Surviving the Fire

The yelling, posturing, limit testing, and book throwing teenagers strolled out of the room.  As the last student left the classroom, my hand swiftly grabbed the door and slammed it shut as fast as I could.  Stepping away from the doors window, tears exploded from my eyes as rapid uneven breathing turned into sobbing.  It had been all I could do to not lose it in front of my 8th grade students.

This went on for days.

I dreaded 9th period.

A couple of days later she pulled me into office.  The offices low ceiling made the office dim, but cozy.  I had watched my Vice Principal talk to and joke around with the students in my class.  Barb was tough, but fair and the kids knew she cared about them.  She was respected.  She asked me to sit in the blue chair across from her large desk.  The fabric of the chair’s fabric prickled the back of my legs.  Petite is stature, Barb’s confidence in her ability to work with students, her knowledge and her experience never made you doubt her ability to handle herself.  You… the students just didn’t mess with her!  I needed no convincing that things needed to change.  Instead of reprimand or making me aware of my areas of weakness she offered me something.  She offered to teach me.  And what she taught me would change everything, forever.

She taught me how to establish guidelines.  She taught me four classroom guidelines that would cover any behavior I would ever run into.  Four guidelines that I still use to this day (13 years later) .  Guidelines that have become the foundation of my behavior management skills.  She taught me to create a classroom behavior modification system, using warnings and time-outs.  This taught me how to establish  and provide boundaries and structure for my students.  She taught me how to make a point sheet.  She showed me how to create a tool that would ensure my students would be rewarded for their buy into what I was doing and that they would know, feel and be rewarded for their good choices

Thirteen years later I can still remember the face of each of the six students in that 9th period class.  I vividly can remember the first classroom handwritten point sheet I ever created.  I can remember desks being thrown and books flying.  I can remember playing Monopoly or Sorry with them on Fridays when they had earned enough points.  I can remember the day it didn’t matter what it dished I could take it and they felt safe because of the structure I established.  And I can remember the day 9th period ended and  I did not cry.

I met the most challenging students I have ever worked with during my first year of teaching.  It was initiation by fire.  If you asked my husband (then finance) what he remembers from my first year of teaching her would tell you he didn’t think I would make it. If you asked me,  I wouldn’t traded that experience for anything.  Barb’s lessons set the foundation for the teacher I am today. That experience gave me the skills to work with ANY student.  It also lit a fire in me, a passion, a desire to work with the most behaviorally and emotionally challenging students.  It created the foundation of the teacher I am today.

I can only hope that the teacher I have become would make Barb very proud! 

 

Sharing Their Words

I love when I smile.

I love when I am inspired.

I love when words move me… I mean make me sit up taller, energy up my test, make me say woooooooow move me.

There are some many beautiful and inspiring writers out there.  I have some favorites.  Others I find by accident.  My favorite part about reading someone else’s work is when the words fly off the page at me and move me deep down inside.  It is even better if they are the words of a friend.

Just Be Enough: Guest Post

Almost exactly a year ago today Elena was inspired.  She had an idea, a vision and fire burning deep inside.  She had a mission and I wanted to be part of it.  Any part of it!  Pushing through all the anxiety and knotting stomach (my anonymity was was even more fiercely protected back then) I knew deep down inside her vision was something special, so I took a very deep breath and one huge gigantic leap off a cliff and let her know that I wanted to help her in anyway I could.

By the end of last summer Just Be Enough was up and running and I had been offered a contributors spot.   Being part of the Just Be Enough team was one of the most amazing experiences.   You see Elena and the group of woman at Just Be Enough do not just write posts about being enough.  They teach others that they are enough and if they can’t teach you they will take you by the hand, stay by your side and show you (no matter how long the journey).

How do I know?

They taught me.

The woman of Just Be Enough taught me to trust others in social media.  They taught me that friendships can be formed and flourish over social media.  They taught what me unwavering support is. What unconditional acceptance of all feelings, mistakes and choices really is.  And when my time at Just Be Enough came to an end they wrapped their virtual arms around me and never, not ever went away.

I hope that you will join me today as I return to a place that warms my heart and overwhelms me with joy.

 

Come visit with me as I guest post at Just Be Enough today…

www.justbeenough.com

My Box of 8

A year and a half ago writing to me meant I was writing a report.  Sentences were a string of words put together with a subject and a predicate.  Writing was done simply to communicate.   My box of crayons was nothing but a box of 8.  Black, gray and white got the most use.

Then I started blogging (thank you Shirley).  Through link ups, twitter, getting to know other bloggers, writing for and with other blogger my writing started to change.  Writing was no longer to just communicate information.  It became about painting a picture.  I started to pick up a color or two here and there to add to my box.

I read, I watched, I learned and I started to push myself out of my comfort zone.  I started to write from places in my heart that had not been tuned into in too long.  I began to write about parts of my life and memories that hurt.  I began to heal.  Suddenly by box of colors began to overflow.  Each color gathered from giving a piece of myself to my writing,  healing parts of my heart that had been in pain or from crafting my voice.

New friends came into my life and suddenly my collection changed.  Each amazing person I meet and friend I made brought with them a color to share with me.  These are the most unique, dazzling and radiant colors of all.

Today I am a box of 8 overflowing with colors laying all over the desk.  Some of the crayons I have earned.  Some of them I have collected.  Some have been left as gifts.

As I sprinkle, color, and paint my words with these colors each time I write, I have a desk of crayons that I could not even have begun to imagine I’d ever possess.  Radiant colors, the ones that dazzle, primary colors are solid and reliable, earth tones that depth and layers and my black, white and gray create foundation and strength.  And what a collection it is!

What kind of box of crayons are you?

This piece was inspired by Kirsten from The Kir Corner:                                                                   Her space is one of my most favorite spaces to visit.  I visit frequently.  Her ability to weave and knit words together not only leave me amazed at her infinite talent but on more then one occasion have left me absolutely

Last week Kirsten at The Kir Corner wrote a post titled: I’m Every Color.  She shared a piece of an email a friend had written to her.inspired!  And if you are lucky enough to have her visit your space you are sue to be the recipient of the most amazingly sweet and touching comments.

I think of people as boxes of crayons. Most men/women  are a box of 8, 16 if they are lucky.  They couldn’t possibly conceive of ideas drawn by someone with a box with more crayons – they don’t have the palette.  I’m lucky – I may be a box of 64 with the built-in sharpener, but I married a designer.  He’s at least a box of 32! 

You, my beautiful girl, are a limited edition box of 128 with the built in drawing table and collectors case.  You can’t conceive of others not being able to understand what you see.

It was Kirsten’s awww and disbelief of her own box of crayons and the realization she came to at the end of her post that inspired this. I hope that it might inspire you to share what box of crayons you are too!

I Listened

I sat on the floor, my legs crossed indian style.  My thoughts weighed on me and heart ached.  An unfamiliar inner voice whispered to me.  It nagged at me.  It spoke to me in a dream.

“Don’t you love me?” it spoke.

I twisted the solitare diamond ring on my left finger as I stared at the floor.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.  The air in my chest held me up and fueled my courage.    I looked up at him from the floor.

“I can’t marry you,” I said as the breath that held my courage left me.

My heart was crushed.  What had I done?  Was I crazy to listen to the whisper?

Days of crying,  unable to comprehend what would happen next and what life would be like now led to sessions with a therapist.   Sitting in our chairs we talked.  Her presence comforted me.   Patient in her methods she questioned and spoke.  In time I healed and a new me was discovered.  I discovered I was strong.  I was resiliant.  I was an amazing person.  I deserved more.  I was more.  I had more to give and so much more to be.  Most of all I discovered that I had learned to listen to the inner me.

The dream that I had was not just any dream.  It was an introduction.  The inner voice that had been so unfamiliar had finally introduced itself to me.   It was that moment I discovered my inner voice.  A wise and loving voice who revealed herself exactly when she needed to be found.  It was that day, the day I listened,  the day I made one of the hardest decisions of my life that my life, my path and I were changed.

 

 

 

 

Today I am linking up with the beautiful group of woman at JustBeEnough.  There is no other group of woman I would feel brave enough to share this story of: A Path Not Taken 

 

 

Does She Know?

The girls splashed and played in the spray of the waterspouts springing up around them.  Their giggles filled the air as streams of water surprised them from the ground.  As I watched them play.  The fun and joy they experiencing made me smile.  “This was a good idea,” I thought.

A little boy in a white with blue and green Hawaiian flower decorated board shorts caught my eye.   He stood in the center of the spray park mesmorized by the spray of the yellow fountains spout.  “That’s cute,” I thought.  Minutes passed and he caught my eye again.  Still standing in the same spot.  Still staring.  A nagging voice in my head whispers, “That’s and awfully long time to watch a fountain.”  I scan the park wondering who his mom was, simply wanting to connect parent with child.  My girls run to me still giggling in happiness and looking for snacks to reenergize them.

Time passes and the same crew cut little boy continues to grab my attention.  He moves from standing and watching to playing in and interacting with the water.  He giggles in excitement as the water splashes him.  The touch of the cool water causes him to sqweel at the sky and express his happiness shaking his hands, jumping and smiling to himself. My mind pauses and I have to snap myself out of a long stare.

“What is it about this little boy?” I ask myself.

“He has Autism,” the nagging voice whispers.

I scan the spray park for the mom again.  I find her.  Beautiful in her black bathing suit and brunette hair pulled back into the perfect ponytail.

“Does she know?”

“Am I right?”

“Does she know?”

A lump grows in my throat.

“Does she know?”

Does she know she is not alone? Does she know there are supportive, caring, wonderful supports and groups out there to embrace her and let her know she is not alone?

As my mind races an other thought pops in my head…

Shit! Sunday Stilwell needs a business card!

I can not remember the first time I “met”  Sunday.  When I think back to the first moment, the very first moment, it isn’t a moment I can recall.  It is an emotion.  Sunday is this amazing force.  She is a woman full of sass, humor, passion and an effortless ability to pull you into her community,  fuel your with a desire to be a part of it and make you want to give back.  Sunday makes me want to be a part of something, use my knowledge and skills to reach out and empower others.

While the warmth of the memories I have of Sunday make me smile, tears begin to stream down my cheeks.  I can not help but wonder.  Do you know the extent of your impact? Do you know the effect of your embrace? Others know they are no longer alone.  Others know they have a place to share without fear of judgement or shame.  Do you know you inspire us?  You inspire us to reach out and help others.  To be there, hold each other up and get through the tough together.  Do you know you make us laugh?  Life is serious enough.  Having a disability is serious enough, but beyond the disability are gifts that enrich our lives, teach us things and amaze us with their awe.  Did you know you have shown us how to unwrap it all?  Wrapped up in all of this is the fun life gives us!

Thank  you Sunday!

It

It has been too long since I have been back to this space.  The space that first supported me unconditionally.  The space that I met and made friendships I never imagined I would cherish so much.  The space that allowed me to trust and open up.  The space that showed me what a true community can mean to a woman.  The space that helped me find my voice (even though Elena would respond psshhhaw… I like to remind her frequently and the others there of their impact on my life).  Today I am linking up with Just Be Enough.

The prompt this week was: What Do You Secretly Like About Yourself

.  .  .  .  .

It carried me through a painful time of loss.

It encouraged avoiding the pain and heartache I should deal with.

It gets things done.

It steels time, frustrates others and causes tunnel vision.

It gives me the confidence to the confidence to see the finish line and charge after it.

It leaves others unprepared for the pace it will be reached.

It shows my girls that anything in life can be accomplished.

It is the core of my strength.  It is why I am survivor.  It is my drive. It makes me fierce. It gets things done.  It is an amazing quality that I cherish.  It was there when I didn’t know what it was called.  It was there before I knew its true strength.  It is a quality I hope my daughters develop.

Diligent

Stubborn

Cohesive

Not easily discouraged

Strong

Obstinate

Tough

Spunky

Tough

Determined

Purposeful

True

I secretly most proud of and deeply cherish the good and the bad, the gifts and the weaknesses of my tenacity.

 

 

 

We’ll Miss You Long Island

I look into her eyes.  My forehead wrinkles as my lips frown and then begin to quiver.  Tears begin to slowly flow down my cheeks.  In an instant my going to miss you tears change to a stream of wildly flowing tears and my quivering lip changes to full on balling.  The whirl wind three days we spent with my husband’s sister and her family had made unforgettable memories…

our girls very first trip to the ocean

a trip to Time Square

our girls conquering their fears and both taking their first jumps of a diving board and conjuring more courage and blowing our minds as they then took turns going down the slide

These Long Island memories are just the highlights of the memories that rush through my head as my heart is flooded with emotions fueling my tears.

Not only is she a fantastic sister-in-law, she is full of wit, sass, a contagious zest for life, a infinitely generous heart, is loving and has a smile and a sparkle in her eye that lights a room… she is amazing.  She is a part of our life that distance steals from us.  We are going to miss her deeply.  I take one final squeeze before we release each other from our embrace.  I take a deep breath and try to wipe away the flow of tears long enough to say good-bye.  I walk to the car with my family.  I get in and as we wait for our girls to buckle their seatbelts I look at my husband and smile.  I wrap my arms around him and we both start to cry.  No matter how much I will miss her the heartache of having a sister that lives 1000 miles away is crushing and leaves a hole that no amount of phone calls, emails or texts can fill.

“I’m really going to miss her,” he muffles from inside our hug.

“Me too.”

 

 

 

 

 

You’re Right

An hour into our 1000 mile road trip east, my husband is finally at ease on the road.  While the girls are busy playing with their surprises (a tradition of a new toy waiting for them on their car seats on the day of  a long trip) my husband and I start to chat and catch up.  We talk about all the things that I packed, him quizzing me from his personal list in his head.  Like it would make a difference if something were missing at this point in the trip.   We share the events of the week.  His work related, mine about the girls and getting ready for the trip.  We talk about what lies ahead on our trip.  The conversation changes to a discussion as we run out of things to tell each other about our weeks.

“You know sometimes I wish you would admit that I am right and just let me have that!” he grumpily ends the discussion.

I look at him, smile kindly and say, “You’re right.”

I open my book and begin to read.

The jets soar.  Each passing one leaves the girls covering their ears and our stomachs shaking from their powerful jet engines.  Biplanes zig, zag, twist and turn performing maneuvers that take your breath away and make you giggle in awed delight.  The Thunderbirds make their last fly by, telling us that the air show has come to an end.  We leave the grounds smiling and sharing with each other our favorite part of the show.

“You know what I’d love to do next year?”

“What?” my husband asks.

“Next year we should pack sandwiches and put together a cooler.  You know, bring an umbrella and a blanket.  Have a picnic and watch the planes! I really loved watching the planes.” I say hoping he will be pleased with my embrace of an activity he is so passionate about.

“Oh, I don’t knowwwwwwww.  I really just like the Thunderbirds.”

“It would be fu-un. Sandwiches, drinks, blanket with a big umbrella.  We could sit, eat and enjoy the air show.  I really loved watching the biplanes,” I respond to his whiny tone with the passion of a used car salesman trying to make a sale and give him the smile of a wife who is trying to get something.

“I don’t know.  It is so hot.  All we do is sweat.  It would be like 90 degrees, like today.  I really don’t think being here longer would be any fun.”

Like a child who’s discovered their favorite toy has been broken I lower my head and frown.

“You’re right,” I sweetly reply.

“How come every time you say that lately I get the feeling you really mean  ‘Whatever… you don’t know!’ or ‘OK dumbass’?” he inquires.

Looking over my shoulder from my spot in front of him I smile and say with a shoulder shrug, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

{WINK}