Movin' On Up

Fourth grade has been my heart since that August day 12 years ago when I greeted my first student. There are so, so many things I love about nine and ten year olds, and there are a multitude of assignments I have loved giving them over the years.

• Fourth graders almost always love their teacher. They make their teacher sweet cards, tell her nice things, and generally make her feel special. And they ALWAYS notice when their teacher changes her hair. 
• Fourth graders are funny. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not, but they're always funny. 

Still one of my favorite grading moments...

• Fourth graders find excitement in everything. Cleaning the floor, straightening the book case, taking the trash out...they do it all with a bounce in their step!
• Fourth graders take the time to get to know their teacher. They know what she likes to eat, what her favorite colors are, and how many times she has worn an outfit in a school year.
• Fourth graders put 100% of their effort into my most favorite assignments: memorizing "The Road Not Taken," writing a research paper about a specific dog breed, putting together an extensive notebook of their own poetry, making a game and commercial for The Sign of the Beaver, and writing a persuasive letter to parents arguing the benefits of a new puppy (a parent favorite). 😉

Why, then, would I want to leave my comfort zone full of familiarity and favorites? 

I have found myself taking on more and more responsibility over the past several years. I have been writing a lot and editing even more, and I truly believe it's because I have been longing for a new challenge. 

This spring, when a secondary English position opened up at my school, I was intrigued. When I passed the necessary certification test right away, I was interested. But when I felt God calling me to take the job, I was positive. God's been nudging me towards a position like this for many years; I just didn't see all the pieces until the job was right there in front of me. 

I'm under no illusion that it will be an easy transition. I know the hours will be longer initially, the grading will be more time-consuming, and the students will be a little wiser and a lot taller, but I know I'll love my job just the same.

I'm not sure what the future holds or what my new list of favorites will look like this time next year, but I do know that I'm ready to start over, to push myself and my students to our full potentials. Until then, keep me in your prayers as I take this small, yet life-changing, step of faith. 

Mother's Day

Mother's Day gets me. Every single year it sneaks up on me, and then I'm standing in church watching the baby dedications and weeping. Some years more than others, but always without fail.

Mother's Day is complicated. I watch people. I'm a people watcher by nature, and I'm especially attuned to people on this wonderful, difficult day. I see the woman longing to be a mom, yearning to be the one up on stage holding a little one, wondering if her time will ever come. I know her by the tears running down her face as she turns away from the happy scene. I see the woman smiling down at her child while silently grieving the ones she never met. I know her by the wistful look in her eyes as she rests her hand on her belly unconsciously, a habit that never seems to go away.  I see the woman who looks sadly at the empty seat next to her--a woman who would give anything to hug her own mother one last time. I don't know her yet, but I will someday--a day I will never be ready for. I see you.

I have been one of you, am one of you still. I have written many times about my losses, but I don't know that I was ever quite able to truly convey the overwhelming, all-encompassing pain and grief I felt sometimes. Mother's Day was excruciating for me. Staring up at a whole line of rosy-cheeked babies and doting moms and dads was torture every year, and I found myself wanting to skip church on the day I probably needed it most.

How can you be thankful on a day your heart is so full of everything but gratitude? Questions and shame and anger and desperation, yes. But not gratitude. Not today. Flutters on a screen, heartbeats there and gone, hopes and dreams destroyed. I know. I see you.

I don't know if you will ever be up on that stage. I certainly doubted that I would ever be. I'm not one for platitudes; I have been on the receiving end of way too many. But I do want to say that you are not alone. Don't cry by yourself today in a bathroom stall; don't watch Netflix all day alone in the dark. Don't do the things that almost destroyed me years ago. Reach out to someone you love--or someone you barely know. Reach out to me. I'm here. I see you.

My Journey to Fit-ish

New Year's Day came and went, and as I stood on the scale during the first week of January, I willed the numbers to magically go down after a single day of eating well. While the numbers stayed put, something finally happened to my acceptance of them.

I decided, for the first time in my entire life, to enter a weight-loss challenge. I paid $15 and was invited into a secret Facebook group of women made up of friends and strangers alike. The rules were simple. Post a picture of your scale every Friday by 10:00 a.m. and make sure you include the week's new password--given early that morning--in your picture. Anyone losing 4% or more of their weight by the end of the eight long weeks wins an equal portion of the pot. Here's a peek into my eight-week journey.

Week 1, Day 1: 

     I take a picture of my beginning weight, almost crying in the process. I cannot believe I have put on almost 20 pounds since I left public school less than three years ago! I have been in serious denial. Apparently all that weight that I shed in stress, I gained in actual pounds! I decide to download the Lose It! app to track my calories. I know I cannot lose weight without heavy tech support. I put in my current weight, my goal weight, and the time frame, and it tells me that I need to stay within a 1257 calorie-per-day diet. Armed with my new weight-loss plan, I make Pioneer Woman egg muffins to eat for breakfast each day, shop for low-calorie snacks and high-protein lunches, and schedule a daily workout routine. I've got this!!!! 

Week 1, Day 2-6: 

     I am dying. My stomach is eating itself out of sheer desperation for calories. I want pizza, chips, Coke, and a candy bar for lunch, and then I need a dinner at Ted's with all the extras. I hate working out. Jillian's abs do not make me feel good about myself. At all. At least I know after having such self-control all week, the scale will show me down at least five pounds come Friday! 

Week 2, Day 1:

     Before I document my first weight check, I make sure that I'm not even sporting any residual mascara from the night before. I step gently and slowly onto the scale. I want to make sure it remembers that we're friends. One week down, seven to go...after which Jillian will be calling me for tips. Wait, this number can't be right. ONE POUND?! O.N.E. POUND??? I've been denying and starving myself for this!!????!! I resist the urge to cry, as I'm afraid the splash of tears may increase the number on the scale, and then I take the picture. Only 17 more pounds left to lose...

Week 2, Day 4: 

     After a few caloric mishaps over my single-momming-it weekend, I vow to start fresh. I eat like a bird all day, and I complain about how hungry I am to anyone who will listen. If the scale isn't more favorable this week, I am quitting. Halfway through the day, I hear about an intermittent fast in which I can only eat my allotted calories between 12 p.m. and 8 p.m. I decide--with no further research whatsoever--that this is the answer to my weight-loss quest.

Week 2, Day 5
     This is so, so much worse than low-calorie. No calories before noon? What was I thinking? By 8 a.m. I feel nauseous and have a terrible headache. When noon comes, my measly lunch doesn't even come close to satisfying the raging hunger that has taken over. I want to devour everything in sight. Even Clover's bunny food starts to look appealing. When bedtime comes, though, I feel so much better than I normally do. I don't have even a hint of my usual reflux, and sleep comes quickly. I can do this!

Week 3, Day 1
     Weigh Day!!! I'm cautiously optimistic as I step on the scale this time. I suck in and push all the air out of my lungs, trying to trick the scale somehow. Down 2.2 more pounds! Maybe this fasting thing is working after all!! I think I'll celebrate by consuming as many calories as I possibly can all weekend long...single-momming it for another full weekend is not for the faint of heart.

Week 3, Day 5
     I cannot continue the fasting. I. JUST. CAN'T. I feel like my body is shutting down. I barely have energy for my workouts and my patience is hanging by a very thin thread. I eat a tiny protein bar at 9 a.m. and immediately feel like my entire life is back on track. I decide to continue depriving myself of all food after 8 p.m. just because it seems like a reasonable compromise, but I go back to eating breakfast and smiling at the people around me.

Week 4, Day 1
     Trepidation. I did not do quite as well with the calories during Week 3, mostly because we ate out a lot, and it is hard to count calories at places that don't list them. I always end up searching and choosing whichever version of my food has the lowest calories in my app, which feels a bit like cheating but also makes me feel successful. I stare down at the scale, willing it to give me even the tiniest break. One pound down. At this rate I'll be rocking a one-piece body by December! Maybe I should schedule a beach trip for some extra motivation...

Week 4, Day 4
     This week has been marginally better. Erik has been off work and has made us dinner every night to avoid the dreaded, "Where are we going to eat?" argument discussion that has only intensified as I try to avoid unnecessary calories.

Week 4, Day 6
     I spoke too soon. I over-indulge today and find myself elbow deep in fried rice, wantons, bubble tea, and later on, a mini blizzard. All worth it in the moment, but I'm afraid my scale will not let me get away with this gluttony.

Week 5, Day 1
     0.4 pounds lost this week. Although I'm a bit depressed as I step on the scale for the 10th time and don't see the numbers change, I also know that I was not at my best this past week. I didn't work out much, and I certainly could have eaten better. Back to the treadmill! 

Week 6, Day 1
     Another pound down! At this point I have lost 6 pounds. It doesn't sound like much, but I am definitely able to tell a difference in the way my clothes fit, and better yet, I have had a few people comment that they can tell, too! This means a lot to me, as I definitely fight discouragement on a daily basis. I knew the fat wouldn't melt away without any work on my part, but I really thought it would be a bit easier. With age comes humility!

Week 7, Day 1
     This past week saw my hubby and I celebrate our 15th anniversary by staying in Pawhuska at the Pioneer Woman's Boarding House. This equaled road-trip snacks and a lot of great food upon arrival. After three straight days of constant eating, I had to fight against over-indulging on Valentine's Day as well. I look down at my feet and accept the scale's measly 0.6 pounds down as a late anniversary gift and let out a sigh of relief.

Week 8, Day 1
     The previous week consisted of a staff lunch, a banquet, and a host of other reasons to eat, eat, eat. While I did a good job of avoiding a lot of the bad food, I did not complete one single work out. Not one. I step on the scale, close my eyes tightly, and hesitantly open them. Please, please, please!! 0.2 pounds down. It's a tiny, insignificant loss, but it's still a loss, and better yet, it means I have finally hit my 4% down! If I maintain it, I get a piece of the winnings! Yay for me!!!!!

Week 8, Day 2-6
     I know now that a couple of days of eating horribly won't kill me, so I take the opportunity to eat some things I love on a mommy-daughter date at one of our favorite restaurants. Then I eat way too much fried rice throughout the week; I also find myself snacking consistently on the Nerds jelly beans I bought for my students, as they are the absolute best candy Easter brings. My kids at school seriously beg me for these if you need a good basket filler. At the end of the week, I realize that once again, working out has eluded me. I have no idea if the scale will betray me on the final day. I could easily lose the 4% I worked so hard for because of my lack of self-control this week!

Final Weigh Day
     I take some deep, cleansing breaths before I step on the scale. This is important to me. Despite many, many lapses, I still sacrificed eating what I wanted to eat so many times over the course of 8 weeks. I have been dying for a big, greasy cheeseburger with everything on it. I've dreamed about living in a bakery and eating all the bread almost every night. I have sat forlornly while eating with friends, watching them happily enjoy their lunches while I stare at my wilting lettuce. I have even skipped every pastry offered in the lounge for breakfast and almost every dessert my husband and daughter have enjoyed. I step on the scale. 0.4 pounds down! A final loss of almost 7 pounds...I am ecstatic!

     While my goal was more like a loss of 1.5 pounds a week, I only hit that once, and it was a week of fasting and faithful workouts. Unfortunately, with our crazy schedule, that is just not always realistic. I have found that what works best for me is a combination of one cheat day a week, caloric accountability, consistent exercise, and the knowledge of a semi-public weekly weight check. I also did better when I was wearing my Apple watch.

     Before I started all this, my late-night snacking was out of control, and I was eating a lot of small, unhealthy things throughout the day. I was also sitting A LOT. When you know you are going to have to account for every single calorie, you think twice about whether you really want to eat a candy bar or drink that Coke. You also make more of an effort to get up and move so you can add in the exercise to your calorie count. The more you move, the more you can eat guilt-free...and isn't that the point? :-)
   
     In another week, I will embark on this journey all over again, trying to lose another 4%. My prayer is that nicer weather and 8 weeks of experience will translate into an easier, more consistent loss. Here's hoping!!

The Santa Squabble Update

When I wrote my original post detailing our plans for Santa-free lives years ago, I did it with great conviction, if not a slight touch of naiveteˊ. You see, I didn't exactly know what would lie ahead, only that we believed whole-heartedly in our future December traditions. For those of you thinking of following in our wildly unpopular footsteps, here are my thoughts six years in...

Unexpected Hurdle #1: Addison did, in fact, spill the beans to at least one child that we know of; thankfully we seem to have moved past the holding-the-breath moments we previously experienced whenever Santa was mentioned around her. We've role-played, begged, reminded, and explained more times than we can count. If you know Addison, you know she is a very matter-of-fact child, and in her mind, a statement from a person is absolutely true. And so if it is not true, it must be a lie. Trying to get her to understand the complexities of Santa has proven to be much more difficult than we expected. Each year we discuss the real Saint Nicholas with her; we read a book about him and how he relates to today's Santa traditions. Then in the simplest terms, we remind her that some parents like to play pretend with their children, and that it is not up to her to ruin their game. She has tried so hard to understand all the whys, but our explanation still doesn't make sense to her, and that has proven to be the biggest obstacle so far.

Unexpected Hurdle #2: We knew before we ever had Addison that we did not want Santa to come to our house. However, what I didn't expect was to have so much guilt years into the choice. At first, all of the "I feel sorry for her" laments and incredulous questions just made me defensive. But as the years have passed, I've found myself letting others' doubts creep in. Did we make a mistake? Will she be scarred for life? Is she missing out? Are we ruining her childhood? When Addison looked at me recently and said, "Mommy, I'm glad you didn't make me believe in any of that fantasy stuff," my heart broke just a little.

Unexpected Hurdle #3: While we discovered early on that the rejection of Santa led to unwanted commentary, we also found that it led to others feeling judged for their own family choices. I promise, we aren’t judging! It is just so hard--harder than we ever expected--to try and explain the reasons behind an unpopular conviction you have and not sound holier-than-thou. Even now, years later, no matter how I try and spin it when people ask, and ONLY when they ask, our Santa-less existence ends many a December conversation in uncomfortable silence. I've tried self-deprecation, subject changes, simple statements--nothing seems to change the inevitable awkwardness that follows the now-dreaded Santa conversation.

That's not to say it's all been bad, or even difficult. In fact, while I didn't quite understand all of the small hurdles we would face, I am ashamed to say that I definitely didn't expect the many blessings that I have seen come out of our choice.

The biggest blessing of all is that Addison has completely embraced the true meaning of Christmas. She understands it all so much more than I ever did as a kid. She is fully focused on Jesus--the real reason for the season. Instead of the elf, we hide a star every night, which she truly looks forward to finding. She leaves her Wise Men at the spot where she finds the star each morning, and the next night we do it again. On Christmas morning, she will find the star above the manger scene. We still do most of the same things Erik and I did as children, and she still gets a stocking from us, but she is not really focused on receiving gifts; she is all about the giving. This year, she surprised us by telling us she didn't want any presents from us. She wanted instead to go pick out toys for someone who needed them more than she did. That was one of my proudest mommy moments. I know that we could not have bought nearly as much for "Zach"--yes, Addison named our Angel Tree kiddo--if we had to pretend to be Santa for her. It makes it a much bigger sacrifice for her knowing she won't get presents from us at all, and sacrificial giving is something we are constantly working towards as a family. Do I believe that God is blessing us because we don't celebrate Santa? No, I believe that the blessing comes from following our convictions, and in this matter they are different for everyone.

So do I wish I could go back in time and change our Christmas traditions? When Addison thanked me in regards to the "fantasy stuff," she truly meant it. She is the most logical little human I've ever met, and there is little room for gray in her world. We didn't know who she would be someday when we began to follow our conviction, but I can't help but think that God was already steering us towards what would be best for her. I can honestly say no, I don't think we would change one single Santa-less thing.

SIX-ty Miles an Hour

My precious, precocious, brilliant, vivacious daughter, 

Six years have come and gone. Six years since you made me a mommy. Six years since you changed my life forever. Six years of ups and downs and smiles and laughter and tears. 

Addison, I cannot possibly put into words how you have bettered me. You inspire me. On my hardest days, God uses you to lift my spirits, and on my happiest days, you multiply my joy. Little girl, you are extraordinary. Your wit, kindness, generosity, intelligence and unique insight are such a powerful combination; God is going to use you for big things.

God has gifted you in so many ways. This year saw you take up piano, advance into chapter books, and pursue art with a passion. While you may not be the next Mozart or Picasso, you still amaze us daily with all you are capable of. Your potential is limitless.

You are a born teacher. While you may never choose to stand in front of a classroom, you will teach in some capacity--that much is certain. Daddy and I are your favorite students, and you frequently help us learn new words in Spanish or demand that we raise our hands to speak at the dinner table. You love telling us all the things you will do someday when you have your own classroom, and oh, how we love to hear your grand ideas.

You have worked so hard at making new friends this year. I love watching you play with others and just act like a kid. Because you are so rarely around anyone your age outside of school, we often view you as a mini adult. But seeing you run and laugh, tossing all carries and worries aside, makes my heart sing.

You may not be perfect, but you are the perfect little girl for me, and I thank God daily for the gift of you.

I love you, my favorite.

Mommy

But God...

Grief has been a common theme throughout many of my posts. Razor-sharp grief has split me in two on more than one occasion, but it has also been a binding thread, connecting me to so many women that share components of my story.

Just recently, another close friend lost her baby before she ever got to meet it. I was able to counsel her, listen to her, advise her, and just be there for her in an experienced way that most others, thankfully, could not. She asked me one day how I endured it all during those dark years, why I no longer spend my days constantly grieving and longing for the babies I will never get to hold on this earth. I answered her in two words that our pastor once made into an entire sermon:  

But God.

For three years, I lived in a waking nightmare of hospital visits, surgeries, tests, ultrasounds, hormones, specialists, needles, blood, incompetence, heartbeats and no heartbeats, shots, and silence. I cried out; I wrestled; I screamed; I pleaded. After the fifth loss, I often felt more like a hollow shell than an actual person. I experienced many moments of grief that left me prone on the floor, silently begging for it all to swallow me up because my spent tears and hoarse voice had left me with absolutely nothing else.  

As I tried to comfort those suffering through their own tragedies, I fought desperately to gain perspective. I worked with people who lost their beautiful, vibrant children or beloved spouses in terrible accidents. People who saw a loved one suffer through a cancer diagnosis. I witnessed both of my grandpas endure some of the cruelest things this world has to offer in their dying days. I watched people struggle through their grief and come out stronger on the other side, and I watched some who seemed as though they would never get out from under it. I know for a long time, it could have gone either way for me. 

But God. 

He faithfully restored my marriage. He brought friends into my life who shared the same beliefs. He prompted me to write and share my story with other women who were in pain. And on the most difficult days, he reminded me that even though it hurt, I was not hurting alone. In my weakest, most painful moments, his strength was revealed. 

When God blessed me with Addison, she didn't fill the void of the babies that I lost. Only God could do that. He bound up my heart with his own healing thread of grace and contentment and love, and he filled it with a peace that passes all understanding. And even now, on the occasions when pain lurks around hidden corners and sometimes dwells in the shadows of my heart, he is there, ever faithful with his perfect comfort. While I would never wish to walk that three-year road again, it changed me for the better. Places that were hard and angry are now soft and sympathetic. Pride has been replaced with humility. Striving to do it all on my own has given way to surrender. I don't wrestle with what I went through anymore; it is a part of who I am. It has given me a powerful testimony, and it has prepared me for whatever lies in front of me. I'm no longer apprehensive about the future because I know that even on the hardest days ahead...

But God. 

But [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV

A Work of Heart

I have been thinking a lot about the situation our teachers are facing in Oklahoma. I have read just about every opinion piece circulating, mostly for the strike, but some against. I have rattled words and words and words around in my head, asking myself if I have even one bit of new perspective to add to an already thoroughly dissected issue. I'm not really sure, but I'm going to try.

I taught in public schools for nine years. My first couple of years were fine, but things quickly changed to not fine at all. Nine years is but a fraction of the time many of my friends have taught, but nine years was enough for me. For my tenth year, I left to teach at a private school. I love teaching. I love watching kids learn, and I love when they surprise themselves with what they are capable of doing and creating. I love connecting with them, and I love knowing at the end of the year that I may have made some small difference in even one life. I still struggle with feeling a bit like a traitor, leaving my teammates behind. But I am still teaching, only now without all of the things I didn't love.

You see, I didn't love being told exactly what to teach and when to teach it, regardless of whether or not my students had grasped a concept and were ready to move on. I didn't love when a very high-ranking administrator told me that I was NOT to teach writing (or really anything but reading and math), because it was not on the state tests. I didn't love going behind that administrator's back and teaching it anyway, because it was what was best for the kids, but knowing that I very well could be answering for it later. I didn't love teaching to the test because my school would be judged by the performances of students who had a parent arrested the week of testing, or had been told that their parents were splitting up that same month, or a host of other things I saw happen come April. Funnily enough, kids don't care very much about a test when their lives are falling apart around them. I didn't love spending so much time focused on getting the low students to pass the test that I had no time to challenge the ones that were above the cut-off scores. I went home many nights thinking that another day had gone by that I had failed to connect with those kids that rested solidly in the middle, and that ate away at me. I didn't love hearing that I "only taught 10 months out of the year" so my pay was actually more than fair, even though when I worked out my hourly wage with all the extra hours I put in, it was somewhere around $13 an hour (which wasn't too far from what I made working retail in college). I mean, we pay our high school babysitters $10 an hour to play with our one kiddo! I didn't love spending so much of my money on supplies and things for my classroom, but it didn't occur to me that things should be any other way, because I had seen my parents (who were also teachers) do it for many years before I ever did; their careers offered just a glimpse into the unseen sacrifices I would be expected to make as a teacher. I didn't love when the copy count for our classrooms started to be limited; when people who had never seen us teach started questioning how much we chose to copy (and by extension questioning our professional judgement) through an inanimate object. And I didn't love when the standards kept changing and changing and changing and we were forced to spend many long hours of our own time trying to bend and revamp our curriculum in order to push our kids to learn things that seemed to be more developmentally inappropriate by the year. The list could go on and on, but that's not really the point. 

The point is that many, many of my friends are doing their jobs, and doing them extremely well, despite all of these things, and so many more things that lawmakers have never thought about for a second. My friends have taken on more and more every year, and they have done it under the radar, with such little recognition and respect that it still shocks me sometimes, now that I'm on the outside looking in. Were I still part of the public school system, I would walk in a heartbeat, not because I didn't care about my students, but because I absolutely did. Trust me when I say that if your child is being taught by someone who is still sticking it out despite professionally deplorable conditions in many cases, it is ONLY because they love their kids, your kids. It is definitely not about the money. According to the opposition, that's what getting a second job is for...