Belong in This World

Today a little girl in my class, frustrated with an assignment, had a rush of emotions that make her declare sobbing, "I just don't belong in this world." After comforting her, shedding a few tears with her feeling rather helpless, I kept hearing her words in my head.

As a teacher, I want kids to feel loved, safe, happy, and cared for; all the time, but at the least when they are with me.  The fact she felt comfort confiding in me made me feel like I'd done a little of my job right. As a mommy, this little girl's feelings are one of my biggest fears for my own children.  I thought way too much growing up, remembered way too many details about things that were trivial to others, and there were lots of times, I wondered where I do fit in in this world. I was well liked, I did lots of extra-curriculars even when I was the same age as the kids I teach (clogging counts, right?).  I had friends, they might not have read as many novels or learned their multiplication facts as quickly, but they didn't dislike me because I was good at school, and I didn't care that they didn't have the same love for school as I did.

How can I help my students and my babies not feel like this?  I don't know.  Find things they are good at.  Nurture friendships and relationships.  Give them time to work cooperatively.  Give them time to be independent.  Laugh with them.  Cry with them. Build them up. The other 26 students in my class were genuinely worried about their classmate.  We have had several class meetings this year about kindness, acceptance, but none about how to accept ourselves.  Reagan laid in bed last night and told herself she loved her.  I laughed, thinking, "well, she's slightly full of herself."  Her birthday is tomorrow and even though she's sharing a joint party with her sister next month, cupcakes at school today and a tea party at the Children's Museum tomorrow has made her think she's getting "SO many birthdays!!!" But my nearly four year old had it right.  She asked me, "Mommy, you love you too, right?"  I smiled and told her sure.  Somewhere between being a cute baby, a funny toddler, a smartie pants preschooler and where my school kids are now, that sense of self love is torn down.  While some kids are full of themselves, more often than not, they are just looking for and trying to find themselves.

I'm thankful by the time I was really trying to figure this out, I had my parents and my youth leaders at church to help guide me.  I didn't always listen.  I had to make mistakes on my own, but I didn't question my place as much.  I was a pretty well rounded kid and  I could pretty much fit in anywhere.  I'm not sure my normalcy is hereditary, so I'm going to do all I can to help all my little ones (the 27 I see at school daily and the 3 I tuck into bed at night), to feel love, feel cared for, to feel they belong.

My heart has never hurt quite like it did today when I heard those words.  Everyone wants to belong somewhere.  Changing jobs, making a big move from my comfortable small town, I understand the grown up side of that conversation today. And the grown up side of me knows a lot of the time, I don't belong in this world. I'm just grateful I'm in a place where I can try to make things a little brighter where I am.

Why I'm Glad My Kids Are Less Than 14 Months Apart...

When you have kids people ALWAYS have advice to give you.  And somehow, having really small children gives permission to people to say whatever they want to you.  I like to think I'm a pretty decent mother.  Not perfect, not over the top, not too slack, but somewhere right around sensible.  No I didn't plan on having my girls in consecutive years, but I wouldn't change it and here's the top five reasons why:

1.  I never had to pack away and then re-get out all the "baby" stuff.  High chairs, swings, bouncers, rock 'n plays, cribs, changing table, etc all are bulky.  They take up tons of space, but when having little people, they're so handy (and some necessary)  Reagan was 6 months old when we found out Anna was on the way.  I just shoved that crap in the corner for the new baby.

2.  I love hearing people say "Wow, you have your hands full." Well, not really.  But we get it a lot and I've had a lot of time to work on my one liners back.  Like when one babe is in the cart and one is on my back... "Well, actually my hands are pretty free."  Or "Yep, but I sure do have pretty nails, see?!" (Ha!  Just kidding, but shameless Jamberry plug there).

3.  Oh, gosh two in diapers?!  Yes.  2 in diapers.  While an expense, so much easier than a newly potty trained kid and a newbie.  The running to the disgusting public bathrooms or back to the minivan for the travel potty blows.  You pooped your diaper, baby?!  No problem, I can change that in a sanitary, controlled space I choose.

4. My girls love the same activities and pretty much are at the same speed.  I'm not a helicopter mom, but I do watch my kids and try to be sure they are safe.  We went to the park today, and the girls could pretty much climb, slide, and jump from the same spaces.  I felt bad for the mom with the not-yet-mobile baby in the baby swing and the active preschooler climbing and jumping.  How do you keep the baby occupied and make sure the big kid isn't breaking his arm?!  Don't know.  I don't have to figure that out!

5.  They are best friends.  Really.  End of story.  Nothing warms my heart more than seeing how close these sisters are.

So while people have said lots about my oops baby, complete strangers mind you, I have always been content knowing that God doesn't make oopsies.  At a time I was pretty defensive about it, to the point, I would introduce myself saying, "Hi, I'm Rachel.  I have a __  and a __ year old, and it's exactly like it sounds, they're a year apart." Now, I'm a little older, a little wiser, and completely content with our family dynamic.  If we hadn't have had the girls so close, Reagan may very well have been our only (in addition to her brother, who has one liners too for the hands full line too), and her built in best friend for life wouldn't be here.  And while to the outside world it may look like chaos, I absolutely love it.... we wouldn't have it any other way!

Birthday Blues

I have always loved March.  Especially the first week of March.  Basketball season is at it's peak, there's that fun rivalry of Duke and Carolina, in college it was always the week we were out on Spring Break, and for my whole life it's the week of my birthday!  This year as my birthday approaches, I'm less than excited.  I'm not an overly sentimental person, but I'm pretty emotional about bidding farewell to my twenties.

This all sneaked up on me this weekend.  The weather was yucky, I was doing the massive amounts of laundry from snowy day layers, to Anna's 2,341 wardrobe changes a day. Somehow in the bottom of the laundry there was a tiny little onesie that probably hasn't fit either baby in years, which says a lot since the babies are only two & three.  I held it in my hands.  I'm not one of those moms that boo hoo's when packing away the clothes that the little ones have outgrown.  In fact, I love it.  I love making room for new stuff and getting rid of the old stuff.  But this day, I looked at it, almost in disbelief.  Somehow, I used to have a person that was that tiny and I managed to keep it alive until it was no longer so tiny, twice.  Holy guacamole.

I thought when I was home with a newborn and a one year old, life wouldn't get any harder.  I was wrong.  If you've asked me at any point within the last few weeks, I've told you, all I want for my birthday is a couple hours to forget it's my birthday and forget about being responsible.  I'm pretty sure that a whiny brat has taken over the body of my near 4 year old, and I'm convinced that my other child may need to see an exorcist.  I wake up in the morning and my body wants to jump out of bed, but my head is saying, "Do I really have to get up?  You're going to have to dress the child who likes none of her clothes and will flail around, hiss, hit, and scream.  Not to mention, said child is going to have to ride in her carseat, which she also has a strong aversion to."  I roll over for a few more minutes to wallow in the dread of it all.

I'm not even 100% why I have this gray cloud hanging out above me, I have everything I've ever wanted.  If I could have planned my life, it's even better than my plan.  I have a husband who is supportive and loving.  Two little girls who are beautiful, creative, and witty.  A son, while not mine by birth, is as much my child as his sisters.  We have a home full of laughter.  I work at a job that never feels like work, that I get to have fun and do what I love, teach and learn and be around 28 of the best kids all day.  But as my birthday approaches, I still get a little sad.  I've pretty much met all the 5 year plans I've laid out, but I have no idea what I want just for me personally in the next 5, the next 10.  The day I got married, my priorities changed. I had two other people's needs I put before mine.  The day I became mommy, I had a tiny person who depended on me for every single most basic need.  When all of this happened, I changed.  I would say I lost a bit of me, but that's not true. That old me evolved.  And she's so much more giving and loving and caring.....and tired and exhausted....and old.

This weekend as I held that tiny little onesie, I thought about the changes this decade has brought.  At twenty, I celebrated my birthday with the sweetest girls in Gray Hall.  We may not have had {legal} air conditioner (it's a fun story-my roommate and I had a rolling a/c unit that certainly wasn't to code--but our room was the coolest, literally), but we had so much fun.  The past few years, I've had joint dinners with a little boy whose birthday is a week before mine.  Life has changed so quickly.  While I feel so fortunate for this life, I miss those carefree days, and I'm not sure I truly appreciated them at the time.

I think my recent exhaustion from the constant crying, all out tantrums and being stuck inside for the last 2 weeks thanks to winter has majorly attributed to my birthday blues.  I've always loved my birthday.  I'm an outspoken, first born, lover of attention after all.  But once my girls were born, being the center of attention, isn't really for me anymore.  I couldn't be more happy to share the spotlight.  I still love birthdays, just not mine as much.  When life held a lot of uncertainty for me, and I was unsure of the path I was supposed to take, I would repeat my favorite Bible verse in my head (Jer. 29:11) and all seemed right with the world.  Tonight as I'm holding on to twenty-nine for a couple more days, I think about that verse again.  It still rings true now, as it did then. Makes my birthday blues...seem less blue.

Hard Conversations

Since I started teaching in the fall of 2007, I've had one group of 3rd graders, one group of 2nd graders, three groups of kinders, and I'm on my fourth group of 4th graders.  If you do the math that's an extra group of kids, but I'll explain that in a moment.  It doesn't really matter the age of my students, sometimes the fact that I have a life outside of teaching seems to seep into the classroom.  Leading to some of the most difficult conversations I've had to have be with wide eyed kids younger than 10.

This past week, I ended an email to one of my class moms with "I was more human than I like to be."  You see after lunch that day, I found out via text message that my grandma, the one who was my babysitter from infancy to 3 or 4, the one I told about my future stepson before my parents, the one that shared my love for chocolate with, had taken her last breath.  And while I knew it was coming, I didn't expect to find out then or like that.  I laid my head on my kidney shaped table and sobbed.  My kids were wonderful, and I haven't heard so many stories of empathy about dogs dying, cats dying, hamsters dying in all my other days teaching combined.

I've had to tell two classes of five year olds there was a baby in my belly.  The questions that ensued after the fact are always innocent, but enough to make this conservative girl blush.  The second year in a row there was a baby in my belly, my absolute favorite was, "How did you get a baby back in your belly SO fast?!" He had a baby sister the same age as Reagan at home, and I think he really feared his mom was going to get another baby in her belly fast too.

I had to share that my dear assistant had lost her mother with the third class of kindergartners.  I always worry that sharing that kind of news with really small children will scare them.  I don't want them to be scared that their moms are going to die, and as I told them her mother was really elderly, I still got all teary.  My assistant was so close with her mom that my heart literally broke for her.  That class was so concerned they made cards to cheer her up.  One little boy drew him and Mrs. Hagee on his tractor, because when he felt sad he told me, "nothing is better than a ride around the farm."

The hardest conversation I've ever had to have came my third year teaching.  I left a group of 27 fourth graders behind.  In 2009 I got married and moved an hour away from my school.  It was too hard being a new wife and stepmom.  Driving that distance to a pretty demanding school, was just too much.  When a second grade opening popped up nearby, I sent in my resume, was called to interview, and was offered the job the same day.  I couldn't not take it.  It didn't make sense.  But as I stood up in front of a class of below grade level reading, free and reduced lunch eating, run down apartment living nine year olds and told them, it didn't make sense to them.  I may have cried more that night than I did this week after I got the news of my Nana's death.  I can't express how much I love those Ramseur kids.  I always tell David if we move back, I want to work there.  He thinks I'm crazy.  He saw how difficult it was, but there's nothing quite as rewarding as working with kids who NEED you.  A lot of my Ramseur babies needed the teachers there to love them.

I hope that it will be quite a while before I have to have another hard conversation with my school kids.  Honestly, I really don't like admitting in my professional life I'm human at all.  It's really tiring, but I always end up learning as much from the kids as they learn from me. And I have learned that letting the kids know about your life, learning about theirs, building relationships, is what makes a classroom community warm, successful, and inviting.  So, while I'm not convinced I ever have quite the right words when I need them, I'm grateful to work in an environment where being human is part of the job, where building relationships is one of the requirements, and having those tough conversations happens only from time to time.

Right now...

Nearly four years ago I started this blog to chronicle my new adventures being a mom.  Truthfully, it was an incredibly lonely time.  Being a new momma, no matter how rewarding, no matter all the precious baby snuggles you get, is isolating.  You have a tiny person depending on you for everything, you need to watch her breathe, because heaven knows she may need you to do that too, and your home no longer feels like your home.  It's full of devices that you're not even sure you know what to do with, but the baby registry experts said you needed them.

Over the course of the past few years, I've realized I'm not alone.  I've watched a lot of my friends welcome new little lives in the world.  They all seemed to transition into their roles more effortlessly than I did, but we've shed tears together.  We've prayed a lot of the same prayers.  We've joked about jumping and peeing in our pants.  Who knew that would ever be funny?

Tonight I was laying in bed trying to sleep.  David was already snoring.  Anna and Reagan finally tuckered out much later than their usual bedtime. And I lay there feeling quite alone.  My Nana went to square dance in the sky beside my Papa Jack today. Despite the fact I just saw her a little over two weeks ago, and that I've been pretty much constantly connected to my family via iMessage, I feel that same feeling of isolation I did as a new momma.  It's not that people I know aren't going through similar situations, it's not like I'm being left out, it's just a feeling. An incredibly exhaustive feeling.  

I was thinking about my childhood.  Each summer I'd spend a week at my grandparents house.  Nana gave the worst baths ever.  I swear she scrubbed us with Brillo pads.  She always let us have dessert.  Christmases had the most presents and the most beautiful tree at her house.  She and my Papa fought a lot, they were loud, they laughed a lot too.  We played cards.  I was the princess of Rummy.  We went camping in a camper with air conditioner (the only way I ever want to camp).  We roasted marshmallows.  They took me to Catholic church for the first time.  It was a little strange to the Southern Baptist raised little girl I was.  Nana didn't have the best way with words.  She didn't care.  She told my sister her prom dress looked like something Queen Latifah would wear.  She totally meant it as a compliment.  When Anna was born, she told my mom I didn't spell Anna correctly and that if it was A-N-N-A, we should pronounce it Anna (think Frozen).  I, being pretty hormonal and fiesty, told my mom if Nana called my child Ah-nah, then I was just going to have to call her Non-uh instead of Nana (I'm the oldest grandchild and I called her Nana first).  She said on Christmas this year my girls (one of whom is in <10% for weight) were pretty heavy for little girls.  Honestly, she was probably weaker than she cared to admit., but I just had to smile.  That was just her. 

I'm so grateful that almost near 30 years I got to know and love my grandmother--that's a lot longer than a lot of people get to know and love theirs.  There's a feeling that doesn't make me feel lonely at all. No mistaking I'll miss Nana, but I have lots of silly, funny, loving, horrible bathing experiences to tell Reagan and Anna about.

New Year, Old Me

Last week my sister visited.  I had already dropped the girls off at daycare, and she came in ready to conquer our mission of my last minute Christmas shopping.  On our rush out the door, I realized that I really didn't need to carry the huge J.J. Cole bag I claim to be my purse, but is actually a diaper bag. I pilfered through the mudroom closet and pulled out a black purse.  A cute small bag that hadn't seen the outside of my house since April 2011.  Inside there was only a hairbrush, a pair of over-sized sunglasses, a planner, and an appointment card.  The appointment card helped me pinpoint the last time I used the bag.  It was for a follow up appointment for my blood pressure check after Reagan had just been born. The planner hadn't been written in since March of the same year.  Nearly every day that month had neatly written plans.  Birth and baby classes at Women's Hospital, baby showers every weekend, report cards, staff meetings, parent/teacher conferences I was trying to squeeze in before I went on maternity leave were all penciled in.  The rest of the year was blank.  A baby really does change everything.

As we left the house that day I thought about how the last four years have really, really changed me.  I have a rat's nest of hair that hangs over half way to my waist.  I may keep a brush with me, but it's for pint sized beauty queens, not me. I have 1235080539438 pairs of sunglasses I never can find.  I keep dates in my smartphone, but kinda miss the fun that came with whipping out my day planner.  My sister has seen the chaos I live in.  The craziness I wouldn't wish on anyone, yet wouldn't take anything for.  That kid free day shopping; every little face I saw, every cry I heard across the mall, made me miss my rugrats.  Despite the fact the shopping day, the solo time was needed (and wanted), when my little ones aren't with me, I always feel like something is missing. The old me had no idea what I was getting into when that baby hiccuped in my tummy, but life raced on to a new normal.

People use this time of year to make resolutions and plans for changes in the new year.  As 2015 is just a couple hours away, I sit here pondering what changes do I need to make in my life? So many changes have already happened so quickly. My best friend welcomed her second baby recently and sent me a text yesterday asking me if all the cool girls drove gray Honda minivans. Well, I looked down... I may or may not have been wearing leggings as pants shopping with all three kids at the market looking less than cool, but for her sake, I said "sure!" But I did confess my current state, because she is my best friend, and really at this point, I have very little shame. In 2015 though, I want to remember before I was mommy: fixer of boo boos, queen of juggling dinner recipes and lesson plans, that I was a pretty okay gal too. I do want to eat better, make sure the girls always brush their teeth before bed, have a little more patience, spend less time worrying and more time praying. That should probably be my resolution every year.  Right now though, instead of rushing to change things about me, I'm just incredibly grateful for all the changes I didn't realize were going to happen.  But I'm REALLY going to try not to wear leggings as pants outside this house again...maybe.

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Home

During this season, specifically this day of thankfulness, I'm humbled with all I have to be thankful for.  The obvious, my faith, my little girls, my husband & little boy, a home, food, and clothes.  Today though, as I put over 200 miles on my odometer, I am really thankful for the place I call home.

For over 20 years of my life, my home was a tiny community nestled in the corner of three counties, population of less than 2,000.  I attended high school in a neighboring town where the student body measured less than 500.  My senior year, my principal was new to our school and the area, commented several times that the people that called this home were the "salt of the earth."  I didn't realize how true his words were until my address was no longer on that rural route.

As I traveled today, part of the journey just me and the girls, I had lots of time to think and sing along with the radio.  Luckily, Anna and Reagan slept, but it made the trip a little lonely. As I flipped back and forth between the Prime Country and the Y2Kountry stations, I heard a lot of songs that reminded me of my little hometown.  Everybody really is famous in a small town.  If your name is Hussey, Garner, Powers, Kidd, Harper... I'm pretty certain my fifth grade teacher can trace your entire family tree for you; she may have in class a time or two.  If you skipped school to cut town and grab some fries at the Chicken Hut, someone would probably see you and tell you parents.  However, these same folks would take your picture in the Homecoming parade, congratulate you after you got baptized at church, and hug you at your saddest moments.

This small town life is something I can't quite explain to even my husband, who grew up a few years ahead of me in a town over twelve times as large.  He's still very much a country boy and despite his office job with big cherry desk and fancy nameplate, is much more at home in the woods with a Husqvarna chainsaw in his hands.  But even so, traveling a half hour to the grocery store is something he's certain he never wants to do.  I feel a little differently though.  At 20, all I could imagine was getting out, getting married, starting a family, having a white picket fence, & living in a neighborhood near a Target.  I have all that, and a not so small part of me wants to load it all up and move where the green grass grows.

That said, I love my home, I love this town, and I love the kids I get the opportunity to teach.  I've taught at 3 different schools now, none of which were in my home community.  My mom was also a teacher.  One with small feet, but very large shoes I knew I couldn't fill.  So, when I graduated college, my goal was to get a job at least two towns away.  Once I got married, I moved homes, moved jobs, became a stepmomma like BAM! It was the hardest few months of my life, but it was an adjustment that left me unafraid of change.  Last year when an opening at a school in the same district as my stepson's, I tossed my application in the hat and thought, if it's meant to be, it's meant to be.  It's certainly been meant to be, for the first time in about 5 years, I feel like I'm almost at home.  You know that feeling when you take your shoes off at the end of a long day, like you can let your hair down and completely be yourself, like when you've eaten too much at Thanksgiving dinner and you just unbutton your jeans...yeah, like that.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm really thankful for my boondock upbringing.  It sheltered me from a whole lot, it made friends feel like family, and it completely shaped me into who I am as a momma, wife, sister, daughter, teacher, & friend.  But most of all as we traveled today, I started to realize as much as my heart craves to be back in the middle of nowhere, home isn't a place.  Home is a feeling.  It's the feeling I get when my family is under one roof, when laughter fills the air, when hugs and love abound.  That's something I'm rarely lacking, and for that I'm truly thankful.