• the one about how i know

    In just about one year, I will be registering my oldest nugget for Kindergarten. I can hardly believe that I am she is almost old enough for the start of her formal education career.

    For five days a week and roughly 8 hours a day, she will be outside of my care and in the hands of people I have yet to meet. She will walk hallways and use the bathroom and get her lunch tray and turn in homework and play on the playground…and I won’t be there.

    This thought is both liberating and horrifying.

    I have been thinking a lot lately about the education system and the teaching profession…after all, it was a huge part of my life for six years (and the prior four years I spent earning my degree), and it is still a part of my regular thoughts and conversation today. I am all too aware of the stress and pressure of the teaching profession and what that stress and pressure does to students.

    I became inspired to write a letter to my daughter’s future teacher, and, maybe someday, I will find the guts to actually deliver it.

    ‘Til then…

    Dear Teacher,

    Let me first start off by saying I know. I know that even opening a parent letter can bring on an anxiety attack worthy of a glass (or two) of wine by 9 a.m. I am here to say that this is not one of those letters. Breathe (and put the wine away– it’s frowned upon).

    I know. I know that a new school year is one of the most exciting experiences in life for a teacher. A new start. A new set of names. A new theme for your room maybe or a new discipline system. A new textbook or a new method you learned at an amazing conference. A new chance to be a difference-maker, a life-changer, a child-impactor.

    I am so excited for your excitement because my daughter is now one of “your kids.” You will see her for more waking hours of the day than I will. Inevitably, she will fall down at recess, and I can’t be the one to help her get a bandaid. She will look to you for that. Someone may hurt her feelings, and she will need you to talk her through it until she comes home to me. She may get an awesome grade on her spelling test, and it will be you she wants to high-five first. She may will do something that will land her in trouble, and she will depend on your fairness and tough love so she can learn from her mistake.

    I know. I know you might think I am asking you to step outside the boundaries of your profession because someone in politics wearing an expensive suit and tie has tried to fit your job description inside a neatly packaged box… a list of standards and objectives and checkboxes and dotted lines. I know you might think you don’t have time to “mother” my child because that is my job and your job is to teach and assess and you have 25 other kids and no assistant and a stack of papers to grade that isn’t getting any shorter and you just found out you have to do a tornado drill during your reading lesson. I know because I know.

    But I am asking you to be brave. Be bold. Take your job description out of the neatly packaged box and throw it back into that Mary Poppins bag it came in, because I know you know that there’s more to every child than a test score, an IQ number, a color code. I know you know that these children have feelings and fears and bad days and melt downs and sometimes they just need a hug and not a No. 2 pencil. I know you know that even the most difficult child is someone else’s baby.

    I know. I know that the stakes are high and the pressure is real. I know that my child doesn’t do well on the big test, your career depends on it. And that sucks, I know.

    But I also know when I just tell her about snow, she could care less. When she runs outside and catches it on her tongue and feels the cold and looks at the sky and sees the clouds and experiences the snow, that’s when she asks questions. When she asks questions, I answer them (or help her find the answers), and she learns.

    I know. I know because I have been in your shoes. I fought the good fight and still believe that there’s nothing else I would have rather been than a teacher. I did the early mornings and late nights and bags of papers to grade on weekends and vacations and state tests and parent phone calls.

    And I wish more than anything that I would have had a parent tell me how not to do my job. That while learning is important and there’s a place for assessments and reports and grades, all the things that aren’t “your job” can make such an impact on a child.

    Kiss their boo-boos. Tell funny stories. Let your science lesson get side tracked because that one kid in the back asked why the sky is blue. Help them with their little conflicts and celebrate their little victories. Let them play. Let them cry. Let them learn by doing and let them dance in the snow.

    I support you. I respect you. I will help you however I can. You need to hear that.

    I know.

    Sincerely,
    Noelle’s Mama

  • the one about yesterday

    Yesterday, you were three years old.

    The day before that, you were two.

    Two days before that, you were born.

    At least that’s how it feels.

    Today, you are four.

    I blinked and all of a sudden your chubby legs with all those squeezable, kissable rolls smoothed into skinned knees and bruised shins and painted toes.

    You traded onesies for twirly dresses. Diapers for Super Woman underwear. Sippy cups for Starbucks hot cocoa.

    You traded porcelain skin for freckled cheeks, sun-speckled by hours upon hours of bike rides and sidewalk chalk and rolling around in the grass.

    I blinked.

    Your feet hit the floor each morning with intention. You’re on a mission from the second you wake up until your body gives out at the end of the day. You always have been an early riser– beating the sun most days. If you keep this up (and we all survive it), I know you will grow into a productive, purposeful adult.

    You pick out your own clothes, and I’m convinced you pair certain items together just to drive me crazy. Stripes with florals. Reds with greens. Frilly dresses with tennis shoes and socks with Crocs. Your socks never, ever match.

    Underneath your fingernails are 2 days’ worth of adventures and explorations and, well, dirt…perfectly disguised by pink sparkly nail polish.

    I’m just sure your springy curls, soaking wet, would stretch fully down your back…if you’d ever let me comb them. Rather, you insist upon spraying on your own concoction of detangler and my hairspray and calling it a day.

    You watch everything I do, and I watch you reenact it when you think I am not looking. You’re the most perfect, flattering, yet brutally honest and humbling mirror I could ever look into. Each day, through your words and actions, you help me to be a better mother, teacher, person.

    I blinked.

    You’re sensitive, perceptive, and completely alive from the ends of your curls to the purple paint on your toes.

    You feel everything, just like me…and because of that, your heart will break– over classroom crushes and sad news stories and friendship betrayals and lost opportunities and sappy commercials.

    The good news is, you’ll always have me.

    First to pick you up when you trip and fall down.

    First to pick you up when your car runs out of gas.

    First to pick you up when your boyfriend was a jerk.

    First to pick you up when you didn’t listen to me and you went to that party anyway.

    Nothing will keep me from you.

    There have been days that felt like years.

    Days I was convinced you tried to kill me with your tantrums, your attitude, your opinions. Days I physically felt the gray hair taking root upon my head. Days I spent 2 hours trying to get you to serve a 2 minute time-out.

    But mostly, there have been years that felt like minutes.

    A minute ago, you were a garden gnome for Halloween. A minute ago, you proudly pronounced “papa” as your first word. A minute ago, you smiled from behind your pacifier.

    I blinked, and here you are.

    Four years old.

    Full of amazing, full of intelligence, full of wit, full of happiness, full of bounce, full of color, full of life.

    Don’t you dare change.

    Yesterday, you were three.

    Today, you are four.

    Tomorrow, you’ll be awesome.

  • three for free — march printables

    OK, I know I am little behind in posting my Three for Free for March. I apologize. I won’t bore you with excuses.

    Who is excited for March?! I know we are all ready for this winter to be over and out. I need to see some green in my life….green grass, green leaves, green beer. Ahhh, March. I love you.

    I won’t keep you waiting any longer.

    Ready…set…print!

    Mama Stuff

    1. I love the idea of spring cleaning. Notice, I said “idea.” Actually committing to cleaning my entire house from top to bottom is quite the undertaking, but this 1-week checklist will have your house cleaned in 7 days. It is very thorough and seems doable. From She Makes a Home.

    2. I love everything about this. I love the spring colors, the chevron background, and the subtle floral design. Spring is a time to be happy! From Tales of a Thirty-Something.
    3. Spring makes me think of bike rides. My little girl loves to ride her bike around the neighborhood, and it has been a long time since she was able to do that. I can’t wait until daily bike rides are part of our schedule again. I enjoy these bike prints. There are four varieties, and I think hanging them the way this photo shows you makes a great wall display. From Curbly
    Kid Stuff

    1. I LOVE this! Dr. Seuss’s birthday is March 2, and so preschools and elementary schools everywhere love to celebrate his works throughout the entire month of March. I think this is such a cute decoration for a child’s room, and you can’t beat the message. From The Indie Tot.

    2. With St. Patrick’s Day coming up, this would be a fun and easy activity to do with your kiddos. I love rainbows, and who doesn’t love Froot Loops? From Sweet Little Peanut.

    3. I posted one of these in the fall, and now that Spring is upon us, it would be a great time to take a walk and go on another scavenger hunt. My little girl loves to use my phone to take pictures of items we find. From Moritz Fine Designs