31 Days and More to Come

Well 31 days have come and gone, and I can say that I'm exhausted.  Blogging every day is tough.  Trying to fit it in with grading, laundry, kids activities and seeing my husband every now and then was not easy.  But I've enjoyed my time blogging and will keep it up, just on more of a 3 or 4 times a week basis as opposed to every day.  In fact, tomorrow is T1 (Type 1) awareness day and kicks off Diabetes Awareness Month.  In honor of that, this T1 can't help but share some thoughts, joys and struggles of being a diabetic for the last 28 years.  So the 31 Days of Digging Deeper series may be over, but I'm looking forward to continuing this "conversation" I'm having with many of you.  Thank you for reading and encouraging me as I look forward to many more days to come.

Better Late....

So I missed another day of blogging.  I will blog again later today, but in honor of the day, I thought I would share this:

Happy Halloween!

Creamed Peas and Tough Cookies

My Grandma Downing was not exactly your typical grandma.  Buying her cards for Mother's Day or her birthday was always somewhat comical as the gushy Hallmark sentiments for grandmothers didn't even come close to fitting the kind of relationship we all had with her.  You see, my Grandma Downing was not particularly thoughtful or  sweet.  She was not tactful, and she was definitely not submissive.  No, my Grandma Downing wasn't typical, but that didn't make me love her any less.

While there are lots of things she wasn't, she was a great cook.  She made fresh creamed peas that were to die for.  I won't touch the things now, but Grandma's were amazing.  She made phenomenal Parker House rolls, and incredible home-made angel food cakes.  She always had Post Toasties or glazed donuts for me to have for breakfast, and as a kid, it felt like she was treating me like a queen.  

My grandma didn't know how to show her love very well though, and she had a temper.  One time when I was there for a week in the summer, I was so homesick, I tried to call home.  I was so young, I didn't know about area codes, and I ended up talking to an operator.  Grandma heard the sound of the phone and asked if I was playing with it. I lied and said no.  I went to Grandma Sexton's from there, but before long, Grandma Downing came to get me with a wooden spoon in her hand.  I'll never forget that walk back to her house with her holding me firmly by the hand--telling me how lying was wrong and had to be punished.  How expensive it was to make a long distance phone call.  How she had a lot to do and I was keeping her from it.  Now I was no stranger to spankings.  I got them all the time at home.  But this one stung deeper somehow and I haven't forgotten it.  She was more harsh than she should have been, but I betrayed her trust.  She let me call home that night and Grandpa gave me extra loves and snuggles.  Grandma loved me very much, but she was one tough cookie.  

As I think about Grandma Downing, the ways she encouraged me were subtle.  She loved the way I played the piano.  She asked me to play at her church often, and she encouraged me to practice on her piano at home.  She wrote me letters and shared bits of her daily life with me, even when I was small, so I could feel a part of her life.  When she moved to Norfolk, Brian and I would go to her apartment each Sunday and have lunch with her.  We carved pumpkins at her house one year, and spent the afternoons talking.  She loved Brian and loved how he loved me.  She'd tease us both and we'd tease her right back.  When we had Gabe, she called him Brock (his middle name--her maiden name) for the longest time because she "liked that name" better.  She always asked if I was taking care of my diabetes and worried that I wasn't.  She talked "school" with me as she had a been a teacher before getting married, and loved hearing about my student's shenanigans.  

My Grandma Downing was not your typical grandma and she was not without faults. But neither am I.  At times, I have a temper similar to hers.  I don't always show an abundance of tact. I have been far too harsh with my own children.  I am incredibly blessed to have had so much time with her and for both of my boys to have positive memories of her.  I miss all of my grandparents, but I miss her the most.  It's not just because I knew her the longest, although I know that's part of it.  Rather, I miss her because I was old enough to recognize her shortcomings and love her in spite of them.  As I recognize so many of them in myself, I hope my own family is able to do the same.

Tending the Roots

So I missed a blog yesterday.  I would say I'm struggling with large amounts of guilt, but I was getting ready for Zane's big day today.  You see on October 28th, 2005, a full 5 weeks early, Zane Michael burst on the scene in all of his gigantic fabulousness.  Weighing in at 10 pounds 7 ounces and almost 23 inches long, he was a force to be reckoned with from day one.  We celebrated with food, family, and gifts and both of us are sad the day is already over (Gabe is not.  He's ready for his brother to do his own chores again).  

Birthdays are big deals in my book.  They were always big days for me growing up, and by celebrating the birthday, you celebrate the person. Brian doesn't get nearly as excited about these days as I do, but he humors me.  So while I may only get in 30 days of blogs this month, I can live with it.  I have a very happy 8 year old tonight who will remember a great day.   Tonight he knows without a doubt that his family on both sides values him.  I'm pretty sure that's what rooting them deep is all about.

Perfection

Today we went to my parents to help do some fall work.  The boys had a great time, we got a fair amount done, and I got to have some of my mama's chocolate angel food cake.  Dad and Zane even got to blow out their birthday-buddy candles together.  All of this was great, but to top it all off, the Hawkeyes won and the Huskers lost to a team we already beat.  That, my friends, makes for a pretty perfect Saturday all-in-all. 

Fun Fact Friday: Facebook is So Yesterday

That's right--Facebook is so yesterday--if you're a teenager, that is.  According to this semi-annual report about teen buying and spending habits, only 23 percent of teens say Facebook is their most important influence on purchases.  Instead, 26 percent of teens cite Twitter as being the most important influence on their purchases.  So, for this Fun Fact Friday, Julie and I decided that we should weigh in on which of the myriad of options out there is our social media site of choice. 

My decision is pretty easy.  I don't have an Instagram account, and I rarely tweet.  On Twitter, I  follow news sources, a few friends, and a comedian or two, and I'm happy checking it once a day or once a week.  I check Facebook once a day, but am mostly annoyed.  It's a convenient way to keep up with people with whom I rarely speak, but I don't love seeing everything everyone posts.  So what is my favorite social media site?  Pinterest.  I don't know if that counts, but with Pinterest, I can control what I see; if I don't want to see what someone posts, I stop following them or just their particular board I'm not interested in.  I get inspiration from Pinterest as opposed to the other sites, and I love the visuals.  

So teens can have their Twitter, and I'll take Pinterest.  100 percent of the time.

Girls Like 'Staches

Tonight I have to pause my series (if two posts make a series) on people who have invested in me, to share a little teenage insight I received tonight.  You see, I was told in all seriousness by my 13- year-old that girls like 'staches.  This was said as he stroked the newly visible hair that has appeared above his lip.  By visible, I mean to those who happen to have a magnifying glass handy.  He went on to describe an eighth grader with a full grown beard, and a seventh grader with a dark brown, pencil-thin 'stache above his lip.  I usually just think those kids need to wash their face.  

As I made a big deal of the newly grown hair, I couldn't help but tear up a bit.  This is another milestone--a big one at that--in his physical development.  We raise them to grow and leave us, but that doesn't necessarily make it any easier. 

Candy Bars and Shenanigans

My Grandpa Downing was a blacksmith when I knew him. He had farmed most of his life, but when he and my grandma moved to town, he eventually opened his own blacksmith/welding shop.  I used to go visit him there, and I remember him with his welding mask on, banging away at his latest project.  He was an artist in many ways, forging picture frames, fences, mirrors, and other great stuff out of metal, horse collars, and riding tack.  He always had bottles of orange, grape, or strawberry pop in his fridge. On a hot summer day, in the shop filled with the distinct metallic smell and the dust from the gravel floor, it was about the best thing I'd ever tasted. 

I loved being with my grandpa.  He had this goofy grin that lit up his whole face, and I can still feel his chuckle that started somewhere deep in his chest.  His hands were gigantic and leathery, but I never noticed as he held me on his lap or when he would let me hold his hand as we sat in church.  If he wasn't at the shop, Grandpa always smelled of soap.  Grandma wouldn't let the poor guy too far in the door without a full hose-down in the shower. When we would leave to go home, Grandpa always gave us a fifty cent piece or two and a Three Musketeers bar.  A full sized Three Musketeers bar.  That was a rare treat I savored for the full three seconds it took me to inhale it before we even got out of town. 

But one of the things I loved the most about Grandpa was his stories.  During the week I would spend there each summer, Grandpa would be the one to put me to bed.  Rather than reading stories out of a book, he would tell me stories I thought he made up.  He told me a different part of the story each night and it began with a handsome young man meeting the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  I was a sucker for a story like that (and still am).  He told me about evil step-sisters, and crazy car rides on bumpy roads, a marriage, and eventually the three beautiful little girls who followed.  He told stories about the three little girls--the oldest one being so smart and sassy, the middle one being the feisty, naughty one, and the youngest being the one they had to look after.  Grandpa had such a way of telling stories that even today, I can hear his voice and remember how I felt as he shared those adventures each night.  

I couldn't wait to go to bed and hear more about the shenanigans of the girls, especially the oldest as she was definitely my favorite.  Grandpa had timed his stories so that they all came together on the last night of my stay.  At the end, he told me the names of the three little girls--Marie, Mary, and Shirley--my mom and her two younger sisters.  I was shocked, to say the least.  The fact that my mom was naughty was flabbergasting and freeing at the same time.  The way he described his wife of 50-plus years and his love for her still stick out to me all this time later.  My Grandpa Downing was an amazing storyteller.  But in telling me the stories, he did so much more than entertain a little girl and help her go to sleep.  He gave me a sense of who my mother was and how much she was loved by her daddy.  He showed me what true love looks like--for a wife, for his children, for his grandchildren.  He showed me how to invest in our children, and to pass down the stories of our own lives to help give them a sense of place in their own.  

His gifts to me weren't really half dollars and candy bars.  His gifts were his time, his devotion, and his stories.

Making the Cut

This post is only brought to you by the fact that I must write for 31 days.  I'm excited to write the posts in my series about those who have invested in me, but getting home tonight at 9:30 PM does not lend itself to the creation of great material.  The people who have invested in me deserve far better.  So, in the world of blogging, this post would never make the cut.  Right now, I'm ok with simply putting in the time and showing up each day.  Sometimes, that's all we really need to do. 

Love and Chocolate Cake

My Grandma Sexton was the kind of grandma you read about in picture books.  At least that's how I remember her.  She had salt and pepper black hair, was short and fiesty, and smelled, for lack of a better word, yummy.  It was probably some Avon scent, but I distinctly remember how she smelled, how her house smelled, and friends, it all smelled like happiness to me.  

We went to visit my grandmas at least two or three times a year.  They lived in the same town after all.  I remember plenty of holidays, but what really stands out to me are the summers when my parents would drop me off to spend an entire week split between my two grandparent's houses.  Did I mention they also lived exactly one block away from one another?  It was a pretty great set up, that's for sure.  While I loved being with both my grandmas, I knew that at Grandma Sexton's, I could do no wrong.  At Grandma Sexton's house, I wasn't in the way or naughty (although I'm sure I was both), and she made me feel like I was one of the best things that ever happened to her.  We played games, did house work, and I pounded the heck out of her out-of-tune piano.  She showed me how to make home-made noodles, had the best grape juice, and made a mean chocolate cake.  We sang songs (she was always humming something it seemed), I read books, and I visited the neighbor lady who I adored.   The highlight of most days was when we watched Grandma's "stories" in the afternoon.  We each sat in our recliners and Grandma filled me in during the commercials on all the good gossip from not only her "stories", but the small town in which she lived. 

I'm sure I have some pretty rose-colored memories about that time with Grandma.   But the summer I was 15, she fell asleep peacefully and never woke up.   I knew then that I had lost someone I could never replace.  Grandma had shown me unconditional love in the way only grandparents can.  She listened to me and had time for me the way others didn't.  Her laugh was contagious, and her belief in all things fanciful was as well.  I felt safe with her on the nights when the thunder clapped so loud I couldn't stay in my own bed.  She would shush and sing to me and tell me all about the angels with potato carts rolling over bridges in heaven.  She prayed with me and showed me what faithfulness looks like in the face of loneliness and eventually illness.  She made me feel valued--something I hope to reciprocate in the way I treat my own children (not as often as I should) and my nieces and nephews.  My Grandma Sexton invested herself in me even though I wasn't the picture book granddaughter.  She just made me feel that way.

Coming Attractions

I'm cheating today.  All I'm doing in this one is telling you what's coming this week.  Thinking about this rooting deeper business, I have some people who have invested in me to do that very thing.  This week, I'll talk about a different person each day who chose to invest in me in one way or another to help me think about things below the surface.  To find meaning.  To focus on others beside myself.  To make sure my roots are strong and deep. 

Perspective

This three day weekend has been a blur of activity.  Vala's Pumpkin Patch for Zane's early birthday party yesterday, shoe shopping with Gabe this morning, Zane's football this afternoon, with some grocery shopping, baking, and laundry thrown in for good measure.  Tomorrow is teaching Sunday school, church, more laundry, and trying to get at least one room in this house marginally clean. Life is busy.

While our lives may be busy, we know that it could be worse.  It's busy for sure, but today there was time to watch the Hawkeyes come close to beating Ohio State with Gabe.  There was time in the car to talk about what's going on at school with him.  There was time to snuggle with Zane before bed and to cheer like crazy as he went for his opponent's flags on the field.  As I think about this, I am very aware that other families do not have the luxury of this time.  Many parents have to work on the weekends.  Many have to work two jobs.  Some struggle with illness, and others are not able to be present in the lives of their children the way Brian and I are able to be.  I have no idea what the future will bring.  For that matter, I have no idea what the next hour will bring.  

So for now, I'm enjoying the busyness and all that it brings.

Fun Fact Friday--Quiz Style

Tonight Julie and I are each responding to some quiz questions from a book called Coke or Pepsi?  So here goes; some fun, silly factoids about me:

1. Coke or Pepsi forever?

Clearly it's Diet Pepsi for me.  Forever.  In a glass bottle if I can get it.

2. Are you a share-your-umbrella kind of girl, or an every-girl-for-herself kind of girl?

Get your own.  I keep one in the car, one in my classroom, one by the door.  My hair is flat enough without getting wet.  

3. If you could be an Olympian, what sport would you choose?

Ice skating.  Yep.  I rocked the Dorothy Hamill hair cut until I was 10.   Not so much the ice skates, but that's a minor sticking point.

4. Do mannequins give you the creeps?

Yes.  They're weird.  After being at Vala's today, I answer heck yes.  Those weird fairy tale creatures gross me out.  

5. Would you rather hike through the woods or stroll through the city?

Can I say both?  I would stroll through Central Park (sort of the woods) so I could stroll down 5th Avenue.  I LOVE hiking with my boys in our woods, in Jewell Park, Fontanelle Forest, and various great parks all over.  However, I love real city streets (Omaha doesn't qualify).  New York, Chicago, San Francisco, I'd stroll down those in a heartbeat.

I feel like I should tally points now for my answers to tell me what type of personality I have or something, but there it is. 

Parent-Teacher Conferences: What Your Kid's Teacher Really Wants You to Know II

Another great night of conferences is in the books.  As usual, it was a crazy few nights, and right now I'm surprised I can put together a coherent sentence. So what is the second thing teachers really want parents to know?  We like your kid and are on his/her side.  That seems obvious, but at the secondary level, parents and students can become disenchanted with the system.  Are there teachers who don't like all of their students?  Unfortunately, yes.  However, do most of us enjoy working with kids and do everything we can to help them succeed?  In short, yes.

We like our students.  Parents, we like your kid.  We see potential in him/her.  We try to nurture that and help them grow.  Let's work together to help your kid be amazing.

Parent-Teacher Conferences: What Your Kid's Teacher Really Wants You to Know

Tonight I got slammed with more than 30 conferences.  All great ones as usual, but more than 30 conferences after a full day of teaching leaves one feeling....well, slammed. But rather than break my commitment these next two nights, there are two quick truths I would share with parents if I could.  Let me start with this little gem:

1) It's ok for your kid not to get an A.  

I know that's shocking.  Some parents frankly can't handle it.  But in our culture of everyone gets a trophy, the number of parents who think their kid's a genius is pretty frightening.  If your kid is  learning, growing as a reader of more challenging text, learning to write to more challenging prompts, specific purposes and audiences, learning new vocabulary--if your child is improving and beginning to assimilate the content, than that C is something to celebrate.  If they're pulling a B? Good for them.  Stop focusing on the grade.  Focus on mastery of the skills.  Focus on the journey to mastering those skills.  Focus on the fact that your kid is working his/her butt off to earn that C and praise them, encourage them, and empower them to keep working even when it's tough.  Not every AP, advanced or average student is going to get an A all the time.  If they do, there's a problem. If you earn an A simply for doing the work, that's a problem too.   Now if they have a C because they're slacking off, not turning things in, or blowing off the tests, then we can talk about effort.  But if they're working and challenged and earning a C?  Lay off helicopter parent, and appreciate your kid for his/her abilities.

Missing Out

Mary Anne Smith is my mother-in-law.  Some would take issue with my verb tense, as she died a few short months after this picture was taken.  Zane is a newly-minted one year old here, but a few days from now, we'll celebrate his 8th birthday.  No matter how much time passes, she will always be my mother-in-law--fiesty, funny, so very talented, and one of the most fiercely loyal people I will ever know.  

But time has passed, and she has missed so much since she's been gone.  Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, family dinners.  But more important than that, she never got to meet her two youngest boy's wives.  Never got to see them married.  Settled.  Happy in their life choices.  She wasn't able to be there when Alana was born.  Or Ava.  She met Zane and Ella, but didn't get to see the joy they have brought us all as they grow, or see Gabe's gawky teenage phase.  Her grandchildren brought her immeasurable joy.  She still lit up when she saw, talked to, laughed with and cajoled her children.   She has missed so very much.

And we have missed so much.  So much to laugh about, so much advice, knowledge, and experience to glean, so many recipes to share and projects to do.  So many holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries to enjoy together.  In the month before she died, she told me very clearly, "I'm not sad or worried about dying, but I'm going to miss THIS..."-- her family, our relationships, our lives together as a big, crazy, occasionally dysfunctional family.  We have missed her desperately in "this," but how could we ever wish her back?  She is without pain.  She is not suffering.  She is healed.

I've never understood people who want their loved ones to be watching over them in heaven.  Why in the world would you want someone in Paradise to look down and see us in our screwed up mess of a world?  I'm not sure when the whole going-up-to-heaven thing happens, but when she gets there, I know that Mary Anne is focused on what really matters more than anything--being with and worshiping Jesus in a new and amazing way.  We have missed her desperately, and she has missed some things here.  But really, I think we're the ones missing out on the amazing new life that she started living those seven years ago.  We can fill her in on all of  "this"  when we see her again. 

Balancing Act

Atlas definitely had it rough for a Titan.  As the myths go, this guy chose to fight with his dad Cronus, and Zeus punished him for all eternity by forcing him to keep the planets from colliding and rotating correctly.  We all know the cliche--this guy has the world on his shoulders.  

It doesn't take long once school gets going for me to feel the same.  I am constantly struggling to maintain that elusive work/home life balance, and more often than not, something is way off.  Sometimes my students "suffer" by waiting a long time for papers, or by getting what I consider to be a mediocre lesson that could have been significantly better with more planning and inspiration.  Sometimes my own kids "suffer" in that I use up most of my patience on other people's kids and am left with very little for them. Other times I have to work--grading papers, making lesson plans, answering emails or dealing with issues as department chair--and my kids have to take a back seat and wait around or keep themselves busy when they really need something from me.  My husband would say he suffers no matter what, but if my patience is short with the kids....well, you get the picture. 

I know my issues with balance are not unique.  Some say this is a "stage of life" issue, and maybe they're right.  But as my principal reminded us today, we only go around once.  Unlike Atlas, we're not bound to this life for eternity.  This is the only chance we get to do things here, and as a Type I diabetic at age 40, I am increasingly aware that every day is a gift.  

This week we have parent-teacher conferences, so the balances will be firmly in the work category.   But my job is a God-given gift.  I may not being doing it to the best of my ability if it were my only focus, but right now I can assure you that I am doing the best that I know how.  My children are both truly miraculous answers to prayer.  We have screwed up as parents in so many ways, but both of them know that our love for them is greater than anything else outside of God and each other.  My life is most certainly lacking balance.  But as Paul tells the Philippians in chapter 4, verse 11b: " I have learned in whatever situation, I am to be content."  Not content with mediocrity, chaos or ignoring the people around us, but content in the peace that only comes from Christ and the understanding that He is in control, not me.  That imbalance of power--all Him, not me--that's the kind of balance I need.

The Armor-Bearer

As a teacher, I have often learned that throughout the course of a unit or lesson, I learn more than the students.  Sometimes I develop a deeper understanding of the content than ever before.  Sometimes I learn more about my students.  Sometimes I learn something entirely new.  There's a saying along those lines that you don't really learn a concept until you teach it, and I have found that to be true over and over again throughout my 18 years in the classroom. 

But this lesson has been highlighted for me again and again as a Sunday school teacher too.  The lesson today was from I Samuel 14.  Jonathan, the king of Israel's son,  decides to test God and do what he can to help his dad's army defeat the Philistines.  He asks his young armor-bearer to go with him.  The armor-bearer knew that going with Jonathan would probably mean death, but he chose to go anyway.  Jonathan knew moving into enemy territory probably meant death, but he knew God was more powerful than the gigantic army he was facing.  The message of the lesson today was loyalty.  One of the ways we show loyalty, the curriculum suggested, was through keeping our commitments and standing by them when things get rough.  I am not very loyal.  There have been times in my life when I haven't followed through on something I said I would do because I was busy.  Tired.  Overextended.  Just didn't want to do it.  It is easy for me to make excuses. 

My husband is the opposite.  His fatal flaw, were he a Greek hero, would be his loyalty to others and his commitments at all costs.  I wish I could say his loyalty and my lack thereof haven't been the fodder for disagreements in our marriage.  I wish I could say I haven't resented the times he insisted on honoring commitments when I would rather have bailed out.  What I can say is that I have been very wrong on those occasions;  my arrogance, pride, and selfishness have been in the way.  

I'm not sure what the kids took away from today, but if they got that God honors loyalty, I'll be happy.  Loyalty isn't easy.  Keeping your word can become excruciating. Or just plain inconvenient.  It's not easy to be an armor bearer, following your leader even when the cost seems unbearably high.  I'm glad my children have such an example in their dad, and I am so incredibly grateful that my heavenly Father continues to show me grace and prod me with examples of what I need to become.

Blessed

Today has been a full day of baby giggles, flag football, crazy extended family members (that's you Linda), and time spent together just the four of us.  Tonight, Brian has the sheet hanging down from our deck for us to create our own "drive-in" movie theater.  I'm supposed to be popping some popcorn right now.  All in all, a great, busy Saturday.

When I started this blog, my purpose in part was for my own accountability to be more intentional about building foundations that will last in the things I do every day.  I don't know exactly how successful I am with that yet, but if nothing else, writing each day is a great reminder of the ridiculous generosity of my heavenly Father.   Blessed doesn't even begin to cover it.

Fun Fact Friday: Livin' It Up

Tonight Julie and I are spending some time living, not just writing about it. Check her blog out to see the exciting things she's up to, but tonight and tomorrow, we're hanging out with this little one:

Zane wants to get her to laugh, Brian and I are hoping for some baby snuggles (and sleep) and Gabe can't wait to trade serburts.  Friday couldn't get much better at this point.

Still Talkin'

We talk to our kids.  A lot.  I assume all parents do.  We talk about their day at school, how activities, went, all that stuff.  Now don't get me wrong, most of the time when I ask how school was, I get the one word answers you would expect:  "Good."  "Fine."  "Ok."  sometimes even "Great!" from my second grader.  But I don't leave it at that.  I have a series of questions I ask casually throughout the night.  For example:

• Who'd you play with at recess today?
• What was the coolest question you heard or asked today?
• What's happening in the book you're reading with your class?
• How was gym/media/computer lab/music?
• What did you talk about at lunch today?

I don't ask all of those; usually, one or two is all that's necessary to get them sharing something more meaningful about their day.  As the night goes on, more stories flow out of them, and before long Brian and I have a pretty good picture of their day.  There are times when they don't want to talk about things right away, and when that happens, we give them space.  But by bedtime, those experiences usually come spilling out as well.  We've tried hard to build a culture of communication and trust with them.  Only time will tell how successful we have been. 

But over the course of the last few months, I've had three different people in very different situations comment on the fact that our kids still tell us things about their lives.  Most of them are just commenting not passing judgement, but all have found it noteworthy that our kids tell us things about their friends, teachers, activities, etc.  What I find of note, however, is that this isn't the norm.   I know our kids don't share everything with us.  As Gabe gets older, he probably won't share as many of those details as he does now.  But I'll keep asking.  Maintaining their sense of privacy and autonomy is crucial, but learning to share life with the people closest to you--that's really what it's all about.

End of an Era

Over the course of the last week, it has really hit me:  life is changing.  I know that's an er-duh kind of statement, but we are definitely in a state of transition right now.  For example:

• I will never again buy clothes in the boys 4-7 section.  Both boys are now size 8 and up, with one in the men's section for some of his clothes.
• Gabe is going to his first middle school dance tomorrow.  Does he know how to dance?  No.  Will he dance with a girl?  Probably not.  If he does, will he tell us?  Again, probably not.
• Gabe is in middle school.  And doing well, all things considered, especially academically.  That's a huge praise right there.
• Zane makes it clear on a daily basis that he is growing up and can do more things on his own.  Usually, in an annoyed voice along the lines of  "Maaaahhhhmmmmmm...I'm fine.  I can do this."
• This one gets me:  Zane no longer wants to read the seasonal picture books. Or any kind of picture book. All he wants to read are chapter books now.
• We've stopped reading to Gabe before bed each night.  After all, we finished the Harry Potter series, most of the Hardy Boys, and all of the Narnia books.  While it was bittersweet for all of us, he would rather read his books on his own now.  We still do prayers and/or devotions, but that time sharing books is over.

Our boys are 13 and almost 8.  The little boy phase is over for good.  While that's exactly how it's supposed to be, there are definitely things that I'll miss.  I love being able to have real conversations with Gabe as you may only do with a growing young adult.  Yet I miss the sweet innocence of his younger days.  Zane is changing physically and I already miss his baby face and adorable sweetness.  Life doesn't stand still for a reason, and I am excited about the next phase we have in front of us.  But for a second or two, I am mourning the passing of time, for those fleeting years have been so sweet.

Work

My English 12 classes began Bram Stoker's Dracula today.  As usual with more advanced texts, I read most of the first chapter aloud to help them get into the flow and style of language.  As is often the case when I read yet another Victorian novel, I was annoyed by the inane details.  But Stoker has a way of drawing you in (like his monster, perhaps...sorry), and as Jonathan Harker is about to climb in Dracula's coach, the kids didn't want me to stop reading.  Neither did I.  Great books have great stories.  Great books draw you in.  You want to stop everything else going on around you and immerse yourself.  Great books, however, also challenge us as readers.  Texting is so much easier.  Facebook is a constant distraction.  It can be work to read great books.  All I can hope for as I coax my students through these texts, is that they find the pay-off to be worth all the hard work.
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Cruise Director

This is our Zane.  He is the amazing miracle we weren't expecting.  Well, they both are really.  But that's why his name fit so well. Supposedly, it means "The Lord is gracious."   

This kid is crazy.  His favorite afternoon activity is to do head stands on our couch.  He loves to read, but can't just read one book at a time.  We currently have three bedtime books in addition to the Bible we read each night.  He is also our cruise director--he must know what the plan is and how exactly it's going to be executed.  If he doesn't like the itinerary, he'll tell you without hesitation.  

He's addicted to video games (Skylanders, Donkey Kong Country, and Lego Harry Potter currently) and loves Ben 10 and Pokemon on TV.  He's still scared of Halloween masks, and while he won't admit it anymore, he's not at all a fan of "dress up people."  I don't blame him.  Mascots are pretty weird.

He's also our worrier.  He has his life mapped out, but the thought of things not going as expected is of deep concern to him.  His big plan is to live in an apartment first and then build a house in our backyard. It will be black with flames. He and his wife will come in and have dinner with us most nights, and he plans to help his dad mow the lawn. But his plan has a few cracks in it.  Tonight he asked me, "Mom, what if my wife doesn't want to live here?"  A few weeks ago, he sighed deeply and said, "I just don't know what to do with my life.  I don't even know what I'm going to do for a job!" Life's tough all over these days--even when you're 7.

He's sweet, loveable, and absolutely hates fighting and raised voices. He hates being in trouble or having anyone upset with him.  My heart aches for him as I think of what life may throw at him one day.    But when it does, I'm trying to tell myself what I tell him:

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes" (Matthew 6:34--The Message).

The Lord is gracious indeed.

Sacred Sunday Cover

So my fabulous friend Julie is blogging this month on 31 Days of Music.  She has an alliterative theme for each day, and today is obviously Sacred Sunday.  You really should check it out.  As I read it and listened to the video attached, I was struck by the differences in the music from her church to mine.  Now of course we have differences as all churches will, but overall I was struck by the stark difference in formality.  Of course, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is about as formal as you get, and I realize that the music may not be quite like that every Sunday in her home church. Regardless, it got me thinking, so I decided to do a "cover", or my own version of Sacred Sunday tonight.

The bigger churches in our denomination (independent churches of Christ/Christian churches) have made the choice to move away from formality in the singing portion of our worship.  Generally, we don't sing hymns anymore.  Instead we sing choruses or popular songs written by artists you'll find on KLove.  I'm making absolutely no value judgements about what's better.  Frankly, I think there is a time and place for both. 

 I've posted a video for one of the songs we sang today, both in worship time and as a closing.  I was struck by its beauty and simplicity.  As I listen to the Julie's choir sing, begging God to show "pity in my deep anguish" I hear echoes of the same cry in "all the poor and powerless...and all the thieves who come confess, know that You are holy."  Both songs speak to our deep yearning for God.  We long to be close to Him, yet we are so disgustingly far from Him, filthy with our sin.  Both songs also talk about His forgiveness, and overwhelming love for us.  His awesome power, might, and holiness.  Why aren't we shouting about it from the mountains?  Telling it to the masses?

Why haven't I?  

Home

Today I went to my parent's house to help with a few things.  It was a quick day trip and I was able to be of some help.  But as I was driving up, I thought about the idea of "home."  I wasn't going "home" this morning, I was going to my parent's house. Yet on my return trip, I couldn't wait to get "home."  Coming "home" wasn't about the bricks and mortar, it was about these guys:

Home stopped being an address a long time ago.  I love my parents so very much, but their house isn't my home anymore.  When they move, I may miss going to the town to see them, but I will be anxious to see them wherever they are.  I have a feeling it will be that way with these guys too.  Houses are great, but they're not homes.  I'm not really home until I'm with these three yahoos.  And home is a pretty great place to be.

Playing It By Ear

Every Friday, my friend Julie and I are going to have a conversation--a bloggersation really (so sorry).  We're both going to blog about the same topic, and as I have mentioned a time or two, her stuff is far superior and you should be reading her blog too.  If nothing else, our bloggersation will be much more interesting if you get her side of it each Friday. 

This week she suggested we talk about being a church pianist.  She still faithfully serves, and as many of you know, I've taken a break these last few years to teach Sunday school with my husband instead.  Throughout the course of that time, several people have asked me if I've missed it or if I'd like to get back into playing. The general answer to that is no. I definitely miss playing.  More importantly, having a reason to play.  Life is too full as it is for me to have time to sit down and play the piano for fun.  I do sometimes, but I always feel guilty about the laundry, the papers to grade, the cleaning, the kids to hang out with...you get the picture. 

So what are some things I don't miss about playing for church?  Getting up ridiculously early on Sunday morning to go practice again with the band.  Spending an hour or two on a Wednesday or Thursday night practicing with the band.  Being asked to play things on a moment's notice and expected to know how to play songs without music.  Being asked to just fill time on the spur of the moment.  Playing in five or more sharps.  And most importantly, the thing I don't miss is that as pianists in churches with bands, we don't play music anymore, we play chords.  We're given a guitar chart and asked to improvise or fill in based on what the leader has heard on KLove or Youtube. 

However, I do miss the band; there was a definite camaraderie playing with people who share a love of music.  I miss seeing the congregation worship.  I miss helping the congregation worship.  I miss worshiping in a way I've only experienced when serving.  But for now, teaching 4th grade boys Sunday School is how we serve.  So as Julie says, if you're in church on Sunday and there's music, thank those people who have shown up to share their gift with you.

Swimmin' Upstream

Teaching English wasn't my first career choice.  When I was in junior high, I was sure I'd be an endocrinologist and work with kids who had diabetes like me. By the time I was a sophomore, I decided I wanted to be a lawyer.  But as college loomed and reality set in, I was lucky enough to have Mr. Kubik, a pretty great teacher who made government class my favorite subject of the day.  I had several great teachers growing up, but his ability to make stale, boring facts seem somehow relevant in my world of  big bangs, Bon Jovi, and cruising Norfolk's main street is still pretty impressive (it was 1991, by the way).  He inspired me.  Made me think that teaching was a profession that could make a difference. I'm still glad he did.  

While this hasn't always been the case, the main focus of my classes is British literature.  For those of you who have forgotten, that's a whole lotta' big books written by a bunch of old dead white guys.  Fabulous big books, and amazing old dead white guys, but not exactly on the radar of the typical 18-year-old.  Two weeks ago, I had a parent tell me that kids are too busy to be reading books outside of school.  "These kids just don't have time with work, community service, school activities, and getting ready for college," she said.   She basically told me that I can assign anything I want, but that kids today simply don't have time to do it.  

I've been thinking about that statement a lot since then.  Also, the frustration I hear from some of my excellent middle school colleagues who say that they can't assign work outside of class and expect students to do it. Several teachers at the high school level say the same thing.   I know I'm not the first parent or educator to wrestle with these issues, but as I think about creating deeper roots of knowledge and experience for my students, I am faced with the fact that the 47 minutes I have been given with my students each day is simply not enough time to do all that I am expected to do to prepare them for what comes next.  My students have to do work outside of class.  Not copious amounts of work.  Not busy work.  Not work without meaning.  But work outside of class.  They have to read.  They have to write.  They have to write about their experiences and write about what they read.  

And what do I have to do?  I have to figure out how to do what  I saw Mr. Kubik accomplish every day.  I have to make it all seem relevant.  Purposeful. Important.  Exciting even. Some days, I get close. Others, not so much.  The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not  giving up,  even if it means I'm swimming upstream with a whole bunch of old dead white guys on my back.

Lucky 13

This summer our oldest son turned 13. To be honest, I've been looking forward to the official teenage years because I foolishly thought that I was somewhat of an expert with that age group.  After all, I've taught 14-18 year old's for the last 18 years. If that doesn't make me an expert, nothing will, right?

Wrong.  Those of you with experience raising teenagers are laughing at me right now.  Kids act differently in the classroom than they do at home.  Well, most of them. Most kids see teachers differently than they see their lame mom or dad.  Again, most.  Now don't get me wrong, Gabe is a great kid as kids go, but raising him has not been as easy as we would have thought.

In the moments of pain, frustration, and uncertainty, I have lamented that fact.  But as I've thought about it over the last few days in preparation for this 31 Days of Digging Deeper, I can't help but think that the things that are easy are not the things I value.  Sure, it'd be great if everything was handed to me on a platter and my children never ever talked back to me.  Or got in trouble.  Or challenged me in ways I could never even imagine.  It'd also be great if they never struggled, or got called names, or were treated unfairly.  But I have a sneaking suspicion that's not exactly how life is supposed to work. 

We have made so many mistakes as parents with both Gabe and Zane, his little brother.  So. Many.  Being the parent of a teenager has already brought a whole host of new issues, but with those, we get to experience a whole set of new joys we get from watching our son mature, become more responsible, and make great decisions without us.  When people talked about the terrible two's of toddlerhood,we laughed.  Two wasn't so bad.  And then he was three. Nobody had a name for that, but yikes.   When people used to talk about the terrible teenage years, we laughed then too.  Well, we're not laughing, but we're still smiling.  So far, 13 has been all it's cracked up to be and much, much more.

Skin Deep

Today I begin my 31 Days of Digging Deeper series, but all I can think about is how thankful I am that some things are only skin deep.  Now don't get me wrong, I picked the Digging Deeper title because that's what I'd like to do with various aspects of my life as a whole, but today reminded me that superficiality can be a blessing.  Let me explain.

Today I had two pre-cancerous spots removed. These weren't the first, and I'm just thankful they were caught early enough that my fabulous dermatologist was able to freeze them instead of cutting them out.  I've had that kind too.  As a fair-skinned girl who loves a good tan, I know I've earned those spots.  There were days I went without sunscreen.  A lot of days.  There were "special" occasions I tanned for weeks in little sun coffins.  I don't have to question "why me"or feel as if the universe is against me.  I did this to myself. 

As I was driving home, the two spots began to throb--one on my leg, one on my left arm.  Nothing serious by any means, but I certainly knew something had happened there. And, being the preacher's kid I am, I couldn't help but think about how those spots are a lot like sin.  Sin has a way of seeming harmless at the time.  It has a way of sneaking up on you.  It has a way of feeling good in the moment. It has a way of speaking to our superficial natures telling us things like, "It's no big deal if you only do it every now and then, " or "Everyone else looks so much better doing this-- so will you." But just like my spots, sin is something that is far easier to catch and remove if you do it early.  Freezing off the nasty stuff is much easier than the painful process it takes to cut into your life and eventually stitch it back up.  Left to fester, sin leaves scars.  I know.  I've had that kind too. 

So today, I'm thankful for things that are superficial.  I'm thankful that my fabulous husband saw the spot on my leg and encouraged me to call my doctor.  I'm thankful neither of my marks were permanent or will have any lasting effects.  I'm thankful for a loving Father who is waiting to help me catch my sin in its early stages, before it has a chance to take root and cause more permanent damage. Today I'm thankful that some things are only skin deep.