You Matter Sunday

We've been friends for almost a quarter of a century.  We raised our kids together--everything from diapers to driving. We cheered those kids on through rock bands and basketball teams, high school musicals and college tests, dating to weddings.

We bought lake trailers next door to each other. Learned to golf together (although she is now MUCH better than I am).

We cried and hugged through the deaths of parents and the birth of grandkids. I can't imagine her not in my life.

She is one of the strongest women I know and also one of the best friends. She taught me how to stand up for myself. She got me to go out and have fun and until this year, always rode the roller coaster with me.

She buys me presents she keeps for herself. Or gives them to me early so she doesn't keep them for herself. She always has chocolate stash that she willing shares if I need it.

She keeps treats for the dogs in the area, although her family says she doesn't like dogs.

She shares my love of Bobby Sherman, the Osmands, the Jackson 5 and American Idol.

We know the same "lullabies" and can sing the words.

She cries easily and loves fiercely.

She's my friend and today is her birthday.  We can't be together, but I want her to know how much I love and appreciate her. Today and always.

Little Things

It was a week of big things:  Two nights of conferences, post observation conference, and the commercial project in speech.  How was I going to focus on one little thing like Ruth challenged us to do in her post? Looking at the big things took all of my time!

But this morning as I uploaded pictures from a visit to our oldest son's last weekend, I found myself smiling--at the happy, giggling smiles of our grandkids, the proud smiles of our son as he holds his youngest, Grandpa's smiles as he plays with them all.


How
Can something so small
and perfect
Create such a
Large swell of feeling
Inside me?

How
Can those upturned corners
and sparkling eyes
Melt my heart and
Make my arms ache?

How
Can the giggles that escape
and grab my soul
Still be there
Today?


But those smiles weren't the only ones that I thought about:

Student smiles as they walk into my room, excited to work on the current project. They talk, they giggle, they show me what they've done.

Parents step into my room with such trepidation.  Each one wondering/worrying that I will have something bad to say. Each one hoping I will make a difference in their child's life. Each one smiling as they realize that I truly like their child--even the naughty ones--and will do my best to give them what they need, whatever that may be.

Stepping into my principal's office after conferences for a conference of my own.  My first real evaluation in an extremely long time took place last week. We were meeting for my post-observation conference. His smile and welcoming words put me at ease immediately.

A simple little thing that makes the world a better place....

Of Course, It's Monday!

A typical high school Monday--a little bit of everything and conferences to boot!

The morning went well. Kids worked pretty hard on their commercials. Almost all of my alternative school kids showed up. And someone put apple bars in the lounge.

Life was good.

Until after lunch.

Two groups were working in the hall and in the reading/writing center outside of my room.  Something that goes on most every day. I was in the classroom when I heard a crash/clank.  I went into the hall...

"What?" Surly voice, surly look, defensive posture.  This was not good.

I give my best teacher stare, "What is going on?"

"He called me a c&*^%*%$er," the surly one replies (rather calmly, I might add).

"He laughed at our story," an angry young man on crutches answers, "And then he kicked my crutches!

Dealing with 16-year-old boys for quite a few years, I am not surprised by the language, but I am angry about the crutch kicking!

"I'll see you both at 2:15."

That should end it. Meeting with Mrs. Day after school normally ends a confrontation.

Normally.

The jawing and posturing continue. I don't catch it all because they are mumbling under their breath. All I know is this is escalating at a rate I don't like.

I snap my fingers and point. "With me!" I command, with no room for refusal.

I march them to the office, a place where I hate to dump my problems, but this situation quickly became out of control and I needed to diffuse the situation.

On the bright side, a parent thanked me at conferences last night and said they see a real difference in their child. More confidence, more self-esteem, more enthusiasm for school. And they credit my speech class for a lot of that.

See, Mondays aren't all bad!

Whispers

They speak to me at odd times.  Sometimes in the morning during a quiet cup of coffee. Sometimes  while I play outside with Chloe.  Last week, they kept whispering to me during Creative Writing and I just had to put down the papers I was reading and write down their stories.

Will they continue sharing with me?  Do they want the world to know about them?

Or will they continue to just whisper, never fulling revealing who they are?

Harriet the Spy

What a coincidence!  My post yesterday for National Day of Writing credited my love of writing back to when I read the book Harriet the Spy as a child. I wanted to be Harriet. I wrote in my own little notebook as I spied on the world around me.

Then, this morning I am checking my Twitter feed (mrsday75) and a tweet by Sharon Creech caught my eye.  All it said was "Harriet the Spy" and gave a link to the Children's Book Almanac site.  Who knew that on October 21, 1964 Harriet the Spy was published. And somewhat controversially, it seems. Harriet was a new kind of children's character in the '60's.

And, I wasn't the only child to want to be Harriet.

Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to go revisit an old friend's neighborhood!

Why I Write: National Day of Writing

What I write:
Grocery lists
To-do Lists
Scattered Poetry
Scrapbook journals
Diaries
Journals
Comments to kids
Notes to colleagues
Thank-you notes
Facebook messages
Tweets
Birthday cards

Why I Write:
To keep in touch
To Share
To Learn
To Explore
To Rant
To Create
To Give Encouragement
To Leave a Mark
To Record My History

But really, I write because I always wanted to be Harriet. You remember Harriet...Harriet the Spy ?  After I read that book, my life changed.  I took my little writer's notebook and roamed our neighborhood, spying on the neighbors and writing down what I saw. I wanted to be Harriet.

Eventually, that writer's notebook became a diary. I wrote down inconsequential things that meant nothing to no one. I remember keeping real feelings locked inside and only wrote down what I thought people wrote in diaries.

Mrs. Henke and Creative Writing entered my life in high school and along with her a love of writing poetry (notice I didn't say a love of teaching poetry). My diary became a journal (really--what is the difference if it still is full of the inconsequential), and my writing became the fluff of silly teenage girls everywhere.

With college and an English minor, I wrote as I imagined the great writers wrote. Stuffy. I hated it. And writing left my life for a good long time.

Except, of course, for the annual Christmas letter, which I tried to make as creative as possible.

And, now, I'm back. Writing for me. Writing because I can't imagine not writing. Writing about life so the world (well, mostly the grandkids) knows I was here. Writing so others know I cared.

But, seriously, I write because deep down, I still want to be Harriet!

Thief of Dreams

Inadequacy
Creeps in,
Stealing creativity,
Squashing ideas,
Putting out the fire.

Inadequacy screams,
Better than you have tried and failed.
Inadequacy whispers,
Just shut your door and teach.
Inadequacy writes,
What makes you think you are good enough?


Inadequacy,
The thief of dreams.