The Great Pig Race

I spent the better part of my morning thinking about pig races. Yes, you read correctly, Pig Races.  My English teacher, Mr. Arnold​, used to make a surprise guest appearance during morning announcements every now and again, rattling our auditory senses and imaginative centers with a great Pig Race.

Classrooms would go silent while all the students listened to the commentary, describing the eager contestants.  We'd follow the race in the trails of our minds, down hallway B, past the library, through the gymnasium, swinging past the canteen, running from the Biology teacher.  We'd all cheer as they crossed the finished line at the office and puzzle the pieces all together to determine the winner.  The hook was that the winner wasn't announced until much later in the day... oh the anticipation.  I actually remember common room discussions and debates about the race and who the winner would be.  Some days (okay, many days), I miss school.  Most of all, I miss my mentors like Mr. Arnold.

I giggled all morning reminiscing about the great Pig Races (begging my kids to stop looking at me like that), and realized how prevalent they are in my every day life right now.  Everything is a Pig Race.    All the contestants (kids, career, home, schools, relationships, friendships) are running the race. They each have their own colored bib and numbers in the race.  The pigs run the gammets every day, and everyone seems to have their own crack at being the commentator.   My mind is a well worn track begging for blue ribbons and euphoria.

Truth be told... I love the race.  I love the excitement, I love the wonder of who's on the right track and of course, I struggle with who's running the wrong direction entirely.  I have gratitude for the Pig Race - despite the never ending need to know who won by the end of the day.

That's one happy little pig... I wonder who won?  

Learning Is Half The Battle

There's been an abundance of discussion regarding behavior and communication in my house of late. Let me note my favorite phrases lately:

1. Be better. 
2. Stop It. Just stop it. 
3. It's okay to be wrong. 
4. Why don't you take a minute, think about that, and return when you can have a reasonable discussion. 
5. We do not run on telepathy, please use your words. 
6. Please give me ALL the information before creating an unnecessary situation. 
7. We all have choices. 

I will stop there. I could go on all night, really I could, about all of the lessons I want to teach my children; of how I want them to be better people, to communicate with kindness, without ill intention, to know what they need to express and how to fundamentally get their point across without belittling another in that accomplishment. I can only teach what I have learned, and as I hear from the outside a lot lately - "we can only know what we know" (or as my son reminds me, "knowing is half the battle").

Friday afternoon, before my weekend started, I posted this on the ever popular boredom killer we all know as facebook: "This weekend, please remember: we are all free to choose our behavior, but we are not free from the consequence. Be better. That's a choice too". It was not intended for self reflection. But by Friday night, I was eating my own words. They tasted like crow. It was a necessary, humbling experience. "Be better, be better, be better..." Oh, but how I didn't want to be. I wanted to be right, and stubborn, and justified, and did I mention, right? In the end, I wasn't exactly right... (not entirely wrong, but none the less, not right) Dammit. It was hard for me to look at what I have been trying to teach my children, and know, we, as adults, are far from done with our own lessons. I am far from done learning.

Here is to leading by example, and whatever the hell the opposite of hypocrisy is... Here is to sincerity (thank you google). Hat's off to learning, and of course, to being better.

Onward. Choose wisely.

I Did My Job

Yesterday, I was a good parent.

Let me explain this to you.  I sat at a table for four hours, cramming math learning down the throat of a child with dyscalculia.

dys·cal·cu·li·a
ˌdiskalˈkyo͞olēə/
noun: dyscalculia
severe difficulty in making arithmetical calculations, as a result of brain disorder.

I taught, repetitively, checking work, redoing questions, redoing the same question sometimes, over and over.  I explained, I walked away, I went back, I checked, I taught, I checked. The answers came out right.  I prepared a student for a test.  I practiced until he was ready, until I was satisfied.  And, yesterday, I was a math teacher... 

Wait... didn't I just say yesterday I was a good parent? 

Yesterday, I was a good parent according to the definition of a math teacher that told me I hadn't been doing my job as a parent when I wasn't being a math teacher.  

Let me tell you about the rest of my day yesterday.  I went to work to my full time job (yes, 8 hours a day, 5 days a week).  Graciously, my employer allows me to leave work for half an hour to take my children to school.  So I did.  I took my children to school, had a morning conversation with them, chatted about their days and we even laughed some.  We talked about schedules and meetings coming up, who worked last night and who didn't.  

I had to interrupt my morning to meet with both a councellor and student support staff member regarding my child's learning.  I returned to work... I worked... and again interrupted my day for a third meeting back at the school with a teacher - a teacher who proceeded to tell me that my child failed her math class because of his own habits (to which I agreed) and because I failed to do my job as a parent (ummmm excuse me?).  She assured me she had done nothing wrong as a teacher in a class she despised, and checking homework, ensuring understanding and passing grades were not her job,  In fact, she told me, it was no longer their job to care in high school if students passed their classes - that was my  job.  

And as I sat there staring at her like she had eight heads covered in snakes, sure she might turn me to stone, she said to me, "after all, this is your special needs child, not mine".  That was my moment of horror.  That was the dam gates opening and tears filled my eyes, and I found myself  and my child being belittled by a teacher who, frankly, didn't give a damn. If I, at that moment, felt lost and horrible in her classroom, what must my child have gone through trying to understand the most difficult thing in his life sitting in this chair?  I am an adult and her words were like slices of a knife in my soul. "didn't do my job as a parent?"   

After this meeting, I returned to work, and stared at the monitor on my desk, and cried.  I tried to find some things to occupy my time, and then I cried some more.  Eventually, I went home.  I laid in my bed in the dark, contemplating my job as a parent, and again, I cried.  I waited for the kids to come home.  I pasted on a half smile, we talked about their days.  I talked about math with one while the other got ready for work. 

I talked with my child.  We talked about responsibilities.  We talked about time.  We talked about jobs and the future.  We talked about happiness and joy, and about failure and heartache and hard things to decide.  We talked about preparation and consequences and getting the results we want for ourselves.  

I went out and did the sidewalks, charged a battery on a frozen truck, and took a moment to myself to breath in some very cold air, 

I came in, took the young one to work, returned and watched my oldest working at his decision for math.  I taught - and I was a good parent according to the math teacher's definition. 

Let me tell you what didn't get done.  I didn't tidy the living room, I didn't do any laundry, I didn't pay any bills or do any paperwork.  I didn't even make supper - we all found our own way to nourishment.  Hold on here... I didn't do my job as a parent... but I sure as hell did my job as a math teacher.  How did that happen? 

I took a break from the math, leaving the student on his own, and I went to have a screaming hot shower, thinking of all the parental things that didn't get done tonight.  I was exhausted.  

I threw on some old pajama pants and a hoodie and returned to the math table, where I spent another hour and a half (making that four and a half hours) teaching math, And when I was certain of the learning, I high fived my satisfied student who was now smiling, and I excused us both from the table.  

I picked up my youngest from work and stopped at Dairy Queen for food and treats - and don't we deserve them!  And then, for forty five minutes, I sat.  I turned off my brain, and I turned off my emotions, and I turned off all of things that didn't get done.  I didn't call anyone out of their room, I didn't ask any more questions. I sat.

And in that time, my oldest came upstairs to say thank you for my time tonight, kissed me on the cheek and told me I was the most amazing mom in the world.  

My children shouted good night to me from the basement, and loud "I love you"s.  And I went to bed.  Once or twice, they came upstairs again to say goodnight, or to talk quickly about something ridiculous, and again, to make sure I knew how much they loved me and hear how much I loved them.  I love them the most, and the longest.  

This morning, the routine started all over again.  I went to work, picked up kids, took them to school.  One played music to keep me cultured in the new words she enjoyed, one held the door for a girl when he got to the school and went inside.  They both smiled and set off for their days with confidence and knowing I love and support them.  All the while, since 11:30 yesterday morning, I have been thinking about "not doing my job as a parent".  And here is what I know.  I am a good parent.  I love my children, unconditionally and so wholly, sometimes I wonder how there is any of me left to love.  And tonight, maybe I won't check the math book, or maybe next week I won't check homework, or play teacher, or email teachers to check progress, or check in at the classroom to make sure the teacher has nothing to tell me, or has something to tell me that she can't apparently express without prompting.  I may not, as a parent, know how someone did on a test, even though I have asked three or four or eleven times.  IT DOESN'T MAKE ME A BAD PARENT. 

So, math teacher, that has ruined two days now this week, I say YOU DIDN'T DO YOUR JOB AS A TEACHER.  And that's not mine to own.  Do your own work.  And in the mean time, learn not to belittle people to make yourself feel better.  My son isn't going to come to you today and tell you exactly what he thinks of your comments or our conversation.  He will, however, come to you respectfully and thank you for the opportunity to improve his mark and work his ass off to meet the number he needs to move on.  He will not belittle your "teaching" or lack there of.  He will take the generous opportunity given to him, and he will do so with a smile.  On the way to the room in which you will have him rewrite an exam, he will probably hold the door for you.  He will say please and thank you, and when he is done, he will return the paper to you, satisfied that he tried.  And tomorrow or the next day, or even next week, he will do it all over again, two more times.  And every day following in the hallway, he will not ever present to you as rude or disrespectful.  He will always return a friendly greeting, he will always carry on with a smile.  

Do you know why?  Because I did my job as a parent.  That's why.  

 now it's your turn. 

Get On Your Soap Box

I had a very long over due visit with my dear amica stretta last night. It was a soul talk I was longing for and desperately needed.  I miss our talks when we go too long, but pick up like never missed a day.

We wandered into some emotional waters,and something that's been on my mind for some time, but I rarely talk about it with anyone.  It's one of those demons that hides in the shadows.  It was a dark and light discussion about end of life conversations and the role they play for us in our sense of peace when we have to go and leave it all behind.  More than once, I had tears well up that wanted to escape, and my breath caught in my throat at the thought of it all.

Without getting into any unnecessary detail, I was filled with an image of this person, struggling with the end of their life, having to say good bye, and needing to hear that it was okay (or as okay as it could be), and having absolutely no idea how to facilitate what that need was for them.  I, for a brief moment, put myself in that bed, in that illness, in that time, staring into the eyes of people who were silently begging me not to go, but knowing there was no more control for me in this ill fate.  I was devastated, and terrified, and so incredibly sad,  I pictured the one on one time I would have to spend with my children, my parents, and the love of my life saying all the things I know they would need to hear, and all of the things I would have to say.  My soul cried.  It cried for necessity, it cried for love, it cried for grace.

It stuck with me all night, and I woke up with it still ominous and present.  And perhaps what is urgent with me is the question of do I want to wait until there is no time left to say what needs to be heard?  What if there was no more time?  Would those people know exactly the things I held inside my soul for them? Do I need to be in a place that threatens my time to make sure I know everyone is complete, and that I am whole?

No.

So, I decided.  It's time to get on my soapbox.  It's time to say all those things that people will remember, and hopefully, smile. It is in these days of wonder, where I am healthy and young, and vibrant (oh by the way I plan on being young and healthy and vibrant at 103), that everyone will know exactly how they have touched my soul.

My children should never wonder if I am proud of them, or if they did everything just right.  My kids should never long for more time with me, and if they have, shame on me, and now is the time to lay with them and actively listen to their words, and feel their warmth as they hug me.  My friends should not go away from me wondering if we should have hugged one last time, or if that conversation was fulfilling enough to last them if it should have to,  In this time, where I am blessed with time with my parents, let me be grateful and vocal with my love for them and for every single moment.  Let me take in their wisdom and hear them when they teach me.  Trap those memories and share them.  Take time and don't be too busy, or too tired, or too grown up.  Don't ever let tomorrow be the day where I wished I'd have said "I love you" one more time.

And oh that love of mine... in a time where we have just found one another, does he know?  Does he know just how elated my soul is when he is near, and how it reaches for him even while he lays quietly with me at night?  Is he sure that there has never been, nor will there ever be again, another human that has shown me the kind of love that he has brought into my life.  Does he know the smile he loves is one he created?  May he never get to the end of the day questioning just how grateful I am for his soul, and I will never leave that sacred space we share where time is irrelevant and love knows no boundaries.

I am on my soap box today and everyday.  I promise, I am not waiting until there is no time left.  When I tell my people I love them, and thank them for sharing my time on Earth, it will not be with fear of what time is left, but of grace, that I have made every effort to share part of me with them...with you.

Get on your soapbox. I love you.

15 Intentions

Okay... I am sitting down. I have told myself I am going to write,  This is it.  It's not like I haven't tried before, actually at least twice a day, but nothing comes out.  Nothing,  I sit, I stare, I fail to write.  I have no idea what's going on inside, or why.  Maybe I have filled the space that writing used to fill with something else?

It's the fourth day of January, and I have yet to set any intentions for this new year we have embarked on.  It's been years since I have waited it out like this.  I have taken a long look at last year's intentions and weighed them out.  And now here I sit, injured knee up, forcing myself to write... So perhaps I should start with that.  2015 intentions... 15 intentions for 2015?  Yes I think so.

(seriously after the amazing year I have had, all the journey, all the adventure, and  most of all, love, do I dare ask for more?)

1. Be grateful every single damn day for my life and for the people who have chosen to be part of it.
2. Let gently go of the people who chose not to be part of my life for whatever reason, or whatever journey they are on . 
3. Remember sometimes, number one and number two are interchangeable, and there doesn't need to be fault. Sometimes. 
4. Take my kids to Jamaica. ( yeah I know this was a Christmas gift, but the tickets aren't purchased, nor a date nailed down. I very much dislike broken promises, and I will not break this one,) 
5. I am also going to venture this - Go to Alaska... I don't know why, but I really want to. 
6. Figure out what in the hell I am doing with my "career".  The path I have taken does not seem exactly correct. I am starting to wonder if I will ever find some sort of satisfaction here. 
7. Rip the carpet out of my living room.  I hate it. 
8. Be healthier. Try to remember that my body is a product of what I put in it and how I treat it. I am worth my own health... I am worth my own health. 
9. Attempt to elongate my attention span and rejuvenate my memory.  (remember the way things were before social media?  Yeah - me neither. That's a problem. 
10. Take more pictures, and quiet my mind when I can.
    (ok, seriously guilty... I just interrupted this to send two messages while I was thinking about them... hello #9... If it's any consolation, It was about pictures...and memories... )
11. Be mindful (and I read this this morning) that sometimes forever is only as long as a second. Do I really have time to wait? 
12. Read more. Its okay to have time to just read. 
13. Something else I read this morning - where there are empty spaces, fill it with love. 
14. Find more kindness within myself. For myself and for others.  This includes the words coming out of my mouth, Mindful kindness. 
15. Lessen the unnecessary clutter, rid myself of things I don't need, that I don't need to hold onto, and the things that take up space (#2, #7, #8... and actual stuff). I have a lot of stuff and seem to be emotionally attached to it.  It's never just a book, or  just a picture.  

Well there they are, fifteen intentions for this year of 2015.  

...I just noticed, not one of them says "write more".  

Here's to year of catching moments, taking time to remember them, and most of all, 

filling them with love.