Cheering From the Sidelines

In January, I was asked to write an article for a blog about St. Johns.  The blog is kind of a cross between missionary work and a celebration of the wonderful things and people of St. Johns.  Here is my contribution:

Over the years, I’ve had the opportunity to watch my kids participate in quite a few state playoff games.  In the weeks and days leading up to the game, the excitement and anxiety is felt by the whole family.  Sometime prior to the game, I’ve given my children the same advice.  “Don’t be so nervous that you forget to appreciate what you’ve done.  Very few people get this chance.  Take a deep breath, look around, and enjoy yourself.  And no matter what happens, I love you.”

            As a parent and spectator of those games, I’ve chewed my fingernails, covered my eyes and even fallen to the ground in relief.   I’ve paced behind the bleachers, snapped pictures and cheered wildly while running down stadium steps.  In every case, my greatest wish has been to be there with my child and his or her teammates.  However, with the AIA (the entity that governs Arizona High School sports) standards I, along with the other fans, have been required to remain behind the fence or in the stands when the game concluded.  No amount of anger, cajoling, begging, or flattery could grant me physical access to the team.  And so, I was left watching from a distance as the players and coaches celebrated a victory or mourned a loss.  In those moments of greatest happiness or deepest despair, I would have given anything to be at my child’s side.  Whether it was to comfort a distraught daughter or rejoice with an exhausted son, I had hoped to share the moment with them.  But sitting on the sidelines, all I could do was shout and wave hoping for their attention.  Hoping that I could provide the support that they needed.  Hoping that they would remember my advice to enjoy themselves, to be proud of their efforts and always remember my love.

            As I’ve looked back at those situations, I’ve often thought that it is not unlike our journey here on Earth.  Prior to birth, Heavenly Father surely taught us and loved us he planned for our earthly existence.  Yet as we experience this life, His own standards leave Him in the bleachers, hoping, watching, and cheering. I’m sure he would love to personally comfort us when we are weak or celebrate with us when we succeed.  Yet just like my experiences in the bleachers of football and softball games, He has to remain physically distant from His children.  And yet, He’s still there, hoping that we will look up to Him in our trials as well as our triumphs.  He wants us to turn to him through prayer.  He wants us to remember His lessons and teachings.  Most importantly, he wants us to always remember His love.

           

President Spencer W. Kimball taught: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other.”

There are many times that I’ve felt “sidelined” as a parent.  Not by the restrictions of the AIA, but by my own flaws, ineffectiveness or circumstances.  It’s been in those difficult situations that my heartfelt prayers have been answered by acts of service from this humble community.  Those answers have come in the form of patient coaches who have been able to teach my children lessons they don’t want to hear from me.  They have come in gifts of tortillas when Cade separated his shoulder and in ice cream when Lauren knocked her teeth out. They come from my kids’ friends who have set good examples.  They come from dedicated teachers who realize that helping kids grow personally is as important as teaching a subject matter.  Equally, these same good people have offered sincere joy in my children’s success.  They’ve clipped newspaper articles that mention my kids.  They’ve shown interest in recent games and upcoming activities.  They have sought ways to individually meet with my children to encourage and praise them.   In each instance, I’m reminded that God does watch over my family and me.   Through the strength, assurance, guidance and support of my friends and neighbors, I am reminded of my Heavenly Father’s presence.  It is in their simple acts of kindness that I recognize His love.

Coming Home

I've been thinking about blogging for quite some time now.  It seems that in our increasingly hectic world that both writers and readers only have time for a quick headline.  Or maybe a 140 character tweet.  Or a vague Facebook status update.

But that's really not me.  I'm the type of girl that likes to pick up a good book and really get to know the characters.  I want to be able to revisit my favorite parts, looking for old memories or new inspiration.  I want something I can look back on and remember how far I've come.  And so I'm coming home.  Back to the experience I so enjoyed a few years ago.  Hopefully, I can find that voice in the back of my head that reminded me to notice the small, the humorous, the profound and the inspirational.

Last week, my friend wrote a blog post about "Getting back to were we once belonged" (with a nod to the Beatles). (Click here to read her whole post) She writes about the need that we all have to love and be loved.  Lately, I've felt that call.  I've felt the need to recommit myself to the simple yet important things that get overlooked in this crazy hashtag/Instagram/Pinterest world.  I've felt the need to put down my iPad and pick up my scriptures.  I've felt the need to turn off the TV and turn to conversations with my family.  I've felt the need get back to those things that bring true joy.

To me, that means "Coming Home".

 Home to family.  Home to faith.  Home to Love.

Whirlwind

Phew! It's been nearly two months since I have posted anything. How can that be? Somehow I've been caught up in a physical, emotional and mental whirlwind as I finished up my last moments of being a teacher and began this next adventure.

I must admit, I am not sure if I just made the greatest mistake of my life. Or, am I headed into a wonderful adventure? My feelings change hourly.  One minute I'm as confident as ever.  The next, I'm physically ill with nerves.

Still, life rolls on.  We finished up the school year.  Cade and Jorden moved home for the summer.  Lauren had a wonderful softball season.  Syd still keeps an exhausting schedule of practices.  Ryan and I try to sit back and enjoy it occasionally.

I did try to chronicle some of it all in pictures.  Over the next few days, I'm hoping to include those to remind myself of all my blessings.

In the meantime, I'm just hoping I don't blow away....

Why I Blog

...Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters...
Norman Maclean A River Runs Through It

I am fascinated by untold stories. 

We (rightfully) celebrate birthdays, holidays and vacations.  We mark births, anniversaries, and deaths.  But somewhere in the breathes and pauses and commas, lies the heart of life.

I am particularly intrigued by the lives of women.  Very rarely does time record their actions, let alone their thoughts and feeling and dreams.  Historically, women have been so busy tending to the necessities of home and family that there was little time left over for the luxury of written reflection.  Instead, their beliefs, strengths, and faith was recorded in their children, their families and the others that they touched.

Yet I feel a sisterhood to these unnamed women.  Occasionally, they are mentioned in scripture, in history books or in pioneer journals.  More often than not, they are just an implied character.  Yet, while our settings and situations may change, I believe we share similar desires for our homes and families.  We strive for our own growth while praying for the strength and endurance of others.  We weep our own tears of sadness and exhaustion while drying the eyes of others.  We celebrate success even while planning our next task.

And so I write.  Not often, and not a lot.  My words will never be found in a history book.  But maybe one day, a granddaughter or great-granddaughter will read them.  Maybe she will some comfort, or a kindred spirit, or maybe just the knowledge that her place in the world is not so lonely after all.

Sydney

Soon, Sydney will be turning sixteen.  I am amazed by her kindness, talents and beauty.  Recently, she had to fill out an application for the National Honor Society.  Part of the process requests that you list the volunteer hours that you provide.  She struggled to name specific activities or organizations that she has served.  However, just yesterday I complimented her on her willingness to give up hours at a time to help those around her.  Friday she spent quite a few hours editing photos for a friend.  Yesterday she hid Easter eggs for my mom and then spent a couple hours providing a pitching lesson to a young girl who attended our picnic.  Syd may never be recognized for formal volunteer achievements.  But I will always be grateful for her quiet acts of thoughtful and meaningful service.

Girls Only

Lauren and I were the only two home this weekend.  So we planned a few fun activities.  We went to the school's Spring Carnival, tried out the new Subway, roasted marshmallows and made these fancy-shmancy eggs.  If you'd like to try them out yourself, (and see much cuter examples) check out this link:  Here! 

I Cracked

You know me; I'm not one for following the crowd.  I'd like to think that makes me some sort of rebel, but really it just makes me a day late and a dollar short (so to speak).  I was kind of late jumping on the whole blogging craze.  I refused to go to Alco on opening day (although the second day I was all over that).  And I have steadfastly refused to get a facebook account.

In fact, just saying the term, "facebook" causes me to get a touch of social anxiety. Good night, I can barely be a good friend to the people a see on a weekly basis-the thought of all sorts of additional "friends" just makes me break out in hives. While I think I'm generally "friendly", I am not particularly "open". If I'm your friend, I'm your friend for life. It just may take a long time to get there.

I know, I know. Kind of strange for one who happily blogs away without any sort of "privacy" controls.  Maybe it's the horror stories I hear of being asked to substitue a Primary class through facebook.  Maybe it's the fact that I have one friend who insists that facebook is for the under 25 crowd.  Maybe because it's one more thing that I won't get around to managing.   I don't know. I can't explain it. The only explanation I can give you for the crack in my armor is this:



(Sorry for stealing your picture Jorden)

Seriously?  How could I go through life knowing there were more pictures of Griffen out there?  All I had to do was sell my soul...

You've Never Lived Until...

Yesterday, Lauren was rubbing a wet towel across her teeth, making an unexplainable noise.  "Hey mom," she asked, "What does this sound like?"

"Ummm" was about all I could come up with.

"It's the sound two pickles make when you rub them together." She answered for me.

"You've rubbed two pickles together!?! What for!?!"

"You've never lived the life of a kid if you haven't done that mom," she said disdainfully.

Who knew I was missing out on so much?

A Look at the Week

Softball, softball and more softball.

I Wish

I wish I could show you the beautiful, sunny (no wind) day that we enjoyed.

I wish that I could show you the little hike we went on in order to find pottery, arrowheads and cool rocks.

I wish I could show you the arrowhead I found amidst a cache of pottery.

I wish I could show you Lauren and my dad examining the rare black on red pottery.

I wish I could show you my mom and Lauren extracting teeth from an old cow skull.

I wish I could show you a picture of me diligently packing my camera through sagebrush and carefully taking shots of each event.

Oh yes, all of those things happened.  Oh yes, I did take those pictures.  But oh no, I failed to remember/notice that I had removed the compact flash card a few days ago!

A Glimpse of Things to Come

That could be a positive sort of title.

But it's not.

This week has been Spring Break.  It's been pretty nice-if you don't count the snow, rain and wind.  But that's pretty much expected this time of year.  The real eye-opener has occurred in the later hours of the afternoon/evening.  During the day, the girls have been home.  They've had friends over, but later in the evening they have had other options.  By seven o'clock, I know that Ryan will be falling asleep soon and there will be a long stretch without responsibility.  A couple of evenings, I went running.  I've gone through old magazines.  I've edited some pictures of Griffen.  Mostly, I've just flitted around, accomplishing nothing.  I must admit, it has made me a little nervous about my future without kids.  I'm going to need to get some sort of plan. 

Or maybe I need to just get some sense and enjoy these quiet, (slightly boring) days.  Let's be honest, come Monday I'll be wishing for another week of vacation...

Wearing 'O the Green

Lauren told me that St. Patrick's Day was for looking goofy....

Success!

Another Day at the Zoo

You just never know what to expect when you teach 7th and 8th grade.  One thing is for certain, however, most of us develop investigation skills that would rival any police department.  (Or maybe it's just being mothers as well as teachers).  Either way, we often joke about getting a CSI kit in order to solve current mysteries.

One year, it was the Case of the Unknown Smell.  We came to school that morning to a putrid smell permeating the entire building.  It was so bad, that we had to keep the students outside while we hunted down the source.  With hound dog like focus, we were able to narrow it down to a specific locker.  Inside was a decomposing lunch that had dripped down the back of the locker and into the carpet where it spread like fungus.  It probably was fungus.

Once, it was the Case of the Mike's Hard Lemonade.  (No, it wasn't a "case" of it-just a couple bottles).  Once that was solved, the semi-naive Vice Principal remarked, "Nah, I don't believe it.  The things they do to lemonade these days!"

Usually, it is just routine matters of inappropriate notes/texts, rumors, cheating and lying.  Let me just say-FBI profilers have nothing on Jr. High teachers.  We can sniff out a lie from three doors down.  We can tell when a kid is texting his girlfriend within 5 seconds of entering a room.  We all have our own little pocket of informants to go to when necessary.  And if that's not enough, we can always send in the short teachers (that's me) for undercover operations.  (Kid's just don't seem to notice someone their own height.  I'm always overhearing conversations before they realize an adult is in their midst.)

This week, it has been the Case of the Bathroom Graffiti.  The second stall in the girls' bathroom has been turned into a truck-stop writing venue.  Along with the usual "John is so cute!" (as well as more risque thoughts) was the taunt, "You'll never catch us E.K.!"  (E.K. is our janitor.)  Not to be outwitted by 13 year-old girls, we began rounding up the usual suspects.  Initially, the accused were hard to crack, but after bringing in the handwriting specialists (aka the English teacher and her collection of student journals) we were able to break the case wide open.  It was a victory for adults everywhere.

Truly, there are few cases too difficult for us to crack.  But there are some we just refuse to tackle.  Last year, our Vice Principal came to us fuming with indignation.  It seems that sometime during that evening, there had been improper usage of the copy machine.  Pulling out a piece of paper, he held up the evidence.  There, plain as day, was the suspect's bare butt.  "Do you recognize who this is?" he demanded.

Like I said, there are just some cases we don't want to "crack"!

Do Overs

As my kids are getting closer and closer to the "raised" stage in life, I'm looking back over the things I should have done differently...

"Do Over #1": 
After finding stacks of virtually clean towels at the bottom of both girls' hampers, I once again cussed myself for not insisting on a towel limit.  One Christmas, Carol even gave us all towels with our names embroidered on them.  At that point, I should have insisted that people use that towel, and that towel only,  for a week.  But no.  Instead, I raised kids who think they need a fresh towel for every shower. 

Good 'ole Lauren just came into my room and read this over my shoulder.  She gave me a gentle smile and said, "Don't worry Mom, you're doing fine."

Poor kid doesn't realize that as the youngest, I still have time to institute my new rules and regulations.  I'm off to hide all of the towels...

Guess Who's Coming to Visit!

Friday can't come fast enough!

For the Record

I just read in the news that a teacher was suspended from her job for blogging about her students.  It seems that she called them "lazy whiners".  Rather than delve into freedom of speech issues, I'd just like to report that for the record, all of my students are engaged, charming and motivated learners.

Count Your Many Blessings

I have a wise friend who often tells me that when a pattern emerges in our experiences, it may be a sign that we are supposed to learn a certain lesson or "truth."

If that is the case, then I'm certain I came to this earth to learn these things:
1) Patience
2) Patience
3) Patience

I'm doing all right with the "control your temper" sort of patience.  My struggles come with the patience and faith required to trust in Heavenly Father's plan for me and those I love.  I truly do believe that things work out for the best (whether is was my idea of "the best or not".)  It's just the process of getting there that drives me crazy.

I think back to a couple of times in my life when this lesson has been at the forefront.  The first was our attempts to have a baby after Syd was born.  Through five years, a miscarriage, and fertility drugs, we tried to add to our family.  However, it wasn't until  I finally accepted the situation that I actually became pregnant with Lauren. I remember specifically repenting of my anger and learning to be grateful for the two wonderful kids that I had. (Side note:  for anyone struggling with infertility, I am no way implying that acceptance results in pregnancy.  It is just my own little miracle).  Less dramatically, another repeat of this lesson came when we were trying to get a loan to build our house.  Now, in the grand scheme of things, it isn't all that important.  But it seemed like every time we got close, something in the process would break down.  Again, it wasn't until I realized that where we lived didn't matter; it was that we were all together that counted, that things fell into place. 

Obviously, those are two fairly grand examples.  There are twice as many ones that illustrate times when I didn't "get what I wanted".  Yet what I "got" was just what I "needed".  I just wish I'd learn the lesson beforehand instead of in retrospect.

During fast and testimony meeting earlier this month, I was strongly reminded of my needed for faith in Heavenly Father's care.  I was reminded that my perspective is limited and I can't fully grasp His design for my learning and my growth.  I was reminded that Heavenly Father loves my family more perfectly than I can imagine.  And each one of them has their own personally tailored lessons to experience.  So while I get anxious and want to see the end result before I experience the middle, I am learning to be patient. 

Hopefully I can be a fast learner! (Oops!  I mean a patient student.)

So It's Not the Lottery...

You may recall my plan to fund my life goal of doing nothing.  It involved winning the lottery, then spending the rest of my life reading books, spoiling grandchildren and watching "Law and Order" reruns.

Unfortunately, I think that's a long shot.

So, instead I applied for a new job.  After much hemming and hawing, I turned in my application for the Special Education Director here in our school district.  A few weeks later, I had an interview and was offered the job that day.  Attending meeting after meeting does not really fit into my idea of "great job benefits", but a new challenge does sound appealing.  (At least that's what I keep telling myself.)  I have to admit, I'm just sick about leaving the day to day joys and challenges of teaching.  But in the sixteen years of teaching special education, my role as a teacher has diminished.  Due to inclusion (which is absolutely fantastic for the kids) I have become more of a teacher's aid than a certified teacher.  I'm also heartbroken to be leaving the wonderful teachers that I work with.  Often, it is their humor that keeps me sane after eight hours a day with 12-14 year olds.

On the bright side-I've told Ryan that I'm going to need a wardrobe update.  I'm thinking that a pair of jeans and my NAU t-shirt doesn't count as professional attire.  He's thinking that the lottery sounds better and better with each pair of shoes I buy...

Nineteen Years

Today I have been married for nineteen years. 

Am I even that old?  (Don't answer that.)  Ryan and I got married when I was eighteen years old, so I can barely remember a time when he wasn't a part of my life.  Yet, at the same time, I can't believe that nearly two decades have gone by.

All day long, I've typed, erased and typed again some sort of meager expression of my  love for him.  Unfortunately, the correct words escape me.  All I can say, is that I'm so grateful for Heavenly Father's wisdom in creating a plan that allows for marriage and family. 

It is everything to me.

Tales From the Primary Room

On Sunday we had a new family move into our ward.  Three cute and smart little girls joined our Primary.  At one point, the five-year old asked if she could go to the bathroom.  Being the ever-so-helpful Primary President, I offered to take her.  (Maybe, just maybe, I wanted to wander the halls too!)

After leaving her at the bathroom door, I promised to wait outside until she was done.  Minutes went by with no little girl.  I figured I was going to have to go on in for a rescue mission.

"Everything OK?" I asked, "Do you need help?"

Her little voiced squeaked, "I'm holding up my dress so I can't get any toilet paper, can you get me some?"

Luckily, she hadn't locked the door, so it was no problem to get into the stall and hand her some toilet paper.

"Um, I like mine folded up.  Just like my grandma taught me."  Her little voice started to get a bit demanding.  "No, no, not like that, I like mine in squares.  That isn't a square.  I can't use it."

"It's square enough," I responded, "Don't forget to wash your hands!"

Then I beat it back out to the safety of the hallway.  I was afraid she was going to line me out on how to wipe...