Girl Alone

Once (and I do mean once) upon a time, a girl's family left her alone...

Her husband to a fishing trip with her son...

Her daughter to a slumber party...

So the girl was left alone.

Her supper looked like this.


Cereal - Yum!  No baking required.

Her television looked like this.

Silent.

Her reading spot looked like this.

Peaceful.

Her dessert looked like this.

Chocolate.  Enough said.

Her bed looked like this.

A couch is a bed.

The next morning, when she awoke to silence...

her breakfast looked like this....

She was easy to please.
 

Her office looked like this.

And her view looked like this.

Ah, yes.  Thank you God for natural beauty.

Then her family returned and found a very relaxed, happy girl.  The End.

Moral of the Story:  A little alone time makes for a lotta happy mommy.

 

 
 
 
 

Wings

Husband encouraged, loved, and took care of me.  Husband said you can be anything, I believe in you. 

So, I think it is ironic when husband doesn't understand me...the social causes that intrigue me, the tangents that my mind wonders onto away from my "real" job, the endless groups I dream I could start, the causes I could champion.

Husband says, "Why do you want to be noticed?  People that do all of those things just want people to notice them.  They just want to stand out.  They just want to be part of high society."

I smile.  Really, husband?  So, let me get this straight....

It is easier to set on your couch and fill your head with meaningless television than to devote yourself to a cause to help others...to give your time to meet with like-minded people...to schedule events...to raise money...to love on people...

I've heard this logic before and it always comes from those who are uninvolved in the lives of those around them, who turn their head from heartbreak.

I don't want people to know my name.  I know my name.  I never care that I receive accolades, I hope I don't.  I do want people to understand my spirit, my heart through my work.

I don't want to live life and simply breathe in, gobbling up all that is around me for my own gain.

No, I want to breathe OUT and be the wind beneath someone else's wings.

Public Schools Are a Failure

Just so we know, there is no big, scary monster under our bed! It’s all in our head!


There is also no such thing as “the public school system”! Nope, instead, there are MANY people in different communities, with different thoughts, differing areas of expertise, different problems, different ideals, all working in a vortex that many enjoy calling the public school system. Those same people also enjoy GRADING the public school system, which we should be reminded does NOT exist.

Now, I have worked for 13 years in a small community, which has little opportunity for employment. Yes, I work in a...dare I say...public school system? Nope, I work in a community of educators, some who need more prodding than others, some who are fantastically passionate, some who are under-appreciated, and some who need encouragement. And, yes, we may call it a public school system, if we must, but please let us hang our feet over the edge of the bed.

P.S. It won’t bite! But it is hungry!

It’s hungry because it doesn’t enjoy eating what we are feeding it. It doesn’t like negative talk, downgrading rules, tons of legalese, or laziness. It does enjoy straight talk, positive affirmation, competent leaders, passionate leaders, and a pat on the back. (It also enjoys decision-makers who understand the kids and what they deal with in life.)

You see, because the place I work has a free and reduced lunch rate of 80%.

Did you know?

In low-income neighborhoods, children start kindergarten 60 percent behind their peers from affluent communities, leaving them unprepared when it’s time to start school. When children start school behind, they are more likely to stay behind for the rest of their lives, and this gap only widens over time. (jstart.org)

Did you also know that the grading system used in the state of Mississippi does NOT consider the poverty rate of each school district? (Sounds like comparing apples to oranges, which by the way “monster” doesn’t like!)

Of course we knew all that! However, we enjoy overlooking that because it is easier to point to the affluent community and notice how well “their students are doing”. But, are they? Compared to kids in the same home situation as them, are they successful? It is much easier to point a finger at the monster under the bed than take him out, dust him off, and ask him what he needs. It is much easier to assume that those kids are smarter because they are richer! It is much easier to assume that those educators--though they may have received the same education, live in the same area--are simply better at the smart school. It is also easier to assume that poor kids can’t learn or that the people working at the poor school aren’t doing something right...It may be easier, but is it true?

At my 80% poverty school, the elementary school was graded as a “D” school, but the high school was rated a “B”. So the longer the kids are in the “system”, the more intervention they receive, the better testers they become—or did some of those under-achieving students drop out? Or does the school actually close the gap the longer it has the kids?

Interestingly enough, the grading system doesn’t give honorable mentions either. For instance, the elementary that was graded a “D”, missed the “C” by only .074 points! (A heartbreak for the staff, who by the way, get to think everyday—I work in a D school...blah...blah...blah) Unless they have a great leader who pushes them past their GRADE and reminds them that while some students scored near perfect, others still need them to engage!

The middle school, which was graded a “C”, missed being a “B” by 1 point! They actually had an increase in their score by 20 points from the year before! The district...well, its score increased by 8 points!

Alas, the monster was asked to stay under the bed...so everyone could run from it and the town crier could announce “The Public Schools Are a Failure!” My question is...are they? And I wonder about self-fulfilling prophecies?

I also wonder if the system should—instead of doling out grades—show how each school was rated based on poverty level, i.e. how did the students from homes who had parents with college degrees score in each district? How did students who live in homes with an income of $50,000 score in each district? How did those living in government-funded housing score? And so on...I do wonder.

As a final note, one kid’s teacher gave a little prize for the kids who had completed their homework every night since school started. Out of 21 students, 3 students received the award. Which kids do you think (on average) will score higher on that test? I wonder...

I also wonder if we have hope? No, I do not wonder that at all. I know we have hope. Otherwise, we should all give up and go home. Our hope isn’t in being afraid of the “monster”, of calling him a “monster”, but of loving “monster” and believing in “monster”. Because, after all, “monster” is a green-eyed kid, one tooth loose, hair sticking up on his head, who just pulled off his mask...”Wanna play?”

So You Had Sex...

And then you had kids.  And, guess what?  They are your responsibility.  That’s right.  If you are responsible enough to have sex, you are now responsible for another human life.  What?  You thought it took a village to raise a child?  Silly, of course it does!  But, that doesn’t mean the village is going to raise the child!  Oh, no, they are going to simply offer scaffolding, support, and encouragement. 

You, dear parent, are going to lavish disciplined love on your child.  You are going to teach your child.  You are going to encourage your child to question everything.  You, dear parent, are going to talk to your child (daily)!  You, dear parent, are going to turn off the television, the computer, the phone…and have undistracted conversation with your child.  You are going to buy food, clothing, and shelter for your child.  You are going to teach them to follow rules.  You are going to teach them to love others.  You are going to teach them that life is not fair and the beauty of life lies within the heartache of life.  You are going to ask them to expand their boundaries.  You are going to teach them about the Creator and that no matter what happens He is there.  You are going to teach them to respect others, themselves, and the world. 

You, dear parent, are going to become smarter.  Why?  Because you will be getting a second education.  That’s right.  All the things that you thought were unimportant will become very important as you become your child’s teacher.  They are watching…And because you are responsible…you are teaching responsibility to the future generation.  Rock on, parent, rock on!

 

Yep, Make an Airplane

This is a must.  Once you read this, you must take a sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 paper and make an airplane.  You will impress the kids in your life.  Heck, you'll impress yourself with the way this baby flies.

Directions:

1.  Fold a sheet of paper in half lengthways so you'll have a center line.

2.  Unfold and lay flat.  Now, fold each top corner in toward the center line.  You'll have a triangle at the top of your paper.

3.  Fold the triangle down, so your paper looks like an envelope.  You'll fold the paper down past the triangle you just made.

4.  Fold the top corners of your paper down again.  You should be able to leave the triangular point of the first triangle sticking out beneath your second triangle.

5.  Fold the triangle that is sticking out up over the corners to hold them down.

6.  Fold in half along the spine, leaving the triangle on the outside.

7.  Finally, fold the wings back on themselves, finding the halfway line carefully. 

Now, throw that baby! 

Source:  The Dangerous Book for Boys by Hal Iggulden (You should ALSO get this book.  There is one for girls, also)

Why Prince Became a Symbol...

 

“Mama.  Mama.”

I am sitting three feet from her.  I am looking at her.  Yet, she finds the need to call my name and for me to say, “what?” before she tells me what is on her mind.  "Mama...." Something she repeats every two minutes.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby. “  She tells me what she needs to say. 

I am not sure at what point the word “mama” goes from an absolute point of excitement in a mother’s life to sheer torture, but there are moments that it happens to me. 

Mamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamamama…..ever have days like that?

I remember riding in the car with my own mom.  My brother, six years younger than me, was in the back seat telling my mama everything he could think to tell her beginning every comment with, “Mama?” and the dreaded pregnant pause.  Finally, she sighed in exasperation and announced, “My name is not Mama anymore.  I’ve changed it.”  Absolute silence filled the car.  Then, the anxious whine from my brother, “What is your name if it’s not mama?”  I could tell he was terrified.  His very existence was wrapped in her name being mama.  I rolled my eyes and patiently began to explain to him that her name was still mama, she was just tired of hearing him say it.

I think I’ll change my name, too.  But, it’s going to be a symbol.  You know, like Prince.  I’ll be the Mother formerly known as Mama. 

You know a whole day of no one standing at the front door screaming “MAMA!” while I am in the bathroom.  I’ll be a symbol after all, a silent symbol. 

No more standing in my room making up my bed hearing, “Mama!”  Silence.  “Mama.”  Steps coming down the hallway.  “Mama?”  The worry in their voices growing every moment as if I have walked out the door and left them.

 I’ve only been out of their eyesight an exact 65.5 seconds.  Our eyes meet.  “Mama.”  They wait for me to verbally acknowledge them.  I raise my eyebrow, “what?”

One day the only time I’ll hear “mama” will be when I call them on the phone.  “Hey, mama,” they’ll say with distraction as they give me a few minutes of their life.  “Gotta go, mama.”  Oh, how I’ll wish I could see them in my house, hear them call my name a few hundred times a day.

On second thought, maybe I’ll drop the symbol. I’m debating.   “Mama!”  Gotta go.

 

What To Do About the Poor?

Do we care about the poor?  Will money rid us of poverty?  Can we improve the social conditions of people?  Should the rich give?  How do we measure the success of charity?

So, Warren Buffet's son, Peter, wrote this.

I say this,

Jesus said that we would ALWAYS have the poor with us...so we will never get rid of poverty...EVER.  But, Jesus also gave us two great commandments, to love God with all of ourselves and to love others as ourselves. 

So, to me the real key isn't money, but LOVE - which is exactly what people are about.  You know the educational system will have everyone believe that all people getting a college education is the key,  not true.  You and I both know that we enjoy the guy picking up our garbage.  We want him to like his job and know we value him, but we know that he doesn't need a college education to pick up our garbage. 

Some people are leaders, some followers.  Some people are rich, some poor.  Some people are pretty, some ugly.  But, the key isn't measuring success with money, but with love and reaching out.  So, if we are using our money to do that, good for us...but mostly we need to use the one resource we all have...time.  I don't think you can love people with just money.  You can't solve a problem, change a life with only money. 

Research has proven that if you give a poor man money, the quality of his life doesn't improve.  Have you ever wondered why people that win the lottery say it was the worse thing to happen to them? 

Money by itself, a check carefully written, a dollar given does not change lives without love and time.  Giving a poor man money and not teaching him how to spend it, not teaching him about the path to contentment, not teaching him about the greatest love, leaves him empty...and it always will.

Jane Addams said, "What after all has maintained the human race on this old globe despite all the calamities of nature and all the tragic failings of mankind, if not faith in new possibilities and courage to advocate them."

The Bag I Carry

See this?  See this bag?
Filled with things...your sharp words like graying lumps of rock...little, bright shreds of my soul scattered among them.  But do you know what you do not see?  The tears I never cried.  They are absent from this bag I carry.

Uncried tears formed together, crystallized into rock like diamonds...growing me...pushing through me...in spite of you.

See this bag?  See this bag I carry?

A tisket, a tasket, your imagination in a basket

She says, "Why do I have to go outside?  I'm bored."

And I can't help but remember saying the same thing to my own mom and then begging her to play with me...and when she didn't...I went on and used my own imagination and was delighted in the inspiration of play...

So, she went out...and got baby brother...and they got a basket...and made a salad...

Then, came the swing, the rope, and the tree...

and it was a hit...and life is good...and I am thankful for imagination and the beauty of discovery and just how empowering it is.

My Town

I need reminding about some things I love about my town, need to be inspired, need to feel the euphoric love God has given me for...this place...and, mostly, its people...

So, here are some things I am grateful for...in...my...town...

Robert taking the time to pick up the trash around the city square, the flags he placed around the courthouse, how he took them down every afternoon, only to put them up again the next day...

The repainting of the historic building that is the home of the area athletic store, how it sits on the corner of main street, one of the first things you see...

The beautiful and bright decorations at April's florist and how you can't help but look at them as you drive past Fantasy Cottage...

How my bank and the post office are located right next to each other.  Convenience. 

The library's new parking lot and how easy it makes a visit to check out a book...

The landscaping around the schools and how it says, "we care"...

Hearing people talk about C.L. and what he meant to them and how his gas station was one of the last to offer to pump your gas...

How Tommy always says, "Have a blessed day" after he pumps my gas at the Co-Op and I think, "Yes, I will."

Walking into any one of the banks in town, seeing the smiling faces, and making small talk...just for a moment...

Reading Faye's article in the Tribune...and thinking, "This is fun and this is small town."  And I always smile.

Watching the city maintenance people work and seeing if anyone is leaning on a shovel, so we can joke about how many it takes...because it's fun and harmless...and we really secretly hope someone is leaning on a shovel...

When I tell Joe at the chicken shop that I only want an XL Pepsi and she grins and shakes her head...and I read her shirt...peace, love, and chicken grease...and I smile because you have to.

When I see the antique truck announcing the way to Home Town Treasures and I am thankful for ingenuity and dreams and those who follow their dream.

The vision that someone had when the decision was made to renovate the town depot..and I can't help but be grateful.

The caring and love that a team used to pull back the curtain of time and reveal the upper courtroom with it's beauty and unique style.

Paying a few bucks to enjoy the nature, the water, the cleanliness of our local water parks.

Enjoying the beauty of Diane's yard...how she changes the colors of the pillows on the porch...how she keeps her yard manicured...how it always looks just...perfect.

Seeing Mary Helen work in her own yard...weeding...and pulling...and planting...caring...

Hearing people talk about the town's history...how the reservoir was built...where the Confederate hospital was...how this used to be a house...or that used to be a store...

Never waiting long to get out into traffic...

The lazy country roads, the historic churches, the artesian wells, the people...

And realizing that there are still so many that I don't know, what is their story?  Who are they?  Do they know that I care?  Because I do...Here's to my town.  And it's future...and not being discouraged...or dissuaded...but choosing love instead.

He Sleeps

And he sleeps...

 

but when he doesn't...

 

"Can I help you, mommy?

I'm going to build a trap for strangers, okay, mommy?

Can we cook cupcakes?

Will you help me load up this wood so we can build a pier?

What does this do?

Can I help you cook that?

Can I lick the sugar?

I'm not sleepy.

Where is sister?

Let's race!

Can we get in the pool?

Can I help fold clothes?

I'll carry that.

I'm not sleepy.

Mommy, can I write checks?

Mommy, can you write a check for cow feed?

Will you help me feed the chickens?

Can I get the eggs?

I need a shovel.

Can you help me dig the hole?

Let's make cement.  How much do you need?

I'm not sleepy.

Can I rub your fingernail?  Will you get my chocolate milk?"

Rub, rub, drink, drink...sleep.

She's Claiming Space

This is the sign she made for her bedroom door.  Just below it is a calendar she marks everyday--herself. 

Why?  I ponder what it means.

She says it lists all of her favorite things - in her best, bored, I-cant-believe-you-do-not-know-the-answer-to-this-mom voice.

"My favorite color- Pink."
"My favorite animals - Dogs and Cats."
"My favorite...thing to do - Play"  (you have to pause, because she did--in that um-why-did-I-put-that-on-there way)

She stands and looks at it.  Then, grabs her black marker off her dresser and begins marking on her calendar.  I say nothing about the fact that she used packaging tape to hang her signs on her door.  After all, she's just claiming her space...making her way...saying "hey, here I am."  And, I want her to know who she is and at 6, I think that's a pretty cool time to start.

The Day and the Lily

When I saw this...

I knew it was going to be a special day.

Call it a sign.  Call it a gift from God.

Either way, the first daylily bloomed today in my garden. 

And it made me smile.

It made me look forward to...something.

And I was right.

It was a sign from God.

A "hello" from heaven.

I got to watch relationships build, a circle tighten, and see a small part of God's carefully laid plan. 

I got to be a part.

Heck, I got to deliver the good news. 

I got to make the calls.  I got to send the e-mail.

I got to say, "YOU are not going to believe this!"

Here's to my friends and here's to possiblity on Memorial Day.

Here's to America, the land of the free.  The home of the brave.

You are free to do this and you are BRAVE to do this.  Go get it, girl!

These Kids

These I open my home to.
I watch them grow and I wonder how long they'll call me E-e.

"We want a snack!" they whine.

 

I frown.  "In a minute."

 

Sixty seconds pass.  "We want a snack!"

 

I growl.  "I thought I was relaxing."

 

She smiles at me.

I sigh and get up.

The snack comes.

More smiles.

They play.

Brown hair.  Blonde hair.  Brown eyes.  Blue eyes.

 

Kool-aid.

 

"E-e."  It won't last long.