A coloring class....hmmm...

Last night Thing 1's school had their Fall Festival.  Knowing there is a limited number of people who help out with PTA at the school, I decided it was something we should do as a family, even though it wasn't something Thing 1 was real thrilled about doing.  So, I volunteered to do something behind the scenes....set up.  However, that fell through as they had plenty who offered to do that, so they assigned me to the craft tables for the last shift. I shuddered as I responded with a "No problem. We'll be there."

Upon entering the school grounds, the first thing I'm greeted with was  "Hi Miss Cummins! What are YOU doing here?" by a kid who was absent from my class because he was sick.  I returned the greeting with "Hi Casey. The question is what are YOU doing here if you're sick?"  His response was quick.  "I'm all better. Bye."  He literally jumped on his bike and rode away like he was on fire.  I shook my head and continued walking only to hear another, "Hi Miss Cummins. AAARRRGGGGGHHHH!" from another student who was chasing Casey with a bag of garbage and literally caught him and hit him over the head with it.  At this point, Thing 1 looked at me and said, "Do we have to do this?"

I feel it necessary to remind you that this was an elementary fall festival, NOT a middle school one.  Yet, as we walked into the gym area where the food was being served (walking tacos---loved it, my kids, not so much--yet one more food to cross off my list of supper options) and found many of my students and former students helping out.  It was nice to see them working since that's a rarity in my classroom, but nonetheless, they were everywhere.  It makes sense since I live in the same neighborhood I teach in.  Probably not the wisest choice, but hey, it is what it is.

The point of this post is to say that a couple of my wildest, naughtiest students were running like wild maniacs through that fair and of course, decided to join me at the craft table once I took over the shift.  It was almost like magic when they were given these Oriental Trade magnets to color and foam book marks to make and little white pumpkins to color. I watched them transform into little kids, quietly concentrating and watching carefully as they filled in the white with something much brighter.  No punching each other.  No weird antics like tapping their markers continuously as they do in my room. No rude comments.  It was so good that I literally got a little scared for a moment.  It was at that moment that I realized there should be a coloring class offered at school for kids and adults alike who simply need that moment to unwind.....to focus on nothing but creating....to see something lifeless come to life and most importantly, to get approval from all those around on how cool your creation is no matter what it really looks like.  Yep, I'm on to something here.

The New Morning Face

Oh yes, I sense your jealousy upon seeing this lovely morning face.....ugh.  I'm not sure what has invaded the body of my three year old other than simply being three, but I seriously can't wait to drop the kid at daycare and get the heck to work! This particular face came this morning after she wanted me to help her with her coat, no she didn't, yes she did, no she DIDN'T.  Man, I simply can't win in this situation and the problem is the situation isn't a single event, nor a star of Jersey Shore.  The situation has become a morning routine and I'm going crazy....emphasis on CRAZY.

If I had only one drama queen in the house, this might be a tolerable time in life.  However, God saw fit to bless me with two very dramatic children and if it's not Thing 2 throwing a fit, it seems Thing 1 has her share of moments lately, too.  What the heck is going on?  Is it the change in weather?  Is it their ages?  Is it me?  Is it fatigue?  Is it illness?  Are they both perimenopausal with me?

Understanding a three year old is in and of itself, a feat simply because of her three year old accent.  No, not a Chinese accent like some seem to think.  She's never spoken Chinese. She's three and words don't always work.  I did however understand when she said, "Help me with my coat, Mommy."

So, I, believing I'm the mommy and I'm being requested to help will walk toward said child and reach out to help with her coat.  "NO! I do it!"  And the screams start.

Since I'm still the mommy and I see we're running late because said child's coat is now stuck behind her back because she can't quite reach the sleeves, I reach out and grab it anyway and help her ease her arm into the sleeve. One would think this would easily bring a "Thank you, Mommy" from the mouth of child no longer being strangled by her coat, but instead this is what I get:

"I SAID NO. I DO IT."  Then she runs down the hall completely opposite of the way we were heading to leave so I can by some form of miracle, maybe be on time for work.

I say, "Thing 2, you need to come back here and we need to go to daycare. Now. No argument."

"Mommy, I NEED HELP!"

I stand stunned, yet I walk forward hearing the ticking of the clock reminding me I'm going to be late to work. I reach my arm out to help her.

From the depths of the drama queen soul arises this sound, similar to one associated with demons: "I SSSAAAAIIIIDDDDD I DO IT!"

At this point, I've had it. I grab the kid, put the coat on her and carry her to the car screaming, "I SAID I DO IT! I DON'T LIKE YOU AT ALL."

Sigh. Welcome New Morning Face.

Passion

Oh yes....you're here because of the title, right?  I'm pretty sure the traffic to my minimalist blog won't increase because of this title, but today, I'm thinking about passion.  Unfortunately, those hoping to get a glimpse into my Passionate life, are probably going to say, "I told ya she has no life."

Teaching for 21 years has brought many trends to light in my life. I've seen whole language come and go.  I've seen RAD, which was a binder training strategy for middle school to aid in organization.  I've watched as we have gone from a profession demanding rigor and responsibility to a profession that allows many chances....and by many, I mean at the very least 10.  Prepubescent kids are still pretty much hormones on rollerblades with the inability to put the brakes on when necessary.  But what I see changing in our world, especially with younger generations, is passion.

This passion isn't the kind that is displayed by two groping teens in the corner under the stairway where they don't think the video cameras nor teachers will locate them.  This passion I speak of is not as simplistic as hormones---it's the thing that grows in one's heart from when they are young and it drives him/her.  It is a reason.  It is a purpose.  It is a skill sometimes or a desire. In my humble opinion, our youth lack it.  Why is that?

I've gone through many scenarios of why young people and passion don't go hand in hand anymore except in the confines of the backseat of a car.  Could it be they have too many things available to specialize in an area?  Is that any different than those of us who grew up in a smaller town and were able to do various activities instead of marrying one like kids do today? (I would have died if basketball went year round like it does for kids nowadays instead of having merely a season and a couple camps in the summer.)  Could it be they're too lazy to commit to anything?  Well, judging by their desire to complete homework, this is a stronger possibility for me than the former reason.  But I still don't think that is it.

I believe we as adults don't share with our younger generations our own passions.  Yeah, I know---blame the parents again.  That's not where I'm going.  I'm basically thinking too many of us do our jobs and stop there.  Or we give up our passions because life takes over and there isn't enough time.  Or some of us, like me, get to call their passion their job, which can be both good and bad.  Good for my kids to see I've chosen something I love to do, but on those bad days, it's not always encouraging for them to see Mama has chosen her passion and that's why she's about ready to strangle you.

Deep within I believe we all have a passion.  We have a drive that is satisfied by something and sometimes it will take awhile to figure out what that passion is. Yet, I want to be the type of person who can help my own children, both in and outside of the classroom, find their passions. I can't imagine my life without teaching kids...without music....without writing....without photography.....without animals.....without God.  Those were my passions when I was younger and guess what?  They still are.  Now if I can only instill in my shadows the fact that pursuing and living with passion is a good thing, I will feel much more complete.  And I might worry less about who is going to make sure I get my meds on time when I'm in the nursing home and the workers there aren't passionate about their jobs.......

The Weirdest Day Ever.....May 11th, 2001

It was a day I will not forget until senility hits. My father died at 3 AM on May 11, 2001.  I was there.  But that's not what makes it the weirdest day ever.  What makes it weird is the part that takes place after the moment he took his last breath.

We left the hospital five hours later (complications with Mom caused an ER visit right after we lost Dad) and drove home to Woonsocket, which is about a half hour drive from where Dad died.  I remember vividly driving my car through the streets of Mitchell and looking at people in cars and on the sidewalk.  They were normal.  They were going on with their day, talking on phones, jamming to the music on their car stereos and laughing with their friends or family.  It was surreal because my world had just received a major blow to it and I knew that I would never hear my dad's voice again nor fish with him nor talk to him face to face and these people didn't understand.  They were living like nothing tragic had happened that day. I literally wanted to scream, "My dad just died!  Don't you people care? Don't you understand that you are supposed to be sad and you're supposed to stop what you're doing and notice? He is dead!"  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I drove the 30 miles home through the country of central SD.

It was this day that I believe I suddenly understood what it means when people say everyone is fighting a war within themselves daily.  There was no logic to my wanting to scream---it was simply grief in its purest and rarest form.  Those people weren't the issue.  Death was the issue.  My ache inside that I knew would never fully heal was the problem.  And I definitely will always remember that day as the weirdest day ever because of this experience.

The reason this surfaced now is because a friend's mom died this morning.  Young, like my dad.  From cancer, like my dad. Surrounded by family, like my dad. And the only thing I could tell her was that today may be the weirdest day of your life...

They Sounded Like Chipmunks

Last Friday was a monumental day for my students as it was Outsider's Day, which is the day they not only get to drink Pepsi, eat chocolate cake and chocolate candy, but they also get to watch the beginning of the movie with some pretty hot actors in it (Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, and Tom Cruise in their younger years).  I usually dress the part as well as I possibly can, but with my recent decision to grow my hair out to see what it does, it left much fewer choices for me.  Nonethless, I tried to look like a Greaser (think "hood" from the 60's) but fear it's more of a PeeWee Herman movie character.

See what I mean?  Regardless of how I looked, I didn't care as it was all in fun for the kids and I was pretty excited myself to see how they dressed and so on.  Some did well, others, well, they were too cool, no pun intended. 

In the middle of the day, I get a call from the office telling me my daughter's school was calling so I took the call to hear that she was sitting in the office pretty upset as she got hurt on the playground. When they handed her the phone, I heard sobbing which is rare for Thing 1, so I decided I needed to go get her.  Luckily, my school is amazing with helping out at the last second so off I went, looking like the photo above to pick up my daughter from her school where they know I'm a teacher.  The look on the secretary's face was priceless. 

The whole drive over I was trying to envision what happened to Thing 1. She isn't a klutzy kid but I know she plays hard so when she told me she fell backward onto the ground and hit her back and her head, then she stood up and couldn't breathe so she passed out and fell forward and hit the front of her head, I realized this might be a little more serious than having someone cover my class for a few minutes.  Her head hurt and her eyes were red from crying but otherwise, she was great.  However, when she said, "Mom, when I started falling forward, all of the voices around me sounded like chipmunks and the next thing I know, the teacher is looking at me and saying my name," I decided the ER was pretty much where we were headed. 

It was quite fun to walk into ER dressed like a Greaser, but I suppose they see lots of different things during their day. They chuckled and off we went to our own room. Again, I was calm, cool (pun intended) and collected as the doctor talked to us and examined her briefly, then said a CT scan was next.  It was when the man came to take her away to the CT scan when my heart skipped a beat. I was sitting alone, in an ER room, my 9 year old was being wheeled away with great big eyes filled with terror, and Megamind was playing on the TV.  I paused the movie so Thing 1 wouldn't miss it.  Then I cried.  I cried in fear. I didn't sob, just cried as all the complications that could be happening came flooding into my mind and of course, I went immediately to the worst case scenario. I just cannot fathom what parents who have injured or ill children go through. Just can't fathom it. 

It turns out everything appears to be fine for Thing 1 albeit she does have a concussion.  I have a new perspective on having her in my world and I also have now learned that when you're passing out, people's voices sound like chipmunks.

The Insecure Leading the Insecure

It's been many years since I've led a Bible study.  I believe the last group I led were teen girls who now are mostly close to their mid twenties now and a few have married and reproduced even.  And now I am leading a Beth Moore book (not the ones that can induce stress-related coronary issues when you realize how long it takes to get through one day's lessons) on insecurity.  I just chuckle when I say that, whether it be in my ever-so-busy mind or out loud.  Me, leading a study on insecurity.  Priceless.

I've enjoyed the study so much and have an awesome group of women involved in the study. God has shown me there is a way to conquer this monster that consumes so many of us, but me in large ways. The essence of getting through insecurity is simple: understand you are God's treasure.  Really?  That simple?  I think not.

I review my life repeatedly, especially now that I'm studying insecurity, the root of many of my issues.  I see very little reason for God to consider me his TREASURE.  Actually, I see very little evidence of me even coming close to grasping this concept. It could be I've not ever been called a treasure by others. Or at least by others whom I believe mean it in the way it is meant. It could be I'm a Comparison Monster and can't break that stupid habit.  Maybe the fact that financially there is very little security to be found for me and never will be plays a role in the inability to take God at His word. So would that make me insecure in my God, too?

What's weird is that I find when I view my life retrospectively, I see that I was secure in the big things---when illness struck, when devastation lay around the corner, when I was super scared, when Dad died---big things have shown me much more secure than daily small things. I really want to change that.  I don't want to pass my insecurity to my daughters. I work so hard to give them a balance to what society tells them regarding women's looks, people's hearts, and so on. But I'd hate to someday have them say, "Mom, remember how you could never get past _________?  Now I'm there, too."  Realistically they'll be telling their therapist this as I know living with me will definitely induce a reason for therapy later in life, but still.  I'd hate to be the topic ALL the time.

Anyway, not totally sure of the purpose of this post besides the fact that I'm heading to lead the insecure to security in a bit and felt the need to do some writing therapy myself.  I'm so wanting to understand that God adores me, calls me his Beloved, and simply can be my strength when my weakness overtakes me.  It's getting to that point that has me baffled and yet, I trudge forward, daily, hoping to claim victory over the 21st Century's New Plague on people everywhere.

Explaining Evil

Today is September 11, 2011.  Ten years ago our world was changed with the decisions of a few terrorists to attack the USA. Although I remember it vividly like it was yesterday, my main thoughts today were on explaining what evil is to my daughters. Wouldn't it be amazing if we didn't have to ponder that?

It's hard to miss the coverage that was everywhere this week. Thing 1 watched one of the documentaries I had on about the second plane that crashed into the towers and then I watched the Heroes of the 88th Floor.  I was careful to watch ones that weren't too graphic and these were fine in that realm of things.  But the obvious tragedy was hard to explain.

Thing 1 watched and wondered what kind of movie this was. When I told her it wasn't a movie, but it was something that happened in real life in the US, she just stared at me.  "Why would anyone crash a plane on purpose?"

"Well, I'm not completely sure, but they mostly wanted to hurt America and they did. Innocent people died in large amounts that day."

After a little silence she then asked, "What did God think?"

I just sat there. Then said, "God probably thought this is what evil looks like."

The conversation continued for a little bit on the whole idea of evil and what it is.  Is evil that mean little boy at the playground or does it have to be something big like a plane crash?  Is evil as simple as kicking a dog or swerving to hit a squirrel, or is it driving drunk?  Are we ever evil or is it simply human sinfulness?

I will never forget the moments as I watched 9-11 unfold. Dad had died only four months before and I was still struggling with the freshness of missing him when this happened.  All that came to mind was how many people were going to be feeling like I felt (extreme grief) after that day of tragedy.  I wondered what Dad was thinking in Heaven as he saw all of the various people entering at once.  Weird, I know, but I thought it.  And then I reminded myself that we are in a world that is basically run by evil in many ways and I needed to strive to stand up to any of the evil I face daily, and most importantly, I need to try not to be the one bringing the evil in.

The words that echo in my mind today were ones of a mother whose son was on the second plane that crashed. She said, "Every time I see that video, I see my son's death."  How incredibly sad, horrifying and needless.  May God bless those who will forever have this day stained in their hearts.