Putting It in Perspective

My oldest and I had a horrible night last night.

She just didn't want to do anything I asked her to do. She wouldn't hold still; she wouldn't be quiet; she wouldn't get ready for a bath; she wouldn't let me wash her hair; and, eventually, she wouldn't stop crying.

And there was a moment where I lost my temper and yelled at her - really yelled at her - which, of course, led to her screaming at the top of her lungs. If the neighbors could hear, they might have thought we were filming the murder scene from a low-budget slasher flick. It really was that bad. 

When it was all said and done, she said, through her sniffles, "Mama, remember, you are supposed to count to ten before you yell."

And, after a deep breath, I explained, "Honey, I counted to ten at least five times."

After she was asleep, I found myself thinking about a better way to handle the entire situation. I know why she behaved the way she did. She was tired. And she is four. But I had to ask myself, why did I behave the way I did? 

Do you ever find yourself in that position? Wondering if you are doing it right? Wondering what long-lasting effects the decisions you make today will have on your children? Or even, simply, if your kids really know how much you love them and how much you do to ensure they are happy and healthy?

I found myself in one of those difficult moments of self-reflection just before I fell asleep. 

Of course, this morning, she was her happy-go-lucky self. And I made a silent promise to be more patient, especially when that happy-go-lucky girl grows tired and fussy.

Aleigh and I don't get a lot of time together just us, so we really treasure our mornings. We tell stories on the way to school, we take our time getting in to the classroom, and I always write a message on the inside of her hand before I tell her goodbye. But I am usually preoccupied with getting to work on time. I'm usually nagging her to hurry, wondering why she didn't eat her breakfast, and prying her off of me (because the daycare before school just isn't her favorite place to be). 

But this morning, even though we followed the exact same routine, everything was different. And it was all about this mama's perspective. 

We arrived at school at the same time as another mother and her daughter; the mom was chatting away on her cell as she dragged her little girl through the parking lot and up the stairs. She told her to hurry over her shoulder at least once. 

We've all been there, so I am passing no judgment here. I feel that working mama's pain, for sure. I know I have hurried Aleigh more than I wish I had to; I know I've been distracted by a phone call when my attention should have been focused on something more important. 

But this morning, especially after the evening we had, I saw that scene from that little girl's perspective. I imagined not wanting to go to "the waiting place" (as Aleigh so affectionately calls it) and the anxiety that accompanies that feeling. I wondered what it would be like to not tell stories or sing along with the radio during "our" time.

Aleigh before school one day.

So, even though we were running late and it was really cold outside, I was glad to giggle as we wiggled her arms into her coat when we got out of the truck; it didn't bother me that the clock continued to tick as she showed me a piece of construction paper pumpkin pie on which she'd practiced her name that hung above the coat racks; I didn't hurry her as she pointed out different details of her classroom that she's shown me numerous times before.

As the last step in our morning ritual, instead of hurriedly drawing "I <3 U" on her palm, I wrote out the words because, somehow, they had more meaning that way. And I hugged her extra tight and really let her words, "I love you, Mama," sink in before she ran off to play with her friends. 

Any lingering insecurities from the previous night melted away as I hurried back to the truck because I realized that doing my best is enough. My daughter won't remember one difficult night. But she will remember belting Belle Brigade's "I Didn't Mean It" at the top of our lungs anytime it comes on the radio. She will remember the fantastic adventures we experience in our stories.

And, above all, she'll remember the impact of those three little comforting words--three words that make "the waiting place" a little less scary, the boo-boos sting a little less, and the raised voice a little less harsh when counting to ten doesn't do the trick. <3

Lil A's Big Day!

I was scrolling through the notes on my iPhone the other day... I often wake up in the middle of the night, characters having told me crazy stories or worked out kinks in their plot lines in my dreams, and type a few notes out on my phone... when I saw a note, dated exactly a year ago yesterday. It read:

10:55

11:11

11:26

11:41

These are numbers, times more specifically, I'll never forget. They were the first of what would become numerous, rather painful announcements that my little Abree was ready to make her grand debut.

That morning, I'd had a feeling that my little one was on her way. To begin, this was the end of the only two weeks of the entire year Dr. Horth, my OBGYN, had taken off, meaning someone else would have to deliver me. Madagascar 3 had just come out in theaters, and Aleigh could barely contain herself, so we were going on our last (for a while anyway) just Mommy and Aleigh date. And I felt unusually energetic and light, despite my lack of appetite, for being only four days from my official due date. All the signs were pointing to labor starting soon.

My bags were packed, my mom knew to anticipate a call, and I was ready. Except for one tiny detail.

I had always known I would write for my children. I would write them stories, I would write them letters, I would write them songs. I write. That's what I do... and one's children are the most powerful muse. So I decided when Aleigh was still just a peanut that I would write my babies a special letter, one per year, on their birthdays. These letters would encompass that year in their lives, how they'd grown and changed, what they'd learned (and what I had learned), and how very much they mean to me. And I'd keep them in a hardback journal until they were older, and, then, at some milestone or special occasion, I'd give these bound letters to them as a gift -- a little bit of me and a little bit of them wrapped up in my handwritten thoughts.

So, that morning around two, when my contractions were now eight minutes apart, I sat with a blank sheet of paper as I tried to write Abree's birthday letter. But the harder I tried, the more pronounced my intense writer's block became. 

With Aleigh, I poured all the fears and uncertainties a first time mommy has into her letter. I told her I wished I could always protect her the way a mother can protect her unborn child; I told her I was scared that I wouldn't be the best mommy in the world but that I'd certainly try; I told her that, above all, she would never go even a second without knowing how much I love her. As beautiful as it was, it seemed that everything I wrote was driven by the unknown.

But, with Abree, my feelings were so different. Of course, I still wanted to protect her; of course, she would know how I loved her, but I'd been shown a completely different way to look at the world now. Aleigh helped me see wonder and joy, innocence and beauty, like I'd never seen them before. And I wanted that for Abree. I wanted to hear her giggle for the first time as she watched her sister do something amazing; I wanted to see her face light up when she discovered something new; I wanted to be on the receiving end of those chubby, wobbly, little legs as they tottered through their first steps. I didn't fear the unknown anymore. I looked forward to all that little Abree would bring to our lives. But expressing that adequately was proving impossible!

We left for the hospital that morning around four, my contractions three minutes apart and a sheet of paper with only the date, Abree's name, and the words "We have been waiting our whole lives for you" scrawled across the top still sitting on the computer desk. 

I was able to finish the letter eventually, and, oddly enough, its tone is fitting to Abree's personality. It's sweet and happy, uplifting and even a little daring -- all characteristics of my little love. 

Happy first birthday, sweet baby girl! <3

That Moment... Straight out of a Movie

My oldest gives the greatest morning hugs.

my bug, feeling much better

I think she learned to hug from her Uncle Mike, whose hugs are so heartfelt and so meaningful, I never knew what I was missing in a hug until I experienced one of his. His hugs are seriously one of my favorite parts about visiting Ohio.

My oldest inherited his ability to put every emotion she's feeling right at that moment into her hug. She wraps her arms around my neck, wraps her legs around my waist, and hugs with all her might. And I hope that never changes.

That hug is usually what greets me when she gets up in the mornings. Usually.

But yesterday morning, when my alarm went off an hour before the girls regularly get up, I didn't get up with it. The baby is teething, which has disrupted both her and my sleep schedule. And, as my phone buzzed to remind me it was time to start my day, I thought... just ten or so more minutes won't hurt anything.

I was holding the baby in the crook of my left arm, and, with the sound of my alarm, Aleigh snuggled over into my right. It was a great place to be for just a few more minutes of sleep.  

I am not sure if I fell back asleep or was just in that state between wake and sleep where one is semi-aware of sounds, but it couldn't have been ten minutes and I heard the dog hacking. This is normal, of course. Our golden retriever hacks every other day, usually in the early morning hours. Since her toddler months, she has eaten undigestible plastics, grass/weeds, underwear. This is just what Chloe does.

But, yesterday morning, the sound was too close for comfort. She was somewhere very near me about to throw up. 

And, then, I felt something no one wants to feel in the wee hours of the morning when I haven't even had any coffee yet, when both my arms are occupied with little ones, when I'm the only adult in the house. I felt a splatter.

It was a splatter like you've probably seen numerous times before... when, after painting and cleaning the brush, you shake it to remove the water. Large droplets fall to the ground. Or, in this case, across mine and the baby's faces. 

It only took me a second to realize it wasn't Chloe who was hacking. For, just to my right, Aleigh was on her knees, her little lips pressed tightly together... the source of the sputtering splatter.

"Can you get to the bathroom, baby?" I asked her, my supermommy resilience helping me forget I had throw up splattered in large blobs across my face (as did the baby, who remained peacefully snoozing). 

"I need you to carry m--" was all she got out before what she'd been trying to hold back arrived with force, right into my extended hand. 

In hindsight, this moment made me think of Parenthood and the scene where Steve Martin's character asks his daughter, "Do you feel like you want to throw up?"And she quickly replies, "okay," and then pukes. 

That's one of those scenes kids and adults alike quote for weeks, months, even years after seeing the film because it is funny.

But I wasn't in that mindset when it happened. A number of questions went through my head... many of which are humorous now, though they were very serious at the time: 

Why couldn't this happen on a Saturday when I had an extra set of hands to help? What did the child eat that, in this dim light, makes it look like she's vomiting blood? Ohmygosh... is that blood? What am I going to do with the sleeping, puked on baby and the fistful of sickness in my other hand? Will this come of out of my sheets? And, perhaps most importantly, how am I going to get out of bed without some help?

I'm still not sure what she ate or why throw up happens on Thursdays, not Saturdays. Thank goodness, there was no blood involved. Little Abree, who probably would have woke long before I wanted her to any other day, was a little irritated her sleep was interrupted as I rolled awkwardly to sitting position. It wasn't easy and the sheets probably suffered the most through the entire ordeal, but I made it out of bed without any assistance... yet another supermommy feat. And, yes, the sheets did come clean.

And, after the throw up was all washed away and the sheets were spinning in the washer, after both my sweets had early morning baths and I at least washed my face, I eventually got my hug. 

It was big and powerful, like usual, and said perhaps everything she wanted to say about our eventful morning, even if she wasn't sure how to say it.

Still Learning from Dr. Seuss

In 1960, Dr. Seuss wrote, “Children's reading and children's thinking are the rock-bottom base upon which this country will rise. Or not rise. In these days of tension and confusion, writers are beginning to realize that books for children have a greater potential for good or evil than any other form of literature on earth” (Philip Nel's Dr. Seuss Bio).

And how relevant those words still are, fifty years later!

Dr. Seuss has always been rather influential in my life. I learned to read with Dr. Seuss, specifically Green Eggs and Ham and The Cat in the Hat. When I turned seven, I received the Dr. Seuss book A Book about Me; it is a book I still have (and Aleigh has one waiting for her now, too, as will Abree when she is old enough). At my junior high graduation, our principal read Oh, The Places You’ll Go! And a dear friend gave me a copy of the same book when I graduated college.

Dr. Seuss was a staple growing up in my house, and his books have found their place in my children’s hearts as well—for great reason: Dr. Seuss presents the most important life lessons in the simplest of terms.

Not a fan of the food on your plate? Try it and you may just love it, Green Eggs and Ham encourages.

Feeling insignificant and forgotten? Horton Hears a Who reminds, “a person’s a person, no matter how small.”

Uncertain about your path because you are the only one on it? Oh, the Places You’ll Go! reassures, “Alone is something you’ll be quite a lot.” And that’s okay.

Bored on a rainy day? The Cat in the Hat reminds that all you need is a little imagination.

In honor of Dr. Seuss’s birthday and the fact that he will continue to inspire, teach, and encourage through the legacy he left, here are just a few of my many favorites:

“The more that you read, the more things you will know.

The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.”

– I Can Read with My Eyes Shut!

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,

Nothing is going to get better. It’s not.”

– The Lorax

“Oh the thinks you can think up if only you try!”

– Oh, The Thinks You Can Think!

“You have brains in your head, you have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself in any direction you choose.”

– Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

"Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store.

Maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more."

– How the Grinch Stole Christmas

What are your favorite Seuss quotes or books? How do these simple yet powerful children’s books continue to inspire you and your families?

Dessert: A Lesson on Living

And this is the second reason I was so hesitant to start a blog: time! I don't have enough of it! I have a great amount of ongoing posts, and I'll be publishing them soon! In the meantime, here's what I started Wednesday...

I was in an oddly whimsical mood in my first class this afternoon, probably due to a lack of proper sustenance throughout the crazy-hectic day, and I didn't have a journal topic prepared like I usually... err... sometimes do.

I start all of my developmental classes the same way: the first ten minutes of class is dedicated to responding to a journal topic. I either pull the topic out of my head or I provide them with a famous quote about life, education, reading. You get the picture. In the years that I've taught developmental writing, I have come to the conclusion that the largest hurdle beginning writers must overcome is fear. Fear of putting their fingers to a keyboard and typing their thoughts; fear that they will sound stupid or their ideas won't make sense; fear that they'll be expected to write some masterpiece on the first attempt. Just fear. So, in an attempt to overcome this very real obstacle, they write. Everyday. And, believe me, they are not always comfortable with what they write. But, as you've probably guessed, that's the whole point. We tend to make the most progress, see the most change, when we are uncomfortable.

So, anyway, the journal topic I came up with, again, probably because I was hungry, related to students describing themselves as desserts. If you were a dessert, what would you be? To get the creative juices flowing, I encouraged them to think of ingredients, difficulty level, cook time and method, and, of course, knowing how college kids can be, I reminded them to keep it PG13 since I do have to read and assess their responses.

About halfway through their writing time, I added a simple statement to the bottom of the journal topic I had written on the board. It read, "Now, how is life like dessert?" Some students chewed their lips in contemplation as they stared at the addition; others, of course, heavy sighed. How dare she make this about life and not all fun and games! their frustrated scowls suggested.

I never really intended to make the topic more than just a fun, creative way to tell me more about themselves. But, as I listened to them typing, some frantically and others barely, I thought, life should be more like dessert! I don't know what conclusion any of them came to yet because I haven't read their responses, but I know what conclusion I came to as I sat there.

In my family, dessert was always a special occasion, mostly centered around the holidays. And, because desserts were reserved for special occasions, they were anticipated moments that were savored and remembered. At Thanksgiving, for instance, I can remember eyeing the dessert table and not even tasting the food on my plate, just hurrying through the meal so I could have my treat - one I would enjoy slowly, down to the very last bite.

When I think about how I have spent the majority of my adult life, I realize that I have always been anticipating the next moment and moving as swiftly as possible through the current one. When I was in college, I was just so ready to be finished with school. Now, what I wouldn't give to go back and listen in awe as the incredible minds that molded and shaped me imparted their wisdom once more. When Scott and I lived in Las Vegas, I could not wait to get back to Texas. Now, I find myself driving those old familiar routes I used to complain about in my mind, afraid that if I forget how to get from my old job to my old house, that means I've lost an invaluable piece of myself. I remember complaining that it would sometimes take hours to get my oldest bug to sleep at night; now, it breaks my heart that she doesn't need me to go to sleep anymore, though thankfully she still wants me most of the time.

Now, with two little girls who grow faster than I ever could have imagined possible and two dogs who grew white around the eyes at some point when I was too busy to notice and now both sleep harder and limp more than they ever have before, I find myself wanting to slow time. If I could just stretch out each hour... Maybe then I could play frisbee with Chloe and scratch Daisy's booty as much as they'd like me to. Maybe then I could read Where the Wild Things Are to my oldest 100 times instead of just ninety-nine times a day or just sit and listen to the rhythmic sound of my little one breathing instead of being pulled away by another responsibility that will never be accomplished if I don't do it while she's napping.

So how is life like dessert? Well, I guess, if we live it right, every second is savored, instead of just the high and low points being forever engrained in our memories. If we could hold on to every second, then we'd be able to travel to another time and place and relive those moments that seemed so ordinary at the time, savoring everything: the absence of responsibility we took for granted; the youth we will never be able to recapture; the friends and family who have since changed, aged, and perhaps disappeared from our lives.

And we'd be plump and happy, full of guilt-free, everyday slices of sweetness.

Taking a Leap - Starting a Blog

It is amazing how life can inspire in so many different, unimaginable ways!

I learned about the death of a friend from high school's father today, and I have been thinking about him, about life, and about death since I read his somber obituary. The news upset me. Not because I knew the man well or because I had even seen him but in passing in the twelve or so years since this friend and I parted ways. I think more than anything it saddens me because, in my mind, this man stayed the same man he was in high school, his daughter - my friend - the same girl. His death was a reality check to be sure.

So here I am, inspired by the death of a man I once knew, to do something I've been trying to work up the courage to do for more than a year. I'm starting a blog. 

So what, right? Who doesn't have a blog now days? Well, until now... this girl. 

Those who know me may be shaking their heads in disbelief right now, wondering where I am going to find the time and energy to manage one more "project," especially considering this particular project involves writing. I am a writer. I aspire to be a writer. It is my passion. A strong, raging passion that sometimes consumes me, as it rightly should. 

But it is a painstaking passion, which is why it is so difficult for me to commit to posting writing for all to see (gasp!) on a regular basis. When I have to write something others will read, I spend hours upon hours mulling over it, perfecting it, changing sentence order and rewording until I am satisfied that I am giving my readers the very best of me. 

But my friend's father's passing reminds me that life is too short. Entirely too short. My life is incredibly hectic, but when will it not be? Won't there always be papers waiting to be graded? Dishes and clothes waiting to be washed? Man is only given one shot at this living business, yet too many live for the next moment, wasting away the beauty that is today in anticipation of tomorrow. And I have no interest in being one of those people any longer. I never want to look back on life and see the word regret creeping into my memories.

So... what is this blog about? Little bits of everything! Experiencing life with my daughters, husband, and our furry family members; projects, crafts, and recipes from Pinterest, the greatest thing since... well... ever; teaching reading and writing, since that's what I do if I must claim just one main profession; and writing with all its inexplicable joys and heartaches.

***

Tracy, my heart is heavy today and my thoughts are with you and your family.