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.

The Noticing

"From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere."
Dr. Seuss

Today's conversation between Trevor and I went like this:

"Trevor, have you seen Taryn? Like, did you see which way she went? She told me she would be out here playing with you."

"No. I didn't see her at all. Oh, man. Is Taryn going to be on an Amber Alert now?"

Things like this happen in our house all the time. Funny little conversations that are very serious to my 7 and 9 year old, but that just make my husband and I laugh. Oh, and don't worry. About 10 seconds after Trevor declared her about to be the subject of an Amber Alert, Taryn came walking up the sidewalk from the neighbor's house. Phew. Tragedy averted for another day.

People often tell me that my kids are funny. I don't think they are. I mean, they are. Yes. But I don't think that they are any funnier than anyone else's kids. I just think that I notice.

I have been keenly aware of my fleeting time with my children ever since I remember. When Taryn was 2, I called my best friend on Christmas morning and said, 'I can't believe I only have 16 of these left with her at home!" It isn't normal. Don't think for one second that I believe that to be a typical thing to occur to a mom of a toddler on Christmas morning, but that's my brain for you.

It can be a curse. In fact, I often have to force myself to enjoy the moment rather than stress out about it vanishing. But the gift of it is that I take a mental note of most of the little nuggets of humor, innocence, or childlike brilliance that come up in our day to day existence. I love to share them with my husband, or in blogs. And I think my hope in sharing them is to spark "the noticing" in other people. Almost inevitably another mom will say, "That reminds me, just the other day little Bobby said..."

How special it is for parents to take on a perspective that doesn't wish away the exhausting, needy, dependent years, but rather sees them as a fleeting blessing that must be purposefully observed, and recorded in the deepest crevices of our hearts.

Some day, when there are no more toys to trip over, or tears to dry, the memories of these funny little people trying to make sense of the world will be our best friends. Each face. Each mispronounced word. Each time they wondered if they would see their sibling on an Amber Alert when she was just at the neighbor's.

OK, maybe not that last one.

Echoes

The house is starting to echo. You know, that way an empty building does. We haven’t moved very much out, but today I called to Jayme from the room that I was packing, and I heard that hollow empty return that made my stomach turn. We are leaving home.

This little building has been our home for 13 years, and it has been a place of safety, love, warmth, and hope. We brought our babies home to lovingly prepared nurseries right here. We paced the hallway with scrawny infants for hours on end in the middle of the night here, and built blanket forts that stayed up for days. We put our Christmas tree in the same corner every year, and hang backpacks on the hooks by the front door. I can still picture the different backpacks, a new one each year, but there they have all hung.

Occasionally I cry. It’s not because I am sad, but rather because my heart is directly attached to my tear ducts, and when I reflect on all of the happy memories that we have built in this home, it shows up in wet little drops on my cheeks.

Our next house will be the first house we have moved into without our dog Max. Our first “child”, if you will. We got her in college before we were married, and had her for 14 happy years. It’s not good or bad, just something I think of.

I am so excited to buy our next house. It will be the first house we have bought as a family. We bought this house with the hope of a family, but we bought it for ourselves as a young, married couple with theoretical children who would probably like it too. The next house will be bought for all of us. Taryn’s bedroom will be larger, with space for a desk, and reading corner, per her request. Trevor’s room will be trickier, as he demands it be identical to his current room. Naturally. I don’t know what the house will have, but I know that it will be for us from day one- all four of us. That thought is lovely, and exciting, and worth the occasional tear drop brought about by an empty echo, or as my heart suddenly stumbles upon a scene from the past in an unexpected place.

I am totally grateful, and totally blessed.

The best is yet to come.