March 18th

Once upon a time, in a world before I was a mamma, I wrote some.  Mostly to practice what I was preaching to students about the power and permanence of writing, and it gave me the opportunity to reflect and process. 

I don’t know if there has been any other time in my life when there has been so much to reflect and process as the past week has provided.  Most of what was familiar and consistent in my world has slipped away causing an unsettled and anxious feeling. However, like all hard things, there is good to come from this. 

My typical routine is busy and sometimes chaotic.  The week moves at a pace that leaves me exhausted.  Rushing to work in the morning, busy day there, rushing home to get kids fed and bathed, maybe even a moment to read with them.  I am an educator after all, so being too tired to read to or listen to my children read leads to all the guilt.  Hopefully the lunches are made, dishes done, and the children have some clean clothes (even socks) to wear to the next day.  We climb through the week to get to the weekend where there is some time to sit, but the groceries, laundry and all that still need attention.

And then there was COVID. 

Now there is this gift of time.  Time to write, to read books for myself and my children, time to take walks together, do puzzles, create masterpieces. In all my recent reflecting and processing I am choosing hope over fear.  I am focusing on the rest that I can get during this time, and to finding delight in the activities that I can do with the people I am able to be around. To those I am not able to be around, I want to connect through writing.  This process of being vulnerable in writing to send love and hugs.

I Have a Rule

Not to be confused with a dream, I simply have a rule. That rule is to stop at all lemonade stands. As I turned the corner coming home today there were three young ladies waving me down to purchase lemonade. The lemonade turned out to be kool-aid, of which I had my choice of flavors. Now, to clarify, my rule is that I stop and buy from the stands. There is no requirement to partake of the hot syrupy concoctions. The drink is dumped when I get around the corner.

I'm not certain how this rule came to be or why I feel the urge to stop and purchase drinks on the side of the road. Supporting young entrepreneurs is important. In all honesty I think this comes from a combination of sympathy from my own years of selling colorful, sugary drinks without a lot of luck, and the behaviorist need to reinforce positive summer activities. Whatever the reason, lemonade stand season is among us and I had better stock my care with some coins.

Easily Entertained

I am more than a little embarrassed to admit that I sometimes but shirts for my dog. It's just too much fun not to. Tonight I ended up at PetSmart looking through the dog clothes. I always have to check out what they have-I really don't know what's wrong with me. Most shirts are for princess dogs, and my Lucy is most definitely NOT a princess. Before I walked away without finding anything fitting I spotted it-a t-shirt in her best color, red, hanging among a sea of pink. On the back of the t-shirt written in large print is the phrase "I am definitely up to something". I'm certain that there are many children out there who could also wear this shirt as a warning to the world. Lucy is now sporting it-hopefully it will serve as a humorous reminder to me the next time I discover a chewed up pillow or remote.

The January Blahs

Spokane is not exactly the place to be in January, and this year is no different. We have already had record amounts of snow, flooding and unbelievably five snow days. However, the last week there has been a grey fog looming around depressing some of the most optimistic Spokanites. With the fog comes stale air. The sun burned through the fog for a moment this afternoon and I decided to go for a run. It could be completely psychological, but my lungs burn after breathing that nasty air. I think I will be sticking to the gym until better, warmer air moves in.

For interested parties, the young man who started college in September is now in his second quarter. He successfully completed one five credit class, and is now taking 15 credits like it is no big thing. I am impressed.

On Teaching...

Once upon a time I was a young unergrad studying to become a teacher. I remember vividly one morning during my Education Psychology class the professor asked why we wanted to become teachers. This started a lovely conversation about going into education because of the love of children. I gag a little to this day when reflecting on the story. At the time I didn't know why it bothered me so much, but I do now.

I feel sorry for the people who entered teaching because they "love kids". I also feel sorry for their students. See, if I was a teacher simply because I loved kids I would be a lousy teacher. People connect differently, and some charismatic people are simply delightful to be around. Those delightful children are easy to teach. Something about them endears them to teachers. My work, and the work of all teachers, is to teach all students and we have to work harder at teaching those that we don't just naturally "love".

Teaching is the best profession in the world. (I'm not biased at all.) Teaching is woderful because it is about learning, creating a desire and hunger for learning. It is about witnessing the moment concepts make sense, the lightbulb goes on, and another human being gets excited about learning. It is wonderfully challenging figuring out a way to ensure all the students walking through my door get the same opportunity reach their potential. I wonder how many of those people who loved kids are still teaching...

Just a Typical Day

My first year at Bancroft School was full of learning. One student in particular taught me a lot, we'll call him D. When this positive, caring and eager teacher had used every tool in her belt by the end of September, I knew we were in for an interesting ride. After time I discovered that reading was a great way for D to manage being in the classroom, but not just any ol' book. With luck though, he enjoyed The Series of Unfortunate Events. Of which there are many. (Thirteen now, I think just ten at the time) When D came back from Christmas break he was so excited to tell me that he got the entire series for Christmas and had read EVERY one of them. Somehow we made it through his eighth grade year and even managed to build the foundation of a positive relationship.

D moved onto High School growing into an outstanding young man with his sights set on college. Now, going to college is scary for those of us with supportive parents who have gone before and can lead the way. I stood and watched this young man navigate his way through the hoops of being admitted to college, and as he explained to the financial aid lady that the reason he does not have his mother's tax return is because she did not file taxes. The reason she did not file taxes is because she was in jail. Like a punch in the gut. Well, I am so proud to announce that after all the hoop jumping and perseverance, D is now enrolled in College. As I handed D a celebratory coffee he said, "I'm a college student drinking Starbucks. How typical am I?" To the young man who spent most of his K-12 education in special programs-Here's to being typical. Go get 'em!

Reflecting...

Have you ever had an experience that changes you? Just a small moment in your life that leaves you different than you were before? There have been a few in my life, but one that sticks in the front of my mind.

I forget a lot of things, but not this. I remember the weather-a warm August day in New York. It was the evening of our second day in the city. We were out looking for a park with swings for my niece. She loves to swing. My dad, brothers, sister-in-law and I walked along the waterfront where people were playing and just chillin’ on blankets. My dad said. “It’s just down the street a bit.” I knew what he was talking about and my stomach began to swirl. I hadn’t decided if I even wanted to see it-the hole, but off we went and it was out of my hands. My muscles tensed up as soon as we got closer. There is a walkway that goes right over the edge of the hole. I’m pretty sure there was a truck in the bottom, but I couldn't stop. I tried. I no longer had control of my tears and they flooded my eyes. My family stopped, but I had to keep moving-it was hard to breathe. We continued around the “building” to the front. People were gathered looking at some pictures and writing. It was a timeline. Honestly, I’m not sure what it consists of because it would have taken strength beyond what I possessed to read through it. I wish I could explain to you why I had this strong of a reaction to being at Ground Zero, but I don’t understand it myself. I stood there, in front of what used to be a building taller than I can imagine, at the place where so many human lives were lost, at the place where people, heroes in my mind, sacrificed themselves to rescue others, I stood there and cried. My body couldn’t do anything else.

For the remainder of my time in New York I was eerily aware of the massive pit just blocks away. It was always in the back of my mind. Whenever I saw a fire truck drive by with an American flag waving from the back, I had the urge to hug the fireman for what they must have seen and done. New York is a wonderful city with great shopping, parks, restaurants and of course, baseball team, but to me it is also a place full of resilient people who suffered a massive tragedy.

This is something I wrote a while ago for a writing lesson I taught. However, I'm thankful that I captured my thinking. As I walked through the seventh year since 9/11 I was struck by my own hard heart. In the past it was difficult for me to watch anything on the news, see images from that day or speak about it. I was always keenly aware of it's approach and went through the routines of that day with a heavy heart full of emotion. Today was different. Today felt like any other day with just a matter-of-fact reminder of the lives lost, and that feels almost as tragic as watching the towers crumble and trying to explain to junior high students that they are safe, when I truly did not know what to think about this horrific attack on my home soil. It is my personal hope that I will always feel for the senseless loss of lives of the day, appreciate the strength of the heroes and remember how for a moment, because of tragedy, people were pulled together rather than apart.