Looking Through a Lens of Love...

Yesterday, PBS was playing in my living room, as it often is on a Saturday morning. After Thomas the Tank, PBS launched a fund-raising program with Wayne Dyer. Well, I happen to love Wayne Dyer, so much to Micah's chagrin, I stayed tuned. Sponge Bob was not forthcoming. Although, if I am in the right mood, I can ferret out some little spiritual tidbits from Sponge Bob too, but Wayne Dyer requires less reach. The program was about giving up excuses, but in his way, Dyer always lands on those simple, Universal Truths that really seem to resonate with me.

In the course of the program, he stated that there are really only two emotions: fear and love. I have heard this before in a different context, but being reminded is never a bad thing. I was left with some personal reflection about how all the suffering I endure is simply because I am approaching a situation from a place of fear, rather than a place of Love. And, I can pretty much apply it to anything... Mom always says, "Anger is fear with teeth in it." Thus, even in some of my more righteously indignant quests like student advocacy or protesting inequities, I'm still coming from a place of fear, even though the cause may be noble.

However, I truly believe people can change... All people. Including myself. I can turn a situation around and choose to come from a place of Love. Sometimes it just takes me longer to get there. Generally, when I have suffered enough, I choose Love. And, Love helps me see things through a different lens. It leads me to compassion, empathy and hope, even for those who don't "deserve" it. Even for people who have directly "wronged" me... Even in situations that seem awful. Love changes everything. Love (God) means it all for good. And, when I can remember that, I feel SO much better. Actually, I AM so much better.

Bored with My Own Drama

I haven't posted anything here since "The Call". I have been writing other things and was busy with the end of school, etc., etc... But, mainly, I have gotten bored with my own drama. Dan became really sick in May and was hospitalized for nearly three weeks. She got a stomach virus that rolled into a full-blown lung infection complete with coughing up what appeared to be bits of tissue. (Yes, you've heard the phrase, "coughing up a lung"... Well, apparently, it's true. Not just a figure of speech.)

She was released from the hospital without truly being well and was hospitalized approximately two weeks later for decrease in lung function. However, she was discharged yesterday, on her Grammy's birthday, and is feeling so much better. My parents are going up tomorrow to visit for the weekend and Dave, Sarah, Micah and I will follow up with a visit next week.

I know everyone wants to know how she is doing and probably checks Caring Bridge, which I have also woefully neglected, but right now I am just weary. Weary of talking about it. Weary of living it. Weary of feeling it. Not every day. Not all the time. But, often. Often I just don't want to talk about how Dan is doing. She needs lungs. She struggles to breathe. And, it hurts my heart to watch her.

At the same time, I refuse to live a sad, sorry life. Screw that. Our last visit, we packed up the oxygen tanks, rented a pontoon boat and cruised Lake Purdy in Birmingham. Our next visit we plan to go to the Birmingham Zoo. But, how is she doing? Well, she can't walk up the driveway at her dad's house because he has a huge hill. We push her in a wheelchair for walks longer than a few hundred yards and she uses the little motorized shopping cart at Target. When she is really winded, she has to work so hard just to shower that sometimes she is sweating so bad after the exertion that she could really turn around and shower again. And, she misses her friends. She doesn't really have the opportunity to get out and meet friends her own age because it is a little hard to be a beautiful, blond bombshell sporting an oxygen canula and with an oxygen tank in tow. (Don't get me wrong, though... She totally rocks the look.) And, she smiles and tells me every day that she is 'fine'... Always fine.

So, I'm humbled. I stand in the shadow of her greatness and try to be worthy of being her mom. I walk around emotionally torn in half all the time. A part of my heart lives in Birmingham with her while I try desperately not to neglect Sarah, Micah and Dave by becoming mired in fear about Dan. I have moments of such faith and trust in God, I shock myself.

Still, I miss her. If CF hadn't ravaged her lungs like it did, she would be attending our local community college, working a little job somewhere, and enjoying time with friends. She would have a boyfriend (if she wanted one). Her life would look very different.

I have moments of righteous indignation when I am so angry about the injustice of it all. But, then I remember I can't afford to be angry. I don't want to waste time being angry. I don't want to waste time being sad or feeling sorry. Life is too short. So, I take a deep breath. I breathe thinking of Dan... Sending loving intent in that breath to her new lungs that are still walking around in the world... And, I go back to feeling grateful that I have a wonderful, beautiful nearly 19-year-old daughter who is strong and competent. I have a spunky, witty nearly 16-year-old daughter managing to go forward and live life with fervor even though she has CF too. I have an incredibly smart, loquacious nearly 3-year-old who makes us all smile and laugh with joy in the moment. And, I have a supportive, attentive husband with whom to share it all. My family and friends are the best.

Thus, I am grateful in this moment, but overall I just get tired of the play-by-play. We are doing O.K. I'm sorry for not posting more regularly. But, when I'm scared, I'd just rather not say so. When I'm sad, I'd just rather let it pass. I'd rather embrace the joy of life and bask in the sunlight of the spirit as it graces our lives. Thank you so much for caring. Thanks for asking. Thanks for praying. And, thanks for your love.

April 18th- The Call

Last week was Spring Break. We had gone to the McWane Science Center in downtown Birmingham. It is a great little children's museum right around the corner from UAB, and we decided to take Micah. Just being with Micah and watching her explore is fun for the rest of us. She gets so excited, and I'm reminded about all the wonder of the world when I look through Micah's eyes for a little while. We were sitting in an iMax movie about saving baby elephants and orangutans called "Born to Be Wild".

I was imagining what my hair might look like if I were one of the women in the movie... Living in the jungle or on the dry plains with no hair products... It would be frizz city. Although, Argon oil is supposed to come from one special tree somewhere in Africa. Maybe I could get the oil directly from the source...

Suddenly, I was jerked from my hair revery when Dave leaned over and whispered, "We have to go. Dan just got a call."

It was about 3:15 in the afternoon. Somehow, we scrambled around and staggered out of the theater into the hall. Micah began jumping up and down saying, "Yay! We get to go to the castle now."

Randy was in Mobile working. We had arranged to trade places over Spring Break so that Dan wouldn't be left alone at any point. I stepped away from Micah's excited squealing to call Randy. He gave me a number and instructed me to call someone named Janice.

As I hung up and called UAB, I couldn't help but feel deep down in my gut that this was really it. The only problem was that Sarah was at Disney with the band. So, any phone tree plan had to be cut. (Couldn't help the pun- sorry.) Dave called Mom, and Randy called Maxine, but that was the extent of our calling. In a way, it was kind of comforting to be in the process without the pressure of updating anything or answering any questions. Also, I knew I was protecting Sarah from worrying, which made me feel like I was doing something by not doing anything.

After breaking the news to Micah that we wouldn't be going to the castle, but to the hospital to get some new lungs for Dan, we made our way to the parking garage and drove the two blocks to UAB's parking garage. Dave parked the car with Micah, while I wheeled Dan in her wheelchair to wait in the lobby area where people pay for their parking at these machines that look like ATMs, but they are instead strictly designed for sucking money out of your account without giving you anything in return except releasing you from the parking garage. Which, upon reflection, is worth paying for...

After Dave parked the car, we plopped Micah on Dan's lap in the wheelchair and proceeded to the 5th floor where we were greeted by a large gold sign reading, "Cardiothoracic Surgery". There was no desk or any obvious place to check in, so we meandered down the hallways passing patient rooms labeled with various signs like, "Fall Risk" or "NPO" to arrive at a huge nurses' desk in the middle of the floor. A little brunette lady looked up for her computer saying, "Can I help you?"

I responded, "Yes. This is Danielle Sargent. We got a call..." She popped right up.

"Yes. We were expecting you. Come this way." We were led into a relatively large room with several uncomfortable reclining chairs each labeled with handwritten last names. "Sargent", "Dancer", "Prancer" and "Blitzen". I suppose I have no reason to protect anonymity, but something in me feels like that is the right thing to do. Plus... Who doesn't love Santa's reindeer?

Dan got settled into her designated recliner while Dave, Micah and I stood about nervously shuffling around. A young 20-something girl was sleeping in a recliner on one end of the room, while a lady who was obviously her mom chatted amiably with one of the nurses. She turned to us offering Dave her chair, but he declined saying, "No, thanks. I'm kind of keyed up at the moment."

"I understand perfectly," she nodded, "I've been there." Later, when I asked if her daughter had gotten a lung transplant, she explained that she had received a heart. I'm not certain what type of follow-up treatment she was having in the room, but once it was complete they unhooked her from the I.V., she donned a huge pair of Jackie-O sunglasses and strutted out of the room new heart and all. And, the sight of that beautiful, blond 20-something girl walking out with her shiny, brand-new heart made my heart soar with the hope and promise of everything that is possible for Dan with new lungs.

The nurses directed Dave and Micah out to a specific waiting room for families, and I went back to help Dan into the hospital gown. The nurse accessed Danielle's port and drew about eight tubes of blood. They ran all sorts of labs to make sure Dan was healthy enough for transplant and I guess to determine the best match for organs. And, we waited.

We waited until Ms. Prancer arrived. She was a tiny little lady of near 60, accompanied by a tiny little husband dressed all in black like Johnny Cash. After they were settled and blood was drawn, we had opportunity to hear bits and pieces of her transplant story, although we never really heard the name of her actual diagnosis. We learned that she had been listed for over three years and was currently double listed at UAB and Emery in Atlanta. She also revealed that she had some type of strange antibody problem that made finding a match even more difficult for her. As she explained it, there is some sort of childhood illness that everyone gets developing antibodies in a person's system. She never got the illness, so when donor lungs have this particular antibody, her system is more likely to reject the donor lungs. She explained that she raised children and grandchildren and this time in her life was supposed to be for her and her husband to enjoy.

I felt for her. Really, I did. You can't sit with someone on 10 liters of oxygen who is obviously really sick and awaiting transplant and not feel empathy. But, still the only thought coursing through my brain was, "I'm sorry for your situation, but these are Dan's lungs. You've lived so many years. You have a little husband dressed all in black sitting beside you holding your hand. You've had children. You've had grandchilren. These are Dan's lungs. I'm here. We were downtown. The situation is perfect. These are Dan's lungs."

But, the instant I thought it I prayed, "God, it seems like everything is perfect and I am so grateful for this experience no matter what... Only You know if these are Dan's lungs. Please bless these people. Bless us. Help me to accept whatever is to be. Help me to trust in Your Power and the Bigness of this Process."

A little while later Ms. Blitzen arrived with her husband. She, like Ms. Prancer, was 60 something. And, I thought, "I don't want to lose my mom at this age, but Mom would want Dan to live more than she would want lungs for herself. These are Dan's lungs. I wonder what these older patients are thinking when they look at Dan. Well, I don't really care. These are Dan's lungs."

And, in the next instant, looking at Ms. Blitzen, "God. Forgive me. Of course, I care about people. I have no idea what is supposed to happen here. Please let Your will be done. And, please help me maintain some level of serenity here."

By about 7:30 p.m. I learned that all the other patients were single lung transplant patients, while Dan needs a bi-lateral transplant. I had been out to the waiting area to update Dave, and call Randy and Mom. Dave and I decided he should go to Randy's house to pack some things for Dan and I, so that he would be ready to take Micah back for the night. He also went to get us some sandwiches since we hadn't eaten anything since lunch. (Dan, of course, was not allowed to eat anything in case she had to go into surgery.)

Mr. Dancer was the last to arrive. As it turned out, this had been his fourth call in five days. He was from Jackson, MS, and every time he got a call, he drove 3 hours and 45 minutes to get to UAB. His wife shared that he had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. That is the same disease listed as the cause of death on my natural father's death certificate. Dave and I had been taking turns between Dan and Micah, and he overheard the nurse talking to Mr. Dancer. He reported smoking for years and drinking regularly.

When Dave relayed the conversation to me I thought, "These are Dan's lungs. She didn't smoke. She hasn't done anything to deserve what CF has done to her body. I'm sorry for my fellow Mississippian. I feel for his wife. But, these are Dan's lungs."

And, in the next restless, tired moment, "God... Please let these be Dan's lungs. If it's Your will, please let these lungs be hers."

But, they weren't.

Dave came to relieve me while I ate my sandwich and spent a little time with Micah. She was extremely cranky and needed sleep. I waited with her in the family waiting room trying to settle her down. At about 10:30, Dave came out and said the lungs were not viable. I wasn't disappointed. I wasn't anything except tired.

So, Dave and I went back to the room with Micah in tow and watched everyone packing up to go home. We bid our fellow would-be transplant patients good-bye and packed everything up to head back to Randy's. It was about 11:30 when we finally got back to the house and into bed with a very tired Micah.

As I lay my head down at night, I felt amazingly serene. It had really seemed like it was going to be "the" time. It just seemed so right since I happened to be there. But, I was heartened by the experience. I felt relieved that I may actually have time to get to the hospital before they roll her back for surgery. And, I understand the process better. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking before, but all I have read didn't allow the process happening on the donor's side of things to really sink into my brain. I learned that donor lungs will always come from a controlled setting in which a person is declared "brain-dead" and removed from life support. I knew someone was losing a loved one, but I guess my idea about the whole process was that someone checked a driver's license and scheduled a surgery. Instead, I now have a vision of a family member sitting by a bedside while a doctor or nurse shuts off life support. At that point, a team of doctor's descend to operate and removed the organs the donor's family has allowed. Only at that point, when one of the transplant surgeons visually looks at the lungs do we know if the lungs are viable, and if they are a match for Dan.

Those weren't Dan's lungs. But, its O.K. Her lungs are still in someone's body... A living, breathing person's body. And, I will continue to be up and down and prayerful in between the peaks and valleys.

Curiosity

Dan looked at me through the computer on Skype Thursday evening and relayed the events of that afternoon. She had been scheduled to start home I.V. therapy, but the home health nurses were unable to get her port to flush. Further, she experienced burning and swelling in her chest every time they forced the plunger down on the syringe. So, even though she began insisting I didn't need to come, I packed up and made the drive to Birmingham that evening. She was admitted to the hospital through the Emergency Room, and after an x-ray and ultrasound it was determined that she needs a new port. After being completely irate and infuriated all over again at the surgeon who placed her port in the first place, I have come to accept that God has a plan. It is better this happened now than in the middle of transplant or shortly after. She will be able to get everything she needs during her surgery and after without a problem, so that is a blessing. We will need lots of prayer because she will not receive general anesthesia. That can be dangerous to her lungs at her current functions, so they will be using local anesthesia (numbing the area) and sedation drugs. UAB is very different from USA. In some ways if you've done one hospital stay, you have done them all... But, we are hospital connoisseurs. We have seen the best and the worst and everything in between. Further, Dan is no longer being seen at a Children's Hospital, so some of the differences are probably due to the fact that the adult hospital is not as familiar with dealing with parents. Still, we are adjusting and learning how to best advocate for what Dan needs. However, at UAB, we have to pay closer attention to what the doctors' orders are and what each person says with regard to her treatment, because after they leave the room, the next person coming in has no clue what has been said. I'm thinking, "Don't y'all write it down in a chart or type it in a computer... Something... Jeeze. Jot it on a post-it. Send a text. Post it to your Facebook wall." Just communicate. With all the techonology available, there is no excuse... And I will be happy to lend someone a pen. The most interesting thing this stay, though, has been all the curious sights and events in the corridor. In every hospital, there are two categories of people. (Well, three- But, the people visiting new babies don't really count.) There are the people visiting whose family members have had some sort of trauma or have had to have a surgery for something. They wander around looking tired and bewildered about the whole experience. These are the uninitiated. I don't fall into that category. And, I look upon them with envy sometimes. I imagine them going home and talking at dinner several years after the fact about the time that so-and-so was in the hospital and how horrible and traumatic it was. Then there is my category of folk. We are the initiated. We joined a club that we never wanted to join with people we didn't particularly ever want to meet. There is something different in the eyes of the initiated. When we meet each other's gaze, we simply nod to one another giving a empathetic little smile silently wishing one another well. We come and we visit. We stay and we hold hands. Sometimes we throw fits; we cry; we rest fitfully; we pray fervently... We even have moments of laughing hysterically and chatting amiably. Probably, we look somewhat the same as the uninitiated. The difference is we know this is not the last time. We know the last time is in the future, and while we would welcome the relief of not having to come back to the hospital, sometimes not coming back would mean the loss of the person we are here loving and waiting upon. So, we endure. We wander down for coffee and tell a story with our eyes that never needs to be spoken aloud. The initiated don't interest me. I feel for them, and while I occasionally have had the opportunity and sometimes privilege to learn their stories, I don't seek it. I'm not curious. I am, however, extremely curious about the stories of the uninitiated. Currently, there is a family of about 20 people who have brought pillows, blankets, sleeping bags and clothing and have set up a camp in the atrium lobby. Often you see people slumped in a chair exhausted and napping, but rarely do you see a huge family of people in jammies and nighties camping around in the lobby. It's like they are waiting for concert tickets yearning to be the first in line... And, so I wonder about their story. I'm going to church this morning, so I need to shower as to not offend my pew mates. Thanks for your support and your prayers. And, don't feel guilty for being one of the uninitiated. I hope you never need to join our club.

The Power of Encouragement

We are heading up to Birmingham to visit Dan for Mardi Gras break. It will be so great to have a chance to visit. And, as most of you know, she is mondo-excited about getting a car. Before we charge out, though, I just had to take a moment to write about the power of encouragement.

This week at school, teachers presented on different chapters from the book, "Teach Like a Champion". (Note the Prezi below...) It's one of those books I wish I had read my first couple of years teaching, but it is nice to be reminded of some of the principles for successful teaching and classroom management. During one presentation offered by one of my fantastic special education colleagues, she reminded us all of the power inherent in positive praise and encouragement. Dr. Becky Bailey talks about using specific praise to build feelings of intrinsic reward for children.

When I first started teaching, (and for many years, actually), I used a token economy system of a "checkbook". My students would earn money for positive behavior, lose money for negative behaviors and shop weekly with the balance in their checkbook. It worked. However, I stopped using it after one of Jill Molli's Conscious Discipline trainings. Jill talked about setting children up for failure as adults by not teaching them positive strategies to manage upset and make choices. Essentially, my checkbook system may have subconsciously programmed children to believe, "If I do something good, I get to buy myself something..." Well, I watch that show, "Hoarders", and goodness knows I don't want to be a party to creating a compulsive shopper. But, more than that... I got what she was saying. Motivation must be intrinsic to work for a lifetime. My co-teacher also reminded of that during her presentation of "Teach Like a Champion" techniques. I'm trying to offer students lessons that will last a lifetime, not just for the year or two they call me their teacher.

I've come to believe that if something is True with a capital T, then it is true in a variety of ways, and the idea is prone to show up in all manner of media and print. I imagine it is just a little bit of Divine Wisdom inserting Itself into the universe. So, right after I heard that lesson presented at school, I received the lesson in my own life.

I have never been a "bound out of bed and great the day with enthusiasm" kind of girl. I also lost my "party all night and into the wee hours of the morning" energy of my youth some time during my 20's. However, after I began writing professionally last year, I found I had all sorts of energy. I would stay up typing late into the night, and constantly had thoughts and topics about writing racing through my head... My head still kind of works like an on-going blog, but I found my creative mind to be pretty quiet after Dave and I visited D.C. to take care of his brother's affairs upon his early alcoholism-related death. Then my grandmother died the week after, and the events of those late January-early February events left me sick with strep and physically exhausted... In short, I was back to my old, tired, pre-writing self.

Then last night I received an e-mail from the publisher of a magazine to which I am currently contributing requesting I call her. The magazine is a Mississippi Delta-based publication called By U that promotes "good deed doing" for others. Last night, when I called her she told me that a letter I had written for the magazine requesting donations for a little girl with health problems had generated a many contributions from people across the nation. She told me people were touched by my letter in a way that has prompted great monetary contributions. Essentially, God used my writing ability and By U Magazine to bring tremendous blessings to a young girl and her family. (I am attaching the letter below, and if anyone feels moved to contribute, I will find out how you can help.)

After my phone call in which I received specific praise for something I had done, my energy returned and I found myself typing well into the night. Dave and I have jokingly been calling it my "super power", but I realize now what it is... The power of encouragement sparks the "God energy" in each of us. Usually, I sign my e-mails and letters "Namaste'", which loosely translated means the Divine in me, honors the Divine in you. Well, truly, when my publisher honored the Divine in me with specific praise for a job well done, a fire was lit with the spark of encouragement.

So, I say to you on this day, "Namaste'". You have the strength within to do anything that is yours to do. Absolutely anything.

Tatyana's Story:

Dear Compassionate Friend,

Thank you for being a person who will make a difference in the life of a child. Tatyana Anderson, a 5^th grade student at Quitman County Elementary School, needs your help. Diagnosed with lupus, a debilitating chronic illness affecting the joints, muscles and most other systems of the body, she finds it difficult to manage many simple tasks. Pain and fatigue are constant companions making every day a challenge for this bright and lively young girl. However, Tatyana does not allow this condition to rule her life. She struggles to attend school and looks to life with the hopes and dreams of a little girl.

While managing lupus has been difficult for Tatyana’s family, it has not been impossible. There were constant doctor’s appointments and daily medical management to keep Tatyana functional and relatively pain-free. The family was getting by. However, in 2007, they were delivered a crushing blow. A doctor’s visit after a symptom the family believed related to lupus revealed deeper trouble. Tatyana had cancer.

Life for this beautiful, young girl with the bright and shining smile has evolved into a twisting, turning walk of faith riddled with one hardship after another. Carolyn Anderson, Tatyana’s mother, strives to provide the best possible care for her child’s medical needs while single-handedly rearing three other children still living at home. Ms. Anderson, a mother of eight and woman of great faith, looks to her church family for support and encouragement.

Tatyana’s life-saving chemo-therapy treatments attacked the cancer cells simultaneously wreaking havoc on her lupus-affected body systems. The medication that currently sustains her has created a build-up of fluid in various parts of her body and dangerously around her heart. She needs an operation to drain the fluid and relieve pressure and swelling. However, the cost of Tatyana’s daily medical care and ongoing cancer treatments alone are exorbitant. In these trying economic times the family is unable to manage the cost of surgery along with all the other expenses of caring for a chronically ill child.

Fortunately for Tatyana’s family, people like you are available and willing to help. While one of us may be unable to shower the family with financial support and blessings, all of us working together can make a difference. Your contribution will provide financial support necessary so Tatyana can receive the surgery she desperately needs while continuing to battle the illness that plagues her daily. Your donation, no matter how big or small will make a lasting impact in the life of a child.

Blessings to you,

Friends of Tatyana Anderson

Copy of Teach Like a Champion: Technique 38 and 39 on Prezi

That Feeling

This is my eleventh year teaching in the public school system. I taught preschool for years before that and prayed somehow that God would place me on a softer, easier path than teaching... I kept wanting to be a counselor. I would really make an excellent counselor. I have empathy and compassion sprinkled with a little bit of airy-fairy wisdom. However, the harder I tried to run away from teaching, the harder God shoved me back in with both hands. So, here I am... A teacher.

Tonight I had the privilege of watching a play called "Freak" performed by the students at our local high school... The high school Sarah currently attends... The high school that supported Dan and my entire family during one of the hardest years of my life last year... The only high school in our small town that is fed in part by students from the elementary school in which I teach. So, tonight as I watched the play about bullying and teen suicide, I fought hard to maintain my composure. You see, as the kids were strolling through the school last week to practice, ex-students asked, "Ms. Maxwell, are you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming. I can't wait."

Still, I was stunned at what terrific performances the kids offered, and more than that, I was humbled to have been personally invited by the actors. Not all of the kids were "my" students... (Meaning- they didn't all have special learning needs). But, the kids had me in their classes as the inclusion teacher... Some of them I worked with individually while some just knew me as a quirky, friendly lady who worked at school. But, I was important to them at some level.

One of the brilliant young actors said during her monologue, "I don't mean to be invisible. I just want attention. I just want to be noticed."

And, as I listened to her performing, I thought about her as a sweet, shy little girl. I hope I noticed her enough. However, even more important than the role I played in her life as a child, I am so honored to see her growing into a bright, outgoing young woman. She is the reason I teach. The other young men and women who hug me as they visit the hallways of their old elementary school are the reason I keep doing it even in the face of incredible changes and crazy testing requirements.

The kids who are with me today are going to grow up and do so many things... I'm honored to be with each of them and even more blessed to watch them grow into wonderful, productive, creative students in our community. Maybe that is why I am able to stay optimistic about the future. I'm watching the proof... When I attend a band concert, parade, play or choral concert, I can see the type of young people our school district is producing. They are my friends and neighbors. We are in it together.

On a completely different topic... We got our second call for lungs last night. After scrambling around and sending Dave out to fill the car with gas at midnight, we received a call back saying only one lung was viable. I don't know when it became O.K. with me that this is the path. I didn't want this for my sweet Dan, but I know with a certainty that courses through every cell in my body that God is with us and all is well. Acceptance and surrender are very powerful tools. No need to apologize about the false alarm... If they aren't the lungs God wants Dan to have, we don't want them. The perfect yoga lungs are out there walking around in the world, and they belong to a selfless individual who has chosen to become an organ donor.

Common Core Standards

I'm not just a lone nut in the world... Read a blog from the Harvard Education Publishing Group... Thank you to Kara for sharing this with me.

Let Me Be the First to Say...

When I first moved back to Mississippi, I was very sure of myself, and to be honest, a little smug. I know some of you who know me will find that hard to believe... Anyway, I remember enrolling Sarah in one of the local church preschools in the Hurley-Wade area where we were living at the time. On the first afternoon when I picked her up, I was greeted by a very pretty, very blond, very young, very frowny preschool teacher.

"Mrs. Maxwell, we have some concerns about Sarah. She won't color in the lines on her pictures."

I'm not sure now, but I can imagine I cocked my head to the side like confused puppy and said, "Huh?"

Perky teacher-girl continued... Evidently, she didn't feel the condescending, arrogant vibes I was beginning to emit. "Yes, she is more or less scribbling... We worked on it today, but if you could practice at home..."

I stared at her in disbelief and responded, "It is perfectly O.K. for Sarah to color outside of the lines at three years of age. In fact, what you are expecting her to do is somewhat developmentally inappropriate. Plus, we are sort of a 'color outside of the lines' kind of family. I want my child to be an individual. I want her to explore her own strengths, weaknesses and creativity, and I want her picture to look like she wants it to look, and I will proudly display it on the refrigerator."

Sarah only stayed at that preschool for a short while until I began working for Head Start where she attended with me. At the time, Head Start was using the 'Creative Curriculum', which was what I had been using with my preschoolers in Virginia, so this met with my nod of approval.

Fast forward only twelve short years... We have completely lost our minds in education. Is it politicians? Is it ex-teachers sitting and developing curriculum who are completely out of touch with students? Is it administrators who have been too long out of the classroom and have become mired in the legalities of it all? I don't know. But, what I do know is that part of the reason education is failing miserably is because the curriculum is completely developmentally inappropriate.

Teachers get together in small clusters in hallways and whisper about it because no one wants to be the trouble-making teacher. Plus, if teachers speak the truth about it in Mississippi, we are looked upon as if we expect less of our students than those across the nation. Well, let me just say that in Mississippi our expectations for students are just as unreasonable as those for other students across the nation. The Common Core Standards proves this fact. At first, I was excited that Mississippi had signed on for Race to the Top funding to join the rest of the country in academic expectations for our students. Then I read them. Oh [expletive]! We are in deep trouble.

Do you remember the sweet little story that rose in popularity in the 80's? "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" by Robert Fulgum. Click the link and remind yourself of what Kindergarten held for children in the past. Remind yourself of the type of foundation we previously established for our students prior to setting them on the academic race course. Then, click the link and meander through the Common Core Standards for Kindergarten. Now review the work of Jean Piaget and his four stages of development: Sensory Motor (Birth-2); Pre-Operational (2-7); Concrete Operations (7-11); Formal Operations (11-Adult). Put it all together and what do you get? Developmentally inappropriate curriculum. Mind you, the curriculum is not developmentally inappropriate for every child. There are some who can and will master it, but there are countless others who will not. They won't master it not because their teachers are terrible, or the curriculum needs to be realigned vertically or horizontally, or their parents aren't supporting them, or they come from low-socio economic areas- or whatever other academic explanations we want to throw at the problem... In some cases even the fact that a student has a learning disability will not be the reason a child doesn't master the curriculum. The simple reason will be that THE CHILD ISN'T READY TO LEARN IT YET!

But, if you come out and say this in today's public school system, you are shunned. Get out the big scarlet A and hang it around my neck. We are failing because we have become stupid. With all our education, we have forgotten the basic lessons we learned about developmental stages, brain development and creating well-rounded children through a variety of lessons and experiences.

Understand this too... I don't necessarily have a problem with introducing any concepts (as long as they are ethically and morally sound) at any age. But, I have a HUGE problem with expecting mastery of the skills. I have a huge problem with expecting every Kindergarten student to "Isolate and pronounce the initial, medial vowel, and final sounds (phonemes)
in three-phoneme (consonent-vowel-consonent, or CVC) words.* (This does not include CVCs ending with /l/, /r/, or /x/.)"- (Take from the Common Core Standards- Expectations for Kindergarten Reading) when Jean Piaget tells me that Pre-Operational Stage ends loosely at the age of 7. And, I have an even greater problem insuring every Kindergartener can:

a. Capitalize appropriate words in titles.
b. Use commas in addresses.
c. Use commas and quotation marks in dialogue.
d. Form and use possessives.
e. Use conventional spelling for high-frequency
and other studied words and for adding
suffixes to base words (e.g., sitting, smiled,
cries, happiness).
(Taken from the Common Core Standards- Expectations for Kindergarten English)

We are expecting our children to master skills that we, ourselves, were not expected to master in school until we were much older and much more ready to learn those skills. It isn't fair. And, more than just being unfair and, I believe, harmful to children, it is socially irresponsible. We are on the brink of producing children without a foundation for learning. I'm outraged. I'm sad. And, I'm sick to death of the hypocrisy.

Education is failing partly because teachers are scared to stand up and say, "Wait a minute... This is wrong. I can't take a Kindergarten child who isn't potty trained, doesn't know the difference between and number and a letter, and can't write his name and teach him to "Use commas and quotations in dialogue". Well, I take that back. I can teach it, but don't you dare get angry at my student when he doesn't master it. And, don't you dare imply that my teaching is somehow inferior because my student doesn't master that skill when he is very obviously not ready for it. And, further, stop looking at my student who scored "Minimal" on your ridiculous testing instrument as somehow inferior or less than. God placed each of us here with innate value and goodness. Come out of your offices and sit down with my students, and you might just learn a lesson from them... Maybe a lesson about compassion and kindness... Maybe you will learn some of the things that Robert Fulgum asserted he learned in Kindergarten.

Merry Christmas

This Christmas, I'm thankful for all of it. I'm thankful for the whir of the oxygen generator, and the fact that such miraculous equipment exists in the world... I'm thankful for an ex-husband who welcomes me, my husband, and my child into his home... I'm thankful for in-laws who stay away (even though I know they must be sad not to be with us) to protect Danielle from noxious illness germs... I'm thankful for a wonderful Christmas Eve service in a church I never would have known lest we had not embarked on the Lung Transplant Adventure... I'm thankful for sausage balls and coffee, eaten amidst the Christmas wrappings rubble, while gazing out upon a snow-covered yard. I'm thankful for a Windows 7 phone. I'm thankful for freelance writing and the prosperity it brings... I'm thankful for my husband and our soon to be 12th anniversary celebration. I'm thankful for friends who love me when I can't get off the closet floor. I'm thankful for a dad who tried his best while here on this earth. I'm thankful for my job and the laughter it brings. (A parent sent video clips of our Christmas party celebration... We were doing the funky monkey and getting the beat from our seat and my husband said, "They pay you to do this?-- You're teacher of the year?-- My God!" I'm thankful for friends who have moved away, and moved on to healthier, happier times. I'm thankful for Toy Story 3, and a Hello Kitty toothbrush. I'm thankful that Dave finally watched "A Christmas Story", and understands all the Christmas jokes he has been missing for years. I'm grateful for gay friends... (Yes, the happy and the other variety.) I'm grateful for food, family, warm clothes, sober, clear-headed thinking, and all the blessings that are mine to enjoy... Not because I deserve any of it... But, because somehow, God loves me. And, I don't get the whole "gave his only begotten son" message of Christmas, but I do fully understand the fact that truly, I don't deserve any of the blessings of my life. I am graced with all of it. And, I'm grateful that I can SEE it to be thankful for it all...

Love and Light~ Merry Christmas

Power to the Teachers

I don't live for the approval of others anymore. Sometimes it is nice, but it doesn't define me. The thing I am really learning is that when I am truly reliant on a God of my understanding, I don't need anyone's approval except that of my Creator. Further, I am created in God's image and likeness, making me a perfect expression in human form.

All of that being said, I think it is important for me to really know myself and my motives. I have a good friend who tells me there is no truly selfless act. In his mind, everything has a payoff. He is far more cynical than I, but in some respects I see what he is saying... When I do something, even if it is a kind or unselfish deed, I am rewarded by an intrinsic good feeling. So, am I doing something for someone else because of the good feeling I get, or is it because I am expecting something in return?

In education, teachers are largely undervalued. Oh, don't get me wrong... People can give us plaques and wax poetic saying things like, "If you can read this, thank a teacher..." It's all true. But, we are part of a crumbling system that has been dragged through the media declaring education a miserable failure for our children. We are mandated to death by politicians who have never set foot in a classroom and dare I say-- administrators who haven't been in the classroom for a very long time. And, we are trying to dig our way out from under mounds of paperwork assigned to hold us accountable, even in the face of parents who change their phone numbers and don't give the school an up-to-date contact in the event of an emergency with their child. Frankly, it stinks. And, I understand why so many teachers are leaving the profession. I get feeling completely fed up.

However, I would encourage teachers to take your power back. To the teacher who after teaching a full day rode the bus around the neighborhood to monitor student behavior, I will say, "You did that because student behavior is important to you, and you care not only about academic achievement-(Although, you ROCK at taking kids from the bottom level and moving them up and up into better performers than anyone ever could have expected...)-but, you care about kids growing up to be good people who are able to exhibit safe and socially acceptable behavior."

To the teacher who stayed late to tutor students long after everyone else went home, I would say, "You did that because you wanted your students to really learn the material, not just pass the test."

To the teacher who went out of their way to help another teacher navigate yet another computer program even though she went to a training over the summer, but had already completely forgotten everything about it, "You did that because supporting peers and furthering the teaching profession is important to you."

My teaching friends, you are doing all of the things you do because it is the right thing, and because somewhere down in your heart there is an intrinsic reward. If you are waiting for a thank you, or even an acknowledgment of what you are doing right instead of people constantly looking for where you are falling short, keep waiting and feeling frustrated and upset. You will never be told often enough, loudly enough or forcefully enough just how important you are. This job is hard, and the fact that you have chosen to undertake it anyway speaks volumes about your character.

We are doing the things we do because we love children, and we believe in our United States educational system in which we educate all the children, not just the top performers. Let the politicians and the administrators and outright nay-sayers do whatever it is they do... It's their job. But, our job is to teach... To teach the children... And to teach the children because it is what we know is right deep in our hearts. Thus, when faced with a discouraging moment, remind yourself, you aren't doing it for them.

Lungs! The New Reality...

Lungs! We got the call Thursday night (Friday morning) at 1:15 a.m. And, somehow it kicked me into a different reality. Dan has been waiting in Birmingham for three months, and has been listed for nearly four months now... So, I "knew" she was on the transplant list. A mental plan was on hold in my brain for what to do and how to do it when "the call" came. But, when I actually got the call, even though it turned out to be a false alarm, I realized my best mental planning was insufficient and needs to be revamped.

Funny, I didn't even realize I had a very specific vision about what I would do when the "the call" came. And, I knew the call could come any time day or night. But, in my vision, the circumstances of life were always the same. Everyone was always doing what they normally do, and were ready to fall into their roles toward implementing "Operation Double Lung Transplant". There were also a few things I hadn't thought about at all.

First, whenever I fantasized about "the call", my family would be in their places doing what they were supposed to be doing. So, at 1:15 a.m. on a Thursday night, Dave was supposed to be sleeping beside me, Sarah and Micah were supposed to be upstairs sleeping in their rooms, and Mom and J.R. were supposed to be sleeping next door. Since Dave was at an educational conference in Jackson and Sarah was in the hospital in Mobile, that immediately threw a wrench in the plan. Also, my sister, Micki, isn't where she is supposed to be, but she is where she needs to be and I am very proud of her for that...

Next, I had a general list of who needed calling, but I hadn't really considered "in what order"... So, Randy called me. I hung up and called Mom and J.R., and asked Mom to come over to take care of Micah. Dan had called Dave, so he called me and said he was on his way back from Jackson to get Micah. After I hung up with Dave, I called Reverend Christy. I got her voicemail, but felt better knowing everything would be held in prayer for the highest good. Then I called my friend, Kenna.

While all of the calling was taking place, I was simultaneously throwing things into my half-packed suitcase that has been in a "ready position" on my closet floor for three months. For the first month, my suitcase resided in the trunk of my car, but after a few hospitalizations with the girls I realized the "packed and ready like a pregnant person" method wasn't going to work for me... It only took about 5 minutes to pack, though, and I was ready to walk out the door within 15 minutes.

I called Dan back as I was walking out the door only to hear the tail end of the "one of the lungs was lost" conversation, and realize it was a false alarm call. Had it not been a false alarm, I would have left the house, called the 4th floor nurse's desk at USA and asked them to discharge Sarah immediately so that I could sweep through Mobile and pick her up on the way to Birmingham. Then I was going to call everyone else.

However, once it was a false alarm, I called Dave back to discover he had already checked out of the hotel and had the valet bringing his truck. (Yes, the man is quick... He had to check back in with a very disgruntled night clerk.) Then I called Kenna, but got her answering machine, so I left her a message that the lungs were a "no go".

After updating Facebook and sending Reverend Christy a message there, and updating Caring Bridge, I took half a Simply Sleep and went back to bed. Kenna called by a 4:00 a.m. to find out how and where I was, and I realized she had never gotten the message that it was a "no go", so I felt terrible that she had been up fretting and praying all night. So, next time I'll have to make sure I talk to her if it turns out to be a false alarm.

While all of the scrambling and calling helped me realize some things I needed to do... (i.e. make arrangements for the care of our animals), I was also given the substantive truth that no amount of planning and arranging is going to prepare me sufficiently for what to do in that moment. When I write lesson plans at school, the heading on my plan reads, "Lesson Plans (Not Promises)"... I note that they aren't promises because in my classroom things are opt to change at a moment's notice. I will make whatever changes I deem necessary for the good of my students in an instant. And, I suppose this has to be the same way.

I would love for the whole process to happen exactly as I envision it, wrapped up neatly with a little bow. But, when I set my own mental limitations on a process, circumstance or situation, I am cheating myself and everyone else out of an opportunity for greater Good. God happens in the unplanned. God happens in the unprepared. God happens outside of my small, insignificant designs and ideas. Don't get me wrong. I still have to plan. The dog and cats need food and water... The mail must be checked. But, I just know that whatever happens can be all the more wonderful if I am simply open to the process. Being "ready" and planning are two entirely different concepts. And, the false alarm helped me to realize that God is truly making me ready... Making us all ready for the things that are ours to do.

Creepy Crawly Guardian

This summer a spider came to make its home outside my closet window. Not just any spider, mind you... A HUMONGOUS spider. She has a gold body with black stripes, and black legs with golden flecks sprinkled up and down them. We have loved her. I have a bench by the window, and Micah climbs up every morning to open the shutters and look out at the spider.

We have talked all about spiders. I have told her that spiders are arachnids, and that they have two body parts, unlike insects that have three body parts. I have also informed her of the differences in the number of legs between a spider and an insect. We have even been able to witness how she caught a fly in her web, only to find the fly mysteriously absent the following morning. (She's truly a humongous spider, so I'm not exaggerating when I say it only took the course of a day for the fly to be injested.) So, it has been educational, as well as a wonderful distraction for a busy two-year-old who loves to "do make-up" with Mom.

The web is absolutely incredible. It is so intricate in its design and covers an entire space between the eaves of the house, the window and the bushes. When we first saw it, Dave and I briefly considered getting rid of it. But, it occurred to us that in Mississippi in the heat of summer there are these horrible, large yellow flies... Yellow, biting flies to be precise. So, we quickly united in our adoption of the spider and decided to leave her alone. Our own personal guard spider...

Friday at school, a bee buzzed its way into my classroom. The kids managed to step on it, but it got stuck to a student's shoe, so I swooped in, tissue in hand, to remove it. Somehow, the stinger managed to poke through the Kleenex, and I got stung on the finger. Yes, I got stung by a dead bee. It wasn't too terribly bad, and I modeled semi-adult behavior by not falling to the floor grasping my finger while heaving in sobs... Which is kind of what I wanted to do. Ms. Leggett and Ms. Jordan (my dynamic teaching team) gave me lots of TLC, so I was able to struggle through the remainder of the day.

When I arrived home, Dave announced his plan to trim the azalea bushes out front. This is a chore he undertakes once a year in the fall, usually at Thanksgiving. This year, we will be in Birmingham for Thanksgiving, so he wanted to trim the bushes a little early. As we were talking, we both realized trimming the bushes would disturb our spider's home.

That night, somehow the two events weaved together in my brain to form a dream... Suddenly, I was alone in a large, grassy field when I noticed a swarm of bees coming. I was terrified, thinking of the swarms of African bees and how people had actually died from bee stings. I stood there absolutely frozen, watching the bees approach. As dreams have a tendency to make all things possible without the pesky interference of reality and possibility, my HUMONGOUS spider appeared and built an ENORMOUS web in front of me. The bees could not penetrate my spider's web. I was completely protected.

Later, it dawned on me this is how God works in my life. He is standing by watchful and ready to take an active part... To save me in an instant... To protect me from anything harmful. The bees of adversity cannot touch me because God is there, spinning His web of protection around me, ensuring I am safe. However, if I decide to get in there in an attempt to manage and control without first seeking guidance, I am apt to really screw it up. Like maybe managing and controlling the bushes? Thus, I'm sure if you drive by my house this afternoon, you will see perfectly manicured bushes, with the exception of one... The one outside my closet window where our own personal guard spider makes her home.

Dip

Yesterday, when I arrived at work from a morning training, I was informed that one of our assistant teachers had been in an accident and may not be in Monday. Our attendance clerk told me almost as an afterthought... "Oh, Christy, by the way... I sent Ms. R. (principal) an e-mail, but Dip's husband called and said she has been in a car accident in Jacksonville and may not be in on Monday. He is on his way to Florida right now to check on her." I think I said something like, "O.K." or "Gosh, I hope she is O.K. Do we know if she is hurt?" or something equally as inane... But, I was quickly thrust into the other drama of school life and didn't really think about it again for a couple of hours.

Upon reflection, I didn't think about it because I couldn't fathom it. I couldn't imagine Dip was anything except O.K. I couldn't imagine her not being at school. Dip Johnson was an assistant teacher at my school. She worked at Singing River Elementary for nearly 30 years... Or maybe more than 30 years... No one is really certain. Dip's name was Marva, but no one called her that. She was "Dip", and we aren't sure why her husband assigned her nickname, but everyone used it because it suited her.

When I first met Dip, I had just begun my teaching career. I had been placed in a precarious position because I had been asked to document my assistant teacher's performance. I wasn't schooled in the ways of public school... And, honestly, I don't think Ms. Johnson liked me much. She always came by to offer friendly words of support to my assistant. But, I couldn't help the situation and did the best I could, trying to be fair and kind with my assessment.

My assistant teacher retired after that first year, and Dip gave me a nickname... "Mrs. Axwell"... (She didn't realize I knew she had donned the name... Or probably she didn't care.) But, the name was assigned as a warning that once someone worked as my assistant, they just might "get the ax". Be forewarned... Dip didn't trust me. But, she watched, and I think she ascertained that I just might have a heart for children. So, at some point, I became O.K. with her... And, I was welcomed into the school as One of SRE. Really I don't think I would actually fully qualify as a staff member had I never gotten Dip's unofficial stamp of approval.

Once I was deemed worthy, I was privvy to the wealth of information stored inside Dip's brain. She knew everyone, remembered everything, and was eager to share her knowledge. Some people might have thought she was a gossip, but the things she shared with me were always pertinent to my students' welfare. "Ms. Maxwell, did you see the paper? ___'s house caught fire last night..." "Ms. Maxwell, ____'s parents were arrested last night. That daddy got drunk and beat up the mama." "Ms. Maxwell, ____'s sister lost her job and had to move back in with the family. Six kids are sleeping on a mattress in the kitchen." And, I don't know how she knew it all... Further, I don't know how she kept up with all of it. But, she did. And, because of Dip, there were days I was able to better serve children because I knew the "back story".

Dip served as an assistant teacher in nearly every grade in the school at one point or another. She worked with my own children. I can't begin to tell the number of times Dip brought one of the girls to me for a treatment or just because she thought they needed a little extra care and attention. She looked out for Dan and Sarah, acting as a guardian angel ready to swoop in and deliver them if necessary.

But, lest I give the wrong impression... Dip was only soft on the underbelly. She could lecture a huge 5th grade boy until he hung his head in shame with no choice but to think of whatever "crime" he had committed and develop at least 10 ways not to do it again. Further, if she thought someone wasn't doing the right thing for a child, she would give them "up the river" or "down in the country". She was a fierce advocate for the rights of children. And, she was fearless. It didn't matter if it was the counselor, or the nurse, a teacher, or the principal... If she believed someone was not doing the right thing for a child's welfare, that person would have no question as to her thoughts on the situation.

One year, Dip became angry with me for something. I don't even remember the exact nature of my digression. We had started inclusion, and I think she didn't like something about the schedule. At any rate, she didn't speak to me for an entire school year. She continued to look out for "Sarah-Jane", as she always called her, but wouldn't speak to me at all. However, the next school year, everything was fine again, and I was accepted back into the fold.

Last year, when Dan's health was steadily declining, Ms. Johnson would see me in the hall and say, "I'm praying for those girls, Ms. Maxwell... You know I love those girls..." And, I would respond, "I know, Ms. Johnson. Thanks." There were days when I was just putting one foot in front of the other, and I just couldn't talk about Dan or her health. And, I have no doubt that Ms. Johnson acted as a silent angel on my behalf beseeching others to "let me be."

Dip Johnson was a pillar of Singing River Elementary. She will be sorely missed. However, I feel compelled to speak on her behalf... And, I don't think she would mind. Dip Johnson would not want everyone to be shrouded in mourning and darkness for long. Last week, I saw her at a table in the 5th grade hallway, working with students and helping them stay motivated to finish nine weeks exams. She did what she loved until God decided her time here is through. Don't feel sad for her. I absolutely know Dip is right now in a corner of heaven, having grabbed someone to chat... "I'm so glad to see her here in heaven... You know, I taught her mama and her brother. That family was so special... Her mama worked for the soup kitchen, helping folks after the storm..."

I would say, "Rest in peace, Dip Johnson, " but she will not rest... It was not her way. So, instead I will say, "Work feverishly and joyfully in heaven, Dip Johnson. You are needed there, and we will all get by somehow without you by honoring your memory and always, always doing the right thing for children."

It's Not Too Late- It's Never Too Late...

So, I'm growing tomatoes... Just like I have always wanted to... Just like a nice gal from South Mississippi should. And, it is amazing.

Probably, as a reader you aren't really impressed by this revelation. I suppose you would have to know a little of the background. Until this experience, my thumb has been notoriously brown. My husband jokes that I am a serial killer of plants.

So, back in July after Danielle was listed, I decided I was going to celebrate life by once again planting some plants. Micah was a motivation too. In the summertime she likes to go out on the front porch and listen the the birds, watch the squirrels and see all the bugs and other facinating things making their home in our yard. My mom has instilled in her a deep love of gardening. They go out every day in the summer, and every time she gets a chance to slip over to Mimi's and trot around her garden any other time, she does it. She loves everything about it. She loves the dirt. She loves the watering. She loves caring for the plants. And, to watch my two-year-old little daughter mimic every move of my mom when she waters by gently lifting the leaves and taking such care to move about her tasks so delicately makes my heart overflow.

Much like when Dan became obsessed with Batman and Sarah needed all things Wizard of Oz, I became interested in gardening again because my child expressed such an interest. Further I have sustained more of an effort because it is important to Micah. I have always loved the idea of growing plants, but the day to day drudgery of caring for them is where I fall down. However, looking at the plants through Micah's eyes has made it less drudge and more magic. Watching her squeal and 'Ooh' as she marks the progress of our little front porch garden project has been more wonderful than I ever would have thought.

The other amazing thing is that everyone looked at me sadly and shook their heads when I told them I was planting tomatoes in July. Tried and true southern gardeners looked at me with pity for my ignorance. Everyone knows you must plant tomatoes in the spring so they can bloom and produce all summer long. However, on my trip to Lowes, the tomato plants were just calling to me. And, I thought, "No one is going to buy these now. It's past time."

My next thought in all honesty was, "Well, I'm going to give it a shot because I will probably kill them anyway and it won't make a difference if I planted them in the spring or in the summer."

So, I bought a couple of plants... One has leaves striped with white, light green, dark green and yellow. The other one is a flowering plant. (I already have two geraniums that live around the side of the house. They do very well because the trick to geraniums is neglectful care, at which I excel.) And, I bought three little abandoned-by-everyone-except-me tomato plants. Two of them I planted in the Topsy Turvy contraptions and they are currently hanging on the back porch. Neither of those have produced any tomatoes yet, and I keep hoping... But, I also planted one of the plants in a newly purchased Dollar General pot made cheaply and cleverly from some type of foam or particle board. Let's face it. I wasn't going to spend $30 on a pot to hold a dead tomato plant. I also bought some basil because everyone knows you can't have tomatoes without basil.

Micah and I set about making it happen with our little trowels and her small rake. We planted everything and went out every day to water and care for our plants. I was cheering when all of my plants were alive after two weeks and now those two weeks have turned into two months. Everyone said the plants wouldn't produce fruit because it is so hot in the summer here and they do best when they can get a break from the heat with cooler night air. I read everything I could on the internet and proceded to feed them every week with low nitrate fertilizer. I even brought my tomato plants into the house for a few nights so they could rest in the air conditioning with the rest of the family.

And, lo and behold, my potted tomato plant on the front porch has not disappointed. In fact, it has shocked and amazed me. I was just excited that I was keeping them alive. Honestly, I think Micah and I are keeping them alive.... But, to actually see real tomatoes on them is so exciting! We'll be eating fresh bruschetta in the fall...

As I crept out to the front porch this morning while it was still dark to peek at my little tomatoes, the song, "It's Never Too Late" by Three Days Grace was running through my head. The song was popular this past summer and I would hear it over and over on my tearful rides to and from Birmingham. "This world will never be what I expected... Now and again we just try to stay alive... Maybe we'll turn it all around cause it's not too late; It's never too late." My tomatoes in September prove that theory. Hope does indeed shine eternal. It's not too late. It's never too late.

A Balanced Life...

I've heard it said that balance is the point some people run right past on their sprint from one extreme to the other. And, I try hard for that not to be true for me, but I'm afraid it applies sometimes. Thus, I am able to recognize the trait well in others. School districts and some other politically motivated institutions are infamous for this particular quirk of character... Not just my school district... In fact, not just school districts at all... But, it is a trend that promotes terrible stress for everyone, ultimately leading to less productivity and (I'll go out on a limb here and suggest- GASP) maybe even a decline in student achievement... The exact thing the organization was trying to "fix" in the first place.

Don't get me wrong. I am certainly no expert on how to achieve the fleeting concept of balance. I get one area clicking along, and really start to feel successful and competent, when something breaks lose in another area. Maybe that is just life. Mostly I try today to offer myself the same forgiveness and compassion for my mistakes that I generally offer to others.

Beyond that, I try to practice balance... And, practice~ just like with students~ means exactly that... Practice. Not perfection. Not mastery. Practice.

My life is very busy. And, the busy-ness of life usually serves to throw me perpetually and evermore entirely out of balance. But, I'm learning that balance isn't about sitting pristinely on the fulcrum... It is about learning to adjust myself on one side of the beam to meet whatever situations are currently resting on the other side.

Life and its expectations are consistently changing, challenging me to sort out what is most important in the moment and for the future. And, sometimes I must concede that I cannot do it all. Or, at least, I cannot do it all well. Caring for the girls' medical needs, sorting out insurance, taking care of my home, spending time with my family, teaching and devoting an "appropriate" amount of time to my job (Teaching, and all it encompasses could easily take every bit of my life if I allowed it), engaging in things I enjoy, and taking care of my body, mind and spirit... It's all a balance. And, if I devote too much time and energy to any one of them, I am neglecting something else.

Honestly, having Micah at an "advanced maternal age", and Danielle's declining lung functions helped bring more balance into my life. I really have a sense of what is important, and what is much less important. I don't want to miss any moment with my kids. Never have I regretted spending time with Dave, shopping with Sarah and Dan or playing blocks with Micah in lieu of writing lesson plans, doing laundry, or cutting out laminating. Attending church, meditating, writing, reading... All of it recharges me so I have the energy to call back yet another medical provider or insurance representative.

The other thing that I'm learning about balance is that I must remain "mentally" balanced. When people have expectations of me, I can try to meet those expectations, but if I fall short, beating myself up about my shortcomings is completely unproductive. I cannot give all of my mental energy entirely to any one endeavor. I need to be vested in whatever I am doing in that moment. And, if I am not involved in the activity in the moment, I really don't need to invest a lot of energy dwelling on it. Further, constantly feeding myself a mental barrage of all I need to do only leaves me feeling overwhelmed. Making a list, working on the things I can, and being centered in the "Now" helps me feel competent and balanced... Being in the moment generally results in my presenting my best self and conceding that I am not in control. God's in charge, and I try to work as His servant. It's the best I have to offer. And, it is sufficient!

I have friends who are currently struggling with balance, and I would offer this suggestion... "They" can't have your mind if you don't let "them". You are worthy. You are good. You are doing exactly what you need to do in the moment. If you aren't, you know that too... You don't need anyone else to tell you. Be kind to yourself. Realize you can only do the best you can... And, your best is good enough. It is all God wants from any of us.

"Evermore in this world is this marvelous balance of beauty and disgust, magnificence and rats." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving." - Albert Einstein

"There's no secret to balance. You just have to feel the waves." - Frank Herbert

~Namaste', my friends...