Random Information

My online blogging friend, and author of In the Mind of a Dyslexic, DJ, tagged me.

First, these are the rules:
1. Each player starts with eight random facts or habits about him or herself.
2. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
3. At the beginning of your blog, mention the person who tagged you. At the end of your post, choose eight people to tag, listing their names.
4. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Eight Random Bits of Information You May or May Not Know About Me:

1. I hate balloons. I believe they are just trash waiting to happen. They just kind of hang around until all the helium leaks out, and then you are left with this bit of trash that somehow you feel mildly obligated to allow to continue hovering mid-way because someone gave it to you out of good wishes. If I am ill, don't send balloons. I view it as if you have emptied a wastebasket into my living area. (Along these same lines, I believe Easter grass is a thing of the Devil.)

2. When I was a kid, I lived on the same street that I currently live on. There is a fish camp at the end of the dog leg road that shoots off our street, but has the same name. My brother and I used to ride our bikes down there and tell stories about how it was haunted. We scared the willies out of each other and rode back home as quickly as we could each time we ventured down there.

3. When I lived in Virginia in my early 20's, I truly did live in a haunted house. The ghost wasn't scary at all. She was rather grandmotherly. She would always open the refrigerator door and leave it open. It seemed that she stayed primarily in the kitchen and dining room. When Danielle was about 2 years old, she was playing in the dining room. I heard her talking to someone, so I walked out of the bedroom and asked, "Dan-Dan, who are you talking to?"
"Mama, I'm talking to the lady," she replied.
"What lady?"
She looked around and said, "Oh, I she's gone, but she was just right here."
Maybe I'll write a whole blog about my haunted house experiences.

4. We finally found someone to finish our stairs! They start Monday. This is the last major post-Katrina rebuilding that we have before completion.

5. My husband wakes me up each morning by bringing me coffee and giving me a back rub. I highly recommend this service to all my friends.

6. I like to draw, paint and do other artsy projects.

7. My natural hair color is mousy brown with gray streaks. I dye it red. Until I had Danielle, it was blond. I guess I gave Dan and Sarah all my blond hair because after they were born it kept getting darker and darker.

8. I really want to grow plants and garden, but I can't seem to care for them enough to make them live. Dave believes I am Dr. Death when it comes to plants.

Minding My Own Business

This seems to be the theme of my life these days. I'm getting lots of lessons in the prodigiousness of keeping my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. The problem is... I'm terrible at it. Verbal diarrhea seems to be an illness I have acquired somewhere along the way.

Last week, I was presented with an occasion to overhear a conversation. This conversation had no impact on my life in any way shape or form; however, it had the potential to affect the life of my friend. Thus, I repeated the conversation in an attempt to make my friend's life easier. Right away, events began going awry. And, I ended up kicking myself for saying anything in the first place. "Why couldn't I have just minded my own business?" rushed my consciousness.

So, now, I'm practicing... Practicing minding my own business... It's really hard to do. And, much to my dismay, I have started to realize how ingrained a belief I have that a little bit of everything is my business. Further, I have begun to realize how most people probably don't give a rat's rear end about my opinions. I have tons of those too.

The bottom line is that I need to live in the belief that I trust the Process... Beyond that, I need to also trust that your Process is right for you. It may not be right for me. I may think you are "going to hell in a handbasket" (metaphorically speaking, of course). But, if I believe that God is all good and active in everything, everywhere, then I have to believe that God is active with or without my commentary.

St. Thomas... Welcome to Fantasy Island

We have been back from St. Thomas for a couple of weeks now. I have been teaching Yoga for Summer Scholars for the past week. At any rate, the reality of St. Thomas wasn't too far off from the vision I shared before the trip. Maybe there is something to this principle of: "We are co-creaters with the Universe" afterall!

I drove to New Orleans so I wouldn't get motion sickness in the car. We arrived, checked into a hotel and had a fabulous dinner at an Italian restaurant. I ordered tea and was presented with a blackberry-sage blend from the Republic of Tea. All I can say is that was the best tea I have ever had... Yum... Yum... Lip-smackin' good.

Our flight left early, so we got up at 4:30 so the girls could do their treatments. We arrived at the airport with minimal hassle going through security. Although, the security guard did raise an eyebrow looking through the dufflebag of medication. We had a cooler with Pulmozyme, TOBI and a little container of 7% Hypertonic Saline. The pills were in a gallon-sized ziplock bag. Another ziplock bag contained all of the nebulizer essentials. I just stood there like it was the most natural thing in the world for a family of four to be carrying a complete drugstore in a duffle bag, so they let us through. Dan, however, had to relinquish her highly dangerous hairspray and straightening creme she had stashed in her purse. This set her into a little bit of a cranky tailspin. As an aside, I would think it a greater security risk to take a teenaged girl's hair care products than to let them through. She was at risk for a serious emotional meltdown for the remainder of the trip. The loss of hair product threw her into an immediate funk. This funk worsened as the withdrawal effects of no cell phone or computer set in. Her mood spiraled downward into a little bit of what Southerners like to call a "hissy fit".

We did, indeed, arrive in St. Thomas after a lovely, noneventful flight. The landing was really incredible. The plane just kept getting lower and lower over the water with no land in sight. Then, all of sudden, the plane touched down and we were on the ground. As soon as we disembarked, people in the terminal were offering samples of rum. Given that we don't drink alcohol, we didn't partake; however, I found it amusing that it would be possible to land in this tropical paradise and enter immediately into an alcoholic haze remembering nothing of the entire experience...

We retrieved our bags and found our taxi through Tropic Tours. The motion sickness I avoided on the way to New Orleans found me on the ride from the airport to Wyndam Sugar Bay. It was a wild ride on the left side of the road over and around hills and valleys. On a couple of occasions, Sarah was convinced we were going to meet an early end by careening off a cliff. However, our taxi driver transported us safe and sound to the front door of the hotel. I was a light shade of green. Our taxi driver humored me by posing for this photo. Alas, he looked nothing like my vision.

We arrived at the hotel with about fifty other people. Dave waited in line and got us checked in while the girls and I scouted out the hotel lobby and the gift shop.

Our room looked exactly like the one in the picture I posted previously. For some reason, there was the unfortunate aura of urine in the air as we rounded the corridor to our room. I can't say for sure, but it may have had something to do with the wide availability of rum... At any rate, we arrived in our balmy warm room and I dragged Dave out to the balcony to take this "loving embrace" photo.
We immediately headed for the pool, where we watched a couple get married. There was a wedding every day. There were three pools with waterfalls. The pools led down to the beach.

It was reasonable not to leave the resort at all. We spent nearly every day lounging by the pool. Nonalcoholic smoothies were available from the Turtle Rock Bar. There was a grill available poolside for lunch each day.

Behind the waterfall was a little cave area... In this area there was Foosball, ping pong and a pool table. The girls both learned to shoot pool. Dan became quite the shark by the end of the week.

We went snorkeling one day. The girls reluctantly agreed to this adventure. They must have developed their Mimi's aversion to sharing space with God's oceanic creatures. However, once they got the hang of it, they really enjoyed it. I loved seeing the fish and all the underwater sea life. I even got to see a sea urchin up close. It reminded me of the time in college when I prepared sea urchin to serve my classmates for a science class.

The beach was lovely. I could see why so many people want to get married there.

Note Sarah's braids. It took nearly two and a half hours to get her hair braided. She looked fabulous. Eat your heart out Bo Derek!

We went on a tour of the island and shopped in downtown St. Thomas. The tour was nice, but a little long. We rode around in an open air taxi. Thank goodness for this! It prevented copious amounts of motion sickness from ensuing. During the tour, our guide acted as part tour guide, part real estate agent. He let us know all the properties that were available. Since most of those seemed out of our price range, we just stuck with the souvenier shops.

The donkey's name was Monica Lewinsky. She's a democrat.

Imagine my surprise running into Kenny Chesney! Yes, I've heard the rumors. Kenny and I rise above such idol gossip. Our relationship is no one else's business...

On the tour, we also visited a place called "The Great House". It is a botanical gardens and place to host events on the island. Dan was overjoyed to find a cat living at The Great House! The bird never would talk to me even though I stood there for quite a while talking to him. Maybe he knew that I secretly abhor birds.

We also purchased our toe rings. Dan jumped on our bandwagon and bought one too. They don't match, but each reflects a little of our personalities. (Sarah's is shaped like a crown.)We played mini golf. Dave and I tied for first. He can never just let me win anything! We also each had a massage. It was both girls' first time. They are both hooked. I kind of thought they might be ticklish, but no... They enjoyed the experience thoroughly. That same day, Dave and I also attended an evening yoga class while the girls satisfied their computer craving in the hotel lobby.

We spent time in the hot tub, as well... Iguanas usually surrounded the hot tub. I don't know if they liked the warm, moist air or if some other reason drew them to the area. But, the iguanas were really neat. They would walk all around the hot tub and pool area. One of them came close to me and licked my toe. They were a little like scaly, green dogs.

Ducks also wandered around the property.

On the last night there, we stayed poolside for a show. Madame Voodoo was a fire eater and glass walker. We had great fun oohing and ahhing. Dave even got to dance with Madame Voodoo along with about 10 other unfortunate gentlemen who were pulled from the audience.
The trip was so great! The worst part was getting stuck in the Miami airport for about 8 hours on the way home. We didn't get back into New Orleans until after 2 in the morning. We arrived home at about 4:00. Still, it was entirely worth it. We are definitely planning on doing another trip to the Carribean.

Monitoring MySpace

Technology has created many new and varied challenges for parents. Not only do I have to be aware of where my children are, who they're with and what they are doing... Now I have to know who they're texting, IMing, and e-mailing... I have to know what their MySpace layouts look like, what songs and videos are posted, who is on their friends list, and what comments are being posted. I guess I can't really cast aspersions since I have become a blogger in this ripe, new and different age of technology. But, gosh, it is making my life harder and more interesting.

Honestly, I didn't want to monitor it. You see, I TRUST my children. They are relatively good kids. And, I had the belief that giving them a firm foundation with a solid spiritual upbringing would prevent any weird shenanigans from occurring. Then entered Mr. X with tales (and a printed account) of my lovely, innocent Sarah trashing his daughter on MySpace. Yikes. This was not a good moment in the life of Sarah. She lost computer for months as a result of that episode.

Hence, the MySpace monitoring... Now, my husband and I both have MySpace accounts. Christy's MySpace can be accessed here. Being teachers, we have a lot of students past and present who have added us to their list of friends. This has inadvertently given me full access to a whole host of information that I'm not sure I wanted to know in the first place. It is an education and eye-opener with regard to the sub-culture of teens. They are cussing. They are quarreling. They are posting funny jokes and videos. They are proclaiming their undying, everlasting love for one another. They are chain-mailing. They are threatening to fight one another. They are writing poetry. They are posting art. They are posting tons of photographs of themselves and each other. They are thinking about suicide. They are having sex and writing about it. They are talking about church and querying about God and the meaning of life. They are doing drugs and drinking. It's all there.

I have friends and colleagues who believe MySpace is going to be the downfall of man. But, perhaps it is offering a creative outlet for kids to just be themselves... I would further offer that the "themselves" changes from moment to moment. Because I can guarantee that while Sarah might think and ugly thought about someone, and might even say an ugly thought about someone, she will not post an ugly thought about someone. After the Mr. X in the living room incident, we were even able to have a discussion about the law of attraction. "Be careful about the words and the energy you are putting out into the Universe because it will come back to you a hundred-fold."

Dave has had an opportunity to speak to a student who posted a poem about suicide. Was the student really contemplating taking his own life? I don't really know. But, he found out that an adult in his life cared about him.

Kids are seeking guidance. I used to think they were seeking parental guidance... That deep-down in their sub-conscious minds they truly wanted some adult authority figure to offer boundaries. Now, I know they are just seeking guidance in trying to figure out who they are. Unfortunately, they will take that guidance wherever and however they can get it. So, it's about me as a parent making a decision. What type of guidance do I want provided for children? Do I want the free-for-all that is available on the Internet? Or, do I at least want to be able to say, "Yes, that's there, but have you considered this?" I've learned that kids will listen if they know that an adult cares.
If you have kids, I would invite you to join the MySpace revolution. Call me if you need help "pimping your page."

~Namaste'~

Cadet Ball

Last night was one of those, "Oh my gosh! This is an honest-to-goodness lifetime moment." Dan was in a beautiful dress, and a tall handsome boy showed up in my diningroom with a corsage. They were going to the Cadet ball. Enjoy the photos!

Spring Break

I just thought I would post a few photos from our Spring Break doings and goings. We have had a relaxing time staying around here. On Tuesday, we went to the Pompeii exhibit at the Explorium in Mobile. Yesterday, we went to the New Orleans Zoo. We really wanted to go to the beach, but the temperature tanked on us, so the zoo seemed a more reasonable option. At any rate, we have had a wonderful time!

I also got a brand new, cute little red VW Jetta this week. I'll have to post photos of it too. I hope this post finds each of you with more love than you know what to do with today!

And on that Farm He Had a Cow...

So, Spring Break is upon us! I have been lounging in bed, reading blogs, thinking that I really need to get up and do a yoga practice... And, yet, here I am posting instead. I check quite a few teacher blogs, and everyone seems to be talking about this "time of the year". The end of the year is very stressful for all teachers, regardless of level or subject. A frantic feeling comes along... "Oh no! The end of the year is quickly upon us and I still have so much to do. We have come so far, but still have so far to go!" For special education teachers, we have that feeling, along with the stress of the wondrous duties involving the creation of the plethora of paperwork that must follow each and every student, insuring the provisions under IDEIA and NCLB are met. We must determine whether or not students qualify for ESY. We must create new IEPs, update IBPs, taking into account FERPA, LRE and FAPE. Now, you can't do any of this without having a WPN. I am the LSC at my school, so I coordinate the efforts of everyone in my department. In my district, we do all of this using a program called SEAS. ...It makes me want to sing: E-I-E-I-O!

Yesterday, I met with the parent of a student who transferred to our school from another school. This parent was IRATE when she received her child's report card for third nine weeks. The report card listed my name as her teacher for Special Ed. Reading, Special Ed. Language and Special Ed. Math. The words, "Special Ed." sent her into a frenzy. Perhaps the fact that she had straight 'C's in all of those subjects created a feeling of ill will, as well. She claimed that she had not been informed that her child had been placed in special education at her previous location. She wanted her removed immediately. I presented her with copies of all information, including documentation of where she signed for permission for this placement. I further explained her rights under all of the current laws mandating special education in the best manner I could. I gave her the thick packet called "Procedural Safeguards" that is written in archaic legal language. But, honestly, I felt inept at times. I explained the pros and cons to the best of my ability, but I understand more fully than ever before that the process is so complicated... The ramifications of labeling or not labeling are so convoluted that I can't even keep up. So, how are we to expect parents, with a limited understanding of the process, to keep up? I try, to the best of my ability, to put it into plain language for them. However, I can see how a parent would sign a form without fully understanding exactly what is being signed.

The parent made the decision to remove the child from special education. Hey! No skin off my nose! (We are currently doing a lesson on figurative language.) The child is actually a "pot-stirrer" and my class has been in an uproar ever since she arrived. At the same time, I think I was beginning to see some real change in her behavior. She was beginning to be accountable for her actions. She was also beginning to take responsibility for her own learning. I think I could have made some real progress. Interestingly, the decision was made for her to remain in a class currently slotted for inclusion. This means that extra personnel are present to help students with special needs. My inclusion personnel also help the other children, as well. So, essentially, she will still be in an environment to receive more help than she might otherwise be afforded.

I fully support that parent's right to remove her child from special education services. She is still eligible to receive the services for the next three years, if the parent should change her mind. However, I'm left wondering when it all got so complicated... Special education law fascinates me... Maybe I will blog about that some day: A History of Special Ed. according to Christy... In the meantime, I'm wondering if I can't find another title to hang around my neck. "Special Education Teacher" seems to send some people screaming into the wilderness. Hmm... Let me think about my week: "Letter Writer for SSI Applications"(Parent awaiting my arrival at 7:10 a.m. to help fill out paperwork for a Social Security disability application)... "Parade Master" at car duty... "Math Genius" (Can we find the average of five grade? Yes, we can!)... "Computer Technician" (Gradebook and SEAS)... "Baby Sitter"(Watched 5 kindergarten students and implemented impromptu sight word recognition lesson while the other classroom teacher handled child falling out in grand mal seizure.) "Shopkeeper and Bookkeeper" (Via the fabulous checkbook classroom token economy system I implement.)... "Counselor and Warden" (Aided in the removal of a general education student who made a physical threat against a teacher.) "Medical Aide and Consultant" (Eat lunch with a student afflicted with CP, whose vocal cords have recently become paralyzed... Lunch is my only planning break during the day.) "Reading Specialist" (Phonics decoding with dyslexic students)... And, of course, "Legal Consultant" (Explaining SpEd Law to parents and signing paperwork). If you will notice, most of what I do seems to have little to do with teaching, at times.

Still, given all the headache, I can't think of anything I would rather do with my life at this juncture. Dave, my husband who is not a blogger, but is a wonderful high school mathematics teacher, interviewed this week for an assistant principal job at the high school. If he gets it, great! The hike in pay would be terrific for us. If he doesn't get it, that's O.K. too. He loves teaching and coaching. The thing that has caused pause for me, is simply that the district would be losing a great teacher. He is able to convey a knowledge of math in a way that I wish I had been exposed to in my younger years. He is such a dork about it, too. He genuinely loves pi and can wax poetic about the romanticism of this wonderful number... We are just trusting the process on this one. If it is meant to be, it will be.

In the meantime, I'll be keeping up with all the acronyms in my life! If you see me bouncing down the hall, know that it is just the tune of "Old Mac Donald Had a Farm" jingling in my brain! E-I-E-I-O!

Not Bald, Tattooed and In Rehab... Life's Good

A recurring theme in my life is about learning to let go. Letting go of outcomes... Admitting powerlessness... Being presented with evidence that things I absolutely knew were true, aren't necessarily so. Maybe that is why spiritual truth is so pertinent in my life... I'm seeking. Always seeking...

Life is full of paradoxes. For the past three years, I have beat the inclusion drum... I have advocated for students with disabilities to be included in the regular education setting. I have pounded concepts of Least Restrictive Environment, accommodating students in the regular classroom and making appropriate modifications so that all students might be included and successful in the general education setting. However, this year, I'm teaching in a resource classroom. Just when I KNEW absolutely what was RIGHT about inclusionary education, God presented me with students who needed a more exclusionary setting to be successful.

I have further always resisted any notion that my children might need "more restrictive" medical procedures. We do constant "bronchial hygiene" at home. We take medications as the need arises. We are pleasantly invited to take a vacation at the "Spa", as Dr. Sindel likes to call it... This is where the girls are now. They were hospitalized this past Monday. We do all of these things. I stay with the girls and have always tried to balance what is best for them physically with what is best for them emotionally, spiritually and mentally. Doctors look at their physical health, but sometimes forget the fact that they are people. Because of this, we haven't allowed the placement of a port-a-cath in either of the girls. A port-a-cath is a permanent line placed in the chest, (or I have recently discovered other interesting body locations), to make administering I.V. medications easier. The port is inserted under the skin, with a line running directly into a main vein to the heart. It looks simply like a thin bottle cap has been inserted under the skin. Doctors have been trying to get me to agree to this procedure since the girls were young. I wanted the girls to have days, weeks, months and years where they weren't dealing with an extra thing in their chest... If it isn't being used for I.V. administration, it has to be flushed once a month. One more reminder... "Oh yeah, I have cystic fibrosis." For those unfamiliar with the concept of puberty, girls begin developing breasts during this time. This has also been a consideration for not having a port placed until the girls were older.

The benefits of a port, however, are numerous. And, every time I sit with my girls while they are running mid line catheters up their arms, I am reminded of why the doctors think it would be best. This time, the PICC nurse, (a really wonderful nurse named Ingrid), stuck Dan twice, but the guide wire wouldn't go through. You see, after someone has had numerous I.V.s and lines run, the veins begin to branch off. We had to quit and go back the next day to try again. Danielle cried when the wire couldn't go through. The tears just welled up in her eyes until they spilled over her cheeks. And, I swear to you, a part of my soul is ripped out every time I sit and hold her hand and watch.

Sarah also had to have a mid-line run. She cried too, but they were able to get the line in. As I was rubbing her hair, soothing her with words of: "It's O.K., Honey... It is going to be O.K. Just a few minutes more..." Sarah cries, "But, Mama, it's really not O.K." And, again, I'm left just trying to pick my heart up off the floor, lest it get stepped on by a well-meaning nurse.

I always feel so absolutely inadequate when faced with the medical decisions. However, the overall ideal that I have tried to follow is a simple one: We live with cystic fibrosis, not for it. The girls can be and do whatever they want in spite of the fact that they have this disease. God is all powerful and we are relying on the miracle. Still, it's more of a philosophy than anything that is able to give me absolute guidance in times of need... How am I to know when the time is right to allow the placement of a port? Honestly, part of holding off has been that the girls get to make their own decision about it. Having a port would mean less painful sticking...

Now, Dan is older... And, she decided she wants one. We went ahead and scheduled the surgery for Monday. And, after spending some time in prayer I really heard the words: "Trust the process." I say it to my students all the time. Amazing how my own words come back to me. However, after we went back the second day, Ingrid, was able to get the mid line placed. It was smooth sailing the second day with no tears. My heart remained in my chest. So, we decided to cancel the port placement until the beginning of Dan's next hospitalization. That will give her a few more months, maybe even a year or two, to live without a bottle cap under her skin. And, Dr. Sindel assures me that when the inhaled powder medications become mainstream and the genetic cure is available, we can remove the port. So, I'm trusting the process...

I often wonder why God chose me for this job of CF Mom Extraordinaire. I'm humbled, and I'm not worthy. I whine to my friends when things get hairy. But, in moments of reflection like this, I know that I am the luckiest mom in the world. I know that I have been drawn into a closer relationship with God, an absolute reliance on seeking spiritual truth, because of being Dan and Sarah's mom. It is my most important job. I'm grateful that God wanted me. What an honor!

And, somehow, my friends and family have provided the support to make trusting the process a little easier. Friends have been visiting. Randy, the girls' dad, and Dave are currently trading off stints at the hospital. Somehow I was fortunate enough to marry two really great guys in one lifetime. Kristine, Randy's best wife, calls every day to check on the girls. Maxine and Wayne, Grammy and Grampy, (Randy's parents), are staying a night too. My parents are also up at the hospital constantly. Aunt Micki has supplied plenty of junk food, and calls daily to check, as well. So, honestly, what am I complaining about? The answers aren't easy, but we all muddle through together.

So just for today, I haven't freaked out, checked myself out of rehab, shaved my head, gotten a tattoo, beaten up a papparazzi with an umbrella and checked myself back into rehab. It could be worse... I've just managed to sit in the heartache of sometimes feeling helpless and not knowing what to do. That's life.

I'm left feeling grateful. The lessons come for me when I am open to receive them... I'm thankful that I don't always know the right answers... I'm thankful for the process...

Making a Difference

Don’t we all just want to know that our very existence isn’t just for naught? I mean, my brother is an actor/writer/director… He creates because he feels passionately, and he wants to bring meaning to life’s experiences. At least that is what I have always believed about what he does. My sister is a nurse. Her life is about assisting those in moments of great vulnerability. My cousin is a plumber. She works with her husband, and together, they strive to improve the quality of life for customers by helping fix pipes. Lots of times, they manage to ensure that the aroma of human waste isn’t the first thing people experience in the morning. These roles that my family members play are important in society. They make a difference. I can see it.

When I first started teaching, I was filled with all sorts of notions about “making a difference”. Maybe that is what everyone strives for in life… A sense of meaning… A sense of purpose… But, as with everything, I carried this idea of making a difference to a whole different level in my own mind. I wanted every student who passed through my door to develop a sense of self-worth, a love of learning, a respect for life and the miracles that it holds, a feeling of security and independence, and knowledge that they were the masters of their own destiny.

This is my seventh year of teaching. Tonight, I ran into a former student at the mall… A student from my first year… “Joe” transferred to me from another school toward the end of the school year. I only had him in class for about 4 months. However, his file was probably two inches thick. In special education, I suppose the student with the thickest file wins. Joe’s file was rife with reports about his horrible behavior problems. As I read through the file, my head was certainly filled with visions of terror… “Jumping from the tops of file cabinets…” “Cursing…” “Threatening to ‘dismember’ the student teacher”… Those are just the bits that I remember all these years later. But, amidst all of that, I saw that the kid had an I.Q. of 135. And, given my clientele that first year, I figured he would fit right in. The students I had my first year had horrible behavior problems. Many of them hailed from the projects and are now known drug dealers in our fair city. So, Joe didn’t really seem too different from any of the rest of my students, and I was questioning whether or not I was going to continue teaching after that first year anyway. I figured he could ride out the rest of the year with me and maybe I could find out why this bright kid, with unlimited potential was a) in special education, and b) saddled with a file that read like a rap sheet.

The remainder of that year was a wild ride. I was just holding on for dear life, doing the very best I could with a whole gaggle of very difficult students. And, for some reason, Joe never gave me a lick of trouble. He would find reasons to come back to my class in the afternoon. He was supposed to return to his homeroom class for Science and Social Studies, but usually he would meander in and we would talk. Honestly, I was grateful for his company. He was so smart and funny. One time, I even had an opportunity to show him his file and ask, “What are these reports doing in here, Joe? I don’t get it. You don’t act like this in my class.” He would just shrug and say, “I never felt like I needed to do that here. You get me.”

Joe moved before the end of the school year. Maybe that was part of the problem. He moved quite a bit during his elementary years. But, his mom had said that they were staying in Gautier, so I hoped he would get a chance to finish middle and high school with the same group of kids.

Tonight, I saw Joe at the mall. He is running around with the “gothic” kids. He looked basically the same, and I had a chance to speak to him.

“Joe Neely,” I called.

“How do you know me?” he responded. He looked at me, snapping his fingers trying to put a name to my face.

A friend joined him, who was a former student of our school and prompted, “She’s a teacher…”

After much struggling with his memory, I let him off the hook and told him who I was. I don’t honestly believe that he remembered me. He just said, “Teachers and me did not a good team make…”

I asked him how he was doing and he revealed that he has quit school. He is sixteen now. He never made it to high school. He quit in middle school. When I asked what happened he said, “I just wouldn’t do the work.” He says he plans to get his GED and go to college. I encouraged him to do just that.

Obviously, I didn’t really make the type of difference I had intended for Joe Neely. He didn’t even remember me. But, maybe Joe made a difference for me that year. I remember contract renewals came around at the end of my first year and I did not sign mine immediately. My co-teacher, and now friend, Kenna, kept telling me that I couldn’t quit. Still, I thought, “Like hell I can’t quit… This is too hard. It isn’t worth it.” Then, I thought about Joe and kids like him. I thought, maybe I can make a difference for those kids. At least he went to one school where someone “got him”.

I’m sad that I didn’t make a bigger difference for Joe. I want him to get a high school diploma. He is probably still the smartest kid I have taught. But, maybe kids like Joe are just thrown into the mix so I can make a difference for some of the others. I don’t really understand how God works it all out or keeps it all straight.

At the end of each school year, I write my students moving on to the middle school a letter. The letter is personal for each student, but usually I tell them the story of Albert Einstein… Here is a portion of a similar letter to another student: “Being a person of true character means meeting your disability with an attitude of gratitude. Being grateful for the gifts and abilities you have, rather than focusing on the areas you are lacking will help you build your strengths and minimize your weaknesses. Albert Einstein (one of the smartest men who ever lived) had a learning disability. His mother did not listen to the teachers who told her that he did not have the capacity to learn to read. Because Einstein's mother believed in him, he began to believe in himself. If I could give you any gift in life, it would be the ability to believe in yourself. I believe in you. You can be your own worst enemy or your own greatest ally; the choice is yours.”

Interestingly enough, Joe’s presence in my classroom led me to conclude that I have certain gifts and abilities to offer my students. Because my class was the one place he didn’t exhibit behavior problems, I thought that maybe I could offer something to others with significant challenges. I think I have gone on to offer something. I’m not sure it is as grand and wonderful a something as I had hoped it would be in my first years of teaching. But, I know for sure that the choice to continue trying and believing is mine alone.

And, who knows… Joe and I have crossed paths again. Maybe that diploma is on the horizon for him. (Wink.)

Love and Betrayal

Recuperating isn't my strong suit. Yesterday, I got up, tooled around the house and did some laundry. Last night, my abdomen and some other unmentionable areas swelled up, giving me the appearance of a woman six months pregnant. So, today, I have decided to actually rest.

Dave tried to talk sense to me... Really he did. "Honey, you have got to stay in bed."

I stubbornly replied, "Why? I feel fine!"

"Because you have been stabbed three times." Dave has such an eloquent way with words.

I didn't really listen yesterday. Today, I think I will. Thus, I'm sitting here in bed while my family went off to church. I'm really glad they went. It is so wonderful that Christmas Eve is on a Sunday this year. We do a beautiful candle lighting service at church in which people sign up to light a candle as a disciple. I signed up to light a candle. I can't remember which disciple I was supposed to represent, but Danielle is going to stand in for me.

In Unity, each of the disciples represents one of the twelve powers of man. I have always found it so ironic that Judas represents life. Judas... What in the world was wrong with that guy? He betrayed Jesus by identifying him to the soldiers. And, it wasn't just any betrayal. It was a betrayal with a kiss. In reality, that is probably how betrayal happens most often in this life... We usually hurt the ones closest to us. And, not because we want to hurt them... We are just so wrapped up in our own lives that we incidentally hurt the ones we love. Perhaps that is why Judas represents life. Life happens amidst the betrayal. Rebirth happens despite the betrayal.

Dave's sister, Deb, and her children were supposed to join us for Christmas this year. Unfortunately, illness has struck and they won't be able to make it. I'm really sorry they won't be able to come, but grateful they aren't coming if they are ill... We really can't handle any more sickness exposure with the girls. But, at the same time, I hurt for my husband. Dave has very little family left. His parents have both passed on. He has a brother and a sister. His brother is very ill right now. He was really looking forward to seeing his sister and spending time with his niece and nephew. I'm sure we can reschedule the visit for another time, but I just hate to see Dave disappointed.

My marriage to Dave isn't exactly a typical love story. I met Dave two weeks before he was scheduled to leave the U.S. to move to Italy. He was an officer in the Navy. We met and established a friendship. And, truthfully, I fell for him instantly. Plans were made for me to visit him in Italy. Dave claims that I began stalking him. I suppose one could call it that. I wrote, e-mailed, and made him tapes every day. He was pretty much the exact opposite of any man I had dated previously, and that was exactly what I was after. After visiting Italy in June and experiencing a whirlwind romance, I returned in November and we agreed to be married. I wish it was more romantic than an agreement, but it really wasn't... We were just being practical.

I was still legally married to Randy, even though we had been separated for about a year... Because of the girls, insurance was a major consideration. Randy was getting out of the Navy and the girls would no longer be covered. Thus, Dave and I decided to get married right away so the insurance coverage wouldn't lapse. Some people would probably be horrified to hear that I married my husband for the insurance, but truly, that was the reality at the time.

I do know that I earnestly prayed for God's will in my life every day after Randy and I separated. Dave and I certainly had our ups and downs that first year of marriage. We were living apart and he was getting out of the Navy. He was also seeking to become a more spiritual person each day. I watched him grow and struggle from afar... And, I began to know this man who was my husband.

Dave is dedicated and predictable. He adheres to a routine with an autistic-like fervor, at times. He is able to get the girls up each and every morning, making sure treatments and vest are started before he makes his way to the gym. He is thoughtful. He calls if he is going to be late, and does little things he thinks might make me happy. He is funny. Every day is full of laughter because of Dave's sarcastic wit. He is also smart. He is a brilliant math teacher, but he also knows lots of other interesting bits of information... And, what he doesn't know, he delights in making up.

The thing that most people don't know about Dave is that he feels deeply. I know there isn't anything Dave wouldn't do for me and the girls. He is completely dedicated to us. He signed up for this life. I was a single mom with two daughters with cystic fibrosis. Most men would have kept walking without a backward glance. But, he stayed and despite our quirks and idiosyncrasies, he loves us more than anything in the world. He usually doesn't say it. He isn't a "gusher". But, he shows us love each day by being there and walking through this life with us. Family is important to him.

That's why I'm sitting here in this bed today. It is part of my own weird love story. Dave and I haven't been able to have a baby thus far... This surgery was intended to repair problems that are causing infertility for us. Probably, a lot of people think I'm nuts. "You have two kids with cystic fibrosis... Why in the world would you want to have another baby?" I can answer that question... Because of Dave Maxwell... Because of all the times he has stayed at the hospital with Sarah and Dan... Because of all the times he has done the "one more thing" so I didn't have to... Because of this love that started off as a simple agreement about insurance and has become the deepest, most important commitment of my life.

I guess that is why Judas represents life... Life endures betrayal. In fact, sometimes betrayal brings us into relationships with people. I honestly believe people are basically good at heart. I know in my own life, I don't seek to hurt the ones I love. Sometimes it just happens because I am caught up in my own needs and wants in the moment. I'm certain that very concept was behind any actions I might perceive as betrayals toward me. But, love... Real love surpasses all that. And, fortunately, in my life I get to experience lots of little moments of real love strung together. The betrayals sometimes lead the way to a greater love. Life marches on.

Roto-rooter Procedure Completed

I had laproscopy surgery yesterday to remove some things that were growing in places where things shouldn't be growing. The doctor got almost everything straightened out, with the exception of one small item. However, after 3 hours into the operation, one of the pieces of equipment broke, people were frustrated and snapping at each other, and Dr. Koulianos decided that it would be best to continue on another day. I'm really grateful for his decision. I don't want to go back and do this again, but I also don't want negative vibes entering my body either...

Dr. K said that he has done a lot of these types of surgeries and I am now in his top 2 patients of things that can be wrong with someone all at the same time. I have always been an overachiever! It is amazing to me that things can grow wildly inside my body out of nothing. At the same time, however, that reaffirms my belief that things can heal wildly out of nothing too. Tumors and cysts and extra growths spring forth from our regular body processes. If this can happen, it makes perfect sense to me that spontaneous healing can occur too. Believing and manifesting are two different things, though. So, I continue to trust the process with all the doctors in our lives.

The girls are doing much better, although Sarah has a slight cold right now. Keep her in your prayers. I am giving them some immune boosters from the health food store. They seem to be helping. We have also increased our prayer time and recommitted to our daily affirmations. Whatever the reason, the girls have improved and I am totally grateful.

I have so many things for which to be grateful... My husband, Dave, has been taking extra good care of me as I recover. My girls have been quiet, and are getting along with each other. (I told them that fighting amongst themselves would stress me out.) My parents are helping take care of the girls while I am out of commission. I have wonderful friends who have been checking on me... Kenna and her mom had a lady come and clean my house yesterday. I am just so overwhelmed with goodness.

In just two days, we will have a wonderful Christmas celebration. This year, I am resting in the spirit of hope and renewal that Christmas brings. I have brand-new, squeaky clean insides... I have the peace that comes with trusting the process. I am healthy, whole and well today. And, for that I am thankful.

~Namaste'~

40 Days in the Wilderness

Fear is a terrible thing. I don't usually walk around in the world afraid. Thankfully, almost twenty years ago, I began a path that served to alleviate the gut wrenching fear I lived with daily. I made a choice that I wanted to live a spiritual life. If you had asked me at the time, I probably would have denied that is what I was doing. But, I can assure you, that is how my life has turned out... A spiritual walk with my Creator.

So, why was it so very easy for me to fall into a pit of despair and terror this week? We started off the week with CF Clinic. Sarah had begun running a fever, and that continued when she went in to see the doctor. As a result, her pulmonary function tests, or PFTs, had fallen by about 50%. This, naturally, resulted in a hospitalization for her. Both girls had been hospitalized the Monday before Thanksgiving, but were allowed to go home on I.V. antibiotics. Given that this course of treatment is usually successful, I was very concerned. Serving to further alarm me, Dr. Sindel reported that Sarah was growing not only Pseudomonas and Alcaligenes Xelodan, which is fairly normal for her, but something different called Trichosporum. However, after further research, Danielle is also growing all three, but her pulmonary functions had improved with I.V antibiotics.
Sarah was admitted to the hospital on Monday, and being the CF Mom extrodinnaire that I am, I promptly got out my handy dandy laptop and googled Trichosporum. The information I read scared the willies out of me. Usually, cancer patients or patients with immune deficiencies contract this fungus. Thus, most of the articles were citing morbidity rates. I was absolutely beside myself. I did learn other helpful information about treatment options, but I was still so terrified that something awful was going to happen to my child.

Dr. Sindel ordered treatment with Voriconazole, which is an antifungal medication. After a couple of days, Sarah developed terrible itching and began breaking out in hives. Evidently, this can be a side effect of this medication. So, they changed her to Itraconazole in an oral medication. She is also taking I.V. antibiotics: Maxipime and Azactam.

And, we waited... Randy, Dan and Sarah's Dad, stayed at the hospital with Sarah on her last night. I was so relieved to get a phone call from him yesterday morning, as I blogged this entry, telling me she was being discharged. Danielle is still on I.V. antibiotics, but is currently under no treatment for the Trichosporum. She is scheduled to be seen at CF clinic on Monday, so we will address that issue then.

To further shake my foundation, in the midst of Sarah's hospitalization, I learned that my dear friend, "Mama Jane", had been in a terrible car accident and flipped her car three times. She had to be air lifted to USA Medical Center right near USA Women and Children's Center where Sarah was staying. I felt so fortunate to have been able to go see her in the hospital. She has a broken arm and a broken leg, but proclaimed that God was with her through the entire ordeal. She also said that three flips in a car makes for a really long conversation with God. I can only imagine! Thanks so much to the young men who stopped and pulled her from the car.

Emotionally, I was feeling so overwhelmed with fear and worry. I started feeling better Friday, but I really wasn't myself all week. Tears were apt to spill at any time, and fear gripped me in a way that I haven't known in so many years. And, I prayed. I have been in constant communication with God, but I continued to feel so far away. I just couldn't seem to get back in contact. I felt absolutely lost. I was reminded of the Bible story in which Jesus went into the wilderness for forty days and was tempted by the devil. When he returned, He was stronger and ready to pursue his ministry. I suppose it was a choice for Him. Which life do I choose? Do I choose to live a spiritual life in faith and trust with the Father or die a non-spiritual death? Jesus, of course, chose the spiritual life in faith and trust. And, I suppose if Jesus took forty days to figure it out, why should I expect to be any quicker about it? Still, I wanted to have that peace and serenity. I don't like feeling afraid. And, I feel so responsible for the climate that is set for my girls. I want them to embrace the Truth of God's Healing rather than the seeming realness of all of these appearances.

So, yesterday, I wrote the above paragraphs right before leaving for Mobile. (I edited them a little today so they would make more sense in the current context.) I had to stop for gas prior to the drive. As I pulled into the Fast Track, a gentleman approached me and said, "Excuse me, ma'am. May I give you my testimony? It will only take a minute." I looked at the man, who was a tall, thin black man with gold on his front teeth. The initials "J" and "K" were carved into the gold. To the casual observer, we were from completely different worlds with nothing in common. It would have been so easy to judge, but given my current crisis of faith, I knew that I needed to hear testimony from somebody so I said, "Sure. I would love to hear your story." He introduced himself as John. John began telling me that his blood sugar dropped to 20 in June of this year. During this time, he had an experience in which he was visited by the Holy Ghost. He experienced a tingling sensation and was given a message that he was to share this healing with as many people as he could. He told me to read John 5:1. He also told me to keep on the "right side" of Jesus, as that is where the spear was inserted when he was on the cross. John said a lot of other things, but I really was just so overwhelmed that God had sent this angel to me at the precise time I needed him, that I couldn't absorb everything.

However, I got the message loud and clear. I understood that God is with me. God is Health. The girls continue to astound us all with their overall health and ability to live life in the face of the disease called cystic fibrosis. But, there are times when it is so scary... Keeping words of faith and health in my mind and mouth are precisely what I need to do during those times. Usually, I'm pretty good at keeping focused on God. This time, I allowed the fear to wash over me and drag me to a place where I couldn't feel God's presence at all.

Not feeling the presence, didn't mean that it wasn't there. Sarah's pulmonary functions improved while she was in the hospital. Both girls have a significantly decreased cough. Yesterday, Dan marched in the Gautier Christmas Parade with the rest of her bandie friends, and Sarah was miffed at me because I wouldn't let her march with her dance troupe. They wanted to go to Moss Point's Christmas by the River last night, but I insisted that we stay home because it was so cold. Still, my girls are ready to get back out and embrace life. And, I am proud of them for that... And, funny enough, that was Jesus' message conveyed in John 5:1-9:

The Healing at the Pool
1Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. 2Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda[a] and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. 3Here a great number of disabled people used to lie, the blind, the lame, the paralyzed.[b] 5One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. 6When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?" 7"Sir," the invalid replied, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me." 8Then Jesus said to him, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk." 9At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked.

Now, curiously enough, because I sometimes get things backwards, and again, because I was so overwhelmed that God sent me an angel precisely when I needed him, I looked up John 1:5-9:

5The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood[a] it.
6There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. 7He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. 8He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. 9The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.[b]

And, so, I learned some things about trust and faith. I also learned about that light within each of us... For today, know that the light in my heart bows to the light in your heart.

Stone Soup

Every year I have taught in my own classroom, I do a unit on Stone Soup. For those unfamiliar, Stone Soup is a classic tale about three hungry soldiers coming home from war. As they make the arduous journey home, they come upon a village and ask the peasants for food and a place to sleep. The villagers are quite concerned about having to share with the soldiers and after hiding all their food, explain they have little enough for themselves. The clever soldiers declare they will help everyone by making stone soup. Upon filling a pot with water and stones and starting a fire ablaze, the soldiers say, "Oh, this soup is good, but it would be much better with a bit of salt and pepper..." Many other ingredients are added in the same way. Each time, the villagers bring vegetables and other soup ingredients to make the soup better. In the end, the peasants and the soldiers have a wonderful feast together. The soldiers are treated as honored guests rather than a pesky imposition. Lesson plans always encourage the teacher to explain how the soldiers tricked the villagers into sharing.

I love the story. We always do activities surrounding the story. We define vocabulary words and explore measurement using cups, teaspoons, etc. And, of course, we talk about the underlying moral of the story. We review the importance of sharing. We talk about how the soup is like our classroom... It is better because each of us bring a unique and important ingredient to our group. We talk about sharing ourselves with each other. We even talk about fear and hoarding, and how these things hinder prosperity. Always during the course of the unit, we make stone soup. It is usually very tasty, but this year it was particularly delicious. I think I enjoyed it more because this year, one of my students taught me a poignant lesson.

We began the lesson by defining some important vocabulary words. One of our words was soldiers. Before we look up the definitions, I ask that the students give me a definition in their own words. A student I will call Elliot raised his hand, sat up straight and tall, and declared, "Soldiers are people who work together..." At this point he stammered a little and lost his confidence. I deal with that a lot when a student has a learning challenge. They aren't confident in their abilities and their knowledge. So, I said, "Yes... Go on..." He began again, "Soldiers are people who work together to kill other people." I'm sure the look on my face was unreadable. For just a moment, it felt as if the world had stopped in the classroom. I quickly regained my composure and said, "Elliot, some people would probably have a problem with your definition, but you are absolutely right. In fact, your words are so important to me, I'm going to write them down to keep for myself. I may write something on my blog to share with everyone."

I'm not political. I always vote, but I really don't like to vote. I have never actually felt as if I was endorsing a candidate I fully believed in. In fact, in local elections, sometimes I don't even know the candidates for whom I'm casting a ballot. It's actually a little embarrassing. Perhaps I should be more informed. Sometimes, I really exert the effort to educate myself, but here, they always throw in a strange one... "Vote for the New Coroner." How on earth am I supposed to know who would make the very best coroner? Some things shouldn't be a vote. A committee of persons educated in such matters should be handling that bit of hiring. Still, when elections come around, I go vote. I cast my ballot. I wear the little sticker all day. I do the deal. When my girls were young, I took them with me. I talked about the importance of living in a democratic country. I sang on high about voting and how we live in a wonderful country in which we are allowed to vote. Other people in the world don't have that right.

Then somehow my right to vote, ties in with the ugly fact that people died so that I could live in a free country. People died so that I might stumble into the booth and vote for a coroner that I don't know and hope I don't need for a long time... People died... "Soldiers are people who work together to kill other people..." People got mad about a king in England taxing them. Money is a powerful motivator. People were outraged that their feelings weren't being considered. They dumped some tea into a harbor and set about fighting for their rights. It was a revolution... Soldiers worked together to kill other people... People died... Southerners later developed the nasty habit of buying and selling other people based on skin color.... These people were required to work on plantations and weren't treated well in some cases. It was a travesty. It was wrong. The south still hasn't fully recovered in many respects. Other people knew it was wrong, but I can tell you for a fact that in the south, we don't like to be told what to do. In the south, we said, "Forget you... We don't have to be a part of your silly country... We'll make our own country." Some people here still think they are in that separate country... It was a civil war. Soldiers worked together to kill other people... People died... America became a land of prosperity... Our economics affect other countries. In America, individuals have a right to pursue happiness. We began to be a beacon of light for those without hope... We had such a gift, this freedom... We had such a wonderful thing... Democracy... It seemed only right we should share our gift with the world. Surely, all people have a right to be free. Other wars were fought on this premise. America must be the champion for the weak, the oppressed, the down-trodden... People worked together to kill other people all over the world... In other countries... Sometimes for causes that were gallantly noble. People died...

As I type this, people are working together to kill other people. People are dying... Why? I don't think anyone really can give a sufficient answer. Some people try to tie this war to "my freedom"... "Soldiers are dying for your freedom," they say... The bad guys crashed planes into our towers. They attacked our country. The "evil-doers" are trying to interfere with "our way of life". North Korea is getting nukes. We can have nukes, but other people shouldn't have them. Other people are crazy. We're in danger. SOLDIERS ARE PEOPLE WHO WORK TOGETHER TO KILL OTHER PEOPLE. People are dying...

A red flyer showed up in my box a couple of weeks ago. The flyer asked people to wear red on Fridays as a sign of support to our troops overseas. I support our troops. I come from a family of military men and women. I know first hand the sacrifices they make. However, I also don't like to be told what to do and when to do it. I didn't like the idea that someone might think if I don't wear red on Fridays, I don't support my troops. However, rather than keeping these ideas to myself, I spouted them off to my dear friend, Billy. He probably shook his head and said to himself, "That crazy Maxwell... She has a screw loose." That's just his way. I later learned by accident that the flyer actually came from Billy. I felt terrible. I don't know his personal family situation. But, I know that people are dying. And, I know that I care very much whether that has affected my friend in any way at all. If it is important to him, it is important to me. I'll wear red on Fridays. But, now it has taken on more meaning for me. "Soldiers are people who work together to kill other people." People are dying... People have died... In the larger scheme of things, I don't understand it.

And, I'm really sad about that today. I'm really sad that I can't see the value in a war that no longer has anything to do with my right to get into a booth and vote for a coroner I don't know. I'm sad that I can't even buy into the fact that this war has anything to do with the towers that fell. There's even a country song out that tried to convince me that is the reason we are at war. I'm sad that as a society, we largely don't value each other's individual beliefs and differences. I'm sad that there aren't any easy answers. But, I know for sure that whatever the question, love is the answer...

You see... that is what Stone Soup is all about... LOVE... The villagers were afraid... They were afraid there wouldn't be enough for themselves. They were afraid that by sharing what they had, they wouldn't have enough... Interestingly, sharing doesn't work that way. When people share, each one walks away better for the experience. Even when one person sets out to take advantage of another, lessons can be learned that better the future of everyone involved. The soldiers tricked the villagers into sharing... The soldiers tricked the villagers into loving. Love is a verb, an action word. Perhaps if we can each add a bit of our true selves to the soup of life, we could really make a delicious soup. Maybe soldiers could evolve from being "people who work together to kill other people" into "people who work together to trick people into loving each other"... I'm sure in some instances, that is exactly what our troops may be doing. I'm wearing red for those soldiers on Fridays... I'm hoping that in my little way, I can trick people into loving each other.

"Many thanks to you," the people said, "for we shall never go hungry now that you have taught us how to make soup from stones!"

~Namaste'~

Small Town Living Vibe

Gautier is a very small town. Sometimes I love that. Other times I miss the anonymity offered by a bigger city. I do not, however, miss the traffic offered by a bigger city, so I guess it is a trade-off. It is impossible to run any kind of errand here without seeing people you know. It is further impossible to run an errand without meeting new people that you weren't sure you wanted to get to know in the first place.

Allow me to explain... Last week, I dropped Sarah off at Dance Xtreme for her jazz class. While she was in class, I decided to run to our local grocery store, Jerry Lee's. I generally make a trip to Wal-Mart in Ocean Springs because it is much cheaper, but on this particular evening, I was more concerned about the time factor. I only needed to pick up a few things to get us through the week. As I picked my way through the produce section, several people approached to speak to me... A dad of one of my daughter's friends who coached softball with me one year... A parent of an ex-student... Another parent of a current student... I chatted with each one, while people went around us continuing with their shopping. During the course of one conversation, I mentioned that I needed to hurry, since I had to retrieve Sarah from dance class. Thus, I bid the parent, "Good-bye" and continued down the bread ailse.

As I turned the corner to the salad dressing ailse, a lady quickly approached me, buggy in front with two small children trailing behind.

"Excuse me, M'am? Did I hear you say that you had to go back over to the dance studio tonight?"

I scoured my memory for how this stranger could know my proposed evening schedule before realizing that she must have overheard my conversation in the produce section. "Yes," I replied, "I have to pick up my daughter after I leave here."

"Would you mind paying my daughter's tuition when you go back by there? I need to get these two to bed and I don't think I will make it back by there. I'll give you the money."

"O.K.", I responded as I waited for her to locate her checkbook in her purse. "What is your daughter's name, so I can make sure they know who the tuition is for?" She relayed her daughter's name, and I wrote it on my grocery list.

Much to my surprise, the woman offered me $40 cash from her purse. I took the money, and the lady thanked me. Luckily, I finished my shopping without any further interactions with anyone except the checkout girl.

Of course, I went back to the studio to pick up Sarah and paid the child's tuition. But, I wondered... Do I just have a really honest face? Why was the lady confident that I wouldn't take her money and buy a nice new blouse? Or, more likely, why was she certain that I wouldn't flake out and completely forget?

I dont' know that I have discerned any real answers to the above questions, but I do believe that we emit certain vibrations that attract people to our lives. Now, probably, in that instance, the only vibration I emitted was out of my mouth when the lady overheard, "...have to pick my daughter up from dance", but I'm certain there are laws of attraction at work that are beyond anything in the physical realm.

My family teases me that I emit a "Sped vibe". Much as I would like to debunk that myth, I have to admit it is probably true. Special needs people seem to gravitate toward me in all public places. If I am around and someone has mental retardation or mental illness, we seem to be drawn together. I don't mind really. I'd rather be known for emitting a "Sped vibe" than emitting the "drunken womanizer vibe" that some women seem to radiate.

I have been reading a book about alternative healing recently in which light visualizations and energy vibrations are used to facilitate healing. I'm not sure I understand all of the concepts, but much of it is very interesting. I have been having some health challenges of my own, lately. So, for once, the tables are turned in my house. I am much more comfortable in the role of
"supportive mom" than patient. I am scheduled to have laproscopy surgery in December. In the meantime, I'm open to a healing. If God decides to bring on the burning bush, parting of the seas, touching the hem of the garment, take up your bed and walk type miracle, I'm willing to accept it. But, if the plan is for me to have the procedure and gain a little more empathy for my girls and what they go through during hospitalizations with CF exacerbation, then I am open to that too. I just know that I need to be really conscious that I am emitting the "Trust the Process" energy vibration. When I am trusting, I am in faith. That is where I need to stay focused.

I have often wondered how I ended up back in Gautier... While living in Florida and Virginia and people asked me where I was from, I would reply, "I'm from Mississippi. It is a great place to be from." Implying, of course, that I didn't ever want to live here again. Now, I believe that I am here doing something important. I am connected to people in ways I would have never had an opportunity to be in a bigger city. Sharing our humanness, truly connecting with people... It seems to be readily available in my small town.

Namaste'~

The pictures are from my brother's visit with his wife, Kim. He has recently married and we are so happy to welcome her to our family.

Get Out Your Wonder Woman Bracelets

I haven't had an opportunity to blog much in the last month or so... Not that I haven't had a lot of bloggable material, mind you, I just haven't had the time. I started to write an entry entitled "Cleptomania" in late August, but I never finished it, and now it doesn't seem nearly as interesting that I had developed a pattern of accidentally stealing things. No. Everything seems to shrink in the presence of Football Season.

I have been reading Lauren's blog a lot, though. http://livingwellwithcf.blogspot.com/ She has been posting some really interesting research articles. The girls are both enrolled in the Tobramycin Inhalation Powder (TIP) trial. We are driving back and forth to Mobile regularly. It is a little hectic in lieu of our schedules right now. Yesterday, for example, I checked the girls out of school at noon. We barreled over to Mobile, ate lunch, and attended the TIP appointment. Then we hopped in the car, rushed back to Gautier to retrieve Dan's band shirt from the house, and delivered her directly to the band hall for the football game in D'Iberville. Sarah and I later motored over to D'Iberville to the game, but had to drive back to the band hall to retrieve Dan at about 11 p.m. (By the way, Dan looks awesome in her band uniform, but she is so tiny the hat really dwarfs her...) After dropping her friend off because her mother works nights, we arrived home at about 11:20 p.m. Dave arrived home right after us, having just completed his own separate evening of Pascagoula Football Frivolity. When Danielle arrived in the driveway she dragged herself out of the car and said, "I'm not kidding... I could sleep for 2 days straight." She is already up this morning, but I know the schedule we are keeping is very hectic.

Given this, I am relying heavily on prayer and meditation to keep myself rejuvenated. We are making a point to attend church weekly even on those mornings when it seems more logical to loll in the bed. Maintaining a spiritual and emotional charge is extremely important in light of all we are being called to do. In our lives, we rely on God. I'm not trying to preach to anyone or convert anyone to my beliefs. I'm simply trying to convey how I move about from day to day. Generally, the people who are reading this are friends or family. Others are people who have determined that we have common interests, or maybe just like my quirky style of writing. Who knows? Just know that I don't propose to know what is best for you. But, I know solidly what is best for me. I know with a certainty that rarely visits my consciousness that I am here on this earth doing spiritual business. Having clarified that, allow me to further acknowledge that my spiritual life is not "a part of my life". It is who I am. It pervades every corner of the entity that is me. If you have a conversation with me, I am likely to utter cuss words and praise God in the same breath. I think just last week I looked at my friend and said, "Well, I guess we will just have to pray for the b--ch." I realize that isn't holy or Godly or anything else. But it is real. This life is a search for connection to spirit and it has come to me in many strange and wonderful forms.

Given this philosophy, two days ago I was dashing out of school to deliver enzymes to Sarah at the middle school. She had run out and needed them for lunch. As I passed Dr. Catchings, our principal, I heard a snatch of the conversation he was having with a very concerned looking gentleman. The man said, "Well, I am very sorry to hear you say that. You realize that I am going to have to go to the school board with my concerns." I just put my head down and walked out of the school with a wonderful sense of gratitude that my life path has not yet directed me into administration. I walked back into the school about 25 minutes later and was greeted in the front hallway by Dr. Catchings, who appeared to be waiting for me. He asked, "Did you hear the conversation I was having on your way out?" I relayed the small portion I had overheard. He proceeded to tell me that the conversation was about me.

Two weeks ago, the entire staff was asked to attend a training during the school day. In order for everyone to attend, since not all of us have a set planning block, special area teachers and assistants were asked to cover classes. I'm not sure how Dr. Catchings actually worked it out. He is a scheduling master, and with regard to scheduling, I bow to his greatness... All I know is that I was asked to teach PE for a group of 2nd graders so that Coach Kouns might attend the training. I was actually excited because I could teach Yoga for a little block during the day. I spoke to Dr. Catchings about it, and he approved my plan to teach Yoga. I came to school that day with my relaxing music, wearing reasonable clothing that allowed bending and stretching. I led the second graders through a short lesson and allowed time at the end for Shivasana. (Shivasana at the end of practice is when you lay on your back and relax your muscles.) Before we began the stretching, I asked all of the children if they minded being touched. Sometimes the yoga leader needs to touch the participants to align the body or correct the postures. But, I like to honor someone's decision not to be touched if it makes them uncomfortable in any way. My friend, Greta and I, taught Summer Scholars Yoga together two summers ago, and developed a practice of touching the children on the head or shoulders or feet as a way of ending and honoring the practice. So, as a matter of course, I touched each of the children on the forehead at the end of practice. Now, honestly, as I touched the children, I did indeed say a silent prayer of blessing for each child, "I behold the Christ in you... Your hope of glory." However, I didn't tell the children I was blessing them, nor did I say anything religous. After Shivasana, the children sit up in a regular cross-legged pose, place their hands in prayer position and we bow to one another and say, "Namaste'". As we say "Namaste" I also say, "The light in my heart, bows to the light in your heart."

Dr. Catchings sat down with me in my classroom and explained that the gentleman was upset because I taught Yoga and blessed his child. He asked what exactly had taken place and I relayed the happenings in the class. I can understand his suspicion. Frank and I have a very amiable relationship, and I often work to enlighten him on some theory or another. I also realize that he often just shakes his head and thinks to himself, "She is really a nut, but probably harmless." After I explained what I did, though, he said, "That's it?" I said, "Yes, I touched each child's head. Truthfully, I was blessing them, but I certainly didn't tell them, 'Hang on to your hats and prepare to be blessed.'" I'm not sure we came to any resolution. I imagine Dr. Catchings will keep me far away from that particular second grader in the hopes that I don't bless him or anyone in his family.

I came home and relayed the story to my family. They have taken to teasing me... "Be careful. Mama will bless you." I have taken to holding my hands in the Guyan mudra that almost everyone associates with Yoga... Thumb and forefinger in a circle and other three finger extended out. I close my eyes and silently shoot them with a blessing. The girls scream and run away. Although, Dave straps on his pretend Wonder Woman bracelets and deflects my prayers. We are having great fun with the whole thing.

Still, the whole incident has made me think... I am teaching because every time I have tried to go and do something else, God shoves me back in with two hands. I never set out to be a teacher. I would much rather be a counselor or famous country music singer, but neither one of those careers ever really took off for me. My brief stint as a belly dancer was also a miserable failure. So, I teach. I teach and I do my thing and employ non-traditional methods and everyone watching says, "Oh my God, I can't believe she just said that..." I don't know how to be any other way. There are times when I think, "Maybe I should tone it down... Maybe I should be more politically correct... Maybe I should temper my comments..." But, it just comes out. My friend, Billy, told me just the other day, "And I thought I had a set (referring to a portion of a gentleman's anatomy)... You really are bold." But, I can't help it. In the classroom, I feel a sense of urgency. I have two students with cerebral palsy... One in a wheelchair and one with other considerable needs. Society will throw them away if I can't help them find a way to be successful. I have another student in a wheelchair with spina bifida. Her parent has advocated to keep her in the regular classroom environment to the maximum extent possible, and I honor her mom's decision. But, I am panicked at how I am going to translate that into a reasonable test score. Above all, I look in my classroom and I see children with wonderful potential, but because they don't fit the mold in one area or another, society seeks to isolate them, move them aside, place them in a corner. My job is to say, "Oh no. Here we are. We are going fit. We are going to carve our way in your world. We are going to figure it out. And, we don't have time to fool around with your fears and your predjudices..." I don't know how I know that is my job, but I know it... I suppose that goes back to my full reliance on God. I don't have a choice about certain things. A passion that I can't explain wells up inside of me and I just know...

Just as I have always known that it is my job to help Danielle and Sarah live with cystic fibrosis. We aren't going to waste our lives dying from that disease every day. We are going to live. Danielle has been Batman, sang the part of Gretel in a school play, danced, tumbled, cheered, played softball, played saxophone, marched in the band, gone to Italy, rescued cats... Sarah has swam, danced, tumbled, made potions, played soccer and softball, won academic awards, gone white water rafting... They are wonderful children. They embrace life and all it has to offer. They also throw their clothes on the floor and have to be told repeatedly to take out the trash or make their beds. I think probably most people living with cystic fibrosis have these same experiences... We do everything everyone else does and manage to insert treatments and handfuls of pills into the equation too.

Just don't ask me to do it all without God. I couldn't even attempt it. Don't ask me not to silently bless people. I will refrain from touching that particular child on the forehead, but next time, just let me know in advance... I don't make a habit of physically touching people who do not wish to be touched. However, I do have a goal of emotionally and spiritually "touching" people who may or may not want to be "touched". I don't know how to be any other way. So, if you see me on the street, either get out your Wonder Woman bracelets or just steer clear. God is indeed involved.