I'll Love You Forever

 I recently started telling stories to K. Mostly animal stories like 'The Hare and the Tortoise' or 'Why the Cat Washes Itself After It Eats.' He loves them and begs for them and they even sometimes work as incentives to get him thru the shower. A few days ago, I told him the story about the mom who sings

'I'll love you forever, 

I'll like you for always, 

As long as I'm living, 

My baby you'll be.' 

to her son every night after he's asleep. Even after he's grown up and moved out. The book is called 'Love You Forever' and it's written by Robert Munsch.

For those of you who don't know him, K is like the little boy in that book. Maybe more so than the boy himself. When K was 2 or 3, I quit keeping toilet paper on the holder because he'd unroll it every chance he got. When he was 3 or 4, he went thru a stage where he'd shout the f word around whenever something didn't go his way. About the same time, the only way I could get him to sleep without a fight was to wrap a blanket around us and go lie on the front lawn. Around 5, he started throwing things and making holes in walls. Now it's unusual for a day to go by without him shouting explatives at someone, hitting people, throwing things or just getting very very angry. I'll love him forever. 

For those of you who don't know him, K can be the sweetest boy. When I came home the first time during the school year, he ran to me and clung to me and wouldn't let me go. He loves to feel helpful and do things for other people. He and Dad started this thing where Dad will flash him the 'love you' sign and he'll flash it back, even when he's mad. The rest of us have caught on and now it's an everyday thing. When he wants to give you a hug, he might back up as far as the house allows and then run and jump into your arms. I'll like him for always.

The difference between K and the boy in the book is that the boy in the book had a mother.

Tonight was hard. K decided he did not want to shower. However, since I had personally seen him try to sweep the floor with his hair, I knew he needed to shower. So we tried. Somewhere between 1030 and 1100, K's little elbow connected with my cheek bone. It didn't hurt enough to cry over, but with the stress of the moment I did cry. K didn't know what to think, he went silent. After what felt like forever tho, he gave in. A shower happened, albeit an hour later than planned. He got into bed. We read a story. And then he asked me to tell the story about the boy and his mother. 

I did. But it was hard. Every time I came to the last line 'my baby you'll be' I started crying. My K has never had a mother like the one in the book. He's never known the constant care and attention of a mother's love. He's had a few mother figures, but a child needs one stable mom, not 5 off and on ones. So I cried for him, because how is his life going to work out. How will he grow up to lead a good life without knowing a mother's constant love. It hurts me. And it hurts me to know there are lots more children out in this world who don't have that. Who have to survive without that love.

I wish I could switch my K with that little boy in the Robert Munsch book. I wish he could have a real mother, not just 4 or 5 of us who aren't always there for him. 

I'll love you forever, K.

I'll like you for always.

As long as I'm living,

My K you will be. ♡

City Girl

City girl.

The words seem to be coming from everywhere. And they are true. I may not have grown up actually in the city, but now I have moved to the real country and finding out exactly how much of a city girl I am.

'I'm a dreamer, not a builder,' I said and the 2x4's and stain pails and drills start laughing and pointing whatever kind of fingers they have. Even tho I don't speak Buildish I know what they're saying. 'Country Girls are builders. Only city girls are dreamers,' they cry.

I walked into the cow shed, and the cow, the bales and even the milk pail glanced at me disdainfully and started whispering to each other. I knew they were talking about my city girl clothes and soft city girl hands. 'She can't even milk for 5 minutes without stopping. And look, she didn't have her own chore boots so she had to borrow some! What a shame this world has city girls.'

Even the games mock me. 'You city girls, you just go for coffee or shopping or head to town for other overstimulating things when you have a minute of spare time. If you would stay home and sit down and play a game, maybe you would enjoy it more. You would be a better sport for sure and maybe your attention span would be longer.'

The puddles call to me when I go to and from school. They don't mock me tho, they chuckle as I turn from the road to break the ice and wade in their depths. 'Thank you, City Girl,' they say in the shaky tones of those who won't be with us much longer. 'We don't get many visitors even tho we will soon be gone. Thanks for taking the time to come see us'

These voices made me think I was a city girl. But then I went to a real city and heard voices there too.

The first time I heard the new voice was a few hours before I left for the big city. 'You are nervous of this little airport?' it seemed to say. 'How will you cope in the big airport where you can't read the signs or understand the words that are floating around you? Maybe you should stay where you belong, Country Girl.'

Once in the big city, the roads and vehicles together raised a chorus of voices. 'Drivers in real cities don't get mad at other drivers. They've all got important places to go to.' 'What. You've never seen overpasses under underpasses? Quit staring, Country Girl!' 'If you weren't such a country bumpkin you would know that it's not actually hard to drive in the city.' 'You have gravel roads where you come from!? We-ird!'

Fancy buildings and sky scrapers take up the scornful chorus next. 'Why do you care about seeing the sky when you can walk in to us and see the amazing architecture or items we have for sale? Don't just stand outside trying to see the boring sky and the burning sun, Country Girl! Come inside and see what we have to offer!'

Even my seat in the airplane mocks me. Sure it gave me extra comfort and lots of room. But it whispered in my ear that I wasn't dressed right, I didn't act right, I didn't even eat or talk right. 'Country girls should stay in the back of the plane. They shouldn't try to fit in in business class where they don't belong.'


So. I am neither Country Girl, nor City Girl, yet I am a bit of both. I will always be a tiny bit City Girl, but I would prefer to be a Country Girl. Maybe this place will make one of me yet.

Amistad = Home

I have lived in many places. Different continents, countries, cities, towns, and now even villages. My heart has been left in so many places, I don't know which to call home. 

I can tell because your eyes are sparkling, he said. Just 2 days later, she made the same comment. Your eyes are sparkling. 

Some people just click. Connect. You know how and what they are thinking and what they will say. You (or vice versa) can rage and say anything to them and not worry that they think you are weird. They probably do think that but like you all the same for it. Good times and crazy times happen and you get into scrapes together. 

Some people are always there for you even if it's not in person. They will always answer your messages, be it a few minutes, an hour or days later. And when you do get to see them and hang out with them, it's as if you hadn't even been separated for weeks. 

Some friends are new. Yet you feel like you've always known them. They're warm and welcoming and you always feel at home when you're together. They accept your intermittent craziness and don't let you become bored or boring. 

That's where I want home to be. In a place where going away feels like being gone forever not just 0101 days. Surrounded by old (time-wise and age-wise), new (time-wise and age-wise) and especially crazy friends. Where my eyes sparkle. 

Complex

 Simple is better than complex. 

My life recently became very simple. Get up > Go to school for the day > Go away for supper/do crazy things with crazy people > Go home to bed.

I love it. Will it eventually become complex? I hope not.

My old life was/is complex. Because of Christmas break, I am back in my old life for a few weeks and I don't know how to feel. Maybe it's all in my head. Maybe it used to be simple and I made it complex. All the people that need my attention, all the things that need to be thinged and the stuff that needs to be stuffed should have their priorities and then I should leave them at that. But I think I have to do/be everything and then I make life complex. 

Complex is still better than complicated. 

Safe

  Tell me about being safe.

   I gave this as a composition assignment to two of my students a few days ago. I wasn't sure how they would respond, but within 30 minutes, they each had written half a page of wise words and deep thoughts.

   I keep thinking back to those compositions, to the prompt about being safe. I started thinking about my feelings of safety and decided to write about a few of them.

   This actually happened later on in the week, after the 'safe' composition. Something came up that I didn't want to do. I knew that it had to be done and that I could have fun doing it if I let myself, but I had a bad attitude about it. So I prayed about it. I told God what was happening and my feelings about it. And suddenly I knew that I didn't have to fear the circumstances anymore, God would help me thru. I felt safe in the trust.

   My beautiful little niece has reached the stage where she would sometimes rather be with Tia Addie than Mom because Tia Addie is more fun because she's not Mom. One evening at bed time, she begged to come to me. She dove into my arms and, after a story and a bottle, she snuggled in and fell asleep. She trusted me. She felt safe with me. And I felt secure because she wanted and needed me.

   A few months ago I knew I needed a change. What kind of change I didn't know, but I talked to God a lot about it. A job offer came for something that I did not think that I wanted to do. In fact, the same thing had been mentioned to me a week or so before and I thought it so far fetched that I promptly forgot about it. But after the second time it was mentioned to me, the thought would not leave me. I knew without knowing that this is what I was going to do. That this was the change God had in mind for me. So I said I would teach. Fast forward to now. Sometimes I get discouraged or it feels like I can't be a good enough teacher. Thru the nebulous haze comes the thought to pray. So I do. And suddenly I know that I can do it. I can make it. I don't have to be the perfect teacher, all my students need is my best efforts. And I can do my best because I know this is where God wants me, I'm following His path and He'll watch over me. I'm safe.

   I dropped my students off at home late one afternoon (yes we are an unconventional school.) Instead of running to the house like his siblings, one stayed back and waited for me. The short walk to the house provided an opportunity to touch on some serious subjects and he readily shared his thoughts on those subjects. This is the kind of teacher I want to continue to be. A teacher whose students feel safe with her.

   To complete this post, I will leave a thought borrowed from one of the aforementioned compositions. 'If people fear for the safety of you, you can be safe in that fear and it is comforting.'

   Goodnight. 

To my sisters

 There is no grin more mischievous or happy than auntie's grin when the small niece or nephew is left in her charge for awhile. 

Failed

  I failed. One too many screams had been screamed by my beloved toddlers. Or was it one too many toys or mittens that had been ceremoniously dipped into the toilet and squeezed out on the floor. And not an hour after I got to work today I failed myself and said 'I can't do this' and I started crying. 

 They didn't know what to do with me. It was the second time this week that they saw me crying, the third time this week that they prayed with me. 'She's a rock, Lord. She comes in cheerful every morning. The children love her. Thank You for that.' But the rock looked more like a mud puddle and the cheerful face was a red one with weepy eyes. 

 I did see this coming. A wise friend of mine has told me that I should take a break from my beloved toddlers. That was how I failed myself. I didn't know what to do, I thought I could wait a few weeks to take a few days off. But that stupid mitten got dunked and the next day I found myself unable to control my sobs. 

 I do like to think of myself as a rock. 'Oh, don't worry, I've got broad shoulders. I can handle anything.' Except when it comes to screams, or mittens in toilets. Did I mention the goose eggs inflicted by banging ones own heads on the hard floor? Or the pushing, biting or pulling of hair that seems to happen every time we turn around? Or the socks and shoes kicked off and the ensuing meltdowns when they hear the word no? 

 What I learned today is that I don't need to be the rock. I also don't need and don't want to be the mud puddle. What my beloved toddlers need from me is to be solid ground. To take a day off once in a while, to sit down and read stories and play toys instead of running around busily getting everything done all day. And maybe even to fail sometimes.