Time Will Tell, Little Grasshopper

Note- I started this entry somewhere towards the end of May. For reasons known only to me and my mood at the time, I delayed finishing it. I felt like I was rambling a bit, but now that I think about it, what is the purpose of this blog if not for mid-day ramblings of thoughts that meander their way through my mind? Anyway, rereading it now does not change a thing. I think the same as I did three weeks ago. Life moves on. I'm gonna go with it as is, with the exception of adding a side note at the end.

Here goes nothing. 

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For the last week, I have been bringing home bits of a classroom one trunk load at a time. What remained at this time yesterday is currently in the car and at this time tomorrow, I will have officially closed the door one final time.

And I'm not sure what to feel.

I'm a little sentimental. I've made friends. I've loved kids. I'm also a little guilty. I am leaving by choice, after all. It's been a wild ride since the fall of 2012. As I sat in my classroom today- empty and quiet, I laughed a bit when I remembered how much I wanted to be there. For that job I had prayed.

And for the record, it was a job I did not get. I applied and was denied. Subbed and eventually hired. Receptionist. Secretary. Cook. Teacher. Principal. All in the same location, mind you. I've had many a full circle moment in my life.

The Lord and I have talked about this particular route often. To try to put into words how I feel never really describes the true picture. There are some things the heart cannot explain or for that matter, describe in a way that doesn't sound... well, just not clear. HE has helped me in every situation, every role I have been assigned or chosen or settled.

I know I'm dedicated.
I know I've given it my all.

But I might always wonder if I did enough.

There was a time, a very long time ago, when a lady prayed for me at church. She said my life was like a tree, full of leaves and brimming with fruit. As she looked at me, she said you must be a teacher. At the time, I was not... far from it, in fact. Now you can think what you want, but I can promise you that the woman looked me square in the eye and said that all those leaves, all that fruit, represented children. She said my life would be full of children.

Krystle. Mary. Sam,
Huey, Llani, Shae.
Adam. Jesse. Ashton.

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It was at this point that I stopped writing that last go 'round. After all, I asked myself, how can I possibly name every student who impacted me in some way or another? Shouldn't I save that for a potential retirement speech one day?  Besides, the thought occurs to me anyway that my life is full of children. My own. Those three consume most every waking thought. I wonder about them. I worry about them. I enjoy thinking about them. They crack me up every time we are together. They are my greatest accomplishment.

Those kids in the classroom, though. They are extended family whether they want to be or not, and just like extended family, I am glad to see them come along and more glad to see them go (don't act like you don't think the same thing every holiday season). The classroom setting may change, but the teacher-student dynamic does not.

And thus the reason for all those leaves on that vision of a tree.

I don't know what my future holds. I pick up a key to my new classroom tomorrow while also talking to the powers who be about some volunteer work at a local museum. I might be on the downhill slide of this roller coaster we call education, or I might just be catching my second wind. As I tell any kid in my life, time will tell, little grasshopper.

Time will tell.

There's a whole lot of love yet to give.

My current coffee shop view. I heart summer break.

The Month Of May

May is a pretty confusing month for me.

It's the last month of the school year. So that's an easy one.
Score.

It's the month our youngest son was born.
Double score.

Mother's Day, Memorial Day, and Cinco de Mayo (for which only Americans "celebrate").
Score, score, and (kinda?) score.

It's also the month we bid farewell to a tiny one we never got to meet. It's the month of my dad's birthday that no longer carries the need for a phone call to the local radio station. And, tying in with that last one, it's the month he received a diagnosis that was so detrimental, I can tell you where I was and what I was wearing when I received the call.

There is no scoring on either one of those. Three days in May that are, indeed, rather depressing... not that we're keeping score.

(lol?)

Recap?

Let's start with the end of the school year. I have often wondered why "Teacher Appreciation Week" is part of the month of May. Trust me, in May, every teacher is good. Tired. Exhausted. Completely over every kid in the class, but good. The end is in the sight. Lesson plans are a formality in which we're not even sure anyone is paying attention. Grades are merely a last-ditch effort for saving that one kid from summer school. We are seriously just going through the motions... much like that last week before Christmas Break. Teacher Appreciation Day/Week/Month (however you wanna roll) should fall somewhere in that post-Christmas, January-apocalypse, February-praying-to-the-snow-gods* calendar pit where you re-evaluate your life choices and momentarily contemplate teaching in the penitentiary** just to ease the mind-numbing reality of being surrounded by students who already think they're in spring break while still complaining of freezing, mid-50s temperatures.***

(I apparently had to get that off my chest).

On to our youngest son. {Sigh} We have been blessed beyond measure. To brag on one would be to brag on all three. Each one brings us great joy... this one just happens to have a birthday in May.

Mother's Day. Memorial Day. Cinco de Mayo. Each one nothing more than a reason to eat, drink, and be merry (although the meaning of the first two is so much more understood than the latter). Lucky for you, however, I am in no mood for a history lesson today.

May 5, 1995. The day we said good-bye to the one who surely bore the trademark red hair. We'll leave that with no more. It hurts too much to ponder and life does move on. Some day we will meet again and even so, our cup overflows. I have never asked why.

May 7, 1947. May 23, 2014. What would mark the beginning for my dad and the totally unnecessary detour that marked his ending date. Again, we'll not camp out here, but for entirely different reasons. If I ask why on anything, this will be the one.

You see, I feel like he could have saved me from so much. He had a way of asking questions without really asking questions. I remember when I told him that I had agreed to move his beloved grandchildren (and let's not forget me) nine-hundred miles away. He never questioned me. Never told me I shouldn't. Just said keep this in mind and be sure you think about this. He and my mom both set the perfect example of how not to interfere, but simply let grown ups make grown-up decisions, even if it went against their very desire. A line of thinking totally way off base (for this particular entry) and most likely better reserved for the posthumous So-That's-What-She-Really-Wanted-To-Say! book.

Even so. The thread of my being holds true.

I'm in an upside-down world;
A conundrum of sorts.

Beautiful, confusing, hopeful.
A riddle yet to be solved.

Much like the month of May.

* I do not believe in snow gods. I believe in the one true God (although I have been known to agree to a "snow/ice dance" with one particular parent).

** I have no doubt these are great positions with excellent benefits and students motivated to learn. No offense intended. Seriously. Hook me up.

*** I, too, think that mid-50s are entirely too cold and every effort should be made to locate an electrical socket for the plug-in blanket I keep on stand-by no matter where I go.

And, finally, although I was weary of asterisks, if I ever do write a book, it'll be a doozy. You can bet every teacher's end-of-the-year smile on that one.

My Socks Never Match

I went to bed at 7:00 in the evening and was back up somewhere around 9:30. After fighting it for a bit, I decided to give in to the fact that,

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am wide awake.

On my way tiptoeing out of the bedroom in the darkness, I picked up a sweater off the floor (I am that person), felt around for my glasses while knocking a curling iron off the vanity (again, that person), and pulled out the first two socks from my throw-'em-all-in-there sock drawer (totally that person).

And now, here I sit.

Two completely different socks that do not even share the same zip code of fashion or style and a sweater that I'm pretty sure is wrong-side-out complete the do-I-even-own-a-matching-set-of-pajamas look. I've got a cup of hot cocoa that has already gone lukewarm because this house is cold, but I also have a cat on my lap who is a rather convenient form of warmth. I debated starting a fire, but decided that I didn't want to commit to all that. Midnight is my goal for returning to slumber and a heated blanket.

I have scrolled through Facebook and learned primarily one thing. People are freezing. The weather is always a hot topic (get it?) and whether the temp is single digits or barely below the freezing point, sharing that fact along with exclamation points, snowflake emojis, and winter-themed hashtags is just a way of social media life. I find I am well-informed of the temps across the country. Thankfully, it would appear that we're all in for a warm-up, so prepare to adjust your emojis and hashtags accordingly.

I've caught up on reading my favorite blogs from people I know and people I don't know. I've priced airline tickets for a trip home. I've looked for a few weekend-getaways. I've trolled a few people (don't judge), conducted a few job searches (don't freak), and got lost somewhere in the midst of all that on Amazon (just nod your head). I've even put in a few grades and paid at least one bill. This last hour may have well been my most productive hour of the entire day.

But alas, I am slowing down. My eyes are tired and my feet are cold. My legs are growing numb from the warm ball of fur who is currently sacked out. This post has served no other reason than to pass the time and maybe, possibly, give you something to read while you're up in the middle of the night. It may very well be the one thing that actually puts you to sleep.

I just hope your sock drawer is more organized than mine.

Minor Breakdowns, Random Lists, and Black Velvet

I feel it only fair to say that on the last day of school before Christmas Break began, I spent a solid fifteen minutes sitting in my car, in the school parking lot, crying (admittedly) a bit uncontrollably. Overwhelmed. Frustrated. Tired. Asking the Lord to change my direction or change my heart. Just throwing that out there first so when you read this feel-good, life-is-great entry that follows, you'll understand that my life, like yours, no doubt- can be quite the roller coaster. That is the reason I take the time to preserve memories like this. We all need reminders.



I am currently sitting on my front porch in 70-degree weather finishing up lesson plans and answering emails (or at least thinking about answering emails) and fully soaking up the remaining hours of what has truly been a wonderful Christmas Break. Those who know me would probably say that I say every Christmas Break is the best one ever, but this one has definitely been one for the books.

What made this particular break so incredible had everything to do with a folded-up, yellow sheet of legal paper I keep in a safe*. I've mentioned it enough that the family knows about it, and I take it out on occasion. It's a list and although I did not date it, I can guess that I must have been around twenty- maybe twenty-one, when I wrote it based on the content. The title seems a bit dramatic, but believe me, I was a bit dramatic in real life at the time.

25 Things I Want To Do Before I Die

All these years later when I look at that list, the 20-year old me makes the 48-year old me smile. I like to think that's a good thing. The top two things listed are to get married and have a baby (check and check). From there it's everything from seeing the ocean to riding a motorcycle to visiting Hawaii. As I've done things, I've marked them off with the date it was accomplished. Some things were easy to do, and some things will simply never happen. I'm okay with that. It's not a do-or-die kinda bucket list.. just the wish list of a young girl leaving her hometown for the first time. Amidst the wide variety of things written, #24 states: 

See the ballet, The Nutcracker, in a black velvet dress.

I'm not entirely sure what prompted this one. Having grown up in a small town, I suppose it sounded sophisticated and worldly and everything I aspired to be at that time. Whatever the motivation, there it sat, written in blue ink and waiting for the time it would be marked off. I know this is not a particularly hard thing to accomplish, but there rarely seems to be a time in life when money and opportunity are in the same place at the same time.

But the stars had aligned for this one.

The youngest directed me to tickets (for her and me) at a local theater for the Great Russian Nutcracker performed by the Moscow Ballet. She went on to insist that I "do it right" and found a beautiful, floor-length black velvet dress that fit me like a dream. To make it all extra special, the date of the ballet ended up being on my birthday. I spent most of that afternoon getting ready- even the husband sported a tie for the birthday dinner with the family before the performance. I seriously felt like I was going to the prom as I walked into a local restaurant while wearing what amounted to a formal dress, but I was so happy that I did not care. This was my moment and I was determined to enjoy every bit of it.

I'm a bit of a birthday diva, I suppose.

After a wonderful dinner with all the kids, our sweet girl gave up her ticket at the last minute so her beloved "pops" could escort me to the ballet. Her instructions were quite strict- he was not allowed to make fun of it in anyway- she knows her blue-collar father well, and off we went. I may or may not have panicked when I saw people walking into the theater in jeans (what kind of world is this anyway?), but with encouragement from the fella and a "who cares" text from the daughter, I proceeded to have the time of my life.

And I've had many a great time in my life.

As I sat through the Second Act, the fella staying quiet as per his instructions, my eyes filled with tears. As silly as it may sound, my life- the good and the bad, rolled through my mind as I sat there, all wrapped up in black velvet with the hand of the man I love holding mine. All I could think of was how beautiful my life has been. There have been dark days, dark years, and yes, a few dark Christmas seasons... but it may very well be those dark times that cause me to embrace the light, to cherish the good, and to hold tight to the moments that make me stand in awe. It was, indeed, an awesome moment and a wonderful memory made as I checked off #24 later that night.

I suppose the reason I write this, along with that sad disclaimer at the top, goes back to those last days spent with my father. I've often wondered how his mind processed the reality of a life approaching the final sunset. He was always one to offer advice or give an opinion, and when asked if he had had a good life (yes, we seriously had this conversation), he said the words that are forever in my ear: We've had good times and bad times, and I wouldn't trade any of it for a dime.

Well said, Dad. I won't ever forget.

The good always outweighs the bad, tears do give way to laughter, and the dreams of a 20-year old are never too far removed to be fulfilled.

I've got the picture to prove it.

*By the term safe, I am referring to a secure location used to store my sentimental stuff and not valuables that would be worth anyone's life or prison time, just so we're all clear. I'm a school teacher, remember. There are no valuables. =)