Everyone has a story. Do you ever find yourself wondering about
the chronicles of people around you?
As busy as we are with our own lives, we enjoy finding the time to go to
the movies, turn on the television or sit back with a good book. It’s easy enough to find entertainment in a
story that won’t disrupt our own.
Taking an active role in the story of stranger – well, that might get
complicated.
Oct 12th was National Gumbo
Day. This year, my husband and I celebrated by enjoying a bowl of gumbo
at our local Gumbo Festival. The kids scarfed down cheese-covered fries
and then waited patiently for their dad and I to finish our meals. By
patiently, I mean that they said, “Hurry up and finish eating already!” less
than a thousand times. You see, they didn’t care that it was
National Gumbo Day. They didn’t go to the Gumbo festival for gumbo.
They were there for the rides.
After eating, we split into groups. My
husband and son went off to the “big rides” while I watched our youngest enjoy
the tamer attractions. The Fun House was one of her
favorites. She waded through balls, climbed up, slid down, and then got
back in line to do it over and over again.
That’s what she was doing when I saw him.
Two dirty streaks ran down his cheeks, but
he wasn’t crying. The tears that left the tracks had dried. He mouthed
silent words, talking to no one in particular, except perhaps himself.
His left hand was near his chest, making repeated motions in the air that
didn’t appear to be ASL to my (admittedly untrained) eye. He couldn’t
have been more than five years old. He was alone. My mommy sense
soared to red alert status as I scanned the crowd, searching for someone,
anyone that might be looking for him. Another mom met my eyes. She
had noticed him too. “Is he okay?” she worried. I fought back
the instinct to reach down with a comforting touch to his shoulder, because
something told me that physical contact from a stranger might be overwhelming
for this child. Instead, I lowered myself to his height and asked, “Are
you lost?” He didn’t look at me as he shook his head. I pressed
further. “Who is with you?” His raised his arm and pointed to the
empty space between the The Fun House and the ride next to it. Then,
before I could question him again, he began to walk toward the spot. When
we reached the in-between point, he gestured again. Behind The Fun House
was an RV. It was inside the fence bordering the fairgrounds, not in the
parking lot. I wondered if his family traveled with the carnival attractions.
Perhaps the rides were as familiar to him as the swing set in my yard is to my
own children. Still, he just seemed much too young to be walking around
in a crowd of strangers by himself.
At that moment, a police officer passed near
enough to us that I was able to get his attention and explain the
situation. While he began talking to the little boy, my daughter exited
the ride and ran up to me. She was ready to move on. I watched for
a moment as the police officer walk toward the RV with the little boy then took
my daughter’s hand and went off to a different part of the fair.
I didn’t see that tiny, tear-stained face
again the rest of the evening, but questions hung around my mind.
Why was he alone? Why had he been crying? Did someone hurt him?
Was he hungry? Did his family know that he was walking around on his
own? Were they worried? If he was part of a “carny” family, perhaps
there was an agreement among the attraction operators to keep an eye on
him. I wondered if he had a permanent home, or if he lived “on the
road?” What is life like for a child, any child, who travels from one
carnival spot to another? Maybe it’s a wonderful life, full of adventure
and amazing experiences. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know because I’m
not a part of his life - not a part of his story.
Should I be?
Was
it too easy for me to walk away?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
Art Party
A few weeks ago, my niece turned five with a colorful art party. There are more than a few us of who believe that her mom should become a professional party planner. Here are a few photos of her creativity!
The guest filled these goody bags with an assortment of art supplies and treats.
Those cute "crayons" are candy coated pretzel sticks.
The guest filled these goody bags with an assortment of art supplies and treats.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Temporary
I saw a former love today.
He was every bit as adorable as I remembered him. His smile lit up my heart in less than a nano second.
Then I realized that it wasn't for me.
He was there to see another woman. I'd been replaced. We exchanged a few polite words before I left to search for the one he really wanted to visit. She was in the another part of the building, helping to get things ready for the new school year.
"Mrs. Jeanne, you have a visitor," I informed her. "It's my Jackson...I mean, YOUR Jackson."
:::sigh:::
He used to be mine. He climbed into my heart each time that he climbed onto my lap. For the first few weeks of school, he'd arrive with tears brimming in his eyes. I don't let my babies cry alone unless they want to. He didn't want to. The rest of the class quickly grew accustomed to seeing me holding Jackson. Every now and again, another child wanted their turn in my arms, but none of them clung to me nearly as long as he did. As the weeks flew by, the arrival time tears were replaced by a playful smile. I watched him grow more and more confidant, and as he did, I grew more assured in my own ability to help build foundations for my little ones.
By the year's end, I knew he would never again be my cuddle bug. He didn't need my arms anymore. He was ready to move on.
In a way, I moved on too. I left my classroom that year, but I couldn't quite leave the vocation completely. This year, I am returning to my role as Preschool Teacher. In a few weeks, I'll meet a new group of three year olds. Some of them will come into the room ready to learn, explore and meet new friends. Some of them will hang back, worried about what to expect and missing their parents. I'll do my best to engage the ones who are ready to jump right into absorbing everything that they can, and to offer comfort those who need to feel safe before showing off their awesome three year old skills. I'll do those things knowing that, two years from now, many of them will barely remember my name. And that's okay. My role in their lives is temporary. That's all it's supposed to be.
He was every bit as adorable as I remembered him. His smile lit up my heart in less than a nano second.
Then I realized that it wasn't for me.
He was there to see another woman. I'd been replaced. We exchanged a few polite words before I left to search for the one he really wanted to visit. She was in the another part of the building, helping to get things ready for the new school year.
"Mrs. Jeanne, you have a visitor," I informed her. "It's my Jackson...I mean, YOUR Jackson."
:::sigh:::
He used to be mine. He climbed into my heart each time that he climbed onto my lap. For the first few weeks of school, he'd arrive with tears brimming in his eyes. I don't let my babies cry alone unless they want to. He didn't want to. The rest of the class quickly grew accustomed to seeing me holding Jackson. Every now and again, another child wanted their turn in my arms, but none of them clung to me nearly as long as he did. As the weeks flew by, the arrival time tears were replaced by a playful smile. I watched him grow more and more confidant, and as he did, I grew more assured in my own ability to help build foundations for my little ones.
By the year's end, I knew he would never again be my cuddle bug. He didn't need my arms anymore. He was ready to move on.
In a way, I moved on too. I left my classroom that year, but I couldn't quite leave the vocation completely. This year, I am returning to my role as Preschool Teacher. In a few weeks, I'll meet a new group of three year olds. Some of them will come into the room ready to learn, explore and meet new friends. Some of them will hang back, worried about what to expect and missing their parents. I'll do my best to engage the ones who are ready to jump right into absorbing everything that they can, and to offer comfort those who need to feel safe before showing off their awesome three year old skills. I'll do those things knowing that, two years from now, many of them will barely remember my name. And that's okay. My role in their lives is temporary. That's all it's supposed to be.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Desire
It begins.
It begins as softly as a sigh.
You push it aside.
Life is busy.
It waits.
It waits for you to find a moment alone.
The moment doesn't belong to you.
You belong to it.
In it is the longing.
The craving.
The desire.
It threatens to consume you.
You let it.
You are aware that there is no way to assuage the hunger.
That knowledge isn't enough to stop you from slipping into it's grasp.
This isn't a candy bar craving.
You can't quell this need with a run to your favorite junk food.
There is no way to indulge the want.
The yearning is for the smile that you won't find forming.
It's for the embrace that can no longer comfort you.
Not here.
Not now.
The sweet remembrance that lured you into this state leads you further away.
Desire turns into despair as you long to return to conversations that can't be changed.
Reality beckons.
Life pulls at you.
You feel the cycle winding down.
You carefully pack away the bittersweet memories.
You turn your focus to the life before you.
There is more to learn.
More to experience.
More to feel.
You aren't leaving your desire behind.
You are growing toward it.
It begins as softly as a sigh.
You push it aside.
Life is busy.
It waits.
It waits for you to find a moment alone.
The moment doesn't belong to you.
You belong to it.
In it is the longing.
The craving.
The desire.
It threatens to consume you.
You let it.
You are aware that there is no way to assuage the hunger.
That knowledge isn't enough to stop you from slipping into it's grasp.
This isn't a candy bar craving.
You can't quell this need with a run to your favorite junk food.
There is no way to indulge the want.
The yearning is for the smile that you won't find forming.
It's for the embrace that can no longer comfort you.
Not here.
Not now.
The sweet remembrance that lured you into this state leads you further away.
Desire turns into despair as you long to return to conversations that can't be changed.
Reality beckons.
Life pulls at you.
You feel the cycle winding down.
You carefully pack away the bittersweet memories.
You turn your focus to the life before you.
There is more to learn.
More to experience.
More to feel.
You aren't leaving your desire behind.
You are growing toward it.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Father's Day 2012
"You smell like vacation."
"What?"
"Vacation. You know...that place where people go to rest, relax and recharge? That's what you are to me."
Two of our children were within earshot when that exchange occurred. Naturally, they groaned. I just smiled.
When my husband gets home from work, we almost always greet each other with a quick kiss and hug. I believe that it is very important for our children to see signs of affection between their parents. For one thing, it grosses them out - and that's always fun! More importantly, it models a healthy relationship for them. As parents we can talk and talk and talk all we went, but children sometimes learn more from what they witness than they do from what they are told.
My children are blessed to have a father who shows them, on a daily basis, that husbands are to treat their wives with love and respect. My hope for my daughters is that they each find someone just like their dad. My hope for my son is that he grows up to be the same kind of man his father is.
As for me, well, what more could I hope for? I already get a vacation with every hug!
"What?"
"Vacation. You know...that place where people go to rest, relax and recharge? That's what you are to me."
Two of our children were within earshot when that exchange occurred. Naturally, they groaned. I just smiled.
When my husband gets home from work, we almost always greet each other with a quick kiss and hug. I believe that it is very important for our children to see signs of affection between their parents. For one thing, it grosses them out - and that's always fun! More importantly, it models a healthy relationship for them. As parents we can talk and talk and talk all we went, but children sometimes learn more from what they witness than they do from what they are told.
My children are blessed to have a father who shows them, on a daily basis, that husbands are to treat their wives with love and respect. My hope for my daughters is that they each find someone just like their dad. My hope for my son is that he grows up to be the same kind of man his father is.
As for me, well, what more could I hope for? I already get a vacation with every hug!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
A Baking Party
We both agreed that we very much wanted to give little aprons to the party guests. The problem was that I don't own a sewing machine. Thankfully my mom came to the rescue! After mom whipped the basic ingredients together, Anna and I added the decorations - ricrack and felt cupcakes. Well, to be honest, Anna only helped with one button "cherry" on one of the cupcakes. But hey, that's helping! Besides, sewing isn't exactly as fun as shopping ya know.
Shopping is (unfortunately) what I had to do for our next step in the party prep. The original plan was to find little toy whisks to put on top of baking tins filled with goodies, but while searching for the whisks, I found these adorable baking tools at Growing Cooks.
Yay, shopping made easy! Is there anything that the internet can't do?
When it came to getting the house ready for the festivities, cupcake liners ruled the decorations! I like the look so much that I've decided to leave them up for a while. No, no, no. It has nothing (much) to do with laziness. I just think that it's cute! Besides Anna agreed to go on pretending that it's her birthday until Christmas. If I take it all down now, it may break her heart!
Anna wanted a birthday cake that was "three layers with pink, yellow and blue inside." Once again, I turned to the internet for inspiration. The image that caught my eye had cupcake for the top layer. Perfect! Of course, my attempt didn't turn out nearly as cute as the one online, but it wasn't too terrible. Actually it was kinda fun to put together. Once I figured out how to get it to stop crumbling, the candy clay behaved pretty much like modeling clay.
For party activities, the girls started off by decorating their own pastry chef hats. Before the party began, I cut strips of poster board for the headbands and attached pieces of the paper window blinds/shades that we had leftover from back when we first moved in our home. The pleats in the blinds worked perfectly for the tall toques.
Once the girls were finished with their hats, they moved on to the cupcakes. That's when the real fun began.
Although they had a blast with the icing and sprinkles, none of the girls could bring themselves to eat their own creations. That was probably a good thing because we had plenty enough sugar rushing going on from all of the other goodies.
All in all, I am happy to report that my Anna's Baking Birthday party was a sweet success!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Don't Write That!
Remember me? Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry. That's my fault. You see I did something rather silly and the result was that a gag order was placed on me. It's a not a very broad repression. In fact, it's quite narrow. There is only one particular subject that I am no longer allowed to record. Unfortunately, the tale that I really want to share with you today is the very one that I've been forbidden to write. Restriction is ruling my life! There is a prohibition in place here!
Technically, I probably shouldn't even be writing an explanation about what I'm not allowed to write about, but I feel an obligation to let you all know the reason for my silence. Besides...none of you are going to repeat any of this to anyone, right? This will be our secret! Shhhhhhh....
Are you wondering who could have placed such a censorship on me? It was done by a child of mine. Yes, my child. I went through a whole five hours of labor and this is how he repays me?!? Wait, that's sounds silly. Five hours of excruciation pain shouldn't be used that way. It really should be saved for something good. Like as a bargaining tool for the last bag of chips.
Some of you might remember that I began homeschooling my son this school year. He is enrolled in a public school, but it is a virtual school (as opposed to the brick and mortar type) and while he has real teachers (the highly qualified and certified kind) the actually day to day, lesson to lesson teaching is my job. That means that a very big portion of my weekdays are spent with him. That's a good thing. Seriously! It's has been a wonderful experience. It's also very time consuming. By the time his lessons are over for the day, I have only a short period to clean (HA!) and start supper before walking to the road to get my youngest off of the bus. After that, I change out of my teacher/housewife/mommy outfit, don a taxi uniform and travel back and forth from one extra curricular activity to another. Every now and again I have to toss in a grocery shopping trip as well because, for some odd reason, my family actually expects me to provide meals. Go figure.
Since the biggest part of each week day is spent with my son, and since my son can be quite funny at times, you would think that I'd have lots of great blog material. Unfortunately, that's where the "forbidden" part comes in. You see, a while back I made a horrible mistake. We were starting a math lesson and as he opened his work book, he said "O long division, I hate thee." Naturally I just had to put that on Facebook. Come on, I'm only human. I HAD to post it!
He was not pleased. It was terribly wrong for me to share his words like that. I apologized, but that wasn't enough. I also had to promise that I would no longer write about the things that he says or does.
:::sigh::: It's been stifling. Why is it that when something is taboo, it suddenly becomes even more compelling than it was before? Instead of embracing events that I can write about, I boude' (for all you non-cajuns, that means to pout or sulk) about what I can't.
Okay, let's start this blog over.
Hi everyone! I'd like to tell you a story about something that may or may not have happened to a totally made up mom while she was browsing through posts in an educational group on a social network. (FTR, there are lots of social networks out there. Just because one happens to be more popular than many others doesn't mean that you should automatically assumed that I am referring that particular site.) Well, this mom came across an entry about Mr. Slim Goodbody and right there on the screen was this picture.
Turning to her child (who was either male of female... and of general childhood age) she exclaimed, "Wow, look at that! You can see his insides!"
The child looked at the photo and then looked at his (or her) mother and, in the most bored tone you can possibly imagine, replied, "I'm just glad that I can't see his outsides."
Technically, I probably shouldn't even be writing an explanation about what I'm not allowed to write about, but I feel an obligation to let you all know the reason for my silence. Besides...none of you are going to repeat any of this to anyone, right? This will be our secret! Shhhhhhh....
Are you wondering who could have placed such a censorship on me? It was done by a child of mine. Yes, my child. I went through a whole five hours of labor and this is how he repays me?!? Wait, that's sounds silly. Five hours of excruciation pain shouldn't be used that way. It really should be saved for something good. Like as a bargaining tool for the last bag of chips.
Some of you might remember that I began homeschooling my son this school year. He is enrolled in a public school, but it is a virtual school (as opposed to the brick and mortar type) and while he has real teachers (the highly qualified and certified kind) the actually day to day, lesson to lesson teaching is my job. That means that a very big portion of my weekdays are spent with him. That's a good thing. Seriously! It's has been a wonderful experience. It's also very time consuming. By the time his lessons are over for the day, I have only a short period to clean (HA!) and start supper before walking to the road to get my youngest off of the bus. After that, I change out of my teacher/housewife/mommy outfit, don a taxi uniform and travel back and forth from one extra curricular activity to another. Every now and again I have to toss in a grocery shopping trip as well because, for some odd reason, my family actually expects me to provide meals. Go figure.
Since the biggest part of each week day is spent with my son, and since my son can be quite funny at times, you would think that I'd have lots of great blog material. Unfortunately, that's where the "forbidden" part comes in. You see, a while back I made a horrible mistake. We were starting a math lesson and as he opened his work book, he said "O long division, I hate thee." Naturally I just had to put that on Facebook. Come on, I'm only human. I HAD to post it!
He was not pleased. It was terribly wrong for me to share his words like that. I apologized, but that wasn't enough. I also had to promise that I would no longer write about the things that he says or does.
:::sigh::: It's been stifling. Why is it that when something is taboo, it suddenly becomes even more compelling than it was before? Instead of embracing events that I can write about, I boude' (for all you non-cajuns, that means to pout or sulk) about what I can't.
Then suddenly it hit me - I haven't promised to never write fiction!
Okay, let's start this blog over.
Hi everyone! I'd like to tell you a story about something that may or may not have happened to a totally made up mom while she was browsing through posts in an educational group on a social network. (FTR, there are lots of social networks out there. Just because one happens to be more popular than many others doesn't mean that you should automatically assumed that I am referring that particular site.) Well, this mom came across an entry about Mr. Slim Goodbody and right there on the screen was this picture.
Turning to her child (who was either male of female... and of general childhood age) she exclaimed, "Wow, look at that! You can see his insides!"
The child looked at the photo and then looked at his (or her) mother and, in the most bored tone you can possibly imagine, replied, "I'm just glad that I can't see his outsides."
DISCLAIMER: All characters in the above story are fictional. Any resemblance to any person is purely coincidental. The fact that I will let my son have an extra half hour of play time on his 3DS has absolutely nothing to do with me feeling the slightest bit guilty about anything whatsoever.
Umm..I should probably also mention that I could not bring myself to actually post any of this without my son's approval, which he adamantly refused to give...until he read the part about getting extra 3DS time.
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