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.

Sick Day

And I Also Hope To Shower Every Day.

I’ve been neglecting this blog.
I have reasons. Long story short?
I’m overwhelmed.
I’ve been struggling to find balance in my life.
How does one juggle it all? The work. The kids. The housework. The bills. The Horny Husband. THE MOFO LAUNDRY.
I started to feel like I was losing control, unable to keep up with the most simple things– like taking a shower every day.
Something had to give.
I gave up the things that didn’t pay the bills.
Writing. Photography. Working out. (But that’s another post for another time.)
Turns out, while those things may not pay the bills, they are vital to my health and happiness.
I miss creating things– words. images. muscle definition.
So I’ve made a promise to myself. I will make time to express myself creatively. I will pick up my camera, dust it off and capture the world around me. I will write every day. I will read everyday.
I will no longer allow the stress of daily life to suck the life out of my creative soul.

Not a Single Thing

Last night I was driving The Teenager to church for worship practice. On the way there, we passed a condo we used to live in when he was only a year old.
I slowed down a bit, pointed it out to my son and said “There’s our old house!”
We both looked as we drove by. All of the precious memories came rushing back to me. I remember my son playing with the water hose in the backyard. I remember cheetos scattered on the kitchen floor. I remembered father and son playing guitar on the living room floor. I remember my chunky little son squeezing through the bars on the gate. I remember walks to the swimming pool. I remember sleepless nights, taking turn holding our sick baby. I remember letting our baby “cry it out” as we transitioned him from our bed into his own crib. I remembered playing hide and seek and my son almost always hiding in the bathroom. I remembered my son getting into my mascara and getting it all over the bathroom cabinets, the carpet and his face. I remember crying when our landlord decided to sell it. I remember our last night there, the three of us laying on a mattress on the floor.
It was just the three of us living there in that condo, having the best times of our lives.
I looked over at my son.
“Do you remember living there?”
“Nope.”
Punch to my gut.
“Nothing? You don’t remember anything?”
“Not a single thing, Mom.”
I don’t know why it came as such a shock to me– I don’t remember anything about my childhood before the age of 4, but hearing him say that he doesn’t remember “a single thing” about living there knocked the wind out of me.
Some of my most treasured moments with my son are moments he has no recollection of.

The Lump Has Left The Building. And When I Say “The Building” I mean “My Thigh.”

Well, I feel kind of stupid.
The procedure I was so nervous about turned out to be one of the easiest medical procedures I’ve ever had done.
I was most nervous about “the unknown” and “the needle that was going to be shoved into my thigh” and “the cutting into my leg” and “the stitches.” I mean, I understand that minor surgery to remove a lump isn’t that big of a deal, but I had no idea how deep they were going to have to cut or how badly the needle was going to hurt or how much pain I’d be in after it was all over.
I arrived to my appointment on time so they took me right in. The nurse asked me how I was feeling. I told her I was just a “little nervous.” She smiled and assured me it wasn’t a big deal. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding just how nervous I truly was. But my blood pressure gave me away.
On Tuesday, my blood pressure was 117/72. Yesterday, while starting at the table they were going to cut my leg open on, my blood pressure was 152/91. And when the nurse took it a second time (after I had taken a few deep breaths) it was even higher.

Needles are stressful!
She walked me into the cold, sterile room. First thing I noticed was the music. I asked her if I could put on my headphones and listen to my own music.
“We can put your ipod in the dock!”
“Oh, but my music has some not so nice language.” I replied.
“Oh, please! We’re young, we can handle it!”
She told me to take my pants off (but leave my panties on.) and lay down on the table.
“The doctor will be in shortly, Just try to relax, it’s going to be fine!”
The doctor walked in as In the Ayer was playing. She introduced herself and then proceeded to throw her hands in the air (and wave them from side to side.) That instantly made me feel so much better about everything. We laughed and then she asked me to show her the lump I was concerned about.
She felt it and kind of roller her eyes. “It’s so small.” She said. She felt it a bit more and then she said some other things that made me feel kind of dumb for having it removed, like, it wasn’t a big deal and “who is your doctor so I can yell at him for sending you here?”
“It’s up to you if you want me to take it out. I don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, but the fact is we can’t be 100% sure without taking it out, so it’s up to you.”
I thought for a minute.
And another minute.
“Maybe I shouldn’t do it.” I said.
And I almost got up and walked out. Because DID NOT WANT NEEDLE IN LEG.
But then, I thought about how long that stupid lump has bothered me and how many times I’ve wondered “what if?” And how many times a day I touch it and wonder if it’s gotten bigger or harder (TWSS) and how much better my life would be if I got rid of it and knew with 100% certainty that it was just a hard lump of fat and not cancer.
“Go ahead and take it out. If only for peace of mind. Let’s just do it!”
Next thing I know, the doctor has a needle in her hand, ready to shove it in my thigh.
“This is going to be the worst part, I promise.” She says.
The nurse holds my hand, I take a deep breath. I feel the needle touch my skin and brace myself for THE HORRIBLE, AWFUL PAIN.
I wait.
Nothing.
I mean, I could feel the needle, but barely. And it didn’t hurt at all. Not even a little bit.
I exhale and say “that’s it? You’re done?”

All that worrying for nothing, I thought to myself.
November Rain by Guns N Roses comes on just as she’s about to make the incision.
I feel pressure, a little tugging and pulling. The doctor sings along with Axl as I lay there, calmly and peacefully.
Before the song is over she informs me that the lump is out and she’s ready to stitch me up.
She stitches me up to Fix You by Cold Play. I close my eyes, feeling thankful that the stupid lump that has caused me so much worry for so many years was no longer inside of my body.It was now floating around in a plastic cup, ready for to be sent out for testing.

The nurse helps me up from the table. I get up, walk over grab my purse and put on my sandals. I thank the doctor and the nurses for being so wonderful and I head to the door.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t forget your pants.” She says.
“Oh Yeah! MY PANTS!” I FORGOT ABOUT MY PANTS!” I say. I put on my pants while everyone in the room, including myself, laughs hysterically.
I say “thank you” and “good bye” one more time and walk out of the room, with my pants on.
In about 7 days I’ll finally know.
I’m hopeful it will be good news.

My Lovely Leggy Lumps

I have an appointment at 3:30 this afternoon to have the lump on my leg removed and biopsied.
Here’s the thing– I’m scared.
Not scared of what the results will be because I am purposely allowing myself to only be afraid of one thing at a time and right now that one thing is fear of the actual procedure.
Now, I know that in the grand scheme of medical procedures having a lump taken out of my leg is probably not that big of a deal. But, the thing is, I’m scared of any medical procedure that involves “needles” and “cutting” and “sewing back together.”
I’m also scared of the unknown. Like, are they going to numb me locally? Or will I have an IV? How deep are they going to cut? And how much are they going to take? And how big is the scar going to be? How much are the stitches going to hurt? Also? What if I have to pee halfway through the procedure? ARE THEY GOING TO LET ME GET UP TO PEE?
I’m also worried about my husband taking me because he doesn’t really know how to deal with these kind of things in a helpful manner. For example, his response when I tell him I’m scared is “don’t be scared!” or “quit making it a bigger deal than it is!” (Not very helpful.) And then, there’s that thing he said yesterday after my visit with the doctor. I was worried about what I was told during the visit (I have “protein in the fluid in the my eye” and that there shouldn’t be protein in the fluid in my eye. Also? She told me that I have A WANDERING EYE. WTF? WANDERING EYE?!) His response? “So, what’s the deal? Are you going blind?” Keep in mind- “blindness” had not even crossed my mind (yet, because it would have eventually.) When I pointed out that it was kind of mean to say that to me, knowing how easily freaked out I am about such things, he responded with “I was just trying to be funny and lighten the mood.”
(Trying to be funny by suggesting you may be going blind! Because, get it? HAHAHA BLINDNESS!)

You can understand why I’m nervous about having him there as my “support system.” Yes? I know he means well, he loves me and my body more than he loves an ice cold beer and Band of Brothers (and that’s, like, A LOT.) But, you know, his idea of “lightening the mood” and my idea of “lightening the mood”… COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!
There is one other thing that I’m concerned about, but not the kind of thing you can just come out and ask people about.
Down There.
I’ve not had a lot of time to keep it Up To Code down there and well, is that something they’re going to be looking at? Like, are they going to let me keep the panties on? If not, I’m going to need an extra 20 minutes of shower time, so I really should stop writing now and get on that.
Thank you all for your comments and emails and messages. They mean the world to me and will help get me through all of my silly fears as I’m laying on a cold table (quite possibly panty-less (but please God, NO?). I don’t know what I’d do without you all.

The Only Funny Part About This is That I Have an Appointment With “Bumps and Lumps.”

This morning, I made a doctor appointment to have my eye checked out again.
It’s been blurry– I’ve been unable to focus. Especially in the morning, but also throughout the day. I figured the infection had come back and I’d need another prescription for more eye drops.
Then my doctor said things like “numb your eye” and “stain your eye” and “ulcer in your eye.”
So, he gave me some ointment, said I had to come back tomorrow to see if things were any better. If not, I’d have to go see an eye doctor and have things checked out further.
“Now, tell me about this lump on your leg.” He said.
You see, I’ve had a lump on my leg for a few years now. I had asked another doctor about it years ago and she assured me it was nothing– a “fat deposit” or something not important at all. So, I’ve let it go.
Except that it’s never gone away. And it’s started to feel a little different. I think about it from time to time. “I should get it checked out again.” Is something I’ve said to myself quite a few times. But I hold onto what the doctor told me years ago.
“It’s nothing.”
I hold onto that because I need to believe that’s true. Because I’m scared of the possibility that it’s actually *something.*
Today, I finally summoned the courage to bring it up to my doctor.
When he asked about it, I was all “it’s probably nothing ,but I figure I should ask because it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Then I made some not so funny joke about how I really can’t take another thing going wrong with my body because, you know, diseases and disorders and HA HA HA ENOUGH ALREADY, MY BODY.
He smiled and assured me it was probably nothing.
Then, he started to feel the lump.
And he felt some more. And some more.
I watched his face. His smile turned into a look of concern.
“Hm. This feels a little deep.”
My stomach started to feel a little sick.
“Yeah, I’m concerned with how deep this is and with how long you’ve had it. Do you have any other lumps?”
I did. Just beneath the one he was feeling.
He felt that one.
“I’m going to refer you to general surgery to have this removed. I want to get a biopsy on this.”
Wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. I was expecting him to laugh and say “You’re such a hypochondriac! You’re fine! Quit worrying!” I needed for him to say that.
But he didn’t.
He said “biopsy.”
As I was leaving, he handed me a prescription for my eye and a referral for surgery. “Make sure you make an appointment on your way for tomorrow so I can check on your eye.” He said.
But I didn’t do that. I just walked straight out of there, down the stairs, out the front door to call my husband.
I told him what had just happened.
“Don’t work yourself up!” Is what he said.
I hung up with him, went into the bathroom and started to cry. I couldn’t stop crying.
I’m trying really hard not to be dramatic about this, I’m keep telling myself things like “It’s probably nothing! You’ll laugh about this soon!”
But in the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder… what if?

The Blog Remembers When…

Yesterday, I was in the kitchen working on a writing assignment.
My husband was making G a sandwich.
G was in her room getting ready to go miniature golfing with her cousin.
As I typed away on the keyboard, my daughter walked into the kitchen with two empty wrapping paper rolls, one in each hand. She was limping as she walked.
“Look, Mom.” She said as she limped towards me. “I made my very own crunches.”
“Crunches?” I asked.
“You know, the things you use to walk when you break your legs! CRUNCHES!”
“Oh, of course, crunches!”
I looked over at my husband, who had the biggest smile.
I walked over to him as we watched her limp out of the room with her “crunches”. I wrapped my arms around his waist and said “these are the moments I never want to forget. I don’t ever want to forget that this happened.”
And so, I write it in my blog.