Too Soon

This afternoon I sat in the parking lot at my little girls' daycare and sobbed.  Like hysterical, crazy woman ugly cried.  I hid behind my aviators, prayed no one saw me and that God would help me pull myself together.  It's the last day of school for goodness sake, I should not be sobbing.

It's just too soon.  I sat through my little boy's fifth grade graduation yesterday.  Just 6 years ago, he was graduating from pre-k, and I had only shared his last name for a little over 10 months.  I was amused and beaming with love for this five year old to start school.  We were going to be in kindergarten at the same time at different schools and in obvious different roles.  I was ready for that change.  Fifth grade?! Middle school? How did this happen?


It's just too soon.  Last week this time, we were celebrating my first born's pre-k graduation.  Six years ago at her brother's I was praying for her.  We had been trying to get pregnant for several months and it wasn't happening as instantly as I thought it would.  And naturally, if it wasn't happening, something was wrong with me.  I wanted to hold a baby in my arms so badly.  It happened not too long after that, just the next month, I saw those two pink lines.  Now, she's going to be loading up and heading to big school with me.  She's still a baby.  How can she be old enough for elementary school?

It's just too soon.  I found out I'm switching grade levels this week.  In my tenth year of teaching when I enter my classroom, it will be the seventh different one, and I'll be teaching a new grade level for the fifth time.  The confident 30-something I am, will tell you I have a vast understanding of the K-5 curriculum, but the part of me that is constantly questioning if I'm doing all I can, if I'm reaching all the kids I should be, if I really should open up a bagel and coffee shop downtown is terrified that I just can't find my niche in this world. That for whatever reason, I'm just going to be bounced around until it's "right." Thing is, I thought it was right.  I love my fourth grade teacher friends, I love fourth grade content, and it's the grade Dr. Cooper told me I was supposed to teach, and she was like some kind of guru of teacher placements.  I'm sure I haven't failed at this, but for whatever reason, it's just not where I'm supposed to be at in the fall.  And I'll do the best job I can wherever I am; it's just. too. soon.

It was probably too soon for me to throw this all out there, but that's just who I am.  I'm not in denial about my babies growing up, I'm not angry about being asked to do something different.  I just have to get used to a lot of new. Wednesday, I moved too soon and hit the car at the stoplight in front on me.  The driver got out, rubbed my back and said, "Aw. Look it's going to be fine.  I'm fine, you're fine.  It's really okay." I'm taking those words to heart, even if it does feel just too soon.

Fearless

I looked up the dictionary definition of fearless and it said: without fear, bold or brave.  While I really doubt I am bold or brave or ever without any fear, there was once a me that approached life a little more fearlessly.  Not just the daily, but the making a difference, doing whatever it took in my chosen career path.  As a college student, I spent many evenings tutoring a sweet little Montagnard girl in her less than desirable apartment complex. When I say less than desirable, it reminded me of the commercials about starving children in third world countries.  All of the inhabitants were refugees that were grateful for the roofs over their heads.  The country girl I was just wanted to help people, I didn't really realize how my blonde, freckled self was way on the wrong side of town.  But my fearless self could see a difference in the relationships I forged and the risks paled in comparison.

These experiences made me feel invincible, like some kind of super-student teacher/graduate, so when I looked for my first teaching job, I only applied at high risk, high needs, Title 1 schools.  I had a pretty stellar resume and interviewed pretty well, and I was offered a job at my first interview.  While those three years I spent in third and fourth grade with a large minority population were rewarding, they were exhausting.  Once I got married, I decided I need to play it more safe; my fearless self had been tamed.

I was talking to my mom on the way home from work today.  It's a busy time a year for teachers, an especially busy time for me it seems, but I was chatting away and saw a little friend from my fourth grade class playing with a group of children at an older apartment complex.  This complex was hands down high class living compared to the one I visited the refugees in in college.  However, it was still run down compared to the suburban neighborhood I live in. I told my mom I thought I should turn around and check on this friend.  She nervously told me to be careful and it was like déjà vu from my UNCG days.

I turned into the parking lot, and rolled down my window.  I asked him if his homework was done (it wasn't), he introduced me to his friends and seemed so proud I was there just to see him.  I stayed about 5 minutes tops (because I wouldn't get out--I'm not as fearless as I was in my twenties). Though, it was just a tiny bit of time, it might just be what I need to get this fella to summer, and hopefully make a lasting impression.

Sometimes being a teacher is getting outside your comfort zone.  We ask kids to get out of their comfort zone all the time. And today, while it may seem a little trivial, I did that for my little buddy.  Judging by the smile that spread across his face, I feel like he realized that.  The fact that one of his friends said, "Wow, you're right, she is pretty!" didn't hurt either.  If that's the worst thing he can say about his old teacher, I'm doing okay, even if I'm pretty tough on his peers and him at this time of year.

I was a few minutes later picking up my own babies today {again}; I've been pretty booked solid. But when I loaded up Rea & A, I told my beautiful girls about how I always want them to be careful, but sometimes you have to be a little fearless.  Fearless when it comes to doing what's right to hopefully make a difference. I'm not sure they understood, but I do hope that I will set that example for them no matter what they decide they want to do with their lives.

Must Be Doing Something Right...or at Least Okay

My mom was a teacher, and a REALLY good one.  So good, that it intimidated me into teaching in a different county at a completely different type of school when I graduated from college.  My mom poured her heart and soul into her classroom.  Maybe so much that I felt a little envious of her students from time to time, because I felt that they may be getting a little better chunk of my mom's time than I did.

I'll never forget my dad saying that when he'd drive past the Highfalls Elementary parking lot at 5:00 and my mom was the only one still parked in her parking spot that perhaps, it wasn't the teachers leaving at 3:30 that were doing something wrong.  After all, as women that work outside the home, our only jobs aren't those that we drive to on the daily.  There are still people within the four walls we live in that count on us too.  I took those words to heart and have always tried to devote the better me to my husband, stepson, and little girls.

That is, until lately.  When I left school Friday at nearly 6, I felt really down.  On myself, on my job, for my girls, for my messy house, for the fact that I left so much undone.  I had helped a coworker with somethings she needed help with, somethings that my administration had asked me and trusted me to do, and it left me feeling empty.  Because while I had done those things, things that I'm more than willing to do, other things had fallen to the wayside.  Preparing for my new student, lesson planning, picking up my babies at a decent time.... those things.  And I was so upset with myself.  I felt like I just wasn't getting it right.

Today's my birthday.  Number 31.  You'd hope that by this point you'd be doing somethings right in life.  I'm nearly 1/3 of the way through my teaching career, and probably over 1/3 of the way through this life God's given me to live on earth, but on Friday, I just wasn't sure if I had gotten any of it right.  My kids were some of the last kids left at the daycare, I cried all the way home because I felt so horrible about it, and  then fed them Sheetz hotdogs that made us all sick.  Mother of the year right here. But this morning over breakfast, after my 3 year old blessed our meal, my Facebook messenger app dinged, and a student I taught my first year messaged me the sweetest birthday message and I cried again.  Not guilty tears, tears that maybe I'm getting some of this right.  Another sweet student from just last year left me a video message, and maybe her mom made her do it, but I don't care where the sentiment came from, it was one I needed more than ever.

I'm my own toughest critic.  I'm not sure I'll ever fill my mom's shoes; if I'll be the mother or teacher I think I should be, but today on my thirty first birthday, I'm sure two little girls touched my heart, because maybe I touched theirs, and that does make all of this craziness worth it.

Maybe Christmas Doesn't Come From a Store...

Maybe Christmas means a little bit more.  We watched the classic animated Grinch movie yesterday after our class party, and I paused at this Dr. Seuss quote. I told my students that this is absolutely one of my favorite holiday quotes.  I asked them what they thought it meant and we discussed for a bit. We talked about doing for others, about how there are times when you can't give people gifts even when they deserve it, but you can give them your love, your attention, and your respect.  That means so much more than monetary gifts.

The past few weeks, I have been spread thin. Between holiday plays, holiday parties, volunteering, and my own Christmas shopping, cards and preparations, I have been  so exhausted (not to mention the fact my 3 year old STILL DOESN'T SLEEP ALL NIGHT). It's easy to lose sight of the big picture.  You know, why we do all this-- to spread the good news, to celebrate the love of our God, the amazing birth of our savior. As a public school teacher, I don't blatantly profess my Christianity to my students, but I hope my school babies sense my love somehow. Whether they assume it's from my heart or from somewhere else.

A couple weeks ago, I got the opportunity to serve at an event at our church.  Families came, the kids played in snowball fights, inflatables, photo booths and got their faces painted, their bellies full of sweet treats and shopped for their moms and dads, all the while their mommies and daddies loaded their trunks with food and presents.  At the event, I saw one of Reagan and Anna's friends from daycare, and my heart was so full.  I still get all choked up thinking about seeing parents putting in those coveted Elsa bikes in their trucks. The next night, the same event took place at a venue close to my school, and when we watched the video at church on Sunday, I saw several familiar faces.  These faces weren't just ones I passed by in the mornings when I dropped the babies off.  These were faces I saw all school day long, in the midst of reading novels and learning long division.  These faces were the faces not of families who just needed a little help, these faces had names.  They were kids I knew so much better than just from a night of service at church.

In our daily lives, we may not realize that the people who are closest to us, are the ones that need the most help, or we might, but they may try our patience and we forget (remember, I am a teacher and kids are still kids) that there's more than what's on the surface; more than the preteen attitudes and lack of homework in their agendas. They need love, they need your patience (even though they try it), they just need to know you care. Without going into specific detail, this year more than ever, I have been so grateful for our blessings; more aware that there are families without.  Families that are doing the best they can.  Families that love their children just as much as we love ours, but their circumstances just aren't the same. They aren't able to make all the wishes from their kids' wishes lists come true.  They aren't even able to make sure their basic needs are met.  My prayer this holiday season is for them to be safe, to be happy and content with what they are given and for the new year to bring about abundant blessings for them.  Because after all, maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps, means a little bit more!

Everyday Blessings

It's that month.  The one month a year we are all reminded to be thankful.  I really try all the time, but sometimes the stress of day to day life overshadow all blessings that surround me.  Today a friend posted about taking time out to notice those daily blessings, and I decided to step up to that challenge. To stop being bogged down by deadlines, paperwork, temper tantrums, running late, dirty laundry, and all the other glamorous things that come along with being a working mother and really focus on the everyday things I often take for granted.

This morning, David buckled the girls in the car.  That sounds trivial, but last week I had to pull into a church parking lot across from our neighborhood because I had forgotten to check the bottom buckles on Reagan's five point harness car seat.  They were not buckled. This morning, that was not a problem, because my girls had extra time with their daddy while he loaded them in the car so I could fix a cup of peppermint mocha and pack leftover potato soup for lunch.  It was a double sided blessing.  My girls have a daddy who loves them and their mommy, and I had a few minutes to take inventory before loading myself up for my marathon of a day.

I dropped the girls off at daycare. A daycare where they learn, have teachers who genuinely care about them, and I feel that they are loved and nurtured. We have dropped our kids off at different places, and we've been fortunate that this has always been the case, but I have toured places where I left in tears and was convinced we'd just have to cut back on everything before I could knowingly send the girls there.  It is a huge blessing that I sometimes take for granted, but I'm so grateful for.

I drove to work, a little off pace as usual. I got behind our school crossing guard, driving to work on his bike.  This man amazes me.  He drives quite a ways on his two wheeled, self-propelled transportation, and manages to do his job with more enthusiasm than most people who arrive to work with warm buns from their heated leather seats. I'm really thankful for his waving me by each morning and keeping our kiddos safe.

When I entered the school building I was greeted with hellos from my grade level friends. I cannot imagine work without these ladies.  They share resources, jokes, and egg & cheese biscuits; we commiserate over lesson plans, family drama, and testing stress. I love my job and a lot of that is because I love these girls I get to work with.  I don't tell them enough, but I'm so incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to call them friends.

As my day progressed, I realized how grateful I am for technology.  It brings my content alive!  These kids who live in front of televisions, with tablets in hand need something a little more interesting than words on a page sometimes.  Fossils were a little more interesting with the paleontologists who discovered them, the read aloud was a little cooler with Kevin Costner reading it, and an interactive quiz made multiplication a bit more fun. Even after technology stole my planning time due to some new training, I still have an appreciation for it and how it makes my job a little easier.

By the time the car riders were dismissed, I took time to realize just how thankful I am for my job.  I get a new challenge daily, I get to experience new learning with kids and introduce new concepts.  I get to start fresh each day, hug away fears, help them make lifelong friends (I'm still friends with some of my elementary school pals), and hopefully make a lasting impression.  It's not a job, it's in the cheesiest sense, a real calling that I am so thankful I listened to.  I may have been capable of doing a job that was more lucrative, but I wouldn't have felt nearly as fulfilled.

Before I left (as quickly as possible--I'm also incredibly excited that tomorrow is a holiday), I checked my e-mail and straightened my desk. At the end of an e-mail from a parent, she closed it by saying "We are very thankful our child has you as their teacher." Words. We don't often think to be thankful for them, but sometimes a kind word is all we need to feel a little more confident and rejuvenated.  I'm really thankful for that sweet e-mail.  It hadn't been the most positive e-mail chain, but the fact that this mother, who wants what any other mother does for their child, realizes that we're on the same team is incredibly meaningful.

I made piles of to-dos for Thursday and on my desk was a note that filled every square inch of the notebook paper it was written on. It said, "Please write my name in the word problem. Love, ***" Every day the kids have 2 word problems to complete for their math journals. I write these and try to include the kids names in them.  I obviously need to include this kid's name in one.  It made me smile. Even if my students are on the big kids' hall, they are still really little. Their names in math problems are really exciting to them, and I love that!

I picked up my girls in the sunshine today!  That in itself is worth a whole Facebook post for being thankful today.  I can't remember a school year that started with so much rain.  I entered the door at the daycare, and my babies ran over to me and knocked me over with hugs. My greatest blessings in life are those two little monsters that call me mommy.  We came home, had dinner, and snuggled on the couch.  Their daddy brought their brother home and my living room has 5 pairs of feet propped up on reclining furniture. It's cozy and warm and full of so much love.  Each night at bedtime, whether I'm tucking in two or three children I call mine, I always tell them before I prayers that I thank God for them.

While I'm very cognizant of my big blessings, my family, my home, and my friends, I often forget some of these daily reasons I have to be thankful. Thanksgiving is my most favorite holiday, because it's a time where we slow down to say thanks and to be appreciative.  In a world that is fast paced, I like to take a time out to just live here and now.  Daily things that usually get lost in the shuffle shouldn't be taken for granted.

Take the time every day to be thankful for everything that you have. You can always have more, but you could also have less. — Mohd Uved

"Perfect" Family Weekend

We planned a few weeks ago that we'd take the kids to Tweetsie for the weekend.  We waited til the last minute to book somewhere to stay, because the cabin we usually stay in had a 3 day minimum stay for the holiday weekend, and we didn't want to stay 3 days, because we had to get little man back to his mom's on Sunday.  So, David booked one of the last hotel rooms in Boone, turns out it was Appalachian's first home football game of the season, just for Friday night.

Friday, I left school a little earlier than I usually would, picked up the girls and ran in Target for a few last minute items.  I had no intentions of staying longer than 15 minutes, because I was going to pick up their brother, get us home and packed, and the car cleaned out so we could leave by six.  Well, Mother Nature had other plans.  When we were about ready to leave, I hear rain pouring, thunder roaring.  We walk around to kill time, and all of a sudden the power goes out.  It was pitch black.  I grab both girls, with both arms, and even though the power came back on within seconds, it seemed like an eternity.  I made sure my phone was in my back pocket after that.  I wasn't going to be in total darkness again.    Finally, it stops raining, we get out of there, pick up Bubbie, and are home by six.  Quick shower, pack up, and we're in the car at 6:39.  A little off pace.

Anna whined all the way to the mountains.  She's not the best traveler, so we chalked it up to that.  I slept with the girls that night, the boys shared the other bed.  Anna whined all night.  It was already uncomfortable trying to make sure no one fell off the bed, add the fact we were up basically all night, it was pretty darn miserable.  I got up with her around 5:45 to use the restroom, changed her diaper to her pull up (let's not talk about how potty training is going), and went back to bed.  David got up a few minutes later, turned off the light in the room I had left on; I don't like sleeping in the dark in strange places, and went to shower.  About that time Anna started screaming and puked all over the bed.  Perfect!  I yell at Brent to grab a towel and turn the lights back on, and I get her cleaned up, thankful that I hadn't dressed her, because no pukey clothes to take home.  I moved Reagan over to the other bed and put Anna in the bath. Once I'm pretty certain she's going to be okay, she's randomly puked before if something didn't settle well on her tummy, and unfortunately from the looks of it, I could tell something hadn't settled so well, I throw on a sweatshirt and drive to the CVS for some anti-nausea medicine.  No matter what we were to decide to do, I knew it would be a necessity at this point.

Well, we wait.  We waited til 8:30 to head down to breakfast.  Over two hours, no more sickness.  Anna drank some juice, ate some yogurt, and was running around as usual. We waited a few more hours, check out was at 11; so we waited until nearly 11, and then decided that we would do the theme park.  The other two kiddos would be really disappointed if we just headed home, and Anna had been well for several hours.  We let her have another dose of medicine and off we went.  We did have a fabulous time, even if we did ask Anna if she was okay 2 million times. I rode some scary ride with Brent, we all rode the steam engine 3 times, saw the mice in Mouse Mine Number Nine, watched the girls fly airplanes and captain boats.  We ate lunch at the Feed and Seed and saw the Tweetsie Cloggers on stage.  I don't regret making those family memories at all; even if the morning had been less than fun.

We headed back to the car around 4ish, and Anna had been asleep, we woke her up, I gave her the rest of her pink lemonade, which was probably a mistake.  We drove about 7 minutes.  She started whining and looking green.  David pulled off the road into a church parking lot.  I hop out, not even taking the time to put my flip flops back on, and before I can get my hands to unbuckle Anna, she goes all Exorcist/Scary Movie projectile vomiting on me. If you've never caught vomit, I don't recommend it. I get her out. Clean her up. Again.  Throw her clothes in a pillow case. No one else moves in the car.  Not quite sure why the time was standing still for them. After we're both clean and sanitized as much as possible, and I give her another dose of medicine, we are off again. In about an hour and a half, we pull into our garage. I've never been so thankful.  I am pretty independent and able to do most anything, but move a carseat and unlatch it is something I haven't mastered.  I told David I needed to wash the carseat cover but he was going to need to get it out.  He says he'll do it.  I'd already started the water in the washing machine, so he heads out...In a freaking hazmat suit.  Okay, not really.  But he does have gloves on to his elbows and a mask on.  Remember, this is the same vomit I just caught. Whatever, I'm obviously not the hypochondriac.

Anna never got sick again.  No one else feels sick.  I'm not sure what was up with her, but it made our weekend getaway quite memorable for reasons I'd rather forget.  I think a lot of times our Facebook timelines and Instagram snapshots show a picture that looks perfect, but it is so far from the truth.  It isn't that I want people to think everything is always peachy. Life, marriage, motherhood is one hard gig.  No one wants to see the vomit, but it's there.  Our weekend was fun, but it was far from perfect. 

Take Care of Her

I think it's pretty normal to get unsolicited advice from strangers when you have children. I've always been a magnet for strangers to speak to, not sure if I just don't have an intimidating demeanor or just give off overly friendly vibes, but I'm okay with it. I've had more conversations with people I'd never met before that moment and likely will never speak to again, than I can remember. One such conversation happened yesterday, and it has resonated.

We were on our way home from a weekend in the high country, when we had to stop for a bite to eat. When a three year old cries they're hungry, you had better feed them.  At the family restaurant, many folks ordering off the senior menu were enjoying after church lunch. Reagan was on her second cup of water when she exclaimed, "Moooommmmy, I need to potty." So off to the bathroom for the second time we went.  In the restroom we made the usual small talk. Don't touch the potty, aren't those hush puppies yummy, haven't we had such a fun weekend... When we came out of the stall, we went to wash our hands beside a sweet white headed lady with a long braid, a pink dress and a smile.  She told Reagan how beautiful she was, told me how she had six children, one born every two years, and she has been married 65 years. She smiled and told me it was hard, she knows it IS hard. She then said twice, "take care of her."

You know of all the unsolicited parenting advice I've ever gotten, some of that advice from people I know and love, this piece of advice was the best. Take care of her. I thought of the past few years.  Before Reagan was even born, I had began preparations to take care of her. I saved over half my paycheck for several years. This money helped pay for unforeseen expenses. The emergency room visits prior to her birth. There was 3. All of which I was sent by my doctor's office, I swear, I was not crazy. It was just a crazy pregnancy.  I was just taking care of her.

When I brought home that seven pound bundle, I had very little knowledge of what to do, but I did my best to take care of her. I cried over painful cracked nipples, the fear I wasn't an adequate food source. I watched her sleep. Counted her breaths. Bought every stupid baby device ever invented, just to take care or her.

I returned to work five short months after she was born, because we needed health insurance, we needed my income to supplement my husband's. I needed to work to take care of her. It was hard finding someone to trust to be my hands while I was away, but we have been fortunate that amazing caregivers have grown to love our babies as their own.

I cried when I stopped producing enough milk, knowing before I even saw the positive pregnancy test results, that I was unsure of how I was going to take care of her and a new baby too. I was certain as I began to mix formula filled bottles that I wasn't doing my best to take care of her. Looking back, I was doing what was right for our family in that moment. I was taking care of her.

I've held her hands as she began to take her first steps, I've reminded her we don't write from right to left, I've made sure she brushes her teeth, combs her hair, eats at least 4 different food groups, assured her there are no monsters, and told her daily how I thank God for her, just her. I know there will be times in the future it will be a challenge to just take care of her, but I'm so thankful for that sweet lady's advice. There is nothing more, and nothing less I can do as a parent other than to simply take care of her.