "planking" from the couch to the coffee table without anyone ever telling him what planking is. He's cool, and I feel like he's okay in this world. That is a definite five points.

He's a boy which will earn him a few points because his clothes are easier to find, he only has a couple pair of shoes where she has a dozen, and after the bath his hair dries in about five minutes- not the hour that it takes Taryn. Point, point, and point.

On the downside, he is taking far to long to potty train at night, and he still wants me to help him go potty during the day though he is completely able to do everything himself. Minus one, Trevor. You can do better.

I have to factor in the sibling love. They are each others best friend. They chase each other around the house laughing, hug each other until they fall down, and put their hands together and do a cheer that simply shouts, "Brothers and sisters". Neither wants to go to bed without hugging the other goodnight, and when they are not together, they ask for each other. It is a sweet, love-hate- mostly love relationship, and it makes me love them both at least five points more.

So, grand total time. I will finally know who the favorite is...drum roll please.. Taryn earned 14 points and Trevor earned...14 points? A tie. (What a rip off. I was sure I had a favorite!) :) I guess maybe there is no competition, after all. I love Taryn completely with all my heart, and I love Trevor, completely, with all my heart. I don't know how its possible, but I love them both equally, with all that is in me. I hope they believe me when I tell them that in a few years. We certainly never believed it when our parents fed us that line of malarkey.

Bridal Shower Realizations

I just returned from a gorgeous bridal shower. The youngest daughter of my dear friend, Carla, is getting married in a month. Jenna is not just my friend's daughter, but was also in my very first 7th grade class ever. I haven't seen her in years, but seeing her today was delightful. She is still witty, fun, beautiful, and sweet. She is still so very much that 7th grade girl that I remember laughing with in science and Bible class. It was an honor to be at her bridal shower, and I left today realizing a few things.

My first realization is that I have a bad case of serving tray envy. Jenna registered for the cutest little things. Bowls, chip and dip trays, onion choppers, turkey platters, electric skillets, and more. Everything looked absolutely gorgeous when she opened it up, but when I got home and opened my cupboards the things looked even better in my memory. I don't know how I am living like this! I dwell in a world with just one crock pot, and not even a single wine and cheese tray to lay across my bathtub. Suddenly, my kitchen looks barren, and what I do have looks old and tired...and gross. I need some sass and sparkle in my kitchen gadgets and platters. No wonder I find it so upsetting when I have to make dinner. Who could work under these conditions!?

The second thing I realized is that it has been far too long since I have been to a wedding. Really, I don't remember my last wedding. It has definitely been at least five years. I was commenting a few months ago to a friend, that we are in kind of a sad phase of life as far as our peer group goes. I remember the dating and getting married phase, where all of our friends were marrying, or soon to be. And then there was the kid phase, where everyone was pregnant with or birthing these little miracles all over the place. Now, it seems we are in the divorce phase. Couple after couple are just calling it quits. Couples that we would have thought would be forever together as they navigated the crazy twists and turns of life, are just suddenly, not. Exposure to some wedded bliss is just what I need right now. Lives overflowing with enthusiasm and hope for the future, and a belief in the ability of love to conquer all. I needed to be exposed to those rose colored, bride to be, glasses for a while.

The last thing I realize is that I need more honest, experienced, married friends. I absolutely was blown away by the words of wisdom and advice that I heard today from the shower guests, directed to the soon to be bride. Some made me laugh, some made me cry. There were sage words, about being kind and respectful, and patient...and realizing that it is not 50/50. (So don't bother keeping track.) But they all made me feel like being a married woman makes me part of an amazing club, where we all share the same secrets. Good, bad, and sometimes ugly. But that there is strength and power in sharing and honoring what we know.

A long time ago someone told me that a good marriage is 100/100. You put him first 100% of the time and he puts you first 100%...and you both live happily ever after. I wish I had remembered to put that on the card today. Oh well, there's always the wedding!

Cheers!!

Here's Hoping

"Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all". ~Emily Dickinson

While I stand strong in my opposition to New Year's resolutions, I have to take a moment to honor hope. I embrace the hope that a new year brings, and I wish that hope for others too.

I have been thinking a lot about all of the hub and bub associated with a new year. I have never really understood it. I have never been one to go to New Year's Eve parties, or force myself to stay up and watch the ball drop. If I'm up, then I watch, but if I'm tired, I just go to bed. So what, then, is the reason for all of it? For the staying up late and the resolutions? I think it just boils down to hope.

Hope that the hardships of the past year are over. Maybe in this new year, we will find the person of our dreams, or the job that makes us feel alive inside. Maybe our marriages will be stronger, and our finances will be easier to manage. In this new year we have made no mistakes, and maybe we won't. We won't speak coarsely, or display impatience. See, the calendar has been flipped, so with that flip comes the hope that things will be better. Maybe the economy will turn around, or the housing market. Maybe the President will vote for what we stand for, and maybe we can stick to that diet that we started and failed ten times last year...because that was LAST year and this is a NEW YEAR!!

On a couple of occasions I have stood with my eyes barely open and, with my hands over my eyes, I have peeked through my fingers at life without hope. Just the glimpse was enough to derail my spirits and turn simple tasks into insurmountable burdens. It is not just being defeated, but being so defeated that there is no awareness that victory is possible. A world without hope is a world without color. Without joy. A world without hope is no world for me! So, if a new year is a celebration of a new hope, then I am all in!

This year I hope along with everyone else. I hope for closure on past hurts, and open doors to help me follow my heart's passions. I hope for health, and a happy home. I hope for confidence to go forth in the direction of my dreams, and I hope for the world to be a little bit brighter in the places that I touch. I hope that your world is brighter too, and that no matter what life has brought, that you embrace the power that hope brings.

When the world says, "Give up,"
Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."
(Author Unknown)

I wonder...

I wonder what it's like to travel to a brand new place. I only ever go to Maine, or Tennessee. I want to GGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOO somewhere...lots of places actually. I suppose this will be what I do when I am retired because I did not do it in all of my young, poor years. I want to though. I dream about it. I see other places in pictures and I get so excited, and my imagination starts spinning these amazing scenarios of what it would be like to walk down that street in Paris, or to wander through that old cemetery in Scotland. I wonder...

I wonder what those people are saying in their foreign languages. I am painfully monolingual, but I don't think I would even be satisfied with bilingual. I wonder what they are ALLL saying. The Asian ladies at the nail place who keep laughing, the Spanish speaking people at the grocery store...are they fighting or do they just talk loud with all those gestures? I want to read the original Greek and Hebrew manuscripts that comprise our current Bible, and I want to see for myself which translation fits best. I want to know what translators for the deaf are saying. I watch them...everywhere that I find them...at church, at shows, at Epcot Candlelight Processional. It doesn't look like they are translating with word for word what the speaker is saying, and I want to know. I wonder...

I wonder when I will go home to Maine again. I haven't been home for nearly two years, and it feels like I may never go again. I wonder what my niece and nephew look like now, and act like. What my brother is playing on the guitar these days, and what puzzles my grandfather has assembled recently. Does my grandmother still have multiple quilts-in-progress in her upstairs sewing area, and is Wheel of Fortune still on at 7:00. I wonder if I can still park for free at Ferry beach if I get there before the parking guys, and if anyone would still want to play Pitch or Cribbage with me around the table on the back deck. I wonder if I would bump into my old friends at Shop and Save, and if there are other people who also will never call it Hannaford's. I wonder...

I wonder if I am doing it right. All of it...any of it? Am I making my kids eat enough vegetables, and am I love people enough, am I loveable enough myself? Do I talk on the phone with my mom regularly, and does my sister know that I miss her every day? Am I being too easy on the kids, or too tough? Am I asserting myself enough at work to make a positive change, without being so assertive that people wish the "new kid" would just pipe down? Am I making an effort to keep the people in my life that I love having in my life, and to pray for change that I want to help bring about in the world? I wonder how one person can make a difference...how I can make a difference. I wonder...

I wonder how I got this far. I wonder how much farther I will go. I wonder if I am paying it forward well enough. His love. His gift. I wonder if he looks at me and sighs like a patient, underwhelmed parent, or if he smiles and knows He did the right thing. I wonder if I will hear "well done"...I certainly hope so, but still, I wonder...