Never Ever Dull
With every conversation, I always seem to end with "Never a dull moment"....our lives are rich, complex, and beautiful stories. Join me in laughing about everyday things and appreciating life-bumpy roads and all.
It all started with "the Larges". Yep, "the Larges" lived next to us in Charlotte. I never got to know them, but I did get to see their underwear hanging on the clothesline once a week. I remember staring at what seemed like king-size bed sheets and being amazed that someone would really display their private garments out there. I was even more shocked with the size! The underwear mysteriously would appear and disappear. I never saw the people who lived there. So, I simply referred to them as "the Larges". I realize I label folks all the time. This week, at the gym's endless rows of treadmills, I carried on a conversation with a guy and discussed his running habits. In that brief kind of blonde moment, I heard him say "I Max-in-can". I thought he was sharing that he was Mexican. Odd. He was very white, blue eyes, so not Mexican. Hours later, I figured it out he was telling me over the whir of the machines, "I max when I can"....Runner talk for maxing with interval training. Light bulb moment. I think of him as "the Mexican" when I see him now. "Heavy Panting Guy" always ends up beside me in my spin class. He breathes so heavily that I'm always glancing around to find the closest defibrillator just in case he falls off his bike. I do it in my neighborhood too. There's the guy who texts while walking 11 (yep, eleven!) dogs at the same time. He's the "crazy-walking-dogs-dude". I refer to people by their pets:. "White lab guy", "Finley's dad", "Daisy's mom", etc. I'm just fascinated by people. So, I confess: I call people names because I'm intrigued by them. I wonder...does anyone else do this?
1 Comment
Every class has a reputation. Parents know what I mean. For example, some classes get labeled "challenging", "lively", "really bright", etc. I'm blessed. This year, the consistent words describing my little people are the same across the board and from every teacher: "sweet, big hearts, and supportive".
How did my students earn this reputation? It all started about the second week of school. Here's what happened: I was told that I'd have a new student starting the next week. Me: Awesome! A girl or boy? Attendance Lady: A boy. He just moved here from Africa. A refugee. Me: Does he speak any English? Attendance Lady: No. In fact, I don't think he speaks....at all. My Little Friend* arrived at my classroom door. He was terrified. I took him in: Very thin, wearing brand new stiff jeans and a shirt that still had crease folds from the store, sad eyes, dragging his left foot as he made his way into the room. The translator shared that My Little Friend had never been to school. Then the translator left. He's never been to school and he doesn't understand English and doesn't speak at all. How would this work? My 19 precious students looked at the student and then looked at me. After spending the morning with My Little Friend, I knew that it would take a village and I needed my students to help me. They did. During the next days and weeks, they brought in preschool puzzles and stacking blocks. They took turns who would work with him while I taught my lessons. They modeled simple signs so we could communicate with My Little Friend. They showed him how to make sounds instead of his groans. They would spend lunch time demonstrating how to drink from milk cartons and how to use spoons and forks. They showed him how to high-five and hug. Many important adults came to observe. I know they were important because they had a bunch of letters behind their names on their business cards that were dropped on my desk. That pile grew for weeks. Adults in my school would comment that "he's a bless-his-heart-kind-of-kid" and peek in to watch him. But my students paid no attention to them. They were intent on teaching My Little Friend not to use his teeth to sharpen the pencils. We celebrated together when he learned how to use the electric sharpener. My Little Friend, thrilled with the discovery, sharpened almost all our packages of new pencils. My class and I had to learn to "hide" items out of his reach just like I'd done back when I had toddlers. My Little Friend wanted to explore everything! (Water fountains, slides, markers, etc. were all new to him.) It took a team effort. My students opened their hearts to a kid who looked and acted very differently from them. They had a choice and each individual chose to accept My Little Friend for exactly who he was in the present and not worry about the outcome. My class earned that reputation of being sweet, supportive, and having big hearts because they took the risk of caring for a kid that many didn't know how to handle or what to do with him. Sure, my lessons weren't the best during that time of figuring out how to juggle a refugee with some needs (like the day in which My Little Friend learned you could tear pages out of all my reading books while I was teaching math!!!)... but the life lessons my students came away with were so much more valuable than the lessons in my plan book. One skinny, loving refugee boy that struggled to walk through our halls will never leave our hearts. *Since this student was pretty much attached to my side, a teacher always called him this and it stuck. He really is My Little Friend. =) I wasn't a cat person. Maybe it's because I'd never been around them until the day a mother cat tramped through our yard dropping off her kitty. The orange kitty with white paws lived by our drain pipe in the backyard. Every time one of the kids approached her, she limped quickly back into the protection of the drain pipe. My children wanted to feed her. Reluctantly, I contributed little bits of ham and bread to this cause. The kitty became more friendly. This continued for weeks and months with a sweet trust building between my littles and the orange and white kitty. Tripod. That's what we ended up naming her. She had four legs but one paw was deformed so much so that she only used three legs to get around. (Our family always ends up with your-not-so-ordinary pets.) Tripod eventually got to reside in our garage at night. When temperatures dipped below freezing, she was invited into the house. Gradually, she made it into my heart. (She was already in everyone else's hearts.) Tripod was amazing. She lived with us in NC, VA, and TN. She was funny. She would bring the 3 day old roadkill (aka dead squirrel) from down the street and present it to us as a gift. Thanks so much! In Charlottesville, her hunting skills reached a whole new level. Snakes, bunnies, chipmunks, birds, and mice were presented to us on a daily basis. As the perfect home school family, we would examine all the body parts and identify them. (That was kind of embarrassing to write but I think it's why Blonde Daughter #2 is a bio major.) In TN, Tripod chilled. At the age of 17, Tripod was jumping onto a chair to lounge beside me as I was working on my laptop. She didn't make the chair, fell, and lay on the ground in a stunned state. I called all my kids and we gathered around her as she passed away. Yep, just like that. It was a sad and touching time. She was the only critter to make it through all our moves and remained a constant companion to my people as they struggled through some turbulent events. Our tears dissipated as we realized we had no idea what to do next. We didn't have a yard to bury her in and I had no idea what we could do. Where would we bury her? We needed to have some sort of ceremony but where? So I headed upstairs to talk to the Sheets.... (Time Out: The Sheets are an incredible family that took us in following the sale of our home. They offered their basement to us so that we could finish up our school year, allowing me some valuable time to figure out our next move. They have huge hearts and even though we shared life with them for only six months, they played a huge role in our healing as a family. With 9 kids of their own, we blended right in.) Pondering how to ask without sounding too awkward, I headed upstairs to inquire what we should do with our dead cat. Remember she was like a family member but we have no yard to call our own to bury her. Thankfully, the Sheets family had no problem with us burying our furry friend in their perfectly manicured yard. It was a bit awkward to ask but the Sheets didn't hesitate to help us out with the details. Mr. Sheets placed Tripod in a shoe box. She was a little bigger than he expected but he managed pretty well. Then, the funeral. It was drizzling Icy drops of rain. But we decided to go ahead with the burial.... To the rescue again, Mr. Sheets stated he had found the perfect place behind a really big bush. He had already dug the hole in the frozen tundra. He quickly placed the box in the hole, muttering to me quietly that this might be against the Homeowner Association's Rules. (They live in a neighborhood with really high expectations of all their residents. Let's just say that we never saw one dandelion in any of the yards and the grass had to be kept a certain height). I notice how he looks up and down the street. With great speed, he places the box, shovels dirt over the area, and stands the shovel against the house. He looks around. No neighbors looking. The coast is clear. He relaxes since no one will be turning him in at the next home owner's meeting. It pours even more. He asked if he could pray over him. I reminded Mr. Sheets that Tripod was a "her". He did. Constantly correcting himself with that whole gender thing: "He, I mean she, was a great pet. He, I mean she, was a friend to all. His, I mean her, heart was sweet and kind. He, I mean she, was a great pet...." It went on. I glanced and noticed that the tears were gone and the misty eyed faces had grins as Mr. Sheets struggled to find words for a cat he had maybe seen once in those early weeks of our time of living there. Mr. Sheets realizes he needs to break the dreary scene and asks us to share about Tripod. We can't. We have lumps in our throats. But #8 in the Sheets family is ready to talk. (I forgot to mention that many of the Sheets littles came to this ceremony). #8 is a red-headed 4 year old who asks a lot of questions: "Is Tripod in heaven? Where is Tripod? Can I dig the box up and see if she's gone yet? How long does it take for her to leave the box? Can I dig the box up? Is she happy now? Can I dig the box up?" We all notice his little toes making their way to the dirt pile. He truly wants to dig and see what's happening beneath that dirt. To this day, I wonder if he did. #8 is very curious. It wasn't your typical cat funeral. I don't know what "typical" would be anyway. But I do know her life and funeral will always be remembered. As my daughters approached the Dating Years, I realized I had to set high standards for those who would be allowed to date them. I don't have that "father figure" to stare down the boys as they come to our door. So I had to invent or create something that would measure if these potential guys were truly worthy of dating my sweet girls. I came up with the perfect test:
Prior to the actual date, all guys have to come have dinner with us. Sounds so simple, right?! Let me give you a snapshot of what that looks like. Upon entering our home, our furry giraffe (Banks the puppy) gallops over to the Potential Guy. As much as Banks wants to place his paws on the Potential Guy's shoulders and bathe him with licks, he maintains self-control, trembling all over with his "whacka whacka" tail. After being greeted by Banks, the Potential Guy tries to get through our house with the entire family pretty much velcroed to him. I have never understood it, but we travel like this everywhere in our home- like a big herd that's all stuck together. The Potential Guy settles on our one big L-shaped sectional and everyone surrounds him as we pepper him with questions. All seems good and normal and the Potential Guy relaxes some. Multiple conversations start happening, stories being shared, loads of laughter, lots of volume. We shove upholstered chairs from other rooms to give everyone a comfy seat. It appears to be pretty calm until one kid announces he's headed outside to play football...in the street (our yard slopes and has random holes so I encourage the "go-play-in-the-street-with-the-moving-cars"!). The others join in along with more kids from the neighborhood. When that gets boring or there's too much competitiveness, there's the -throw-the-tennis-balls-over-the house game that pretty much drives the puppy crazy as balls are flinging back and forth over the roof. Tennis balls are all over the place, making my lawn look like it has chicken pox. But that's not all. One kid realizes that Banks has discovered "items" in our laundry baskets and has decorated the back yard with his new found treasures while we weren't looking. Yes, indeed. (One day, Daughter #2 opened the door to find colorful socks, boxers, and undies scattered all over-ugh. This was just a few weeks ago when the trees were barren and neighbors could have such a lovely view!) Supper (I'm a southern girl) is ready and I call them in. The neighborhood kids join in too-they know the routine. We always eat buffet style and the Potential Guy finds his place in line. All of us pile into my 10 x 10 1960's kitchen. You would think some would wait in another room but remember we travel in herds. The Potential Guy quickly realizes that if he wants something more to drink to fetch it himself. It's a do-it-yourself family style. Chatting about all the stories behind the photos hanging in our dining room, questions about why Banks is gnawing on a water buffalo horn (long story!), adding Crazy Helium App to the phones and creating videos, pondering deep questions like what the stuffing is made out of in Oreo cookies...and then comes dessert. The blonde daughter loves to bake which is great. But she never reads the directions or measures....anything!!! Sometimes, the cookies are Martha Stewart perfection. Other times, she simply might forget an ingredient which leads to disaster (like her lemon tartlettes without the lemon!). We survive dessert. For our final round of entertainment, we turn to Banks and show off his marshmallow skills. We've trained him to catch marshmallows at an incredible speed. We toss him those white puffs of sugar at a machine-gun rate and marvel as he opens and snaps his mouth shut. What could be more exciting?! Of course, both boys attempt this and Banks tries to intercept his marshmallows. The Oldest slaps her hand to her forehead and admits: We are not normal. If Potential Guy can make it through the noise level of our family, hanging with the dozens of conversations happening at the precise same moment, and the zaniness of activity, he has my permission to date my daughter. See? A pretty simple test. Kind of like that Survivor show- if he leaves with a smile and is willing to come back, Potential Guy is a Survivor and can date my daughter. |
AuthorFun-loving mom to 4 kids and 1 big puppy. Fifth grade teacher of amazing little people who have never ending things to share with me. Love to discuss Jesus, diy projects, and life. Trying to keep it simple: Love Jesus, love people. Archives
December 2021
Categories |