Seven Signs you've made the right decision

Today was Jenny's first day with Miss Sarah and Baby Wyatt.

Tonight, we saw the signs that we'd made a good decision.

1. Jenny didn't run right to me as soon as I arrived. While I loved this when it happened at the day care, I didn't really grasp that maybe this wasn't such a good thing. In the past weeks, Jenny had cried when we left her at day care. Today, she really didn't get upset. And so when I arrived, Jenny still seemed comfortable with the situation and the place - enough to stall putting on her shoes and leaving Miss Sarah in peace.

2. Jenny's behavior upon returning home was less violent today than it had been in the past. Usually our evenings are plagued with temper tantrums and hitting. Tonight - not so much.

3. One fuss after night-night.

4. I felt at peace. I got to come home, put my things away and take two moments for myself - just to breathe - before I went to get her. Those few moments allowed me to savor the minutes of playtime I had with her tonight. It gave me energy and patience to roll the ball back and forth with Jenny. It's so strange to have just three minutes make such an impact on the night.

5. Jenny came home expressing more words and she's only spent a day with Miss Sarah. When asked where we were today, Jenny said - clear as day - Mommy's at work or Daddy's at work or (even) Pawpaw's at work.

6. Jenny had no cookies today, no cheetoes, no chips. Today, my daughter ate healthy for the first weekday in months. Instead of filling her full of salt and sugar and stupid foods, my Jenny actually ate well today. Not perfect, because Mommy's still trying to figure out how to cook in a time crunch, but better - much better.

7. Despite Jenny's usual misgivings about change, she slept for 3 hours today during nap. One fuss - a reassurance from Miss Sarah - and she was out for three hours!

All day today, in the back of my mind, beneath all the other crud I was sifting through today, I had feared that I was going to find an incredibly ornery child when I picked her up. I worried that Miss Sarah would tell me she'd changed her mind, that I was going to have to return Jenny to that day care. I was terrified we'd have to go looking for yet another day care.

Instead, I got a picture that Jenny had colored, not one her teacher had done for her.
I got a detailed report on how Jenny's day had gone, instead of just the word - "fine"
I learned that Jenny actually ate blackberries today. And liked them, too
Jenny was incredibly helpful today, protective of Wyatt even, and so very gentle too.

Oh . . . and my child is a genius - that one I already knew, but it's nice to hear again.

And though I know that every day cannot and will not be like today. I know that there will be days when Jenny tries to push Wyatt down the stairs (hope not, but it could happen). I know there will be times when Jenny's just a booger because she's feeling sick or tired or hungry or is just have the toddler form of PMS.
I know her days will not always be perfect and I'm okay with that.

Because I think back to her first day of day care this year - when she fell down the concrete steps and face planted. When they didn't call me to tell be about it, because it "didn't show up until after her nap". I remember then thinking that this was a bad idea.

But this - today - felt nothing like that. Today, it felt . . . good.

Memorial Day Weekend - Remember me, O God.

This past weekend has been one of reminders - things I'm supposed to remember and keep with me.

While this weekend is supposed to remind me to appreciate the freedom I have, to thank the soldiers that died and still die for it everyday, I choose to take this weekend to remind myself to thank them everyday I wake up, not just this weekend. And that if it were possible, we should throw a parade in every town every day that we are safe in our beds, our churches, and our schools.

Several of my seniors are going off to join the military and while I know that they fight for that freedom, I hope that our freedom will not come at the cost of their lives. I promise to remember to keep them in my prayers.

This weekend, I remember the lost children - the ones we lose to abortion, to ignorance, and to miscarriage - the ones we lose for no reason. I promise to remember to keep them in my prayers.

This weekend, I remember that in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part, means much more than dishes and dirty diapers. And I remember that marriages are not about being perfect, but just being there. No matter how insane we go or how lost we become. I promise to remember to keep it in my prayers.

This weekend, I remember that structure is often times a good thing to pursue, but a difficult thing to maintain. I promise to remember to keep her and us in my prayers.

This weekend, I remember to take care of myself. That daughter of ours needs both of her parents for a very long time. I remember to take better care of myself. At least I'll try.

And I promise to remember to keep myself in my prayers.

This weekend, I remember that sometimes prayers ARE answered in the miracles around us every day - a sunny day, a small miracle, a daughter's laughter.

Dear God,

There are so many people in this world who are in need of your prayers tonight and tomorrow and always. Watch over us all and keep us safe tonight. . . . and remember me too. Please help me to remember you always.

Love,

Me

Air Conditioning and Advil

Tonight, there will be no sound - no tossing and turning, no constant whir of fan blades as they slice through thick moist air. There will be only the sweet sound of snoring - a rarity in these last few weeks, when the threat of summer suffocation and the anxiety of another storm have plagued our nights.

On this night, the sound of the distant train doesn't seem so close. On this night, the fear of a rough storm doesn't shake us. And on this night, the stresses of the day seem to evaporate.

Tonight, there will be rest for all.

We have air conditioning tonight, so we will be able to sleep without the threat of dehydration via endless drippage.

And Jenny, who is cutting more teeth, has her Advil to keep her painfree for six to eight hours - long enough to make it to Dreamland where she can ignore the achiness of her new teeth.

And because we can close the windows tonight, Jenny will not hear the stupid dogs, or the loud radio, or the train whose whistle echoes in the valley below. And Tim and I will not hear the once peaceful tinkling of the windchimes in the back yard.

Tonight, we shall sleep the peaceful sleep of men and women everywhere who have acheived that heavenly state of giddiness that preceded all out exhaustion.

For now, good night . . . See you in the morning.

Keeping it together when you're ready to pop

This has been one of the longest weeks of my life and it's only Tuesday.

One of my seniors popped today - she's worried about next year and being able to make friends. I hope I defused that situation. I asked her if she'd felt the same when she was about to start high school. When she said yes, I asked her what she would've told herself back then if she'd known then what she knows now. I hope it helped. At this point, I'm still not sure

Yesterday when I tried to defuse a situation, I ended up being called a douche. I explained to this accelerated student in no certain terms and with a slight Southern accent that it wasn't appropriate to call one's teacher a douche and that she should never do it again. Did I write her up - why bother? She's accelerated and will probably cry when she's confronted.

Today, I collected the sonnets this same class is writing for a poetry slam - something kinda fun for the last two days of school. Their sonnets had to be about a person. One particular student wrote about me. How I pushed him and crushed him and how his friend got a 100% on his summer reading project and I had failed his. After all he had thought he'd rocked it. And then in the end of this poem, I was dead.

The poem has really thrown me - truly. I'm not particularly sure why it's affected me so much, but it did.

Which is where my daughter today taught me a valuable lesson.

I was explaining to Tim about my day and how angry I was, how hurt I felt, and how tired I have become in these two days. Jenny was sitting there eating. Suddenly, she threw her spoon at me - her way of telling me she was angry - and then she hit me.

Jenny, it seems, had thought I was angry with her and had reacted in her own little toddler way.

It was at this point that I realized what was really important about this day. I had let those little boogers affect my night. I then took her oversized bib in my hands and started playing peek-a-boo with her. That little laughter worked itself into a small flame and then into a flickering fire.

Ya' see - it doesn't really matter if I declare their poetry slam over, their exam cancelled and their year done. It won't matter if I throw a temper tantrum and yell at them. They will not care if I stop talking to them and just put in Disney movies for the next five days.

To them, I am nothing.

But to Jenny, I am everything. And that's what matters. She is what matters.

There are bad days and then there was today . . .

This was given to me today by one of my seniors and I can't help but share it as a reminder that sometimes . . . there is a reason.

Dear Mrs. Ring,

I express myself best through writing so this letter is the result.
I'd like to thank you for four wonderful years. I've learned alot from you an you've made them memorable.
Thank you for creating an atmosphere in your classroom in which I've always felt accepted and included despire my many quirks (& thanks for tolerating them.)
Thank you for encouraging my passion for the English language. Should I follow the educational path, I think I'd like to be like you.
Thank you for helping me find my voice through your drama classes. Singing for a crowd was just a dream, because I never had the opportunity or the courage for it. Now I know that I DO have the courage and thank you for helping me realize that.
Thank you for ruining every horror movie I'll ever see by teaching me symbolism. I'll have fun being the obnoxious know-it-all who ruins it for all her friends, too -
And finally thank you for challenging me. I don't remember ever having an "A" in your class that I didn't have to consciously maintain. With so many teachers just letting student slip by for minimal work, it's refreshing to have to try. I value that greatly in a teacher, so thank you, thank you and thank you again.
You're the teacher that I'll tell my kids about. I hope you realize how valuable you are.


Sometimes this albatross is rendered speechless by the beautiful voice of a dove. Thank you CM.

To begin . . .

In the beginning there was darkness - ten years of darkness to be exact.

For ten years, we awaited our little angel. We hoped and prayed and put ourselves through some of the toughest moments of our marriage. And yet, we had nothing to show for it.Now there is a list of things - rotten, no good very bad things - that people in our situation can hear. There is a list - a long list - of terrible emotions that we went through, moments of doubt and hours of sadness and eons of fear.

But that is not what this blog is about...

This blog is about what happens after all the despair is washed away.
This blog is about what happens when you finally get the thing you always wanted.
This blog is about the end result of HOPE.