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There was nothing I loved more as a child then playing in the rain. I loved placing a leaf in the stream of water gushing down the street, on it’s way to the gutter, and seeing how fast it would wash away. I love titling my head back and feeling the rain on my face. I loved dancing in it, jumping in puddles and twirling around while singing in it.
Yesterday, it started to pour. I told my daughter to grab her coat so we could go out and play in the rain.
I watched as she stuck her hands out to let the rain drench her palms. She giggled and stepped out a little further. Her clothes started to get wet. It bothered her for a minute, but I told her that it was okay! She could change when she got inside. So, she just went for it, allowing herself to experience the rain on her hands, on her face, on her clothed little body.
I stood next to her, enjoying the feeling of both the rain and my daughter’s joy.
Magical, that rain.
Two Years
When I was in kindergarten, my grandpa would pick me up from school every Wednesday to spend the afternoon with me. He would take me miniature golfing, or sometimes to go on the trampolines. He’d take me out to lunch, usually to get a hamburger. I remember those days– I remember how happy I felt to be with him. I remember how much fun I had riding around town with him.
I remember how special he made me feel.
My grandpa was extremely proud of me. He thought I was the most beautiful, talented little girl and he made sure that everyone in his life knew how wonderful he thought I was.
When I lost my grandpa, I lost the one person who truly loved me for who I was, unconditionally, no matter how badly I had behaved or failed him. He never got angry with me or said unkind words to me. He was protective of me, he was proud of me, he genuinely loved to spend time with me.
His departure from this world has left a deep void in my soul.
There’s a story I love to tell my kids about my Grandpa that I want to share with you.
It was a cold, rainy day. I was on restriction– for what? I can’t remember. All of the neighborhood kids were outside playing in the rain in our driveway. I was sitting by the window, looking outside at everyone having a good time. I was upset that I was missing out on the fun. As I was watching and dying a little on the inside, I saw my grandpa’s car pull up.
I made my face just a little bit sadder as he walked up the driveway, knowing he’d see me and wonder why I was sad.
When he walked in the door, he immediately asked me why I was sitting inside instead of playing with the kids outside.
“I’m on restriction!” I whined, tears welling up in my eyes. “I’m not allowed to go outside.”
My grandpa looked at me and said “Oh, fer crying out loud. Get out there and play!”
I was tempted, but there was no way I was going to disobey my parents. I would get SO BUSTED the minute my grandpa left if I tried that.
He could see the fear in my eyes.
“Just go! Don’t worry about your parents, I’ll take care of them!”
That was all the reassurance I needed.
I wiped the tears from my eyes, skipped outside and joined the kids.
As a parent, this story makes me cringe a little. I would be angry if my parents undermined my parental authority in that manner.
But the child in me looks back on that and remembers a man who just wanted me to be happy. A man who was willing to stand up, speak up for me.
He continued to be that person for me when I needed him most– my teenage years.
When my parents got caught up on a cult-like, legalistic view of Christianity, my grandpa (and grandma) tried to speak up on my behalf– even covering for me when I wanted to go on dates with my future husband. (No, I was not allowed to be alone with MY FUTURE HUSBAND. But that’s another story for another day.)
I don’t know if I would have survived those years without having him (and my grandma) in my corner.
Two years later, I still think about him every day. Some days, I feel guilty. Guilty that I didn’t spend enough time with him. Other days, I’ll feel pure joy when I think back to something he said, or look at a picture of him with my children.
The sadness and ache I felt in my soul when he passed has slowly been replaced with the warmth and the love he left behind in his words- both written and spoken.
I’m grateful for the love he left behind that I can and will carry with me always.
So, This Just Happened.
“Mom, would you be mad if I dumped mud, wood chips, grass and leaves into the bathroom sink?”
Mad is not how I would describe my feelings about this. I would say I feel…Confused (WHAT WAS SHE THINKING?!) and dread? HOW WILL I CLEAN THIS?!)
But mad, um, not really?
Except, maybe a liiiiiiiiiittle?
Kids!
Photo Walk
I am falling in love with photography all over again.
Not that I ever fell in love with it. It is my passion, it is what I love to do more than almost anything else. But for the past few months, I’ve lacked inspiration. I’ve let little moments with my family pass by without taking the time to pick up the camera and capture them.
I’ve missed shooting. I’ve missed editing. I’ve missed posting them here to share with you.
Yesterday, I took the kid’s for a walk on the horse trails so I could take a few photos of them. Gabby was actually excited about it. She brought along a notepad so she could write down the things she found while we walked. The boys? They were not happy about it at all. They protested. They sighed. They rolled their eyes. But in the end, they put on their shoes and (kind of, sort of) enjoyed themselves while I snapped away.
Oh, how I’ve missed you, Photography. I plan on doing this more often. I may even start my own photography business. Looking into the details now.
Entertaining Me While At the Same Time Annoying Me
When I came home from the gym tonight, I poured myself a glass of water and sat down to buy some music for my iTouch. The TV was paused– Dancing With the Stars. (I have the timer set on the DVR.) My husband walks into the room, sits down on the couch and goes “hey, your shows on. Are you gonna watch it or what?” I was all “I’m busy. I’ll watch it later.” He became agitated.
He wanted to watch it.
Here’s the thing, you guys.
My husband loves Dancing With the Stars. ALL CAPS LOVES IT.
When he watches it, he gets totally into it.
Like, he claps and cheers. He points at the TV and says things like “that was awesome, he had GREAT hip action!” If someone messes up, he’ll cover his eyes, throw his head back and say things like “OH NO! I’m so embarrassed for her!”
If he thinks someone danced a good dance but they get low scores, he’ll get upset with the judges. “A FIVE?!! You’ve got to be KIDDING ME! His footwork was FLAWLESS!”
He literally never stops talking during the show– spouting off opinions, criticism, words of encouragement, helpful tips for a better performance next time. NOT EVEN MAKING THIS UP. I try to be supportive– I think it’s awesome that he loves to watch people dance and isn’t afraid to express that love so openly. But YOU GUYS. The talking! The clapping! The gasping! FOR THE LOVE OF THE PASODOBLE, I’M TRYING TO HEAR WHAT BRUNO HAS TO SAY.
So, I walk away, put on my headphones and enjoy his Child Like Excitement from across the room. It’s just better for our marriage that way.
So Dramatic, That Girl
Mr. Awesome Teacher Man
Earlier this week, The Middle Child got a perfect score on his algebra quiz. On the way to school, I mentioned the quiz. I told my son I was proud of him and that I was happy he was doing well in that class.
He told me that he struggled in the beginning. “I had a hard time with it at first, but my teacher pulled me and a few others who were struggling aside and helped me understand. Since he did that, it clicked and I’m doing better!”
I told him how lucky he was to have a teacher that did that for him. I then went on to share the story of The Year I Failed Algebra.
I did fine in the beginning of the class, but as things got more complicated, I started to lose my way. I began to feel stressed and panic, thinking I would never understand. My mom tried to help, but she didn’t understand it. She advised me to ask my teacher for help.
I remember walking into her class one afternoon. After she had went over our work for the day, I approached her desk. I told her that I was lost and needed help.
“Read your book.” She said, without even looking up at me.
“I did read the book.” I replied. “And I still don’t get it.”
“Read it again.” She snapped.
“I’ve read it over and over again and I can’t seem to understand.”
At this point, she became irritated with me.
“All I can tell you is the read the book.”
I remember feeling stupid and angry and, like, WHY WON’T SHE HELP ME?
At this point, my Inner Activist came out (I got that from my mom, who once organized a protest in elementary school when she wasn’t happy with things in school.)
“Look!” I said, LOUDLY. “You’re the teacher! You’re here to help me! I’m asking you for help and you won’t help me!”
“Read the book.” She said. Again.
“Fine!” I said. “If you’re not going to do your job as a teacher, I’m not going to do MY job as the student!”
I stormed away from her desk, sat down at mine and put my head down in the I’m Taking A Nap In Class Position.
From that day forward, I did not do another homework assignment. I failed every test. And she never said a word about it.
When my son told me about his teacher– about how he had went out of his way to help him– I knew I had to acknowledge his actions. I came home, looked up his email on the school website and sent the following email to him.
Hi Awesome Teacher Man,
My son, Ethan, is a student of yours. This morning we were talking about algebra– I asked him how he was doing. He told me that in the beginning he struggled, but that you took time to help him and that now he understands and is doing well. He said you’re a great teacher.
I wanted to write you to say thank you for helping my son. I had a horrible experience with algebra in high school, because I had a teacher who refused to help me. (I failed.) Knowing that you took a little extra time to help my son to ensure he “gets it” means a great deal to me. I wanted you to know that.
I wanted to Cc the principal on this email, but I couldn’t find her email address. Feel free to forward it to her and tell her I said the world needs more teachers like you. 🙂
Thank you!
Just a minute ago, I received the following email from the principal:
Hello Yvonne,
Thank you so much for the kind words you sent to Mr. Awesome Teacher Man. I have been very impressed with Mr.Awesome Teacher Man’s ability to calmly approach a difficult subject and make it accessible to kids. Having you acknowledge his contribution to your son’s success means everything to a teacher. Thank you for your time and encouragement. Awesome, yes?
I’ve emailed teachers in the past, to thank them for a job well done, or for taking extra time to help my child, but I don’t think that I do it often enough. You bet yer’ass that when a teacher does wrong by my child, I make sure they know about it right away. But I’m not always so quick to acknowledge when they’re doing a good job.
That’s going to change. I am going to make more of an effort to let the teachers who are doing it right know that I appreciate them, that what they do matters, to me and to my child.
Closure
Today I had the stitches removed from my leg.
I didn’t mention anything about it. Mostly because I was nervous and I felt stupid for being nervous about having stitches removed. People get stitches removed all of the time and never in my life have I heard any kind of “stitch removal horror story.”
But I am kind of a wimp when it comes to anything that involves my skin and sharp objects. You know, things like stitch removal.
While I was in the waiting room, I took out my phone and turned to Twitter for comfort and reassurance. I tweeted something like “trying to pretend like I’m not scared of having my stitches taken out. Will it hurt? I need to know.”
The replies started pouring in. Mostly, people said things like “no pain, just tugging, maybe pinching. But definitely tugging.”
I’m not sure why, but the thought of feeling “tugging” made me feel weak in the vagina. But I was grateful that people had taken time to give me an idea of what to expect.
Tugging.
I arrived in the room, dropped my pants and placed a sheet on my lap. I informed the nurse that I “have a high tolerance for pain” but was “scared of tugging.”
She was like “Um, okaaayy. Thanks for sharing.”
Then, she removed the surgical strips, got a pair of tweezers and pulled the stitches out in like 2 seconds flat.
No tugging. No pinching. No pain.
(Note to self: You gave birth without epidurals. You need to stop being a rhymes with wussy about stupid things, like stitches.)
So, the lump is gone, the stitches are gone and most importantly, the worry is gone.
BENIGN.
No more sleepless nights, wondering “what if?” It was a lipoma. (Just as the surgeon suspected.)
It’s over.
I’m fine.
I’m grateful.
In Her Heart
This afternoon I picked up my daughter from the bus stop like I do every day. As we walked up the driveway, she twirled around and giggled.
“Do you think it’s funny when I do that, Mommy?” She asked as she spun her tiny body around in circles.
“I think it’s silly.” I replied.
“Your girl is SO silly, isn’t she mommy?” She asked.
I was distracted, my mind consumed with all of the work that I had yet to do. I didn’t respond right away.
“Mommy? Did you hear me? Isn’t your girl silly?”
“Oh, she’s so silly!” I said.
We approached the front door and just as I was about to open it she stopped and gasped.
“OH! Mommy! I almost forgot! I brought you something!”
She reached into her backpack and started to dig around. I could see the panic sweep over her face because she couldn’t find what she was looking for. She dug around the inside of her backpack.
I became impatient because I had so much work waiting for me once we got inside the house.
“Let’s go inside and you can keep looking in there.”
“No, Mommy! I want to give it to you right now!”
I wanted to get inside so I could get back to work. But I took a deep breath, sighed loudly and waited while she frantically searched for whatever it was she wanted to give me.
“Oh, here it is!” She shouted, joyfully.
She held out her hand. Laying there in her tiny little palm was a small, shiny, metallic heart.
“I found this on the ground at school.” she explained “It made me think of you because I love you in my heart. So, I picked it up and saved it to give it to you.”
I knelt down beside her and looked carefully at the heart. I told her it was beautiful. I told her how much I loved it. She smiled and placed it in my hand.
“Don’t lose it.” She hollered as she skipped into the house.
That little heart is now taped to my computer monitor, so I can be reminded every day that no matter how much work there is to do, I should always make time for those who love me in their hearts.
