Check Mate

Elliot participated in an enrichment camp this week.  He chose a workshop called "Strategic Games with a Side of Chess."  He was eager to show me and John what he learned this week.  I played Elliot in my very first game of chess yesterday...I got housed by a 9 year old.  I learned chess is practice based and requires the ability to think ahead.   

The set we have is a beginner's set, complete with the "moves" each piece can make across the board.  Elliot began our game by explaining the "objective."  John gave Elliot the set for Christmas and the two of them have played a few times.  One of their games this week lasted for an hour.  I think it's fascinating to watch the two of them with their competing brain power.  Elliot keeps up well with John.  In the end, John prevailed.  Elliot wasn't happy.  As he sat on the floor in a slouchy mess leaning against the couch, I asked him what he would say to his best friend if he had just lost the game.  It took A LOT of prodding, but Elliot finally answered, "I would tell him nice try and good game."  I reminded him that he needs to speak to himself the way he would speak to his best friend.  

Why is this simple idea so difficult? Why are we so hard on ourselves?  I am guilty of this, becoming my own worst critic.  I can fabricate all kinds of reasons in my own mind why I am not going to be successful at a task at hand.  There may be a tiny grain of truth to some of the thoughts I have, but to entertain them or even believe them (gasp!) would be terrible.  A better approach would be to take the tiny truth grain and allow it to motivate me.  Or, even better is to say to myself what I would say to my best friend.  Words of encouragement, bigger words of truth.  

I've been doing this as I continue my running this summer.  I have been attempting to run an 8 minute mile.  It's no easy feat in our neighborhood.  It's hilly and it's been a humid summer.  Almost each time I complete a mile, my iPhone app speaks a time that is more than 8 minutes.  I slow a bit to catch my breath and defeat attempts to leak in.  I keep reminding myself that when I started this in mid-December I couldn't break a 10 minute mile.  "You've made progress," I tell myself.  This week my app spoke 8:04.  I was too winded to raise my arms in triumph like Rocky did after he climbed the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but I tasted victory.  I CAN do this!  

As I am writing this Elliot and John are back at it again.  Elliot again was defeated.  I just heard Sydney say, "the more you play, the better you'll get."  It is my hope and prayer that she speaks that way not only to Elliot (who is her best friend) but also to herself.  What can we say to ourselves today that we would say to our best friend?

Thank you for reading.

Teacher, Teacher!

Today marks the end of my 6 week long-term substitute teaching assignment at Brock Road Elementary School.  I have been covering the PE classes there.  My heart is full and I am tired.  I suspect that is how many teachers feel at the end of the school year.

I've dreamed of being a teacher since I was in 4th grade.  My very own Gram was an elementary school teacher.  I loved visiting her classroom.  I remember going to school with her for a day as her student.  She was a firm but fair teacher; she was patient and kind.  She made learning fun and has always stressed the importance of education.

I didn't believe I could be a good teacher to elementary school-aged kids, so in college, I studied to be a high school Spanish teacher (inspired by Vicki Speakman for that).  Life took me to Virginia and I didn't complete the needed requirements for my licensure.  I explored other employment avenues until this year.

This school year I was hired as a substitute teacher.  I chose Brock Road because it's where my own kids attend.  They ride with me to and home from school.  We get to eat lunch together sometimes.  I've had the opportunity to cover many classrooms at Brock Road on short assignments.  But, more recently I was offered an assignment to cover PE for 6 weeks.  This means I have taught each class in the school from Kindergarten to 5th grade.  This means I teach 300 students each day.  This means I have been working full-time and still a full-time mom.  Now I'm a Supermom---JUST KIDDING!

Teaching Kindergartners is a bit like herding cats.  They go in every direction.  As soon as I think I have them under control, one of them is upset or running away.  If I turn my back to run after one, 5 more are going in 5 different directions. And, they can run FAST!

Fifth graders are my favorite.  Most love to be helpful by setting up or putting away equipment.  Some of them are taller than me, especially the boys.  They have a good sense of humor.  They are growing independence, but if they get injured they still need that mom-like quality of me to ask "are you ok?" or give them a hug.

I've had both Elliot and Sydney as students.  Elliot is very competitive and follows rules closely.  Sydney is a fast runner and is less likely to try new things.  Sometimes Sydney misses directions because she's whispering to one of her classmates.  Both have been happy to have me as their "teacher."  I feel very fortunate to have been able to be part of their school days.

A perk of the job has been that I now know every kid K-5 in our neighborhood.  When I go for a run along the neighborhood streets kids yell "Hi, Mrs. V" as I pass by.  The ones who don't remember my name yell "Hey, PE teacher!"  I've been recognized at the grocery store and stopped at the mall.  They get excited to see me outside of school.  Kids are so funny.

I've played a lot of dodge ball in the past 6 weeks.  I've tied A LOT of shoes.  I've spoken more words in the past 6 weeks than I probably have in the past 6 months prior to this.  It's been very rewarding though.  I was wrong about my abilities...I can be a good teacher to elementary school-aged kids. :) My Gram was amazing.  Four other women in my family were also teachers.  It's in my blood I guess.

Teachers don't teach for the money.  Teachers teach because kids are amazing.  Teachers teach because they want to make a difference.  Teachers teach because there are few things that compare to the way kids wear their hearts on their sleeves.

Christa McAuliffe said, "I teach, I touch the future."  It's been my favorite quote I have read about teaching.    

I am going to look forward to more teaching adventures next school year.  But...first I am going to enjoy summer vacation. 

Happy summer!  Thanks for reading.

Help, Thanks, Wow

Thank you

I noticed this morning that I have not posted to the blog since January 30^th!  Substitute teaching has really been keeping me busy!  I’m so grateful for the opportunity.  Add the kids’ activities and John’s work schedule and we have full days!  The treadmill and I continue to see each other often.   I marked my first 8 minute mile last week.  This is a big deal to me.  Slowly but surely I’m getting stronger.  Progress, not perfection I keep telling myself.  (thank you)

The weather is becoming warmer and the days are finally getting longer, thanks to daylight savings.  Elliot’s birthday seems to mark that winter is drawing to a close.  His birthday is February 20^th.  He turned 9 this year.  NINE!  I know I blogged last year about how quickly the past 8 years has gone, writing about how 8 Is Enough (click to read)!  Elliot has grown up so much in this past year though.  I can’t physically run fast enough to keep up with the pace of life.  (wow)

Elliot can work out with us at the gym now.  He gets to choose if he wants to be in the Kids Zone and participate in the activities there or be out on the “floor.”  He’s mostly chosen to stand tall and tell the attendant, “I’m 9 now.  We are just dropping off my sister.”  Sydney isn’t as excited about this new chapter.  I guess for her life isn’t moving as fast as she’d like.  (help)

I’ve been thinking lately how raising kids seems to be broken into segments (or maybe that’s just my way of looking at it to keep partial sanity).  We prepare for the baby phase with gear and reading up on “what to expect.”  Then the toddler years arrive and it’s another blur of trying to keep them safe from physical harm as they become little explorers, into everything.  I transitioned easily from that phase into preschool years, which were quickly followed by Kindergarten.  There were so many “firsts.”  It was all I could do to mark them down.  (help and wow)

Now though we are in this whole new phase.  More firsts have found their way into the baby books.  Sydney lost her first tooth on Elliot’s 9^th birthday.  Elliot finished up his first season of Upwards Basketball at our church.  Sydney goes to her first sleepover party this weekend.  Elliot has a favorite band now (under John’s influence it’s AC/DC).  Both kids are reading independently before bedtime.  This segment has a lot of firsts that they conquer independently.  Independence has arrived.  (WOW)

Upwards Basketball at Fredericksburg UMC

When Elliot was in that toddler phase I can remember telling John I just wanted to be able to shut the bathroom door and be alone.  I didn’t want small people barging in.  It was rare not to see a face staring at me from the other side of the shower curtain.  In this current segment, I have that peace.  The funny thing is, now I find myself wishing that the kids wanted that same peace for themselves.  John and I remind them to shut the door—they don’t seem to need much privacy.  I know the day will be here before I know it…they will be behind locked doors; keeping us out, searching for privacy.  (help)

When Elliot was a baby I remember John saying, “Never in my life has there been a time when the days seemed so long but time moved so fast.”  The days of sleep deprivation are long.  I gained an appreciation of just how many hours are in a sleepless night.  Daytime hours were lived with effort.  I pushed my tired body through life's molasses only to do it again the next day and the next day.  (help)

1st tooth gone!

But, then…all of a sudden, the kids change.  The days don’t feel so long anymore, even the nights have picked up speed.  We rush, rush, rush and holler “shut the door please” and “did you wash your hands?”  (thank you)

I pray mom prayers a lot.  Those are the words in the parentheses at the end of each paragraph.  3 simple prayers…help, thanks, and wow.  My favorite writer, Anne Lamott, helps me to know these prayers.  So many moments I pray “thank you.”  Thank you for these kids and this crazy fast-paced life. And, when Elliot shows his preteen attitude or I am in the midst of “hair torture” as Syd refers to it, I pray “help.”  Help me keep my patience.  I think the help prayer will be used more and more as we approach adolescence.  And, many times I pray “wow” because so much of this is just that. 

"Gratitude begins in our hearts and then dovetails into behavior. It almost always makes you willing to be of service, which is where the joy resides. It means that you are willing to stop being such a jerk. When you are aware of all that has been given to you, in your lifetime and the past few days, it is hard not to be humbled, and pleased to give back." Anne Lamott from her book Help, Thanks, Wow.

I am so grateful.  Thanks for reading.

Serenity Now

Syd in her zebra coat with her Pomeranians

Do you believe in foreshadowing?  I mean, do you believe that life will show us snapshots of what's to come years from now?  I recall a "seasoned" mother watching Elliot have a meltdown at Target when he was 2, telling me something like "get control of his temper tantrums now or you'll really have a lot to chew when he's 16."  I think about that comment sometimes even now.  Although, I have to say I didn't then, nor do I now, see it as very helpful advice.  What does that even mean anyway?  I mean, I couldn't really reason with an over-tired 2 year-old who didn't understand why we weren't going to buy 10 bags of Goldfish crackers (that actually was what the tantrum was about).  So, why on earth do I envision myself reasoning with a 16 year-old who will likely be over-tired and over-hormonal.  Nevertheless, I have had 2 mornings in a row with Sydney that have left me hoping this isn't foreshadowing of what's to come when she is 16. 

Her coming unglued usually involves me brushing her hair, to which she has adequately named "hair torture."  I don't really pride myself in being a mom who makes threats that I cannot deliver on, but I have to admit the statement "we could get it cut short" has crossed my lips.  Another source of contention is clothing.  Her style differs oh so much from my own.  She likes everything with glitter, sequence, animal prints, and tutu skirts.  My mom got her a gift card to Justice for Girls for Christmas.  When we went to spend it I felt like such a jerk...every other word out of my mouth must have been "no."  She finally settled on a cute sweater dress, a fluffy scarf, and two Pomeranian stuffed dogs.  She claims when she grows up she is having a Pomeranian as a pet.  John told her she has to move out first.  Ha!  But seriously, I have to wonder what’s in store for us 10 years from now.  I think I better buy stock in hair color because the grays are going to completely overtake me. 

John and I watched Seinfeld when it was on (heck, I still DVR it and we rewatch it).  There was an episode when George’s father, Frank, was trying to “keep his cool.”  He decided that instead of losing his temper, he was going to speak the statement “serenity now.”  The statement was supposed to deliver him from the frustration and give him peace.  A friend tells George that the "serenity now" tactic of stress relief is ineffective, it simply bottles up inside until you eventually go insane.  This is absolutely one of the funniest episodes of the show I have ever seen.  I’ve been saying the Serenity Prayer to myself over the past couple days when Sydney is stonewalling over hair, eating breakfast, and getting dressed.  This prayer does help me.  I like to think I’m not as crazy as Frank Costanza, but there are moments when I am down in the trenches of motherhood, feeling I am not coming out alive; or at least not without significant damage.

I have to decide if I really have a choice in these matters.  Ask myself, how important is it?  In the grand scheme of life does it really matter if she pairs a black sequence, silver starred tutu with an owl-patterned shirt?  Does it really matter that her earrings rarely match?  Does it matter that she wears glitter shoes to Elliot's basketball practice, then attempts to participate wearing them? Definitely not!  But, it does matter that she eats enough protein, remembers to bring home her homework, and doesn’t speak to me in a completely disrespectful tone.  Is this what my mom means when she advises me “Kristin, you have to pick your battles”??  These are those moments, when as parents ourselves, we finally see that our own parents weren’t so “wrong.” Mom, you did SO many things right!

I flipped the pages one of my favorite books on motherhood this morning.  I am packing it up to send to my sister, Emily.  She’s in the toddler war zone.  She’s in the mommy-stage that I was in that day 7 years ago in Target.  My nephew, AJ, has meltdowns over things she cannot simply smooth over.  She needs support, other moms, and comedic relief.  The book I am sending her offers just that.  But, at the end it had this perfect part that I could really relate to.  “The awareness that life goes in stages, and that’s not such a bad thing, is priceless.”  We moms (sorry dads) sacrifice so much when our kids are little.  We don’t even realize it until we start to come out of it.  I get normal amounts of sleep now (mostly).  My kids don’t run away from me (usually).  I don’t have to explain to a crying toddler why we can’t buy 10 bags of Goldfish (now it’s why Elliot can’t eat more than 3 slices of pizza at once, but at least he isn’t crying).   

I still need my own timeouts sometimes and I waver between moments of being a Pinterest Mom or a Real Mom.  At the end of the day though, or when I drop off the kids at school and the tense moments of 8 AM have passed, I can breathe deeply and know that this too shall pass--and again repeat the Serenity Prayer.  More recently I have taken off on a run to smooth myself over. Maybe running really is a sanity saver.

So here’s to moms, whatever stage you may find yourself in.  Serenity now, and not insanity later.  Do one thing today that your future self will thank you for.

Thanks for reading.

Sweet Elliot meltdown free

My favorite prayer

Thoughts from the Treadmill?

I first heard this slogan, “you can’t out exercise a bad diet” from my healthy husband, John.  Now it rings in my head as I attempt to become a runner.  I’ve been running about 5 times a week now.  I am going to admit something about running.  I don’t like it.  It is such a struggle for me.  I make strange facial expressions while I run.  I sweat.  A lot.  My face turns red.  I listen to very loud music.  And, I think too much.

I have this incredibly annoying habit of over analyzing EVERYTHING.  My brain seriously over processes just about every thought that enters my mind.  A friend of mine calls this “introspective.”  Perhaps I think this way since my personality is much more extroverted.  I have no idea.  I’m sure I’ll think about it some more to come to a better conclusion.  What I do know is that my introspective thought patterns carry over while I am exercising.  I have asked other runners, “What do you think about when you run?”  Their response baffles me.  Do you know what it is?  It’s one word:  NOTHING.  I mean really!  How do you think of nothing?  When I am running I think about how much I don’t want to run.  I think of grocery lists and appointments I need to make.  I keep looking at the time and distance on the treadmill’s monitor.  The little red digital numbers blink at me as if they are taunting me.  I check my heart rate monitor more often than necessary.  Minutes have to last longer when I am moving at 6.5 mph—they have to. 

I watch other gym members as they run, seemingly effortlessly, at higher rates of speed.  Their backsides don’t move as much as mine does.  And, as I do this I begin to have a conversation with myself that tells me to just pay attention to what I am doing, stop comparing myself to other people, get through the next 30 minutes, and try to relax the muscles in my face so that I am not grimacing.  Sometimes I even pray—just small prayers.  I ask for the strength to get through; to finish what I started.  What I have just described is only part of my thoughts.  Ugh…why do I do this again?

I do this because I want to be healthy.  I run because I love to feel strong.  I run because when it’s over I feel like I accomplished something good.  I run because I don’t want to gain back the 50 pounds I lost 3 years ago.  I run because I want to be a good example for my kids.  I run because I want John to know how much he influences me with his own healthy actions.  And, I run out of fear.  I have a small growth on one of my lungs that is being monitored.  When I run and I am winded, I think about that growth and I think that getting fresh oxygen into my body is a good way to fight whatever it is that is there.

I also do this because as John told me years ago, “you can’t out exercise a bad diet.”  I still track what I eat by writing it down at least 3 days a week.  When I track what goes into my mouth it’s more good stuff and less junk.  The running is just a piece of my own healthy “pie.”  Yes, I had to say pie because I need to create that visual in my mind.  I’m creating my own pie of experience, strength and hope.  My experience portion of the pie is pretty large.  The experience part is made up of foods I eat, and want to eat but avoid, my own life story, and lots of smaller ingredients.  But, as I continue to get healthier (in mind and body), my strength and hope portions of the pie will become more equal parts.  I think that sounds pretty cool and much more balanced. 

As we celebrate the start of 2013 I hope to see the surge at the gym continue.  I hope to see excitement carry on past January.  I hope to learn how to turn off my mind a little more with each turn on the treadmill. 

Happy New Year!  Here’s to healthy 2013.

When A Moment Changes Everything

My sweeties

On Thursday of last week I substitute taught in Sydney's 1st grade class.  1st graders are charismatic, eager to learn, full of wonder, and love, love, love to hug.  Sydney got up from her seat in regular intervals to hug me.  This insured many of her classmates followed her lead.  It made my heart full.  Little did I know how much I would still be thinking about those hugs today.

Friday I subbed for a teacher who splits his time between 4th and 5th graders.  He assists with instruction and has a small group of students who come to his room for support.  I liked it because it meant that I got to work in small groups, something I enjoy.  One of my duties to cover for this teacher was being present in the drop off line for parents who drive their kids to school.  I stood outside in the cold morning air, winter sun was shining through leafless trees.  I held onto my warm coffee mug and offered my "good morning" and "happy Friday" to the students as they got out of the cars in and walked into school.  I watched parents hug their kids over car seats and bulky winter coats.  I watched younger students turn to wave or give one last smile before darting off through the school doors.  I saw a few parents roll down the passenger window of the car to holler "I love you" or "have a good day."  I felt filled by this experience.  

I hadn't really thought of the drop off to school as personal, but it is.  It's in those tender moments that we, as parents, live out that remarkable quote, which President Obama so eloquently reminded us of when he spoke at a prayer vigil in Newtown on Sunday evening.  It was Elizabeth Stone who said, "Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."  We watch our children walk into school or board their school bus and part of us goes with them.  Part of ourselves is always with them.  It's the best parts. The parts that love and are filled with curiosity.

Near the end of the school day on Friday I had about 5 minutes to quickly check my email.  I read a short message from John alerting me that there had been a school shooting and not to turn on the TV in from of Elliot and Sydney.  John isn't always so direct, so I pulled up a news website and read the horrible headline. My heart sank and I logged off.  There is a song called "When A Moment Changes Everything" by David Gray that immediately flooded my thoughts.  How very, sadly, heartbreakingly true.  

Friday night we ordered pizza, ate together around our island in the kitchen.  We got some of the Christmas cookies out of the freezer and ate them.  I looked deeper into my kids' eyes.  I slowed down--a lot.  We sat all together on one couch and watched a silly movie.  John and I needed that.  And, our kids needed it.

My kids have no understanding of the horrible things some people are capable of.  For that, I am grateful.  I want to freeze time; make it stand still so that they never have to learn about this or other sadness.

As parents we feel this tragedy.  Our hearts break when we see the pictures of those adorable 1st graders.  This is an unimaginable tragedy.  I find myself just staring at Sydney.  But what do we do?  I can share what has bubbled to the surface of our hearts.  

A few months ago John began talking to me about adopting a mission statement for our family.  This statement would be visible when we enter our house and when guests are in our home.  We've kept the conversation open and I have been praying about it.  We agree on the foundation of what we want this statement to encompass.  Last night as Sydney and I were finishing up a craft I heard John writing on the chalkboard-pantry door.  I knew it was John because I heard Elliot ask, "what does that mean?"  John read the statement to Elliot.  Sydney ran out into the kitchen and read it herself.  I stayed in the craft room.  I closed my eyes and whispered "thank you."  

You see for me this was a moment when John was leading our family.  It was a moment when he solidified what our little family stands for.  It was a moment that will change everything.  The statement reads: We don't take the easy way out.

What the statement means is, we don't give up.  It means, we do the right thing, even when the right thing isn't the easy thing.  It means we stay true to who we are. 

I'm certain we will have some battles over the years as we stay true to this mission statement.  We will be tested by the kids time and time again.  But, I will not give into the easy thing.  

As far as Elliot is concerned...it would be easier not to kiss his cheek when I drop them off in the morning, as he sometimes pulls away because it's "embarrassing."  It would be easier to give in on our "no playing Xbox games rated 'M' rule," but we won't.  As far as Sydney goes...well, time will present challenges with her.  She's only 6 and it's not too difficult yet.  

What I saw in the drop off line Friday was so many parents not taking the easy way out.  They were saying the "I love yous" and giving the hugs--probably to some kids that wanted to pull away.   My kids mean too much to me to take the easy way out.  As that quote said, when we have a child our heart goes walking around outside of our body.  My kids are the reason I put my own career on hold, as so many of us moms do.  They are the reason I swallow my pride and drive a minivan (gulp!).  They are the reason John works long hours.  Let's face it, being a parent is the toughest job we'll ever love.

Let's all bind together to do something good for our families as a result of this unspeakable event.  Hug our kids tighter and tell them what they mean to us.  Not because it's easy, but because it's the right thing to do.   

Thank you for reading.