Appreciation

It's Teacher Appreciation week and this is truly one of my most favorite weeks of the year.  And no, it's not because I enjoy getting spoiled (although, that is a nice side effect), but because I get to shower my kiddo's teachers with little gifts and trinkets to say thank you.  I love seeing how excited the girls get when they carry in that gift for their teacher (one each day) and their joy at hearing their teacher's words about their gift.  But truly, I love talking to them and hearing what they like best about their teachers so here they are:

The best thing my teacher does is:
Rachel- She teaches us things like math, science, and Japan.

Emily- That he helps me in math.

Cameron- Ball.

My teacher loves it when I:
Rachel- Help her.

Emily- Get good grades

Cameron- Ball.

My teacher's most favorite thing in the whole world is:
Rachel- She told me not to tell anybody, but I'm her favorite thing in the whole wide world.  Mom!  Don't type that!!  That's telling people!!!

Emily-  The Broncos.

Cameron- Baseball.

My teacher is the best because:
Rachel- She's just lovable.

Emily-  He taught me Colorado history.

Cameron- Ball.

My teacher does ____________ during the summer.
Rachel- Goes camping.  I think.  That's just a guess.

Emily- He goes camping.

Cameron- Ball.



The impact that ALL of my children's teachers have had on their lives is indescribable.  I hope that the teachers from my past know how much they meant to me and the person (and educator) that I have become is a result of their compassion, passion, caring, and dedication.  But more about them later......

P.S.  I'd share the gifts we are giving from this year with you now, but then that will ruin the surprise for the teachers.  After all, we have four more days of gift giving to go!    

Saying Goodbye

Today I said good bye to my best friend, my second mother, and third grandmother to my children.  She was pure beauty, full of grace and wit and will be missed so much.  I was comforted to see so many people at the service, full of guilt when I looked into the eyes of her son and daughter in law, and at peace when I heard all the wonderful stories about her. 

Those of you that know me know I am a crier.  It doesn't take much to get my eyes to flood.  As we sat together during the service the Middle, who never wants to cling to me in any way, reached for my hand and held it.  I looked at her face, she smiled, and started playing games with my hand.  It was a welcome, and needed, distraction.  I enjoyed watching her youngest granddaughter move impatiently around the pew, comforting her mother and father, and watching all of the people around her.  We caught each other's eyes several times and shared smiles.  I saw her grandmother in each smile.  I cried a lot today.  And yesterday.  All week in fact.  I've still not come to terms with the loss of my friend.  This was not the ending I had written for us and I don't like that someone else is changing my story.  I know I will be grieving for quite some time.  I know that I will miss her always.  But, I saw so much of her as I looked around the church.  Children she cared for and taught (including my own), adults that were blessed to know her, and family that loved her.  She lives on. 

She fought that cancer hard, gave it her all, and in her words "it is what it is."  I'll miss you my friend.  You're forever in my heart and I will endeavor to make you proud. 

This song was played at the service today.

Hate, Love and Loss

Hate is a word used sparingly in our house.  The number one rule is that we do not hate any living thing and the word is used only in extreme frustration or for very serious things like hating lima beans or Mondays.  I’ve been struggling with those rules in the past day and a half.  My emotions are up and down, left and right, and they all keep traveling back to hate.  Right now the feeling is overwhelming me.  Right now I can honestly say that I hate cancer and I hate myself.

I’m also feeling loss.  I’ve lost a best friend, a mother figure, and a role model.  She watched me grow up, guided me through college and career, and later through marriage and motherhood.  She was that calming influence.  The person you could go to with any problem.  She would pray with you, laugh with you, cry with you, and help you find the best path.  You always felt like you could do anything after talking to her.  She had a wicked sense of humor.  God could she make me laugh!  She was so caring and loving.    She had the purest soul, the biggest heart, and I am blessed to call her friend. 

There was always something to get in the way of our friendship though.  Basketball games, dance classes, Girl Scout meetings and t-ball.  Then came work, lesson planning, training and studying.  There was laundry, and dishes, and mopping and sweeping.  The list was endless.  The list was also meaningless.  I let life get in the way of being a good friend.  I put myself first and what I needed above others.  Mostly above her.  I neglected our friendship.  I neglected her.

And now she’s gone.  This beautiful, amazing person was taken from us.  I never got to tell her one more time how much I loved her.  What she meant to me.  What an amazing gift she was to me.  I never got to say good bye.  Or hug her one last time.  Or pray with her again. 

Since I heard the news I’ve found myself going back and forth between sending thoughts and prayers to her and feeling an immense amount of guilt.  I hope she knew how deep my love for her is.  How much she means to me.  How I will forever hold her in my heart.  She is a piece of me.  She helped me to become what I am.  And see what I want to be.

I’ve learned a lesson from my neglect.  You can’t take your time here for granted.  Willing someone to live forever won’t make it a reality.  You can’t guarantee that they will be here for you to love, hug, and laugh with tomorrow.  You have to accept today for what it is, to embrace it, live it, and be happy in the moments that we do get.  My heart hurts for the loss and for what I never got to say, and I don’t intend to make that mistake again.   

Today while driving the Big to an appointment we heard the sirens of a fire truck as it raced past us.  I heard her say “Please bless the firefighters and those they are going to help.”  She taught my Big how to do that.  It’s one of the many pieces of her that will live on.  And I love that she is still here.          

Small Moments

On of my favorite units to teach in Writer's Workshop is Personal Narratives.  The definition that I teach my kinders is that a personal narrative is a "small moment that you stretch out".  It's not just telling me you went to the zoo with your aunt, it's telling me about feeding the giraffes and how silly their tongues felt.  It's about focusing on that one Christmas gift and how you felt opening it.  It's how the smell of your mom's chocolate chip cookies make Snow Day's awesome.  I also tell them that it's something that seems so insignificant, yet so important that you want to remember it.  I was struck by that feeling the other night as I watch my Big do something so insignificant that I had to share to avoid losing the memory forever.

The Boy was sick for over a week and his demanding, feverish ways kept him permanently attached to my body for the duration of the fever.  I couldn't even escape him in sleep.  He would pull my face close to his, one hand on my hair, the other on his blanket before laying down to sleep.  If I tried to pull away to take care of the girls, the cats, or even myself he would put a death grip on my hair and whimper "No Mama!" before pulling me close to him.  His hot, sticky breath on my face, hands tangled in my hair, and body securing me to my spot meant that I was stuck.  A lot.

I was thankful that the girls were older and capable of being independent during this week.  They didn't suffer from having to do a bit more for themselves, each other, and for me.  They did it happily, loving to help out.  It was one of those nights that the Middle asked for some ice cream.  She knew her Papa had snuck in some mini ice creams against mommy's wishes and the chocolates were calling to her.  I said yes, but asked if they could wait a few minutes for their brother to untangle himself from me so I could grab them.  Stay where you're at, I was told by the Big.  I can get them.

Seriously?  When did she get so tall that she could not only reach the freezer, but pull things out without causing an avalanche?  I hesitated before saying okay, then turned my body, baby growth attached, to watch her expertly grab two chocolate ice creams, spoons and paper towels before heading to the breakfast table.  She swiftly pulled the lids and plastic wraps off of both containers before putting them in the microwave for 10 seconds (my girls hate ice cream that's too hard) and placing them on the table again for her and her sister to enjoy.  I was struck in that moment at how big 9 years old can really be and it hit me like a ton of bricks that this young lady is MINE. 

She is just one year away from middle school.  She is going to the "senior prom" at school with her Papa in five days.  She takes showers alone, empties the dishwasher, and carries the Boy around like an expert.  All these small, seemingly insignificant things that "big kids" do and yet, I've continued to look at her as my baby girl.  I got so caught up in the Boy turning two, I forgot that my Big would be double digits in a few months.  Where the heck has the time gone!?!?!  Wasn't she just two a few months ago?  Pigtailed, milk in hand, watching The Wiggles? 

I've made a promise to myself over the past week.  I'm going to really slow down and take in the small moments, to write some personal narratives in real life.  Because when it's all said and done, that's really what it's all about.  It's all those small moments that you don't get a rain check on if you don't enjoy them the first time around.

    

Bring It

Many of you had so many kind words and supportive things to say after the rant that was my last post.  A PM from a family member started it all.  I was basically told I was a socialist, union loving brain washer and that "these" types of things are what I'm teaching my students.  Normally I would have let that message roll off my back and down into the pit of their despair.  But this time, it struck a nerve.  This time, I decided to not hold in my anger.  This time, I stopped being the doormat and fought back.

I'm often the person people will come to if they need something done.  Not because I'm good at it mind you, but because I won't say no.  I struggle with disappointing others.  I want to be the problem solver that takes care of everything.  I enjoy helping my friends and family out but sometimes it bites me in the behind because I'm also the person people go to when they are ticked off about something (or someone) else.  They know I will put up with their abuse because I'm "too nice" to fight back.  The gloves had to come off sometime and because my integrity as a person and an educator was questioned, they not only came off but were slammed to the mat. 

I stand by everything I wrote.  I have no regrets having put those words out there and if that makes me a socialist, union loving, brain washer then so be it.  But, at least add in articulate and educated.  Because between you and I, we both know my response kicked your PM's ass.   

What's in a community?

Today, thanks to a blizzard that never roared it’s ugly head, we had a snow day. It was a nice relaxing day with family. I caught up on laundry, worked on lessons plans, and watched reruns of Project Runway all day.  I also cleaned out the four (yep, that's right, four) bags of books, plans, and assessments that I had lugged home from school yesterday.  I might only have to bring two back tomorrow.  I was taking a break and checking in on Facebook later in the afternoon and noticed a video that several of my family members had posted on their walls. Here is the link. Most of the posts were very concerned about her message. Some comments compared the message to Hitler, to a liberal biased media telling us that they want to shape our children into soldiers of the left. I interpreted it in a very different manner than they did. It actually brought me back to a turning point in my teaching career. A point when one small decision turned out to be the biggest of my professional career.

I was ready to move on from the private preschool that I had been teaching at for 8 years. I knew I wanted more professionally and sought out some positions that could do that for me. I was blessed enough to find two that fit the bill. One was a pre-kindergarten teacher at one of the most prestigious private schools in the city. The interview process was rigorous. I was interviewed first by the teaching team (five teachers all from the Early Childhood Education Department) and then the Dean one-on-one. Then I had to create a lesson plan for the morning (two and a half hours) that fit in with their current unit of study (arachnids) that included eight different centers and a large group lesson. I had four different teachers and administrators observing me. After that, I was interviewed again by the head teacher and the Dean. I was offered the position.

The other was at the local Head Start agency. I was interviewed for over an hour by a panel of ten people that included teachers, board members, and administrators. They called my references the next day. That was it. It was not as intense as the private school. I was offered the position.

Two more polar opposites could not have existed. A position at a private school; a school parents sought out for their child because of the excellent education and high standards it presented. The school full of parents invested in their child’s education that would be active participants. A school with children that wanted to come to school and had very high expectations placed upon them for their academic career. Then there was the Head Start position. Children below the poverty line who needed a Family Advocate to help them find clothing and food. Parents who wouldn’t, or couldn’t work, and who didn’t know enough about education to make the right choices for their children because of the cycle of poverty had left them undereducated. There were foster children, abused children, and neglected children. And I would be expected to teach them.

One position would be a lot of work, yet easy. The advanced development of the children in the private school would make my job easy as far as planning. The plethora of activities that I could plan and accomplish with them would be a dream. The parents would be more demanding, but I felt I could handle the pressure. The other would be full of children who were far behind the curve developmentally. I would have to differentiate like I’d never done so before. And oh goodness the government paperwork I’d have to fill out each day for that position would be a nightmare. Decisions, decisions.

Many people (especially those that don’t know me very well) would be shocked to learn that I picked the Head Start position. I picked it because I felt it was my calling. I was put here to be an active engaged member of my community and I fill that role by being an educator. The private school job would have been a cake job. I’m sure I would not have had DHS on my speed dial had I taken the job there, that I would not have watched parents be arrested, that I would not report abuse one day only to find the family had run off in the middle of the night and I’d never see that student again. I’m sure I wouldn’t come home most nights on the verge of an emotional break down because of what I had experienced at work that day. But I also would have missed out on the joy of hearing a four year old, selective mute student’s first words. Or watching former students score proficient on state assessments even though the statistics said that they shouldn’t. I would have missed on watching family’s change their lives with the help of their community. I was a part of something amazing. Had I not gone to Head Start I would not have become involved in legislation that changes the face of education in my state. I would not be an active member of several professional organizations that fight for children in my community each and every second of the day. I would not be a warrior for children.  I would not know the power of a community.

So, back to the video. I did not take it to mean that my children do not belong to me, as many are interpreting it. I took it to mean that education in our communities is ALL of our responsibility. There’s nothing I hate more than to hear “It’s not my school/my district/my state so it’s not my problem”. It IS our problem. When we don’t as a community invest in ALL of the children around us then we have failed. And our failure is as parents, as community members, and as human beings. I don’t take this video to mean that it’s a community’s responsibility to raise my children, to indoctrinate them into their beliefs, to do MY job for me. It’s my job to raise respectful, responsible, and empathic children. It’s my job to teach my children how to be contributing members of the community and how to care for those around them. To care about what happens in the world and to work hard to achieve great things. But it’s also my job to create a community that supports families and education. And I can’t do that if I refuse to accept what is, or is not, occurring in my neighborhood, city, and state. I have to accept blame if I choose to bury my head in the sand and not be a voice for my children and their peers.

I took the video to say that we need to accept responsibility for that and for the children in our communities, whether we gave birth to them or not. To fight for them, encourage them, and be present for them.  To also FUND them! It’s far too easy to say public education sucks so I’ll put my kid in private school. Then those issues will be someone else’s problem, not mine. At least MY kids will be okay. I think that is, to be perfectly honest, a really shitty way to look at it. Whether you have children or not, I feel it’s your duty to invest in education, to care about the next generation, and to do right by them. Because if you don’t, who will?

There is a war raging in public education right now.  And we will all suffer the consequences if too many of us choose to look the other way and focus only on the needs of our own family.  Decisions are being made by companies that contribute millions to politicians who push their agendas through our system.  They create Race to the Top and NCLB in the guise of "what's best for children" without consulting a single educator (except for a few that lasted one or two years in the classroom before moving up to admin).  They stand to make thousands off of each child that is pushed through their testing system, create huge databases (with your child's personal information) of successes (and excuses for the failures), while not one of them accepts responsibility for educating our children in a relevant and appropriate manner.  They throw child development and appropriate educational goals out the window to make a buck.  And we sit there and worry about a video that calls us to action?  One that asks us to invest in ALL of our children?  Now I understand why they are winning.

Milestones

Most evenings, after the munchkins are in bed, I settle in for about two hours of work. There's papers to look over, lessons to differentiate, and curriculum to realign. Tonight the routine was different because I had to get ready for the baby boy's second birthday tomorrow. I've really been having a hard time with this milestone.  It's almost a bigger deal to me than birthday number 1.  He's transitioning from baby to toddler.  I can't stop it.  And that's killing me.

 

I was talking with two amazing friends (and fellow mothers) earlier today about it all.  They both have four children so to say they've been there and done that is an understatement.  While we were talking I admitted that the reason The Boy still has his pacifier is because it's really the last baby thing he has that I do have control over.  He absolutely doesn't need it.  He spends the entire day at daycare without it, including naps, and he survives.  I finally understood today that it's really me that still needs it.

 

I've found this time around there is something a little different about being a mama to a boy.  I love my girls something fierce, don't doubt it. And, I can't explain what it is, but that special connection is there.  He's all boy; rough and tumble, into trains and cars, and loves any sport with a ball.  But he's a mama's boy.  He checks in on me if I'm not in eyesight with a quick "Mama!" and waits for my answer.  I was the first one to get his slobbery, open mouth kisses and the first one to hear him say "Love you!"  I was there for every first there was.  And every single one of them is a bittersweet last for me too.

 

So tonight, on the eve of his second birthday, I put him to bed without the paci.  He's got his blankie, favorite music, and beloved Mickey to keep him company.  I am glued to the baby monitor to spy on him.  Honestly, I was hoping to hear "Oh no, mama!" like I usually do when I've "tried" to put him down without it.  There's nothing but the soft sound of Mozart coming from the screen.  I'm not sure whether to cry or feel proud.  Either way, here's how this mama is preparing for the big day....... 

Guilt

So the Hubby's employer (better known as Satan's accomplices) changed his schedule at the last minute.  For most people this isn't a problem, but when you work out of state it does create a bit of a situation for the household.  The Hubs is Mr. Mom two days a week which is the best situation possible for our family.  The little guy only has to go to child care (ours is AMAZING by the way) three days a week so my mommy guilt isn't as large as it was with the older two that were in full time care.  Thanks to the company, I was left without childcare today.  My OCD, PPAD, and other assorted acronyms kicked in before I calmed down and sent a text to our child care provider.  Of course she didn't have drop in space at the last minute (which I totally expected) so I had to go to Plan C.  Plan B is to call my back up providers, including grandparents, college aged kiddos, and SAHM friends.  I completely skipped that step and called in a sub for myself for the day. 

If you know me, you know that is a difficult thing for me to do.  I hate missing work.  Part of it is because it is far more work to prep for a sub than it is to be at work.  Mostly, it's because I hate changing the routine of my kinders.  Kinders are religious routine followers.  Don't you dare change something up without warning them because they will hunt you down.  I had a kiddo one year grab my lesson plan book because I dared to change up the schedule.  He just to see the change in black and white.  Yep, it's that bad.  What makes it harder is having your go to subs not available for you either.  Handing off MY kinders to a new guest teacher was hard for me to wrestle with.  But I did it.  I did it because honestly, I needed a day with my baby.  In less than a month he'll be two.  He's our last baby so every first is a last to me. 

I know I changed the routine.  I know that my class could have a bad day today.  I know I'll regret getting nothing done but blogging, Facebook, and pinterest during his nap.  I know the professional in me is dying about the fact that I'm gone.  I also know that I got to play with my baby boy uninterrupted for 3 straight hours before he crashed into his bed, Mickey Mouse and football in hand.  And I know that makes it all worth it.

Update:  It helped my guilt a little that I spent part of nap time printing out some classroom materials (on my home computer since I can't print at work).

It's Official

The past two months have been a rollercoaster of emotions for me in my teaching. I've gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. Teaching is rarely easy and we need to remember that at the start of each day, when you open your classroom door, it becomes all about you and your students.  Your students look to you to teach them.  To teach them, love them, and lead them.  And that's a powerful thing.  

Joy Suckers

     Lately I have fallen victim to the Joy Suckers, as my dear friend calls them.  You know who they are.  The ones that constantly complain and are so full of negative energy that you tense up each time you see them.  I know them because I've found that there are days when I roll with them.  Griping about this and that, full of hate and contempt, spewing my misery on every adult I talk to.  It's hard for me to pull myself out when I dig down deep with this crew.  My PPD and GAD make it easy to focus on the negative.  I cringe at the though of change, much less the actual living through it.  I put the spotlight on each and every thing that can, will, and is going wrong.  I push aside anything semi happy or positive.  And that makes me feel like crap.
     I decided yesterday that I have no one to blame for this attitude except myself.  Not my job, my kids, my husband, or my family.  It's all on me.  I thought about all those cheesy sayings about positive attitudes and realized that they are right.  I control my attitude and my fate.  Constantly complaining won't change anything.  I have to be a doer.  I have to do what I need to do to be happy.  Whining to every grown up within earshot isn't going to change something.  It just makes me the person people run away from when they see me walking down the hallway.  It's my job to be a role model for my children and my students by stepping up and using my big girl words to be the change that I want to be.
     One of the benefits of never being able to sleep is that I have plenty of time to browse pinterest.  I found this idea the other night and had to do it.  I feel that it's so easy to focus on the negative things someone does and much harder to see the good in them.  I wanted a way for everyone in the family to feel appreciated and to see in black and white (or blue, green, and red) how the people around them love and appreciate them.  There are days when I feel like a warden and not a mom, and I wanted a way to bring back that happiness.  By taking a few minutes each day to think of one really great thing each person did, I'm able to bring that focus back on the joy.  I'm filling myself and my family up with joy and hopefully refilling that which I've taken.  And the markers are available to anyone in the house, not just me.  I love that the girls can think about something involving the other sister that isn't a tattle.  And I love that John can see the good things that are happening when he is here.  

 

 

            
         I've also made a promise to myself that I'm going to stop being that person that sucks the joy out of those around me.  I want to be someone that others seek out because they enjoy being around me.  I want to be the friend that listens and doesn't focus on herself all of the time.  I want to stop and count my blessings, because I truly have many.

Balancing Act

C and I have established a very comfortable Sunday morning routine.  Well, it's comfortable for him, less so for me.  Basically, while everyone else is in Sunday school or church I spend 2 and a half hours chasing him around the chapel.  Our usual path takes us all over the chapel, including the kitchen (always have to stop in there for some muffins), the stained glass windows (where I name each and every color he points out to me), and eventually we end up outside (I have to wonder what the MP's that see me wandering around each week think).  I do this because at almost 22 months, he's not ready to sit down and be quiet during mass.  We often end up in the very back of the chapel and participate in the last 20 minutes or so, and that's okay with me.  I'd rather spend quality time with him like this, then forcing him to be quiet when he's really not ready to be.  We talk, interact, and enjoy each other.  Having attended the same church since I was five years old, we know most of the church goers, and most are familiar with our routine.  Today while walking down the hall, I overheard a comment that was made about me and in a nutshell is was that "you'd think with all the running around she does chasing after him she wouldn't be so big."  Ouch!

After hearing that comment I had an hour to walk around, "alone" in my thoughts (C isn't exactly one to to hash out concerns with).  Anyone that knows me, knows that I'm not the smallest size I could be.  That's obvious. I don't defend that either.  There is no excuse.  I've been called lazy when I say it's hard for me to get the gym.  Straight to my face even.  Yes, I only make it to the gym when John is home.  Why?  Because I personally can't justify bringing my children to the gym daycare so I can go when he's gone.  I just spent an entire day away from them while I was at work (another thorn in the rose that is my mama guilt).  The time I get to spend with them is so important to me and to bring them there feels to me like I am saying "Hey, I missed you for those 9 hours we were apart.  Quick. let's head to the gym so I can be away from you some more while I do something for me!"  Right or wrong, those are my feelings.  When John is gone for those 5 days each week, I find ways to include the kids in my workouts.  We go for runs and bikes rides and bust a move to Just Dance and wii fit.  My favorites are the impromptu dance parties in the kitchen.  Running on a treadmill doesn't hold a candle to giggles with my girls in the kitchen while we watch their brother shake his booty.  I wouldn't trade running alongside R the first time she learned to ride without training wheels or the talks my big nine year old and I have as we watch the other two run around the park.  Sure it takes longer for me to break out into a sweat, and no it's not the most efficient workout, but it is what it is.  I like that I'm showing my children that fitness and being healthy isn't just about going to a gym, that time together is precious, and that we can meet both needs if we work at it.

I also struggle with the balance of finding time for me, and what I need personally to thrive, and meeting the needs of those around me.  I need to workout.  I feel so much better when I do.  Thanks to watching the successes of some dear friends I have found that running gives me a high that I never knew possible.  Do I look like Phoebe from Friends when I'm out running?  Hell yeah!  But I rock that run and I feel amazing!  I enjoy having an hour to be with my thoughts, to process them and organize them, because it helps me be a better friend, wife, teacher, and mother.  Those feelings are so powerful to me that I often wonder why I don't seek them out more often.  I've learned that it's because I don't feel like it's okay to put myself first.  I watch my darling hubby head off to the gym each and every day he is home with little concern for anything else but his need for a workout.  He needs it, so he does it.  Simple as that.  He never asks for "permission" to go, which is something I feel like I need.  I need someone to give me permission to go.  To say, "Gina, go to the gym/for a run/to Starbucks and I'll take the kids/make dinner/take care of things here."  I'm no martyr.  I know that things will function just fine if I leave for an hour.  I sincerely know that.  But it's so hard to say that I am important and worth it.  That taking care of me doesn't mean the loves of my life are pushed to the side, it just means it's my turn to be first.  Taking turns is important.  But man is it hard for me to put myself into first place.   

I don't feel that the judgement that was placed on me today was fair, and I also don't want you to think that I am standing in judgment of anyone else for their choices.  I've come to realize that as a parent, you have to make the best decisions for your family.  If you do that, then they are the right ones.  End of story.  But for me that's a hard thing to do.  I need to fully embrace the thought that if it's important, I'll make time for it, if it's not, I'll make excuses.  I just hope I can accept that my needs are important and that every so often, being in first place is the right place for me to be.   

     

       

      

As a teacher, I can honestly say that each and every day is different.  The plans are set, materials are prepped, but things don't always go the way you want them too.  This year I have 26 amazing, endearing, occasionally frustrating, gorgeous miracles that I get to come in contact with five days a week.  There are days that I feel so motivated, inspired, and moved by the things that happen in my classroom.  Then there are days where I wish there was a wine bar in the teacher's lounge.  But every so often there is a day that moves me to tears, makes me swell with pride, and on these days I can feel my heart grow 100 times bigger.  Yesterday was one of those days.

"A" came to my class four years ago.  He was able to speak a total of five words.  It would be remiss of me to go into any further detail, but the stories I could tell you about him would break your heart.  He had a long way to go academically, but had the sweetest and biggest heart on the planet.  He spent two years in my kindergarten classroom.  Two years of growth, of heartache, of success, of determination, and most of all, of hard work.  Two years of worming his way into my heart forever too.  I reluctantly gave him away to first grade but knowing he was moving on to someone that would love him, teach him, and inspire him made that easier.  Now he's a big second grader.  He's with an amazing teacher who also happens to have a huge heart.  Yesterday she sent A down to my classroom to read to me.  It sounds so simple, but if you knew the path this kiddo had taken to get to this point you would understand the magnitude of this event.  My teaching assistant and I both stopped what we were doing and listened to him read.  My kindergartners stopped their activities and listened in too.  And read he did.  He read with voice, he read with purpose, and he read like any other second grader would read.  It was one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard.  And I cried.  My assistant and I both gave him the biggest hugs and told him that we were so proud of him.  And I cried.

I am crying now as I think about that moment.  The kids in my classes smile and nod each year when I tell them that they are forever my babies.  They don't understand that it's the truth.  They are forever in my hearts and I live for each milestone I get to see them reach.  It's moments like yesterday that help me remember why I do what I do.  And remind me why I absolutely love it.

There is nothing sweeter than a snuggle after bath time.  It's so easy to get caught up in the busy nighttime routine and forget to stop and be present.  A mother's work is never done, but those are the things that can wait.  My baby won't be a baby for much longer. 

My goal this year is to enjoy the little things more.  This picture is a start of that.  It is a simple memory of a fun afternoon spent with a great friend, the first time C got to decorate Christmas cookies, and a reminder that sometimes it's okay to relax and enjoy being a mom.