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.
One of my favorite Pixar scenes is when Toy Story's Buzz and Woody team together once again to handle a situation. Woody's expression is priceless: perplexed eyes wide open full of anticipation and jiggling cheeks as Buzz figures out a way to pick up speed. Woody is left to hold on tight for the ride of his life! I totally relate to Woody and feel I look like this much of the time: always trying to hang on tightly as the roller coaster of life accelerates and slows down with hidden bumps that seem to come out of nowhere. But I'm being about intentional about changing that...now. In a few weeks, I turn that number that is equal to half a century. I can't even say that number because it makes me feel like I need to start looking for fuzzy tennis balls to put on a walker. Sigh. I should be thankful that I've reached this milestone but the sound of that number makes me cringe. So...I decided to do something about it. Instead of bashing that number, I'm embracing it with a purpose. This summer, I plan to get together with 50 people who have had an influence on my life. I want to be intentional and thank them for how they poured into me or how they modeled what my life could look like. Too often, I've been the "Woody", holding on tightly with big eyes anticipating the hurdles in this race. Now, I want to pause and let others know that I appreciate them in so many different ways as they partnered with me in life. This summer, I'll be sharing some of the stories with you. I can't wait! I've met some amazing people who made me a better person. Now, it's my turn to slow down and be intentional to thank them for what they've done in my life and hopefully, you'll be encouraged and inspired after "meeting" them. From Toy Story: You've got a friend in me You've got a friend in me You got troubles and I got 'em too There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you We stick together, we can see it through 'Cause you've got a friend in me You've got a friend in me
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I can see the finish line! Funny. From mid-July to mid-August, I'm all about preparing bulletin boards, creating lessons from Pinterest ideas, collaborating with my most awesome grade level team, and getting those teacher jitters before meeting my students and their families. Then, May hits. I'm dragging my feet. Plop...plop...plop. Just trying to pencil enough lesson ideas that can carry me through the day. Teachers are in "get-it-done-mode". All the testing, final ceremonies, extra programs, and parent conferences are wrapping up our year. I see "the deer in the headlights" look on all the faces of my teachers: the brand new ones and the ones who are more experienced. =) When I slow down and simply exhale, I take in a year's worth of memories I'd never trade. This particular year stretched me in areas that I didn't even know existed. I was given 22 students. Some had "labels". Others didn't. But they all needed to be known and to be loved and taught in their own way. It was a year in which I had to figure out how to reach each child like never before. Some didn't like to be hugged or touched. Some could not make eye contact. Some couldn't keep their hands still for even...one...second. Some never sat in a chair the whole year (I'm not kidding!) .Some could easily name multiplication facts but couldn't name the children in the classroom. Some rarely talked. In the fall, a friend posted the following on her Instagram account. Instead of "Halloween", I wish it said "In life": With Halloween upon us, please keep in mind, a lot of little people will be visiting your home. Be accepting. The child who is grabbing more than one piece of candy may have poor fine motor skills. The child who takes forever to pick out one piece of candy may have motor planning issues. The child who does not say trick or treat or thank you may be non-verbal. The child who looks disappointed when they see your bowl might have an allergy. The child who isn't wearing a costume at all might have a sensory issue (SPD) or autism. Be nice. Be patient. It's everyone's Halloween.. The words that grabbed me in the fall? Be accepting. I stretched. Be nice. I stretched some more. Be patient. I stretched until I almost popped. But it's been a good kind of stretching. I'm very proud of these stretch marks and I'll remember this year as the one that made me a much better teacher, friend, and person. "Die. Die. Die." I muttered the words over and over as I stared at each one. My daughter had opened the front door and stood behind me silently. Then, she quietly peeped, "Mom, who are you talking to? Are you ok?" I nodded and whispered, "It's everywhere. and I want it all to go away, far, far away." The "it" was and is my latest enemy in my yard. Unfortunately, I discovered it three weeks ago while chopping down my azalea bushes to the height of my mid-thigh. Or maybe I should say, "I didn't discover it." Poison ivy. Yep, my biggest foe in the battle to tame my property. Dressed in my black gym clothes, I armed myself with my plastic container of weed killer. Every step was discreetly taken. I spoke in a whisper-like voice to my Blonde who was shaking her head watching me as if I was a soldier ready for combat. Why did I whisper? Well, a few weeks back, when I started the total-let's-change-the-look-of-the-front-yard gig, my neighbor approached me. It went something like this: Neighbor: So, you're going to cut back all the azaleas? Me: Yes, You have to wait until they are finished blooming to do that kind of pruning. (I sounded so knowledgeable!) Neighbor: That's true. Do you know what poison ivy looks like? Me: Sure do. Neighbor: Well, be real careful when you start all that trimming. There's bound to be ivy in there. Me: Thanks (with a bit of an attitude of "I know what I'm doing") Fast forward and a confession: I got poison ivy. I got it everywhere. I mean, I think my poison ivy got poison ivy. I wore long pants and skirts and long sleeved shirts and jackets for three whole weeks. Yes, even as the temps came close to 90 degrees. I didn't want to expose my skin. I looked like a big ol' connect-the-dot coloring book and felt like an Amish woman as I swished around in skirts that came below my ankles. Let's just say Benedryl's anti-itch creme replaced my daily regiment of rubbing lotion that tightens-your-skin-and-will-give-you-a-bronze-glow-all-in-one. I bathed in Benedryl. I continued to speak in hushed tones. I was back in the front yard and had finally recovered enough to go back to the combat zone....I just didn't want my neighbor to see me. I was ready to take on my enemy with my jug of weed killer. But, it didn't work after observing it like a poison-ivy crazed woman.. I googled and realized I needed the heavy duty stuff: Round Up Poison Ivy Killer. What's the difference? I have no idea. But my Plan A didn't produce dying poison ivy leaves, so I was on to Plan B. Today, I headed outside ready with my newest plastic spray container and ready to implement Plan B. That neighbor I mentioned earlier drove by and waved. Then, he stopped. Ugh. He hollered, "Everything ok?" Double ugh. I slowly made my way to him. He stated that he hadn't seen me working in the yard and was concerned. I held up my Plan B container and let him know that he was right. Poison ivy was everywhere in my mini-jungle of azaleas....and er....I guess I didn't really know what poison ivy looked like. He didn't give me a lecture. Just nodded with sympathy and said he wasn't surprised. I emptied my Plan B container. No brown leaves...yet.. And thankfully, no little bumps appearing. =) Flight 201 4:30am. The sun had barely cracked over the mountain when I grabbed my bag and headed down the stairs. I gulped some coffee (a daily necessity) quickly and hopped in the truck with a missionary heading into the capital, Port au Prince. Little did I know that my adventure this day would continue until long after that sun had set. After a few errands, I arrived at the airport at 11am, plenty of time for my 2:48pm flight. I strolled casually through security, browsed the single gift shop in the PAP airport, bought a coffee and some Pringles- life was pretty great. Then the delays started. First just an hour, then two, and then the monitor flashed a departing time of 7pm. Planes don’t leave Haiti after dark and no one is allowed to stay in the airport overnight. As I started planning out what I’d do if I happened to get stuck, the airport grew suddenly loud. As people around me rushed to the American Airlines table, I glanced up and saw the new departing time: 6:15am. I called the closest missionary I could think of and asked her to meet me. I hopped in line with the rest of the angry airport to try and get a hotel. The woman at the counter handed me a hotel voucher, food voucher, and a chauffeur ticket. The group heading on my “shuttle” to the hotel was waiting for me and the driver grabbed my bags to load up. I shot one quick text to my friend as I dashed out the door behind the driver- “Meet me at Atlantic Hotel”. As I rounded the corner outside the airport, I saw the shuttle was an old jeep. I had no choice at this point but to pack in with 7 Haitians and our bags. We began to roll away from the airport when my phone dinged, a message from my friend… “Where in the world is Atlantic Hotel? No one I’ve asked knows where that is” Great. I’m in a sketchy jeep, alone, in a third world capital city, at night, heading to a hotel know one has heard of- sounds like a great plot line for Taken 4. I began trying to memorize the turns and the streets we were taking, but after a 15 minute twisted ride- I was completely lost. We pulled up to the hotel and I rushed inside. I began asking anyone I could find for directions. No one could tell me where we were. Multiple people spoke to my friend on the phone- only providing only an unsearchable address and irrelevant landmarks. No one could tell her how to get there. 45 minutes past. I didn’t want to risk staying at the Atlantic that night, but finding a way out seemed impossible. An old Haitian man dropped off a couple at the hotel and began to hop back in his car. I ran out and asked him for directions (obviously he had somehow successfully arrived there so he should know) but that effort once again failed. He began to climb back into his vehicle and I tried my last attempt to get out of the hotel. “Monsieur! Tale sivouple! (please wait)” I said rushing back to his car. I told him to take me to a small market where my friend had been waiting asking for directions. He questioned if I’d pay him and then agreed. I weighed my options. Snagging a ride with this man was probably safer than risking staying the night at the Atlantic. So I loaded my bags, hopped in, and we started the journey back towards the airport and the small market. I made it to the market and back to my friend. We hopped in her truck and headed up the hill towards Petionville to grab a room at the beautiful Karibe hotel. 4:30am. I watched the sun rise again, this time over the city of Petionville. I grabbed my bag and headed down the stairs of the Karibe. That day would end up holding just as much adventure as the day before, but I’ll save that story for later. |
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
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