The amazing thing about working with children and young adults is that they have so many great stories and lessons to share. The constant exchange of information that passes between me and my students is one of my favorite things about my line of work.
For many years I worked with middle school students; people always told me I was crazy when I would tell them this. There is something about middle school aged children that is so raw and vulnerable. I often found that the ones that gave me minor trouble were just desperate for someone to reach out, listen, and understand. In a classroom setting you do all that you can but it is, no doubt, a daunting task trying to reach each of your students equally. I will always have fond memories of my years teaching middle school exclusively and some of the amazing young people I have watched grow into successful young adults.
I love that I now work will all ages of students. Whether they are 6 or 16, I learn so much from each of my students. I grow as an educator each minute I spend with a student. Although I hope to pass valuable information along to them, they certainly open my eyes on a regular basis to a myriad of lessons sitting right in front of me. I love the fresh perspective of a young, energetic, and determined student as much as I love to pick up a student who has temporarily fallen. I wear the joys and pains of my students more than they probably realize. I am quick to celebrate their accomplishments and always there when they need a shoulder to lean on. I even get nervous when I know they are struggling through a big test, a side effect of tutoring that still makes my husband laugh with pride. Although each of my students touch me deeply, there are always certain ones who dig trenches in my heart a little deeper than the rest.
I have always believed in the concept of "kindred spirits", two people who seem to share a common element in their souls. My first kindred spirit was my grandmother Kathy. It felt like a cruel joke to have her ripped away from me so early on in my life, being only eight at the time of her death, but I still feel her inside of me every day. Even though it has been 23 years since I have heard the sound of her voice, I can always feel her when I close my eyes. I will never forget sitting on her lap and eating Cracklin' Oat Bran during episodes of David Letterman ("He is SOOO handsome Kimberly!") while the rest of the househeld fell under the quiet of sleep. These moments may seem like odd legacies, but they are true gems inside of my soul.
Of course I have met other kindred spirits throughout the years. One is my husband, others are best friends, and others are students. There is nothing like the smooth click of a kindred spirit relationship; growing comfortable and dropping boundaries flow so effortlessly. It is like a cool breath of fresh air on a crisp morning only it is my heart that is saying, "Wow, this is beautiful."
I dedicate this piece to all kindred spirits out there, especially my sweet Walnut Birches, and to all of the people in my life who have given my soul gentle hugs over the years.
It all began because two people fell in love...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The first chapter of the book I am writing for my children
As I reflect back on the last year of my life, it is hard to put into perspective how far I have come. One year ago today I celebrated the birth of my third child, Macey Rae. To say that having Macey has been life changing is an understatement. I can still remember with vivid detail the moment that I saw two blue lines on the pregnancy test…it was a shock like almost no other. I had a hard time adapting to a surprise pregnancy, especially after only having Maia six months earlier. I went through the gamut of emotions; fear and elation, disappointment and excitement, worry and confidence. The worst of them all was the guilt: guilt over feeling upset, guilt over Maia having to share with a newer, younger baby so quickly, guilt over feeling guilty. I had come a long way from the scared woman who was first afraid she would never have children, after waiting over two years for Hunter to be conceived, and then the woman afraid she would only have one child, after living through five gut wrenches miscarriages. When I think back on how much I ached for these children, there is no question that God works in mysterious ways.
There really is no way to explain the pain and grief of a miscarriage; even the loss of an unintended pregnancy shakes you to the core and makes you aware of the fragility of life. My first miscarriage occurred only six months into my relationship with Mark. Not only was I not ready to have another baby, but I had just been through a divorce and was far from feeling prepared to get remarried. Ironically enough, it was the day after I moved in with Mark that the miscarriage began. I can still remember how I was standing in line at Publix to order a sub when I felt the gush. There was no question in my mind what was happening; I drove to the doctor’s office in the haze of a grief induced high. It felt like an out of body experience when they drew my blood, ran tests, and confirmed what I already knew…what had once been the beating heart of my beautiful child now lay dormant as his or her soul made the long journey to heaven.
It was during the night of that first miscarriage that I truly fell in love with Mark. I had always loved Mark as my dear friend, but it was that night that my heart realized that he was the soul mate I had long been searching for. Without even saying anything, he knew exactly how to calm me and comfort me. In that silence filled with our shared pain, my heart could hear the screams of our two souls colliding, and I knew that we would be together forever.
Although there were four more miscarriages and none of them were quite as cathartic as the first, each one of them was instrumental is proving to me that children, healthy and happy children, are truly miraculous blessings. When I had my fifth miscarriage, three days after Christmas and six weeks after Mark and I got married, I accepted with a sense of peace that Hunter was going to be my only child. Maybe it was the peace I found in that moment that allowed my body to hang on to Maia’s little beating heart. I lived in fear for the first four months of my pregnancy that I would feel that all too familiar gush. It was hard to enjoy Maia’s pregnancy….until I first felt her little kicks and pushes. I had just accepted that everything was going to be fine when the blood tests came back with the frightening results that indicated Maia may have Down’s Syndrome. The following two weeks were the longest of my life as we waited for our amniocentesis. It was during that procedure that the doctor commented on us having a “healthy little ballerina.” A daughter! A healthy, beautiful daughter. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
But…fifteen months after Maia’s birth I got more. Beautiful Macey Rae arrived, almost three weeks early, with a head of dark hair and a face that reminded me of my own. Even today as we celebrate her first year of life, I can’t help but look around my house, so filled with love, laughter, and joy, and remember the days when I thought I would be childless. Nowadays, I never question God’s will, for this life I live is truly a blessing.
There really is no way to explain the pain and grief of a miscarriage; even the loss of an unintended pregnancy shakes you to the core and makes you aware of the fragility of life. My first miscarriage occurred only six months into my relationship with Mark. Not only was I not ready to have another baby, but I had just been through a divorce and was far from feeling prepared to get remarried. Ironically enough, it was the day after I moved in with Mark that the miscarriage began. I can still remember how I was standing in line at Publix to order a sub when I felt the gush. There was no question in my mind what was happening; I drove to the doctor’s office in the haze of a grief induced high. It felt like an out of body experience when they drew my blood, ran tests, and confirmed what I already knew…what had once been the beating heart of my beautiful child now lay dormant as his or her soul made the long journey to heaven.
It was during the night of that first miscarriage that I truly fell in love with Mark. I had always loved Mark as my dear friend, but it was that night that my heart realized that he was the soul mate I had long been searching for. Without even saying anything, he knew exactly how to calm me and comfort me. In that silence filled with our shared pain, my heart could hear the screams of our two souls colliding, and I knew that we would be together forever.
Although there were four more miscarriages and none of them were quite as cathartic as the first, each one of them was instrumental is proving to me that children, healthy and happy children, are truly miraculous blessings. When I had my fifth miscarriage, three days after Christmas and six weeks after Mark and I got married, I accepted with a sense of peace that Hunter was going to be my only child. Maybe it was the peace I found in that moment that allowed my body to hang on to Maia’s little beating heart. I lived in fear for the first four months of my pregnancy that I would feel that all too familiar gush. It was hard to enjoy Maia’s pregnancy….until I first felt her little kicks and pushes. I had just accepted that everything was going to be fine when the blood tests came back with the frightening results that indicated Maia may have Down’s Syndrome. The following two weeks were the longest of my life as we waited for our amniocentesis. It was during that procedure that the doctor commented on us having a “healthy little ballerina.” A daughter! A healthy, beautiful daughter. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.
But…fifteen months after Maia’s birth I got more. Beautiful Macey Rae arrived, almost three weeks early, with a head of dark hair and a face that reminded me of my own. Even today as we celebrate her first year of life, I can’t help but look around my house, so filled with love, laughter, and joy, and remember the days when I thought I would be childless. Nowadays, I never question God’s will, for this life I live is truly a blessing.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Don't cry over spilled soup
Over the weekend we had a party. We have such an amazing network of friends who are all just as busy as we are. Getting everyone together is a rarity, so Mark and I decided to have an open house. This allowed everybody to make it over despite hectic schedules and a gaggle of young children.
To be honest, it kind of felt like a wedding. There were so many people to spend time with that the time passed so quickly. I loved watching all of our children playing together and getting to know each other. When Mark and I started dating Hunter was the only kid in the group. It has been awesome watching the births of so many children and the creation of many more happy families over the last 7 years.
Of all of the nice things that people said to us over the course of the day and evening, the one that stuck with me the most came from someone I have only known a short period of time. She told me that my home is very comfortable. Coming from a woman who has never been in my home before and came with two small children, this was the ultimate compliment. I could care less if someone thinks my house is beautiful or fashionable; all that really matters is that people feel at home. For me, having people feel that our home is always open and welcoming is the reciprocity I want for the hard work and sacrifices we make as a family. If people are judging me based on the amount of dirty clothes in my laundry basket than they're not the type of people whose opinions I care about anyway.
Mark and I have always agreed from day one that living in a home where our children, family, and friends feel they can always come for love and support is the ultimate goal. We've all been in a house (c'mon...you know the one) where you are constantly terrified that you are going to spill your drink or your children are going to break some precious item. It is really quite uncomfortable. Although I value the things in my home, I value the PEOPLE in my home more. If someone spills a glass of red wine on a throw rug, so what? I'm certain that throw rug didn't have feelings, but the person who had the accident surely does. Mark and I are very good at handling "catastrophes" with stride and humor.
I can't help but recall the infamous "soup incident" that occured when I was pregnant with Macey. Blame it on pregnancy cravings and an extremely overactive appetite, but one day I decided to make homemade soup. Now my eyes were much bigger than my stomach, which was huge at that point, and I made a vat of bean soup large enough to feed my entire neighborhood. Deciding that it needed to cure, I figured putting in the fridge overnight would do the trick. The large stock pot almost fit when I turned its lid upside down, so I just shoved it in the bottom and thought about it no longer.
Later that night I heard my husband quietly expressing words of confusion in the kitchen. Low and behold he wasn't quite sure why he couldn't pull the meat drawer out so he just pulled a little harder. It instantly hit me what was about to occur. I tried to stop him in a very movie like moment where my "NOOOOO" was just a second too late and a bit too quiet. Before I knew it he had pulled the drawer open successfully and pulled the entire stockpot of soup out everywhere. Our eyes locked for a few seconds as we took the scene in; more than 3 gallons of soup was oozing it's way in and under the fridge and all over the floor. In a moment like this you would expect someone to get mad, for someone to loose their cool. But Mark and I....we just laughed. Not a chuckle but full belly laughs at a scene too comical to dream up. And then, just like the partners we are, we each started grabbing towels and cleaning up.
I think it is this mentality more than anything that makes people feel at home in our house. Things happen that are beyond our control, a lot, so why loose energy over them? Life is too short to waste precious time yelling at someone or "crying over spilled milk" as the old expression goes. What will be will be, it is how you handle it that really matters. I have learned that finding the humor in tough situations before I pull up my boot straps and just dive in works the most efficiently, and simultaneously teaches my children that no one is perfect and it is OK to make mistakes.
After all, it really would be silly to cry over spilled soup.
To be honest, it kind of felt like a wedding. There were so many people to spend time with that the time passed so quickly. I loved watching all of our children playing together and getting to know each other. When Mark and I started dating Hunter was the only kid in the group. It has been awesome watching the births of so many children and the creation of many more happy families over the last 7 years.
Of all of the nice things that people said to us over the course of the day and evening, the one that stuck with me the most came from someone I have only known a short period of time. She told me that my home is very comfortable. Coming from a woman who has never been in my home before and came with two small children, this was the ultimate compliment. I could care less if someone thinks my house is beautiful or fashionable; all that really matters is that people feel at home. For me, having people feel that our home is always open and welcoming is the reciprocity I want for the hard work and sacrifices we make as a family. If people are judging me based on the amount of dirty clothes in my laundry basket than they're not the type of people whose opinions I care about anyway.
Mark and I have always agreed from day one that living in a home where our children, family, and friends feel they can always come for love and support is the ultimate goal. We've all been in a house (c'mon...you know the one) where you are constantly terrified that you are going to spill your drink or your children are going to break some precious item. It is really quite uncomfortable. Although I value the things in my home, I value the PEOPLE in my home more. If someone spills a glass of red wine on a throw rug, so what? I'm certain that throw rug didn't have feelings, but the person who had the accident surely does. Mark and I are very good at handling "catastrophes" with stride and humor.
I can't help but recall the infamous "soup incident" that occured when I was pregnant with Macey. Blame it on pregnancy cravings and an extremely overactive appetite, but one day I decided to make homemade soup. Now my eyes were much bigger than my stomach, which was huge at that point, and I made a vat of bean soup large enough to feed my entire neighborhood. Deciding that it needed to cure, I figured putting in the fridge overnight would do the trick. The large stock pot almost fit when I turned its lid upside down, so I just shoved it in the bottom and thought about it no longer.
Later that night I heard my husband quietly expressing words of confusion in the kitchen. Low and behold he wasn't quite sure why he couldn't pull the meat drawer out so he just pulled a little harder. It instantly hit me what was about to occur. I tried to stop him in a very movie like moment where my "NOOOOO" was just a second too late and a bit too quiet. Before I knew it he had pulled the drawer open successfully and pulled the entire stockpot of soup out everywhere. Our eyes locked for a few seconds as we took the scene in; more than 3 gallons of soup was oozing it's way in and under the fridge and all over the floor. In a moment like this you would expect someone to get mad, for someone to loose their cool. But Mark and I....we just laughed. Not a chuckle but full belly laughs at a scene too comical to dream up. And then, just like the partners we are, we each started grabbing towels and cleaning up.
I think it is this mentality more than anything that makes people feel at home in our house. Things happen that are beyond our control, a lot, so why loose energy over them? Life is too short to waste precious time yelling at someone or "crying over spilled milk" as the old expression goes. What will be will be, it is how you handle it that really matters. I have learned that finding the humor in tough situations before I pull up my boot straps and just dive in works the most efficiently, and simultaneously teaches my children that no one is perfect and it is OK to make mistakes.
After all, it really would be silly to cry over spilled soup.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Braiding Hair
I recently had a conversation with a coworker about the importance of feeling valued at your place of employment. It is so true that true contentment at work comes from feeling appreciated for your hard work but for me it is also knowing that I am making a difference. When Hunter was a baby I had a job that left me feeling dissatisfied. While at work I constantly pined to be with him and felt guilty for spending time away. In recent years I have experienced the exact opposite. I find that I truly look forward to my time at work. Of course we all have days where we wish we could be free of the responsibilities that come with a job (hence the desire to one day retire), but overall I look forward to the time I can spend with my students.
There is nothing as gratifying as working with students individually and helping them to see their own value. Since in my field I typically work with students who are struggling to succeed or are finding success to be stressful and cumbersome, I get to help them discover their own academic self worth. I have never worked with a "stupid" student. I have never worked with a student who is unable to learn and find success. What I constantly find is that I work with students who either do not understand themselves or have experienced so much failure that they have lost all hope. I feel so much pride in helping them debunk these myths. Every person has a set of unique and valuable skills. Every person is a genius in his/her own regard. It is finding those areas that is often the challenge.
Above all else, I make a difference in the lives of my students. I am not a tutor or teacher; I am a mentor. I nurture the emotional needs of my students just as much as I supplement their knowledge. I know that some of my students will remember me in their old age, and this is all of the reassurance that I need to feel content.
I currently work with a young student who has had a very difficult start to her life. Although she is in the process of being adopted by an amazing woman, her early years were nothing short of horrific. In a short period of time, I have grown to love this student as if she is a part of my family. Despite the raw deal she was initially dealt, she has such a strong spirit and desire to be happy. I have always allowed her to freedom to share stories with me when she feels she needs to. Some of them have been hard to hear and painful to push away when I try to fall asleep. But I have continued to love her and nurture her and show her how smart and amazing she genuinely is.
About a month ago while she was up at the board doing math problems I started to braid her hair. She is beautiful with long, wavy hair that would make any model envious, but it is always wild and untamed. At first she froze; I asked her if I was bothering her, but she quickly relaxed and told me she was fine. I finished her braid and couldn't help but gush over how beautiful she looked. The smile on her face was priceless. When we were done she proudly showed her new hair style to her mom.
The following week, her mom motioned me to stay behind as the student bounded to my office. She told me that she couldn't believe that I had been allowed to braid her hair. Apparently she hadn't let anyone touch her hair, an unfortunate consequence of demons from her past. Not even her mom had been allowed to brush or style it in their months living together and learning about one another. To say I felt honored was an understatement.
At the end of our session my student pulled out new hair bands and a bow and excitedly told me they were for me to use when I braided her hair. She had even gotten all dressed up for the occasion.
The hair braiding has now become a ritual. At the end of each session I take 5 minutes to style her hair. Although it seems like such a small thing on the surface I know that it is symbolic of something so much deeper for her and her path to true happiness. Knowing that I have been instrumental in that, even in just a tiny fraction, is all the pay I need.
There is nothing as gratifying as working with students individually and helping them to see their own value. Since in my field I typically work with students who are struggling to succeed or are finding success to be stressful and cumbersome, I get to help them discover their own academic self worth. I have never worked with a "stupid" student. I have never worked with a student who is unable to learn and find success. What I constantly find is that I work with students who either do not understand themselves or have experienced so much failure that they have lost all hope. I feel so much pride in helping them debunk these myths. Every person has a set of unique and valuable skills. Every person is a genius in his/her own regard. It is finding those areas that is often the challenge.
Above all else, I make a difference in the lives of my students. I am not a tutor or teacher; I am a mentor. I nurture the emotional needs of my students just as much as I supplement their knowledge. I know that some of my students will remember me in their old age, and this is all of the reassurance that I need to feel content.
I currently work with a young student who has had a very difficult start to her life. Although she is in the process of being adopted by an amazing woman, her early years were nothing short of horrific. In a short period of time, I have grown to love this student as if she is a part of my family. Despite the raw deal she was initially dealt, she has such a strong spirit and desire to be happy. I have always allowed her to freedom to share stories with me when she feels she needs to. Some of them have been hard to hear and painful to push away when I try to fall asleep. But I have continued to love her and nurture her and show her how smart and amazing she genuinely is.
About a month ago while she was up at the board doing math problems I started to braid her hair. She is beautiful with long, wavy hair that would make any model envious, but it is always wild and untamed. At first she froze; I asked her if I was bothering her, but she quickly relaxed and told me she was fine. I finished her braid and couldn't help but gush over how beautiful she looked. The smile on her face was priceless. When we were done she proudly showed her new hair style to her mom.
The following week, her mom motioned me to stay behind as the student bounded to my office. She told me that she couldn't believe that I had been allowed to braid her hair. Apparently she hadn't let anyone touch her hair, an unfortunate consequence of demons from her past. Not even her mom had been allowed to brush or style it in their months living together and learning about one another. To say I felt honored was an understatement.
At the end of our session my student pulled out new hair bands and a bow and excitedly told me they were for me to use when I braided her hair. She had even gotten all dressed up for the occasion.
The hair braiding has now become a ritual. At the end of each session I take 5 minutes to style her hair. Although it seems like such a small thing on the surface I know that it is symbolic of something so much deeper for her and her path to true happiness. Knowing that I have been instrumental in that, even in just a tiny fraction, is all the pay I need.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
God's random acts of kindness
I have found that the moments I feel the most pride in my children come so unexpectedly. It is almost like God throws me "random acts of kindness" on days when I need them the most. Don't get me wrong; I always feel proud of my children. As cliche as it sounds, they are truly my greatest accomplishments and the reasons I strive so hard to be the best person possible. On top of that they are happy, kind-hearted, unique little beings with different sets of strengths and weaknesses. I love how each day I learn more about them and the people they are growing into. I especially love those random moments that make me stop my frantic pace, take a deep breath, and appreciate these little people in my world.
Yesterday when I was cleaning outside Maia came to find me. She proudly explained to me that Macey needed to go potty so she helped her. Not only did she move her sister's potty chair into my bathroom, but she also undressed her, helped her climb up, and was keeping her company. For as crazy as she is, Maia is a nurturer. She always has been. I'll never forget her as a baby carrying around her own babies and caring for them. She is a natural mother, and I can't wait to one day watch her with her own children.
Hunter is a giver-always has been and always will be. My son is the type of friend who always wants everyone else to have what they want. Over the years I have struggled watching him give away things that he loves to other people. I have to fight my urge to stop him. He is not being taken advantage of because he is doing these things because they make him feel good. I have little doubt that my son will one day be the man that offers a home cooked meal to a struggling family or donates half of his salary to some charity. The purity of his heart and his absolute faith in the goodness of other people make me admire him immeasurably.
Macey is in love with animals. While Maia will carry around baby dolls, Macey loves her cows, pigs, and sheep. This morning in the shower I watched her painstakingly bathing and playing with a little rabbit. Her sole purpose in the game was the give that rabbit the best bath possible. I often have to stop her from feeding the dogs her food, "But they're HUNGRY Mommy!" all the while not wanting to damper her spirit and passion. She is an avid reader for a two year old. She takes her books to sleep with her and insists on having them with her everywhere. I hope to one day read the novel that is swirling around in her head.
Although the big things are also important, I truly find my love deepens for my family the most when I quietly observe things they are doing. I will never forget seeing my son let all of his friends go first, patiently waiting for him turn, or my daughter gently feeding her baby, or my other daughter taking a moment to stop and snuggle with the dog. I find so much peace in watching how naturally they love and care for each other and the people in our lives.
Yesterday when I was cleaning outside Maia came to find me. She proudly explained to me that Macey needed to go potty so she helped her. Not only did she move her sister's potty chair into my bathroom, but she also undressed her, helped her climb up, and was keeping her company. For as crazy as she is, Maia is a nurturer. She always has been. I'll never forget her as a baby carrying around her own babies and caring for them. She is a natural mother, and I can't wait to one day watch her with her own children.
Hunter is a giver-always has been and always will be. My son is the type of friend who always wants everyone else to have what they want. Over the years I have struggled watching him give away things that he loves to other people. I have to fight my urge to stop him. He is not being taken advantage of because he is doing these things because they make him feel good. I have little doubt that my son will one day be the man that offers a home cooked meal to a struggling family or donates half of his salary to some charity. The purity of his heart and his absolute faith in the goodness of other people make me admire him immeasurably.
Macey is in love with animals. While Maia will carry around baby dolls, Macey loves her cows, pigs, and sheep. This morning in the shower I watched her painstakingly bathing and playing with a little rabbit. Her sole purpose in the game was the give that rabbit the best bath possible. I often have to stop her from feeding the dogs her food, "But they're HUNGRY Mommy!" all the while not wanting to damper her spirit and passion. She is an avid reader for a two year old. She takes her books to sleep with her and insists on having them with her everywhere. I hope to one day read the novel that is swirling around in her head.
Although the big things are also important, I truly find my love deepens for my family the most when I quietly observe things they are doing. I will never forget seeing my son let all of his friends go first, patiently waiting for him turn, or my daughter gently feeding her baby, or my other daughter taking a moment to stop and snuggle with the dog. I find so much peace in watching how naturally they love and care for each other and the people in our lives.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
La Familia
The thing about Mark's family...they are such amazing people. When I married my husband I had no idea how much more than him I was actually getting. Along with him came a network of people so committed to one another that helping is second nature and love flows abundantly. Take tonight, for example, when we went to a family birthday party. Despite there being so many incredible, dynamic people, there is an air of peace and love. Family gatherings epitomize a classic oxymoron: peaceful chaos. I feel...thankful. I feel...in awe of the constant network of support and acceptance. When Mark and I decided to make the sacrifice to sell our old home during the market crash and move into our new neighborhood, it was a calculated decision to provide our children the opportunity to grow up in this network. To wave at a cousin and uncle out for a bike ride, to wave at a grandmother on her way home from work...it is just the most awesome experience ever. I feel true success for providing my children with such a phenomenal base to jump from. La Familia. :)
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