That's the way the toilet flushes...

I have a new student. I was warned from the beginning that he's ADHD and borderline autistic, so it might be a challenge. But as soon as he entered the room, extra tall for his age, and sticking close to grandma (who is raising him), I knew I would love him...and I do.
He has only been here two days, but he's already given me many moments of laughter mixed with a few (almost) tears.
One of the first things he said to me when he finally decided to talk was..."My momma left me. She left me all alone and now I am at a new school and I am all alone. That wasn't very nice." I agreed. But I told him that I was glad he was in my class and that some of the other kids were living with their grandparents too.
Then, a little later, he had to go to the bathroom. I showed him where it was (right outside our classroom) and went back to walking around the room, supervising the students' writing. He came bursting back in the room loudly exclaiming, "I HAD TO POOP BUT I COULDN'T EVEN POOP BECAUSE THE TOILET JUST KEPT FLUSHING AND FLUSHING AND I THINK ITS BROKEN SO I COULDNT EVEN POOP BECAUSE THE TOILET IS BROKEN!" I calmly explained that we have automatic toilets which flush on their own, so we never have to worry about forgetting to flush them. He just looked at me and said, "OK, I'M GONNA GO FINISH POOPING NOW!" By this point the rest of the class was laughing uncontrollably. What could I do besides shrug my shoulders, say, "That was funny, wasn't it?" and laugh along. Some days...that's just the way the toilet flushes.

A stitch in time

Some of my earliest memories of my mother involve fabric, needle and thread. She was always sewing something...curtains, doll clothes, even a suit for my dad. We kids had access to anything she owned...except her sewing scissors. Get caught cutting paper with them and you were in BIG trouble! The smell of new, cotton fabric, the crispness of thin paper patterns, and the rhythmic thrum of the sewing machine are forever etched into my childhood. She made almost all my sister's and my clothes - often matching outfits - causing people to ask if we were twins.

By junior high, however, I had realized that none of the other girls wore homemade clothing. They shopped at the mall and wore polo shirts with name brands stitched on the front, jeans with Guess on the pocket and shoes with little blue Keds tags on the back. My lovingly stitched dresses and cotton shorts seemed suddenly shabby and poor. The embroidered tags that said, "Made especially for you by Sandy" just couldn't compete with Jordache. So I allowed her to sew for me only when it was absolutely necessary. Like when we couldn't afford a $200 prom dress so she bought a few yards of satin and sequins and made me one.

While I was eschewing her talent, others were begging for it. She always had a stack of things to sew for other people. People payed her to hem their slacks, sew dresses for weddings, make curtains, and even decorative pillows for their designer furniture.

As I neared high school graduation, planning a wedding with a new baby and a new attitude, I began to appreciate her gifts. Her talent provided me with a beautiful sequined and laced wedding gown, bridesmaids dresses, and even the cumberbunds for the candlelighters...all things I never could have afforded to buy.

That marriage has reached it's fifteen year anniversary, and that baby is dress shopping for junior prom. And in an ironic twist, she disdains the cookie-cutter dresses from the mall boutiques in favor of a custom design "Made especially for you by Sandy".

She thinks it's fabulous that her mimi can listen to her describe the bodice from this dress and the skirt from that one, sketch it out, and make it real. She proudly shows off the one-of-a-kind creations that make her friends jealous. What I thought was a sign I was less than the other girls...she thinks makes her special. And I love that. It's kind of like a gift from God...a way for me to make up for not appreciating the all-night sewing marathons on Saturday night, so I could have a new Easter dress on Sunday morning. Mom's stitches of love were strong and sure, and enough to keep our hearts from ripping apart - even through the wear and tear of adolescence.

And even though I don't have Mom's talent for sewing, I can only hope I do have her talent for weaving threads of love through my family that will never fray.

Words to live by

I realize I haven't posted for a while. That's because I was following the advice of the singing animals in Bambi..."If you can't say something nice...shhhh....say nothing..."
So in keeping with the positive-ness I aspire to on this blog, I didn't whine about how sports and coaches (my hubby included) screw with my world...how it's impossible to create a grade card for first grade which pleases administration, teachers, and parents...or how jeans really do shrink if you dry them. Instead I will try to focus on how cool it is that my sister is coming to visit this weekend...how my birthday was Monday and even though I turned 33 my students pointed out that its a number you can't mess up because either way you write it, it's a three and a three...or how my mum is blooming beautifully in spite of my tendency to slowly and cruelly neglect plants until they are dead.
One may find it unsettling that my moral compass is guided by animated feature films, but as a mother of two, Disney and Veggie Tales were my movie-viewing bread and butter until the last couple of years. And frankly, I've never found as sound advice in Napoleon Dynamite or Batman. Maybe it's only because their sage wisdom wasn't sung by cute, large-eyed animals.
So, when times get tough, I think of Dory in Finding Nemo and I "just keep swimming....just keep swimming..." and eventually, like Princess Jasmin, I find myself in "a whole new world." As long as my family and I have "the bear necessities" then "love is all we need."
Right?
Or is that the Beatles...
Maybe I should just stick to scriptures.
"Whatsoever things are pure....whatsoever things are lovely...think on these things"

Hillary

Hillary is settling into her role as Drum Major - leader of the band. These are from the first home football game.

Then, yesterday, I came home to find this note and the first tomato off my sickly, slow-growing first try at gardening.

Very sweet! Hillary...not the tomato. I think I'll keep them both.

Parker

Last Friday the town where I teach hosted one part of the Tour of Missouri bike race. The racers were professionals...some of whom even competed in this year's olympics. So I let Parker miss a day of school and come to work with me. Our school let out early and we headed to the race. It was very exciting and I enjoyed watching Parker admire the cool racing bikes and the decked out cars who followed them.

Then on Saturday, Parker competed in his first cross-country race.

You can see by his face how much it takes to run the mile and a half, up and down hills, with other kids trying to pass you and parents yelling from the sidelines. He came in 88th out of about 150, which made me proud. After he had cooled down with a paper cup of water and walked out his exhaustion, I asked him what he thought of his first race. He said, "You know, I thought I'd be thinking about how short the uniform shorts are...but I didn't even notice once I started running." A totally Parker answer.

I think...

Remember when your kids were babies and they seemed to have an "interrupt parental love-making" setting. It always went off just as things were getting serious in your bedroom - WAAAAAHH! It continues into toddlerhood where, hypothetically, your daughter might walk into the bedroom unnoticed and say in an irritated voice, "Get off my mama!" (Thank God children rarely remember things that happened before 3 years of age.) Or even into late elementary school when your son, also hypothetically, could burst into your room in the middle of the night, causing your quick-thinking husband to throw you off the side of the bed and cover your head with blankets, and say, "Dad, I thought I heard a noise." (On an interesting side note, he never even asked, "By the way, where's mom?") I know what you're thinking, and yes, we DO have locks, which we usually remember to use. Anyway...
I've noticed that MY children have developed their extra sense beyond just keeping their parents apart physically. It also applies to everyday things, like food. All I have to do is think to myself, "I think I'll go get a Coke," when suddenly my daughter appears out of no where and says, "Can I have a drink of that?" And if I am silly enough to plan on wearing a specific thing the next day, there she'll be in my closet...choosing said apparel. If I decide to take it easy and laze on the couch with my favorite re-runs, my son mysteriously gets tired of blowing up paper airplanes with fireworks and grabs the remote as soon as I start toward it. Even tonight, as I started down the stairs, Hillary said, "Mom, are you getting on the computer?" "Of course not, dear. I was just going to go down there and iron some socks. Why?" "Because I need to type my report." You know what...sometimes I just have to draw the line.
The only explanation I can come up with for these "coincidences" is that my mind is somehow too easily susceptible to their telepathy. Perhaps sharing my body for nine months gave them some psychic connection to me. Too bad it doesn't work the other way around. I thought about wearing a metal bowl on my head, but then they'd know I was on to them. So I will just try to be extremely impulsive from now on...only thinking about things in the half-second before I do them. You know, kind of like their dad does.

My Charmin Hubby

How is my husband like a roll of toilet paper? (QUALITY toilet paper...not the one-ply stuff)

Well, he's strong...

Look at those arms.

Strong enough to teach the kids how to take life's crap...

And stay balanced...

Yet, he's soft where you really need it....

Like when he alternates cuddling with the kids every morning before school, because as kids get older, you have to get creative in finding ways to give them enough time and touch.

AND...

Just like toilet paper...I never want to be without him!

Fall-ing

These fall days are just gorgeous. The air is crisp and cool and all I want to do is sit on my porch swing and watch the sun turn the green leaves to gold. But instead, I greet first graders with a smile and a cup of coffee, sign progress reports for my seventh grade, dyslexic son, stand on the sidelines and watch my daughter march by backwards - directing the band with sharp movements and high steps, and listen to my husband as he exudes about this year's basketball prospects. Between lesson plans and football games and fall festivals and sports practices and sunny days and cool nights...I feel the downward pull of the coming winter. A time that's never not been hard for me.
So I grasp the tiny moments that make my life full and meaningful.
My beautiful girl, talking non-stop about her school day as her long legs extend far beyond mine on the footstool, waving around the Wildcat seat cushion she was awarded for being chosen Student of the Month.
My sweet boy, plopping down beside me after practice, enveloping me in a wave of "outside boy" smell...and later cooking himself three eggs with the spatula he modified by wrapping a dishcloth around the handle and securing it with a rubber band so it would never get too warm. Then later, giving me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek that I barely felt because I fell asleep while he was still watching "How It's Made" in my bedroom.
My husband, smiling with a glint in his eye as he reminds me that BOTH kids go to youth now, and we are home alone for a couple of hours on a Wednesday night. Eating two helpings of my bland, first-try chicken pot pie and proclaiming it tasty...with enough salt.
These are the things that are easily missed in the shortened days and busy schedules...the loads of laundry and empty fridge...the homework and ungraded papers. But I've learned to look. I've learned to see. And that is the difference between falling and functioning.

Piece of Cake

This was a hard morning.
After a weekend of being with family and indulging my addiction for hugs, laughter, and good conversation (not to mention FOOD!) getting up for work was like fighting through a hang-over.
And I guess I wasn't the only one who didn't want to see the school week start.
Parker got up grudgingly...ate quietly...and stewed angrily when he couldn't find the EXACT sweatshirt he wanted. Understanding how he felt, I tried to help. I spoke softly and soothingly, searched til I found the desired shirt, and finally just sat on his bed and hugged him for a minute. When his tears dripped onto my pants, I turned him around, held him like a baby and rocked him back and forth. Of course, the top half of his body was all I could hold, and his arms draped around me and hung down onto the bed. But neither of us seemed to mind. How could I comfort my son, when I felt like crawling under the covers myself. So I started to pray. There was nothing else to do. I asked God to protect us at school...to give us peace and joy...all the usual things I could think of. Then, in an effort to make Parker smile, I tried to get silly. "And God, just let this be an AWESOME day for Parker. Let them have something really GREAT for lunch...and CHOCOLATE CAKE..."
I was rewarded with a small, wet smile.
And the day went on.
We both survived school and met up later at the hair salon where we were both getting cuts. Since he just arrived from cross country practice and the stylist was busy, I got the special treat of washing his hair in the fancy bowl with the sprayer thing. (I know, he's a brave and tolerant kid.) I used the good-smelling shampoo and threw in a little head massage at the end, just like a pro. As I was toweling him off, and asking about his day, he said, "and guess what, Mom...we had cake at lunch!"
Chocolate cake with chocolate icing.
And God said, "I love you."
Because though life may seem overwhelming to us...to Him it's a piece of cake.