As I type this, I have 202 Facebook friends; I follow 155 people on Twitter, and 50 people follow me. On digital "paper," I'm good in the friendship department...my social needs are surely being met, right? When I had a raging headache at 2:08 am today, I turned to my "friends" for the needed distraction. I read a few random facts on Twitter, I saw that my Facebook "friends" were happily entertaining themselves at the bars or posting witty and ironic postcards with bizarre quotes. There were the requisite "My life is awesome, wanna see?" posts coupled with the "Damn, I hate this shit" posts. It did little for my headache, and even less for my desire to feel connected...it was 2:24 am, my head still hurt like hell, and my fleeting experience with my phone just pissed me off.
I feel like this has potential to become an extended version of an "I hate this shit" post, so if you'd rather not proceed I completely understand...in fact, you better go hide/delete me on Facebook...Later.
I consider myself blessed in thousands of ways, and every night I do my best to count those blessings and thank God with an overflowing heart. Because of Kevin, Faith, Connor and Nora, my daily life is rich in love and full of simple pleasures. I consider myself to be a happy, well-adjusted wife and mother; life is good. Honest.
However, I still feel really, really lonely...and isolated...and annoyed. I spend 9 months of the year in a classroom full of chatty, boisterous children...lots of them. I should be relishing the summer solitude, but I just haven't seemed to make it happen. Instead I'm frustrated by the lack of peace and people I've been able to find this summer. Aside from a few lunch dates and a few daycare days, it's been the kids, Nora and me; with Kevin coming in to help wrap it up in the evenings. We've made a few summer memories, but mostly we've just moved through our summer days one lazy day at a time...please note that I'm super thankful for the lazy element of these days.
But today has just got me thinking about the irony of being lonely when I'm obviously "connected" to over 200 people. Some of my "friends" are family members who like my status more often than we talk on the phone, others are friends of friends who I've only met a handful of times, still others are students who I have not seen once since they've graduated, but then there are some people who really are or have become real friends. There are the friends of friends whom I value for their inspiring posts and kind hearts, there are the coworkers who make me laugh when it's needed most, the students who are "grown up" now, and there are the family and friends who love and encourage though their "likes" and posts...maybe we spoke yesterday or maybe it's been years.
I'm in a bit of a funk lately (nothing major...just a kids-are-making-me-crazy-when-will-this-get-easier kind of funk), and I've only shared that with a few people whom I have seen face-to-face this summer. Yet, I still frequently seek a pick-me-up through those digital outlets that have become a consistent requirement of my daily life. Sometimes it is found there, but often it is not. Facebook, twitter, etc. have made us more connected then ever, but I think I prefer people lately. I want to look people in the eyes; I want to laugh with them instead of LOL with them.
Ironically, I have typed this in my backyard while 7 kids wrestle, ask for food, beg for the hose to be turned on and argue...I have ignored these people [children, only 2 of which are mine] while I stare at a digital device. Yet, as I began this post my littlest love came up to me, rubbed my arm with his tiny little marker-stained hand and asked, "Mommy, do you need love?"
Yes, Connor...that is what I need lots and lots of love from real people, just like you.
p.s. Found this article after writing this post...Interesting. Is Facebook Making Us Sad?
p.p.s. No need to be concerned for me...see paragraph 3. Also, if you need further reassurance, please read my previous blogs...life is good today.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, April 27, 2012
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.
"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.
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."
No for Violence, Yes for Love."
Love, love, love...
Thursday, January 26, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
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
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
Thursday, October 20, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
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.
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.
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