My Newest Favorite Pictures

These are my newest favorite pictures...and I think they will be for a very, very long time.

The other day, I was taking care of my nieces, E and D. Their momma was in the hospital, giving birth to their little sister (more on that saga in another post - maybe. If she'll let me...), and I had to run into school to write up sub plans for the next day's classes - just in case. I'm that hyper-organized teacher who leaves highly detailed sub plans with check lists, seating charts...even back-up plans for my back-up plans.

Anyway, we three girlies went on an adventure to school (E and D are 3-years and 2-years, respectively, so I can fool them into thinking school's an adventure), but when we went to leave, the traffic in the parking lot was HORRENDOUS.

Spending 30 minutes, in the car, waiting out traffic, in a PARKING LOT, with toddlers was not my idea of "fun." Sooooo, Auntie Jane tricked them into believing that a walk around campus is an amazingly awesome part of our "adventure."

That's when we realized that C was still on campus. C is easily one of my favorite people - she's loyal, loving, HILARIOUS, grounded, understanding...AND she's a bundle of nuclear-fusion type energy packed into a tiny frame. She's also the dance teacher.

The woman pulled out tutus, used binder clips to cinch in the waists, turned on songs from Disney movies, and gave the girls the BEST impromptu dance party anyone could ask for.

Between my own (rather rocking) dance moves, I was able to catch some pictures.




Love this one of D. Kills me. I wish we could all have that kind of innocence.




E slays me, here. When did she get so grown up?




And this one. This one just makes my heart smile. D's face cracks me up, and I love that C is playing along...

My friends are the best. I am truly a blessed woman.

...of Band Concerts...

School band concerts are always an adventure. Always.

Friday's was no different. Our band teacher is amazing, and I love how hard he works, and I love the huge amount of professionalism he gets out of our kids.

I didn't go to the concert for him. I also don't go because of the music (some good, some...well...). I go because there's a bunch of kiddos, MY kiddos, who are in the beginning level of band, and who are so, so, sooooooo excited to show off their musical chops (ahem, so to speak).

My sixth graders were first. As they came out, my buddy, K, who teaches our older students, leaned over to whisper to me, "They're so SMALL!"

I, on the other hand, was flashing back to the beginning of the year, and I was thinking the exact opposite: "They're so BIG!!!"

Big or small, they're still only 11. And, 11-year-olds do what 11-year-olds are prone to doing when they file out to begin a band concert - they wave at their families. It's adorably cute.

My favorite moment, of the whole night, was right after everyone finished waving. The band teacher, Mr. B., stepped up to call this band to attention. Right at that moment, right after everyone was set to go, J (stubborn, drive-me-nuts, can't-get-with-the-program, I-sometimes-pray-he's-absent-just-for-my-sanity) pops out of formation to wave at one last person.

Me.

Been Reading...and Thinking...

Note: I wrote this back in January, and somehow I never pressed the "Publish" button. I was digging through my archives and found it. Somehow, today felt right to let it be known.

Lately, I've been reading through the posts on TWLOHA's website. No, I haven't sunk back into that soul-deep battle for light in the midst of my darkness; I just have had a lot of time to think about pain lately.

Mine.

Others.

Reading the words from the people at TWLOHA - people I admire so much for their undying, unending compassion for other people - ones they may never meet...it gives perspective. Hope.

This past fall sucked. Seriously sucked. Watching someone I love slip away into eternity sounds as though it should be beautiful, but it's not. It hurts. He's not here, and my mortal, infinite mind screams that he should be. It's not fair.

Watching his loved ones try to deal with that pain and loss hurts, too. Because I can't fix it. I can't take it away from them. That's really, REALLY hard for a girl who's been nicknamed MacGyver. I can fix a toilet with dental floss, chewing gum, and a paper clip...I should be able to fix this, right? Right?

Wrong.

So, I sit. I hold hands. I cry...sometimes with them. Sometimes alone. I listen. I make junk food and watch movies I would NEVER admit to watching, because it makes them smile - even for a second.

And, I remember what a man posted in a blog post three years ago. His direct quote is, "We give a shit."

Crazily enough, I believe him. Just that much helps.

My Favorite Windows...

Bet you thought this was going to be about architecture, huh?

Nope.

I was walking through our school's parking lot today, and I noticed a lot of cars with back windows that look like this:

See the remnants of duct-tape? The sticky substance that won't - no matter how you try - WON'T come off (save use of Goo-Gone and a razor blade)? That's the sign.

This car went on one of our many service trips. Every year, our school packs up our senior high students and heads out to all the different corners of the globe. During that week-long trip, some build wheelchair ramps for the poorest of our nation's poor in Appalachia, some run a day-camp for refugee children in San Diego, some work in inner-city LA with anti-gang ministries; some head off of this continent to Japan, to Ecuador, to Malawi...and some, like this vehicle's driver, some build homes and classrooms and facilities in an orphanage in Tecate, Mexico.

The tape is a reminder- the driver was part of a caravan that chased other members of our school up and down California's main artery, the I-5. Each caravan is numbered, and each vehicle in the caravan wears its number on its back window (so, as we're driving, we know who belongs to whom. There are sometimes 90+ vehicles that make this trek...organization is KEY).

Today, it just made me smile. It makes my heart smile. It reminds me that, even though I'm in the crunch of the "end-of-the-year" race, and I'm fighting burnout, and the students have morphed into little terrors...that what I'm feeling isn't truth. These emotions are based in exhaustion, both physical and emotional; and they're steeped in stress (how on EARTH am I going to fit eight-weeks' worth of curriculum into four weeks???). The truth is, I work with compassionate, loving, world-changing young adults.

They love deeply. They give sacrificially. They are constant examples of who I want to be.

So yes, it's a dirty, taped-on car window. And I love it.

Judge Not...

...oh, there are so many things in my life that the phrase, "Judge not," could be applied to...

...the fact that I squeeze my toothpaste from the middle.
...I eat peanut butter straight from the container (using a spoon, of course...maybe).
...I never seem to be able to put my laundry away (get it clean? Yes. Folded? Sometimes. Put away? NO.)
...I will drive MILES out of my way for a good cup of coffee.
...I have a crazy, stupid love of fake mustaches.
...I still have a childhood crush on Tom Selleck (might explain the one above).
...I pretend I'm cleaning someone else's house when I'm doing chores.
...I carry on conversations with myself all the time.
...I still think I'm 16 until I look in a mirror.
...if there are tater tots on the menu, I HAVE to have them. Even if they don't go with my meal of choice.
...I've been known to drive 45 minutes for Sonic's tater tots.
...I still want to be a flight attendant.
...I still want to be a rock 'n roll star.
...I still want to join the circus.
...I DO believe that a cowboy will ride into town on his horse, tip his hat, call me "Darlin'," and that will be that. We'll live happily ever after on his ranch (when I'm not traveling with the airlines, the band, and the circus).

But today; today's actions are in desperate need of the phrase, "Judge not." See, today. Today, I got my eyelashes permed. (I see the face you're making, J... Judge. Not.)

I had a Groupon, you see. I had to try it, I just had to! It's not nearly as painful as one might guess; it was actually kinda relaxing, to be honest.

You end up lying on the spa table with your eyes closed for about an hour. Yes, you do smell like the perming solution, and that's a little gross, I will give you that. (But, in my defense, I grew up with that smell. My momma used to give my Nonny home perms every month. Nonny lived two blocks away, and her house was our playground - I think we were in her house more than we were in our own. So, when momma would perm Nonny's hair, we'd always be there, pretend gagging at the smell, and generally causing a ruckus. Nonny's been gone over two decades now; I miss her something fierce. The smell brought back great memories of her.)

So, for an hour, I lay on that table, eyes closed, smelling of childhood ick, remembering my Nonny, and smiling.

Oh, and my eyelashes are perfectly curled, thankyouverymuch.

I can now bat them at my hunky cowboy.

Breathing

It's been a long, hard fall and winter. Normally, I'm the one jumping on the "finding joy in all circumstances" bandwagon, but these last couple months...it feels as if everyone I know and love has been blindsided. I remember writing these words almost a year ago, and I knew that it was coming, I just...

...I'm tired.

The other day, I was digging through an old notebook. I'm not sure what I was looking for, to be honest, but I turned the page and found this written, in my handwriting, so I know I wrote it:



Been trying to remember to do that...

During Staff Meetings

I have a confession. I HATE meetings. Any kind. Every kind. I get antsy, my butt-cheeks go numb, and after a while, all I hear in my head is, "He/she is STILL talking? Why? Why is he/she still talking? Makeitstop makeitstop makeitstop."

I've found coping mechanisms for such meetings. I knit (they've gotten used to it), I grade (again, no surprise there), I text surreptitiously to other meeting members - usually the mantra I just wrote above. Sometimes, if the person drones on a bit too long, I can find a creative bent.

This was one of them. Funny thing is, this is exactly, EXACTLY how I felt, years ago, when I "found" myself again. I remember talking with a friend, and she said, "You're BACK." I thought at that moment, "Not quite. I'm better."

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing her attention away from the swirls and shapes she was contemplating at the bottom of her coffee cup, “I remember you.”

“No,” she answered. “No, you don’t.”

He hunched down to look her fully in the face, and stared, trying to get past the barrier of friendly-polite-yet-aloofness. His eyes were still the bright blue; the twinkle not diminished by time. The crinkles along the sides of those eyes and the gray just starting to show at his temples? Those were new.

She did know him. From before…just before.

“Yes, I do,” he smiled. “You’ve been gone a long time, but you’re back now.”

“I guess I am,” she acquiesced. Smiling slightly.

“Same old gal, huh?”

“No,” she spoke the words slowly and carefully to make her point. “Not at all. I’m stronger. Better.”