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On the Accident and Angels and the Rest of my Life

When she walked through the door of our home, her eyes immediately welled up in tears, as she looked at me sprawled out on the couch. jenni and sue visit at home 1484558_10205871299124712_6478859361226003974_nYou should be dead. You should be dead. Your kids would’ve been orphans. They should’ve been planning your funeral.

Cornelia and surgeon IMG_20150109_231047704I cannot believe you survived this. 

Firm warm has-known-me-forever Kristi Hug. DSC_0169
Not letting go.
Smiles through tears.

I am so glad you are here, I am so glad you were spared. You are my dear friend.

Angels reached down, and held you, while letting you hit your head and knocking you unconscious for 35 minutes. And you lost half your ear, but even that. Look at you. That ear, you can still wear your hair down. And, No broken bones.

How. Why. It’s not possible. But. Your. Life. Was. Saved.

“In God’s infinite power, he spared you. He prevented you from dying. Maybe you’ll realize how much you are loved. You’ve always said that life is precious; you should be in a morgue. . . When you get hit by a car, you die. But, look at you, no broken bones, only bruises, and that ear. 

Angels
IMG_4822

Angels were padding that cement, holding you for that landing.

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Angels. I’ve never been an angel person. I’d hear people talking about their guardian angel protecting them and I’d smile, or I’d listen to stories of how someone literally saw an angel rescue another person from a bad situation and I’d just say, “Oh, wow,” but deep down, I did not really understand. Or believe.

So, when my friend Kristi said these things to me about angels padding the sidewalk, and when others said things like my guardian angel was working IMG_3886 overtime, it just didn’t impact that much.

The, Dead part did.
The You could 6 feet under part did.
The, Your kids could be orphans part did.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          The, You could be in a morgue part did.
The, Your kids could’ve been planning my funeral part did.

But angels? Never been a huge believer.

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Tears, overwhelming tears.

Pain at just the thought of how so easily, in the blinking of an eye — at a cross-walk that we’ve crossed hundreds of times over the past 25 years — those things — that I could be dead could have so easily been reality for us when you consider what happened to us. I could have been gone from this earth and my kids orphans. DSC_0612I have the five most beautiful children in the world and the thought of them being without me crushes me. I think of my 11-year-old Augustin in magical sixth  grade, his deep brown eyes, IMG_6583his energy and enthusiasm and love and drive, his charm, his hugs, his warmth, the way he is Mr. social and Mr. Tech-guy and all wrapped into one over-the-top tween. And my twinIMG_8109 Wesley and Mickael Josef, age 17, identical boys, growing and changing and driving and find their areas they enjoy and dating a bit, and thinking of life beyond high school and their future callings, and I love how motivated they are and I picture them hugging their sister and engaging with their friends.

DSC_0419And I think of my fabulous two older children who are married– my sunshine wildflower girl Rachel in Germany, her beauty, her love for her family, her spark, her shine, her warmth, and her awesome husband; they were so far away when the accident happened, but my Rachel still communicated with my family and close friends, keeping them informed of how her mom and dad were doing;                      and my awesome son Ryan the engineer and his wife the nurse who took care of me and my family from the moment I was in the Emergency Room ICU to when I was  home for a week; and when they went shopping for us at the local Safeway, people approached them, people that they did not even IMG_6517know, people who said they had heard about the accident and that they were praying for us.  IMG_6588

I want to be there for my kids, to experience life and moments and love and the extraordinary ordinary and holy conversations and every day joys, big and little. To share the Love of God and helping others.

Yes, we could’ve been gone, yes, we got hit by an SUV and yes, these kinds of accidents happen to other people, but this time it happened to us. And we are here and I am so grateful to God to be able to be here — I love the truth of that cliché!  

And, I am here trying to write about it. I need to write about it. To tell the story.                                                                                                                                                                                           

This, my first blog post since my Last Blog Post, which was written an hour before the accident, that moment in our lives that changed everything, Friday, January 9, 2015. That post that I felt compelled to write, despite my house being a mess, despite me being a less-than-even-a-weekly-blogger, despite having so much else I should’ve been doing, despite the laundry that needed to be folded. My daughter had just returned to Germany the day before and that Friday was my catch-up day. But, since I did not have to substitute teach, I had promised myself that I would write. My house would always be there.

I needed to write and reflect on my daughter’s visit, about what a holy, beautiful, time we had while she and her husband were home for Christmas. I needed to write about my beliefs and feelings and philosophy of life; in the blog post, I reflected on the importance of making time for one another and DSCN0178savoring the moment and being there together as a family, spending time with one another, and spending time with extended family and close friends, as we do when my daughter is home.

My last statement in that January 9 blog post was: “May I be Mary to all people, knowing that time together, just being present, is what matters. May I treat all of my people, my family, my friends, as if they are only here a short time. Because, maybe they are.

“Maybe I am. Just as I know my daughter is.”

I titled the post, “Having a Mary mindset in a Martha World,” and I posted it on my Facebook wall on Friday, January 9, 2015 at 4:49 pm.

Fifty minutes later, while my husband and I were walking to happy hour at Linn City Pub, navigating the crosswalk at Walling Circle and Highway 43, we  IMG_6880 were struck by an SUV  Yukon, and I was thrown 30 feet landing on the right side of my body; my ear was severed and I was knocked unconscious for 35 minutes, suffering a severe concussion. My husband sustained a fractured pelvis, bleeding on the brain and a slight concussion. Emergency vehicles surrounded the intersection for hours while we were rushed to OHSU in separate ambulances. West Linn Tidings Article on Accident “Walk On”

My first memory was waking up in the ER and looking up and seeing Ryan, my engineering son. He said to me, “Mom, you were in an accident.” 

My last memory before that was walking past the Starbucks, 100 yards before the intersection at Walling and 43 where we were struck.

Our family and friends started visiting us at the hospital and people kept — and keep — telling us, “We cannot believe you survived. When you Google pedestrians struck, the stories that pop up are: pedestrians struck by car are dead at scene. Or pedestrians struck by vehicle die at hospital.”

IMG_3113

 

 

It just gives me the chills, hearing those stats. Thinking back on the reality of our Friday Jan. 9, 2015 5:40 pm accident haunts me. At night, especially, when I am all alone, I ponder and weep and muse. I pray, Why did you spare us, God?  How did you spare us God?

 Angels.

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While I was in the hospital, surrounded by nurses and doctors and family and friends and church members and specialists and flowers and  prayersIMG_6568 and calls and gifts, I felt such love and care from so many people. IMG_6522     I wept  seeing my kids IMG_6585and my IMG_6545parents and my husband and my in-laws, and I just wanted to hug them all and tell them I love them, and my daughter-in-law  and my friend Jenni and other friends took  lots of photos and more people came and there were folks who came who I didn’t even get to see, but heard later that they had come and all of these people were Kee and Rylike anIMG_6629gels really to me. Then more doctors stopped by and they did Cat scans and MRI’s and x-rays and tests and all of this made me realize that this was a big deal that had happened to us, that this was huge. I was in so much shock that first day,IMG_6557that it all did not hit me until later. When it would be quiet, at night, when the lights were dim and my family and friends had gone home and it was just  Martin-FINAL- lori 10352935_10152835568924652_4614894603208179415_nme and occasional nurses checking vitals, I would weep and pray. And I kept trying to think about the accident, what happened, how it happened, the events leading up to the accident. I prayed a lot and cried a lot. 

And, I kept thinking of a certain verse in the Bible. Especially, certain ones in  Psalm 91. In my college years with CRU, I used to memorize scripture as a way to help me trust the Lord, and I had verses one and two of Psalm 91 memorized, but now, not surprisingly after suffering a severe concussion, I could not recall those first two verses. I knew they were powerful though. I wanted to recall them.

There was a lot going on of course at the hospital, like getting my blood-saturated hair washed by the team of nurses and having my severed ear looked at then repaired by plastic surgeons and speaking with another team of doctors related to my concussion and getting to see so many of my family members and friends who were able to stop by and see me. Brooke visits hospitalIMG_6534

But, for some reason, I kept thinking of Psalm 91. Why would that passage not leave my head and heart?

Though I was supposed to have no screen time to rest my brain from the concussion, my doctor gave me the green light to read for 10 minutes at a time when I finally got home. I felt led again to Psalm 91. I turned there and read verses 1 and 2, to remember those past-memorized verses:

 Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
 will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
 I will say of the Lord, “You are my refuge and my fortress,
    my God, in whom I trust.”

The poetry of those two verses flooded back to my memory. And then, thinking about how the doctor said I could read some more, I decided to continue in that same passage in Psalm 91:

“…Under his wings you will find refuge;
    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
    nor the arrow that flies by day. A thousand may fall at your side,
    ten thousand at your right hand,
    but it will not come near you….”

IMG_7038 Then, as I read toward the end of Psalm 91, verses 11 and 12, I began weeping.  

For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways;  they will lift you up in their hands,
    so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.”

Angels. I sobbed. Angels lifting me up with their hands, so that you will “not strike your foot” — for “foot,” I  thought “body– for “stone,” I thought “pavement.”

 Sobbing. I’m listening, God.

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The next day, our family friends from church, the Hoovers, came to visit at the hospital, and they brought me journal  for friends sign. In the front of the journal Shannon had written a scripture passage:  Journal and flowers hospital

Psalm 91, verses 1-4

1Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
    my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you
    from the fowler’s snare
    and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
    and under his wings you will find refuge;
    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

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Wheel chair All kids with meAfter a couple of days in the hospital, I was released much too early to go home while my husband was sent to the Pearl Rehab Center to heal his pelvis. While he was there, friends from church and the community and Scouts came to visit him. One of the Scouts families brought him a gift, a hand made quilt. The quilt was crafted by a non-profit organization that ministers to hurt people. On the tag of that quilt was a gift card on which was a passage of scripture. Guess where it was from? I cannot make this up: Psalm 91: 10-11.

 For he will command his angels concerning you
    to guard you in all your ways. . .”

  I ponder my friend’s words:

“You can talk all you want about how everyday is a gift but you know, just think, you could be in a morgue right now; you could’ve been 6 feet under. Oh, I’m so glad you are here. God saved you for a reason.”

Oh, friend, I am a believer now. This Angel idea, God’s Presence and signature, have been so real to me, to us, to our family during this time.  I know I will never ever be the same. We will be different. We are changed, with a new normal.

And, I am making a promise, a vow. I want to journey and live the adventure of the rest of my life finding out why He saved me, and look for that purpose, that reason. I pray, Here I am. Every day. Every extraordinary ordinary day. For now, celebrating each new breath, each new moment, each new Day, which is made by God. I’ll embrace that cliche. Because it is truth. I claim it, and I am not ashamed of it.                                                                 

Here I am, Lord, as Isaiah said.

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IMG_3419Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. O Thou. Thou who didst call us this morning

out of sleep and death.

I come, we all of us come, down through the litter and the letters of the day.

On broken legs.

Sweet Christ, forgive and mend.

Of they finally unspeakable grace, grant to each in his own dark room valor and an unnatural virtue.”- Frederick Buechner

Amen.

Posted in Adventure, Attitude, Being present, Extraordinary Ordinary, Faith, Family Life, Gratitude, Grown children, Holidays, Home, Kids, Life, Live the Questions, Moms, Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting Philosophy, Real LIfe, Real-Life Mom column, Slowing Down, The Extraordinary Ordinary, Tradition, West Linn, West Linn news, Writing.

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Having a Mary mindset in a Martha World

My daughter left yesterdayIMG_5758

You’d think I’d get used to it. I don’t.

DSC_0558When my daughter visits from across the ocean, we stop the busy-to-do-lifestyle life.

We go to indie coffee shops and on long walks in the neighborhood and make sure we meet with friends.

We bake cookies and craft meals together from scratch and make a mess in the kitchen and clean it up together. We don’t mind.

DSC_0234DSC_0052We play LIFE and YAHTZEE and start movies at 11 p.m.

 We turn off the Internet and the X-box and the phone, at least we try to.

We talk and we laugh and we hug and we share stories and we look at photos and we watch old home videos.

And laugh some more and reminisce and recall and recollect and remember.

 

DSC_0533 - Version 2We go to the beach, to the mountains, to the Gorge, to the forest, to the park. We take long strolls through the sand, we cross- country ski, we hike.

IMG_6226We look at old photographs and take new photographs and smile for the photographer.

We invite friends and family and grandparents and cousins and extended family over for dinner and coffee DSC_0031and neighborhood walks and long talks. We go out to lunch and we go to the movies and we go to the mall to photobomb with Santa IMG_5848.

We sit around the dining room table way longer than usual and watch the youngest brother blowing out candles then lighting them again and we tell him not to but he does it anyway.

The brothers still fight and argue and complain sometimes but it is all okay when my daughter, their sister, is home.

I am not sure why, but it just is.

When my daughter is home, I watch her plop herself down next to her brothers and put her arms around them, and I see her brothers melt into her arms and they put their arms around their sister, randomly, out of the blue. They hug her and bear hug her IMG_5786and smile a big smile around her and when they do this I smile a big smile. It is good. DSC_0419

DSC_0410We slow down, we hug, we embrace, we realize that the ordinary is the extraordinary and we make each moment, a monument.

Because it is.

We celebrate conversation and savor stories and go on special outings and take time to talk and walk and just to be.

We take the time for slowing and sipping and relaxing and baking and cooking and being.

My daughter asks each of her brothers’ questions and listens to their stories and asks follow up questions and makes follow up comments. My daughter takes each of her brothers out on individual outings to talk with them and find out their dreams and gives them ideas and suggestions IMG_6189without preaching at them.

My daughter pops in on her brothers’ rooms when they are hanging out or putting clothes away or playing x-box and somehow she gets them to hang with her. When they are on the couches doing their homework, she nestles in next to them and they let her.

My daughter tells her brothers she loves them and that they are special and that they mean a lot to her and that they are the IMG_6074world to her and that family is the most important thing and that God loves them. My daughter comes home for Christmas break for them; she comes home on their special birthdays for them. She spends thousands of Euros that she does not have for plane tickets to visit them. She buys them birthday presents and Christmas presents with specific thoughts as to what they would like and she makes them presents and photo calendars that are so special to her middle school brother that he puts it on his wall. He never puts anything on his wall, except maybe that poster of that car.

DSC_0232DSC_0075We slow down when my daughter is home. We hang out. We just plop down on the couch and talk and laugh and share and watch movies. We just “are.”

Because we know that my daughter will only be home for a short period of time. We know that our time with my daughter, my sons’ sister is limited. We know that the time with her will come to an end and we will have to say good-bye. For now.

And what gets us through is knowing we will see her again soon.

 

We are Mary around my daughter when she is home. We do not even know who Martha is in our family when my daughter is home. (Luke 10: 38-42)

I know that I have to be Martha sometime again, but not while my daughter is home. I never ever want to forget who Mary is, even when my daughter is not home.

To have time for my kids, to make time for my kids, and for others. There is no such thing as hurried time. Or rushed time. Or drive-through time. Kids know it, your family knows it, your friends know it, you know it.

May I be Mary to all people, knowing that time together, just being present, is what matters. May I treat all of my people, my family, my friends, as if they are only here a short time. Because, maybe they are. Maybe I am. DSCN0178DSCN0221 - Version 2

 Just as I know my daughter is.

Posted in 31 Days of Parenting Philosophy, Being present, Children, Extraordinary Ordinary, Faith, Faith and Culture, Family Life, Gratitude, Grown children, Kids, Life, Moms, Motherhood, Navigating Motherhood, Real LIfe, Real-Life Mom column - The Oregonian, Writing.

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It’s hard, it gets better, keep on keeping on – On parenting

After the recent winter concert of my sixth grade son at his middle school, we went out for ice cream at the local Baskin-Robbins with about a dozen other families from the community who, like us, were celebrating the wonderful holiday musical event. It was my youngest son Gus’s first concert in middle school, which was true for several of the other families there. DSC_0847

B AND R KIDS  DEC 2014 GUS IMG_5434While the kids were slurping on their ice cream cones and I was downing my one-scoop chocolate chip with hot fudge sundae, I got into a conversation with a couple, who were also parents of a sixth grader. We did our usual after-concert conversation, how great it is that the kids are in band, how wonderful the music program is in West Linn, and how amazing our middle school band director, Mr. Lagrone, is.

I shared with this mom and dad, that my older three sons also had Mr. Lagrone as a band teacher, and how much we already liked him back then. Some people do not know that we have older children who are graduated from college, working, and even married.

When this mom asked me more about my older children, I elaborated on my oldest son Ryan and how he graduated from George Fox University and now works as a mechanical engineer at Hyster; I also said that Ryan married his college sweetheart, who’s now a nurse. 

After I shared this info, the mom whom I was talking to said to me:

“You must be very proud of your son.”

I know this mom meant it as a compliment, but by her tone and facial expression, I also thought that perhaps she was hinting that I was bragging just a bit too much about my now grown son.

Although I replied saying, I was indeed proud of my son Ryan, something told me I needed to share more, to tell the backstory of my oldest son; I knew that this couple have had their ups and downs with their tween son, as many of us have had. I thought that perhaps adding a bit of the backstory about my oldest son as well as my high school twins, who are currently juniors, would encourage this couple.

It gets better, kids do change, do not give up, keep on keeping on. 

Yep. It has not always been the way it is now, with my older kids, and we, as parents need to share all experiences with others. To be vulnerable. To be honest. To be real.

DSC_0931For example, with my twins, I like to joke that they were sent to the principal’s office on many occasions; they got into fights with one another and with other kids. And, when school administrators were deciding what first grade class to place kindergartners in at the end of the school year, my twins were on the top of the list to be sure they were not around certain other kids.

But, we did not give up. We refused to let our kids get stereotyped. We worked on their friendship circles, helping them weed out certain unhealthy ones; we helped them form good study habits, we worked on manners with them, we encouraged them to join sports teams, Scouts, youth group, band. We got them involved in leadership at church and Scouts as they got older.

They are now honor students in high school, have great manners, have great friends, and they are active in youth group and Young Life. People tell us all the time what great kids they are.

As with our twins, the backstory of our older, now-an-engineer son is that he also had his issues growing up, both academically and socially. He was on the younger side in school — an August baby — and that is hard on a kid, especially a boy. Our Ryan was shy and emotionally on the young side. He would burst out sometimes and we found out he was taken out of class in kindergarten to work on some emotional issues. Then, as he grew up, he struggled in school and even got a few “DNM” for a few classes, which means, “Does not meet.”  

He had that engineering brain and could be rough around the edges at times, with bottled up energy that many boys have. I appreciate it, but for outsiders — especially moms of girls only — it can be hard. There were certain friends that we saw who were not the best fit for our son friendship-wise, so we helped steer him toward other friends. We got him involved with sports, band, Boy Scouts and youth group.  

In high school, his struggle began to diminish toward the middle of his sophomore year. Though naturally shy, we worked on helping him reach out to others, to be kind and say please and thank you and to look people in the eyes. We tried to be available to help him with his homework and make our home a place where he could bring his friends. We wanted to just be here for him, to make him feel accepted and loved while at the same time helping him to grow.          

GROUP B AND R - DEC 2014 IMG_5436And, we did a lot of praying for him — and for all of our kids. Praying for his character and that he would love the Lord and that he would find good friends at church, at school and in the community. We prayed for him to do well at school, to find that place where he could excel and discover his life’s vocation. He joined the ski team in high school, and caught on to how to study and navigate the corridors of school hallways and classrooms and studying on weekends and during late night evenings. He did not date and he was fine with that and we never said anything that would make him feel any differently. He had great friends in school, both guys and gals.    

But, when he was applying to college, we knew with his innate shy personality that a large school might not be a good fit, though he did apply to Oregon State University, a large public university. We were just praying that he would find a place where he could grow and shine. That led him to George Fox University, where he got a scholarship, and with loans he took out, we were able to bring the sticker shock down to state school prices.

In college, Ryan thrived. My husband said to him when we dropped him off at school: “Ryan, you can be who you want to be here.”

Indeed, he found who he was. He blossomed in college. He joined the track team and became a Resident Assistant. He did great in school as an engineering major and he met the love of his life, whom he married after graduating. And, he got his said dream job at Hyster.

So, yes, I am proud of my son, but that is not to say it was an easy road.   As I spoke with this couple at Baskin-Robbins, they talked about how parenting is hard and they are still on one side of it and I am on that side of it as well with our youngest, age 11. DSC_0874

But, because I have been on the other side of it as well, I know that it makes a difference to continue to teach our kids manners and to help them work diligently in school and to assist in shaping character qualities, even when other parents are not. And, even when times are hard with our kids and all of the work does not seem be paying off right at the moment, keep on keeping on. Because, it does get better. Kids grow up and kids change and we need to allow them to change.

I know. I’ve been there. And I’m there now. Keeping on, keeping on.

Posted in Family Life, Kids, Moms, Motherhood, Navigating Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting Philosophy, Raising Teens, Raising Tweens, Real LIfe, Real-Life Mom column, Real-Life Mom column - The Oregonian, Teaching Moments, Teens, Transitions, Tweens, Twins, West Linn, Writing.

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On not hiding my name tag anymore

 Today after checking in for my substitute-teaching job at West Linn High School, I had to move my car to a different location, and decided to grab that much needed cup of Joe at the local Starbucks.

 When I pulled up into the parking lot of the coffee shop, I realized that my “substitute teacher” name tag was very SUB CLOSE UP IMG_5492visible around my neck. My mind began racing with how I felt about myself with that title so closely associated with me.

“Just a sub.”

 “Outsider.”

“Don’t belong.”

“Not a part of the real group.”

 Something inside me just made me uncomfortable with people at the coffee shop seeing that label on me.

 Sub farther away IMG_5490So, I decided to take off my substitute teacher lanyard and I laid it upside down in the back seat of my car, just in case someone looked in my back seat.

 I’ve thought about this since then. Why was I ashamed for that moment about my title of substitute teacher, I wondered.

 I think part of it has to do with something I have struggled with for much of my life — the feeling of being an outsider, of not belonging, of not fitting in.

And I think a lot of other people feel the same way, for a variety of reasons.

For me it can be jobs, friendship circles, church, and citizenship. Yep, that’s right; I was born in Germany, so while growing up, I was very aware that I was an “alien.” Indeed, I was a “resident alien” with a “green card” which means I was a foreigner in this country, until I decided to become a United States citizen almost 20 years ago. green- NEW CARD80991107

And, now as an adult, some of my job titles are “outsider type of jobs”: substitute teacher, freelance writer, and freelance editor. In the past, I’ve also been an adjunct professor. For each of these work positions, I am not on staff, not part of the everyday, regular folks who make these places of employment function.

We all want to fit in and belong. We all want to feel like we contribute and are an important part of the whole. We want to feel connected to a community rather than one looking in, from the outside.

 I started thinking later that throughout the Bible, you see the theme of outsider, with many references noting that the people of God are “aliens, sojourners, not-of-this world.”                                                                                         And, Jesus was the ultimate outsider, someone who did not fit in. And, He asks us to join him, to follow him, to identify with him, even when no one else does. To celebrate that IMG_5373calling, that place, that narrow path.

I know that the most important thing is attitude. The way we approach life and our circumstances is what matters.

So, when I muse upon my work positions, I remind myself, okay, this is what I do, this is my vocation right now, these are my jobs, so embrace it. Be the best freelance writer I can be, be the best freelance editor I can be, and be the best substitute teacher I can be.

I know I’ve never thought of myself as “just a sub,” though I’ve heard that term before from students; some people may look at the role in that light. The stereotypes regarding substitute teachers may be in my head, but they are there; a “sub” can be seen as someone who is just getting by, someone who is not a “real” teacher, someone who cannot actually get a full-time teaching job, someone maybe that does not know the subject as well, or someone who is a glorified baby-sitter, and so on.  

But, I know those stereotypes are not true for many substitute teachers, and I surely approach the work much differently than those descriptions. In fact, I started thinking, why not redefine stereotypes of the position I have. IMG_9090

I actually really enjoy substitute teaching. Hey, I get to hang out with wonderful kids and then go home after eight hours and not have to prep for the next day nor grade hundreds of papers into the wee hours of the night. I’ve done that in my past.

So, I made up my mind up. I’ve made a deliberate choice to embrace my job of substitute teacher, as I try to embrace all aspects of my life. It’s all an adventure. For subbing, in fact, I made it Facebook official. (As people joke, it’s not real or it did not happen unless you post it on Facebook!) Before subbing one day this year, I posted that I was looking forward to subbing that day and that I was going to tryto inspire students and make them feel valued.

For that Facebook status, I got mostly “you go girl” type of comments, but one of my old high school friends, who’s also a teacher (but not a sub) said, “That’s ambitious, for a sub.” I know my friend was just being sarcastic, but I do think that is the stereotype. How can someone make a difference in a day as a “sub”?

But, I wrote back on my comment stream, that I do believe a sub can make a difference, even if it is just for a day or a moment,  or 10 minutes or an hour. I approach all of life that way.

IMG_5412My goal as a sub — I say “replacement teacher” — is to try to inspire students to love school and to make them feel like they are important and valued individuals. I try to do this in a variety of ways. I try to be enthusiastic about the subject matter at hand, sharing what I love about it personally; I smile at kids who are passing me in the hallways; I ask how a kid who might be sitting alone at lunch how he is doing? During classes, I introduce myself and talk about my love for literature and learning and writing. I also remind students how blessed they are to be in school in the first place, when so many children in third world countries are out working the fields to put rice on their tables. In addition, I ask kids to tell me something about themselves, how their day is going, and so on.

My role as substitute is temporary and I may only reach a few kids and some kids may not relate to me, but I can try. You just never know.

In fact, I’ve been at coffee shops and orthodontist appointments with my kids or the grocery store, and I will see past students, from schools where I have been a sub, and they will say hello to me, by name.

“Hi, Mrs. Seigneur,” I hear quite a bit. Then, I’ll also hear the students, as they are walking away, tell the parent they are with, “That was my substitute teacher yesterday.”

Wow, they remember.

So, I’m reminded, we will be remembered. Why not be remembered for good?

Why not approach life, our jobs, our words, and our roles, no matter how glamorous or small or unimportant in society’s eyes, as if we matter to others. Because we do.

Even, if you are “just a sub.”

Posted in Adventure, Attitude, Kids, Life, Outreach, Teaching, Teaching Moments, vocation, Writing.

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About that new double three-ring zipper binder

The other day, during a break at school where I was working as a substitute teacher, I got a call from my sixth grade son Gus, who was home from school as he had had three teeth removed. My husband took him as I had to work, and I was feeling really badly that I had not been able to take him.

DSC_0366“Hi mom,” he said in his sweet, innocent, determined, serious, sincere voice.

“Hi sweetheart,” I said, and asked him how his mouth was feeling. “Good,” he said with his standard answer. He does not like to complain no matter what.

My son is not one to “just call” to say hello, and I had a feeling this call was not just for fun.

“So, what’s going on?” I ask.

IMG_3095“I want to go get my new double three-ring zipper binder today. I found it at Office Depot and Office Max. They have two in stock at the Tualatin Office Depot and three at the Milwaukie one and three at the Happy Valley Office Max.

The closest store of the ones he listed was about 15 to 20 minutes away, during rush hour traffic. On a day when I had a commitment later in the evening.

And, my husband literally works within minutes of that Office Max store, I thought to myself, and practically speaking we could have called him to ask him to pick up the notebook. That made the most logical sense.

That would have saved gas.

That would have saved money.

That would have saved the environment.

That would have saved time.

That would have saved me stress.

But, the experience would have been missing.

When I got home, my son had not forgotten the double three-ring zipper binder with extra folder. So, I asked him to call the store in advance to see if they had the exact notebook he was looking for. I wanted to at least be somewhat practical. IMG_3092

They did.

Maybe I was feeling badly because I had to work while he had his three teeth removed that day, or maybe it was just so endearing to see how important this three-ring-double-zipped binder was to him.

I just felt such a prompting to go. Forget the schedule. Forget what I had to do later. Forget the time.

So, I said to my 11-year-old, “Hey, get your stuff, put on your shoes, grab your jacket. We are going to Office Max to get your three-ring-double-zipper binder

You just cannot believe how excited my sixth grader was to go.

In the car he said, “Mom, it has an extra pocket on the outside. And mom, it has two sets of those three rings for notebook paper. And Mom, it has an extra zipper area for different subjects. And Mom, it comes in blue and red and black. I like the blue but I will decide when we get there on what color I want.”

You’d think it was Christmas.

We walked into Office Max and meandered toward the aisle with the notebooks and binders. He scurried ahead of me and found where the goods were. You’d think he had won the lottery when he found them.

“Here they are, Mom. They have three colors, blue, red, black,” he tells me as he picks each of them up and turns them over. His eyes focus on the blue one as he begins to unzip it to see all the bells and whistles this notebook has.IMG_3091

“Look, see the extra three rings for paper. My other zipper binder has only one section. And, look here’s another compartment on the other side of the binder,” he carefully demonstrates as he turns the binder over.

After we purchased the binder and got home, we told my husband, Gus’s dad, where we were and that we got the binder.

And, my husband’s natural, practical response was, “But, I work minutes from that Office Max and I could have picked it up for you.”

Gus responds quite confidently, “But, I wanted to go myself.” 

And, I thought, and later told my husband, that it is about the experience for the kid.

And for me.

The time that Gus and I had together, the sharing of something so small, purchasing a three-ring-zippered binder, but something that meant so much to my little one. On a day that he had three teeth removed.

I believe we need to as parents to value and treasure the experience more than just the practicality of everything. It’s not always the most time-efficient, practical path that makes the most sense that matters.

It’s about the experience. And, there is no way to measure that.

I remember hearing a couple of moms share with me that they get their family’s yearly Christmas trees sans kids. They drive to a tree lot while their kids are at school or at sports, and purchase the tree. Another mom told me that she decorates her family’s Christmas tree alone, while they kids are at friends’ houses or other places.

“It’s just easier,” the moms have told me. Or they’ve said, “The kids are so busy and they tell me that they do not care anyway. It’s a lot less hassle this way anyway.”

And, I wonder to myself, what about the experience? For our family, it is about the experience of getting our tree as a family. Then decorating it together while listening to Christmas music.

The other day at the grocery store, a lady was in the aisle with her twins in her cart. The twins were about 3-years-old. As a mom of twins myself, I just smiled to myself thinking how I remember those years shopping with my kids.

This mom at the grocery store was walking down each aisle and before I even saw this mom with her twins, I heard this mom with her twins. The twins were so inquisitive about everything. They asked questions, they pointed, they squealed in delight when they saw something they wanted. “Captain Crunch, Mommy. Look it’s Captain Crunch,” one of the 3-year-olds exclaimed loudly.

“Mommy, there are the Gold Fish. Mommy, can we get Gold Fishes?  “And, Mommy, look, pop tarts, mom Gushers. I love Gushers. Mommy, can we get some Gushers. They had gushers at preschool.”

The mom was so patient in responding to her active twins as the sound level increased with each new item her kids wanted to purchase.

She finally said at one point, very patiently I might add, “Shh, not so loud, okay.”

In fact, she said this about the time I was heading down the same aisle she was in. Perhaps her comment was to show consideration of other people in the store at the time.

I wanted to acknowledge her, to somehow make her feel that it was okay. That her kids were okay. That she was okay.

“So, are they twins?” I ask, trying to start a conversation with what was of course the obvious.

The mom replied to me, yes, as we both looked at her kids who were scanning the next items they were going to ask their mom about.

I say, oh, they are so cute. And then I tell her I have twins and that they are 17-years-old now, and that having twins is so much fun and so crazy and wild and so amazing.

And then I tell her that I did the same thing, bring my twins to the grocery store with me.

And, that even though some people told me I should not bring my young kids to the grocery store, that it would be easier for them to stay home with their dad or with a friend, I did it anyway. Because I wanted them to have the experience with me, to see things we were buying and to help decide what items we needed. And, I as a parent wanted to watch my kids’ reaction to things and I wanted to see what interested them and what intrigued them and what gave them pause.

The mom wasn’t so sure at that exact moment but thanked me for that comment as I moved on to the next aisle.

Sure, it can be easier to leave the kids at home and it can be easier to just do things for our kids, but there are no short cuts to experiencing life.

No matter how big or small.

 

 

Posted in Kids, Life, Moms, Motherhood, Navigating Motherhood, Parenting, Parenting Philosophy, Writing.

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The art of breakfast- It’s what they remember

I love making breakfast for my kids during the summer and on Saturdays off during the school year, and when their friends have spent the night. Crepes are my specialty; crepes smothered in whipping cream and Nutella IMG_9356or sprinkled with lemon and powered sugar or in the summer, topped with fresh Oregon strawberries or raspberries and whipped cream. IMG_9392

I love gathering with my children, with the table nicely set with my good German porcelain and the pretty containers for the lemon juice and the Nutella and whipping cream and strawberries and plenty of napkins. And we say a prayer to thank God for our meal, and it is pure joy. It’s a great way to start our day together before everyone goes his or her own direction. We have grounded ourselves together. IMG_9389

When my kids write me Mother’s day cards and birthday cards, they thank me for making me crepes for them. They remember the crepes. Of all the things I do for them, they talk about the food I craft for them. From scratch. Wild. And my kids friends talk about eating crepes at my house and the my tell their friends  when they are spending the night that their mom makes crepes and their friends want to eat breakfast in the morning with our family. And while I am making them, the house is filled with the aroma of butter and fresh thin pancakes frying on the stove top and that is what they wake up to. And it makes me feel good, if I do nothing else I day long, if I’ve made homemade breakfast for my kids.

But crepes are a mess to make. My kitchen turns to shambles and greasy butter flies everywhere and the batter splashes in nooks and crannies of the stovetop and my kids eat the crepes in minutes then dash off to do other things for hours and there is still the mess.

IMG_9382But it’s oh so worth it.

My husband on weekends when he is home used to never join us for breakfast. He’d eat his granola with cold milk and take off into the yard or to the garage to get his work done.

“Takes too much time. I have too much to do,” he’d say to me about eating breakfast with us as he meandered off.

But I said to him, this is an important part of life, taking the time to have this breakfast together; it’s so simple, yet so profound. This art, making breakfast for my kids; it reaches the kids in ways that I cannot explain but it just does. Crafting crepes is an art. It cannot be measured with the word “Accomplishment” and “check it off your list of things done today.” Art is not a check-off list. Yet, like good art, it’s what matters in the end. It’s one of the things that our kids remember.

Sounds so simple. It is.

My kids once in a while get to go to their grandparents’ house, which is about 15 minutes from our house. Their grandpa makes a mean pancake and they say, “Grandpa makes the best pancakes,” and when I make pancakes, they tell me they are not as good as grandpa’s. That is what they remember about grandpa and it is fabulous. And we tell grandpa this and it makes him feel good. He has a secret recipe and he’s proud of it.IMG_9358

My husband is starting to recognize the importance of our weekend and days off morning breakfasts together. One day recently, it just hit him. He began sitting down with us to join us eating breakfasts together. And, he also began making pancakes as well. And bacon and buying good syrup to smother on top of the pancakes. It takes him away from his weekend projects for a few hours in the mornings and it is a mess and he only has so much time off and I totally understand that.

But, he realizes now that it is important to share that time with our kids.

Now, we argue over who gets to make the breakfast on a Saturday morning.

 

 

Posted in Art, Family Life, Home, Life, Moms, Motherhood, Summer, Writing.

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