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Their Story

This one.  This one.  This one.

They all have a story.

This one is about being a wife.

This one is about the journey of becoming a mother.

This one, really more than one; actually most is about being a mother.

This one is about the tug o’ war with being a working mother.

This one is about being a teacher.

This one is about owning a house.

This one is about all the bills.

This one is about family.

This one is about friends.

This one is about me.

This one.  This one.  This one.

They all have a story; the story that tells of my life.

And I wouldn’t hide it for anything.  So stop and ask me about my gray hair.

I’ll tell you their story.



I was surprised upon entering the gas station, low fuel light on, that I forgot my wallet at home; praying that I made it home and back again, I returned to the station.

“Braeden slept until 9:00a” which surprised me, because he always seems to wake up earlier when I am home…hmm.

A friend surprised me with a homemade piece of cheesecake, which tasted like Mint Meltaways, Andies Mints and Thin Mints; yeah the Girl Scout cookies and yeah it was that good.

While observing kindergarten students, I heard one share an observation that he made outside the school walls, which he was going to apply in his choice time today; they are becoming more aware and surprised by the world around them, simply amazing.

Surprised at the outcome when I listened to needs, gave choice and everything was still; quiet, with only a few voices.

Shortly after starting my drive home I received a text from my husband, a picture of someone that realized I would be seeing the gigantic cookie which was being eaten; surprised indeed.

You Danced, You Sang

In the middle of an aisle; in a grocery store…really any store.

You dance, you sing.

In the car; for what could be the whole drive.

You dance, you sing.

In the house; furniture is moved to make more room.

You dance, you sing.

In the restaurant; if the music really strikes you.

You dance, you sing.

Today we went to our local downtown, perused the shops and made our way to a restaurant for lunch.  Our walk slowed to a stop as we rounded the corner.  Right there in the middle of the sidewalk, the music could be heard.

You danced, you sang.

Not a care in the world.  Pure happiness.  Freedom and a love for life.  The music, the movement; bring you to this place.  I love that about you.

We stopped, giving you time to celebrate the music.

We stopped, giving ourselves time to celebrate the joy being felt in our hearts.





“Your” Welcomed

Your powerful voice was heard again; tears of joy felt.

On the sidewalk, on the car, everywhere; there is affirmation you are here to stay.

When one looks up they see you, beautiful and red; getting ready.

Beneath our feet you are rejuvenating.

Some walk past, and see you rising; reaching for the sky.

The strength of your love shines down on us.

Your blue eyes; mesmerizing.

The sweet, earthy perfume you carry is awakening.

You welcome our little forest friends, that are loved so dearly.

It is so comforting, to not have to hide anymore.

Your wave is like the trees swaying in the wind.

Hello back, and thank you for blessing us with your presence.



That Would Be So Fun

I barely made it through today.  The whole family is sick, and we have not gotten enough sleep the past few nights.  It’s been rough to say the least.

I thought about the long drive ahead of me, as I left work.  How I just wanted a bed to sleep in.  Today is usually a library day for Braeden and I, but just I couldn’t do it.  When we arrived home, I was ready for dinner; shortly followed by bed.

The thought of making dinner put me closer to sleep.  So I went ahead and ordered pizza.  What would I do without pizza delivery?  Defeated, I lay on the couch with a big oomph!

Pitter patter, pitter patter.  I open my eyes to Braeden standing right in front of me.

“Can we go outside?”  “Can we…eat pizza outside?”  “Can we use great-grandma’s table?”  “Mom?”

Slowly I rose from the couch that began to engulf me.  I got down on his level, getting ready to tell him how sick and tired I felt.  He placed his hands gently on my cheeks.  “Can we eat dinner outside?”  “Mom, that would be so fun.”

His words.  His voice.  His face.





I simply couldn’t say no.


I am always thinking of traditions.  Traditions that my Mom experienced.  Traditions that I have experienced.  Traditions that my husband has experienced.  As Easter approaches, I am thinking of traditions once again.  As Braeden sleeps in his car seat, I tell my husband about the new idea I have for our Easter tradition.

Bringing him back to a conversation I had with my Mom years ago (and nearly every year since) about Easter.  My Grandpa (and yes, I’ve always called him Grandpa not Grandfather…that says something) had a tradition every Easter.  My Mom reminiscences about it often.  As I said, nearly every year.

She distinctively remembers getting something different every Easter.

A bunny.  Big, small, plastic, stuffed animal, chocolate, it didn’t matter what form or size.  Every year the “Easter Bunny” left her a different bunny,  making sure to never duplicate.  Now, the “Easter Bunny” doesn’t exist long in a child’s life, so I’m sure she never had a room filled with bunnies.  But what I enjoy most about this tradition is the memories.  The traditions have memories glued to them.  You can’t have one without the other.

“So I was thinking of something.  Something that could be passed down.”


Puzzled, he looks in my direction.  And I explain.

Every year Braeden will find a special egg from the Easter Bunny.  An egg that is different.  Special.  Unique.  Stands out in the crowd.  Just like he does.

Every year Braeden will find a special egg from the Easter Bunny.  An egg that inside will house a seed.  That inside will house new life.  Just like he does.

Every year Braeden will find a special egg from the Easter Bunny.  An egg that he can set aside.  Gluing memories of his childhood.

And if he chooses.

Can pass the eggs, the tradition, down to his children.

She Was Brave

I was in a classroom.  Listening to slices.  Some from my former students; others that I am getting to know just this year.

I heard and felt the pain from one.  Someone she loves was gone from her life.  She told us he was never going to graduate high school, only 13 years old.  Taking breaks to get her voice back.  I hear the tremble, tears are forming.  Her words.  Her sentences.  So powerful.  Evoking such pain.  And when she passed her paper to him to finish, I lost it.

I know her, she is like one of my own. When she lost her little nephew a little over 2 years ago, she held back.  She has written about that loss twice.  Always exhibiting strength.    Protecting her heart.  Her words.  Her sentences.  Shielding everything.


She was brave.  Not for standing in front of her peers, reading her slice.

She was brave.  Not for getting emotional in front of her peers.

She was brave.  Because she let herself feel.  She knocked down her walls.

“You are so brave.”  I said quietly, as my arms encircled her.