Sweet Summertime?

The begining of this summer has kind of taken me by surprise...oh, it's June? Better pack up my classroom and switch gears because it's time to tackle summer. Yes, tackle it, because summer takes work...lots and lots of work. My dreamy summer plans are always laced with warm sunshine, sweet giggles and compliant children. Yet, my summer reality reminds me that I am allergic to the sun, I sweat like a man, giggles are often the products of forbidden, messy mischief and that my children may be genetically incapable of compliance.

Please understand that I relish the opportunity to spend the summers with my kids, it's one of the best perks of being a teacher [insert your teacher-bashing comment here]. However, I just can't believe how very far my summer hopes are from my summer reality...each and every year I find myself wishing I'd have done it differently. Wishing I'd have hugged them more, snuggled them more, encouraged them to get dirtier, asked them to splash me without consequence.

Yet, here I am, day 4 of summer vacation, struggling through the following tantrums and fights, all before 10am:
 1. No, CJ, you can't have candy at 6:32am.
 2. I don't think it's a good idea to stand on the top bunk and put hot wheels on the fan.
 3. Where did you get that golf club?
 4. "Mom, Connor touched my wallet. It's so important that he can't even touch it."
 5. Yes, Faith, pick out your clothes...No, you really shouldn't wear leggings...because it's going to be 85 degrees.
 6. No, Connor, you can't have a knife...no, not even if you're going to "feed me" with it.

They are quiet for the moment, Faith is eating a bag full of Cheerios and Connor is "organizing" the DVDs, so I jumped at the chance to write. And here I am noticing how cool these kiddos are, far from perfect, but so cool. Occasionally CJ will lean his head against "Fay-fee" and ask her sweet questions that she answers while loving the chance to be his teacher. He says thank you, and she smiles. It takes moments like that to make me see that I need to stop being so hell-bent on making summer look and feel a certain way...my summer reality is that the quiet moments will not last long [I'm now typing through Mickey Mouse Clubhouse at max volume, courtesty of Connor, while Faith flails around doing "ballet"], but that those simple moments are so worth waiting for.

I am frequently battling my own frustration and moments of crazy-ass-mom rage, and I need to find a way to control that. Connor will continue to throw tantrums (especially if Kevin's not home), Faith will probably never stop "doing gymnastics" off my couch, and my house will NEVER be as clean as I want it to be, but I hope that with a sincere and prayerful attempt, this can be a better summer. I'm crossing fingers for a summer where my hopes and life's reality come together.

It's four days in, and I need to change my approach. It's not going to be about the big, grandiose concept of summer. Instead, I need to embrace these dry-cereal-for-breakfast-watch-a-movie-on-the-couch kind of mornings as willingly as I do a day trip to the zoo or the water park. Rumor has it these days fly by, and my new summer goal is to linger in the simple moments.

Wish me luch, and I'll keep you posted...gotta go because Connor just grabbed that knife he wanted.

You learn what you live.

Raising children is an awesome responsibility, and I know that they will inherit the best and the worst of me.  Faith has already mastered my absent-minded rant where I speak to no one in particular, while expecting everyone to listen. However, she also is a beautiful listener with a sympathetic ear.  Connor has mastered his "teacher voice" (especially when he's angry with Faith), but he is so tender and gives lovely hugs and kisses.  Undoubtedly,  I see myself in my children through their words and deeds, and my hope is that more often than not, the good is what transcends.  I know that my job as a mother is to love them and teach them how to love others.

What is devastating and heart-wrenching is that some people do not view life through my lens.  Many believe that children should be seen, not heard; they offer their children "tough love," which is manifested through neglect and various forms of abuse.  Yesterday and today, Bremen High School was/is hosting the Clothesline Project.  It is a powerful display of t-shirts designed by survivors of and witnesses to domestic violence and sexual and emotional abuse.  It offers "an opportunity for survivors and family members to break the silence that often surrounds their experience, and bear witness to their personal experiences."  I could never have imagined the power of these handmade t-shirts.  Stories of neglect, rape, incest, violence, murder, and even stories of forgiveness.  The shirts told tales of violence and abuse done at the hands of those we trust: family, police, clergy.  

Here are some of the shirts that haunt me and one that offers inspiration.  

Many were far too gruesome to post here.

And here is the shirt that has stuck with me each time I've walked the exhibit with my students:

 "You teach your children what you have been taught.  No for Violence, Yes for Love."  Isn't that the core of parenting and teaching?  I pray that my children see the love I offer them, and share that love with others.  Love is what I hope to model for them every.single.day.  I falter, and sometimes I regret my words and my actions, but I always return to love.  

I literally keep crying over the victims words...faceless people with countless wounds...I cry for them.  In my life I have been fortunate enough to never experience this type of abuse, but I certainly know about those who have.  Today, I have seen my students hurting and seeking help for wounds that they thought they'd buried, and I cry for them too.  I know and love people who have been abused and who are abusers, and my heart is aching today because of the absence of love and protection and the sad abundance of violence.

Last night the kids and I added these survivors, victims and victimizers to our prayers, and we will keep them there.  I will also keep these words in my head as I parent my children and love those around me:

"You teach your children what you have been taught.  
No for Violence, Yes for Love."

Love, love, love...

Lessons Learned Through Princess Dresses and Ponytails...Faith is Growing Up

Faith recently marched upstairs, armed with a garbage bag, explaining that she was going to gather toys to give to goodwill, and of course, Connor followed her up with a bag of his own, declaring, "Me too!"  We recently rearranged her room, and it was already "junked up" again...she had enough.

After about 7 minutes of rooting around and a few outbursts, both kids came downstairs, bags in hand.  Connor's bag was clearly the reason for the outbursts, as it contained many of Faith's dolls, which were new Christmas presents and some of her new clothes.  Faith's bag was a bit more telling - it was full of "baby things" like princess crowns, dress-up clothes and play shoes.  I looked through the bag with a bit of surprise, and asked her if she was sure about what she had gathered. 

"Yes, mom.  Those things are for toddlers, and I am not a toddler.  I don't wear princess crowns and I don't play dress up.  You can give those to other kids who need them."

As quickly as that, Faith had packed up her toddler-hood into a tightly drawn trashbag.  And that was it.  She marched right back upstairs to continue to "organize" her messy little room.

Moments like those make me want to stop the world, pull her onto my lap, squeeze her tight, kiss her little neck and make her giggle.  Those kinds of moments lead me to nights where I want to pull my sleeping babies into my bed, or better yet, crawl in with them.  Where on earth did Faith's six years go?  How in the world can Connor be three?

That toddler-toys-in-the-trashbag moment came back to mind this morning as I asked my little girl if she wanted to do her own ponytail today.  Like a flash, she was out of bed, teeth were brushed, and she was dressed and seated at her new vanity.  She struggled through tangles, winced through knots, and finally gathered her hair into a haphazard side-pony, complete with a friendship bracelet clipped into the front for a fancy finishing touch.  To be plain, it was quite terrible, but she was quite proud.

I ask Kevin to help me out, "Daddy, what do you think of Faith's ponytail?" 

He diplomatically said, "I love where it is, and I like the clip, but I think that Mommy needs to use the brush to smooth out the lines."

"Where?  I don't see lines."

So, I swooped in, while she was still contemplating how there could be any imperfections, just to smooth out the rough patches.  I removed the ponytail holder, and all hell broke loose.  Her eyes narrowed, her jaw set.  I crushed her...completely crushed her when I pulled out that pony.  I offered advice, I offered to let her do it again...nope...the damage had been done. 

As quickly as that, she set me straight, "No, Mom.  Mine wasn't good enough.  You do it [tears welling up]."

Then I realized that all I really wanted was a do-over.  I wanted to leave that snarly-looks-like-she-slept-in-it ponytail in her head and send her to school with a shrug of my shoulders which said, "Hey, what can you do?"  But instead, I was left to deal with a sad-faced, pout-lipped little girl with a perfectly smooth ponytail...I drove her to school wishing I could have loved her pony just the way it was.

Faithy girl is over her pretty dresses and party shoes and into trendy outfits and big-girl boots.  Her look is becoming much less fairy-princess and much more edgy-fashionista...and I'm okay with that.  Honestly, I am. 

But, I guess her independence just caught me by surprise today - who knew that her ponytail could mean so much to her?  Then again, who knew a princess dress could mean so much to me?

I can promise that tonight you will find me giving ponytail tips while playing with her Cabbage Patch Kid and Target Brand "American Girl" Dolls...all while wondering when those will get packed up and given away because they are "kids" toys.

The Comforts of Christmas

I am a sucker for the feeling of Christmas, yet it seems the older I get the harder it is for me to connect with the Christmas vibe. Yes, it's awesome to experience Faith and Connor's anticipation for Santa, and their Christmas lists are amusing to say the least. Yes, the decorations are beautiful and the lights sparkly, but year after year I feel like I'm losing the ability to quickly connect with the spirit of the season. It's wonderful to hear Faith tell be about why Christmas is really important, to read Christmas stories and to watch Christmas movies with the kids.  But I still am having trouble connecting.  Perhaps it's because I'm "getting older" or maybe it's because sometimes the world just kinda sucks: families can't make ends meet, people steal money from charity, families lose loved ones, students lose their homes days before Christmas, and on, and on...

But this year, thanks to a beautifully written blog by my friend Kelly, I am thinking about Christmas with a different perspective.  In her blog, she reminisces about her grandmother's store-bought cookies which she was accidentally able to replicate in a what-can-I-make-that's-quick-and-easy kind of moment.  She also reveals that, for her, "Christmas tastes like butter and sugar."  In other words, Christmas tastes like comfort...and for me, comfort feels like a mug of hot coffee held between my hands; it gives me that warm-from-the-inside-out feeling.  It makes me pause and think about how wonderful it is to be still and to have that mug in my hands.

So that was all it took this year.  Reading that blog made me realize that for me, Christmas is about comfort in all its various forms - from the ease of family time after bustling days to the unexpected warm and fuzzy moments provided by strangers. It is comfort in knowing that when Grandpa Bogard opened his presents this year, he did so with a full head of hair - a visible sign that his fight with cancer is now behind him.  Perhaps a few moments of comfort will be provided to the two families that NHS has adopted for the holiday; their gifts (basic necessities) were picked up yesterday afternoon, and I can't stop praying for their comfort in this trying season.  Comfort is also found in knowing that my father-in-law is happily employed and seeing that they can take a deep breath, which  they might not have been able to take last Christmas.  Comfort is frequently found in those comfy-PJ-moments with Kevin and our kids...On Monday night, Kevin watched home videos with them while I dipped pretzels for the teachers' gifts - there was a sense of perfection mixed into the mess and chaos.  Lunch dates with friends, four full weeks with my sister, liberally poured glasses of wine, finding just the right gift paired with short lines, watching Polar Express, listening to the kids say their prayers, turning in my last set of finals, Kevin's promotion, hugs from people I love, celebrating life...comfort, comfort, comfort.

Each night when the kids and I pray, we celebrate the love in our lives: friends, family, colleagues, teachers...because without that love there would be so little to celebrate.  So, this Christmas and for all of next year, I wish you moments where you can be still enough to enjoy that warm-mug-in-your-hand feeling. 

Sending you so much love,
Sarah

Remembering Aunt Dor

Today I am going to my Aunt Dorothy's funeral, and I am sad.  My sadness is the deep-down, shake you to the core kind of sadness.  I'm sad because she is gone, but sadder because so many, many people will miss her sincere compassion and love.  I can honestly say she was one of the best people I have ever known.  I can't recall a cross word or a bitter comment.  Her life was filled with love, faith and smiles...countless cheery bright-eyed smiles.  When I think of Aunt Dor, I can't do it without thinking of her smile first and her hug second.  Her hug was always an extended one, often given with a rub of the shoulder and always with her cheek against mine.

As I remembered Aunt Dor at her wake yesterday I was filled with a deep sense of nostalgia, and loved soaking in the stories others told about her.  I heard someone wistfully say, "she had so many friends."  It was impossible not to be her friend because she was a friend to every person and dog that she ever met...except for Lilly Corse...she didn't like Lilly.  My dad told me that McDonald's, her long-time employer, had posted signs on the door notifying customers of Aunt Dorothy's services, and several of her co-workers stopped in in their uniforms to say goodbye.  I was introduced to her friend Marie who told me, "Dorothy adopted me because I am a widow and she wanted to know I was safe."  My dad told me that she was his biggest supporter and he wondered what he was going to do without her.  I laughed with my cousins in several of those laugh-because-I-can't-cry-anymore moments.  Aunt Therese and I marveled at how things seem to fall apart when you least expect it...

But then I hugged Uncle Ed and while I marveled at his courage and strength, he reminded me that her work here must have been done and that God had called her home.  Those are words that I've heard so many times that they often seem cliche...but last night they were so, so true.  I could write pages about how she has touched our lives and the holes she will leave behind.  Yet, her work was remarkable in its simplicity, and it was all done with the purest heart and the kindest soul.  She simply loved every person she met and did everything she could to bring joy to the lives of those around her.  So, now I am off to celebrate the life of Aunt Dorothy and the lasting legacy she has passed to those she has loved, but I'll have to do it with a fistful of tissue and tears in my eyes, because today I am sad.

Jewelry Box Q & A with Faith

Sometimes I am astounded when I think about how rapidly my life moves.  There's the daily rush to get out of the house and to work on time, and then for the next seven hours I move with the herd at the sound of the bell while rushing to make copies, deadlines and a difference.  Finally, the day wraps up with homework, sibling rivalry, a catch-as-catch-can dinner and bedtime routines.  My head hits the pillow with thoughts of tomorrow's rush and a serious longing for the weekend.

However, this morning, even in the midst of the haste, Faith forced me to slow down and enjoy the moment I was in.  She woke with a smile instead of her typical scowl, she was satisfied with the clothing options for the day, and her hair was only "a little bit tangled."  While I brushed her hair she browsed my jewelry box...on any other day I'd have told her we didn't have time for that.  She fingered colorful costume jewelry, stacked her fingers with shiny rings and asked questions...lots of questions.  Simple questions, the who, what and where of the pieces -- she wanted the stories that I hid in my jewelry box. 

She asked and I answered.  I told her about the claddagh ring I got from my Grammie on my 13th birthday...my most embarrassing birthday ever. 

"Why, mom?"

"Because, everyone...I mean everyone...in my family came to my basketball game, brought balloons and sang happy birthday to me."

"Grammie was really nice to give you a ring."

She giggled, set the ring aside and picked up another one.

"That was the ring I wore when I was pregnant with my babies...when my real wedding ring wouldn't fit."

"Can I wear one to school?"

"Nope."

More smiles, more questions...Hair brushed, pony tail finished.  Hurry, hurry...rush, rush.  Time to go.

I sent her downstairs for her shoes, backpack and coat.  But, first I slipped a ring onto my own finger --a starburst sapphire ring, in a silver setting that my dad had given to my mom when they were dating.  I remember inheriting the ring from my mom, after eyeing it countless times in her jewelry box. In recent years, looking at that ring sit in my jewelry box brought frustration and animosity, but today it made me happy...so I put it on and resumed the rush.

My day was even more hectic than a typical Wednesday, but I was steadied by my time with Faith and by the ring on my right hand. Today, I know that it is more than a castaway object tied to old memories; instead it's a keepsake with a story of its own.  That conversation with Faith might have lasted 3 minutes, but they were the best 3 minutes of my day.  Those minutes were filled with wonder, interest and a reverence for items hidden inside my simple little jewelry box.

Big Girl Bravado - The Latest on Faith's Eye

For me, August is always a month of preparation and anticipation.  My delightfully long summer vacation is drawing to a close, my stir-crazy kiddos are in need of predictable routines, and I'm excited for Kevin to start doing the laundry again.  The teacher in me loves August because it holds the promise of something new, but for Faith August is beginning to mean something different.  Last August was a big month for my Faithy-pie because we discovered that she was born with a cataract which required surgery and frequent follow-up visits to Dr. Khammar, our new favorite doctor.  She had the cataract removed one week before her 5th birthday and her first day of kindergarten, she giggled her way into the operating room (thanks to a little dose of pink syrup), she weathered her daily doses of drops with decreasing Resistance, and she held her breath waiting for the day Dr. Khammar told her she could finally get glasses.  There were a few bumps in the road before those darling little glasses were hers...we needed a follow-up laser surgery to correct a small complication.  The doctor explained the procedure to both of us, and she listened along with me, smiling happily when he said a prescription for glasses would come on the same day as this second surgery.

One year has passed since we learned about the cataract, and in that time she's been dilated, measured and tested more than I have in my life.  She cares for her glasses better than I could imagine, and she patches with fewer complaints each day.  Faith has been a serious participant in her own recovery.  Her eyesight will always be far from perfect, but will continue to improve through her grade school years.  She has improved from 20/200 to 20/70 in the course of a year...but we've hit another bump...minor, again, but somehow more painful.

Tuesday, we learned that the new lens in Faith's eye has a cloudy film forming over it, called reopacification or a secondary cataract.  It's not possible for the cataract to grow back, but this film can obstruct her vision in the same way the original cataract did.  The fix is another "simple" laser procedure, and since the doctor thinks Faith is a "really good girl" he thinks this procedure can be done in the office while she is awake.  Umm...are you sure, Dr. Khammar?  This is the girl who will wear bandaids until they fall off because it hurts to rip them off.  She spends days anticipating the removal of a partially stuck bandaid, and you want her to be still enough for you to stick something in her eye for 2-3 minutes?  We can't put eye drops in without a struggle...how is this going to work?

Once again he explained the procedure, once again Faith listened and nodded.  We can do the procedure quickly and painlessly in the office as long as she's still and listens to directions, or we can have the procedure done at the hospital under anesthesia..."Let's try in the office first, I really think she can do it."  I left the office feeling defeated rather than proud of the vision gains Faith made in the course of the year, and for the first time Faith seemed to be concerned as well.  We got to the car, she asked questions, expressed doubt and sought alternative options.  One year later and this little girl has become contemplative and concerned.  Gone is the girl who is pacified with a sucker and stickers...but ice cream did seem to help.  She heard me call Kevin with the news, heard me reassure Kevin's doubts about her ability to do it in the office, and she heard me praise her bravery.  Her response, "I'm brave Mom, but not brave enough to do it when I'm awake."

The next morning her bravado seemed to crumble.  I brushed her hair, we talked about her eyes and what's next.  She said she wanted to "be asleep, and just wake up with it done."  I said I'd call the doctor to change the plans, she went to brush her teeth.  She returned in tears sobbing and defeated..."I just want to be a kid without a cataract, a kid who doesn't need surgery."  I hugged her, she cried.  We talked about bravery, and how lucky we are that it's only her eye that is giving her trouble.  We counted our blessings, dried our tears and she told me she wanted to have the procedure in the office and that we were done talking about it..."for real, done."

So that's where it stands.  We now have one more thing to anticipate and prepare for on our August "To do" list.  Faith will give the in-office laser treatment a shot on August 26th, and she's determined to make it work.  She's a much different little girl than she was one year ago: braver, more reflective and more mature.  She knows it's for the best, but she knows it really sucks too.