Find the Joy!

This weekend my girl danced in the Nutcracker ballet for the third straight year.  She was a beautiful snowflake and a spunky gypsy.  I teared up as I watched her in each performance.  I think I saw her grow up a little.

Madeline loves to dance.  She loves everything about it.  She is always excited for class.  She loves her instructors.  She enjoys the costumes and makeup.  She values the camaraderie of the girls and lives for the thrill of performing on stage.  She is an upbeat, artsy kid.  Dancing suits her.  She takes pride in it and derives such joy from it.

So, after months of preparation and rehearsal, we arrived at the theater for her first of four performances.  It was then that I learned that one of her 3rd grade teachers from last year had passed away earlier in the day.  We knew she was sick and I was aware that her passing was imminent. 

Mrs. Kuhlmann was Madeline's math and reading teacher - a sweet and happy spirit who clearly loved to teach.  I suspect Madeline was one of many who quickly connected with her and grew to love her over the weeks and months of the year.  I knew I had to break the news to her before the weekend of shows was over.  So many people already knew.  She needed to hear it from me.

She danced beautifully that first night.  I told her the sad news afterward.  She was inconsolable.  She was mourning this very special teacher. But she was also terribly sad for Mrs. Kuhlmann's young daughter, whom all the kids knew and loved.  When a child learns that another child has lost her mother, it strikes at the heart of her very own sense of security in the world. 

Madeline slept on it and continued the weekend of shows with a fresh perspective.  She remembered that it was exactly one year before that Mrs K brought her daughter to see her students dance in the Nutcracker.  She told Madeline that she loved watching "her girls" dance.  What a gem in Madeline's memory chest. 

As Madeline finished the remaining performances this year, she was definitely sad.  But she seemed to dance with a determined joy that I think Mrs. Kuhlmann would be proud of.

By the time of her last performance on Sunday, I knew Madeline would be all right.  She will keep dancing, perhaps with a new understanding of worldly things.  But always with joy.  She learned something from her teacher; a priceless lesson far beyond reading and math.  She learned by watching Mrs. Kuhlmann to live every single day doing what you love and to find joy in the moment even if the joy is not so evident.

Thank you, Mrs. Kuhlmann.  Your passing hurts.  But your work, your joy, and your spirit live and breathe in many, many children.  God rest your sweet soul.

A Mom's 12 Days of Christmas

Maybe you can relate . . .

On the first day of Christmas my children gave to me

a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the second day of Christmas my children gave to me

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the third day of Christmas my children gave to me

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the fourth day of Christmas my children gave to me

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the fifth day of Christmas my children gave to me

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the sixth day of Christmas my children gave to me

six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS
Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the seventh day of Christmas my children gave to me

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the eighth day of Christmas my children gave to me

Eight sibling scuffles

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the ninth day of Christmas my children gave to me

Nine hours dancing

Eight sibling scuffles

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the tenth day of Christmas my children gave to me

Ten jump shots sinking

Nine hours dancing

Eight sibling scuffles

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my children gave to me

Eleven times a-griping

Ten jump shots sinking

Nine hours dancing

Eight sibling scuffles

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

Six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my children gave to me

Twelve errands running

Eleven times a-griping

Ten jump shots sinking

Nine hours dancing

Eight sibling scuffles

Seven sighs and eye-rolls

Six hairs a-graying

FIVE HOLES IN JEANS

Four carpool trips

Three friends to feed

Two giant hugs

And a mountain of dirty laundry.

The Nativity . . . From Mary's Perspective

Mary has just been visited by the Angel, Gabriel.

Okay.  I need to sit down.  Am I crazy?  I think I just had a conversation with an angel.  So, I am going to have a baby.  Didn't see that coming.  And the child will be the Son of God.  Sheesh, no pressure.

Jesus is a fine name.  Although it would have been nice to have a say in the whole name thing since I am carrying the baby.  Just sayin'.

I am scared and troubled, but mostly honored and humbled that God has chosen me.  Why me?  Of course I will do what He asks, but can I handle such a huge responsibility?  Can I raise the child that will be the Savior of the World?

And what will Joseph say?   We just got engaged!  How am I supposed to tell him this news?  "Um, honey.  I'm pregnant.  Of course you know that you are not the father, but no other man is the father either.  It is God's child."  He is going to think I'm on the cannabis!  This is not going to go well.

Joseph now knows that Mary is with child.

Well, that went better than expected.  Joseph is such an honorable man.  He chose to marry me, knowing that this is not his child.  I thank God for sending that angel to tell Joseph that our marriage is God's will and that he will be Jesus' earthly father.  Whew.  God comes through again.

Mary Learns of the Census.

Seriously?  Really, Caesar Augustus?  I am about to burst here.  I will have this baby at any time and we have to travel to Bethlehem to register for the Census?  Now?  Fantastic.  There's nothing like bouncing around on the back of a donkey when you are full term.  Oh, if Caesar Augustus only knew that I am carrying the Messiah, then maybe I wouldn't have to hurl myself onto a donkey and travel for days.  But this is for me to know and the world to find out.  And I am God's servant.  I know that he will keep me from harm.

The inn is full.  Nowhere to go.  Mary is in labor.  The couple find themselves in a stable, where she will deliver.

You have got to be kidding me.  People are so rude.  The innkeepers could not find a tiny space for me to HAVE A BABY?  I was clearly in labor and they turned me away?  Nice.  Now, how am I going to have a baby in this barn full of animals staring at me.  This is not how I pictured giving birth to the King of Kings.  Not that I expect anything fancy; just maybe a more sterile environment is all.

Mary gives birth to baby Jesus.

Oh, he is beautiful.  Look at this precious baby!  He IS a gift from God.  This child will spread the Word of God's love.  This baby in my arms will save us all from our sins and give us eternal life.  And soon the world will know.  My heart is full.  I will love him always.  God give me the strength to be his mother.

Oh, great.  No crib for a bed.  I guess this manger will have to do.  Honey, let's swaddle him and lay him in the hay.  We all need to get some sleep.  Raising the Savior of the World is going to be a tall order.  Besides, I think we will have some visitors soon.

Dear First Born Child (An Apology)

My Dear First Born Child,

What a gift you are.  You were our first; our only for a short while.  You were a guinea pig for two first-time parents who had a lot to learn.  We had to learn on you.  We are still learning. 

I know that I stuck to your sleep schedule like a prison guard.  I dressed you in too many clothes on cold days.  I rushed you to the doctor with every sniffle.  I wiped your face and changed your clothes every time  you had a spill or dribble.  I'm sure I did too much for you as you got a little older.  I tied your shoes for too long and cleaned  up after you too much.

I overreacted (and still do) to your missteps, knowing your intelligence and forgetting your age.  I protected you way, way too much.  I tried to prevent you from falling down so that you wouldn't get hurt.  I avoided germ-infested, yet fun places like mall play areas.  There was always that one kid there running around with a giant snot bubble expanding and deflating with each breath.  She was a major deterrent.  Perhaps my overprotectiveness also contributed to your distaste for walking barefoot in the grass at 18 months.  You really hated that feeling. I am glad you overcame that!

Thankfully, your sister came in the nick of time to help me loosen my grip on you.  She was God's wonderful and hilarious surprise.  She was His not-so-subtle whisper to me.  "Kaylee, lighten up.  Leave the worrying to Me.  Enjoy these two blessings I have given to you.  Give them love, teach them about Me, and delight in them".

So I got the message.  Your sister was a little dirtier and a bit more snotty-faced.  And you were right along with her.  I had two of you now.  I could not possibly worry and dote over two like I did with one.  And thank goodness.  I had to let some things go. I had to hand over my worries and show you how to really live.  I had to let you fall down so that you could learn to get back up.  I had to let you mess up so that you could learn to recover and move on.  I could not protect you from the world.  I needed to teach you to live and thrive in it.

Since the day you were born, you and I have been in a constant state of letting go.  You are learning, growing, and becoming more independent all the time.  All of this can make a mother feel uneasy.  We constantly juggle the urge to protect and the need to encourage self-reliance.  So forgive me when I just want to wrap you up in my arms and shield you from everything.

I have learned so much from you.  Your every first is my first as a mother.  I am sorry when I overreact or overprotect.  It is my first instinct.  Give me a minute and I will step back and try to be reasonable.

It gives me great joy to see you do the things you love.  I love to watch you dive for a baseball or fly down the sideline on the soccer field.  Because I know this is when you are the most alive.  I can't protect you from the disappointment or hurt out there.  You are putting yourself all the way out there and it is a thrill to watch.

I love you.  I adore your kind and passionate spirit.  I hope it soars.  I hope you always remember to really live and, every now and then, to walk barefoot in the grass.

Love,
Mom

My Mom is a Person!

We celebrated my mom's birthday this week.  As we tend to do on our loved ones' birthdays, I thought about how blessed I am to have her in my life.  I began to think about the amazing journey we experience as mothers and daughters.

We begin completely dependent upon our mothers. They absolutely define love for us by meeting our most basic needs, gaining our complete trust, and keeping that trust unbroken and sacred.  They are our first protectors and teachers.  They are our everything.  They are the prisms through which we will see our world.

They support and guide us through school, learning to ride a bike, and making friends.  They make our bloody knees and hurt feelings all better. They reluctantly let us become more independent in the big world.

Then suddenly our mothers become stupid.  At around 13, our bodies are taken over by estrogen-feeding aliens.  Our minds can only focus on boys and clothes.  Our girl drama consumes us.  And our mothers are clueless.  They don't get us.  They don't understand us.  They don't let us do the things we want to do, like stay out all night or date the "boy" with the five o'clock shadow.  They give us the earliest curfew of everyone we know.  They are so uncool.  We roll our eyes, slam our bedroom doors, and let out the most exasperated sighs.  We say things we don't mean.  It's the alien talking.

They embarrass us with their singing and small talk with our friends in the car.  At this age, we prefer that people think we have no parents.  So we have them drop us off a block from the movie theater.

We emerge from that particular hormone haze with a tad more appreciation for our mothers.  At around 15, we figure out that they hold the power.  They have the keys to the car.  They are the arbiters of our social lives.  We need them on our side and we know that now.

We go to college.  We have some space and distance from our mothers.  We begin to learn about ourselves at an alarming rate.  We go home for Thanksgiving and we see our mothers in a whole new light.  They are fun, interesting, knowledgeable, charming people.  We can see that they have layers.  They have history.  They have wisdom to share.  What a revelation!  It took growing up and moving away to truly value our mothers.  We realize that this new friendship is like no other.  It has a depth and a bond that are unmatched.

We survive the craziness of wedding planning with our mothers.  We really appreciate the sacrifices they have made so that we can build our lives.  We begin to "get" that, all this time, they were not just our mothers.  They were wives as well.  And we respect them even more.

Oh boy - when our first babies arrive - this is the moment our mothers officially become geniuses.  I mean, they know everything.  They know how to bathe, burp, and soothe these frighteningly helpless little bundles.  When we are overwhelmed, questioning our mothering abilities, or are just plain overcome with exhaustion, our mothers know just what to say.  They have been there.  They hug us, wipe our tears from our weary eyes, and stick around so that we can take a nap.  They still know how to make it all better.

If we are blessed enough to have our mothers around when our own daughters are growing up, they remind us how awful we were at that age.  They impart their wisdom and tell us that "this too shall pass".  One day our daughters will come out on the other side, just as we did.  My sincerest hope is that - after all of the eye rolls, tears, and battles - my daughter will look at me and see a dear, true friend that has been with her all along.

Heroes and Villains (Not So Funny)

The hideous allegations surrounding the Penn State scandal are yet another sobering reminder of the evil in the world.  We needed that reminder like a hole in the head.

There is nothing worse than this disturbing victimization of children, especially under the guise of mentoring and teaching the local youth.  It angers me to think about how those boys suffered; how these sick acts must have brought darkness and shame to their innocent lives.  I certainly have sat around, speculating about who knew what, who turned their heads, and who should go down for this.  Frankly, all they need to do is get these kids' moms in the room with the perpetrator(s) and it's a done deal.

But I am trying to focus on more productive things - things I can control.  I pray that the children involved can find peace and healing after this firestorm subsides.  If nothing else, this incident calls attention to our need to talk to our own kids.  Tell them they can tell you anything.  There is nothing they can't tell you.  Tell them that no amount of clout or power will keep you from listening to or believing them.  Tell them until they know it in their bones.

This is Veterans' Day.  Today we honor those who served you and me without knowing our names.  They fought, and many died, for the noblest of causes.  They are the heroes that remind us that there is goodness in the world.  There is light.  There is selflessness.  There is hope.  I will fix my mind on honoring the good guys.  After all, their virtuous work makes it possible for those boys to find justice and maybe even a little renewed faith in humanity.

I Have Been to the Muffin Top!

Something happened a few years ago when I turned 35.  My metabolism, which had always been a trusted and faithful friend, quit on me.  Well, it didn't quit.  It just got very, very, very lazy.

It felt like it happened overnight.  I woke up one morning and got dressed.  And there it was, plain as day in all of its bulging glory - a muffin top.  I'm not complaining too much.  I know my cup runneth over with many blessings.  But apparently my mid-section runneth over as well.

I partially blame the lower-rise jeans we all wear to avoid the dreaded "mom jeans".  But honestly, it's because I am not 20 anymore.  I can no longer eat whatever I please without exercising.  Those days are over.  Hello, Reality.  Nice to meet you.

After spending some time mourning the loss of my waistline, I finally did take action.  I already cooked pretty healthy dinners for my family.  I needed to do better when they weren't around.  I started eating breakfast and choosing healthier snacks.  I began exercising, which I don't love (wish I could say I do).  Turns out when I treat my body better, my aforementioned faithful friend comes out of hiding and gets to work.  So this is the way it's got to be.

The holidays are drawing near with all of the family gatherings and culinary goodness.  See, where I am from, everything we eat over the holidays has heavy cream, cream-of-something soup, butter, cheese, or all of the above.  Of course I will partake in our delicious traditions and I don't want to talk about "skinny stuffing" or "guilt-free mashed potatoes".  I just need to remember not to eat like I am going to prison on December 26th.  Easier said than done.  Maybe I'll just wear sweats from now until February.  Denial is such a healthy, underrated emotion.

But really.  I have been to the muffin top.  I don't want to go back.  Moderation is everything.  I will enjoy and then get my butt on the treadmill.  I'm not 20 anymore.  And that's just fine with me.

Overheard at the First Authors' Meeting for No Child Left Behind

All right.  Let's call this meeting to order.   Are all of my cronies, politicians, bureaucrats, and various other non-educators present.?  Good.  Let's gather around this conference table and fix education.

First, let's itemize our problems.
1.  Students, especially low income ones, are not achieving at acceptable standards in reading and math.
2.  Many American schools are underperforming, widening our performance gap with China (and many other countries).
3.  The cycle of substandard education is perpetuated and kids fall through the cracks because there is no teacher, school, or district accountability for failure to perform.  

Okay, roll up your sleeves, people.  I haven't seen the inside of a classroom since 1984, but I want to hammer this out by lunchtime.    First of all, we need a way to measure student performance so that we can hold educators accountable.  How about this?  Let's mandate standardized testing for each grade level.  Teachers will teach the skills and the test will measure the students' proficiency.  Then we will know how well the teachers are teaching.  We can withhold funding if they underperform. 

That's perfect.  I mean, kids are all the same, right?  They learn the same way.  They have the same strengths and weaknesses.  They all have a "Leave it to Beaver" home life.  There are never extenuating life circumstances like hunger, illiteracy, poverty, or violence that inhibit or slow learning.  Teachers will teach one way and the students will learn it for the test.  It all comes down to numbers.  It's very simple.

Sure, teachers might have to spend extraordinary amounts of time and resources preparing the children for the tests.  Okay, so maybe teachers may not be able to use their wealth of training and professional discretion to individualize instruction and teach the whole child.  Teachers don't need that kind of power anyway.  For Pete's sake, it's not like they are doctors who make life-changing decisions for their patients.  Bottom line:  we need someone to point the finger at when kids don't perform. 

The kids?  Well the special needs kids and kids who struggle may be underserved because the focus will  shift away from their own challenges and onto test-taking strategies.  The average and above-average children might be drilled and unchallenged, with little time for out-of-the box thinking.  This high stakes testing could lead to student apathy and increased drop-out rates of struggling kids.  But, hey.  Survival of the fittest, right?

In order to pay for these mandates, states and school districts might need to make monetary cuts in untested subjects like foreign languages and technology.  You know, the areas of dire importance for competing in a global economy.  But whatever.

This will sufficiently drive away future quality educators - those who nobly enter the field to inspire, challenge, create, and make a difference in kids' lives.  We will be left with supervisory adults who specialize in test compliance.  Fantastic.

We can aim to have 100% proficiency by 2014.  That is not unreasonable or unrealistic at all!  We will set standards so unreachably high that even the academically successful schools will be deemed "failing".  Then our bureaucracy can sweep in and save the day, instituting new red tape and handing out waivers like candy.

Sounds like a plan.  Let's skill 'em, drill 'em, and kill 'em for sub-par scores.  Meaningful curriculum, student collaboration and problem-solving, teacher autonomy and innovation - they're all overrated.  Especially in the inner-city.

What should we call this new proposal?  Hmm.  What is a good, touchy-feely catch phrase that will demonstrate our good intentions and garner bipartisan support?  I've got it!  "No Child Left Behind".  It is genius!  Who wants to leave a child behind?  No one!  This will be a bipartisan blockbuster!  Look, even Ted Kennedy likes it!

Well, that was easy.  Good meeting, everybody.  Now let's all  put our hands in and on the count of three, say, "Mediocrity"!  Very good, now let's grab lunch.

The "Judgy" Mom

We've all dealt with the "judgy" mom.  You know her.  She's not overtly judgmental, but just enough so in a passive-aggressive way that makes you feel like America's most inept mother.  I don't claim to know the judgy mom's intention, but she has a way of leading you to believe that her kids are perfectly behaved and way more advanced than yours.

You get, "Oh, is he not speaking in full sentences yet?" at Gymboree and "She's still on training wheels, huh?" at the park.  In my days of errantly aspiring to be a perfect mother, such snarky darts struck right at the heart of my insecurities.

My 11 year old son, Aidan, was born embarrassed.  He has always had an uber self-awareness that makes him very reserved and cautious.   I was a new, self-critical, exhausted mother when Aidan started his 2 year-old half-day preschool class 2 days a week.  He was a young 2 and first-born.  So hitting the social scene at the preschool was both exciting and overwhelming for him. 

So one day I was standing outside of his classroom with the other moms, waiting to receive my 2 year old at the end of the school day.  Through the giant viewing window, we could see that the teachers had turned on some music (of The Wiggles variety, I think) and were dancing with the children before they dismissed them.  Holding my very squirmy 6-month old, I watched the kids excitedly shaking, marching, turning and grooving . . . except Aidan.  He stood completely still, with only his eyes shifting.  He looked at everyone in the room like they were bananas.  I watched him, looking disturbed by these ridiculous people.  I wanted him to join the fun.  But he didn't.

In this moment, I was wondering why he would not participate.  He is 2.  Why won't he just dance a little?  Just then, another mom turned to me and said in a sarcastically sympathetic tone, "I guess you don't dance at home with Aidan?".  My immediate, defensive response:  "Um, I don't know.  I guess he dances in the car to the music on the radio". 

I mean, what kind of garbage is that to say to a woman with dirty hair and her hands full with the hungry, cranky baby?  Come on.  My self-defeating inner monologue went a little something like this:   "Feed him?  Bathe him?  Play with him?  Read to him?  Sing to him?  Kiss and hug him?  Yep, all those things I do every day.  Apparently I need to build dancing into the schedule so that he knows what to do in these situations at school.  Is he behind?  What if he never dances?  What kind of mother am I?  I must be no fun.  I suck."

I cried all the way home from the preschool that day.  So maybe there was a little exhaustion mixed in with the feelings of inadequacy, but this was my first major moment of self doubt as a mother.  This woman probably had no idea how much her comment affected me.  But it did.  It was a judgy thing to say and I let it get to me.

It took me a while to come to terms with the ridiculousness of that entire exchange.  First, kids do things in their own time and in their own ways.  As adults, we can only guide them on their individual paths.  We must not forge the paths or judge their pace.  Second, that small moment taught me that moms are very powerful and influential in each other's lives - for better or for worse.  You can use that influence to demean another mom, or you can lift her up with supportive words or a funny story about your own kid's quirks.  I choose to lift and support! :)

I have had a thousand run-ins with "judgy" moms and self-doubt since then, but I am better at letting the snide slide right off of me.  I trust my instincts and I trust the people that I trust.  Everything else is peanuts.

Judgy mom stories?  Spill it!

We're Not Done With Them Yet!

Come on.  Spill it.  Let’s tell the truth.  All of us are muddling through this endeavor called motherhood.  It is an incredibly daunting undertaking – the task of raising kind, confident, competent, productive citizens of the world.  Yet any among us is free to take a crack at it.

Most take the job seriously, driven by the insane amount of love we have for our children.  I am certain God instilled such enormous love to keep us from killing our young.  We do whatever it takes to heal them, console them, and protect them from an often cruel world.  We want everything for them.  And we often lose our minds and ourselves trying to get it for them.  Consider me guilty on this one.

Moms are funny creatures.  We can go to the school to volunteer in our little sweater sets and cute, sensible flats.  We can attend a party in our tasteful little black dresses, making charming adult conversation.  But if we think one of our kids is in danger, in pain, or mistreated in any way, we can become ruthless, rabid dogs.  We are complex, comical, and often crazy.

Even funnier are these little people that we are charged with molding into honorable humans.  They mess up.  They make bad decisions.  They embarrass us.  But it is because we still have work to do.  As my own mother often reminds me when I am in a tizzy about one of my kids' antics: we're not done with them yet.  And they are not done with us.

In response to their missteps, moms can really further botch the situation by overreacting, ranting, lecturing, and over thinking.  I am a serious repeat offender on this one. We forget what a painstaking process it was for us when we were growing up … because we were so busy growing up.  Like most other worthwhile ventures, parenting is a marathon and not a sprint.  And we still have time.  Thank God, because I’m not done with mine yet.

The purpose of this blog is threefold (Did I just say “threefold"?):

1.        Create a forum for the truth about raising kids.  I am not a perfect mom and my kids can be turkeys.  That’s what you’ll see here.

2.        Hopefully we can laugh a little at ourselves and our families (they give us so much material!).

3.       Share tips and hard-learned lessons from my own teaching and parenting experiences.

We need to laugh about this job.  We need to share our struggles and successes.  We should support each other in this most rewarding, difficult role of our lives.  It is serious work.  But we need to stop.  Breathe.  Laugh.  Enjoy the ride.  We will blink and they will be grown.

Live.  Share.  Laugh!